#Fear Bishops Fear Bishops F

[spiderin-space]

Sometimes you just gotta make a self indulgent crossover/au for Yourself and Yourself Alone

(Feat. @fanofthelamb ‘s Vitas in the last one)

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #61] Jinxing It

warnings: (1) mention of toe socks, chess talk, showers, a lil bit of titty luvin, lots of kisses, oral (f&m), fingering, ass play (m), whimpery koo <3, a lil cum swapping, the starluvrs are v cute!!! lots of lil clues and hints about upcoming chapters!!

a/n: there's an authors note over on a03 so I'll you spare you my nonsense! but hi, welcome back!! sorry for the wait on this one <33 if you're only just discovering bd, hello---this is part of an on-going story and includes an established relationship, to be read in context with the rest of the story, it's not a oneshot ^^. for kofi subs, there'll be a BD 62 teaser in a few hours!

wc: 13.7K

bd total wc: 560k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Life dissolves with Jeongguk. Days merge into one. 

Like a tablet in water, or stardust into the atmosphere, time melts.

So does Jeongguk, though. He sinks into the bliss with you. Crumbles. Collapses. You’d go as far to say he turns into a supernova, like stars often do when they collapse. 

He lets himself merge into a shared identity that he’s certain isn’t normal of such a fledgling relationship.

Two weeks from the auction, and days have rolled on by without much fuss. Deals have been finalised on winning bids, and Jeongguk’s had meetings with realtors, Yoongi by his side every step of the way. Everything has happened without much thought. Life has just been accepted; new plans and opportunities integrated into the trajectory you’re on. No meteors to throw you off course nor cosmic calamities to falter your future.

Your name is on the interview list for Shinwon’s position, and Jeongguk’s due to be accepting the keys for the building tomorrow. Everything is as it should be.

It’s terrifying, in a way. 

You spent so long fearing the rug being swept from beneath your feet, but with Jeongguk’s help, carpets have been laid. They’re not budging.

And nor is he as he sits across from you, legs crossed, his chessboard keeping you apart. It’s a rarity to be on his bed not wrapped up in one another—but he’s almost as serious about chess as he is about you. Almost .

“You know what to do,” he grins, adamant that his crash course in the game was easy to follow. In reality, he’d moved a few pieces, said a few words, and promised with a smile that you’d be able to beat him. 

His belief in you is sweet, but entirely misplaced. You’ve not made a single move without his gentle encouragement, most times resulting in you giving the match up on a silver platter. 

The correct terminology evades you, and so do the rules. An app sits on your phone unused, a subscription running up a small fortune from a membership never used. It was set up back in the early days of knowing Jeongguk. You swore one day you’d be able to beat him—but life got busy, and quite frankly, chess is not your chosen way to unwind.

But spending time with Jeongguk is, and so you’ll take him in any capacity you can have him.

“Which one should I move?” You pout, utterly transfixed on the chess pieces. There’s a bewildered panic to your expression, brows furrowed over your glittery eyes, hand hovering to and fro over your side of the board.

You single in on the bishop. Look his way with hopeful, wide eyes. He shakes his head.

“Diagonals only,” he reminds you of how bishops move, at which point you realise it’s blocked in by pawns. Your hand moves to one of them, and he shrugs. “I mean… you can .”

“But should I?”

“You wanna capture the king,” he says, reaching across to dictate your movements. He secures your grip on the pawn, and gently pushes it up a single square to free the bishop’s pathway. “Shift this one up, just one space. Clear the diagonal if you want to move the bishop.”

You do as he says, putting the pawn back in its original position so that you can be the one to place it. Slowly, you repeat his instructions, pushing the pawn up the board while Jeongguk nods. 

And then he grins in such a way that you just know you're about to curse him out.

He lifts his strategically placed knight. Knocks your freshly moved pawn. Claims the tile as his own.

“Rule number one,” He smirks, lip ring flipping in the corner of his pretty little mouth. “Never trust your opponent.”

“Dude, what the fuck,” you whine, looking at him with a faux sense of hurt and a very believable pout. “You’re my boyfriend . You’re supposed to help .”

“No moaning,” he dismisses your stropping, knowing he’s lost brownie points for his deception. He also knows he’ll earn your favour back soon enough, so whatever. “Now, what's your next move, baby? Go on.”

You study the board, and assess how different the opposing sides look. 

This time, he’s going easy on you. Kind of. You’ve almost exclusively been guided by him for the last half an hour, over a string of short games, all of which have ended with your very quick and immediate defeat. 

Jeongguk is too competitive for his own good. Jimin never wants to play against him, ‘cause he knows he’ll lose, too.

This is an indulgence for Jeongguk. He ought not to waste the opportunity—or worse yet, convince you never to play against him again.

He likes the idea of chess being an heirloom; the kind of skill he’ll teach his kids in the future. It’s integral to the very depths of his brain—how he works, and how his logical mind can jump and switch sometimes at the flick of a button—yet he rarely shares it with anyone else.

It’s only apt that you’d get an all-access pass.

Hovering over your now-free bishop, you narrow your eyes as you glance towards him. 

He nods. 

And so you move a pawn instead.

“I don’t trust you,” you tell him, because he told you not to. In a way, you are trusting him—just trusting that he’s a bullshitter. 

What you don’t realise is that you’ve just moved the very pawn that’s been protecting your King, and preventing Jeongguk from getting an easy win.

“B,” he sighs, looking helplessly at the move you just made. 

He couldn’t love you any more if he tried, but— fuck —he’ll never understand your brain.

“What?!”

He picks up his queen. Places it diagonally across from your exposed King. There’s nowhere for your King to go, other than in the direct line of his queen. He’s gone and fuckin’ done it again.

Check. 

Mate .

Groaning, you realise what's happening and flop down onto your back. Your brain is fried. There's no way Jeongguk actually enjoys this. 

"Not again," you whine, pretending to sob a little as you look up at Jeongguk's ceiling. It's without birds these days, but there are a few rogue strips of tape that remind you of your history within these four walls.

"B," Jeongguk laughs, clambering around the board to flop down with you. His arm rests over your tummy as his face aligns with yours. Might not have any birds above you, but the way you melt into his touch is just as deadly as it was the first time. You'll scorch a hole through his sheets with even the most innocent of encounters. His lips are a little pouty, smirk prevailing as he teases, "What did I tell you, huh? Protect your king."

"I tried!" You insist, your over-dramatic, distressed expression far too cute for him to care about playing anymore. He enjoys chess, but he enjoys you more.

"You left him wide open for me to take!"

"You could have gone easy on me!"

"I was!" He defends with a laugh, adamant that he could have taken you out in, like, two moves if he really wanted. "I swear you didn't listen to a single thing I told you—"

"I did! Listening to you is how you got that stupid pawn in the first place," you huff, putting your hand against the bottom of his throat to stop him from getting any closer. He doesn't deserve niceties in times like this.

He'd argue that the feeling of your sharp nails against his throat is incredibly nice.

He ignores your moaning. "I'll make you a deal."

"Go on."

"Strip chess."

"Pervert."

"For every move you make, I'll take an item of clothing off," he suggests with a glint in those starry eyes of his, ignoring your remark.

You assess the situation. Mentally make a checklist of his clothes. Sweats, a shirt, a (toe)sock on either foot, and underwear — that's only five moves, but then again, Jeongguk normally has your king trapped by that point.

"I think you're just trying to get me naked."

"I'm always trying to get you naked, B," he shrugs into his sheets, before tearing himself away and getting back into position on the opposite side of the board. "So are you gonna make it a challenge or not?"

"What happens if I take out one of your pieces?"

"If you do that," he hums, as if he's contemplating it. "I'll let you do that goddamn paper plane you wanna try out so bad."

Instantly, you sit up, like a puppy with a treat being teased in front of its snout. Your eyes are wide, smile incredulous. 

It's been a while since Jeongguk made those paper planes in your bedroom. Only one has ever been done, and quite frankly, you think it might have been the catalyst to your friendship's demise, because how you could ever go back to 'just friends' afterwards was beyond you. 

It's not like you didn't try to remain totally neutral about cock warming with him, but the way your heart swells whenever you do it now just goes to show how your bodies were made for one another. Like a turning of tides, or the cyclical rising and falling of the sun to make way for the moon, it's just as nature intended. He was made for you, and you him.

With a glint in your eye, you lean over to the chess board and swipe up one of his pawns at random. With a gasp, and a smile twitching at your lips, you exclaim, "Oh look! I won!"

"B," he laughs, but your expression remains entirely serious despite the light nature of it all.

"Lemme fuck your ass," You grin now, pleading ever so softly. "A deal is a deal."

"You didn't win."

"Says who?"

"Anyone who has ever played chess?"

"I've played, and I think I won. C'mon," you grin, positioning yourself on his lap. The chess piece is still in your hands as you lean down to nudge your nose up against his. "Face down, ass up for me, baby."

"You're in my way," he says.

"You could throw me across the room if you wanted to. I'm not stopping you."

"And I'm not throwing you across the room."

"Please," you pathetically beg.

"You really it want it, don't you?" He grins against your lips. "Huh?"

"Just wanna make you feel good."

"You always make me feel good," Jeongguk whispers, quietly deflecting the real reason why he hasn't let you do it yet. 

Truth be told, Jeongguk is a little scared. 

While yes, he's always been curious about pegging, he's never taken it that far before. Has never had the tools, shall we say, to explore by himself, and none of his exes or flings ever seemed too interested in it.

He wants it. Wants it with you. Just doesn't know how he'll react. Doesn't know what his body will do. Worries that things will take a turn for the worse and that you'll be so repulsed by him that you'll never want to have sex with him again, or that maybe he'll like it too much and that it'll be all he ever wants and it'd ruin just how good things are at the moment. 

His thoughts distract him as your lips press feathery kisses against the thick column of his neck. Something about you, and how delicate you can be, just makes him melt into your touch. His hands come to clutch your hair, a pretty little smile forming on his lips. 

"You don't have to do this," he quietly says, nails lightly scratching at your scalp. Your lips graze against his skin, before he gently pulls you back by the root of your hair. The sensation makes you want him even more than you already do. There's a love-drunk look of lust to your darling eyes, all glittery like they so often are as you look at him. 

Reaching to cup his jaw, you marvel at how a man who looks like him can be as tender as he is. The world would give him permission to break hearts, if he wanted it, but he doesn't. All he seems to want is to adore, and be adored in return—and how lucky you are to be on the receiving end of it.

A slight guilt settles in your stomach. You know he'd give you the world if you asked for it, but he isn't giving you this. 

"I'm only teasing," you tell him, which isn't strictly true. You do wanna do it, but your incessant begging is what you're joking about. It's not like you'll die if you can't fuck his ass (maybe). "I'll respectfully stay out of your ass unless requested otherwise."

He shakes his head. Laughs. Kisses you, 'cause he just can't help himself, then pulls you down into the sheets with him. "I give it a day until you're asking again."

Secretly, he wants you to ask again. It doesn't feel like pressure. Feels like validation; as if you want this even more than he does.

The thing is, you can't say no to a challenge. "Wanna bet?"

No. 

But he can't resist either. "You're on."

Yoongi stands with his shoulders pressed to glass front door, keys looped on his fingers. The streets in this area are always quiet until the evening, minor hustle and bustle from delivery drivers dropping off stock to businesses down the alley disturbing the peace. 

A small hotteok stall sits lopsided, supported by the building's exterior wall, red tarpaulin covering it from the weather and any inquisitive eyes. An elderly man runs it during the weekends, but for the rest of the week, it sits derelict. It's an eyesore, to say the least. Not the kind of thing that screams 'hot new restaurant' to anyone walking by.

It's as Yoongi's contemplating how to solve this problem, figuring the stallhand probably had an agreement with the previous owners, when Jeongguk comes into his line of vision. He tweaks a brow in Jeongguk's direction, almost as if to ask: what time do you call this?

Jeongguk's right on time. It's not a minute past twelve, which is exactly the time Yoongi told him to arrive. 

Sale finalised, paperwork complete, Yoongi got given the keys this morning. It's a done deal. The building is his, and in turn, the restaurant is Jeongguk’s. 

Despite his nonchalance, when Yoongi sees Jeongguk grin, he can't help but smile too.

"Shut up," Yoongi tells him. "We're serious businessmen. Don't get giggly with me."

"I'm not!" Jeongguk laughs, hands up in defence, until Yoongi puts his own hand out for Jeongguk to shake. Naturally, Jeongguk uses Yoongi's hand to pull him in for a hug instead. Patting his back, Jeongguk is almost fighting the urge to cry. He's waited so long for this. Worked so hard. Doesn't think any of it would be possible without Yoongi, but Yoongi would disagree.

"You better make the best fuckin' samgyeopsal this city has ever seen," Yoongi threatens with all the love in the world, breaking from the hug. Passing over the keys, he nods towards the doors. "Do us the honours."

Yoongi is fatherly in the way he never takes the glory for himself. Will be the kind of dad to build a lego castle and let his kid put the flag in place at the end of his labour. 

Jeongguk doesn't mention it, but he's noticed the way Seoyeon has been the designated driver for the past few weeks; how she didn't drink at auction, and how Yoongi's been even more attentive than he usually is. 

Could be nothing at all. Could just be a change in the weather.

But it could mean everything, and Jeongguk knows better than to intrude before being welcomed in on the news. 

Pushing the key into the lock, Jeongguk is quietly enamoured with the fact the premises has a lock and key instead of the typical keypad locks that are usually in place. The metal grates against itself as he twists the lock open, and pushes the door open. 

There's a separate side entrance for access to the upper floors. 

The floors Jeongguk intends to be the restaurant already have a connecting staircase towards the back of the room, which will make it infinitely easier for staying out of Yoongi's hair whenever he's in the workshop.

In the light of day, the furniture from the previous owners now removed, it's so much easier for Jeongguk to envisage how everything will look; where the signage will hang, where the bar will go, and, most importantly, where the disco balls will hang.

"It's really happening," he exhales, as if he hadn't realised it at any earlier stage in the process.

Yoongi doesn't berate him. Instead, he takes a deep breath, too. Nods. "It's really happening."

Though he smiles, Jeongguk wishes he had a hand to hold as tightly as his lips press together. Wishes you were here. Knows you're busy with work, making up hours to account for the fact you'll have some time off at the end of the week for your interview at the Ryu.

Why you need an interview is beyond him. He thinks they're being ridiculous. Thinks that even entertaining the idea of hiring someone else is an insult. Got so wound up about it, ranting to Jimin while he was making dinner, that he burned his sauce a couple of nights ago. Is now on a talking while cooking ban. Jimin says Jeongguk can't be trusted to multitask. Jeongguk says Jimin is a little prick.

The day is lost to making plans; sketches drawn up on Jeongguk's ipad, discussions with Yoongi about how to go about getting liscences for the premises, and back and forth over what should be done with the top two floors.

The idea of Taehyung using the fourth floor as a studio is considered, but both of them know how much he adores his current place. 

"Think he'd live there, if he could," Yoongi muses picking up a slice of napjak mandu with his chopsticks, dipping it into the tteokbokki sauce. They'd ordered from the place near his current workshop, and it makes him lament the idea of leaving it behind. 

Perhaps he can keep them both. Use the smaller space as his own little sanctuary, and the third floor here as his public-facing premises. Might be a bit of a waste, but if he can afford the rent, then why not?

"Tell you what," Yoongi hums as he swallows down his food. "If you don't add something like this to the menu, I'm kicking you out."

"I'll put it on the secret menu," Jeongguk offers, knowing that it definitely won't be what he offers to punters. He makes a mean tteokbokki, but it doesn't fit the vision of what he wants for this place. "Well, what about Jimin? He could start up his own interior place, if he wants. He's got the money for it, and I know the office he's in at the moment has been stifling him. Lost out on, like, three big commissions in the last quarter because the boss went with some other prick's ideas. Jimin's wasted there."

Yoongi hums in agreement as he swallows down his food. "We could always get him to help out with the design of this place. I reckon he knows all the tricks for good energy."

Nodding, Jeongguk laughs. Picks up another rice cake and chows down on it as he adds, "Should have seen him when we moved into our current place. Man had a compass out to align a sofa with the right energy."

"Sounds about right," Yoongi grins, resting his chopsticks back down against the edge of the bowl. "Well, what about your missus, then? Would she want gallery space? Somewhere for curation?"

Jeongguk chokes on his rice cake, and it's not because of the spice. 

"She's not my missus—" he corrects, but then decides he doesn't want to "—at least, not yet. And she's got a big interview with The Ryu this week. I'm not sure opening her own gallery is on her agenda, but I can put the feelers out—and like… I don't know. Wouldn't it be a bit much? We spend so much time together, already. She'd get sick of me if I was working two floors below."

"Would you get sick of her?"

"Don't be stupid. No."

"Exactly," Yoongi says as if it's obvious—which, in all fairness, he thinks it is. "The pair of you are in a perpetual honeymoon phase."

Jeongguk shakes his head, as if he isn't beaming. "Shut up. Just got a good thing going—and hey, you're hardly one to talk. How's Seoyeon?"

"Good, yeah," Yoongi nods, but doesn't divulge any further. As much as Jeongguk is dying to ask, he holds back. "She wants you all round for dinner soon, so expect an invite in the group chat."

"For any reason?" Jeongguk baits Yoongi, cause he just can't help himself.

Unlucky for him, Yoongi is as stoic as can be. "You know Seo. She loves any excuse for a dinner party. Has started making her own pasta and I think she wants tasters."

"B makes a mean pasta," Jeongguk says, because his thoughts so often wind back to you, and he just can't help himself. "I'm sure she'll be buzzing to try Seoyeons."

A sense of pride washes over Yoongi's features. "Gah, when did you grow up, Jeongguk? Practically married, aren't you?"

Dismissive in how he shakes his head, Jeongguk can't help but let a bashful smile grow on his face. The soft lights overhead glimmer down him, putting those stars Jeongguk adores so much right back in his eyes. He'll never get rid of you. Will eternally carry the evidence of how utterly smitten he is.

Should you ever leave him, Jeongguk thinks he'd simply die of a broken heart. Wouldn't know how to walk if it weren't in the direction of you. Would stumble and fall until he inevitably wound up back at your door like a wounded puppy.

So perahps Yoongi is right. Maybe it would make sense to offer you the space—but you've got your own agenda. Your own dreams. Jeongguk can't just entrap you in his.

The thing is, once your shift is up, and you're heading to the restaurant premises to see Jeongguk, you can't help but feel like this is a dream come true for you. 

His ambition and drive have rubbed off on you; encouraged you up a career path you once thought was overgrown with thorns and rubble. Has shown you that all you need is a little bit of elbow grease and a pair of secateurs to go after what you want. 

It's dark by the time you arrive. Lights from the other establishments flood the streets, but the blinds are closed on the restaurant for a little privacy. A handwritten 'under new management' sign is taped to the front door in Jeongguk's signature penstroke. A little smiley face accents it; a show of how he feels, you presume. 

Pulling your phone from your back pocket, you dial through to him, 'cause you've no idea how to get in, nor if he's even actually there. The building is just on the way home from the art cafe, and you'd left Jeongguk's place that morning to a very smiley boyfriend instead of his usual 'don't go' pout, so you figure he's spent all day busy with exciting plans.

"Sorry, not interested," Jeongguk's voice purrs through the speaker, as if you're some kind of cold-calling saleswoman with nothing half-decent to offer him. 

"What if I told you I'm outside the restaurant and that I'm naked under my clothes?"

"Aren't we all naked under our clothes?"

"Just open the door," you grin down the phone as he comes into view through the glass doors. 

He's got the kind of look on his face that you'd expect: pouty lips with heavy-lidded eyes. Softening ever so slightly when he notices the bunch of wildflowers poking out from the tote bag you've got hooked over your shoulder, his eyes are incapable of ever hiding his true feelings. 

Mild confusion ( did someone get you flowers?) dismissed with easy understanding—they're from the stall he always buys you flowers from, so he knows you got them yourself.

It's very conflicting to adore you and to also want to fuck you into next Tuesday, but it garners you a gaze nobody else is ever lucky enough to receive from him. You cherish it. Think about it near-constantly whenever he's not by your side.

"You're a terrible saleswoman," he scolds so softly it feels like praise.

"And yet here you are, answering the door for me," you shrug with a knowing smile, sure that'd he take whatever you sold him. Would buy sand, water, air from you. Would let you swindle him. 

"And yet here I am."

Hanging up, you mouth 'open it' through the door, and he does as he's told—kind of.

Blocking the now half-open door, he childishly asks, "What's the password?"

"I love you?"

"Ew. Gross. Get a room. No."

"Fuck you.”

"Not the password either, but I'm more than willing."

"Ew. Gross," you imitate him, gagging a little for an extra immaturity. "Hmm… Byeol is the best?"

"Ddaeng."

"Jimin sucks?"

"Ddaeng… but I approve. Good guess."

"Gimme a hint."

"It's the name of the restaurant."

The confidence that comes with the restaurant being his now is nothing short of a miracle. He's so certain of everything these days, in a way he never was before—but why shouldn't he? He got the girl. Got the dream. There's nothing he can't do. Statistically, he's two for two. A winner by all counts. A gold medalist in his very own Olympics.

"You've never told me what you want to name it!" You protest with a whine, thinking he's being entirely unfair.

It's not like you haven't asked a million times over. He's just been keeping it underwraps. Was scared that speaking it into existence would jinx it. Would refuse with a coy grin, and assurance that he'd reveal it soon enough.

Truth be told, Jeongguk's gone back and forth over names. It's probably changed ten times since he's known you, but then you said something at the fundraising auction, and everything sort of clicked into place. 

A name was coined and it wouldn't stop embossing itself into Jeongguk's dreams; the branding, the signage, everything. A new vision of what he wanted spawned like lava onto a mountainside. You sparked a volcano he didn't even realise existed, and it's solidified into molten rock. 

"I'll cut you a deal," you offer, knowing that you'll never get it and he'll never ease. Shrugging your shoulder to gesture towards the bag, you begin your enticement. "I've got cold beer and hot burgers from that place you like down the road. They're all yours in you let me in—if not, I'm going home and Danbi will—"

"Say no more," Jeongguk pushes the door open and grabs your hand, pulling you into the vacant restaurant with him. The door clicks close behind you, and Jeongguk spins you around so that you're stood infront of him, facing the large room. Arms wrapping around your waist, Jeongguk rests his chin on your shoulder, gently pressing a kiss to your neck. "Welcome in."

It's a lot to take in all at once. The room stands empty, save for the camping chairs and table Yoongi and Jeongguk had coversed around earlier, Jeongguk's ipad resting on the table with a low battery warning on the dimly lit screen. There's paperwork scattered on the surface—old utilities letters that they were using to sort out the new bills—and a bag of trash tied up on the floor from their lunch.

"I don't smell burgers," Jeongguk mumbles against your neck.

"I was lying."

"You've no shame."

Turning your head, you let him raise his nose to yours, a feathery kiss greeting your lips. 

Whenever your doe-eyed boy greets you like this, you always feel a bit like snow white; as if a dozen tiny creatures will flock to you and bestow their love upon you.

It'd be fruitless, mind you, for none of them could even come close to how deeply Jeongguk adores you. He'd sit in the corner, jealous and bratty as they fawned over you. Would hate not being the object of your affection. Would strop until your focus was back on him.

"I'll order some," you promise, but Jeongguk shakes his head. 

"Won't be here much longer. We can pick some up on the way home."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, baby," he tenderly whispers, punctuating himself with a slightly firmer kiss, before pulling away from you. Walking into the middle of the room, he holds out his arms. Grins. "Welcome."

"It's a pleasure," you grin, freely stepping into the space now, looking around with awestruck eyes knowing that this is his . "Holy shit, Gguk."

"Yeah," he agrees with your sentiment. "Mad, innit?"

"Just a little."

When you think back to the Jeongguk you first met—the one who spent hours upon hours studying for his exams, all the while working at the bar of an admittedly shitty club—you can't help but feel overwhelmed with pride. He worked himself to the bone for his dreams. 

The space is large enough for Jeongguk to go wild with it. There's no end to his possibilities. He's got an arsenal of weapons in his back pocket in the form of his friends—Yoongi can fit the place out, Jimin can help with the design work, Taehyung can make a central art piece, and Namjoon can get it featured in the paper. Of course, he won't take advantage of his access to them, but knowing how willing his friends always are to help out, it's kind of like a no-brainer. He's got all the tools needed for success.

"And right here," he points up, standing in the middle of a square marked out with tape on the floor. It's large and in the centre of the room—the intended space for a central bar and banchan preparation spot, flipping the conventions of traditional barbecue places on their heads. Wants the food to quite literally be at the heart of the restaurant. "Is where the disco balls will be."

For a second, you think you miss-hear him, but the way his smiles grows when confronted with your confusion only proves you heard perfectly fine.

Sitting on one of the camping chairs Yoongi and Jeongguk had set up earlier, you've been watching him talk you through his vision for the place. It sounds incredible—just like him, but in restaurant version. 

"Is that not a health and safety hazard?" You giggle, desperate to get up and stand with him, but feeling the need to maintain distance. He's having his moment. He doesn't need a shared stage—and yet here he is, announcing that the very embodiment of you will be centre stage for the foreseeable. 

Jeongguk shrugs. "Haven't thought that far ahead. There's gonna be disco balls here whether they like it or not, though."

Realistically, if the health and safety inspectors tell him no disco balls, there'll be no disco balls—but he won't be happy about it. Will be pouty. You both know he's just being facetious, and that he'll comply with whatever is asked of him. 

"It's my restaurant, baby," he reminds you, holding out his hands, cause he wants you closer. Naturally, you do ass requested, and join him in his square. His arm slips around your waist, a kiss firmly being pressed to your forehead before your chin leans on his chest. Looking up at him, it's a wonder that you're able to have conversations that last more than a single back and forth. A miracle, even. "I can do what I want."

There's something so incredibly sexy about this cocksure arrogance. He's not the same guy you met back in the confines of Dionysus, and while you adored him back then, you adore him even more now.

"You're sexy when you talk business," you hum, as his hand dip a little further south to squeeze your ass. "Home?"

He nods, a pretty smile hanging off his lips. "Mine or yours?"

"Yours is closer," you tell him, pulling away, linking your fingers with his as you do so, dragging him with you. Hooking your bag up over your shoulder, you're reminded of the flowers. "Oh—these are for you, by the way."

Passing them over, you're not surprised by his confusion.

"For me?"

The bunch of wildflowers looked pretty big in your hands, but remarkably small in his. You have to make a considered effort to not groan. 

"Mhmm," you nod with a sweet smile. "A congratulations."

Jeongguk's head pushes back a little into his neck, shoulders broadening as his smile forms. He quickly tilts his head to the side and then back again in the way he often does whenever his brain is processing something new. 

"Never had flowers before."

"Nice, isn't it?" You grin, knowing that nothing beats fresh flowers when it comes to small pockets of expressed admiration. 

With a bashful nod, Jeongguk feels like he should feel emasculated, but can't quite work out the way he actually does feel. All he knows is that he likes it. And that he wants to get home. And that he wants you in his bed. Naked, preferably. 

His thoughts dart back and forth to the last time you were in his room. Gets him hot. Blushing. 

Thankfully, you don't seem to notice—or if you do, you don't mention it. Why would you? It's cute. 

"What time is your interview tomorrow?" Jeongguk asks as he makes sure the door is locked behind you both. 

"One in the afternoon," you reply with a certain nonchalance, as if you're unphased, which Jeongguk knows is absolute bullshit. "Hobes said he'll work my shift if I buy him a month's supply of Sprite, so I've got, like, 48 cans arriving tomorrow."

He would have done it for free, but he's a tough bargainer and you're just an easy sell when it comes to making the people you care about happy.

"His blood will turn into sprite," Jeongguk laughs, linking his hand with yours once more as you head down the road to the nearest subway entrance. "How are you feeling about it? We can practise interview questions later, if you like."

Shaking your head, you smile. "It'll just make me nervous, and at the moment, I'm pretty calm about things. Thank you, though."

"Well, if you change your mind," Jeongguk reinforces the offer, before you redirect the conversation and get him babbling about the restaurant—projected timelines, contractors, suppliers. There's so much to do, and yet it doesn't feel overwhelming in the slightest. Not yet, at least.

With a pit stop at the burger place as promised, the journey home is effortless. Intrinsic by this point. 

Shoes off by the door, Jimin is out for a company dinner, so it's just the pair of you.

"Has he spoken with you about Nabi, yet?" You ask as you grab some condiments from the kitchen, while Jeongguk fills a vase with water.

"God, no," Jeongguk laughs. "He used to tease me all the time about you, but now he can't even look me in the eyes 'cause he's worried I'll ask about it. Idiot."

"He used to tease you? About me?" You hum, a little smug at this little snippet of information. 

"You know what he's like," Jeongguk reminds you, 'cause it's not like you've ever been spared from Jimin's teasing. "Doesn't know how to not be irritating. Character flaw. Think he was born that way."

Despite his annoying tendencies, Jimin is adored by pretty much everyone he meets. Jeongguk doesn't say such things to be mean, but rather because he views him like a sibling. 

"If anyone knows how to handle him, it's Nabi," you muse, thinking back to Pohang. "He'd have driven me insane organising the Jilympics."

"Don't call it that," Jeongguk smiles at how ridiculous his best friend is. Delicately arranging the flowers, Jeongguk's sense of perfectionism comes out once more. "He's a little narcissist. He'll sense his ego being inflated from miles away, and then his head won't be able to fit through doors." Tweaking a yellow flower to move it more centrally, Jeongguk shakes his head. "And to think the first time you were in this apartment—"

"Shut up," you groan, not wanting to be reminded of it. "Everybody makes mistakes."

"Alright, Hannah Montana," Jeongguk teases you. "It's just kinda wild, isn't it? How everything has just worked itself out?"

"Don't," you say with a glint in your eye. "You'll jinx it."

Perhaps it's foolish—naive, even—but he doesn't think it's possible. Thinks that this is all set in stone. That your names have been etched on a cliffside somewhere, and that's where you'll remain forever more. 

He forgets that cliffs erode. That the weather is unpredictable, and life even more so. 

He's always been cautious. Reluctant of counting eggs.

But he’s hungry. Ravenous. The first at the dinner table, and the last to leave. Bites off more than he can chew. Chokes and splutters in the wake of it all, every single damn time.

It’s a flaw he’ll admit to having, but why can’t vices be virtues? Why can’t he be optimistic? Why shouldn’t he hope for the best? He spent so long living in a perpetual state of fear, and it never did him any good. Wasn’t until he started opening himself to the idea of things working out okay that they actually started heading in that direction.

“I’ll do no such thing,” he assures you, reaching for a pan to start with his second course. Again, he’s hungry in all aspects of the word. Hasn’t even had his burgers yet, but he’s a growing boy, or so he’d have you believe. Better to just get it cooked first, and save him the hassle of getting up again later. “You want some?”

He nods towards the empty saucepan, but doesn’t need to explain what he’s making. You know it’ll be instant bibimyeon.

“A little,” you nod, knowing that this relationship is gonna be terrible for your waistline. Opening up his fridge, you pull a can of soda from the fridge. Jeongguk doesn’t really ever buy soda, unlike you and your minor peach soda addiction, but take-out places always chuck a complimentary can of something in with your orders, so he’s got quite a stockpile now.

“You want a beer or something instead?” He asks, as he begins to prepare the instant noodles in the most embellished way he possibly can. Spices, sauces, you name it, he’s always adding something—and it’s always delicious. 

Cracking the can open, you set it down and swipe the camera of your phone up to snap a picture of him; to document him in his element. “Nah, it’s okay. Want a clear head for tomorrow.”

Jeongguk smiles, hearing the synthetic shutter of your phone clicking. “Obsessed.”

“So?” You grin, immediately swiping across to open up Instagram and preserve the moment on your story. “You love it.”

Though he doesn’t reply, he does look in your direction with a smile that would only confirm your words.

Together, you fall into a casual rhythm, you perched up on a barstool while he cooks. Conversation darts from A to B, Y to Z. There’s no topic of conversation too obscure nor taboo for you to realm into the depths of, but there’s also something comforting about how you can just natter about the weather, how he should get his hair cut, what’s on at the cinema. 

By the time he’s eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, you’re already in the shower. It’ll be an early night. You’ve both been working today, and both have important things to get done the next day. 

There’s no objection from you as he taps on the door and asks to come in. You hadn’t locked it deliberately. Jimin’s out, and even if he’d have come home, he’d have heard the shower going—or Jeongguk would have told him. There’s no real worry there.

“Been looking forward to this all day,” Jeongguk admits as he grabs his shirt by the nape of his neck, pulling it over his head in that boyish way he so often does. Neither of you really care about being naked—it’s a daily occurrence at this point—but seeing him get undressed makes your heart feel all jelly-like and void of structure. The chambers melt, and so do you. 

It’s not just attraction, but affection. Acknowledgement that he doesn’t mind being vulnerable with you. That the things humans do to renew themselves — eat, shower, sleep — are things he wants to do with you. He doesn’t want to be full if you’re hungry, sleep while you’re starved of rest, nor wash away the traces of you. Renewal without you just doesn’t make sense to him. 

“Me too,” you quietly say as he joins you. The water pitter-patters down on you both, his hair wetting before laying flat against his forehead. When his deft hands push it away, it always falls back. 

Instinctively, your arms wrap around his waist, his around your shoulders, the embrace akin to coming home. 

“We should both just quit our jobs and do this forever,” Jeongguk muses, almost sleepy in how he mumbles his words against the top of your head. 

“Someone’s gotta pay the water bill,” you smile against his bare chest.

“That’s why I live with Jimin,” Jeongguk replies, tone cheeky and warm. 

The smile on your face sweetly settles into something a little more neutral as you outwardly consider your own living situation. “Lease is up soon, yanno. Mine and Dans.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, wet hair tangling over itself against his skin. He holds you just as tightly. “Haven’t started looking for new places, yet.”

“I’ve still got a few months left on mine,” Jeongguk says, pulling back to reposition the shower head. Just wants to hear you a little more clearly. “My bed is basically yours anyways.”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out what he’s insinuating—but it also doesn’t take a genius to know that it wouldn’t be the right thing for you both, yet. 

Your eyes are soft as you shake your head. “I’ve a whole apartment's worth of stuff, Gguk. I can’t just move into your room. Need my own space.”

He frowns, reaching for the shampoo. “You can. And I’ll even move my statues.”

“You mean your action figures?”

“Oh my god,” he groans, and then you’re giggling, and any negative thoughts Jeongguk could have about you saying ‘no’ dissolve into nothingness, like water running down the drain. He passes you over the shampoo once he’s gotten himself some, and adds, “People pay good money for a collection like mine.”

“You mean you spent a fuck ton of money on them?”

“We’ve all got our weaknesses,” he protests. “You’ve got so many clothes. I don’t think I’ve ever been into your room when there hasn’t been an avalanche of clothes on the chair, wardrobe and dressers bursting at seams—”

“Exactly,” You laugh. “Now imagine all of that in your room.”

He takes a second. Visualises it as he lathers up the foamy shampoo in his hair and almost hisses. “Yeah. You’re right. I take it back. Get your own place.”

Rolling your eyes, you flick a little water in his direction, as if it makes a difference. 

He grins, teeth on show, lip ring doing the thing that just makes you melt. 

“See,” you grin right back. “I’m always right.”

The rest of your shower is littered with dumb conversations and stolen kisses between shampoo rinses. In fact, it’s how the rest of the evening continues. Some dumb action film plays on the tv, and then Jeongguk finds a dumb youtube quiz, and you giggle into the early hours over some other dumb shit. Dumb, dumb, dumb and oh so totally in love. 

The apartment issue lingers in the back of Jeongguk’s mind, though, and questions dance on the tip of his tongue. He tries to brush them away, but the mint of his toothpaste isn’t enough to erase them. They taste sour, and he knows the only way to rid the sensation is to speak them into existence.

Gone midnight, the city is still alive. His curtains are open, because you’ve started to get used to the way he likes to sleep, and find it far easier to wake up early when the sun is giving you a warm welcome to the day. Funny, how things change. How willing he was to change his habits for you, and how seamlessly yours have changed to fit him. You’re better for knowing one another, or so it feels. 

The light pollution gives his bedroom a soft glow, and with every change of advertisement on the billboards across the street, the hue changes. Like his own personal mood lamp, it’s become a staple of his home. It’s blue, now, and so is he when he considers the fact that you haven’t yet reached the stage of sharing a home.

Your arm is looped over his waist, ‘cause he’d decided that the role of the little spoon would be going to him. Fingers interlocked with yours, he has no interest in ever letting go. 

“B?”

“Mhmm?”

“Is Dan definitely moving in with Tae?”

“Think so.”

Jeongguk doesn’t immediately reply, but you leave space open for him. A question like that didn’t come out of the blue. It’s something he’s been ruminating on, no doubt.

When he finally does speak, the weight of his soft, if not somewhat pouty, words crush down on your chest in a way that you can’t quite explain. Hell, in a way you don’t want to explain, because it would mean admitting that a man has such power over you (even if said man is Jeon Jeongguk).

“They’ve always been one step ahead of us,” he laments.

And then he leaves silence for you. Knows that you always have a response of some kind that will settle his woes. Feels guilty that you’re always cleaning up the messes of his loose lips, but would be a liar if he said he didn’t crave the sweet nothings you soothe him with.

“They’re on an entirely different path, baby,” you gently press a kiss into his shoulder. He’s so warm and powder-fresh from his shower that you can’t help but want to cling to him like a koala bear. Most importantly, though, you don’t want him to move away. Space to talk is fine, but physical space? God, no. “There's no use comparing.”

But Jeongguk is a glutton for punishment. Will continue making himself feel small for the sake of his perceived flaws.

“Loved you before Taehyung even knew who Danbi was,” Jeongguk pouts, ‘cause he’s in his head again, going round in circles when he really needn’t be. You know he does this, though. It doesn’t surprise nor concern you. If anything, it reassures you, because his willingness to share these thoughts just signposts how far you’ve both come. He used to stew and sour over things like this. Now, he shares his burdens “But they’re doing all these big milestones first. They were a couple, went on vacation, and now moving in together. All before us.”

“It’s not a competition,” you sweetly laugh. “Their relationship couldn’t be more different to ours. Plus I hardly consider a weekend in Jeju a big vacation—we can literally do that this weekend, if you want.”

You’re not sure why you’ve never been away together. Busan is always lovely, but it’s a short drive, and is somewhere Jeongguk still considers to be home. It’s not a holiday. Perhaps you should rectify that. It's better spoken about during the daylight hours, but always a little nicer to dream at night. Make silly, fantastical plans that you could always turn into reality, if you really wanted. 

“Gguk,” you softly continue. “As much as I love them both, we’re literally so different from them. Our relationship was never gonna be like theirs.”

“You think?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, lips brushing against the bare skin of his shoulder. “Well, I mean, he lets her peg him for starters—”

Jeongguk turns so quickly it’s a miracle he doesn’t fall out of bed. Even in the darkness of his room at night, the open curtains mean his shock is easy to make out. “Does he actually?!”

Giggling, you roll onto your back, thoroughly enjoying his reaction. Truth is, you’ve no idea. Just said it to be a dick. 

“Probably,” you say, admitting that you don’t know. You just knew it would cause a reaction. Ease the tension, somewhat. “He’s like, obsessed with her. Would let her do anything she wants.”

Sinking back down into the sheets with you, Jeongguk wraps his arm over your body now. Pulls you close. Presses a kiss to your neck, and says, “You lost the bet, y’know? Can’t even go 24 hours without thinking about fucking my ass, can you?”

It sounds like a complaint, but the way his lips seem unable to stop pressing wet kisses against your throat would prove otherwise. Your hand tangles in his hair, scratching his scalp in approval. 

“Cute that you think I haven’t been thinking about it all day,” you tease, biting back the small murmur of a moan that’s just begging to escape from his touch. 

You often have thoughts about him throughout the day, both pure and impure. It’s not like you mean to—it’s just that there’s something about Jeongguk that is impossible to forget. Like a class-A drug, you linger from high to high, using thoughts about him to sustain your comedown until you can see him again. 

He is your boyfriend, though. Would be weirder if you weren’t a little obsessed.

“Liar,” he scolds. “I picked your clothes up after our shower. Your underwear were dry.”

“You were inspecting my underwear? Freak,” you tease, because quite honestly the idea of him studying your underwear in the hopes of finding arousal is kinda hot, even if a little perverted. “And maybe it’s because you don’t get me excited.”

Rolling his eyes, Jeongguk ignores your insult. Instead, his hand creeps down the mound of your pussy, pausing before he sinks his fingers between your thighs. “So you’ll be dry right now, then?”

“I’ll be just like the Gobi,” you assure him with that tone of defiance he's grown to adore. “Try me.”

You don’t know why you’re offering yourself up like this, ‘cause you know it’s only gonna end up one way.

“You’re such a fuckin’ liar,” he smirks—and then is proven correct as his fingers slide between your slick folds with ease. A gasp escapes from your lips as he casually brushes past your clit, paying it no attention whatsoever. “And even if you weren’t, there’s like, five bigger deserts than the Gobi. Sounds like it’s a pretty easy drought to rectify—but fuckin’ hell, B. My pretty girl and her filthy mouth. Full of lies, isn’t it? You’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“No,” you purr, hips languidly rolling to intensify the sensation he’s facilitating. After all, he’s right. There’s nothing dry about the situation between your legs. “Never told a lie in my life.”

His teeth nip at your neck as his body presses up against your side, the thick ridge of his cock letting you know that you most certainly get him excited. 

“You’re so full of shit, B,” he quietly says, lips from a pretty little kiss against the edge of your jaw. “Told so many lies, haven’t you, hm? Like when you used to tell people we were just friends?”

The desperate sigh that escapes your mouth only fuels him on even more.

“You remember the first time I touched you like this, huh?” He husks against your ear. “Those pretty eyes of yours watching us in the mirror. You can see us now, can’t you?”

Nudging his head against yours, he encourages you to look in the direction of his mirror. You always sleep on the side of the bed closest to it, but you rarely pay it any attention these days. The pair of you are obscured—bed sheets and shadows hiding what he’s doing to you—but the eroticism is just as potent as it always was.

“Gguk,” you rasp, back arching when he strokes against your clit just right.

Restraint is something that you wish you had been gifted with, but alas—you are just a girl, and he is just the sexiest man you’ve ever had the pleasure of sharing a bed with. Of course you melt with every little thing he does.

“What is it, baby?” His index finger pushes into the seeping entrance of your cunt, just once, twice, to really get you moaning. “You like it when your boyfriend touches you?”

Something about Jeongguk referring to himself like that always gets you hot, but it’s partially because of the way he almost growls when he does it. You know it’s a turn-on for him. Know that his cock is throbbing. Know he loves calling himself yours.

Tugging on his arm, you encourage him to move on top of you. It’s late, and you should both be getting a good night's rest, but whatever. In half an hour, you’ll both be away with the fairies. If anything, this will help you fall asleep quicker.

“Thought you wanted an early night?” he husks against your lips, finishing his question with a kiss that lasts far longer than any words spoken. His firm lips part yours as your legs wrap around his hips as they grind up against yours.

“And I thought you said whoever speaks about fucking your ass next loses?” You smile against his lips, knowing that he definitely must have a twisted idea of what punishment is. “How is this losing?”

“We never set out terms,” he reminds you, unable to stop himself from kissing you between sentences. “But maybe it's not about losing. Maybe it’s about winning.”

“Okay?” You entertain his flirt, giggling between those kisses he just can’t seem to stop giving you. “So what are you winning?”

He pretends to give it thoughtful consideration. Squints his eyes and looks away as if contemplating one of life's great questions. Why are we here? What is the point of life? How do I want my girlfriend to make me cum tonight?

Jeongguk presses a kiss to your neck, nose nudging against your skin. He’s feline-like. Purry. Pathetic. Just how you like him.

“You haven’t sucked me off in a while,” he whispers, teeth nipping at your earlobe. Your hand laces in his hair, a soft moan humming from your lips. There’s a softness to the slow movements of your bodies. A comfort. A desperation. Unadulterated devotion. “So maybe that?”

You laugh at his shamelessness. Press a kiss to his temple, still scratching at his scalp. “I gave you a blowjob, like, two days ago, baby.”

“I know,” he whines like a wounded puppy, all docile and dejected. “It’s been so long I might die.”

“Hmm?” You hum in response, pushing on his waist ever so slightly until he gets the message to roll onto his back. He does as he's told, because he really is just a puppy dog beneath it all. Well-trained and desperate for a treat.

Following the movements of his body, you naturally ease into position on top of him. Legs straddled either side of his waist, you raise yourself up into a seated position, earning you a grunt of approval from Jeongguk. 

The way his hands immediately reach up to play with your chest is curious, considering he still plays himself off as an ass guy. Strong with his movements, he grips the softness of your tits, his hips gently pulsing up against you.

“These might help prolong my life expectancy,” he says. “Best stress balls known to man.”

He seems quite content like this. Eyes closed, a smile hangs off his lips like he’s in a serene state of bliss. You cock your brow, unable to fight a smile, too. 

“Did you just call my tits… balls?”

One of his eyes cracks open. “No?”

“You definitely did.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did—”

“Byeol,” he reprimands your diversion of the topic. “C’mon. Business, baby.”

“Is that all I am to you, huh?” You say, reaching for his wrist so that you can pull your hairband from it. He lets you do so and looks on with salacious curiosity as you begin to tie your hair up in a ponytail. “Just a transaction?”

“Mhmm,” he nods, his own hair tangling against his pillow as he does so. “A bird for a bird, remember?”

“Are we not past the point of the birds?”

“Well, yeah,” he says as if it’s totally obvious. “Thought we were gonna do a plane?”

Jeongguk’s reference back to the paper planes that he crafted in your bedroom makes your heart seize. You know what he means by that. Knows that it’s permission, in a way. That he wants what you want, even if he doesn’t outwardly say it.

“Are we?”

“Well we’re not gonna do anything if you keep up with the small talk,” he fondly teases you, pulling you back down so your chest is against his. One of his hands wraps itself in your ponytail and tugs ever so gently. A soft moan escapes your lips, much to his enjoyment. “I like your hair like this.”

In all honesty, he just likes being able to pull on it. Loves your hair no matter how it’s done. 

“You’ll like it even more in a few minutes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw before you embark on your journey south. 

It’s intrinsic, how you work his body. A routine so well learned it’s not even given a second thought anymore. You know how to make him tick. The way he groans when you press pretty kisses down his collarbones and the way his hips roll when you drag the pink of your tongue over his pebbled nipples.

His hand clutches in your hair, keeping you in that position, encouraging you to pay a little extra attention to his nipples for a change. It’s not often that he wants too much focus on his chest, but he’s so turned on that even the slightest touch is making him go feral. 

“Shit,” he hisses when your teeth gently press down around his nipple before you suck it ever so gently. “You’re so fuckin’ good at that.”

He’s never cared for it before. In all honestly, he actively didn’t like it when previous partners did it. There’s something about you that subverts all his desires. You’ve changed him. Altered his understanding of his body. Opened him up to so much more than he’d ever considered before.

Still, you’ve got an agenda, and unfortunately for him, it doesn’t involve his chest. He lets you move down, one hand lazily hanging by your head, the other resting over his chest. His thumb strokes over his pebbled nipple, still wet from your tongue, the pleasure of your touch sending him into a state of ecstasy.

Your body shuffles down, and you both reposition yourselves. No longer are you straddling, but rather you’re between his legs. His thighs are dappled in kisses from you, before your palms rest flat to his inner thighs, spreading him just right.

Alternating between slow kisses and languid drags of your tongue, you teeter ever so close to his thick, solid cock, but never quite touch it. Every time you get close, he whines, cock twitching.

There’s a satisfaction to be found in the way his body responds to your touch. His desperation is painful. Visceral. All he wants is you. 

And because you can’t bear to see him in pain (whether or not because he’s so turned on he might just die), you concede. Give him what he wants. 

Hands on his thighs, you let a little spit pool on your tongue before slowly dragging the tip of your tongue up his shaft.

“Fucking hell,” he curses, writhing from the contact.

You smile, and the lightness of your breath against the wet streak of your tongue makes him shiver. 

The tip of his cock is already leaky with precum, his eagerness to be inside you so pathetically obvious. You avoid it, instead opting to repeat your previous moves. Slowly, you lick up his fat length, tongue flat as can be. You want him to feel as much of you as he can. Want him whining— begging —for your pussy.

If the precum seeping from his tip is a sign of desperation, then heaven only knows what the fuckin’ mess between your legs is. Every stroke of your tongue against him only serves to make you want him just as badly as he wants you.

Your hand reaches to wrap around his shaft, gently stroking his foreskin. Your tongue flicks against the base of his tip, right where you know he’s the most sensitive. 

It’s no surprise when his grip on your ponytail tightens. 

But it is a surprise when he lets go. 

“Hm?” You chirp, looking up, just to make sure he’s all good.

He is—he just isn’t looking at you to confirm it. Instead, his upper body twists ever so slightly as he reaches for his bedside drawer. 

You know it’s got a host of indecent artifacts—his sex toys, condoms, polaroids of you that are for his eyes only—but don’t give it much thought. Figure maybe he’s after a condom to make himself last longer, until you feel him tapping at your shoulder with the side of a small plastic bottle. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

Not immediately, at least. 

What he wants is something he can’t really bring himself to ask for. Hopes that you’ll work it out for yourself. 

As you take the bottle from him, a small chirp echoes from your throat, as if you’re asking for clarification. Again, Jeongguk hopes you’ll work it out. That he won’t have to shamelessly tell you what he desperately wants, cock twitching and leaking precum on his stomach.

The way you pause as you study the bottle, trying to read the text in the dim light of Jeongguk’s room, only adds to his apprehension—until he hears a soft smile exhaling from your lips when you realise exactly what it is: lube .

Never usually required, thanks to the fact Jeongguk makes you resemble a waterfall from just a look in your direction, you know the lube isn’t for you. It’s for him. 

And given the state of conversations around sex over the past week or so, you know what he’s asking for.

After all, he’s the one who wrote that damn airplane in the first place. Told you straight up that he liked ass play way back in the days of the sticky notes (some of which remain on his wall, yet to be conquered).

His drawer only really has his things in it, though. You’ve not got any of your toys at his place. This is a preliminary. A follow-up, almost, to the night spent in the Min’s garden, doing things that probably scared a few dozen nocturnal animals.

“Yeah?” You encourage, lips pressing to his upper thigh. His body adjusts ever so slightly, as if he’s shy. Your hand wraps around his shaft, slowly rolling his foreskin up and down his length in just the right way to get his hands gripping his sheets. 

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” he rasps through the pleasure of having you touch him. “Just want you to do it.”

“Talk about what?” You tease, ‘cause there’s no way he’ll actually enjoy what he’s asking for if he keeps being this uptight about it all. Relaxation is key.

“B,” he groans, this time out of frustration—and so you know you need to be the one to take the lead.

It just doesn’t feel right to take the lead, knowing he’s a little bit tense. You’ve always been so clear and consistent with each other when it comes to consent, and while you know what he wants, you wanna hear him say it first. 

So you leave the bottle of lube next to his thigh and clamber up his body. Legs straddling his waist, you’re pleased that his hands come to stroke your thighs without a second thought. Conversely, your hands softly hold his cheeks, bringing him in for half a dozen pretty little kisses.

“Words are important. I’m not gonna be crude about it,” you tell him, ‘cause it makes a change to the way you joke around with one another. “I just love you, and I want to make you feel good.”

Jeongguks nose nudges back up against yours, as if to plead for more kisses (of which you give him, willingly).

“I love you more,” he argues into your lips, earning a giggle from you that somehow melts all of his worries away. 

“Chess is always an option,” you remind him, but he shakes his head.

“Just… Fucking hell,” he groans as if it’s some sort of laborious task he really can’t be bothered to see through, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s just embarrassed. It’s all rather cute. Or at least it is until he continues. “Just finger my ass.” 

He bashfully half whimpers, half laughs, and then adds a pouty, “Please.”

A smile sinks into your lips, and the way he seems almost shy makes your tummy feel all funny. He’s disastrously cute like this. 

“I’ll make you feel so good,” you promise, lips brushing against his ear.

He nods. Knows you will. Lets his hands stroke up and down your back, bringing them around to cup your boobs. Squeezes. Smiles. Can’t resist himself when he questions, “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” You nod, pulling back to sit upright just for his viewing pleasure. His hands are still holding your tits, gently caressing. He’ll never not love the sight of this. Of you. Of the way you respond to his touch. 

“C’mere,” he grunts, pulling you back down, ‘cause he can’t let you go just yet. Your hands grip onto his bedframe as his lips eagerly latch onto one of your nipples. One of your hands drops to tangle in his smooth hair, a pretty little moan escaping your lips.

He takes it as a sign he’s doing something right. Switches up his sucking motion to flick his tongue against your hardened bud. Get you moaning all over again, the position of your legs spread over his waist, letting him know just how pleased you are to have him like this.

And while Jeongguk might have been asking you for favours, all he can think about is returning them.

Tapping on your ass, he’s a little breathless as he lets go of his latch on your nipple, and husks, “Up, baby. On my face. You before me.”

“Hm?” you languidly hum—not because you don’t know what he means, but because it goes against what he was asking for just minutes earlier.

Still, Jeongguk doesn’t care to explain his thought process (mainly because he doesn’t have one (he just likes having you in his mouth in any and all capacities)). Instead, he just continues tapping your ass until you get the message.

“You’re so impatient,” you lightly scold him while you do as he requests, but barely have time to position yourself before his arms are hooking over your legs, pulling your pussy to his mouth. “Oh fuck.”

He wastes no time suctioning his lips around your clit. He doesn’t care to be quiet about it. Eats you like it’s his last fuckin’ supper. Laps up against you. 

It’s not just his tongue, though. It’s like he wants his whole fuckin’ face in your cunt. His nose rubs up against your clit, while his tongue greedily licks your entrance. There’s no such thing as perfect, but the way he’s proportioned is as close as it gets, you think. Your hips grind, a hand tangled in his hair, the way you both move entirely primal. 

Hands squeezing at your ass, he encourages your movements. Wants you all over his face. Loves nothing more than being coated in you. 

His tongue begins to focus now, though. He positions himself just right. Flicks against your clit at such a speed it’s hard to comprehend—and then he’s moaning. Vibrating against you. Delivering a sensation that could never be replicated.

“I’m close,” you rasp. Whine. Moan. “Don’t wanna cum. Not yet.”

And while he wants you to, Jeongguk knows why. Knows you wanna fuck him. Knows you wanna cum around his cock instead of on his face. Multiple orgasms have never been an issue, but it is late. You do need a somewhat early night. 

He nods, easing up his tongue, slowly sucking on your clit. The movements of his head as he sucks only serve to make you feel like you might cum regardless, so you shakily (and regretfully) pull away. 

When you reposition yourself, he pulls you against his lips for the messiest, most obscene kiss possible. It’s all tongue, and little else. The taste of your cunt. The sweetness of his whines. The filth of how much he loves sinning with you. 

There's nobody else he could be like this with. Only you. Only ever you.

Straddled over his hips, you grind gently, his thick cock perfectly snug between your lips. Wet and swollen, they feel like silk against him. Jeongguk knows, given the chance, that he’d be able to cum like this. Easy.

That’s not what he wants, though, so you retrace your steps. Sink back down. Don’t fuck around this time. Instead, you take him in your mouth without hesitation. Return the favour he’s just bestowed upon you.

Head bobbing up and down his fat length, your hand wraps around the base of his cock. Pulling back, you spit against him, using your hand to spread it, gaining momentum. Loose with your grip, you focus on the tip of his sensitive cock, jerking him until he’s whining. Whimpering.

And then, you let your tongue stroke against his balls. 

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, his hips pulsing beneath you.

It’s all the approval you need for your hand to get a little tighter, and for your lips to take one of his balls in your mouth. It’s a sensation Jeongguk fuckin’ loves, if done right—and of course, you know how to do it perfectly for him. 

You take his ecstasy as a chance to move things along. Know he’s feeling good. Know he wants more. 

Pulling back, you sit on your heels. Neither of you speak, but Jeongguk does slowly nod when he sees you reaching for the bottle of lube next to his body. Trepidation hangs in the air. This territory is uncharted, and it’s been a little while since you last ventured so far south—but you’ve got a roadmap. Know the way. Even if you didn’t, you like to think intuition would guide you, regardless.

Warming it a little bit in your hands, you’re slow. Cautious. Careful, knowing that he’s probably feeling a little more vulnerable than usual.

Hands slick with the gel, you wrap a palm around his shaft. Ease him into the feeling. It’s not like it’s a new sensation, but the pair of you rarely ever use lube. You’re always wet enough. He nods. Lets his eyes close as your other hand gently massages against his balls.

A little further south, you venture. He’s not a stranger to your tongue against his taint, but your fingers are less frequent. He's not as well acquainted with the sensation, but he likes it. Legs spreading a little further, Jeongguk makes himself available for you. 

Smiling at just how cute he looks, you’re a curious mix of enamoured and outrageously turned on. Just like nobody could ever make him feel the way you do, nobody could ever make you feel the way he does. 

“You’re so hot,” you tell him, gently wanking his cock as two of your fingers stroke up and down his taint. You apply a little more pressure. Replace his bashful smile with a wanting gasp.

Slick with lube, you let your middle finger go lower. Slowly, you press against his rim. Watch him closely as his brows furrow. There’s that look of desperation once more, and the assurance that yes, he wants this. Wants you. 

You count in your head. 1, 2, 3… make sure he doesn’t stop moving his hips. If anything, he’s edging himself down. Encouraging you to apply more pressure. 

And so you do. Slowly, eyes trained on his pretty, pathetic face, you push your middle finger against his tight hole, until the muscle eases.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, the penetration of a single finger overwhelmingly pleasurable for him. His eyes flicker open, landing on yours as your finger begins to curl ever so gently. Just a little. Just enough.

Chest heaving, Jeongguk looks beautiful in a way that’s hard to put into words—and when you slowly pull out, he looks ruined in a way that’s also hard to comprehend.

His lips hang slack, chest heaving as his eyes burn into you like the heat of a thousand stars. Face dewy with sweat, hair sticks to his forehead, the storminess of his gaze quickly triggers a whirlpool within your stomach. There’s a neediness to him as he swallows back a breath, lips coming together so that he can lick them, before his pout forms that pretty little o-shape once more.

Breathless as he speaks, Jeongguk rasps, “Again.”

The corner of your lips twitch into a smirk. “Yeah, babe?”

“Yeah,” he pathetically nods, fucked out but somehow still painfully desperate for more. Of course he is, though. It’s you. No one gets him like this. No one ever will. His brows furrow together, his tongue flicking against the silver hoops in the corner of his mouth, as his eyes drop to his pathetically weeping cock. He’s so hard. So keen. So needy—and what he needs right now is you. “Please, B. More.”

You tease against his entrance, applying just enough pressure to make him gasp. It’s like a reward, to hear him like this. As if you’ve done something truly remarkable.

Your other hand wraps around the base of his cock, adding to the electricity surging through him. He reaches down. Wraps his hand around yours. Encourages you. Wants more. Needs more. And so you give him more.

Finger pushing into his tight entrance, you’re slow. Painfully so, though you aren’t causing any actual pain. Jeongguk just wants you to hit that spot. 

“Yeah?” You check in.

Breathless, nodding his head even though his eyes are closed, he says, “Yeah.”

Your finger curls. Strokes. Searches. Finds.

And Jeongguk moans in a way you don’t think you’ve ever heard before. It’s a whimper, almost. A plea. Or rather, a confession, maybe.

Your hands work in tandem, your finger stroking right against the spot that makes him whine, while your other hand strokes him in tempo. He’s stimulated in a way he isn’t used to. In a way he never really thought was possible. 

There’s a vulnerability that comes with penetration. Far easier to fuck someone than it is to get fucked.

When he looks down towards you, it's like looking through a telescope; galaxies in his big brown eyes. Wide and wanting, he'll give you all the stars in his eyes, no questions asked, no fee charged.

It’s when your head dips to press wet kisses against his taint that his whines really begin to get desperate. Has always loved your mouth. Loves it when it does things it shouldn’t. 

A girl like you shouldn’t have your nose pressed to a ballsack or her tongue mere millimetres away from an asshole, but the way you focus on delivering him pleasure would suggest otherwise. You’re made for this. Made for him. 

It’s when you whine, though, obsessed with his body's response to you, that he really begins to get twitchy. His hips pulse ever so gently, encouraging the movements of both hands.

“Yeah?” you breathlessly whisper, smirking at how a man so strong is just absolute putty in your hands. “You fucking yourself with my hands, huh?”

Jeongguk is beyond the point of pride. Has no need for dignity. Just wants to feel good.

“Yeah,” he admits between desperate breaths. “Gonna make me cum so fuckin’ hard.” 

Everything is moving in the same chaotic rhythm: his chest, his beating heart, his pulsing hips. Jeongguk’s cock is twitching, the sensation of you massaging his prostate taking him closer and closer to the point of release. He isn’t gonna last, and you don't want him to. 

Your hand grips even tighter around the base of his cock, the stimulation impossible to fight against. There’s only so much he can take.

“B,” he whines. “Oh, fuck.”

“Cum for me,” you tell him, not even caring for your lost orgasm from earlier. He can make it up to you later. You keep the pace of your finger consistent, but wank him off faster. He whimpers and he writhes, but he doesn’t ease up. “C’mon, baby. Show me how good I make you feel, yeah?”

If there’s one thing that drives him wild, it’s when you call him sweet little names. 

“Please, baby,” you beg, because you know just the right buttons to press. His hands grip his bed sheets, eyes struggling to stay open. He’s seconds away from death, or so it feels. A little death, at least. His legs begin to twitch. The onslaught of what is about to happen is unmistakable. “That’s it, baby,” you coo. “Show me how good it feels.”

“B,” he tries to speak, but can’t. All he can do it succumb to the pleasure. Whine. Mewl. Moan.

And then it’s happening; the evidence of how fucking good you are for him painting his abdomen. His cock is pathetic as it spurts ropes of thick, hot cum onto his belly. White and wet, it’s never-ending. He cums and he cums; gasps and gasps. 

It’s not until he begins to twitch, chest heaving, cock spent, that you withdraw from him. Immediately, you gently begin to trail your tongue across his hard abs, cleaning up the evidence of how much he likes having you in his ass. You're keeping his secrets. Promising you'll never tell a soul.

“Shit,” he curses, all breathless and fucked out, one arm over his chest, while his other hand reaches down to stroke the side of your head. “Fuck.”

Giggling now, you clamber up to join him, and Jeongguk cares not for the fact your cum is still on your tongue. In fact, he deliberately stokes his against yours, swapping the evidence of his pleasure between you both. Moaning into your lips, he’s spent in a way he never has been before. 

“God, I love you,” he whines into your mouth. Gets needy all over again. “You know that, huh? You know how much I love you?”

With a bashful nod, you find yourself giggling. “You know I know.”

“Good,” he nods, pulling away to face the ceiling, eyes closed, trying to get a little breath back. You snuggle into him, all rather sweetly considering what you’ve just done. “‘Cause I do. And I mean it. You’re literally, like, the love of my life.”

“Who knew all it would take was a little ass play to get your saying such soppy shit,” you tease him, pressing a kiss against his chest. “Should have done this months ago.”

He laughs now, too. “Just cause I didn’t say it back then doesn’t mean I didn’t think it.”

The pair of you descend into a comfortable warmth, giggling and joking, until you get up to wash yourself up a little. Jeongguk protests. Says he needs to return the favour—but ultimately agrees to wait until the morning. 

“Need to sleep at some point, babe,” you tell him as you both meander to the bathroom. Jeongguk makes a mental note to get a place with an en-suite when he moves out. In a pair of boxers, he watches you fondly as you wash your hands in the bathroom sink, all love drunk and bleary-eyed.

You’re in one of his shirts, and it drapes over your body in a way that it would never drape over him. He likes it better on you. In fact, he likes most things in his life better with the addition of you.  Thinks life would be impossible, if he were ever to lose you. 

“I think I’d die, yanno,” he mindlessly says, watching you plait your hair to stop it from tangling in the night. “If we ever broke up or weren’t together, I’d think I’d just die.”

You laugh, because it’s absurd. Both the concept of dying of a broken heart, and the idea that you would ever break up. 

“Don’t speak it into existence, then,” you tease. “It’s a full moon, Gguk. Can’t be manifesting things like that on a night like this.”

“I’m not,” he assures you, because if anything, he’s trying to do the opposite. Not once does he think to tell you that the full moon has nothing to do with it, or some other belittling remark about believing in the stars, like you know most guys would. Why would he though? A star is the closest thing he knows to religion, and he’s looking at it right now.

“Well, good,” you hum, turning to face him, hair now secure. “Let's just agree to not break up, and that way you won’t die.”

“Sounds good,” he sleepily smiles, tugging on your hand, guiding you back to his bedroom. 

It’s a ridiculous conversation for a ridiculous concept. 

Or at least, in the warmth of lust-drunk night, it is.

In the cold light of day, stark and sterile, everything has the potential to change. 

After all, bad decisions are your forte, are they not?

[romanoffsbish]

Who Are You People?!

Yelena Belova x F!R (Platonic)

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Yelena had a tendency to bring home strays, and it had always bothered you, until one day it didn’t. WC: 1,929

Request(via dm): “could you do a imagine where Yelena keeps bringing home random animals and even people and drives the reader up the wall” | I gave it a cute little romance spin

Yelena had a tendency to miss signs. Trained as she may be, with the discipline to prove it, she just never was much for understanding the social norms. So, you had learned to adapt—after that first night as roomies, when she told you everything she’d done and been you hadn’t much of a choice. There was no such thing as a filter, she believed in open conversations, which didn’t bother you. It was her belief in the open doors that did.

——

The first time you came home to one of her eccentric guests you were startled into losing your groceries. A frown befell your face as the soy milk box spewed its contents on the floor along with the yolks of your eggs.

Fanny, as you’ve learned to know, and love her as, was there to lick up the mess. After she’d finished licking your cheek in a rushed greeting, she’d disposed of your hard earned money in the form of the wasted food.

Yelena had apologized, and for some odd reason you believed she took the hint after the entire ordeal.

Then you came home a week later to find her nowhere, but your house sure wasn’t empty. Five woman in various positions all looked up at you with fierce eyes. One of them raised her arm, and the loud whirring told you all you needed to know. These were widows, and the pain you were about to feel would be hellish.

“Oksana, put your arm down, this is just Y/N,” your roommate admonished her friend with the black hair, “Honestly cyka, you should be able to see she is of no real threat, or have you lost touch with your eyes?”

Then the blonde turned to you with a genuine smile, as if she didn’t nearly get you fried, then call you weak. “Would you like to join us for game night Y/N/N?”

You sighed harshly through your nose, tempering the anger you felt for the sake of your new friend’s heart. She was strong, but you could also tell she was soft, and breaking her spirit for her lack of social understanding, at no fault of her own, would be cruel.

“Sorry Lena, but I have to be up early,” you lied, and gave the girl a quick hug before heading upstairs to your room where you enjoyed the needed solitude.

Occurrences like that became normal, the random game nights, and the alarming amount of new animals you found yourself feeding, and faces you’d forget. Yelena trusted easily, as in, she knew that if anyone she brought home on a whim would try anything, she could handle them without even breaking a sweat.

You put up with just about everything—if she had a mission gone wrong, her stitched up field partner, a cheery girl by the name of Kate Bishop, would sleep on your couch and greet you with sudoku and breakfast.

That first meeting was terrible too, as you’d stumbled into your dark house and threw yourself on top of her. It ended quickly, with Yelena coming downstairs with a gun and you and Kate in opposite corners screaming.

Her in pain, and you in fear. You had left to bed embarrassed, and woke up to laugh about it with her.

You don’t mind the archer, but you would have liked a heads up. You always wanted it, but never received it, and slowly but surely a festering of resentment resided.

Everything honestly came to a head last night, when you finally agreed to spend the night in a shitty bar with your favorite coworkers. You’d let loose way beyond your limits, and as you were rushed into the house by a equally drunk friend all you wanted was to make yourself a mug of tea, grab a snack, and sleep.

Yet when you went to make yourself something you found that your tea was used up, the kitchen was a mess of wasted food and dishes, and Yelena’s strangers were all asleep around the place, one even in your bed.

“Yelena!” The blonde cringed from her place on the balcony, where she stood with a dying bud in her hand. She hoped you’d go home with a friend, or a stranger of your own, so that she would have been able to clean up the mess that had occurred from a party gone bad.

You never told her to stop, but she always saw in your eyes that you didn’t trust her process of friend making. The truth was the blonde just liked the freedom to choose. No one could tell her the man with the eye patch on the corner was bad news, and make her stop talking to him. He told her stories about his life as a young man, and how it ended him here, she believed that no one was undeserving of sharing their stories.

Still, she felt guilty for letting these friends inside to trash your place. Kenny was never meant to be in your room, let alone be allowed to sleep, but she was just too drunk an hour ago to care about removing him.

You waited with your arms crossed for her to join you in the kitchen, and when she entered you let loose. “Yelena, I do not care who you keep as company, but for the love of God never let them in my bed again, give me a heads up from now on, and keep the place tidy!”

The blonde blinked a few times, having expected your tirade to be more venomous, but she appreciated that it wasn’t. You were clearly mad, but you weren’t rude.

“Okay, I’m sorry you can have my room tonight, and I promise everyone will be gone by morning Y/N.”

After that conversation she seemed to understand that just letting anyone in, without at least a heads up, was poor etiquette, which wouldn’t fly. The blonde strived to be the best roommate, she once told you she would be so good that they’d have to give her the crown for it.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her it would never happen, actually, you had the big heart that led to you leaving an emerald bejeweled crown for her on the counter one morning. The childlike smile she wore was enough to keep you from regretting it when she wore it all day and made you read the congratulations they’d (you’d) left for her. It made you feel warm inside to be able to help the former assassin heal her inner child.

But now, as you stood before a stunning woman in nothing but a raggedy shirt and old white, cotton panties you were feeling that regret return and double.

When you went to sleep last night you were once again not informed to be prepared for strangers in the form of guests. In Yelena’s defense though she wasn’t exactly expecting this one, so she rushed out the door with an excited Fanny and whispered to her sister to keep it quiet so you could sleep off your night out on the town.

Unfortunately, the sound of the front door closing was enough to rouse you, your eyes opened and a groan slipped passed your lips as the bright sun beamed into your face mockingly. After a moment of calm you felt a headache burning behind your arm covered eyes, so you headed down the stairs to get to your kitchen for a cup of water so that you could take an Advil and crash.

“I, um, I’m sorry,” you managed to squeak out, and in an embarrassed rush you turned on your feet, but before you could even move up a step you were halted.

“Hey,” she rasped, and watched in amusement as your spine shivered before her very eyes. “There’s no need to apologize darling, this is your house after all. I’m sorry to have barged in, but I needed somewhere to lay low for a while. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

Your stomach swirled with aroused tension, the pet name, the gritty tone of her voice, and the intense look in her eyes had you going weak in the knees. It showed as you stumbled down the last two steps and skirted to a stop just before her. “No, it’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting company is all. I’d have gotten dressed.”

Natasha was suave with the way she pushed your bodies together, using the wall to keep you trapped against her, and unable to avoid her temptations. It was only a breaths time for you to find yourself there.

“I can assure you honey,” her hand fell to your thigh and your heart raced incessantly. “I don’t mind.”

“I don’t either,” you admitted, but felt too seen so you continued on, “That you stay here, to lay low, that is.”

“Oh,” she teased, with the lightness in her voice, “I’m so glad to hear that, because we will have the chance to get to know each other better. Maybe we’ll even…”

You wanted to know what might be, but fate decided to leave that for another day as the door flew open and Yelena shrieked, “Oh my god, no, Fanny girl cover your eyes!” You looked over in confusion. “Natasha, unhand my roommate now!” The redhead rolled her eyes, and stepped back with a smirk as you whined at her loss.

You hadn’t a chance to protest—or even say goodbye, as Yelena reached for her sister’s hand and pulled her away, fighting with her in their mother tongue.

“Chto s toboy ne tak.”

(What the fuck is wrong with you?)

“Mne? chto s toboy ne tak?! ona velikolepna, i ty derzhal yeye ot menya”

(me? what's wrong with you?! she is gorgeous and you kept her from me)

“Ona zapreshchena, Natal'ya”

(she is off limits, Natalia)

“Eto ne to, chto skazali yeye glaza.”

(that's not what her eyes said)

The door slammed and you didn’t even flinch, too busy daydreaming about the moments prior. And for the first time since Yelena had become your very own (craigslist found) roommate you didn’t mind the thought of getting to see one of her guests again; Natasha had made her mark on you in record time.

——

That night, Yelena came back with her head low, and elder sister in tow. The redhead smiled triumphantly as she winked at you, your nervous gaze fell, and in her hands laid a sleeping kitten. “Y/N, meet Liho…”

You chuckled in amusement, and scooped the kitten up and settled her into your lap. “What’s so funny detka?”

“It’s just,” you stifled another rude laugh. “Yelena’s strays have never brought one of their own before.”

Natasha took a second to process your tease as she sat beside you, eventually she leaned forward, her chin resting on your tense shoulder. “I am more so a lone wolf type, no one’s stray. I plan on sticking around for a while too, so I hope you don’t make it a habit of being so bare in front of my sister, save that for me instead.”

“Also,” she scooped the sleeping kitten up and onto her shoulder, “Liho is no longer a stray, she is a house cat.”

Yelena settled beside you, frowning, “I’m sorry Y/N…”

“Don’t be,” you shrugged her off, and patted her knee before you followed the trail of her sisters upstairs.

Yelena huffed, and snuggled into her Akita’s fur. “This is why I prefer dogs to people. They are so overrated.”

——

R (for real)

[thewisaaaaad]

Hnng. I. I GOT AnOTHER FhUCKING COTL AU

Ok so.

Game goes as normal, but the lamb decides to give themselves up to Nari at the end. Naturally, they get no choice in the matter and are forced to kill him, because the crown demands its proper bearer.

And I mean kill-kill him. Hes dead.

Of course, the lamb is NOT OK WITH THIS. So, they look for a way to bring him back. And good ol' mystic seller gives them an out.

The lamb basically throws all caution to the wind, and decides to take the ritual offered. With the sacrifice of four crowns, along with the end of their own now divine life, they send their soul back in time to prevent this tragedy.

Exept they go WAY farther back than they meant to. They end up born into a sheep family under the name Una, and grow up as a extremely gifted child, the pride of the town, but one who finds solace well away from their adoring family and neighbors. To the lamb, all these people are practically strangers.

But there's no sign of Narinder. In fact, there's no sign of the bishops, either. Until one evening, at the charming age of 14, their daily alone time in the forest is interrupted by a familiar three eyed cat.

Narinder had never had a family. Black cats were already considered bad luck after a black cat hat wronged the rabbit god, never mind the fact that his eyes were blood red and that he had three of them. He spent his early years in an orphanage after he was abandoned, and then on the run after a series of horrible accidents were blamed on him. The only solace he could take was with the mysterious sheep in his dreams, who only praised him, and loved him.

And now that sheep sat right in front of him, and looked as happy to see him as he felt about them.

It was too good to be true. But for a few years, it was exactly that good. Uni seemed to know him well, and brought him food every day. No longer did he have to steal food or dig through trash, they even made sure that he had good sleeping arrangements, bringing him blankets and a simple tent.

But as always in his life, tragedy struck again. Someone was murdered in the village, and of course they blamed the beast in the woods. He didn't know they were searching for him until a strange wolf tried to cut his head off with a axe. He lived, but something far worse happened.

The hand that had grabbed his wrist had began to decay violently. The stranger screamed as he rotted alive, skin falling off of bone before even that turned to dust. A few seconds of horrific screeching later, and all that was left of his assailant was a pile of ash and decay.

He couldn't let them see this. They would call him a monster, just like they all did. And they would be right. They had said he was just their friend, but he was a monster, cursed like all those people before had told him he was.

Luck, as always, was not on his side. Moments later, before he found the strength to move again, Una broke through the bush. They saw the rotting remains of the man, the fallen axe beside it.

And they didn't call him a monster. They sighed, stepped around the body, a stuffed pack slung over a shoulder. They reached for his arm, and he flinched away. He did not want to hurt them. But they grabbed him anyway, unharmed, and pulled him to his feet.

"We need to run. I'll help you pack."

They did not fear him. They could see what happened, and they wanted to protect him. Why?

Couldn't they see he was a monster?

Pulled by the hand, he ran after Una. They seemed to know where they were going, so he trusted them.

But they were intercepted by the lambs father. He held a hatchet in one hand, startled to see his child with the beast.

"My daughter, what-"

And then a dagger was plunged into his throat. Uni kept running, not even looking back.

They had always said that their family never seemed to matter to them. Not like he did. Apparently, they meant that more than he realized.

They were a monster. Just like him.

And they would do anything for him.

He smiled, and ran beside them into the future.

[hard-core-super-star]

come back home (i'm afraid of disappearing) [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x reader

summary: kate comes home after a rough night out patrolling the city to find you waiting for her. despite the argument the two of you had earlier in the day, you do everything in your power to comfort your girlfriend.

warnings: mentions of an argument; small injuries [cuts and bruises]; hurt/comfort; weird metaphors; kate being a cute dork who is trying her best [and failing a little]

wordcount: 1.5k

a/n: kate bishop deserves all the hugs in the world. send tweet. title is a loose translation of a lyric from torna a casa by måneskin [apologies for the sudden ending, it's cute though?]

* * * * * * *

The sound of the front door slamming shut wakes you from your slumber. You wipe the sleep from your eyes as you wait to hear your girlfriend's footsteps coming into the living room.

A few minutes go by without any sign of her so you slowly get up from your spot on the couch, careful not to bother the golden retriever lounging next to you. Your steps are soft as you make your way toward the kitchen, assuming Kate stopped to get a drink of water before changing out of her Hawkeye suit.

You can't help but let out a small gasp once you finally find her leaning against the fridge, her suit battered and torn.

Her eyes snap open when she hears you and you can clearly see every ounce of fear she usually keeps hidden deep inside of herself on her features. “y/n? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” you answer softly. “Guess I'm the one who got the surprise, huh?”

The humor in your tone seems to go unnoticed by her and you watch as the dam behind her eyes breaks. Those usually vibrant eyes you love so much turn stormy in seconds and the tears start falling before either of you can say anything.

You're in front of her in a second, your arms reaching out to comfort her without a second thought. She crumbles in front of your eyes and the sight alone breaks your heart. The feeling intensifies, however, when you finally realize what she's mumbling into the crook of your neck.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

You’re not sure if she’s apologizing for your earlier argument or for whatever happened on her late-night patrol of the city. You don’t care, either way, your worry overpowering any sense of anger you might still hold after your fight.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Katie.” Your words are soft as you run a hand through her hair.

Her tears are cold against your skin and you want nothing more than to take her pain and place it inside yourself.

You don't know how much time passes, all you know is you hold her against you until her tears dry out and her sobs die down. She's still shaking but she pulls away from you and you already know what she's going to say before she opens her mouth.

“I mean it,” you rush out before she can get a word in. “You don't have to apologize. For anything.”

Whatever protests she had die on her tongue and you thank every force you can think of for that. You take her hand in yours and gently pull her toward the bedroom. A million questions swirl around in your mind but you force them away, choosing to focus on your girlfriend instead.

You lead her over to the bed and help her sit. “How bad is it?”

“I’m f-”

“Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, do not lie to me.”

Her eyes widen slightly, both from your tone and the fact that you just full-named her. She stares at you, the remnants of her tears shining against her skin. “It's not that bad…I've been through worse.”

You assume the words are supposed to be reassuring but her tone doesn't match. For the first time since you met her, she seems defeated. Like she's finally been crushed under the weight she carries on her shoulders every day.

You feel like you should say something but there are no words to describe what you're feeling so you settle your attention on the cuts scattered along her face. “You're bleeding.”

You attempt to move away from her to get the first-aid kit but she reaches out to grab your wrists. She pulls you close before you can get too far, looking up at you while you stand between her legs. “I don't care about that. I care about you…about us.”

“Kate...” Your voice is as soft as ever as you reach out to cup her face with your hands, your eyes searching for the familiar depths of her eyes. “Was this because of our argument?”

She gives you a small nod, a few new tears slipping down her face. “I just…I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

A part of you thinks you should be angry with her for being so reckless but you can’t be. Not when she’s looking at you with such pain, such vulnerability, in her features. You don’t know what she needs but you know you’d do everything in your power to help her. You’d steal the moon and the stars from the sky if it would make her smile.

“You do realize you proved me right…?”

The corners of her mouth lift up the slightest bit at your words. “I do, yeah. That almost hurt more than the punch to the face.”

“You’re an idiot.” You shake your head, a small chuckle falling from your lips. Despite the heaviness of the situation, you’re happy to see her smiling again.

“But you love me.”

There's a hidden insecurity to her words that most people wouldn't catch.

But you're not like most people.

"I do," you reply softly. "I love you…no matter how big of an idiot you are sometimes."

The little grin on her face grows until it's a full-blown smile and the sheer amount of beauty it radiates leaves you speechless for a few seconds. You wipe away her remaining tears with your thumbs, your eyes scanning her face again.

"I'm okay." She turns her head to the side and gives the inside of your wrist a tiny kiss. "You're cute when you're worried."

"Then I must be cute all the time."

She gives you a small nod, her eyes glued to your face. “You are. You're incredible. I don't deserve you.”

“Don't say that-”

“I almost lost you, y/n. Over a stupid argument I should’ve never started. I'm an idiot who doesn't deserve you."

There are a thousand words on the tip of your tongue but they all feel insufficient when compared to the way your heart beats when you're around Kate. You could round up all the poets in the world and have them all write a thousand different poems about what you feel for your girlfriend and it still wouldn't be enough.

So, instead, you lean down and capture her lips in a soft kiss.

Her arms wrap around your waist and she guides you onto her lap without breaking the kiss. You pour all the feelings you can’t put into words into the kiss. All your fear, all your worry, but most importantly, all your love.

You pull away from her to catch your breath. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you speak again. "You're not going to lose me, Katie."

"You mean that? Even after what I said?"

You're reminded of your earlier argument once again and you can't hide the frown that makes its way onto your face. "We both said things we didn't mean."

"Yeah, but I was a total jerk. You were just looking out for me and I lashed out at you." Her voice cracks under the weight of her emotions.

"It's okay," you reassure her, your thumb drawing soft circles onto her cheek. "I promise we're okay."

She doesn't say anything in response, she just leans in to kiss you again. You let her pull you as close as possible while you enjoy the feeling of being back in your girlfriend's arms after the day you've both had.

There's nowhere else you'd rather be right now.

“You’re wrong, by the way," you mumble against her lips. "you deserve the world.”

“Well…” She trails off, the subtlest of smirks on her face as she pulls back to look into your eyes. “You’re my world.”

You shake your head at her while she laughs, the sound filling you with nothing but love for the archer. “Smooth, Bishop.”

“I love you, y/n.” The humor in her tone fades away into something more sincere. “And I know I’m a reckless, stubborn, idiot but I’ll always come home to you. No matter how bad things get out there. You're my safe place, you know?”

You lean in to give her another quick kiss. “I know. You're my safe place too. I'll always be waiting for you.”

“Great!” It startles you how quickly the sadness fades from her eyes, even if there are still a few traces of it on the rest of her face. “I think I deserve some cuddles now.”

"I don't think so. I love you but you need a shower.”

She pouts but you don't give in. Determined to resist her puppy dog eyes. After a few seconds, she sighs. “Fine…but afterwards we can cuddle?”

“Yes, Katie. Shower then cuddles.”

In an instant, her strong hands grab onto your waist and she picks you up. You let out a yelp as she drops you onto the bed before running off toward the bathroom. "I'll be right back!"

"Kate!" You yell out after her, unable to stop your laughter. "I still have to clean those cuts!"

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation

Cw: blood, self flagellation, masturbation

Words: 1.7k

[A/N: extremely blasphemous, but again, you saw the tags. Please read at your own risk! (also, let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby

Playlist made by my baby Soln <3 @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Next

I.

Extra ecclesiam nulla salus. 

 There is a certain comfort in fear. When you see what awaits you at the gaping, harrowing mouth of hell, knowledge of the place you must avoid, ultimately, is power. There was a time when Viktor pitied those who did not know—those who lived despondent lives, unaware and unafraid of damnation. Recently, he had found himself wishing he knew less. 

 A ravening beast with a thousand bloody teeth, inside its mouth a cauldron, and in it the souls of the accursed with sin, boiling over scorching flames as legions of fiendish demons dragged in multitudes more. This image plagued Viktor’s mind without rest, be it vividly in his dreams, in the colossal fresco at the entrance of his local cathedral, or in the comical props onstage at the theater plays. 

 The parish clergy that had taken him in as a kid had made the mistake of noticing his outstanding intelligence and awarding him time to dedicate to studying philosophy, a privilege that many of the choir monks and lay brothers did not receive. In university, philosophy had turned into physics, and soon that turned into astronomy, which he had to keep a secret on account of the recent prohibitions put in place by Paul V’s Inquisition over the study of Copernican theories. 

 After he was ordained and returned to his home cathedral, this once silent yet innocent interest had turned into complete secrecy, and the fear of God that had once given him solace now tormented him. At times he considered giving up on his work; the mechanical objections of Copernican theory should not be of this much significance to him after all; there had to be something of value in what Thomas Aquinas had to say, and perhaps Agustine of Hippo had some good points. Nevertheless, it was the night sky that called to him, and even this far from it, he could not escape. 

 But outside the church there is no salvation , and Viktor knew that even if he was never to be condemned as a heretic in life, what awaited him in death was a flaming tomb at Epicure's side. Quod extra ecclesiam nulla salus. 

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

His parish was a pious one, but Viktor would refuse to receive lithe from the members of his church. The first time he tried this, the bishop was immediately alerted, and he was secluded to live in the small room inside the chapel as a ‘punishment’ for his impertinence. Viktor did not mind; the lands he had been previously allotted were too much to care for on his own, with cleaning being especially hard once his leg would start tiring out, and the presence of the personnel of lay brothers that would follow him around made his studies impossible; thus, the contained space of the church was comfortable to live in on his own.

 It had been a particularly cold morning. The week before, he had received word of the imminent visit of his diocesan bishop, and the impending possibility of his stay at any moment in the near future had tied his eyebrows into a permanent knot and his shoulders into a tense bundle of nerves since that morning. 

 To his dismay, the state of his works had made no decent progress, his journal being nothing more than a few numbers and three words on a painfully empty piece of parchment. He understood Latin; he had studied it at length in university, but when he took a break to read the Bible, the words on it floated around aimlessly, in a messy concoction of nothing. 

 “Per fidem enim ambulamus et non per speciem,” he repeated to himself in a whisper, and then closed the pages lethargically. 

 He read the cover of a white volume that had been lying on his desk for over a month now. He was sure he would have possibly agreed with what Foscarini had to say, so the feeling of dread he felt every time he laid eyes upon the title was mystifying to him. Though it made sense after some reflection, he was afraid. 

 When he read Copernicus, it felt distant, a world he was only a visitor in, but the Foscarini was a carmelite father, one of his own that was now nothing short of a persona non-grata in the eyes of the Roman Catholic Church. Viktor was afraid that what he had to say might make sense and that he might be so correct in his observations that this knowledge would drag him into the same status. 

 In retrospect, he should not have read it. 

 In fact, opening the cover was a big mistake on its own. Not even 3 pages in, the door of his room unceremoniously barged open, revealing the full figure of Father Isodore. Viktor and him never really got along; his time in the monastery as a kid was full of rule-breaking and inappropriate questions, and to Father Isidore’s dismay, insatiable curiosity remained Viktor’s fatal flaw well into his adulthood. 

 Not a single word was uttered as he carried his sunny disposition and rubicund complexion over to Viktor’s desk. There was no use in trying to hide what he was holding; Viktor carried the same guilty look on his face every time he did something he was not supposed to. Once a cute kid trying to hide some innocent misdeeds, his expression had grown into one of unadulterated shame and indignity in the wake of sin, and the bishop knew this all too well. The book was snatched off his hands aggressively.

“‘Epistle concerning the mobility of the earth’,” he read, “would be an interesting read if only as a piece of fiction, and perhaps in a different climate.”

“Your excellence, I eh—”

“Save it. Don’t worsen your sin by bearing false witness.”

Viktor looked down and sighed in resignation, a disappointed sadness creeping up in his throat.

“You are very much aware those texts have been forbidden, but since words seem to slide off you, I hope physical penance can remind you of your depravity,” Father Isidore said coldly as he handed Viktor the whip that usually served as no more than a piece of decoration adorning his wall. “Ten of them, and be intentional. One pater noster after each.”

“Yes, father.”

“It’s a shame; I have come to congratulate you on your work for the community. Repent. ” The emphasis on the last word punctuated his departure.

A cold feeling arose in Viktor’s stomach as he looked down at the whip, something akin to fear but also awfully comparable to excitement.

Three deep breaths are what he allowed himself; it would be better to get it over with as quickly as possible. He removed his vestments unhurriedly, only his bottoms remaining as he sluggishly kneeled by the bed, and the chilled air on his back was, in hindsight, not as bad as he thought at the moment. His hand trembled slightly when his grip on the whip tightened, and his jaw locked into a gritted grin as he sucked air in through his teeth.

The first flick of his arm was swift, like ripping away a bandage to make the pain go away as fast as your wrist could tug at it. It did not help; the feeling of the small metal beads digging into his skin was instantaneous, and it disappeared soon, but the burning that replaced it lingered.

“ Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tuum; fiat voluntas tua, sicut in cælo et in terra .”

A swarm of ants biting at the exposed skin on his back was a scorching fire.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris; et ne nos inducas in tentationem; sed libera nos a malo.”

Then it subsided, and the slight chills on his arms were due to something else. He took his time with the second hit, languidly whipping both hands back this time to maintain the same level of strength. The aching this time was different; the burning of his skin was quenched by the few droplets of blood and sweat trickling down his spine. And there was something else—a burning feeling that was misplaced not on his back or wrists but in his lower stomach.

“Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen...” He started once again, both hands holding one another around the handle of the whip, closed in prayer as he shut his eyes tightly for concentration. This proved to be fruitless when an uncomfortable tightness in the fabric around his crotch distracted his attention away from the words he was reciting. He tried to continue with his prayer, but an ill-calculated movement tugged at the tender skin of his back, and the brief sting made the already confining feeling worsen, morphing into an odd mixture of ache and delight.

He figured out what this meant soon enough. The conflicting feeling did not originate from any sort of confusion about what he was experiencing; it came with the quandary of his two options: either keep going to conclude his penalty and follow orders, or go against those orders to avoid tainting this sacred act with his depravity.

He unlaced his trousers before going for the third whip. The aching feeling on his back was almost completely gone, replaced by a numb tingling along the wounded skin and an unbearable heat in his groin. The fourth hit was one-handed. Right hand wrapping tightly along the handle and left hand mirroring the grip around his cock as he pumped himself mechanically. When the metal hit the skin, a jolt of what felt like electricity traveled all the way down to his stomach, the member on his hand twitching in anticipation.

There was no fifth hit or anything beyond that. A final tug with a firm hand and gritted teeth culminated in his climax, hot viscosity percolating through his fingers as he rested his forehead on the edge of the bed. His chest heaved up and down as he whispered a string of prayers. Shame washed over him.

“Castigo corpus meum.” He repeated incessantly until he had enough strength in his legs to stand.

[liberalsarecool]

25 years of 'thoughts and prayers'.

Thurston High School

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D H Conley High School

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Frederick Douglass High School

Forest High School

Highland High School

Dixon High School

Santa Fe High School

Noblesville West Middle School

University of North Carolina Charlotte

STEM School Highlands Ranch

Edgewood High School

Palm Beach Central High School

Providence Career & Technical Academy

Fairley High School (school bus)

Canyon Springs High School

Dennis Intermediate School

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Central Elementary School

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Davidson High School

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Altascocita High School

Central Academy of Excellence

Cleveland High School

Robert E Lee High School

Cheyenne South High School

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Blountsville Elementary School

Holmes County, Mississippi (school bus)

Prescott High School

College of the Mainland

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UNC Charlotte

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Second Chance High School

Carman-Ainsworth High School

Williwaw Elementary School

Monroe Clark Middle School

Central Catholic High School

Jeanette High School

Eastern Hills High School

DeAnza High School

Ridgway High School

Reginald F Lewis High School

Saugus High School

Pleasantville High School

Waukesha South High School

Oshkosh High School

Catholic Academy of New Haven

Bellaire High School

North Crowley High School

McAuliffe Elementary School

South Oak Cliff High School

Texas A&M University-Commerce

Sonora High School

Western Illinois University

Oxford High School

Robb Elementary SchoolThurston High School

Columbine High School

Heritage High School

Deming Middle School

Fort Gibson Middle School

Buell Elementary School

Lake Worth Middle School

University of Arkansas

Junipero Serra High School

Santana High School

Bishop Neumann High School

Pacific Lutheran University

Granite Hills High School

Lew Wallace High School

Martin Luther King, Jr High School

Appalachian School of Law

Washington High School

Conception Abbey

Benjamin Tasker Middle School

University of Arizona

Lincoln High School

John McDonogh High School

Red Lion Area Junior High School

Case Western Reserve University

Rocori High School

Ballou High School

Randallstown High School

Bowen High School

Red Lake Senior High School

Harlan Community Academy High School

Campbell County High School

Milwee Middle School

Roseburg High School

Pine Middle School

Essex Elementary School

Duquesne University

Platte Canyon High School

Weston High School

West Nickel Mines School

Joplin Memorial Middle School

Henry Foss High School

Compton Centennial High School

Virginia Tech

Success Tech Academy

Miami Carol City Senior High School

Hamilton High School

Louisiana Technical College

Mitchell High School

EO Green Junior High School

Northern Illinois University

Lakota Middle School

Knoxville Central High School

Willoughby South High School

Henry Ford High School

University of Central Arkansas

Dillard High School

Dunbar High School

Hampton University

Harvard College

Larose-Cut Off Middle School

International Studies Academy

Skyline College

Discovery Middle School

University of Alabama

DeKalb School

Deer Creek Middle School

Ohio State University

Mumford High School

University of Texas

Kelly Elementary School

Marinette High School

Aurora Central High School

Millard South High School

Martinsville West Middle School

Worthing High School

Millard South High School

Highlands Intermediate School

Cape Fear High School

Chardon High School

Episcopal School of Jacksonville

Oikos University

Hamilton High School

Perry Hall School

Normal Community High School

University of South Alabama

Banner Academy South

University of Southern California

Sandy Hook Elementary School

Apostolic Revival Center Christian School

Taft Union High School

Osborn High School

Stevens Institute of Business and Arts

Hazard Community and Technical College

Chicago State University

Lone Star College-North

Cesar Chavez High School

Price Middle School

University of Central Florida

New River Community College

Grambling State University

Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Ossie Ware Mitchell Middle School

Ronald E McNair Discovery Academy

North Panola High School

Carver High School

Agape Christian Academy

Sparks Middle School

North Carolina A&T State University

Stephenson High School

Brashear High School

West Orange High School

Arapahoe High School

Edison High School

Liberty Technology Magnet High School

Hillhouse High School

Berrendo Middle School

Purdue University

South Carolina State University

Los Angeles Valley College

Charles F Brush High School

University of Southern California

Georgia Regents University

Academy of Knowledge Preschool

Benjamin Banneker High School

D H Conley High School

East English Village Preparatory Academy

Paine College

Georgia Gwinnett College

John F Kennedy High School

Seattle Pacific University

Reynolds High School

Indiana State University

Albemarle High School

Fern Creek Traditional High School

Langston Hughes High School

Marysville Pilchuck High School

Florida State University

Miami Carol City High School

Rogers State University

Rosemary Anderson High School

Wisconsin Lutheran High School

Frederick High School

Tenaya Middle School

Bethune-Cookman University

Pershing Elementary School

Wayne Community College

JB Martin Middle School

Southwestern Classical Academy

Savannah State University

Harrisburg High School

Umpqua Community College

Northern Arizona University

Texas Southern University

Tennessee State University

Winston-Salem State University

Mojave High School

Lawrence Central High School

Franklin High School

Muskegon Heights High School

Independence High School

Madison High School

Antigo High School

University of California-Los Angeles

Jeremiah Burke High School

Alpine High School

Townville Elementary School

Vigor High School

Linden McKinley STEM Academy

June Jordan High School for Equity

Union Middle School

Mueller Park Junior High School

West Liberty-Salem High School

University of Washington

King City High School

North Park Elementary School

North Lake College

Freeman High School

Mattoon High School

Rancho Tehama Elementary School

Aztec High School

Wake Forest University

Italy High School

NET Charter High School

Marshall County High School

Sal Castro Middle School

Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School

Great Mills High School

Central Michigan University

Huffman High School

Frederick Douglass High School

Forest High School

Highland High School

Dixon High School

Santa Fe High School

Noblesville West Middle School

University of North Carolina Charlotte

STEM School Highlands Ranch

Edgewood High School

Palm Beach Central High School

Providence Career & Technical Academy

Fairley High School (school bus)

Canyon Springs High School

Dennis Intermediate School

Florida International University

Central Elementary School

Cascade Middle School

Davidson High School

Prairie View A & M University

Altascocita High School

Central Academy of Excellence

Cleveland High School

Robert E Lee High School

Cheyenne South High School

Grambling State University

Blountsville Elementary School

Holmes County, Mississippi (school bus)

Prescott High School

College of the Mainland

Wynbrooke Elementary School

UNC Charlotte

Riverview Florida (school bus)

Second Chance High School

Carman-Ainsworth High School

Williwaw Elementary School

Monroe Clark Middle School

Central Catholic High School

Jeanette High School

Eastern Hills High School

DeAnza High School

Ridgway High School

Reginald F Lewis High School

Saugus High School

Pleasantville High School

Waukesha South High School

Oshkosh High School

Catholic Academy of New Haven

Bellaire High School

North Crowley High School

McAuliffe Elementary School

South Oak Cliff High School

Texas A&M University-Commerce

Sonora High School

Western Illinois University

Oxford High School

Bridgewater University

Robb Elementary School

Michigan State University

Covenant Christian School

.

TBA

***feel free to copy and paste, then share ****

[skyartworkzzz]

COTL Headcanons ramble

Felt like sharing these in case I take a long ass time to draw it out These are still raw in my mind, so some things may change futurely or the way I explain it might not make sense BUT ALAS it is fun to ramble

SO WATCH OUT FOR THE LIST UNDER THE CUT!!

Before Narinder was banished, a feeling of mistrust was already growing amongst the siblings, and one of the reasons for such a thing involved envy (except for Shamura, I like to think they were above finding themselves lower or greater than anyone) Ever since a young age Narinder has always been a fast-learner, and quite skilled at everything he did. Gardening, fighting, cooking, strategizing, he was good. Definitely not perfect, but alarmingly good So as time went by, the Bishops grew colder with him until he eventually turned against them all, and thats where their feeling of envy turned into fear. For both of their own lives and their brother's, because that's when they realized his "flawless" abilities were always and clearly prone to turning him into the monster he then became (smtng like Anakin Skywalker if the image I have of him in my head makes any sense-) Naturally, a feeling of guilt lingers in them for not having been able to see it sooner and stop it, but as Shamura pointed out after Narinder was sealed, this was meant to happen. He was meant to be a monster, and a really good one

Aym and Baal were secretly given to Narinder by Shamura; they performed a ritual by themselves and killed the kits to send them to the Gates. When the brothers arrived, Narinder reluctantly took them in and naturally grew fond of the twins as time went by, but because they were sacrificed as offerings, Aym and Baal were half-immortal (something like the Lamb once they receive the Crown), meaning that they still had mortal needs such as eating or sleeping At the time, Ratau was serving Narinder as the bearer of the Red Crown, and amongst the rat's adventure, the god of Death eventually introduced the red chest we use to sell things for gold. He would request Ratau regularly to send in meals and fish in order to feed Aym and Baal (and I feel like a genius for coming up with why that chest exists hi-) When the kits were finally fully grown and well-trained, they ascended to Divine Guardians of TOWW and officially started serving him Despite their Ascension, Aym and Baal were never trapped into the Gates, so they were able to visit the world above but as ghosts of sorts (which means only a few ppl would be able to see them). It was through these ghostly travels that both were able to learn who their mother was and watched her from afar when not serving TOWW

The Bishops were once mortals before becoming bearers of the Crowns, a long time to ago, meaning that they likely have a life they no longer rememeber For the funs and giggles of it, I like to imagine that this "long time ago" for them was around the times animals still did not wear clothes nor knew how to speak aside from their respective noises AUHAUHASDJSD ALSO POSSIBLY LESS HUMANOID I like the thought of them looking either much more beast-like or just- tiny. Very tiny. As the animals they are AUHAJMDKADS

The Lamb doesnt know how to do SHIT aside from fighting. Im writing my Lamb as an artist in my Death After Life fic for the sake of the angst, but in actuality, they do not care about art that much. I like to think that they'd prefer small silly doodles over full-blown paintings, but if they do put in the time and effort, they manage to make smtng Mona Lisa-esque. So the skill is there, but they prefer to not use it unless for smtng specific. Its like those kinds of hobbies nobody knows u have til u make smtng CRAZY yk This also goes for cooking, except they are truly a Terrible cook, in modern AU Lambert lives off from cheap pizzas and dollar-stored cupnoodles u cannot change my min-

Leshy is the one who'd soften up the most for me. Obv still a fcking GREMLIN but I think he'd be much more considerate than his former self My guy would go from "kys /srs" to "kys /j" ALSO I like to think his and my yellow cat's love language is gifts and/or acts of service, theyre oftenly pampering each other out of the blue <3

This idea is still in the approval stages but.............Shamura remembers a bit of their pre-Bishop life. A bit. And that bit revolves around the fact that they might have known love in the past. Perhaps a romantic one, Im still not sure- Which now that I think about it would make the most sense as to why theyre so forgiving to Narinder, since the Bishop of War would probs want anything but peace with those that wronged them, unless they had a good reason not to cause havoc immediately............

[secret-smut-sideblog]

The Dove

Lavellan x Blackwall

18+ fantasy racism, death, explicit violence, implied abuse, fear, tenderness, injury, hurt/comfort, fingering (f!), oral (f!), p-in-v, unprotected sex

Using the full force of her foresight and the strife within decisions made, Celene's Grand Ball proves to be bloodstained and venomous. Leaving Vella exhausted to old and new injuries, tenderly caught by his soft love...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

-

"And now, presenting..."

Blackwall leaned low into her ear.

"If you are... underdressed under that cloak, please warn me now."

Vella slid him a teasing salacious smile.

"Grand Duke Gaspard De Chalons, and accompanying him..."

"Maker, Vella..." He sighed, giving her a knowing glare.

"Lady Inquisitor Lavellan!"

"That's my cue, take my cloak, will you?" She purred, pulling her arms behind her back. Dropping her shoulders to let the heavy fabric fall.

As she stepped forward, Blackwall's breath choked, followed by a rattled sigh. The sweetest sound to her entrance. Striding forward with dark cherry red silk trailing her silent step. Gasps of shock risen on balconies.

The dress had, naturally, been Leilana's idea.

The agreed upon silhouette of Orlesian dress was a structured bell with layered fabric and steel boned corset.

The garment that Josephine had brought to her, special made by a seamstress who must've had a terrible amount of amusement fulfilling, was all draped fabric.

Falling from her hips slick as oil, the plunging back tight to her waist and draped on the sides by bishop sleeves. Only girded by featherbone stays with rich indigo beading, matching the traditional Dalish boots that Blackwall had sewn her. The silhouette was all her, only partially hidden by the heavy drape of a shoulder cape, the red and blue of her entourages color coordinated uniform. The cape hung over her left shoulder, leaving her marked hand to only tantalizing glances.

"Nothing makes one more desirable company quite like tasteful scandal." Vivienne appraised the dress, running a finger over the high neck.

"Yes, a beautiful woman who steals the show and clearly holds thinly veiled contempt for the whole affair? They'll be staring like awestruck children." Dorian's eyes glittered with delight.

It certainly appeared to be working.

Vella strode with cold grace. This ball, this whole disgustingly ornate mansion, was beneath her, and she made little effort to hide it. Moving with the momentum of her hips. Letting uninterest carry on her face under her black blindfold.

By the time she reached the stairs, a quiet murmur surrounded like insect song.

Unbothered, she stared up at Empress Celene. Giving a graceful bow instead of the glare her heart called for.

Gaspard's shit eating grin was barely hidden under his ornate mask. Clearly pleased with the devious spectacle of it all.

After all the indulgent pleasantries were exchanged, Celene stared down her nose at her.

"You've certainly come dressed outside of our custom. Is this Dalish fashion?"

Vella laughed lightly behind her left hand, the gash of green light pulsed deep between bone. All eyes on her.

"Certainly not! I'd be wearing much less your Highness."

"Is that so? I'd be a shame if you couldn't see the decor beyond that blindfold."

"Oh, I can see everything I intend to."

The silver glow of her eyes shielded behind the molded black mask. Tied behind the fall of her golden hair with long silk.

The court was quiet in rapture within their exchange.

The whole of them laid out to her. All she needed to know unfurled behind the curtain of her mind. Bordering on overwhelm that she would need to muffle soon. The rolled elfroot cigarettes in their gilded tin assured in the taut garter on her thigh.

The secrets of all of these hateful people displayed to her at rapid speed. Especially Celene. Simmering rage seared under her easy smile.

I know what you did.

"With your lineage, you must certainly hold opinions on Halamshiral."

How many had to burn to soothe your ego?

"Oh, it's all quite beautiful. I'm sure much thought went into the conversion of the scenery. Sculptures and hedgemazes don't sprout up as easily as the humble orchid tends to."

It was a volley of elegant strikes. Words tossed with the air of nonchalance but beheld with bated breath by their audience.

Vella may be Dalish, but she was no stranger to appeasing the sensibilities of people she hated with the whole of her chest. Years held in the gilded prison of the Chantry taught her very quick that a sweet tongue kept you some semblance of safety.

"I wouldn't imagine keeping your company from our guests any longer, Lady Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance."

Vella gave another gracious bow and a sweet smile to her enemy. Striding up the stairs with eyes set only on Leilana as she approached.

"Well played." She whispered as a small smile pulled her cheek. "A word, when you have a moment."

Vella nodded, her own smile already fallen. "I'm going to need a cigarette after that."

"You and me both." Leilana sighed. Stepping back into shadow.

"Please find a balcony first." Josephine urged in a quiet rush. "There's only so much rule breaking that will be taken as alluring here."

Vella cupped her cheek with a gentle hand. "You worry too much. I'm only a savage wandering the most proper of society."

The use of the hateful word was deliberate. Many eyes held on her. Their power to cut her down taken from their mouths.

"Such an awful word!" A younger woman standing at Josephine's side gasped. "I couldn't imagine anyone calling you that!"

"Then you're better mannered than most, but I would expect no less from a lady Montilyet." Her eyes burned with near constant light behind the dark shield. The torrent of Dirthamen unveiled things untold to her as cacophony she focused to discern.

"This must be her!" Yvette giggled brightly behind her hand, blush pink in her cheeks.

"Your reputation certainly proceeds you." Josephine sighed, giving her sister a soft glare. "She's been insatiable for details on... well, you."

"Josephine writes, but she never tells me anything." The sweet yearn in her voice pulled a soft smile from Vella.

She had always wanted a sister. Though she knew that experience varied wildly between siblings, the accusatory stare of endearment from Josephine made her heart twinge with things she could never know.

"What would you like to know?" She offered with a gentle laugh.

"Please don't encourage h-"

"Is it true that Dalish women dance naked under the full moon?"

"Yvette!" Josephine hissed.

"Well, I certainly do." Vella laughed.

This seemed to delight the sweet girl and got her a stern clearing of the throat from behind her. Practically feeling the heat rising up Blackwall's neck.

"My lady, would you like accompanying for some air?" He led in the monotone gruff of his voice.

The flat delivery of his words irked most but she found it endlessly endearing. Especially when her teasing or tenderness softened the cadence.

"Oh, do I need escorting?" She teased, eyeing him beyond the black mesh shrouding her eyes, only seeing the shadow of things. The dark of it staving off the near constant threat of migraine from her untethered foresight.

"We both know that you do." He tried for aggravated, but affection was thick underneath.

"Oh, and who is this?" Yvette batted her lashes at him.

"Go while you still can." Josephine urged.

"I'll find you later, Josie." Vella laughed, led forward by the small of her back through the halls to a balcony.

"You seem to have caught many young ladies' eyes." Vella teased, lifting the fall of her dress to thigh to take a cigarette from the tin.

"Vella, please..." He hissed, sliding behind her to shield the full length of her leg from view.

"Oh, let me have my fun." She shushed, bringing the cigarette between her fingers. "It's going to be all downhill from here. Damn, I've forgotten matches. Where is Dorian when you need him?"

Blackwall pulled a matchbook from his breast pocket.

"Oh, you're so thoughtful." She smiled, leaning into the flame he struck. Speaking through a contented sigh of smoke. "My savior."

"How do you feel?" He leaned down to her.

"Held together with twine and a wish." She sighed, feeling the incomprehensible barrage of information battering her mind dulling. Taking another grateful pull of burning relief.

"But I'm well stocked for tonight, don't worry." She patted her thigh. "Though, if actually do start undressing, I give you permission to tackle me."

"Like at Haven..." He sighed.

The fever of madness had always been terrible. Gods, that whole night weighed so heavy in memory. But it could only be more painful for him.

"We've never really talked about that night, have we?" She whispered, taking in his sweet eyes so creased with worry.

"No, and we're certainly not going to here." The monotone growl filled his voice again, glancing at several suspiciously still backs that had gathered.

"If one more person calls me rabbit... I suppose I should mingle." She sighed, taking a deep pull of smoke. Offering him the cigarette which he waved away, a silly ritual at this point. Another way they played. How dearly she loved playing with him.

She pinched out the cigarette and leaned in to whisper conspiratory to him.

"Don't tell anyone, but you're my favorite."

She could feel his smile as she pulled away.

"I'm going to need a dance from you, my lady!" He called as she strode back inside.

"I'll try to squeeze you in!" She chirped, biting her lip in a smile.

With her heart dizzy with love, she steeled herself to begin her rounds.

-

The loop of Vella's stride made him exhausted by proxy. With each circle, she passed his post and leaned in to leave a whisper in Elvhen. Often making him stifle a laugh.

"I hope they all choke."

"This place sucks shit."

"That's it, I'm burning it down."

"With us inside it."

He nearly laughed out loud at that last one. Having to stifle it into a cough, nodding in feigned interest at the man prattling on in front of him.

Her echoed resentment of their situation was the highlight of his night so far, but he couldn't help the prickling concern.

She had slept hard the previous night. He wanted nothing less than her to rest, but the longer she slept, the stronger her condition held. He could only imagine the sheer noise that was filling her mind.

She could only hold like this for so long before it started to burn. Until it held her down in that terrible seize. Dropping her to the floor to pull rigid as her body shut down, knocking her unconscious to protect her mind from boiling.

It made him furious how the others seemed content to let her do this. The only steadfast objectors to using her as prophet being Cole and himself.

He wasn't naive. He understood the stakes at hand. They were at war, and even a small misstep could be catastrophic. But the way the others saw her suffering as regrettable but acceptable collateral...

He knew her foresight was an invaluable asset, but Maker, how could he not worry? How could he not wish it would stop whispering madness into her, no matter the advantage?

She approached him again just as a man strode forward. Pointing at him as if he knew him. Panic rose higher and higher in his chest as this noble danced around his identity with drunken ignorance. All while she stood studying the exchange with unreadable eyes.

The other concern, the one he was ashamed to acknowledge: Would it whisper to her the truth of him?

Of course she knew he was keeping something from her. She was too clever, too attuned with other people, to not see it. To not feel it writhing under his skin.

Maker, he nearly buckled under the weight when she confessed her own crime. Kneeled cradling the flowers of her dead family, killed by men like him, then taken in turn by her. Shame so hot in his belly he almost vomited when he had a moment alone.

He had to believe he had atoned in some small way. Maker, please let him have. Please let her not be broken by him.

The man finally wandered away, and he steeled himself to dance around her question. He couldn't stomach lying to her anymore. She shouldn't love a man who lies to her.

"Someone from your past?" The gentle prod of her voice made his throat clench. So sweetly asking him to open to her. To unfold into the warm of her.

I wish I wasn't the one you love.

"Drunks think all men with beards look the same." He grunted. A statement he felt true, at least.

"Hey, I didn't know you had a medal of valor!" Her eyes brightened, so delighted to know more about him. "What is that for again?"

She leaned in that adorable way, like she was telling secrets. "I'm Dalish, fill me in."

Darling, please don't trust me. Not like this.

"Valor, mostly."

She laughed, the sound so bright.

Why did you choose me. Anyone but me.

"Fair enough."

Her demeanor fell back to solemn. Hitching her head to follow.

He nearly sighed in relief.

-

The silent sprint of her feet was the rush of wind through trees. Torn dress whipping behind her. The clash of her party at her back.

Run, girl. You're out of time.

Venatori tried to rush her, but she had already run through them. Dodging through their fingers seconds before they reached. Arrows and blades seeking to strike before she entered the fray.

The toll of bells striking. She could see the precious seconds ahead of their arrival. The pounding of her blood-soaked step a trail led in a circle of time.

Circled. All spiraled.

No, focus. You're here.

She squeezed her eyes. Leaping onto the banister invisible, she sprinted into the ballroom. Running along marble, pulling her bow from her shoulder. The sea of people gathered wouldn't see her until she struck. Ripping the arrow tied from her thigh.

Florianne stepped forward, a wicked smile on her face. Blade poised on Celene's back.

Vella notched her arrow as she slid to a knee. Drawing back in the same breath. Locked in the tunnel of her prey.

But her hand paused. Time she didn't have. Arrow poised waiting.

She saw it.

The future that Briala would bring puppeteering the hand of Gaspard. The Elven Queen in Shadow. It would bring revolution and civil war, further shattering Orlais.

But her people would be free. Free.

But only if Celene fell.

Her fingers held steady on the string.

Breath a hot wave over her lips.

You're out of time. Decide.

She clenched her jaw to ache. Leveling her sight on Florianne.

She pursed her lips and whistled death. An ancient promise of a spirit.

All heads turned up. The Elven servants gasped and covered their ears.

Florianne's gaze wavered as she froze, just as Celene began to feel the threat. Her eyes wide as the blade met her back.

Florianne's head turned.

She released her fingers.

The arrow snapped into the thin bone at her temple. Florianne's eyes rolled up into her skull as her body dropped. Several shrieks rose.

Vella's body appeared under her again. Kneeled in a torn dress and blood smeared.

Here it comes. Relax.

She let her arms fall, sighing out the tension in her body as the guards arrow ripped through her shoulder. Her drawing arm fell useless at her side.

"Good shot!" She laughed, finding the shaken guards eyes.

The pain unfurled then. Her shoulder screamed, the nerve that ran through a lightning bolt. With breath ragged, clutching the wound, she stood. Left arm tremoring uncontrolled at her side. Arrow still lodged firm under the blade of bone.

Good, it would keep her blood.

The guards swarmed around Celene, discovering the knife that had scattered out of Florianne's hand.

Vella rushed forward one last time. Dagger poised along the back of her forearm.

She drove the blade under Florianne's jaw. Straight into the base of her brain. Her body went limp and gave a few short convulsions. More shrieks rang through the air.

Good girl. It's just the muscles. They're gone.

But they shake like me.

It's mercy. You've severed their tie. They'll get to the Beyond kinder now.

Vella released the hilt. Falling to a kneel, letting her arm fall loose at her side with its twin. Gasping hard into the air with head thrown. Blood pooled up the tear of her dress.

The guards backed away from her. Celene's shaken hand gripped her good shoulder.

Vella slipped the locket into her palm as she pulled the blindfold. Celene's empty hand flew to her mouth.

As the last of the silver fell from her sight, she folded Celene's fingers over the locket.

"Find her."

-

"Twas a clean strike."

Vella smiled, her eyes meeting amber.

"The blade or arrow, Morrigan?"

"I hadn't gave my name, Inquisitor." She leaned against the balcony. "But you realize that."

Vella offered her a cigarette, which she took. Placing the tin inside her sling again. Letting Morrigan spark her fingers in flame to light both of them.

"You're left-handed. A sign of a witch." Morrigan appraised her, cupping her elbow under her breast.

"Dual-handed. Not sure what superstition that's associated with, though."

"Spirit? Siren? Shapeshifter?" Morrigan offered with a sly smile.

"How many of your clan knew about burning elfroot?" Morrigan appraised the rolled paper between her fingers.

"Not many. Our hahren had me chew bark as well."

"Smart. And this gift you have, I presume it has a price? The Pantheon does not give with two hands."

Vella laughed. She already adored this woman. They both spoke as they had known each other for a long time. Perhaps they had.

"Do you even have to ask? Though, I'd rather take a two edged gift from the gods than whatever the chantry worships."

Morrigan slowly spread a smile.

"Oh, I think you and I are to get along beautifully."

"Then you're joining us?"

"For the time being."

"Naturally. I'd never try to pin you down."

"You are sworn to another, yes?"

"I am."

"A pity." Morrigan sighed. Letting her eyes wander Vella's svelte frame. "I will find your apothecary in Skyhold. That shoulder 'tis too valuable to sqaunder. I will be eager to sate my curiosity of your... condition, upon your return. And, do try to have fun tonight. You've earned it."

"You know, I realize I never caught your name." Morrigan paused at the door.

Vella spoke in Elvhen.

"Nothing is more vulnerable than the named."

Morrigan laughed.

"Of course."

She appraised Blackwall as they crossed path. He stared hard at her in distrust, slowing his gait.

"That poor guard is still shaking. He's insistent on apologizing."

"He shouldn't." She smiled as he leaned down onto his forearms on the banister. Finally close again. "It was a clean shot. We could use another marksman."

He chuckled low.

"Celene's terrified of you now. Don't see her giving much fight to recruiting a guard."

Vella leaned her hip against the banister. Closing her eyes for a moment. A full night's sleep, wretched thing that it was, could only go so far.

"Care to share your thoughts?" Blackwall led.

Vella shook her head. Cupping gently under her elbow.

"It went well. I should be celebrating."

"With these snobs?"

Vella snorted a laugh.

"We owe everything to you, my lady. You deserve to take a moment of respite."

"I'm just..." Vella sighed. Her decision heavy on her mind. How she hated this outcome. That anger she couldn't stifle anymore flared in her chest. How she wished to burn this place to cinder. "No... it's nothing. Nevermind."

Blackwall paused. His eyes steady on her.

"What?" She whispered, bristled up her back. Trying to not feel the resentment that sat in her belly.

"You did the right thing." His hand cupped over hers. "Gaspard is a fucking bastard. And Briala will be a good influence."

Tears pooled on her waterline. She blinked them away.

Traitor.

"Would you still like that dance?" He pulled close, cupping the small of her back. Steel blue eyes staring down so soft with concern.

"I'll make a poor partner." She mumbled. Her arm hung limp in its sling agreed.

"Impossible. You're the belle of the ball. Blood soaked and beautiful."

She knew he was trying to cheer her. She wanted to be cheered. But all she could do was lay her head on his shoulder.

He wrapped around her, kissing her temple. Swaying them in a slow circle. A dance all their own.

-

"Ah!"

Vella dropped her folded elbow. The sharp pain a clear signal to stop.

She dropped her good arm. Hanging her head.

Not even able to undress herself.

An old shame filled her chest.

The helpless get eaten. Stand up, girl. You are more use to me as meat than weight. And don't you dare cry.

Could she pull her bow again? Oh Gods...

A badger will chew through a leg in a trap. If it doesn't bleed out, it will be hobbled in the cold. Better to go head first.

The cold of shock unfolded along her spine. She tried to flex her fingers.

"We might need to cut you out of that dress." Blackwall's warm voice came to her back. Kissing a tender greeting on the curve of her neck.

"Vella...?"

"I can't feel my arm."

"The healer said that would fade. You'll get mobility back soon." He wrapped his hand around her front. Pressing assurance against the crest of her ribs.

"I can't..."

He circled around her. Concern tight in his eyes.

"Vella. Please, speak to me."

Something bad was coming. She didn't know it, then she did. Closing her eyes tight to the silver. Her senses too exhausted to make it take shape. But it was coming. Soon.

"Please, can we get a drink? I want to have a quiet night."

I want to pretend. Pretend this isn't the last of something.

He smiled, kissing her forehead.

"I'm sure Cabot has some good shit stored somewhere. I'll break cabinets if need be."

She gave a small smile and he tilted her chin up with his fingers. His eyes creased in adoration.

"There she is."

Vella tried to lockpick the door of Herald's Rest with one hand, but Blackwall simply shoved it with his shoulder. The latch gave with a whimper of a click.

"You're more battering ram than man." She smiled. Looking him up and down with trailing eyes.

"The chivalrous thing to do is smash down doors." He growled.

And just like that, they were playing again.

She sauntered inside, giving him a beckoning stare over her shoulder.

"Oh, this is what you've always wanted." She hopped up onto the counter, crossing a leg over her knee. "Me all vulnerable, needing a big strong man to help."

"I am going to enjoy this." He agreed. Circling around the bar to rummage a high shelf. Coming around to sit on the stool in front of her.

"You mind spreading your legs, darling?"

She leaned back on her palm, smiling wide as she unfolded her legs. He set the bottle down between the spread of her thighs as if this was standard.

"Oh, if I was a barmaid..." She laughed.

He full belly laughed, nearly spitting out his drink.

"The men would work here for free."

"The chantry would come with torches and rope." She agreed, her own laugh picking up contagious to his.

It wasn't that funny, not really, but they kept going. The back and forth of their joined laughter reignited the other until they were both doubled over. The song of her high keening melded to his deep bark. Collapsed into each other.

"Ow! Ow!" She laughed breathless. "My shoulder! Mercy!" Weakly kicking his side.

Blackwall wiped his eyes, still breathless in his own laughter. "No kicking!"

"I'm down an arm!" She kicked with both feet.

"Alright, that's it!" He climbed up on the bar and nipped at her throat, tickling her with his beard.

"No!" She shrieked, pushing his bicep. "I'm injured! I can't fight back, you asshole!"

He fell into his laugh again. Bracing on his forearm.

"Maker, my side!" He gripped at his ribs.

"Hah! Take that!"

His laugh fell away again, smiling down at her. Cupping her face so tenderly in his rough palm. Then his brow knitted together, letting out a deep sigh.

"Hmm, the brooding look is doing something for me." She teased.

"Is it?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah. I like men sad and wet."

He rolled his eyes but didn't fully return to her playful. His eyes still heavy with something.

"Hey..." She hushed, pushing back up onto her palm. "What's wrong?"

He lifted her in assistance behind her ribs. Leaving his hand there as she sat up close to him.

"Moments like these... when things feel so simple. When it all seems so clear..."

She waited, seeing something building in his pause.

"Like I could do anything with you by my side. Be anywhere. Be someone bigger than myself. It's hard to imagine anywhere without you."

Her heart pounded against its tender cage.

He could feel it too.

"Could you take me to your bed?" She hushed. Her unspoken question clear to both of them.

He cut away the dress with a soft pull of a blade along her spine. Peeling it down her shoulder as gentle as tending a torn petal. Kissing above her bandage in a line.

"My dove with a broken wing." He sighed.

Her eyes flooded with tears. Being treated so soft too much. Too vulnerable. An effort of will to not pull away from it. To allow herself be carried in his palm and not try to bite.

He gently folded her arm back in its sling. Leading her back onto the pelt with the strength of his hands cupped behind her.

"I love you. You're more than I could ever hope for. So much more than I deserve."

He marveled mournfully at her bare fallen under him. Spreading his hand along her ribs reverently.

"There's no future for us with me as a Warden." His palm moved to lay flat above her belly.

She nearly laughed. Then remembered he didn't know.

There's no future with me, either.

"If you're worried about getting me pregnant, I'm going to ask for something from Morrigan in the morning."

"Hmph, that woman... Not sure about her." He grumbled.

Vella smiled and pulled at his tunic, lifting it over his shoulders.

"I like her. She's trouble."

"Of course you do." He sighed, kissing above the curve of her breast. "You're trouble all the way down."

"All the way down?" She wiggled her hips, giving him a grin.

"Cheeky." He scolded. Trailing his fingers down the curve of her hip bone, over the seam of her thigh.

"Oh, if you want cheeky I can turn over." She made to flip onto her belly.

He pushed his fingers into her clit. Rocking slow, mind-numbing waves into her.

"You're staying right here."

"Oh..." She breathed, falling back again. Her eyes glazed as desire pooled warm in her pelvis. Rocking her hips slow into his fingers.

"There we go..." He smiled, kissing around her breast. Trailing over her heart, kissing it with deliberate tender pulses, then returning to her pebbled peak. Pulling the sensitive bundle into the curve of his tongue as his fingers pushed slow into her. Curving up into the place that made her legs shake.

Her mind emptied of all but pleasure. The languidly pulled silk of it wound around his fingers.

"Oh, my love." She sighed in Elvhen, staring down at him with the tender of her heart laid open. Carding her fingers through his dark hair. "My gentle bear."

He looked up at her under his brow. His eyes grew glassy as he trailed kisses down her belly. His gaze steady on her through the water.

"Why are you crying?" She whispered, reaching for his hand.

He wove his fingers into hers as he reached her center. Kissing the golden curls above her sex. His fingers still stroking so perfect into her.

He only shook his head, rubbing her palm with his thumb. Too overcome to speak.

"Then speak to me here." She smiled. Resting their joined hands on her belly.

His eyes closed softly as a crease formed in his brow. Nuzzling into her clit with his nose. Spreading his tongue flat to lap slow waves into her. Savoring each pull like it was the last supp of soup licked from a bowl.

She shuddered with each stroke as his fingers joined with his mouth. The rhythm set to unravel her at her very core. Calling out soft cries as her body slow writhed. The tender touch building to unfold a flood from her pelvis.

"Oh, Gods." She moaned. Starting to feel that delirious pleasure only he could pull out of her.

He moaned into her, the deep of his voice sending tingles of pleasure up her back.

"You're giving me chills." She smiled, closing her eyes to fully fall back. Falling into only her body and the feeling of him washed over her. Not certain he could understand her anymore, but not finding it impossible.

She let it be only her body and his. The devotion of his fingers and mouth. Everything else fallen away. A being of only pleasure.

Her orgasm pulled from so deep in her she wasn't sure where it could end. Letting out a whine she had never made before as her legs curled up. Even the clenches were slow, dragging out until she was panting up into the night air. Barely lucid through the endlessly unfolding torrent.

"You still with me?" He murmured as he rose up her. Undoing his trousers and stroking his cock with the hand that had been soaked with her pleasure, kissing the side of her neck.

"Mm-hmm." She hummed, words still beyond her. Gasping slow labored breath. Holding his wide back as anchor.

He pressed a hand to the back of her knee, angling her open with a gentle push.

"I adore you, thank you, thank you endlessly for this gift." He sighed, lining up below her. Cupping the curve of her face in his hand as he pressed his forehead to hers.

He pushed in slowly. His eyes strained up into lids, groaning low into her mouth.

She let out her own soft cry. The stretch of him sent her pelvis tremoring. Stroking up into that same undoing his fingers found, but beyond that. Pressing into the pleasure deep inside her walls. Filling her to the brim.

"Oh, fuck." She cooed, staring up into his eyes. Her lips fallen open almost in pleading. "Please, slow again."

He nodded, pulling his hips back to rock into her. Kissing her softly in little pulses.

It was unbelievable. Her body sang with pleasure. Babbling out soft cries in Elvhen with each thrust. Pleading in the tongue she was born with. Her own half formed words a new song that she didn't know the words to, but came from deep within the seat of her soul.

She came around him in another keening cry. Grasping his strong shoulder, astonished how fast it had happened. Another building on the collapsed ruins of her as it still crumbled. Tears of ecstasy dripped down her temples. Staring up at him as he unmolded her entirely.

He kissed her cheeks and her forehead, returning his to press against it. Huffing out breath as he picked up speed. His arms braced around her. His face tightened as he started to break.

"Yes, yes." She urged in a fast whisper, cupping his face in her hand. "Cum inside me, please."

She locked her legs behind his back.

"Don't you dare pull out. Fill me until I'm leaking you for days. Please, bear."

He buckled fully into her as his body tensed up into a bow. Gasping out at her words. His eyes lost in his skull.

He pressed his face into her neck, muffling his deep cry of release there. His hips stuttered as he flooded her, grasping with bruising fingers into the other side of her neck. Rushing inside her again and again as his end struck through him. Weeping into the nape of her neck.

-

Vella woke warm and heavy with rest. Swaddled in what must have been every blanket. Smiling as sleep fell from her as gentle as rain dripped from leaves. Blinking into the soft light.

Then it all fell away in an instant.

Bolting upright, she felt it. Pulling a hand tight to her chest as her eyes lit silver.

The bad thing was here, as certain as the pound of her heart.

This wasn't foresight, this was a premonition.

She glanced down and was confirmed by the carved wooden dove that sat on the pillow. The indent of his head still pressed.

She snatched his tunic and fast draped it around her, struggling with her sling as she rushed downstairs.

A scout met her at the barn door, quickly averting his eyes to her undress.

She pulled him inside, uninterested in propriety.

"Where is he?"

~

Next Chapter

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

He's Mr. Perfectly Fine

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57854026 by howls_library Peter Parker, still a bit of a mess from the world forgetting his identity, is given a task as Spider-Man by Nick Fury to recruit members for a new initiative. This mission pushes him to meet with various young heroes. Why? He doesn't really know, but he fears that with the lack of the usual put together Avengers, he needs to work sooner rather than later. Meanwhile, Kamala's excitement and curiosity are at an all time high when she finds out that a fellow student at Coles Academic High School is also potentially a mutant. A high-achieving senior, volleyball and soccer star, all while unknowingly possesses the mutant gene. Kamala, eager to recruit him for her ideal superhero team, plans to approach him, despite feeling intimidated by his popularity. - Or Peter forms the Young Avengers, which leads to him butting heads with them and having to be their father figure all at the same time. Plus, a new kid just found out he's a mutant and Peter has to help with the whole secret identity fiasco of it all. Oh also, a world ending threat is imminent, can't forget that. Words: 8024, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Ms. Marvel (TV 2022), The Marvels (Movie 2023), X-Men - All Media Types, Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi Characters: Peter Parker, Original Mutant Character(s) (X-Men), Original Male Character(s), Kamala Khan, Nick Fury, Kate Bishop, Billy Kaplan, Billy Maximoff, Teddy Altman (Marvel), America Chavez, Cassie Lang, Harley Keener, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Carol Danvers, Clint Barton, Yelena Belova, Monica Rambeau, Scott Lang, Kang the Conqueror | Nathaniel Richards, Wanda Maximoff Relationships: Peter Parker & Everyone, Peter Parker/Original Character(s), Bruno Carrelli & Kamala Khan, Kate Bishop & America Chavez & Kamala Khan & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Harley Keener, Nick Fury & Peter Parker, Nick Fury & Kamala Khan, Kate Bishop & Cassie Lang, Billy Kaplan & Cassie Lang, Teddy Altman/Billy Kaplan, Peter Parker & Tony Stark Additional Tags: Coming of Age, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Childhood Friends, Not Beta Read, LGBTQ Character, Mental Health Issues, Young Avengers Team (Marvel), Familial Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Love Confessions, X-Men References, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Yelena Belova & Kate Bishop Friendship, Original Character(s), Minor Teddy Altman/Billy Kaplan, Internalized Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, Touch-Starved, Found Family, so much pining its a forest, Coming Out, Protective Peter Parker, Puppy Love, BAMF Peter Parker, Not Canon Compliant, Peter Parker is a Mess, Bi-Curiosity, Irondad, Tony Stark Has A Heart read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/57854026

[pixelizedprince]

💀 Bishop is in charge of mentally/physically cleaning up after another botched ritual & Emmrich helps him center himself ▪️ rook's niece, Margaux, tries to combine her limited Seer/Corpse Whispering studies with mixed success 💀

4k // angst // hurt-comfort

💀👻💀👻💀

Featuring:

Bishop Laidir (M!Elven Rook, 56 y/o) x Emmrich

Margaux Laidir (F!Half Elf, Rook's 23 y/o Niece, Mage, Bonus Companion) 

Mentioned: 

Florin Beaudin (Margaux's father, Bishop's Best Friend/Brother-in-Law, Mage, Deceased)

Eleni Laidir (Margaux's Mother, Bishop's Sister, Warrior, Deceased)

Topaz “Paz” (Bishop's Friend, Ex-Qun Mage, resides in Rivain)

💀👻💀👻💀

I wrote this before DATV released and it's still my pride and joy. The gift of prophecy HIT ME HARD with this one.

I know Bioware lost the plot on “all elves are feeling magical” but it is an idea that I hold dear and love the consequences of.

Does anyone truly understand how the magic system in Dragon Age works? I sure the fuck don't.

Hope y'all enjoy this highly self indulgent story / give it a "hell yeah two cakes" understanding

Bishop's hands twitched with the spark of the immense magic whipping about the room, his fear and anger both raging on inside of him as Emmrich shouted an incantation. Margaux's hovering body radiated a sickly green glow that made his skin crawl. “Spirit you aren't welcome here, if you do not relinquish her I will be forced to banish you-” The being, the thing inside of her hissed. The elf flexed his fingers, teeth grinding at the helpless feeling, how could she do something so irresponsible?

“Whatever she contacted isn't malicious, but it doesn't know where to go, I do not believe she is conscious enough to direct it either!” Emmrich's words were barely audible over the pseudo-winds. 

Bishop didn't give a shit if it was a spirit of puppies and rainbows, it needed to let her go. The man steadied himself from against the wall and leaned forward, pushing through the force. Bishop's feet fought for purchase as he slowly made his way across the cobblestone floor, grinding his feet against the freshly painted runes that compelled this demon here. 

“Bishop!! Be careful! The veil is volatile around her and might try to defend itself! Please back down!” Emmrich had planted himself firmly against a banister, struggling against the currents. The necromancer was currently concentrating on the barrier he had cast to keep the event contained, barricading himself and Bishop inside the flux of power. It was a desperate attempt to keep other spirits from joining, in addition to keeping what misfortune had struck his quarters to a minimum. There was a fear that if the magic destabilized enough it might take some of their base with it. 

The mage's plea was deftly ignored, Bishop strained but reached the center of the symbols on the ground. Emmrich was too busy trying to keep the building from collapsing in on itself. Bishop knew he had to do something to help and hells forty some odd years of picking fights bigger than him is what he was best at. He needed to protect her, damn the cost. The spirit needed to let her go. She was less than an arm's length away now, Margaux's body limp and swaying softly, suspended in the eye of the whirlwind. “You will LEAVE NOW!!” Bishop growled, grabbing through the verdant flames that enveloped Margaux. The supernatural blaze left its current host untouched but wasted no time in singing Bishop's palms as digits finally, firmly, grasped Margaux's ankle. Bishop wanted, hoped that the tingling in his fingertips was simply his own flesh bubbling and blistering, pain his mind was too overwhelmed to process. He could handle a wound, as long as Margaux stayed safe he could deal with a few days without his hands, hells even losing the feeling to the nerves he'd make due. One more ache on the list was nothing compared to his niece's safety. Bishop was not prepared for the sensation that felt like a bomb had gone off in his grasp, his every nerve feeling flayed raw - a wave of energy burst forth from his clenched fist and rippled through the air, a golden aura cutting through the spirit's hold. An unnatural howl streamed out of Margaux's body, light and energy expelling from her frame. Across the study, the waves of energy, fade green followed by unfamiliar amber force - rang out, and despite Emmrich's best effort to contain them the new expelling force overpowered his own - vials shattered, candles and lanterns flared up temporarily erupting before flickering dimly. Margaux dropped abruptly. Emmrich, freed from the spirit's winds, rapidly threw up his arms to summon a new barrier around her body, lessening the impact as Bishop reached out and fell to his knees, seizing her body and pulling her close. 

Emmrich hurried over, hesitating before putting a hand on Bishop's shoulder. The elf shuttered at the touch. Bishop remained quiet as he peered down, Margaux's breathing dropping from a hyperventilation to a steady rhythm before he sighed. The necromancer bit his lip. “My dear, I- I am not quite sure what just happened, but the presence is gone. Let's lay her down on the table over here-” Emmrich nervously guided his love to the table where he knew the elf had witnessed various experiments of his take place. It made him feel a pang of guilt that this is probably not the most reassuring scene for Bishop to bring Margaux to. 

Bishop stood and nodded, refusing the hand Emmrich leaned over to offer. It took a fair amount of effort to cradle his niece and carry her the small distance. His knees were weak from the adrenaline drop, from the effort to carry the fully grown woman, and from the prickling in his hands that still hadn't left- what he'd hate the most to address when his head stopped spinning. Bishop laid Margaux down, carefully examining where the fires had caught her gown in a few places but miraculously she seemed physically unphased. From the corner of his eye he saw Emmrich approach the table, take off his overcoat and fold it as swiftly as he could manage, gently propping up Margaux's head with the garment. Emmrich tutted as he proceeded to take her pulse, offering a meek smile when his hazel eyes caught Bishop's own, however the turn of the mage's lips did not reach his eyes. Emmrich draped Margaux's arm across her front and took a step back from the table, offering Bishop space to process but close enough to let the elf know that he was waiting for him. 

Bishop went to brush Marguax's mess of black curls and caught himself before he could finish the movement. The elf looked down at his hands, gut twisting as he could feel the pull of the fade still stringing from his fingertips, invisible spiderwebs attached into a force he never wanted any part in. He felt exhausted on a level he hadn't felt in? A long time. Bishop looked helplessly at Emmrich, searching for an answer to the question he was yet to utter. “Emm I don't know what I did. I- this place- fuck! Fuck!!” Bishop slammed his hand down on the side of the table. Pain radiated from his palms up his wrists, his skin blistering making the reality of the situation close in. Margaux stirred in her sleep-like state because of his outburst and he was instantly filled with grief. Bishop gasped and covered his mouth with his hands, regretting his anger, and turned to face anything but his niece. Emmrich gestured for him to come close. Bishop instinctually filled the space, complying when Emmrich reached down and gently took Bishop's hands in his own. The mage mumbled quietly, curling strings of magic around Bishop's apparent own, the older man could intimately feel the pain being stitched away. His throat felt dry, an uncomfortable lump claiming a wail, stifling the sobs of grief and fear that wanted to overthrow Bishop's peaked anger. He turned to look across the damage. The study wasn't ruined but it sure the hell wasn't going to be a quick fix. “Is she going to be alright?” Was all he could muster through hoarse lips. 

Emmrich cautiously linked fingers with Bishop's healing own; rings of silver and gold clinking together a shimmer of noise that felt incredibly out of place with the destruction of their safe haven. He stared intently on their tangled digits and avoided Bishop's eye. “Manfred said that he fetched us as soon as things went awry. Thanks to your…. It doesn't seem like she had been like that for long, I believe she will be fine, my dear. Aside from what I assume will be a chastising for the books.” 

Bishop scoffed and leaned his forehead against the taller man's. “Damn right.” He felt sturdy for the first time in a while, being comforted by the man he'd grown to love. That could also be the soothing of the healing magics Bishop was sure Emmrich had employed the moment their foreheads had met. Bishop sighed and let their shared grasp break, but allowed one hand to linger, holding a single hand for a moment before returning to the headache before them. The men both returned their gaze to the girl upon the table. Her gown torn from the wind, burnt from the spirit's force, but thankfully alive. Damn right she was going to get an earful. 

-

‘Damn right’ turned out, was an understatement. There had barely been enough time to inform the Guard of an incident and vaguely told of the temporary off limits status of Emmrich's study when Margaux started to stir. Upon waking she had immediately sprung from the table and insisted she had had everything under control -

“This place has so much information, if I had another day, another chance, I could have made it work!” Margaux was in full defense of her attempt. She paced as she spoke, discovery and excitement still fueling her. Piss and vinegar of defiance even though Bishop had laid her unconscious body down on the operating table not even an hour before. 

“You didn't need to steal Emmrich's notes to do so! You aren't trained in necromancy Margaux, as much as you'd like to think you know, you don't!!” Bishop, usually as animated as the girl, stood firmly in the spot, arms having enough motion for his body to match her feistiness.

“I never stole anything, I borrowed and Manfred helped!! I know I can do this, if I could have another chance I could contact them both!” She swooped down and tried to grab a paper from the ground by where the sigil once lit the room, only to have the page disintegrate to ash in her fingers. She irritatedly grumbled and wiped the mess down the front of her ruined dress. 

A sad sigh escaped Emmrich's lips as he watched months of research crumble in his hopeful protégé’s fingers. He scowled and shook his head, pulling Manfred aside, to have their own, much quieter conversation about the situation. Margaux tried not to notice the disappointment in the necromancer's eyes that made her blood run cold.

“If that's what you wanted so badly, if you want to piss with spirits and talk to fucking creatures beyond your knowledge you should have stayed home and paid attention to any of your blasted studies!! Seer Yamaris would have shown you a safe way to communicate!!” 

“After how many years?! How many years under her learning the basics and telling people's stupid fortunes for gold would it be before I could try to talk to them?? Until I forget her face like I did his?? You threw me away to become something I never asked for! To make a quick copper, of course that's the only future you and Nouric ever saw-” Margaux halted her animated walk to emphasize her point, wagging her finger in her uncle's face. He caught her wrist in his hand and interrupted the girl mid sentence.

“Don't- you-” Bishop shook with anger, her words cut near as deep as betrayal he had felt before, many years back. He let her go and felt the spark of magic underneath his skin once more, he had to end this conversation now before the cat got out of the bag. Bishop looked directly into Margaux's eyes, they shone with a twinkle of green defiance he had seen in Florin's, her jaw set in the same way Eleni's would when Bishop and her had an argument and she knew she was right - both memories from so so long ago here again and freshly angry with him. He opened his mouth and closed it again, Margaux huffed and pushed off of him. Now that look- squared up shoulders, her gentle lean forward, now that posture mirrored his own. Chest huffing to make her seem bigger, he had taught her that when she was little, to stand up against anyone that gave her shit, bullied her for her name, her heritage, her abilities, and now she had it here, on display - against him. It doesn't matter if she was actually close, or if she was actually capable of contacting Florin or Eleni, the dangerous part was that she whole-heartedly believed it. Bishop was sure his heart was breaking in his chest. He mustered the dying flame of anger once more, trying to get through to her, “Da'len you don't belong here!! You shouldn't be mixed up with thugs and fugitives! Margaux Ethena you should be safe back home!!” 

Margaux's tough demeanor faltered in an instant, a dam breaking behind her red rimmed eyes and unleashing a flood of tears. “There is no home without you there-” Big ugly tears had already been falling but a sob wracked the girl's body, she shoved past the older men, clipping Bishop's shoulder with a magicked force that made his nerves once again feel raw. She bowed her head so Emmrich could not see her face and embarrassment further, gave a swift sign across her heart ‘sorry’ to Manfred, and ran out the door. Bishop looked ahead unblinking and unresponsive to the outburst. Manfred turned and reached out a skeletal hand in her direction, chattering something that Emmrich immediately put up his palm to silence. 

“Manfred, no. Let her go. I, hmm, I am very cross with you as well right now. You have been privy to my conversations with her and notes alike. You know that she wasn't ready yet. This will set not just her but my studies back several weeks. I ask that you wait on the balcony friend, I expect you to help recover the study later this evening. Leave us be.” The mage toed a broken bottle from the path as his hand gestured towards the doorway. Manfred's jaw dropped and the skeleton's clacking went silent. He shuffled out, closing the door slowly behind him. 

Books and papers were strewn across the floor, several small fade corrupted fires settled from the candle flames, the wax cooling from being super heated, wasting half their lengths. Emmrich ran his shoe across the sigil on the floor, interrupting its shape further, ensuring no spirit, demon, would visit them again so soon. “Hells, what a fine mess.” Emmrich put his hands on his hips and whistled. 

Bishop coughed. “I'm so sorry Emm. I'll take her back myself come morning. I'll go back to Rivain and I'll make sure Paz keeps a better eye on her. I didn't mean for your place to get wrecked like-” the elf's hand swept across the scene, “This. She shouldn't be here.. she's been a liability since day one and I, fuck, I shouldn't be here, I just-” Bishop righted a chair that had been knocked over and slumped into the seat. He leaned forward, putting his face in his soot covered, burnt hands and sobbed. 

Emmrich let out a soft gasp, and immediately closed the gap across the room, careful of the various ichors and broken glass. The mage fell to his knees in front of Bishop, throwing his arms around the elf's neck and pulling him slightly lower into an embrace. “Love, love, love, Bishop, oh Bishop my dearest, everything is okay. Margaux is okay, I am okay. I want you to be okay. You don't need to take her anywhere she is right where she needs to be. You are, right where I'd love for you to be. Here with me. You have got this, and I've got you.” 

Bishop cried harder, leaning deeply into the crook of the necromancer's neck. “Emmrich I'm not cut out for this. I'm just an old thief, I'm no fucking leader, I'm no dad, what the hells am I playing at? And now angry magic? I'm just as qualified at this as Mar is qualified with talking to the fucking dead-”

“My sweet, try to breathe, clear your mind and try to listen to me please. I am more disappointed in myself than I am with Margaux right now. I can only imagine what I am feeling is a fraction of the hurt and confusion you are trying to process. I am here to make sure our group remains safe, that includes being here to help her learn safely. I am here to help you through this experience, of abilities you do not understand as much for you as I am for her, okay?” 

“Please don't tell her-” Bishop pulled away, a sad attempt to catch his breath he sobbed again. “Emmrich please don't tell anyone, I can't, I don't want this power - I already ruined myself and got connected to this nightmare, I hate feeling the air around me, inside everything it's-” he gagged, the branches of magic weaving through it all making a new wave of nausea hit him.

“It is overwhelming, I know. Oh my dear sweet Bishop, you have lucked out on this day because your beloved is an expert at calming one's nerves.”

“Please I don't know if I can take more healing right now, it's making my skin crawl.” Bishop put a polite hand over his mouth to hide his stomach's lurch at the thought. 

“Ah-ha. Actually my darling I meant a piping hot cup of camomile and a warm bath.” Emmrich smiled and rested his forehead against Bishop's once more. 

It was damn near its own kind of magic how his heart went from breaking to overflowing thanks to Emmrich's skilled hands. Truly a master necromancer to bring his decrepit old chest back to life, feeling so hopeful again, following one of the most tiring of events this side of god slaying Bishop had dealt with recently. The elf trembled as he cupped Emmrich's angular face in his worn hands, kissing His love so softly. Emmrich hummed into the tenderness.

It took the old fools a moment before they returned to the reality about them. Sadly amongst the damage was Emmrich's prized possession, a phonograph device direct from the Necropolis. The intricate metal bell dented from debris, but thankfully it still managed to work, streaming gentle music through the grand room. Hours of work passed, the early morning to late afternoon, Emmrich insisted Bishop nap in the necromancer's bed while he cleaned up some of the vials, (“Nasty business all these concoctions - and I don't want you to accidentally touch something that can further harm you poor hands my dear.”)  Harding stopped by during Bishop's nap to offer her assistance but Emmrich assured her they were fine on their own. Early evening passed, and as the false sun began to set Bishop pulled himself from sleep. The elf stepped outside for a moment of fresh air and a smoke when Bellara popped by, assisting Manfred in delivering tea. The skeleton slipped inside while the two elfs watched the vastness of the fade together. The moment of silence was fleeting, for this was also an excuse for Bellara to quietly let Bishop know that she had talked with Margaux. “I'm going to keep an eye on her overnight, an observation disguised as a sleepover. I can promise you if I had any idea she was going to do anything so, much, I would have been there for it!! It, uh, seemed like it wasn't to, successful, she hasn't said much, and Lu-”

 

Bishop tipped his mug he had received from the younger elf and gave a tight smile. “I've got a lot of work to do Bellara. Thank you for the tea, da'len.” 

“Oh, ah, absolutely Rook- Bishop, I'm going to get back to her, grabbed an extra hot chocolate while I was in the kitchen, Luca had me grab some spices for it? I don't know- anyway have a good night!” The mage rushed her thoughts as Bishop slowly closed the door on her.

The older elf turned back into the building and exhaled, he'd have to figure out what to do with Margaux later. It was more complicated than sending her home, he knew that, but dammit if he didn't hate the other options that were lining up in his mind. 

“Why thank you Manfred.” Emmrich sipped on his drink as he descended the spiral staircase. He held a journal in his other, meeting Bishop at the bottom. “Good morning Darling.” Emmrich's voice warmed Bishop even more than the tea. “My love, I need you to look at this.” Emmrich offered up the notes and Bishop peered at the page. His stomach did a little flip as he saw Margaux's handwriting sprawling across the page, the edges of the book scorched and some pages torn but the text was still legible. However, seeing the words still didn't make it make a single lick of sense to the elf. Bishop raised an eyebrow and a polite chuckle escaped Emmrich's lips. “Ahh apologies Love, well, as frustrating as this has been, I need you to know that she was painstakingly close to actually getting this right. I am aware that you are less than impressed by this “fruitless” endeavor and I am displeased at how my quarters and work have been upended but she wasn't far off at all. I found this amongst the rubbish and miraculously it wasn't too destroyed.” Bishop groaned and pinched between his eyes. Emmrich rubbed the small of the elf's back while he continued, “I did some light reading, and may have tapped into the fade while you were resting.” Bishop's disgruntled look was accompanied by the disgusted grunt. “Here dear, why don't you sit down for a moment.” The mage had corralled him towards his desk.

“Emm, you know I adore the names and lingering touches as much as the next fool but what are you getting at, my head still feels like it's been wormed through by lightning, speak plainly.” Bishop was growing annoyed by the moment, putting both his cup and the notebook onto the desk with a bit of a huff. He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms, looking up at the lanky man who seemed to be growing more nervous by the second. “What's going on Emmrich? Is Margaux okay?”

Emmrich wrung his hands a few times and steepled his fingers as he spoke. “Yes Margaux is okay. More than okay truly I am more excited by the day to teach her the proper ways of going about life with the dead. Bishop, her attempt was a genuine connection and it seems from the spirits I spoke with that it worked, well, it worked better than it should have for someone as amateur as her. The big issue lay in her contacts. Bishop, from my various connections in the fade, not a one was able to pull upon Florin. I do not believe he has passed.” Emmrich held his breath as Bishop stared blankly up at the man. 

Bishop grabbed his cup and sipped once more. “I, wish I could just go back to being piss mad. That was, better actually.” His hands trembled. Emmrich put a soft palm on Bishop's shoulder and squeezed. 

“I've got you, remember?” Emmrich exhaled tentatively. Bishop looked up at him with his good big brown eye, tinged red rims already peaking with tears once more.

“C-can we go to bed? Please? Even if we don't sleep right away, Emm, I need, to not be the Rook for a bit.” Bishop's voice broke, going to a whisper. 

He knew it would be a lot to take in, but Emmrich would stay by his side no matter what. The elf had claimed his heart and he longed to help him heal however that looked. “Of course love, give me your hand and we can go sleep like the dead.” 

Bishop's oncoming spiral temporarily calmed. Emmrich could make him crack a smile even when the world felt like it was falling out from under him. Bishop braced himself and got out of the chair, taking Emmrich's hand in his and not feeling the immediate flash of magic and nerves for the first time all day. One step at a time, they took the stairs upwards, towards the bed, one step at a time. With Emmrich he could take one step at a time, and despite how the day had gone, Bishop took some solace in that.  

[edupunkn00b]

Meus ex Machina, Chapter 13: Taking Turns

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - Taking Turns - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Late at night, long after the others have gone to bed, Logan returns to the basement to see Remus. But first, Janus teaches teenaged Virgil how to play chess.

“Are you sure this is a real game, Jan?” Virge had protested with a laugh, smirking down at the pieces Janus laid out. “The horse can’t even move in a straight line!” 

Janus merely shrugged and advanced a pawn. “Quite. And that ‘horse’ is called a knight.” He hid his smile better than Virge hid his eye roll. “My grandmother first taught me how to play when I was half your age. This had been her set.” With Luc and the twins out on a training excursion in the drowned coast, the house had been quiet. After helping Patton bake for as long as his attention span would allow, Virge had meandered into the common room and pulled down the old set.

Despite his protests, he’d taken to the game faster than Janus had. And certainly faster than Janus had expected him to.

Chin pillowed on the backs of his hands, Virge now sat slouched in front of the chess board, scowling lightly. Janus’ black knight made no sound as it captured Virgil’s queen. He hummed and sat back, waiting as Virge assessed the changed board. The boy had been over-reliant on the overpowered piece and neglected his knights, thinking them useless. 

Now, purple-ringed eyes peered closely at each piece.

Janus couldn’t help his little nod when Virge sat up straight, staring at the rook he’d left vulnerable. He was even more pleased when Virge didn’t take the bait and instead moved a bishop to C6 to take advantage of the opening.

“Very nice,” he murmured, pointedly ignoring the proud blush on the teenager’s cheeks. Well, technically still a teenager. Back in his parent’s time, Virge would now be old enough to vote. “With practice, soon you’ll be beating me.” He stepped another pawn forward and folded his hands. “I think you’ve got an even chance of beating Papa Bear if you try.”

“Are my ears burning? Or are you just singing my praises?” Patton laughed, plopping down onto the couch next to Virge. A plume of cinnamon and vanilla-scented flour accompanied his laughter. 

“Jan was just suggesting I challenge you to a game of chess.” He brandished a captured bishop and grinned.

Smile twisting into a wince, Patton rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, I don’t know, Kiddo. I’m not much for chess…” His voice trailed away when Virge put on big puppy dog eyes. 

“Please, Pops?”

“Yes, please, Pops?” Janus added, chuckling when Patton rolled his eyes.

“Oh, alright,” he caved, eyeing the board. “Lemme take the bread out of the oven and I’ll watch you finish this game to warm up, okay?” He squeezed Virge’s shoulder, smiling down with that same indulgent grin he still gave Luc sometimes.

“Deal!” Virge vibrated in his seat, the prospect of actually winning a match giving him fresh energy.

Janus didn’t leave him to bask for long, though. “First you’ll need to get out of check.”

“Wha—?” Eyes wide, he scanned the board, sighing when he finally noticed the rook in striking distance of his king. “How the f—”

Luc’s distress signal censored him, the flashing orange lights giving their movements a stuttered effect as he and Virge leapt to their feet. Virge’s captured bishop rolled under the table.

Worry pinched Patton’s face as he rushed back from the kitchen, tearing off his oven mitts. Their shared fear reflected back at them, Patton's voice nothing but a whisper. "Lukie?"

~

After his first visit was cut short by Hesper’s alarm, Logan returned to The Muse’s room each of the following three nights. Though V never mentioned how he’d found him in the basement that night, the lack of censure didn’t feel like approval.

So he would wait until long after the sun had set, until HQ grew quiet and his own eyes would grow heavy and he didn’t need to feign his yawns before retreating to his room with quiet ‘good night’s.

With his door cracked open and ears tuned to the creaks and shuffles of the halls, he sat in the window seat, tablet balanced on his lap as he tapped between the camera arrays in a slow loop. First the hallways to the other Mad Lads’ rooms, then the common room, the med bay, and finally, the cameras just outside The Muse’s room. 

Fighting his own drooping eyelids, he’d wait for the hallways to dim and then he’d count down another thirty minutes before wrangling his chair and heading downstairs.

And for each of those three nights, by the time he’d reached it, The Muse’s room had been dark and still. No moving shadows visible through the tiny window, no sounds beyond a faint snore from the little vent Logan had discovered on the second night.

He stayed for as long as he dared, the memory of V’s tight expression in the elevator growing clearer even as drowsiness fuzzed the rest of his thoughts.

The Muse’s breathing quieted, shifting into a peaceful, regular rhythm. Logan listened, head resting against the cushioned side of his chair. The Muse’s room wasn’t completely dark and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he made out the shape of a small table, books stacked on top. Real, bound, paper books.

Rolls and rolls of drawings were scattered around the room, some piled beneath the table. A cup sat overturned on the counter, next to a half-filled pitcher of pink-colored liquid.

Logan suddenly jerked in his seat,  and he grunted, the sudden movement sending fire over his shoulder. He rubbed the sore muscle and blinked, belatedly realizing he must have dozed off. The Muse’s room was still dim, his sleep sounds louder now to Logan’s barely awake ears.

He reached out and traced his fingers over the window, the plexisteel cool to the touch. “I’ll try again tomorrow night, Muse,” he promised, then rolled back to the elevator and to his room for his own much-needed sleep.

~

Four nights. Four whole nights. It had been four whole nights since he’d last seen Machina. Seven nights—an entire fucking week!—since that first glorious visit when he’d peeked outside and stared back at eyes the color of the sky in books.

He’d begun to fear Machina wouldn’t ever return. After that first visit was cut short, The Muse had feared Machina had been scared off Or blocked. But Jannie wouldn’t do that, would he? He wouldn’t actually keep Machina imprisoned upstairs. Virge wouldn’t, either.

Virge could. The Muse grinned and traced another shape onto the papered floor. Back when he and Virge had started testing the cameras and the locks, back before… The charcoal snapped in his hand, ash exploding against the paper. He smeared his fingers through the dusty shrapnel and nodded. Before that, he and Virge had practiced locking each other out from different rooms, testing the boundaries of how quickly they could switch on and off the permissions.

Ro had hated when he’d locked him out of their room, pounding on the door until his fists grew sore. And until Lucas came and made them reset the locks.

“Ha,” he muttered. “Guess that wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had, huh, Ro Bro? Didn’t know I’d be the one locked out of the controls.”

Still no Machina.

He went to bed each night curled on his side, one eye peeking out from the covers to watch the door. He stared at the elevator panel light spilled over the hallway’s floor, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting and wishing for that wobble that might mean Machina was on his way downstairs. He could picture the lights brighten and dance, the little flicker as the floor numbers changed with the elevator’s movements. He could almost feel the rumble of the elevator touching down, that little click-buzz that even Jannie said he couldn’t feel.

He could almost see those bright blue eyes beaming back at him, light not just reflecting, but shining out of them, undimmed by fear or revulsion. Or guilt. A soft glow no-one else had anymore when they came to see him.

Each night, he fell asleep seeing those eyes. Pretending he could see them, at least. That was nearly as good.

But three nights ago, he’d woken—been woken?—by something. It wasn’t the elevator and there was no movement outside the door. But something had pulled him from his sleep, pulled him from his nest and he’d crawled to the window and peeked out.

Machina!

Face pressed to the window, The Muse watched the slow rise and fall of Machina’s chest as he slept in his chair. His head was tilted at an bad angle—fuck that was gonna hurt when he woke up—but his face was smooth and peaceful in sleep. Machina’s stitches had healed nicely, four thin red lines along either side of his face. The Muse brushed his fingers down his own face, his own scars flat and smooth as Machina’s looked. He nodded. Jannie was now nearly as good at sewing up his damage as Papa Bear was.

The wounds from his thumbs hadn’t gone as deep and Machina hadn’t even needed stitches for his, the shorter, shallow cuts highlighting the curve of his neck and underside of his jaw. He could’ve even gotten those shaving.

Machina sighed in his sleep, turning his head the other way. Good. He’d stretch the muscles in the other direction now and hopefully wake up with less of a crick in his neck.

Shivering, The Muse raced back to his bed and pulled two of the blankets out from their heap and brought them back to the door. Machina had already dressed for sleep, a heavy hoodie—was that one of Virge’s?—layered over a thermal just like his. The left sleeve was folded and pinned up, just like his thick knit sleep pants. No more cold feet, cold cold cold cold feet, no more cold feet… danced through The Muse’s head, but he knew the truth. He���d heard it when the shield fell. 

Machina’s feet were always cold. Cold and aching and screaming for a soft warmth he didn’t know how to give them.

The Muse bunched up his larger blanket on the floor and hunkered down under the other, drawing it up over his head. Machina should be wearing his hood up to trap his body heat better, but maybe it was comfy like it was, gathered up just under his jaw like a tiny pillow.

The Muse copied him, tucking a bit of his blanket between his shoulder and his head and he leaned against the door. If he tilted his head just right he could still watch the little flutter of Machina’s bangs as he breathed.

It was the last thing he saw before sleep finally took him again.

~

A few nights later, Logan spotted the shadow hopping across the floor as soon as he emerged from the elevator. He rolled out into the hall and smiled back at the face pressed against the window.

“You’re back, you’re back, you’re back! You really came back!” The Muse cried. His voice cracked, hoarse and thick. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes, his chapped lips stretched painfully over a wide grin.

“Yes,” Logan nodded, steering his chair as close as he could manage to both the window and the vent. “Can you hear me this time?” he asked, watching The Muse’s face as it twisted between a sob and laughter. Without thinking, he reached toward him, hand stopped by the unforgiving window.

“I can hear you,” The Muse nodded. “Well…” He wobbled his head, light glinting against the wetness in his eyes. “Not hear you, but…” As though distracted by his mangled hand, The Muse stared down at it, eyebrows and lips scrunched down, scowling. 

Logan was about to pull his hand away, to keep it out of sight in his lap. Then he heard The Muse’s quiet whisper. 

“Always, always between. Always between,” he muttered and traced the shape of Logan’s hand before pressing his own, fingers splayed, against it. 

The plastic warmed between their palms.

“Do you…” He looked up and met Logan’s eyes. The Muse’s eyes were a clear, bright green, a greener green than his brother’s, undarkened by sunlight the way young children’s eyes looked before they dimmed with age.

He shuddered at the implication.

“Do you still want to come inside?” The Muse asked, voice warbly. Watery eyes stared back at him and The Muse swallowed, visibly bracing himself for a rejection.

Smiling, Logan stretched and pressed his palm against the controls. The door slid open with a woosh, exhaling the scent of sweat and charcoal, paper and tea. The Muse scrambled back, leaving space for him to enter. “I need to leave my chair…” his voice trailed off, unsure if he was asking or telling.

“Yeah,” The Muse nodded, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “You… You can stay out there if…”

Logan shook his head. “I'm coming in,” he said and launched himself out of his chair and into The Muse’s room.

[aggravateddurian]

You will NEVER see a picture of Avery smiling (at least until 'the event'). She's described in my notes as 'pathologically incapable of looking happy.'

Hey guys, say hello to Avery Greer.

She's not from 2077, she's actually a netrunner NPC I developed for my Cyberpunk RED campaign, How to Save a Life, which takes place in 2051.

Avery Greer (she/her)

Known aliases: Ana

Date of Birth: September 7, 2023

Place of Birth: Charlotte, North Carolina, NUSA

Nationality: NUSA

Occupation: FIA Intelligence Analyst, Netrunner

Affiliations: NUSA, FIA

Sex: F

Gender: Female (cis)

Orientation: Lesbian

Full story below

Avery Greer was born in Charlotte, NC in 2023. Her father, David Greer, was a high school humanities teacher, and her mother, Suzie, was a shopkeeper. Avery grew up being fascinated with drawing. She would draw on the walls of her bedroom and would act out if her parents tried to erase them. She eventually transitioned to drawing in books or on tablets, much to the relief of her family, who felt like fighting with Avery to erase the drawings from her walls was like invading Saburo Arasaka's private residence.

Avery also became very into coding, and from there, it basically guaranteed she would become a netrunner. In high school, she was identified by her teachers as being uniquely talented at organising and assembling code. Her talents also attracted another interest, from the FIA, who needed Intelligence Analysts who were also expert organisers, particularly when it came to data analysis and recommending action against threats to the NUSA.

After graduating from high school, Greer was approached by the FIA. She would now work for the intelligence agency as an analyst and offensive netrunner. She received her commission directly from President Elizabeth Kress, not out of any personal interest on Kress' part, but because Kress had taken to using the FIA as her personal hatchet-men.

Her present assignment is Night City, working with a group of agents led by veteran agent Hunter Wilkes (aka Bishop). Their task is investigating a potential plot to bring Night City under the control of a hostile power, possibly foreign, but also potentially domestic.

During the years, she has done many things on behalf of the NUSA, and she is starting to question her place in the world. As time has gone on, Bishop has noted that Avery has changed. She no longer smiles, and the effort she puts into her work has declined, especially since arriving in Night City. She's started drinking more, and has recently taken up smoking.

Worse, Bishop has started to lose track of Avery for days at a time. She claims that she's going dark because she's anxious of being found by enemy agents, but Bishop is beginning to suspect that Avery is up to something. Bishop is suspicious of netrunners, on a previous gig, he was betrayed by a netrunner, who hacked their AV to crash it in a city, and then handed them over to a local militia in exchange for his freedom. He fears that Avery may be planning to betray the NUSA in exchange for freedom from the FIA...

[aita-blorbos]

(Same universe as the aita for kidnappind my friends friend and aita for beating up like 5 people 3 times)

U/killer-kinfe-skills - 13 hours ago

Aita for accidentally getting my friend's room exercised by a priest

Since my last one did so well, I decided to post another. One of my experiences with the group

So I (16 M) have a friend who feels call L (15 F as she takes so many, so anyways her room let's talk about that monster.

Me and a friend who let's call H (16 F) are invited over by L, as soon as we enter her room it's like seeing a cognito-hazard. She has her closet fucking barricaded with a chair, there are dozens of half-drunken water bottles all over her room, a pencil case in the middle of the room, and a beanbag just facing the wall.

Then I see her setup, it's an RGB gaming pc with like 12 more of those fucking bottles behind the screen, and none of them are empty.

Then she has her bed, this single child gets to experience the bliss of a well made king size bed. Under which is tons of those plastic water bottles packs, this girl has killed more fish than fucking commercial fishing.

Now she has a singular window in her room, and you want to know what it shows? DO YOU?! A fucking brickwall. That's all the view that this room gets.

Now onto the worst of it. Her "lamp", I would not call that "thing" a lamp, it's just wires and a light bulb, nothing to house the wires or any buttons and no lampshade, NOTHING!

We somehow get over that and start talking about her setup it's up to date is all I'll say.

We play some weeb ass fighting game called 'Guilty Gear Strive', and if you know me you know I hate weebs. Anyways I pick funny bed guy because he's a bed. And she's some stupid guy like "happy chaos".

Anyways she says some shit like. "Don't feel bad if you lose 20 times, this is your first time playing." So I go mlg gamer and she's gets pissed, so she proposes a best out of 5. And after a very close match I win, and she releases her unbridled gamer rage, and calls me the "gamer word" while she insults my playstyle. A word a small Asian girl can not say.

Oon after while me and L practice the guitar, H calls a pastor to exercise the obvious demon in this cursed room.

Anyways our music teacher comes and is apparently a pastor, and you can not know the fear of seeing a grown 6" man shake with fear from seeing her room. He tells us he can't deal with this and calls for a bishop for later as it's late

Anyways I come back with my newly returned dad like the day after. When we get there we are met with shotgun bishop, he blows open L's door and let's my teacher do it as apparently, the demon is about wrath and he has a shotgun. And her room is full of paper cranes, it looks even more insane.

So while my dad was abandoning me he was a caretaker of a shrine in Japan, and tells us it's a yōkai and not a demon. So they leave to prepare for tomorrow with more equipment.

Anyway I got knocked out because H sneaked here and scared me, so I got a concussion. And wake up later, H tells me I was out for a day.

Finally the exorcism happens with shotgun bishop, my music teacher, and my dad. They bless us and have L wash her face in a mixture holy water and some temple water, after exercising her room. To test I insult her skills in guilty gear. And she fucking agrees.

She trys to tell me it's fake, but if I did that 3 days ago she would have called me every slur known to man. She then tells me she uses 4chan so I tell her the obvious. "L. 4chan is the demon"

So am I the asshole reddit?

[bleubcrries]

It had been three months since the attempt on Willow's life, and Oscar had been inching towards this decision like a knife's edge toward his own throat. It was time for him to go back to Rusalka. In the days, weeks, months that followed the incident, Oscar had scurried back to his faith like a beaten dog. Slowly, at first, and then all at once. Before the first drop of blood hit the throne room floor, Oscar's faith was job security, at best, but it has since turned into the hand around his throat, keeping him from falling over the cliff; saving and suffocating him all at once. Being raised in a monastery, Oscar was sure that he and fear were well acquainted foes-- but fear had taken a new form on that wretched day. It had grown fangs, claws, and a million watchful eyes. It had become the kind of nightmare that followed you into your waking hours; exactly the kind of thing that sends you back to your knees before the Saints. And that's exactly what Oscar had done. One night, after a long, long court meeting about security measures to protect the Queen, he all but burst out of the room. He rounded corners, descended stairs, ran across corridors on autopilot, until he was back at the long-neglected alter of his rectory, falling to his knees. His face was slick with sweat and tears as he squeezed his hands together, the sword of his rosary cutting harsh lines into his palm as his free, shaking hand struggled to light the matches for his alter candles. And it was there that he begged and pleaded for the Saint to take mercy on Willow, to refrain from punishing her for his indiscretions. He had allowed himself to become blinded by lust, love, and greed, allowed himself to remove himself from holiness just to excuse his behavior of falling asleep in the chair beside her bed when he read her to sleep, or sneaking a kiss on the back of her hand, falling in love with her. And the Saint responded by almost taking her from him. He needed her, more than he needed to breathe, but he knew that it wasn't just him that would pay for his sins, were she to be taken from them. She had a kingdom, a husband, a son. They could not become casualties of his sins. It was then that he decided he was doing more harm than good, staying there. The court had long become suspicious of their closeness, every move he made to protect her caused another knife to dimple the skin of his back. He was becoming a shadow of himself beneath their scrutinizing gaze. And shadows couldn't protect Willow from another brush with death. And so, there Oscar stood, before the court, his eyes down and his hands behind his back, as he introduced the man who would soon replace him. "Your highness, gentleman," Oscar bowed reverently, schooling his expression into a neutral one. "This is Bishop Phillip Beasant. He has served as the advisor to Lord Chathman for over nine years, and was my apprentice at the monastery since he was a boy of only eleven. He has experience in political advisement, and worked closely with Lord Chathman in the security measures that protected the Lord's family from attempted assassinations. I trust entirely in his abilities to serve the royal court with the holiness of the Saint." He paused, as he and the young Bishop made the sign of the sword on their chest, as a proper Bishop is meant to do when mentioning the Saint in formal settings such as this. Oscar has yet to make eye contact with Willow, knowing that one look at her sharp, piercing gaze would turn his resolve to jelly and bring an untimely warmth to his eyes. However, he finally lifts his head to look around at the other members of the court, who are all frozen in suspicious confusion, their spines stiff as they look between Oscar and the unacquainted young Bishop beside him. "Bishop Beasant... well, he will be taking my place, as the Noble Minister of this great kingdom. I will be returning to my post in Rusalka, where I can help them prepare their kingdom for the impending famine of this new era of war."

@inexorcble I'M HAVING EMOTIONS

[nani-nonny]

About LCD, i know he's like a vigilantiy or neutral who walks his own path - with protecting the kids in the shadow - but what would happen if kids got arrested by hidden police city?

Or worst got kidnapped by bishop? (I know rise doesn't have bishop but am putting out a " what if " scenario here).

(If you can add your own perspective with the same scenario but with different leo(s)? Such as DMD, WSD, reunion).

Oooh I’ll have to brush up on who Bishop is, I completely forgot about him. It’s been years since I’ve consumed tmnt content—well, until recently that is haha (I have been rewatching—albeit slowly because responsibilities—tmnt 2003 and 2012 so hopefully I get to it soon)

(A bit of a long post so more under the cut)

But, if the kids were to get arrested in the Hidden City, LCD would easily walk through the front doors and demand the kids be released. If no one complies with his demand, he’ll just walk through the building until he found them. After all, who’s gonna stop the Killer of the Hidden City? They all fear him, and rightfully so. LCD would simply release the kids and guide them to the surface and leave asap.

The arrest situation would be all over the news at the sudden resurgence of the killer, and even if he doesn’t hurt anyone, the city would be in a panic. The kids would be scolded for coming back to the Hidden City and LCD would go back into hiding. For the next few weeks in the Hidden City, many yokai would be afraid to leave their houses unless absolutely necessary. Fortunately for the Hidden City police, crime would be at an all-time low during that time.

If the kids were kidnapped, then that’s another story. (I imagine this would be a petty attempt at getting revenge from LCD.) Yokai would disappear for a few days before returning with pale faces as if they saw a ghost or witnessed horrors that haunt their everyday lives. News would go up that the killer is on the move again and there would be another city-wide panic but word would get out that he’s searching for “his son”. [Context: In the Hidden City, LCD Little Leon is believed to be F!Leo’s biological son.]

Yokai would throw each other under the bus in an attempt at helping LCD so they can save their own hides. LCD would eventually catch word where the kids are and the kidnapper would mysteriously “disappear” (and so would LCD but for an entirely different reason, such as hiding from the cops). The kids would be escorted home and scolded to never come back to the Hidden City ever again.

“Give me the kids and I’ll make your death as swift and painless as you deserve.” -LCD (it was in fact not swift nor painless)

In DMD’s, WDS’s and Reunion’s cases, they all have something LCD lacks: resources.

I feel like WDS F!Leo would be backed up by F!Donnie and track down the kids via their trackers implanted by P!Donnie. F!Leo would be fueled by parental rage and find the kidnapper easily and inflict hell upon said kidnapper while F!Mikey/Raph/Donnie get a few punches in using F!Leo’s body (obviously, he’d allow them to take turns guiding his fists and kicks.) It’d be a quick and easy mission with a punishment lasting weeks—maybe even months. But F!Leo would dedicate a lot of that time making sure the kids are okay and that they feel safe.

“Fuck, kids, you’re okay. You’re safe now, I’ve got you. We’re going home and doing whatever you want. Okay? I’m here.” -WDS

DMD would ask everybody he knows to keep a lookout. And this means Big Mama (this would entail doing something for her in turn, of course), Draxum, and Ripper and Wiler. He would also utilize his celebrity stance in the Hidden City to ask the yokai to keep a lookout for the kids. He would take matters into his own hands and interrogate every villain they’ve fought, which means terrorizing small bad guys like Hypno and Warren Stone. Casey Jr would have to help him keep it together because he would definitely spiral into a tornado of self-guilt.

“Come here, please, come here. You’re okay, right? You’re not hurt, are you? Case, report to everyone we found them. Let’s go home, okay? We can talk about this when we get home. I just need to make sure you’re safe.” -DMD

Reunion doesn’t have to worry too much because he’s incredibly confident in the kids’ abilities. (Well, that and he’d have to be back in the present to be aware that the kids were stolen. For this scenario let’s say he was just visiting but found the lair empty and Splinter alone in the lair.) That’s solely backed up by the fact the kids were able to imprison the krang which is the reason why he holds them to such high regards. He would search for the kids with Splinter’s help and utilize anything available to them. (I think this would be the first P!Splinter sees Leonardo as the leader he expected his son to be—he might tear up at the sight due to how proud he is.) P!Splinter and F!Leo would have to work fast because the portal back to F!Leo’s time would be held open by his brothers. When they do eventually locate the kids, the kidnappers would be beaten senseless then the kids rushed back home without a proper goodbye because Reunion had to go home.

“Are you guys okay? Did I make it in time? I’m so sorry, let’s get you home. What do you need? Dad, lead the way.” -Reunion

This was actually an interesting question ngl and I wish I remembered more about bishop to answer that one too haha! It took me a while to think of how they would react, but I think the easiest was DMD’s.