#got recaptured once there

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Gerudo Town (Dad Squad)

All leads had indicated that the Yiga hideout was in the desert, as it had been in the past. Abel shouldn't have been surprised, honestly.

The issue was that he didn't know exactly where the base was. But a group of warriors did.

Trust was nonexistent these days, in the years after the Calamity. Gerudo Town had managed to escape much of the damage, but it also was cut off from the rest of Hyrule as a result. The oasis was abandoned, only utilized by weary and lost travelers, but no Gerudo roamed the sands around it.

"So let's visit this town, then," Rusl commented after taking another swig out of his newly refilled water flask.

"We can't," Abel sighed, leaning against a rock and basking in the coolness of the shade. "The Gerudo is a matriarchal society. They don't let men inside their walls."

Rusl blinked. Blinked again. Bemused, he remarked, "Matriarchal doesn't mean sexist. Surely they'll let us in."

Abel bit the inside of his cheek. He'd made this explanation plenty of times to his men in the years past. "I don't think the Gerudo are necessarily sexist. They don't distrust or hate men. It's just their tradition - whatever the reason, only girls are born to Gerudo mothers. So they just... don't interact with men in their hometown. It's tradition at this point."

"Strange," Rusl muttered. "The Gerudo are... rare where I'm from, but their distrust was shared equally to all, no matter their sex. They just didn't like anyone who wasn't Gerudo."

Rusl's words reminded Abel that they had yet to address a rather glaring matter. Ever since they had raided the abandoned Yiga camp, Abel had been pondering the fact that the Hero of Hyrule who the Fierce Deity had been protecting was a different Hero from his son. The Hero of Time was a children's story, a tale of folklore so old that barely anything was known of it except that the Soul of the Hero had traveled across time to save multiple lands.

So little was known of the goddess' destined Hero that Abel had often questioned the validity of any of the stories. He'd had no reason to disbelieve them, but... there was little reason to believe them either.

At least until his boy had come to him holding that sword.

So if the Hero of Time was one of Links being pursued by the Yiga... that just led to so many questions. Firstly, how the hell had they managed to do this??

Secondly... what was Rusl's boy? A potential Hero who could turn into a wolf? Abel had never heard of Ordon, so perhaps this Link was different - not of the Soul of the Hero but a savior to his own land nonetheless?

And now, this talk of different Gerudo cultures. Not only were these Heroes real, they and their guardians were plucked from Hyrule's history and thrown here.

I wonder their opinions on the state of things, Abel thought bitterly. How utterly we failed to maintain what they'd fought for.

It was a good thing his son was in a coma. He knew Link wouldn't be able to stand the judgment from the other heroes, whether it was good or bad.

"Either way," Rusl said, rising and interrupting Abel's musings. "I'll scout ahead to see if we can figure anything out without talking to them."

"The desert is treacherous," Abel warned. "It's foolish to go alone."

"I've gone to plenty a dangerous place alone," Rusl reassured him with a smile. "I won't engage in anything foolish, don't worry. I'll be back before sunset. This is just reconnaissance."

Abel supposed another issue to ponder was how little Rusl spoke of his past when he was clearly more than a blacksmith who knew some sword skills, but now didn't seem the time to argue it. He'd seen the man hold his own in battle well enough. Sighing, he waved a dismissive hand, watching the Ordonian walk away.

Glancing back at the oasis, he saw Rusl converse with the Fierce Deity briefly before continuing. The deity stared at the water curiously.

Abel wandered over to him. "Is something wrong?"

"This heat is mildly draining," Fierce remarked, dipping a finger into the water.

"You're more than welcome to swim in it if that's what you're wondering," Abel said. "But people do use it as a water source as well, so I advise cleaning yourself first."

"It does seem ill advised to drink from water that people can swim in," Fierce noted, raising an eyebrow. "My greater concern is hydration."

Abel blinked. If he was worried about hydrating, then why didn't he just drink?

"How much water does one need?" Fierce asked. "I have noticed you're both drinking much more since our arrival. Is it a matter of body heat regulation?"

"Have you never been to the desert...?" Abel questioned in disbelief.

"I don't recall," Fierce answered mildly, voice growing quiet. "I believe once, in battle, I was utilized, but not long enough for it to be a great concern."

Ah. Right. The things this deity did and didn't seem to know... it made Abel have so many questions. First and foremost, how the hell he was still alive.

But secondly... utilized?

"Drink more," Abel advised. "The body loses more water through sweating, and we all sweat more in the heat. Even you are."

"I noticed that much," Fierce replied with a chuckle, as if he were entertained at being taught something so simple. He dipped the flask given to him by Rusl into the oasis and began to drink.

Abel sighed, squinting against the sunlight. Link would certainly need more water if he was being held here. Or, well, had been held here. It seemed silly to go to the desert when their lead had been near Akkala, but... all Abel knew was that the Yiga stronghold was here, and they had all woken at the other side of Hyrule. They'd not had any luck finding any hints of their boys the entire journey here, so they had nothing else to go off.

After several hours of silence (Abel wasn't a particularly talkative man, and despite the deity's curiosity, he usually wouldn't speak unless prompted), Abel recognized Rusl's wavy silhouette in the distance.

The brightly colored handkerchief he was using to wipe his face was new.

"Did you have any success?" Fierce asked.

"Not really," Rusl answered. "However, I did figure out a way that we could get in to learn more."

"Is there a secret passage into the town?" Abel asked, curious. He had always wondered. He had always respected things that were forbidden, but that hadn't meant he wouldn't imagine ways of getting around it.

"Not from what I can tell," Rusl said. "But, with my plan, you could walk through the front door."

Abel found himself both curious and skeptical. He crossed his arms. "Really?"

Rusl held out the colorful handkerchief to him. Slowly taking it, Abel recognized that it was not, in fact, a handkerchief.

"The way the Gerudo dress lends itself to disguise," Rusl explained with a mischievous smile.

Abel held the veil at arm's length as if it would attack him. "You want. To do. What."

"Well if they only let women in, we have to obtain information somehow." Rusl shrugged. "You're smaller in build than me, and your hair's all grown out."

If looks could kill, Abel would have cut Rusl into pieces. "Absolutely not."

"What is it?" Fierce asked.

"He's suggesting I dress like a Gerudo woman to get into the town," Abel hissed. "The answer is no."

Rusl furrowed his brow, clearly frustrated. "Put your pride aside, Abel. This is important."

"Do you really think something like that would actually work?!" Abel motioned angrily towards the deity. "We might as well let him stroll into town in such attire for all the good it would do us!"

The Fierce Deity plucked the veil out of Abel's grip. "Will this allow one to look like a Gerudo woman?"

"Not necessarily," Rusl answered. "The point is that it will hide that he's a man."

"The veil will, but the rest is fairly apparent," Abel snapped. "I'm missing a few key components, Rusl."

"Nothing we can't tweak a little," Rusl replied easily.

This was insane.

"What other attire did you bring?"

Abel turned to argue with the deity about the stupidity of this entire half-witted plan when he saw the mythical man trying to figure out how to put the veil on.

He can't be serious.

"Well," Rusl said slowly as he pulled out more clothes. "I did grab varying sizes. The Gerudo are far taller and broader than I expected, so their clothes might actually fit you better."

"Very well," Fierce said casually, finally settling the veil in the right place. He started stripping his armor without a care, and Abel thought he was going insane. Was this actually happening right now?! A war god was going to cross dress in whatever insane attire the Gerudo chose to wear and--

And--

You know what, to hell with it. Better him than me.

When the Fierce Deity had finished switching clothes, the other two stared at him. Rusl crossed his arms, examining the disguise carefully while Abel just felt his sanity continue to slip away. He wasn't sure he cared at this point. Perhaps he could at least find some entertainment from this?

No, no he couldn't. It was too stupid.

Count your blessings, he reminded himself. At least they actually believe you about the threat the Yiga present now. They believe you enough to even try this fool's errand.

The Fierce Deity, usually a foreboding sight in his pale blue tunic and silver armor, striking attention with the royal blue scarf tied around his waist, was instead adorned in fiery red, which emphasized the paleness of his exposed, muscular abdomen and shoulders. He wore loose, baggy pants and flat footed shoes, silver hair and eyes glittering against a red and gold veil.

"This is not going to work," Abel immediately commented. "He's too big."

Too big, too broad, too muscular. The women of Gerudo were strong enough to probably lift an entire guardian off its feet, but their muscles were still distinctly patterned differently. Women's shoulders were not so broad, nor chest and waist so box-like. Whether the Gerudo assumed he was one of theirs or Hylian, he would still look too masculine to play this part.

"They'll find out immediately," he continued, feeling his stomach churn at the thought that came next. Maybe I should do it... it would be more reasonable, but... no. This entire thing is idiotic. It'll never work.

Rusl, who had been foraging for something else in his bag, suddenly pulled out two hydromelons. "Here, put these in your top."

Fierce took the fruit without argument, and Abel stared, eyes widening. Well, Rusl was certainly committed.

"Giving him breasts isn't going to fix the obvious issue that he is a man," he argued.

"Of course it'll help," Rusl replied. "He just has to... well..."

Rusl paused, staring at the deity as he fumbled to stuff the fruit in his top without them falling out and splattering on the ground.

"Play the part," Abel finished for him flatly.

XXX

Well... it wasn't an immediate disaster.

Abel and Rusl hid behind a dune as they watched Fierce approach the guards, who exchanged... baffled looks from what Abel could tell.

"Hello, fellow women," the deity greeted.

Rusl choked back a cough.

"This is not going to work," Abel hissed, his own voice strained in a competition between secondhand embarrassment, horror, and losing it.

"Hey, it would've been better if you did it!" Rusl whisper back.

Over my dead body.

Surprisingly, the guards shuffled aside to allow him passage after a few confused glances.

Abel stared.

"Ha!" Rusl huffed in triumph. "I told you it would work."

"You didn't know it was going to work!" Abel accused, turning to glare at him.

Rusl ignored him. "Let's see if we can get closer. We can peek over the far wall a little bit."

Abel sighed heavily, dragging his feet through the sand as the pair practically crawled around the edge of the town before climbing the wall opposite of the entrance. Abel half wondered why they couldn't just enter that way, but he supposed in such a small area they were bound to be noticed.

The pair peered over.

It was immediately apparent which one was Fierce. He was simultaneously blending in and sticking out like a sore thumb. His silver hair caught the sunlight, and his towering, imposing figure managed to outshine the Gerudo. Every woman who passed paused and gave him a strange side eye, but no one outright said anything. For his part, Fierce was standing still, surveying the area.

Abel groaned, pounding his forehead against the wall. "He doesn't even know what to do."

Rusl bit his lip, slowly climbing the wall and kneeling in the water that bordered the edge of the town. Abel hesitantly followed. Fierce immediately noticed of them with his superior eyesight. Rusl made little gestures, wiggling his fingers and mouthing words even Abel couldn't understand.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. "He'll never know what you're trying to tell him!"

Fierce nodded, walking slowly around the town.

"He's doing quite well for his first espionage mission," Rusl commented with a chuckle.

Abel groaned. "You're insane."

"Oh, Abel, you should lighten up. There are many ways to achieve a goal, it's not all about the sword."

"I'm aware of that."

The deity finally started to talk to women, disappearing in and out of the men's sight. Abel sighed, rubbing his face as he felt it steadily burning. Between the bright rays and the reflection from the water, he'd rival a Hylian tomato by the end of the day.

"Hopefully he can get some legitimate leads," Rusl muttered. "The sooner we can find the boys, the better."

Abel wanted to face plant into the water with the heat as bad as it was. Instead, he splashed a little on his face. "Yes, well, you're forgetting something very important."

"What?"

"Our esteemed deity is a war god with no idea how mortals function. He's probably going to ask them how they braid their hair."

"Come now, don't disrespect him like that. He's not an idiot."

"I didn't say he was an idiot. On the contrary, he's very curious. That's the problem."

"He'll focus."

Abel hummed, immediately thinking of his wife, Tilieth. Rusl clearly wasn't used to the mischief an inquisitive mind could stir up. Not to mention the deity wasn't exactly subtle. He was certain the deity's concern for his own Link would drive him forward, but he was likely to get distracted as well.

Assuming he could even keep the act up.

"A voe has been spotted! Up there!!"

Abel and Rusl both jolted, eyes wide as they looked down to see guards running their way with spears in hand.

"Time to go!" Rusl said quickly as the pair leapt over the wall back into the sand and scurried away.

Hours later as the sun cast long shadows and brought a chill to the air around the oasis, Abel paced anxiously until he and Rusl both caught sight of their companion's return.

"What did you learn?" Rusl immediately asked.

Fierce pulled the veil and shirt off, clearly having grown uncomfortable in it, and headed for his armor. "Mating customs are strange."

Abel immediately burst into laughter, vindicated. He honestly hadn't expected anything else. The day was wasted, but he supposed he could get what entertainment was available from it. Even he hadn't expected that to be the first thing out of the deity's mouth.

Rusl frowned. "What...?"

"Did Uli, your wife, assert her dominance to you, or is that a Gerudo custom?"

Abel's amusement multiplied tenfold, and he wheezed as he doubled over. Rusl stared at the deity in horror.

"I seem to recall you both spoke of varying mating customs in that village, after all."

Rusl immediately face palmed. "This... those are not the details you were supposed to be investigating."

"Fear not," Fierce continued, slipping on his trousers and under tunic. "I also learned the location of the Yiga hideout. One of the women reported having seen two boys and a wolf as well."

Abel and Rusl snapped to attention, earlier amusement forgotten.

"The Gerudo claim that the hideout was set on fire," Fierce explained. "They investigated it and discovered our heroes. My little hero apparently did not let them near him or his companions, but they were all alive as of one week ago."

One week. A million things could happen in that span of time. Link could have died in that time.

"Does anyone know where they went?" he asked breathlessly.

"The guards tracked them for a few days until they left the desert."

"They left the desert a week ago?" Rusl repeated. "That... so we must have--"

The Ordonian let out a strangled, frustrated groan, turning away as he shook his head. Abel felt similarly. They'd just missed them.

He wondered if the encampment near Akkala had been a more recent lead, after all. Then again, it had taken them a week to get here.

"We need to leave," he said. "The coolness of the night will be good to travel through in the desert."

The other two didn't argue. Rusl was growing frustrated and concerned at how long it had been. Abel was panicking at his son's condition. The three set out within minutes, determination set on stony faces.

Hylia... I... haven't prayed lately, I know, but... please...

Protect him. Protect... protect them all.

[megpricephotography]

Remembering that time a friend & I went to Crufts back in 2012 & we wandered around Discover Dogs (where you can meet the breeds) & I met a sweet red & white border collie & a small merle border collie & had a bit of a chat with their owner. I took a pic of the red/white:

And then... 2.5 years later in late summer of 2014, my dad, who likes dogs but was in no way involved in the Dog World, started going out with a women, who lived about 90 mins away from us & who had 3 border collies - a pup & 2 adults (she was actually also the one who found my Flynn).

First time I met her border collies, I kept looking at the red & white male in particular & thinking "That dog? Why is that dog familiar, where have I seen him before?". I didn't say anything all evening, cause I felt like I must be wrong (I knew she'd never visited our town before) & I wanted to avoid sounding crazy but it kept niggling & niggling me, that somehow I'd met him. Then dad's gf randomly mentioned she'd had both the adult dogs at Crufts for just one year & I suddenly I knew! Pulled the photo up & checked & sure enough: same dog! It's a small world!

Lovely old Hovis:

[seat-safety-switch]

I don't know if you've ever been to Paris before, but I recommend going. Normally, I would not have gone, but I made a really rich enemy on IRC and he spent a lot of money to have me kidnapped and brought to his home country. While I was there, I got to try a bunch of restaurants (they're hostage-takers, not barbarians) and came away impressed. Something was missing, though, and herein is my genius idea.

In Paris you can get any kind of food. Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Thai: and it's all good. All of it. You literally can't find a bad restaurant. At one point, I walked into a convenience store and got a plate of one-Euro nachos that made me cry at the beauty of the arrangement.

Everyone around me was taking this for granted. Having lived there for years, their quality threshold had crept invisibly upwards until nothing could impress again. They needed something to re-calibrate their sense of truly bad food. That's where I came in. After I got kicked out of the country, I decided to come back with some investor support. I can burn cereal, usually by roasting it gently with a blowtorch on the top of an old gas can. Investors were easy to find.

Our first week of opening was tremendous. Hardened Parisians were discovering their first taste of truly incompetent food. The novelty of it all had captured them. There's just one problem, though: after making an entire lunch rush's feast of poorly-cut toast in reheated canned soup, my cooking skills began to improve from sheer experience. The complaints began to change tone. You got too good, they cried, you're not the same bad chef we once loved. Again, I was deported.

I looked out the window of the plane as it left De Gaulle, staring down onto the beautiful streets of Paris. Down there, I imagined, real gourmets were now eating food out of trash cans out of desperation to recapture what they had experienced with me. If there is one nice thing to be said, I now have two Michelin Stars here in my homeland of Canada, where my consommé-and-grilled-cheese recipe is now so much better than most of our restaurants that it made the Prime Minister Herself come and spit in my face for ruining the economy, before awarding me an Order of Canada. It's not the same.

[gay-dorito-dust]

hey, i really enjoyed reading your angst drabbles and i was thinking if you could write something like Viktor neglecting reader and all her attempts to be close to him again, and when she decides to give up on him, she almost die in the council room explosion, after he stood her up again, leaving her in some state of coma. then he regret everything, after all she should’ve been with him…

sorry if i made some mistakes, english is not my first language but im trying my best! 🫶🏻

Ah yes, more angst *laughs maniacally in several cups of coffee and severe need to make ppl cry* also your English is perfect, no need to apologise sweetie. Also! This is extremely long cuz I got carried away. Hope you enjoy tho! 🫶🫶

You adored Viktor greatly, for to you there was not a man who could match his brilliance and his resilience, his determination to see everything that he’s put his whole heart and soul into this hextech project through. Everything about him was enticing to you from his dream to better the lives of others, the twinkle in his amber eyes when he had made a scientific breakthrough, not to mention the way he became more animated and eager to talk as he spoke about it; he sounded more alive then ever before which you loved for him.

However what once brought you happiness would eventually become your downfall for as of recent memories as tensions between Piltover and Zaun heightened to a dangerous degree, Viktor had more or less had secluded himself to the lab from the early hours of the morning, rarely to come out for anything or anyone. Gone were the days where you’d see him in the hallways of the academy, blessing you with his beautiful smile as his amber eyes only seemed to glow within your presence in familiarity, offering a short greeting in passing but the recognition of your existence by him was more then a full length conversation with him would have given you.

He left your peripheral vision with nothing to remind you of moment, nothing but a flutter within your chest that’s warm and suffocating as the same time. Now you were left disappointed to ever think that you could recapture that moment again, such like a love sick individual who was detached from all forms of reality that didn’t have him in it. Times were changing and not for the better, for everyone was on edge with what was to come and the tension was so thick you could cut into it with a knife and anticipation hung heavy over everyone, dreadfully awaiting an attack with baited breath and clenched fists in an attempt of bravery in the face of adversity.

Gone were the brief glimpses you’d get of him from the corner of your eyes, leaving you to believe whether or not you did in fact see him or just someone who wore similar clothing. You’d sometimes catch him in the act of waving at you when he was in a hurry or -when he had time to spare- even making himself welcome to the unoccupied seat besides you in the library, looking over your mountain of books with a raised brow and sarcasm upon his lips.

‘You planning to read them all in one go or?’ He’d say, making you scoff as a smile blossomed across your face as you looked into his eyes, finding that they were already on you.

‘Yeah because that’s a completely plausible thing for a person with a simple mind could accomplish.’ You replied with your own form of sarcasm as your smile widens at the sound of his laugh, gladly to have made such a heavenly sound emerge from his mouth. You two would remain in those same seats until it was time to part ways once again, bidding each other farewells as the days drew to a close and you’d leave for home when Viktor would stay overtime in his lab.

Now you don’t see him at all. Your head would perk up at the sound your mind has made you believe was the soft love tap of a cane against wooded floor, only to have your heart clench and mind belittling you when it wasn’t anywhere near Viktor coming into the library but someone else entirely. You were left with a table littered with books and an empty seat besides you, now cold and devoid of the man who’d always sit there and let his thoughts flow freely and bluntly out of his mouth, and yet you’d much prefer that over the deafening silence that greeted you for the past months as the realisation of how cold and miserable you were without Viktor to make your day complete.

You use to frequent the lab more so then your own office just to see Viktor in the past. So much so that Viktor had left a spare chair by his workbench for you to sit on, letting you linger as he worked and never uttering a single word as you were too entranced by the ways his fingers moved and how his facial expressions fluidly moved from one another, it almost like they were telling a silent story of his emotions of his successes and failures within the project. From the highs and lows, the triumphs of learning something new, to the challenges that left dark bags under his eyes from all the late nighters he’s been pulling to at least achieve something in the midst of all the chaos.

Now the warmth that once filled you as you entered the lab felt cold, like you were intruding on something you shouldn’t have. Your once place of refuge had become a place you didn’t recognise as you immediately noticed the lack of the chair you once sat on, it’s location wasn’t a concern of yours more so than the ache within your heart at the seemingly small act. However for such an act as small as removing a spare chair from a workbench you felt as though this was a sign that your presence was no longer a welcomed one; you had become a distraction and in the worse kind to Viktor, and thus your chair had been taken away, signifying that those warm days of human connection had long since overstayed it’s welcome.

‘Viktor?’ You called out but not once did he show signs of recognition towards your voice nor bothered to look up from his work that meant so much to him nowadays. You didn’t know which hurt more, the lack of response or the idea that you were nowhere as dear to his heart as he was to yours at all, however you still smiled through the ache within your chest in hopes that it was just a delayed response on his part.

Nothing. Viktor didn’t even make an attempt to speak to you and just continued being hunched over his workbench with no intention on stopping, acting as though you were merely just a breeze that passed him by and not a human being he was once close to, begging him to acknowledge you and acknowledge the history between the two of you.

‘How long have you been cooped up in here like a little hermit.’ You tried to attempt a joke that only felt awkward and painful when the Viktor didn’t make a sarcastic quip back towards you. He left you in silence once again as you felt your hope slowly start to die within your chest and your smile began to fade from your lips as your resolve began to waver. You swallows thickly as you tired not to let this get to you and instead believe that he couldn’t hear you, and so you walked closer to him until you rested a hand upon his shoulder, making him stop working for a moment before going back to what he was doing soon after.

‘How long has it been since you slept, eaten anything, or just get some fresh air?’ You asked with concern towards his health and how it seemed that he was driving himself down into the ground for academic validation for his work. ‘Why don’t you take a break and take some time away from-‘

‘Not everyone has the luxury of time on their hands.’ Viktor cuts you off but not in the way you’d hope. His words cut through you, making you flinch away from him from the bitter tone that came from him as though he burnt you. ‘They need help now and I won’t allow any further distractions to hinder me from doing so.’ He adds and it obviously felt very pointed towards you as if you were the problem he now faced and you couldn’t help but get a little upset over this.

‘And kill yourself in the process? Who’s going to help them when you’re dead Viktor because it’s sure as hell not me!’ You bit back as you moved back towards the door, finding no point in standing by his side if he was so willing to discard you like you were nothing in the pursuits of science. ‘I’m not going to stand here and watch you lose yourself to your work, I won’t do it.’ You add with certainty but it’s Viktor’s next words that really hurt you despite the softness of his voice, now was sharp as ice and just as piercing.

‘Then don’t bother darkening my door any longer than you already have.’

You stiffened up at this as you felt your heart tore itself in half at the unnecessary hostility thrown towards you as the rift between the two of you had finally made itself known in this moment. The closeness you once shared with Viktor was now an illusion you fell for so willingly, all with the hopes that something more would come from it one day, much like the hopeless romantic that you truly were. However in this moment it was revealed that none of that mattered to him, not as much as it did to you and just as you were about to leave the lab, you looked over at his back and said;

‘Goodbye Viktor. I promise to never be an inconvenience to you ever again since that’s what you wish for.’ And without needing to hear him, you walked out of the lab, shutting the door behind you as you walked down the hall as silent tears fell from your cheeks as you kissed goodbye the one good thing you had left to keep your head above water; however without it you could feel yourself slipping beneath the waves that had threatened to crash over you for a long, long time as you had lost your anchor and you have the angry to care what happens to you.

…

Everything that happened in a matter of seconds. Too fast for anyone to notice what was going on before it was too late and a wave of pain greeted you as you blacked out.

The council was attacked and all signs pointed towards Zaun as the perpetrators.

Viktor was lucky enough to have somehow miraculously survive with the help of the hexcore but you on the other hand were left in a coma from the explosion. All Viktor knew when he came through in his new body was the news that you had could’ve died had you been just a tiny bit closer to bear the brunt of the unforeseen attack. The doctors were overlooking your possibilities of awaking from the coma, they claim that chances of that happening were slim but they believed that you were strong enough to pull through it, not that any of this mattered to Viktor as for all he was aware was that even if you did awake he’d be the last person you wanted to ever see.

He was told that upon being rescued from the rubble you looked like you had already died with the amounts of deep gashes that littered across your face, he got told that you didn’t even look like you were breathing at all, but you looked oddly at peace with the outcome of such a tragedy; as though you were silently suffering inside your own head for a long time and this was you gladly accepting the fate bestowed upon you.

Viktor didn’t know what hurt more, the fact that you could’ve died, or the idea that you were more then willing to have died in the attack then wake in a reality where he had all but pushed you aside. He couldn’t blame you for not wanting anything to do with him anymore, not after trying so hard to get through to him in the past, only for him to retaliate with words that you didn’t deserve. You had every right to never allow him into your life ever again, Viktor didn’t feel he was deserving of a second chance with you, especially not after something as traumatic as almost dying.

Now upon retrospect it would’ve been morbidly poetic had he did die in the attack, his hand reaching towards your own but never truly touching, a reminder that he had severed that connection with you the moment more was demanded of him and of hextech; A once beloved and respected connection that’ll never mend for the damage was already done due to his own hubris.

You deserved more then him and Viktor knew this painfully well enough to continue to drive the wedge between the two of you, all in hopes that you too would see that you were better off in search of something new with someone else, and yet he couldn’t help but cling onto you for himself so selfishly as though he wasn’t the one who caused you pain in favour of staying within the lab to his own devices. Viktor knew he was being ridiculous and he would only be hurting you in the process with his indecision of whether to keep you close by his side, or as far away from him as possible.

Yet everything within him told him to at least visit you, just to be certain that you would be strong enough to emerge from the coma, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that despite how much he wished to see you recover much like you had been bedside for him when his health declined sharply. Viktor remembered the day clear as day as the concern within your eyes shone, and the grip you had on his hand tightened every so often with every inhale and exhale, you didn’t say a single word but you didn’t half to as viktor has taught himself to read you better then most. It was clear that you were afraid but didn’t have the heart to speak up on it, and now he was face with a similar situation.

You were the ache in his heart that he couldn’t be rid of, no matter how much change his body went through, not that he wanted to either and Viktor knew he was the ache within your heart. You two pained each other with your absences, comforted each other’s overthinking minds and gave each other the company you so needed. You needed each other but didn’t at the same time, it was a never ending game with yourself and Viktor as you didn’t know whether to get close to one another or keep the distance between you and pretend that you’re both not hurting when you were.

However Viktor may regret the words he had spoken to you, it doesn’t change fate in the slightest, he was with his commune in the Undercity and you were still in that coma you should’ve awoken from weeks ago. Yet now and then Viktor would find himself looking to his side where he would normally feel you, only to see nothing but thin air and close his eyes as he took a deep breath to compose himself. He regrets everything he said to you but they wouldn’t change the hurt you were both suffering from, Viktor wanted you by his side in that moment but knew he’s better off wishing for that in another life, a life where he chose you.

Now he’ll get to know how sweet that life would be like and the ache within the remains of his heart hurt just that little more, for you, the ache within his him that he couldn’t get rid of but needed all the same to remind himself that he was still the Viktor you once loved.

[duchess-of-mandalore]

"The Lawless" and its Darker Implications

This is a dark and heavy post, so most of it will be hidden beneath the read-more link. I'll also note that what I say is not canon, so you're under no obligation to hold to this interpretation I'm presenting.

This subject came up on Twitter because of the attempted sexual assault scene in Andor 2.03. A certain well-known fanboy with 3 million YouTube followers put out a post saying that "SA has no place in Star Wars."

While there are legitimate reasons to want such triggering content in Star Wars, I was annoyed by this person's ignorance and failure to recognize that SA and its effects have been in Star Wars for a very long time. I made a post detailing the many instances in which sexual assault has been present in Star Wars. In response to the original statement, "SA has no place in Star Wars," I captioned my post thread, "Maybe it was just easier for you to ignore before."

I included examples you'd expect, like Leia and Oola in RotJ, Arla Fett, Twi'lek women in general who are often trafficked as sex slaves...

... but another example I included (knowing I'd get some confusion and pushback) is Satine in "The Lawless."

If you're still here, you consent to listening to my detailed reasoning for why I hold this interpretation. Got it? Okay, good.

At the start of the episode, Satine has been in prison for quite some time (multiple weeks, according to the Darth Maul: Shadow Conspiracy novelization). Her outfit is slightly different from what it looked like in the episode before: she's lost her long skirt, her collar's double ruff, her belt, her mantle necklace, and her diadem.

My guess is that during her time in prison, Death Watch stole those items off of her, but the point is, a month into her captivity, she still looks put together. Her remaining clothes look fine, and she keeps her hair in a neat bun.

Bo-Katan and Korkie break her out of prison, they race out of the city, Satine gets a message off to Obi-Wan, and then she's recaptured. By the time Obi-Wan gets to her (hours or days later, who can tell?), she looks considerably worse for wear. And the changes are concerning.

Her hair is not just down but disheveled.

Her tunic and trousers are ripped in numerous places.

Most disturbingly, when a lone male Mandalorian commando enters her cell without notice or permission, Satine greets him by saying, "Here to do more of your master's bidding?" There's a lot to unpack about what exactly Maul's "bidding" is, but Satine's words clearly imply that she has already endured a man coming to her cell at least once before, and it seems like if Maul had previously been restraining Death Watch from treating Satine poorly, he removed that protection after her escape attempt.

There's a reason the episode is called "The Lawless."

As I said before, I'm not saying that Satine being sexually assaulted is canon ... though her being at least physically assaulted by Death Watch after she's recaptured essentially is.

But when those puzzle pieces are assembled, I do think that the implication is darker, especially when you consider the episode "A Friend in Need," in which Death Watch is explicitly shown engaging in ongoing kidnapping, slavery, and sexual objectification of the local Ming Po women with the implication of SA for the purposes of terror, intimidation, and their own comfort ...

... and the fact that Death Watch has a very particular vendetta against Satine, the heretic pacifist who has left them feeling marginalized in what was previously a warrior society.

It's dark, I know. But I think it's the only end that really makes sense.

There's a reason why Satine clings so desperately to Obi-Wan when he finally comes to rescue her: she's grateful he's there to take her away, and she's grateful that he's not who she originally thought he was.

[quilly72]

Vivian was busy mixing chemicals for her upcoming catalyst lecture. She wanted to show her class the importance of a catalyst and growth reactions. As her chemistry class started filing in she mixed the final ingredients together and set it aside. The final students meandered their way in and she started her lesson.

Vivian started her lecture talking about the basic chemistry and biology that made up reactions and yada yada yada. Eventually she got to the fun part she grabbed the two red vials and decided to give her class something to focus on. She had the students start passing the containers around observing the black particles in the warm red liquid flow and ebb, watch them grow and shrink and remain in harmony. Professor Vivian talked about this solution was a perfect focal point to have the particles within grow and shrink and just the right amount to stay at equilibrium and how any small disturbance could set them off. As she went to go collect the vials back she noticed one of them was gone. She immediately locked the doors and demanded to see all the students pockets and backpacks. She started rifling through each students stuff individually looking for the missing vial. on her way to the back of the classroom she tripped and fell. She instinctively used her hands to brace herself and fell on top of the vial. The vial cracked open spilling directly on to the floor and her bust. The thick red liquid quickly dissolved into her skin as she quickly tried to scrape and peel it off. "Uh oh"she muttered"that's not good." Vivian immediately ran to the emergency shower and dumped gallons of water on to herself. She started scrubbing furiously and looked for any cuts or scratches where the liquid could have gotten into her body. She checked and checked but eventually decided that she was probably fine and the solution had evaporated.

As she went back to find the missing vial she felt a heat start to build within her chest. Attributing it to being flustered she ignored it and continued her search_

-hic-. "Excuse me" with that hiccup Vivian grew the tiniest amount and her boobs swelled up just a tad. As she continues her search she feels the heat build back up stronger this time. She continues to -hic- "sorry" this time her clothes tighten. Her shirt stretches around her chest and hips. Her pencil neck skirt grows taut and her heels tighten. -hic- Vivian grew again this time with her heels snapping off her feet. She loses her balance and her legs collapse. As she lays on the floor staring at her broken heels and her swollen feet,"that's impossible it can't be." Refusing to accept the unbelievable she ignores her growth and begins to grow mad with her students,"whoever has the missing vial, know that no one leaves this room till I -hic- find it." Her top collarbone button pops off and her skirt slightly rips I the back. Vivian in horror stares off into space. She recaptures herself and stands back up. She seems to be just as tall without the heels as she was with them and her shirt is visibly tighter. She feels a hiccup build up again. Her hands shoot up to clench her throat shut and she holds her breath. Her face turns bright red until something else builds up inside of her -uunnhhh- she moans letting out a small orgasm.

She spurts up several inches and her boobs spill out of her shirt all at once her bra nowhere in sight. "Class dismissed!" About half the class darts out of the room while the other sticks behind. Vivian starts to panic, " I can't do this I don't know how to-hic- stop" she spurts up again as her skirt rips in half down the seam, her butt bursting through. "I think they're -hic- speeding up" the rest of the buttons on her shirt fall off as she grows taller. -HIC- they were growing more powerful. Her head shot up several inches, her shirt fell off her back and -hic- her skirt now fell to prices on the floor.

Vivian's anxiety was skyrocketing especially-hic- since she could now touch the ceiling "I doon't want to groOOow". She -HIC- looks to her students for help but they'll stand there mouth agape, videotaping what they see.

-hic- her head bumps the ceiling. She reflexively bends down and rubs it to soothe the pain. Vivian tired of growing tried to hold in her growth again. She held her breath as her face turned red. Her head flexed against the ceiling as she pushed her body down and into the ground. Her body heats up as she grow sweaty. "Mmm oOooO unh" she orgasms again slightly bigger. Her body reacts by smashing her entire back into the ceiling all at once, her biggest spurt yet. She gets down on her knees and tries to think of a solution. Mere seconds into thought she -HICC- her head meets the ceiling again as she recoilsin pain. She leans back on her haunches spreading her booty out against the floor but buying herself a couple extra -HICC- nevermind. Her head and neck both grow into the ceiling and she had to bend slightly to fit. Her shoulders flex against the ceiling and she pushed her arms down into the ground for support. -HIICC- with no where else to go she dives forward smooshing several students in boobs and causing the rest to either flee while they still can or struggle against her increasing weight. "I'm sorry here let me move" she tries to shift her weight off of them as -hic- she smashes back down into them.

Her feet grow into the wall planting themselves firmly against a solid surface as her head connects with the opposing wall. Her boobs squish several students, pinning them against walls, chairs, and the floor as her hair drapes down smothering them. "I'm sorry I ..I..can't..stop myself.". She tries using her weight to push through the ceiling but it won't budge. Meanwhile she can feel her body tense up for another growth spurt, as several students work to free themselves.

Vivian tries one last time to hold it back. Her feet push against the wall. As she bares her teeth in agony. Her head pushes the ceiling with her back trying to bend the roof to her will and force herself outside. The building stays strong and doesn't budge. The heat inside Vivian's bosom grows and swells and several students start panicking as they realize they are seconds away from suffocating or being crushed. Their professor above them now 30 ft tall and grunting with pain and pleasure. Vivian screams for help," please someone help us...I...can't...keep..holding...it back... I'm going to.... going to.... GrOooOoow." She orgasms harder than she ever has in her life. Her boobs immediately fill up any room that there was left, crushing anyone underneath. Her head forcefully bends down into her own cleavage as her butt presses up against her legs, feet,and the room. "I don't have anymore room to grow" she begins panicking as -HICC- she blacks out from the pressure of her body against the room, but not before her legs and head finally break through the walls waiting to grow even bigger...

[hexhomos]

Hey man, I follow you on bluesky, but I’m too shy to interact openly 😔 Could you maybe share more about the state of the fandom before season 2? I was watching Arcane as it was coming out in 2021, but I never interacted with the fandom back then so a lot of things that you say come as a surprise… Even I knew that a lot of people disliked Jayce tho which was crazy to me because he was my favorite after Jinx and Silco and I always found him to very compellingly written. But I never thought that he was hated to such an extent! Was Jayvik really a crackship with a small fanbase as some people say? I knew it was much smaller than Caitvi which I thought was totally fair and understandable, but I’m pretty sure that I saw a decent amount of fan art on my Twitter TL back then…

Its very inaccurate to call jayvik a crackship during season 1 LOLLLL s1act1 had such a JV boom it was partially marketed by word of mouth as possible canon yaoi. And I say "marketed" with intent, netflix official pages and riot official pages made posts/memes with these two, including some sexual innuendo. Keep in mind, vikjayce was an old ship: from 2012 onwards there's already faint niches in the community and even fanfics.

I have some of those social media posts here.

The marketing yaoi memes became a problem after act2 came out and a lot of the audience felt rightfully betrayed/led on by corporate; i think on the netflix side they got confused on who the canon gay pair was but old time players were well acquainted with riot's HORRID handling of mlm couples - the disappointment wrt jayvik in season 1 was palpable and impossible to ignore, partially because their stories WERE well liked ingame as their lore selves, and in act1 as a potential couple.

for a little while back there "riot HATES gay men" became a whole memetic chorus repeated ad nauseam, and this did affect the decisionmaking process. In the following months they got lil nas X to collab on their yearly esports theme and collab on the new gay champion release (a man permanently separated from his ex partner because he was terrible in the relationship. no comment) and we also got the pride month reconfirmation that tfgraves are gay for eachother, though once again not in a relationship and not allowed to even confess, they were just posing in general proximity under the rainbow flag; an obvious step down from the pitch where they had Old Romantic History. Not even a kiss. You can sense the pattern on how riot approaches gay men here, and /why/ a lot of people on the fence have rallied behind jayvik after season 2. It would finally subvert the trend.

I would say post season 1 it was obviously caitvi city, with some other niches, biggest ones being timebomb and jayvik. Caitvi were Mega viral, successfully tricked general audiences into calling the game "league of lesbians" for a while back there, ascribing progressivity to the company where it was pinkmoneying at best. People's general hatred of jayce made it so he was underutilized, misread and mischaracterized at large, INCLUDING in caitvi or general fanworks. He was a republican trumpian dumbjock stocks guy, insert your least liked man here. It was not uncommon to click on a jayvik fic/fanart and see some sort of sentiment related to "oh jayce sucks but someone needs to kiss viktor", and this was mild ribbings when compared to people who DIDN'T ship it. On these other waters it was common to see "Viktor deserves much better!!!!!!" plastered on all the walls. hence the massive y/n stats on viktors page.

still, people who stuck by jayvik were generally doubly invested on it, and they even got a couple of zines made! Secret santa projects were also up and running for some years. There was fanmerch though not as much as we are seeing now, and also a recapture of league vikjayce content in much, much smaller numbers. Even back then and in the years before season 2 some rioters would already share and interact with these fanworks; people insisting that jayvik is "new" or was uncommon before are extremely wrong. In AO3 stats alone they were in the top 3 league ships of all time after season 1, and they are firmly #2 as of now, rapidly growing. The fanbase is cosmically larger now but the seed was always there.

[weepingchronicles]

This may sound bland but can you do Jinx with a darling who has just been recaptured after they escaped a second time tyy

a/n: not bland at all! thank you for waiting and requesting this!

cw: mental breakdown mentions, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome(?), killing mentions, manipulation, yandere behavior, EXTREMELY unhealthy relationship guys, physical violence

❝yandere!jinx x gn!reader getting recaptured❞

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 It doesn't take very long for Jinx to catch you, even if you are thinking you're safe she is simply lurking, watching you until she decides it is time to take you back.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Her initial reaction when you escape is not very good. Full psychotic breakdown is what I'm saying. She will start hearing and seeing things, it's best to be slow and quiet to not risk getting accidentally shot.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She might even accidentally kidnap others who she mistakes for being you, simply killing them off after she realizes.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You're all her mind can think about, any other matter or responsibility she has right now is unimportant in her mind. Not that she thinks they were important anyway.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Once she finally finds you she wants to just knock you out and take you back where you belong but she stops herself. Like a feline, she lurks and watches you. Baiting her time to sink her claws into you. How did you manage to escape and what have you been doing since then? Who helped you?

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 If you got help from others or god forbid, start laughing and being all buddy buddy with someone they are gone. Gone, dead, bam. One reason is the impulsivity and her damn possessiveness. It is what makes her pull the trigger to anyone who stands too close to you. Another is to teach you a lesson, a valuable lesson that no matter what you can't escape her. She'll find you in the end and will kill anyone who knew about it.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 A sadistic part of her gleams as you cry all pathetically, it almost makes her angry that you're crying about a bunch of losers who you barely even knew. You should be reaching out to her, crying for her.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She drags you home anyway, mumbling out a bunch of threats and battling the voices in her own head. If you want to survive without any bullets penetrating your body, it's best to keep quiet and listen.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 Getting home isn't any better, the whole place is a mess. More than it was before. It's clear she lost her marbles when you left, from furniture thrown and bullet dents in the walls.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She'll toss you around, screaming at you for leaving her, pointing her gun just a little too close. She's erratic and there is no stopping her.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You flinch, ducking your head and shielding your head in a futile attempt of protection. You were scared of her. How could you not be? Jinx takes a pause, looking down at her gun in her trembling hand before throwing it over her shoulder completely.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 She drops to her knees, wailing in tandem with you, perhaps even louder. Jinx clings onto you, grasping at your limbs and clothes like you're deprived oxygen.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I wouldn't ever hurt you. I'm sorry, please don't leave me!" A part of Powder comes out of her and her desperation eerily resembles a broken child inside. Some piece of you aches despite the pain she's caused you. It isn't entirely her fault she is born this way, what her trauma caused her to be.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 You can't forgive her though, not after all that's been done but.. you can pretend. "Please don't leave me again," and you nod in response.

artist credits: @/iwantmoretime17 on instagram

[f1daydreamers]

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐬 [𝐌𝐕𝟏]

gif credits: @overtake

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary: Seeing your boyfriend play with his nephews stirs emotions inside of you. While it may be the first time you and Max have acknowledged it, it may also be the last.

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, like one mention of alcohol, mentions of an unknown future, parenthood, lmk if I've missed anything!

Word Count: 1.0k words (3 mins reading time avg)

...

The sun dipped below the Monaco skyline, its rays streaming through the expansive windows of the apartment you shared with Max.

In celebration of his successful '23 season, you both agreed that throwing a rather modest dinner would be the perfect way to bring everyone together after a demanding year.

You'd dumped the last of the dirty plates into the sink, thanking Vic as she was already some steps ahead of you, cloth and disinfectant spray in hand as she wiped down the table.

Casting a quick glance around, you confirmed the absence of any stray cutlery, leaving only everyone's respective cups.

However, both your mind and your movements abruptly hit pause, as if your heart had taken the reins, softening at the sight of your boyfriend playing with his nephews, attentively listening to every word they were saying, whether it was meaningful or mere babble.

You smiled as Luka got up and wrapped his small arms around Max's neck, his hand rubbing up and down his little back.

Your eyes even threatened to well up a bit at the wholesome scene. As you brought your fingers up to your face, Max's gaze lifted to meet yours.

You fake-coughed, pretending to shield your mouth, averting your eyes and busying yourself, desperately trying to regain your previously lost train of thoughts.

Max couldn't help softly smiling to himself, but his moment of retrospect was interrupted by a few taps on his cheek from his nephew, who was determined to recapture his uncle's attention.

…

As the evening progressed on, you constantly found your mind plagued with thoughts that unravelled a potential future with him, one that included the laughter and chaos of children.

Yet, a persistent counterargument resounded in your thoughts, reminding you that neither would be ready, both still traversing the barely begun stages of real adulthood.

The internal conflict tugged at your emotions, creating a fine line between the yearning for a future adorned with parenthood and the sober acknowledgment of the unadorned present. As the dinner gradually transitioned into an intimate gathering with hushed conversations among the group that remained, you politely excused yourself.

Max's arm, once comfortably wrapped around your body, now gracefully descended onto the sofa behind you. With your hand placed flat on his thigh, you leveraged yourself up, slipping out of his gentle grasp.

He let maybe five, ten minutes pass by, granting you some alone time should you have needed it.

But eventually, he placed his beer bottle on to the corner table, crossing the lounge before pushing open and then shutting one of the doors to the apartment balcony.

Lost in thought, your mind had barely registered the sound, your body jolting when his hand pressed into the slight dip of your waist.

You sighed when you recognised the touch a few seconds later, turning your head to meet Max's rather sympathetic eyes.

"Sorry," he quietly apologised. You shook your head, dismissing the need for one. Turning to face him, you wrapped both your arms around his torso, gently resting your head against his chest - a hug he warmly welcomed.

"Want to tell me what's going on in that big brain of yours?" He asked, and you could practically sense the smile creeping onto his lips. He had an uncanny knack for knowing when you needed to unload your thoughts, and his intuition was always eerily accurate. You sighed, feeling his grip on you loosen as you pulled away. Leaning against the railing behind you, Max took one step closer, then another. Pursing your lips, you realised how pathetic this may possibly sound when vocalised. "Just watching you with your sister's kids. It got me thinking, I guess."

Your boyfriend already had a strong inkling as to where this was heading, but he patiently granted you the time and space to elaborate.

He arched an eyebrow. "Thinking about what?"

You lightly shrugged, pressing your bottom lip up to your top. You hesitated for a moment before the next words left your mouth.

"You know, family and stuff. Kids."

Max studied your face for a moment. "Kids, huh?" He said with a knowing smile.

You avoided eye contact, answering with a simple, "I don't know."

He chuckled softly. "Is 'I don't know' code for 'I do know but I'm scared to share my answer' because you think I don't know mine?"

Caught off guard, you silently cursed that eerie sixth sense of his, tensing as you looked up into his eyes. They were light, despite the depth of the topic.

You frowned. "Well, do you.. want children, I mean?"

There was a warmth in his gaze, one that offered you comfort. He looked over your face, his shoulders slumped as if the walls of undiscussed territory had crumbled without much of a fight.

"With you, yeah."

Your frown deepened, but this time, a different emotion flickered in your eyes.

His admission was unexpected, and a pleasant shock washed over you. The corners of your lips twitched as surprise softened into a tender smile. For a moment, your gaze lingered on his face, searching for any sign of jest or hesitation, but you didn't find any.

"If you're ready, then so am I." He added.

And just like that, the hours you spent wrestling with your own thoughts now dissipated into the evening breeze. You held back the surge of emotions within you, searching for the right words.

"Really?" you managed, but not without a quiet sob escaping at the end.

Max chuckled, rolling his eyes as he pulled you into him, embracing you for the second time tonight.

"So fragile," he teased, and you smiled despite the tears streaming down your face.

"Shut up," you retorted, your voice a mixture of laughter and tears.

There was a moment's quiet before your boyfriend spoke. "On second thought, why do I need a baby when I've got one right here?"

It was your turn to roll your eyes now, your voice muffled as you tried to argue.

"Babies cry a lot more."

"Hmm, between you and a newborn? I'd say it's pretty even."

You lightly slapped Max's stomach with your hand; his laughter eventually melting into a warm smile, and he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

...

Masterlist

[muffinsin]

hello, this is anon who send thought about buff cass 🙇🏻‍♀️

this is my first request and i'm sorry if my thought was cringe, can i request about fem reader gym date with g!p Cassandra and then they're ended up with passionate sex? Thank youu 🩷

Oh? (I wish I remembered which thought that was🙇‍♀️! But here y’all, a little throwback to one of my favorite, if not my favorite buff Cassie art by @zeleneagle -> here)

And it isn’t cringe at all, hon! :) absolutely!🙌 we’ve got some more Top! Cass loving here, I see🥳

Masterlists

You gulp subtly as you take in the sight before you, your pussy aching, your panties wet already as they cling to your body. Your wide eyes are set on only one thing:

Your girlfriend,

Cassandra.

How her hair, dark, long and thick, falls down her neck and lightly brushes against her shoulders as she moves, the bun it’s held in slowly loosening a little. With her hair messy like this, you can’t help but think of the countless other times her hair was messy.

She stands tall, a weight held in each of her strong, tall, scarred hands. Her black sport bra clings to her tightly, exposing her pale, muscular stomach and the biceps set along her lightly scarred arms.

Then, your eyes drop a little lower and you nearly drop your concentration despite only stretching this far. Immediately, you find the bulge in her pants, a black pair of leggings that she usually wears when working out. She stands with her legs slightly apart, her black sneaker-like shoes pressed against the stony ground. When you first saw her in her signature black, gothic dress you thought she couldn’t look any more arousing.

That is, until you began asking the Duke to bring more…modern clothing, and now find yourself drooling over her day after day, whether in jeans or leggings, even the baggy pants she wears to bed occasionally.

Oh, but these leggings…

Your face flushes a bright pink. Beneath your own sports bra you feel your nipples harden already while your pussy aches and throbs. You’re surprised she hasn’t picked up on it yet, certain that she can smell you. Your eyes find her bulge easily, and momentarily you freeze, forgetting you were stretching to warm up a little. You see the outline of her cock, pressed up against the fabric, her tip, her thick base, her heavy balls…

You aren’t sure for how long you’ve been staring at her, nor whether she noticed, but blink away your thoughts when she turns to you, her dark golden eyes finding yours effortlessly. She smirks, as though entirely aware of the desire, eagerness, adoration and devotion rising in you. You want nothing but to drop to your knees and taste her, or spread your legs and allow her to taste you. You wonder- will she bite again today? Nip at your inner thigh as she likes to do before eating you out. An odd, sharp sensation, but the intense pleasure you receive when she drinks from you is more than worth it.

You bite your lip as she approaches you, bending momentarily to set the weights to the floor. Her hand moves to your hip, and even as she speaks you feel her thumb run light circles against your exposed skin.

The smallest of touches from her have you smile and squirm already, and she knows it.

You feel her squeeze your hip, as though to recapture your attention, and you blush, as if caught thinking such things about her. It’s not surprising to her, of course, as the smirk on her lips tells you, but your cheeks heat up all the same.

“Didn’t wanna go for the bench after all?”, she teases, her gaze intense, her voice so perfectly low and seductive even when she doesn’t try. You gulp, but shake your head, an idea forming in your mind already.

“You first”, you hum, gesturing towards the machine. When she walks, you can’t help but let your eyes fall on her strong shoulders and back, then her shapely, thick ass and strong thighs.

When she lays down by the bench, her knees bent and strong thighs at the sides, you can once again only watch eagerly when her strong arms lift and strong fingers wrap around the bars of the weight she’s about to lift.

Normally, this would be when you turn back to normal weights, or perhaps to try out some moves at the mannequin, showing off all she’s taught you.

Now, you have different plans.

Cassandra gasps in surprise when she feels you sit down on her thigh, your fingertips resting against her pale, muscular stomach. You stroke over it for a few moments, your fingertip dipping and tracing and taking it all in.

“What are you doing?”, she asks, lifting her head and the bars just enough to meet your eyes. You don’t answer, only shrug playfully as your fingertip traces down more, and more, and more.

She groans when you cup her bulge through the tight leggings, but still lifts the weight seemingly effortlessly. You desperately want to see how much longer she can keep this up.

When you begin to trace her bulge playfully, you’re sure you hear a sound coming from her akin to a growl, whereas her flies buzz as if in irritation. She grits her teeth, her body heating up a little.

Then again, you’re no better, certainly.

You feel the heat between your legs and are certain she feels it too, even through the fabric of your clothing.

“Careful”, she almost seems to growl, her flies buzzing a little louder, her muscles flexing as she lifts the weights over and over again. You subtly grind down on her thigh, biting you lip before your hands wander to the waistband of her leggings.

Then, unable to restrain yourself when your eyes meet her golden ones, you tug them down with her boxers, giggling when she lifts her hips just enough to make this easier for you.

When you at last get to see her hard, throbbing cock, your hands fly to it immediately and you whine, panting lowly beneath your breath. Your clit aches already and you’re sure you’ve made a mess of your panties and underwear.

“Fuck…”, Cassandra groans, her eyes closing momentarily as your hands find her cock’s base and begin to stroke up and down. She shivers, her thighs flexing, her arms trembling for a moment before she continues lifting the weights as before.

You decide, you don’t want to tease her now, feeling far too eager to feel her back inside of you, instead.

And still, you jerk your hand up and down, play with her tip and stroke down her cock to her base and balls before going back up.

More,

and more,

and more.

Your mouth waters and you begin stealing grinding down on her, feeling far too warm in your own clothing suddenly.

How is it teasing Cassandra only ever has you feel teased, foo?

Licking your lips, you continue stroking her with one hand while the other tugs at your clothing, lifting your top and tugging down your leggings and underwear in one go. You know by now how she likes you, naked, kneeling, obeying. Being a good girl for her. Then again, you know she’s plenty capable of putting you in your place when you act out, with great enjoyment even.

You lean forward, giggling as she nearly loses her grip on the weights and they come down the her sides of the bench, her fingers circling around the bar holding them up. Still, at this point it’s harder the bars at the equipment holding them up, not her arms.

Of course, you can’t help but take advantage of this, leaning down, holding onto the bar for yourself.

It’s far too heavy for you to lift, but you like the way it restricts her movements for now, leaving her down on the bench when you lean down and brush your lips against hers.

“Careful, morsel”

You shiver at her words, at her voice, at the sensation of her tip brushing against your inner thigh when you move up a little.

Alas, you’re determined, and far too eager.

When you slowly sink down, you can’t help but moan, your arms trembling, your lips parting automagically. She groans, but chuckles, knowing that even now she’s the one in control. And as such, she makes her first command;

“Ride.”

You gasp at her words, your cheeks adapting a light, pink colour as you obey, moaning and whimpering as you lower yourself a little more to take more of her inside.

Below, she groans, her fingers curling around the bar as though she wanted to touch you, instead. You’re sure she will, later, though obey for now.

“Please…”, you moan, though aren’t even entirely sure what for.

For her to touch you?

For her to thrust upwards, to help you out?

For her to take you properly?

For nothing at all?

You squirm and moan, your thighs trembling and your pussy tightening around her. You feel so sensitive, your clit throbbing, her thick cock slowly sliding deep inside of you until, at last, it reaches its limit too and you feel her completely inside of you.

You sink down again, moaning against her lips before you raise your head again, exposing your throat to her. If the bar didn’t keep her down, you’re sure she’d bite down already, piercing your flesh and drinking the blood beneath.

“More”, she demands, her voice breathy, her fingers curling around the bars a little tighter yet again.

And again, you obey, move your hips a little faster and roll them into her.

You feel yourself getting close embarrassingly fast, but can hardly help yourself. She’s so deep, so thick, so long. You shut your eyes, feeling yourself tear up a little from the pleasure that’s running through your very veins.

But it seems, Cassandra’s had enough of being denied the touch of your body properly.

“A-AH!”, you gasp in surprise when she pushes you back a little, yanking the weights up and effortlessly tossing them to the side with strength only those infected by the cadou could display.

Your hips are gripped tightly instead and you shriek as she brings you down on her properly, her tongue lapping at your breasts until her lips wrap around your nipple.

Briefly, it stings, when her teeth dig into your skin, then aches when they cut across it, and lastly you feel more and more pleasure as she sucks and yanks your hips a little faster.

“Good…girl…”, she groans, her eyes shutting, her back ached a little as she sits up a little straighter.

“A-Ah, Ca-ssan-dra-ah!”, you yelp out, your eyes closing, your breasts bouncing with every sharp tug and yank up and down. She’s holding you tight, controlling your movements effortlessly. When your hands wander to her shoulders, she hums, whereas you moan at the feeling of her muscles beneath your very fingers.

You feel yourself getting close again already, the light, bubbly feeling in your stomach rising with every passing moment. She’s beautiful, a perfect combination of dominating and rough, loving and gentle, strong and guiding.

“I-m-gon-a-aH!”!

You can’t finish your sentence, can only moan when she rolls your hips with every thrust and thrusts right up against your G-spot over and over and over again.

When she whispers the command for you to cum, you obey, your body going almost limp as you scream and moan.

But she holds you, kisses you, hugs you to her and comforts you. She presses little kisses to your neck as you come down from your high and chuckles against your throat when you finally manage to catch your breath.

Lastly, she still presses three little kisses to your neck.

[innerfare]

Blue Balls - Sabo: Part 2  

Summary: Sabo takes care of his blue balls; text below the cut

Pairing: Sabo x Afab!Reader

Genre: smut

CW: dirty talk, oral sex (Sabo receiving), mentions of penetrative sex

Word Count: 1,378

———

You kicked off your shoes and stood up, pulling your shirt over your head and slipping off your shorts- they were Sabo’s favorite, but he hadn’t even noticed you wore them, consumed as he was by his arousal. You figured you’d just have to wear them again tomorrow, assuming the two of you got out of bed. 

Sabo’s hands reached for you the entire time you undressed. His fingers grabbed at your legs and tugged at your panties when you pulled off the shorts, and when you climbed onto the bed, his hands found your breasts. He grabbed and squeezed, eyes glued to them as he kneaded them, amazed by the way they moved. 

“Sabo.” 

He looked up in time for your lips to catch his. A fire ignited inside him. He met you tongue first, not even trying to be restrained as he forced his way into your mouth. He wanted to swap as much saliva with you as possible, to suck on your tongue and bite your lips like the animal he was. 

Your hands massaged his shoulders and chest. You could barely keep up with the pace of his kiss, if it could even be called that. He always started with sweet pecks before things heated up, but you had been gone so long, both of you dove straight into the boiling water. You felt the heat against your breasts and core, your boyfriend pulling you into his lap and grinding against you. It was all you could do to keep your panties on. 

“Sabo.” Breathless, you pulled away. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.” He leaned back in for another kiss, but you didn’t let him recapture your lips. “Y/n, please.” 

“I missed kissing more than just your mouth,” you told him, wiping your lips on your arm. You nipped at his jawline before pulling his earlobe into your mouth and tugging. “Let me suck you off, big boy. That’s what you were thinking about, right?” 

Sabo let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “I want to fuck you, too, though. And I won’t last long enough for both.” His cheeks burned with embarrassment at his confession, but he thought admitting it was worse than you expecting him to run a marathon and hum tapping out unexpectedly. 

A small giggle escaped your lips. “I’m sure you’ll be ready to go again pretty fast,” you said in his ear. “You always are.” 

He puffed up his chest a little bit. If you were okay with splitting it into multiple rounds, he’d make those rounds the best of your life. “Fuck, I love you.” 

“Mmm, I love you, too.” You planted a sloppy series of kisses on his cheek, and it wasn’t long before your lips migrated back to his lips. You devoured him, your excitement piquing as you imagined his cock in your mouth. 

It took all your strength to break away from his lips and kiss down his chin, though once you reached his throat, you found it was even better. You could feel his pulse when you pressed your lips against his throat, could feel his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he swallowed, could even hear his moans better. 

You left a string of love bites down the line of his neck.  

When you reached his hard chest, he tangled his fingers in your locks and sank deeper into the pillows. His eyes fluttered shut as he got lost in the sensation of your lips on his skin, the greatest sensation in the world- better than food, better than fighting, better than freedom, better than anything. 

“Sabo,” you said in that sweet voice of yours. “Let go.” 

“What? Why?” He blinked down at you. 

“I need to put my hair up.” 

“What?” He tightened his grip on your hair, as if you might take it away from him and leave the bedroom, never to retune again. “No!” 

You giggled at the panic in his voice. 

“I can hold it for you,” he insisted. 

“The last time you did that, I was brushing knots out of it for a week.” 

“I won’t tangle it this time.” He smoothed your hair as if to prove he could be trusted to hold it out of your face without making a complete mess of it. “I won’t, y/n. Please, let me hold it for you.” 

You didn’t believe him for a second, but you also couldn’t say no to that face. 

With a resigned sigh, you helped him gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail. Once it was out of the way, you turned your attention back to him. You could only just make out the scars on his chest, abdomen, and arms in the dim light, scars you ran your fingers and lips over while Sabo gasped and moaned. 

You had been consumed by thoughts of his warm body the entire time you had been away and almost couldn’t believe you had him under you once more. 

Trailing your lips down his stomach, you smiled to yourself as you felt his muscles twitching beneath you. When you finally reached his cock, you sat back and pushed his legs apart. He didn’t even try to fight you. 

Sabo pushed himself up against his pillows so he could reach your hair more easily, taking his job very seriously. He focused as hard as he could on keeping it out of your face for fear thinking about your lips would cause him to ejaculate before you even got to the best part. As desperate as he was to get off, he couldn’t stand the thought of blowing his load before you wrapped those lips around him. 

Long and thick, rock hard, with full balls and a little bit of blonde hair around the base, Sabo was so pretty you couldn’t help but lick your lips. You brushed your thumb over the biggest vein, perhaps your favorite part, before pressing a kiss against the head. 

Sabo let out a long string of groans. He sounded like he was trying to talk but couldn’t quite form words. 

You started with the balls, running your soft tongue over them before pressing a few kisses into the sensitive skin, smiling as Sabo came undone. You flattened your tongue at the base of his cock and ran it up the length, flicking it a few times when you hit the tip. You went back down and began sucking from the side, leaving enough saliva for your hand to glide easily up and down. 

With a firm grip on him, you took the head into your mouth. You sucked and flicked your tongue, and just when he thought he couldn't take your teasing anymore, you dipped your head low and took his full length into your mouth. You went up and down, pumping your hand along his length each time your mouth left him.  

Sabo’s toes curled. He didn’t know what to do with his legs; he tried not to kick them. He tried not to buck his hips, either, but to little avail. One hand in your hair, the other tangled in his sheets, he could do nothing but grunt and groan as you sucked the tension out of his cock. All of the pleasure that had been evading him washed over him with your touch. 

“Fuck.” He felt his balls tighten. “Oh, fuck. Y/n, I’m-” 

You hummed with him in your mouth, and he snapped. He shot his load into your mouth, overcome by the comfort of cumming somewhere warm. It lasted several seconds longer than his usual orgasms, dredging up the stress that had settled in the recesses of his body and ejecting it. 

As he finished, he reluctantly let go of your hair. 

You swallowed every last drop, sitting back when he finished and wiping your mouth. You smiled down at him, so very taken by the sight of him sprawled across his bed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Just when you moved to get up, thinking he would want something to eat between rounds, he grabbed you and dragged you underneath him. 

“Never leave again,” he panted. “Not for that long. Never.” 

With a smile, you pressed a kiss into his cheek. “Never.” 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[drarryspecificrecs]

2024.10 ~ Top 10 longest fics posted on AO3

1. Celestial Being by Year_ofthe_Rabbit [?, 192k]

The entire universe conspired to make clear that the king Draco’s family had put into power deserved to be overthrown in a bloody coup, to be replaced by a younger, brighter, more beloved king. Draco lost everything and was left to live as a despised servant in his aunt's household. He didn't accept it. No, he would do whatever it took to recapture the life he deserved. Even if that was only possible during an equinox ball, where he could live one anonymous night at a time as a captivating celestial being.

2. In Over My Head by @dracoispookie [E, 184k]

The first wizard going to Hogwarts Harry ever meets is an older boy who is polite, funny, and very good looking. Harry navigates his way through school knowing one thing for sure: he's in way over his head.

3. Comfortable by @peculiarmindset [E, 155k]

Draco and Harry goes through the uncharted waters in their relationship, and slowly become more and more comfortable with one another.

4. what shipwrecks look like by @dancingsparks [E, 149k]

It's after the war, but not terribly long after. Just enough for things to appear happily settled. Draco is an Obliviator. Harry is an Auror. Draco is desperately jealous of that.

5. Defiant Hearts by @coffeedrgn87 [E, 117k]

In Regency England, the price of love is high. Draco, the sole heir to the Malfoy family's vast fortune and reputation, longs to marry for love. His father, Lucius Malfoy—a cold, heartless man—disagrees. With his father breathing down his neck, demanding that Draco court a suitable young lady, Draco's time to find a love match is running out. Then there's Harry, the last descendant of the Potter family, once a noble house with a vast fortune, great respect, and considerable influence. Harry knows his duties, but what he truly desires is a love match—an equal. When an unexpected Regency-style meet-cute turns everyone's plans upside down, Draco becomes a rebel, and Harry must make a decision that will define the rest of his life.

6. Can't turn back now (I'm haunted) by exhiled_spirit [M, 108k]

Draco left his friends and (ex) husband in hopes of moving on from his heartbreak and finding himself in the muggle world. Four years later he returned, rich and famous, to finish off his never ending divorce.

7. Taking Off The Rose Coloured Glasses by @thatwheelchairchick [M, 85k]

After his fourth year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter returns to the Dursleys, where their abuse escalates dramatically, leaving him physically and emotionally shattered. Haunted by nightmares and the voice of Voldemort in his mind, Harry begins to doubt Dumbledore’s intentions, recalling past manipulations. Desperate and near death from a particularly brutal beating, Harry reluctantly accepts Voldemort’s offer of help.

8. a barely lit path by @garagepaperback [E, 64k]

Harry wakes up wanting to live, Draco seems determined to - well, not die, exactly, but you could hardly call it a life, either. /// Featuring: peacocks and a family curse, avoidance, red-rimmed eyes in a blanket fort, a fantastic variety of headaches, sobriety, a toy finger trap and whether or not it's possible for good to grow out of something ugly.

9. Your Heart Got a Story With Mine by futurefortem [M, 62k]

When a wizard or witch turns 17 they become off age. When a wizard or witch turns 18 though they discover their soulmate. On Harry's 18th birthday his world turns upside down. /// Or, the one where Draco and Harry are forced to overcome their differences and discover what it actually was that kept fire burning between them.

10. Rotations by TheCrowCrone [E, 53k]

Trainee Auror Potter receives a new assignment as an Azkaban guard and his life, which finally seems to be settling into something almost normal, is turned upsidedown once more the night he saves Draco Malfoy. But in a post-war world, at least for Harry, the smallest things, like appreciating a sunset and enjoying a hot meal, are sometimes the hardest, while the big things, like death and forgiveness, don't seem that tough. And sometimes, he's just an idiot who falls in love too easily.

※ HONOURABLE MENTIONS :

11. Draco Malfoy and the Pride of the Lion by Fantasy_Critter11 [G, 52k]

All his life Draco Malfoy has awaited the day when he'd finally get to ride the Hogwarts Express to the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and of his dreams. Those dreams are upended in seconds, however, when he sees a scrawny boy pacing outside of the barrier, asking how to get onto platform nine and three quarters. [...] Hogwarts is quickly becoming nothing like Draco had expected it to be in his dreams, but he'll soon find he may not mind being part of the Gryffindor pride as he initially thought.

12. What Fills the Void That’s Left Behind by @tessacrowley [E, 46k] --- ART by @itsphantasmagoria

At the end of October, Draco Malfoy slashes open both wrists and bleeds to death. By the middle of November, Head Auror Harry Potter agrees to take his case. But there are entities more ghastly than the ghosts that haunt the Malfoy Manor, and fates more horrible than death. When the wound is so deep that you lose a part of yourself, what fills the void that’s left behind?

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 15k

※ Word count: 15k ~ 40k

All is found by ProseMary [G, 16k]

Come, Sweet Death by EvilDime [E, 27k]

Everything is coming up Draco by @liligalaxy [M, 37k]

Green by @pixiedunhoff [E, 17k]

The Guardian and The Sword by @mykkitno [?, 37k]

It's Not Hate Sex If You're Secretly In Love With Your Baby Daddy! by @peachydreamxx [E, 33k] --- ART by @littlewinnow

the latch is undone by @aibidil [E, 24k]

Old Rivalries, New Beginnings by @philosophersandfools [T, 29k]

Raising Hell! by @wolfpants [E, 21k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

2024 H/D Muggle Fair | @hd-fan-fair

Cult of Chaos Cultober 2024

Gothic Fantasy Fest 2024 | @twhos-fests​

HP Halloween Fest 2024

Trick 4 Treat: A Twisted Sweet

[winchesterwild78]

Goodbye, My Love 

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader (wife)

Warnings: Angst and heartbreak 

A/N: Oh this is a heart wrenching, soul crushing story. Sorry. I’ve been going through a lot lately and like they say, writers pull from their own lives. 

This story will be in 3 parts. I cried while writing this. If you don’t want to read something that may make you cry, please don’t.

This story follows Jensen and his reader wife as they struggle in their marriage.

Trigger Warning: Depression, dark thoughts (not suicidal, but wanting to disappear)

No disrespect to Jensen or his family, this is a work of fiction and in no way reflects real life. 

All work is my own don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

The first crack appeared so subtly, like a hairline fracture on a beloved antique. For years, our laughter echoed through our house, mingling with the salty breeze from the nearby river. Jensen, with his easy charm and that crooked smile that still made my stomach flip, was everything. We built a life here, filled with cozy evenings by the fire, impromptu road trips to explore the area he knew so well, and the comforting rhythm of shared dreams.

His work in Vancouver or LA, filming, had always been a part of our story. The distance was manageable, punctuated by his returns and my visits to the set. But then the roles got bigger, the projects more demanding, and the stretches apart grew longer. Our phone calls, once filled with playful banter and intimate details, became hurried updates squeezed between takes and travel.

I started noticing little things. A flicker of weariness in his eyes during our video calls. A slight hesitation before saying "I love you." A new guardedness that settled around him like a subtle shift in the atmosphere before a storm. I’d ask if everything was okay, and he’d reassure me with that familiar grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.

The shared moments started to feel… different. The easy silences became heavy. The inside jokes felt a little less funny. We were still physically together when he was home, but there was a growing emotional distance, a chasm widening between us brick by silent brick.

One rainy afternoon, while he was away filming, I found a crumpled note in the pocket of a jacket he’d left behind. It wasn't addressed to anyone specific, just a few lines scribbled in his familiar handwriting: "Tired. So damn tired. Is this all there is?"

The words hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't an accusation, not a complaint directed at me, but it spoke volumes about a discontent I hadn't fully grasped. It was a quiet admission of something shifting within him, something that had nothing and everything to do with us.

That note became the unspoken elephant in the room when he returned. We navigated around it, both of us hesitant to acknowledge the growing unease. I tried harder, planning special dinners, suggesting weekend getaways, trying to recapture the spark that had once burned so brightly. He’d participate, but his heart didn’t seem to be fully in it. His smiles felt practiced, his hugs less tight.

The unraveling wasn't a dramatic explosion, but a slow, silent fraying of the threads that had once bound us so tightly. It was the gradual realization that the man I loved, the man I had built a life with, was drifting away, not towards someone else, but perhaps just… away. And the hardest part was the terrifying feeling that I didn't know how to stop it.

Sleep became a battlefield. We lay side-by-side in our familiar bed, the space between us growing wider each night. The comfortable weight of his arm across my waist, once a silent reassurance, now felt like a formality. I’d lie awake, listening to his even breathing, my mind a whirlwind of questions and anxieties. Was it me? Had I done something wrong? Or was this the inevitable consequence of two lives pulling in different directions, the glittering allure of Hollywood slowly eclipsing the quiet intimacy we had once cherished?

The house, once a sanctuary filled with warmth and laughter, now echoed with a hollow silence when he was away. I found myself wandering through the rooms, touching objects that held memories – the chipped mug from our first anniversary trip to Italy, the worn leather-bound copy of Poe he’d given me, the framed photographs capturing moments frozen in time, when our smiles were genuine and our eyes held a shared spark. Each object was a painful reminder of what we were slowly losing.

My friends noticed the change. Our easygoing dinners became strained, my forced cheerfulness a thin veil over a growing sadness. They offered well-meaning advice, suggesting date nights, couple’s therapy. But how could we fix something when neither of us seemed able to articulate what was truly broken? The words felt trapped in my throat, a heavy knot of fear and unspoken questions.

One evening, he came home from a particularly grueling shoot, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. I’d prepared his favorite meal, hoping for a moment of connection. But as we sat across from each other at the dining table, the silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. He picked at his food, his gaze distant.

“Jensen,” I began, my voice barely a whisper, “is everything… okay?”

He looked up, his eyes shadowed with a weariness that went beyond mere exhaustion. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, a sigh escaping his lips. “I don’t know, Y/N,” he finally said, the words heavy with a weight I couldn’t comprehend. “I just… I don’t know.”

That simple sentence hung in the air between us, a stark admission of the unraveling I had been dreading. It wasn't a fight, not an argument, but it felt like a final, heartbreaking surrender. The dam I had been desperately trying to hold back finally cracked, and a wave of despair washed over me. The comfortable certainty of our life together, the unwavering belief in our future, shattered into a million tiny pieces. All that was left was the raw, aching realization that the man I loved was slipping through my fingers, and I didn't know how to hold on.

The "I don't know" replayed in my mind like a broken record, each repetition chipping away at the remnants of my hope. It wasn't a definitive ending, but it felt like the beginning of one, a slow, agonizing descent into the unknown. We continued to exist in the same space, sharing meals, occasionally exchanging polite conversation, but the vibrant tapestry of our marriage had faded to muted greys.

I found myself watching him, studying his expressions, searching for a flicker of the old Jensen, the man whose eyes would crinkle at the corners when he laughed, the man who would reach for my hand across a crowded room. But he seemed lost in a fog of his own making, a weariness that permeated his every move. He’d stare out the window for long stretches, his thoughts miles away, and when I’d ask what he was thinking, he’d just shake his head, a faint, sad smile on his lips. “Nothing, just… nothing.”

The small gestures of affection that had once been commonplace – a lingering touch, a spontaneous kiss, a whispered “I love you” – became rare, precious commodities. Each one felt like a hesitant offering, tinged with a sadness that mirrored my own. I started to question every interaction, wondering if it was born out of habit or genuine feeling. Was he staying out of obligation? Was I holding on to a ghost of the love we once shared?

Sleep offered no escape. My dreams were haunted by fragmented memories – stolen moments of laughter, whispered promises under starry skies, the weight of his hand in mine – all now tainted with the bitter taste of what might be lost. I’d wake up with a heavy heart, the silence beside me amplifying the emptiness within.

The quiet desperation began to seep into other areas of my life. I found it hard to concentrate at work, my mind constantly drifting back to the growing chasm between us. Even simple pleasures, like walking along the river or browsing the antique shops in town, felt hollow without his easy companionship. Our shared history, once a source of comfort and joy, now felt like a constant reminder of the vibrant life that was slowly slipping away.

One evening, I found him in his study, surrounded by scripts and papers. He looked up as I entered, his eyes holding a flicker of something I couldn't quite decipher.

“I got offered another project,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s a big one. Shoots for almost a year. Mostly overseas.”

A cold dread washed over me. A year. An entire year of further distance, of more missed moments, of an even greater risk of drifting irrevocably apart. It felt like the universe was conspiring to pull us in opposite directions.

“And?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling slightly.

He avoided my gaze, his fingers tracing the edge of a script. “I think… I have to take it.”

It wasn’t a question, not an invitation for discussion. It was a statement, a decision made in the quiet solitude of his own conflicted heart. In that moment, the full weight of our unraveling crashed down on me. It wasn't just a slow drift anymore; it felt like we were actively sailing away from each other, the vast ocean of his career pulling him further and further from the shores of our shared life. And I was left standing on the beach, watching him disappear into the horizon, the salty wind carrying the faint echo of a love that was slowly fading away.

The news of the year-long overseas shoot hung heavy in the air, a tangible barrier solidifying the distance between us. The polite facade we had been maintaining finally shattered, giving way to a raw, desperate argument that had been simmering beneath the surface for months.

“A year, Jensen?” I finally choked out, the disbelief and hurt lacing my voice. “You’re going to be gone for an entire year?”

He finally met my gaze, and I saw a flicker of the conflict raging within him. “It’s a huge opportunity, Y/N. It could change everything.”

“Change what, Jensen?” I countered, my voice rising. “Change us? Because that’s exactly what’s happening, isn’t it? We’re changing, and not for the better.”

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Harder?” I scoffed, the pain bubbling up into anger. “You think this is hard for you? What about me, Jensen? What about the life we built here? Are you just going to walk away for a year and expect everything to be the same when you come back? Because it won’t be.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice sharp. “I’m trying to provide for us, to build a future.”

“A future where we live on different continents?” I shot back, tears welling in my eyes. “A future where we’re just voices on a phone screen? That’s not the future I signed up for, Jensen. That’s not a marriage.”

“So what do you want me to do?” he demanded, his own frustration evident. “Turn down a career-defining role? Just stay here and… and what? Pretend everything is fine when it clearly isn’t?”

His words stung, confirming the unspoken truth that had been gnawing at me. “So you admit it?” I whispered, the anger draining away, leaving behind a hollow ache. “You admit things aren’t fine?”

He looked away, unable to meet my gaze. The silence that followed was deafening, filled only with the sound of my ragged breathing and the unspoken weight of our crumbling world.

“I just… I don’t know what to do anymore, Y/N,” he finally admitted, his voice raw with exhaustion and a hint of despair. “I feel like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to come up for air.”

“Then maybe,” I said, the words catching in my throat, “maybe you need to figure that out here. With me. Not thousands of miles away.”

“It’s not that simple,” he argued, his voice rising again. “You don’t understand the pressure, the expectations…”

“And you don’t understand what it’s like to feel like your husband is slipping away, piece by piece!” I retorted, the dam of my emotions finally breaking. “To feel like you’re fighting for something that he’s already halfway out the door from!”

The argument spiraled, fueled by months of unspoken anxieties and growing resentments. Accusations flew, harsh words were exchanged, and the fragile remnants of our carefully constructed life felt like they were shattering around us. By the end, we were both raw and trembling, the air thick with unspoken pain and the chilling realization that the chasm between us might have grown too wide to ever bridge again. He stood there, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and a profound sadness, and I knew, with a sickening certainty, that this wasn’t just an argument. This was a breaking point.

The argument had ripped through the fragile peace we were clinging to, leaving behind a raw, gaping wound. Now, the silence was different, heavier, imbued with a chilling finality. He moved through the bedroom like a ghost, his movements deliberate and devoid of emotion as he pulled suitcases from the closet and began to pack.

Each item he folded and placed in the luggage felt like another nail in the coffin of our marriage. His favorite worn t-shirts, the leather jacket I’d given him for his birthday, the books that had lined his nightstand – each one a tangible piece of the life we had built together, now being methodically packed away, ready to be taken to a world that felt increasingly distant from mine.

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him, the tears silently streaming down my face. They weren't the angry tears of our argument, but tears of a profound and desolate sadness. Tears for the love that felt like it was slipping through my fingers, for the future that was dissolving before my eyes, for the unspoken words that hung heavy in the air between us, a chasm of regret and unspoken fears.

He didn't look at me. He didn't acknowledge the quiet sobs that wracked my body. It was as if I wasn't even there, a ghost in the room, witnessing the dismantling of our shared life. His focus was solely on the task at hand, his movements precise and efficient, as if he were packing for just another trip, another temporary separation. But we both knew this was different. This felt like a departure, not a temporary absence.

The weight of his decision pressed down on me, suffocating me with the understanding that his ambition, his need to escape whatever was troubling him, outweighed the bond we shared. He was choosing a path that led him away from me, and the silence between us was a deafening confirmation of that painful truth.

When the last suitcase was zipped shut, he stood for a moment, his back to me, a tense stillness radiating from his body. Then, without a word, he picked up the luggage and walked out of the bedroom, the soft click of the door latch echoing the finality of his actions. I remained on the bed, a silent, weeping figure in the wreckage of our shattered world, the only sound the quiet rhythm of my own heartbroken tears. He was leaving, and with him, a part of me was going too.

The silence after he left was deafening, a constant, hollow echo in the house that once vibrated with his laughter. The initial sporadic phone calls, filled with strained pleasantries and surface-level updates about filming, dwindled into infrequent texts. Emojis replaced heartfelt words, and the time difference became a convenient excuse for the growing distance. It felt like he was slowly fading, his presence in my life becoming a ghost of the man I had loved.

Three months crawled by, each day a heavy weight on my chest. The vibrant colors of our life had leached away, leaving behind a monochrome existence. The familiar comfort of our home transformed into a lonely prison, each room a stark reminder of his absence. The silence was no longer just the absence of sound; it was a tangible presence, suffocating me with its weight.

A deep, insidious sadness took root in my soul, its tendrils wrapping around my heart, squeezing the joy out of everything. Simple tasks became monumental efforts. Getting out of bed felt like scaling a mountain. Food lost its taste. The warmth of the sun felt cold on my skin.

Loneliness became my constant companion, a hollow ache that permeated every fiber of my being. It wasn't just the physical absence of Jensen; it was the loss of his laughter, his touch, his unwavering presence that had anchored me for so long. The future we had dreamed of together now seemed like a cruel mirage, shimmering just out of reach.

The weight of it all became unbearable. The thought of a life without him stretched before me, a desolate and empty landscape. The vibrant tapestry of my existence had been woven with his thread, and now that thread was gone, leaving behind a frayed and incomplete picture.

A terrifying thought began to whisper in the darkest corners of my mind, a chilling solace in the face of such profound despair. The idea of not having to feel this crushing emptiness anymore, the notion of an end to this relentless ache, became a perverse comfort. The line between wanting him back and simply wanting the pain to stop blurred, until the latter became a desperate, all-consuming yearning. I couldn’t imagine a future where his hand wasn’t in mine, his voice wasn’t the first I heard in the morning. The thought of living without him felt like a cruel and impossible sentence. I didn’t want to live in a world where he wasn’t a part of mine. I truly believed I couldn't.

The words formed on the screen, each syllable a painful acknowledgment of the unraveling, a final, desperate farewell. "I'll always love you." A truth that echoed through the years, now tinged with the bitter taste of loss. "I'm so sorry I wasn't enough." A self-inflicted wound, a desperate plea for understanding in the face of a love that felt irrevocably broken. "Goodbye." A word that severed the ties, a closing of a chapter that had once been filled with so much promise.

My thumb hovered over the send button, a moment suspended in time, a final breath before plunging into the unknown. Then, with a shaky hand, I pressed it. The message disappeared into the digital ether, carrying the weight of my despair across continents, a silent scream into the void.

A sob escaped my lips, a raw, guttural sound that echoed the shattering of my heart. With trembling fingers, I slid the rings from my finger. The cool metal felt alien against my skin, a stark reminder of a commitment that now felt like a distant memory. They landed on the nightstand with a soft click, a quiet punctuation mark at the end of our story.

A sudden surge of desperate energy propelled me into action. I couldn't bear another moment in this house, suffocated by the ghosts of our shared past and the crushing weight of his absence. I grabbed a few bags, throwing in clothes and essentials without any real thought, my movements driven by a primal need to escape.

Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled out of the house, the front door slamming shut behind me, a definitive end to this chapter of my life. I didn't know where I was going, had no destination in mind. All that mattered was putting distance between myself and the suffocating silence, the unbearable loneliness that had become my constant companion. I just drove, the familiar streets of our neighborhood fading behind me, each mile taking me further away from the life I had known, towards an uncertain future shrouded in fear and a profound, aching emptiness. The road ahead was unknown, but one thing was certain: I couldn't stay here, not for another minute, not with the ghost of Jensen haunting every corner of our once-beloved home.

Part 2

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.  

Tags: 

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573 

@k-slla @jackles010378 

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx 

@roseblue373 @cheynovak 

@jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa 

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

@ladykitana90 @quietgirll75 

@superrey @kamisobsessed

@obliviousap @ninii-winchester

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan @star-yawnznn

@reignsboy19 @monkey-d-hoshizora98

@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7 @barnes70stark

@spnaquakindgdom @djs8891

@pughsexual @spnaquakindgdom

@lunaleah @amberlthomas 

@rebecca-hvnstn

[getaandlucius]

A brief taste of honey (an emperor Geta love story)

This is a story of two men, of rage, war and eventually: love. Inspired by Gladiator 2 characters Geta and Lucius.

Summary: Former emperor Geta survives but falls now under Lucius' regime. An unexpected story unfolds. Part 1

Authors note: I do realize this pairing is quite niche, so if you like to read more about them, please leave a comment or share!

Warnings: death, injury, mentioning of depression, severe stress.

Part 2 ( Part 1)

“Caracalla is dead.”

Lucius turned around. “Excuse me?”

“One of the watchmen killed him. By accident.” his guard Laurentius told him, looking apologetic.

“What do you mean, by accident?” Lucius struggled to stay calm, though rage bubbled inside him.

“Caracalla had hidden one of his fibulae, sharpening it into a weapon to stab Tiberius in the eye. He became positively feral!”

“Yes, I know that part,” Lucius replied impatiently. “But why was he killed?”

“Tiberius elbowed him in the temple,” the guard admitted, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Too hard.”

“You fools,” Lucius muttered under his breath. “Where is Tiberius?”

“At the healer. His eye was stabbed.”

“Yes, I fucking heard you the first time.” Lucius sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He turned around and made his way toward the infirmary, wanting to have a word with the man.

Once he arrived, he immediately spotted him and strode over, his steps purposeful.

“This is bad, Tiberius." He started. "How are we to show the people a new way forward—ways of fairness, law. Of order—when we can’t even control our temper?”

“It was self-defense,” Tiberius argued.

“Was it now?”

“Yes.”

“But instead of going to the healer after you got stabbed, you waited until Caracalla was recaptured to elbow him in the temple?”

“...Quite right.”

“So, no self-defense at that point, then?”

“...No, Lucius.”

“Just vengeance?”

“Right.”

“Do you realize I now have to fabricate a believable story as to why Caracalla didn’t deserve a trial like the rest of them?”

“Yes." Tiberius looked to the ground with his one good eye. "Just tell them Geta killed him.”

“Contrary to popular belief, that’s unlikely.”

“They don’t know that.”

“My people do.”

“Then tell them he killed himself. Out of despair after being defeated.” Lucius shook his head. These were all weak suggestions and he was starting to get frustrated. To his relief he spotted Ravi in the adjacient room of the healing quarters and made his way over to him.

"A word Ravi?" He pleaded in a low voice. Ravi nodded and took him to the back. Lucius explained his dilemma.

“Caracalla didn’t have long to live anyway, Lucius." Ravi comforted him. "He has been seriously ill both mentally and physically for quite some time now. The signs were already severe, the people know. Tell them he simply didn’t make it.”

Lucius listened in silence, then nodded. “Okay. I'll think about it.”

As he left, he wondered how Geta would react to the news of his brother’s death.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. A few days later, Lucius overheard the guards whispering about Geta’s breakdown. They spoke in hushed tones, describing how he had become hysterical, repeatedly banging his head against a stone wall until he knocked himself unconscious.

The news left Lucius uneasy. Another dead brother would raise too many suspicions. While the majority of the populace supported him, he could not afford any more unrest or conflict.

“Send him to the healer,” Lucius ordered one of the guards. “And bring him to me after my assembly. I need to have a word with him.”

Later that evening he met with the temporay council. “I can’t have them both dead,” Lucius began the gathering. The council consisted of Ravi and two advisers far into their eighties, whose fathers had been connected to his grandfather, Marcus Aurelius.

“Why not?” Augustus, one of the advisers asked, his pen drifting above a sheet of paper.

“We need to keep the peace.”

“Who is there to corrupt the peace? The people will follow your lead.”

“If you think there is no polarization among the populace, you’re gravely mistaken.” Lucius rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.

The other adviser, Marcus Caius joined in. “Who are you talking about, Lucius?”

“Well, for one, the elite. The death of both Caracalla and Geta will alienate the senators and the military leaders previously assigned to the twins—they have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo. These groups rely on the existing imperial system to preserve their power, wealth, and influence.”

"He's right," Augustus agreed. "You risk provoking various factions within the elite, who may seize this opportunity to claim power for themselves. We're on the brink of a power vacuum here."

“But we all agreed the twins are not to be trusted!” Ravi jumped in, frustration apparent in his voice. “We agreed we were to put a stop to tyranny, and the simplest way is to execute them both." He stood up from his chair, facing Lucius. "I don’t condone killing for no reason, but this is a reason. A good reason. You’ll save thousands of lives and improve the lives of thousands more.”

“Yes. But Rome is not ready!" Lucius exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table. How could they be so ignorant? How could they not see there was more than their idealistic ideals?

“What do you suggest?” Marcus asked, his tone mocking. “Keep him in our midst? Make him our friend and hope he won't get into a mood and murder us in our sleep?”

Lucius shook his head. “We’ll keep him imprisoned—but not in the dungeons." Lucius explained. "He’ll kill himself that way, if only out of spite after realizing we need him." He shook his head. "No. We’ll keep him locked up, but in one of the rooms in the east or south wing. We’ll let him acclimate, speak with him, and slowly introduce him as a symbol of peace to the elite while we begin implementing our ways. Once our reforms are set, we’ll put him on trial—a symbolic one—to show our modern way of thinking. Then we’ll exile him.”

“Exile him where?” Ravi asked.

“Somewhere he won’t be able to bother us any longer. Maybe Germania, somewhere up north.”

Ravi looked deep in thought. "I'll sleep on it." He responded after a moment. Lucius nodded. "Let's discuss this further tomorrow afternoon." He looked around the room, waiting for Augustus and Marcus to approve, then excused himself and made his way to his private chambers.

Half an hour later came a soft knock at the door.

The doors opened, and Geta stumbled in. Bandages wrapped around his head, his skin was pale and translucent, and the dark circles under his eyes had deepened. But this time, his eyes weren’t empty, they burned with rage.

Even though their last encounter had been underwhelming, Lucius braced himself, not trusting those wild, unpredictable eyes.

Geta clenched his fists, his breathing uneven.

“He’s dead?”

Lucius nodded. “Yes.”

“How?”

“I’m sure the guards told you.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“Brain injury.” Lucius cleared his throat. “If it’s any consolation, it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not relieved.” Geta spit out. “Everything you take from me...take, take, take. First my empire, then my freedom, and now my only family.” He took a step forward. “You leave me with nothing.” He sounded almost aggrieved, as though he still couldn’t believe it. He stared at his own empty hands. Then he brought a hand to his chest, struggling to steady his breath. He took another step toward Lucius, his eyes wide, his voice breaking. “Give me back my brother,” he demanded, as though he truly believed he could ask such a thing. That the gods could rewind time or restore the dead.

“I wish I could, believe me.”

“Liar. You filthy, disgusting liar.”

Lucius frowned at the insult but responded evenly. “For political reasons, this is bad enough as it is.” He pointed at Geta’s head. “Which is why I need you to stop smashing your head against walls and risking dying by accident.”

“Who says it would be an accident?" Geta argued. "I wouldn’t have minded if I’d died this morning.”

Lucius studied him for a long moment before nodding. “I believe that.”

“Then just kill me now.”

“No. You’re of use to the system,” Lucius replied, thinking it better to be honest with him.

“I’m to be your pet?”

“If you want to call it that, fine by me, but I prefer the term ‘asset.’”

“For what?”

“Keeping the peace.”

“All you think about is yourself,” Geta hissed venomously.

The irony of those words, coming from one of the most self-indulgent, greedy twins to ever exist, made Lucius chuckle softly.

Geta simply stared at him. Lucius shook his head and stepped closer. From up close, the toll of the past few days was even more apparent. The guards had warned him, but seeing it firsthand was far worse. Geta’s hollow cheeks, frail limbs, and the way he swayed on his feet made him look like he might pass out at any moment.

“You need to eat, Geta,” Lucius said, sighing.

“What if I won’t?”

“Then I’ll have to force-feed you.”

Geta didn’t reply. Lucius let his eyes sweep over Geta’s face.

“Aren’t you glad your brother isn’t alive anymore?” he asked carefully. Then he added, “He would’ve killed you in a heartbeat if it came to it.”

Suddenly, Lucius’s left ear went numb, and his cheek burned like fire. The world around him spun and it took him a moment to realize what had happened: Geta had backhanded him so hard, he nearly lost his footing.

“Don’t you dare ever say that to me again. Ever,” Geta growled.

Lucius rubbed the side of his head, the ringing in his ear replacing the silence. He stood there for a while, processing what had just happened, breathing heavily.

He shook his head. “Don’t do that again. You’ll regret it,” he warned, his gaze sharp as he searched Geta’s eyes. “Trust me on that.”

Geta glared back, still furious, but Lucius noted the grief behind the anger. He would have to tread carefully—men with nothing left to lose were the most dangerous.

Deep down, Geta must know Caracalla would have murdered him if it came to that. But the other way around? Perhaps not. That was food for thought, Lucius concluded.

They stood in silence for a while.

“I’ll arrange a new room for you, close to mine,” Lucius finally said, after the ringing in his ear had subsided. “I’ll assign a servant to ensure you eat and take care of yourself. And I’ll check in on you personally.”

Geta looked away, the fight draining out of him, leaving only sadness in its wake.

“I hope I’m dead by the time you check on me first,” he said, his voice hollow.

“I’ll see to it that you won’t be,” Lucius replied firmly.

“Well, don’t be surprised when your useful asset is no more,” Geta muttered.

Lucius looked at him, arms crossed. He wondered if Geta was being his usual dramatic self, or if he was truly a sincerely depressed man. Given Geta’s physical state, Lucius thought it might be developing into the latter. That was not good news.

Lucius clicked his tongue, then swayed the doors open and ordered the guards to take Geta back to his cell while his new confinement was being readied.

A few days later, a spacious room in the south wing was modified to hold a prisoner in confinement. Geta was moved from his old cell.

Please let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Next part: part 3

[pasdasin]

Ktober day 4 - prostitution - Batman x reader

an: Sorry for the late post but I should be all caught up now! As you guys know this is in collab with my two irls @fuckmachine42069 and @honeybeedrabble. be sure to check our their pages

cw: prostitution, cussing, batman is mean :(, porn without plot, this is more like a drabble lol, probs more lmk if I missed anything

read under the cut

———

“Are you feeling lonely again bats?” You asked him after taking a long drag from your cigarette. The fearsome dark knight was your best client. You could expect him to come to you at least once a week, mainly when the robins go on patrol. He merely grunted at you before leading you to the motel room he booked. “What would the people of gotham do when they hear about what their favorite vigilante does in the dark?” You giggled going to sit on the bed. 

He went to remove his cape and set it aside. Pulling out a stack of money he put it on the side table.

“Just the usual.”

“Who are you, really?” He stared at you as you put out your cigarette. “Okay so we aren’t that close yet”

“Just make me cum”

----

Your moans filled the room as he thrusted into your tight cunt harshly. Gripping the bed sheets, your eyes rolled back.

“Fuck bats-” He grunted, slowly loosing himself into your pussy. 

“It’s like your made for me” His grip on your ass tightened causing you to loud moaner. His tactical pants hung at his knees while the rest of his costume remained in place. His leather gloves dug into your skin perfectly. 

The sounds of sex filled the room as you thrusted harder into you. 

“Please- I need to-” You felt his hand gripped your neck, putting pressure on your jugular. 

“You’ll cum when I say.” He slowed his grip on you and you let out an even louder moan. Your vision was starting to blur and you felt as though you were gonna pass out, when sundely he let go. You gasped for air as you fought back moans, trying to recapture your senses. His thrusts got sloppier and before you could stablize yourself, his cum filled your cunt. He fucked you through his orgasm before he slowed to a stop. Slowly he pulled out of you, watching his cum drip out of you. 

“Bats-”

“Bruce”

“What?”

“My name is Bruce. Now lay back” You turned to lay on your back as he moved your legs over his shoulders. Without warning, he licked a long stripe up your pussy. His toungue spread his cum all over your pussy, making you moan even louder than before. He started to lick circles over your clit. You moved your hands to his cowl and gripped it. He moaned into you, causing vibrations to move through your body.

“Bruce I’m gonna cum.” He only moved more intensely against your clit, sending you over the edge. Your thighs clamped around his head as your back arched off the bed. His cum mixed with your own filled his mouth ashe finally moved away from you. Your chest rised up and down with heavy breaths as he cleaned himself off. 

“Why would you tell me your name?”

“Your my favorite whore. Take my money and stop getting personal.” He pulled up his pants and rearranged his costume. Without another word, he left you in the room to care for yourself. Rolling over you looked at the cash he left and smiled to yourself at the note he left.

Here is my personal cell. Use for phone sex only. 

[estellardreams]

[Demon King Red belongs to @purble-turble] (Once again I will lore dump)

Considering the circumstances of the Charcoal Bone King AU, it's MK and Macaque who got it the worst.

MK was swiftly recaptured by a sudden and direct attack by the king himself, and with LBD's new powers combined with King Red's extreme drive and obsessive, no one was prepared. But they did try to stop him.

... Nearly getting frozen to death and the noodle shop decimated in the aftermath did not sit well with anyone. And with the ice and fires rapidly spreading, they were forced to abandon Megapolis and flee.

The ice prison MK got locked in was so frigid that he lost feeling in his hands, feet, and face rapidly, constantly shivering in the cold. With the circlet and new ice cuffs/boots, he was practically trapped in the room unless CBK released him momentarily to bond with him.

Meanwhile Macaque has been consistently losing power due to CBK needing to get stronger, taking away chunks of his energy (therefore dropping his glamour) and using it for his own benefit. Not to mention LBD's ice taking over half of his body, icing over half of his face, one side of his six ears, arm, leg, and small shards on his hip. He's also freezing cold, which isn't doing well on top of his burn marks from CBK lashing out at him.

Surprisingly for these two, Macaque was actually the one to use the last of his strength to teleport himself and MK out of the fortress, moving as far as he possibly could through the shadows. He promptly collapsed right on top of Flower Fruit Mountain... Where the Monkie Kids were temporarily hiding out.

Everyone was genuinely so relieved to have MK back, but the poor boy needed so many blankets, hot food, and a fireplace. He couldn't stop shivering until two weeks after his rescue, that's how cold he was.

Macaque eventually got the ice broken off of him as well, knowing full well how much trouble he was probably in with everyone else. Though, it was MK who stepped in and tried to get everyone to help Macaque due to him rescuing MK, and knowing full well that Macaque probably suffered way worse than him at the hands of CBK.

Cue a potential Macaque redemption arc-

... Okay but on the topic of the samadhi fire what if this got combined with a Samadhi Fire Wukong AU/concept? There should be more of those. And it would be super interesting to watch play out, especially considering Red isn't there to teach him (for obvious reasons) meaning MEI is the one who steps in to tutor him on his new fire.

MK eventually asks to get blasted by the samadhi fire to keep warm but we don't talk about that /j