#Pre sea Training

[veryintricaterituals]

When I was in school I went to a friend's house to work on a project on a Friday afternoon. At about 6 or 6:30 when the sun was about to set her mom called us over to the livingroom. She lit two candles with my friend and then they proceeded to put the lit candles inside of a little cupboard so no one could see them. Me, a young jewish teenager asked her, my catholic friend, why they did that and she shrugged, said it was a family tradition to bring peace and prosperity, that the women of the family did it every friday evening and then hid the candles. They were very catholic, so I bit my tongue and we went back to her room to study.

This is just one of many, many, crypto jewish traditions that still exist in my hometown of Medellín, Colombia and I want to share a little bit about them with you.

Medellín is the capital city of a region called Antioquia and it is currently the second biggest city in my country. Now the weird thing about my region and my city more specifically is that it is in the middle of fucking nowhere, like we are in a valley in the middle of the andean mountains and it would take over two weeks by river, horse and river, and dunkey and mule to even get here before the invention of cars or trains.

Now Medellín was founded over 400 years ago, and families had been coming to the region for way before then, so that means that for centuries getting to my city from the sea or from the other big cities in the country was incredibly hard. This was by design, because Medellín itself was founded by about 28 families and we know for a fact that alteast half of them were crypto jews hidding from the Spanish Inquisition, and both before and the foundation more and more jewish families arrived to the region.

This is a known fact, the DNA of the people from the region has a lot of sepharadic jewish mixed in there. Early Colombian literature dating up to the 1845 would call the people of my region the Neogranadine Jews or the Colombian Jews. But because they were crypto jews the religion and most of the traditions were lost during the 400 years that have passed, now over 90% of the population is catholic and don't really know about their origins.

But some things stuck. And I want to tell you about them.

On the 7th night of December there is this pre-christmas festival called "El día de las velitas" or the little candle night that started and was unique to Antioquia. It's supposed to commemorate the candles that people had in the streets and the windows on the night Jesus was born and that helped Mary and Joseph to find their way. Do you know how this unique festival is celebrated in my city? People take to the streets to light candles, small colorful candles that they put in wooden planks or directly on the streets, it's the night that people decorate and turn on the christmas lights and it is so important and popular that we have an actual day off on the 8th of december.

Let me show you a few pictures

I don't think I need to explain this one. Even most goyim will know about Hannukah. But it is the weirdest thing when the dates coincide and we are all lighting candles together.

My dad was in the Jewish community board and we needed to rent a place to put our jewish daycare. They found this beautiful old house that had belonged to a family in colonial times but needed a little TLC. We had them remove some wooden floors because they were too old and rotting and found a huge Magen David made out stones in the center of the floor. The house also happened to have two separate kitchens and a mikveh or immersion bath in one of the rooms. These a very traditional things that colonial houses have in my region.

My grandmother converted to Judaism so I have a side from my family that is 100% from here and didn't arrive during the 20th century. I had the pleasure to meet both of my great grandparents from that side though they died when I was young. My grandma tells me that my greatgrandmother used to have one of these immersion baths in her house when she was growing up. Women were supposed to bathe in them after their periods had ended, my catholic great grandmother respected the mikveh traddition more than I ever have.

(I wish I had photos from that specific house but this happened over ten years ago, I'll show you some immersion baths from a different colonial houses that are also in my city)

Now how about we talk about traditional clothes. I'm sure most of you have heard of Ponchos, which are traditional in the Andean region, well the one from Antioquia is a little different and it's always supposed to be worn with a hat. Let's see if you can spot what I mean.

A few years ago Spain decided to grant citizenship to the descendants of the Jewish people that they had exiled in 1492. To get it you had to prove through family trees that your family had been Jewish. My city got the most ammount of passports out of everyone in the world, more than Israel. I could have applied from both my family that came from Egypt in the 20th century (we still have the keys to our house in Spain) or through my catholic side, as both of my grandmother's last names applied. I didn't but I could have.

I don't really know why I decided to finally write this post. I have so many more stories. I just think it's both incredibly sad that so much Jewish culture and people were lost but also it's a little heartwarming to see what survived even centuries down the line.

[puckinghischier]

Crowded

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: reader gets nervous in the crowd, but luke is right there to help her out of it

notes: i’m once again throwing a luke fic out into the world. i saw this request in my inbox and immediately thought of the zach bryan concert the boys just went to. i would literally give anything to attend a concert with them. i just KNOW they’re great concert buddies. sorry it’s kinda short, i just didn’t know how to drag it out any longer. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - Character A can tell Character B is getting nervous in a big crowd, so A slips their hand into theirs to help them calm down.

[2.8k]

You had been looking forward to tonight for months. From the second Luke surprised you with the tickets for your birthday, you immediately started planning an outfit, making a playlist, and anticipating the trip.

When he told you his brothers and a few friends were tagging along, it only made you more excited, enjoying every moment you got to spend with your boyfriend’s brothers and their hockey friends.

After the concert, everyone was driving over to stay at the lake house for a few weeks, enjoying as much of the summer together as they can before pre-season training starts. You couldn’t wait to have a few weeks of fun on the water, but also wanted tonight to last as long as it could.

Your excitement grew even more when you found the perfect outfit for the occasion, even buying a matching light-up cowboy hat off of Etsy. You were especially excited for the chance to wear your boots again, not having many excuses to wear them in Jersey.

Luke had his hand planted firmly on the small of your back, making sure not to lose you as you weave through the crowd. You had bought Luke a new shirt for tonight, the orange t-shirt matching the burnt orange color of your dress.

He leads you over to the crowded merchandise stand, telling you to pick whatever you wanted. You struggled, loving every item tacked onto the display board. When you told him you couldn’t decided between a t-shirt and a hoodie, he bought you both before you could even open your mouth to protest, buying himself a hat and t-shirt as well.

“Luke, you just spent over $300 without even batting an eye,” you barked at him, crossing your arms to try and look menacing.

You know Luke could’ve afforded to buy you the entire stand and still not make a dent in his bank account, but you don’t like when he spends large amounts on you for no reason.

“Yeah, so?” he shrugs, taking your elbow and leading you away from the cloth covered table, slinging the clear bag of merchandise over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes and huff at him, unfolding your arms and taking his hand, letting him lead you through the sea of bodies.

“’So?’”, you mimicked his response. “You didn’t have to buy half of the merch stand just because it took me more than three seconds to choose which shirt I wanted.”

He glances back at you over his shoulder. “The fact that you didn’t have your mind made up the second you saw the options means you clearly wanted both, so I bought you both.”

You reach over and pinch his side, mildly annoyed with how well he understands the way your brain works.

“Quit pinching me you little gremlin,” Luke hisses out, the nickname being one he uses when you’re being stubborn or annoying.

“Quit spending all of your money on me, you giraffe-man,” you fire back.

You can see his shoulder’s shake, your impromptu nickname for him amusing him.

He doesn’t respond right away, the two of you having made it to the entrance to your seats, walking up to the worker standing under the numbered sign.

The usher instructs you to show your tickets to one of the workers at the bottom of the set of stairs.

When you walk into the arena, you notice how large the space feels, the open floor and mostly empty seats creating the illusion of size.

Luke has to nudge you a bit, reminding you to keep walking, too in awe of the fact you’re actually here.

“Not so unhappy with me spending my money on you now, huh?” he leans down to whisper into your ear, making sure you can hear him over the roaring chatter.

You hit him lightly in the chest, a smirk on his face as the two of you walk down, showing your tickets to the usher once you reach the bottom of the stairs, a bright colored wristband with bold letters spelling out VIP FLOOR printed on each one.

You make your way over to a small, sectioned off area near the main stage, seeing the rest of your group already waiting for the two of you.

Jack is the first one to notice you approaching, his eyes lighting up and arms being slung into the air.

“It’s about time! We were starting to worry the two of you got lost!” he calls out, causing the rest of the group to turn their heads and call out greetings.

You smile, having missed those in the group that didn’t live in New Jersey.

Walking over to Quinn first, you give him a long hug, the last time you saw him being when he played his brothers in Jersey months ago. The frequent facetime calls the two of you share not being enough to scratch your Quinn itch.

“Quinnifer! I missed you!” you squeal as you squeeze him as tight as you can.

You can feel his chuckle as he squeezes you back. “I missed you too, Munchkin” he leans back, ruffling your hair.

Although you see Jack nearly every day back home in Jersey, Quinn is the brother you’re closest to. You and Jack are literally two peas in a pod, but there’s something about Quinn that made you feel comfortable with him from the moment Luke introduced the two of you.

He’s like the big brother you never had, always calling him when you need advice or need to complain to someone about Luke.

Anytime you have a particularly nasty argument with Luke, Quinn is the one you call. He always allows you say whatever you need to get out of your system before breaking the problem down and agreeing that his brother is an idiot, but that he also loves you with everything he has in him.

At first you tried to go to Jack with problems surrounding your relationship with Luke, but he clearly didn’t know how to help you. He either told Luke about your conversations, causing the argument to grow worse because Luke claimed Jack had no business knowing about what’s happening in your relationship, or he would shrug his shoulders and say “just don’t yell at him when I’m trying to sleep. I need my beauty rest.”

You swat Quinn’s hand away, trying to smooth down your now tousled hair.

“I see you dressed the goon, tonight,” he points out Luke’s orange shirt.

You turn your head to see him talking with Cole.

“Believe it or not, it was his idea,” you think back to after you bought your dress, trying it on for Luke once you came home from shopping with your girls. He loved the way you looked in it, his eyes widening the second you emerged from your walk-in closet.

He swallowed thickly, his gravelly voice choking out a “Did they happen to have a matching shirt? Because if you’re wearing that, I’m going to need something to match so everyone knows you’re there with me, not up for grabs.”

You blush at the memory, looking back over to Quinn.

“I always knew he was whipped, but damn you’ve got him down bad, huh?” he shakes his head, smiling in amusement.

“Wrapped around my little finger,” you hold up your pinky, wiggling it at Quinn with a giggle.

You feel a pair of arms snake their way around your waist, a heavy object resting itself on top of your head.

“What’s wrapped around your little finger?” Luke asks, his chin bumping against your scalp as he talks.

“You, duh,” you reply, moving your head forward and craning your neck to look up at him.

He looks between you and his older brother before uttering out a “Oh one hundred percent. Couldn’t unravel myself if I even wanted to,” he lets go of you, stepping up to stand beside you.

Quinn just laughs, bringing Luke in for a hug.

After you make your way around to greet everyone, the lights are dimming and the atmosphere inside of the arena changes.

You love the hum of excitement in the air, finding Luke and standing in front of him. You hear the first notes of Overtime as Zach Bryan comes onto the stage, screaming as loud as you possibly can.

Luke has a content, amused smile on his face as you scream out the lyrics, jumping and dancing around as the beat allows.

As the concert goes on, you make the switch from dancing with Luke to dancing with Jack, attempt to get on Quinn’s shoulders to get Zach’s attention, and slinging your arm over Cole’s shoulder to sway back and forth with him during one of the slower songs.

When it comes time for Zach to sing Revival, your favorite song of his, you beg Luke to leave your secluded area to get closer to the stage, wanting to experience being in the crowd for this one particular song.

He looks at you apprehensively, eyeing the large sea of people on top of one another, barely any room between the bodies pressed together. He worries about losing you in the crowd, your small frame allowing you to get swept away easily.

You tug on his arm like a little kid, repeating “please, please, please,” over and over again, assuring him you’ll be fine.

Luke eventually gives in, letting his brothers know where you two are going, claiming you’ll meet back up with them after the concert.

Grabbing your hand, Luke leads you off of the small platform and into the crowd, pushing his way as far up to the front as his large body will allow him.

You stop just a row or two of people away from the stage where Zach had just climbed onto, adjusting his guitar and microphone before starting the song.

As the song rang out around you, you sang along to every word, joining the rowdy crowd as the chorus starts.

You start to jump around in the small space you have, enjoying every second, until Zach walks his way over to the small portion of stage in front of where you stand.

As soon as his figure stands over the crowd around you, bodies start pushing against one another, everyone trying to get as close to him as they can. You feel yourself being shifted towards the metal barricade, not being able to fight against the rush of people.

You start panicking, whipping your head from side to side to find Luke. All you can see around you are strangers, not being able to move your body to look behind you. You have absolutely no control over your own body anymore, being stuck in-between a girl slightly taller than you and a man that has at least a hundred pounds on you.

Squeaking out a “excuse me,” and “can you let me out please?” you try to make your exit from the suffocating situation. Your eyes turn frantic when you realize that no one can hear you or cares to hear you. Your breath picks up, heart pounding in your chest.

You can feel the tears pricking in your eyes, not being able to regulate your breathing anymore, gasping hot air into your lungs as fast as you can.

You’re about to let out a scream, begging someone to pay attention to you and let you out of the mess you’re in, when you feel a familiar hand slip its way into yours.

Whipping your head around, you catch a glimpse of curly hair behind you, not realizing that the body pressed against your back has been Luke this entire time. You figured you had lost him when you were surged forward, unable to see him anywhere around you.

Your breath starts to slow slightly, knowing you’re not alone in this crowd easing some of your nerves. The feeling of your heart pounding is still present, not wanting to be in this situation one second longer.

Luke attempts to tug your body back towards him, but the impenetrable wall of people around you prevents him from doing so.

You manage to wiggle your way in a circle somehow, now facing Luke.

He takes one look at your frightened face and knows he has to get you out of here, now.

Pulling you towards him, he cages you in with is arms, your cheek pressed to his chest. He starts walking backwards, his hockey roots coming in handy as he all but body checks people out of his way. The two of you finally make it to the back of the large crowd, Luke not letting go of you until you were back over in your original section.

Quinn was watching the whole thing from the small platform he was stood on, about to walk over and fish you out himself before he noticed Luke’s head slowly moving backwards, away from the stage.

He can see you’re still shaken, walking over to meet the two of you at the top of the ramp.

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” Quinn asks, concerned about how frightened even Luke’s face looks right now.

“No, she’s fine. Just shaken up, I think. She got trapped between a random girl and some dude at least triple her size,” he tells Quinn, running his hand down your hair in soothing motions. Your hands were still clutching his t-shirt, not wanting to let go of him just yet.

Quinn stares at your trembling figure the whole time, knowing you don’t want to leave Luke’s embrace but wishing he could do something to help you.

“Let’s get her out of here and to the car, yeah?” Quinn suggests, picking up yours and Luke’s bag of merchandise off of the floor of the platform.

Luke just nods, leading you back down the ramp.

Quinn steps over and let’s everyone know to just meet them in the parking garage before following yours and Luke’s intertwined bodies towards the nearest exist.

Luke manages to get you up the stairs and out into the outer ring of the arena without letting you go. Both pairs of your feet moving in tandem, not once risking tripping over one another.

He leads you out of the doors and into the cool night air.

You finally allow yourself to leave his embrace, instantly feeling better in the openness of the outdoors. Never letting go of his hand, you continue to let him lead you to the large garage.

Luke’s BMW sits right where he parked it, the loud beep echoing in the dark garage as he unlocks it.

He opens the passenger door, lifting you slightly to sit you down on the leather seat. His hands come up to your cheeks, his thumbs wiping the stray hairs that were sticking to the damp skin under your eyes.

“All good now?” he asks you, the frantic look of your eyes now gone.

You nod, looking into his concerned eyes. “M’alright. Just got scared. Too many people,” you mumble out, leaning into Luke’s palm slightly. “Sorry I made us go out there. Just wanted to have fun.”

Luke leans his forehead against yours, shaking it back and forth slightly. “No, it’s not your fault. Just bad timing is all,” he assures you, knowing how upset you’re going to be when you realized you missed most of the last song.

He pulls his head back, standing back to his full height outside of the SUV.

You notice Quinn standing a few feet away, letting you and Luke have your space.

Frowning, you call out to the eldest Hughes. “You didn’t have to leave early too, Quinny.”

Quinn looks over when he hears you address him, walking closer to the vehicle.

“Ehh, show was almost over anyways,” he waves you off. “Had to make sure my favorite little munchkin was okay,” he shrugs, telling you its no big deal.

You smile at him, thankful you not only have your boyfriend to look out for you, but Quinn as well.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you. Both of you,” you look between the two brothers, only ever seeing how alike they look when they’re standing in front of you.

They both tell you it’s not necessary, the main priority being that you’re safe and sound outside of the arena.

“Fine, I guess that means neither of you want to stop for post-concert pancakes on the way to the lake, then?” you tease, watching both of their heads snap up. All three brothers’ secret love of sweets is something you use to your advantage, only ever having to mention how good ice creams sounds before Luke and Jack are ushering you out of the door and driving you to the nearest ice-cream shop.

“Well, I guess if you really just feel the need to do something nice for us…” Quinn trails off, making a smile break out on your face, unable to hide the laugh at the sudden switch up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you continue to laugh at the pair, Luke leaning in to buckle your seatbelt for you as Quinn climbs in the backseat, sending a quick text to the rest of your group, telling them if they want to join in on the pancake outing, they need to be making their way out of the arena, and fast.

[gingernut1314]

The Water's Embrace ch. 7

Summary: You and Silco talk about recent events happening within your friend group before one simple act has everything exploding in your faces.

Content: female reader, gendered terms, pre-season 1 arcane, young Vander, young Silco, young Sevika, young reader, young Felicia, young Connol, Nadia & Nikolai are Viktor's parents, silco POV, fear of rejection/ruining friendship, rejection, reader has water manipulation, smoking, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna, Felicia & Connol)

Word Count: 5.9K

Tag List: @miffysoo , @teriyakiitae

A/N: So.....that series finale.....how we feeling about it? I'm feeling unwell SOB. Anywayy here is the next chapter and I hope you all enjoy!!

↞ to The Water's Cold Embrace Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

Three years later

“Felicia’s pregnant!” You gaped at Silco from where he sat on the edge of the small pool of water you swam in. It was a pool located in the cave you once called home, though nothing but a rotting, makeshift bed remained of that past. Even Janna had left this place.

You had noticed she hadn’t been around much for a year. A long time for her to be away at sea…if she was even out at sea at all. 

To say her disappearance didn’t worry you would be a lie. She may be an emotionless wind spirit but she was still the thing that had raised you. You still found love for her in your heart. 

You ducked under the surface of the inky black waters, swimming forward till you popped up at the edge of the pool. Silco unbent his legs from his chest only to criss cross them, making it easier to lean closer to you and your utter shock. 

“Shocking, right?” Silco's seafoam eyes tracked you as you placed your arms on the stone floor beside him. 

“Shocking is quite the understatement.” You let your feet kick aimlessly through the waters, enjoying the feel against your skin. It’d been too long since you’d been swimming like this. “She--with who? Connol?” Silco nodded. 

“It would seem.”

“Damn… damn .” Silco nodded in agreement. “What--I mean--I’m happy for her.” Silco raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you?” He teased. 

“ Yes .” You huffed back. “I’m just…worried.” Silco again nodded.

“Yes…as am I.” You scooted closer to him then. “She made us promise to make Zaun a reality for her child.” 

“And it will become reality.” You confirmed only for Silco to sigh deeply. 

“It’s been years .” He murmured. “We’ve continued to let Piltover stomp all over us. We are no closer to freedom let alone Zuan.” 

“You’re giving up?” Silco leveled you with a fierce look. 

“Hardly. I’m just tired of waiting and waiting for the “right moment”.” You hesitated before placing your hand on his knee, rubbing your thumb over the fabric. Silco’s eyes tracked the touch before they found yours again.

“I know we’ve all been patient for a long while, but I think we need to be patient a bit longer. Especially now that Felicia is expecting.” Your mind went down a dark train of thought. Of the reality that pregnancies down here so rarely made it to full term. To the reality that, even if her child was born safe and sound, it could kill her. To the reality of just how little food there truly was to go around and how babies were such fragile things that had a tendency to die before they reached the age of one. “We don’t want to stress her more than I’m sure she is now.” 

Silco nodded, eyes darkening in those very same thoughts you had just had. He placed his hand over yours, turning it so that it would rest in his palm. 

“Do you--” Silco began but seemed to think better of it. You gave his hand a squeeze, pulling yourself further on land to peer more closely into his eyes. 

“Do I…? Come on, don’t hold back on me now.” Silco looked over your face slowly. A slowness he had been doing a lot more recently. Not that you minded. You quite liked his attention but it still didn’t help you in your mission to keep your feelings for him smothered. 

“Do you wish for children?” You blinked up at him. And blinked again. And again.

“Me? Have…a kid?” Silco shrugged. 

“Just curious. We’ve never talked about such things before.” A pinkish hue began to spread over his cheeks. A pinkish color you had missed seeing on him. 

“Well, I’ve never really thought about it before. I…really didn’t think I’d make it this far in my life.” Silco smoothed his thumb over the back of your hand in a comforting manner that had you fluttering your feet in the water a bit more. “And not to mention I would be a horrid mother.” Silco scoffed. 

“Hardly. You are great with kids.” 

“What kids have you seen me interact with?” 

“Those kids you helped get away from those enforcers.” You thought back to that day which had happened a year ago. All because a few of them had stolen something for some Topside douchebag. It seemed to give those enforcers some grand idea to not only ruin a perfectly nice day, but to invade the stream and connecting lake kids went to swim around in and use unnecessary force to find the little thieves. 

You had been working when it started. Had only showed up because you had been… called there by some tug you still didn’t know what it was. Some tug that felt too much like magic. You’d gotten there just in time to find enforcers trying to drown some of them, others getting dragged away and beaten up, and others trembling in fear looking like they were praying to some god that you knew wouldn’t show up to help them.

You just assumed it had something to do with your magic and their connection to the waters the enforcers were using to try to harm the children with, so you stepped in and ended it.

Of course, you didn’t tell any of your friends that.

Not even Silco, who knew of your magic and who you practically told everything to. 

You just told them you had left work early because you were feeling unwell and stumbled upon the scene by accident. 

You tried to call out to Janna afterward to see if she knew what that--that calling had been but she had never shown and was nowhere to be found. It was then you first figured out she was missing. Had been missing for a while before.

“They don’t count.” You quickly said.

“Why?”

“Because I hardly even spoke to them,” A lie. They had tried to talk your ear off afterward about your magic, but Silco didn’t need to know that. “And because I said so.” Silco huffed.

“Fine. It doesn’t matter because I’ve seen you interact with Viktor and you do so very well.” You chuckled, a smile blooming at the thought of that kid. 

“Viktor is a sweet thing. Only reason I’m good with him. Most kids are like you and I were. Bad-mouthed little ankle biters.” A smile pulled at Silco’s lips. 

“I suppose you're right.” You both huffed and chuckled at the thought of your younger years. 

“What about you?” You asked as your amusement died out. “Do you want a kid?” Silco fell quiet for a long while. You saw a thousand and one thoughts rush behind his seafoam eyes. 

“You have.” You beamed, pulling your hand from his only so you could plant it on the ground, pulling yourself further upward, now at eye level with the very much blushing Silco. “Oh tell me about it, pretty please.” Silco almost seemed to lean away from your eagerness, eyes scanning and scanning over your face as if he couldn’t get enough of it. 

“There’s--nothing to tell.” You rolled your eyes on a groan. 

“I told you what my opinion on the matter was.” 

“Your opinion was hardly a true answer.” You huffed. 

“Fine. No. I don’t think I will have kids. There. Now tell me what you’ve thought of.” A heaviness filled his eyes. A heaviness you’d also been seeing him show more and more often. Always when watching you. Always when you said something to him. You thought maybe you had upset him somehow but he was always quick to speak and shove the look away. 

“I’ve just thought about it since Felicia’s going to have her own.”

“And…?” You egged him on. 

“And I don’t think it could ever become a reality.” You watched him closely. Watched that heaviness flicker through his eyes again.

What was he thinking about? What was he feeling to make his eyes look like that?

“But you would want one? In an ideal world. In Zaun?” Silco watched you just as closely back.  

“I…suppose.” You grinned up at him, legs kicking upward and making the water splash about. 

“I think you would be a good father.” Silco rolled his eyes. 

“Are you just saying that because I said it about you?” You shook your head. 

“Nope. You also are good with Viktor.” Silco gave a small huff in amusement. 

“Well, Viktor is the ideal child. Very sweet. Doesn’t steal flasks from random strangers off the street and explode them before their very eyes.” Your grin only grew wider as he spoke of your very first meeting. 

“Well, I also don’t think he would beat other children up and then refuse help for his boo-boos.” Silco narrowed his eyes, leaning ever closer to you. 

“I didn’t get any boo-boos and I won those fights fair and square.” 

“And I did go through all that trouble to replace your flask with a much nicer one.” You responded, bringing a finger up to tap at the flask which sat in a pocket on the inside lining of his jacket. 

“It is very nice.” You smirked. 

“You’re very welcome.” Silco gave another small laugh, lips relaxing into an easy smile. His seafoam eyes started up their scanning of your face all over again. A scan that made your heart beat painfully against the cage you had trapped it in to ward it against whatever deeper feelings you had for him. 

Your breath lodged itself in your throat when he brought his hand up to brush away a droplet of water from your cheek. And then to do it again closer to your lips. 

You--you didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know whether to pull even closer so that your noses might brush or jump back into the inky waters to disappear from view. 

But what you did know is you liked the touch. You wanted it to keep going on and on despite your struggle to fight back your feelings. 

Silco said your name softly in question and you thought shit was this--was he going to lean in closer?

“Are you…are you human?” The question took you off guard. Made quickly reel back all those feelings you had stupidly let slip from your iron hold of them. 

“What kind of a question is that?” You huffed, letting your body dip back into the waters, your hands the only thing still holding you to the surface. “Of course I am.” But Silco continued to watch you too carefully. “Why did you even ask me that?”

“Because…you feel different somehow.” Silco shrugged like you weren’t talking about the one topic you avoided speaking of like the plague.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” Silco sighed your name.

“I’m serious. Magic is rare.” 

“You know I don’t like talking about it.” You fully let go of the pool edge then, making to disappear like you had first thought until Silco’s hand shot downward, grabbing hold of your wrist. The action nearly had your heart stopping in your chest.

“You once told me you trusted me enough to tell me those things. That you wanted me to know.” That pink cross over his cheeks once more, burning brighter than before. “It's…just me.” 

Even when you wished to forget about your feelings for him, even when you wished to not talk of your magic, you knew you couldn’t deny him. 

Not ever. 

It was a flaw. Something that should have been corrected a long time ago but was left to fester and grow within you like a fungus. 

“I…know I was born. Only humans are born, right?”

“Magic is mysterious.” You huffed. 

“You don’t need to tell me that.” You thought of Janna. Of all the things she had told you in your youth. 

You thought of that calling . Of how those kids had been praying for help before you had arrived. 

“Maybe…maybe I am but I’m…not?” Silco blinked at you, looking just as confused as you felt. “You remember I told you how my guardian found me, yes?” Silco nodded. 

“When you were small. In the water.” You nodded back at him.

“She’s…well she’s not human.” Silco's eyes sparked at this. 

“Truly?” 

“Annoyingly so. Her “human” body isn’t even human. It’s more elven and even then you can tell she’s other.” Silco gently pulled you back towards the edge of the pool as you spoke and you let him without any fuss. “She spends most of her time as The Winds. She’s old. Came here when The Gray first came to be.” 

“Winds… your guardian is--she’s real?” Of course, he knew of Janna. Most miners did. She uses most of her energy trying to keep them safe from the choking smog that seeped through the tunnels they were forced to work in; it was only natural for them to appreciate her, even when some didn’t believe.

“Yes, but she’s a lot more irritating than you all give her credit for.” Silco chuckled then. 

“She took you in because of your magic?” You nodded. 

“She says our magic was what led her to me. I don’t know much else besides that.” You answered, worrying your lip between your teeth. “You said I feel different? Like in a bad way?” 

“What? No. Like--other. Like…you’ve always given me the feel of the sea, even when I’ve never been sailing out on it. Like if I were to close my eyes right now, you might melt into the very waters you are in.” He paused for a moment, eyes flickering over your features once more. Something like…worry? Nervousness growing at what he was about to say. “When you hold me, I feel as if I am in the water's embrace.” 

“And…is that a bad feeling? Feeling like water has hold of you--like it might drag you under?” You asked, voice coming out low as if scared of the answer. 

“No. Never.” He spoke quickly. “I find…peace.” Your heart beat just a bit faster then.

“You don’t let me hug you often. How can I believe you?” You asked, partially teasing so that you could try to regain some semblance of control over yourself. You thought, almost hoped , he would tease you back, but what you hadn’t expected was him to stand and begin pulling his jacket off. “W-what are you doing?” Your eyes flew wide as he kicked his shoes off, leaving him in his patched-up socks. 

Your eyes only grew wider when he pulled his shirt off. The first grayish-white layer came off, followed quickly by his bright red shirt, giving you a full view of that thin, yet undoubtedly strong body he typically kept hidden beneath it all. 

You weren’t completely unfamiliar with seeing him shirtless. You had once lived at The Last Drop and the boys had a tendency to sleep in nothing but their boxers. 

But it didn’t matter because you hadn’t seen him in such a way in years . And you couldn’t help yourself as you looked over every inch of exposed skin. Drank in every scar, bruise, and lean plain he was made up of. Drank in that blush that grew richer and spread down the sides of his neck.

Couldn’t help but feel yourself grow restless at the sight of him.  

“Silco, what are--what are you doing? ” You repeated, not knowing what else to say in that moment. 

“I can’t swim.” And before you could ask another question or shout at him to stop, he was cannonballing into your pool. You panicked at his warning, diving instantly after him. 

It didn’t take you long to find him, your magic helping you feel for him in the darkness. You quickly grabbed and yanked him back to the surface, where he gave a gasp for air. 

“What the fuck!” You hissed, struggling a bit to keep both of you above the surface. To ease the struggle you commanded the waters to flow beneath him to keep him up. But he didn’t seem at all bothered by this, because the sound of his laughter filled your ears. 

Laugher that had your annoyance dissipating nearly all at once.

“Since when can you not swim?” You shouted as you began to swim him across the small pool till your feet found the sandy bottom in the shallows. You watched him move a bit of his long hair that had fallen out of his bun behind his ear as he found his footing. 

A loose bit of hair your fingers itched in their want to move for him.

“Since forever.” He spoke between his dying laughter. 

“Well get ready 'cause I’m going to teach you. Ridiculous.” You huffed with a playful shake of your head. You knew he was stubborn and hesitant to ask for anything for himself but this was something you could have taught him a long time ago. 

You had taught Sevika to swim so she wouldn’t be so nervous to sail on your Boss’ ship. Taught Vander and even helped teach Viktor, despite his leg. 

Swimming was essential. It could make the difference between life and death. Especially since your friend group was always messing around on the docks. 

You went to pull your arm away from where you had it wrapped around his waist, but Silco grabbed your forearm, stopping you. Your skin began to burn so hot you thought it might evaporate the water clinging to it. 

“If you insist.” His voice came out softer than you would have thought it would. 

Why was--you were again confused. 

Confused about him jumping into your pool and about why he was trying to be so…so close to you all of a sudden. 

“Yeah. I do.” You playfully snapped back. Silco’s lips pulled into an easy smile, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your skin that was making your brain buzz loudly . Making you feel all fidgety on the inside. 

Making you suddenly remember he was shirtless. That you were practically shirtless except for the ratty sports bra you typically wore to swim. 

“But…why?” Silco’s seafoam eyes glanced towards your lips as you spoke. 

“To show you.” He simply said. Words that only further confused you. 

“I--show me what?” Silco chuckled, bringing his other hand up to brush more water off your cheek. To hold it. To make your mind switch off and leave you only able to think about him touching your face and arm. At how close he was. 

“To show you that I don’t think anything about you is a bad thing.” Your lips parted on the slightest shuddering inhale. “That I would willingly slip away in your waters because I would be surrounded by you. Because it's you.” 

“Silco--I--” You didn’t know what to say. What to do . Could hardly even think past the pounding in your ears. Not when he was coming closer . 

How was he getting that close? 

Why ? 

“I don’t--I don’t know what to say to that.” You managed to breathe out, eyes flickering from his thin lips to his seafoam eyes which were full of that--that heavy look again. 

A look that, now that you were so close, made you think it was longing . 

Longing for--for you?

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t wish.” You swallowed the growing dryness in your mouth back, only for your lips to all but gasp back open when you felt the tip of his nose brush against yours. 

“What…what are you doing?” You whispered, fingertips digging lightly into the skin of his side as if to ground yourself. To make sure that this was real. That this wasn’t some messed up dream. 

“Showing you.” He whispered right back, breath ghosting over your lips. 

He inched closer ever slowly. So slow as if to give you a moment to say something more. To push him away. To stop him. 

Lips brush against your lips, sending a shock through your spine. A tingling warmth that stuck to your lips and pressed closer till he was kissing you. 

This…this was happening. 

It was finally happening after years of pining after him. After dreaming of this very moment.

It was-- intoxicating . 

Driving you to seek more to sate that drug-like addiction his lips were poured into you. A rough yet gentle hand moved over your skin to find rest on your back. A hand that guided you ever closer . 

And yet--yet even though you finally had it, your brain began shouting at you. 

Why?

Why now? 

Why when he had never once tried before? 

Why on some random Wednesday? 

Why when just last Wednesday you had seen him with another girl? A girl Benzo had laughingly congratulated him on finally winning over. 

Why when he had been pining after someone else?

Why, why, why?

You shoved abruptly away, water sloshing at your legs as if to try and soothe your hurt. 

“Are--” Silco started, breath heavy on his lips from the recent lack of it. “Are you alright?” He sounded almost--nervous. Anxious as you continued to place distance between you and him. 

Game . 

He likes to play the game. You’ve seen it multiple times before. 

He’s bored. He got bored and wanted a challenge. Or maybe he thought he could win the game against you easily? 

You didn’t want to play. Not when you truly had feelings for him. Not when playing would only get your feelings hurt.

Your eyes burned as you started out of the water, grabbing for your bag which held your overlayers. 

“I should get back.” You somehow managed to get out past your tightening throat.

“Back? Get back where?” The sound of the water moving alerted you to Silco’s exiting the pool. You quickly tugged the dress you had packed on over your soaked skin and clothes. 

“I--uh--Sevika. She’s waiting for me.” You pressed your fingers into your right eyelid, trying to rub away that burning. 

“Sevika--wait a moment.” But you didn’t wait. You slung your tote over your shoulder and started for the cave mouth. “Wait--” Silco grabbed your wrist in his hand, fingers feeling even colder thanks to the chill air and their dampness from the water. “I--are you not going to look at me?” You ran your free hand over your mouth to keep him from hearing your elevated and shaky breath. “I didn’t mean--I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just--well I thought…” His voice died out then, leaving his words hanging in the air. 

“It’s okay.” You schooled your face as best you could into that of its normal easy-going features before you turned to face him. His face was in that same calm it usually sat but his eyes--his eyes were raging like a stormy sea. So many emotions flashing through those eyes you could hardly even pick up on one of them. 

“No. No, it’s not. I--I overstepped. I can see I’ve upset you.” You shook your head, all but yanking a smile to your lips. 

“It’s okay. Really. I just--I have to get going.” Silco watched you for a moment longer. A moment when that heaviness returned to wrestle with the rest of those emotions in his eyes. 

“I--why do I feel like you are?” He asked softly. And just as softly you pulled your wrist from his hand. A hand whose fingers dragged along your own as if to weakly try to keep you there. 

“I’m fine.” You held your hand to your chest as if his touch had burned you. As if to keep your heart shielded. “I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Silco watched you as you began to back away again. 

“Okay.” You gave him one last, all too forced smile before rushing from the cave. A rush that grew into a run as your eyes blurred and your mind screamed at you for letting him get so close. Screamed at you for being such a coward.

Silco stood in that dank cave for a while. Just staring at the exit which you had rushed out of. Just thinking and thinking and thinking about what had gone wrong? About why the hell he had tried to kiss you in the first place when you didn’t want to. 

He thought you wanted to. He thought he finally saw that you might want to…with him . 

He was wrong. 

Very much wrong and now he had upset you. 

Very much so. 

Silco pulled his clothes back on and made his way out of your childhood home. 

Why had he done that?

It was so stupid. So, so stu--

Gods but he had wanted to. Had wanted to ever since you had saved him from that gang on the docks when you were teens. Had wanted to ever since you had told him you wouldn’t tell Vander of his failure and meant it. 

He’d chased many girls before. Had caught many of them too, but you-- you …he didn’t want to chase them like he wanted to chase you. You who he would risk drowning in the sea if it meant he could be by your side. 

But…you didn’t want that. Obviously, you didn’t want that. He was just trying to figure out why he had been so stupid in his thinking you might want to chase him back.

The Last Drop was rather packed for a Wednesday night. Though, he guessed it made sense, wanting to have a little fun and drink your sorrows away when cave-ins had started to become more frequent. When enforcers were marching through the streets looking for blood anywhere they could get it. 

Silco glanced towards the table he and his friends usually occupied and instantly regarded doing so. Regretted it because Sevika sat there, blunt between her lips as she smirked triumphantly at an easy win against Connol and Felicia. 

You were nowhere in sight. He scanned over the entirety of the bar to make sure of it. 

“Did she come find you?” Silco couldn’t have stopped his feet and mouth from moving even if he had wanted to. Sevika hardly glanced up at him as Connol began to deal out more cards for a new game. 

“Who?” A frustrated hiss shot from Silco’s grit teeth at Sevika’s words, hand all but slamming down on the table before her. Sevika blinked slowly at this. Blink slowly, leaning back in her seat to look at him near bored.

“Who else would I be looking for?” Sevika pulled her blunt from her lips, blowing a line of smoke into his face he only narrowed his gaze at. 

“I don’t know, Silco. You go lookin’ around for lots of girls.” Silco gruffed, pulling away from the table. 

You hadn’t come to find her. You would be by her side trying and failing to win the game if you had. 

He couldn’t help the small hurt that flashed through his chest at the lie you had given him. At your…your rejection of him. 

His eyes snagged on Felicia then, who was giving Silco an almost knowing smile. Caught on her pink painted fingernails running through Connol’s short cropped hair. 

A small touch. One Silco ached to feel from you. 

“You okay?” Felicia asked, pulling Silco from his hurt-filled thoughts. 

“I’m fine.” Felicia hummed, looking like she didn’t believe him at all.

“You two got into a fight huh?” Silco narrowed his eyes down at his friend. 

“Hardly.” She gave another hum, keeping that amused disbelief plastered on her face.

“Really? She is the only one who gets you all fussy like this.” Normally, Silco would laugh and play along but--but not now. Not tonight. 

“Keep your nose out of it. It’s none of your concern.” Silco snapped too harshly. A harshness Felicia only shrugged at but one that pulled Connol’s rust-colored eyes to look up at him. 

“No need to take it out on Felicia, yeah?” He spoke calmly. A calm that carried a very loud warning to back off within it.

“You heard the guy. Nothing to take out. She’s not bothering him. He’s unbothered.” Sevika chimed in, only making Silco’s mood worse. Felicia rolled her eyes, patting Connol’s shoulder as she started to stand. 

“Let’s talk, Silco.” Felicia nodded towards the bar.

“There is nothing to talk about.” He tried to keep the bite from his voice, but it slashed through his words regardless. “There was no fight. There was nothing. Nothing--” 

You came through the doors then, dripping water everywhere. More water than you had left the cave with.

He knew instantly you must have run to the docks and dove into the waters there. 

“Here we go,” Sevika muttered, only adding fuel to the fire burning in Silco’s belly. 

You caught sight of him and almost paled . Like you thought he wouldn’t be here. Of course, he would be here. He lived here. 

“Go for a swim?” Silco couldn’t stop the words from spilling from his lips as you came closer. 

“Uh--yeah.” You spoke as you came to a stop before him and the table. 

“You said you needed to go find Sevika.” You glanced Sevika’s way like she might give you an answer. An answer Silco knew she wouldn’t provide just by the sound of her shuffling cards. 

“I can’t go swim?” 

“You had just come from a swim.” He could see your frustration beginning to boil in your eyes. Could see he was toeing a very dangerous line and he knew he shouldn’t be this--this hurt. Knew he was only lashing out to lash out but he just couldn’t stop himself. 

Why couldn’t he stop? 

Why couldn’t he just walk away ?

“What does it matter to you?” You quickly questioned back. 

“It matters because you lied .” He responded just as fast. You rolled your eyes at him.

“I’m not in the mood for this.” You huffed, but Silco wasn’t done. 

“If you lied about such a simple thing as going to see a friend, then how do I know you aren’t lying about other things?” Stop . He needed to stop but his hurt was too strong. Was awakening his anger which he had been trying to keep under control ever since he was a kid.

“What--” You have a huff in your own anger. “If I lied then you lied.” 

“There was no lie.” You watched him for a long moment. A moment that had your own hurt flash through your eyes. A hurt he had seen flashing through them when you had left earlier. 

“I am not in the mood for your game, Silco. Never have been.” You all but hissed at him. Game? What game? He didn’t know what you were talking about. “But there are plenty here that might want to give it a go.” Silco pulled closer so that he could lean down to catch your eyes fully. 

He thought of your lips. Of how soft they had felt against his. How they held a bit of salt from the waters you both had just swam through. How you had kissed him back .

Why had you kissed him back? Why did you run away?

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You bore your dagger-sharp anger right back into his eyes. 

“It means go find someone to fuck and leave me be.” Silco felt those daggers skewer right through him at your words. 

“Maybe I will.” Again that hurt flashed through your eyes. Hurt you quickly masked with anger. 

“Go do it then.” You shot back. 

“Fine.” Silco shrugged. 

“Fine.” You mimicked. Neither of you moved. Not until Vander’s voice filled the space between you.

“What’s goin’ on you two?” You were the first to look away. He watched your eyes shift when they fell onto Vander. Soften.

Oh , it made his blood boil. Made his fists clenched so tight his fingernails dug into his palms.

“I was just leaving.” You pulled a half smile to your lips that had Vander sighing.

“You just got here, sweethea--”

“Don’t call her that.” Silco snapped before he could even think. Vander turned his cool, gray eyes onto him then, a frown pulling deeply at his lips.

A finger was shoved into Silco’s chest, a small pain blooming there. It was you and you looked very much over his poor behavior. 

“He can call me whatever the fuck he wants to call me.” You bit, pressing your finger harder into him. “You don’t get any say in that.” 

“Oh yes, I--”

“ Enough ,” Vander commanded, cutting Silco off from saying anything further. “What the hell’s got you two like this now?” 

“Nothing!” You and Silco both hissed. You both turned to find the other's eye again. 

Hurt . That’s all he saw in your eyes. 

Gods Silco was an ass. Gods Silco had messed up. 

“Nothing happened.” You spoke in a too- quiet voice. Said it like you were speaking directly to Silco. Your finger fell away from his chest then. He wanted to grab your wrist to keep it there, but his body couldn’t seem to move. “I just came to say hi. I’m…busy.” Vander sighed through his nose at your words, but nodded. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” The nickname had always grated at Silco’s nerves, but it shredded at them tonight. 

Silco watched you walk back through the bar. Watched you slam open the doors and let them slam shut behind you. 

He almost ran after you. He should have run after you but…he was still too angry. Too hurt. Too stubborn .

Felicia gave Connol another loving pat on the shoulder before rushing after you herself, not sparing him a single glance as she left. Sevika grumbled at this, throwing the cards back into the table. 

“What happened?” Vander asked again, voice more stern then it had been with you around. Silco waved him off. 

“You heard her. Nothing.” He made to walk past Vander to head to his room, but his brother grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. 

“You two butt heads a lot. Enough I can see this was different.” Silco yanked his arm from Vander’s hold on a scoff.

“Leave out of it.” 

“You made a move on her?” Silco leveled Vander with a look that had made many before turn tails and beat it. But not him. Not his brother. 

The worst part was that Vander had always hit the nail on the head when it came to Silco’s feelings for you. 

“Just talk to her. Tell her what you're feeling . ” Vander had told Silco many many times over the span of time they’d known you. Silco had always brushed his brother off. Always denied his feelings for you. But Vander was no fool. He knew. 

“Nothing happened.” Silco insisted, though his voice having lost a bit of its bite was a sure give away that something did . 

“I hope to the gods you meant it. She’s our family . Not someone you can have your fun with and leave.” He let go of Silco’s arm then. 

He wanted to hiss sharp words at his brother. Wanted to use the man as his own personal punching bag, but Silco’s feet were moving before they even caught up with his brain. 

They brought him up the stairs, down the small hallways, and up onto the roof where he fit a cigarette between his lips and watched as you marched off back through the dark streets. 

His lips itched to call out for you to come and have a smoke with him. To come sit with him and talk about anything . 

But again, he didn’t. Just watched and willed the heavy smoke filling his lungs to ease the onslaught of thoughts and feelings rushing through him.

Nothing.

There has always been nothing.

Though it didn’t hurt any less, knowing he could never have you.

Previous | Next

[race-to-spac3]

Steb x Avian! Reader

Headcanons for an Avian! Reader (technically Vastaya? idk)

Content: Gn Reader, Reader’s an enforcer, like 2 really lazy bird puns if you squint, 

Pre-relationship:

From grand wings wide and long, to tiny ones that fold neatly against your back– clothes compatible with them are far and few in between– much less the standardized uniform of the enforcers.

The time and effort it took to get a special request to custom tailor your shirt and jacket wasn’t worth the trouble, moreso considering being an enforcer wasn’t exactly something you cared too much about. 

Though you had to admit it was a decent enough job so you decided to stick with it anyways, and luckily you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have met your favorite person.

You hardly fight the way your feather-tipped ears would perk up at the sight of him, not bothering to hide the toothy grin that overcomes your face as you bound over to greet him at the beginning of your shared patrols.

Since you didn't particularly put too much care in your stance as an enforcer, you tended to get into mischief often, and to your surprise– Steb was too– though you still don't get the sentiment considering his poise and respectability.

Something you two quickly find to appreciate about the other is yalls ability to turn your professionalism on and off like a switch, escaping the trouble of getting caught because of it. You two are quite the pair of clever rascals, your sly tricks flying over the heads of those none the wiser.

The bird and the fish, the sea and sky.

Whether your wings are colorful and intricate or monotone and basic doesn’t change how Steb will take any chance to get a good look at your feathers. His studying gaze matches your own that trails the streaks of dark cyan along his face.

While you weren’t exactly trained in any medical work, you proved to be perfect when needing a steady hand, well articulated and precise from having to learn how to navigate your sharp talons carefully. 

So anytime he needs a second pair of hands, you’re the first person he asks. An honorary assistant, you like to jokingly call yourself, though he makes no effort to comment otherwise.

Sometimes when you’re on break and sitting next to each other you’ll splay your wings in a stretch, purposely flitting a few feathers to mess with his hair on the chance that his helmet is off.

He’ll scrunch his nose and flick your feathers out of the way in an equally playful manner.

While standing guard at a post, the moment it starts raining you’ll wordlessly unfurl your wing and use it as an umbrella for him, he’ll try to deny or stop you but you ignore him with persistence.

In an established relationship:

Mornings you have off are necessary lazy times.

Steb doesn’t have to admit how much he adores these times with you, you can tell by the way he’ll soothingly slide his nails across the keratin shaft of each feather, smoothing out all your plumage with such a gentleness it makes your heart soar.

Steb is oftentimes a busy man, preferring schedules and management to handle his daily life with the sole exception being you of course. Even when his attention is drawn elsewhere, he’ll notice that your wings have been a little neglected lately (not to say that they’re shabby no– far from it, it’s just that he has the eyes of a hawk)

Then when you least expect it,  also being caught up in work, he'll pull you away from the stress, making you sit down at the edge of your bed and rest when you’re finally home, not letting you delve back into paperwork or the likes. ”Doctors orders” Steb signs, giving you his signature look that makes you slump in your place, half-heartedly defeated as you watch him settle beside you.

Steb opens his arms out invitingly, letting you tug him down and drape yourself across him. making sure you’re as comfortable as possible before he adjusts himself to be propped up against a pillow, giving him a clear view of your wings before he gets to work.

He’ll preen your wings with such tenderness, even if you insist that he doesn’t have to, Steb will shut you up with a series of light kisses, making you relent to his care.

A/N: throws this and runs away– 

Very short I know, but I just wanted to get something out there cause I been neglecting my writing already 

[giveafike]

One where Jude and his girlfriend/wife go for a swim and she‘s scared? Thanks!

TLDR: Wife!reader x JudeBellingham on holidays, but he doesn't know about your fears.

Word count + info: 2.3k! Blurb! Tiny bit of Spanish incorporated, some dialogue too : )

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Mention of Thalassophobia + a panic attack, if that is a trigger, proceed w caution!! Otherwise, nothing more : ).

Azzie Notes ✚: HI!! First ever Jude ask here! I'm sorry it took me a while to get around to this req, anon! I hope I did it justice for you, I was struggling with writer's block for this prompt for some time, thinking how to flesh it out.

Also, I made a twitter ( @azziegivesafike !!) Feel free to follow and msg me about non requests there, I'll be posting life updates, story + req updates and spoilers/teasers alongside other things, so it'd be nice to have a community over there!

————————————————————————

Waves - J.B.

The sun hung high and lazily over the quiet Mediterranean countryside, casting long shadows on the rolling hills of olive trees and wildflowers. You and Jude had stolen away from the world, far from the roars and pressures, to a little coastal town where time felt like it had slowed down and life felt more gentle. Jude’s off-season was sacred, a time for just the two of you, to reconnect without the distractions of football, press, and the ever-present hum of expectations. No obligations. No noise. Just love.

It wasn’t out of character for Jude to plan some sort of surprise during your time together. Sometimes it was a romantic dinner; other times, it was a helicopter ride over a city. But this time, he had gone a step further, maybe even a step in the wrong direction.

You walked hand in hand down to the dock, the scent of saltwater thick in the air. Jude was rambling on, his voice bright with excitement. He had planned a surprise: a yacht, just for you two, to spend the day on the open sea. His voice lilted with that familiar Birmingham cadence, thick and warm like the breeze that carried your laughter.

“I’m tellin’ ya,” he said, his eyes glimmering as he spoke. “Pre-season training camp’s gonna be intense, but I’m already buzzin’ for it. New lads seem sound, and we’ve got a proper chance at the title this year.” His hand squeezed yours as you neared the marina, the glint of the water stretching endlessly ahead. “But none of that matters now. Today, it’s just you and me.”

You smiled at him weakly, though your heart had already started its familiar, uneasy thud in your chest. The yacht, sleek and pristine, bobbed gently on the water. All you could see was the endless expanse of ocean beyond, that shimmering surface stretching far beyond the horizon.

You had been trying to get better, to be better, to manage your fear. But this was a step far out of your comfort zone. You're not really sure what or when your fear of water had really sunk into you but all you could remember was that prickly, hot, sickly feeling when you stood near a deep pool or saw videos of massive waves engulfing everything around it. The anxiety is all too familiar, the numbness in your body taking over each time.

With Jude, you’d started dipping your feet into pools, sometimes even wading up to your hips, standing at the shallow end of Jude’s villa pool in Spain. But that had taken everything, deep breaths, quiet pep talks, and the promise that you were safe. It made you feel awful seeing Jude splash around, wide-smiled and unafraid, while you sat by, fearing you might accidentally fall into the pool if you dangled too far in. You felt as though you might even hold him back in that sense. You had convinced yourself that in this bubble with Jude and his quiet and still pool, you were secure and okay.

But here, staring at the open sea, none of that safety was present. Still, Jude’s excitement was infectious, his beaming smile too bright to dim with your fears, his big brown eyes shining. You bit your lip, your fingers twitching in his as your pulse began to race.

Jude caught up in his excitement had barely noticed. He was a great husband, always attentive but his excitement overcame was overcoming all his senses and thoughts.

“Just wait ‘til we’re out there,” he said as you boarded the yacht, the sun catching the sea in dazzling shards of light. “You’ll love it. The water’s clear, you can see the coral and fish. It’s so perfect. No one or nothing around, just us.”

You stepped aboard, the fabric of your sundress flowing in the salty breeze, trying to focus on his voice, his plans for the afternoon, his talk of peace and quiet. But as the boat moved further from the dock, the tether to the land slipped further from view, replaced by the endless, glassy water that stretched on all sides. The small town grew minuscule in the distance as if it was swallowed entirely by the rippling waves.

The boat stopped near a small private swimming spot, the crystal-clear water below revealing hints of vibrant coral and fish darting below the surface. You could see Jude’s eyes light up as he gazed down at the water, his joy palpable. He blabbered on about all sorts of fish he could see, how quick they were, how clear the water was; all of it wasted on your deaf ears as you tried to slow your breathing for the umpteenth time. You could barely nod along, but your heart now thundered in your chest, trying desperately to ground yourself in the conversation.

“Uh-huh, and what’s the coral like? Pretty?” you forced out, voice thin and tight.

Jude grinned, already pulling off his shirt, his skin gleaming in the sunlight. “Yeah, proper beautiful down there. You’ve gotta come in with me, babe. You’ll love it.” He gestured to the water as he stood on the edge of the boat, his excitement undiminished. “Look how clear it is!”

You gently rose and glanced down at the water, the clarity revealing the depths below, a whole world of coral, fish, and sand. Your breath caught.

How far down does it go? What’s lurking beyond what you can see?

The distance between you and the ocean floor felt infinite as you stood a few steps from the edge, a chasm of the unknown. You tried to distract yourself, to hold onto the sound of Jude’s voice.

“I think I’ll stay here,” you called back, your voice small, like it might shatter if you pushed too hard. “I’m good on the boat.”

But Jude had already dived in, his sleek form cutting through the water, disappearing for a moment before resurfacing with a joyful whoop. He tread water effortlessly, his laughter echoing across the calm sea. “Babe, you’ve gotta feel this, it’s like bathwater! Perfect day for a swim!”

Your stomach churned as you watched him, so comfortable in a place that made you feel so small. The water cradled him, bright and blue and endless, while you stood on the deck, now tiptoeing towards the edge, gripping the railing like it was your last anchor to safety. Your knuckles were white and your hands clammy as you peered down. The gentle sway of the boat beneath your feet seemed to pull you toward the water, a slow, inevitable tug that made your head spin. It was almost as though it was mocking you, the waves teasing you, the fish swimming in hypnotic patterns to try to pull you to them, the gentle waves hitting the boat as a threat; it was far too much stimulation.

Your thoughts became your enemies. That clear water, once serene, now felt like a mouth, gaping wide, ready to swallow you whole.

It’s so deep. The ground’s gone. You’re so far from land.

You tried to push the thoughts away, focusing on the warmth of the sun, the distant cry of a seagull. But the waves inside your head began to build, crashing over your mind in relentless surges.

Your pulse skyrocketed, your heart pounding like a drum inside your chest, each beat louder, more frantic. Your breath quickened, short, gasping. The air around you thinned, each inhale shallower than the last. You felt that bundle of knots twisting painfully, feeling sickly and disgusting inside, the feeling of sweat prickling against your skin, tears burning your eyes. The sounds around you went mute as your ears rung loud; you knew full well what was coming.

The boat, once a place of peace, now felt like it was moving beneath you, rocking harder, tipping you toward the water. Your grip on the railing tightened, your knuckles bone white, but the world blurred as though the sun itself had turned against you. It was too bright. The horizon was too far. Everything spun as if the boat was dissolving into the sea.

“Jude...” The word barely left your throat, choking on the tightness that had coiled around your chest. When you moved, your legs gave way, useless, wobbling like they no longer belonged to you.

You’re going to fall if you stay standing here. You’re going to drown.

Panic seized you.

It crashed into you like a tidal wave, slamming you against the rail, knocking the breath from your lungs. You staggered, your knees giving out, collapsing onto the deck, falling onto the small step rather than off the boat. Your chest heaved as you gasped for air that wouldn’t come, the world shrinking to nothing but the wild, frantic roar inside your own head. The sensation was like drowning, without ever touching the water. You crawled and wobbled to the sunbed, digging your nails as you landed your hands on it. Your limbs were heavy and useless like they were trapped under an invisible current, the weight of it pulling you under.

Your cries felt muffled, swallowed by the sea of your mind. The world spun violently. Your vision blurred, darkening at the edges as your throat burned, air refusing to fill your lungs. The boat swayed, or maybe it was just you, thrown again and again against an invisible tide, your body curling in on itself. Your hair stuck to your face, tangled, distorting your vision as if the water had already risen up to surround you. You could feel it, cold, wet, suffocating, pressing in from all sides. Your limbs felt like dead weight, too heavy to move, too weak to fight.

You were drowning. Drowning on dry land.

The harder you fought to breathe, the more your chest constricted, the pressure unbearable, your vision narrowing to nothing but the dark tunnel in front of you. You couldn’t see. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe. The sound of your own gasps filled your ears, and the world dissolved into nothing but the relentless, terrifying roar of the panic gripping you.

Jude’s laughter stopped, his voice barely piercing through.

“Babe?”

His voice felt so distant, a muffled echo in the chaos of your mind. You barely registered the splash of water as he pulled himself back onto the boat, the pounding of his footsteps as he rushed toward you.

“Hey, hey, love, I’m here. I’m right here.”

His hands found your face, cupping your cheeks with the warmth you desperately needed. His voice, once carefree, was now a steady anchor in the storm thrashing through you. He wiped away the tears you hadn’t even realised were falling, his thumb brushing your skin with gentle strokes.

“Shh, it’s okay, cariño. You’re okay. Breathe with me, yeah? Just breathe.” His forehead pressed gently against yours, grounding you, bringing you back to something real.

Your lungs ached, your chest still tight, but you fought to follow his words.

Breathe. Just breathe.

You struggled to match the slow, steady rhythm of his breath. His chest rose and fell against yours, a steady, calming presence. Slowly, painfully, your breath began to slow, the sobs leaving your mouth, the grip around your lungs loosening little by little.

“Eso es, my love,” he murmured, his lips brushing soft kisses across your forehead, through your hair. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.” His hands stayed steady on your face, never leaving, his voice a constant, unwavering presence, pulling you back from the edge. He swept your hair back, away from your face, rubbing circles on your back.

“I-I didn’t know that you were scared of- well I-,” he whispered, the guilt heavy in his voice. “I wish I had known. I should’ve known. God, I would never put you through something like this,” His voice cracked, and he hugged her tightly, pulling her against him, his arms wrapping around her like a shield. “I didn’t see it. I really didn't know. I’m so sorry, cariño. I should’ve seen it.”

She let out a shaky breath, her body still trembling, but the worst of the panic had ebbed, her head resting against his shoulder, safe in the circle of his arms. She could feel the regret and sadness in every breath he took, his chest rising and falling with the weight of it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I never knew how...” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you, you were so excited, Jude.”

“You could never ruin anything for me,” he said softly, his lips brushing her temple. “Never. If I’d known, I would’ve never brought you out here, love. I’m such an idiot.” He kissed the top of her head, squeezing her tighter. “I should’ve realised. I was too caught up in everything…”

For a long moment, they stayed like that, her breathing finally steady, the calm returning as she clung to him, his solid, comforting presence pulling her back to herself. He kept whispering soft reassurances, holding her close until the panic had all but faded, replaced with the warmth of his embrace.

After a while, Jude pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and spoke softly. “I’m taking us back to land. Somewhere small, quiet, just us. Somewhere with your feet on solid ground, yeah?”

She nodded, breaking a small smile while tears still clung to her lashes, but she felt safe. “Somewhere dry would be nice.”

He smiled, kissing her one last time before getting up. “No more surprises, I promise. There's a little village close by, waiting for just the two of us.”

As the yacht turned back toward land, the pier coming into view in the distance, she knew that with Jude by her side, she could face anything.

[gladiatorcunt]

- APOLLO REACHES FOR THE SEA | V.

under my skin’s an intrinsic shrine

cw: kinktober prompt (s) - scent & food play, canon typical obsessive behavior, anankin & reader are both 20, reader has a pussy, more suggestive, friends to lovers, drunk-ish sex, unprotected sex, implied angst of the series’s canon events, aotc!era but pre actual aotc events, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“Ani, watch out! You’re going to spill the plums!” You giggle, ushering him in the quarters you share with your Master Shaak Ti.

It’s late at night, a rare day without missions as you both get closer to knighthood. So Anakin had casually suggested swiping some food from the food stalls in the city and having a sleepover, just like old times. You’d known each other since he had come to the temple 12 years ago, and you can admit that you’ve been missing the hours you used to waste away laughing and dreaming of your futures as Jedi Masters. You had bonded over wanting to help people and become powerful enough to stop tragedy from happening, he’s whispered things to you that he fears Obi-Wan Kenobi would flay him alive for.

He’s the only one that knows anything about your family, what you ran to the Jedi Order from. You’re not allowed to have personal belongings from that time of your life, but you slipped a good luck charm in the folds of Anakin’s tunic on your 14th birthday and pecked his lips before darting off to your sparring session with your Master.

Perhaps it’s a panic response, clinging to these brief silver linings when you can sense his force signature darkening. Anakin does what you wish you could, deep down, how can you judge his heart when it’s other half aches in your chest?

“You think too little of me, Scyva.” Ani grins, balancing the tray in the crook of his arm as he follows you to your room.

Scyva, because that’s what an edgy prepubescent you had insisted on if he was going to call you a name derived from the Old Gods. In truth, it made you terribly shy that he wanted to call you Aivela, that he still does after he gives you the bare minimum of saying the name you wanted first.

“Well,” he had ‘hmph’ed back then, “Then I’ll be Izax, because that’s Scyva’s husband.”

So simple, so assured, like it was the most obvious declaration in the world to make. Playing house with forces beyond your understanding in their clothes.

Your cheeks warm as you recall the memory, you close your door hoping that Masters Shaak Ti and Obi-Wan will be delayed more than you thought.

Anakin had also managed to finesse a couple of cups of Jawa Juice from Dex’s Diner, “Master’s a good friend of his, but he won’t rat us out.”

Both of those cups are gone and empty within minutes, the pair of you doped up on the sizzling connection between you. This unbreakable bond that formed all those years ago, it’s like all your pains and troubles fade away when you’re near Anakin. He’s told you the same, with an imploring look in his doe eyes, begging you without words to understand what that must mean. Why you two are so clearly meant for each other.

He’s the chosen one, he teased you when you were 15 and had lost round after round to him in training, the force wouldn’t want it’s son to be without a chosen one of his own.

You were 16 and learning how to swim together, you had forgotten how but Anakin held you up in the water like he had been doing it all his life. You pecked his lips again then too, that’s all you ever did, the farthest you went. To do more would be to open up durasteel gates that would flood Coruscant in sparks and wet wires.

You shrug off the outer layers of your tunic, plopping down on your bed and sighing, “I could never think more of you if I tried, Ani.”

Give Anakin Skywalker a pearl and he’ll turn it into a Greater Krayt Dragon.

His seemingly stuck grin widens and he clamors onto the bed to lie right beside you, “Yeah? Typical of my biggest fan.”

Your arms brush together and a sudden jolt of fire burns down your throat.

You roll your eyes, picking up a plum and biting into it, ignoring the bob of Anakin’s adam’s apple and the flash of arousal in the force.

You don’t know why, but you make eye contact as you finish the piece of fruit, making an extra effort to lick some of the purplish-red juice off your bottom lip.

Anakin shuffles closer and reaches out to rub away what you missed with his thumb. Your breath hitches, the air in the room is shifting to something you can’t even say you didn’t anticipate or secretly wish for. Ani’s always so warm, every part of him, and the comfort his coarse finger tip brings to your often bitten lip lights a candle in your soul.

Neither of you say anything as he brings his other closer to your hip, his fingers ghosting along the curve like he’s afraid to touch you, that you’ll disappear if he lets himself buy into the delusion that he can have something so sacred. Anakin Skywalker doesn’t buy, he gets bought, but every teasing moment over the years does some serious damage to a 20 year old guy’s psyche. Maybe you should think of it like sparring, you can’t improve without throwing yourself into the fray.

The kiss he plants on you isn’t anywhere close to one of your previous “friendly” pecks, it’s ravenous. He’s enthusiastic, moving to sink his thumbs into the divots under your jaw so he can tilt your head up. He moans into it too, heady and smug with every caress of your lips and every wet pop signaling you pulling away to breathe or change your position.

“Fuck, you taste so good, Aivela.” Anakin hisses, eagerly yanking the rest of your robes off in between more kisses and briefly separating to toss them unceremoniously on the floor.

You moan, sliding your hands up his bare back and pulling at hair that’s not quite long enough to tug like you want to, “So do you, Ani, force-”

He cuts you off by snaking his tongue in your mouth, cleaning your teeth from the dark mess of the plum juice, which only stains you both even further. His arousal in the force grows and you can feel his dick twitch against your hip, the bond tells you that he loves being messy with you, that it feels right to be this real and uninhibited with each other. To be this raw.

“You ruin me, you know that? I’m trying so hard to be perfect. For you, for Obi-Wan, for the council, for my mom.”

It’s easy at this moment, with this boy, to be damningly honest. “ You’re already perfect to me, Ani, there’s nothing about you I would change.”

You’ll always love the 9 year old boy who became your first friend, and you became his, every version of him after that only fleshes him out and waters the underestimated sapling into a massive tree with nonflammable roots.

Anakin shudders when you say he’s perfect, the feeling of being indulged and complimented by a friend who he’s spent countless nights jerking off to, muffling his whines and groans into his pillow so Obi-Wan doesn’t suspect anything. But knowing his master, he probably already knows and is discussing it with your master right now.

You pick up on his train of thought, “You don’t have to be so paranoid, Ani. You don’t know for sure that anything bad is going to happen.”

He nods and shrugs it off, storing that opportunity to spiral away for later. You exclaim in surprise as he dives in to kiss you again. The kisses are hotter now, heavy and sloppy with intention. Anakin waves a hand around trying to find the tray of plums without breaking away from you, he eventually fumbles onto it and yanks it to push into your hip.

You pull back in confusion, but Anakin smiles and pushes you to fall on your back with his hand splayed out across your chest.

He takes a plum and bites off half of it, leaning down to share it with you as he crushes the other half above your body, honing in on the squelching sound and passing you bits of the plum from his tongue to yours.

“I’ve had dreams of a goddess of love on a lonely planet in the future, a god too, and they look just. like. you.” He draws back and punctuates each word with a swipe of his tongue through the plum juice on your ribs.

You hear more than see the sniff he takes of your skin, deep lung fulls of the fruity hints in your natural musk. He humps into the mattress and his cock twitches, your belly clenches when he flicks droplets of sweat off of you, the pink in his bunny tongue winking up at you in the low light.

You relax against your pillows and run a hand over his hair as he busies himself with drinking the plum juice off your body like body shots. You bask in his pulsing force signature and the tantalizing sight of your best friend Ani humping his gorgeous cock on the chub gathered on your lower stomach.

You feed him more plums, moaning as he slurps at your fingers and sucks them clean, wrapping his lips around them down to the knuckle. A bright yellow thank you rings out in the force. He’s messy on purpose, letting bits fall out of his mouth onto your tummy, just so he can take another hit off your skin and clean the juice up. He licks long flat stripes up your soft stomach, making sure you're watching as he moans and swallows down every drop.

Anakin’s pupils are twin black holes, and he actually smiles when the teasing gets to be too much to handle and you send out your desire for him to move downwards into the force. His teeth are almost sharp in this lightning, your breaths are shallow and he scrapes them over the top of your mound.

“Smells amazing.” He moans and tries to press a kiss to each little hair he finds. “ ‘s gonna be way better than some fuckin’ plums. Love you so much, Scyva, Nahut..”

Goddess of sorrow, you don’t know how you bring him to his knees.

God of apathy, hated by all but the other part of you, there’s something dark unfurling in you too.

Your half heart skips a beat. It’s probably just the Jawa Juice, you reason, even though Anakin jumps out of speeders more often than not and is so damn reckless he can handle a cup of fermented grains. You yourself feel buzzed, pleasantly tipsy in a way that only enhances the sensation of physical touch.

“You trust me?” Ani asks, long fingers poised to slip into your hole, he won’t give in until you learn to use your words.

No more beating around bush, instead more busting the fuck through that thing.

“You’re the only one I trust.”

The force flares around you, endlessly pleased.

He returns to sucking the juice off your skin as he dips two of his fingers inside at once. Sue him for being impatient, but he’s getting everything he’s ever wanted right now. By what the force is telling him, so are you. You gasp at the little sting, but you let your legs go lax against the sheets, spreading yourself wider for him.

Anakin takes a second to gawk in awe at the view, your wet hole clinging to his fingers as he slowly pumps them deeper into you. You’re both so glad he didn’t beg Dex for more Jawa Juice, there’s no way you can run from this memory forever. He picks up his dry humping, whimpering as his precum falls on your favorite blanket.

He tosses his head back to stare into your eyes and grinds against your tummy like his dick is where his fingers are. You’re nodding, making the cutest little hiccups and tensing your thighs, resisting the urge to squeeze them around his arm. Anakin chuckles as he feeds you the other two fingers, imagine how wide your entrance would stretch around his entire fist.

Your pussy flutters around his fingers and he hunches his back to be able to kiss your clit hello, taking a whiff of that too before suckling. You keen and he takes his mouth off of you, massaging your slick into his golden skin.

He moans and drives his tip further into your plush curves, circling his thumb on your clit until you both tumble over the edge. It’s not a mind shattering orgasm for either of you, too little stimulation and too pliant from the booze, but that’s okay. That won’t be the only time you’ll cum tonight, and this time it’ll feel so good the force rebuilds itself around the two of you, Anakin will do his very best to blame going in raw on intoxication.

That’s what you’ll blame for clawing at his ass and hooking your heels into his back to keep all of him inside of you, like the force itself won’t let him pull out to sleep. You’ll figure out what to do in the morning. But for now, Anakin is grabbing your hand and leading you into the fresher.

The plum tray clatters to the floor.

[qingxin-dream]

“The Afterparty”

summary | lyney is the face of fontaine’s entertainment industry, stealing hearts with every flourish of his magic. however, in the night, lyney tends to entertain a different kind of crowd.

warnings | written pre-4.0, ooc lyney, light yandere themes (stalking/manipulation/obsession), a sprinkle of smut (creampie/implied dubcon) [18+, MDNI], brief mention of drugs/alcohol, reader is neutral but wears a dress, lyney uses a little french

genre | yandere, slight smut

word count | 1.6k

pairing | lyney x reader

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It’s no mystery that the Great Magician of Fontaine is a man of many talents. His shows are famous across Teyvat for their grandeur and flare. Beautiful venues draped in red curtains frame the scene before a sea of velvety theater seats, skilled acrobats maneuver themselves among rings suspended in the air. Blazes of fire erupt from the stage dramatically. A master of misdirection, the audience falls for his tricks every time as he effortlessly makes the impossible possible.

Lyney is incredibly perceptive. He knows how to read people, as a showman can read his audience, a small smug smile crinkling the corner of his eyes if you’re paying attention. It’s an art form—the way he flips through the pages of your soul, licking his fingers to reveal the next juicy detail with ease. Rarely ever does anyone truly surprise someone as cynical as him, who has been personally privy to the vile nature of the Fatui.

A life of fame is never kind to anyone. The planning and training for shows is incredibly rigorous. Executing the stunts in front of a live audience is equally thrilling and terrifying. Without fail, the crowd is mesmerized and the show ends in a shower of roses and marriage proposals. Rinse and repeat. Though, this is only what Lyney allows the public to know of him.

It’s after hours, when the theater is empty and the stage is dim, when the mask begins to slip.

Lyney is the lead, the star, and as such he maintains his appearance by rubbing elbows with the elite of Fontaine. You’d never catch him amid the nightlife of the city, no. You wouldn’t believe the sheer grandeur of the dazzling, flamboyant parties thrown every night at the country’s largest mansions.

It was Arlecchino who insisted that he attends these lavish parties, rampant with the city’s darkest vices between drugs, alcohol, and sex. But Lyney is a cynical man, so this much is to be expected of wealthy aristocrats.

It was all a façade, couldn’t they see? It sickened him, how gullible people were and how obsessed they were with status. Not to mention the inevitable hordes of women who threw themselves at him.

Nevertheless, Lyney played the game well and with a bewitching, handsome smile. Eventually he had learned to take pleasure in this little game.

As fate would have it, you let your friend convince you to crash one of these extravagant parties with them. You had heard whispers of what takes place at night behind the golden gates of Fontaine’s richest residences. Why wouldn’t you want to have a taste of the finest wine, dressed in designer, getting lost in the magnificent corridors of a packed mansion of partygoers?

It’s something straight from the movies.

You emerged from the bushes to sneak inside, which wasn’t that difficult surprisingly. You wore your best dress, not knowing what to expect. It was a floor length, silky black dress with a sexy slit that traveled all the way up to your mid-thigh. You had a lovely string of pearls dangling from your pretty neck. A classic choice.

Unfortunately for you, Lyney is a man who is extremely attentive to his surroundings. After all, an illusionist must be a master of his environment as well. The moment he spots you, a mere reflection of something new and fascinating for him to discover, he gravitates to you smoothly.

“Mm, I don’t believe we’ve met,” his voice is an alluring, a well-practiced approach. Before you could even answer, Lyney had already taken note of your little mannerisms and nuances just in these few passing moments. He had already adjusted the figurative mirrors of misdirection in this little trick, assuring your undivided attention.

You glance to your friend, who isn’t there. Oh. You had been cornered without even the opportunity to explore the party.

More of a wallflower type, you found yourself struggling to conjure up a confident answer. You were acutely aware of who this gentleman is, and his egotistical demeanor was already a huge turn off.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am,” he chuckled lightheartedly, yet there was a peculiar undertone hidden beneath. It was hard to place. He kisses your hand. “Lyney, the Great Magician.”

You withdrew your hand, unable to hide the way your eyebrows crinkled together with disinterest. Perhaps you should’ve been more prepared for these guests to be more brazen and unapologetic when they see something—or someone—they want.

Taking no for an answer is not even in the realm of possibility for these people.

The party continued on, gorgeous partygoers dancing and drinking to their heart’s content. All the while, Lyney kept his eyes trained on you. It wasn’t necessarily out of admiration; rather, it was curiosity. Why didn’t you bat your eyelashes at him like a good girl? Bite your lip when he kissed your hand?

He followed you like a ghost, slinking through the crowd tactfully to observe you. You were a rare creature indeed. None of the other women could hold a candle to you. Archons, he felt this unsettling churning in his stomach everyone your glimmering irises met his. His heart would tense instantaneously, threatening to explode within his chest.

You saw through Lyney from the moment he kissed your hand, and he hated it.

Through the night, you both danced this delicate tango around the massive mansion, a palpable tension tethering him to you. He was equally appalled and fascinated by you, never wasting any opportunity to slip in an innocent question or two to learn about you.

“A beautiful lady like you in a place like this… Do you feel lost in Wonderland yet, Alice?” Lyney had persuaded you to follow him to an unoccupied balcony, closing the French doors behind him.

He stalks toward you, his soft lavender irises cool and calculated. In an ashy flourish of embers, a deck of onyx cards materialized in his gloved hands. It had taken all evening, but just enough wine had passed beyond your lips to give Lyney the opportunity to disarm you.

“Not scared of a little fire, are you, love?” His voice was warm and inviting as a hearth, though it held a hint of mischief like that of a crackling inferno. Each mysterious card in his hand is shuffled with a distinct flick.

You were much more susceptible to his charm now more than ever, allowing him to weave glittering silk strands of harmless sweet nothings to entice you. Had you taken a step back, you would’ve seen the web for what it is. The grand reveal was imminent.

“Now, now, don’t fret. I won’t let anything harm you, chérie,” Lyney chuckles lightheartedly, as if he hadn’t been playing and pawing at you like a cat ready to pounce all night.

Your poor little breath hitched at every whisper and touch he gifted you. It started by fatefully picking the Queen of Hearts from his custom deck of cards. You should’ve known better. Maybe you should’ve picked the one next to it. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.

Lyney’s lilac eyes spark with intrigue at your choice. How fitting. Had you paid any attention to the magician’s sneaky maneuvers, you would have seen that every card in the deck was from the suite of Hearts.

The illusion of choice.

He takes this as an opportunity to step closer, his hands reaching forward. Your chest is beating wildly, begging for relief from how he intoxicates you with just a flutter of his long lashes.

Lyney rests his hands on the marble railing on either side of your hips, drinking in your anticipation, your fear, and your desire. A small, smug smirk pulls at the corner of his pretty lips. He takes the liberty of helping you meet his gaze by bringing his wrist to his mouth, white teeth tugging to remove his glove. Your body feels weightless when he lifts your chin with his bare index finger and thumb.

The Great Magician would argue that he took extreme precautions to ensure the success of this escapade. It was all carefully calculated and orchestrated according to his whim. He had you exactly where he wanted you, blissfully unaware of how deep these exhilarating feelings for you had rooted themselves into his guarded heart.

“Do you feel the magic in my fingertips? Hehe, tonight’s show will be a private event for only for you, mon trésor.”

The night was a blur. Fading in and out of consciousness, one moment you were dancing with him in empty halls and the next you were enveloped in his embrace against a wall. Lyney would pin your hands above your head before pushing you onto the bed, catapulting you into his next breathtaking trick like one of the acrobats in his show.

The silhouettes of your frames were shadowed in the moonlight that bathed the sheets in silver. Lyney skillfully unzipped your dress. Clothes fell to the wayside, vanishing in a flourish of passion. There was no denying it. He had to have you, and you were such a willing participant in his performance.

Of course, the wealthy partygoers were none the wiser, the echoes of pleasure the Great Magician was able to rip from your lungs were easily deafened by the music of their own opulent fantasies.

What is a magician if not an artist who must mark what is rightfully his—painting your womb with a decadent display, a growl escaping his throat.

However, Lyney is a perfectionist. When he catches a glimpse of his seed spilling out of you, he is quick to stuff his slender fingers into your overstimulated hole and seal the masterpiece with a final kiss on your bruised lips.

“Magnifique…” ❤️

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

[thearchercore]

charles is a PR genius. and here's how he's trying to slowly rebrand his persona to strenghten his personal brand:

recently, especially after the triple header, you could notice charles had a period of time when he distanced himself from ferrari and clearly changed his public statements about his goals. he went from saying he wants to win with ferrari to saying that at his core, he just wants to win. and that he would leave ferrari if he didn't believe the project.

he also changed the way he communicated with fans, through social media. you can notice the change of wording in his post descriptions:

both posts are from the same year, but the wording is now different. he refused to use the ferrari branding and stopped using the typical ferrari-PR wording he was conditioned to use.

fast forward, he started interracting with ferrari by abu dhabi and seemed to be finally happy with the direction the team was taking. however, he still managed to build something from this anti-ferrari period -- the slow rebrand from being "charles, the ferrari driver" to "charles, the f1 driver".

charles is slowly, but surely working to increase the value of his personal brand to possibly gain more negotiating power, and other bonuses that come with having a strong personal brand not tied to any team in particular.

in general, the goal would be to outgrow the team so you are known as an individual athlete, not just someone who drives for the particular team and has their identity tied to the team only.

he also signed with WME for advertisement purposes, he started wearing his personal clothing brand CLACE again after ferrari banned him to do so. he clearly regained more confidence in what he can do as an athlete within the contract (that's usually very limiting from ferrari's pov).

how does he otherwise work on his personal brand? relatability. charles is a gen z child first and foremost, he knows parasocial relationships play a huge role on social media. he works on side personal projects like the LA vlog -- the vlog that had little to do with racing but still showed charles completely SUCK at basketball.

why would you include it, you may ask? it makes him relatable, it makes his personality more interersting. more fun.

his first public post from winter training then was him falling

why did he post that? well, a) he's a silly guy. but more importantly, b) he's not crafting up a perfect PR image, he's aiming for being relatable, showcasing more of his personality. he wants to stand out as an individual in the sea of other f1 drivers who posted more pre-planned content during their winter training.

in the LA vlog he also left in a little dig at carlos. why? because he can. he also used his twitter likes to like controversial things that ferrari wouldn't let him say. he very much knows how to navigate online spaces and how to create more boundaries between his personal brand and the ferrari brand.

additionally, he also now hangs out with people like max publicly even if they don't benefit the ferrari brand. max, in general, isn't liked by the tifosi or ferrari in general. but charles still makes sure to hang out with him on track and outside of it, once again, securing his personal brand and not pushing something that ferrari would prefer.

it's all very interesting to watch, seeing how carefully he's rebuilding his public image and how he communicates on social media with the world.

[r0-boat]

Love your work I just read your poly wrio neuvi a/b/o with reader and it was so good! Could we get a part two of more information? Like what is it like when readers in heat or when wrio has his rut. Your writing is ❤️❤️

Yes I can totally do a part two!

Alpha Wriothesley x omega reader x alpha Neuvillette headcannons part 2

Nsfw

Author's notes:

I usually try not to give reader too much headcanons because I want to leave just enough wiggle room for you guys to imagine your own scenarios but in this one ill add more

Wriothesley does behave(ish)during his ruts. That doesn't mean he wants to, though... If anything he just gets more possessive and touchy. However when you are the overseer and warden of an entire prison you have to at least keep yourself sane till the end of your shift.

Wriothesley The first thing he does when he gets home is rip off your clothes. His hunger for sex is unlimited always down to fuck Even when he's buried in paperwork.(maybe that's the reason why his ruts aren't that bad? Or maybe he's just good at hiding it ;) )

Wriothesley is an alpha and seems dominant, but he likes being a pillow princess. He likes laying down and having you play with him till he's had enough, then he flips you over and takes control.

While Neuvillette smells like rainwater in a forest, Wriothesley smells like the sea with a hint of a floral sense of whatever tea he had that day mixed with his cologne. And he is shameful about presenting his scent as powerful and prideful; he does not use scent blockers at all. He's a prideful Alpha and likes presenting even more so now that he knows that even Neuvillette turns his head to it.

Wriothesley's scent blends so well with the sea water and the fortress that the only ones who can successfully pick it out are the inmates and his partners, while he lays undetected by outsiders as long as he's in the fortress that is. He does not mind his powerful scent in fact he prefers it. Keeps people obedient, not wanting to do stupid shit. As soon as they smell him coming around, They immediately straighten out their backs and cower.

They will never know how much of a sweetheart your partner actually is.

And then there's you. During your heat You are the only one that can sedate Wriothesley's large sexual appetite and still come your other partner for more. Bratty yet obedient just the way Wriothesley likes it.

Though he cannot help but joke about how good and obedient you are with Neuvillette and not him. Which Neuvillette is quick too crack a smile and say "You just need to train them better."

And when your heat strikes, you're even more unsatiable. But that's probably because your heat's hurt so damn much that you could hardly even think. Well, it's good thing You're two partners like it a little rougher. Your heat's hit you like a train. Once you can feel your pre-heat, you only have a matter of time before it hits you. The next day, He will be feeling whimpering and pulling while trying to give one of your partners a surprise awakening.

Your body is super hot yet cold screaming at you too seek the warmth of your partners. And how busy they can be the only thing that can sedate you or toys until one of them gets home. And when they do... You will rejoice in the dicking you will receive.

Neuvillette has tried to urge you to take suppressants because he hates seeing you hot and writhing, almost in pain. But he understands when you say no because after suppressants, it will just get worse.

Your scent is a calming lavender. You're like catnip to your overworked partners rubbing against you and bearing their face in your neck, holding you close. You can practically hear them purring like kittens. It's cute until you are being crushed by two big men who haven't slept in days.

[novaursa]

Could you pplease write something for prime Robert Baratheon? (Like pre-got/pre-rebellion)

Something about maybe a betrothal between Robert and a targaryen reader? Like a peace treaty of sorts

The Dragon and The Stag

- Summary: You are promised to Robert to stabilize your father’s shaky reign.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Robert Baratheon

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The hall of Storm's End is awash with noise and light, the roar of laughter and the clinking of goblets echoing off the ancient stone walls. Torches blaze along the pillars, casting shadows that dance like phantoms, while a warm breeze slips in through the open windows, bringing with it the scent of the sea. You stand near the dais, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes on you. Robert had spared no expense for this celebration; it is as if he wishes to show the entire realm that he is worthy of a Targaryen bride.

He stands beside you, taller than most in the hall, his presence commanding yet strangely comforting. His blue eyes, sharp and clear, find yours often, a smile lurking beneath the brash exterior he presents to his bannermen. You see the glint of pride in his gaze, as if he can hardly believe his fortune to be betrothed to a princess of the blood.

"My lords, my ladies," Robert’s voice booms, cutting through the din as he raises his cup. The room stills, all eyes turning to him, and then to you. "Tonight, we honor a union that will bind our houses and bring strength to the realm. To my betrothed, Y/N Targaryen, may our future be as bright as dragonfire!"

A cheer erupts, glasses raised in your honor. You incline your head, your heart hammering in your chest. You have grown accustomed to the court’s gaze at King’s Landing, but here in Storm’s End, the scrutiny feels different, more intense. These people are loyal to Robert, and they are assessing you, measuring whether you are worthy of their lord.

Robert’s hand finds yours, his grip warm and steady. “Don’t let them intimidate you,” he murmurs, his voice low and meant for you alone. “You’re a dragon. These storms are nothing compared to what you’ve faced.”

There is a truth in his words that makes you smile despite the tension. You’ve faced worse than a hall full of curious strangers. You’ve faced your father’s volatile moods, the cold calculation of the small council, the simmering resentment that has plagued the court for years. You’ve faced all of it with the quiet strength your mother taught you, the fierceness that comes from knowing you are the blood of Old Valyria.

“Storms can be fierce, Robert,” you reply, a teasing lilt in your voice. “But dragons thrive in the air above them.”

His laughter is loud and genuine, filling the space between you and easing the tension in your shoulders. He has that effect, this man who will one day be your husband. He can be wild and reckless, but there is a steadiness in him too, a loyalty and passion that draws you to him like a moth to flame.

As the night wears on, you move through the hall together, accepting congratulations and toasts. The lords and ladies of the Stormlands are eager to meet you, their future lady, and you do your best to remember names and faces, to smile and nod and make small talk. It is exhausting, this role you have been cast into, but you play it well. You have been trained for this, to be the daughter of a king, a sister to the crown prince, a pawn in the great game that is Westeros.

But every time you feel overwhelmed, Robert is there, a solid presence at your side. He deflects the more insistent lords, cracks jokes that make even the dour-faced knights smile, and his hand never strays far from yours. There is something comforting in his touch, in the way he seems to sense when you need a moment to breathe.

Later, when the feasting is done and the hall has begun to empty, he takes you outside, away from the noise and the heat. The air is cooler out here, the night sky vast above you, the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below. He leads you to a secluded spot overlooking the sea, his hand still wrapped around yours.

“Are you truly alright?” he asks, his voice softer now, the bravado stripped away. He looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart stutter, as if he is trying to see beyond the mask you wear for the court.

“Yes,” you say, and it is the truth. “It’s just…a lot to take in. But I’m alright, Robert. Truly.”

He nods, but his thumb strokes the back of your hand, a gesture so tender it almost breaks your heart. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he murmurs. “Being sent away from King’s Landing, away from your family.”

“I’m not a child to be sent anywhere,” you counter, your chin lifting. “I chose this, Robert. For my family, for the realm.”

“And for yourself?” His gaze is searching, and you feel a strange thrill run through you at the way he looks at you, as if you are more than a pawn, more than a princess. As if you are someone he sees, truly sees.

“For myself as well,” you admit, and it is like a weight lifting from your chest. “I think I could be happy here, with you.”

His smile is slow and brilliant, and for a moment, he is not the Lord of Storm’s End, not the future Warden of the South, but just Robert, the boy who had once stolen kisses from you in the halls at Dragonstone, who had laughed and made you forget, if only for a moment, the shadows that haunted your family.

“I promise you, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and earnest, “I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

And you believe him. In this moment, under the stars, with the sea wind whipping around you and his hand warm in yours, you believe him.

[loganwritesprobably]

Hello☺️,

I have a combo for you.

Charakter: Benn Beckmann x (shy)Fem Reader

Setting: Hurt/comfort

Prompt: p: "Can you stay here with me tonight?" and/or d: "I'll still be here when you wake up."

Maybe something like sleepless nights with nightmares?

But I'll leave that to you

Thank you

It's a classic, but there's nothing wrong with classics! A nice easy trope with a loveable man. Hope you enjoy love!

Content/Warnings: Benn/F!Reader, Shy!Reader, hurt/comfort, nightmares, fluff, pining, pre-slash, past parental death, heavily implied the deceased parent had dementia/alzheimers

You were an interesting character on the crew. The only woman, and a strikingly different personality. Everyone on the ship was self-assured, loud mouthed, a party-goer – except you. You were more shy, liked to keep to yourself, would sooner remain on the edges of a party to observe or even stay home. But, the thing that'd gotten you a place on the crew was that just like them you were an incredible fighter. You were a swordswoman, and a well trained one, and in battle all of your reserved personality disappeared to be replaced with that of a confident fighter, knowing that she'd make all the correct moves at the right moment and flawlessly survive.

After a fight was over, you'd return to your usual self, and it was a difference that the crew used to marvel at but was now just normal. You'd leave and wash up, rejoining them as the shy girl they knew and loved. And if you wished a particular crew member loved you in a slightly different way then that was your business. Well, and the business of your best friend on board Limejuice, but that was neither here nor there.

You were a good fighter because your upbringing had been, well, interesting to use a kind word. Your father had been an unusual character, who'd insisted on keeping you trained. At first, it had been to protect yourself but as he grew older the reason became to protect him. He'd become violent as he aged and forgot you, and it hurt you that you couldn't protect him like he'd wanted - there was no way to protect him from himself. He died after a few years of slowly losing his memories and his sense of self, and you'd left for the sea after that.

Sometimes you thought of your father, even after all these years, and it saddened you to know that there was nothing you could've done for him. You'd raise a glass to him while the crew cheered and laughed, and you'd drink in his name. But sometimes, you remembered him in your dreams.

For the most part the dreams were positive, of times past, when you were a young girl getting dirty while climbing trees or digging in the dirt for treasure and he would come and scoop you up in his arms to take you to dinner. He'd cherished you, like your mother would've wanted. Every now and then however, you'd dream of the later parts of his life, when he began to forget and it hurt like hell.

On this particular night, you'd accidentally fallen asleep at the edge of the deck while the crew played cards late into the night, with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and your head in your arms on a table. It wasn't the most comfortable but you'd had a long few days.

Your dreams were not kind. You dreamt of your father, and at first it had been nice. You were a little girl again, playing hopscotch outside the house with the boy from down the street. Then your father emerged from the house confused and suddenly you aged fifteen years, the way you did in dreams, and you were an adult managing your father's sickness alone. He was angry, accusing you of trying to kill him with the meal you'd made, and he leapt at you, desperately trying to claw at your skin to kill you before you killed him.

You woke with a start to a hand on your shoulder and concerned eyes looking down at you. You gulped down air desperately, trying to steady yourself and slow your rapidly beating heart. Benn was there though, watching over you while you calmed, waiting for you to be ready to speak. "You okay?" He asked softly a few minutes later, when you were breathing normally and the pulse he could feel under his fingertips had slowed. "Bad dream. I'm alright." You assured him with a quick nod. He took a step back and offered you his arm with a charming smile. "Let me escort you to your room?" He offered, and you could only laugh softly and agree.

Benn led you to your room, both of you content with the silence. You didn't need to speak. He followed you into your room and made sure that you got into bed okay, his own anxiety pooling in his stomach. He worried about you, sometimes. "I'll still be here when you wake up, just across the hall. You can come find me if you need me." He offered, hand on the doorknob, already in the doorframe ready to leave. You hesitated for a moment, panic flooding through you again - you weren't sure you could be alone. "Wait-" You said quickly, sitting bolt upright just before the door could close. Benn reopened the door all the way, concern having returned to his expression.

"Sorry I just- I don't think I can be alone right now. Could you.. stay here tonight, maybe?" You asked nervously, voice so soft it could barely be heard. But Benn heard your request as if you'd yelled it, because he heard everything that you said, never needing you to repeat yourself. He nodded and re-entered the room, closing the door behind himself. "Move over then." Benn said with an easy smile, and when you did, he slipped into the bed behind you, easily pulling the blanket over himself. He didn't hold you because ultimately you were just friends still. But, when you fell asleep and shifted to lay on his chest, Benn kept himself awake for just a little while to enjoy the taste of what it would be like if you were his.

Requests are open! See below links for my other works, and how to leave requests. I write both canon/canon and canon/reader requests for your enjoyment

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide | WIPs

Tags: @claryeverlarkf

[allisluv]

ok but like if we’re in an angsty mood tdy (i always am) what about finnick coming back from a long trip to the capitol?

barefoot on the sand.

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!reader

content warnings: finnick's forced prostitution and canon trauma. finnick has bruises (hickeys) and scratches from his "clients", pre-established relationship, not edited, let me know if you'd like me too add anything else!

word count: 1.1k

Finnick has had a long week.

He has spent the last seven days putting on a front and being tugged from one Capitol elite to the next, only to be treated like a toy and then discarded to one side when they milk him dry of all that he can give.

His neck is littered in varying shades of black and blue hickies, while his back is marked with the indentations of sharp finger nails that were raking up and down his skin. His muscles scream and protest with every movement he makes, and he’s relieved for the ice pack that one of the familiar Avoxes hands him when he boards the train back to District Four.

The journey home always seems to pass quickly. Maybe it’s because he dissosciates for half of it, or maybe it’s because he’s half-asleep. Either way, he’s glad when he gets off at the train station and feels the warm summer breeze fan against his face.

Its a relief to be home once again and he slips his feet out of his sandals to walk barefoot along the sand as he takes the shortcut to Victor’s Village. The faint smell of sea salt and the sound of waves lapping against the shore are enough to keep him grounded.

Your shared house comes into view and the building radiates warmth, even from outside. There’s a warm, cosy aura about it, one that he assosciates with both you and home, despite both of those things being one in his eyes.

He leaves his sandals on the balcony and slips through the back door. He makes a mental note to lovingly scold you for leaving it open but that thought is knocked right out of his head upon seeing you in the living room.

Like a cat, you have curled up in a ball on the sofa. A pair of cheap knock-off reading glasses perch on the bridge of your nose as you cradle a book in your hands, eyes narrowed in concentration. His favourite rom-com movie is playing on the television that hangs from the wall, and he knows that you must have gotten his fax about coming home from the Capitol.

As if you can sense his presence, you look up from your book and set it on the coffee table without bothering to mark your page. You offer him a smile and tilt your head, extending the invitation for him to sit with you, but without any pressure or expectations tied to it.

You know that sometimes Finnick will have an aversion to touch after being in the Capitol and you know that other times, he’ll crave your touch as a way to remind himself that he’s home, and he’s safe.

Finnick’s bottom lips trembles, and the floodgates open in what must be a record amount of time. He sinks down onto the couch next to you before crawling into your lap and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

You welcome him with open arms, and comb your fingers through his golden curls as he sobs into your skin. You don’t shush him, or try to stop his crying, or tell him to ‘act like a man’; you simply hold him as he cries.

Combing your fingers through his golden curls, you scratch at his scalp in the way that you know makes him relax. Just as expected, he melts into your embrace, and you press a soft kiss to the top of his head.

It takes a while for his breathing to even out, and when it does, you ask, “Are you hurt?” Finnick hesitates, and that’s all the answer you need. “Okay.” You mumble. “Can I see?”

Again, he hesitates, but you press a reassuring kiss to his forehead, and he nods before sitting up. He pulls his shirt over his head and you swallow around the lump in your throat when you see the hickeys and scratches on his golden skin.

You push your fury down and smooth his hair out of his face. “I’m just gonna go get some things to clean you up. Is that okay?”

Finnick nods his head once, and reluctantly untangles his limbs from yours. His eyes flutter shut when you cup his face in your hands and kiss the tip of his nose. You must be gone for a minute at the most, and when you return with the first aid kit, he knows you must have had it out ready and waiting on the kitchen table for his arrival.

You sit on the sofa beside him and gently tend to his wounds, explaining what you’re doing every step of the way so that he doesn’t get overwhelmed, and showering him in words of praise to help him feel safe.

Once the gels have been applied to the bruised skin of his neck and you’ve wiped all of his injuries down with an antiseptic wipe, you close the first aid-kit and help him back into his shirt.

“Thank you,” Finnick croaks out, voice cracked and hoarse from crying. “For everything.”

Your heart cracks open in your chest at his murmur of thanks, and you reach out to run the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone. He leans into your touch. “Don’t thank me okay? That’s what I’m here for, baby.”

You settle back on the sofa and beckon him into your arms, letting him rest his head in your lap as you go back to smoothing your fingers through his hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head vehmently.

You soothe him with a kiss to his forehead. “That’s okay. How about snacks?” Finnick perks up at the mention of food, and you bite back a smile. “I got all your favourites; candyfloss, salted chips, dark chocolate…” You coax.

Finnick looks up at you through his long lashes and brings your knuckles to his mouth. He presses a kiss to the skin there, a silent way of telling you that he loves you. “Popcorn?” You can’t supress your laughter this time around, and you nod. “I suppose you could twist my arm,” he mumbles in to your skin.

You reach around the arm of the sofa to grab the bag of pre-prepared goodies, and Finnick whines at the loss of contact. You shush him quietly. “‘M still here. ‘M not going anywhere, baby. I’m just getting our snacks, alright?” You empty the bag of treats into your laps. “See?”

Finnick grabs a bag of popcorn and tears into it, snapping pieces of dark chocolate and throwing it into the bag, too. He munches on his snacks, occasionally offering you the bag and letting you pick at the food. “I love you, angel.” He says between mouthfuls.

You smile softly and lean in to peck his forehead. “I love you more.”

[opal-owl-flight]

I absolutely adore your agent lore SO MUCH it feels really canon to me, just in a darker and realistic way!!

I am kind of wondering what your thoughts are on octavio, especially in this verse- if you have any of course LMAO 👍 so fair if you don't he just lives in my braincells rent free.

"You. Were not so different, you and I."

"|Shut. Up. Dont compare yourself to me. I did everything for this fragile world. A world you yourself almost destroyed twice.|"

"Aah, so did I, young squid. So did I."

3 rounds on the imprisoned geezer. Some thanks he got, after saving the world. The Captain was almost as bad as their old superior.

He only crosses his arms tighter as they clacked their beak.

"|The destruction of my world does not justify yours' survival.|"

Theres a dry chuckle from within the glass globe.

"Which world has the zapfishes. Which world is close to the sky? Which world allows everyone to...act the way you do. That annoyingly fresh attitude that just rubs in our face how much better you have it."

3s looking more unsure now, their hands clasping tight on their arms whenever theyre not signing. Thats a surprise.

"Mm. Do you understand, agent?"

The hesitance disappears, and their eyes and spots glint threateningly. "|Im the Captain now, and I will prefer to be referred to as such.|"

The king rolls his eyes. Mocks a salute.

"Stuffy kid. Damn. Alright, Captain.

Let me illuminate it a little more clearly for you.

You train your agents to keep my people underground. Sometimes, to the point of breaking their spirit. Because you want to keep them safe -- from me, from my troops, from anything the rough seas can throw at em. Right?"

"|I dont do it like you do. Hypnosis? Mind control? Eight ran away because of that!|"

"Who told you I used that on my entire nation? Damn old fool, that Craig.

As for your "Agent Eight"...

that one...

...had her reasons.

I hold no ill will towards her, or the others, for running.

In fact, I dont blame them one bit."

3 squints.

"They wanted a life that I cannot provide.

Its hard, underground. Constant energy crisis. Constant food shortage. Constant resource depletion. Who would stay? Except those who want to make it a better world to live in?

And you, Captain. What would you do in my place?"

And they stay quiet...

Before their voice rasps through a low hiss.

"Act...in a way... you wont."

"Hoh! So you can speak! Impressive.

But you know youd do similar. Ive heard how much Agent 4 hates your guts. Its not as easy being a leader, isnt it."

3 hisses louder, balling their fists.

"I...am not...you."*

"Yes. You. Are." The king presses his tentacles on the glass. "I did all I did for my fragile world. I continue to run my nation the way I do so everyone stays safe from the danger YOU bring. You and the REST of your nation. My troops are family. My troops are all Ive got."

He casts a glance at 4 (pre-Captain my Captain), who was approaching for her training.

"Even if they end up hating me."*

3 catches 4s gaze.

"Even if they end up deserting."

4 turns her gaze away, to look directly at Octavio.

"Do you understand?"

Now its 3 who looks, understanding dawning in their eyes.

Hes right.

"I must do what I need to, even if it hurts me. Id risk my life, my honor, my everything, for my people.

If I dont, who else will?"

3 thinks of the times theyd swooped in to save the newly returned 4 from hazards in the newer missions. The verbal and physical abuse from her beak and fists. The way they had to give her easier missions despite saying that it was tougher, just so shed have a more gradual growth. Have higher chances of surviving. Even if...underhanded.

4 herself breaks the silence, and their train of thought.

"Talking to the damn geezer again, Captain?"

"|He spoke first.

...but he makes good points.|"

"You cant seriously- hey. HEY! CAPTAIN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!"

theres a loud crash.

"|I dont think it fair to keep him here after he helped us save the world.|"

"Hohohoh! You are not so bad, Captain."

"GRAMPS IS GOING TO KILL YOU."

"Hah! No he wont. I know your old man. And for once in his life, he actually made a good call.

Captain.

Agent Three."

The mention of their old number, to refer to them, almost made tears spring to their eyes.

Almost.

After all, this was the reason they were dragged into this mess. But can they really keep blaming him for all this, after all this time?

Octavio shows...a hint of a smile.

"You make a fine protege for the man I used to know.

Keep it up."

3 holds 4 back from rushing the Octarian leader. "Go...back. Take care...of your people."

"Aye aye. Heheh. So long, suckers!!!"

And he was gone.

[nicoleeblossom]

Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley…💀

main masterlist📌 | Lt. Riley Recs Part 2

*·˚Don’t forget to reblog, follow, like, and comment on the authors’ or artists’ pages. Show them some love!

*·˚Broken link or @? Pop a note in the comments or my ask box.

Works by @ghostsareeverywhereblah2

Guard Dogs Pt.1: “He’s even cuter in person”

Guard Dogs Pt.2: “She’s always listened, just not to you”

The Progeny Series: “Shit, Lt. Looks like you actually have a real admirer”

Grumpy x Sunshine: Who in the world can be in a relationship with Simon?

Works by @lethalchiralium

Delicate + König: You were glad you had them both, satisfying your needs

Raindrops: He’s trying to remember every moment

Works by @ghosts-cyphera

Bloodied Bullets, Soft Confessions: “I guess I’d been lucky so far.”

Pornstar Ghost:  All genuine, from both of you

Works by @peachesofteal

Dead Disco: The one that’s always left behind

Light On: Simon has a new neighbor

Through Me (The Flood): Still, even in this moment, you leave him breathless

Works by @lvrxly

Singledad!Ghost: "Eh, I kinda like your son more than you, he's less broody," You tease

An Odd Feeling:

Works by @chaosandmarigolds

Among the Bullets Ch.1 Pt.1, Ch.1 Pt.2, Ch.2 Pt.1 , Ch.2 Pt.2: “Adrenaline makes the body do some pretty insane things, sir.”

Pre-K Universe

Works by @tojisun

My Baby Swinging: Simon and his pretty little sweetheart’s adventures

The Apple that rolled over to The Tree

It Takes A Rampage (to be a dad)

HockeyPlayer!Simon

Works by @bi-writes

Final Girl

Pregnant!Reader Snapping at Simon

Clean Up Call

Works by @writersdrug

Training For Two

Tea and Cigarettes

Works by @halcyone-of-the-sea

Sole Survivor: “Who’s the guy with the mohawk?”

Digging Gaze: But he was afraid, as well. Terrified

Cherry by @barefoothighlander: Ghost finds out about your side gig

The Captain by @as-is-above-so-below: Ghost’s wife joins the team on an op agaisnt his wishes

Bleeding Out Pt.1, Bleeding Out Pt.2 and Bleeding Out Pt.3 by @constantcrisis19: A bomb almost levels the entire town. Ghost extracts you.

Oneshots & Multichapter and Price’s Birthday by @rileyslibrary: An entire collection of Simon Riley oneshots

The Things I Never Said Pt.1 and The Things I Never Said Pt.2 by @lvlyghost: When the inevitable happens, you run

Ghost in the Austrian Asylum by @prazinos: The two of you want him as well

Painless Bruises by @tacticaldiary: Avoiding Simon’s gaze is harder than it’s ever been

The Experiments by @diaryofanidiot: Forced to fight and claw her way to live

The Accused by @amoristt: You fucking ran. What choice did you have?

Badges of Honor by @clairdelunelove: Ghost always recieves the biggest stickers

King!Ghost x Princess!Reader by @hyperactively-me: Stubborn Princess who warms up to the King

Ghost x Civillian Masterlist by @sim0nril3y: How he met his civillian and fell in love

The Twins by @princessdimondheart: He saw his own eyes

How many fingers am I holding up by @sprout-fics: “Don’t hate me for this, Si.” You think weakly

Lime-Sized by @imperihoe-writes: Sighing happily, she wiggled a bit deeper into his embrace

Bodyguard!Simon x Popstar!Reader by @xo-cod: Simon looks on in pride

Phantom Frost Line by @diejager: You’re a new face, unknown to Ghost and he isn’t too keen about the news

Nothing’s New by @thewriterg: He held you like he always will and as he always had

Unmasked Love by @springtyme: she turns her head to look over at you with an excited expression on her little face

Welcome Home by @babygirl-riley: but when she was around wow, he would make sure everyone knew who she was

Odds On by @bits-and-babs: The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory

His Heart, His Light, His World by @thexsilentxwordsmith: "You deserve it all, Simon. Every once of it."

Unexpected by @dammn-dean: Simon felt a pang of something up his spine, similar to jealousy but close to disappointment in himself.

If Only You Would Have Trusted Me by @ltghosty: That was the only thing that helped you come to peace with the things you were forced to do in order to protect your family.

Husband!Simon by @ahqkas: he didn’t hesitate to scoop the smiling baby up into his arms

Glory Days by @sstormyskyesss: If you weren't focused on calculating the best strategy out of this particular setback, you’d be able to see the stars in Simon’s eyes

Simon Riley Collection by @starstruckmiraclekitty:

Cure For Me [zombie!ghost] by @groguspicklejar:

Who Wants to Live Forever by @writeforfandoms: Then his lips twitched. “Took you long enough.” 

Vegas Wedding by @ceilidho: When he stretches an arm up to scratch his upper back, you almost whimper at the way his arm bulges. 

Secret Haven by @lightwing-s: and the moment his eyes caught yours you could clearly understand his message.

Lovely by @daisies-daydreams: “Even though this isn’t on my finger while I’m at work, I’ll always act like it is,” you reassured him

Homeward Bound AU by @writeforfandoms: You spared a brief thought of thanks that your mother had taught you everything about this job. 

Firefighter!Simon Riley by @thelaisydazy: He loves the ones handed over the counter by the cute worker that smiles at him and fusses over the dog every morning.

Simon’s Favorite Hair by @lovifie: And in that moment, with your hair still in his hand, he knew he was in trouble.

Coffee Shop by @sinkovia: His life was good, and he couldn't ask for more

The Next of Kin by @soapybutt17: Many eyes had lingered on you when they heard your last name

Nurse by @jayybugg: Ghost stayed silent. His eyes stay trained on you, no words or sounds coming from him.

Gold Rush by @midnightarcheress

Soft Spot by @cordeliawhohung

Hatred For You Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5 by @mangowafflesss

Dad!Simon by @tacticalgirlboss

Accidental Sugar Baby Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3 by @brainoutofstock

Special Eye on Singlemom!Reader by @bi-writes

Meeting Single-mom!Reader by @zvdvdlvr

Russian Roulette by @writingangst

No More by @mayflysdie

Footballer Simon by @dante-mightdie

Transferrable Skills by @dragonnarrative-writes

implied fat!reader x bluecollar!simon riley by @drgnflyteabox

Was Warm by @eevee-of-eternity

Ghosting Series Pt.1, Pt.2 by @bittersw33t-lotus

Weird by @fivechapters

Beaded Bracelet by @manicrouge

The Poor Decision by @ceilidho

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[elbiotipo]

Some thoughts for a D&D Spelljammer setting I'll probably never get around to actually write:

Spelljamming ships should be a revolution in transport and not only for fantasy space, they're basically flying ships, they could transport things from one end of a planet to another. Worlds that know spelljamming must be very different than those that don't.

What's the limitation here, then? Spelljammers themselves, that is, the guys who pilot the ships. They need to be magic users and you would need at least 2, preferably more, for shifts. That means you need to have mages that could be doing other useful magic stuff piloting a ship.

There's also the cost and skill required to make spelljamming helms. 5000 GPs in materials and level 5 spell apparently. Now, gold and levels in D&D don't mean much to me, so for the purposes of this scenario, I will assume making a spelljamming ship is costly and needs a lot of skill regardless of the actual numbers involved. So you don't have ships flying around the skies of every world, just a few have both the "human resources" (that is, trained mages) and material resources (I assume the spells and components are expensive and rare) to make spelljamming helms and crew ships.

Do we have equivalents of this in the real world? Yes, actually! The entire aircraft industry! Airliners, which are among the most complex machines produced in mass, are basically built only by Boeing, Airbus, and recently Comac on China (there used to be more) and pilots aren't easy to train either. There might be few worlds with the concentrated *productive forces* to build spelljammer helms in "serial" production, outside of some crazy wizard in a tower.

In fact, this is a bit besides the point but in general, the world(s) of D&D are pre-industrial, and this makes sense as for complex tasks you wouldn't really think of using a machine to do it, you seek a magic user who can do it instead. They are very jealous of their trade secrets too. We are looking at a kind of Renaissance economy in a large scale then, with guilds and church(es) and other institutions for "artisanal" complex goods instead of industries. Fantasy settings have always been strange about the demographics of mage users, but I think knowing the role of monasteries, alchemists, etc. during the real-life Renaissance helps you get closer to the dynamics.

Returning to the ships, I think spelljammer ships (or helms) might be hard to make but very hardy, long-lasting and easy to pilot, sort of like DC-3s that were built before WWII and are still used in Colombia. So that fits with the adventurer idea of getting an old ship and going into the stars. And maybe there is a surplus of them in some worlds that used to have large navies (like post-WWII surplus of airplanes and ships).

In Spelljammer you can stick a spelljamming helm on anything and make it fly, even seagoing ships (which are preferred for many reasons) but the true spelljamming ships like the Hammerhead Ship, the Squid Ship, etc. have strange shapes. I will say that those are not just decorative (because that's frankly a bit silly) but actually designed for better navigation through the currents of the Phlogiston or Astral Sea.

The 5e rules of spelljamming navigation basically say that ships go into the Astral Sea and then the spelljammer at the helm just thinks where to go and flies "100 million miles in 24 hours", that's it, just think about it and you're wherever you want, or, if you're not in a ship, you can just fly through the astral sea and, I quote "The more intelligent a creature is, the faster it can move." Which is frankly too stupid for words. I'm actually kind of angry at how stupid it is.

I'm completely ditching the 5e Astral Sea with its whole spiritual thing (to me that's a completely different thing) and making it a material plane of phlogiston (or aether, that sounds better) where the crystal spheres float. They aren't fixed, they move and flow with the stellar currents, but you CAN navigate them if you're attuned to them, you can use navigation equipment to find particular spheres and you can use your sails to get more favorable currents, this is a skill you have to learn and can cut travel times or let you find some things in space.

Doesn't that sound much better than "you just think and you're there xdxddxddxdxd"?

So how fast then? I think we'll just play it safe and see the top speed of sailing ships on the real world. Clippers, the fastest sail ships before steam ships, took roughly 100 days to cross the Pacific. The usual before was about 4-6 months. It depends on how big your setting is, but I think that's a good estimate to go to "the other side of the world" as one would say. And it of course would depend on how well known the routes are. It could be that you simply CAN'T fly to other spheres without doing extensive navigation first.

So instead of having 10 to 100 days at random to go somewhere (like in the original Spelljammer) or the somehow even stupider rules of 5e, you would have a map of well navigated, average, poorly known, and completely unknown spelljamming routes. Every time you got farther away from the well-known routes, navigation becomes more dangerous and travel more slow. You need (both in game terms and in setting terms) to have good navigation skills to get anywhere fast and safe.

You could have crystal spheres grouped in "constellations" (in my setting I do) that are easier to navigate inside, where the currents are known. This is also useful for worldbuilding "regions" in fantasy space that share cultural traits.

There must be all sorts of magical and non-magical navigation means, especially for landing on planets. Magical lighthouses, compasses, communication (a kind of morse code that can be communicated by lights, when magical communication isn't an option). I would think that for convenience, since planets are so big, spelljammers might sort of memorize the land of the main port and not bother with the rest. It might be that in an entire world, only one or two ports are truly visited by spelljammers. This also means that it would be very easy to set up a new base somewhere, even in well-travelled worlds.

What about power projection and star empires? We can read about colonial empires and age of sail trade to get a hint here. Empires where you rule by posting armies in every planet are very unlikely, since we established spelljammers are kind of expensive to make. Imagine invading and controlling, say, Earth in the 1600s with a dozen ships.

But imperialism where an external power controls key trade routes and ports, economically controlling a world, is very possible. This control means that those worlds must be integrated into the *galactic* economy somehow, as a large world can be self-sustaining, but its connections to the greater galaxy can be controlled. So, an imperialist power might succeed into controlling the economy of a world by controlling its trade centers and politics, without needing large armies or simply enlisting local collaborators. In fact, many might not be even aware they belong to a interstellar empire in their maps. On the other hand, *more* *voluntary* associations similar to the Hansa or Greek leagues might arise.

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 5

Contents: pre-relationship headcanons, slow burn, pining, humour

By the time you both leave the cafe, the streetlights have come on and the wind births small eddies, their burden of leaves swirling in dusty corners. You haven't nearly exhausted all the things you want to say to him, but something about this quiet walk home sparks something reverential in you. So, you'll let the evening spin a web of secrets around you, for now. It feels better to keep it that way.

Nanami stays close to you, his eyes trained on the pavement. His manner, so hard for you to read just a few months ago, is now familiar enough that you can see he is experiencing some internal struggle. You close your eyes momentarily, as you know full well what he must be considering.

Taking a small breath, you point out the car that he had called earlier. It is parked at the kerb, sleek, gleaming and slightly threatening in the dim light. You don't want to slip into the cool interior just yet, away from the inexplicable lightness being close to him brings. He stops abruptly, some distance still between the both of you and the car.

"Are you cold?"

"No. Not now."

You don't mean for the words to sound quite like they do. Nanami is silent before checking his watch and clearing his throat.

"I suppose our evening together ends here."

"We're still traveling in the same car."

He catches your teasing smile and raises an eyebrow.

"I suppose you're right. However, there's something I'd like to ask before we go."

"And that is?"

"Whether you'd like to visit another cafe with me next week."

The words come out of his mouth with uncharacteristic stiffness, slightly rushed. He eyes you as if from behind a shield composed of finest steel, a hint of longing hidden well beneath.

"I would certainly like that."

His shoulders drop slightly.

"You would?"

"You sound surprised."

"It's only polite to ask, of course."

"So you knew what my answer would be, for sure? Is that what you're saying?"

"Well, no -"

He clamps his lips together tightly and you laugh softly, taking a step towards him beneath the unsteady light of the old streetlamp. Something about how the tables seem to have turned in the past few minutes emboldens you.

"What about the time after that?"

"You've already decided then?"

"Should I not?"

"Well, what if it turns out that you don't actually like my company."

"I don't think there's any danger of that."

"What if I - " he paused and considers the car ahead of you, the corners of his eyes tight. "What if ... work gets in the way?"

You suddenly feel as if you're both standing on the deck of a flimsy raft in a turbulent sea. All the softness, the sweetness, the hushed longing of that afternoon, seems awfully fragile under the impending wave of his own pragmatism. Feeling the wind pick up around you, catching at your hair, you are fully aware of how tenderly you are looking at him. If you don't speak now, you would regret it later.

"You know, today I thought a lot about how simple our meal was. Just a few things, put together. I ... think I like simplicity. No, I always have. Good food can give you temporary comfort. You know what I mean. When you're exhausted and drained and want to forget everything else, there's something warm and inviting, that's waiting just for you."

He is silent, but in a way that lets you know he is taking in every word you say.

"And often, I don't know what tomorrow may hold. I think ... that sorcerers like you must feel that even more keenly. But even if I don't know, I still have some consistency in my day. I know that I have something small to look forward to, something that fills me and gives me strength."

You meet his gaze, pushing the words out before your burst of courage deserts you entirely.

"So, what I mean to say is, don't think too much about what may happen at work tomorrow, or the day after. If we have to re-schedule, that will be fine. Because ... I do enjoy your company and I hope you enjoy mine. And it's that simple for me."

Your words have almost failed you this time, but you stand there, holding your ground, willing him to understand what you're trying to convey. He looks back at you, and this time, the raw emotion, the hesitancy, the desire to do the right thing, is so evident in his eyes.

You think of the name he mentioned, the friend he had spoken of in the past tense. You knew, on some level, that this was something only Nanami could decide, no matter how badly you wanted more.

When you smile at him, there is no pain there. There is, instead, a soft blossoming in your chest that whispers your answer to you; that you can only ever want this man to be as comfortable and as happy as he could be. Nanami watches your lips, and then your eyes and he is drinking you in, as if he has seen something he can barely comprehend.

"Nanami, it's getting cold out here. Let's head in. You can message me if you want to go somewhere else soon."

You pat his sleeve lightly, the spell that has woven itself around the two of you evaporating, leaving traces of something solid and steadfast. As you turn to head to the car, his voice arrests you.

"Kento."

"Pardon?"

"Please refer to me as Kento from now on."

"Oh."

In spite of everything that's passed between you two today, it's this, of all things, that brings your mind to a shuddering halt.

"Well ... then it's only fitting that you call me ... "

When he says your name, cutting you off before you finish, you stare at him. Now your heart feels as if it has ceased to function entirely. Nanami, no, Kento, steps forward and past you, drawing you along in his wake. His voice holds something new, a different quality of warmth.

"Thank you for today. I'll find a good place for us to visit next time."

When he leans forward to open the door for you, his breath mingles with yours, and you think that you can almost taste the soft exhalation.

You feel unaccountably restless over the next few days. When you're at home, your hands are always occupied with something, whether cooking, cleaning or simply fidgeting with the corner of the blankets as you fail to fall asleep. Your mind is racing a mile a minute and shows no sign of slowing down. You wish your own thoughts would allow you a moment of rest.

Now, you know. You can finally shove open that mental door, even though the splinters catch in your skin and leave you raw and delirious.

He does feel ... something. He may even feel the same way, the same intense passion and longing. How can you even process this development? In all the years of your adult life, you have never experienced something like this. This is so much more than the obsessive quality of first love, so much more than a workplace crush, which you have certainly experienced before.

Why? Why did humans have to feel so intensely, to the point that it hurt, as if a javelin molded from purest, scorching sunlight had pierced your chest; an injury that had left you bleeding a viscous, golden ichor that you wanted to collect in your palms and pour over your joined bodies?

Ironically, what gives you a sense of stillness and serenity is the image of him you have committed to memory in that shining time. The smooth planes of his suit, the way the burnished collar pins caught and reflected the light against the clearcut lines of his jaw and neck. The small traces of shadow under each eye. The way he paid attention to how he occupied space, the natural strength and grace with which he moved. You can recall clearly the way his honeyed gaze caught and held yours, as if there was no shame in such an intimate glance, his darker lashes painting soft shadows against his cheeks in the afternoon sun. The hint of faint freckles on the backs of his hands.

It's when you allow yourself to move on from that image, when you remember that you'll have many more such images of him to refer to in your mind's eye (possibly), that the vicious cycle of restlessness returns.

The weekend arrives and you have plans. Plans to stay in and indulge in ordering takeout and catching up on your reading. The weather forecast promises rain and cold weather, something you don't particularly mind.

The last few days have been stressful. A large-scale exorcism of cursed spirits in an underground shopping centre had taken place and several younger sorcerers had sustained injuries. Fortunately, there had been no fatalities. You had been in charge of organizing the paperwork for their medical treatment.

As you return from a short run to the grocery store, rivulets of water pouring from the creases of your umbrella and raincoat onto the entryway floor, you notice a message notification silently awaiting your attention. The way your stomach clenches with pleasant anticipation tells you just how spoiled you have become. Expecting a message from the man who occupies your thoughts endlessly is certainly something that wouldn't have crossed your mind before. He has sent a simple question.

"Are you busy?"

Wait, what? Surely, he wouldn't want to meet in this kind of weather?

Shaking your head to clear it, you answer.

"Yes. Just got back home from the store."

His reply comes shortly after.

"Is it all right if I give you a call in a short while?"

"Sure."

Well, this was a new development. You hurriedly put the groceries away, wondering what he wanted to speak about. Within fifteen minutes, your phone rings. Towelling off your damp hair, you perch on the sofa in front of your space heater.

"Kento?"

There is silence on the other end.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

"Ah, I can hear you just fine."

His voice pours into your ear like soft, mellow hickory smoke. You hadn't realised how much you'd desired to hear it again, until now.

"How are you doing? Were you deployed on that mission a few days ago?"

"Yes, I oversaw a few exorcisms. I heard there were several injuries in the other locations."

"Nothing serious, thankfully. Was Yuuji with you?"

"No. He was out with Gojo on a different task." He pauses. "I didn't call you to talk about work."

You can't control the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth.

"Oh?"

"No. I wanted to know how your weekend is going."

"Very slowly. Just the way I like it."

"Just wait until Sunday."

You laugh at his foreboding tone. 

"Speaking from experience?"

"Yes. There's a strange warping effect on Sunday evenings. Like some kind of hiccup in the space-time continuum that makes those last few hours of freedom vanish into thin air."

"Haven't you found a remedy for that yet?"

"Have you?"

"Yes, actually. I have a Sunday evening self-care routine that drags the time out forever."

"I'm not too familiar with self-care."

"I can tell."

"Do you admire my resilience?"

"Not really."

"How harsh."

"Listen, if you've never felt the scrape of a good exfoliator or inhaled the scent of jasmine tea while massaging essential oils into your skin, you haven't really lived, Kento."

"I don't particularly trust essential oils."

"Oh no. Have they offended you?"

"Terribly. I once fought a cursed user who smelt as if he'd bathed in peppermint oil."

"Ugh. Hardly blame you then. How about you come up with something that involves no herbal remedies?"

The silence on the other end is longer this time, and when he speaks, the softness in his tone sends a spear of heat straight down through the core of you.

"I think I've found a good distraction."

Somehow, you're able to reply.

"I thought I said you should find something that involves no herbal remedies."

"Are you going to force feed me peppermint oil?"

"Possibly."

He waits for a while before answering, and when he does, his tone carries more weight.

"There's something you said, the day we had supper together. I wanted to tell you my thoughts on that."

You're silent, nervous. Had you spoken too brazenly that day?

"You said that you liked simplicity. That temporary comforts could bring happiness and make us feel better."

"I did."

"Hmm. My thoughts on that are ... conflicted. On the one hand, I agree. Small comforts are important in our lives. I like simplicity too. But what are small comforts without meaning behind them? I want to give all of my actions meaning, so that there can be no mistaking their purpose."

"What is your purpose, Kento?"

He doesn't hesitate this time.

"I want to spend more time with you. More than the occasional lunch. I want to know more about you, and I want you to know me. In a way that's more than a temporary comfort. It's not about what's proper. It's about what's right. I think you know by now that I don't take half-measures when it comes to things that are ... meaningful to me."

The straightforward quality of his words is like a nail pinning down the elusive nature of that dance you both have been conducting up until now. You almost lose the ability to speak, one hand clutching the arm of the sofa hard. There is an uncontrollable feeling, like hysteria, but not quite, rising in your chest. You hope that your voice isn't as hoarse with emotion as it sounds to you.

"I want to know you too, Kento. That would mean a great deal to me."

His relief is palpable.

"Then that's what we'll do from now on."

There is another pause, but this one is different. It's full of promise, a breath taken before diving deeper than either of you have before. Surprisingly, you find that you're the first one to break it.

"Want to start by telling me something about yourself? Something that I definitely don't know?"

"Hmm. I actually like the ridiculous hat that Yuuji bought me at the fair. The one we visited the other week."

"I asked you to tell me something that I don't know."

"You could tell that I liked it?"

"Kento, you showed it off to Gojo. And you enjoyed telling him that it was a limited edition just to see how disappointed you could make him."

"You're describing some kind of sadist."

"Yes. I'm describing you."

"Ah, very well. Here's something you're definitely not aware of."

"Well?"

"I like the way you say my name."

This absolute devil. For such a proper man, he certainly knew how leave you tongue-tied and flustered.

"Do you think if I say it often enough, the effect might wear off?"

He chuckles, a warm, rich sound.

"I suppose we'll have to test that theory."

@tsukimefuku @kentocalls @g-kleran @actuallysaiyan