#they have different calls for different threats

[writeriguess]

GUURL What a joy to have you here again. I am very happy to know that you are back to doing something you like and that you do it perfectly anyway. you are amazing, i missed you ╰⁠(⁠*⁠´⁠︶⁠`⁠*⁠)⁠╯

I wanted to request a Bakugou x Reader where he's the bodyguard. maybe something smutty or suggestive with the situation, do what you want with it. (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

author's note: Thank you so much! <3 This scenario is so incredibly hot—I couldn't help but make the smut longer. Katsuki as the reader's bodyguard is just irresistible!

Duty and Desire

The rhythmic clicking of your heels against the marble floors echoed through the grand hallway, each step a reminder of the gilded cage you called life. Tonight’s charity gala was no different from the others—endless forced smiles, hollow conversations, and the subtle undercurrent of danger you’d grown used to.

Trailing behind you was Bakugou Katsuki, his sharp crimson eyes scanning every corner with the intensity of a predator on the hunt. Dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged his broad shoulders and powerful frame, he looked more like someone who belonged at the event than a hired bodyguard. But his scowl—perpetual and deadly—made it clear he wasn’t here to schmooze.

“Will you stop glaring at the walls like they personally offended you?” you teased, glancing back at him with a playful smile.

“Tch. You think this is funny?” he grunted, hands shoved into his pockets. “You’re the one with a damn target on your back. Maybe take it seriously for once.”

You rolled your eyes, but his words carried weight. The threats against you had started small—anonymous emails, cryptic messages slipped under your door—but they’d escalated. Enough for your family to hire Bakugou, a pro-hero known for his explosive temper and unyielding determination, as your personal bodyguard.

Except he didn’t just feel like a bodyguard anymore.

It was in the way his broad shoulders stiffened whenever someone got too close, the way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long when he thought you weren’t looking. And it was in the way your skin burned whenever his hand brushed yours—brief, accidental, but searing nonetheless.

“Stay close,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he stepped forward, placing a firm hand on the small of your back.

The touch was fleeting but deliberate, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You hated how much of an effect he had on you.

“I’m not going to wander off into danger, Katsuki,” you said, turning your head to glance at him.

He arched a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Yeah, well, I’ve seen the way you get when you’re bored. Don’t make my job harder than it already is.”

The night dragged on, the room filled with the kind of people who thought money equaled worth. You navigated the crowd with practiced ease, playing your part as the dutiful representative of your family. But no matter how many times you smiled or shook hands, you were always aware of Bakugou’s presence—his crimson gaze never leaving you.

Every time someone stepped too close, his hand would brush your arm, your back, your waist, guiding you away with a touch that was equal parts protective and possessive.

“You’re hovering,” you said at one point, turning to face him.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the job, princess,” he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The nickname sent a jolt through you, as it always did. It wasn’t affectionate—not really—but there was something about the way he said it that made your stomach flip.

The tension between you simmered beneath the surface, growing harder to ignore with every passing moment. By the time the event wound down, you were desperate for some fresh air.

You slipped away to a secluded balcony, the cool night breeze a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. The distant hum of traffic filled the silence as you leaned against the railing, staring out at the city lights.

But, of course, you weren’t alone for long.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Bakugou said, his voice cutting through the quiet as he stepped onto the balcony. He shut the door behind him, effectively sealing you both off from the rest of the world.

You turned to face him, leaning back against the railing with a faint smile. “You’re off-duty now, aren’t you?”

“Not until you’re home and locked up safe,” he replied, his hands shoved into his pockets as he approached.

His presence was magnetic, his broad frame and piercing gaze drawing you in despite the simmering annoyance in his tone.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you said, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Bakugou scoffed, his lips curving into a smirk. “Yeah? Tell that to the psychos sending you threats.”

The tension between you crackled like static electricity, the unspoken attraction growing harder to ignore. You didn’t know if it was the moonlight catching in his ash-blond hair, the way his suit hugged his muscular frame, or the fact that he was the only person who ever made you feel truly safe—but you couldn’t deny the pull anymore.

“You’re always so serious,” you murmured, your voice dipping into something softer, more intimate.

“And you’re always so damn reckless,” he shot back, stepping closer until there was barely a breath of space between you.

The heat radiating off him was intoxicating, his scent—smoke and spice—clouding your senses. You tilted your head up, your heart pounding in your chest as his crimson eyes bore into yours.

“Maybe I like testing your limits,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching at his sides as he stared down at you. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Don’t I?” you challenged, leaning up just enough to close the remaining distance between you.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his breath mingling with yours as he hovered just out of reach. Then, with a growl of frustration—or maybe surrender—he grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against him, his lips crashing into yours.

The kiss was everything you’d imagined: fierce, demanding, and all-consuming. His hands gripped your hips with enough force to leave bruises, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips, his kiss turning rougher, more desperate.

“Knew you’d be trouble,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice rough and low as he pressed you back against the railing.

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tugged him closer.

Bakugou growled, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, lifting you onto the edge of the railing as he stepped between your legs. The cool metal pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his hands as they roamed over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he admitted, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

“Good,” you breathed, your head falling back as you clung to him. “Because you’re the only one I trust to catch me when I fall.”

His grip tightened, his gaze blazing as he pulled back just enough to look at you. “Damn right I will. But don’t think this changes anything. You’re still a pain in my ass.”

You laughed, leaning forward to press a softer, lingering kiss to his lips. “And you’re still my favorite pain in mine.”

Bakugou’s lips were relentless against your skin, trailing heat down your neck as his hands gripped your thighs firmly, keeping you steady on the edge of the balcony railing. The cool night air did little to temper the fire burning between the two of you, and with every graze of his teeth, every rough kiss, the world outside the balcony seemed to fade further away.

Your hands roamed over his chest, your fingers gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as if anchoring yourself to him. His body felt solid beneath your touch, every muscle tense and coiled with barely restrained energy.

“Katsuki,” you breathed, your voice breaking as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your jaw.

He growled low in his throat at the sound of his name spilling from your lips, the vibration of it sending a shiver through you. His hands slid higher, brushing the fabric of your dress aside to squeeze your hips. The pressure of his grip made your head spin, but it was the sudden shift of his body against yours that truly sent your pulse skyrocketing.

You gasped as your thighs brushed against his hips, feeling the unmistakable hardness pressing against you through the thin fabric of your dress.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your eyes widening slightly as you looked up at him.

Bakugou froze for a moment, his crimson eyes locking onto yours as if daring you to say something. His lips curled into a smirk—cocky, almost predatory—as he leaned in closer, his voice a low growl in your ear.

“You feel that, princess?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what you do to me.”

The roughness in his voice made your stomach flip, your hands tightening their grip on his jacket as your thighs instinctively pressed together. But he wasn’t about to let you retreat. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against him so you could feel every inch of his arousal pressing against you.

“Shit,” you breathed, your cheeks flushing as a wave of heat pooled low in your belly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear. “That’s what I thought. You’ve been teasing me all night, haven’t you?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as he pressed his hips against you again, his movements deliberate and slow. The friction was maddening, and the smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though your voice came out shakier than you intended.

Bakugou chuckled darkly, his hands sliding down to grip the backs of your thighs. “Flatter myself? Tch, you’re the one squirming.”

“I’m not—” you started, but your words cut off in a gasp as he rolled his hips against yours, the hardness of him pressing perfectly between your legs.

“Not what? Huh?” he taunted, his tone rough and teasing as his lips found yours again, cutting off whatever weak protest you were about to make.

The kiss was dizzying, his tongue sliding against yours with a mix of dominance and desperation. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body arching into him as the heat between you became unbearable.

“Admit it,” he muttered against your lips, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You like this. You like driving me crazy.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your lips curving into a smirk of your own as you leaned in to nip at his bottom lip. “Maybe I do.”

Bakugou growled, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises as he pulled you even closer. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

“And you love it,” you countered, your breath hitching as he pressed himself against you again, the hardness of him making you dizzy with want.

“Maybe I do,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as his lips trailed down your neck.

Bakugou's lips were back on yours, searing and demanding, as his hands slid down to grip the backs of your thighs. He pulled you closer to the edge of the railing, locking you in place as his hips pressed firmly against yours. The hardness straining against his pants was impossible to ignore, especially as he shifted his hips deliberately, dragging against you in slow, maddening strokes.

“Katsuki,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the friction sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.

He didn’t respond with words—he didn’t need to. Instead, he growled low in his throat, his hands sliding to the underside of your thighs and hoisting you up higher so you were completely at his mercy. The cool night air hit your legs as the fabric of your dress bunched up around your hips, but the heat of his body pressed against you made you forget the chill.

“Fucking soaked already,” he muttered, his voice rough as his crimson eyes dropped to where your bodies met.

You flushed at his words, your breath hitching as you felt his hips press against you again, harder this time. The thin fabric of your panties did nothing to stop the steady, delicious pressure of him rubbing against you, and you bit your lip to stifle the whimper threatening to escape.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, his tone dripping with arrogance as he rocked his hips against yours, slow and deliberate. The hardness of him pressed perfectly against your damp center, and the friction had your head spinning.

You clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his suit jacket as your body moved instinctively to meet his. “Shut up,” you whispered, though the way your thighs tightened around him betrayed you.

Bakugou smirked, leaning in to nip at your ear. “Don’t tell me to shut up when you’re grinding on me like this,” he growled, his voice rough and teasing as he thrust against you again, dragging a gasp from your lips.

The movement sent a wave of pleasure through you, the friction just enough to make you ache for more. Your panties were soaked, clinging to your skin as he continued to press against you, his pace growing rougher, more desperate.

“Katsuki,” you whimpered, your head falling back as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“Say my name like that again,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

You obliged, your voice breaking on his name as he ground his hips against yours, the rhythm almost punishing now. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body arching into his as the heat pooled low in your belly.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he admitted, his grip on your thighs tightening as he held you steady, his movements growing more erratic.

“You’re the one who started it,” you shot back, though your voice was shaky, barely a whisper as your nails raked down his back.

Bakugou chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrust against you again, harder this time. “Yeah, but you’re the one who’s gonna finish it.”

The tension between you was unbearable, the heat and friction building to a crescendo as his movements grew rougher, more desperate. You could feel every inch of him through his pants, the hard length of him dragging perfectly against your damp panties, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body trembling as you stared up at him. “I—”

“Say it,” he growled, his hips pressing firmly against yours, dragging another gasp from your lips.

“I want it,” you finally whispered, your voice breaking as the words tumbled out.

Bakugou’s eyes darkened, a triumphant smirk curling across his lips as he leaned in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss. “Good,” he muttered against your lips, his movements growing even rougher as he ground against you with enough force to make your legs shake.

The world around you disappeared entirely, leaving only the two of you tangled in a haze of heat and desire, the line between duty and desire long since obliterated.

Bakugou’s movements stilled for a moment, and you felt him pull back just slightly, his forehead pressed against yours. His breath was hot and ragged as his hands slid down to grip your thighs again, his thumbs brushing dangerously close to the edge of your panties.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice low and rough as he glanced down at where your bodies were pressed together.

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as his fingers hooked around the damp fabric of your panties, tugging it to the side with a deliberate slowness that made your pulse race.

“Katsuki—” you started, but your words dissolved into a sharp gasp as his fingers brushed against your bare skin, grazing your slick folds.

“Shut up,” he growled, his eyes dark with hunger as he leaned in to capture your lips in another bruising kiss.

His free hand moved to his belt, and the sound of the buckle clicking open sent a shiver down your spine. You felt the warmth of his hand as he freed himself, the hard length of him brushing against your thigh.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice dripping with arrogance as he shifted his hips, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance. “Already soaked, begging for it. You really are a tease.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to steady yourself. “If I’m such a tease, then what does that make you?” you shot back, though your voice was shaky, breathless.

Bakugou smirked, his lips brushing against yours as he pushed forward just enough for you to feel the pressure of him pressing against you, not quite entering yet. “A guy who’s about to give you exactly what you’ve been asking for.”

The heat between you was unbearable, the tension snapping as he finally rolled his hips forward, pushing into you slowly, inch by inch. Your breath hitched, your head falling back as he filled you, the stretch of him making your thighs tremble.

“Fuck,” he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself fully inside you. “So fucking tight.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a low groan from him as you arched into him. “Katsuki,” you whimpered, your voice breaking on his name as he pulled back slightly before thrusting into you again, harder this time.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough as his movements grew more deliberate, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Katsuki,” you repeated, your voice trembling as your body moved in rhythm with his.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his lips finding your neck as he bit down gently, his teeth grazing your skin. “You’re mine tonight.”

The world around you faded away entirely, leaving only the heat of his body against yours, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling in the cool night air. Every thrust, every whispered growl of your name, pushed you closer to the edge, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as his movements became more erratic, more desperate. “I’m not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that.”

You gasped, your nails raking down his back as the pressure built inside you, your body trembling with the force of it. “I—I’m close,” you managed to whisper, your voice breaking as his thrusts grew harder, faster.

“Then come for me,” he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he held you steady, driving into you with a relentless pace.

It was all you needed. The tension snapped, and a wave of pleasure crashed over you, your body arching into his as you cried out his name. He wasn’t far behind, his movements growing erratic as he groaned low in his throat, his grip on you almost bruising as he found his own release.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, tangled together on the edge of the balcony, your breaths mingling as the cool night air wrapped around you.

“Fuck,” Bakugou muttered, his voice rough as he finally pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “You really are trouble.”

You laughed softly, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you leaned in to kiss him, softer this time. “And you love it.”

His lips curved into a smirk, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement—and something deeper. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low. “Maybe I do.”

Feel free to request <3

[softnprettyrolls]

Naruto character n how they show their devotion for you.

tw Yandere-ish <3

include: sasuke, naruto, itachi, kakashi, gaara,

Uchiha Sasuke

- unspoken, inescapable devotion

Sasuke does not say it aloud. He does not need to. The depth of his devotion is written in the way his gaze lingers half a second longer than it should, in the way his presence shifts almost imperceptibly to stand closer to you, in the way your name forms in his mind before he can think of anything else.

He does not understand how it happened—how you managed to carve a place for yourself within him so effortlessly. But now that you are there, he cannot dislodge you. It frustrates him, this quiet tether, this unshakable attachment that follows him even into battle, even into his darkest thoughts. You have become a constant, a presence woven into his every breath.

He is not soft, nor does he seek to smother you with affection. But if you were to fall, he would catch you before you even realized you were slipping. If you were to call for him, he would be there before the sound had finished leaving your lips. And if you were ever to leave, you would take something from him that he would never be able to replace.

He does not say it. But you must know.

Uzumaki Naruto

- open, unbreakable devotion

Naruto does not love in halves. He does not know how. When he cares for someone, it is with his entire being, without hesitation, without restraint. You are no exception.

His devotion is in the way he looks for you first in a crowded room, in the way he saves you the last bite of his favorite food, in the way your happiness has become as important to him as his own. He does not try to hide it—why would he? He wants you to know. Wants you to understand that no matter where you go, no matter what happens, he is there. Always.

There is no condition to it. No expectation of anything in return. He simply is, unwavering in the way he chooses you, again and again, without question. He will stand beside you for as long as you allow him to, and even if the world were to collapse, even if you pushed him away, he would wait. Because he is yours, and there is nothing in this life or the next that could change that.

Uchiha Itachi

- quiet, thoughtful devotion

Itachi is deliberate in all things, and his devotion to you is no different. He does not need grand gestures, nor does he need to speak of it—his care is in the details, in the things he does without needing to be asked.

It is in the way he ensures you never walk on the outer edge of a path. In the way he subtly shifts conversations away from topics he knows you dislike. In the way he listens—not just to your words, but to what you don’t say, to the emotions behind them, to the truths you think you’ve hidden.

He is not possessive, nor does he demand space in your life. But he is there, always. A steady, unwavering presence that remains even when the rest of the world feels uncertain. And if you were to turn to him, to ask for anything, he would give it without hesitation. Not because he must, but because it is you. And there is nothing he would not do for you.

Hatake Kakashi

- reluctant, unshakable devotion

Kakashi does not want to feel this way. He does not want to care for someone so deeply, to tether himself to something fragile and fleeting. But it is already too late.

You are in his thoughts without invitation, lingering in the quiet spaces of his mind, creeping into moments where he least expects you. He catches himself looking for you before he even realizes he is doing it. He tells himself it is habit, something simple, something meaningless. But it is not. It is something far heavier.

He will never say it, never admit how much space you have taken within him. But his actions betray him. He will place himself between you and harm before you even notice the threat. He will remember things you mentioned only in passing, bringing them up months later as if they were never forgotten. He will ensure you are safe, cared for, protected, even if it costs him everything.

It is not something he will ever ask you to see. But it is there, in every quiet act, in every unspoken promise. And whether you know it or not, he will always choose you.

Gaara

- deep, instinctive devotion

Gaara does not have the words for it. This feeling. This need to have you near, to know that you are safe, to ensure that nothing in this world can ever take you from him.

It is not desperation, nor is it obsession. It is simply fact, as undeniable as the sand beneath his feet. He exists, and you exist, and that is all that has ever mattered.

His devotion is not something he voices. He does not shower you with words of affection, does not seek to make himself known in loud declarations. But he is there. A constant, unshakable presence. If you are tired, he will notice before you do. If you are troubled, he will not ask, but he will stay. If you are in danger, there will be no hesitation, no thought—only action.

You are the only softness he allows himself, the only warmth he has ever known. And if you were ever to leave, if you were ever to slip from his grasp, he is not sure he would know how to exist in the empty space you left behind.

[hurtspideyparker]

Inspired by @sunnysideprincess post "young Tony Stark sleeping with a stranger at a gala and turns out that stranger is now his bodyguard?" a winteriron 2.5k fic (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Temporary Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone

Bucky doesn't know much about the current pop culture climate. All he knows is Howard has a son who likes to get into trouble, but due to recent threats against the family it's no longer safe to go out alone.

—

Bucky attends the gala to meet with Howard and be acquainted with the venues and protocols he'll be expected to know, including dress and social custom. He's still reintegrating into civilian life after an honourable discharge, but Howard worked with him during his prosthetic trials and wanted to hire him immediately.

Bucky meets a pretty thing at the gala, something charming and mischievous, and hey, he hasn't exactly had time to take advantage of the civilian world and all it's private space and willing bodies just yet. Howard won't be able to meet till the end of this thing, and who's to say fooling around in an empty office doesn't count as "integrating into higher society".

He doesn't even get the man's name. Doll, sweetheart, and pretty boy seem to do him just fine for the hour they spend together (half at the start, and a second time during a boring speech when they make eye contact; Bucky can't resist the cute little smirk and head nod towards the exit).

Everything goes smoothly with Howard, and he's expected at the house tomorrow morning at 8am to meet the infamous Tony Stark. From what he's told he's too smart for his own good, resents authority, and has no idea he's about to get a permanent babysitter. To say Bucky is hesitant is an understatement, but the pay is good and things haven't exactly been easy since coming home, so he's up for a challenge.

What he couldn't have predicted to go wrong, however, is the pretty thing that turns around the corner the following morning in boxers and a Metallica t-shirt, sees Bucky and Howard in the kitchen, and immediately lets out an adorable squeak before hiding bashfully behind his hands and running out of the kitchen.

"Well, that was certainly unexpected. Tony, get back here!"

Bucky agrees, although with an entirely different surprise.

Bucky can't help but be endeared by the sudden shyness and petulance of the previously confident and forthright man, but things turn awkward over time as they settle into their new dynamic.

Bucky spends half his time checking up on Tony in the lab and making sure he eats. Definitely a bit too close to the babysitter mark, as Tony calls him with annoyance, but it beats his nights out.

When Tony goes out, he goes all out. It's loud crowded clubs, it's mansions with boozed up nepo babies, it's sketchy drug-hazed apartments. Bucky starts to understand the controversy about Stark Industries upcoming CEO while watching him do body shots off of random college girls in a dive bar, but all he can do is threaten to smash cameras and make sure Tony gets in his car at the end of the night.

SI has nothing to worry about in the grand scheme of things; Tony practically runs the thing already, considering how most of the tech updates have been his for the past decade (when Bucky was a dirt poor teen with no future but carrying a gun and being expendable, Tony was building the fighter jets that flew above his head. He hadn't even begun puberty yet). Tony's also the one who made Bucky's arm, not Howard, and he only finds out because he starts blabbing on about "missing the human trials, how's the fit, any cinching? Wow, my baby is smooth," a few weeks into their arrangement.

The worst part, though, is Bucky learns real quick that he wasn't special.

The young Stark's charm seems to be quite universal; women, men, college students, business associates, strangers too old for him, creeps too touchy with him. He gets them all with his pretty smile and long lashes.

Bucky doesn't say anything. Doesn't do anything. It's not his place, and besides, they both knew when they met it was a one night thing. He's most definitely not jealous at all.

Okay, he wants to slam every man who touches Tony's ass before even introducing themselves face into the bar counter, but that's neither here nor there.

Thankfully dark and broody is his default, so Tony never comments on the rage and possessiveness in the watchful man's eyes.

Bucky realizes he has a serious problem when Tony starts dating Ty Stone.

Their fathers are friends, Tony calms down with the partying, and everything seems to be going well for SI.

But Bucky's there; on the expensive dinner dates at a nearby table, leaning against a golf cart while they play, standing beside the exit at a charity gala. He hears how Ty talks down to Tony, the hands he can't seem to keep off even when Tony squirms a bit, or how Tony asks for permission to do the simplest things.

"Honey you're such a messy drunk, don't go embarrassing me again."

"It's just wine with the meal Ty—"

"Did you not hear me? Get something else."

Tony resigns himself to sparkling water while Ty gets a perfect red to pair with his steak.

"You look like a whore, god, button that thing up. People are going to think you're for sale or something," Ty says as he steps into Tony's space and does the top buttons of his shirt.

"I can do it myself."

But Ty doesn't move back, instead taking the words as a challenge and tugging the now too-high collar till Tony chokes a bit.

Bucky steps away from the wall, ready to rip his hands off when—"Buck, don't."

Bucky just barely settles back at Tony's instructions, who's fidgeting with the uncomfortable collar.

"That's right doggy, sit."

Bucky can only glare at the arrogant man.

Bucky still gets Tony the most. He gets to see his light come back in the lab at night, eyes shining as he explains what he's doing to uneducated ears. He notices the way Tony perks up and smiles when Bucky comes over to chat during boring work events, making fun of how many times the team can say "efficiency" and "blue sky thinking" in a single meeting.

Bucky knows how many polite smiles Ty gets on their dates, and he knows how much real laughter he pulls out of Tony just on the drive home.

The bodyguard has come to peace with his role as the observer. Spending the rest of his life glued to Tony Stark's wall is worth the ache slowly eating him alive from the inside out.

Things change rapidly though. Bucky finally gets to dust off his knuckles to defend Tony's honour, but it doesn't feel good like he thought it would, nothing feels good when Tony's on the verge of tears.

Bucky had attended another date of the famed couple; a launch party where Ty had finally "let" Tony get tipsy on champagne. Bucky hadn't realized how much tolerance Tony had lost these past months limiting his alcohol, and it hit him hard and fast.

The pair were now giggling in the backseat as Bucky drove them home. Kissing, a little heavy petting. Nothing Bucky hasn't seen before, although it felt even more disturbing to witness with Ty.

"Mm, not here," he hears Tony mumble.

They continue kissing, then—"Ty I said not in the car. Bucky's right there," Bucky glances in the rearview mirror at his name. Ty has pulled Tony into his lap, a hand trying to sneak into his waistband.

"Half the media has seen you slutted out on poppers Tony, it's not like you have any modesty. Just wanna make you feel good baby," he says as his hand slides back down Tony's waistband.

Tony grabs at the hand awkwardly, fingers too weak in this state to pull it away.

Bucky doesn't even think about it. He jerks the steering wheel to the side with only the barest of glances that the road is clear, pulling into a ditch and slamming on the breaks.

The un-seatbelted pair in the back go flying, Tony landing on the floor with a yelp and Ty falling on top of him with an ugly awkwardness.

Bucky hops out of the driver's seat and yanks the back door open with his metal arm so hard it comes flying off. He tosses it somewhere behind him, reaching in and grabbing the scruff of Ty's suit jacket and dragging him out of the car.

"Get off me you fucking psycho! You could've killed us all, what is wrong with you!"

Bucky shoves him flat on his ass, hands scraping on the damp asphalt.

Bucky chases after him, and Ty has the intelligence to scramble backwards, fearful.

"Hey hey hey man, I'll sue you to all hell for this! Don't come near me, get back freak!"

Bucky's metal fist groans at the tightness as he gears up, but suddenly gentle hands are wrapped around his arm and Tony is stepping in front of him.

"Don't be stupid."

The pair make eye contact, a pleading in Tony's eyes that splashes water on Bucky's, a sizzling sound in his mind as he cools off.

"If you go to jail on a murder charge who's gonna watch The Fresh Prince with me, huh?"

He gives Bucky a soft smile, but Bucky only has those brimming tears in his vision.

Turning back to Ty the bodyguard speaks in a gruff voice, "get out of here before I decide to run you over."

Ty doesn't hesitate, clambering up and slipping around in his fancy leather shoes, running through the middle of the road as a car honks a near miss at him.

Tony drops Bucky's arm and speaks with resolution.

"Let's go."

Bucky watches the back of Tony's body walk defeated to the passenger seat.

Bucky gets in without a word. He starts the car, checks his mirrors and lights, and ignores the giant hole in the back of the vehicle. With a glance he turns to Tony and clicks the younger's seatbelt on for him before pulling back onto the road with an awkward rocking as the car struggles out of the ditch.

When they pull up to the Stark mansion neither of them get out, just sitting there in the dark with the metaphorical wall between them.

"My dad's probably gonna fire you for that. The Stones own nearly a quarter of our stock."

Bucky grunts, "I don't care. Anything to get his grubby hands off you."

He can feel Tony's stare burning the side of his face, but he doesn't meet it.

"If. If he fires you, can we still be friends?"

It's hope in his voice, but Bucky can't help but feel a tad disappointed. Friends.

"Of course. I'm always gonna be here to protect you doll, doesn't matter who's paying me or who's threatening me. I'll babysit your ass for free."

Tony smiles at that, "hug?" he asks with open arms.

He looks so sweet like this. Ruffled clothing, shy smile, earnest eyes. Bucky could never deny him, leaning over and hugging the other.

It's a bit awkward, but it suits them. They pull back slowly, hesitant to let go. Bucky meets those warm brown eyes, lashes clumping from the rainfalls of sadness earlier, and then suddenly he's being kissed.

It's hard, a starving thing. Bucky can't get a word in edgewise, everytime he moves away to speak Tony follows him, crawling over the cupholder right into Bucky's lap.

Bucky grabs his hips, strong and possessive. Decides to kiss back because oh god is it a million times better now that he knows what he looks like with a pillow imprint on his cheek, how he gets giggly from sleep deprivation, how he sings along to the Fresh Prince theme song, the resignation whenever his father speaks to him, the kindness to every waiter and the sass to the paparazzi when he steps into their flash, the way he shovels breakfast cereal into his mouth like a sport, the chatter in the middle of the night to his robots when he thinks Bucky is asleep on the couch.

It's Tony, it's really Tony, finally his.

Tony pulls back gasping for air because he kisses like a drowning man. He rests his forehead against Bucky's collarbone and the bodyguard kisses the top of his head before wrapping his arms around him. If he had a choice this is exactly how he'd do his job, with Tony trapped between his arms as often as possible.

"That's okay right?" muffles Tony from the mouth pressed to his shirt.

"Beautiful, I am so much more than okay right now."

Bucky can feel the way his lips upturn on his skin, so he grabs Tony's head between two large palms and pulls him away to see.

Tony's face is gloriously bathed in peace and warmth. Blinding toothiness, cheeks so plump they almost obscure the eyes that dart back and forth on Bucky's face as he listens to the man.

"I am so in love with you I was prepared to put up with that bag of dicks just to be able to watch you from the sidelines. To see you happy in that lab doing what you love."

"SI could burn down tomorrow for all I care, I don't need Ty, I don't need his money. Was always looking at you, god you look hot when you're jealous."

He kisses Bucky again, less hurried but just as passionate, wet and slow with probably too much tongue; Bucky is already so close to devouring the boy whole he doesn't care.

"S'not jealous," Bucky slurs between kisses.

Tony sends him a playful glare.

"Okay, maybe a little. He doesn't deserve you."

"Oh, and you do?" Tony only teases, but Bucky's heart twinges.

"No, but at least I can protect you."

Tony's eyes go soft and he cups Bucky's face, forcing him to meet his warm eyes.

"You're probably the only person in the world who would take a bullet for me, but would also listen to me rant about the coding bug I couldn't find for thirty minutes."

Bucky smirks at the memory.

"You were huffin and puffin like a toddler, it was adorable."

"Do you know how hard it is to find an extra period in 70 lines of code!"

Bucky gazes up at the worked up man with a look of pure adoration that turns Tony's ears red.

"No, but I know how to kiss someone who does."

"Oh. That's good, you should do that. You should do a lot actually," Tony breathes desperately.

Bucky kisses him while opening the car door, stepping out with Tony still koala-ed to his front. He only clings tighter, with more intention as his arms pull Bucky's neck closer.

"Mm, not tonight doll. You've had a rough night. In the morning though..." Bucky trails off with a possessive tightening of his hands on Tony's thighs.

Tony gasps, pressing closer.

"Yes. That's, that's a good plan. Take me to bed," Tony speaks with their lips still brushing.

"To cuddle."

Tony let's out a frustrated groan.

"Ugh, fine. And to make out too."

Bucky can't say no to him.

[gorbo-longstocking]

Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter 4

Pairings: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: The emperors’ call upon you to humiliate yourself for their entertainment, and in your anger, you let your tongue loose. The consequences of such an action are not very fun.

Tags: Mentions of period-typical slavery, spit drinking, it’s gross and Caracalla is horny about it for a second, threats of eye trauma, both Geta’s and Caracalla’s anger, medical innaccuracies, very very small implications of past suicidal thoughts and diabolical levels of the ‘I can fix them’ mindset

Word Count: 6.7k Words

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Caracalla did not come to the clinic at the time you had specified. He didn’t come the next day, nor the day after that. You were starting to believe that either he had forgotten, or that he had never intended on returning in the first place. With a sigh, you scooted back your chair, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floor. The noise grated on your ears. A headache from a lack of sleep had begun to pound behind your eyes a day ago, with no sign of letting up. Most people would take that as a sign to rest. You were far too stubborn to be considered ‘most people.’

After the emperors’ physical, you were led to the room where you would be sleeping. It was located not far from the emperors’ own personal chambers in case a medical emergency arose in the night. The room was far too lavish for your tastes, not large by any means, but more than enough room for yourself. With tall ceilings and a balcony overlooking the gardens — an addition that felt wholly unnecessary — you found the bed was a horrid mix of both too firm and too soft. Worst of all, the room was filled with slaves ready to tend to your every need. You quickly, and kindly, informed them you preferred to attend to personal matters on your own. The idea of telling a slave what to do made you viscerally uncomfortable, so you intended to avoid doing it at whatever cost you could manage. As unrealistic as you knew that goal was considering how many slaves were within the palace walls and how commonplace it was in this time period, you intended to stick with it. A part of you wished that your brain would have skipped this part of living in the Roman Empire, but, of course, that would be too much to ask.

While it made sense for your personal quarters to be near both the emperors and the clinic, you wished to be closer to Aelius and Marianus, both of which were stuck bunking with the ever stringent praetorian guard. A part of you felt a bit guilty. Here you were with a room, all to yourself, while they were stuck sleeping with ten men at a time. At least, that was what Aelius had told you. Marianus was still somewhat miffed about you lying to him when you first met, so he wasn’t talking to you. Even after you apologized and tried to explain yourself, all you got was a grunt in response. It was kind of annoying and far too childish for a man you assumed was in his late thirties, early forties, but you digressed.

Right now, it was about ten o'clock in the morning, judging by the position the sun was in outside the grand windows of the — your? — clinic. You had pulled yet another all-nighter. It took time to refresh your memory on ancient medicine and techniques, and it took even more time pouring over texts that were written in a language different from your mother tongue. If you were going to do this, you were going to do it right, even if that meant hunting down the emperors in their own palace to give them some of your, very high quality, if you said so yourself, advice.

Maybe you were looking a gift horse in the mouth here. With the emperors nowhere near you, whether they were uninterested or simply forgotten that you existed, you were free to do as you pleased without fear of retaliation. That would be true if your ever observant self hadn’t noticed that you were being trailed by no less than two praetorians wherever you went. You didn’t know which emperor set them upon you — though, you figured it was Geta — but it meant that you couldn’t look like you were goofing off. Not that you would if you weren’t being trailed, anyway. Perhaps this was a test of sorts. To quantify your work ethic through the eyes of the emperors’ personal guard. You intended to prove your worth the best you could, even if you were sure it didn’t cast a flattering image of your skills as a physician to be carrying armfuls of scrolls and wax tablets on medicine from the archives to pour over the entire night.

First and foremost, you had to find Caracalla and determine his symptoms. Much to what you were sure to be his annoyance, you also had to perform an examination to see if they had worsened as well. If he had come to you when you asked, this wouldn’t have to happen, but he hadn’t. That meant that he did it to himself and you would feel no pity for him, no matter how he whined or threatened.

Then, you would find Geta to check his blood pressure once more. If it was still high, you would prescribe him an hour of relaxation and a half-hour of exercise per day. Along with that, you would like to tell him to limit his consumption of alcohol, however, you feared even uttering the idea he should drink less wine was an executable offense.

Another miserable sigh puffed from your nose as you stood. Your body protested the movement, your bones aching and cracking as you performed a few cursory stretches. There was little you wouldn’t give to shotgun a RedBull right about now. As much as you hated the taste of most energy drinks, they were an age old friend of yours. Until now, in your own dream, where you were denied even the simplest of luxuries. With the heels of your palms, you scrubbed the crust from your eyes before massaging your temples to regain some semblance of awareness. You were thankful it seemed to be spring — when you asked for the date, all you received was a babble of Latin that sounded more like nonsense to you than anything substantial. Thankfully, the word Aprilis was familiar enough for you to understand, at the very least, what season you were in. The idea that it would only get hotter made your skin crawl. It was already sweltering in the afternoon, you didn’t need it to get any worse.

You stared at your cluttered desk. Before you left to search for the emperors, you really should organize yourself a little better. Staring at the pile of scrolls and wax tablets, some in Latin and some containing your own English notes, you shrugged. Whatever. There would be time to clean later. If you delved head first into your own clutter, you would use it as an excuse to avoid your actual duties. As much as the emperors intimidated you, their health was in your hands, and that was something you took very seriously.

Slipping on your anachronistic shoes, you marched out of the clinic with as much energy as your exhausted body could muster. With dark bags under your eyes, a prominent slouch, and dragging feet, you must have looked a sad sight. Definitely not anywhere near how a physician, let alone an imperial one, should carry himself, though you couldn’t bring yourself to care. After today, you would sleep. You had updated your knowledge on herbal remedies enough for you to feel comfortable treating Caracalla’s symptoms, and anything else that arose in the near future.

You let out another yawn as you trekked down the halls. They were both oddly barren and lavish in a strange contrasting way that made your head spin. What little furniture and decorations a room had were all worth more than what you made in a year, which was nothing to sneeze at considering you were a surgical resident. It was strange to see such extravagant busts and tapestries doing little else aside from collecting dust.

Once you finished your necessary tasks for the day — the only one’s being your care for the emperors — you could go to bed.

Surely, they couldn’t be too hard to find.

It wasn’t until three hours passed and you were both drenched in sweat and frustration did you realize how big this stupid palace was. You took a few steadying breaths as you fanned yourself with the collar of your tunic. It was a good thing that you had been provided a few other articles of Roman garb — though your favorite, for sentimental reasons, was the one Aelius gave you — so you could change rather than mildew in the same linen for however long.

You had been through almost the entire palace. Passed the emperors’ chambers, through the slaves quarters, down each and every hall, to the gardens, then the kitchens, there was not a stone you left unturned. Yet, you could not find the emperors. You were miserable and hot, the midday sun shining through almost every window in an attempt to cook you even further. If you found out this was all a game and that the emperors were hiding from you, well, apologies to Aelius and Marianus, but you were going to kill those God forsaken twins yourself.

“Medicus,” A soft voice called out from behind you.

Your frustration made you turn around harsher than you intended, and the woman who had called your name took a nervous step back. In an instant, you schooled your expression into something more pleasant. “I apologize, you startled me, and I find myself in a foul mood. What did you need?”

The woman gave you a small smile, though she kept her eyes cast downwards. “The Caesarēs request your presence.”

Of course, they did. You spend all morning looking for them, only for them to send another to fetch you when it struck their fancy. A part of you recognized that if you had simply asked one of the many people who littered the palace halls where the emperors were, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. The bigger part of you squashed that thought like a bug.

“Lead the way,” You responded.

She returned your smile, meeting your eyes for a mere moment, before turning and leading you away. Much to your unending dismay, it didn’t take long for you to reach the room that the emperors were lounging in. Geta was reclined on a lectus, settled on his side with his back to you as he popped a grape in his mouth. Caracalla, on the other hand, was on his back, facing the door. His smile grew cruel when he laid eyes on you. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he gestured to you, causing Geta to sit up. For once, he seemed pleased to see you.

It put you on edge.

“Alga,” Geta began. There was a flush to his cheeks, visible under his makeup. Next to him was a pitcher of wine, and judging by the glassiness in both emperor’s eyes, it was sure to be half empty. “I see you come when called.”

“Like a dog,” Caracalla piped up with a cackle.

You pursed your lips into a thin line to keep your irritation from showing. After a few nights of very little sleep and half a morning in search of the very two who laid before you, it was hard to keep your annoyance to yourself. It was a good thing that you were good at holding your tongue.

For the most part. “Woof.”

Caracalla found your response to be hilarious, clutching his stomach as he laughed, while Geta took the sarcasm for what it was. His dark eyes narrowed, though his smile was still firmly in place. He looked like he knew something you didn’t. It was frightening enough to make you want to run.

“Come here, doggy, there is a task that we require of you.” Geta held out his hand, motioning with his index and middle finger for you to come closer. Against your better judgement, you obeyed. Caracalla was watching you, expectation and barely contained mirth dancing in his blue eyes.

From a nearby table, Geta grabbed a jewel encrusted cup and held it out for you to take. You wrapped your fingers around the stem, but didn’t look inside. Instead, your gaze flickered between both emperors. A bit of laughter squeaked from between Caracalla’s lips, while in his inebriation, Geta’s own lips quirked upwards as you held the cup in your hand.

“Drink,” Geta ordered.

Any other day, any other moment, you would have been intimidated into obeying without hesitation. This was not one of those days, however. On principle, you refused to look into the cup as you ground out your response through clenched teeth, “Why, Caesar?”

Caracalla snickered, his expression triumphant despite your questioning. It looked like he believed that he had already won. He may very well have. “Because my brother asked you to, Alga. Would you truly deny an emperor such a small request?”

Your own response, that, yes, you would, died on your tongue when Geta smiled. “Our praegustator is currently occupied. We need you to taste what is in that cup for our consumption. You wouldn’t want your emperors poisoned, would you?”

As Geta spoke, Caracalla was trying to hide his laughter behind his hand, his eyes focused on the chalice that you held. Even Geta seemed to have a hard time keeping the mean grin from his face. Horror bubbled in your gut when you realized what exactly this meant. These two drunken schoolchildren had tampered with your drink. It wasn’t as if you could say no. Whatever was in this cup, you would have to swallow. With growing disgust and exasperation, you finally looked down at the cup to see what was inside.

Not even a beat passed before you choked on a gag. It was spit. The cup that Geta gave you, expecting you to drink from, was nearly halfway full of clear, frothy saliva. Unable to stop yourself, you jiggled the cup and watched the liquid wiggle and slosh, far too thick for your liking. Caracalla — and this was Caracalla’s spit, you doubted Geta, for as funny as he seemed to think this was, would debase himself enough to spit into a cup simply to humiliate you — was dehydrated, and you hated your doctorly mind for filing that information for later. Watching you with rapt attention, he was grinning so wide, his teeth were showing.

In the wake of your silence, Geta decided to remind you that he was there. “Our last praegustator did not last long, given his occupation.” He turned to his brother. “What was his name again?”

Caracalla shrugged. “I don’t know, I didn’t care to learn it.”

“You want me… to drink this?” You finally asked, voice distant.

“Of course we do, medicus, why else would we ask you?” Geta said, far more pleasant than you expected, given your hesitation. When you glanced at him, he smirked at you, his eyes shining with victory.

Caracalla circled his wrist. “Go on then, Alga. I promise you that is our finest spirit. You will enjoy it immensely.”

There was nothing to be done about it. You were trapped between a rock and a hard place. Squeezing your eyes shut, you raised the cup to your mouth, and took a sip. Caracalla’s spit was still warm, whether it was from sitting in the sun or because it was fresh from the well, so to speak, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. All that mattered was that it was thick, and warm, and tasted like salt and wine. It was, quite possibly, the most vile thing you had ever put into your mouth. To say it took everything in your power to swallow wouldn’t be an understatement.

A small ‘eugh’ escaped you as you pulled the cup away from your lips. While Geta had the decorum not to laugh in your face — however, not enough to keep the grin from worming onto his features at your obvious disgust — Caracalla did not. He cackled, kicking his legs childishly, all while you forced a smile so as not to glare.

“How did it taste, medicus?” Caracalla managed to ask once he had calmed down.

You set the cup on a nearby table. Not so subtly, Geta picked it up and dumped it out in a nearby plant. With a small smile and an eyebrow twitch, you replied, “Divine, Caesar.”

Whatever reaction you expected from Caracalla given your sarcastic response, it wasn’t what you got. Where you thought he would laugh again, or perhaps snap at you, you watched his flush darken and his pupils dilate, his smile becoming a bit too perverse for your liking.

“Do not fret, Alga, there is always more where that came from.”

The skill at which you ignored Caracalla’s blatant arousal should have been lauded. “Is that all, Caesarēs?”

Geta gave you a small sneer and flicked his wrist to the exit. “Yes, medicus, you have entertained us enough for now. You may go.”

You turned to leave, when you paused, your fists clenched at your sides. They would not win. You would get what you came for, whether they liked it or not. The emperors had just made you drink spit, you refused to let that go unpunished.

“I would like to see you both at the clinic. Tonight,” You said. Your tone was firmer than you intended, but you couldn’t care less at the moment.

Geta blinked in surprise before his features slipped into irritation. “And what is it that makes you believe you can demand anything of us?”

“I am your physician, and it is not a demand, it is a strongly encouraged request,” As you spoke, you kept your gaze on the far wall so as not to be open with your blatant disdain. “Come together or separate, but I expect you both by midnight.”

Geta slowly sat up, his eyes narrowed. “And if we don’t.”

“Nothing will happen,” You replied with what was intended to be a casual shrug. “You will simply have a very angry physician, Caesar. A physician whose duty it is to hold your life in his hands when you are at your most vulnerable, ravaged by sickness or injury.”

“Is that a threat, medicus? It is not wise to threaten your emperors.”

“Of course not.” You turned to Caracalla who was watching the exchange with foggy eyes. “And, if it is of any motivation to you, if you do not come to my clinic tonight, perhaps I will have a conversation with your brother in regards to what we discussed previously. My promise is rendered null in the wake of your health and safety, Emperor Caracalla.” It was a lie, you would tell Geta nothing, but Caracalla didn’t know that. Unable to stand the weight of his glare, you flicked your gaze back to Geta. “That is my number one priority. I cannot perform my duties if neither of you will allow me. Cooperation is all I ask for.”

“It seems our dog has a bit of a bite, brother.” Despite laying, Caracalla tilted his chin to glower at you.

Geta didn’t look amused, though his lips twitched. “Alga Catulus. What a fitting name for a fitting puppy.”

Straightening your back, you refused to back down this time, even as your palms shook. To hide the display of your nerves, you curled your hands behind your back. “I will see you tonight, Caesarēs.”

Before either could respond, you stomped out of the room, the inside of your mouth burning. Neither called for you to stop, merely watched. Their glares burned into the back of your skull.

It wasn’t until the door shut behind you did you clutch your chest, your breathing ragged. Behind your breast, your heart hammered a frantic beat. What the hell had you done? You knew what you did, you challenged the emperors who held your and your friend’s lives in the palms of their hands. Stupidity seemed to be your strong point in comparison to everything else. Not your intelligence or your stubborn generosity, all of that paled when it came to your stupid, traitorous tongue. This was what you got when you didn’t sleep, if you ever got to sleep again.

In an effort to hide, you kept your pace brisk on your way back to your clinic. Once inside, you pressed your back to the wall and covered your face in your hands. A low groan rumbled in your throat as you slid to the floor. This was where you died. Dream or not, surely there would be some terrible consequences in accordance to your demise.

A few tears leaked from behind your eyelids.

You hoped Aelius and Marianus could forgive you.

It wasn’t until the sound of the clinic doors slamming open startled you awake did you realize you had fallen asleep. It was dark now, almost pitch black in your clinic as you had been far too preoccupied sleeping to have any torches lit. You were alone, for once. That, or the praetorians tasked with following you didn't care enough to put on a light. Almost on cue, there was a snap, and, at the hands of another man, the room began to light up. With bleary eyes, you blinked up at the red-haired emperor who had entered your clinic.

Standing in the doorway, was an irate Caracalla. There was something clenched in his fist, his jaw set as he stared down at you.

“I am here now, medicus,” He said, his voice low and raspy. “Are you ready for your examination, or do you intend to continue to sleep on the floor like a dog?”

That was all it took for you to heave yourself to your feet. Playing with your fingers, you tried to look Caracalla in the eyes. You quickly found that you were not above simpering. “Caesar, I want to apologize for how I spoke to you and your brother today. It is not excuse, but I have not been sleeping—”

“You are right.” Caracalla cut you off, his fist clenching even tighter. “It is no excuse.” He moved closer, almost gliding in his long robes. “You promised me you would say nothing to my brother, and yet you threaten me with his knowledge.”

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. It was impossible to stop your hand from shaking. He eyed the offending appendage, a pleased sparkle in his blue eyes, hidden just under his fury. “It was an empty threat. Everything I said was empty. I would never break my promise to you, Caesar.”

“How am I to believe that when you are capable of tossing your word away on a whim?” Caracalla countered. He bared his teeth at you. “My brother was right about you, you are a liar and a snake.”

You took a step back, determined to put some distance between you and Caracalla, only for him to follow with a step of his own. “What is in your hand?”

“You will soon find out,” He said, a small grin twitching onto his face. “On your knees, medicus.”

Unsure if you should obey or not, you remained standing. For far too long, your jaw worked, no sound coming out of your mouth as you fought for what to say. “I— If you had come when I had asked, we would not be here. I thought you would not come to the clinic without incentive, so I lied. Caesar, I apologize.”

Caracalla was not so easily swayed. His voice raised in both pitch and volume, bouncing against the cavernous walls of the clinic. “Kneel before me, medicus! I will make you, if I must!”

“I— I have not broken the promise I made to you. I have not told Emperor Geta a word and I have no intention to,” You said, while slowly lowering yourself onto your knees. “He has not approached you, has he? He is not here, angry with us for hiding information from him, is he?”

Caracalla paused, his closed fist shaking. “No, but he asked me what you were being so vague about, medicus. For hours, he prattled! Your idle threats have piqued my brother’s curiosity.”

“So, he does not know. That is exactly what I am telling you.” By now, your breathing was harsh, coming out in sharp pants. “I have told him nothing, like I swore to you. Even if he threatens my life, I will tell him nothing.”

“What of now? Will you tell Geta that I frightened you tonight?”

“Everything that happens in this clinic is between us, Caesar.”

That answer seemed to calm him. A flicker of disappointment crossed over his face as he took a few steps back and motioned for you to stand. “Never lie to me again, medicus.”

“Never, I— Never again will I lie to you, Emperor Caracalla.” On shaking knees, you forced yourself to stand. The terror coming off of you in waves made him smirk and tilt his head back so he could get a better look at your trembling body. “Caesar, I… Do you know what it means to be a physician?”

“Why would I know what it means to be a physician?” He meandered towards your desk, and glanced at the contents before he set whatever he held in his hand flat on the wood. You didn’t get a chance to see what it was. His attention was back on you within moments. “Stupid questions do not entertain me.”

“It means doing what I can for my patients, no matter the cost. No matter the lie, or the price, or the suffering I endure, none of it matters so long as my patients are healthy and taken care of,” You said. Every few words, your voice would crack, but you kept talking in spite of that. “You and your brother are my patients now. I will never harm you, not only because you are emperors, but because your life is in my hands. E—Everything I do, it is for the people in my care. I cannot help you if you do not allow me to. That is— That is why I lied. That is why I said what I said. All I want is to help you.”

The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Caracalla stared at you from beside your desk, his fingers playing idly with the item that he had placed there. It didn’t seem like he believed you, his doubt almost palpable, even when he left behind whatever it was he was toying with to take your chin between his fingers. His grip was firm, almost painful.

“I want you to prove it to me.”

Unable to meet his gaze, you focused on his nose. He pinched you, harder and harder, until your eyes were on his. “I will, Caesar. I will.”

Finally, he let go, pleased with your deference. “Good. Good.”

You were nervous to turn your back to him, though you knew you had little choice. With the way he was positioned, your desk behind him, you would have to in order to get to your notes. Your legs felt like they were made of jelly as you circled around Caracalla, his predatory stare following you all the while, to grab your wax tablet with the emperors’ information.

When you looked to see what he had placed on your desk, what he had in his hand while you kneeled before him, you swallowed a gasp.

It was a needle.

He had truly intended to make good on your promise.

“I- I, uh—” You stammered as you grabbed your stethoscope. Its familiar weight helped ground you. “Tell me your symptoms, please.”

Caracalla sighed and flopped onto a nearby lectus, the same one where he ate his figs a few days before. “My nose has stopped up and I have a slight cough, along with soreness on the inside of my throat. Whenever I go outside, I am beset by fits of sneezing.”

When you motioned to the collar of your tunic, it took Caracalla a few slow blinks for him to understand what you were asking. Just as clumsy as before, he struggled out of the top half of his clothes, revealing his chest to you again. This time, you noticed a few pimples dotting his skin, almost hidden by the red hair on his pectorals.

“Breathe for me. In and out, as deeply as you can.” As Caracalla obeyed, you listened for the telltale rattle of mucus. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough for it to be uncomfortable. “And these symptoms, are they recurrent? Perhaps during the changing of seasons, particularly spring?”

Surprise made Caracalla’s eyebrows furrow. “How did you know?”

It was just as you expected: seasonal allergies.

“You have…” Pausing, you removed the stethoscope from your ears, letting it hang around your neck, as you fought for a way to explain this. “When the seasons change, flowers bloom, and they release a yellow powder. For some people, when they breathe this powder, it makes them sick.” A bit of anxiety crept into your tone as you reached to press your wrist to Caracalla’s forehead. You waited for him to nod before you pressed your skin against his. He was cool to the touch. You breathed a sigh of relief. “There is no cure. In spite of this, there are ways to manage the symptoms to make it more tolerable. Has your brother not noticed you get sick with the seasons?”

Caracalla groaned and rolled his eyes. “Notice? My brother hardly leaves my side when he believes I have fallen ill. He has this delusion that I will die. We are always together, yet, somehow, he manages to supersede even that with his worry.”

“That sounds very frustrating, Caesar.” A truth. It sounded very annoying to hardly get alone time simply because of allergies.

He grinned down at you, less cruel than you’d seen it, though still at your expense. You were crouching at his feet so you could meet his eyes more comfortably. “See-zer. Even when corrected, you still speak funny.”

“It is hard to remember…” You muttered with a flush. Coughing into your fist, you changed the subject back to what you were most comfortable with: medicine. “Take a hot bath to help clear your sinuses and thin the mucus in your lungs. The more steam, the better. To help with your sore throat, I will make you a drink of chamomile and honey—“

Caracalla cut you off with a beleaguered whine. “And it is sure to taste awful, like all physicians' remedies.”

“No, no, the honey makes it sweet,” You said with a laugh. “I like chamomile, it tastes flowery and gentle. It will help you sleep as well, so be sure to take it at night.” Perhaps some thyme as well, if only to help him cough up some phlegm. It was a natural expectorant and thankfully available in Rome. “If the hot bath does not work, I will use thyme to help clear your lungs.”

Caracalla nodded, finding your explanation acceptable. “That is all?”

“Come to me if your fever worsens, and I am trusting you to do so. If you break this trust, I will find you everyday, multiple times a day, until your symptoms stop.”

There was an odd look in his eyes when he nodded. “Are you done?”

“I am done.” Your joints cracked as you stood, a small smile adorning your face. While Caracalla still frightened you, especially knowing what he intended to do to you when he first arrived, he was still yours to care for. Yours to heal. “That was not so bad?”

“No, I suppose not,” Caracalla relented. He started for the door before he froze, as if remembering something. With hurried steps, he made his way over to your desk, and took the needle back into his closed fist. You fought a shiver.

“See you next time, Caesar.” Somehow, you managed to keep your tone pleasant.

Caracalla looked at you over his shoulder, that strange, unreadable expression on his face once again. “Yes. Yes, next time, medicus. Next time.”

With that, he was gone, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts. You swallowed hard as you stared at the place the needle had been. On instinct, you pressed the tips of your fingers gently against the rim of your eyelid. They were still there. Somehow, you had managed to calm Caracalla’s anger, and, to your horror, you doubted you would be able to do it again.

A sob bubbled from between your lips and you felt white hot shame build in your gut at the weakness. Caracalla didn’t hurt you. He wanted to, but he didn’t, that had to count for something. You dug your nails into your palm. The pain helped ground you as you stuffed your emotions into a box deep inside your chest. All you had to do was never betray Caracalla’s trust and you would keep your eyes. You couldn’t stop the whimper that pulled from your throat. Geta was sure to demand an answer for what you had implied earlier, and once again, you would be trapped. Either Geta’s wrath or Caracalla’s, it was yours to pick.

The answer came to you easier than expected.

Furiously, you scrubbed your face dry and began to organize your desk. Despite the clutter, it was an easy task. Everything had a place, everything had a purpose, and you would see to it that each tablet and scroll would be of use. It was evident now, more than ever, that you had to be at your best. No faltering, no letting your tongue loose, you had to be perfect unless you wanted to suffer dire consequences. It was almost how it was when you lived with your parents and you had managed that for two decades. They expected more from you than these emperors, yet you survived, even when you thought you wouldn’t. You could do it again, for however long this dream lasted.

It wasn’t until you had put away your notes did Geta enter the clinic. Unlike his brother, he didn’t throw open the doors hard enough for them to crack against the walls, but he did enter in a way that was befitting of his status. He swept into your clinic, his gaze hard, growing even harsher when he saw the exhaustion radiating off of you in waves. His jaw set, lips pressed into a firm line.

“Medicus, I demand you tell me what my brother is hiding from me. Now!”

No beating around the bush with either emperor, you realized. You almost wished they weren’t so blunt with their displeasure, it would make navigating this game of emotional chess easier.

Instead of wincing, you managed to confine your anxiety to a minute twitch of your fingers. “I apologize, but I cannot do that, Caesar.”

Geta drew himself up, managing to become even bigger than his elegant robes would allow. The fire in his dark eyes would have frightened you if you hadn’t been threatened with blindness not even ten minutes before.

“And why is that, Alga?” He spit your nickname out like it was a vile poison.

“I promised him that anything I learn about him inside this clinic will stay between us. It is the same promise I offer you,” You kept your voice steady even as your hands trembled by your sides.

“Your promises mean nothing to me.” Geta’s nostrils flared. It was obvious that he didn’t get denied often, and for a foreigner to do so, it was enough to stoke his flaring temper. “I want to know about my brother’s health, and if you deny me again, may the gods have mercy upon you because I will not.”

You wanted to curl up into a ball and die. At least then it would be on your own terms. Letting out a sharp sigh, you ran a hand down your face and hoped being vague wasn’t enough to earn Caracalla’s wrath. “Your brother is fine, Caesar. I have already worked out a regimen for both you and him that will bolster your health. I am too tired for threats from both Caesarēs in one night.”

“Caracalla was upset with you?” Judging from the upwards twitch of his lips, that pleased him. “Considering how long I hounded him for answers, I am not surprised the second I let him go, he came to you. Shall I leave you to lick your wounds, medicus?”

You waved him off and grabbed your sphygmomanometer and stethoscope. “No need, I calmed him down.” Gesturing to the lectus Caracalla was seated on earlier, you herded Geta in its general direction. “Sit, Caesar There is something I must check.”

To your surprise, Geta looked almost impressed as he obliged. “You managed to calm my brother from one of his rages?”

Great. That implied that Caracalla was prone to outbursts. You felt more tired already.

“It was no easy feat,” You muttered. When you held out the sphygmomanometer, Geta eyed the tool with a look of disdain. “Roll up your sleeve, please.”

“Ah, the vice.” He narrowed his eyes at you, but presented his upper arm to you all the same. “I am well aware how difficult Caracalla can be. I have known him my entire life.”

After wrapping the cuff around him, you began to pump, allowing it to tighten around his upper arm. Geta’s eyes bored into you the entire time, almost waiting for you to lash out so he can call for the praetorians nearby to take your head. Of course, that never happened. You placed the end of your stethoscope to his brachial artery and listened.

Once you were done, you let out a small puff of air from your nose. “Still very high, Caesar. That is not good.”

“What exactly are you measuring,” He asked, a single suspicious eyebrow raised.

“How effectively your heart is beating.” Gently, so as not to startle him, you removed the cuff and slid it around your wrist. “You are very stressed, Emperor Geta, and that amount of stress can affect your health. I want you to take one hour a day to relax, without the aid of wine. No thinking about the empire or your brother, this is time I want you to take for yourself and solely for yourself. Along with that, I prescribe you thirty minutes of exercise per day.”

Geta blinked, as if he had been expecting anything but what you said. “No elixirs or remedies?”

“That may come later if this does not help,” You replied. Like before with Caracalla, you were crouched by his side to remain eye level with Geta. “I want you to return once every three days so I may measure your heart. If this regimen does not work, then I will come up with another option.”

Geta covered his arm up with his robes once more. “And if I do not come?”

“Caesar, please help me, help you,” You said with a tired sigh. “Nothing will happen if you do not come. There will be no retaliation or spite in my care, I simply wish to prevent any issues from arising in the future. I take my job very seriously.”

After what felt like hours, he relented. “If I find the time, I will come.”

“Thank you.” You stood to allow him to leave, when you remembered his other issue. “The sore in your mouth, how is it?”

Geta did not turn around as he spoke, “I did as you instructed and it is gone.”

A bit of pride welled in your chest. It wasn’t praise, but it was as close as you would get. Once Geta was gone — and with a flick of his wrist, he left only one praetorian behind — you recorded your notes on his health before tossing the wax tablet haphazardly on your desk. The text was in English, so there was no worry that anyone unsavory would be able to read it.

It was finally time for bed.

A/N: Okay so, funny story. The Caracalla needle scene wasn’t originally planned, it just sort of happened. My fingers took a mind of their own in the Google Docs app and when I awoke from my writing trance, he was ready to make good on sticking a needle in Alga’s eye. And, somehow, it turned out to be one of my favorite scenes. Aside from the spit cup scene, which is actually the first scene I thought of for this fic. Originally, it was going to be wine Caracalla hocked a loogie in, but I needed them to be meaner and grosser. Will there be more spit in the future, in a more blatantly sexual context? Yeah. Just a heads up.

I think this is probably my favorite chapter I’ve written! I’m starting to get into the groove of writing Geta and Caracalla and how I want to characterize them, though I will still have a slight worry they’re OOC. We march on, however! I am having soooooo much fun writing this fic, y’all don’t even know.

Also, sorry Geta lovers, my bias is showing, but the next two chapters will be Caracalla centric. At least according to my plans, who knows, I might get visions of a Geta scene that must come to fruition. We shall see.

As always, comments and feedback are much appreciated!!! They mean so much to me, and I’m going to be so real, they help motivate me to write more. But, ultimately, just reading means the world to me. Thank you so much for sticking around!! <33

Taglist: @snazzynacho @t6gse370 @cherrysweets-world @justlibra

[funeral--pyre]

#reblogged for commentary #i am really glad katedoesn'texist posted this experience #because whenever i see one of these posts #i wonder #what does the person who wrote this think I owed any of the men who have grabbed me on the street #am i allowed to walk down the street and want to not be grabbed by random people #i really like the way katedoesn'texist has addressed this part of the puzzle #anyway #tag rant #people in public #also #don't call the police

For clarity responding to the tags, there's a distinct difference between violence/harrassment and possibly scary actions that aren't directly violent. I agree with @katedoesntexist and appreciate her adding on actually, she worded it well and her response is exactly what the original post is getting at. You can't know what someone is going to do to you based on tics or stuff like that, the line is when it becomes a clear, direct threat such as following you, coming after you, getting physical or up in your face--things that cross the line between them existing in public and harrassing you directly.

As for "what does the person who wrote this think I owed any of the men who have grabbed me on the street", I'm definitely not implying that you owed them anything kind here. Regardless of how they acted before the incident, grabbing you is breaking a definite boundry and yeah, at that point you should be expected to react however you'd like--cops, getting them away, fighting back, whatever.

There's a line to be drawn and what the original post is getting at is that if someone's just being weird but they're not coming after you, then they're likely not a threat so you should leave them to their own devices. That doesn't mean you should expect everyone to be safe or kind and never be wary, its just simply that outward presenting symptoms aren't always an indicator of if someone has violent intent and that should be respected. Coming up to them or going off at them before they've done anything except act weird isn't going to help either of you and yeah, could be unsafe. Just leave em be until you need to act.

'Cause people tend to not get the memo: People acting strangely in public is not a danger to you. Pacing, talking to themselves or something you can't see, laughing to themselves, stimming, twitching, ticcing, making "weird" noises--it doesn't fucking matter. They're not your personal freak show, they're not broken, they're not a murderer and they're definitely not going to be fucking helped by you calling the authorities or anyone else on em. These actions alone are not indicative of danger to you, as a random person on the street. Shut the fuck up and move on, leave disabled people alone.

[yummyrevivalfluid]

Bad Chem

Senku x Artist Reader Pt.1

Summary: Senku and Reader meeting for the first time doesn't go so well. Who knew that a scientist and an artist would have Bad Chem.

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

~Elementary~

"Yuzuriha!" you shouted as you ran down the hill, holding a sketchbook closely to your chest. Your messenger bag bouncing by your side as you began to tumble on your own two feet, the momentum catching you off guard as you faceplant next to a metal box with wires attached.

"tch...watch where you are going you airhead!" shouted a kid with white and green hair. "You nearly broke my device!" Before you even have a moment to recover from your fall, you felt his hands pushing you away from his contraption.

"Senku!" shouted a boy you remember as Taiju. "That is not how you treat a lady!"

The boy you assume is Senku turns to look at Taiju, his face annoyed, as he groans out "huhhhhh?!?!?!"

"It’s okay!" you cheered. "I'm okay anyway! But where did my....NOOOO!!!"

You quickly crawled over to where your notebook lay, the paper crumbled and dirtied by the dirt. "My sketches...." You picked up your ruined sketchbook and showed Yuzuriha what remained of your sketches. "I had some designs for you..." You flipped the pages as Yuzuriha and Taiju watched with amazement at your creativity. Each page filled with color, each page with a different muse from before, each page with a different art medium as you experimented, pushing the limits of your creativity.

"These are beautiful..." Yuzuriha breathed out, her fingers tracing the designs of a dress you had envisioned for her. "I can't wait to get started!" she beamed, her eyes becoming stars as she was determined to make your art reality.

"I don't get what's so amazing about those blotches of color...waste of paper if you ask me." Senku grumbled as he began to tinker with his device. Stunned at his words, you walked over to where Senku was and pointed a finger at his face as you shouted, "You take that back! Art is beautiful!"

"Art is a waste of resources and it's a waste of time." Senku challenged back. He was scowling at you, "Who would want to stain their hands with ink because of art? I would much rather stain my hands with grease from the work of science!" He had an evil grin on his face as he wiped his palm on your shirt, the ‘grease of science’ staining you.

"Science!?!" you shouted with disgust, lacing your words, your nose shriveled at the thought of science. Just the word itself made you sick. "Science sucks!"

"You're just too dumb to understand it." Senku argued back.

"Nuh uh!" you whined as you kicked at the box Senku was working on. "Science is for losers like you!"

"wowwww such an original insult. Never heard of that one before." Senku said sarcastically.

Taiju and Yurzuriha watched as you and Senku bickered back and forth. Until they both had to hold you back before you were at each other's throat. You had flinged your scissors at him and he tried to electrocute your back.

"Ishigami Senku!" you shouted as Yuzuriha was currently struggling to pull you away, "you just made an enemy!"

"An enemy of Science?!" Senku laughed, despite Taiju carrying him off. "Heh, as if I CONSIDER AN AIRHEAD A THREAT!”

 ~Middle School Time-skip~

Senku was irritated. His experiment kept failing, constantly revising his formulas and blueprints, and still can’t find the issue. It didn’t help that you were yet again obnoxiously loud. Waiving your hands around yet again as you explained that “Love is beauty! Beauty is art!” or whatever topic that you try to infest your love of art in.

“Music is beauty. Love is beauty. Art is beauty.” Senku repeated your words at you, his eyes twitching at you, “What if I said shit is beauty. Are you calling shit, art?” Senku snickered as your facial expression changed from joy to annoyed.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder!” you stated, crossing your arm at Senku as you came face to face with him, “only you would think shit is beauty…”

“Art is subjective. Art isn’t consistent and therefore illogical to entertain.”

“Doesn’t matter if it makes sense or not! To me, art is beautiful. I only paint things or people that I find beautiful. My muses are my love!” you grabbed Senku’s blueprints off the table and shoved them in his chest, “Just as these inventions of yours, these are things that you create. These are your muses, your art is…science” you grumbled the last part out. You despised science, but you had to acknowledge Senku’s art, whether you liked it or not, it’s as what he said, “art is subjective.”

Senku sighed at your overly dramatic explanation, “Still means shit can be art.”

Once again Taiju and Yuzuriha had to pull you away from each other before you stab Senku with your brushes, and to stop Senku from throwing his flasks at you.

“What an airhead.”

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

 A/n: Thank you for reading. I have never written anything for DCST fandom before, so I apologize if I write anyone ooc.

I want to write a pt.2, but who knows when I’ll publish it, all depending on how my classes go.

Sneak Peak Idea for Pt.2:

Senku x Artists Reader (Tutor) Pt.2 : Reader seeks Senku's Help. The reader finds herself nearly failing all courses involving science and math, what a shocker! Senku can’t help but give the reader a hard time as she asks him to be her tutor. Maybe during some study sessions, Senku might find something he least expects to find in her sketchbooks. To find someone unexpected to be her muse…

[luckysalbum]

How the different jjk characters would react to you threatening to hit them (affectionately ofc)

Gojo: "don't threaten me with a good time"

Geto: side eyes you and calls you a worthless monkey.

Nanami: walks away bc he doesn't have the time to entertain your bullshit he's employed.

Shoko: would slap you back

Toji: "dont make threats you cant keep woman" but he would stop whatever he's doing bc this is your house and he cant risk being kicked out. (He wouldn't easily find someone else as mentally fucked as you to let him stay rent free)

Choso: would lowk start yapping abt you being similar to yujis very close personal friend megumi.

Sukuna: would set you on fire

Mahito: would turn you into a ping pong ball to use when playing against Kenjaku

Can you tell I made this bc I was inspired by gojo the freak.

[loveandmurders]

Never forget: ya're a Sinclair (Sinclair brothers x adopted Sinclair sister!reader - Part III finale)

And here we go for the last part of this little series. Let's be honest this is my favourite chapter, the ending makes me feel so good.

You can find the imagine and the other parts of this series here :

A little imagine // Part 1 // Part 2

Hope you'll enjoy! <3

Warnings: no proof reading, jealous and overprotective!Sinclair brothers, mentions of sickness, death and blood, very morally grey reader, mentions of the Sinclair brothers desiring you, a few strong words, violence feels a little bit too good

The next morning, you were a little bit surprised to find the three men already settled at the kitchen table. They were so deeply focused on their conversation that they didn’t hear you coming. 

“What’s up?” you asked and they all jumped and looked up at you.

“Ah hello, darl’” Bo hummed as he got up for his good morning hug. Your two other brothers did the same. They all hugged you a little bit longer and tighter than usual. 

You noticed they didn’t answer you right away, so you quietly started to eat before Vincent started to sign to you:

“What do you want to do about your “family”?” he asked and you felt how tense they all were, waiting for your answers like lions ready to jump on their prey. 

They had always been very protective of you, but it felt different than usual. A new kind of fire was burning through their veins. You could tell they were ready to destroy everything if it meant keeping you theirs. You were reassured because it meant your parents were wrong about you - you were loved and lovable -, but you were also quite curious about this.

“I don’t really know. I kinda just want to let the karma deal with them. I mean, Lydia will die if I don’t do anything, and her husband’ll lose it without her. Being that powerless will destroy him.” you replied with a little shrug. 

The night had brought you a lot of peace, especially after having spent the evening being cuddled and looked after by the Sinclairs.

“There is still the other one” Bo groaned and Vincent and Lester quickly nodded their heads in agreement with that

“The other one? Sean?” you hummed with a raised eyebrow. You had to admit that it was amusing you a little bit to see them acting like that. “You’re jealous?” you teased

“Ya ain’t needin’ anyone else in your life but us. He’s a threat to this family” Bo replied, his eyes seemed darker than usual.

So that was a yes.

“He is no threat” you tried to reassure them

“If ya ain’t lettin’ us kill him, then he is” Bo argued back and you were a little bit stunned.

“So it’s not about what I want to do to them, it’s about what you want to do to Sean” you replied “I don’t care about him” you said, even though a little part of you still wanted to know more of him “But I do care about you, and my parents would quickly know something happened to him. They would call the police and the lead would easily drive them to Ambrose. I can’t let you do something that stupid.” you tried to reason with them.

“We can find ways, do ya think we’re idiots?” Lester asked and you were a little bit taken aback that even Lester was so eager to have Sean dead.

“They know about Ambrose, even if they don’t know where it is. Yet. Look, I know you’re good at killing and smart, but this is very unnecessary. Sean is no threat. You’re the ones I love.” you said, getting a little bit worried now

“Of course we are” Bo smiled but it didn’t fully reached his eyes

“Look, I need to go to work. We’ll continue this conversation tonight.” you said, trying to get away from this for the moment. 

You stood up.

“Lester’ll drive ya to work this morning, and I’ll come get ya tonight” Bo said. 

And it wasn’t a question. You watched them all, in complete bewilderment. It was the first time they were acting that way, the first time they didn’t care about your freedom as long as it meant you were safe and by their side. You could tell how thin the line between siblings and lovers was getting now. You didn’t know what to say; you wanted to argue back but it was obvious the three men wouldn’t back off.

“You don’t trust me?” you finally asked

“We don’t trust him. And we want ya to be safe.” Lester tried to smooth things out

“Somethin’ wrong with that plan, love? Maybe ya wanted to spend some time with Sean without tellin’ us?” Bo asked, he wasn’t hiding his paranoia or jealousy at all

“Of course not” you simply shook your head; you didn’t want to upset them any more they already were

“Then it’s settled” Bo hummed and you found yourself nodding. 

You looked at Lester

“Do we go?” you softly asked and Lester got up. 

You kissed the twins on their cheeks before leaving the house with Lester.

You settled in his truck without a word, and Lester started the engine. After a little while of driving, Lester couldn’t stand your silence so he put a hand on your knee. His eyes never left the roads.

“Hey, sorry ‘bout that. It’s just that ya’re very important to us. And we don’t wanna anyone hurtin’ ya… Or takin’ ya away from us.” he tried to explain. You nodded

“Of course and I really appreciate it. You know, I was worried that… I don’t know…Maybe that you’d agree with my parents or that you’d want me to join them. And you are clearly showing me that you won’t do this but… But isn’t it a little bit extreme?” you replied

“In no world, we’d’ve wanted ya to leave us… Or to let ya leave us. We’d go crazy without ya, ya know. And I'd like to admit we are overreactin’ but… But it feels right knowin’ we are keepin’ ya safe by our side” Lester sent you a quick glance as he felt his cheeks reddening. 

You were speechless. If Lester was behaving that way, you couldn't even imagine what the twins were thinking or feeling about all of this. 

“I didn’t except any of you to react that way” you admitted

“We love ya” Lester said as if it was explaining it all

“I know” you smiled and relaxed. “I love you the three of you too”

One thing was certain, the little voice inside your head, the one that had tried to remind you that you were unlovable and unloved, shut up. You thanked Lester for the ride as he parked in front of your work and kissed his cheek. He happily hummed and let you go. 

You barely had the time to settle in your office before receiving a new message from Sean. He told you how sorry he was. He wanted things to be fixed, he wanted you to be part of the family, no matter his mother’s conditions, no matter if you didn’t want to help her. He said he saw things in you he would like to discover, he said he needed to take care of his sister, he promised you a happy life. Of course, you knew he was trying to manipulate you. You wondered if you shouldn’t delete his message because if your boys ever read this, they would lock you up inside Ambrose. 

You did that, just to be safe.

Days passed, Sean tried to contact you again and again, while the Sinclairs tried to convince you to kill everyone over and over again. They wouldn’t do anything without your consent, but it was driving them crazy. 

In the meantime, Lester and Bo drove you to work and back home everyday. They were all a lot more attentive to you, a lot more demanding for affection as well, and a lot more gentle. You were really caught up between two families, both sweet talking to you to hide how dangerous they were. But only one truly loved you, and you knew it. You didn’t mind the way the Sinclairs were acting toward you, in all honesty. It felt nice; you were really their little matriarch. The price was they were completely terrified you would leave, even though you clearly said you didn’t want to do anything with Sean or the rest of your biological family. But as long as you refused them to be killed, the Sinclairs weren’t able to fully believe you.

You knew you needed to make a decision at some point; and yet it felt too wrong to kill them all. To kill Sean. You couldn’t be angry at him for having your parents’ love: it wasn’t his fault if you had been abandoned. You weren’t too sure how long things would stay like that.

And it seemed that fate decided it was enough after a few weeks.

You were at work when you received a message from Lester: He found Ambrose 

You didn’t understand what that could mean; or you didn’t want to understand. You closed your office door and dialled Lester’s number.

“Hey” he softly whispered as he answered his phone right away

“What’s going on?” you asked, biting on your bottom lip

“Sean. I met him on the road. Thought he was a tourist but I understood who he was when he asked me where Ambrose was. I asked him why he needed to go there and he said that he was pretty sure that his sister was still livin’ in there, even though he couldn’t find the place on the maps.”

You stayed silent, you didn’t know what to think, what to feel, what to say. You felt a lump in your throat and then you became very nauseous. You felt tears in your eyes too. Lester worried over your absence of reaction. He called your name twice before you went back to reality.

“This can’t be happening” you said

“Bo and Vincent won’t kill him without your consent” Lester said, thinking you were afraid of what was going to happen to your brother. “I warned them about his arrival. Bo will probably just talk to him, to try and drive him away from you.” Lester continued

“I… Look, I’m coming over” you finally said

“The twins can deal with this. I can promise you…” Lester started but you cut him off

“No, no. Ambrose… Ambrose can’t be stained with his presence” you finally whispered, without even realising what you were saying before hanging up.

You quickly got up and grabbed your stuff. You went to your boss and told him you really needed to go, that something happened to your family. You had never left work like that and your look of pure distress convinced him you were saying the truth, so he let you go. Actually, you would have let him fire you if it meant being allowed to go to Ambrose right away.

Ambrose had always been your safe place. You were happy to come back home every night, to spend time with your real family, to be away from reality. It was your bubble. And you couldn’t let anyone other than the Sinclairs go there. You felt a new kind of panic you never felt before. The thought of Sean in your home was making you feel awfully sick. Bo had been right, the man was a threat to your family, to your happiness, to Ambrose.

You couldn’t let this happen.

You drove to Ambrose and when you arrived and saw Sean’s car parked near Bo’s shop, some crazy thoughts washed over you. You had thought that you were simply going to give Sean some money for him to leave. But now you started to feel pure anger and disgust. No, it couldn’t be so easy for people so cruel to you. They couldn’t win. You went into Bo’s shop, grabbed a screwdriver and punctured two tires of his vehicle. 

“If he wanted to come to Ambrose that badly, he won’t ever leave it” you whispered to yourself. 

You put the screwdriver back to its place before opening one of the counter drawers. You found the small gun that Bo was hiding there, just in case he would need it with the tourists. You put it in your pants and walked toward the house.

You found Bo and Lester sitting at the kitchen table with Sean. Vincent was listening to the conversation from behind the basement door. He just wanted to jump and kill the man, but he knew he couldn’t do that without your approval. Sean smiled at you when he saw you. You licked your dry lips. Bo was trying very hard to be his charming self but he only dreamt of destroying Sean. Lester was just there to make sure the twins didn’t kill him, even if he wanted him dead too.

“What are you doing here?” you asked Sean who smiled even more

“Wanted to meet your family. You spoke so much of them. I thought it was important for them to meet me as well, so we can all be friends.” the man replied

“You shouldn’t have come” you simply said and Sean arched an eyebrow at you. 

You heard the basement door being opened and you saw Bo and Lester sitting up. The three men noticed how strained your voice was. There was something dangerous about it. Even Sean felt it.

“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you. It was really not my point.” he said “Truth to be told… I hoped your family and yourself would understand that you are needed. Mom… Mom is at the hospital right now, but if we can’t pay, they won’t keep her” he explained and real tears appeared in his eyes. 

“So you came here, instead of staying by her side” you snapped

“They had lost hope in you, but I didn’t. You are my sister” Sean replied and you let out a very dry laugh at that.

“So they don’t know you’re here?” you asked and Sean shook his head

“Mom’s out of it today and dad’s completely focused on her. He thinks I’m trying to get a loan from a bank.” Sean said.

He was hoping to sound pathetic enough for you to feel bad and to help him out. But he simply signed his death warrant. You walked closer to the table, right in front of him. You quickly grabbed the gun before aiming at him. 

“Wow, wow, okay, Y/N, what… what’s going on?” Sean panicked

“I’m a Sinclair, you piece of shit. No one harasses me, no one fucks with me and no one comes into my home uninvited.” you said “You thought I’d be an easy prey, hmm? You thought you could come here and make me feel trapped in my own fucking home?” Sean got up and tried to beg you. “You are the mouse here, and I’m the cat. And since you so wanted to play with me, I’ll play with you. I’ll give you 5 minutes head start”

He didn’t have time to understand, you simply shot him in the thigh, twice. 

The sound of the shots was deafening but you enjoyed it. You enjoyed the blood instantly spreading through his clothes. You enjoyed his scream of pain as he fell to the ground. You enjoyed how he tried to run away.

Bo and Vincent were ready to rush after him, but you called them and sat down. They looked back at you.

“I said he had 5 minutes head start” you told them as you put a timer on your phone “Don’t get me wrong, ya’re amazin’ and incredibly hot, but even with two bullets in the leg, he can manage to drive” Bo told you with urgence

“Not without two working tires” you smiled and the three men watched you as if you were their queen, desire for you rushing through their whole bodies.

Sean finished in the House of Wax, Lydia died in a pathetic motel room, Mark killed himself the next morning.

And no one ever mourned them.

[thewickedbohemian]

You've got a lot of assumptions about my position, I'd like to consider myself firmly on the left but I've seen a lot of so-called leftists with really extreme rhetoric I don't really like. E.g. the whole if-being-a-politician-makes-you-inherently-right-wing-because-hierarchy-and-money thing was inspired by someone on Reddit I saw call Bernie and AOC (the closest we have to leftist politicians at least in the eyes of many) controlled-opposition shills or w/e for simply being politicians and therefore "being part of the system". I've also seen a lot of people online not understanding that "eat the rich" was not an imperative to be taken literally but part of a piece of figurative language in context and a lot of people forgetting the history of post-revolutionary France and treating the guillotine like it's some kind of deus ex machina of "you use it on the people in power you disagree with and all your problems go away". I agree with your point about peaceful resistance (at least I think that's what it's about) I just think more people with similar beliefs to mine need to understand it's not just marching with picket signs chanting slogans. Also another quote that I've seen these kinds of left-wingers I have a problem with treat like gospel is "if voting changed anything, it would be illegal" when I've heard that quote attributed to at least two different historical figures (Mark Twain and Emma Goldman) which makes its veracity dubious to me.

TL;DR I would consider myself a leftist and I was only mad at a certain other sort of more radical leftist but I'm not mad at the idea of overthrowing capitalism I'm mad at e.g. the leftists that crawl out of the woodwork when there's something like a writers' strike thinking that the only true workers and non-parasites are people whose manual labor produces a physical product or the leftists that think violent revolution is the only way to go because peaceful protests of the past haven't accomplished all their goals and something something France something something Russia something something MLK could not have succeeded without the threat of Malcolm X or the leftists that think it's immoral to buy anything but basic necessities (that must be bought from a local Purely Ethical^TM store) while major social issues are happening

[kittyprincess756]

Hmm humans are very social beings. So are transformers.

In order to survive we developed skills that would help us point out possible threats for life. We learned to feel pain, learned to be afraid of the unknown, learned that when we have others around us we are more likely to survive. So did transformers, and they even have the same goal to reproduce themselves. In a way different from our but still

I wonder what equivalent do transformers have to our crying? It's not like it's impossible for them to cry, but they have some very important differences from our physiology.

Main difference is sound for sure, since there's no lungs and no speech apparatus to go crazy and choke on air and whine.

We of course have some hormonal differences but hormones are a part of homeostasis, which is very much dictated by our genome which is basically a code of our body programme.

Do transformers have a programme? For sure, so there might be some instincts and vegetative reactions, and hormones are a part of vegetative nervous system. So transformers might have something compared to our hormones and might have same reactions to same situations as we do thanks to those... let's call em veg signals.

So what's the difference? Well human crying is caused by excessive amount of stress hormone and this guy makes our whole body work faster, and the same is happening with bots, but as we are filled with some sort of threat for life we seek for safety, and one of these safe things are probably other people. We have a physical need to be close to someone when we are scared, and that's why people might yell or cry when distressed, to call someone to help.

But bots, do they have any of those physical needs? How would they call others for help? What is safety for them?

Feeling of safety takes second place in Maslow's pyramid of needs, and well I think that it fits transformers quite good. And since transformers are very social there should be some safety needs satisfied with the help of society. Like holding hands, hugging, looking in one's eyes, showing your hands etc. Sex including.

But returning to og question, what might be transfomer equivalent of crying? What would make bots feel an urge to help others? Maybe there would be some visual aspects, different from our human change in posture and accelerated metabolism... for sure there would be some special signals varying in intensity and message

[gamebunny-advance]

Hah.

I'm not a linguist, so I don't have the terms to really describe what I'm explaining, but I like how the latest Pikmin comic implies that the Pikmin language probably doesn't contain specific words for specific items. Instead, it seems like they communicate almost strictly with descriptive language.

While it's possible that "bulborb" and "mushroom" are just similar sounding words in the Pikmin language, I think the implication is that their language is very context-sensitive, so missing any part of a message can significantly change its meaning.

So for example, "bulborb" might be something like "dangerous spotted big red" in the Pikmin language, then the yellow pikmin might have misheard the "dangerous" part and just heard "spotted big red" which would be their word for "mushroom."

It's very fascinating~

[trixxedheart]

It is amazing how the "people that love and uplift transwomen" website will instantly fucking maul a transwoman if she even remotely insinuate that using radfem rhetoric harms trans people

[turtle-in-the-mums]

To my mind this is an "caught in the spotlight" moment. These two realize they're exposed, and for whatever reason they aren't trying to escape or attack. There's got to be a good story behind this.

The loose "sketch" style of the drawing adds to the feeling of a raw, rough confrontation, as do the clear scars Raph's sporting and the lines of Leo's bicep. This is a pair of hardened street fighters who expect to have to defend themselves and each other from deadly threats for nothing more than being who and what they are, and Leo at least resents it. "I'm a mutant, but that doesn't give you the right to hunt me and my brother down like we're rabid animals." Raph's expression says he's past the point of even wishing things could be different. "Yeah, yeah, scream, call us monsters, can we just get to the part where we pound you into the pavement?" At the same time, there's still an air of youth to them. Leo in particular looks small and not yet finished putting on adult muscle. He at least might be willing to listen to an offer of alliance, if not to trust anyone outside his family.

The "shadow" images behind them are wonderful as allusions to their lives as ninjas. The most distinguishable elements of those shadows are their eyes and their weapons. I love art that hints at a story and the minds of the characters in it. Kudos!

Team Swag

[stealingyourbones]

I’m so tired with people continuing to tag me in posts with tags in the posts implying I’m attempting to gatekeep dpxdc.

I’m just asking folks to read some wikis or maybe watch a DC tv show to get more ideas because the content in DC is so expansive. I’ve been trying to push this since July of 2022.

I’m writing it like this so people just understand. I just want to show folks the cool thing I enjoy and That theres so much more content to play with when you either do (or don’t idk at this point bro) choose to look more into the greater fandoms of the Crossover.

You can write whatever you want, I would just think it would be cool to see the looking into cool DC stuff by the community.

I’m not gatekeeping or trying to prevent people from writing fanfic. I read all forms of dpxdc fics at every level of fanon to canon to AUs to Ghost AUs.

I’m just trying to push a cool thing I like to show other people the cool thing I like?

[the-real-list-of-ominous-threats]

if anyone has no idea what I've been talking about recently, I suggest you go to @fanonical or @nyancrimew , who explain this better than I ever could, but from what I can tell, basically staff has been ignoring reports of harassment against trans women, one member of staff was actively banning trans users, and the CEO started a smear campaign against a trans woman because she jokingly said she wished he would get exploded with hammers (you know, the kind of thing I say regularly--because he wasn't doing anything to protect trans users and hired the aforementioned transphobic staff member), claiming that it was 'a death threat' and that she was 'being violent'....nevermind that she was getting much worse anon harassment with actual death threats on the regular. And then when he banned her and she went to a different site, he followed her there to continue the smear campaign instead of being normal and dropping the subject.

[waystarresourceco]

Alan Ruck on Conor and Logan's relationship (and a little look into why Connor wasn't a contender for heir apparent). (x)