#i love the contrast of her offering something he can use against her for something she cannot ( and will not ) use against him

[lunaetis]

@apocryphis asked :

" ... what would it take to convince you to show me?" aventurine asks, gleaming eyes attentively observing delicate features where nothing but utmost honesty ever seems to shine (how does she survive like this, he wonders, before remembering that honesty is always best served when one has an uncanny talent for differentiating truth from lies). "this ability of yours you mentioned. i'd never heard of anything like it before - i'm afraid i'm getting terribly curious." about this ability, about her (this might become a problem. he files it under his list of potential issues to keep an eye on). gloved fingers reach, and twine around a lock of raven hair, a pensive hum resonating in his chest. "and i have yet to decide if that is a good thing or not."

inbox call. || always accepting

─「银月」─  the ROVER didn't personally go out of her way to keep her ability a secret. perhaps, if it had been normal circumstances, she wouldn't be averse to have anyone witness that she was the vessel of sound and how much she was able to take in subject of absorbing the echoes left behind. however, the current circumstances she had found herself in was the furthest away from normal, if she would describe it personally. that was probably why she even had to consider keeping it a secret despite how she normally would not. and to him, of all people ? she could hear a certain lady telling her to say never. ( oh, how topaz would be so disappointed that she even consider telling him if she knew. )

                his question was warranted. yinyue lifted her head, AUREATE meeting his unique colored hues as she blinked up at him. his curiosity shone brightly within those eyes, laced within each syllable he had uttered. a quiet blink as she STARED, allowing the wave of his voice to weave through the air. the rover had begun to get used to his wavelength, noting how she was able to discern the characteristic of his voice from others even among the unfiltered noises.

                was it due to the fact that he had thrown many challenges her way in regards to what truth and lies she could tell apart ? the DECEPTIVE TRUTH and honest lies she humored him and this curiosity of his. the focus that shifted to the POWER she had lying underneath her veins. the golden energy hummed quietly as she kept her gaze locked to his. no traces of lies, this time. it wasn't even half-truth. he was being honest. she didn't flinch away as his hand reached out to play with her dark locks. her head canted slightly.

                " you're not sure if it's a good thing or not ? do you mean my ability or the fact that you're curious about it ? " perhaps both, but she wasn't too pressed to know the ANSWER to that question. curiosity was, after all, a double-edged sword, but given his personality and his penchant for TAKING RISKS, she couldn't really blame him. back to his original inquiry, and yinyue actually took a moment to ponder it. she made no effort to HIDE the fact that she was considering what would be a good compensation to it. the true extent of being a VESSEL OF SOUND was still unknown, but there were areas she could potentially show him. she knew he had seen her absorb a small echo before, and her brief mention of the term vessel of sound must've piqued his interest. after a moment of silence, she finally spoke.

                " tell me something about you. " the words hung in the air for a moment longer, before she intercepted his train of thoughts. " before you say anything — no, i do not mean a secret that would be considered useful in a transaction or business sense, nor a kind of information that is useful during negotiation. " she knew how his mind works when it comes to measurement of value or the PRICE of things. lies, leverages, advantages, manipulations, they were all fair games in his mind. that wasn't what she wanted, however.

                " i know you deem an information or a secret to be valuable depending on what you could get out of it. but those type of secret would be worthless to me as i don't plan to use it against you. " which she didn't. what he viewed as priceless to him could be worth nothing to her. amber orbs were kept locked to his dual-colored hues all throughout her explanation. she said it so matter-of-factly like she was speaking about something so obvious. as usual, no hint of lies. she had no reasons to, after all. why would she plan to use anything against him ?

                " i don't need a leverage on you, i want one truth about you that'd be useless in deal striking but useful if i want to know about the person i'm looking at. " she was going to give him a secret that could very well be used against her, while requesting something that could not be used against him. one would deem her mad. naïve, perhaps ? but that wasn't it. that was indeed something she considered valuable. a truth about a person.

                " how about a memory ? " as someone who was searching for her own memory, a piece of his would be a treasure while being utterly useless for business. so he had nothing to worry about.

                " it's a fair trade, don't you think ? "

[sunsburns]

kiss of life (iii.)

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader

masterlist

summary: you have never doubted aphrodite when it comes to soulmates, she's the goddess of love, she knows what she's doing and you're getting pretty sick of people telling you she's made a mistake with your soulmate, specifically. you refuse to believe that she could be wrong, but luke castellan is making it really hard for you to have hope.

—or: you and luke are off on your quest you're totally not having second thoughts about choosing him, he's your soulmate after all... right?

word count: 3.2k

warnings: filler chapter (sorry gang), reader's pov, reader is lowkey unreliable and is hiding something, pre-tlt, luke's character is kinda inconsistent but whatever, angsty fight with luke and reader, low-key happy ending

a/n: everyone might've moved on but i'm still here 😔… gang i think i’m coming back to my active era (no one cheered) anyways there’s so much i wanna write for this series so enjoy this little filler!

You'd always been a fan of bad ideas, but choosing Luke Castellan as your companion for the duration of your quest had to be your worst one yet. You felt a pang of doubt, questioning your choice, especially after witnessing the outcome of his quest—a failure that seemed impossible to shake off from the whispers of other campers. A failure your siblings wouldn't let you forget.

"I was there when he came back. I know what happened," you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice as you stuffed clothes into your bag.

Your siblings meant the world to you. You cherished the bond you shared—the familial camaraderie that bound your cabin together. As the eldest, you revelled in guiding and nurturing them, relishing the role of guardian and friend within your cabin's close-knit circle. Yet, like any family, they can sometimes be suffocatingly overbearing.

Alexis, your brother, ever ready to smack a reality check, had been the first to warn you against choosing Luke Castellan, and now he spearheaded a group of your siblings, all urging you to reconsider with reason.

"But that's just it. You don't know. Not really. None of us do." Alexis told you, reclining against the shared vanity in your cabin. The absence of the younger kids, off with Chiron for a lesson on constellations, offered you some peace of mind, sparing them from witnessing the escalating intervention.

As Silena sifted through the clothes strewn across your bed, her soft humming filled the room, a stark contrast to the weighty silence that hung over the conversation. "No one but Chiron and Mr. D knows what happened on that quest. He refuses to talk about it." she mused.

"There's not a lot of glory in that." Alexis shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"He's been so weird and different since he returned," Silena added, "I remember he used to smile. It was such an attractive smile. And he used to talk... He barely ever talks anymore."

Alexis snorted, "That's called depression, Silena."

"It's just so sad." She frowned and sat on your bed, her gaze distant, "Pretty people don't deserve to be depressed."

"Amen to that."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at their melodramatic exchange, a fleeting smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you focused on folding another pair of pants. 

"He still talks." You said.

"But it's not the same," Alexis countered, his expression grave. Deep down, you knew he was right.

"And the way he's treated you," Silena scoffed, "constantly icing you out..."

"Avoiding you for months..." Alexis added, stepping closer to you with a solemn expression. "Refusing to even talk to you."

When he tried to put his hand on your shoulder, you couldn't help but shrug it off, not wanting his sympathy.

Their reminders, well-intentioned though they may be, served only to deepen the wound already festering within you. Like a knife twisted in your back, the memories of Luke's avoidance and unanswered questions pierced your thoughts with relentless precision. You vividly recalled the disappointment etched across his face in the infirmary, a silent testament to his dismay upon discovering your role in his fate. The weight of his unspoken words hung heavily in the air, a haunting reminder of the rift that had formed between you before it even started.

Your siblings were very careful with their next words: "Do you think that maybe... just this once... Aphrodite got it wrong?"

With a heavy heart, you stormed out of the cabin, your mind reeling with conflicting emotions. You swore up and down to Alexis and Silena that you were fine, that you only needed air. The need for clarity drove you to seek solace in the quiet embrace of nature, the gentle flicker of a breeze offering a touch of comfort amidst the turmoil raging within.

Throughout your life, your unwavering loyalty to your mother, Aphrodite, and the Gods has been a source of solace and guidance. You found comfort in the subtle manifestations of them, from the celestial dance of stars to the gentle caress of sunlight filtering through the trees. Even in the casual interactions of everyday life, you sought traces of your mother's hand guiding your path.

As you gazed into the dancing flames, the remnants of fruit smouldering in their fiery embrace in a tin can, you found yourself caught between hope and despair during your offering for your mother. Silena's words echoed in your mind, a harsh truth you were reluctant to confront. Maybe you didn't have a soulmate. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you're unlovable.

Yet, amidst the cloud of doubt, a flicker of defiance ignited within you. The mere thought that Aphrodite could be mistaken in matters of love seemed impossible to you. You had witnessed firsthand the intricate tapestry of fate woven by her hand, guiding souls to their destined counterparts with unfailing precision. 

The yearning for that connection, that soul-deep bond, burned within you like a beacon in the darkness of uncertainty. It was a desire as old as time itself, the longing to find solace and belonging in the embrace of another.

As the flames dwindled to embers, their dying glow casting flickering shadows upon the ground, your prayers went unanswered. 

The weight of your impending quest pressed upon you like a heavy cloak. Questions tumbled over one another in a relentless cascade, each one a dagger aimed at the heart of your resolve. Where would you need to go? Would you need to defend yourself? Would monsters come after you? Should you choose someone else? Could it be that Luke was nothing to you but a mistaken thread tethered into your life?

Your shoes stepped over twigs and dry leaves on the ground until you stepped out of the forest. Passing by the armoury, you forced a smile upon your lips. You forced yourself to be excited for your first quest rather than dread it. It was a rare privilege bestowed upon a child of Aphrodite, you should honour it.

As you approached the heart of camp again, the familiar clang of sword meeting dummy rumbled through the night air. The rhythmic sound, though commonplace in the realm of demigod training, carried an ominous weight under the cover of darkness. You would have assumed that all campers were asleep.

Luke Castellan, a boy who had become synonymous with the darker days since his return from his quest, stood amidst the training grounds, his silhouette illuminated by the pale moonlight. The sight of him, bathed in the ghostly shine, was haunting. With each precise strike of his sword, a muted testament to the rage that plagued his restless spirit, he seemed to exude an aura of both determination and despair.

No wonder you were so exhausted.  

You dared not meet his gaze, instead keeping your head bowed as you navigated the familiar path through the training grounds. Every fibre of your being screamed for you to move faster, yet the pull of his presence was undeniable. Despite your best efforts to remain unseen, Luke's voice cut through the night, calling out your name with a sense of urgency that sent a shiver down your spine.

Shit.

With a sinking heart, you felt his hand land on your shoulder, stopping your escape. You couldn't avoid him now. Turning to face him, you were met with a sight that mirrored the restlessness within your own soul. His features, etched with lines of weariness and frustration, betrayed the weight of the burdens he carried.

You were distracted by the way he was looking at you. Brows furrowed, his lips turned and pulled into that permanent frown that had you wondering if he had ever smiled since he came back. Yet, despite the weight of his solemn expression, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glint of warmth, of familiarity, that almost stirred a faint glimmer of hope within you.

Almost. 

"You're making a mistake." He insisted. "You need to choose someone else for your quest."

You tried not to seem too disappointed. "I can't pick anyone else." You protested, and he raised his brows at you, doubtful. "The Oracle told me to choose you."

"She told you to-?" A scoff escaped him, "The Oracle doesn't tell you who to choose. She doesn't say anything about who you should bring-"

"Luke-"

"The Oracle tells you what your quest is, then a weird riddle about something that will happen on your quest that will put you on edge the entire time."

Luke had stepped closer to you as he spoke as if his words would've sunk into your head clearer if you could hear them better. He spoke to you a lot that way, hoping you'd cling to every word he had to say; good and bad. Mostly bad.

The Oracle's cryptic words lingered in your mind. She had not revealed much about your quest, offering no subtle hints or insights into Eros' whereabouts to make your life easier. Instead, her assurance that success hinged on bringing Luke Castellan along had left you grappling with uncertainty. "He has all the answers you seek," she had urged, her words echoing with a weight that you struggled to comprehend.

"It has to be you."

"What else did she say?"

You hesitated. "That's it," you replied, your words falling short.

"That's it?" He didn't believe you.

"Just a few hints of where Eros might be, I guess." The lie slipped from your lips effortlessly. 

He caught it quickly but never urged you to admit it. Luke remained silent, his expression unreadable as he mulled over your words. 

You sort of wished he fought you over it.

You wished he'd do anything with you. At least try to.

"If you don't want to come with me, that's fine," you conceded, "I'm leaving tomorrow morning, with or without you."

"Really? You'll just leave?"

The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. Yet, despite the resentment that coloured his words, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glimmer of regret, perhaps, or maybe resignation. It only annoyed you further.

Luke Castellan was possibly the most confusing person you've ever met. He didn't want to join you on your quest, but you couldn't leave without him either? What's his fucking deal?

He intrigued and frustrated you, like some curse had been placed upon you, and you wanted to understand every part of him while he wanted nothing to do with you. Perhaps Aphrodite was being cruel when she chose him as your soulmate, but you weren't any better when you put him in the position of joining you on your quest.

"I don't know you." You admitted the words hanging heavy in the air between you. "You've made a really good effort to make sure that I don't know anything about you. I did my part. I picked you. If you don't want to come, that's... fine."

It pained you to say it. You did not want to go alone, but you weren't going to force someone to accompany you who clearly didn't want to be there. However, the uncertainty of what lay beyond the safety of the camp walls loomed large in your mind. You haven't left the protection of the camp in years, you weren't sure of what was out there other than the stories the summer campers would tell you, of their close calls and near misses. 

Luke Castellan was the perfect example of what leaving camp does to someone.

Despite the weight of your decision, you held your head high as you turned on your heels. You doubted Luke had anything more to say; he was a man of few words, after all.

You left him there, just as he left you by the docks for months. And then you lied to yourself, clung to the belief that your mother, Aphrodite, would safeguard your journey and that your brother, Eros, awaited your rescue.

And so, the next morning, after bidding your tearful goodbyes to your siblings and friends and earning a proud pat on the back from Chiron, you swallowed your pride and left.

The Oracle's words were etched into the very fabric of your being, a relentless mantra that monopolized your thoughts as you trudged toward the top of the hill and left the safety of campgrounds. Each step forward was a testament to your determination, each footfall a declaration of your unwavering commitment to the quest ahead.

As you climbed, you couldn't help but imagine the faces of campers upon your return. You pictured the awe in their eyes, the pride in their voices, and most of all, the look on Luke's face when he realized the extent of your lone success, his disbelief mingling with a begrudging respect.

"Hey-"

The sound of your name startled you out of your thoughts. You were trudging through the grass when you spotted a body sitting under a pine tree, shaded from the sun by its leaves.

Luke looked up at you, frowning, "Took you long enough."

His dishevelled dark curls fell over his eyes, a stark contrast against the vibrant greenery surrounding him. With a resigned sigh, he rose to his feet, his movements fluid yet tinged with an air of impatience Luke picked up a bag by his side, tossing it over his shoulder. It wasn't until he emerged from the tree's shade that you noticed the subtle changes in his attire. Gone was the signature orange camp shirt, replaced instead by a more subdued navy tee that hugged his frame. His old cargo pants remained the same, but different nonetheless.

Eyeing his bag, you could spot smaller daggers strapped to the sides, prepared for anything. It took you a few seconds to process why he was there. You squint at the sun as he steps out from under the tree. "You came."

He huffed, "Obviously."

You let out a breathless chuckle, maybe one of relief since honestly, despite everything you'd been trying to convince yourself of, you were terrified to leave on your own. 

"Why?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of uncertainty as you adjusted the straps of your own bag. The question hung in the air, unanswered. Of course. You almost rolled your eyes as Luke began to descend the other side of the hill. With a fleeting glance over his shoulder, he wordlessly beckoned you to join him by tilting his head to the side impatiently.

You grinned then, wide and bright. "I know I said I didn't care if you came or not, but I'm glad you're here."

He showed no sign of acknowledgment of your sentiment, his gaze fixed ahead as he continued to walk once you joined his side.

As the minutes stretched on in silence, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of leaves underfoot, you found yourself lost in thought. It was only when the distant hum of passing cars reached your ears, their blurred forms darting through the forest's fringe, that you were jolted back to the present.

Drawing to a halt near the forest's edge, you felt the weight of uncertainty settle upon you. With a hesitant pause, you turned to face Luke, the question that had been gnawing at your mind poised on the tip of your tongue.

"Why'd you stop?" He asked.

"I just..." Your voice wavered, uncertainty lacing your words as you struggled to articulate your thoughts. You worried that if you said the wrong thing he'd leave you stranded right there and return to camp while the two of you were still walking distance from it. It annoyed you a little; how much you had to walk on eggshells with him.

You couldn't help but wonder how different things might have been if you hadn't chosen him. You were being stupid when you picked him, you decided. You already regret it. Maybe Luke was right, the Oracle was just trying to get into your head.

"What made you change your mind? About coming on the quest?" you finally managed to voice, your eyes meeting his in search of answers.

He looked at you, brown eyes flitting over your expression, before licking his lips and simply stating: "If you break an arm, so do I."

That had been the closest Luke Castellan had ever been to admitting he had a soulmate.

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[beelmons]

I have a filthy idea and I love your blog sorry

Hotch x reader x Early seasons!Spencer (or really any older BAU with reader and Spencer, someone has to show him the ropes, right?😩)

Reader is bound and blindfolded. Hotch is trailing a popsicle over reader's skin, showing Spencer where they are most sensitive and Spencer licks the trail of sticky syrup left behind. 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️(lord have mercy I'm a whore)

A/N: Ok so, i really got into this idea and i ended up doing WAY too much and i'm sorry it's so late but i got too excited. anyways, have this monstruosity.

A different kind of teacher

cw: sensory deprivation (hand binding, blindfold, noise-cancelling headphones), threesome, temprature play (use of frozen goods), fellatio, fem!reader, implied polyamory i guess

word count: 1,996 (on accident)

"I don't think that's—" Spencer tried to interrupt when his boss's actions got questionable.

"It's alright." Hotch answered as he gently tied the blindfold behind your head "She's done this before. I told you, if you’re going to learn how to please her, you’re going to do it my way."

"But that's—" he tried to argue again.

"Reid." Aaron said commandingly.

Their bickering was rather amusing, really. Everything about this situation was. A love-struck puppy, namely Spencer, that had found  out you were having an affair, for a lack of a better word, with your boss. Who was later given the odd offer to join in, one that he barely comprehended the dynamic of. The one he ended up accepting because having half of you was better than having none.

The situation in question was no other than your bare body binded to a sex sofa, yes, the one with a funny oval-like shape, in the middle of a street motel. Mind you, a high category one, courtesy of a very spoiling unit chief. Hands tied behind the furniture, a blindfold securely tied against your eyes, and a pair of sound-canceling headphones that would be eventually put on you. 

“I don’t think I can do this.” the younger man confessed. 

His superior shot him a glare, and his finger raised to press against his own lips, indicating the other to keep quiet. He then proceeded to place the aforementioned gadget against your ears to muffle the sounds. 

“You can’t let your nerves overtake you.” Aaron began to talk, walking closer to the chair where Spencer was sitting “Otherwise, you won’t enjoy yourself. And believe me, she wants you to have as much fun as she does.” 

“I just have never done something remotely similar.” he admitted. 

“And that’s okay, that’s why I’m here to guide you.” Hotch patted him on the shoulder, prompting him to stand up, to which Reid complied. 

As the older man directed himself to the cooler, included with the room by the way, Spencer stood awkwardly next to where you were laying. Regardless of his statements about the situation, the twitching of his dick as he watched you breathing, rather heavily, blissfully ignorant of the sinful deeds they were about to do to you, was giving away just how much into it he was. 

“You should learn to use your tongue first.” the boss interrupted his train of thought “We’re going to do a little exercise, okay? I’ll trail this over her skin, her most sensitive spots. Clean her up. You have to be thorough, she doesn’t like feeling sticky.” 

You were absolutely deprived of such supportive conversation, or anything else for that matter. It was exciting in and on itself to be expectant of what would happen next, along with no indication whatsoever of what that would be. Two, insanely hot, men having you at their entire disposal was certainly arousing. 

Such anticipation caused you to moan rather loudly when you felt a cold object hit the side of your neck, slowly melting down towards the base, the feeling only lasted a couple of seconds since it was shortly after contrasted with the warm sensation of what you figured was a tongue following the strip. 

It was quick. It left your skin as soon as it came.

The lack of attention, though, would not last long. You felt a new sting of coldness, only this time it was right over your breast; instead of dripping down, the same tool, whatever it was, moved downwards until it reached your nipple. You could feel it going slightly numb from the temperature, it was making your stomach tighten. Again, you felt it part and something a lot hotter took its place. This time, you could easily tell who was taking advantage of your breasts by the bony structure of the fingers. 

Spencer was ravishing on the sweet taste of the icicle mixed with the salty notes of your sweat. His tongue was eager and clumsy, but pleasurable nonetheless, his fingers gentle and attentive to the sides of the skin, holding back to not let his animalistic side just come out. 

“That’s good.” Hotch praised the young man “It’s all about not knowing what to expect. About surprising her with sudden pleasure.” 

Back in your deprived state, you were simply squirming with delight at how your chest was being treated, mouth slightly agape to allow soft sounds of pleasure to escape. The gap was tempting for one of the men, still unknown to you, to defile, and suddenly you felt something land over your lips. You recognized the mixture of freezing water and sugar, and your tongue instinctively darted out to take a lick. 

The treat instead began to lewdly penetrate your mouth, simulating a fellatio, and the length of it would teasingly near the back of your throat each time. 

The icicle departed promptly, leaving your lips parted and tingly from the coldness, expectant to be inserted again. Instead, the temperature of the new foreign object was the complete opposite, its structure soft to an extent, and salty in flavor. It didn't take you long to notice it was no longer the sugary dessert, but one of your partners' cock.

"Go slow at first, it takes her a second to get used to it." Hotch dragged a hand behind your head, pushing forward gently so you could get more of his shaft into your mouth “But she can take it very well.” 

His fingers trailed over your scalp lovingly. His moans were translated in heavy, airy exhales through his nose. He was obviously playing tough for Spencer, no matter how much your mouth actually disarranged him on the daily. He thrusted a couple more times, until he was fully hard, before he pulled out. 

He made a signal with his hand to indicate the younger to take over, and Reid swallowed back a knot of nervousness. He awkwardly cupped your head between his palms and allowed his tip to testingly land on your tongue. He shuddered with pleasure as your lips hungrily wrapped around it, hollowing your cheeks almost immediately. 

You could tell the member had changed simply by the shape. Leaner girth, more swollen head, and an almost desperate way of moving. He started doubtfully at first, and later his pace began to pick up. His grip on your head was tight, making you unable to move away, and with every push he would reach deeper into your mouth, and the pulsations on his veins would also have a stronger beat. 

Spencer was losing it, mouth parted open, head thrown back, desperate whines spilling from his throat. His inexperience was his biggest enemy, because he didn’t last much inside of you. When he started to feel his orgasm coming, he decided to pull away. His fist curled around his shaft, pumping the base at a rapid speed, his tip pointing to his own stomach, since, to him, coming inside your mouth seemed dirty, almost too humiliating. 

Hotch stared with amusement at how respectful he was being, rookie mistake, he figured. Too overwhelmed with his own pleasure, Spencer had his eyes fully shut, and became absolutely unaware of the second Aaron gently placed his fingers over the moving hand, pushing it down to aim the tip towards your mouth. 

You simply waited for the inevitable, the white strings landing on your tongue, salty and thick, and a lot more than you had expected. When you were sure no more would come out, you attempted to swallow, but before you could close your mouth a thumb invaded it, keeping it open. 

“Watch this magic trick.” Aaron showed Spencer the evidence of his release before shutting your mouth again. 

You took the hint and swallowed, immediately opening your mouth once again to show no trace of the substance left. 

Spencer had to bring a hand to his face to hide his blush, although his again half-hard dick gave him away. 

“That’s actually really hot.” he said shyly, brows furrowed in embarrassment. 

“It is.” Hotch smiled in his direction “Now that you’ve come, it’s just natural to return the favor, don’t you agree?” 

The older man directed himself again to the cooler, taking now a single ice cube that he held with a piece of clothing to avoid getting frostbite. 

“Your training isn’t over yet.” he told Spencer once he was back to your side “Next, let’s get you a real challenge. If one drop of this cube gets on the sofa, you don’t get to touch her the rest of the night.” 

“W-What? Isn’t that a bit harsh?” he complained. 

“If you make her cum before it fully melts,” Hotch ignored the protest “You can fuck her first.” 

Again, your senses were too limited to hear their bet being formed. During their exchanges you just waited patiently, eager to know what would come next. Every once in a while, when the cool air hit you, you tensed up expecting something to happen, and even when it didn’t you just got more excited. 

At last, another sting of coldness hit your skin, this time it was further to the south, just above your clit. You could feel the object slowly melting, the lack of heat spreading to your bundle of nerves, your labia, and almost to your entrance. It was mildly uncomfortable, but exciting nonetheless. 

Out of a sudden, you felt a muscle enter you. You bolted in ecstasy due to finally getting much needed friction on your lower body. It trailed up, slowly and steady, until it reached the top. The lips rounded your sensitive nub, and you could feel them suck on it. The sensation was overwhelming, making you twist over the sofa, shameless erotic moans filling up the room. 

The water kept making its way down your sex, and the tongue diligently prevented it from reaching all the way to the leather, driving you insane with each lap at it. Your hands struggled against the binds that tied you down. You wanted nothing more than to hold his head down and bury it against you, to have him flush against your entrance, just licking you over and over again. 

A hand landed on your head, indicating that you should keep your movements to yourself. The commanding ambience just added to your stimulation, the mouth down your body sucking the neverending stream of water as if trying to lick it dry. Your thighs attempted to close around his head, and you were finally able to grind against him. For some reason, that did it for you, and you allowed your climax to reach you, and your fluids to come out. 

“Impressive.” Hotch praised as he removed the ice cube from your body. 

Spencer, however, did not stop, his tongue moving ruthlessly against your entrance, absolutely drunk on your taste. Aaron could see you squirm uncomfortably, being pushed to a point of overstimulation, hands restlessly clinging onto nothing in an attempt to release the slight pain on your abused clit. 

“Reid.” he called trying to make him stop; the younger man, however, was entranced by your pussy, and did not react to the mention of his name. Hotch was forced to step closer, tangle his fingers on the blond’s hair, and pull his head back by tugging on his locks, forcing him away from you “Behave. There’s plenty of time for more later.” 

He spoke so sternly that it sent shivers down Spencer’s spine, almost as he did during work cases. He nodded with compliance and straightened himself again. 

“Sorry.” Reid ashamedly said. 

“It’s alright. I know how addicting it can be.” while talking, he rummaged through a go-bag he had brought earlier into the room. “Now,” he tossed a condom towards Spencer “Get ready for lesson number two.”

[frantic-fiction]

Happy Birthday

(Gif: Alistairs)

Prompt: The gang throwing Spawn Astarion and Redeemed Durge a joint birthday party 😭

Credit to @bauldersgrave69 for letting me use their idea. Hopefully, you like it.

Astarion x F!Reader (Mostly Gender neutral but reader does wear a dress)

Warning: None. No spoilers just durge's memory lost and violent tendencies. This is pretty much pure fluff.

Word Count: 3.1k

It's been almost a year since you found yourself aboard a mindflayer ship, forcibly shoved into an adventure - one with life-changing choices. Choices that left you with a family not bonded through blood and torture, but one of trust, acceptance, and a chance to change something in yourself that you didn't fully comprehend when you woke up in that pod.

And the most important piece of the puzzle is currently walking next to you. As close as appropriate in public, moving away from the waterfront, Astarion would occasionally drop kisses on any exposed skin he could reach. But for the most part, he was content to hold your hand in his, just happy to be with the love of his life.

It was your date night. After the chaos had died down, you and Astarion had established this weekly tradition. Neither of your previous lives before the tadpoles allowed for much personal exploration or relaxation. The dates aimed to help take back both the agencies that had been torn away violently by cruel masters.

It was Astarion's week to choose the activity. He decided to push his boundaries just a bit and go dancing - not the stifling ballroom dances Cazador demanded be performed during various public events. No, Astarion wanted liveliness, drinks, and a wonderful band.

So, he bought a lovely pale yellow sundress from a stall by your apartment and added his personal style, ending with a beautiful garment - swirls and intricate patterns embroidered as accents. Donning himself in a dashing doublet, dark greys, and black accented with a similar shade of yellow.

The blushing mermaid was brilliant, the band jovial with pounding drums, and excellent lute and violin playing. Drinks were shared until heads were fuzzy. It took a bit for Astarion to work up the courage to dance, but he quickly offered his hand. The moment it was offered, your drink was down, and with a flushed face and a smile, you took his hand and pulled him to the dance floor.

The rest of the night was spent spinning and dipping until you were dizzy. You had never really danced, and if you had, that memory was lost and not worth finding. At times, you would stumble into a spin or out of a dip, but Astarion was always there to make sure you stayed on your toes with a firm hold.

When the energy of the night waned down and the band began to play a slower tempo, Astarion didn't hesitate to pull you flush against his body. His coolness was a pleasant contrast to the stuffiness of the mostly crowded tavern.

Astarion bent down to kiss you below your ear, whispering, "I don't think I will ever run out of thank yous."

"For dancing with a handsome man, I can say it was tiring but I'm having fun." The word is still a foreign concept, but one you and Astarion have become incredibly good at together.

"Yes, this night has been the best dancing I've done in years." You card your hand through his curls; his hand trails the curve of your spine. "But my thanks go beyond tonight, with you, my love. I have felt - you see I..."

Words seem not to be able to grasp what Astarion wants to say. So, he simply smiles and captures your lips in a kiss. Not everything needs words to express.

****

"My sweet, I believe we forgot dear Evelyn's oranges."

You had just entered the neighborhood where your house resided. It wasn't anything big; neither you nor Astarion liked the idea of a big space with rooms that would stay empty and cold.  

Thankfully, you came across Miss Evelyn, a sweet elderly gnome who owned a multifamily home. Her son had sadly died when the Absolute took Baldur's Gate. His wife and child went back to her parents, leaving Evelyn with a lot more space than she needed.

Astarion and you rented the upper portion of the home. The rent was cheap and you wish to pay more, and when you tried to explain just how much wealth you could spare, Evelyn shut it down immediately. She said that her price was fair and all she needed to make it for herself.

There was no room to argue after that, so you and Astarion took it upon yourselves to help her in any way she would allow - like getting oranges.

"I'll run out early before she wakes. Eve won't even notice."

"If you try to throw me on the chopping block again, I will not be making any cookies for a month."

"You would never!" You gasped, clutching your chest in dramatics.

"Don't tempt me, darling; I can be very stubborn." He said this, holding the gate to the property for you.

"Star, you know how her disappointed look makes me feel," the gravel crunched under your feet, the porch light to the house breaking through the dark.

"Yes, well, you'll just have to hope she made her bedtime." He kissed your cheek smugly and walked ahead, taking the stairs two at a time.

His shoes hit the wood boards of the porch when you heard, "Oh good evening Evelyn dear, I do have to apologize; my love completely forgot to get you oranges. By the time I realized their mistake, the vendor was already gone for the evening."

Handsome fucking asshole. Hands bunched up the skirt as you followed up the steps. He is going to have quite the time having any post-date fun with the way he's playing.

Making it to his side, Evelyn's in her chair, a basket of walnuts beside her. She didn't say anything for a moment, leaving only the crickets. Grabbing a walnut, she placed it on the table and slammed a hammer you did not see, cracking the shell before popping the flesh into her mouth.

"I figured, you two never get the things I want when it's your date night. Whatever, just get them tomorrow; your visitors gave me these walnuts so I'm not too bothered." The words were jumbled between almost toothless gums and walnut bits. A few pieces flew outwards with trails of spittle.

"Visitors?"

"Yeah, that little ragtag group you got. The bald one gave them to me. Told me something about 'Boo' thinking it would be polite since I let them break in and all."

Astarion and you met eyes, confusion reflecting each other's. Why was Minsc here?

"Did you plan something?" You asked.

"No," Astarion quickly turned to Evelyn, " I hope our little friends haven't been too much of a bother. Have a wonderful evening, my dear. Your oranges will be in your fruit bowl come morning."

He grabbed your hand and made for the stairs to your floor. Evelyn simply grumbled "They better be, pointy," before slamming the hammer down again.

You started to pull Astarion faster up the remaining stairs. But as soon as you reached for the door, Astarion halted you with an arm snaking around your middle. His mouth captured yours in a kiss, fast and heavy before you could even speak.

You melted. It's automatic, instinctual. You sigh carding you finger in his hair tugging on the roots. The orange incident quickly forgotten and the heavy annoyances with it. Not even the question of why your friends have broken into your home during date night mattered. His lips were gone too soon.

"I don't know about you, my sweet, but I believe our little weirdos have been very rude to us." He breathed into your ear before giving it a nibble. You nodded slightly, pulling his face to your neck. The he scrapes his fangs against you throat and you gasped

"I think they should have learned by now that I like to keep you to myself at night. And on our lovely date night, where you have been teasing me all night with this garment."

He pressed your back roughly against the door. The hinges whined against the force. You kiss him again, feeling his leg press between your legs. "And how am I to know that I shouldn't be ravishing you right here against this door."

"OKAY, OKAY. WE GET IT, ARESHOLE. DON'T INTERRUPT DATE NIGHT," Gale yelled.

"Maybe the next time we think about doing something nice for you two shits, I'll remember to bring earplugs," Wyll followed.

Astarion stepped you both back fully on your feet. "Maybe this time they will finally learn." Placing one last soft kiss on you cheek, he fully pulled away and moved to open the door.

You couldn't say what you had expected to see walking into your home. But this was not it.

Bright colors of balloons cluttering the floors, strings of paper tossed haphazardly around your living room. Your dining table is scatered with wrapped gifts and a frosted cake.

Each of your companions stood, all staring at Astarion and you, a mixture of disgust, excitement, and boredom (though that was mainly Lae'zel, who stood brooding in the farthest corner with a purple cone on her head). Oddly, they all had pointy hats tied to their heads. Even little Boo.

Scratch, who with all the excitement of seeing all of his friends back at his home, had begun to use his as a chew toy. Minsc pleaded with him to stop and seemed to be having a three-way conversation between the dog, Boo, and himself.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Karlach screamed as if the words had been burning in her mouth for hours. This had each and every one of your companions repeating the same phrase.

The shocked and confused looks Astarion and you shared must be very evident because Wyll was quick to jump in. “You both shared with us not knowing when your birthday was, so we’ve all decided what better time to celebrate than the start of our journey.”

This had Astarion's hand tightening in yours, his posture stiffening. Your heart hammered against your ribs, tears brimming over, trickling down flushed cheeks.

You don’t deserve this. The little voice echoes, the same voice that chokes you at night when you lay crying in Astarion's arms as he helps you calm from a panic attack. These people. This beautiful, caring family you stumbled upon was too good for such a broken, tainted person like you. To even think about this, planning a party with cake and presents simply to celebrate you and Astarion just living another year.

Him you understand; you had already been silently planning something similar for him for months. But it’s Astarion. The man who saved you, the one who reminds you each day that you are loved and safe and no longer the puppet of a cruel god. Yes, Astarion deserves to be celebrated and showered with gifts and affection. But you? The same person whose hands are stained so red with blood you still can’t comprehend the full extent of your depravity. No, you don’t think so.

"Well," Astarion’s voice cracks, and he takes a shaky breath, clearing his voice. "I guess being the center of attention for the night should make up for postponing my plan to bend my beloved over the cou-"

This snaps you out of your self-deprecation. You clamp your hand over his mouth loudly saying, "Thank you guys; this is… well, this is just perfect."

You rip your hand away when you feel the wet glide of Astarion's tongue and the scratch of a fang. "Seriously," you groan, wiping your hand off on his chest before stepping away and walking up to give out your first of many hugs.

****

"You cheated, you fucking bastard!" Astarion points accusingly over the coffee table, glaring at Gale. "I can sense a spell; you're not as clever as you think, wizard!"

You rub his arms, silently telling him to chill but shooting a glare of your own at the man. "Not to mention Karlach is not a very good actor," you say bluntly, causing the tiefling to scoff in offense. "You know I love you, Kar, but you have never been a good liar. Gale, if you won't play by the rules, I won't be responsible if Star gets violent."

Getting up from the couch, you peck Astarion's cheek and collect the pile of dessert plates. Astarion stands to start his turn of charades, beginning to mime out his word as Gale, Wyll, Karlach, and even Lae'zel tries to guess. Though Lae'zel only seemed to guess various ways to harm an enemy.

Minsc has himself in a deep talk with Boo. The two sat close to the bay window where Halsin and Jaheria had found themselves in a game of chess. By the looks of it, Halsin was winning, and Jahiera was none too happy.

Placing the dishes in the sink, you quickly wash the cake crumbs and frosting off. You carelessly toss each on the drying rack, Astarion always hated when you did dishes always complaining of the many chips you keep putting in the ceramics. 

Once done, you walked up to Shadowheart where she was dividing the small pile of presents into two.

"Thank you," you said softly, catching the half-elf's attention. It had come to light that Shadowheart had been the one to bring the idea up. "This has been more than I ever expected."

"We're family," was all she said. And you guessed it was all that needed to be. Just a simple act of love for two people in a large, slightly dysfunctional family. You move automatically, practically tackling Shadowheart into a hug.

"This means more to Astarion and me than we'll ever be able to express." The two of you don't mention the hoarseness in your voice. And if Shadowheart felt a few tears drop on her collar, she doesn't say.

She simply hugs you back just as tight. Once you break away, Shadowheart calls for everyone to gather for presents.

It's a novel concept to open gifts while everyone stares on, waiting for expressions of happiness and thanks. It's awkward, and both Astarion and yourself share the feeling of being out in the deep end. But it's kind of fun.

You open boxes to find books and painting supplies (a hobby you picked up after you saved that rather stuck-up painter from the Zhentarim last year.) But the best is a medium-sized portrait of the party together, something you've been begging everyone for months to do. It's beautiful, and you are already thinking of the perfect location to hang it up.

Astarion receives new embroidery supplies, a shiny new dagger, and a small box. It's black velvet, and when he opens the hinged lid, a plain-looking copper band sits in the middle of a makeshift pillow.

Never one to hold his tongue, Astarion cheekily says, "Oh how quaint, look at this darling; doesn't it look just like the magic ring the tiefling boy tricked you with."

You shoulder him, and he laughs. "Actually, it's a bit more magical than that little trinket; we went to a lot of trouble for that thing, so hush," Jahiera scolds.

"Oh then please regale us with the story of this mysterious gift," Astarion smirks.

"They call it the Sunwalker's gift. It's a rare magical artifact that protects a person from light sensitivity," Shadowheart says.

It doesn't process for Astarion right away, but your breath instantly catches. You freeze in shock; how in the hells did they find this? You thought it was just a legend.

"Gale got a lead, and long story short, it's real, it's here. Fangs, you can walk in the sun mate." Karlach smiles bouncing on her feet, her flames flickering a bit brighter in her excitement.

"However, it's not perfect. You can still succumb to some effects of your hypersensitivity. But the ring should allow at least a solid 8 hours of sun exposure." Halsin quickly adds.

Astarion doesn't take his eyes off the ring. His pointer finger smooths over the tarnished band. He swallows dryly, blinking back tears as quick as they come. "This… this" he's lost for words, and no one rushes him. They all know. "Thank you, will you excuse me?"

He's gone before anyone can react. There is no judgment; everyone knows strong emotions are not something Astarion can process anywhere but alone or with just you.

"This is amazing. I'm pissed you didn't let me in on this surprise, but from both Astarion and I, thank you all." You motion for a hug and they all pile in. 

Astarion doesn't return, but no one expects him to. The party wraps up quickly after that; everyone says their goodnight and departs into the night. You lock up the house and retreat to the bedroom. He sits by the window, staring out into the silent city. He's shirtless, his pale skin ethereal in the moonlight. The ring dances across his knuckles absentmindedly, his chin in his other hand.

You make your footsteps purposefully loud as you approach the vampire. Your hands snake themselves around him, caressing his smooth skin of the chest. He catches the ring and turns his face to meet your eyes. You push some hair out of his eye. He's been crying.

"Hey handsome," you smiled, kissing his lips. He turns towards you. Pulling you on to his lap and cups you face. There's no rush to the dance of your lips. Just soft brushes and tongue caress. You pull away panting. 

"Gods, I'll never get tired of this."

"Good cause I'm quite smitten with you." You grab his hands, taking the ring from his palm. You slide it onto his left ring finger, the magic tightening the metal to fit perfectly. You press a soft kiss to it sliding off. "Now come; I want to cuddle."

He helps rid you of your dress, slipping on one of his shi in replacement. You both slide under the sheet, Astarion pulls you onto his chest, strong arms enclosing you. Your head is tucked under his chin. He presses a kiss to your hairline whispering I love you.

You play with his hand, taking it off and putting it on each finger, watching it shift to fit each one. It was quiet for a while. Both of you are just soaking in each other. 

"Our family," Astarion says quietly, his chest rumbling under your ear. You drop his hand and look up. He has a look of pure love. "The term has been one that has only caused me pain for 200 years. To think I would find a new one that could contest 200 years of shit is…pleasant. Something I didn't expect to have again"

You smile brightly, grabbing his face and pressing your lips back onto his. "We really lucked out, didn't we. Now how about we get some sleep, and in the morning, we go get Evelyn's oranges together."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just running his hand down your spine, stopping at the swell of your bum and back up again. He kisses you again. "There is nothing I'd like more."

Feedback is welcome and always makes me smile, hate does not! Have a nice day, cheers!

[estellan0vella]

Pretty Poison ❀ Sukuna

Masterlist

The air in your apothecary shop is heavy with the mingling scents of herbs and flowers, a delicate tapestry of nature's bounty carefully cultivated over the years. Rows of jars line the walls, each filled with meticulously labelled ingredients. You stand behind the counter, hands deftly working on your latest concoction, the mortars and pestles and vials before you mere extensions of yourself.

Your knowledge of herbs and poisons is unparalleled, a skill honed through necessity and passion. You've built a reputation not just as an apothecary, but as a savior for women trapped in the chains of oppressive marriages. The elixirs you craft, disguised as perfumes, are sought after, whispered about in hushed tones by those who need them most.

The door to your shop creaks open, and you glance up to see a woman enter, her eyes darting nervously. You recognize her as a regular customer, one who has been slowly building the courage to take the final step. You offer her a reassuring smile, and she relaxes slightly, making her way to the counter.

"Good afternoon," she says softly, her voice trembling slightly.

"Good afternoon, Hana," you reply, keeping your tone calm and gentle. "What can I help you with today?"

Hana takes a deep breath, glancing around to ensure no one else is listening. "I... I need another vial of the elixir. The one you gave me last time."

You nod, understanding her unspoken plea. "Of course. Give me a moment."

You turn to the shelves behind you, selecting a small, ornate bottle filled with your infamous pretty poison. The scent of jasmine and rose wafts from it as you hand it to her, the fragrance masking the deadly poison within.

"Use it sparingly," you advise, your eyes meeting hers. "A few drops are all it takes."

She nods, her grip on the bottle tightening. "Thank you. I don't know what I would do without you."

You watch her leave, a sense of satisfaction mingling with the weight of the responsibility you bear. Each woman you help is a victory, a life saved from misery, but the danger is always present. You know that if you're caught, the consequences would be dire.

As you return to your work, you feel a familiar presence behind you. You don't need to turn around to know who it is. The air around you seems to thrum with energy, a potent mix of power and danger that can only belong to one person.

"Ryo," you say, a smile tugging at your lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

His laugh is a low, rumbling sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Do I need a reason to visit my lovely wife?"

You finally turn to face him, taking in the sight of him lounging against the door frame, his eyes gleaming with mischief and something darker. Despite his fearsome reputation, there's a softness in his gaze when he looks at you, a rare tenderness that few ever see.

"Not at all," you reply, walking over to him. "But you usually have one."

He straightens, stepping towards you and taking your hand in his. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the raw power that radiates from him. "I heard about your latest... creation," he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours. "It's causing quite a stir."

You nod, not surprised that he knows. Sukuna has always had his ways of gathering information. "These women need help, and I can provide it."

He tilts his head, studying you. "And what about you? Who helps you?"

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I have you, don't I?"

His expression softens, and he leans into your touch. "Always."

The two of you stand there for a moment, the world outside your shop fading away. In his presence, you feel safe, protected. It's a rare feeling in a world that can be so harsh and unforgiving.

But the moment is fleeting. Duty calls, and you both know it. Sukuna releases your hand, stepping back. "I have to go. There are things I need to take care of."

You nod, understanding. "Be careful."

He smirks, the dangerous glint returning to his eyes. "Always am."

With that, he's gone, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he appeared. You watch the door for a moment before returning to your work, the memory of his touch lingering on your skin.

As the day turns into night, the flow of customers slows to a trickle. You light a few candles, their soft glow casting comforting shadows around the room. Just as you're about to close up for the night, the door creaks open once more.

This time, it's not a frightened woman seeking escape, but a man with a desperate look in his eyes. He approaches the counter, his movements jittery and anxious.

"Are you the apothecary?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I am," you reply cautiously. "What do you need?"

He glances around nervously before leaning in. "I need something strong. Something that can... end things quickly."

Your heart sinks. This isn't the first time a man has come to you seeking poison, but it never gets easier. "I don't sell that kind of elixir," you say firmly.

"Please," he begs, his eyes wide and pleading. "I have no other choice."

You shake your head. "I'm sorry. I can't help you."

Your refusal is met with a flash of rage in the man's eyes. His desperation boils over, and before you can react, he lunges at you, knocking over jars and scattering their contents across the floor.

You stumble back, crashing into the shelves behind you, but you quickly regain your footing. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scramble for a weapon, your mind racing through the array of deadly concoctions at your disposal.

The man grabs a nearby vial, smashing it against the counter in a fit of fury. Shards of glass fly through the air, one of them slicing across your arm. You hiss in pain but maintain your composure.

The countless hours of training from your husband kick in, guiding your actions with calm precision. You reach behind you, your fingers closing around a small, ornate dagger you keep hidden for such emergencies.

With a swift, practised motion, you strike. The blade sinks into his neck, and he gasps, his eyes wide with shock. You twist the dagger, ensuring the wound is fatal. Blood spills from the gash, and he collapses to the floor, his life draining away in mere moments.

Breathing heavily, you stand over the man's body, the weight of what you've just done settling over you. You wipe the blood from your dagger, your hands trembling slightly. It's not the first time you've had to defend yourself, but it never gets easier.

The door to your shop creaks open again, and you look up to see Sukuna standing in the doorway. His eyes quickly take in the scene before him, his expression hardening. He strides over to you, his presence a calming force in the chaos.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, his voice low and steady.

You shake your head, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "Just a scratch," you reply, holding up your arm to show the cut.

He inspects it briefly, then turns his attention to the body on the floor. "What happened?"

You explain in a few terse sentences, and Sukuna nods, his face a mask of controlled anger. "He made a mistake," he says simply, a dark edge to his voice.

Without another word, he begins to clean up the mess. You watch him for a moment, grateful for his presence. Together, you work quickly and efficiently, disposing of the body and cleaning up the blood. It's a grim task, but one that you've both done before.

As you finish, Sukuna turns to you, his expression softening. "You need to be more careful," he says quietly.

You nod, the weight of his words sinking in. "I know. But I can't stop. These women need me."

He sighs, pulling you into his arms. "I understand. Just promise me you'll be more vigilant."

You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "I promise."

The two of you stand there for a moment, finding solace in each other's presence. Despite the danger, despite the darkness that surrounds you, there is a sense of peace in his embrace.

Eventually, Sukuna steps back, his eyes lingering on your face. "I'll stay with you tonight," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You nod, grateful for his protection. "Thank you."

He smiles, a rare, genuine smile that lights up his face. "Always."

As night falls, you lock the door to your shop and extinguish the candles. Sukuna stays close by your side, his presence a comforting weight in the darkness.

In the quiet of the night, you find a sense of strength and determination. With Sukuna by your side, you feel unstoppable, ready to face whatever challenges come your way. The knowledge that you are not alone, that you have someone who understands and supports you, gives you the courage to continue your work, to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.

[soldiersareyourprotectors]

The night draped itself over the city like a heavy cloak, its darkness swallowing the streets in a sea of shadows. Marine Corporal James Garrison wandered aimlessly, his heart heavy with the weight of a recent breakup. His footsteps echoed against the pavement, each one a solitary beat in the symphony of his solitude.

Desperate for solace, James found himself drawn to the flickering lights of a nearby bar. The neon sign beckoned him with promises of oblivion, and he entered, seeking refuge from the storm raging within.

The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and desperation. James took a seat at the worn wooden counter, his uniform a stark contrast to the casual attire of the other patrons. He ordered a whiskey, its amber hue reflecting the turmoil in his soul.

As the liquid burned its way down his throat, James's thoughts turned to his ex-girlfriend, her memory a bitter reminder of love lost. He drowned his sorrows in drink after drink, hoping to numb the ache that gnawed at his heart.

But the alcohol provided little comfort, and James found himself sinking deeper into despair. It was then that he felt a presence beside him, a warm voice cutting through the haze of his thoughts.

"You look like you could use some company," the stranger said, his voice gentle yet confident. James glanced up, his eyes meeting those of a young man with twinkling eyes and a disarming smile.

For a moment, James hesitated, his walls of self-preservation still intact. But something in the stranger's demeanor spoke to him, offering a glimmer of connection in the darkness.

"I could use a distraction," James admitted, his voice rough with emotion. The stranger nodded, sliding onto the stool beside him with an ease that spoke of practiced charm.

They talked and laughed, the stranger's presence a welcome respite from James's inner turmoil. He learned that the young man's name was Alex, and that he was a regular at the bar, his easygoing nature a stark contrast to James's rigid military demeanor.

As the night wore on, James found himself opening up to Alex in a way he hadn't with anyone else. He spoke of his time in the Marines, of the struggles he faced both on the battlefield and off. And with each word, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of camaraderie he hadn't felt in years.

With the barriers of restraint crumbling between them, James and Alex shared stories and secrets, their laughter mingling with the music that filled the air. And as the hour grew late, James found himself agreeing to accompany Alex back to his apartment, the promise of further companionship too enticing to resist.

They stumbled out into the night, their steps unsteady but determined. James's mind was clouded with alcohol and desire, his thoughts consumed by the prospect of finally finding solace in the arms of another.

Inside Alex's apartment, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. They moved together with a desperate urgency, their bodies drawn to one another like magnets in the darkness.

As they kissed, James felt a fire ignite within him, burning away the numbness that had clouded his senses for so long. He traced his fingers along Alex's smooth skin, marveling at the warmth and softness beneath his touch.

But as the passion between them reached its peak, Alex pulled away, his eyes dark with hunger. "Can I try something?" he whispered, his voice a seductive purr in the silence.

James, lost in a haze of desire and confusion, could only nod in response. He was powerless to resist the pull of Alex's gaze, his own desires overshadowed by the need for connection and intimacy.

With a smirk, Alex began to undress James, his movements slow and deliberate.

Piece by piece, the uniform that had once been a symbol of James's strength and authority fell away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in the darkness.

As Alex donned James's uniform, the fabric hung loosely on his slender frame, the excess material billowing around him like sails on a ship. But as their lips met in a passionate embrace, a strange and powerful energy surged between them, igniting a transformation unlike anything James had ever witnessed.

With each kiss, Alex seemed to draw strength from James, his form shifting and morphing with every touch. Muscles bulged beneath the fabric, filling out the uniform until it stretched taut against his newfound power. The once-slender figure now stood before James, transformed into an imposing mirror image of the Marine himself.

As the kiss ended, James felt a cold chill settle over him, his own strength draining away like water through cupped hands. He staggered back, his limbs heavy and weak, as he realized the extent of what had just transpired.

Before him stood Alex, now bearing his likeness in both body and soul. He watched in horror as the stranger smirked, the once-familiar features now twisted with triumph.

"Thanks for the upgrade, Marine," Alex said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down James's spine. "Looks like I'll be taking over from here."

James tried to protest, to fight against the overwhelming sense of defeat that threatened to consume him. But his body refused to obey, weakened by the draining kiss and the loss of his essence.

With a cruel smile, Alex approached him, his hands tracing a path along James's weakened form. James struggled feebly, his attempts at resistance no match for the newfound strength of his doppelganger.

In a haze of lust and confusion, James found himself succumbing to Alex's touch, his body betraying him in the most intimate of ways. They were both consumed by desire, lost in a whirlwind of passion and longing.

And then, in a moment of perfidy, Alex's true intentions were revealed. With a swift motion, he bound James's wrists with rope, his movements deft and calculated.

James struggled against his bonds, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized the trap he had fallen into. But it was too late. He was at Alex's mercy, helpless to resist as the stranger enacted his twisted plan.

As the ropes bound James's wrists, securing him in place, he could feel the grip of despair tightening around his heart. He watched in dismay as Alex reveled in the sensation of the uniform hugging his newly acquired muscles, a smirk of satisfaction playing on his lips.

The once proud uniform, a symbol of honor and duty, had become a twisted mockery in Alex's hands, a vessel for his newfound power and desire.

With a cruel glint in his eye, Alex leaned in close, his breath hot against James's ear.

"You see, James," he murmured, his voice dripping with malice,

"this uniform suits me far better than it ever did you. And I plan to make the most of it."

James's blood ran cold as he realized the depth of Alex's depravity. He was not content with merely taking on James's appearance; he sought to usurp every aspect of his life, to mold it into something twisted and grotesque.

"And you, James," Alex added, his voice dripping with anticipation, "you can't even begin to imagine how much I'm looking forward to being in bed with your friend Mike. Feeling our muscular bodies grinding against each other, our desires intertwining until there's no telling where one of us ends and the other begins."

James's mind raced as he considered the implications of Alex's words. Mike, his fellow Marine and closest confidant, was now in danger of falling prey to Alex's manipulations. He shuddered at the thought of what else Alex might know, of the secrets he could use to his advantage.

A wave of revulsion washed over James as he realized the true extent of Alex's depravity. He was not content with merely dominating James alone; he sought to corrupt and destroy everything James held dear, to leave him utterly and completely alone in his misery.

As the darkness closed in around him, James could only watch helplessly as Alex disappeared into the night, leaving him alone and defeated in his own skin. And in that moment, he knew that his nightmare was far from over.

[essektheylyss]

for the ask game: 🧡🖤💚

🧡: What is a popular (serious) theory you disagree with?

Until I see definitive proof that Ludinus is in fact as old as he wants people to believe he is, I will not believe it. I don't even really have an opinion on how old he is; I just don't think he's as old as he tries to suggest. And lest it be said that I am playing favorites, the thing about Ludinus is that he talks the way Essek talks in 91—and there are a lot of things Essek says at that dinner that I take with a good heaping of salt. It's this sense that they're talking around things that they would rather people not question; they're both very skilled at talking around things in a way where they aren't outright lying, but they'd rather you not think too hard about it because there's shit they're not saying. To be clear I also won't be mad if there does turn out to be some evidence in canon that he is that old, but thus far, there is nothing definitive, and I do not take the word of unreliable NPCs at face value.

🖤: Which character is not as morally good as everyone else seems to think?

I don't think this is really an unpopular opinion at this point, but Jester. Nice =/= good. I don't think she's evil, by any means! But her morality is a lot more complex than it's given credit for and I think it's one of the things that is most interesting about her. I'd actually consider her largely amoral; it's just not really an axis of consideration that she worries about. She doesn't want people to hurt her or her friends and she doesn't want something to destroy the world, but otherwise she doesn't really care much about what someone's morality is. "Just don't be evil to me" is an incredible sentiment for a reason. She cares more that Essek said they were his friends than the fact that he's the traitor they've been looking for. Ludinus is so insignificant to her despite his literally world-spanning evil plots that she has basically forgotten him six years later, even though two members of her friend group have spent the last six years trying to pin him down. Jester is hilariously amoral and I love that for her.

💚: What does everyone else get wrong about your favorite character?

[cracks knuckles] OKAY, this is where I've got receipts, because hooo boy do I have an opinion and I will be proving it.

Essek does not have an opinion on the Prime Deities. He does not really have much of an opinion on religion. He actually does not by the end of the campaign have any real issue with the Luxon, and frankly he primarily expressed issue with the Dynasty's worship because, until he got to Aeor, he wasn't certain that the Luxon was a real entity at all—which he contrasts against the Prime Deities, in fact!—and he seems to believe there is compelling evidence in Aeor that categorically disproves his hypothesis that the beacons are simply constructed Age of Arcanum devices.

Originally he is mostly concerned that the Luxon religion is used as a "crutch" which is "distracting them from what other good things they could do with the time and focus". He does specify that any religion can be used as such, but he only remarks upon the one he knows. His theory about the beacons, as of episode 91, is that they may be "artifacts designed in the Age of Arcanum that have been misread" that could be put to even further use.

He also does parrot the Dynasty party line in their first meeting about the Luxon being "the basis of how we've been able to free ourselves from the binds of the lineage the Betrayer Gods left for us", and while I do not take him at face value here (see the above commentary about unreliable NPCs), I doubt the truth of this statement is lost on him, considering his familial connections to Bazzoxan, which I can only imagine would not exactly endear one to the Betrayers, though this is only conjecture. If we do care to take him at his word here, it's not unreasonable, since he obviously has a lot more interest in the power offered by the beacons than anything else.

With all that being said, his tune on the Luxon itself has at least changed by the time they get to Aeor. He discusses iconography found in Aeor and when prompted by the Nein about whether the beacons were created by mortals, says, "I do not believe that they are made by anyone but the Luxon. They are of the Luxon. But they've been around since the Luxon's been in Exandria, which is the beginning."

So we started with him largely apathetic to religion, uncertain if this god was real, and by the time we circle back to him, he has now sided fairly definitively with the fact that the Luxon is an entity that has been around since at least the Founding. (For those keeping track at home, this is longer than Predathos has been around. In the Dynasty's creation myth, it may also have been around before the Prime Deities arrived, which is technically not incompatible with the creation myth of Exandria at large, but I digress.) Like most of Exandria, and as is perfectly reasonable for both his culture and his region, he probably doesn't have any love for the Betrayer Gods, but doesn't express much opinion if any on the Prime Deities. He has no time for religion, but frankly, he doesn't have time for much except for his own research, so it's hard to really ascribe any noted contempt to that.

Like, look, I've written plenty of religious trauma Essek fic, and I don't doubt that that element of it exists, but overall, in terms of canonical statements, it's pretty tame.

With that being said, I do want to fast forward a bit to draw attention to something else. Because I actually do think he ends the campaign with some measure of respect for, at the very least, the Wildmother.

In 140 after the Raise Dead fails, he talks briefly with Fjord about the unfairness of it. Fjord passively directs him to "if you were to ask my wise friend Caduceus..." Immediately after this exchange, Essek challenges Caleb to not accept defeat, and admits he wishes there was more that he or any of them could do, but concedes that, "Unfortunately, this type of magic is beyond my purview."

Immediately after this exchange, Caduceus asks for divine intervention.

Of course, he then spends several weeks gardening in a temple to the Wildmother, and seems to find some genuine clarity and perspective there, but I think this alone is enough to argue that, for a person as driven by empirical evidence as Essek, this sequence of events in 140 would be plenty to earn a wizard's respect.

So my formal belief is that Essek is not in fact anti-god or anti-religion, let alone against the Prime Deities. My opinion is that it's very easy to imagine him on his post-campaign travels leaving a small offering at any shrine of Melora he might pass, not out of actual worship but as a sign of respect.

[muiitoloko]

Hi, could you write something a bit different for Turpin, less harsh like if his girl is in pain with his period (yes in fact I am currently in pain with my period 🙄) and he takes care of her though he his still the death judge but for his wife, he his a better version version of himself because she is his special one.

Title: Husband's duty.

Summary: It is a husband's duty to care for and love his wife, and Turpin takes this duty seriously.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: none

Author's Notes: Hey there! Oof, sorry to hear about the period pain, I feel you on that one! 😩 But hey, let's switch gears and imagine a softer side to Turpin, shall we? Wishing you a speedy recovery and sending lots of good vibes your way! 💕

Also read on Ao3

First, Second and Third part here.

As you gradually awaken to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, you feel the familiar ache of menstrual pains coursing through your body. Turpin, your beloved husband, stirs beside you, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist, drawing you closer to him. You can sense his arousal pressing against your backside, a common occurrence in the intimacy of the morning.

However, today, the pain is too intense to ignore, and you gently push him away, wincing at the discomfort that courses through you. Turpin grumbles softly, his deep baritone voice tinged with irritation. "What's troubling you, woman?" he murmurs, his brows furrowed in concern.

You try to convey your distress through soft words, knowing his temperamental nature all too well. "I'm not feeling well," you whisper, hoping he'll understand the severity of your discomfort.

Turpin's eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your pained expression. Despite his reputation for cruelty and a demeanor that often strikes fear into others, he has always been different with you. His hooked nose and stern features soften ever so slightly as he shifts to sit up, his hand moving to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.

"What ails you, my love?" he asks, his voice losing its edge and becoming tender. The contrast between his usual harshness and the way he treats you never ceases to amaze you.

"It's... it's my time of the month," you admit, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "The pain is quite severe today."

Turpin sighs, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. Not at you, but at the situation. "I see," he mutters, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your abdomen, as if trying to will the pain away. "Why did you not wake me sooner, [Your Name]?"

You offer him a weak smile, touched by his concern. "I did not want to trouble you, Richard. You have enough burdens to bear."

"Nonsense," he replies gruffly, though there is a softness in his tone. "Your well-being is my foremost concern."

He stands up from the bed, his tall frame casting a shadow over you. You watch as he moves to the dresser, pulling out a small vial of laudanum, the tincture he keeps for such occasions. He returns to you, uncorking the bottle and carefully measuring out a dose. "Here," he says, holding it to your lips. "This will help ease the pain."

You take the laudanum gratefully, the bitter taste a small price to pay for the relief it promises. As you lie back down, Turpin sits beside you, his hand returning to your waist. "Rest now," he murmurs, his fingers stroking your hair gently.

You nod, feeling the laudanum begin to take effect. The pain starts to dull, replaced by a comforting warmth. "Thank you, Richard," you whisper, your eyes fluttering closed.

"Think nothing of it," he replies, his voice soft and tender. "I am your husband. It is my duty to care for you."

In the quiet of the morning, you drift back into a more restful sleep, the pain receding under Turpin's watchful gaze. He remains by your side, his stern exterior a shield he uses against the world, but never against you. In this moment, you are reminded of the complex man he is: cruel to others, yet tender and protective of you.

As you sleep, Turpin's mind drifts to the day ahead. His duties are many, and his temper short, but with you, he finds a sanctuary from the harshness of his existence. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent vow of his enduring love and protection.

After ensuring you were comfortable and drifting back into a peaceful slumber, Turpin gently slipped out of bed, his movements calculated and precise. His mind was already occupied with the tasks of the day, but he couldn't shake off the concern for your well-being.

Padding down the creaking wooden staircase of their grand estate, Turpin's presence seemed to command the attention of the household servants. He didn't have to raise his voice to be heard; the mere weight of his gaze was enough to instill fear in those around him.

"Where is that lazy Beadle?" Turpin barked, his baritone voice echoing through the hallways. "Summon him at once!"

The servants scurried to obey, knowing better than to incur their master's wrath. One of them darted off to find the Beadle, while another rushed to prepare a cup of tea for you, following Turpin's orders with trembling hands.

Turpin's patience wore thin as he waited for the servants to carry out his commands. "Hurry up, you fools!" he snapped, his voice laced with contempt. "Do you want me to do everything myself?"

The servants hastened their steps, fearing the consequences of any further delay. They knew all too well the price of crossing their master, and none dared to risk it.

Finally, the tea was prepared, and a servant timidly approached Turpin, offering him the cup on a silver tray. "For Madame," the servant murmured, her eyes downcast.

Turpin snatched the tray from her hands, his hooked nose wrinkling in disdain. "About time," he muttered, striding back up the stairs to the bedroom.

Entering the room, Turpin found you still sleeping peacefully, the lines of pain on your face softened by the laudanum. He set the tray down on the bedside table, his gaze lingering on your serene expression for a moment before turning around to get ready for the day.

When he was ready, Turpin went downstairs again, and his mood worsened once more. The servants scattered before him like leaves in the wind, but their fear only fueled his frustration.

"Useless lot," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain. "If I had my way, I'd replace the lot of you with machines."

The servants dared not respond, their heads bowed in submission as they went about their tasks. They knew better than to challenge Turpin's authority; in his presence, they were nothing but mere pawns in his game of power and control.

With a final glance back at the bedroom where you slept, Turpin steeled himself for the challenges that lay ahead. He was a man of many faces: cruel to his enemies, tender to you, and merciless to those who dared to defy him. And as he stepped out into the morning light, the world trembled beneath the weight of his presence, knowing that Richard Turpin was a force to be reckoned with.

When Turpin returned home from the court, weary from a day spent dispensing justice with his characteristic severity, he went straight to his bedroom. Pushing the door open quietly, he found you still curled up in bed, your form barely stirring under the layers of blankets. He approached the bed with a tenderness reserved solely for you, his footsteps measured and careful.

"My love," Turpin murmured softly, his deep voice echoing in the quiet room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from your forehead. "I'm home."

You stirred at his touch, blinking sleepily as you gradually woke up. A small smile graced your lips as you saw Turpin's familiar face hovering above you.

"Richard," you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep. "You're back."

He nodded, his hooked nose catching the light as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Yes, my dear," he replied, his voice softer than usual. "I've been thinking about you all day."

You reached out to him, your fingers finding his hand and squeezing it gently. "I missed you," you admitted, your eyes searching his face.

Turpin's expression softened even more, a rare vulnerability in his stern features. "And I, you," he confessed quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "How are you feeling now? Has the pain eased?"

You nodded, grateful for his concern. "The laudanum helped," you replied, your voice still tinged with drowsiness. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"It's my duty," Turpin said, his voice firm but filled with warmth. "You're my wife, and I will always care for you."

He gently lifted the blankets, carefully sliding into bed beside you. His large frame enveloped you as he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Rest now, my love," Turpin murmured against your hair, his breath warm against your skin. "I'll stay with you."

You snuggled into Turpin's embrace, finding solace in the warmth he offered. His day had been tiring, with countless cases to judge and the weight of his judicial responsibilities bearing down on him. As you asked him about his day, his expression softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability crossing his stern features.

"It was a day like any other," Turpin sighed, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "So many cases, so many lives affected. The burden of justice weighs heavily on my shoulders."

You listened attentively, your hand gently rubbing his arm in a soothing gesture. "You carry the weight of the world, my love," you murmured sympathetically. "But you always come home to me. Let me help you."

A faint smile crossed Turpin's lips as he met your gaze. "You already do, my dear," he replied, his voice softening. "Your presence alone brings me comfort."

As you settled more comfortably into his embrace, Turpin's warmth eased the lingering pain from your menstrual cramps. You sighed contentedly, feeling grateful for his care and love. But there was something that was bothering you, something you hadn't been able to get out of your mind since you woke up that morning.

"Richard," you began softly, hesitating slightly, "do you ever wonder if we will have a child?"

Turpin's brow furrowed slightly at your question, his thoughts drifting to the future. "I do," he admitted, his voice tinged with concern. "We have tried so hard, my dear. But I am certain it will happen soon."

You sighed, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. "What if... what if it doesn't happen?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Turpin's expression softened, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "Then we will face that together," he assured you, his voice unwavering. "But I am confident it will. You will make a wonderful mother, [Your Name]. I believe that with all my heart."

You nodded, comforted by his words but still troubled by the lingering doubts. "I just worry," you admitted, your voice wavering slightly. "What if I cannot bear children? Would you still... want me?"

Turpin's eyes softened, his fingers gently wiping away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. "Oh, my dear," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You are everything to me. More than a child, more than an heir. You are my heart, my love."

You swallowed hard, overwhelmed by his declaration. "But the Turpin line..." you began, your voice trembling. "You need an heir."

Turpin's expression turned pained, his hand moving to gently caress your abdomen. "Yes, I do," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I cannot bear the thought of losing you, [Your Name]. I would rather the Turpin line die with me than lose you."

His words hung in the air, the weight of them sinking into your heart. You had never seen this side of Turpin before, this vulnerability that he rarely showed to anyone. Despite his ruthless reputation, in this moment, he was just a man deeply in love, torn between his duty and his heart.

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "Richard," you whispered, your voice filled with love and understanding. "I love you. And I want nothing more than to give you an heir. But I need to know... if I cannot..."

Turpin's thumb gently traced circles on the back of your hand. "I will choose you," he said firmly, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering determination. "Every time, my dear. I would choose you over everything."

Tears welled up in your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his love for you. "Oh, Richard," you breathed, pulling him close. "I love you too. More than anything."

Turpin held you tightly, his embrace a silent promise of his devotion. "We will face whatever comes together," he murmured against your hair. "I swear it."

In that moment, as you clung to each other, you knew that no matter what the future held, you and Turpin would face it together. His love for you transcended duty and lineage; it was a love that would endure, no matter the trials ahead. And as the day faded into evening, you found solace in the knowledge that you had each other, and that was enough.

[clovermunson]

king hargrove — b. hargrove

summary: billy never saw himself as a dad, but he’d never trade his two little girls for anything— even when they ask him to dress up like a princess and have a tea party with them.

warnings: tooth-rooting fluff. like eating two bags of cotton candy and chasing it with a 72 oz. big gulp soda at the state fair. brief mentions of billy’s upbringing (not detailed). bee’s full name is beatrice but she’s called bee. oh and a mention of mechanic!billy. no use of “y/n”. first fic i’ve written and actually finished in…months? i think?? that’s about it really.

pairings: billy hargrove x fem/mom!reader

word count: 1.7k

author’s note: i told y’all motherfuckers i was gonna give billy something happy, and here it is!! it’s the most i’ve written in about two weeks and y’all can thank this lovely goon: @bookshelf-dust for that. anyway, as always likes and reblogs (especially reblogs) are greatly appreciated, i just ask that you DO NOT copy and repost my writing and claim it as your own!! — xo, morgan🖤

Billy Hargrove was many things. A bad influence, a womanizer, some might even say an antagonizer, of sorts. And while he’d agree to being all of those things before he met you, if someone would’ve told him that he’d become the father to a little girl in the spring of 1989, and then again in the summer of 1991, he would’ve told them they were crazy.

But now as he sat at the ridiculously small white dining table set, on the floor with his legs outstretched rather than in one of the dainty chairs that he was sure would crumble under his weight, he was certain that he wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

“Daddy, you gotta wear it.” Bee, your youngest daughter, had shoved a pink feather boa at him, making him jump back.

“Pleeeease? And this?” Juno, your eldest daughter had asked, holding a tiny plastic tiara out to him, “pretty please?”

“Okay okay.” Billy held his hands up, finally accepting defeat before letting Juno place the tiara on his head as he took the boa, wrapping the feathered accessory around his neck, then smiling for his girls.

Lord, if the guys at the mechanic shop knew about this, they’d never stop giving him hell over it.

“You look pretty.” Juno giggled at him as she pretended to pour two cups of tea.

“Pretty, huh?” Billy chuckled, “I don’t think the pink goes with my shirt.” He tugged at the material of his dark red shirt, showing how it contrasted.

“Oh well.” Bee shrugged, “gotta wear it.”

“Bossy.” Billy couldn’t help but laugh at the miniature version of himself, but if anyone asked where Bee got it from, he’d say it was from you.

“Get it from my daddy.” Bee didn’t miss a beat with her response, further showing just how much she was like her dad. All Billy could do was smile to himself, knowing that she was right.

Before he knew it, Juno had offered him an empty teacup, and he’d be damned if he turned it down. The floral patterned cup was abnormally tiny in his hand, but he still brought it up to his lips, pretending to take a drink.

“Pinky up.” Juno was quick to correct him, wiggling her tiny pinky at him.

At first, Billy looked confused. Why did he need to have his pinky up?

He felt Bee’s little hand grab at his, trying her hardest to raise his pinky.

“You’ve gotta put your pinky up, daddy.” She tried to pry his pinky from the tiny cup handle, giggling as Billy fought back with her.

“Daddy!” She whined, pouting at him. It didn’t take much for Bee to get her way. All she had to do was get those big ocean blue eyes a little misty, and she’d convince anyone to get her whatever she wanted— mostly her dad and her uncle Steve.

“Alright, alright.” Billy raised his pinky, waving it at Bee, “better?”

Bee simply nodded, appeased with her dad’s actions as she sipped her fake-tea.

You’d been carrying a basket full of laundry when you’d heard the giggling coming from the girls’ room. Instead of going on your way to the laundry room, you’d stopped just out of sight, leaning against the wall beside the doorway to listen in. Though you had to admit, seeing Billy in a tiara was quite the spectacle.

“You’re the king of the castle!” Juno exclaimed, quickly jumping up from the wooden chair to twirl around, her yellow polka-dot skirt twisting around her, the sleeves of her white blouse flowing from the small breeze she’d created.

“Is that so?” Billy watched as Bee joined in with her sister, both of them twirling around the table, skipping and jumping over their scattered toys.

“Mhm.” Bee agreed, “you’re the king. The king makes the rules.”

“I dunno about that, kiddo.” Billy snorted, “I would say I’m pretty influential around here though.”

“Infuwentual?” Bee stopped in her tracks, a bewildered look on her face. She struggled with the word, but Billy had quickly realized his mistake by using a big word.

“Influential.” He gently corrected her, “it means that daddy’s got a lot to do and say with what happens around here.”

Bee nodded, seemingly understanding the meaning of the new word. “So you make all the rules?”

“Not necessarily, babygirl.” Billy shook his head, smiling. “I do get to help make them though.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” Bee crossed her arms, expressing that she didn’t agree with that decision— or whoever made it. Clearly an attitude she’d picked up from her father.

You smiled to yourself at that. Of course you and Billy made the rules together, and it was a very delicate balance of give and take between the two of you. But if your little girl could have it her way, she’d be running the world in no longer than two weeks’ time.

“But that’s how the world works, Bee.” Billy shrugged, “what can you do?”

Bee sat for a moment, seemingly contemplating her choices. Finally she spoke, and her little voice carried so much certainty with it, that even you were sure you’d let her have whatever she demanded. “Become the queen.”

“You wanna become the queen, is that right?” Billy couldn’t believe what he was hearing, feigning shock.

Bee nodded proudly, her plastic tiara nearly falling from her head.

“Well, you’ve gotta be a princess for now.” Billy had made it fairly obvious that he could match his daughter’s sass, “you do such a good job at that already.” He adjusted her tiara, making sure it was straight again.

“‘Course I do.” Bee sounded almost offended, “I am the princess.” She annunciated the word, only to add emphasis.

“Yeah, the mean princess.” Juno stuck her tongue out at her younger sister, knowing that Bee would retaliate.

“How rude!” Bee tossed one of the little building blocks at Juno, pouting.

“Meanie.” Juno threw a block back at her, which Billy had caught with astonishingly quick reflexes, making both of his daughters’ eyes widen.

“Girls.” Billy’s voice was firm, yet gentle with them, “that’s enough.”

“Sorry…” both girls mumbled, afraid to even look at each other.

“Neither of you are in trouble.” Billy felt the need to clarify, as he always felt like the bad guy when he had to scold them, “you just can’t call each other names and be mean to each other.”

The girls nodded in unison, showing that they understood the ground rules.

Since Billy had become a father, he’d become more gentle and less abrasive. He’d never once yelled at either of your girls, choosing to raise them with the kind of gentleness and unconditional love that you’d find in a family movie— the kind of home that Billy wasn’t lucky enough to have growing up.

He’d be damned if he didn’t give his little girls the best life they could possibly have though. Juno was the surprise baby, and sure money got tight at times, but he always worked extra shifts and overtime to make sure she had everything she needed and wanted. Then when Bee came along, Billy had been promoted to assistant manager, which came with a nice paycheck every week that was more than enough to support your little family.

Instead of continuing on to the laundry room, you decided instead to turn on your heel, heading back to the living room with a bright, almost dopey smile on your face from witnessing possibly the sweetest thing you’d ever seen. You set the basket of laundry down on the couch, making your way to the kitchen where you began to prepare dinner.

After about twenty minutes, Billy had gotten himself out of the princess tea party by claiming that he had ‘kingly duties’ to attend to, and while the girls were upset over it, they allowed him to leave.

“Mmm,” Billy hummed as he approached you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, then he inhaled the aroma of the kitchen, “whatcha making?”

“Spaghetti.” You responded with a giggle, “or as Bee calls it, ‘pasghetti’.”

“She’ll get it eventually.” Billy chuckled, “she’s got her mama’s brains for sure.”

“And your attitude.” You laughed, scrunching your nose, “what a killer combo.”

“Tell me about it.” Billy grinned, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of your neck.

“William.” You scolded him, giggling as you shimmied out of his grasp, “not here.”

Before Billy could even put some space between the two of you, Juno and Bee had come barreling down the stairs, stopping just at the threshold between the kitchen and living room.

“Can we have ice cream for dinner?” They both asked, their puppy dog eyes on full display.

You looked at Billy, a brow arched as you continued to stir the pasta noodles.

“Don’t look at me.” Billy held his hands up, shaking his head, giving you that million-dollar smile of his, “I didn’t tell them they could”.

“But you’re the king!” Bee shouted, the anticipation was clear in her voice.

“And if the king says we can have ice cream for dinner…” Juno trailed off, looking up at her dad.

“I may be the king, but mama’s the queen. What she says goes around here.” Billy leaned over to press a kiss to your temple, knowing that the girls wouldn’t even try to argue with you over it. “Even I can’t get her to change her mind.”

Juno sulked, padding over to her chair at the table, seemingly having accepted defeat.

Bee took a big whiff of the air, then smiled. “Mama, is that pasghetti?”

“It is spaghetti”. You gently corrected, knowing she still wouldn’t say it right anyway. “Go sit at the table with your sister and I’ll make you a plate.”

“Okay.” She chirped, nearly sprinting to the dining table, taking the seat right next to Juno.

Billy watched as the girls chatted amongst themselves, their senseless babbling making his chest swell with pride and an almost overwhelming sense of joy. Everything he never knew he needed was right in front of him, and he wouldn’t trade it for the anything. He leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest as he felt that warm sense of comfort wash over him that he’d been waiting years for.

Seeing the opportunity to tease your husband, you took it without so much as a second thought, though you kept your focus on making dinner.

“You may be the king, but you make a pretty princess too.”

Billy’s eyes darted over to you, and he smirked to himself. He knew that arguing was pointless, because the queen was always right.

[shuttershocky]

Consider, Barret.

I'm always considering Barret!

He's my favorite FF7 character and his design in Remake is outstanding.

Parts of Barret didn't age too well (his original character concept is "big and scary man" and he's the only major black character so uhhhhh) but I love that he's an unapologetic revolutionary and a genuinely charismatic leader that cares for the people under him as much as for his cause, whether or not they're even his responsibility.

One of the more endearing parts of the Remake is all the ways that Barret still cares for Cloud despite Cloud only being a hired merc instead of being a true believer in Avalanche; he gets worried when Cloud doesn't make it back immediately after they bomb Mako Reactor 1, and when they bomb Mako Reactor 5 and Barret thinks Cloud is about to fall to his death, Barret immediately says "Listen merc, I was wrong about you!" because he won't let anyone under his command die without him doing everything he could, even if all he can do is tell them they made him proud. He even offers to to stay behind and help Cloud battle Rufus Shinra, expecting Rufus to cheat (he does) and not wanting Cloud to sacrifice himself just to buy the party time to escape when that should be his responsibility as Avalanche leader.

He's even a loving father that spoils his daughter Marlene, but instead of making that detail something that contrasts his hardass personality, it's because he has a child that he's a hardcore eco-terrorist—his child's future is on the line.

I love that he's obviously the most well-read party member, quoting books about planetology and social justice in between all of his other lines being a Mr. T caricature. When the likes of Tifa grow uncomfortable with Avalanche's mission because of the ordinary people whose lives they disrupt too, he's always there to steady her and remind them all that their fight is literally for the planet's life; most Shinra employees are ordinary people just trying to do their best for their families, but Shinra itself is slowly destroying the planet and will kill them all, this fight must be done for everyone's sakes. A good man that serves an evil master must recognize his complicity before he can redeem himself.

One of the coolest things the Yuffie DLC does is expand more on Avalanche as a resistance group with different factions, with the main faction receiving support from Wutai. Barret's group is called "the splinter cell" because the other Avalanche factions don't want to associate with them since they think bombing the Mako reactors goes too far. The rest of Avalanche don't want to destroy Shinra entirely and ruin the lives of many people in the process, they want to force it into reforms.

Sonon and Yuffie end up chatting about this and Sonon says "The problem is, Avalanche is made of good people. They're soft. They want things like better work conditions, fair elections, equality for the undercity members. They can't do what needs to be done, and will eventually be against us. If you ask me, those guys in the splinter cell are who we should be supporting." Sonon is speaking as a Wutai agent out to destabilize Midgar in vengeance for Midgar burning Wutai to the ground back in the war, but it also really highlights how Barret is the only real force for change inside Avalanche, if all the other Avalanche factions are getting support from other countries and doing nothing while Barret is waging a full on war and earning victories against Shinra with only a gun, a girl that can punch good, and a twink with a big sword.

Also gameplay-wise Barret carries this fucking team on his back. Steelskin and his huge healthpool make Barret a tank (very important when many enemies can decide to give you the finger and wipe the entire team), and Lifesaver allows Barret to take damage meant for his teammates, which is critical for surviving many tough fights, but also makes gimmick/joke builds like Nailbat Cloud viable where you want to keep him on 25% health to have that crit chance and damage boost, but can't let him get slapped once or he dies.

That's on top of Barret's skills being your best ranged options in Remake that isn't spending MP (Aerith can do way more damage with spells but also dies to a sneeze without spending materia slots on HP Up), which is also highly important as half the enemies are flying around and Cloud can barely air attack until Rebirth reworked him. There's also bossfight gimmicks like The Arsenal's guns being interrupted by Focus Shot (you normally need Thundaga to stop it and Hard mode doesn't let you use items, making MP conservation really important) Maximum Fury being amazing at building stagger on bosses from the sheer hitcount and being very satisfying to use, and Barret's incredible Deadly Dodge allowing you to cheese the super annoying Brainpod fight because he swings his gun and hits all the Brainpods at once.

Finally, it's really funny how the Remake added in a big cosmic fate force called the Whispers that have the ability to raise the dead and cause or prevent disasters as fate demands it only for them to be destroyed by Barret and Red XIII shooting it repeatedly. Capital D Destiny, a fundamental force of the multiverse, was slain by the power of a guy with a gun and a weird dog.

[general-cyno]

I watched film gold the other day and it's been making me think about luffy's relationship with food wrt zoro and how it's been presented in different OP media.

Aside from the importance the riceball incident holds for the animanga and OPLA, luffy's specific reaction to zoro's injuries after the mihawk duel in the latter is so good. although the LA won't touch luffy's full backstory for a while, it's obvious he loves food in both the usual goofy manner and as something he associates with kindness or a lack thereof. it's why zoro eating the riceballs and sanji feeding gin is important in both iterations of the story. and not only that, OPLA also directly links luffy's appetite to his mood/feelings - when kid!luffy gets sad about shanks's upcoming no-return departure, makino goes out of her way to point out something's really wrong after luffy says he's not hungry. as it is, OPLA used this character trait of luffy's again to highlight how affected he is by seeing zoro (who, at that point, luffy hadn't considered could lose) truly hurt for the first time.

From I'm not really hungry right now, Nami amidst his rising panic, refusing sanji's food, admitting he'd eat his arms and legs to save zoro's life (in the context of what happened to zeff and sanji) and my gut hasn't been so great lately, the message is clear: luffy is not only worried about zoro's wellbeing, he's also very, very upset and willing to go crazy lengths if it means saving zoro. plus, if you watch the LA knowing about sabo and ace, imo it emphasizes further why seeing zoro in such a state makes luffy feel/act the way he does and how much he cares for zoro to react like that to begin with. I love it. I also love that though he rejects the food for himself, luffy admits while rambling that he wants zoro to eat and asks sanji to prepare food he believes zoro would like, even if he quickly concludes letting him rest is probably the best option instead.

That last part brings me to thriller bark, in the manga. It's not food per se and it's portrayed less seriously, but he still tries to have zoro - unconscious and wounded after You Know What - drink an entire barrel of booze because luffy knows how much he loves it (as much as luffy loves meat) and believes it will make zoro wake up/feel better. comedic as it may be intended to be, it's also kinda sweet. luffy's shown more than a few times to recuperate ridiculously fast and in an equally ridiculous manner from injuries by eating meat, so this is luffy's own way to show how much he cares and that he wants zoro to be well again imo.

This also brings me to the start of thriller bark itself! luffy's offered to share his food before (with nami, for example), yet ig what stood out to me during this part is how he just... offers to share his lunch with zoro simply because luffy wants him to come along. luffy rarely makes that sort of offer for specifically mundane reasons, so. squints.

(the fact that zoro fell right for it is so. lmao.)

And as for film gold - albeit not canon as most of the OP movies are, it's still interesting. for once, it's zoro who ends up in need of rescue. after the whole ordeal with tesoro capturing zoro and pushing the straw hats to try and buy his freedom before the public execution, luffy seeks out food.

And when usopp remarks zoro is more important than that? luffy immediately agrees, but insists that's precisely why he needs to eat.

This is a fun contrast to OPLA luffy though I'd say not necessarily a contradicting one. whereas there's little OPLA luffy can do wrt zoro's injuries, film gold luffy can't afford not to eat because here he needs to be at peak strength to rescue him. I like that the movie showed luffy's frustration too,

and how far he'd go to save him: jumping into a duct that's filled with "vicious golden bats" no one's survived from and launching himself straight against a moving, giant sea prism stone ventilation fan (all related to rescue plan) that franky has to bodily drag him away from before he gets more seriously wounded.

(Quite a reminder luffy's pretty crazy about zoro too!)

All in all, food is a very important aspect of luffy's character whether it's for a comedic or serious effect. though it's made more relevant in the WCI arc, I still love how it's something you can see portrayed in his relationship with zoro throughout OP too, be it in the animanga, the LA or in movies as well.

[katakaluptastrophy]

TLT meta post suggestion: explain the biblical significance of Paul to someone who knows jackshit about Christianity?

Paul is what happens when a clever person with establishment clout has a searing moment of metaphysical transformation that allows them to become a real nuisance...

The very TL;DNR version of Paul in Christianity (Bible!Paul, if you will) is that he was once an observant Jew called Saul who was involved in persecuting the early church. But one day, while enthusiastically doing this, he is struck blind by a huge flash of light and hears the voice of Jesus. From that point on he is known as "Paul", becomes an enthusiastic follower of Jesus, and helps to spread the gospel. Specifically, he is referred to as the 'apostle to the gentiles', taking the teachings of Jesus beyond its early Jewish roots to the wider Mediterranean world.

On a basic level, Necro!Paul being 'Paul' is probably a reference to that blazing moment of transformation - Bible!Paul is both continuity and change: the same passion, but expressed very differently. Well-educated, willing to cause trouble, and energised by something beyond the human norm.

But it's their speech to Ianthe where the Biblical stuff really starts to come through. It's worth noting that letters written by Bible!Paul (or 'written by him') account for nearly half of the books of the Christian New Testament and are hugely foundational in Christian theology.

And Necro!Paul's speech to Ianthe is full of Biblical references:

"I know how hard it is for you to kick against the goad," said the new person. "But there are more worlds than this. Come with us. We are the love that is perfected by death - but even death will be no more; death can also die."

That first line, 'kick against the goad', is a direct reference to Paul's 'Road to Damascus' moment where he hears Jesus:

I saw in the way a light from heaven above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me, and them that were in company with me. And when we were all fallen down on the ground, I heard a voice speaking to me in the Hebrew tongue: Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? It is hard for thee to kick against the goad. And I said: Who art thou, Lord? And the Lord answered: I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. - Acts 26:13-15

To kick against the goad (or, in the slightly more colourful language of the KJV 'kick against the pricks') is to engage in an excercise in futility. It's a reference to an ox goad, a sharp instrument used to steer oxen in farming, which would hurt the animal if it tried to kick against it instead of following where it was being directed.

It's an acknowledgement that Ianthe is doing something that rubs profoundly up against the metaphysical grain, that her own proud self-direction will only hurt her in the end.

'More worlds than this' is a reference to Hamlet, which Dulcie of course also quotes in TUG. (Hamlet rather seems to haunt the question of the River Beyond, but that's not what we're discussing right now...)

'We are the love that is perfected by death' is, I suspect, meant to reference two different Bible verses. The first is:

Put me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thy arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy as hard as hell, the lamps thereof are fire and flames. - Song of Solomon 8:6

Despite centuries of the church trying to claim that it's about the spiritual relationship between God and man, the Song of Solomon is now generally accepted to be a sexy poem about sex. So that's an interesting thing for the fusion of Palamedes and Camilla to quote... But perhaps more salient here is what's contrasted to the strength of love and death, which is jealousy and hell. Ianthe is being offered a chance at redemption - which is of course Bible!Paul's whole thing - which she summarily rejects. I'm sure, given NTN ending with Harrow going off to, one assumes, er, harrow hell, that this won't be relevant at all...

The other verse that 'love that is perfected by death' may be referencing is:

In this is the charity of God perfected with us, that we may have confidence in the day of judgment: because as he is, we also are in this world. Fear is not in charity: but perfect charity casteth out fear, because fear hath pain. And he that feareth, is not perfected in charity. Let us therefore love God, because God first hath loved us. If any man say, I love God, and hateth his brother; he is a liar. For he that loveth not his brother, whom he seeth, how can he love God, whom he seeth not? And this commandment we have from God, that he, who loveth God, love also his brother. - 1 John 4:17-21

The quotation in the Douay-Rhiems translation (apparently the preferred translation of lesbian necromancers in space, if Gideon the Ninth is anything to go by) is a little opaque, but 'charity' is an old timey way of translating 'love'. Essentially, this passage says that those who love God and are loved by God do not need to fear the day of judgement, and clarifies a bit about what it means to love God.

There are two things that are important.

The first is that this is from 1 John. There are five Biblical texts associated with St John: the Gospel of John, the Book of Revelation, and three Epistles (letters). Revelation is John's vision of the end of the world - and if you're wondering whether it's relevant that The Locked Tomb features a guy called John who ends the world, yes, it is - but the Epistles were written right at the end of his life. And 1 John has two themes that might be relevant to The Locked Tomb: the first is the question of what it means to love god (spoiler: the answer is not 'dinner and a movie'), and the second is whether your actions matter.

The second thing that might be relevant here is that just before this in 1 John 4, there is a warning about not heeding false prophets. Specifically, it warns about the antichrist. You know, the thing Necro!John says he was repeatedly accused of being? The point is that love - love properly understood - can protect you from the wiles of the antichrist. Probably not a relevant theme as we head off into the 'you have not yet begun to witness the horrors of love' book where people are presumably facing down a pretender god...

The final part of Paul's speech to Ianthe - 'death will be no more' - is also Johannine: this time from Revelation:

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes: and death shall be no more, nor mourning, nor crying, nor sorrow shall be any more, for the former things are passed away. - Revelation 21:4

This comes from a section where the Biblical John watches as the old world is destroyed and the new Jerusalem descends from Heaven. Death and sorrow are ended, and the righteous will rule with God. The sinful have a less fun time of it, involving fire and brimstone and 'the second death'. If that sounds familiar, it's because Necro!John cribbed that particular bit when making up his shoddy Space Catholicism (TM). (The implications of this really deserves a much longer treatment, so watch this space...)

One of the nice things about Tamsyn Muir's Biblical parallels is they're not generally exact. But it's perhaps relevant to note that amongst Bible!Paul's rather dramatic adventures are quite a few instances of casting demons out of people, starting at least one riot, shipwreck, and an "Incident at Antioch". Also...it's probably not relevant that the writings of St Paul were the turning point in the conversion of St Augustine...specifically a section about how the end of the world is nigh so you'd better get your act together...

All in all, Paul is...a very niche joke about Plato, hopefully not a joke about Dune, and mostly very, very apocalyptic. A new beginning at the end of the world! An offer of redemption to those swimming against the current! A warning to false gods! A sign that the end is nigh! All of which suggests Alecto the Ninth is going to be a wild ride (as if we didn't know that already).

[finniestoncrane]

KTJL!Boomer x Fat!Fem!Reader, word count: 2.5k this was a trade with sweet @lawrites and i am always happy to indulge her in big boy thoughts (since she always does the same for me!!) so enjoy george with a belly being adorable and sexy💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: lil bit of self-sonscious talk but it is quickly erased by lust, biting, sucking, piv, cowgirl

In the dim light of your apartment, cast by the warm standing lamp and the screen of the TV, you admired George’s side profile and the way it cast a shadow, a reflection of the lines, onto his freckled dotted, sun damaged cheek. The crooked nose which felt good no matter where he pressed it against you, innocently or otherwise. The fuzzy outline of his facial hair, which, despite the unique style, suited him so perfectly that you couldn’t imagine him without it. His slightly pouted lips, the bottom one thicker than the top. His long, fine lashes that framed his sweet, olive green eyes. 

And then you were drawn away from his face, watching as he arched his back away from the sofa, stretching his muscular arms up and backwards behind his head. His tattoos were difficult to make out in this level of light, but the shape of his body wasn’t. Strong, sturdy, well bulked out. His tight, white t-shirt rode up over his stomach as he scratched at the back of his head, letting you see more of him. His body, softened by love, protruding forward in a way he hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. The curves, the soft contrasting the stiff. 

George groaned, ending the guttural sound with a satisfied moan as he settled himself back down into the sofa beside you, one of those big, strong arms reaching for his can of beer, the other one slipping effortlessly behind your back and lifting you like you weighed nothing, his fingers pressing into the ample flesh that spilled over in curves and rolls, textures he could never get tired of. 

In a move far more polite than he might have been when you first met him, a testament to your positive influence over him, your ability to domesticate even the most feral of wild dogs, he covered his mouth and hid the quiet burp, apologising quickly before changing the subject to try and distract from his tetherer, but still unbroken, more uncouth habits.

“Well, fuck me sideways, babe. You’ve outdone yourself again, lil sheila! I couldn’t move off this couch even if I wanted to.”

He rubbed his hand up and down your arm, his strong, thick limb still wrapped tight around your shoulders, pulling you into him as you both relaxed after what you could only describe as an indulgent meal. Post-dinner was always one of the nicest times with him. It gave you so much endless joy to see him fed, satisfied and comfortable. Though it did make you wonder how long he had gone without eating properly before he met you. Rushing meals, eating when he could, but not when he wanted to. Having to survive on whatever they fed inmates at whatever prison he found himself in at that time. 

These days, though, he seemed to delight in the act of eating with you. Like he was sharing something special with someone special, a sweet ritual of necessity but offered up to him luxuriously. And even more recently, he had become a bit more adventurous as he joined you in the kitchen to cook meals. He was keen to learn, he fed off the praise that you offered him. Of course, a lot of the prep took far longer than indicated in the recipe books, but that was only because he was forever pawing at you. Asking you to taste things off his fingers, dripping sauce on your neck to give himself an excuse to lick it off. At one point, several things had come close to burning because he had decided that playing out the pottery wheel scene from “Ghost” with the dough for tomorrow’s bread was far more important than stirring the pots on the burners. But, as much as he liked to make it fun, to find humour, and an opportunity to grope you, at every turn, he was dedicated to learning the art. There was a pleasure in it that he’d never noticed before in all his years.

And, as an added benefit, there was something else which made the experience all the more joyful. Something you hadn’t even considered but which was a happy side effect of his new attitude towards food and meals. George had gained a bit of weight since effectively moving into your apartment with you. Nothing too extreme, not in this short time. The muscles on his arms were still visible, his legs still powerful and thick, and his core was still strong, torso lined with vaguely defined muscles when he tensed and posed. But when his body was relaxed, and particularly after you had filled him up with a nice, hot meal, his distractingly attractive stomach, what he affectionately referred to as his beer belly, was always more pronounced. 

You looked over to it, placing your hand against it as he sipped from the cool can you had gotten for him after dinner, happy to see him nourished and comfortable. He wasn;t afraid of showing off his body before, a fact you were grateful for, very much so, but you had worried a change in looks might make him more demure, more reserved. Thankfully, however, it only seemed to boost his confidence. He had made a comment once about finally looking like “a man”, or like “his old man”, after which he swiftly changed the conversation. You hadn;t pried, you had only held him close and told him you liked the way he looked too. 

Noticing your gaze, the way your fingers traced over the skin on his stomach that showed under the hem of his shirt, running over the hair and the small, silvery stretch marks that had begun to form, he let out a snorting laugh as he looked to you. 

“You know, I can’t zip my hoodie up properly anymore cos of you. You gotta get worse at cooking, I reckon! If only for the sake of me keeping this hot bod exactly how it is, babe.”

George leaned to the side, setting down his beer and sticking his tongue out mischievously as he teased you. You smiled back, relishing the thought that he found himself perfect as he was, and wishing you were able to view yourself with the same confidence and kindness. And, familiar with the spiral, you were quick to push away any of those kinds of thoughts. You’d been there before. Self-deprecating jokes only led to the thoughts becoming permanent, and you refused to let George feel any less than perfect, even if he did get bigger, or smaller, than how he was right now. 

“Absolutely not! I like you this way, I liked you before, and I’ll like you however you look. You’re happier, healthier, and far more sexy, and you only get better every day. Besides, we can always just get you some new clothes.”

A sudden wave of familiar paranoia came over you as you looked down at your own stomach. Those thoughts came a lot less often now, but sometimes they struck you at the most inopportune moments. That little bit of worry that came with being a big person. The kind of worry that might have started to settle in dribs and drabs in George’s mind. If he saw himself as capable of not being perfect at a certain size… then could he see you in the same light?

As you tried to shake the notion from your head, you felt George’s hands on you, soothing over your stomach, curling around to your side with a lustful sigh, skipping over the lumps and curves that, only moments ago, had made you feel inadequate, but now felt like gifts you got to share with him. 

“I know, I know. We can get me whatever clothes we want. And believe me, I know I’m rockin’ that dad bod thing that makes chicks wetter than…”

He stopped, blushing as he realised he might be speaking slightly out of turn in your presence, offering an awkward smile at your own lopsided grin. 

“... Uh… what I mean is… I might look a bit healthier and softer now, cuddlier even, ALTHOUGH only you get to cuddle me…”

Emphasising that point, trying to dig himself out of the hole you were happy to get a ladder for, he pulled you in to a tighter embrace.

“... I just wish it suited me like it suits you. Yeah, yeah, I’m a good lookin’ guy. But you? You’re just downright fuckin stunning.”

Giggling, you wriggled under his tough as he dug his fingers into your stomach and love handles, pulling at you to position your body closer to his. Once you were resting against him, he patted his own stomach with his free hand.

“I mean, obviously more of me is never a bad thing! But fuck me, babe, there’s never enough of you.”

His palm struck your hip, fingers digging in once more as he jiggled your body with a guttural groan, and as you looked to him, a blush forming on your cheeks, you could see he was biting his lips, eyes focused on your front, gaze gliding over your stomach, your hips, and settling on your breasts. 

George moved so quickly towards you that you choked on the surprised laugh that came out as his soft hair tickled at your neck, head buried between it and your shoulder, his lips and teeth dragging over your skin, sucking and biting sloppily as he moaned. Pulling back, drool spilling onto his chin, he narrowed his eyebrows. Between deep, slow breaths, he almost whispered to you.

“Looks like I’m still hungry after all… do you mind?” 

You shook your head, pursing your lips to try and hide the wide grin that immediately pressed into your cheeks. Your mouth parted in a fit of giggles as he rolled himself on to you, arms slinking behind your back to hold you tight, but he quickly leaned back to look into your eyes with a slight grimace. 

“Sorry, love. I hate to be a lazy cunt, but you’ve filled me up and I can barely move…”

He rubbed at his stomach and you watched the way his hand moved so gently over the soft skin. 

“... Would you mind? You can take the reins if you want, ride me instead?”

There was no way he had to ask twice, you were more than happy to take the opportunity. So you nodded, enthusiastically, and he rolled back, arms still around you, taking you with him as he lifted you onto his body. Feeling your weight pressing down on him gave him a sense of comfort he had only ever found in you before. Securing him, grounding him, your soft stomachs pushed together as he held you closer, tighter. 

With his neck outstretched, George’s lips found your neck, heavy kisses being placed on the side of it, teeth grazing the skin before sinking in. The pressure was light at first, delicate, but as you moaned in response, he clasped onto a section of flesh, his tongue swirling over it as he sucked. The blood was brought to just under the surface, a deep red bruise beginning to form, visible as he pulled back with more drool spilling over your skin and over his lips, which were curled into a proud smile as he admired the mark he had left on you.

“Hm… nah, not quite satisfied yet!”

Another lunge, this time to your shoulder, his lips and teeth circling a part of you, teasing it with his tongue, heat prickling on it as the delightful pain surged over you. As he worked on his mark, artful reminders of his possessive nature on your skin, he reached his fingers between you both, pushing between your thighs to rub at the front of your underwear. 

You cringed for a moment, suddenly aware of how wet you were already. But the delighted groan that George let out, tossing his head back with a toothy grin, warmed you, resetting your confidence. Kissing along the side of his face, nose tickling against his sideburns, you could feel his fingers splaying your lips, spreading your slick around. 

Sitting up for a moment, you let your own fingers slide over the bulge at the front of his sweatpants, twitching and pulsing under your delicate, featherlike touch, yearning for more contact. Digger tried to buck his hips up, to increase the contact, but your weight kept him down, restrained until you felt like giving him what he wanted. 

Teasing down the band, you freed his cock, unable to help yourself from looking at it with wide eyes. Your body convulsed as you remembered how it felt inside of you, impressive length and girth, stretching you, making you clench around him. 

“You don’t have to wait around, sweetheart…”

George was watching you, the way your lips had parted, wet with saliva as you drooled over his thick cock bobbing in front of you.

“... you can fuck yourself on me whenever you want, in fact, I welcome it, babe.”

With his permission granted, you lowered yourself onto him, pulling your panties to the side to give his cock full access to your now sopping wet cunt. Your wetness, the warmth inside of you, elicited an immediate reaction from George, as he bucked his hips and groaned with surprise at just how good you felt every single time without fail. He gripped your hips tight, finger digging into the overspill of fat on your sides, using it as handles to guide your pace and movements. A mutually beneficial act of fucking, you using him, him using you. Both of you moaning into one another as your lips met in a passionate flurry, muffling some of the more lewd and desperate noises you both made. 

But even so, between gasps and groans, George managed to mutter words of praise and affection to you, keeping your body in his mind, since it was the only thing he could think of at that moment.

“Fuck me… I could tear you apart babe, you’re so soft and precious… I’ve got… what is it? Cute aggression?... Just wanna… wanna squeeze you… wanna feel you… all of you… Yeah… fuck… you’re just… everything… everything…”

With a sputtering yelp, you felt George’s grip tighten, felt the way his muscles tensed before quickly relaxing, his body almost melting as his release spilled inside of you, your cunt painted in his thick, warm cum. You stayed still, keeping his cock inside of you as you sat on his lap, only beginning to move yourself when you saw him close his eyes and lean his head back, catching his breath slowly as he pushed his hair back out of his face. 

Once you were back down next to him, bodies and sofa covered in sweat and slick, you placed a hand on his stomach, worried that maybe it was a little bit too much exertion after a large meal. But he turned to you with a satisfied smirk.

“Always room for a little bit of dessert, eh, babe?”

[gloivy]

don’t tell me it’s over

dramione drabble | fake relationship | angst with a happy ending

“So, that’s it?” she said it casually, even though it felt like her insides were being torn apart. “Ron apologised, Astoria wants you back. I suppose that means our arrangement is—”

His sharp bark of laughter cut her off. “Don’t tell me it’s over. Don’t you dare tell me that.”

She had never allowed him to get away with speaking to her in that piercing tone before, had never backed down without a fight.

But… there was something in the warning that struck through his demand, in the fractured crack that punctuated the word ‘over’, that made her pause.

And so instead of fighting, instead of warring with him over the one thing that they had ever agreed on—the naïve fake relationship, the understanding that it would end when their respective gains were met—instead of bringing up all of their familiar vitriol, she took a damning leap, and tried instead to accept the small weakness he had offered.

Not to use against him, as perhaps a younger version of herself might.

But instead, to meet with her own, a fragility just as mighty as the one that lingered in the air from his outburst.

So, she continued, as though he had never interrupted her at all, though his plea rung in her ears with each weak word she uttered.

“I suppose that means our arrangement is over.”

His sharp exhale was so anguished, so pained, that the sharpness of it felt like a knife’s edge.

His gaze, she realised, had softened so considerably as of late, and she had grown so accustomed to it’s gentleness that now the stark contrast of his cold stare cut straight through her heart. Such coldness, where once there was warmth.

If she didn’t know better, didn’t feel it in her bones, she would think that he was just as unfeeling as his mask portrayed. But she could see it, the minuscule crack in his facade, and the agony that bled through it.

And so, she continued, quickly, before he took his facade and left her here, alone, with the consequences of her cowardly heart.

“But I—” she choked on her own words, the vulnerability scaring her. She swallowed down the fear, and spoke before she let it consume her, “I don’t want us to be over.”

Shock passed over his features so quickly she almost missed it, the widening of his eyes, his slackened jaw.

And then, in the next moment, his mask was firmly back in place. The crack in his facade hidden once more by cool indifference.

“Why?” he asked, as though he hadn’t been the one begging her not to tell him it was over just moments ago.

Though she supposed this was just his nature. So afraid of being helpless, of putting his heart out on a limb and having it used against him. Such was his upbringing, his love for his family only bringing upon him despair.

But she would not use such weakness against him.

So, she answered his question.

“Because,” she whispered, as sometimes such delicate truth could only be uttered in delicate tone, “I can no longer imagine a future without you in it.”

His mask fell, exposing the agony of the heart he carried.

Two quick strides and he was before her, hand raised as though he meant to caress her. But it fell down by his side again before she could feel his skin against hers.

There was a war waging behind his irises, a war against the man he once was and the man he had become.

She could only hope that the man she loved won the battle.

For several long seconds he said nothing.

But she could tell the exact moment the war ended.

The moment his hand raised for a second time and she felt him caress her cheek. The moment his eyes softened in the way they only ever did for her. The moment his lips parted, not with words, but with a shaky exhale, as though he’d held his breath through their entire encounter.

And then, he whispered, in his own delicate truth, “I do not have a future without you in it.”

Her heart swooped in euphoric glee, and she could not help the smile that stretched her lips so wide it almost hurt.

He laughed as he stared at her, and she knew she probably looked half-mad. But she didn’t care.

Raising to her tip-toes, she kissed him.

Things between them were not over. Far from it. This was only just their beginning.

[map0fthes0ul7]

Heartbeats in the halls of academia.

Pairing: Dilf!Ceo!Professor!Jeonghan x Student!reader (ft. Jeonghan's clueless daughter Yena) ((Jeonghan is a whole combo here as y'all can see))

Warnings: Kinda angsty, but they get their happy ending, so hey, that's great!

Word count: 5407

Synopsis: Good ol' forbidden romance between Professor Jeonghan and his student y/n.

Author's note: I hope this one is also going to do well.

The towering figure of Yoon Jeonghan loomed at the front of the lecture hall, his presence commanding the undivided attention of every student seated before him. At 44, the CEO of Yoon Technologies had built an empire on innovation and foresight, and his reputation as a strict yet fair professor at the local university was nothing short of illustrious. With a keen eye that missed no detail and a wit that kept even the most brilliant minds on their toes, Professor Yoon had become a pillar of both the academic and business worlds.

As he lectured on the complexities of quantum mechanics, his voice reverberated through the hall, each word enunciated with knowledge and authority. He adorned a tailored suit, the dark fabric contrasting against his youthfully styled silver hair, his persona exuding a magnetic allure that was not lost on the students.

In the second row sat y/n, a passionate science student whose thoughts often drifted to realms beyond the subject at hand—specifically, to the man who stood just meters away. Y/n's pen poised above the notebook, the equations and theories interspersed with tiny scribbles and incoherent notes that betrayed a distracted mind. Though y/n was introverted, preferring the solace of books and music to the adventures that university life offered, there was one adventure that the heart seemed all too keen to embark upon—a dangerous dalliance with the professor.

Beside y/n, Yena's bright laughter broke the silence that had momentarily engulfed their small corner of the room. Yoon Yena, with her vivacious smile and inexplicable energy, was the image of collegiate exuberance. She was the only child of Jeonghan and the dearest friend y/n had at the university, their bond forged through shared interests and a love for science.

But it was a love of another manner that had y/n's thoughts in turmoil. Unbeknownst to cheerful Yena, y/n harbored a secret adoration for her father, a sentiment that flooded y/n with guilt and longing in equal measure.

As the bell signaled the end of the lecture, the students began to pack up their belongings, the buzz of excited chatter filling the air. Yena leaned over to y/n, her eyes glistening with plans and propositions.

"Are you coming out with us tonight?" Yena's invitation was as predictable as it was well-intentioned.

With a gentle shake of the head, y/n deflected, "I've got a lot on my plate. Maybe next time.

Yena pouted, playful but understanding. "You work too hard, y/n. You should live a little," she teased before bounding off to catch up with a group of her other friends.

Y/n was left alone as the last of the students tricked out of the lecture hall. Alone, that is, except for the man still standing at the front. With the hall emptied, Professor Yoon began to gather his own materials, his astute eyes catching y/n's lingering presence. An imperceptible silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint echo of Yena's laughter as it trailed off into the hallways.

"Is there something you didn't understand about the lecture?" Jeonghan queried, his tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

Mutely, y/n stood and approached the desk where he stood, clutching the notebook like a lifeline. Each step was measured, the heartbeat thundering in y/n's chest a stark contrast to the calm demeanor attempted to be displayed.

"Actually, Professor, I was wondering if you had any suggestions for extra reading. I find the subject fascinating," y/n admitted, looking up through lashes with a sincerity that was as indisputable as it was alluring to the older man.

A smile tugged at the corners of Jeonghan's lips. "I admire your dedication," he praised before writing down a list of books on a piece of paper and handing it over. As their fingertips brushed, an electric jolt of unspoken tension passed between them—an acknowledgement of something deeper than the exchange of scholarly advice.

"I appreciate it," y/n murmured, lingering for a moment too long, and then, with a final glance, turned to leave.

Jeonghan watched y/n's retreating figure, the rush of something forbidden stirring within him. It was a crossing of lines he was usually adept at maintaining, but the more he came to know y/n, the more difficult it became to uphold those barriers. He was acutely aware of the implications, of the ethics of his position. With a small shake of his head, he tried to dismiss the thoughts as mere weakness—at least until the next lecture.

~

A few days had passed since y/n had approached Jeonghan for extra reading material, and the tension in the air had not dissipated but rather intensified with every sidelong glance exchanged in the lecture hall. Y/n had delved into the recommended texts, each page offering both an insight into quantum mechanics and a connection to Jeonghan that provided a solace for the consuming thoughts.

Yet, the fantasies that played in y/n's mind were a dangerous escape from reality, with their tendrils looping ever tighter around a heart that shouldn't yearn so fervently for the forbidden. In the quiet of y/n's room, filled with stacks of books and soft music playing in the background, it was simple to imagine a different world; one where it wasn't wrong to want someone so unattainable.

Despite the internal conflict, y/n had excelled in the assignments, with Jeonghan's teachings echoing not just in the academic work, but in the daydreams that found their way onto the pages of a private journal.

~

One particularly late evening, deep in the embrace of the campus library's solitude, y/n realized a crucial textbook—a cornerstone of the upcoming thesis—was missing. It was a rare find, one usually kept in the professors' private collections. Without it, the research would be incomplete, an academic yearning so urgent that it nudged y/n towards an impulsive decision.

Remaining students were few as y/n made the way to Jeonghan's office, the silence interrupted only by the hesitant rhythm of y/n's steps. Reaching the closed door, y/n paused, the words 'Private' and 'Professor Yoon Jeonghan' neatly etched on the plaque. Stealing a breath to quell the rising nerves, y/n knocked softly.

The door creaked open, revealing Jeonghan in his sanctum, shrouded by the soft glow of his desk lamp, his attention undivided from the papers he was marking. He looked up, surprise evident in his features, replaced quickly by an accommodating warmth.

"y/n, what brings you here so late?" he inquired, motioning for y/n to enter.

"The book I need for my thesis isn’t in the library. I was wondering if you might have a copy I could borrow," y/n explained with a hopeful timbre.

A moment of contemplation passed over Jeonghan's face as he stood and walked to one of the many shelves lining the walls. With purposeful strides, he retrieved the desired tome and handed it to y/n with a gentle smile.

"Our little secret," he said softly, an undercurrent of playfulness in his voice that set y/n's heart racing.

As y/n reached out to take the book, their hands touched again, and this time, neither pulled away. Drawn by a force neither understood nor could articulate, they moved closer, a magnetic pull zeroing the space between them.

The first kiss came as a whisper against y/n's lips, soft but filled with the power of suppressed desire. It was a convergence of emotion, a silent confession of the feelings that swirled with reckless abandon in that confined space.

Professor and student, they knew the gravity of what they were doing, yet the kiss deepened, fueled by a hunger that had been waiting in the shadows of their professional façade. It was in that stolen moment, with the taste of the forbidden making the air thick with tension, that y/n and Jeonghan crossed a line from which there was no return.

Outside, the world continued unaware, stars peppering the night sky. Inside, two hearts wrestled with what it meant to be bound by society's rules yet led astray by the anarchy of love. It was only the beginning, the bursting forth of a story written in the quiet language of shared glances and unspoken promises, with consequences neither could predict nor fully comprehend.

~

In the aftermath of the kiss, the world seemed to stand still. Y/n clutched the treasured book against a chest that heaved with emotions too complex to untangle. Y/n and Jeonghan remained in the quiet cocoon of his office, the taste of their forbidden embrace lingering, an indelible mark on both their souls.

"Y/n," Jeonghan’s voice was a hushed murmur, torn between duty and desire. He stepped back, the space between them expanding like an unfathomable chasm. His eyes, usually so clear and confident, now swam with a conflicting storm. 

This was a line they could traverse only once. The kiss—a single brush of lips—had sealed a secret pact, a silent agreement to the flames that licked at the foundations of the world they knew.

"We should forget this happened," Jeonghan's statement was heavy with regret, but his stare held y/n with an intensity that belied his words. He could not un-write the moment any more than y/n could, and they both knew it.

Y/n nodded, though every fiber protested. "Yes, Professor," came the whisper, a futile attempt to sew closed the threads they had so daringly pulled loose. Y/n left the room then, the book a weighty token of a shift in the equilibrium that resonated with every step away from Jeonghan’s office.

~

In the following weeks, the tension was only mounted. Their interactions in class were laden with a newfound formality, every word and gesture measured with surgical precision. Students and faculty remained oblivious to the undercurrent that hummed beneath the surface, but y/n and Jeonghan were acutely aware. Each glance shared was a brush stroke adding detail to the clandestine picture they had accidentally begun to paint.

Yena, blissfully ignorant of the drama unfolding, continued to be the link between her father and y/n, a bridge that neither could avoid crossing. She commented innocently on how studious y/n was and how proud her father seemed of y/n's academic progress, unwittingly tightening the knot at the juncture where personal and professional lines blurred.

~

The university’s annual science fair arrived like a gusting wind, all excitement and fluttering papers, with lectures giving way to demonstrations and experiments. Y/n's project, deeply influenced by the recent nights spent traipsing through quantum theory, drew an impressed crowd which included both Yena and, inevitably, Jeonghan.

As y/n presented the findings, expertly explained the complex mechanisms at play, a nervous energy coursed through veins. Jeonghan was there, a silent sentinel whose gaze bore into y/n with an intensity that was difficult to ignore. With each accomplishment that shone in y/n's eyes, Jeonghan's pride was matched by the quiet terror of the mounting bond forming between mentor and student, one he could neither publicly acknowledge nor tear his eyes from.

Yena clapped the loudest when the presentation ended, her cheers carrying a genuine love and pride for y/n. She threw arms around her friend in a congratulatory hug, seemingly deaf to the irregular tempo of y/n's heart—a rhythm that danced uneasily to a melody that spelled out jeopardy in haunting notes.

It was later that day, when the crowds had thinned and the buzz had dulled to a background hum, that Jeonghan approached y/n under the guise of discussing the project further. Yena, ever the social butterfly, had been whisked away by classmates, leaving them in a rare pocket of tranquility amidst the chaos.

"Your understanding of the subject is remarkable," Jeonghan said, his voice low, a treacherous vibrato beneath the compliment.

"Thank you, sir. Your guidance has been invaluable," y/n replied, acutely aware of the double entendre that laced their words.

Their eyes met, and in them, the reflections of that night in Jeonghan's office was a moment frozen in time, pulsing with life unto its own. They spoke of the project at length but danced around the conversation they truly wanted to have—a dangerous tango of words.

The fair wound down, and the sun dipped low, casting an orange glow over the campus grounds. Jeonghan and y/n wandered aimlessly, caught in the gravity of each other's company. The quiet became a living, breathing entity between them—one that whispered the truths they could not voice but felt with a fervor that neither logic nor ethics could silence.

~

As autumn bled into winter, the campus transformed under a blanket of white. Each flake of snow that settled on the university echoed the silent, frozen sentiment that hung between Professor Yoon Jeonghan and y/n. The secret of their singular kiss was guarded behind the somber walls of professionalism and duty, yet it simmered beneath the ice, yearning for the thaw of admittance.

Y/n navigated the semester with the dual burden of advancing academic ambitions and the weighty secret shared with Jeonghan. The more entrenched y/n became in the scientific exploration, the deeper the mental connection wove its tendrils through thoughts and motives, linking every discovery back to the man who was both mentor and forbidden infatuation.

The precarious balance of their interactions came under quiet scrutiny through the occasional curious glance from peers or the inadvertent, lingering handshake at the end of an earnest academic debate. Yet no concrete suspicion surfaced, their careful orchestration of exchanges nothing if not masterful. To the world, y/n was Jeonghan's most promising student, nothing more, and their determination to maintain that facade grew even as the hidden truth of their affection pulled them together like the unseen forces they so often discussed in lectures.

The approaching break brought a bittersweet solace, a respite from the constant need to conceal their attraction within the confines of the university. Yet, the absence only served to magnify the unresolved tension, to stretch the silence until it sang with a sweet, near unbearable pitch.

As the last of y/n's finals were submitted and the student body dissipated, the quiet of the campus became a reminder of that electric moment in Jeonghan's office, raising questions that thrummed in y/n's pulse.

~

During the winter break, y/n stayed on campus, lost in the research and theories that did little to distract from thoughts of Jeonghan. The resounding hollowness of the hallways echoed a sense of emptiness that y/n couldn't shake.

Yena, in her usual effervescent manner, had taken a trip abroad, her messages arriving as bursts of joy and snatches of escapades, a contrast to the solemnity that y/n found in books and quiet contemplation. In her absence, the link between y/n and Jeonghan seemed to grow even more tenuous, a frayed connection that was at once a source of agony and comfort.

Y/n's solitude was broken one late evening when a soft knock at the dorm door reverberated through the stillness. A glance through the peephole revealed a sight that caused y/n's heart to cease before thundering against ribs: Jeonghan, adorned in a nondescript coat, a cautious hesitance etched into his dignified features.

Opening the door, y/n found the ability to speak had fled, leaving a silence that Jeonghan stepped into with a careful poise, his presence in the small space nothing short of overwhelming.

"I wanted to check on you," he started, his words tightrope walkers navigating the dangerous height of their implications. "You shouldn't be alone over the holidays, y/n."

The concern in his voice was genuine, but it unfurled into the room like smoke, clouding the boundaries they had painstakingly erected. Y/n could only nod, the familiar guilt twining anew with the persistent want that had no rightful place amongst the ethics of their association.

Jeonghan didn't move to leave, nor did y/n close the door, their mutual hesitation a dance they both led. It was Jeonghan who broke first, his hand reaching out to touch y/n's, a contact that exceeded caution and sparked the return of all the emotions they had tried to suppress.

"Perhaps I should go," he whispered, though neither moved.

"Perhaps," y/n mirrored, the admission laden with the things that couldn't be said.

In the end, Jeonghan did leave, but the ghost of his touch lingered, a testament to the crumbling facade that was no longer resilient in the absence of prying eyes.

~

Classes resumed and the new semester began with a fresh snowfall, a reflective canvas upon which their continued charade could be etched. Y/n tackled studies with a renewed fervor, if only as an attempt to barricade thoughts of Jeonghan behind walls of formulae and hypotheses.

Their office encounters were strictly scheduled, terse discussions of academic progress marked by the rigid adherence to professionalism. The warmth that had once highlighted their interactions now lost to a cold formality, necessary for their survival within the confines of the institution.

~

A chance meeting in the library offered an illusion of normalcy. Y/n was buried in research when Jeonghan approached, a slight tilt to his lips that didn't quite qualify as a smile.

"I see you're still spending your evenings with quantum theories," he commented, a careful neutrality underpinning his tone.

"It's captivating," y/n returned, equally guarded. "There's so much yet to be understood."

"Indeed," Jeonghan murmured, his eyes holding y/n's for a moment too revealing. "Keep up the good work, y/n."

The exchange was routine to any onlooker, but laden with the silent acknowledgment of the growing space between them—a void filled with unsaid words and unacknowledged yearning.

Yet as the semester marched on, the ice around them began to grow thinner. Smiles became more frequent, shared laughter erupted over shared in-jokes about scientific anomalies, and cautious optimism breathed life into their covert looks. The escalating risk of their connection weighed heavily upon them, a dangerous game played on the edge of discovery.

~

Y/n's research led to a conference, a gathering of minds where y/n's work, under Jeonghan's guidance, would be presented. The excitement was tinged with trepidation—not over the showcase of the project, but the proximity to Jeonghan it would entail.

They traveled separately, a necessary precaution, meeting only at the conference hall amongst a sea of attendees. Y/n's presentation was met with accolades, a shining moment that Yena, who had rejoined campus life with gusto, witnessed firsthand. She beamed with pride, a supportive anchor not just for y/n, but unexpectedly, for her father as well.

The final evening of the conference saw attendees at a formal dinner. Y/n sat at a table with Yena and other students, Jeonghan at the head table, both keenly aware of each other's presence.

As the evening drew on, y/n stepped out onto a balcony for air, the stars overhead a vast, undisturbed witness. The door behind creaked open, and without needing to look, y/n knew it was Jeonghan who stepped out to join.

They stood side by side in silence, looking out into the darkness. Then, in a voice barely audible over the whispering wind, Jeonghan spoke—the words cutting through the months of unspoken truths and restrained feelings.

"I can't do this anymore," he confessed, his profile outlined by the ambient light. "Pretending that I don't—"

He stopped, the silence swallowing the rest, the implications hanging suspended in the air around them. Y/n turned to face him, the turbulence of emotions clear in y/n's gaze.

"I know," y/n replied, the admission a relief as it tore through the last barrier of denial.

They didn't touch, didn't step closer, but in that moment, the thaw occurred, and the unyielding frost that had encased their desires began to melt. It wasn't a resolution, nor an answer to the labyrinth of moral and professional repercussions, but an acknowledgment of the powerful, undeniable reality of their connection.

~

The return to campus was fraught with a new tension, an awareness that the thread they had been tugging on was near its breaking point—a point of decision that loomed inevitable on the horizon of their intertwined journey.

As spring arrived, the university campus bloomed with vibrant life, a stark contrast to the inner turmoil that churned within y/n. Jeonghan's confession at the conference had not been forgotten, it's echo a constant undercurrent to every lecture attended, every paper graded, every sidelong glance they shared. The thread that connected them—an intangible, delicate thing—stretched taut with the pressure of unfulfilled desires and unspoken words.

Every brush of their fingers as y/n handed in assignments, every shared look laden with meaning, sent vibrations along that ever-tensing thread. It was souring the purity of their academic relationship, tinting what should have been a professional mentorship with hues of something far deeper and more perilous.

Yena, as cheerful and oblivious as ever, spoke excitedly of future plans: graduation on the horizon, job prospects, and the pride she felt for her father and her best friend, y/n. She remained the picture of ignorance to the drama unfolding so close to her, unaware of how perilously close y/n and her father were to crossing a line that could not be uncrossed.

~

It was a late night in the laboratory, y/n absorbed in research, when the thread finally snapped. Jeonghan entered unexpectedly, the click of the door a jarring sound in the quiet. Their eyes met in an immediate and profound recognition of the end of all their self-imposed restraints.

"I can't do this," Jeonghan spoke first, his voice strained with the weight of months of confinement and hidden truth. "I can’t keep pretending that I don't feel anything for you. It’s affecting everything I do."

Y/n's research papers fluttered to the floor as if mirroring the collapsing pretenses between them. "I don't want to pretend either," y/n confessed, the heart's unguarded honesty breaking free at last.

Stepping closer, they abandoned caution as Jeonghan reached out to gently cradle y/n's face. The chemistry they had dissected abstractly now manifested physically, irrefutable and demanding to be acknowledged.

Their kiss, unlike the first, was not a question but an answer—vehement, deep, and brimming with the months of tension that had built up between them. It spoke of longing, of the undeniable attraction they’d battled against, and the collective resignation to the torrent of emotions they could no longer contain.

It was the beginning of something neither could fully understand nor control, a tale of two souls intertwined in a dance as old as time. But entwined with their newfound freedom was the weight of the myriad of complications they were set to face.

Reality crashed over them like a cascading wave as soon as they parted—the comprehension of their actions rippling through each with chilling sobriety. Together, they'd breached the sanctity of the student-teacher bond, ventured into the realm of the heart where logic had no domain.

"There will be consequences," Jeonghan said after a moment, the professor in him re-gaining the upper hand despite the lingering sensation of y/n’s lips. "We have too much to lose."

"And what if I think it's worth it?" y/n challenged, despair and hopelessness colliding with the flickering embers of what had just ignited between them.

Jeonghan's expression softened, his hand still resting on y/n's cheek. "Then I fear for what may come. For us, for Yena... everything could come crashing down."

They stood amongst the scattered papers, a symbol of the order they had thrown to the wind. The impact of their decision began to take shape—rumors, disciplinary actions, and the shattering of a young woman's familial image were all at stake.

Y/n withdrew from Jeonghan's touch, the weight of guilt enveloping the brief warmth. "We need to think this through. We can't... not without considering all the angles."

The acknowledgment of their reality, harsh and unyielding, settled between them as they parted that night—their relationship irrevocably altered, the path ahead fraught with uncertainty.

~

In the days that followed, the silhouette of normality was a guise they both donned with reluctance. Jeonghan returned to his authoritative role with an impenetrable facade, y/n to the studious demeanor that had been a constant before everything changed.

Yet the transparency of their previous interactions was forever clouded; every word, every assessment was now a labyrinthine exercise in extreme caution, each hyper-aware of any sign that might reveal their secret.

Yena, ever the doting daughter, and the loyal friend, began to notice a shift—not in her father, nor in y/n, but in the air that seemed to crackle with an energy around them. Her intuition nagged at her, whispering of changes she could not place nor fathom.

"What's going on with you and dad?" she asked y/n one evening, her gaze searching for some elusive truth.

"It's just the pressure of the semester," y/n deflected, the lie a bitter taste on the tongue. "We're both feeling it."

In her heart, y/n knew the time was slipping away, that the truth was a beast that would not stay caged indefinitely. This secret shared was a burden too heavy, a truth too poignant to remain hidden.

As y/n watched the last vestiges of daylight wane from the sky, there was an understanding that the story they had begun was far from over. The pages yet to be written loomed large and unpredictable, but it was clear that the journey they faced was one neither Jeonghan nor y/n could travel alone.

~

As the semester waned, the tension between Jeonghan and y/n had become almost palpable, a volatile cocktail of fear and longing that hovered over their every interaction. They moved through the motions of their respective roles with a deliberate caution that belied the undercurrent of suppressed emotions churning beneath the surface.

In the quiet confines of the library, y/n poured over textbooks, the lines and equations blurring as the thoughts circled back relentlessly to Jeonghan and the looming inevitability of their secret being exposed. It was a mental tightrope walk that left little room for error, the risk of condemnation and ruin growing with each stolen moment.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan, ensconced in his office and the rigorous demands of his CEO duties, found himself waging a constant battle between duty and the whispers of his heart. The sight of y/n's handwriting on a submitted paper could elicit a storm within him that took monumental effort to quell.

The rumors that were once mere shadows in the corridors of the university began to take shape, whispers that grew bolder with each passing day. Though no clear evidence presented itself, the growing sense of unease was undeniable. Their relationship, though rigorously guarded, emitted a frequency that seemed to invite scrutiny from those with a watchful eye.

Yena’s intuition pushed her to observe more closely, the daughter’s connection to her father serving as a conduit for her suspicions. Jeonghan's name, when coupled with y/n's in conversation, elicited a reaction she couldn't ignore—a sudden tightness around the eyes, a fractional delay in response. These were puzzle pieces she couldn't quite fit together, but her determination to understand the picture they formed intensified.

Y/n knew something had to give. The reality of the situation was a crossroads approaching at breakneck speed, an intersection that promised collision.

~

Y/n sat in the small cafe off campus that had become a refuge, the murmur of outside life a welcome intrusion to the cocoon of silence. As assignments were graded and lecture notes revised, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new patron's arrival. With a hesitant glance upward, y/n's heart staggered as Yena breezed in, her eyes scanning the room until they locked onto y/n.

They greeted each other, but the usual ease was strained, a visible tension threading its way through the exchange. As Yena sat down, her convivial facade slowly crumbled, revealing a resolve that was as surprising as it was concerning.

"We need to talk," Yena stated, the gravity in her voice anchoring the moment in seriousness. "About you and my dad."

A cold dread settled over y/n, the words echoing like a death knell to the carefully constructed denial that had been clung to for far too long.

"There's nothing to talk about, Yena," y/n managed, though the conviction fell flat, a kite without wind.

But Yena persisted, her gaze unyielding. "I know there's something you're not telling me. And it's killing me not knowing."

Words failed y/n then, the truth a barricade too high and thick to cross. Yet the look in Yena's eyes pulled at something deep within, a plea for honesty that was as raw as it was heartrending.

~

In the wake of Yena's confrontation, the dominoes of their secret began to totter, threatening to tumble into chaos. Heavy-hearted and knowing that the time had come, y/n sought Jeonghan out, the need to discuss the next step a fire that refused to be doused.

Jeonghan's office stood as a symbol of their forbidden connection, the site of their passion, of furtive kisses and the echoing silence of unspoken vows. As y/n stepped in, it felt like crossing into another realm, a place where the walls whispered their memories back to them.

"We need to decide what we're doing," y/n began, the urgency of the situation straining the voice.

Jeonghan looked up, his features etched with lines of a silent struggle. "The risk is becoming too great," he admitted, a resignation sweeping through his words.

The conversation that ensued was as difficult as it was necessary, a navigation through the murky waters of ethics, emotions, and consequences. The affection that had blossomed was undeniable, the connection strong, but it was tethered to a reality they could no longer ignore.

They deliberated on coming clean, on facing the storm together, but the image of Yena—happy, bright, and unaware—loomed between them like a specter of potential disaster.

~

Days later, as spring flowers burgeoned outside, an air of somber finality settled within the hallowed halls of the university. Y/n and Jeonghan made the decision to step into the light, to confront the potential consequences head-on, rather than continue in the shadows.

They met with the university board, an assembly of faces stern and inquisitive, disclosing the truth of their relationship in stark terms. The ripple of shock and murmuring that followed their confession painted a clear image of the repercussions to come.

As the process of institutional inquiry commenced, Yena was told, the news delivered in gentle but unwavering honesty. Her world, once so stable and sure, fractured under the weight of the revelation. Heartache and betrayal warred within her as she grappled to reconcile the father and friend she knew with the personas they had just shattered.

~

The inquiry was a tempestuous ordeal—an external evaluation driving nails into the framework of their careers and personal lives. Jeonghan faced the repercussions within the academic sphere, his role as a professor brought into question, while his standing as CEO wavered under the industry's scrutinizing gaze.

Y/n endured the piercing looks and hushed whispers of fellow students, the isolation a stark contrast to the prior camaraderie. Yet, the heaviest burden bore down in the form of Yena's hurt—a chasm that yawned wide and uncertain in the landscape of their friendship.

Amidst the fallout, Jeonghan and y/n found solace in their shared resolve. The decision to bring their relationship to light, though devastating in its wake, was a testament to the sincerity of their feelings—a declaration that, despite the cost, bore a haunting beauty amidst the ruins.

~

The proceedings concluded with Jeonghan stepping down from his university position, a move that quelled part of the raging storm. His influence at Yoon Technologies remained strong, salvaged by years of dedication and success that spoke louder than the whispers of scandal.

Y/n faced the disciplinary actions of the board, sanctions that would forever mark an academic record but could not extinguish the passion for the science that had brought them together in the first place.

In the aftermath, Yena's relationship with y/n and her father saw a tenuous beginning towards healing. It was a process fraught with pain and introspection, where forgiveness had to be measured against the sense of betrayal that lingered like a stubborn shadow.

The future remained an abstract notion, one that promised difficulty but was not devoid of hope. Within the quiet corners of their reality, Jeonghan and y/n nurtured the bond they had fought to preserve, a connection that spoke of resilience and quiet strength.

They emerged from the tempest changed—not unscathed, but perhaps wiser and certainly more aware of the preciousness of the love they carried with them into the unclear path ahead, a silent promise of resolution held tight in their joined hands.

[siancore]

You're All I'll Ever Want

M | 935 | FF.net | AO3

A/N: That TOWL trailer brought me back. Rick calling Michonne his wife? Love that for us. Anyways, I wrote something. Enjoy.

Content: Sex

The work Michonne was doing on the Charter was long forgotten when Rick’s deft lips found her neck. He smiled against her skin as he peppered kisses up to her ear.

“Hmm, this is much better than workin’,” he whispered before shifting them so that they were reclined on the bed. “Rather be doin’ this all day.”

He brought his lips to hers once more as his hands searched her body. The roughness of his work-hardened skin a contrast to the softness of hers. Rick trailed his fingers up under her tank top for more contact; more warmth.

He pulled back, stared down at Michonne with fiery eyes, and said, “Take this off.”

She acquiesced and began to disrobe as he did as well. Soon, their garments were discarded and they were pressed together. Skin-to-skin, glistening with sweat from the bright afternoon sun and their desire which flamed just as hot.

Rick kissed his way down Michonne’s body, eliciting giggles and moans as he went. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh before settling in between her legs; she opened for him like a blossoming bud. Rick’s mouth met her sweetness as she grabbed for his hair.

Michonne let out a pleasured moan as he worked his clever mouth over her most secret spot; his tongue drinking up her quick release. He lifted his head from between her thighs and then covered her body with his. Their mouths came together in a passionate kiss as Michonne relished in the highs of her climax. She barely had time to catch her breath before Rick lined himself up and pushed his hardness into her pulsing, wet heat.

…

“Now, aren’t you glad you took that break?” asked Rick, cocksure as he drew Michonne’s body to his.

She rested her head on his shoulder and draped her arm over his middle. Happy and sated from their lovemaking.  

“Oh, yeah,” she replied with a smile, the joy present in her voice. “You do know how to distract me.”

“It’ll still be there when we’re done here,” said Rick, kissing the top of Michonne’s head.

She hummed an affirmative response as they both settled in against one another. The afternoon sun peering through the window and caressing their satiated skin. After a moment, Rick cleared his throat and began to speak.

“This Charter,” he started. “It’ll contain all of the rules and laws of our new society, right?”

“Right,” said Michonne as she took hold of Rick’s hand.

“Not just what we want from our alliances, but what we want for ourselves?” he asked, sounding thoughtful.

“I hope so,” said Michonne with a small huff of a laugh. “If I can get it right.”

“I got no doubts you’ll get it right,” he replied, entwining their fingers. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Michonne smiled, brought his hand to her lips, and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“Not me,” she replied. “Us.”

Rick let out a small chuckle and said, “I don’t have your brains, but I’m here for you to help you in whichever ways you need me to.”

“Thank you,” she offered.

“Don’t even mention it,” he replied in earnest.

They fell silent again a moment before Michonne spoke up.

“There’s another question?” she asked. “I can hear you thinking.”

He huffed out a little laugh and said, “Yeah, you know me too well.”

“Of course. So, go on. Spit it out.”

“This Charter, with all the rules and laws, do you think there’ll be some mention of marriage laws?” he asked carefully.

“Well, yeah. It was part of society before, it’ll be part of society now.”

“Hmm, good,” was all Rick said.

Michonne shifted, lifted her head, and looked down at him.

“What’re you thinking?” she asked, with a raised eyebrow.

He licked his lips and gave her a charmingly crooked smile.

“Just that I love you and I’d love to have you as my wife,” he said firmly, staring into her eyes.

Michonne smiled softly at Rick and pecked a quick kiss to his lips.

“I love you, too,” she replied sincerely. “But you know I don’t need a ring on my finger to prove it, right?”

“I know,” Rick replied with a warm smile, as he caressed the side of her face. “It’s just that marriage was important to me. You are important to me. I’d want one of the first laws that you instate be one that reflects our love and our promise to one another. I’d want us, me and you, to stand there in front of our communities and make vows to one another. To commit to one another in every single way. To show that we commit to the new laws of the land, too.”

Michonne’s eyes glazed over as she took in the earnestness of Rick’s words.

“And if I’m bein’ truly honest here, I just want you to have an excuse to put on a pretty dress and have me twirl you ‘round the dancefloor. You deserve that. You deserve everything I have to offer and more. You deserve the world.”

Michonne smiled brightly as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Yes,” she said as Rick wiped the tear away with his thumb.

“What?”

“If you’re asking, then my answer’s yes.”

“You’ll marry me?” asked Rick, unable to contain his utter joy.

“Let’s get this Charter done first, but yes, I’ll marry you. If that’s what you want.”

Rick caught her lips in an ardent kiss before drawing back slightly, pressing their brows together, and whispering, “That’s all I want. You’re all I’ll ever want.”