#1k - 2k words

[bistec-musings]

COOPER! COOP! THE PEOPLE DOWN AT THE BUREAU ARE ACCUSING YOU AND THE SHERIFF OF SOMETHING KNOWN AS DOOMED YAOI. YOURE FUJOING OUT THEYRE SAYING. NOW I STAND WITH YOU COOP I AM A BIT OF A FUJOSHI MYSELF BUT THEYRE NOT TOO HAPPY ABOUT THIS DOWN IN WASHINGTON.

[loveyouinthemeantime]

can you kiss people platonically. is that a thing

[moookar]

Don’t ever let me render a shitpost again

Someone please use one of these as a profile picture. I think it would be really funny

[s0larize]

[gracieblood]

found this on pinterest CHAOTIC EVIL GANG STAND UPPP

[vindicia]

THE X-FILES || 4x17 "Tempus Fugit"

[sachi]

☆ Hatsune Miku // VOCALOID "Yumekawa Princess" ☆ TENITOL / FuRyu ☆ May 2024 ¥6,160 ☆ Sculpt Tokunaga Fumiyoshi Paint Take Illustration Uehara Eku

[virescent-v]

Subconsciously Green-Eyed

Summary: Jealousy? Emily's never heard of it.

A/N: So...I tried to challenge myself to do a 500 word drabble. I didn't make it. LMAO. But lucky for ya'll you get two fics from me within 24 hours! There's no warnings to this one; there's no smut.

Word Count: 983

Emily cast her glance back and forth across the table. It wasn’t unlike her team to joke and lighten the mood during debriefs, but something about this instance was getting under her skin. 

She eyeballed the table, looking intently at each person present trying to figure out what was bothering her. It was the usual group of people; Tara, Penelope, JJ, Luke, and Dave. But there was also a new addition to the table. 

A young, attractive agent from New York. A bright mind in the Cyber Division office, if she were to go by what your section chief said. You were down in DC helping out on the case they were currently working on. Everyone on the team was besotted with you already after only having known you for two days. 

You were a bright light in the otherwise bleak office. You were average in height, but loud in personality. Your optimism rivaled that of Penelope, as did your technological savviness, and your humor meshed well with both Tara and Luke. You were confident and extroverted without being cocky and knowledgeable without being a know-it-all. 

Everyone was captivated by you, trying to work closely with you over the past couple of days. You had knowledge that seeped into various topics that made you an asset at the round table. More importantly, you were creative with directions to take the case that opened up a few different leads that impressed everyone, including Emily. 

As Emily continued surveying the table, you were in the middle of a funny story from your first New York case and everyone around it had their eyes on you. You were leaning lightly into Penelope’s personal space, your hand on her arm, sharing a quick giggle at something techy. You made sure to make eye contact with everyone around the table, keeping everyone’s attention on you. It felt natural, the way you worked the small crowd, and Emily could tell that each member was enamored with you. 

She noticed that Tara and Luke’s eyes were more heavily focused on you than the others, something dark and gleaming. Watching them watch you, their eyes trailing sneakily but lazily over your body, Emily could feel something swelling inside of her. Something unnamed, something she hadn’t felt before. 

As she was internally cataloging whatever feelings were swirling inside her, she didn’t notice the room clear out leaving only herself and you. 

You noticed Emily’s distraction during the past few minutes, especially as the team made their way out and she stayed behind. Her gaze was directed at the table top, but it looked befuddled, distant. 

“Agent Prentiss?” When you didn’t receive any response, you timidly walked around the table and gently put your hand on her arm. You spoke quietly, not wanting to scare her out of her reverie. “Emily?” 

Regardless of your trying to be soft spoken, Emily still startled, jumping a little. “Wha- oh. Sorry, I was in another world.” 

You laughed lightly, breaking the tension a bit. “I could tell. Is everything okay?” 

Emily cleared her throat, still unsure of how to name the emotions rippling inside her. “Oh, ye-yeah. It’s nothing. Just a lot on my mind.” She looked around, finally registering that the team had left. “Are you enjoying DC?” 

You tilted your head a little at her, your eyes softening. “I am. It’s a nice change of pace from New York,” you stepped a little closer to the section chief. “I really like the team. Everyone’s, uh, great.” 

Emily had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Go figure you enjoyed the attention of her agents. She figured you probably noticed the glances that some of them were throwing your way, your personality clinging to the admiration. “I can tell,” she said with just a hint of something venomous. 

Your head tilted a little further as you scrutinized her. You were not as proficient in profiling, but you weren’t blind. You leaned back on the table and crossed your arms over your chest, regarding Emily with a hint of amusement. “Agent Prentiss, are you jealous of my newly budding relationships with your team?” 

“Jeal-? Jealous? No, no. Why, why would I be jealous?” 

Emily felt her face flush, confused by the emotions rushing through her. Was it jealousy? But why would she be jealous of her team showing you attention? 

“It doesn’t take a profiler to spot jealousy.” You walked closer to her, close enough that you could feel her body heat. “You’re stuttering over your words when you’re normally very well spoken. Your hands are clenched at your sides right now.” You trailed your hands over Emily’s hands, loosening them. You trailed your hands up her arms, keeping your eyes on Emily and her reactions. 

As your hands brushed her shoulders, Emily’s breath caught. “I can feel your muscles, you’re pretty tense right now.” Your hands continued north, brushing the underside of her jaw. “You’ve been clenching your teeth and frowning with narrowed eyes since you noticed Luke and Tara checking me out.” You trailed your thumb over her lower lip, which she had pulled between her teeth at your movements. “So, yeah, I’m not a profiler, Agent Prentiss, but all signs point to jealousy,” you said, arching your eyebrow. 

Emily slowly released a breath, gently closing her eyes in a way to relax herself. “Maybe I am jealous,” she whispered. 

You watched as Emily steeled herself, confidence lighting up her eyes. You grinned fondly as you gently shook your head, opening your body language as Emily prepared herself. 

“I think,” she started, her hands landing on your hips. “To avoid all further jealousy, I should beat Tara and Luke to the punch.” She took a deep breath. “Want to get dinner with me tonight?” 

You couldn’t suppress the teasing smile that broke out across your face. “Why, Agent Prentiss, I thought you’d never ask.” 

[maruyaaya]

CHAPTER 3 OF MY NEOMACHUS FIC "someday i know you'll come to your senses" IS OUT NOW!!!

you can check it out HERE!!

[notsofrozt]

Thinking about my This Day Aria (a.k.a Canterlot Wedding AU) MoShang fic... I need a way to replace "love magic laser beam" at the end. My outline already covers the first two 3/4s of the og plot, and I'm going to remove the part about collecting the elements of harmony because, well, those doesn't exist here. No magic stones to save the day.

Maybe SQH and MBJ kiss, summoning all the ice magic of the North, and freeze OG SQH to death, turning him into an ice statue? Idk if I want to kill him that way, tho...

Deep down, I feel like I want to save OG SQH. His first reaction upon incarnating in a rotting mushroom body in the world of SVSSS was to try to help SQH escape MBJ's claws, thinking he was in the same situation at him pre neck-snapping. I think I've grown fond of the blorbo and if bad, why fren shaped?

The obstacle between me and him not dying is the Airplane itself. Dude is boiling in rage, his husband almost got stolen away with mind control fuckery!! His pepino bro almost died too!!! He wants revenge. He is getting the revenge, admin/god powers and all.

What a dilemma...

[kettledemon]

This is the day I reveal I’m Very delusional about the wens and specifically Wen Ruohan

[soursweetnessofmind]

Hi there. I love anything Clexa. How about a misunderstanding or fight. (Bonus points for lots of angst 🫣)

I'll be waiting for you

Youth is unripe and terribly sweet. It’s an unforgiving hurricane that either sweeps aside or devours anything it might encounter; it’s the beginning of something new, exciting, and emotional. But it is also the death of a past, of comfort and childhood, and of a lot of rulers one thought governed the world around them. Sometimes there are too many thoughts in your head and too many emotions in your heart for you to be able to put everything into words; sometimes you’re just caught red-handed, and there’s no amount of wishing to go back that actually feels enough to describe the pitying void inside you, weakening your legs and stinging your eyes, and FUCK.

Lexa really wishes she saw this coming.

But she didn’t. And now, as she runs through the streets towards the Griffin residence, she knows she’ll pay the price.

Her lungs burn, and there’s an ache spreading all over her body, but it’s not the exertion of the run; it's the remembrance of the haunted look in Clarke’s eyes. I didn’t know she would kiss me, Lexa tries to reason with herself, tries to think of what the hell she’ll say to Clarke after everything she saw at the diner. I didn’t know, I swear. She said she needed a friend; she said her father was being his shitty self again and she had no one else to talk to beside me. She didn’t want to open up about this to anyone else but me. If you saw everything, you saw I pushed her. You saw I didn't really kiss her. There’s no one else I want other than you. I’m so fucking sorry.

The house looms on the horizon, and the gods might’ve started to take pity on Lexa because, thankfully, there’s only Clarke’s baby blue car sloppily packed in the driveway, which means Lexa’s guess is right and she did come home instead of running to Raven’s, where Lexa would probably get shot at by Clarke’s best friend before getting any words out. Having this conversation in front of Ms. Griffin also feels unfathomable, so yeah, things are really starting to smile at Lexa right now.

Hopefully, Clarke will too. soon.

She almost slams herself against the front door to knock, not really slowing down as much as she thought she would. Taking lungfuls of breaths, she knocks again, almost as strongly. “Clarke!” she shouts. “Please, baby. Talk to me. Please please, please.” no answer. She knocks again. “I know you’re there, Clarke. Let me explain, please.” Still no answer.

Her phone buzzes.

Anya: dued what the fuckkkkkk

Anya: lexa

Anya: what

Anya: the

Anya: fuck

Anya: im gonna wait for you at home.

Anya: GO HOME.

Anya: NOW.

Anya: RAVEN WILL GET OCTAVIA AND SOON THEY’LL BE MARCHING FOR YOUR HEAD DOWN THE STREETS.

Anya: also please. for the love of god.

Anya: STEER AWAY FROM HER HOUSE

Anya: DO NOT GO TO CLARKE’S HOUSE RIGHT NOW.

Anya: if i have to rescue your remains from the griffins backyard im gonna be really pissed at you when we meet again in the afterlife. im waiting for you. go home. we r gonna talk and figure this out. i know something is wrong. ik you wouldnt do this to her.

Costia: I’m sorry

Costia: I don’t know what came over me

Costia: i just miss you.

Costia: a lot.

Costia: and im still sorry for what i did and for the harm i’ve cause. but if things don’t end up well w griffin, please know you can still come to me

Costia: maybe we can try again

Costia: god that’s so fucked up, right? im so sorry lexa. forget everything. thanks for today. i miss you. please talk to me again when you can xx.

What the fuck?

Breathing still labored, Lexa shoves her phone in her pocket as she rounds the house. There’s an enormous tree by its side, a tree Lexa is familiar enough with its branches and leaves not to hesitate or slow down as she starts to climb it. The strongest branch is close to Clarke’s window for her to make an entrance without much fuss. It’s only when she steps inside, that the girl in lying facing down on her bed notices her presence.

Clarke looks like a wild thing right now. Blonde curls mussed, rimmed wet eyes, and a flushed face that’s beginning to swell. She looks terribly beautiful like this, which is very unfair right now in Lexa’s opinion, and it’s not really helping her calm her racing heart or come up with anything to say to the girl. Her girl.

Lexa takes one step, and Clarke backs off, like a caged animal.

“Baby-”

“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me,” Clarke cries. “Why are you here? Get back to your date.”

“It wasn’t a date!” Lexa cries, fear and anxiety pumping her heart. “We were just talking.”

“She kissed you, Lexa.”

“But I didn't kiss her!” Lexa gets closer; now Clarke’s just an arm’s length away. “We were just talking, and she kissed me. I didn’t know she’d do that, Clarke. I didn’t want it. I swear to you.”

Fresh tears gather in Clarke’s eyes. “You lied to me,” she whispers, sounding so small and so broken it’s hard for Lexa to control her own emotions. “You said you were helping Anya, but instead I caught you kissing your ex in a diner, Lexa. You told me you and Costia didn’t speak anymore. You told me you were at Anya’s.” Frustration is starting to slip through Clarke’s tone, and now, instead of utterly sad, she looks awfully mad too.

When Lexa doesn’t respond, Clarke squints her eyes. “Well, didn’t you want to talk? Why did you lie to me, Lexa?” When again the blonde is met with silence, her patience starts to run thin. “Say something!” she cries.

I thought I could do both. I thought I could be a friend to Costia and still get back and be yours, hold you to me. I didn’t say anything because if I did, I knew you would be upset. I knew the next time Bellamy or Niylah or anybody else that has feelings for you called for a friendly outing, you would go too. I fucked up first because I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of this. But now, as I look at you like this, I feel like the dumbest loser on earth. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa gulps and keeps her mouth shut. Nothing else feels good enough to be said now; everything swirling around in her brain is either too honest or too stupid to be said out loud. Neither the truth nor a lie feels good enough to Clarke. “She said she needed a friend; her father can be a real asshole most of the time. I- I thought that was all she wanted, a friendly shoulder to cry on.”

Clarke huffs. “I told you she still had feelings for you.”

(They’re lying together against the soft grass of the backyard, flushed from the proximity and all the alcohol consumed. They keep kissing and holding each other close, and honestly, Lexa has never felt more loved than right now. There’s no grand gesture of romance, just the softness of Clarke’s fingertips as they contour her face and the way her eyes shine bright when looking at Lexa.

“I just think she likes you,” Clarke says, while making a face. “I believe in you. But I don’t think the same applies to her. She’s still into you. It’s in the way she looks at you and in how she talks when I'm around.” A hand comes to her face. “I feel so stupid saying this; maybe it's stupid, right? I-"

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” Lexa says softly, reaching for the hand Clarke used to cover her eyes. “Costia and I were good friends before we started to date, and honestly, now I see that’s what we should’ve remained. Friends. That’s all I see her as now.” Lexa brought their faces closer. “I’m into somebody else, if you couldn’t tell")

Before Lexa can answer, a loud knock comes from Clarke’s bedroom door. “Princess?” Bellamy asks softly.

Lexa huffs a humorless laugh. “ Of course.” How did he even got into the house?

Clarke merely squints her eyes at her but replies to Bellamy nonetheless. “Bel, not now.”

“Look, Clarke, I-”

“Are you deaf or something? She said not now. Piss off, Blake.” Lexa says before she can help herself.

“What’s wrong with you?” Clarke asks, outraged. “You can’t talk to him like that. He’s not in the wrong here.”

“I just think it’s funny he’s the first to come running to your feet the moment he discovers something has gone wrong between us.” Lexa spits.

Clarke clenches her teeth. “He’s my friend, you know that.”

“Oh yes, I know. And I bet he can’t wait to give you a real nice shoulder to cry on as soon as I am out of the picture.”

“Oh, like you did to Costia?” Clarke asks, a new type of venom dripping from her mouth, “Is that what you are afraid of? That I’ll wait for when you’re not around to kiss him?”

Lexa feels her chest constrict at that mental image. “That’s not what happened!”

“Then you’ve nothing to worry about!”

“What else do you want from me?” Lexa cries. “I told you what happened. I didn’t want her to kiss me, but she did anyway. What else do you want me to do? Go back in time and prevent myself from seeing her in the first place?”

“I want you to be honest with me!” Clarke almost shouts, more tears dampening her cheeks. “You lied to me! You say you’re sorry, but that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me. We’ve been talking the whole day, and you’ve been saying again and again you were with Anya helping her with the car stuff.” Lexa suddenly realizes the warm feeling on her face is her own tears painting her cheeks.

Clarke closes her eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths, trying her best to calm herself. She feels like her heart might be somewhere closer to her feet, broken and bleeding and as empty as it was when she saw Finn kissing another girl that damned night. When she opens it, the blue Lexa likes so much is empty and cold. “I’m not gonna be played again.”

“I’m not Finn.” Lexa answers firmly.

“You’re certainly acting like him, though.”

Ouch. Silence stretches between them, and Lexa can’t help but feel like Clarke is slipping through her fingers. The only sound in the room is Clarke’s labored breath.

“Just… get out of my house, please.” She says without looking at Lexa. “Please.”

“No, no, Clarke.” In three quick steps, Lexa gets closer. Almost touching but not daring to. “I'm sorry. Let's talk. We can sort this out.”

Their faces are so close they can almost taste their shared breaths, and it takes Clarke an amount of strength she didn’t know she possessed not to kiss Lexa right in that moment. Her eyes are so green and her lips so deliciously swollen, but she lied. This is what keeps playing in Clarke's mind as she keeps looking at the girl in front of her. She lied, and she was kissing somebody else. And all this could've been avoided if she hadn't lied. She lied to me just like Finn did.

“Give me another chance,” Lexa suddenly blurts out, feeling stupider than ever before, “Please, let’s just-”

“Get out of my house.” Clarke responds softly. “Please. I don’t wanna look at you right now. I can't do this anymore.”

“Baby, please.”

“Piss off, Woods!” Comes from the other side of the door, and only now Lexa realizes Bellamy has been listening to the whole exchange.

“Bellamy!” Clarke reprimands.

Lexa takes a deep breath, tries to remember he's not the point here, and it's not worth it. “We're gonna talk. Later.” She says, and Clarke raises an eyebrow.

“And that's up to you to decide?”

“No, it 's not. But I'm gonna be waiting for you. As long as it takes. When you finally wanna talk again, I'll be waiting.” Lexa chances a caress to Clarke's face and can't help the spark of hope that shoots inside of her when Clarke doesn't back away from the fingertips tracing her cheeks. “You mean more to me than your stupid friend or this stupid fight. You're everything and more. I'm not Finn, and I'm not letting things between us end like this.”

Clarke halts her movements and holds her wrist. “Lexa. Get. Out.”

[cepheusgalaxy]

Day 5 of me trying to get better at writing

CW: Whipping, gaslighting

“Stop lying to me.”

The venom being shot by Sabre’s eyes shut his mouth up.

Juste’s smile faltered a bit. He looked down to his weapon, fever high and breathing heavy, sitting on the carpet, his usual uniform replaced by a simple longsleeved shirt, two times his size. He looked exactly as bummed as he always did, except that right now, his eyes were tired and unfocused and his cheeks were sickly red.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop.” He raised his arms in defeat, sighing. Sabre was usually a little more patient and docile than this. The boy had earned himself a few lashes. Juste had been trying to sugarcoat it, since he was having it rough, but Sabre easily catched on him. He had that “get it over with already”  look he had when he got himself in trouble, and Juste had to do his part and be stern. Was he not, Xander and Ann would probably pair up to make fun of him forever.

And Sabre had fucked up pretty badly this time. Which was a bit odd for him, to be honest. But that wouldn’t give him a pass. He had to face consequences for his actions.

After all, he’d tried firing his own gun at him.

“Okay” Juste said, giving in. “Let’s get this done, then!” He slapped his thighs and got up from the sofa, passing through the clouded amount of sunlight peeking through the glass window to open the door. He looked over at Sabre, kinda asking if he wanted help, but he ignored Juste and clumsily got himself up, managing not to trip over his own feet to follow him downstairs. Juste raised his eyebrows, impressed. Sure, it wasn’t like Sabre had been that sick, but he was also probably a little weak from having been deprived of his lunch. A small part of the punishment that was to come from his little outburst yesterday.

When they got in the basement, Sabre, holding his whimpers inside (although not managing very well), leaned against the cold stone wall. He must be feeling really hot. Sabre had gotten himself a little infection (also after defying orders and hiding on his quarters instead of presenting up to have his cuts treated), and it should go away after he was given his meds, but that alone wasn’t enough of a lesson for his misbehaving.

Juste stumbled around for a bit on the closets—they were settled on a little house management had arranged for them, near the main quarters, and he wasn’t used to the way the servants here arranged the stuff. He opened a few drawers, finding pokers (oh, he should use those anytime), a few keys (unlabelled. Of course. His eye twitched), and a bit of... what he hoped was for self-pleasure purposes? Ew. He tossed them away.

After a while, Sabre seemed to be fed up of standing on his feet just watching Juste miserably search through the amount of messy junk, and walked towards him, shoving a few doors open and quickly finding the whip. There were a few, actually, and his fingers hesitated for a second before picking up the plainest one.

Wow, okay, that was fast. Juste didn’t wallow on the unfairness of karma for long before Sabre handed the tool to him, annoyed, and supporting himself on the wooden desk.

He was keeping his lips closed tight.

Juste picked the whip from his hands.

“Really? You think you are going to get a pass off the thorns just ‘coz you’ve gotten yourself sick?” He joked.

Sabre tried to hide a weak flinch, but Juste caught it up. He laughed.

“I’m kidding. I want you back on your feet soon, silly” He pinched his cheek fondly and Sabre squirmed away.

“Mr. Juste, please do not.” His hand trembled as he got off his support to the middle of the room. “Just get this over with. I’m tired and want to sleep.”

Juste bit back a response, and reached out to him. “Here”, he offered. “Let me help.”

Sabre must be really a bit tired, because Juste just needed to put his hand over his chest and he immediately leaned onto the help. He probably didn’t even notice it.

He was going to offer to help take the shirt off, too, but Sabre was already undressing, yanking it out over his head, not even trying to open the buttons. Whoa, okay, then. Juste looked down to his scarred back, turned to him and kneeling on the floor, and weighted the new whip on his hands.

“Let’s see. I’d usually give you a ten? But since you obviously regret what you did,” he didn’t miss the little twitch on Sabre’s arms, as if itching to disagree. Okay, he was gonna pretend he didn’t see that. Ouch. “And you’re also not in your best shape, let’s do just five—no, three; what do you think?”

Sabre nodded.

“Okay”, Juste crouched down and gave a little squeeze on Sabre’s shoulder, making him tense up. He got up and took a breath, raising his arm up.

He hit.

--

Sabre’s head was pounding. Waves of pain pulsed from inside out and he could barely think, lest stand up on his own. He wasn’t even sure how he’d managed to come all the way down the stairs, feeling so wobbly he could easily fall down at any minute. He curled his fists tighter on top of his legs. They wouldn’t stop trembling from the chills.

And yet—and yet, he’d earned himself “three” lashes. (They were ten, actually, but he wasn’t gonna complain) Why had he done that? Just because Espa had—had fled away? Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Ran off and left him? He hadn’t wanted to believe, at first. She was his favorite sibling. She was one of the few that could keep up with him. She was always well-behaved, and all the handlers liked her. She would never do something as reckless and stupid and selfish as that.

But she did. Unless that was some filthy lie he was being told to cover up that she was maybe dead. A bitter laugh almost left his lips before he caught it. He breathed in deep.

Juste gave his shoulder a little squeeze, out of nowhere and catching him by surprise. He grit his teeth. Sabre hated being sick. He could never see anything coming and he was weak, and pathetic, and useless, and everything hurt more, and he’d always slip up, and do something he’d regret, and be mouthy, and—

Breathe. He told himself. As he made himself inhale and exhale, shakily, the whip came down on his back.

He did not scream.

A gasp made its way out of his mouth, and he tried to force his vision to focus and his breathing to even up. Sabre curled up on himself. He would take it. It was okay. Breathe in. Breathe out. Sabre shakily straightened his posture.

The whip didn’t waste another second and beat him again. A tight whimper came out of his mouth. His chest wavered, and he clenched his fists. He had almost bitten his tongue. God, the fever was making him clumsy. He closed his mouth with care so he wouldn’t hurt himself on accident. It was just one more. That was actually pretty light. Sometimes Juste was indeed kind of nice. If it was with someone else, like Mr. X, he’d already be bleeding on the floor, without even strength to kneel.

Juste hit again.

His vision spun. He screamed just a bit.

Sabre let himself fall on the floor, his back on fire. Hotter than the rest of his body was. He didn’t even notice the headache anymore. It stung and hurt like a bitch, but it was okay. He was okay. It was done now at lea—

Crack.

He screamed for real this time.

F-four? Couldn’t be. Unless Juste was messing with him. Or he counted wrong, his stupid brain trying to make him feel some relief in spite of reality. He hadn’t prepared himself. He tasted blood on his mouth. Shit. His eyes ached, and he didn’t know if the wet and sticky feeling on his back was sweat or blood. His chest shakily went up and down as he stretched his palms on the floor, trying to work himself up.

Crack.

Sabre’s vision went white. No—it couldn’t. Juste could only be messing with him. But now it had been five. He was probably done now, and had done that just to teach him a lesson. He couldn’t stop shaking, but he tried getting up again. Maybe Juste would help him get up? He was a little weaker than he anticipated.

“That was three.” He heard the low voice coming from behind him.

That was what? Sabre shot a glance over his shoulder. Juste was standing over with the handle of the whip on one hand, the other one resting against his waist. Sabre’s neck hurt from turning like this. Sweat dripped down his brow. The whip rested still as a predatory snake hanging from his hand, Juste’s face expectant.

He crouched down. Fine. So be it. That couldn’t have actually been three. He was definitely trying to mess with him.

“Sorry, Sabre,” he admitted. “I do indeed have to give you more than three. I can’t go easy on you, y’know? You won’t learn if I do; it’s for both our goods.”

If he had the strength to, he’d roll his eyes.

Sabre looked forward and closed his mouth, shadows wavering in front of his eyes.

Wait. But it had been five already, hadn’t it...?

Crack.

This time, Sabre’s back arched, a strangled scream coming out of his throat before he could stop it. He was panting hard by the time his mind cleared enough to see where his hands were. The air coming in and out of his lungs didn’t offer much relief. It was too hot.

He tried looking back at Juste again, but he winced and closed his eyes shut. Pain flared through his muscles. 

“Four,” he heard Juste count behind him. His mind was too sluggish to know if that was true or what. How many were still left...?

Juste’s hand was not light when the whip cracked against his back again, not one, but two times. Three? He couldn’t keep track anymore. He was sure his handler had counted four just a few ago, but he didn’t know for how far he intended on keeping going.

The sting took a little longer to leave his back than the whip did. His vision took even longer to come back. He did not know how many lashes were left. He should keep himself still, kneeling, but he couldn’t—he panted—he just wanted to lay down. Please be done already. Please.

“That was six.” Juste said from over him. Sabre didn’t have the strength or the willingness to send a glare his way. Six? That had been double what he’d said. His face burnt, more with shame than with fever this time. Of course, he thought, frustrated. Mr. Juste didn’t need to be honest with him. He bit his lip.

Juste kneeled down on his side and brushed a wet strand of hair from his face.

“There. Just six. It won’t be any more, okay? That was it. You did good,” he smiled. “We can go back up now.”

He was probably waiting for an answer. Sabre opened his mouth a bit, turning his head to the side to face him, but all that left his throat was a hoarse croak. (Fuck, had he really screamed that much? He was such a pussy when he was sick). Juste smiled encouragingly. That made Sabre even more irritated. He felt his eyes getting wet from irritation.

“Yes, sir.” He managed to make out, weakly, making his throat hurt. Juste giggled.

“There, Sabre,” he put his arms under Sabre’s, supporting his legs up and carrying him bridal. “You did good. Let’s treat those before you get yourself another infection, hm?”

“‘M—I’m sorry.” He whined, closing his eyes. His back burned, his head hurt, and he felt nauseous and hot and cold at the same time. All because he’d been too stubborn to just be smart and do as he was told. He was so glad they were done. God, he hated being sick.

“I know,” Juste smiled.

As Juste lifted him up the stairs onto the bathroom after cleaning up his back—and palms, which he apparently dug his nails into at some point—, Sabre was one step away from fainting from both tiredness and pain. But he kept awake. He was carried into the bathroom, and Juste was humming some stupid and ugly song as he grabbed the gauze and cleaning stuff he’d use for his lashes.

His six. Six lashes. That had not been three. He groaned.

“Huh?” Juste turned to him at the sound. Sabre flinched. But he wasn’t mad. He was just curious. Oh. He held on his hand a piece of soft and white...something. He could barely see.

Sabre pressed his head to the cold tile wall.

“Please, stop lying, mr. Juste.”

Juste seemed caught by surprise, and then chuckled.

“Of course, Sabre.” He petted his hair, which was not very comfortable for Sabre. Now that his back wasn’t gnawing at him anymore, his headache had come back. He winced, but didn’t have the strength to turn away. “You’re my favorite, after all.”

--

Also unrelated but I was listening to this song on loop while I was writing this:

[seiwas]

submitted my assessment so i am free for today ! Can finally reply to messages in my inbox 🥹

[brwnsugcr]

i'm not saying that there could be a pilates update this month . . .

[cheshitora]

genuinely incapable of writing anything less than 2k words atp