#I wrote this in a fever

[flying-ham]

the starks as swifties

- sansa as the ultimate speak now/lover stan but loves all the albums. og fan since she heard fearless on the radio when she was like 7 and never looked back. went to the eras tour 3 times and was cancelled on TikTok for taking tickets away from the “less fortunate”

- arya says she hates taylor swift bc she’s sansas favorite but secretly sings along every time. can be heard mumbling the lyrics to shake it off occasionally but would never admit it

- bran used to love fearless bc it was a special thing between him and sansa but the three eyed raven introduced him to evermore so now he’s an edgy bitch. sansa used to make him reinact music videos with her when they were little

- robb only knows our song and “that romeo and juliet one” but tries to be supportive for his baby sister

- cat is a rep stan bc she’s a messy bitch and we love her for that. she’ll never forget and never forgive baby the tullys are built different

- ned says he likes speak now bc it was sansa’s fav when she was little but doesn’t fully “get” the whole swiftie thing. always sends her out of date memes and news about taylor that he sees on facebook. took her to her first fearless concert in 2009 and again to the eras tour in 2023

- rickon listened to folklore to sleep as a baby <3

- jon is too busy being a 16 year old manager at mcdonalds to listen to music

[kaffkanya]

[katsukistofu]

claire de lune

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. 1.8k words — domestic fluff. slightly suggestive. ⭑ there’s nothing you and katsuki wouldn’t do for your baby girl, and that includes giving her the moon.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

“Yes angel?”

“I want that thing down!” Your daughter points above you with her tiny finger. The faint chirping of crickets can be heard in the distance, and tall, silken blades of grass tickle the both of your cheeks as you gaze upward at the vast periwinkle sky. 

A sweet smile spreads across your lips. “You want me to get the moon down?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Aw sweetheart, I’d get it for you but mommy can’t reach that high. Daddy probably can though.”

She pouts at this, and turns away from you to poke her dad who is on the brink of falling asleep again on the other side of her. 

“Dada!”

Katsuki’s eyes flutter open and he groggily faces her, head resting on his folded arms behind him. You bite back a laugh at the crumbs still decorating his cheeks. Sumi was trying to balance Cheeto puffs on his nose earlier before his nap. “What ‘sup bubba?”

She points at the moon again. “Get it down.”

“That?” Your husband covers his mouth to yawn, glancing up at the darkening sky. Sumi nods excitedly. “M’kay. Was thinking about it when you and mommy started lookin’ anyway.” He says it so casually, like getting the moon for her was a feat as simple as buying a carton of strawberries at the store.

“Yay!” Sumi cheers, and he chuckles when she struggles to slip her hand under his arm on the ground to hug it. Katsuki rolls over and she giggles, now sandwiched between the both of you as you hug her.

“Sumi, how about you wait inside while Daddy gets it for you?” You suggest. It was starting to get late. 

“Nooo,” Sumi whines. “Wanna stay here and watch.”

“You can have the last cookie in the kitchen’s jar.”

Sumi’s eyes brighten. “The bear one that looks like dada!”

“That’s right, sweetheart. The one with his grump grump face.”

“Who’re you calling a grump grump.” Katsuki scowls, secretly reaching over Sumi to give an affectionate pinch to the softness of your hip and you squeal. 

“Sumi, Daddy’s being mean to mommy!”

Sumi’s face matches Katsuki’s expression from before. “Stop that dada!” 

Katsuki slyly grins and withdraws his hand, masking his face into an expression that is the definition of innocence. With amusement, you note the little huff of pride he makes seeing Sumi’s tiny scowl, perfectly identical to his. “Mommy started it.” 

She blows a raspberry at him and wriggles out of his grasp, then gives the both of you pats on the head like you’re misbehaving puppies and finally runs off back into the house. 

“You two play nice!” Sumi waggles her finger with as much sternness as a three year old can muster before promptly shutting the door in your faces.

Katsuki meets your eyes with his and the both of you laugh on the grass, breathlessly clutching each other. 

“I wonder who she takes after more,” you muse between giggles. 

“Definitely you.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, bringing you closer to him with his arms snug around your waist.

“Whaaat? No way, I was totally going to say you.” You grin cheekily, eyes going almost comically wide when he kisses you hard on the mouth in response.

“Shut up.” 

“Kiss me again and I will,” you murmur dazedly and he chuckles, muttering something under his breath about you being insatiable despite leaning in to give you another one.

With how close he is, everything is soft eyelashes, the dull thudding of his heart beat synchronizing with yours as his firm chest presses against you, and the warmth radiating from his smooth skin, slowly seeping into your body.

Each movement of your lips brushes his mouth more and more against yours and even after almost a decade of being together, the feeling still makes your brain go fuzzy. All your thoughts melt away. It’s just you and him.

“Kats,” you breathe in warning. His fingers have somehow found their way under your sundress and they’re mindlessly tracing nonsensical shapes into the small of your back, his other arm still tightly wrapping you in his warm embrace. “I really, really need to go iron your suit for tomorrow. Plus, aren’t you supposed to be catching the moon right now, mister?”

“Just ten more minutes,” Katsuki murmurs against your collarbone and you shiver. His voice is still husky with sleep. “And I already caught the thing.”

“Really? Proof or you’re lying.” You raise a brow skeptically, and you should’ve known better than to doubt him when he actually reaches behind him, the wedding ring that he never takes off even to wear his hero costume glinting in the moonlight, to lift up a neatly wrapped up box with a little baby pink ribbon on it. 

Your mouth drops open in surprise. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Katsuki grins proudly. “Found it after patrol last week with Eijiro.”

“It being…?”

“The moon.” He sets the box down in front of you. “It’s a night light, ‘cause I know Mimi’s scared of the dark.” 

“Aww Katsuki,” you coo, reaching out to caress his cheek. “That’s so cute.”

He blushes at the pure look of adoration in your eyes, and you can’t help but smile when he hides his face in your hair. “S’nothin’. Just getting the best for our little girl.”

Your husband grumbles when you let out that perfect, angelic giggle of yours and rest your hand on his head in response. He was so adorable. 

The way he’s acting is so similar to how you did at the beginning of your relationship all those years ago in high school, but it seems that as the both of you got older the tables turned and he was the clingier one now, much to the amusement of your classmates and the press when they managed to get ahold of you.

Katsuki lets out a low, content hum as you run your fingers through his soft hair. The both of you lay there, basking in each other’s touch and comfortable silence.

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you when you were sunbathing on the beach this morning.”

Your cheeks are warm. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Katsuki smirks at your expression. “Sumi kept smacking me with her damn shovel when we were making sand castles. Stop staring at mommy, it's rude!” He says, mimicking your daughter’s scolding tone.

You laugh at his Sumi impression. “My girl was trying to teach you some manners!”

“Damn straight.” He grins against your neck, and your cheeks grow hot at the way his teeth lightly graze over your skin. “That’s why I said she’s more like you, mommy.”

Your stomach flips against your will and your cheeks burn as you smack his well-muscled chest. “Don’t call me that!”

“Hah? Am I hearing my wife being embarrassed right now, after everything we’ve done? After what we made together?” Katsuki teases. “When you’re talking to Sumi you call me dadd—“

“What’s taking you so long!” Speaking of the little devil, Sumi’s impatient voice floats down to the garden through the open window of her room upstairs. “I want my moon and bedtime story now!”

“We’re on our way, Sumi!” You call up. Katsuki reluctantly lets you pull away from his arms, and the both of you stand up to dust yourselves off. He groans as he cracks his back next to you.

“Don’t think we’re nursing home age just yet,” you say jokingly. Katsuki snorts and pinches your cheek for the jibe. 

“You’re lucky I’m still gonna think you’re cute when you’re in grandma diapers.”

“Wha—Hey!” You trail after him into the house. Damn his fast pace and his longer legs. He’s already up the stairs, the present box in his hand.

You reach the top of the stairs and head for the familiar light pink interior of Sumi’s room but stop in the doorway to coo at the sight before you. 

“Hey, squirt. Got the moon for you, just like I said I would.” Katsuki’s voice is gentle as he kneels on the floor to meet her sparkling eyes, and gently shakes the box in his hands before holding it out to her.

“Whoaaa!” Sumi eagerly takes it. “Thank you dada!” 

She raises her head and spots you leaning against the frame of her door. “Mommy look!”

“I’m looking, Mimi.”

“You and dada watch me open it.” 

“Okay, go ahead we’re watching.” Katsuki and you smile softly as she unwraps the present with care and she gasps, tiny hands taking the globe-shaped, moon night light out. It was decorated with realistic looking craters, and even came with a wooden stand to put it on.

“So cute.” Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates. “So pretty.” Then she tilts her head in the direction of her open curtains.

“Why’s she still up there though?” Sumi asks curiously, and Katsuki chuckles. Of course his kid is way too smart to be tricked by something like a night light. 

“Well we can’t actually take the moon away, sweetie. She has her stars to take care of.”

“Oh.” Sumi frowns, deep in thought, then perks up. “Mr. Sun would miss her too!”

“Mhm, that’s right.” You ruffle her hair playfully and she squeals. “That’d be like someone taking me away from you and daddy.”

“No!” Sumi pouts. “Don’t like that. Wanna stay with you and dada forever.”

“And you will, Sumi.” Katsuki pats her little head with his much larger hand in reassurance. “Mommy and I are gonna to be with you forever. Right mommy?”

You sigh, realizing he’s got you trapped. “That’s right… daddy,” you grit out, ignoring the victorious grin that causes his unfairly attractive dimple to appear on his cheek and you head straight for Sumi’s spot on the bed, taking a seat next to her. She leans against your arm, and you press a loving kiss to the top of her head. 

Sumi holds the night light out to Katsuki, who gently sets it down on her nightstand and plugs it in. It casts a soft, white glow, just like real moonlight on his face, and Sumi and you ooh and awe at it in appreciation.

“Can I have my bedtime story now?” Sumi pipes up.

“Sure, think it’s mommy’s turn to read.” Katsuki joins the both of you in bed, sliding an arm behind you. “What book were you thinking of tonight?”

“Le Peewee Prince!”

You giggle. “Le Petit Prince?”

“Yeah, that one!”

“Okay then. Come here and lay down, sweetheart.” You take the bookmark out from where you left off last time, the moon night light beside you illuminating the pages as you begin to read.

“Goodbye, said the fox.” You recite in a quiet, dulcet voice. Katsuki’s arm around your waist hugs you and Sumi closer, who snuggles up between you both, blanket tucked snug under her chin. Your chest warms at the sight, and you continue. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye…”

[daisynik7]

Toji is the type to be so cold to you in front of your friends. Scoffs at every little thing you say, rolls his eyes at your cheesy jokes, pretends that he couldn't care less about you. He's that one asshole "friend" in your group who you can't seem to get along with, so you bicker and bicker with each other constantly. It's no secret that the two of you can't stand one another.

What is a secret is when the two of you are alone.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" he whispers, his mouth grazing your ear as he stands behind you at the kitchen sink. The others are still gathered in the living room; you went here to wash your hands. He followed you in, always does. He jumps at every chance he can get to be alone with you, just to have moments like this.

Tonight, he pissed you off by joking about how boring you are for having to leave the party early tonight. Something stupid, it always is. You flipped him the bird in response, refusing to say a word, knowing it would just encourage him.

And now, he's here with you. His hands around your hips, pulling you closer to him, pushing himself closer to you. He kisses the back of your neck, fingers inching between your legs, his erection throbbing against you. He never says sorry, only apologizes by giving you his cock. This time, you don't want to make it so easy for him.

"Thought you said I was boring," you say, jutting your ass towards him.

"That was just a joke," he purrs, rubbing your clothed pussy with his fingers. "You know how excited you make me."

You hum, pretending to reconsider the original plan. "Maybe I should just stay here longer."

He almost whines before he catches himself, because Toji Fushiguro would rather be caught dead than caught whining over a woman. But with you, he comes close. The only reason you want to leave this silly party early is so you could prepare your house for when he comes over later to spend the night, a routine the two of you have been doing in secret for a while now. And of course, he's at fault for ruining the plan with his idiotic mouth.

When he doesn't respond, you turn around, smirking. "Nothing to say? I'm having fun here anyways, so it's better that I don't leave - "

He mumbles something that's barely audible, though you know exactly what he's trying to say. "Could you repeat that a little louder, please?" you tease him, cupping your ear with your hand, enjoying this way too much.

He swallows hard, avoiding your gaze by looking up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry," you mutters, through gritted teeth.

You tip his chin to make him face you, smiling. "Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Toji Fushiguro would rather be caught dead than be called a "good boy." But once again, it's proved that you are the exception.

[merakiui]

i need to talk about yans with baby fever……. orz maybe they’re overly doting and so lovesick, and seeing you being domestic or caring for children has thrown them into the most frenzied baby fever ever. it’s so bad it borderlines mindless breeding.

or the yans who are a little manipulative, forcing their baby fever onto you even if you protest or don’t want a baby. persuading you with all kinds of things: “accidentally” buying baby clothes and other essentials or leaving parenthood books out or even buying maternity wear for you… randomly bringing up how pretty you’d look all round and full with his child, hoping you’ll warm up to the idea eventually.

or the yans who said they’d never want children, but then that all changes when they finally have you all to themselves and they’ve seen how good you are with kids and suddenly all he wants to do is put you in a mating press and cum inside as much as possible. <3

[mellohiizz]

was gonna do a full post with more designs, but it's already taking me way too long to post these, so whatever. here's some of my uu designs. <3 they're very basic, and i will do a more detailed sheet with different arcs (?) in mind, but it will take me way too long, i fear. so you can have those for now. ^_^ they're all from like... a month ago? maybe more.

[annasofthe11thdimension]

Alright, so this is basically...an art dump for all the pics i drew when i was trying to draft the ending i wanted my Odile looping Au 'Like a Wheel Ever Turning' which...is not even SLIGHTLY how this fic is going to end now, but while figuring that out i still like draw all this and had to do SOMETHING with it.

So figured I'd post it and be like 'hey! fun Odile looping act 5 boss fight vibes not connected to anything else!' since like...that basic IS what they are at this point lol.

The one cool idea i loved that i think is now FIRMLY ditched is the act 5 boss fight starts when Odile uses wish craft to splinter herself into two halves.

The 'old/current' her that is meant to be her coldly logical side, and a younger 'copy' version, which is meant to be the childish irrational side...that is what's stopping her just shutting down the time loop because she can't figure out how to be happy with her friends leaving.

I mean, if you murder the part of you that WANTS the wish to come true, that's basically a 'get out of time loop free card' right? Right! Totally sound logic!

Yes the 'young' version of her firmly believes that she's real, and also also got memories going up to about age 21, and also that she ought to be in Ka Bue not HERE among these french weirdos.

Also yes again, a 'young' Odile is EXACTLY as unhinged about this as you'd expect a 21 year old to be upon finding out that apparently the 'real' her think murdering her is the correct solution to this problem!

The shift of the fight was meant to have the inverse 'colors' shift from one version to the other by the end, wrapping up with the point where the 'original' Odile is forced to have a heart to heart with the personification of her perceived 'worst' qualities.

Pretty sure the vibes for this ending was a lot more focused on the resolution of having deeply complex feeling about EXPRESSING emotion directly to other people. That along with a side helping of how isolating it is to be perceived as a 'real' adult such that you can't be weak enough to ask anyone for help. Because really if you can't even be that then why are you any different then when you were irritating mess of a youth?

Not saying any of that isn't still present in the story, but like...there is a LOT of other stuff going on, and those themes are now linked into many other ones too, and that's not even TOUCHING on how Loop's been...somewhat complicating my redrafting lol.

...Also I might have drawn/plotted this version before i knew about two-hats lol. THAT also is a factor.

Anyway! Still liked all of these enough to want to do SOMETHING with them, and figured this worked, so i could like map out my thoughts on them, even if i never got to write this.

[shalomniscient]

a letter from a sailor to her lover. || beidou x reader

On the open ocean, Beidou is left with her thoughts. Of course, she ends up thinking of you—and tonight, she chooses to write them down in a letter to you.

notes. been obsessed w sailor song by gigi perez ,,, ooo the sapphicism. also this is short as hell but i kinda like it, might make it a series or smtg for bei

cw. fluff

To my dear heart,

We’ve just made landfall in Snezhnaya. It’s a damn cold place—I always think I’ve gotten used to the cold every time I go back, but I keep eating my words. I guess the Tsaritsa’s love isn’t so warm, huh? It makes me miss those summer mornings where I’d wake up in your arms. A little sticky, a little sweaty, but warm. The sunrise never could outdo your smile.

I miss you. And it’s got me thinking about the ways to describe how I love you.

I know, I know. I’m no poet. I’m a pirate captain! But… a mutual friend of ours keeps sending me to fetch all these literature books, so I figured I’d flip through a few pages on the journey back. Might as well make use of the time, right? Indulge me, please, sweetheart, just this once.

I thought, first, that I love you the way the ocean loves the moon. You move me, coaxing me into rhythm. You are there, always—for my highs and for my lows, for when I’m strong and when I’m weak. But the moon shines so far in the sky, and I hold you too close to my heart to bear the distance.

I thought, next, that I might love you like an anchor loves a ship. You hold me steady on stormy nights, when the waves crash harsh and high. And I carry you with me wherever I go. But you are more than just an anchor.

So I thought instead, that perhaps I love you the way a navigator loves the north star. With faith and certainty in its presence, a guiding light in the darkest of nights. I know you will shine forever in my night sky, but I think I would miss you too much during the day.

So I’ve thought about it lot, but in the end, sweetheart, I think I’ll only know how to love you as myself. I’ll come and I’ll go but my love for you will always stay right there in your hands. I’ll love you like a sailor; and you’ll always be my safest harbor. Today, tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that.

Yours entirely,

Beidou

PS. Please don’t tell our mutual friend i’ve been reading her books. She might fine me extra…

[punk-in-docs]

A song of rage and salty waves: part I

— Emperor Geta x reader (Salacia)

— 2.5k words

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV — Part V

Summary; You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblog and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW!! some dub con/ threat/violence/basically forced marriage/forced smut situation/Geta is such a vile human being/Macrinus is villain sorry denzel ily

You’re imprisoned in Rome.

You certainly didn’t come here of your own free will. Your father had tugged you here from Corsica. Employed clever charm with letters and schemes from his high position in the senate.

As the role of your sex; you were born to obey.

He sent you imported silken stolas the colours of cornflowers or lazurite, with gold fibulae at the shoulders. Gem inlaid jewellery, rings to decorate every finger, and earrings the sway. A golden net for your hair. Wheedled you into coming to join him. Sending servants to travel with you and take heed of your every comfort.

He made sure you dined on plump fresh fruit. Seafood of lobsters and crabs. Drank wine so rich dark it looked black.

You despise it. The stone pillars and temples. And gods of old. Eyes watch you everywhere. See you. Follow you.The governing heat and noise and sweaty heaving mass of all forms of life.

You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa.

Salacia. The ocean nymph and the being of your name. Crowned with seaweed in your hair. Sea foam dripping off your fingers. Ripped from your home, an isle by the sea, at the whim of another.

Imprisoned here in this cold marble city. A fish out of water. Gasping dry on the shore.

Pulled inland and stolen away. You can’t hear gulls or waves anymore. It sickens you. Heart pangs that throb for home.

When you arrived, pulled back your folded palla down to your shoulders. He welcomed you with open arms and fondness. Wrists linked in gold cuffs. Tugged you to his chest and embraced you warmly. Hissed in your ear - abrasive like harsh sea spray - spies are everywhere.

He needed you close by. For reasons you had yet to fathom.

You dined like spoilt deity’s. Breads and wines, fish, fruits from far regions fattened by the suns heat, and succulent meat roasted in sweet cassia spices on a spit.

He had urns of flowers - picked by the servant - placed in every room. Lilies, juniper branches still bearing dark fruit, lavender, oleanders.

Companions join him and he is boastful of you. A nubile creature offered placement at a table of old muddled men. He introduces you to trusted friends and advisors in the senate.

One man in particular takes keen interest as to your recent arrival. His name was Macrinus. Man of information and resources. Dealt in cunning and cruelty though you found him sincerely charming. Your father watched you with a desperate eye.

Macrinus bore a smile so dazzling and blinding it made you dizzy; made think of the sun god. Apollo and his light cast across golden wheat fields. Notes of fine music. He sipped his wine slow, as he learned the flavour of your name. Where you came from. Understanding the rolling sea foam in your veins.

There’s a game to be held at the coliseum. He will have your father as his guest - and you by a very pretty extension. He nods at you; his eyes glimmer like pooled liquid gold in the half lit dark. It almost makes you feel safe.

They dine and drink into the small hours. Yet you slip away.

You watched this awful city out your window that night in your silk dress the colour of night time tidal waves. The air is stale. Carrion to you. Hot. Full of dust and sweat. Here, It smells like mulberry trees and a green garden waiting for blessed rain.

You couldn’t hear the sea. Or your sisters. Your mothers humming as she wove cloth and mended clothes. And you wept.

Salt found in your tears to be your only sacred comfort of home.

~

You are soft to this hard stone city. The coliseum is magnificent. As large as it is those who hold their powerful fists over its rule. Clutched in gold. Fine for the rich. Deadly for the slaves and warriors thrown into the pit at the whim of others. Met with carnivore teeth and sand and death.

The senators, generals, and the rich merchants watch from their perch, up among the gods they serve, presiding in shade and clothed in perfumed silks and jewels. Ladies and men both.

Your hair took hours to fasten in its current coiled style. Plaited and weaved. Your dress is the colour of the softest blue shore. Your servant lavished your arms and fingers in golden finery. A serpent cuff coiled around your arm. Skin draped in lemon oil because it’s the small piece of Corsica you carry here with you. Serenity to push against this place of gore, butchery and death.

You find yourself seated here amongst giants. Macrinus is seated one side. Your father the other. He fondly lays his hand across yours in gentle touch.

His palm is damp. Gold rings wet.

His face looks haggard with age. The lines by his eyes more prominent. Rome is poisoning him. The golden apple just a fingertip shy of his reach. St Bartholomew flayed and stripped of skin piece by piece. Schemes and plots lay thick in his mind like rot. Sweat beads down across his brow and the thinning salt pepper of his hair.

He says something to Macrinus that you’re too absorbed to hear. It’s low. Dragged through a growl. He appears unmoved, with a slow flick of his eyes to you. Watching this finery and loudness devour you. Your eyes so full wide and round. Salt and innocence entwined.

You all rise when the emperors pass by, Geta and Caracalla, who stride in, garbed in gold and cloaks. Come to take their rightful place at the mouth of the box where you are seated.

They are like twin suns to the Roman people. Lion gold hair kissed by fire. They burn and twist and shine with it. Make noises like gold coins that clack when they move. Strung in riches and golden crowns of olive leaves and branches.

Together they make you think of Romulus and Remus. Raised rabid by wolves. And they certainly make an impression. You’ve heard tale of the voracious nature of the blood sport they all but live for. Faces limned in the glory of gore.

The crowd cheers for them. They nod and wave but it appears barbed. The games begin with a wave of applause and a regal hand.

Caracalla twists and casts an eye in your direction. Seeing new meat.

The way you sit sedately and can’t cast your mind into the butchery and violence happening below. The clash of steel. The hollow squelching cries that proceed death. The spill of viscera and the scatter of brain matter from split heads.

Each new gash or split in skin made them smile. The taint of blood. Metallic sour. Spilling of offal and exposed bone.

He tilts his head like a clever wolf. Eyes darken. His sneer as terrible as a skulls. He leans across and whispers something to his brother with a knock of his arm to gain attention.

Another set of wolfish eyes join the first in hooking to your skin. Silly soft girl. Made of gentle sea breezes and lapping blue waves calm and soft enough to wade in. Pearl shining in moonlight. So watery and weak. So good. Untouchable.

Geta swept his gaze on you from head to toe. Appraising you hungrily through greedy eyes. The beauty of your figure in that soft folds of that stola. The gold that crushed your neck. Broaches at your fair shoulders. Hair glistening and finely arranged.

He liked the way you winced when another sword blow came. The pull of your brows and how you had to look away. He wanted you gathered up in his lap; fingers crushing your jaw as he turned your head; force you to watch as the men cleaved at each other and drew blood. Hacked off limbs. Laugh at your revulsion.

Looking at you sat there; He has an urge to take his dagger, slit that fine silk from your shoulders and bare your real beauty. Grab it off you and snatch your dress down. Spoil himself on your curves. Grab your breasts. He’s sure you’ve tits that even a goddess would envy. He’d reel you in by grabbing your ass that definitely needs a spank and some attention.

You’re even prettier than some of the finest whores he’s had grace his bed. They never kept his interest too long. Too entwined in filth and sin like him; you look pure as a vestal virgin.

He likes that. He wants to pluck it off you and spoil it.

You don’t dare meet his eyes. Of course you don’t. He’s an emperor. He could have you executed for looking at him wrongly. Instead; you wring your hands in your lap and squirm. Close your eyes tighter with every dying wail.

He turns back to the fight. As do you. A gasp flies from your mouth when you draw your eyes to one of the measly soldiers in the arena. Your father left his seat to stand, mouth gaping.

You saw the familiar arrangement of strong limbs. Garbed in warriors clothing. The way his arms shook holding a sword. Inexperienced and struggling. The fight was not fair. The same head of hair that matched your own.

Your oldest brother.

Macrinus grinned. “He’s not my finest fighter. But I wager he’ll be good sport.” He smirks.

Your father turned, cursed the gods, and exploded with venomous rage. Flew for the man with his fists. Grabbed his clothing. You tried to restrain the storm of his temper - but then you’d got that trait from somewhere hadn’t you? - an ocean thrashing wild and free. Terrifying in its rage.

“You promised me.” Your father roared. Spittle flying.

“I never promised to protect your traitor of a son. Let us see if the gods spare him. Yes?” Macrinus commented.

You couldn’t take your eyes from the pit. Nor could your father. He clutched to you like he could barely stand. Weakened and shrinking. Hand a vice on your shoulder. It burned like the sting of sun but you couldn’t shrug him off.

Your brother was meeting with an opponent far larger than he was. A Retiarius. Helmet, trident, dagger and a net.

Of which had currently knocked your brother to the blood dusted dirt. Spearing the trident deep into his thigh. Pinning him to earth like a bug. His cry of pain ringing out. Blood sheeted down one side of his head. His scream is the most horrible thing you’d ever heard.

You can’t help it. Where you’re stood, you cry out. It pours forth from you.

The Retiarius loomed over your bother like a terrible storm cloud. Looking up at the stands for direction. The whole audience cheered and screamed for more.

Geta stood up and the crowd bayed. He sneered at the sight before him. All the power of a god; crammed into a mortal man.

He raised his arm. And hesitated for a moment. Before he smirked. And pointed his thumb right up.

Death.

Your father wailed. The huge lumbering gladiator descended onto your brother. Flinging the net off and cutting his throat in one fast slice. Blood poured and pooled around lifeless eyes. Stained the sand.

Macrinus stood to his feet and clapped along with everyone else. The emperors’ laughed like hyenas at the sight. Blood and pain only made their smiles grow.

Before you knew what was happening, the palace guards had you and your father surrounded. Hands viced around your arms. Your shoulders. Your father too.

Traitor. He decried. A traitor in the senate. The tarpeian rock.

Just like his now dead son. People’s poised against the glory of Rome. Against Caracalla and Geta. Death to all.

Macrinus spoke harshly to the guards to release you. He backhanded you across your cheek. Your eye felt like it was going to burst. Cheek flamed with fire. Lip cut and bleeding down your chin from his ring.

He then wasted little time in digging his fingers into your finely done hair. Hauled you along screaming. Tears streaming.

Your father could only watch, limbs wrenching forwards in terror to help, as Macrinus marched you across the stands to where they sat.

He threw you to the ground like a feral animal. Tumbled you onto your knees. Skimmed your hands. As you squirmed and cried at your body twisted to his cruelty.

“Your majesties. I have personally uncovered a traitor in your court. Senator Aurelius. Not only was his first born placed in rebellion against Rome. But he himself has been sowing seeds of treason in your senate. I bring you his filthy kin as recompense…” He spat at the Emperors. Releasing your mussed hair to throw you to their feet.

They examined you as one would a creature. Nothing of humanity left. Devoid of any feeling. You crawled slowly to your elbows. Tried to claw away sobs. Raising up but not daring to look at them. You weren’t worthy. You feared them.

Geta was the one who rose slowly to his feet. Coming to stand before you. “We are most grateful for your revelation, Macrinus. You will be rewarded for such loyal service.” Though he spoke to him, his eyes never left you.

You father shouted and cried pleas. They go unheard. He snaps to the guards who hold him. “Silence that treacherous snake-“ he barks. They beat him into submission.

You stay cowering on the ground. In amongst the gritty dirt, and the blood like those slaves and gladiators. That’s how they saw you. That’s how much you were worth. Held in the same regard as the dirt on their shoes.

You feel a ring clad hand tip a finger under your chin. Blood dripping down onto that digit as he made you raise your head to look at him until your neck hurt.

“What is your name, pretty little traitor-“ He sneers. Because that is all you are. They’ve tarred and feathered you with the same brush.

You give it to him through tears that run freely. You give this awful golden haired emperor with dark lecherous eyes your name.

“Salacia.” You cry. Voice watery and cloaked in heavy salty sobs. Lips parted. So soft and pliable. Lovely and ripe and waiting for him. A gift from the gods-

He tilts his head down at you. Looking like some sun gold lion. Showing his canines in a cruel white smile.

“Imprison them. Both.” He smirks.

He thinks he may have them bring him your fathers head on a platter. Strangulation seemed too soft. Too forgiving. He had to make an example of you.

He had a particular way in mind for your fate. He watched you get led away crying as he sucked your sweet blood off his thumb.

You tasted like salt and sea foam

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people—

@indouloureux @trashmouth-richie @atabigail @lunatictardis @waywardrose @ceriseheaven @hillarymurray4 @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @ddejavvu @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

[cheezritsu]

Reo Mikage is looking down at you. He has a smile meant to be charming, a smile that belongs to a prince, and it’s aimed at you. You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

“Yes?” You say, presumptuously. The charming smile doesn’t falter.

“I didn’t know I needed something just to talk to you. Is there a line? Do I need a number?” He looks around facetiously but still good natured. Like you’re in on the joke. Like you’re friends.

Reo Mikage is in your class. He’s rich—stupid, filthy rich, so he can afford to be smart. You cannot afford to be dumb. Funny how that works. You doubt this has ever occurred to him.

What has probably also not occurred to Reo Mikage is that he is the last person who should approaching you. There’s eyes peering around every corner at the once secluded interaction. Girls whispering in gaggles, boys who climbed over each other on the picnic benches, even the people that Reo left behind at his lunch table have now circled behind him, watching as he shone his benevolent smile down upon you, a lowly commoner of Hakuho high.

They’re not entranced because it’s Reo, they’re entranced because it’s you. There are two universally known facts about you: one, you hate rich people and two, you hate boys.

And now, in the goddamn quad in broad daylight the living, breathing center of that cursed venn diagram decided to speak to you like you were friends.

“Bro, what?”

Oh, did you say that out loud? Laughter echoes through the quad. His smile does slip now, wavering as it pulls down into uncertainty. His brow furrows.

“I’m sorry?”

“What do you need?”

“Like I said,” his tone isn’t as sweet now. It’s kinda nice that he’s dropping the prince act a little. “Does someone need a reason to just talk to you?”

“I think everyone does? People don’t really just talk to hear themselves talk. Well,” you give him a judgemental once over. “You actually might.”

A ripple of shock takes the makeshift audience. Reo’s face creases even further, annoyance settling in the cracks of his once perfect visage.

You have no trouble admitting that; Reo has hair and eyes like the pansies the school still has planted in the front gates. His tresses look petal soft, too, and his hands are probably the same way. Smooth from knowing nothing of hard work. Long lashes like boys are blessed to have, lips people want smiling in their direction or saying their name. That’s the problem with Reo Mikage; he’s like the boys in the books you read cover to cover. Perfect and pretty, with no use in the outside world. No use in your world, where you live. You could confidently and stupidly use frilly language to describe him because he was as good as fiction to you.

But, you could admit this frustrated flesh and blood expression did wonders on your brain.

“You’re awfully judgmental.”

Your eyes fall the to words below you. “That tends to happen when you’re judged in the first place.”

This is the moment it happens. Something flickers across your face and Reo, who is making your space his business, sees it. A deep, deep anxiety. Sadness he can’t measure.

You snap your book closed, and it releases you both from that moment. You look up again with ferocity. “What do you want, Reo Mikage?”

He doesn’t even know. His friends behind him are snickering at his failure, a failure you’re aware of but shouldn’t be. Can’t be. You’re weren’t even close to ear shot. He was supposed to come over here and charm you, to pacify you as a way to pacify his own boredom, and that just didn’t happen.

Your defiant eyes travel around the quad at the onlookers who know that Reo Mikage was struck speechless by some no name girl in their class and something stutters in his chest.

He’s proud? Yeah, he’s proud of you. He knew you were quiet and generally avoidant, so to hear you spit back words at him made him giddy.

Finally, someone has guts.

The bell chimes and there’s a palpable disappointment. You keep staring him down, waiting for him to move. Reo straightens up, scratching the back of his head.

“Guess we better head in, huh?”

“I guess you should.”

The way you get up is strangely animated to him. You jump up into a crouch, then straighten your legs until you reach your full height. He’s still taller, but you feel bigger. Like you take up more space than him.

You walk right by him. You tense when you’re shoulder to shoulder, and stay that way as you disappear into the building.

“What a bitch,” one of his buddies mumbles, the snickers bouncing around his little group like an echo. Reo turns his head sharply.

Takahashi’s eyes are wide like saucers as an actual glare is pointed at him. “And why would you say that?”

“Uh,” he stutters. “B-because she was rude?”

“So that makes her a bitch?”

“Yes?”

Reo scoffs. “And men who call women bitches for no reason, what do you call them?”

There’s a terse silence that befalls the group as Reo marches back into class. They don’t follow. Instead of an army of footsteps, all Reo can hear is his solitary shoes clicking further away from the scene.

Only stragglers are left in the hallways. Sometimes when he’s walking to the football club after class duties, it’s this quiet around the school, but he’s never really noticed. He’s always too busy talking to someone, or on the phone, or humming contentedly with daydreams in his head.

The black and white color scheme is so sterile. Trophies line this hallway, along with staff photos and class reps for this school year. Class 1-4’s reps were a pair of honor students, a boy and a girl who nearly had the same bangs. They smiled prettily back at Reo as he stepped closer to inspect the bulletin board.

He barely knew their names. He had been chosen as class rep, but declined because of football. Not enough time, couldn’t rise to the occasion like he should have. “Mikages don’t half ass anything. They excel at everything.”

Reo hadn’t even run as rep. Didn’t even raise his hand before everyone decided it should be him. He remembered the count being near unanimous on the boys side. Save for two votes.

One was the guy who ended up being rep. Reo cocks his head at the photo: Tadashi Morimoto. He has a flipoy middle part like Reo, but with more texture. Brown hair and eyes. Handsome, but typically so. A good rep.

You were the other vote against him.

Reo puffs out his chest. Perhaps you are judgemental, but the good kind. Maybe he should trust you, because your judgments prove right. Maybe Reo could learn from you.

He thinks he already has.

[naffeclipse]

Cold Scales

Naga!Moon x Reader. Sickness.

The first sign of your fever hits you with a pulse of heat. You brushed it aside, believing the sun had been beating on you too long, and the jungle warmth was simmering your blood. Sun leads you to the cave come nightfall. The buzz of mosquitoes fills the air with a menacing hum.

Sun has always been warm to you, even when he told you that you are warmer. His melting yellow and golden jewel tone scales, his cornflower blue eyes, wide and endearing, fit alongside the heavy humidity in the afternoons. The small scarlet markings on his throat and hips are metal-red hot, too. He always kept you warm.

Moon is cool. You’re not sure if that’s due to the cold tones of his scales, gray-blue on his belly and along his arms, and deeper into midnight blue along his back and on top of his hood. He hides in the darkness after sunset. His red eyes, even darker still, only flash once it’s too late for his prey. You’ve seen how fast he strikes—before, when you were acting foolish and trying to escape their aid, and after, when you watched him and Sun hunt a meal.

You slip out of Sun’s embrace. His arms fall away, lethargic from the day you both put your energy into scavenging for berries and nuts and small mammals. A soft hiss leaves his lips. You wait a moment to ensure he doesn’t stir, though his coils unconsciously tense, searching for the little human he was holding.

Sun had mentioned you felt warmer than usual, but you convinced him you were only tired and worn out from the hot day. Still, he frowned when you laid down beside him on the cool cave floor.

The fever pulses deep within you. You feel it burn across your forehead with a ripple of sweat. Staggering out of the cave, what strength you have is quickly sapped by whatever attacks your body. You need less heat. You need to be cold and imagine gulping down icy water to soothe the dryness infecting your throat.

A small trail that’s been trampled by your feet and the width of snake tails leads you through the trees. Even in the dark, under the delirium of a fever, you find the edge of the glinting water reflecting the canopy of thick verdant leaves overhead.

You kneel, almost collapsing forward before you manage to catch yourself with both hands splashing into the pebble-bottom stream. The heavy breaths in your chest heave in and out. You sigh and tell yourself you’re being a baby—one little fever, and you’re struggling to concentrate on the water before you.

In the reflection of the stream, you catch two red eyes glowing above you, leaning out of a tree to survey your feeble attempts to quench your burning thirst. A hood of midnight and diamond yellow stars surround the visage. 

“It’s nothing, Moon,” you whisper to the water. Slowly, you cup your hand and carefully bring it to your lips. The crisp coldness douses your heated lips, filling your mouth with a jolt due to the sharp contrast of cold and fire within you. When you swallow, you shiver.

The softest rustle echoes. A few branches quiver, then, you feel his presence behind you, cool as a tree’s shadow. 

A large, blue-gray hand snakes around your forehead. Knuckles press against your temple, and you sigh in relief at his blissful, fresh touch. 

“Fever,” Moon rasps, carrying the end of the word with a soft hiss of disdain, as if saying it with a curse will make it no longer reality.

“I just need a drink.” You cup your hand in the lazy flow of water again. “I’m fine.”

“Too warm,” he says when you greedily gulp another mouthful. 

Water spills cut down the corners of your mouth. He presses closer to you. His thumb smoothly wipes away the drips falling off of your chin, then he shifts. Your mauve shirt with the sleeves cut off allows his frosty arms to offer a barrier against the next wave of heat crashing against you. He’s never felt so cold before—or have you never felt this feverish before?

“It’ll go away.” 

You try to get to your feet but Moon’s hand on your waistline stops you from rising.

“Come here,” he rasps. “Let me see you, orchid.”

You would have given him a look at the pet name, but you don’t have the strength to muster the effort. He eases you back against his chest. His palms slide and cup your shoulders, his sharp fingertips slipping slightly under the frayed edges of your shirt and resting on the end of your collarbone. Is that a shiver from the elicit touch or sickly chills beginning to take hold?

“You’re flushed,” he hisses softly. A slight slip of his tongue, forked at the end, peeks out of his mouth as he leans closer. You moan unwittingly at his cool, flat cheek pressed against your clammy face.

“It was hot today.”

“You’re sick,” he decides.

This time, you groan out of refusal rather than relief. 

“I’m not sick.” You slowly shift, managing to get to your knees to face him. The fever forces your shoulders down. You bow under the exhaustion taking hold. 

Moon hisses in an amusement yet concerned note. His long tail drapes behind him, cutting across the ground like the connections of a constellation. It’s black in this lowlight, but in the day, when he sleepily shows himself, you’ve caught the iridescent indigo and jeweled blue tones of his beautiful scales. 

“If you keep denying it, I will take drastic actions. Do you want that, orchid?” his tone lowers to a menacing threat, all dark cords and hisses, but you’ve learned to tune your senses to his hands and expression. He looks only at you, a slight frown playing along his wide mouth. His eyes are narrowed, displeased with your condition.

“No,” you shake your head, “You and Sun are so dramatic.”

“Says the stubborn flower,” he touches your cheek. You nearly collapse into his palm. The rasp of his laugh stings your pride as much as it soothes your aching chest. 

“I’m not a flower,” you mutter as you feel his arms lower slightly, coaxing your hands over his shoulders. He rises higher on his tail, lifting your feet off the ground without effort, and you slump over his shoulder, little more than a child being carried to bed. Moon hums a low, hypnotic sound (that you’re sure is part of his allure, his power).

“Of course not,” he gives with amused demean.

You work up a growl at your throat that sounds weak even to your own ears. Moon shushes you with a soft stroke of his claws against your spine. The shudder that follows through your body is both cold and hot, and you hate that he silences you so simply, and that you like how he strikes back against your harshness.

“Easy, easy,” he murmurs as if calming a tiger. You want to snarl at him again but the brief spark is quickly smothered under an internal infernal cooking your core.

No one agitates you and reassures you as much as Moon.

He glides across the ground to his tree—it’s wide and high, thick with strong boughs and leafy but not too leafy. A perfect tree for a naga. Moon tends to lounge up there when he wants to escape the shadows of the cave you usually make your bed in. You wonder how he intends to hold you through the night up in its verdant limbs, but Moon hooks a hand behind your head and lowers you softly to the cool, moist ground at the base of the trunk.

“Moon?” For a piercing moment, you’re afraid. You refuse to let go of his arm as he draws away. Where is he going?

“Hold still,” he gently hisses.

You let go. You wait for him.

Slowly, his coils gather, curving in loops close to you. He draws himself around you, his long body following. The darkness shimmers. He takes you into his arms once more and guides you to his chest where he fully embraces you. The end of his tail drapes across your waist, sealing you within a deliciously cool embrace of the naga’s scales.

“Shush,” he says when you groan, soaking in his invigorating presence. “Sleep, orchid.”

You almost tell him that you can’t, or that you won’t, but the comfortable weight of his body surrounding you, the chill of his arms against your burning skin, and the soft tuck of his chin upon your sweaty head chases away the last of your resistance. You might have pressed back—saying you don’t need his help, but it’s hard to resist the frost-gentle relief of his presence. It’s hard to be stubborn when he feels so good.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs against your hair. “You’ll feel better soon.”

The sweet caresses of his cool touch across your forehead eases your ache. Against your will, your eyelids flutter. He hums low, a lullaby you can’t name, and it soothes you gently into a dreamless sleep, comforted by a cool cradle of scales and songs.

[steddiehyperfixation]

so you don't get lost (steddie ficlet)

written for @steddielovemonth day 17 rating: T cw: alcohol tags: first kiss, clubbing, college au, platonic stobin prompt: Love is about a hand reaching out to you so you don't get lost

“She’s totally into me, right?” Robin asks as they wait for their drinks at the bar, her smile a mile wide, and it’s been a minute since Steve’s seen her smile like that. 

“Yeah, totally,” Steve agrees. The girl Robin’s been talking to all night is drifting back over to them even as they speak, the two of them like magnets since they first traded smiles on the dance floor earlier that night. 

Robin glances back at her and bites back a wider grin. She bounces on her tippy toes and whispers to Steve, “If I make out with her it’s not gonna make you feel awkward, is it?” 

Steve shakes his head. “Go ahead,” he encourages. 

It had been a group effort to get Robin out tonight. Her university friends had enlisted Steve to help drag her out of the mopey funk she’d been in since getting broken up with two weeks ago, and it had taken an hour of Steve hyping her up while she kept crying off her attempts to do her makeup before she finally managed to make it to the club. He’s just glad it had been worth it. 

“I don’t even know if I remember how to do this,” Robin mutters, a little nervously, as she and Steve grab their drinks and rejoin her friends on the dance floor. But it turns out, she has nothing to worry about. The two girls resume their orbit around each other, and the second the next beat drops and the lights strobe, the other girl finally pulls Robin into a heated kiss. Steve watches this, and he smiles fondly. She deserves it. He’s happy for her. 

And he’s totally not jealous. Not necessarily of Robin, obviously, or the girl she’s kissing, but simply of the fact that they’ve so easily found a hot drunk stranger to make out with at the club and he…hasn’t. He can’t even remember the last time he’s had a decent kiss, much less scored at a club, though not for not wanting to. 

Steve finds himself glancing at Robin’s friend Eddie, the tatted-up metalhead Steve’s felt a pull towards since the first time they’d met. He thinks about kissing him every time they’re out together, and maybe there was a time when Steve would’ve just gone for it, a time before he’d taken a few too many hits to the ego and developed doubts and insecurities, but now the thought just makes him nervous. Eddie makes him nervous. 

He feels that nervousness now as Eddie catches him staring and he shakes those lovely dark curls out of his face and smiles at him. It bubbles in his stomach, flutters in his chest. Steve downs the rest of his drink and looks away. The alcohol floods heat through his veins and blurs his vision, but the ever-present thrum of anxiety just from being in Eddie’s proximity still isn’t dulled. He bobs numbly to the music, avoiding looking at anybody at all now, only staring at the floor or the wall or some super fascinating point just above everyone’s heads, sure he looks like an absolute freak. 

It goes beyond just wanting to kiss Eddie; Steve’s not stupid, he knows the only explanation for this sheer amount of nervousness he feels around him is that he’s got an actual, proper crush. Because not only is Eddie super fucking hot, he’s also sweet. Steve is an outsider in this group and he knows it, the college dropout who only tags along because Robin insists on it, but Eddie never makes him feel like that. It’s always Eddie who makes sure he’s included in conversations, always Eddie who makes a point to loop Steve into the context of inside jokes and stories whenever Robin is too distracted to. Steve craves those interactions, gets a thrill every time Eddie so much as speaks to him. So he doesn’t only want to kiss him, he also just wants Eddie to like him, wants him to see him as a friend at the very least. But it’s not like they’ve ever even hung out outside of a group setting, and sometimes Steve fears Eddie’s just being nice and he doesn’t actually see him as anything at all. 

Steve’s drifted so far into his own head he doesn’t realize his group is on the move, pushing deeper into the dance floor and leaving him behind. 

“Steve!” Eddie’s voice calls out to him and snaps him out of it. Everyone else has been taken by the crowd, but Eddie hangs back, reaching his hand out to Steve. 

Steve takes it, swallowing down the way his heart pounds as Eddie’s fingers curl around his hand. Eddie pulls him through the throng of jostling, sweaty bodies, and even though he maintains a tight grip on Steve’s hand, he still keeps looking back at him like he’s making extra sure Steve doesn’t get lost. Warmth blooms in Steve’s chest. Maybe he’s just drunk, maybe he’s just delusional, but all of the sudden he feels so very very cared for. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, nearly shouting to be heard over the music. 

“‘Course.” Eddie smiles as he turns around to face him. They’ve caught up to their friends now, but he’s still holding Steve’s hand. “I’d never just leave you stranded.” 

Of course he wouldn’t. He never has before. Steve just smiles back and squeezes Eddie’s hand. 

They’ve only just let go of each other when Robin and her girl, still kissing clumsily and staggering about the dance floor, stumble straight into Steve and knock him off balance. “Woah!” Eddie reaches for him again instantly, looping an arm around Steve’s waist to keep him from toppling over or careening into the crowd. 

“Ah! Sorry!” Robin giggles before she’s whisked away again. 

Eddie laughs. “Good for her, right?” 

“Yeah, good for her,” Steve says, watching his best friend spin out of sight, and when he looks back he startles at how close he and Eddie are, suddenly very aware of Eddie’s arm around his waist and his hands on Eddie’s chest. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks, his grip on Steve tightening like he means to steady him. 

“Yeah, thanks again.” Steve regains his footing, but he doesn’t pull away. There’s something there, he thinks, in the way Eddie’s always reaching out to him so he doesn’t get lost, literally and figuratively, in crowds and conversations. It could just be friendly, it could just be nothing, but for the first time, Steve lets himself hope. He even thinks about leaning in right now, but then he thinks about it too much, and he doesn’t. 

Instead, there’s a weird moment where they’re both just staring at each other. Eddie’s got this confused little smile on his face like he’s waiting to see what Steve will do, and when Steve doesn’t do anything, Eddie’s smile abruptly becomes more playful as if he’s trying to break the tension, and he starts theatrically swaying them to the music, even though it is most definitely not the swaying sort of beat. Steve laughs, his racing heart making it come out giddy and giggly, especially when Eddie drops his waist to grab his hand and twirl him around. 

Eddie pulls him in close again then, and this time Steve doesn’t think at all. In fact, it’s unclear which one of them leans in first; all Steve knows is that their lips finally, finally meet in the middle and he finally, finally gets to tangle his hands in Eddie’s hair, and it’s sweet and it’s hungry and it’s absolutely perfect. Steve holds onto Eddie and he gets lost in him. 

When Steve meets back up with Robin outside after the club closes, they exchange a celebratory, congratulatory high five, the both of them with matching kiss-swollen lips and dates set for next week. 

[undercover-horn-blog]

Humorous forehead feeling that turns serious!!!

A is feeling B's forehead literally jokingly, to insinuate that B is being silly or incoherent or just wildly off base somehow. So A gives them a mock-concerned look and places their hand on B's forehead for just a moment.

Then: Hesitation. Confusion. The mock frown turning serious. "Wait, what the hell, B?"

And in that moment A realises that B is ACTUALLY running a temperature and hasn't said a word this entire time 🥰🥰🥰

[rodolfoparras]

okay so this is based off a dream that I had so I apologize in advance if this doesn't fully make sense.

but canine hybrid!price who's retired. he's served pretty long, and when he finally retired he was reluctant. though he didn't have much of a choice because his hearing had been slowly deteriorating over the past years. don't get him wrong he can still hear better than the average human, but his ears are no where as good as they used to be. it's not till he retires that he meets you. I think that you would be the one to point out his hearing, because he's always used to being around loud things that when you guys are watching a movie or something he has it on nearly the loudest volume possible.

once he finds out he looks into how to better take of his ears, which you help with. unknowingly, price's ears are very sensitive, and when you gently stroke them for the first time it sends a shiver down his spine instant boner. it's something that you note for later. but once you get into a rhythm and his ears are about as healthy as can be, you start to incorporate them into sex. whispering praises in his ear, gently stroke them, even just softly blow them, etc.

OH! and just imagine dressing up and going on a date with price at a restaurant, and when you sit down and get further into the dinner you start whispering absolutely filthy things you wanna do to him, just quiet enough that only price would be able to hear. if he walks out the restaurant with a boner and flushed in the face, no one says anything.

Thinking about Price who really isn’t that upset about going into retirement. What upsets him the most is the loneliness that comes with it

Once upon a time Price had found a mate. Back then he thought that the relationship would last forever. He had even promised himself that if he were to go into retirement he’d do it with them but they have long passed away, leaving him heartbroken and lonely.

Work had been his way to cope with the sorrow but now that he was retired he felt cornered. He had nothing but his loss to focus on. On top of that he was too old to find someone to fill the spot, not that he was thinking about finding a new mate anyway.

Needless to say Price had fallen into depression so much so 141 had forced him out the house and into a bar where he’d met you, another canine hybrid, one who’s much younger than him, and who had for whatever reason taken interest in him

You approached him, offered to buy him a drink, talked for a while before exchanging numbers and promising to meet up another time.

Price didn’t want to do it at first, wasn’t looking for a relationship at all. But he thought that it would do him good to make a new friend.

And Price had been right. He now had someone who frequently got him out of the house. Sometimes the two of you went to bars and sometimes you opted to go to parks.

Sometimes you didn’t leave the house at all. Instead you’d visit him with take out in hand. Sometimes you’d stroll into his kitchen and make him home cooked dinner, before putting on some movie to watch (something he appreciated a lot)

And it was nice being friends with a fellow canine hybrid because not only did you understand him on a personal level, but he could also offer you some guidance and advice, and for the first time since his retirement Price felt useful again.

However time continued to pass and his hearing loss got worse, his vision was even starting to blur and for the first time in his life Price needed the help of someone to manage his day to day task but he couldn’t get himself to ask.

Luckily for him you could tell he was struggling with something. You had first noticed it during your movie nights when he’d turn the volume up to the highest setting. You didn’t mind, thought that, like the typical canine, he enjoyed to be surrounded by sounds but it was excessive even for a canine hybrid.

But then you noticed how he’d rarely respond when you greeted him at the door, back turned to you while focusing on whatever task he was doing in the moment.

One time when the two of you were at the store you had told Price that you were going to go to another isle to look for something but he hadn’t heard you at all, looked around and saw you were gone and went into full panic mode.

You spent the rest of the day comforting him, reassuring him while he told you about the issue he’s been tackling lately.

As a canine hybrid yourself, you could understand that he was struggling, so you did everything in your power to help him out.

In one of the articles you read it said that training yourself to locate sounds would help improve your hearing. So you’d take him out in fields, running around in your full canine form and doing your best to identify the different type of sounds you were hearing.

He hadn’t wanted it at first, claimed that you can’t teach an old dog how to sit but he did it anyway, and even though he struggled a lot, you loved the way his face lit up every time he got a sound right.

Another tip was to take good care of the ears. Price would huff and roll his eyes every time you’d show up with a wash cloth and trimmers in hand but he’d let you do whatever you want, even feeling his face burn and mouth dry up at your tentative touch.

Something that wasn’t stated in the article but something you did anyway was that you offered to be his extra pair of ears. You had offered to help him out in his day to day tasks or even when out on hunts.

That offer had him speechless, frozen in place even, because it felt so intimate, more intimate than carrying your bite on his neck.

You had basically offered to be an extension of him and expected him to act normally.

See the two of you have grown much closer to the point where you might as well be courting him. However he still carried someone else’s mark on his neck. He was already claimed. But by offering this, you had basically said you were ready to take it further with him, despite everything.

Price hasn’t felt arousal in so long but when you have him pinned under your weight, while blowing onto his sensitive ears, he can feel blood pooling to the lower half of his body.

But it doesn’t stop there. When you notice just how sensitive they are, you lightly nip at them, hearing the whines and whimpers that escape his lips before he grinds down onto your clothed dick.

You even even yank on his ears, blunt nails digging into soft skin and leaving marks on it as you inch closer to your release, letting everyone know that even though he didn’t carry your scent or bite on his neck, he was yours anyway

[allebasimaianunes]

burning with fever, carnal delirium ✞ a brief testimony.

Three light knocks on the wooden door woke her from her half-awake naps. The nun rubbed her eyes, adjusted her heavy clothing, grabbed her veil to put on her hair, taking the small lamp next to her dresser, the tiny light flickering on the wick, radiating a yellowish light against the glass, casting its light around like a pale yellow sphere. She was dressed in her thick cotton nightgown that brushed the edges of her wrists and ankles, covering her naked body underneath, a thin layer of sweat between the folds due to the fervor of her mind. Her body was still in ecstasy, the whiteness of her garments seemed an affront to what her body had become. No longer a divine temple, but now bending to carnal desires. Yet she didn’t care; her mind was clear like the holy water that was splashed on the faithful during Mass. Outside, through the open window, the wind was cold, piercing, and yet it did not calm her racing nerves.

The knocks continued as if the person behind the door was doing everything to hide, to not be noticed by her. A feeling of tremor crawled in her belly. She walked over the cold stones of her room, breathing in the air that smelled of burnt wax, sweat, and scorched honey. Her free hand reached for the doorknob that was unlocked, twisting the handle in her hand and pulling the door open just enough for only her face to emerge from the shadows, surprised by the figure of the man, his face twisted in a feverish expression, the layer of sweat on his forehead glistening in the light of her lamp, his deep gaze with dilated pupils fixed on her, heavy breaths escaping his chest. Before she could utter a word, his hand emerged from the shadows, covering her mouth, the taste of his skin mingled with tobacco invading her palate, his finger finding her lips where in a hiss he whispered:

“Let me in, don’t make a sound.”

With no way to deny, in shock, the nun nodded, stepping back, still immobilized by his hand, their bodies danced into her room where the man calmly released her, turned, and glanced outside, peeking to see if the hallway was empty. Ensuring it was, he closed the door and with a click, locked it. Then he let out a grave sigh, turning to lean his robust, tall body, still dressed in his black garments, his disheveled hair shining like melted honey before her, a deep, distant, tormented look staring at her.

They remained in that silence that drew them into a strange vortex of discomfort that blossomed from their most intimate shames. She still held the light in her hands, but to his eyes, it was as if she radiated light from the corners, becoming his focus, boiling with passion.

Oh God, he was boiling with passion before her.

just a random thing in mine google docs.

[misc-obeyme]

Worth It

I was possessed by the spirit of macaron (or barbmon or mambatos or... what was the other one I saw? something to do with greed?) and HERE IT IS. I just- they're so- I can't help it, okay??? This is absolutely ridiculous but I REGRET NOTHING. Left it so I had the option of a smutty part two but I haven't decided if I'm gonna write it yet or not. Also, tagging @lonely-north-star as requested in exchange for the cutest art I ever saw~

Mammon x Barbatos - okay you can read part two here it's smut lol

Warnings: nothing really this is mostly fluff - just some making out and a cameo by Little D No 2

Mammon pressed himself up against the wall of the castle as he crept down the massive hallway in the semi darkness. He knew the passages well enough by now, having mapped out the most important ones. This particular hallway would lead him to the vault if he followed it far enough. However, Mammon also knew this was the way to the kitchen.

Technically, he shouldn’t be here. He should be at the House of Lamentation working on that stupid report for Devildom Law. And yeah, he’d tried to write some of it. It took maybe five minutes before he was bored out of his mind and decided he had something more important to do.

He was so focused on the task at hand that he didn’t notice Little D No 2 until he was tripping over him.

“Ow, hey watch it!” No 2 protested.

“Shhh!” Mammon bent down to clasp a hand on No 2’s mouth.

“Mm-mm!” No 2 exclaimed.

“How many times do I gotta tell ya?” Mammon whispered. “I ain’t nobody’s papa! Now be quiet or he’ll hear you!”

A door opened and light spilled into the hallway, illuminating the scene. Barbatos looked about for a moment before spotting them.

Mammon stood up straight, No 2 still clasped in his hands.

Barbatos shook his head a bit. “Did you truly think I would not notice you sneaking by?”

“I wasn’t sneakin’!” Mammon said immediately.

No 2 kicked his legs. “Mm! Mm-mm-mm-mmmm!”

“Ya little traitor!” Mammon said.

“If you would please let Little D No 2 go,” Barbatos said calmly. “He has his own work to be getting to.”

No 2 groaned as Mammon put him down, surprisingly careful.

“But Mr. Barbatos!” No 2 exclaimed as soon as Mammon removed his hand from No 2's mouth.

“No arguments, No 2,” Barbatos said, though his voice was soft and there was a trace of a smile on his face. “You still have dusting to do, if I’m not mistaken.”

No 2 groaned again, but he scampered away down the hall as he did so.

Barbatos looked across the hallway at Mammon, who stayed where he was, frozen in uncertainty.

“You’re slipping, I fear,” Barbatos said. “Normally you make it quite a bit closer to the vault before being caught.”

Mammon folded his arms. “Yeah? Well if I’m slippin’, so are you. How long have ya known I was here? Didn’t even bother to come lookin’.”

Barbatos actually chuckled at this and Mammon was suddenly fighting down a blush. “My apologies,” Barbatos said. “I’m afraid I was unable to leave the cake I’m baking unattended in order to apprehend you.”

Mammon blushed harder and looked away. “Yeah, well, I ain’t here for the vault anyway.”

“No?” Barbatos asked and there was genuine confusion in his voice. “Then what has brought you here this evening?”

Mammon pulled a small packet out of his jacket pocket. “I-I happened to come across this. Know it’s pretty rare. Thought ya might appreciate it.”

Without even looking at Barbatos, Mammon crossed the space and put the packet in his hands.

“That’s all, I’ll see myself out,” Mammon said, as he turned away.

Barbatos caught his wrist.

There was a brief moment where neither of them moved or spoke. Mammon’s heart was racing.

“This is one of the rarest teas available in the Devildom,” Barbatos said quietly. “Did you really intend to give it to me without staying to sample a cup?”

Mammon gulped, still turned away. His wrist was tingling where Barbatos was still holding on. Barbatos wasn’t wearing his gloves, having taken them off while he was baking. The contact between their skin was both thrilling and terrifying.

Mammon turned around, effectively removing his wrist from Barbatos’s grip. “I-I mean, if ya want me to…”

“I would enjoy nothing more than serving tea to the Great Mammon,” Barbatos said.

Mammon looked up at him sharply. He was greeted by a teasing smile, but also a glimmer of genuine pleasure. Mammon took a deep breath and said, “That’s right! Of course ya want me to stay! I don’t mind stickin’ around for a bit, but ya better be grateful!”

Barbatos stepped aside to allow Mammon to enter the kitchen. “My gratitude knows no bounds.”

Mammon narrowed his eyes at Barbatos as he entered the kitchen and settled on a stool by the island counter. Barbatos went around to the other side with the packet of tea and began to prepare the tea pot.

Barbatos looked up at Mammon through the fringe of his bangs. "If you had no intention of stealing from the vault, why were you sneaking through the hallway in the dark? You should have let me know you were coming."

Mammon huffed. He was annoyed at how hot his face still was. He couldn't seem to calm down. "I just… wanted to surprise ya."

Barbatos chuckled. "Then you have succeeded," he said. "I am both surprised by the fact that you are not here to steal and by the rarity of the tea you've brought me. Do I want to know how you obtained it?"

"I didn't steal it," Mammon said instantly. His blush was gone now and he sat up straight. "I saw it for sale and Lucifer told me what it was. So I earned some extra cash by pickin' up a couple modelin' gigs, that's all."

Barbatos paused what he was doing to meet Mammon's eyes across the counter. "You would do that for me?"

Mammon knew this was his chance to be honest. For how long had he been playing this little game with Barbatos? How long had they been tip toeing around each other, never fully committing, never even acting like they were close. Mammon didn't know what was holding Barbatos back - propriety probably - but for him? It was the knowledge that this demon was too good for him.

Despite that, he wasn't afraid of being rejected. He knew better than that.

"Yeah," he said, easily, not breaking eye contact. "I would. I did."

The smile that spread across Barbatos's face was the most beautiful thing Mammon had ever seen. So often he saw the knowing smile or the indulgent smile, but this was a genuine expression of fondness. Like Barbatos had finally cast aside his mask to reveal how he truly felt.

"Thank you, Mammon," Barbatos said, simply.

Mammon's heart suddenly became noisy in his ears.

When the tea was ready, Barbatos poured them each a cup, then came around the counter to sit on a stool beside Mammon. He placed the cups in front of them.

Mammon took his cup, which was still quite warm. Steam rose from it, fogging up his glasses.

Barbatos shook his head, though he was smiling. He put down his own cup and reached across to take Mammon's glasses off himself. He put them down on the counter. "You really needn't wear your sunglasses indoors, wouldn't you say?"

Mammon was so stunned by this intimate gesture that he didn't know how to respond for a moment. "Y-yeah," he mumbled.

Barbatos sipped at his tea, then closed his eyes in satisfaction. "This is indeed a high quality blend. You must have paid quite a bit of Grimm for it."

Mammon shrugged. "Eh," he said noncommittally. He didn't care how much the tea had cost. Barbatos's smile and his satisfied expression was worth every Grimm.

Barbatos opened his eyes. "Eh?"

Mammon sipped at his own cup before responding. "It was worth it."

Barbatos seemed to understand what he meant, the part that he didn't say. Though it was often hard for Mammon to tell just what Barbatos was thinking. He was too good at masking his emotions. Mammon was aware of how Barbatos only ever let him see what he wanted Mammon to see.

Barbatos put his tea cup down on the counter and slid off his stool. Mammon looked at him curiously, once again unable to read his expression.

Barbatos took the cup from Mammon's hands and put it on the counter next to his own. Mammon let him, responding easily and without resistance.

And then Barbatos moved in between Mammon's knees and kissed him.

Mammon's eyes fluttered closed as he tasted the light flavor of the tea on Barbatos's lips. His hands reached out instinctively to pull Barbatos closer. Even as his heart was racing again and the blush had sprung back up, Mammon also wanted more of this.

To his surprise, Barbatos responded almost as eagerly, one hand on Mammon's waist, the other on his thigh. Mammon thought he would combust when he felt a light nip at his bottom lip, causing him to open his mouth.

The next few minutes was all heat and tongues and the lingering taste of tea. Mammon thought he'd fall off his stool because he felt so dizzy.

Barbatos pulled away for a moment and looked at Mammon with half lidded eyes. "Shall we take this somewhere more comfortable?"

It was a miracle that Mammon did not die on the spot. Instead, he let Barbatos lead him out of the kitchen. When Little D No 2 returned in search of his boss, he found nothing but two cold cups of expensive tea and a pair of yellow tinted sunglasses.

worth it part two | masterlist | Thank you for reading!