#anyway took liberties with this prompt

[words-with-wren]

@chrumblr-whumblr Day Four: Watching while a loved one is hurt

Fandom: Endeavour. Post 4x04 Harvest. I watched the episode like a week ago and Forgot Details and haven't rewatched it to fact check anything so if something doesn't line up with canon oh well ignore that. I just love Morse and Miss Frazil's friendship SO MUCH i wanted to explore it a little. (May cannibalism this scene if i ever get around to writing my 'joan says yes' au)

word count: 1,563

___

Dorothea wasn’t sure when it had happened, exactly, but somewhere through the years her acquaintance with Morse had shifted from a respectful professional relationship to genuine friendship. It was a development that hadn’t been entirely intentional, but there was something about the young man that made her think he hadn’t had much friendship in his life. There was a hungriness about him, a desperate desire to be loved that she was sure he didn’t admit even to himself. 

She found him almost on accident, the day after everything at the Bramford power plant had been wrapped up. He was sitting at the bar of the pub, nursing a pint and staring morosely at an untouched crossword in front of him. Dorothea took him in for a long moment, seeing the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion in the way he sat, leaned over the bar. He was staring at nothing, eyes dull and half glazed over, clearly lost in thought. 

He looked positively worn out, and Dorothea felt her heart clench at the sight of him. He was so brilliant, so young and full of energy. Had a brain so fast and wonderful, but life had beaten him down so quickly. He didn't share much, but Dorothea had years of investigative journalism behind her--she could read between the lines, could pick out a story in the shapes left behind by absence. Not for the first time she thought he was a man too used to caring and not used to being cared for. 

To break the ice, she cleared her throat and sat down at the stool beside him. He started, torn out of his thoughts and the lost expression on his face shifted into a small smile. 

“Miss Frazil,” he greeted, shifting his newspaper aside to give her room. She smiled back at him, placing her handbag on the bar. “Can I get you a drink?” 

“I'm alright, thank you Morse,” Dorothea answered. She eyed the mostly empty glass in his hands, wondering how many he'd finished before she had arrived. Best not to bring more alcohol into the equation--heaven knows he could drink enough without encouragement. 

She started with work, knowing he would close himself off immediately if she pushed too hard too quickly. 

“You were at the plant, were you not?” she asked. A wary expression crossed Morse's face, but he seemed to relax a little nonetheless. She thought back to their last conversation, when she had dropped him off by an empty field. He'd opened up then, just a little. Bared himself just enough to show his hurt, but not quite enough for her to do anything about it. “Anything you can tell me?” 

The request pulled a small smile from him, something Dorothea was grateful to see. He rolled his pint between his hands and shook his head, turning to look at her. There was a cut along his hairline she noted--that hadn't been there last she saw him. 

“I'm afraid not,” he said. He still seemed distant, mind on other things. Not fully engaging in their usual dance as they tried to tease information out of the other. 

“The official story is a fire,” she said. His hand drifted to the cut. He nodded. 

“Best to leave it at that,” he said. She waited, long years of experience telling her the best way to get information out of someone was to wait. Let him tell her in his own time. 

Though it wasn't really what had happened at the plant she wanted to know. Not right now, at least. Like as not, it wasn't going to be anything she could publish anyway. 

What she really wanted to know was what was bothering him. It was more than this current case, more even than his flat being burgled earlier in the week. She knew him well enough to see it in the way he sat, the line of his shoulders, the shadows in his eyes. 

“Off the record, sabotage,” he said finally. This time he did press his hand to the cut on his forehead. “Some plot by Bagley, planning to leak radiation into the nearby area to prove just how dangerous nuclear energy is.”

Now that would be a juicy story. The part of Dorothea that was pure journalist wanted to dig deeper into it, chase the story, share it with the world. But from the way Morse was hunched, from the sensitivity of the situation, she knew that this would be another story by the wayside. Another time societal requirements won over the truth. 

Sometimes she felt a little bitter about that. But she told herself to keep looking forward, finding the next story, uncovering the next truth. 

“And you stopped it,” she said and he nodded, his attention still wandering. “You alright?” 

It was an innocent enough question, one she knew wouldn't shut him down immediately. There were a lot of ways to answer that, and Morse could choose how much he shared. 

“I'll live,” he said. She wasn't surprised by the answer; it was a dismissal, his way of saying he didn't want to talk. Not quite fully a lie, not quite fully vulnerable. 

He infuriated her, sometimes. He was so clearly in need of someone looking out for him, but he was so stubborn he refused to accept help, let alone ask for it. 

Sometimes she wanted to force him to stop, put him up in her small apartment for a week so she could put some meat on his bones and light in his eyes. Drive it into his stubborn skull that people cared and he didn't have to go at life alone. 

“Really?” she asked gently. 

He let out a long breath and emptied the last of his beer. 

“Still don’t feel entirely safe at home,” he admitted. “Feels too empty.” 

She nodded sympathetically. She knew a little about feeling vulnerable in a place that was supposed to be safe--it had been a few months since her kidnapping by Leyton-Asprey, and she still felt uneasy being alone in her office. Coming home to find his space invaded so violently had clearly shaken Morse and she couldn’t find fault in that. 

But he was using it as a shield, holding up the reasonable excuse so she didn’t dig any deeper, uncover the actual source of his hurt. Always hiding himself, was Morse. And Dorothea hated not knowing the truth. 

She let the silence sit for another moment, pondering her next course of action. It was always a delicate balance with Morse, finding the line between getting him to open up to her without shutting down fully. He needed to come at his own pace, but he needed to know she wanted to know. She wanted to share whatever his hurt was, help him in whatever way she could. 

She thought maybe he didn’t have many people he could feel safe opening up to, and she didn’t want to break the trust they had built over the years. 

“There was a girl.” 

His words came as a surprise, and it took Dorothea a second to process them. He spoke them softly, a mix of hurt and bitterness mingling in his voice. 

She thought back to that last conversation in the car on the country road. He’d denied a girl then, a scoffing almost-bitter voice proclaiming he didn’t have anyone. She’d thought it was a laden admission at the time, and now she felt a little vindication. 

It wasn’t sweet vindication. Not seeing how he was hunched into himself, not seeing the heaviness in his eyes. Heartbreak, she realised. Not something new to him, she concluded. 

“Ah,” she said softly. Morse stared into his empty pint glass. 

“She… had some trouble,” he said finally, looking anywhere but at Dorothea. “I couldn’t help her. She didn’t let me help her.” 

‘Sounds familiar,” Dorothea thought, expression soft and understanding as she looked at Morse. 

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, not knowing how else to help. She was glad he had let her in, glad he had shared at least something. Gently, she reached across the bar to squeeze his forearm. 

He started, looking down at her hand and then back up at her, seeming unsure what to do with the unexpected touch. Again, Dorothea couldn’t help but feel he had been so starved of everything a persons should have--love, intimacy, friendship. The knowledge that people care. 

For just a moment, he let her in fully. She saw the despair behind his eyes, the grief and loss. The hurt that informed every part of his life, walls and barriers and scars built up after a childhood starved of love and an adulthood seeing the worst of humanity. 

Then he shifted, pulling his arm away and looked back down at the newspaper in front of him. The moment was over, the walls were back up. Once again, he locked her out and was alone in his hurt. 

Dorothea knew there was nothing she could do for him except just wait until the next time he was brave enough to be vulnerable. For now, maybe that would be enough. 

“I’ll buy you a drink,” she said, sensing the companionship would be of more use than anything else right now. He flickered a small, forced smile in her direction and picked up a pen to start filling out the crossword. 

[tunastime]

UM UM UM “staying up until midnight to talk” with SEN or DBHC ethubs or docsuma

Or “pull me closer,” with dbhc docsuma :floshed:

Okay skitters away

staying up until midnight to talk (919 words) (x) (:3c)

Etho’s hands follow a practiced rhythm. He isn’t sure how they wouldn’t, with every wire and mechanism and gear in his body perfectly calibrated to move with precision and within expectation. He certainly fails, and jerks, and stutters, and falls, but base programming, movements that fell perfectly into subroutines he couldn’t even begin to trace, even if Xisuma showed him the exact steps? Of course they were perfect. And of course he never faltered.

The sand beneath him offers a much needed cushioning from the hard, winter dirt, despite the fact that the sun provides little warmth to the air around them in the snow fort. The sky is so blue it makes his eyes strain to look at—and maybe it would hurt, if he knew how it was supposed to feel.

Instead, Etho watches patches of sky blue in the silver-warped reflection of his sword, faint flickers of enchantment pulsing out from the hilt where the hastily carved runes sit. He runs the sharpening stone against the blade’s flat edge, careful not to nick the silicon of his fingers as he scrapes it across, again, and again. Practiced, careful, calculated rhythm. So much so that he doesn’t even register the sounds of shuffling a few paces away until Bdubs’ voice cuts through the silence.

“Etho,” he says, voice all rough around the edges like he were hungry for something more than just company. Etho keeps sharpening, just for a moment, before he chances a glance over.

Bdubs leans at the wooden fence, leaning his weight into the flimsily-set posts. He grins like nothing in the world could bother him. The characteristic dark brown of his eyes flickers with red, with that same hunger. Etho hates it. Which is odd. Because he really doesn’t feel strongly about much of anything, and disgust is an emotion very foreign to him, and he’s beginning to think the slight grinding in his chest is a problem Xisuma might need to diagnose when he gets back. It feels wrong. Because he knows he likes Bdubs just fine. He trusts him just enough. But that look.

Bdubs is still watching him, eyeing the sword in his hand with a gaze he can’t place, let alone read. Better give him an answer.

“Bdubs,” he says calmly, tilting his head to the side.

“You thought anymore about my offer?”

Etho makes a sound like a hum, mimicking the sound of turning the idea over in his head. He stands, setting his whetstone next to the cold embers of last night’s fire. The pot and cups still rest in the dirt, as cold as the rest of their surroundings. The sword stays in his hand.

(In the back of his mind, a memory surfaces. In it, Etho lies in the night-damp grass in clothes that still smell a bit like gunpowder, but not enough to notice unless you got real close. Bdubs is somewhere to his immediate left, still speaking, haloed in the glow of lanterns and lights of a shop. One of them at least. Within the clarity of memory, Etho can pinpoint that it’s Tango’s shop. Bdubs doesn’t live far from here. He isn’t sure when waiting for Tango to restock candles turned into tell Etho all about the extra additions to your base and your journey to find all the perfect horses for the Horse Course that you both just wrapped up, or into tell Bdubs all about how empty the mountain is, and how interesting this new game sounds, and how you hope you both find somewhere cool to base. Because you’ve already told him that you’re teaming up. But it does, and in this same space, the sky is full of bright white stars and a sliver of a moon that's starting to peek into the sky. Bdubs yawns.)

“The one from last night?” Etho asks, coming to with the sword heavy in his hand. He pushes the point into the soft sand until it hits hard earth and starts to give.

“You don’t gotta keep this fence, Etho…” Bdubs sighs, leaning his head into his palm. Etho folds his arms across his chest, splays one hand as he shrugs.

“Seems like the best way to settle this, ‘Dubs.”

“You could join me. Could always still join me,” Bdubs tries. “Just a quick one-two stab! Easy!”

“I can’t do that,” Etho says, shaking his head. “You know that.”

Bdubs sighs again, dramatic, deflating over the fence as Etho’s rejection stands firm. The thirium in his chest feels like it’s been flash frozen and has only started to dethaw, cold in his hands and feet, up his shins and to his elbows. He rolls his shoulders in, cupping each hand around each opposite elbow. There’s a little warmth to be found in the action with no fans kicking on to compensate.

“Well,” Bdubs says, drumming on the wooden beam between the two fence posts. “If you ever change your mind.”

He watches Etho for a moment, that familiar look coming to his eyes, as if it were trying to eclipse the haze of red Bdubs looks at him through, as if it were trying to expand his tunnel vision by just a fraction of an inch. Just as Etho notices, it’s snuffed, and the easy, careful look is replaced by an indifference Etho doesn’t think he enjoys. He still isn’t sure how much he knows for certain. He shrugs, barely a movement at all. Better say something.

“I won’t,” he says.

Bdubs huffs and turns away.

[gaogaigar-the-king]

I wish you would write a fic where...

Warframe meets Among Us

An interesting concept, hmm...

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

They were just a small merchant vessel. Making their way across the Solar Rails, peddling wares from one settlement to the next among the stars, desperately trying to scrape by enough credits just to keep their ship in one piece and their supplies stocked comfortably.

Random minor systems going wrong was nothing new. Shit, it was even joked about amongst the crew. The ship was old and she had certainly seen better years in her lifetime. They made sure all maintenance of essential systems was kept on top of - Nobody wanted to lose life support in the middle of space, after all - but if the lights in one section of the ship went out? Well, who gave a damn, they all had torches anyway.

Such simple failures were the norm that at first nobody took notice of them.

"Lighting on Deck B2 is out again." A tired crewman told the Systems Engineer.

She heaved a sigh, turning in her seat on the bridge. "Send Seph to fix it, and tell him to do a proper damned job this time."

The crewman shook his head. "Seph never turned up for his duty shift and nobody can contact him."

That was a bigger cause for alarm. The ship was already understaffed, several of the crew had taken ill and needed to be left behind at their last stop, dumping them into the care of local, better equipped medical facilities while the remaining members loaded up with cargo.

She turned to the Captain, and the old man didn't even wait for her to ask. "Go get it sorted." He ordered.

------

A figure in the guise of a crewman's uniform stalked towards the belly of the ship. It was looking, sniffing, seeking something, easing it's way unheard and unseen through the hidden ducts and shafts of the ship.

Eventually though, it had to drop out from those. In an empty hall, it reformed itself into the shape of a man, filling itself out into the suit it wore and letting the uncomfortable garb reseal itself, perfectly obscuring the true nature of what was lurking beneath.

It paused, re-orienting it's senses for a moment, repositioning itself, before walking towards the heart of what powered the vessel.

It's goal was guarded by a single lone, exhausted human. The click-clack of it's heavy boots across the metal alerted the human to it's presence.

"Seph, your duty shift started three hours ago." There was a frustrastion and exhaustion in the woman's voice when she spoke.

It didn't answer. The human was in it's way, it couldn't complete it's objective when she was here... But she was alone. It would be easy to make her disappear, just as it had made Seph disappear. Better yet, the human was making it easier as she got up and strolled towards it.

"Well, you can enjoy the dressing down you'll get from-" Her words as she passed it were cut off in a flash as she was impaled from behind by an impossibly sharp appendage, spearing her through the gut and killing her almost instantly. As fast as it had come out, the appendage receded inside of the suit, returning to it's disguise. It looked down at the human, wetting it's long, pointed tongue across it's sharp teeth.

Good.

------

"Is Ami not back yet?" The Captain settled back into his seat, some fresh water in hand. The Systems Engineer's seat had been vacant for the last few hours, and it was starting to become concerning.

"Not yet." The Nagivations Officer looked up from his console, tugging on the collar of his suit. "Does it feel warm in here to you as well?"

The Captain simply tapped a finger against his glass of water, earning a grunt of annoyance. "I would ask Ami to take a look, but." He gestured to the empty seat. Though after a moment, he did get up and walk to the console, scratching his white-haired beard as he read through the messages appearing across it. Multiple more minor systems were having hiccups. "We're going to be stuck in the next dock for a while with repairs."

"Thankfully we're close." The Navigations Officer muttered.

"Do we have enough fuel to push it faster?"

"We'll make it there and a little way beyond."

The Captain turned to his First Officer. "Increasing engine speed." She declared, since it was clear what the man was about to ask. He nodded, returning to his seat.

------

The sound of the engines thrumming up with more power made the creature feel something akin to happy. It's schedule was being expidited. Things were coming together as planned, though sooner than expected. But that wasn't a problem. Things were still in alignment and, if it needed, it could cause delays.

Playing with minor malfunctions was fun, but it could do much more than that. And it had a purpose here.

The beating heart of the ship, the reactors powering her through the vastness of space. It stood on the walkway between them, breathing in deeply.

Soon. Soon.

It jumped from the walkway, landing on the side of one and twisting inhumanly so that it could climb, claws and other appendages tearing through the suit to give it grip, reaching the point where all four converged. There, it nested, breathing out deeply and letting it feel itself spreading outwards across the many pipes and wires.

------

Alarms blared. Cascading multiple systems failure hit the deck, the ship rocking as explosions sounded across her hull and fires raged, suppression systems unable to stop them. Their routes to life capsules had long since been cut off. The Communications Officer was hard at work, sending out SOS in the hopes someone, anyone would save them. The Navigations Officer had his plate full with just trying to keep the ship moving.

"What in the name of Sol is happening?" The First Officer exclaimed, trying her damndest to resolve the errors as they were appearing, struggling to keep on top of the workload.

The Captain scanned his eyes across everything that was malfunctioning, things he knew to have been repaired and in full working order. He took of his hat, wiping his brow that was thick with sweat using a cloth from his pocket.

"We've been sabotaged." He stated calmly, making peace with reality. A somber silence filled the deck.

------

The creature fed from the reactors, corrupting and consuming the vessel. The fires and explosions would kill the humans if they didn't choke out of life support first, but it was above such things, unharmed. Immune. Ready to convert the ship for it's own uses. Small, unnoticed, it would be perfect.

It had come here with purpose. It smiled.

Mission Complete.

[aparticularbandit]

So someone meta-ed a while back about Bell's Hells and being able to carry pieces of FCG with them, how they are able to do this because he's a robot and not a human, how it's less violent than it would be if he were human, how it's clean.

And it got me thinking about the Remnants of Despair.

So - short explanation for those of you who don't Critical Role - but one of the characters, FCG (Fresh Cut Grass), a robot, heroically self-sacrificed himself to save the party, taking down one of their biggest recurring threats while doing so. Afterward, the party scavenged the pieces of him that they could - his head, the plate with the slashes in it, etc. - and then even later, when they started their new costume designs, some of them literally incorporated pieces of him into their new wardrobe and are literally now wearing pieces of him.

It's bits of metal, but it's also a corpse.

They are wearing FCG's corpse, and it's okay for them to do so because he's a robot and that's metal.

But if he had been human, we would have a much more visceral and disgusted and disturbing reaction to them wearing his skin or his hair or his skull or his bones or twisting any of that into their new clothes. Taking his skin and turning it into armor. Using his bones as equipment. Using his skull as a new helmet.

Because he's a robot, because he's metal, it's cleaner, and we don't think about it in the same way we would a human corpse.

But this is what the Remnants of Despair did, in effect, with Junko's body.

Fuyuhiko took Junko's eye and made it his own.

Nagito took her arm and replaced his with it.

Mikan took her womb and carved it into herself.

(Who knows what all Imposter took; who knows what Teruteru was allowed to consume.)

And we look at it and think this is disgusting and disturbing because you don't treat people that way.

But you can treat people that way when they aren't human.

It's this idea of the Remnants taking the strongest member of them all, who died when they believe she shouldn't have, and taking her into themselves to make themselves stronger, and we are disgusted with that because Junko's human, but Bell's Hells can do the same thing with FCG and we consider that honorable and right because he's not human.

But that's still a corpse.

Both ways, that's still a corpse being looted for parts.

[guarded-axiom]

day 6: it is all your fault. you couldn't get him in before the glub.

[octoberautumnbox]

Consider: Yubin who's your seatmate and is very professional in school but every night at 10pm you get the raciest, sauciest, spiciest nudes from her with no warning

Hell Week

tripleS Gong Yubin & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: smut, that's p much all anyone needs to know i think

Word count: 5.5k holy shit

a/n: jeez howd it get this long :nolookk: oh btw i took some liberties with the prompt not that u care heres the fuckin yubin fic :DDDD

~~~

A hand lays itself on your shoulder, the sudden contact nearly making you jump. You turn around and find Yubin clutching a book to her chest with a gentle look on her features. Gesture over to the chair across from you, all the while trying to get your heart rate back under control. 

“My bad, didn't see you were locked in.” She gets into the chair left of you anyway and turns her book to the same page as yours. “How's it going?”

You stretch and groan to let out as much of your tiredness as you can, paying just a bit of mind to everyone else in the library doing pretty much the same. “Dunno. Around twenty minutes ago I accepted I'm retaking this class. What's up with you?”

She giggles while her eyes scan across the paragraphs talking about desert flora and types of precipitation. She rests her cheek on her palm, “I still have a bit of fight in me, but I'm losing hope. I was hoping I could borrow some from you.”

“Sorry, Yubin,” you whisper with every ounce of sympathy you had, “fresh out.” You return to your own book, yet all you do is run your eyes over the same page over and over without much staying in your head. 

A cursory look over to your left shows you scholar-mode Gong Yubin: focused, sharp, and serious. Not that it ever got in the way of you two being friends, but when she gets like this, you know better than to underestimate her–she's capable of plotting the downfall of kingdoms if she set her mind to it. 

However, at the same time, you notice her distress, then immediately notice how well she hides it. It's the same slight crease of her eyebrows in freshman orientation, after midterms in Linguistics 103, and when she finally stopped putting off Geology 102. The realization dawns on you: the situation is dire now that she asks for your help while she's like this, so how could you let her down now?

“Bet you I can score higher,” you challenge her. You have no good reason to issue such a proposition, but if it means giving her support how it matters, whatever embarrassing thing she'll make you do is more than worth it.

It piques her interest and a smile pulls up the corners of her lips. She side-eyes you with an excitement she didn't have just two minutes prior, and you know it worked. “If I win,” she announces as loud as she's allowed to, “make me thick tofu stew. The right way.” 

“Really? That's it?” Then you rebut with just as much fervor, “If I win, you do three of my essays in comparative lit next semester.”

“Now hold the fuck on,” she stumbles, her eyes grown wide and her smile grown toothy, “if you're gonna raise the stakes like that, I need to think of something else!”

Your phone and hers vibrate at the same time, and your screen reads “Get your ass over to Geog.” You both pack your bags and head off to your last Geology class before finals together, and as your book takes its place in the darkness of your backpack, “Fine, but I get to change mine too when I hear yours,” and the spring in her step as you walk tells you it's mission accomplished. 

~~~

In hindsight, it really wasn’t all that bad. The class review session your professor held that day helped you nail down just enough of whatever the fuck sleet might be, and while you're certain it isn't flying colors, your grade at least wouldn't be red. 

Coming out of the exam room, you spot Yubin just seconds before she finds you, and your good deed pays for itself as she skips to approach. 

“Got a good feeling?” There was no point in asking other than that you had to hear it from her, though the wide grin on her face was proof enough. 

“Yeah, I think barely,” she sways cutely from side to side, “and don't think you're off the hook!” She hits you light on the arm, and the most shining feature you can’t ignore is her eyebrows without any sign or symptom of the crease. 

“Not over ‘til the fat lady sings, Gong Yubin,” though you know she's already won. “Three whole essays against… Haven't you decided yet?”

“No, not yet, but the bet is still on!”

You relent, “Fine, fine. Anyway, Nakyoung’s treating the gang to drinks tonight. Wanna come?”

“Nah, busy. Laundry and stuff.” She shifts her weight from foot to foot, and you can tell she’s giddy about what her grade is going to turn out to be. It’s a sight for sore eyes, especially ones that have seen too many grainy tectonic plates and water cycle diagrams. “And why do you insist on full-naming her?”

“I know someone whose name sounds the exact same. As far as I’m concerned, our Nakyoung’s the other Naky.” You place your hand on the small of her back and lead her away from the doorway, and she walks with you without a second thought.

“Mean. You’ll have to introduce me to this first Naky, then.” You slide into rhythm with her gait, and it hits you just how relieved you are for Yubin’s worries to be over. 

It seems such a waste, you think, that laundry is the only thing keeping her away from celebrating, so as you walk out of the Social Sciences building, you bargain one more time: “We’ll be there all night, so just come by when you’re done. I speak for everyone when I say we want you to come, please?”

She giggles again, “I’ll see what I can do. It’s not like I don’t wanna be there, either. Plus,” she admits defeatedly, “we’re getting the results later, and God knows I’d rather not be alone when it comes.” 

~~~

“Hey, where's Yubin?” Nakyoung slings an arm around your shoulder and shoves another mug of beer into your hand. It's a welcome gesture, and it takes all of two and a half seconds for you to down half of it. 

“She has laundry,” you nearly shout back your reply above the music. “Said she'll drop by if she has time.”

Nakyoung makes to yell another reply right into your ear, but decides to pull you away into one of the quieter booths in the bar. “She's a goody-two-shoes, no? Laundry, oh please. Kaede hasn't done laundry in two years.” She takes a gulp of her own beer and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Hey. She studied her ass off for that test. I made a bet with her and it looks like she has high spirits, but I honestly dunno what I'd do if she fails.”

Your friend takes your chin up with her finger and you realize how pensive an expression was sitting on your face. “This is Gong Yubin. You know she'll kill it.” Nakyoung flashes a confident smile, and it reassures you almost more than your own trust in Yubin herself. “You drunk yet?”

“Nah, not getting shitfaced without Yubin.”

“Cute. You know she likes you too?” 

“Go fuck yourself, Nakyoung. Go steal Seoyeon's boyfriend while you're at it.”

“I wish; she has him under lock and key. But I wouldn't really mind both of them,” she muses, eyeing Seoyeon in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Just then, the devil strolls in through the front door. “Hi! You weren't kidding, it's really loud in here,” Yubin exclaims with her hands shielding her ears as she adjusts to the noise.

She takes Nakyoung's seat–you whip your head around and find Nakyoung at the dancefloor, with Seoyeon grinding against her–and picks up Nakyoung's old mug. She takes a careful sip and ends it with a relieved ahhhh, before setting it back down and getting to business. She leans in like keeping a secret, though she can't hide her toothy grin. “Have you seen your grade yet?”

“It's out?!” You fumble for your phone, and the second it lights up, cold runs through your veins–the email notification is the first thing at the top of the screen. Meanwhile, Yubin calmly slides her phone across the table to you. She asks “I read yours, you read mine?” with the sweetest smile on her face, again with the slight crease on her eyebrows.

Calm your nerves, silence the alarms blaring in your head. You know she did well, absolutely certain. However, it still doesn't soothe you enough; not until you see the grades for yourself. So, as your thumb hovers over her email, your heart nearly beats out of your chest, only to see–

“You got 87 percent,” Yubin states in the blandest, matter-of-fact tone you've ever heard. Her eyes move left and right over the same spot on your phone, making ultimate certain that she's reading it right. Once she is, her tone softens just enough, “Yeah, 87 percent. Wow, that's good,” she sighs with relief, “... Hard to beat.”

Now her turn, you peek at her score. doing the same making sure, and then some. When you read it for the fifth time, you kick yourself mentally for being so worried and having such little trust in the genius that is Gong Yubin. “Goddamn, 95 percent.”

Her eyes widen like sinkholes as her hand flies to cover her mouth. It almost doesn't matter that you hand her back her phone; she snatches it back anyway. Her disbelief chips away at itself with every run through of the email she reads for herself, and when she's finally done, returns her shocked gaze back to you.

“You were that scared of three essays?” you joke. The beer tastes sweeter now that your worries have gone, and as if all six septillion kilograms of the world is off your shoulders. 

“No, three essays is easy,” she taunts, but immediately her voice takes on a gentler tone, “so I win, right?”

You scoff at her haughtiness, but your relief triumphs over all. “Yeah, whatever. What do you want?”

“... I wanna go home. This is enough excitement for one day.”

“Alright, let me take you. Tell me in the cab what you want for winning, though?”

“Sure,” she says with a tiny smile.

~~~

“So,” she declares. She catches her breath, and her face is overcome with a subtle red flush, “about the bet.”

“Yeah, about the bet.”

“I want…” and she hesitates. The cab runs over a mild speed bump, and the resulting sway seemingly knocks her completely out of focus. She gathers her resolve once more, as if every time she tries to speak she drops it and has to pick it up again. 

“You want…?”

It's a good couple minutes of her breathing heavily, and your concern shows itself for her and whatever she has planned for you.

“Is it illegal? What could possibly be so bad that you're hesitating this much?”

“No, no, shut up. I'm working on it.” She takes one last deep breath, even placing a hand on her heart to steady it. “I want… a cum tribute.”

“... A cum tribute.”

“Yes.”

“You want me to…?”

“I'll send you a photo. And do it on that.”

“You want a photo of–”

“Video.”

“You–video?”

“I want a video. Of you. Cumming on a photo. My photo. I'll send it to you.”

There's no way the cab driver doesn't think this is weird. Then again, he has an earphone in, so he might not be listening in at all. You get the feeling Yubin doesn't care either way, completely focused on you. 

“... Alright. You want it this bad, fine.”

“Good. Um,” she follows, “sorry in advance. It's gonna be my first time… taking a photo like this.” She refocuses her attention to the buildings whizzing by outside as she says it, the telltale sign the conversation is over. Still, it lingers in your head for a little while: Yubin's first time. 

~~~

“Look, I'm sorry,” she sighs, “just come up with me? Please?”

You're standing with her outside her dorm, all the while the meter ticks away in the cab. The driver waits expectantly inside for you to get back, but Yubin's fingers wrapped around your sleeve make for a very difficult decision. 

“Okay, okay, just let me pay the cab driver,” you concede, but as soon as you sum up the fare, Yubin snatches it from you and brings it over herself. She and the driver exchange a few words, ending with her waving him off and him leaving her in the dust. She waddles back with her signature grin: the one that tries and fails to hide her excitement. 

“Can I just ask why you want it so bad?”

She shakes her head, “Nope. Now shush,” as you both make the now-silent trek up the four flights of stairs to her floor and room. 

Upon entering, you immediately notice it's nicer than most dorm rooms: huge space, carpet floors, a big window, and two double-size beds, not to mention its own bathroom. It makes you stop and wonder if you ever glossed over any signs that Yubin or her family might come from old money.

“Uhh, give me a few minutes to get ready. The bed on the right is mine, make yourself at home. WiFi password by the light switch. Kaede doesn't like her stuff messed with, so steer clear.” Yubin then disappears into the bathroom, and you lay yourself down on her bed. You're made aware of how you sink comfortably into the memory foam, and of the disarming fragrance that wafts from her bedsheets and pillowcases. She's always smelled like this, you recall, but it's rather nice, you finally admit. 

“Hey,” Yubin attempts. She sits on the edge of her bed next to you, wearing a set of pajamas and no makeup at all. You always knew Yubin was a pretty girl, God knows how many times she's been asked out, but seeing her like this is new; her allure draws you in with a smile and an embrace. Shit, was Nakyoung right? Do you like her? 

“So… How do you want me?” She avoids your eyes and touches her fingertips together, a blush forming on her cheeks. 

“Do you… Do you have a tie?”

Her ears perk up, “Yeah, hold on,” and she retrieves a thin, striped necktie from her dresser. She places it around her neck, her fingers delicately maneuvering the fabric into an intricate-looking knot, and when she's done, she presents herself to you. 

“Take off your top, Yubin,” you tell her, and she hands you her phone with the camera already on. Point it at her, making sure the flash is off, and start taking pictures one by one. 

She pushes aside the tie and fiddles with the top button. It's effortless how she undoes it, and she pulls the collar apart to show you more of her. She unbuttons the next, then the next, all the while showing you her smooth skin. With half the buttons undone, she shows off her chest, showing nothing but skin underneath her top.

You take a moment to catch your breath, swallow your spit. “Are you sure about this, Yubin?” 

“Yeah… Just keep going, please.” She undoes her fifth button at the very bottom, revealing her midriff and making you salivate. Must be heaven to kiss her there, when she snaps you out of it, “Are you still taking pictures?” Am I that distracting?” Look up to her, find her with the same sweet smile on her face but with a new blush decorating her cheeks.

Her last button is her fourth, and it's undone before you know it. She keeps her pajama top on a little bit longer, covering her chest a little bit more, and finally she shrugs it off one shoulder. It's nothing but everything all at once, and the split second your self-control wavers is the exact moment you leap in.

You drop her phone somewhere on the mattress; both your hands grip her shoulders as your lips capture hers. She leans into the kiss, wrapping her fingers on the back of your neck, and tiny moans escape her amidst smooches that get louder the hungrier she gets. 

Pull the top off her other shoulder, and she finally strips it all off. However, you can't even enjoy the sight, not yet, as you draft down from her lips to her slender neck, leaving a trail of kisses on your way. She runs her fingers through your hair before holding you in place, all the while leading your free hand to her chest. 

She sucks air in through her teeth, “That's really good, just like that…” she moans as her head tilts to allow more access to her neck. The scent of her shampoo fills your nostrils and you feel yourself getting addicted, but not as much as to the softness of her skin. 

She pulls you down onto the bed, and you find yourself leaning over her. Yubin lies under you, watching you intently and waiting for what you'll do next. Her tie sits right in the valley of her tits, and it drives you wild. Take a nipple in between your teeth while you fondle her other breast. She breathes heavy in pleasure, wordlessly asking for more and more of your attention and love. Her fist closes on your hair as she pushes you further onto her chest, her other hand hopelessly tugging on your pants.

It's all the message you need from her: your pants go, then your underwear, then everything else. Your cock stands hard in her sights, and the way her fingers wrap around your length is nothing short of heaven. 

“Do… do you wanna do it with me?” Her question is purely innocent, without a single hint of malice in her voice. She rubs your shaft slowly, sending waves of tantalizing pleasure throughout your whole body.

“Do you have condoms?”

“... Kaede will forgive me.” She crawls down the ladder, picks out a square plastic wrapper from her roommate's dresser, and hurries to get back to you. The smile on her face as she comes up the ladder again is one of, if not the most beautiful things you've ever seen. 

You guide her as she puts the condom on you, and the sensation of her fingers gently unrolling the rubber along your length only makes you more impatient. Finally, you hook your fingers on the garter of her pajama bottoms, and she lifts her hips to accommodate you. The fabric slides off her so easily, revealing her long, smooth legs that she seems desperate to have you in between of. 

“Go easy, okay? I told you…” 

“Yeah, your first time. I'll take care of you,” you reassure her. Line up your throbbing cock against her slick heat, feel her palm on your cheek, watch her flash that killer smile again. She bites her lip, and while you know it isn't on purpose, it makes her look sexier all the same. 

Slide your cock into her, making sure to go slow. She shuts her eyes harder with every inch she takes of you, and when she moves her hands to your forearms and grips tight, it reminds you like a looping cycle: “Go easy, go easy.”

So you go slow and steady, staving off your lust for the woman giving herself to you. Each thrust into her sex is careful and calculated, though by the second you feel your calculations going awry. She pants at every good spot in her cavern you happen to drag across, earning her little admissions of newly found pleasure in the form of mewls and moans like a song you’d never tire of. 

“Faster, please…? You’re so–ugh, fuck…” And the way she pleads flips a switch in you; plant your elbows into the memory foam on either side of her head while she takes your face in her hands. Yubin pulls you in for a kiss and it means the world to her when you grow careless with your lovemaking.

“Fuck, fuck, not too fast, just right, mmm,” each time you push into her cunt. The way she mumbles sweet nothings into your ear, the way she holds on for dear life and leaves scratches all the way down your back, she takes up every single thought going through your head: Yubin, Yubin, Yubin…

You scarcely notice how she's scratching your harder, gripping you tighter, grinding against you faster–it’s much too late to finally hear her warning, “I'm close, I'm close, oh fuck, fuck, aaahhhh!” as she explodes with you still inside her. Her pussy clenches around your cock in all the best ways, and you savor the feeling as she rides out her orgasm. Her knuckles turn white as she grips you by the shoulders, though all you can see is how her tits bounce with every jerk that runs through her body. Yubin's eyes roll to the back of her head and her mouth hangs open, a prolonged, deep moan gracing your ears as she ambles closer and closer to spent. 

Take a moment, let her breathe. Every gasp of air in her lungs is like a blessing, and each one steadily brings her from beyond heaven back to you. Her hands fall to her sides as she pants out her delirium and replaces it with tiredness, and once she's stable she flashes you that killer smile again. It pulls on the corners of her mouth, showing the tiniest amount of teeth, though her eyes are nowhere near open. Plant a kiss on her cheek, then her neck, then receive her giggles once you stay and rest right on her pulse. 

“You good? Still alive?”

All she can do is nod, having had every last ounce of her strength sapped. She lays motionless under you, save for her chest rising and falling with her breathing, and you know she looks to you for comfort and security. You take another moment to bask in her afterglow; she's never looked more gorgeous. 

“Hey,” she whispers, and you swear it's the most tired you've ever heard her, or anyone for that matter. “You good?”

“Yeah, I'm okay. Are you sure you're good?”

“Yeah. Thank you.” She pulls you back down and plants a kiss on your cheek. Her lips linger for a second, as if she's taking in your scent made hers. You stay like this for a good while, just enjoying each other's presence, relishing in the warmth of a body that gave itself up for the other. You don't even notice when you slumped over onto the mattress beside her, but her head on your chest felt like the rightest thing in the world.

“We're not done, by the way,” she prods.

“What? Why not? Aren't you tired?”

“‘Tired’ isn't part of the bet. I still want that tribute.”

And you remember, you have a job to do, a debt to pay. It’s between your common sense and your lust for the hottest girl in the world right now, and there is a clear winner. 

Pull back from her, off of the bed, and plant your feet on the floor. Firm and resolute, tell her: “Fine, on your knees.” The flush on her face deepens to an igneous red, and she scrambles to the floor in front of you.

“You're so pretty, Yubin,” you muse as you point her camera back to her face. Make sure the flash is off, and once you push the big red button to record, your other hand immediately takes her cheek and guides her to your tip. 

Yubin's eyes flutter shut as she inches her lips closer and closer to your cock. The first contact is heavenly; just gentle kisses and licks from a complete novice pretending to be an expert at this sort of stuff. The way her tongue glides over your shaft, the way she plants kisses all over your cock with the tiniest sucks, the way she does all of this with her eyes gracefully shut makes for a killer video for her to get off to later. A blowjob from a girl like this comes once in a lifetime, so you resolve to give her everything she'd ever want from a tribute like this. 

A moan escapes you, and she picks up that she's doing it right. With your subconscious approval, the hand on her cheek pulling further her in, she takes your tip in her mouth. Her tongue works overtime in running all over the head, paying special attention to your slit, making absolutely sure her spit coats wherever she can reach. She takes in more and more of your shaft, pressing her tongue on the underside of your cock as she does, all the while her cheeks hollow out like her life depends on it. 

Tiny vibrations from her throat only add to the pleasure, sending shivers up your spine and your hand to the back of her head. For the first time, she opens her eyes, and the sight is something to behold: she looks up at you with the biggest, roundest, most pleading eyes, the epitome of cuteness if not for your cock she oh-so-diligently services to get what she wants. 

Yubin takes you in just a bit deeper, slightly turning her head and savoring the way your length fills her mouth, when you hit the back of her throat, causing her to gag. She pulls back abruptly as a tear forms in the corner of her eye, and you have half a mind to pull out entirely to make sure she's okay. Instead, she never lets you–she takes your cock again, shooting you another pleading look before she shuts her eyes and bobs her head onto your cock again and again. 

Luckily, you pick up on her message; Snake your fingers through her hair, grab a fistful, make her yours. A moan rises from her throat once again, and she steadies herself with her hands on your thighs in preparation. She's ready. 

Pull her in as far as she can take, and it's a good most of your shaft before she gags again. Offer her no breathing room, bob her head onto your cock over and over, all the while more of her slobber coats your length, some of it falling off her lips and onto her chest and lap. She never fights, only takes–soon the gagging is replaced by an obedient, rhythmic gluck-gluck-gluck than you're sure even she'd find hot if she could think straight. Instead, her phone picks up every sight and sound for her to enjoy later, while you both enjoy each other now. 

It's everything all at once: the sight of Gong Yubin's plump, sexy lips around your shaft, the feeling of her tongue relentlessly dragging over every inch of your cock, the sound of your tip meeting her throat again and again while her groans fight their way out. “Yubin… I'm close,” you confess, but with her eyes still shut and her tongue still going crazy all over you, you don't think she heard. So make the decision yourself: yank her hard off your cock, rub your shaft right against her delicious lips. Once she exits her daze, she takes your dick in her hand and rubs all across the length. Tears fall from the corner of her eyes and her lips give off the slightest tremble, but she's resolute in what she wants to earn from you. 

It takes no time at all until you reach your limit. It's the best handjob anyone has ever probably given, but it's that one last kiss from her, right on your tip, that sends you over the edge. One last groan, one last jerk, one last tug of her hair, and your orgasm hits. Your cum shoots out in ropes, all landing on her face and tits. She's determined to receive everything from you, so it's only right to give her exactly what she wants. She shuts her eyes again, but her mouth stays wide open to catch whatever she can of it–she never stops jerking you off even as your cum falls onto her eyelids, her nose bridge, her forehead, her chin. Yubin savors every moment and every drop, burning the memory of bliss into her mind as you coat her face with your love. 

Your orgasm finally dies down, and you realize just how much she squeezed out of you. You're sure no one has ever looked lewder, your cum smeared all over her face, yet she proves you wrong when she picks up a fingerful of it to take into her mouth. She licks her lips, apparently loving the taste, while you love the sight of her acting so sultry for you. 

Stumble back onto the bed, take Yubin with you. Both of you are out of strength, breathing heavy, and in the middle of processing that you just painted her face with cum–that she asked you to paint her face with cum. You barely notice the stars swirling in your eyes, but your sense of the situation comes back just quick enough to avoid things getting awkward. 

“I think I wanna shower, so you should wash up first,” you mumble, still staring at her beige ceiling, and you can feel she's panting and doing the same without even seeing her. 

Wordlessly she gets up and her carpet-muffled footsteps grow quieter as she heads to the bathroom. A door shuts, a handle creaks, a shower gushes to life. Your brain sits idle, making no attempts to form thoughts other than acknowledging the shower turning off and on while she bathes. It's calming in its own way, you suppose–taking a bath is one of the normalest things in the world–as if what you just did with her was a close runner-up. 

An unknowable amount of time passes, and a fresh, citrus-scented Yubin emerges from the bathroom again. She dries her hair with her towel as she makes her way to her hair blower, but not before shooting you a gorgeous smile and a head tilt to the bathroom to let you know it's your turn. 

~~~

Leaving the bathroom yourself, you find a dark bedroom, save only for a yellow lamp shining against a nearby wall. Yubin is sitting up in her bed and scrolling on her phone, and once she spots you, she beckons you over.

“Look, funny,” she whispers with a giggle, and she shows you a clip of a guy much too excited about a truck looking like Optimus Prime. 

“Yeah. Hey, listen, I'm pretty tired,” you attempt. In no way is this a lie, and you're sure she's tired too. You bet she wants nothing more than to finally go to sleep and end what should be a perfect night on a high note. 

“Totally,” she agrees, “come on in. It's cold.” She lifts up the covers and looks over to you expectantly. Not that it dumbfounds you, but it throws you for a slight loop; she literally just said it was cold. 

“Wh– I'm heading out, is what I mean. You should get your rest, too.”

Yubin's eyes take on a softer expression, “Oh, you're not staying over?”

“... Did you want me to?”

“Yeah…?”

Your eyes lock with hers for what seems like half a second and a million hours at the same time. You're stuck in place, still in a stalemate of a staring contest with her, and you're not sure even she knows what the two of you want out of the situation. Her expression turns into one of concern, and her arm holding up the covers falters just a bit. Fuck, you think, window's closing.

Make your choice, have no regrets. Get in the covers with her, and she lets them drop to snuggle up to you. Once the both of you settle, her head on your chest and yours on one of the fluffiest pillows in the world, she blurts out quietly: “You fucked up, you know.”

She navigates to her gallery and finds your video of her, and skips to a part near the end. “Your dumb ass stopped recording just as you were about to cum.” And the video did show that: Yubin rubbing your cock, eyes shut, tongue out and ready for your load, and the video stops. 

“Shit, sorry–” 

“This wasn't the bet. I wanted a cum tribute, not a facial. You need to send me a proper one,” she muses, “or take a proper video.”

Now that stuns you. You wonder how interesting her ceiling is for you to stare at it so much, but she snaps you out of it partway through by snaking a hand up your shirt and settling it right above your heart. Reciprocate–it only feels right–wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her even closer. An exhale from both of you, and one last exchange of words: 

“Okay. Tomorrow?”

“Can you go again that soon?”

“If it's you, of course.”

“Don't guys need to recharge?”

“... I'll handle it.”

~~~

[initial-lime]

Yoooo, if you are still taking prompts of dressing up Jon, may I suggest this spiderweb dress I came upon the other day?

I know that a while ago you drew Jon in a different backless dress, but there's never too many Jon's in dresses right?

Anyway I love your art, headcannons, and everything else too, I look forward to whatever you've got coming.

ALWAYS taking prompts!! I took a little bit of creative liberty with the dress, I hope you don’t mind (:

Also thank you so much 💖 I really appreciate that! :3

[irrelevantwriter]

Empress

Pairing: Emperor Geta (Gladiator 2) x Female Reader/You

Warnings: SFW, Ancient Rome type shit

Word Count: 1343

Summary: Part 1. The Empress of Rome pushes her husband a little too far.

A/N: I...I don't know what to say honestly. I'm just as confused by this red-headed slut as some of you are. But here we are. So let's enjoy shall we? Because life be life-ing and I need a distraction. I obviously took liberties with ancient Rome. Let me live. There is a part two with lots of smut so get ready besties. Feedback is that good shit.💗

*Read Part Two here

*Masterlist

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

You hummed softly, at peace now that you’d dismissed your maidens. You worked in harmony with yourself, the movements almost convincing you were anywhere else other than Palatine Hill. 

Despite your position, you tended to your own bed linens. The Emperor had admonished you many times before, but you failed to care. 

The tasks you so often liked to keep yourself busy with were seen below your station. An insult to the royal position you held. And yet, for you, they reminded you of a simpler time. They reminded you of home. Of being a young girl not yet soured by what lay beyond her village walls. 

The sentiment made your chest tighten. Today was a day that you longed for that life. You missed your family. You missed flying freely. 

You may be the Empress of Rome, but travertine and marble were still molded to be your cage. An inescapable prison. 

Soft footsteps found your ears as you delicately smoothed the freshly washed bedding to your likeness. Scents of jasmine and lavender permeated the air. They were some of your favorite scents. Something only your husband knew. He’d asked not long after you’d married. He’d made it his duty to ensure those scents followed you everywhere. Even in your dreams. 

“Augusta…” 

His voice floated through the doorway, a hint of disappointment in your title. 

A reminder.

You straightened to face him, bowing your head to show respect. 

“Must I keep reminding you of your place?” 

You sensed him moving closer, his ringed hand extending to tilt your chin. Your eyes met his; depthless pools of darkness. Some days you could see streaks of gold in them from the sun’s rays. Those days were your favorites. Other days they were bottomless. Reminding you of a snake pit. Those were your least favorite.

Today was the latter. 

“I have my reasons, Augustus. Forgive me.”

He chuckled, very aware of your reasons for disobeying him time and time again. 

His hand cupped your cheek, the cool metal of his rings making you flinch. You met his eyes at his prompting. His jaw was clenched, the muscle giving away just how displeased he was with you.

“You are lucky you’re so beautiful, my love. A lesser person would have their tongue cut out.”

You knew. Of course you knew. You did it anyway. 

“A lesser person doesn’t have the heart of the Emperor of Rome.”

Geta hissed, and just as quick as a snake lying in wait, he struck. His hand encircled your throat, squeezing just enough. 

You grasped at his wrist, understanding the game he wanted to play. It was why he kept you. 

In public you were the epitome of grace and devotion. Rome adored you. Your husband adored you. You were dutiful. Well-spoken and a sight to behold. You had everyone’s hearts. Geta knew that. And so did you. 

Behind closed doors, you did as you pleased most days. You went against your husband’s orders, though you never put your own life at risk. You were not so foolish to do so. At least not outside the palace. 

The Emperor was well and truly a spoiled brat. You were not. You liked to remind him of that fact often. And with pleasure. He claimed he hated it. But you saw the fire in his eyes. It was that elusive look he’d get only with you. Swirling embers of flames that mixed in his too dark eyes. 

Lust.

“You forget your role, wife,” he spat between clenched teeth, fingers tightening around your neck. 

“I forget nothing, husband. Least of all what my role is,” you retorted, seeing his gaze shift from your eyes to your lips. Stained with berry juice and sweetened with wine. 

He wanted a taste. 

Geta smirked, loosening his hold. But he did not release you. Instead, he brought you closer, fingers now exploring the hollows of your collarbone. In the confines of your chambers you were more exposed than you would be otherwise. He feasted on the sight. 

He dragged his jeweled fingers across your skin, enjoying the goosebumps that arose in their wake. He touched the royal broach at your shoulder. You shivered. 

“I continue to show you grace and you continue to disrespect your emperor. Have I provided you with such a horrid life? Do the pleasures of my empire displease you?”

His eyes narrowed, his fingers shadowing over your bosom. There were traces of coal around his eyes, making him look that much more sinister. 

But not to you. 

His power frightened you, but the man himself did not. He forgot what kind of life his empire made for its people outside the city. You’d seen the worst of what Roman royalty could do. You’d experienced it firsthand. A man dressed in gold was hardly a sight to run away from. Threat or not.

“Have you gone mute?”

He interrupted your musings, seemingly pleased to have rendered you silent. 

You smiled in return, daring to let your own hand touch upon him. He didn’t stop you, though he watched you with careful eyes. You traced his lips, feeling his breath quicken. You may not be afraid of Geta, but he was surely afraid of you. 

“You have taken a jungle cat and chained her to your side, Augustus. Does that not seem cruel?” You whispered, the space between you both getting smaller as you stepped forward. 

“Is it wrong that I long for my own creature comforts? However lowly they are to you. Is it wrong that I wish to roam freely? To love freely?”

“Love freely?” He cut in, scoffing at the notion. “You do not love freely here? Do not love your emperor?”

His words took on a more threatening tone as he twisted your words. He cupped your cheek, keeping you in his grip. 

“You misunderstand me,” you started, leaning into his touch. You turned your head and kissed his palm, feeling him relax. You reached for his other hand, placing it at your hip, a taboo touch, even between husband and wife. “To love freely means to give myself to you. You have taken. I have never given. To have a woman give herself to you is a magic no mortal man could withstand.”

“Enchantress,” he accused, though weakly. 

“No, my love. Empress.” 

You softly kissed his fingertips. Fingers that had never seen a hard day's work. Or blood on a battlefield. Or the blissful task of pleasing a woman. He, like most men, only sought their own. And as a dutiful wife, you provided. But the hunger, that stayed with you. And it burned as hot as the depths of Pluto. 

“You speak of sorcery. That’s punishable by death,” he rasped. 

“Are you so afraid that you do not wish to seek what I speak of?”

Geta’s jaw once again clenched, the muscles in his neck straining. He did not like to be patronized. 

“You dare make me out to be a fool?”

“I’m offering you the chance to experience what only few men know. The body is not sorcery, Augustus.”

He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face for…something. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he jerked his hand away and stepped back. Air filled the once tight space between you both. 

“You infuriate me!” He exclaimed, hands making a mess of his fiery curls. 

“That is not my intention.”

He stepped to you again, breathing hard and heavy. “It would be wise for you to stop speaking out of turn, wife.” 

You did as he commanded, knowing you had stoked the flames too much. 

“Tonight…you are to come to my chambers. I will deal with you accordingly,” he ordered, chest rising and falling with his breaths. His eyes looked upon you, studying your form, almost seeing through your garments.

“Yes, Augustus.” 

“And wife?”

A pause.

You met his gaze.

“I will not show mercy. If the jungle cat wishes to be freed, she must be broken. Understand?”

You nodded. 

He left without another word. 

Part Two

[vixensbrainrotts]

Aren’t you jealous? — Takashi Mitsuya

Content: short fluff

Tropes: established relationships, miscommunication

Warnings: not proof read

Summary: You and Mitsuya who have an undying trust in one another. So much so that when Mistuya is being too nice for his own good and then struggles under the reprocution, you just sit back, grin, and watch.

Vixen's two cents: hey! This has been collecting dust in the back of my drafts so I've decided to give it some love and let it see the light of day. I love mitsuya till the day I die and it's only a matter of time till I write something for Hakkai too (cutie). Anyway, remember that my requests are open if you have au idea you'd like to see! Now enjoy!

You take joy in watching Mitsuya grow uncomfortable around the overly-friendly girl who’s hanging off him like a tick. You had told him that she was no good before but he didn’t seem to care all that much, assuring you that he could handle it. Look who’s laughing now.

And when Hakkai comes up to you, face tinged pink with confusion (perhaps frustration?), and asks you why you’re not doing anything. You just smile and say “He can handle it, and if not I’ll know when to step in.”

Kai's eyes almost pop out of their sockets, his jaw basically hitting the floor. "What do you meannnn?" he whined in disbelief. "I mean that he did that to himself, I told him not to." You looked far too relaxed for Hakkai's liking and leaned back against one of the bar chairs on the kitchen island, one hand supporting your chin, the other grasping your drink.

"Youre just gonna let that happen?" Hakkai prompts again, completely baffled. "Yeah, look, he's coming crawling to me already." You smirk teasingly and nod your head in their direction. Mitsuya, clearly displeased, was weaving his way out of the girl's grasp, making a bee-line to where you and Hakkai were, but ever incessant on wooing him, the girl followed right after him.

"Hey there." you started once he entered your circle. Mitsuya and you made brief eye contact, his gaze screaming a plea before he looked to Hakkai, to whom he gave a weak greeting. “Hi.” He breathed, voice exhausted and annoyed as he rested both arms on the counter he was lying on.

"You seem... glowing." Hakkai tries to comment awkwardly, seeing the girl weasel her way to where the three of you are standing. Mitsuya only offers a disgruntled groan in return.

"Takashiiiiii! Are these your freindssss? you wanna introduce me already??? Hahahahahahah that's so sweet!!" The girl squealed and clung herself to his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. Your ears rung at her obnoxious laughter, the noise foreign and fake. The air grew uncomfortable when Mitsuya didnt respond,so she took the liberty of introducing herself, drawing out the short speech with elaborate (unnesseary) details, reaching over the counter to shake your hand.

You only looked at her, unimpressed, and look at her a bit pitifully. "This is the catch of the night Mr. Mitsuya?" you smiled down at the heap of a man, and he groaned in response. "Yes Mrs. Mitsuya, it seems that something got caught up in my net." It was a running gag between you two- and your friends to some sort: Mr and Mrs despite not being wed. It was clear that it was forever between you two though, so everyone just kinda went with it.

Little Miss disturbance didn't know of that though, and upon looking down at your hands and finding one (the wrong) ring finger embezzled with a promise ring, her mouth widened. Jaw on the floor and hands clammy, she slowly stepped away from Takashi and retreated. Fast. "It was, ah, uhh, pleasure meeting you mr and mrs mitsuya, let me know if you ever need a babysitter.”

Hakkai laughed out loud and clutched his stomach “You’re the best y/n! Man you totally owned her just now! Fuckin' wear the pants!" Te laughed and clapped a hand on Takashi’s shoulder, who had still not risen from his slumped pose. "You better not hire her though, I'll do it for free, swear I wanna watch your little beasts <3" Hakkai's voice had a serious edge now and he looked at you. "Make sure to tell me if he ever dares to treat you wrong. I'll rock his shit!"

Sighing you nod at Hakkai with a smile "Thanks Kai. Will do." you rounded the kitchen island and came to stand to next Takashi, resting your hand on his arm. "Good evening Mr. Mitsuya.” he pulled his head from the counter. "Good evening Mrs. Mitsuya." his drowsy eyes met yours - smiling as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You smiled back, and before long your lips met his in a soft exchange of endearment.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Hakkai turn red and turn away with a shy smile on his face too.

[ghostgirl-22]

Art deciding he wants to prove he can do more than just hit a ball with a stick so he decides to go to online medical school and hes practicing on patrick, doing all the routine ones,touching each other all over, soft spoken and intimate, putting sticks on their tongue like a slow burn leading up til he has to do a prostate exam, theyre practicing everything on each other. Art cant find pats prostate and he helps him, its all very awkward and sweet, after patrick says he can show art where to find it as he has more experience with men, so he gets art on his back

"This isnt even the correct position patrick" "do you want help or not? Im just showing you where it is"

Theyre so gentle with each other and patrick gently slides his fingers inside art, curling up into his prostate "you see there, you feel that?"

I thank you anon for this prompt. Sorry it took me so long. I took tons of liberties. Rearranged it in my head a lot. Also didn’t proofread much at all. Also it probably gets too into the weeds on the medical office stuff but we have fun 🤗

CW: 18+ !NSFW!

—-

I’m going with Art’s uncle is a urologist and Patrick and Art are staying with him over a college break and he hires both Art and Patrick as “medical assistants” to help him with stuff in his office. So they’re messing around all summer, cleaning the exam rooms in between patients, scheduling appointments. Art is vaguely interested in studying medicine, Patrick is mostly bored by all of it except when they’re messing around with the office tools and Art’s pretending to do exams on Patrick whenever they get a free minute.

It’s oddly erotic. Patrick’s sitting on the exam table swinging his feet while Art tells him to open his mouth, wide, wider. Art’s standing too close, pushing the tongue depressor onto Patrick’s tongue, light shining in Patrick’s mouth. “Can you open wider?” Art whines anxiously, “I think I see something.”

Patrick opens as wide as he can. Art is so close, lips parted, eyes shiny, looking deep into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick squeezes his hands between his thighs. Getting hard for this is so ridiculously and pathetically down bad.

Art pulls the tongue depressor out. “I think you have strep throat,” He says, grinning.

“That’s the third time this week,” Patrick smirks.

Art puts the tongue depressor in his own mouth and starts chewing on it. He does stuff like that all the time. Putting stuff in his mouth after it’s already been in Patrick’s. It makes Patrick crazy. Art rubs Patrick’s knee idly and then picks up the reflex hammer. “Don’t kick me,” he says.

“Don’t hit me then,” Patrick says.

Art ignores him and swings the hammer at Patrick’s knee anyway just to watch him reflexively twitch. “Okay I guess you’re alive,” Art says.

“Is that your final diagnosis?” Patrick pulls at the tongue depressor and Art opens his mouth to let Patrick take it.

Art looks around for the stethoscope. “Better check your heart, just to be sure.”

Art’s uncle takes Art’s med school aspirations much more seriously than Patrick does. “You boys want to sit in on my next patient?” He asks, interrupting them.

“Yes please!” Art says excitedly.

Patrick doesn’t love watching Art’s uncle give prostate exams to a bunch of vaguely homophobic geriatric men but it does help break up the day. The next patient is relatively young though. He looks like he’s not even 40 years old and he’s actually kind of really hot. Patrick’s curious about why someone so young (and hot) would need to see a doctor like this.

“This is my nephew and his friend, he’s premed at Stanford. Do you mind having them sit in?” Art’s Uncle asks.

“Yeah, sure,” the guy shrugs and smiles at them, like he could care less. Art’s uncle shuts the door of the exam room and starts asking him questions, and the guy is talking about how he’s afraid his prostate is swollen because of how he’s felt. “I was actually having sex with my boyfriend and he started to get worried because of how large it felt.” The guys says.

Art and Patrick exchange glances. Patrick doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way people will just blurt all their personal information in here. Art’s uncle doesn’t miss a beat though. “Is it painful?” He asks.

“No that’s the thing doc it feels really good, I end up having so many orgasms, once three times in a row,” the guy says. “But I’m just scared that it’s not normal?”

“Well that is normal, prostate stimulation can feel good and does often lead to ejaculation.” Art’s uncle says clinically, he’s distractedly typing away on the computer. “How about frequency? Have you had to pee a lot?”

”Not any more than normal, no.”

“Alright, well lets get it checked out for you. Take down your pants,” Art’s uncle says professionally. Patrick presses his lips together and looks up at the ceiling as the guy starts to undo his pants. He really is too attractive. Patrick knows now he could never do this job, the idea of a really hot guy walking in and not being able to flirt is just devastating to him.

He chances a glance at Art and he’s just watching the patient undress, a little bit of color in his cheeks. Patrick wonders if it’s because he’s embarrassed or if it’s because he’s aroused. Or both. Knowing him probably both.

Thankfully Art’s uncle is just talking generally about various conditions that usually don’t affect young men as a distraction so it doesn’t feel awkward in the room. The patient bends over the exam table and Patrick considers bolting from the room but he knows that would make him seem even more awkward. He balances on the balls of his feet hoping there’s no way anyone can tell that he’s got a chubby.

“Yep it feels healthy,” Art’s uncle says as the man sort of moans a bit. Patrick swallows.

“I’m sorry doc,” the patient says quickly.

“It’s no problem, happens all the time,” Art’s uncle says, taking his gloves off and tossing them in the trash. “Yours is just a little large, but seems to be perfectly healthy and functioning normally.”

”So it’s okay to— that it feels so— so good?”

Art’s uncle just laughs. “Yes, enjoy it,” he says with a wink. “And just come back to see me if there’s ever any pain.” He adds as he washes his hands.

“Oh I will, thank you,” The guy says, letting out a sigh of relief.

”Come on boys, let’s let him get dressed,” Art’s Uncle ushers them out of the room. He goes straight to a hallway computer to continue typing notes. His actual medical assistant is triaging another patient.

Art’s chewing on his bottom lip. Patrick’s trying to recover from the whole… thing. He’s not ever thought of prostates outside of old guys and dumb jokes. Never even considered the idea that it feels that good. The hot guy leaves the exam room a moment later and offers them a warm smile. He then goes to the front to take care of his bill.

“Lighten up boys, there’s all kinds of lifestyles, we don’t judge in here” Art’s uncle says, patting them on the shoulders. “Clean up the exam room and then you can take lunch.”

”Uh okay,” Art says.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, distractedly. They go back in the room and Art tears off the wrinkled exam paper from the bed and pulls some fresh paper down.

“You know what’s crazy?” Patrick asks him.

“What?” Art says, crinkling up the old paper and putting it in the trash.

“I don’t even think I know where my prostate is,” Patrick says.

“You don’t?” Art asks, pulling his gloves off and dropping those in the trash can too.

“No but I mean… could you imagine? Like what that guy was saying. Three times in a row. I could jerk off a thousand hours and never… you know…”

Art laughs a little. “Yeah, that’s um… that’s crazy.”

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees. They’re quiet for a minute.

Art takes a breath and then goes to the sink and washes his hands. “Maybe…” he says and then trails off.

”What?” Patrick asks, he picks up the disinfectant cleaner.

“Maybe I could find it for you?”

Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”l

“What? I mean— you see how fast my uncle does it? It’s probably easy.”

Patrick laughs.

“Come on, seriously, be my patient,” Art says, determinedly. He pulls on a new pair of gloves. Patrick takes a breath, remembering he’s still mildly aroused but he decides to play along anyway. If Art really wants to be a doctor he’s gonna have to get used to bodies being in all kinds of weird states. That guy had definitely moaned, Patrick hadn’t made that up and he’d definitely almost touched himself because of it.

“Okay Dr. Donaldson,” Patrick says smiling as he starts undoing his slacks. He rubs the outline of his dick idly through his boxers.

Arts chewing on his bottom lip, watching Patrick, his eyes linger on the place where Patrick was rubbing and he shifts on his feet, antsy. “You’re not supposed to be…to be hard,” Art says quietly.

“Sorry, I think that last patient was my type,” Patrick says, smirking and rubbing it one more time just to watch Art squirm.

“That’s so… so beyond fucked up,” Art says, softly.

“Well I didn’t do anything, and whatever just revoke my license then,” Patrick shrugs with a grin.

Art shakes his head, a little smile on his lips. “Be serious okay um—- I think my uncle uses some kinda… this,” Art pumps some liquid out of an industrial container of lubricant. “Okay um… bend over,” he says lightly. But it doesn’t feel light at all. It feels… loaded. Like all the years they’ve spent dancing around a quiet longing are now simmering just below the surface.

Patrick eases his boxers down exposing his ass and he rests his elbows on the exam table. He can hear Art breathing in his ear, this hot feather light sound. He feels the cold, wet of the lubricant and Arts fingers behind the gloves and he shivers. Arts pressing into him. Patrick holds his breath, the intrusion isn’t completely unpleasant. Arts using two fingers, snaking them around.

“Can you feel it?” Art asks, breathlessly.

“I mean, I feel your fingers,” Patrick says, lightly. “Do you feel my prostate?”

“Um…” Arts starts pushing deeper. “Do you know what it feels like?”

“Well no,” Patrick says, “you said you could find it. He’s your uncle. This is your legacy after all.”

“I can find it,” Art says. “But this isn’t my legacy. I want to be a cardiologist.”

“Tomayto, tomahto… oh—wait oh—Art,” Patrick breathes. “What was that—“

“Here?” Art asks, excitedly. And Patrick sees stars for how sensitive it feels.

“Oh fuck,” Patrick groans as Art rubs his fingertips along it. Patrick’s dick reacts immediately by filling out.

“I wish I could see it, it feels… different…” Arts voice is pitchy. He won’t stop rubbing it.

“Fuck, fuck… Art. Oh my fuck… take it easy, sweetheart,” Patrick gasps.

Art takes a breath and eases his fingers out.

“Shit,” Patrick whispers. “I didn’t mean you had to stop.”

“Patrick,” Art says quietly.

“What?”

“Please, Patrick, can you find mine?” His gaze is dark, his skin flushed and he looks so needy. And yeah… yeah okay. Patrick would probably give him anything right now.

He licks his lips and nods. He’s so horny he’s not exactly clinical about it, doesn’t even bother with the gloves, just wets his fingers as Art presents himself and presses them deep inside the heat of him. Art is clenching around him immediately. Patrick starts scissoring his fingers back and forth listening to the delicate sound of Art catching his breath.

Patrick searches for what he was feeling when Art was doing it and lands on something smooth. He rubs his fingertips along it gently and slowly Art begins to moan.

“That’s it,” Patrick whispers. “Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it?” He pumps his fingers in and out, sliding them along the smooth muscle.

“Oh my god, ohmygod Patrick,” Art cries. He’s pitched so much higher than usual it makes Patrick’s teeth ache. He takes his free hand and starts stroking himself, all the while playing his fingers along Art’s prostate.

“Mm, my god,” Art sighs a litany, lying across the exam table, moaning and pushing back.

He’s so selfish, Patrick thinks, amused. He saw how good it felt and stopped fucking Patrick two strokes in because he just needed to have it for himself. And Patrick’s stomach hurts because he just loves that about him. That and he’s addicted to the way Art’s voice sounds right now… moaning so much that if the rooms aren’t soundproof… which Patrick is almost certain they aren’t…then they’re entirely fucked.

“Oh… oh Patrick I’m fucking…. Oh no… no. Oh shit,” Art cries and then he’s wetting up the table, ribbons of it spilling everywhere while he’s clenching on Patrick fingers, in deliciously tight spasms. “I did it on—I made a— a mess….” he groans breathlessly. Patrick still has his fingers inside because he’s kinda curious if he can make him come again. Art is just shivering for it.

”Patrick,” he whines.

“Yeah?” Patrick breathes. “Just relax, baby. It’s okay. You’re just making me crazy baby. Wanna fuck you.”

”Fuck,” Art groans.

“God. I really wanna fuck you.” Patrick whispers up against his throat. “I just wanna push my dick in here instead and fuck the shit outta you.”

“Oh fuck,” Art cries out again. More starts spilling out of him and Patrick just thinks, fuck it.

He slides his fingers out and Art is leaning heavy on him, pressed up against him with all his weight… he lets out a startled sound when Patrick presses the head of his dick right up against Art’s entrance.

“Patrick, wait,” Art says, a slight tremor in his voice, Patrick kisses the back of his neck and he settles down almost instantly. Patrick presses just a little more and hears the smallest little intake of breath. There’s barely any give there, his fingers are one thing but his dick is…Patrick has to wait for that. Art is so fucking virgin tight it makes Patrick want to scream. He’s had so many dirty dreams about this.

“God Patrick,” Art says, he sounds scared and turned on at the same time. His voice all airy. “You gonna— you wanna— fuck me s-so bad huh?” He whispers, his voice breaking a bit when Patrick presses in just the tiniest bit more. Patrick lifts his hand and realizes, in a detached way that he’s shivering. He starts jerking himself off. Rough and tight into him, while Art is clenching, virgin tight at the head of his dick. He’s not even inside, not even a little bit and they’re both panting like they’re actually fucking. Patrick finishes embarrassingly fast, spilling all over Art’s bottom as Art whimpers.

“Holy shit,” Patrick breathes.

”Mmhm,” Art sighs, contentedly.

”I think your uncle is gonna kill us.”

“Oh no… fuck,” Art whines, suddenly panicked. “We have to… we shouldn’t have fucking done that.”

Patrick grins, slowly pulling his boxers back up. “It was your idea doc.”

“Yeah but— I said I just wanted you to try and find my prostate not—“ he sighs. “Never mind. Help me clean up.”

They get dressed and clean up the mess they made in the exam room. Art’s still a bit of a mess when they leave. His shirt is all wrinkly and his hair is everywhere. Not to mention the way he’s flushed.

They go to his Uncles office and he’s sitting at his desk eating lunch, he takes in the sight of them, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Hey uh— so um— funny story— we were cleaning up and—” Art stammers.

His uncle raises a hand interrupting him. “I’m not one to judge,” his uncle says, his eyes crinkling with mild amusement. “But next time at least wait for me to close the office first.”

“I’m really, really sorry,” Art says weakly.

“Don’t worry about it. No damage done this time. We had the last patient at least two exam rooms away. Didn’t hear a thing.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Patrick says. “I was so scared everyone could hear him.”

Art glares at him and he shrugs.

“So I’m guessing you found it then?” Art’s Uncle asks.

“Uh, found what sir?” Art asks.

He shrugs. “The prostate. That’s what you were looking for, right?”

And Patrick can’t help it. He just starts laughing.

(I ask that y’all forgive any ethics violations against poor Mr.hottie patient. Whose only crime was being hot in front of Artrick with a sexy medical problem. No I don’t generally think medical problems are sexy. I also don’t condone fucking during office hours. Even if your uncle owns the place and you’re not a “real” employee. Especially then. Also now that I’m aware Patrick’s doing the sweetheart thing I’m doubling down 🙂‍↕️)

[bekkachaos]

Prompt if you’re interested: “You licked the Liberty Bell when you were a kid? And you’ve been kissing me with that mouth?” 🔔

send me holiday prompts and I might do them x

"Are you kidding? El Paso is like eight hours from San Antonio," Eddie said as Chim looked back at him goading from the couch to their right. "I went to the Alamo one time, everyone always seems to think I just took a visit every other month."

They sat in Chim and Maddie's living room after dinner, the two of them sat side by side on the one couch while Eddie sat on the edge of the other with Buck squeezed up beside him. He always joked that Buck didn't have any sense of personal space, especially when it came to him, but truthfully he enjoyed having his boyfriend pressed up against him or slowly (and absolutely unsubtly) shuffling closer so their thighs would brush or Eddie would be forced to lift an arm up over his shoulder so he could fit under it.

Right now he had it rested on the back of the couch and behind him, his thumb silently and secretly brushing the back of Buck's arm, the other was resting on the edge of the couch and holding a beer.

They tried to have dinner at least once every month, sooner if they could manage, but they never did. Not now that Maddie and Chim had a second kid anyway.

"Bet you never forgot it either," Chim grinned while Maddie rolled her eyes and hid her smile behind her glass of wine and Buck snorted far to close to Eddie's ear.

"I don't know how you live with him Maddie," Buck shook his head but couldn't hide the giant smile that crossed his features.

"He probably thinks we spent our weekends hiking on down to the Washington Monument too," Maddie teased, making Chim eye her with betrayal as she sided with Eddie and her brother, giving him a playful look.

It made Buck laugh even harder and Eddie held tighter to his beer so he wouldn't drop it as Buck's movements jostled him all the same. He locked eyes with Maddie who gave him a sympathetic smile, but had so much adoration in her eyes as she looked back to Buck that it made Eddie's chest feel warm.

"Isn't that what normal families do?" Chim asked. "Go see the historical sights? God knows my father never took us anywhere."

Eddie's turn to snort.

"Are you implying that any of us had a normal family growing up?" he raised an eyebrow.

Chim opened his mouth to protest but instead just nodded, holding his beer out towards Eddie's who let them come together with a little 'clink'.

"Ain't that the truth," Chim agreed before taking a sip.

read on ao3, or;

"Fun fact, our parents once took us to the Liberty Bell because they thought we'd never seen it. They'd actually taken us two years before that and forgotten," Buck leant forward as he spoke, making Eddie sit back into the couch even further to give him the room.

"I remember that," Maddie let out a breathy chuckle. "You spent the whole drive telling them that while they told you that you must have gone on a field trip there."

"Then they were so pissed by the time we got there that they just went for coffee and told us to go read the plaques and come back when we were hungry," he grinned, turning to Eddie who was just watching him with a gentle fondness in his eyes before pointing an accusatory finger towards Maddie. "And you dared me to lick the thing. Got to say, it tasted exactly like you'd think it would."

"Why would you lick the Liberty Bell?" Chim shook his head. "It's got lead in it."

"It's seventy percent copper, I read it on the signs," Buck shrugged. "And I turned out fine."

"Debatable," Chim mumbled into the mouth of his beer bottle.

"Hold on a minute," Eddie raised a brow at him and crinkled his nose. "You've licked the liberty bell and you've been kissing me with that mouth?"

"I mean, I have brushed my teeth once or twice since then," Buck shrugged, looking back to Eddie with a curl on his lips as he took a sip of beer.

"And in my defence, I didn't think you'd do it," Maddie said, giving an almost identical shrug of her shoulders before taking a long sip of her wine.

"Was he different as a child?" Chim asked, eyeing Buck with confusion. "Last week I told him he couldn't fit two cupcakes in his mouth and he nearly choked on four, just to prove a point."

"You're supposed to eat cupcakes," Maddie shook her head at both Chim and Buck. "You're not supposed to lick two hundred year old bells."

"Yeah that's just... gross," Chim shuddered, looking to Eddie. "And you choose to kiss that mouth. Willingly."

"Don't remind me," Eddie teased, not able to hide the smirk on his lips as he and Chim grinned at one another and Buck's eyes snapped to him.

He knew the expression without even needing to look over. But he never quite new what was going to come out of Buck's mouth.

"What? I've licked worse things than the liberty bell," he said.

A cacophony of collective groans rang out in the room as Buck smirked, and Eddie felt his cheeks turning pink as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Please stop," he said quietly, turning his head to see Buck giving him a perfectly innocent look in return.

"I didn't specify what those things were," he leant in and murmured in Eddie's ear.

Eddie nudged him in the hip with his own as he gave him a scolding look, letting the hand at the back of the couch slide up over his arm and cup the other side of his face to pull it in close.

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a rough kiss to his temple.

"I'm going to need another glass after that," Maddie got to her feet and gave them both an expectant look. "You guys want another one?"

"I'm good, I'm driving," Eddie said.

Buck just held out his empty bottle with a smile and Maddie took it from him with her own scolding glance.

"I'll give you a hand," Chim got up with a grunt and the two headed off into the kitchen.

"Seeing as we're talking about licking things," Buck mumbled once the two were out of earshot, sliding his hand over Eddie's ribs and nuzzling his nose against his neck.

Even though Chim and Maddie were too far to hear him, Eddie still felt his skin flush and let his fingers pinch at Buck's ear and pull him back with a whiny 'ahh' sound.

"Down boy," he said quietly. "Your sister is in the next room."

"Okay but when we get home..." he trailed of and gave Eddie a suggestive eyebrow raise.

Eddie sighed, shaking his head and leaning in so that his lips were brushing against Buck's ear as he lowered his voice to be barely audible.

"When we get home, I'll give you something better to lick than the damn liberty bell."

He gave Buck's lips a lingering look before he was meeting his eyes again. Eyes that surged with heat for a moment before he was sitting back with a devilish gleam in them instead.

"That's highly inappropriate Eddie," he said, much louder so that his voice would travel to the kitchen. "You'll let me lick what?"

Eddie felt the flush spread and his ears burned hot as he glared back at Buck.

"I hate you," he said, met with an angelic grin from Buck.

"You don't, you love me really."

Eddie sighed, but who the hell was he to deny it?

"Yeah, I guess I do."

[cuppajoel]

Couple's Costume |Javier Peña x f!reader one shot

'Couple's Costume' | Javier Peña x f!reader one shot

for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno 's fall challenge

prompt: Peña pumpkin latte & masked strangers party (I took liberties)

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader Summary: Your sister is throwing a halloween party and you're invited last minute. When you turn up you realise everyone is in couple's costumes and you are the only one who's not- or are you? w/c: 1.7k Content Warnings: Language, drinking, MDNI (18+ only) no smut, kinda cheesy at the end? f!reader isn't described in a lot of detail, shorter than Javi, has an ass, flirting, alluding to smoking. no use of y/n. A/N: Heyyy, this is my first time taking part in a challenge and I really enjoyed it. I've also been loving reading everyone else's submissions! Please like, comment, and rb. It gives me a fuzzy feeling. :)) I have fallen in love with Javi thanks to @goodwithcheese so wanted to show my blossoming love for you and him. <333

“Uh-huh…okay, yeah sure-” you responded, your shoulder nudging the slipping phone receiver upwards to align with you ear again. Your hands were a little pre-occupied mixing the chocolate chips and candycorn into your sugar cookie mix. 

 “Honestly, it’ll be a lot of fun!” your elder sister responded, over compensating from the lack of enthusiasm. Your eyes couldn’t help roll from the direction of her voice in your ear. “You were coming ‘round anyway to drop off the cookies…and it would be saving my ass so the numbers stay even.” she put on her sweet voice, the one she knew you couldn’t say ‘no’ to. 

“I don’t have a costume” you said through a sigh, putting the cookie batter mix into the refrigerator to chill.

“Don’t worry about it…just pull something from your closet. It’s gonna be super chill…” your sister said nonchalantly.  

You leaned with your back against the kitchen counter, red heels crossed around one another in front of you with a red solo cup to match. Only your sister would make you source a last minute costume that consisted of wet-look black skinny jeans that were practically spray-painted on, and an off the shoulder black bodysuit that you purchased when you were a freshman in college. 

Your “Hi, I’m Sandy” name tag was stuck to your hip, lowered as you were feeling embarrassed that you even had to wear it. Looking over to the kitchen island in front of you, you admired the Halloween cookies you had made earlier from the sea of other spooky-themed snacks brought by the other pairs of party goers. 

“Could you at least try and get into it a little bit?” Your sister said, returning one of the now empty skull-shaped bowls from the living room and filling it right back up with the family-sized bag of chips. 

You turned around to face the array of liquor bottles behind you, picking one with amber-coloured liquid and glugged it into your cup. “Oh I’m into it…” As the cup filled to two-thirds of the way, you topped it up with something sweet and bubbly before turning back around and holding the cup up to your sister in a silent ‘cheers’. “Although I’d be into it a little more if you’d given me the heads up that it was a couples costume party.” You said taking three rapid gulps of your concoction before screwing up your eyes and shaking your head.

When you’d first arrived at your sister’s house the party was well underway. Knowing that your knocking wouldn’t be heard over the sound system that was in the living room, you let yourself in, tray of warm cookies in hand. As you entered the hallway, your sister’s superior decorating skills were evident. Cobwebs hung lowly above your head with black, plastic spiders embedded evenly across them. A skeleton, wrapped in toilet paper, sat on the bottom step of the wooden staircase with a plastic orange pumpkin in its lap full of various fun-size candy bars. You walked through to the living room, ‘The Monster Mash’ acting as your soundtrack as you were greeted by your fellow party go-ers, Barbie, and Ken, Homer and Marge Simpson, Bert and Ernie.

Walking further through the house to the kitchen, the small light projector bounced from wall to wall, switching from shadows of bats and gravestones to pumpkins and witches brooms, a layer of fog gathered at your ankles. You hummed to yourself, impressed at how much was put into the aesthetics of the evening. As you crossed the threshold of the kitchen you were greeted by Morticia and Gomez, your sister and her husband. 

“SANDY…”  the world’s worst John Travolta impersonation came flying at you from none other than Gomez Adams. You pushed passed the man in the doorway with a sigh and shake of the head. “Aw c’monnnn… the least you could do is get into character…” your newly-moustached brother in law teased as you set the cookies on the counter. Before your sister turned to greet you, you noticed she was talking to Fred and Velma Flintstone; Shaggy and Scooby Doo were helping themselves to the punch bowl. 

It clicked. Not one person here was here alone. All pushed together by their costumes characters. Your sister turned, hearing the cogs of your brain clunking. Your stare turned to ice as her eyes met yours. “Those look amazing… you look amazing!” She said pulling you into a tight hug- one that wasn’t reciprocated. 

“You owe me, big time…” you said, stiffening your muscles under her touch. She’d secretly organised it all, you’d realised. When stressing earlier about your costume she knew exactly what to suggest down to the details of your makeup. You didn’t even really get her vision until she said to do your hair ‘exactly like moms in the wedding pictures’, it was all a scheme. 

“I promise, you aren’t the only single one here…” she started, stepping back to see you fully before grabbing one of your hands that had fallen. “Most of the people coming are already in their couple’s costumes but others are here alone and I thought it’d be fun to suggest some costume ideas so that maybe you could meet your Danny…” your sister buzzed with excitement. 

“Yeah, Javi-” your sister elbowed her husband directly in the ribs. “Danny… will love your outfit…” he said,  spluttering over the rim of his drink.

-

Javi found himself in between Tarzan and Jane, not knowing where to look, both of them sticking true to the minimal clothing of the Jungle. He stared into the red solo cup that got thrust into his hand as he entered the party, the golden liquid depleting quickly as his lips and cheeks began to buzz- the safe choice, he thought. 

“…so wha’s your costume?” Jane asked him, her breath uncomfortably close and hot in his ear and her eyes getting the familiar sparkle from booze. Her eyes raked up and down him a few times, which in the presence of Tarzan made the hairs on Javi’s neck prick. He wore his signature blue Levi’s, a slim-fit white  T-shirt and a black leather jacket that he hadn’t yet had the chance to take off. 

Before he could answer, he felt a very subtle tap tap tap tap against the leather of his boot. Reaching forward, he picked up the ping pong ball in between his pointer finger and thumb, turning it to look at the illustrated ghost features that someone had drawn on. 

“God. Sorry!” you called out from the far end of the dining room, your features curling on themselves lightly as you squint to see where the ball had gone. You brought your hand up over your brow as if searching the uncharted sea for the small plastic ball. 

Looking up at your voice, Javier couldn’t help but chuckle at your poor aim at the pyramid of red cups before you. Without a word to Tarzan and Jane, he stood up from the couch to return the ball to its poor shot of an owner. 

You met halfway at the threshold of the open-plan living room-diner. As you approached one another the height difference was the first thing you noticed. You had to look up to meet the eyes of the leather-jacket-wearing  rescuer of your ball. He held the ball out towards you, still only gripped with his two fingers. “You know, I think the point is to get the ball into the cup…” he said, dipping his head slightly, bringing his mouth closer to your ear to be heard over the music. He smelled like cigarettes and something warm like leather. As he pulled back to reach your gaze again, he held the ball still with his fingers, even as you had begun to hover your hands over his to receive it. His eyes had a slight glitter to them as he looked at you up and down and up again, his gaze stuck on the name tag on your hip. “…Sandy?”  Javi allowed himself to look at your costume in great detail. Were your jeans wet? Or did you have to be sewn into them? The material showing the fullness of your hips and waist and leaving little to the imagination. He said, finally dropping his grip on the plastic for it to fall into your hands. 

“Ahhhh, that’s where I’ve been going wrong…” you said, a front for your bad aim. The game of beer pong already resuming without you. “What’s your costume?” you asked tilting your head to the side, your arm bumping on the wall next to you. Javi had automatically brought himself closer to you again, using the loudness of the room as an excuse.

“What do you think my costume is?”

You permitted yourself to examine him in the same way that he had done to you moments before. Everything about his outfit was exact to him. It didn’t look like a Halloween costume- probably something from his closet like yours had been. You squint your eyes again, the alcohol dulling your vision slightly. “Danny?” Your voice is small, questioning, and hopeful as your tongue passes your lips slowly, dampening them slightly, forgetting about your ruby-red lipstick. 

Javi’s eyes fall to the bright red target being highlighted to him, showing the whiteness of your teeth and the fullness of your lips. “Would you be disappointed if I’d told you I’ve never seen the movie?” He says genuinely, his eyes only looking away from your lips after he’d asked the question. 

Your eyes trickle up over his neck, the slight bob of his Adam’s apple as he waits for your response. His sharp, carved jaw twinges slightly as a smirk passes his lips, he’s looking at you looking at him. Your gaze travels up and up, resting on the cigarette that has been delicately placed on the hinge of his ear, for later clearly. 

The alcohol must’ve really been working as you softly, slowly reach for it putting the filter between your lips and finally looking up into his eyes. They look somehow darker than they did seconds ago.  “Want me to tell you about it, stud?”

[unicyclehippo]

One word prompt for hawkeye/bishova: tense

(Also yay! Excited for you to try to write for them! Love ur writing and also hawkeye 🫶)

ok just a short one while i have my coffee. in the same vague story as regret & stumble

//

so far, kate’s talked for the whole drive.

it’s not something she’s particularly proud of, okay? it’s just a fact. she does start to think she would make an incredible politician purely on her filibuster flair but the thought passes, a little because she can’t think of anything worse than politics, a little because she starts feeling guilty that her present filibustering isn’t some grand speech in defence of civil liberties but a desperate attempt to fill the car with noise so clint won’t ask her questions.

‘—and that’s obviously where everything started to go wrong, because apparently the bell wasn’t fixed in the tower properly and the arrow doesn’t weight that much—what am i saying, you know how much arrows weigh, and this was just a flute14, they’re like, what three-eighty?’

‘three eighty-five.’

kate turned in the seat to stare at him, mouth agape. she hadn’t seen him turn his hearing aid off but she had just figured, after three hours of this, that he’d managed to tune her out. she didn’t think he was really listening.

oh well. in for an arrow, in for a quiver full.

‘right! so i didn’t think it would bring a tower down. obviously. but it turns out that the weight of the arrow is nothing and it’s actually the force you gotta calculate, which, i should obviously have realised but yknow what they say about hindsight and shooting arrows at bell towers. i guess the bell wasn’t built to be rung because when i used the snapshut head—‘

‘snapshut?’

‘yeah. they have a claw on the front so when you hit something, it clicks the trigger and closes the claw around it.’

clint tilts his head. ‘huh.’

‘anyway, the arrow pulled the rope and the rope pulled the bell and the bell pulled the beam and the beam pulled the top of the tower and everything kinda…collapsed from there.’

if she had to pick when things started going wrong this year, that was probably it. or was it just the latest in a long string of things going wrong? there was an unhappy thought.

‘did you design the snapshut head?’

kate beamed at clint. she was so happy he was her partner—he knew she needed to talk. talk about taking one for the team.

‘no, i saw last years olympics champ using something similar. well, i guess i designed my snapshuts—design feels like a really sophisticated term,’ she confessed. ‘i just kept trying stuff until it worked.’

clint glanced sidelong at her. ‘yeah,’ he said. ‘that’s what designing is.’

‘oh. then yeah.’

he huffed a little laugh and turned his attention back to the road.

it was really pretty. they were still in pennsylvania and the highway ran straight and clear ahead of them. on either side, dense forests crowded in grey and green and on a distant ridge, she could make out rows of looming hemlocks like a fence of arrows.

maybe not arrows, she supposed. just because something was triangular didn’t mean it looked like an arrow.

she leaned her head against the window. it shuddered and jumped under her skull from the tiny bumps in the road and made her teeth buzz.

clint reached carefully back and grabbed his sweater, holding it out to her.

‘what’s this for?’

‘fold it up, use it as a pillow.’ he said it all stern, an order, like it wasn’t the sweetest thing in the world. ‘you’ll get a concussion if your head bangs around like that.’

‘another concussion,’ she pointed out cheerfully. ‘oh. you didn’t know that? i mean, i’m fine.’

‘mhm.’ clint glowered at the road.

kate folded up the soft sweater and tucked it between her head and the window. then, between one blink and the next, she fell asleep.

//

lucky barked when clint took him out to pee at the next gas station. kate jerked awake with a kick and a snort.

‘shh,’ clint soothed, patting her shoulder. ‘go back to sleep.’

//

‘you should have woken me up!’ kate insisted for the sixth time. ‘i can’t believe you bought chips, of all things. i mean, salt? what were you thinking? it’s gonna dry us out, parch the lips, we’re gonna be gasping for liquids, clint!’

‘will it stop you from talking?’

‘in the worst case scenario, yes.’ she narrowed her eyes at him and asked, darkly, ‘why?’

he scratched at the stubble on his chin, but not fast enough to hide his smile. ‘just wondering. there’s something blue in the icebox, by the way.’

‘blue?’

kate twisted to check what drinks he bought. it looks like the worlds most off-brand gatorade and she gets why he just said blue. it’s not only the name but also the most prominent and upsetting feature.

‘it’s so blue…’

‘i know.’

‘this can’t be healthy.’

‘can’t be.’

‘…want half?’

clint rolled down his window and poured the dregs of his coffee into the highway gutter, passing the styrofoam cup over.

//

‘so. you had drinks with yelena?’

kate dug very nonchalantly into the bag of chips. she pulled out a folded chip between her pointer and middle finger.

‘did you ever get told it was bad luck to touch a folded chip with your thumb?’

‘…no.’

‘weird.’ she shoved it in her mouth and chewed obnoxiously loud. maybe he’d take it as a hint.

he didn’t.

‘some protege you turn out to be,’ he teased (she hoped). ‘you couldn’t have waited a week? she only tried to kill me yesterday.’

‘she wasn’t trying very hard,’ kate pointed out. ‘if she wanted either of us dead, we would be dead. like, you saw her fighting, right?’

‘yep.’

‘i’m not bad at fighting, clint! i have won—‘ she totted them up quickly. ‘seventeen trophies! important trophies! i got my black belt at fifteen. and she’s like, wow. so much better.’

clint nodded. his face stayed smooth but kate, half turned in her seat to lean against the window, had a perfect view of his hands curling tight around the steering wheel.

‘yep.’

‘was—‘ kate stopped. shoved another chip in her mouth.

clint’s lips turned up very slightly. ‘you can ask.’

‘are you sure?’

‘yeah.’

‘okay.’

kate thought carefully about how to phrase it. the black widow—the black widow—was a sore subject for clint. hawkeye. for obvious reasons. and with each hour that passed in this rust bucket truck that smelled now of gasoline and potato chips and dog, everything got a little bit more strange. she had known instantly who clint was when he stripped the mask from her face—the hawkeye! her hero! the world’s hero!—and then the week passed like a kidney stone and now he was hawkeye and also nathaniel’s dad and a husband and this guy. who was strange in his own right. like, who went into a gas station and bought the weirdest stuff on purpose? and kate was sitting in his passenger seat, their bows were packed together in the back seat, he had walked her dog. it was a lot. and she didn’t want to fuck it up.

‘was natasha like that?’ she asked quietly, words half vanishing under the putter of the engine so if he wanted to, he could pretend he hadn’t heard.

‘she was better.’ when kate scoffed, he grinned that tight lopsided grin, like he’d half forgotten how to smile. ‘i’m serious. she was the best. once, that meant she was the worst of the worst. and then…’

‘the shot you didn’t take.’

‘yeah.’

‘and she came to your side.’

‘not at first.’ clint opened his mouth. kate threw a chip in and cheered when he caught it between his teeth. ‘it was messy,’ he said through the crunch. ‘she killed some more people, injured more, broke into some facilities.’

‘what?’

‘she was a bad guy, kate.’ clint’s smile faded a touch. ‘yelena is too. just ‘cause she’s out doesn’t mean she’s changed.’

hot words raced up her throat into her mouth like bile; kate bit them back, surprised and a little weirded out by her own intensity. you don’t understand! she wanted to say, which was dumb as hell because of all the people in the world, the black widow’s best friend knew.

kate lowered her eyes to the dashboard. she thought of bell towers and scoldings and her mother’s gentle hand on her chin, looking at her the same way she had at eight years old.

‘i’ll be careful,’ she told him softly.

‘okay.’

//

clint had been a trooper through the trip, kate could and would readily admit that. she was the worst road trip buddy in the world. school trips relegated to being the teachers buddy could attest to that.

the last hour, kate folded her lips tight and her hands in her lap, only reaching out to stroke lucky’s head until he glared sleepily at her out of his one eye and turned away.

‘you’re being pretty quiet.’

‘are you sure i should come?’ kate blurted.

clint laughed. ‘bit late for that, isn’t it?’

‘no? i mean, the nearest airport is, what, two hours drive? or i could rent a car and drive back. it’s really pretty here, it’d be a nice drive, i wouldn’t mind at all. because christmas is a family thing and i know your kids were really wanting you back—‘

‘you’re coming.’

‘okay.’

clint threw her a few worried looks as the minutes ticked away.

‘she invited you. my wife. they want to meet you.’

‘me?’

‘no,’ he drawled, ‘the other girl archer who saved my life.’

he admitted it! kate very coolly grinned and pumped her fist in a secret little cheer.

‘okay,’ she said again.

she thought it sounded very happy that time, she thought she was very happy that time, but then clint had to sling a question her way—unfair—and she wasn’t so sure.

‘do you want to be there?’ he scratched at his head, above his deafened ear. ‘i didn’t really ask, i guess. did you want to stay in the city?’

kate leaned against the soft sweater and turned her eyes to the highway. the grass plain and the rolling hills that curtained the barton farm from the rest of ohio and the world.

‘nah,’ she said, tone light. ‘are you kidding? and miss out on christmas with the real hawkeye?’

given that she had raised her misgivings like, twelve seconds ago, she deserved his very intense and disbelieving side-eye. but it was sweet that he didn’t press.

//

cooper, she learned, was like his dad in that he kept most of his thoughts inside his head. he was less like his dad because when kate started rambling, he actually seemed to enjoy it and laughed at all her jokes. he probably got that from his mom, who was the most incredible host. warm and gracious and welcoming from the get go.

nathaniel—nate—was cheeky and bright and goofy and totally enamoured with lucky. he was at that age where he constantly had sticky hands and something on his face and when he laughed more than anything else.

lila was an odd combination of her parents. she looked a lot like her mom, and older than her years in the way kate remembered from high school, wanting to seem older than she was. she was so obviously sharp, clever and pointed and had a ton of questions for kate that started off kind and got way more… harsh wasn’t the right word. protective, maybe. of her dad and his time he had promised them. of herself, when it came to this stranger who had stolen their dad for a long precious week.

‘so, you’re like, his apprentice now or something?’ lila asked when her parents were busy in the kitchen kissing hello and, kate assumed, telling her some of the more important things that had happened.

‘um. something like that.’

‘that’s cool. you’re an archer like him?’

‘yeah, yep.’

‘and you nearly got both of you killed?’

‘lila.’

‘i’m just asking.’

‘not in front of nate,’ laura murmured, with a sweet smile. ‘and maybe not at all, yeah hun?’ she tugged at her daughter’s ponytail lightly, teasing.

‘i don’t mind,’ kate lied brightly, sitting tall and tense on the sofa with the girl. ‘it’s totally fair to ask.’

‘see! she doesn’t mind.’

kate had to look away when laura sent her daughter The Look; her ribs ached, clenching so tight around her chest, and it was weirdly hard to breathe for a second.

‘—ate? kate?’

a soft hand touched her shoulder. kate jumped up from the sofa, jostling laura and her own hot cocoa.

‘hey, sweetie, are you—‘

‘which way to the little girl’s room, sorry? it was a helluva long drive,’ she laughed, and chattered as lila stood at another parental look and guided her through a warren of doors and halls to the guest toilet.

‘sorry for badgering you,’ she said quietly, sharply, but not begrudgingly. ‘i’m just glad he’s home.’

and safe, she didn’t say.

kate smiled down at the girl. ‘i get it,’ and rolled her eyes when lila huffed and strode away. wild. she was usually so good with people, and especially kids. she had it on good authority that she was still just an older kid a lot of the time.

tucking away in the washroom, kate sat and let herself breathe. it smelled of lavender soap and some leafy plant on the windowsill. everything was clean and kitschy and so not home that kate had to curl up tight around her bruised and battered body and press her face into her coat, smell the singed sleeve and remember that yeah, she had fought kingpin and a thousand tracksuit goons yesterday and—and everything else that happened too.

her pocket shivered. more accurately, the phone in her pocket shook with an incoming text.

(yelena), the ID said. kate had changed it pretty fast. not that she was likely to forget.

no message to say you are there safe? how rude.

kate laughed softly.

we got here safe. no thanks to clint

should she have said that? yelena wasn’t on the warpath anymore but would she get it was a joke?

he bought this weird blue drink, she started, and kept talking until clint called her for dinner.

[sfehvn]

sacrifices

Request: "if requests are still open (if not pls ignore) i’ve been obsessed with the idea of astarion being confronted with what tav becomes if he ascends. i picture the gang with raphael, astarion is determined to undergo the ritual, and raphael snaps his fingers to morph their strong leader into a frail, broken version of themselves. afraid of him. can he live with what his decision does to the person he loves, does that knowledge change his mind? could be something completely different tho, i’d love to hear your take on it!" A/N: I took some creative liberties because I'm still mid-Act 3, but I hope it's up to par nonetheless. I also think I totally misinterpreted the prompt now that I'm re-reading it after finishing this. I'm kinda not very brainy. (sparkle sparkle) I hope you enjoy anyways! lol Word count: 2,426 Characters: Astarion x Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

  It was as if every fibre of your being had been desecrated from its vessel within an instance. You suddenly felt the scrutiny of every eye in the room upon you; you felt naked. The strength that had bumbled in every nerve of your body had been silenced. The gravity of the situation you were in towered on slouched shoulders and you gasped at the overwhelming perception. Every position you’d been in since aboard the nautiloid ship assaulted your mind. You hadn’t died, yet the trauma that you could have knocked the air from your lungs. A veil had been lifted from your desensitized mind. You weren’t even through the thick of it, the squirming parasite behind your eye being a palpable reminder. You stared wide-eyed at the group before you, taking note of the uneasy way Shadowheart looked from you to Astarion. You tried to choke out something, anything, but instead, a terrified whimper left your lips.

  The imbalance of authority was instantly discernable. Formerly the most capable of them all reduced to a powerless husk. Astarion stares at you warily, stepping closer only for you to cower backward, all but tripping over your own feet. “Please.” You pleaded against your better judgment. You were attentive to the knowledge he would never hurt you, but there was something profound in your brain telling you to run. He was a predator and you his prey. Perhaps the security of knowing you could always defend yourself if it came down to that was always there. Without the power, without those means, you indeed were afraid.

  Realization washes over Astarion’s face as he looks at you. The tension in the room was so impenetrable that Shadowheart spoke up hesitantly. “Give her some space.” No matter how sympathetic her words are, when she touches Astarion’s arm to give him a gentle tug back, he rips his extremity from her grasp. “Astarion.” She says firmly, looking at you with sad eyes. It was unspoken; if this was what you were to be, you’d never make it.

  “Fix her, devil.” He sneers, disregarding Shadowheart to the best of his ability. Raphael chortles, a playful glint in his eye. This was all a game to him.

  “So sad, wouldn’t you agree?” Raphael muses apathetically, moving to fiddle with the ends of your hair. Your body tenses and you want to run, but you’re frozen in place by fear. “At the end of the day, we are ultimately what our bodies perceive us to be. As for Tav, it would seem she’s not the leader you lot took her for after all. A travesty really.” His eyes lock on Astarion, a giddy smile on his face at the vampire’s anger. It oozed off of him, feeding Raphael sadistic joy.

  “You will not touch her Raphael-” Before he knew what had happened, he was laid out across the floor by a flick of the devil’s hand. Despite the aching in his bones, he pushes himself back up onto his feet, ready to pounce once again. Raphael already has his hand raised, ready to knock Astarion back once again.

  This time it’s Karlach’s hand that grabs him, holding him firmly in place. “Astarion, this won’t solve anything.”

  “By the hells it won’t! So that’s it? You want to abandon her here? After all she’s done for all of us? You ungrateful bastards! She’s stuck her neck out for each one of us and you turn on her just like that? Pathetic.” Astarions spits, his body shaking from the rage bubbling within himself.

  “Of course not! We love her just as much as you, but charging nonsensically at a devil whom we cannot touch over and over again won’t fix it.” Karlach exclaims and, perhaps because it was the most emotionally driven of the group to speak up, Astarion’s body loosens in defeat. Karlach withdraws her hand cautiously.

  “As much entertainment as I’m getting from watching this debacle, I believe we’re done here for now. I trust you’ll discuss this with your little wizard friend and let him know the crown is mine and I expect to receive it as soon as it is in your possession. Upon payment, I’ll restore our precious Tav’s previous state of being. I’m glad we’re all on the same page.” Raphael sends the group off with a snap of his fingers. The spinning surroundings bring you to your knees and you squeeze your eyes shut in a failed attempt to block out the sensation. Once you open your eyes, the group is back in the rented room of Elfsong. 

  A combination of the intense whirring, of everyone’s eyes on you, of your power being ripped from your body; you wretch. Your body heaves as the nausea finally subsides, Astarion is by your side, rubbing circles over your back and holding your hair loosely in his hand. Karlach has already fetched a fresh bucket of water and a stack of rags to clean the mess. Halsin, Jaheira, Wyll, Lae’Zel, and Gale look on in confusion, and you note Shadowheart gathering them together. Her voice was whispered and you couldn’t make out what was being said, but you didn’t have to be a scholar to know she was filling them in on the events that had transpired. Even Mizora was amongst them as if she was one of the same.

  The sight makes you want to wretch again but you hold back, gently pushing Astarion’s hands away from you. Your heart aches at the hurt look on his face but you just couldn’t. The power imbalance was too significant for you to handle in the moment; around any of your comrades, to be fair. However, there was something about Astarion that terrified you now. You knew it was senseless, but it couldn't be helped. “I need to be alone right now.” You manage from your raw throat. You did need to be alone; as alone as you possibly could be in the large room with nine other occupants.

  Karlach was one of the only people you allowed to stay with you as you lay in a daze on your bed. She was toweling a damp cloth over your forehead, chattering as usual. You recognized she was trying to act normal as if you hadn’t just had everything you’d ever known mangled from your very essence. You appreciated it. It was a far cry from the remainder of the party, now not bothering to hide what they were discussing as they tried to formulate next steps in the center of the room. You’d wished they wouldn’t, as selfish as it was. Though it seemed you were of some semblance of sound mind because you refrained from asking them to shut it down. They had to go on; with or without you. Astarion watched on in disgust from a corner of the room.

  Seeing you like this was destroying him, eating at his soul. He felt a fierce desire to protect you in this state, to keep you safe, yet you wouldn’t even let him near you. You were the only person who hadn’t treated him like something disposable in almost two centuries of existence. He feared that was gone. Would things get better? He yearned to hold you, to tell you everything would be okay. He hadn’t seen fear in someone’s eyes even comparable to yours since he was still a mindless slave to Cazador. Knowing that you felt that way about him struck him viscerally. He felt greedy for thinking it, but even if you didn’t become the fearless Tav you once were, he’d hoped you would eventually gain that trust with him again. Whatever the outcome, he would do what needed to be done to protect you.

  “I’m sorry but suggesting we just hand over Karsus Crown to a literal devil is insane! Have you lost your senses?” Gale shouted with conviction, throwing his hands up wildly.

  “Gale. What choice do we have? Tav has been a friend and she’d do the same for any one of us. We know what must be done.” Halsin reasons calmly in an attempt to ease the distressed wizard.

  “Well, I would bloody hope not!” Gale snaps in astonishment. “This is ludicrous!”

  Mizora pipes up and there is an air of amusement in her statement, “The bumbling one is correct. Raphael promises peace to the Nine Hells, but it is only a matter of time before he takes on other conquests. If you’d prefer the hells turn over; by all means.”

  “Come on! The lot of you have forced me into agreeance with a fiend.” Gale mutters.

  “A battle he will surely lose. Circumstantially, there’s no way the crown is powerful enough to intercept our plane.” Shadowheart reasons. 

  “Shadowheart, I have a great amount of respect for you, my friend. But you’ve no idea what you're talking about.” Gale holds a hand up dramatically in her direction.

  “She has a point.” Wyll finally offers his own input. “If our plane of existence could be overturned with the simple possession of this crown, it would have been done already, wouldn’t it? And if Raphael only wants to restore order in the hells, why not?”

  “All it would take is the correct entity. Just because something has not been done, does not mean it will never be done.” Gale sighs and there is a brief bought of silence before he continues. “Listen, Tav means just as much to me. It would pain me not to have her fight alongside us again, but-”

“Careful Gale of Waterdeep.” Astarion jeers as he approaches the group. “It would be a pity if someone had to put you in your place, but I can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy it. At this point, I’d think it a service to the rest of us.” 

  “Gale is right.” You declare. The group had been so engaged in conversation that they had failed to notice your approach. “I admire the lengths you guys would go to restore my power and I cherish each and every last one of you.” You shoot a small smile of reassurance at Gale, indicating that you indeed meant him too. “That being said, I recognize the need for boundaries. If this is the end of my road, well, I take pride in knowing I had the opportunity to assist our victors to the finish line.” You attempt a laugh, but it just sounds sad. You clear your throat. “Raphael cannot come into possession of this crown. I hope you all can respect my wishes.”

  Astarion wants to shake you, to tell you how foolish you were being. Had you really lost all of your senses when Raphael had stripped you of your power? “You will die, Tav. Do you not understand that? Without the means to protect yourself, you will die!” His shouting caused you to flinch and he instantly regretted it. The group sat in a paralyzed silence as they watched you two, not daring to interrupt Astarion in this state. “I will not lose the first thing I’ve loved in over two hundred years.” Tears threatened his ruby-red eyes, and he fought them back, suddenly very aware of how vulnerable he’d made himself amongst the party.

  “I know, Star.” You finally choke out after a lull of silence. You look away from him quickly and Karlach ushers you back to your bed. Astarion looks around the group with narrowed eyes as they disband to make their way to their collective beds. Why wasn’t anyone arguing this? How could they be so comfortable sentencing you to your death?

  Astarion stared up at the ceiling of the inn that night, unable to slip into his meditative state. Instead, he tried to grasp at the idea of you simply not existing—the months you had spent together that had felt like the entirety of his life left to mean nothing. It was tragic, just like the rest of his life. Of course someone like him couldn’t have a simple, happy ending. Why wouldn’t the very thing that kept him going be destined for death?

  His eyes open at the sound of approaching footsteps and your distinctive scent welcomingly floods his senses. He looks over to see you approaching his bed timidly as if you were uncertain about the action. “I don't,” you paused, fumbling with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t think I can sleep without you, Star.” You two hadn’t spent a night in separate beds since he had confessed his true feelings for you. The admission made his heart swell with hope and he shifts wordlessly, making room for you on the small bed beside him. He holds open the blanket for you, and you climb in. 

  He hears your heart slowing to a calm pace. The emotions were too overwhelming for you to comprehend. You had a newfound fear of the vampire, but your body craved his. Not just sexually, but it longed to be near him. It was as if it needed him to function properly. Astarion felt it too. It was like a missing piece of himself had returned to him, even if this moment was fleeting; he would hold you for as long as you let him, and he would wait for you to return when you were ready.

  There was one thing he was sure of. If you met your demise, so would Astarion. The time of only seeking power and authority was over for him. If he could, he would lay in this bed with you until you both withered to nothing. He did not want to outlive you in any sense of the word. He made a silent vow always to protect and keep you alive along with him. It was implicitly clear what he would be doing. The ascension had to be done, if only so you could live to see this through. The power and glory not even a last thought in his decision. He’d do this for you—the many conversations the two of you shared about the ritual flitted through his mind. You’d always been so careful of his wants while expressing apprehension about him going through with it. You’d convinced him, too. He was set that it was not what he wanted. He had been blinded by the splendor of it all. Things were different now. You would no longer be able to keep yourself alive; but he could.

“I love you, Tav.” He whispers.

“I love you, too, Star. More than air.” You murmured into his chest.

[malice-kingdom]

Sejanus angst ✨

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This was a request by @sejanusxfan

I apologize that I took liberties with the prompt. Hope you like it anyway :)

[matchamabs]

Punchtober - Day 6: Von Kaiser

ok so. i took SOME liberties with the prompt but i took it as an opportunity to finish the piece I had sitting in my folder for a while featuring the Academy Kids, made by me and @lazypastrys-thingymajingky

i feel like his work life is a fuckin mess lmao. also ft frederich, his big bro lmao. i love drawing that asshole. anyway i love to think about what it's like teaching kids boxing, and based on the opening cutscene he had, we made these cute lil kids for his class. they also turned out to be assholes <3 plus also hc drawing sitting in my folder collecting dust

Middle Row: Colt, Johannes, Heinrich & Mikhail belong to @lazypastrys-thingymajingky

Bottom + Top: Max, Markus, Otto & Felix are mine <3