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lexiputellas · 2 days ago

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Broken Vows

part2 - mdni

June 12th. Laundry day.

The monstrous, all-consuming, never-ending laundry day.

You remember when laundry was as simple as dropping off a bag of clothes at the dry cleaner and picking it up a few days later, crisp and fresh. That was before. Before life became an endless cycle of dirty socks, misplaced jerseys, and sheets that always seemed to need changing.

You start in Nora’s room. Nora, who is what some might call "spirited" but what you would call an absolute tornado. She plays football, like Alexia, but in terms of clothes, she is nothing like her mother. Alexia is meticulous. Methodical. Everything folded in perfect squares, socks matched like puzzle pieces. Nora? Chaos incarnate. At one point, you even wondered if she had ADHD, but then again, navigating a eight-year-old’s mind is harder than you ever anticipated.

You strip the bed, replace the sheets, and move to Iris’s room.

The moment you step inside, a memory crashes over you. You and Alexia painting the walls, carefully placing the crib, folding tiny baby clothes. You were so pregnant with Iris that you joked about rolling around instead of walking. So big, so round, so full of expectation. But the reality was different. Harder.

You cried while feeding her, your nipples raw and bleeding. Your body didn’t feel like your own, you were right on the edge—so close to falling into postpartum depression that you still wonder if you actually did. Just a breath away from giving up.

But that was then. And today, you refuse to dwell on it.

You move to your bedroom, stripping the sheets, gathering Alexia’s clothes from the bathroom floor. You wash them the way she likes—because, of course, Alexia has a very specific way she likes things done. You are halfway through making the bed when her phone slips off the mattress, landing right on your foot.

Pain explodes up your feet.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hiss, grabbing your foot before bending down to retrieve the damn thing.

You think about texting one of the girls, letting them know Alexia left her phone at home. But as you glance at the screen, a name catches your eye.

Eva.

There are several messages. You shouldn't look. You know that. You know it’s wrong. But the urge is overwhelming.

Who the fuck is Eva?

Your heart pounds as your fingers hover over the screen. You know Alexia’s passcode. It used to be your birthday, then hers, then Nora’s. You try and it works, the messages open.

It’s not a long conversation. Not pages and pages, just a few days’ worth. But it’s enough.

*Where are you? I’m worried.*

*Did your wife give you a hard time for getting home late?*

You didn’t. You pretended to be asleep when Alexia climbed into bed last night.

*When will I see you again?*

Your stomach twists. Maybe Eva is just a friend. A close one, maybe even a best friend. But deep down, you know. You fucking know. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers move.

You type back, pretending to be Alexia.

*Last night was good.*

You hit send. Your heart is pounding.

It takes barely a moment for Eva to reply.

*Oh, just fine, yeah?* she asks, her words dripping with a quiet, simmering edge of something darker.

*Was it just good when you fucked me against the balcony?* she adds, that sharp edge now unmistakable, laced with a daring smirk you can almost hear.

You freeze. Your pulse spikes, the room spinning around you. The words blur. The world tilts.

Alexia fucked someone else.

Eva.

Eva, who?

Eva, the reason she stopped coming home for dinner?

Eva, the reason she stopped tucking the girls into bed?

Eva, the reason she started giving up on you?

The name pounds inside your skull like a drum, like a fucking rock concert reverberating through your entire being. You can’t breathe. You can’t fucking breathe.

You drop to the floor, staring up at the ceiling, hot tears pricking at your eyes.

Is Eva prettier than you? Does she fuck better than you? Is she hotter? Funnier? Nicer?

You don’t know what to do. You don’t even know how to exist in this moment.

A cry pulls you back.

Iris.

You forgot you left her in her playpen.

You wipe your tears, stand up, and go to her. She snuggles into your arms, warm and safe. You hold her close, pressing your lips against her tiny forehead, and think—What the fuck am I going to do?

———————————————

7 PM. Dinner is ready.

You always wait until 7:30 to see if Alexia is coming home. You text Jana, telling her Alexia left her phone behind. Jana just says, Okay.

Alexia arrives on time. Kit still on, hair in a messy bun, looking every bit like the woman you fell in love with. She comes straight to you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before heading to the girls, lifting them onto the kitchen counter as they sing along to something on the iPad.

She asks where her phone is.

"Upstairs," you say.

She kisses the girls again before heading up.

You had deleted the messages. Every single one. You’re not stupid.

When she comes back, phone in hand, she helps you set the table. You sit next to Iris, feeding her small bites, while Alexia chats with Nora. It feels normal. Eerily normal. Almost like the past.

You eat Dinner. Do the dishes. Put Nora to bed and Alexia tucks in Iris.

After being done you go to your bedroom, with an idea in mind.

Alexia is already there, sitting against the headboard, scrolling through her phone.

"You know what I was thinking?" you say.

She hums without looking up. "Hmm?"

"I got something for you. Want to see it?"

Her head tilts. She looks intrigued.

You haven’t bought or worn lingerie in years. Not since you stopped feeling like the woman who used to leave Alexia breathless. But you still have some—tucked away in the back of your closet, hidden like a past life.

"What it is? Show me," she says.

You step into the bathroom, slipping into the black lace. It hugs every curve, pushes up your breasts, makes you look almost unfamiliar to yourself. You barely recognize yourself.

But when you step out, Alexia does.

She stares.

Not just a glance—she looks at you like she used to, like she’s seeing something she forgot she could have. Like you’ve just stolen the air from her lungs.

Her phone slips from her fingers, forgotten.

You crawl onto her lap, slow, deliberate, feeling the heat radiating from her body the moment your thighs settle over hers.

Her hands move without hesitation—roaming, squeezing, claiming. Her breath is heavier, her fingers digging into your hips, trailing up your sides, gripping your waist like she’s trying to memorize you all over again.

"Fuck, baby," she murmurs, her lips dragging over your throat, her voice thick, ruined. "You look so fucking hot."

Her fingers move lower, tracing the lace, teasing the edge of the fabric. You roll your hips against her, slow and smooth, watching the way her jaw tenses, the way her fingers twitch against your skin.

She groans, low and guttural, her hands sliding up your back, over your shoulders, down your arms—like she needs to touch every inch of you. Her lips trail lower, hot and open-mouthed, sucking bruises into your collarbone, your breast, dragging her teeth over lace-covered skin.

Her hands are on your thighs, spreading you, guiding you against her. You grind down, chasing something desperate, moving against her fingers the second they find you—slick, eager, drowning in want. Her breath hitches as she pushes inside, stretching you, filling you.

Your forehead drops against hers, your breathing uneven, your body trembling. It’s messy. It’s hungry. It’s not enough.

And then—

You lean in, your lips ghosting over the shell of her ear, and whisper—

"Does Eva fuck like I do?"

Everything stops.

Alexia’s hands freeze inside you, her breath catching in her throat.

She pulls back just enough to see your face, her brows furrowing, her eyes flashing with something dark, something uncertain, something dangerously close to breaking.

She looks at you like she doesn’t understand.

Like she doesn’t want to understand.

You smile.

"Yeah, Alexia," you whisper, voice sharp, taunting, twisting the knife. "I’m not fucking blind."

#barcelona x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso x reader

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nyoomfruits · 2 days ago

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@steviethenarwhal reblogged this post with the following tag

and i was like YEAH i kind of need to see that too SO. i wrote it lmao

Oscar had plans, on how this meeting was going to go, on what he was going to say when he saw Carlos again. There was a speech, about what happened to him, about the other Carlos, about what they mean to each other, in that universe.

Then he was going to ask. If Carlos wanted to try with him, too, maybe. Go on a date. Just to see if they would work just as well as the other Carlos and Oscar.

But that all sort of goes flying out of the window when he finally lays eyes on Carlos, his Carlos.

He’s standing in the door opening of his apartment, looking confused and apprehensive, and Oscar.

Oscar can’t do anything but kiss him.

He’s wanted to. He’s wanted to so badly, ever since he got to know Carlos better, got to understand him better. But it had felt wrong, kissing a Carlos that wasn’t his. That didn’t belong to him.

Carlos’s lips are soft – probably some stupidly fancy brand of lipbalm – and warm against Oscar’s, and for a moment – a wonderful beautiful world tilting moment – it’s just them, their lips pressed together, Oscar’s hand fisted in the front of Carlos’s shirt.

Then Carlos pushes him away. “Oscar, what-“ He starts, staring at Oscar with wide eyes. “Why.”

“Shit, sorry, I got carried away, I just-“ He takes a deep breath. “Did you know we are married?” At Carlos’s stunned expression, he continues, “Well, I mean, not here. In another universe. We’re pretty happy together too, from what I gathered.”

“Are you- Do I need to call someone?” Carlos asks, hesitant, cautious, taking a step back.

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I’m not crazy,” he says.

“You were in a coma for 2 months,” Carlos states, holding up his hands. “It wouldn’t be weird, if your brain-“

“Look, do you want to date me or not?” Oscar asks, a little impatiently. This is not at all going how he’d planned it. He’d forgotten how goddamn infuriating Carlos could be. Other Carlos was... Actually, no, he was still pretty infuriating. Oscar had just chalked it up to his other universe-ness.

Carlos is staring at him like he can’t decide to kiss him again or call an ambulance. Oscar, not willing to wait or hope he settles for the first, throws up his hands. “Fine! Forget it,” he says, turns around to stalk away, but a hand snakes around his wrist.

“Wait,” Carlos says. “Let’s just… Come inside? We’ll talk.”

Carlos’s hand is warm around his wrist, and his eyes are big and doe like and make Oscar feel like he’s drowning and his mouth is pulled up into a hesitant smile and Oscar knows what he tastes like, now.

“Okay,” Oscar says. “Okay, let’s talk.”

#carcar #drabble

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dreamauri · 4 hours ago

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♪ — 𝗜𝗙 𝗜 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘 max verstappen x fem! lawyer! reader (angst) fic summary . . . when max meets with a lawyer to try and fight back against the FIA for getting community service fines, he discovers he might have accidentally swapped dreams with someone (704 words)

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )

The restaurant was dimly lit, the kind of place that was meant to look expensive without actually trying too hard. Max shifted in his seat, fingers drumming against the table as he watched you skim through the document in front of you, your brows slightly furrowed.

This was awkward.

He wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that he had been fined for swearing in a press conference again or the fact that the FIA had thrown in community service hours like he was some reckless teenager caught speeding in a school zone.

Lando had laughed when he found out. "You’re gonna need a lawyer if you wanna fight back, mate," he had grinned, not even trying to hide his amusement. "I know someone. She’s brilliant. I’ll send you her number."

And now here you were, sitting across from him in a restaurant in Monaco, having driven over from Nice to help him deal with his punishment.

"So," you finally said, flipping the page. "Two hundred thousand euros and twenty-five hours of FIA-approved community service before December 31st."

Max exhaled through his nose. "I only said one bad word."

You looked up, amusement flickering across your face. "As soon as I went into qualifying I knew the car was fucked . . . Max, ou swore at your own car."

"Because it was fucked." He reasoned, shrugging at the topic like it was the most obvious and normal thing.

You chuckled, shaking your head before jotting something down in your notes. Max watched, taking a sip of his gin toic, not quite sure what to say next. He wasn’t used to lawyers. He wasn’t used to needing lawyers.

"You know," he starts, voice low, almost swallowed by the hum of the piano in the background. "If my dad hadn't pushed me to stay in karting, I think I would've been a lawyer."

You huff a laugh, one that tastes like irony. "Yeah? If my parents hadn’t forced me to finish school and go into law, I think I would've been a driver."

Max blinked.

Your sour words made him look up from his glass. His blue eyes—fierce in every race replay you've ever forced yourself not to watch—are softer here, dimmed under the low lights of a restaurant that neither of you belong in. "Seriously?"

You nod, taking a sip. "Yeah. I wanted it. The speed, the competition, the whole thing. Wanted to move up into single-seaters, F1 eventually, you know? The dream. But my family . . .” You exhale. "They thought racing was a hobby. Law was the real future."

“I’m in Formula One,” Max stated, looking at you with his head tilted. He felt it was as if he stole your dream.

“I can see that, Max,” you chuckled, lifting the file the FiA had given him as proof.

Max leans back, shaking his head with a smirk that's more tired than amused. "Funny. My dad thought law was stupid. Racing was the real future."

The piano plays on, and neither of you say anything for a moment. It’s not awkward. Just . . . heavy. Like you're both listening to ghosts of the past, telling you how things should have been.

"You still watch?" he asks eventually, his voice careful.

You shrug. "Not really." A lie. You watched enough to know his career, his wins, the way he makes magic out of machinery. "You still read about law?"

His lips press together, considering. "Sometimes." A lie. You bet he still thinks about it when he reads contracts, when he argues with his team, when he wonders if he could've been just as ruthless in a courtroom as he is on a track.

"Do you ever think about it?" you ask. "If you'd had the choice?"

Max smiles then, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "All the time."

The music plays on. The waiter refills your glass. Outside, the world moves forward, fast as ever, like it never had to choose between two lives. But here, in this quiet little nowhere, you and Max sit with your what-ifs, sharing a quiet conversation about what to do moving forward and how to get rid of the fine and community service fine, the ghosts of who you could've been watch over your shoulders.

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lightlycareless · 18 hours ago

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the jealous y/n i promised. one of them, anyways :)

warnings: naoya used to like someone before you. the thought of it makes you... uncomfortable, by some reason. highschool au. minimal proofreading but sometimes you just gotta let things go...

It all started because someone decided they just had to mess with you on your first trip to Kyoto, during your first school exchange event.

As yearly intended, the game would be hosted on the winning school; not that someone managed to defeat Gojo and Geto, but to shake things a bit the higher ups decided to break the rules and give the opposing school a chance—maybe fighting in their hometowns would help against them.

Coincidentally, this would mark your first time participating, and what better way to do so than by going to a city you’ve never been to?

We’re you excited?

Undoubtedly. How could you not consider these past details?

However, that wasn’t the only (not the most important) notion that had you feeling such way; what actually got you all giddy was the fact that you’d be going with your boyfriend! Which secretly turned this school trip into a small holiday of sorts, a promise of a good time once he offered to take you to the city and show you all kinds of enthralling experiences you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

It was bound to become a memorable visit, one that you wouldn’t be able to forget, worthy enough to share with your eventual children!

And it was… but not for the reasons you expected.

“Ooooh, you know what this trip actually means, right Y/N?” Gojo would begin to stir, as usual. You do your best to ignore him. “You can ignore me all you want, but I’m just warning you, it’s going to be awkward.”

“Awkward?” You blink, taking his bait. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t say it, Satoru…” Geto warns, going against his very nature, which is to rile him further, and instead, showing genuine caution that you’d come to lament later on. “You’re just being cruel.”

“What is? Tell me!” You cry, fallen victim to your curiosity.

“Probably not as cruel as Naoya taking his girlfriend to see his crush. Or past crush, I guess.”

“Crush…?” You blink, your heart dropping to your stomach at the thought of his affections once belonging to someone else. It shouldn’t be that way, of course. Whatever happened before you met him should be beyond your concern.

And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from torturing yourself with the thought, needlessly wondering who was the lucky girl to previously obtain his attention.

Was she nice? Was she pretty? Did anything manage to happen between the two…?

…

Does she look like you?

You ought to know better than to ask questions you do not want answered.

“Naoya hasn’t told you?” Satoru worried. “He used to have this huge crush on Utahime, like you don’t imagine how big it was; he’d stalk her everywhere she went, turn all red whenever she was near—“

“Satoru!” Suguru condemned, but it was too late.

It’s safe to say you no longer looked forward to your trip to Kyoto.

“She was going to learn so anyways, might as well get it over with!”

“And?? That doesn’t give you permission to be an idiot about it!”

“I’m just preparing Y/N! It’s not my fault that Naoya hasn’t told her about it… which is quite suspicious if you ask me, more so since he’s been in contact with her quite recently! Did you know he asked me for her number? I think he might not be over—“

“Do you ever shut up, Satoru?” You coldly interject, retreating soon after before the tears forming in your eyes could further humiliate you.

Suguru was right, there was no need for him to be as imprudent when it came to the relationship you were clearly very happy with; but you should’ve not let his behavior affect you either, that’s just how he is—everyone knew that—since he was a little kid.

Satoru just had this need to make everyone miserable simply because he could; but now that your insecurities were stirred, all you could do was revisit Naoya’s enthusiasm for your visit… and tie it with Utahime.

Overanalyze every interaction you had with him and wonder if he ever imagined it was her instead of you.

Like when he complimented you for appearance, called you cute when decorating your hair with a bow, which after Satoru’s bold accusations, you come to find it might’ve been because of nostalgia, longing. Not because Naoya actually meant it.

Utahime’s beautiful, there's no denying that.

She's also taller than you, brighter, determined; with no patience for nonsense yet kind enough to help others when asked. You should know, on the few occasions you’ve had the opportunity to interact with her, she was nothing but gentle when explaining one of the assignments you were struggling with—even offering to tutor you if you continued to have questions.

Undoubtedly, a perfect match for Naoya; both politically and personally. A conclusion that makes your poor heart ache the longer you keep comparing yourself to her.

No one looks at her and thinks “she's too childish” or “she's unsuited for the life of sorcery”. In fact, she’s the type of person one would go to when in trouble, the one to look for when in need of comfort.

While you… well, you’re funny. And apparently, a bit childish too. But definitely not the hope for the next generation of sorcerers.

When weighing all these alleged facts, and after placing Utahime on a pedestal while desecrating your own worth, you question…

Did Naoya settle on you because he couldn't end up with her?

Or were you simply a steppingstone, a diversion while they reunite in the future?

…

Are you fated to never be good enough by yourself? Everyone’s second choice when their initial plan doesn’t work?

It's not something you'd discern at a simple glance, but when Naoya begins to act more and more secretive the closer the date of your trip got, the more you're inclined to believe so; his distance had been so glaringly obvious that the only time you’ve managed to spend with him was when accidentally bumping into each other in the hallways when going to your next class.

Still, your stubborn heart gave him one last chance. One more opportunity to deny all the ridiculous claims plaguing your mind and realize that the sole reason he’s glued to his phone is because of his family, tending his responsibilities as heir…

And not because he’s seeking another woman.

“Ah, Y/N… I'm a little behind with some of my projects right now so I don't think I'll be able to join you for lunch… but don’t let that stop you, go ahead, eat something. I wouldn't want my princess to starve because of me”

That’s when everything made sense.

Because Naoya, though he may hate paperwork, essays, and all that deviated from exorcizing curses, he was still an excellent student and always delivered on time. Might’ve coerced someone to do his work from time to time when not in the mood, but it still brought you back to the same conclusion.

A realization that sparked your anger, bitterness—jealousy.

But most importantly, sadness.

Which you could no longer hide the fateful day of your trip.

“Wait, Y/N—! Why are you in such a rush? We’re still on time for the train!” Naoya would say after catching up to you. The two had previously agreed to meet up just outside your dorm and go to the train station together from there; but alas, you were nowhere to be seen when he eventually arrived, and this caused him to be very surprised.

After all, you were virtually inseparable from him; you would’ve spent the night with him if only it wasn’t prohibited. So… why the sudden indifference?

One could only try to be compassionate when remembering this was his first, serious relationship, so there were many things he had yet to learn about having a girlfriend and how to treat her.

It’s just a misfortune he’d come to learn that lesson harshly so.

“I'm fine, thank you.” you frown, ignoring Naoya as you continue to pull your suitcase towards the exit. The faculty gave students two options, either take the provided transportation and ride with the rest of your classmates to the train station or go by yourself.

Solitude was only appetizing with the silent turmoil you carried.

Your boyfriend doesn't say much after that, though he does note the striking difference of your usually bubbly personality with this… muted version of his girlfriend.

When you once harbored excitement to travel to a completely new city, you now… well, it looked as if you'd rather get sick than do this. And it didn’t seem to be caused by anxiety either, he’d seen you nervous and this was not the way you behaved when such.

Not exactly the disposition he hoped for today's happening, and yet, he’s still light years away from figuring why!

Was it better to simply… leave you alone?

“Y/N, let me help you.” he decides otherwise, at least your stubbornness is something he’s familiar with and thus, not easily swayed to back off when you ignore him again. “Princess—”

“Don’t touch me!” You exclaim, pulling your hand away from his. “I said I'm fine, now leave me alone!”

Naoya blinks, at first startled by your sudden outburst, before growing irritated, never one to enjoy being lashed out on—less if it came from someone as important as you.

“What the hell has gotten into you?!’ Naoya scorns, trying to get a hold of your hand only for you to dismiss him again. “I'm just trying to help you!”

“Yeah, right. Just to get there quicker, huh?” you frown.

“I mean, is that not ideal?”

“You're unbelievable.”

“Huh??? Will you at least care to explain why you’re so moody out of the sudden??”

His choice of dismissing words stabs your heart in a sharp, painful way that only serves to ignite your anger even more. Naoya really had no idea, did he?

Or did he believe you were as naïve as he desperately intended to portray you?

“Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing at all! In fact, how about I just step aside so you can do everything you want in Kyoto? Go see who you want to see while I stay behind, quiet, so you won't have to worry about me?!”

“But—what?? Did you forget were supposed to spend time together over there?? Show you the city?!” Naoya exclaims. “What happens to that??”

“I don't know, you tell me!” You cry back. “No, you know what, don't tell me. I don't feel like hearing—”

“Oh, no you're not.” Naoya says, take ahold of your arm and forcing you to see him face to face—getting a good look of your red, swollen eyes from undoubtedly spending the whole night crying, that only made his determination to find out what ailed you even stronger.

And deal with whomever was responsible for this dreadful act.

Even if it was yourself, or unwittingly himself too.

“We're going to spend two hours on a bullet train which I don't intend to have by you ignoring me through the entirety of it.” He goes on.

“Naoya—”

“Who did this to you? Tell me who hurt you and I'll make sure they—”

“Just stop it already! You don't have to set up all these… theatrics just so you can feel less guilty about seeing her!”

“Her?” He breathes, of all things you could’ve sputtered, this is the least, most shocking one he could’ve received. Where did you even get this idea?? “Pray tell, who am I seeing?”

“I don't—I don't want to talk anymore.”

“Y/N!” Naoya exclaims, you flinch—a reaction that has him immediately regretting his act, softening his voice. “I can't help but feel there's a sort of misunderstanding here, just tell me what's going on… Please.”

“...I just want to know if you— if you still harbor feelings for that person before me?”

“Huh?” Naoya frowns. “Talk clearly, mochi. I don't understand a word you're saying—”

“I'm asking if you still like the girl you liked before me!” You cry. “Or perhaps never stopped liking…”

“Who did I like?” He asks back, genuinely confused.

“Are you going to make me say it?!”

“I mean, if we're to get anywhere.”

“Fine! I’m referring to Utahime! You like her, don't you?!”

“Uta—what?? Where did you get that idea?!”

“Don't—don’t act like you don't know what I'm talking about!” You insist. “Satoru told me…”

“Ah, and he's nothing but a reliable source, isn't he?”

“Suguru confirmed it too! Or at least his reaction did…”

Naoya pinches the bridge of his noise, exasperated.

“When are you going to stop believing the stupidities they spew at you?”

“Well, Satoru had no reason to lie about that!”

Naoya can think of many, thousands in fact, and they always boil down to malice…

It's hard to believe how he once used to admire him, even thought of himself as very similar to him. But now that he keeps needlessly tormenting his love, that sentiment is far gone—he’ll deal with that matter soon enough, right after reassuring you he doesn’t have feelings for his past classmate.

Not anymore, that is.

“... Just tell me if you still like her, so I can stay out of your way—”

“I don't like her, Y/N.” Naoya declares. “Honestly, I don't think I ever did.”

“Then why did he say that?”

All must’ve started back when he was still a first-year student, having just transferred from Kyoto after demanding to be close to one of his admirations.

Satoru, always the obnoxious one since the beginning of time, had the tradition of pestering all newcomers in hopes of finding a victim to let out all his frustrations on for the following years; however, his sights were specifically the Zen'in heir whom he was previously acquainted with and was quite surprised to see “interacting with the mortals”, since their families often preferred to homeschool their talents.

Of course, now that he was within reach, he just couldn't miss the opportunity of mocking him in any conceivable shape and form, beginning with questions intended to get a rise out of him.

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t like any of the girls here?” Satoru would begin, for the nth time that day. “Or perhaps left a darling back at home?”

“No, I do not” No matter the insistences, Naoya remained strong in his beliefs, much to Satoru’s disappointment. But if anything, this made it into a far more gratifying challenge.

“Oh, really? Do you expect me to believe the great Zen’in heir has trouble getting with girls?” He continues to tease. “Hm, should’ve known—the only way anyone could tolerate you people is by coercing—"

“Fine! Alright! I like Utahime!” Naoya promptly declared, making Satoru’s expectations… well, shatter. Whatever he had in mind was nothing compared with the seeming reality!

“No way, you like her???!!”

Obviously, for someone as aggravating, set to get the worst of people, he could never truly find enjoyment in Utahime that wasn’t from tormenting her.

But to Naoya… well, he’d soon find out there was more to his answer than just selecting the one he found attractive at the moment.

Just as it was stated, he found Utahime to be quite… alluring. She was fairly good looking, and conservative enough in certain aspects, at least the ones he considered his clan would care of.

Perhaps the only thing he didn’t enjoy was that explosive temperament of hers, how she always fell victim to Satoru’s provocations instead of ignoring him, as a proper lady would’ve.

But he still gave her a chance, tried approaching her, get to know what she thought of him, how much he knew of the Zen’in clan, and most importantly, if she enjoyed being a miko—because such lifestyle could prove detrimental if they got together, and the last thing he needed was more personal struggles to deal with.

Yet, as much as he insisted…as much as Utahime tried to ignore his preceding reputation and give him the benefit of the doubt, nothing would come out from someone that didn’t have the patience to see past of his rough exterior and understand why Naoya was the way he was.

Who he could truly be.

Such things were meant for soulmates, after all.

And all that could’ve been was effectively terminated the moment he decided to transfer to Tokyo.

But for the only other person who saw everything unfold, Satoru, there was still much, much more to exploit.

“...Satoru said you’d always get all flustered whenever she was around” you quietly continue. “So, if you really didn’t like her, why would he say that?”

“Because he'd follow me everywhere to tease me, it was becoming quite… irritating.” He answered honestly, but still not enough to ease your poor heart of its selfish, hurtful assumptions.

“It still doesn't explain why you were talking with her these past few days” you go on, as much as a part of you desired not to. You just wish that whatever you found out, it wouldn't shatter you. “You’d even hide your phone from me…”

Naoya, understanding how bad this looked, sighs. Nonetheless, if he wishes to preserve your affection he cannot hold back on the truth.

“I… I didn't want to tell you, it was meant to be a surprise, really… but, well, I managed to figure out where the exchange event is to happen, which is coincidentally, an area to which Utahime is native to. And since I promised to show you around, take you to the best places…. I thought it might've been productive to ask for her input.

I know I pride myself on being from Kyoto, quite arrogantly so, but the truth is… I barely know anything outside what my family has shown me. I wasn't much of a friendly person so I didn't have anywhere to hang out.

And I didn't want to disappoint you, I couldn't let you down, especially after instantly listening to your excitement. The thought alone of ruining your first trip to the city is enough to drive me mad, so… I believed that doing all this was the right path to take.

… But had I known this would be the outcome, I would rather face your disappointment that to never have you by my side again.”

At his explanation, conformed of genuine words and concerns, all you could do is cry.

Weep at the incredulity of your assumptions, ashamed of your distrustful behavior towards him for once again, believing the past that once plagued Naoya.

How long would it take for your insecurities to finally free you? To stop listening what others whisper at your ear, of how he was the wrong person for you?

Until he decides he’s had enough of your childish antics and leaves for good?

Naoya’s far from perfect, undoubtedly so, but he's trying his hardest and he's changing because of it: when he once cared for nothing but his needs, all he could think of now is your happiness.

Were you willing to disappoint him? Rupture this relationship and lose him forever?

You'd never forgive yourself, which is why you wept, and wept, and wept.

Because you had, right before you, the only thing you ever wanted in life— a man that loved you just as you are—and almost ruined it.

But Naoya, whom perhaps regretted this situation the most, didn’t see the reason behind your tears and instead, believed them to be caused by his own failure, the lack of oversight to realize the gravity of his acts and subsequently poorly attempting to bridge his misjudgment.

A part of him doesn’t worry about your solitude, because he knows you’ll always have your friends and family to support you.

But him… without you, he’s truly alone. And he can’t—couldn’t let you go.

“Tell me, Y/N. What do I need to do for you to believe me? For you to trust me again?” he quickly begins to beg, spew just about anything that might earn him your compassion and forgiveness—one last chance.

Though a simple remedy was all that he needed.

“A—A—hug…!” You sob, and Naoya doesn’t need to be told twice to quickly wrap his arms around you and pull you close into his chest, hoping that by his warmth you’d be reassured into ceasing the one thing that always shattered his heart. “I’m—I’m sorry, I should’ve never distrusted you, it’s just that I—”

“You don’t have to say anything, princess. It was just a mistake.” He says, pressing his face against the top of your head.

“But I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did!” you retort. “I shouldn’t have accused you of something that I wasn’t certain of! Of something you would’ve never done, now I know…”

“Why did you believe that I’d have eyes for another woman in the first place…? Have I not shown you what you mean to me?”

“Ye—yes, but…”

“But?”

You sniffle, before swallowing.

“I guess a part of me always felt undeserving of you.” You confess. “Skeptical to believe I found someone that truly loved me, that’d be willing to do all you’ve done for me.”

Naoya at first remains quiet, starting at you in complete disbelief before letting out a warm chuckle, making you frown.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing, I just… learned we’re not so different, after all.”

You look up to him. “What do you mean?”

“I too, at times, feel underserving of you.” He confesses. “You don’t know how many times I’ve feared the possibility of you simply… deciding you were no longer happy with me; that you might realize there is someone infinitely better than me and leave.”

A certain friend of yours made sure to revive such sentiment within him whenever nearby.

But just as him, you never had eyes for anyone else that wasn’t the love of your life.

“…I guess that’s another way to know we’re meant for each other.” You quietly discern, resting your face back into his chest while Naoya laughs once more. “Does that mean you’re not… upset with me anymore?”

“Upset? If anything, I was quite delighted to see you jealous; you’re quite cute when you are, you know?” He teases, gently pinching your cheek.

“I wasn’t jealous!” You cry, he raises an eyebrow. “I mean… not without reason.”

“Have I not told you already that you are the most beautiful, adorable, gentlest woman in the whole world?” Naoya continues, you turn bright red.

“Now you’re just embarrassing me!” you gasp, pushing your face deeper into his chest.

“The list is honestly endless, but we do have a train to catch.” He reminds you, making your eyes widen and gasp.

“Oh, my god you’re right! We have to hurry!” you say, ready to fetch your suitcase, before bashfully looking back to him. “…Are you still sitting with me?”

“Unless you’re saving it for a random person.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Nope, and I do not want to run the risk of being paired with a weirdo!” you exclaim. “You have a lot to catch up with me, anyways.”

“I know.” Naoya responds. “Though I doubt talking about preparations and schoolwork will be any exciting.”

“I was thinking something a bit more… personal. Like kisses.” You murmur, and he smirks before leaning down to peck your lips, heart fluttering in return.

“Is that a good way to start?”

You smile, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him back.

“Perfect.”

Your trip to Kyoto proves to be just as exciting as you expected, if not more thanks to all his precedent planning, that you simply couldn’t wait for the day you’d come again.

Thankfully, you’d have plenty of time to do so once convincing Naoya to take you to visit the Zen’in… much to his chagrin. But anything to make you happy, he supposes.

yes i love setting up more stories should I be blamed? NO. ahahaha

anyways, I hoped you enjoyed it 🙈 I couldn't (nor wouldn't) write anything that might be interpreted as slander against utahime cause i don't feel that way about her (though I feel incredibly disappointed that we didn't get to see more of her 😒😒😒😒) but also I couldn't write her in such way that would make one ask "well, if she was so good for naoya then why is he with y/n? lol"

yet I hope I was able to show how immature/selfish he was with her 🤣 asking questions like "I wonder if she's heard of my clan" instead of trying to genuinely get to know her and such. it's the power of love y'all.......................................

aaaah what i mean to say is, I hope you enjoyed this :') i think it's the first time I ever write Naoya taking interest in someone else, even though it was in the past 🤔 still...

take care and hope to see y'all soon!!

p.s. what do y'all think utahime's reaction was to naoya dating y/n? I have a few ideas but have yet to choose one lol.

#naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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haartemis · 23 hours ago

Text

THE ALCHEMY | PART IV

pairing: kylian mbappe x fem!reader

word count: 6.7k

warnings: smut

summary: working at real madrid is a dream come true— until kylian mbappe, football's biggest star and the last person you ever want to see, joins the club. as tensions rise between you two and the lines between frustration and fascination blur, you wonder: can you truly resist the man you've sworn to hate?

A/N: as always, let me know what yall think :)

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

two months later

he dreams of you.

it’s not the first time. but it is the first time it feels this real - like you’re actually there, warm and soft beneath him, your body a magnet, pulling him in like gravity itself.

he’s between your thighs, the view in front of him making his head spin. you’re already soaked, needy and desperate, and fuck, that does something to him. his fingers skim the inside of your thigh, spreading you open further. he watches you intently, the way your chest rises and falls, the way your lips part as you breathe out a soft, pleading "kylian…"

his name, spilling from your lips like a prayer.

he groans.

"this good?" he murmurs, dark eyes flickering up to meet yours.

you nod quickly, impatient.

he chuckles, smug, because he loves seeing you like this, loves the way you can barely stay still, the way you need him.

"are you always this greedy?" he teases, dragging a finger through your slick heat.

your breath hitches, hips twitching as you chase his touch.

"are you always this slow?" you manage to quip.

he smirks. you’re never one to hide your annoyance at him.

then he leans in.

the first swipe of his tongue makes you gasp. he groans at the taste of you, wet and addictive, and he instantly wants more. he devours you like it’s his favorite thing in the world, his mouth soft but insistent, a little teasing.

you fall apart for him. your fingers press against his close cropped hair, nails grazing his scalp, and he grins against you because he likes that - likes the way you lose yourself, the way you let him ruin you.

he flicks his tongue against your clit, then sucks, slow and deep.

"fuck-" you gasp, back arching, and that’s it - that’s the sound he wants, the sound he could listen to forever.

"knew you’d be this sweet for me" he murmurs, the words vibrating against your skin.

his fingers slide inside you, easing in effortlessly, curling just right. you’re so warm, so tight around him, and fuck - his cock throbs at the thought of being buried inside you instead.

"you feel good" he rasps, voice thick with desire.

you just moan in response, pressing yourself against his mouth. desperate. needy. perfect.

he wants you completely undone. so he moves his fingers faster, deep, precise, and your whole body trembles.

"kylian" you pant, whimpering, losing control, on the edge.

"let go" he commands softly. "come for me"

and you do. you break apart, shattering, and he groans at the way you grip the nape of his neck, the way you cry out for him.

he keeps going until you’re whimpering, until you can barely catch your breath, until he knows you feel him even in your bones.

when you finally slump back against the sheets, wrecked, he drags his mouth up your body, lips wet as he leans into your ear. this time, his voice isn’t cocky. its soft, almost vulnerable. " ma cherie, don’t disappear on me again, please"

kylian’s eyes snap open, chest rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths. his body is hot, his sheets are twisted, and his pulse is still pounding. for a brief second, he isn’t sure if he’s still dreaming, if he can still taste you on his tongue, still feel the ghost of your fingers against his scalp.

but then reality crashes down on him - he’s alone in his bed, embarrassingly hard from a sex dream where he was giving head to someone he hasn’t spoken to in two months.

yes, you haven’t seen or spoken to each other in two months.

two months since you were pressed against him, your body writhing with pleasure on his lap, every pretense and restraint dropped. since you fell asleep against his chest, the soft glow of the tv casting shadows while meg ryan and billy crystal got their happy ending on the screen. he remembers it vividly - the scent of your perfume. holding his breath, trying to slow his pounding heart, hoping you wouldn’t hear it.

his own words from the dream echo in his head. don’t disappear on me again, please.

like dream-kylian had any right to say that.

this was his doing. his MO, executed to perfection. he'd thought that if he put enough space between you, whatever this was - this annoying, unrelenting pull that so far he’s pretended is nothing more than sexual attraction - would fade. if he ignored the way you looked at him that night on his couch, if he pretended it hadn’t meant anything, then eventually, it wouldn’t. except it hasn’t.

he was good at this, keeping people at arm’s length, creating just enough distance to keep himself safe. but this time, it doesn’t feel protective. it feels like suffocation.

after that movie night at his place, you’d both floated vague plans to stay in touch. nothing concrete - just the kind of half-promises made in the soft haze of a morning after. kylian was heading into a relentless stretch of the season, bouncing between competitions, sometimes playing three matches a week. and you, working for the club, understood better than most how demanding a footballer’s schedule could be.

there were no real expectations, from either of you. but there had been an understanding- an unspoken acknowledgment that the all-out loathing had morphed into something else.

he’d known from the start that you wouldn’t be the one to reach out first. you’d make him chase you, let him feel the weight of his mistakes. it was your way of punishing him for his antics, and maybe, deep down, he knew he deserved it.

but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months and he never reached out and neither did you. there were no more coincidental run-ins, no more crossing paths by chance. you worked in the corporate offices, far removed from the world of valdebebas where he spent his days. its been a stretch of time full of silence, distance, of not seeing each other at all.

now, two months later, with your dream moans still echoing in his head, he wonders if he miscalculated. if maybe, this time, the game he was so used to playing was costing him more than he expected.

it's a shoot day for kylian, an ad for one of the club sponsors. he’s already on set, ready to go, but for some reason, the production team isn’t. apparently, someone essential from the marketing department is missing. he tries to hide his impatience; his schedule is relentless, every minute accounted for and time spent waiting is time he could be using to decompress, even if just for a moment.

he’s letting out an irritated huff when the door barges open and you walk into the room, frazzled , out of breath, and looking completely out of place. kylian’s face drops, because, well, he doesn’t expect to see you here at all.

“julia had an emergency” you’re murmuring to the production assistant. “everyone else from marketing is on that retreat, so she asked me to fill in. it was very last minute, i came here as soon as i could”

kylian shuffles on his feet as he watches you converse with the production team, nervously waiting for you to look up and notice him. his eyes zero in on your hands, on the ring on your pinkie finger - gold, with an intricate engraving at the center. you play with it absentmindedly, turning as you speak.

the photographer, taller than kylian, scruffy looking, and far too familiar for his liking, seems to notice it too.

"that’s a beautiful ring" he remarks, stepping closer to you. "vintage?"

you glance up, caught slightly off guard. "oh-yeah, it was my grandfather’s”

the photographer grins, nodding in admiration. "where's it from?"

his tone is friendly, maybe just being curious.

“he bought it in morocco, back in the eighties” you say, smiling genuinely.

this irritates kylian. immediately, he hates that you’re smiling at this guy while not even sparing him a glance. he hates the fact that he’s never noticed that ring before, that he doesn’t know the story behind it, that some random photographer has now seen more of you in the past five minutes than kylian has in the past two months.

finally, he interjects, voice sharper than intended. "can we get started?"

the photographer blinks, momentarily thrown off, before nodding and moving along to set up the shot. you, however, finally acknowledge kylian with a detached and professional: “good morning, kylian”

that’s it. you look down to your clipboard before he can respond, already focused on something else. feeling dismissed, kylian just walks away.

the shoot drags. kylian’s patience ,which was never in abundance to begin with this morning, is wearing thin. the lights are hot (which means the room is hot), the photographer keeps making him repeat the same movements, and the jersey he has on is kind of itchy.

then there’s you. your nonchalance only builds on his irritation. he doesn’t like that you’re standing there flipping through your notes like this is any other work day. doesn’t like that you’re answering questions, talking with the photographer, even laughing a little all while acting like he’s just another player to manage.

when the photographer finally calls for a break, kylian walks straight to you, stopping just close enough that you have to acknowledge him.

"let’s get lunch after this"

it’s not a request. more of a statement, delivered in what he hopes is a confident tone.

you don’t even glance up from your clipboard. "no"

his jaw flexes. "why?"

this time, you do look at him, your expression so blank it makes his stomach tighten.

"i already have plans" you say, tone flat. "meeting a friend"

"cancel" he says before he can stop himself.

you raise your eyebrows. "excuse me?"

"cancel" he repeats, slower this time. "have lunch with me instead"

you let out an incredulous chuckle, amusement flickering in your eyes, like you can’t believe his audacity. "oh so because kylian mbappé decided he wants my attention today i’m obligated to drop everything right?"

"that’s not -"

"no, because this is interesting" you continue. "two months of silence, and now i’m supposed to rearrange my plans just because you’re suddenly feeling social"

kylian cringes hard at himself. he rubs his fingers between his brows, exhaling sharply. “okay, yeah. that came out bad, i’m sorry”

“i’ll try again” he straightens, clearing his throat. “can i take you out to lunch or dinner? any time you’re free”

“no” you snap immediately, rolling your eyes. “and can you get the fuck on with this stupid shoot? the sooner you do what the photographer asks, the sooner we can all leave this sauna” you point to his hairline. “and better get the good shots in before your sprayed on corners melt”

kylian’s completely speechless as you flash him the sweetest, fakest smile and saunter away, leaving him standing alone. he should be annoyed. maybe even embarrassed. instead, his lips twitch, fighting back a grin.

he doesn’t know why he’s drawn to someone so hellbent on putting him in his place, but he is. and god help him he likes it.

joining a book club might just be the most ridiculous thing kylian has ever done for a woman. and you're not even his woman (yet).

he gets the idea from his mother. they’re in a meeting discussing a project for his foundation when she notices how often he glances at his phone, hoping for a reply to the texts he keeps sending you. none come, of course. you’re nothing if not stubborn.

"what’s wrong?" she asks finally.

"nothing" kylian mutters.

she gives him a look, one he’s known since childhood, the kind that strips away any chance of deception. don’t even try lying to me.

he caves immediately. “waiting for someone to text me”

“y/n, the girl you claim you hate but won’t admit you like” she says matter of factly. then her brows furrow in a mix of confusion and mild disgust. “why aren’t you texting first?”

“i am” he says, as if it’s obvious. “and how do you know about her?”

“your brother loves to sing about your less than finer moments” she says as she shuffles her notes. “something about a watch and throwing a fit at a restaurant?”

kylian snorts. “ i didn’t throw a fit, and that’s not even the whole story”

she gives him an unimpressed look, the kind that says go on then. he hesitates for a moment, then decides to let it all out - because his mother is his confidant, always has been. he tells her everything, sparing only the explicit details, of course. no need to mention his self sabotaging tendencies either, she knows him better than anyone after all.

when he’s done, she just sighs. “mon coeur, you have a bad habit of getting in your own way”

kylian stays quiet, staring at the floor. he knows she’s right. he’s always known.

after a moment, she nudges his foot with hers. “so, what are you going to do about it?”

he looks up, jaw tight. “i don’t know”

she clicks her tongue. "figure it out, before someone emotionally available and uninterested in wasting her time comes around and sweeps her off her feet"

kylian groans, dropping his head into his arms. “the thing is, I don’t even know how to see her. she’s ignoring me as it is. how am I supposed to -”

“get creative” she interrupts, smirking now, thoroughly entertained by his suffering. “read a romance novel or something. maybe it’ll give you an idea”

it clicks for him just then. at rafael’s dinner party, you’d mentioned a book club offhandedly, saying that’s how you two knew each other.

the next day at training, he sidles up to the physio, voice carefully casual. "what’s the book of the month?"

rafael blinks at him, caught off guard. "what?"

“the book club” kylian clarifies, like it’s something he always asks about. “what are you guys reading?”

rafael gives him a look, but he humors him and tells him the title.

“i love that book!”

rafael squints. "really? you read?"

"of course" kylian lies. he hasn’t touched a book since he was in school.

he claps rafael on the back. “i should join your next meeting. would love to discuss it. such a lovely read, I mean-”

“sure” the physio says, still eyeing him like he’s lost his mind. “you should know its just me and y/n though, and we do a lot of talking. you should come prepared”

and kylian does prepare. as soon as training ends, he texts his assistant asking to pick up the book, and by the time he gets home, the paperback is waiting for him. he immediately dives in. it’s just as boring an activity as he remembered from school; his eyes skim, his mind wanders, but he endures. because, somehow, there’s a need to impress. a desire to make you think highly of him. so he reads. and when he’s done, he finds analysis videos on youtube and watches them too.

when the sunday of the meeting comes, rafael texts to the both of you that his cat is not feeling well and he has to take it to the vet. kylian quickly texts back - hope your cat’s okay - all while in disbelief at his luck; he’s getting one on one time with you, which is something he wasn’t expecting at all. it feels like divine intervention. bless rafael’s cat. may its suffering not be in vain.

he calls you next. surprisingly you pick up.

“why are you hijacking my book club?” you demand before he can even get a word in.

“I’m not hijacking” kylian says innocently. “i politely asked to join. anyway, do you want to come to my place instead of your usual cafe? you know its a hassle for me to get around in public”

“your place? ” you laugh. “so you can get me in your bed again?”

“we didn’t make it to my bed last time” kylian smirks. “we can fix that though, if you’d like”

“i'll pass” you mutter. “It's either the cafe or nothing”

then you hang up.

kylian, somewhat anxiously, puts on a mask and a cap, and makes his way to the cafe you and rafael frequent for your two person book club.

he gets there first, and when you finally walk in, his eyes lock onto you. there’s an effortless confidence in your walk, your posture perfect, and of course you make heads turn. for a brief moment, his mind runs wild and falls into a daydream. he imagines you beside him on a red carpet, a possessive hand on the small of your back as you pose for the cameras. the ritual he usually dreads, turned into a spectacle where he gets to show you off. it’s a fleeting thought, but clear: if you were his, he’d want the world to know.

you take a seat across from him, murmuring your greetings. again, kylian is struck by your beauty, by the way you effortlessly infiltrate his senses, leaving no room for anything else.

"you're late," kylian says as you settle into your seat.

"oops" you reply, entirely unbothered.

he huffs out a laugh, then signals the waiter. coffee for you, herbal tea for him - he doesn’t do caffeine.

“how are you?” he asks. “how’s life? did you cut your hair again, by the way? It looks nice”

you blink, caught off guard. “...yes” then, with a smirk: “you pay too much attention to me, lottin. you need a hobby”

you tap the book on the table, a clear attempt to steer the conversation away from yourself. “like reading, maybe. how’d you like this one?”

kylian slides the book away from your reach. "first i want to say sorry-"

you groan, cutting him off. "not this again"

“no, i’m serious” kylian exhales. here goes - first time being honest about this to someone out loud. “ i tend to self sabotage sometimes, to run away when i get scared - emotionally i mean. that's why i've sort of gone quiet the past couple months. it's been like that for a long time, and obviously its nothing to do with you and everything to do with me”

“clearly” you snort.

kylian gawks at you.

you arch a brow. "what? you think i was sitting here wondering, why isn’t he calling me? there must be something wrong with me?" you scoff. "i’m a catch. obviously you’re the problem"

you flick a stray curl out of your face, smirking, and kylian can’t help but stare.

then, leaning in, your voice drops, more serious now. "it wasn’t like that at first, though. i resented you for how you treated me that night in paris. it messed with my self esteem for a while. you made me feel... inadequate” a pause. “but now i know better. you were the problem, not me. so, like... it’s whatever. and you did apologize"

his stomach twists. he knew he'd hurt you that night, but hearing it put so plainly and so directly makes him hate himself a little for it.

he meets your gaze again, face turning more solemn. " i'm really sorry for that. i regret it so much.. i think it's the ugliest manifestation of my stupid issues, and it had to be on you, someone i really liked from the get go"

you play with a napkin on the table. "and after the night at your place… well, you said it yourself. you run"

"i want to change" kylian says earnestly. "i want to do better, because i like you. and i want to get to know you, not just sleep with you, and -"

the waiter arrives with your drinks, cutting him off. kylian silently prays he hasn't overheard much of your conversation - the last thing he wants and needs is his business to be all over the internet.

"thanks" he murmurs to the waiter as he watches you take a careful first sip of your cappuccino. a small cloud of foam clings to your lips, and he watches, slightly transfixed, as your tongue peeks out of your mouth and lick it away. this shouldn't be as sensual as it is, but kylian who’s been left to fend for himself with nothing but his hands lately (and is bizarrely haunted by dreams where he begs for you) finds the simple action oddly obscene. he’s so distracted, he barely registers the sting when he tears open a sugar packet too carelessly, the sharp edge giving him a papercut. kylian snaps his eyes away from you, hissing under his breath and shaking his hand out.

"smooth" you tease, watching him examine the tiny wound.

he glances up at you, a small smile on his face. "you want to kiss it better?"

“you’re such a baby” you sigh, shaking your head.

but then you reach across the table, taking his hand in yours, running your thumb over the tiny cut. kylian stills, his breath hitching a little.

you slip your hand into your bag and pull out a tube of aquaphor. he watches, swallowing, as you dab his finger with a napkin. there’s something absurdly intimate about it, the tenderness in your touch, the way you hold his hand like it's something delicate. “anyway” he says, voice quieter now, “what i was getting at before is that i promise i'll cut out this bullshit going forward. obviously i haven't done much to prove my worth, but i want to show you. can i take you out on a date?”

you don’t look up as you smooth a tiny amount of ointment over the cut. "kylian, you say you want to change. i want to believe you, because i like you too, and i want to get to know you better. but first you need to prove to me you actually mean what you say"

"there" you say when you’re done. you meet his gaze, your touch featherlight. “all better”

not quite.

for a moment, disappointment flickers inside him. rejection, no matter how gentle, stings. and kylian isn’t used to that feeling. but it doesn’t linger, not really, because kylian thrives on challenges. his entire life has been built on discipline, persistence, proving himself to people. he has never ever wanted anything more than to be worthy of the things he desires most. and if that’s what it takes to win you over, then so be it.

his fingers shift, brushing against yours, his grip tightening just slightly. when he speaks, it’s with quiet conviction: "i will"

you give him a shy smile, a hopeful one. for now its enough.

"okay" he blurts, a few moments later. "can we talk about the book now? i actually did read it "

you laugh, and its the best sound he’s heard in a while.

three months later

"mbappé is so well spoken" ana, your co-worker from the comms department, remarks over lunch one day, her tone full of admiration. "not too wordy, always straight to the point. every time i upload his press conference quotes, i’m like, ‘damn’”

"i know, right?" you perk up slightly. "he’s actually really smart. i don’t think people give him enough credit for that, and he’s also-"

you stop mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the way your friends are staring at you, wide eyed, like you've just declared the earth is flat.

"am i hearing this right?" daniel asks, incredulous. "are you... complimenting mbappé?"

you shrug, quickly dropping your gaze to your food, hoping they won’t make a big deal out of it.

“he’s a decent guy, i’ve realized” you shrug, trying to sound casual. in reality, and not for the first time, a paranoid part of you feels like you let something slip, like i have a crush on kylian mbappé is suddenly embarrassingly scrawled across your forehead in big bold letters.

you can’t help but find it amusing, how everything has shifted since the three months since he said he’d ‘prove’ himself to you. what started as pure loathing, then morphed into annoyance, then grudging respect and acceptance of attraction, is now teetering on something more scary. your entire perspective on him is being rewritten. that supposed arrogance? turns out, it was just confidence, a man aware of his capabilities and potential, someone moving through life unapologetically self-assured. and that self-absorbed image you once had of him? it couldn’t be farther from the truth – you see it now, in the way he interacts with people around him, how everyone who knows him speaks highly of him, the way he quirks his eyebrows whenever he gives someone his undivided attention in conversation , eyes sparkling slightly.

yes, you think about his eyes sparkling often. it's quite troubling.

he’s a regular fixure in your life now, a constant you never thought he’d become the day you saw him walk into your office for the very first time. a close friend, if you will.

it started with him showing up to the book club again. you’d thought it was a one time thing the first time, but kylian kept coming, kept reading the books. then he started inviting you over whenever ethan visited (you’d stayed in touch with his little brother over instagram, bonding over your shared love for bullying kylian). little by little, you got to know him better, and it was terrifying, because everything you learned just made you like him more.

there’s no denying he’s your dream man, kind, ambitious, funny. he gets on your nerves a lot; you bicker over the most trivial things, and somehow, every argument leaves you wanting to kiss him senseless. not that he doesn’t know. he probably knows full well how much you want him, but this time he’s waiting for you to break first. after all, you’re the one who set an ultimatum.

you never thought there'd be a list of things about him you'd find endearing, but there are: his very loud laugh, which never fails to make you smile, the childlike joy he gets from playing football, he way he adorably messes up the pronunciation of some english words in an effort to sound perfect.

time passes. your liking of him grows. for his birthday, you get him a cake that says happy birthday to my fave manwhore who can’t drive. he gives you a long, slightly confused look when he sees it, and that same evening, you and kylian spend his 26th birthday watching clueless.

you send him memes of himself, clips from tiktok of people making fun of his interviews. there are some edits, the kind that make your eyes go wide that you save but don’t send. not that you’re lacking in kylian thirst traps: when he goes to dubai for christmas break, he sends you shirtless pictures unprovoked, to which you keep replying with a '???' but stare at for far too long.

he sends you pictures of himself at the beach too, playing with his niece and nephew who he doesn’t get to see nearly enough these days because of the distance. one evening, you even meet his niece over facetime, a sweet, chatty little girl who instantly makes things awkward by asking if you’re tonton kyky’s girlfriend. her mother hurriedly comes into frame profusely apologizing, before whisking her daughter away. kylian just chuckles awkwardly and changes the subject.

you joke that he should throw away his bucket hats if he ever wants a shot at taking you out. the next day, he’s not wearing one, opting for a cap instead. when you clarify that you were joking (because, unfortunately, his sometimes questionable fashion sense isn’t putting you off this man), the ugly bucket hats make a triumphant return.

when he gets back, he gifts you a corny will you be my habibti? t shirt and an expensive bottle of perfume. that’s another thing you learn about kylian: he’s generous to people he cares about. with his money, yes, but also with his time - what little of it he actually gets to dictate. he’s attentive, remembering things you mention offhandedly, things even you forget you’ve said.

and you can’t help it, you open up to him, confiding in him your fears, your anxieties. you tell him your growing dissatisfaction at your job, how your boss keeps singing your praises but drags his feet on the promotion he said would come months ago. how you’re secretly interviewing at other jobs, testing the waters, seeing if there’s anything else out there that’s going to enable the growth you envision for yourself. little by little, kylian lets you in a well, telling you about how it really feels adjusting to life in madrid, how the loneliness he initially felt was waning thanks to his new friends, his teammates he’s now closer to, and you. it makes your stomach flutter, the knowledge that you’re becoming an important part of his daily life, like he is becoming in yours.

one day, while working from home, your laptop propped on the kitchen table, you hear an insistent knock at the door. when you open it, you’re met with an unexpected sight - kylian, standing on your doorstep, holding a massive bouquet of flowers and a small gift bag.

"kylian?" you blink, caught off guard. "what are you doing here?" then, before he can answer, you add quickly "come in"

you step aside to let him in, still trying to process his presence in your tiny apartment. he shouldn’t be here, not when he’s recovering from a flu that’s kept him out of the copa del rey match today. you’d sent him a text checking on him in the morning, and the worrying update he’d given afterwards was a brief complaint about the fever being bad enough that he had to warn the coaching staff. so you really didn’t expect him to see him at your door today.

yet here he is, cheeks slightly puffy, eyes watery and bleary with exhaustion, bundled up in a warm sweater.

“congratulations!” he says weakly, brandishing the flowers to you. “had to personally deliver these”

you take the beautiful flowers from his hand, face heating, not really sure what you’re being congratulated for. “...thank you?”

he sees the confusion on your face. “i heard you got that promotion. your boss is a blabber mouth by the way, i ran into him at the car park the other day”

“ohh” you say in realization, chuckling. “thanks. i’m not taking the promotion, though. i actually just put in my two week notice. i got the job i was telling you about”

kylian's brows lift in surprise, and for a moment, he just stares at you, processing your words. then, slowly, he grins.

“no way” his voice is hoarse and croaky from being sick, but there’s warmth in it. you can tell he’s really happy for you. “you got it?”

“i got it” you confirm, a little breathless, still getting used to saying it out loud.

his eyes soften, and he shoves the small gift bag into your hands. “open it”

you rip off the wrapping and find a jewelry box inside. when you open it, a beautiful gold necklace catches your eye. you can’t help but gasp a little, totally taken by how pretty the pendant is as you hold it up to the light. but then you gasp even louder when you realize the pendant has the same design as the signet ring you’ve had forever - your grandfather’s ring, the one you’ve kept all these years.

“how-what-” you stutter, totally speechless.

kylian watches you with a small smile, clearly enjoying your reaction. "i saw you wearing the ring during that photoshoot a while back" he says. "and when i went to morocco a couple weeks ago.. well you know i have my ways-” he winks, but sneezes loudly immediately after, throwing off his attempt at being smooth. “- anyway, i asked around and found the jeweler who made it, and luckily they’re still in business. had them make a matching necklace”

“thank you, kylian,” you say softly, blinking against the tears welling up in your eyes. this is, without a doubt, the most thoughtful gift you’ve ever received. you run your fingers over the pendant, still in awe, your chest tightening with something overwhelming and warm

before you can overthink it, you step forward and wrap your arms around him. he stiffens for half a second, probably because you never hug him, but then he melts into it, sighing against your hair as his arms slide around your waist.

“i really love it” you mumble against his shoulder.

“yeah?” his voice is quieter.

“yeah”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. his hands linger at your waist, maybe intentionally, and you don’t miss his eyes flickering down to your lips for a second.

“come here” he murmurs. “i want to put it on you”

you turn around, heart hammering as he gently lifts your hair and clasps the necklace around your neck. his fingers brush against your skin, and you feel goosebumps rise where he’s touched you. you don’t want his touch to leave you.

“perfect” he says, and when you turn back to face him, he’s already watching you like he’s thinking the same thing.

but of course, the moment is ruined when he screws up his face, and after muttering a quick ‘sorry’, sneezes loudly.

with his grand romantic gesture interrupted by sneezing two times now, you sit him down on your couch and make him tea, and somehow, some minutes later he ends up stretched out on your couch like he lives here, bundled up in a blanket he stole from your bed.

“you know what’s great about you quitting?” kylian mutters from the couch. “i mean, besides the pay raise and growth opportunities you’ll get at your new job”

you hum in expectation, raising an eyebrow as you glance over from your laptop.

“we when we start dating, it won’t cause complications” he says, chuckling. “you won’t have to tell hr, or anything”

“when, and not if?” you tease. “that confident?”

“very confident” he says. “and you know what, i already know where our first date will be: paris. I’ll show you my city”

you laugh, shaking your head at him.

you fall into a comfortable silence where you keep working, fingers tapping against the keyboard as he lounges there, half asleep. every now and then, you hear him shift, adjusting the blanket or sighing softly. at one point, he mutters something incoherent, and when you glance over, he’s blinking at you sleepily, like he’s fighting to stay awake.

“what?” you ask.

he just stares at you for a second, eyes heavy lidded, voice thick with exhaustion when he finally says, “nothing. just.. you look nice when you’re focused”

your fingers falter over the keyboard. you try to ignore the way your pulse stutters at his words, how the weight of his gaze lingers on you even after he closes his eyes again.

thankfully for kylian, being a football prodigy means he has never known (and will never know) the trauma of a microsoft teams notification ping. so he sleeps on, undisturbed, curled up in the middle of your space like he belongs there.

you touch the necklace laying on your chest every couple minutes as you work. your eyes keep wandering to the flowers now sitting in a vase. you’re so giddy, so happy to be seen and to be known like this. and all from the man napping on your couch. the person you thought you’d never like as a person, much less romantically. funny how life works.

employees get the occasional perk: a ticket to a home game at the bernabeu. seeing as these are your last few days as a real madrid employee, you don’t want to miss what could be your final chance to watch a match from the stands. you want to soak it up, to fully live in it.

so here you are, inside the stadium, weaving through the crowd on your way to your seat. but first, a quick stop at the restroom - you’ve come straight from the office after a long day, and you could use a splash of cold water to the face.

as you stand at the sink, washing your hands, you catch a woman glancing at you in the mirror. when you turn to offer a polite smile, she meets your gaze.

“hi” she says warmly. “you probably don’t remember me, but i remember you”

you blink, trying to place her. “hi…yeah, i don’t think i do” you admit sheepishly.

she laughs. “no worries. you must have a lot of people running around like headless chickens, asking where the conference rooms are”

and then it clicks. last year, in the office, on your way to the break room, she had stopped you to ask for directions. she even complimented your nails, you remember now.

“i do remember!” you brighten. yet, something about her still tugs at you, like you’ve seen her face a thousand times before.

“i was here negotiating my son’s contract” she adds with a knowing smile.

and that’s when it hits you. the resemblance is unmistakable. she looks just like him.

“oh” your stomach flips. this isn’t how you imagined meeting kylian’s mother. “well, i’m glad you’re back, its good to see you again. i hope you enjoy the match tonight”

you move to dry your hands, but she stops you, eyes twinkling. “ you’re y/n, right? i’ve heard a lot about you.” her tone is teasing. “why don’t you join me tonight? the seats are pretty nice”

and just like that, you find yourself watching the game from the vip section, seated next to kylian’s mother.

before kickoff, you shoot kylian a quick text: ran into your mom and now we’re sitting together. she’s already told me a million embarrassing stories, and i’ll dig for more if you bore me!!

he doesn’t bore you. in fact, the entire team plays what is probably their best match of the season. kylian scores a hat trick, and the stadium erupts with every goal. his mother remains composed each time he scores, but you catch the glint of pride in her eyes, the quiet joy of a mother watching her son finally hit his stride after a rough start to the season.

after the match, fayza invites you to join her and kylian for dinner at his house. you hesitate, not wanting to intrude on what’s likely one of the rare moments they get to catch up, but she doesn’t let you get away that easily.

“please” she insists. “i want to get to know my son’s best friend in madrid”

you don’t stand a chance. now you understand where kylian gets his charm from.

“okay” you say, smiling shyly as you nod.

together, you make your way to the underground car park to wait for him. he’s still making his rounds—talking to journalists, answering questions, stopping for pictures with fans. it’s quieter down here, the hum of engines and the distant murmur of departing spectators filling the space. from where you stand, you catch glimpses of him through the crowd. his energy is magnetic. it’s his night, his hattrick, his triumph, and the joy radiating off of him is infectious.

when he finally joins you, he’s bouncing his signed match ball against the floor, his excitement still buzzing through him. his mother greets him first, and then he turns to you, wrapping you in a tight hug that catches you off guard. he smells like body wash and his usual cologne, the warmth of his hoodie pressed against you, and beneath it all, you can hear the steady, fast beat of his heart.

“congratulations” you murmur. “you were amazing”

“thanks” he grins again, bouncing the ball again before holding it up to you and pulling out a sharpie from his pocket. “can you sign this for me?”

you blink at him, surprised. “me?”

he nods, his expression softening. “it’s your last day here. i feel like we should mark it somehow”

the sentiment catches you off guard, but you’re extremely touched. kylian has been surprising you a lot lately. and every single day, you keep falling.

you take the sharpie from him, searching for a free spot among the messages from his teammates - inside jokes, congratulations, doodles squeezed between signatures. finally, you find a space just big enough. you hesitate for a second, then, biting back a smile, you write:

congratulations, ky <3. trip to paris to celebrate?

later, in the car, the night stretching out around you, you sit side by side in the backseat. somehow, your hands find each other in the dark, fingers intertwining like second nature. his thumb brushes absentmindedly over the back of your hand as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

you watch as he turns the match ball in his lap, examining the messages under the shifting yellow glow of the streetlights. then, he pauses. his fingers trace over your writing slowly, as if reading it again and again.

when he finally looks up, his smile is so wide his dimples pop. and in that moment, you know he knows he’s won.

tags: @idontknowwhatthisvis555 @nowrosesaredead @iuoiyr @acarolnzinhaa-03 @ynkfreeastheocean @scottishthistle @user6373738 @loonworld @whateveryouloser @greyishbach @ajsboys @kyliansonlygf @lucysantos6-blog @tuliptopiasstuff @kennasutopia @cinderellawithashoe @akiracim @kymb-10 @germanapples @heartbreakylian @ishaaglobus2002 @flawlessdiamond1 @ouiouibaguettei @kylianmb9 @peaceiswonderful @maricciardo @monodolan @borikenlovee

#kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappe angst #kylian mbappe x y/n #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian x reader #kylian x you #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappé imagine #kylian mbappé smut #football fanfic #kylian mbappe

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gatorbites-imagines · 3 days ago

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Hi! I hope you’re having a great day! 🌟 I absolutely love your blog and your writing—it’s always so creative and immersive. I was wondering if you could write a Reverse Flash (Eobard Thawne) imagine for me? Here’s my idea: - [ do you know the fanfic that you did about him and normal reader? Well, I thought you could write about the wedding reception or what when on during the wedding] No pressure, of course—I just think your writing style would bring this idea to life in the best way! Thank you so much for considering my request, and keep up the amazing work! 💖

Eobard Thawne x male reader

Headcanons

I’ve been sending out job applications, how’s everyone else doing? I actually know like, nothing about weddings. The one wedding ive been through was thrown together in like three weeks.

you can find the fic mentioned here

The wedding could go multiple ways. It could be a huge wedding that costs more money than you could ever imagine. Or it could be something small and personal.

I think it makes more sense if it was a smaller wedding. Because sure, Eobard could show off, but he also has like no one to invite from his side, and he knows you prefer things being down to earth and calm.

The only person really invited on his side is Barry and that’s because you invited him, claiming that being rivals for so long pretty much made them family.

Your family has always loved Eobard, even if he has his moments where his villainy shines through. They’re all as normal as you, and could care less about his evil deeds. Eobard helps them repair stuff around their houses, and chased off your cousin Linda’s evil abusive ex. That makes him good in their books.

I think Eobard has little idea how to really plan a wedding, especially with someone he loves as much as you. Good thing he’s got you, and your one cousin who’s a wedding planner who’s helping you guys’ plan as a wedding gift.

Your family is pretty damn big, and you got people in all fields. Theres your uncle Bill whos got a major catering business, and your younger cousin who has a band willing to play. Your aunt Jenna gets the flowers for cheap, and your uncle Michael and his husband Diego run a security company.

I can even see Eobard being close to uncomfortable with just how open and supportive your super normal family is. Your nieces and nephews love Eobard for many reasons, from his red hair to him teaching them self-defense.

If it wasn’t for you, Eobard would become a major bridezilla, or should I say groomzilla? He wants it to be perfect, from location, time, season of the year, everything. It needs to be just as you guys planned. You succeed in pulling him in before he starts spiraling most days.

I can imagine Eobard would want to wear a yellow suit, but you and your groomsmen and bridesmaids end up talking him out of it. Instead, he wears a black suit with a yellow, and you wear a white suit with a red tie.

You spend quite a lot of time talking him out of stress or anger when things don’t go right, or when he’s starting to get overwhelmed. Theres multiple times you have to talk him out of time travel to get what he thinks is best.

The wedding goes off with little issue. There is a moment where Eobard wants to be mad about Barry showing up. But at this point it’s more just because he’s so used to being evil when he sees Barry. It’s like a trained reaction.

Barry brings a gift of course, off the registry since he doesn’t really know you too well.

Your family assume that Barry is related to Eobard in some way since they have a “similar energy” around them. Barry gets along well with your family, and fits into the wedding guests easily.

Eobard will never admit it, even if your family get it on video, that he started crying when you guys were saying your vows. His vows aren’t long, but are meaningful to the two of you, and it’s obvious he’s trying his best to express those feelings to you verbally.

The rings you guys wear are probably made out of some material Eobard got his hands on. something that can’t be broken by him using his powers or in battle, and something that cant be copied by others since he’s possessive.

There is of course a large party afterwards, with lots of hugs and congratulations from everyone in attendance.

As your family are all over you, laughing and celebrating, Eobard pulls himself to the side for a breather. He loves you so much, but it can be so overwhelming sometimes to feel so normal and accepted, loved even.

Barry would saddle up beside him with a drink in each hand, so the two of them end up standing side by side as people dance, drink and eat.

Barry would express how happy he is for Eobard, that he found someone who matters so much to him. That Eobard looks so much happier and healthier than the last times he saw him. Eobard would grumble but flush, mumbling about how he’s obviously better because he has you.

In the end you guys celebrate to your heart’s content, and when the party is over you guys don’t go to a hotel. Instead, Eobard runs you guys’ home so you can cuddle in bed and just be together.

Theres not much reason to hold a honeymoon in the way most others do. If you guys want to go to another country, Eobard will just run you there. Instead, you take as long time off work as you can, so you guys can just be together and do whatever you want.

#male reader #eobard thawne #reverse flash #dc #justice league #eobard thawne x male reader #eobard thawne x reader #eobard thawne imagine #eobard thawne headcanon #reverse flash x male reader #reverse flash x reader #reverse flash imagine #reverse flash headcanon #dc imagine #dc headcanon #dc x male reader #dc x reader

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noisytenant · 2 days ago

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one of those things about viewing oneself as a system is that it's oftentimes just the only thing that makes sense.

like, you can go around thinking of yourself as one single person who just, inexplicably or through some divine fault, struggles to know what they want, shifts priorities on a dime, and always seems to fuck up the things they want in the last second, feeling some mix of disappointment and relief.

someone who always has the right reasons for doing things, except when they have no idea when they did something, which is always more often than they'd like.

or even someone who overtly and knowingly contradicts themself, never stopping to question how it can be so!

so you can be that one person. or you could say, without even putting a name to it: let's just look at the patterns here.

sometimes i feel this, sometimes i feel that. sometimes i value this, and other times that. in a perfect world, i might be able to integrate all these contradictions, but i'm obviously not doing that, because even when i do what i think is right, something always feels a little wrong.

when i split apart the threads, suddenly i can trace a line from past to present that tells me why i am the way i am... when i'm this. and oftentimes this story conveniently excludes many of the details that would lead me down the path to being that. things begin to untangle. you start to see what the whole was made of.

and it isn't even weird that we have these pockets of self-understanding in a world that throws so many contradictory requests upon us. follow all the rules... now know when to break them. don't fool around... now lighten up a little. be silent and listen... now talk and entertain.

so of course you have these forces inside you and of course they're opposing. when the world asks for one, they're often also asking for the absence of the other. they're forced to grow apart. but all of these pieces only have one source to draw from--your personal history, your life. so in that way they're all the same.

the point is--a lot of people are already fighting with themselves, they're just refusing to see it as a fight and to name the sides.

treating these sides as "that weird way i act sometimes" offers you no real options aside from "be less that" -- something nobody has ever fully succeeded in. and when you inevitably become that, all you can think is how you should actually be less this instead.

meanwhile, treating these opposing forces as something closer to a person means you can talk to them, get to know them, negotiate and compromise. and sometimes brawl, or fuck.

and none of this is easy! it happens slowly, confusingly, frustratingly. but once you understand it, you wonder what the hell you'd been doing the whole time. because you believe there is sense to be made, things start to make sense. and your world gets a little bigger.

#indexed post #the opinion haver #sysposting #worry the 'you' is too confrontational - 'speak for yourself index!' - but well. let it be so.

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pain-is-forever · 1 day ago

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The way Theo's head SNAPS towards Eris looks almost non-human. A quiet crack can be heard from his neck as he does so. His eyes pierce the goddess, unblinking. How dare she show her face here, after all she's put Argo through, after everything she's done. Theo will make her suffer.

He brings his left hand to his mouth and bites down on his cuticles until the ones on his thumb, pointer and middle finger are bleeding, which isn't very difficult with the sheer force of his bite. One would think he's about to rip parts of his fingers off with his teeth. He then twists his left hand in such a way that all of the stitches on his recent wound from the encounter with his mother and her two sisters come undone, ripping the wound open again. All the work Commodus's medics have done on it going to shit.

Then, he takes his sword, poison from his blood eating away at the hilt slightly, and creates a deep cut in his right palm, whatever the purpose of him hurting himself is, he looks determined and angry. Seething. He stares at Eris the entire time, as if giving her a warning. The only warning he's going to give her, to leave him and Argo alone and never return before Theo does something absolutely and utterly disgusting.

When he starts walking up to Eris, something changes within him. Someone else shows their presence. Theo's left eye turns... red? Pink? The entire eyeball gets flooded with that fucked up mix of two colors, glowing slightly, as if a ghost is possessing him. Because it's partly true, Andrea has taken over part of his mind to help him, his eye growing more red than pink by the second.

With blood dripping on the ground from his hands, he stops in front of the goddess. The son of Achlys's right hand shoots out to Eris's shoulder, his green-tinted toxic blood dripping all over it, he made sure to change the composition of it to make it ever so painful. The hand grips the goddess's shoulder with such strength, it... hurts? No, that's not possible. This is just an underweight teenager, there's no way anything he does would hurt her. Yet it does.

Theodore pulls his hand down, the movement being enough to drag the goddess down to his eye level. He looks her dead in the eyes for a moment, and she can see the one that isn't glowing looks... dead. There's only one thing behind his gaze, and it's pure rage. It sort of reminds her of her sister, the boy's mother.

He puts his left hand's bleeding fingers in a claw, then puts it to his heart and thrusts outwards, his pointer and middle finger sinking deep into the goddess's eyes, injecting poisoned blood directly into her face. His thumb digs into her cheek, the power and sheer force of the thrust helping him actually sink his fingers inside her face.

Still staring at her, Theo drags his hand down her face. He makes sure to make it last excruciatingly long, slow and painful. Just like she deserves. He creates a large scratch down the goddess's face, stoppping at her lips. He forcefully opens her mouth and digs his hand into it, grabbing at her tongue and sinking his nails in, making sure to inject his blood in there as well. The poison that's meant to melt everything it touches. To burn, melt and cause insane amounts of pain.

Once he's done, he pulls his hands away from Eris and places them on the control panel, spreading the destructive substance across it. He gives her a geniuine, friendly smile as he does. "Hello, auntie. I'm doing great, what about you? Oh, wait. I forgot. Your snake tongue got melted off! I wonder how that happened?!"

Theodore laughs, not a cruel or mocking laugh, but rather one people would hear after someone makes a hilarious joke. He's definitely going insane, his mind is actively shattering itself as he speaks. It's getting worse with every second that passes.

°•□Open Starter □•°

I Live Inside You Forever, With Satan Himself By My Side

ANYONE CAN INTERACT

>TW: Unwilling transformation, derealization, loss of bodily autonomy, body mutilization (possibly other things) <

Argo had locked himself in one of the prison cells the moment he felt it start. His wings had somehow.. absorbed back into his body? Making it all the more painful when they burst out again.

Argo lets out a bloodcurdling scream- like millions of souls worth of agony are being channeled through Argo right now.

Argo is wearing a weird outfit; like something an old puppet would wear. Bows. Everywhere. A bow tie, bows on their gloves, and bows on their little socks- and on every individual set of wings.

It would be cute, but the bows sprout into string; tying tightly around their respective areas. Wrists, wings, ankles, neck- and they lead back to an invisible control panel.. somewhere above Argo.

His wings are pure white- but tied back by razored, barbed, wire. So are his facial wings- and the smaller pair of facial wings that sprouted out with the large; actually functional wings.

They make Argo look almost.. angelic- in a biblical way.

Argo looks up, repressing another scream. Their voice already hurts.

They see a person and their face goes deadly pale.

You notice they're missing all their facial scars; like they're wearing a perfect porcelain mask.

The 'mask' which seems to now just be Argo's skin cracks; right where their jawline scar used to be.

Argo tries to move back- but their razor wire restraints prevent that. He almost objects; almost vocalizes- but a stitch comes undone from their neck and that shuts him up really damn quick.

Argo looks like a perfect little angel puppet.

So, what do you do?

taglist (ask to be added or deleted): @orion-the-hunterpt2 @lilacnightshade @pain-is-forever @reyno-solis-real @faceless-bugger @unlicensed-field-medic @the-great-emperor-commodus @the-eclipsed-sun @sophia-hunter-of-artemis @daughter-of-thanatoss

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thewistlingbadger · 3 days ago

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Imagine if for about ten years you had no one to talk to. Imagine if for about ten years you only had a few people you could actually speak to and when you do speak to them, it's never anything personal. It's all just business. Imagine if for almost ten years you couldn't go where you wanted to go, you couldn't be in public, you couldn't be about with other people because there was someone out there trying to kill you- someone who hated you so much that they wanted nothing more than for you to die by their own hands.

Then imagine that after almost ten years of isolation, you met someone. Imagine if this person talked to you all the time. Imagine if they opened up about themselves to you and told you their problems. Imagine if they smiled at you. Imagine if they found humor and comfort in you. Imagine if they liked being around you. Imagine if they enjoyed your company everyday for several years and they let you know this.

This is what happened to Silco. Silco only had a few people in his life that actually cared about and loved him, and all of those people either died or turned on him at an early stage of Silco's life. As far as we know, Silco's only friends throughout his entire life were Felicia and Vander and maybe Benzo, maybe even Connel if we're being generous. We never see him try to rebuild a social life after Vander's betrayal. He has distant employees, colleagues he hates, a blackmailed enforcer, and a right hand woman who's maybe his friendly acquaintance given that he's closer with her than he is any of his other employees, but not actually his friend. She would turn on him in a heartbeat if the opportunity proved to be to her benefit, and she's made this clear to him.

We never see him get close to anyone ever again. Except with Jinx. Jinx, who isn't afraid of Silco. Jinx, who holds no judgment for his past actions and his current misdeeds. Jinx, who was a child who looked to Silco for connection and acceptance after being rejected one too many times.

When we talk about the early days of Silco and Jinx's dynamic, a lot of us like to paint the picture that he gave her a lot of reassurance and affection. I have no doubt in this interpretation, but I want you to wonder: what if it was the other way around? What if it was little Jinx who gave Silco affection? What if she hugged him at random? What if she practically stayed at his side every chance she had? What would Silco, a man who hadn't received any kind of affection or positivity in so long, do with that? How would he react? Because when we look at all the physical interactions between Jinx and Silco, they tell us that Silco is NOT used to physical affection and is a bit put off by it, whereas Jinx IS used to it and she gives it out and accepts it freely.

It all truly starts here. In this scene, Silco is looking for Vi. Silco has just witnessed how powerful she is and he needs to find her because if she's alive and if she cannot be turned to his side, then she poses a major threat against Silco. Vi is Vander's daughter, his prodigy. She can fight like hell, she's strong willed, and she's not someone Silco needs on his bad side. Silco is shocked to see that he has found a little girl, alone, instead of Vi. He's not sure what to make of her. She looks small and pathetic, but the rest of Vander's kids have already proven that they can be menaces despite their youth and size. Silco bends down to reach Jinx's level and hides a knife behind his back as he asks her in a measured voice with fake kindness. Whether he was going to use that knife to kill Jinx or if he just had it out in the scenario he would have to defend himself against her (again, Vi has already proven that these children will throw hands AND fuck up adults if need be) remains forever unknown, because after Silco asks Jinx where her sister is, she looks up, Silco leans towards her with an inquisitive look, and Jinx LOUNGES at him. And that is not an exaggeration- she throws herself at him with such force that the knife in his hand lands too far for him to use and she sends him straight on his ass several feet away from her original position.

Jinx curls herself towards Silco, nuzzles her head into his chest, and tightly wraps her arms around him. This man is a complete stranger, but in this moment it doesn't matter. He's here when everyone else is gone. Silco is COMPLETELY in shock. His mouth is open, his eyes are wide, his breathing is uneven, his legs bend as if to scoot away from her...he was not expecting this at all and he doesn't know what to do or how to handle this. He looks over at Vander's body as he listens to Jinx's words and a realization of some sorts dawns upon him. His legs twitch, unfamiliar to the human who is resting between them. SLOWLY, RELUNTANTLY, HESITANTLY, he raises his hand and returns Jinx's affection lightly. He scoots his legs to further embrace her and leans closer towards her to cradle her, as if to protect her from a threat that isn't present. He has to think before he knows what to say to her, and his next words are said ever so softly. It's almost as if the words he's saying aren't directed towards her, like they're actually for someone else. His words turn from a gentle affirmation to a determined promise. Jinx's hands clutch at Silco's back and he leans closer towards her.

This is the first scene we get with Silco and Jinx post time skip. By this point they have already been living together for years and they have become very close. Jinx now works for Silco, she is very comfortable with him and he is very comfortable with her. He lets her hide out on the rafters in his office. He's let her draw on his items. Likewise, Jinx is comfortable opening up to Silco about the things she isn't proud about, her failures and traumas. Jinx post time skip is very tough on the outside, but in this moment we get to see that she is still just as vulnerable as she was as a child. Silco is used to Jinx being vulnerable and honest with him because when Jinx tells him why she messed up, he hums with recognition and understanding. Jinx mistaking people for her sister is clearly something that has happened before and it's been something that Silco has been there for for Jinx. Silco extends the dropper for his eye medicine to Jinx. As she reaches for it, her fingers brush against the top of his hand and Silco leaves his hand up in the position it was before, even though Jinx has already taken the dropper and is starting to move closer to Silco. He doesn't put down his hand until Jinx is completely settled into her new position. It's kind of like the physical contact has him frozen or entranced, like he's still trying to process it or cling to it.

In her new position, Jinx's feet rest on the arm rests of Silco's chair, keeping him trapped in his seat. Her faces is inches away from his and her fingers are curved around his shoulder, her thumb rests on his throat. This is notable because Silco has trauma with being choked. He has been choked twice by Vander that we know of, with the first incident being so traumatic that all throughout act one he wore clip on ties instead of real ones. Only after Vander dies does Silco begin to wear normal ties. Yet despite all this, Silco allows Jinx to touch his throat and put pressure on it. This will happen again later as well. When Silco talks to Jinx, he spends most of his time looking dead straight instead of looking at her. Only occasionally do his eyes dart towards her. His tone is gentle, but it's clear that he's exhausted. Her performance at the job was less than ideal and even though he's not particularly angry or upset at her, he's stilled bothered. Jinx recognizes this, and that's when we actually get to the gif above.

Jinx specifically leans towards Silco, not even the chair. She made the distinct decision to move even closer to him than she was before, parts of her face now touching his hair. Silco sees her move this close to him and makes no reaction. Not to the movement or sudden contact. Immediately after, we see Silco touch Jinx for the first time unprompted. It is not in an affectionate manner, it is more of a reprimand for not paying attention to his words. He firmly grabs her wrist and lowers her arm. By this point Jinx's face is no longer just touching his hair, its touching his own forehead. This contact redirects Jinx's focus back to Silco. Silco keeps his hold on Jinx's wrist as he continues to talk to her, continuously adjusting his grip and making it tighter as he becomes more passionate with his speech. Jinx forcibly pulls her wrist away from him, out of his grip, and Silco lowers his hand.

This scene is the first time we actually see Silco get genuinely upset with Jinx. In the last scene he was disappointed in her failure and bothered by the ramifications of it, but he ultimately made sure to not let his emotions take control. But in this scene, Silco full blown shouts at Jinx and is angry at her. We can see his frustration grow as Jinx doesn't hear him/ignores him calling her name several times, until he finally gets her attention and goes off on her. Just like before, Jinx is blowing Silco off, ignoring him, not giving him her full attention. He gets closer to her and aggressively takes a pencil she was holding away from her, but he doesn't actually touch her. Now leaning closer to her, almost bending down to her level, he also uses his arm to point accusingly. Jinx takes his anger and gives him the gem stone, their hands do not brush. Silco looks at the gem stone, perplexed. He doesn't know what it is but Jinx seems to be happy with herself. Silco is still trying to figure out the gem stone when he looks up and finds Jinx a few feet away from him. In the gif you can clearly see the difference in silco's face before and after Jinx hugs him. Once again, he looks like he completely wasn't expecting her affection. He makes a shocked expression, he allows the weight of her body to push him backwards, and his arms instinctually move to surround her even if he doesn't immediately process what's going on.

Jinx herself looks like she was holding back right before, most likely out of excitement. However it's still clear that this is something she's used to doing with him, because she instinctually turns her head to the side when she hugs him and she makes her body flushed against his. Compare this to when she hugs Thieram, the bartender. She puts her head above his shoulder. She does the same thing when she hugs Vi too. Jinx continuously makes herself smaller when she's being physically affectionate with Silco. She does it as a child, when she curls into Silco's embrace. She does it in the office when she's hugging her knees. She does it in this scene by turning her head. And lastly she does it in the next scene I'm going to talk about by holding her arms.

But anyway, in this scene Jinx's arms quickly wrap around him like they did when she was a kid, she knocks him a little bit back like she did as a kid, and her hug makes a thud noise like it did when she was a kid. Silco is reluctant to return Jinx's affection, just how he was when she was a child, but he does return it. He delicately puts his hand on her shoulder.

If we're looking at all this scenes as Silco's journey with physical affection, then this is definitely the "turning point". Silco gives Jinx a lot of physical affection in this scene and it's the first scene that the affection he displays is completely of his own accord. He isn't just reciprocating Jinx's affection he's actually reaching out for Jinx to give her affection. First, the scene starts with Silco putting a lot of physical distance between himself and Jinx. This contrasts with all the other times we've seen them, as they have a history with having a close proximity to each other.

Silco extends his hand, physically reaching out for Jinx. This time, it's Jinx who actually hesitates but nevertheless she begins to make her way to Silco. As she gets closer, Silco begins to extend his hand even more, begins to lean towards Jinx even more. Jinx does take the hand he extends to her, and can we just look at that gif? Even though Silco was the one who extended his hand out to Jinx, even though he was the one literally reaching for her, he has barely taken her hand. Her four fingers are just barely wrapped around his top two. He's holding her hand in a very elegant, almost fragile manner. They are not completely hand in hand, flesh against flesh. He pulls her closer to him using the hand that has hers and with his other hand he gently holds the back of her head. Silco's mouth opens to take a breath, as if he's the one that's about to be underwater and not Jinx. He carefully lowers her into the water, adjusting his hand from the back of her head to the back of her neck for better support, leaning towards her the further away she gets to him. With only her face left to be submerged, Silco lovingly swipes his thumb against her temple and smiles at her. He lowers her even more, his fingers slide along the side of her face, to her cheeks then chin.

We've seen Silco get upset and aggressive with Jinx, but his negative emotions never actually impacted the way he touched her. Unfortunately, Jinx does not extend that same grace. Jinx's emotions drive everything about her and she has no problem on taking things out on the people she thinks deserve it. By this point in the story, Jinx has found out that Vi is alive and with this truth comes Jinx's assumption that if Vi is alive, then that means Silco has been lying to her this whole time. Silco hasn't seen Jinx for awhile now and when he does see her again, she's very aggressive and accusatory with him. She pushes his head back against the chair with her hand, forcing his head up. She climbs into and sits directly in his lap, a movement that is very childlike, a movement we haven't seen from her yet. Silco, I feel, doesn't even really get to process this because he's too busy trying to catch up on what's going on. He hasn't seen her in a few days perhaps and she's speaking in riddles, clearly upset with him. Jinx roughly moves her hand from his forehead to the sides of his face, with her lower fingers touching his throat (remember think back to the choking thing I talked about earlier) and her upper fingers pressing into his cheeks and jaw. A few moments later Jinx's hand readjusts itself higher, almost like she remembered something and purposefully moved her hand higher so she wouldn't be touching his throat so much. Jinx stabs Silco with his medicine dropper a few times and it's clear that Silco wants to retaliate in some manner. His hands instinctively ball up and flex but he ultimately does nothing other than move his hand from his lap to her forearm, similar to how he did earlier. Recall back to how I opened this post and now think about this moment. Jinx at this point is the one person in Silco's life who has afforded him physical affection, and now she is actively, purposefully harming him. Silco readjusts his hand higher, to her wrist as he begins to talk Jinx down. The more convinced she becomes, the looser Jinx's grip on Silco's face gets, until she ultimately gives Silco the proper eye shot and runs away.

Oh boy howdy is this one of my favorite scenes with these two. As I said earlier, from ep5 on we start to see Silco be more openly affectionate, and that is very clear in episodes seven and eight of season one. Somehow after their last interaction and Jinx ran off to go be Jinx, Silco manages to find Jinx on the bridge. Except, oh uh, Jinx is lying down on the ground as if she were a victim and not the aggressor. Seeing her unconscious and still, Silco rushes over to Jinx, fearing the worse. He is genuinely terrified, his eyes being the widest we've probably ever scene them. He instantly bends down and turns her face towards his with his hand. He runs his thumb over the side of her face, similar to how he did earlier in the river. When he sees her up-close, covered in blood and soot, Silco begins to feel a lose he had no idea he was capable of. To lose Jinx to her sister is one thing, but for Jinx to actually die? It is simply something Silco has never had to imagine before, and now that it's staring him in the face he has no choice but to imagine a life without Jinx. With one hand on her shoulder and the other on the back of her head, he lefts her upper half up. He moves the hand behind her head to hold her even closer to him than before. When he hugs her, her hands fall, and in pure astonishment Silco sees the length Jinx was willing to go for Silco. He rubs his hand against her hair, then moves it to her shoulder to properly hold her. He then picks her up like a child and walks off.

Immediately following the last scene, Silco rushes all the way from the bridge to Singed, hoping to get a hail mary that well help Jinx stay alive. Singed is able to help, but it comes with a lot of risk. Risk that Silco is unable to evaluate given the severity of his emotions and the lack of time they have to save her. Singed asks Silco if he's prepared to loose her, and once again, the thought is clearly inconceivable. Jinx coughs in the background, causing Silco to run to her side. He holds his body directly above hers. He cannot lose her. He holds a hand above her face, a ghost of a touch, before resting it on her head and giving her a kiss on the forehead. This is the most physical affection Silco has ever displayed on Jinx, even though he's kissing the strap on her forehead and not her actual forehead. Would he have done this had she been conscience? Would he have done this had she not been dying? Those are questions for you not for me. He pulls back from her slightly, keeping his hand on her head and a watchful eye. This is the last time he ever gets to touch Jinx.

In conclusion: I believe Silco was a man who was unfamiliar and shocked by physical affection after not receiving any for practically a decade. But then he met Jinx, a girl who had been rejected, yet loved all her life. A girl who was used to giving and receiving physical affection. Jinx has no problem being affectionate with Silco and for the most part she feels like she can be very childlike when around him. After being betrayed by Vander, Silco made it his own personal mission to mask his emotions at all time. For the most part he is very successful with this, except for the times where Jinx gives him physical affection. Despite the fact that they've known each other for years and have given affection to each other over the years, Silco is still always shocked to receive it and he's cautious when giving it to Jinx. Every moment is calculated and voluntary, he always makes sure its her choice whether or not to engage. He always is very gentle and light with his touch as to not overstep or be overwhelming. Not only is Silco touch starved from years of neglect and isolation, but he also has a complicated relation with touch due to his trauma of being nearly choked to death.

I want you to think about how I opened this post. Imagine if you went years without having any meaningful social or physical interactions. Imagine if you then spent everyday with a person who gave you both for the next several years. Now imagine that person's relative, who you know is close to your person but has also hurt you person in the past, comes around and tells you they're going to take away the person you've been with for the past several years. And now you see why Silco was so hellbent against Vi. Because she was going to take away the one person Silco had. The one person who gave silco affection and the one person who accepted affection from him.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #arcane season two #arcane silco #silco arcane #arcane jinx #jinx arcane #jinx and silco #silco and jinx #mic does analysis

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signanothername · 1 day ago

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What's your opinion about Nm turning back into passive, like they're both separate people?

Not my thing tbh

Here’s a list why:

1- them being separate people immediately falls into “what corrupt did was never Nightmare’s fault!!!” Which immediately makes for a very unsatisfying conclusion to those “Corrupt” abused, to those he hurt and to those he tormented, his abuse would immediately be written off as something that didn’t even happen on Nightmare’s end, or something that others shouldn’t blame Nightmare for, it puts Nightmare into “the perfect victim” which is so boring at best and very frustrating at worst

2- even if you write Nightmare as trying “to make it up to people Corrupt hurt with his face” it’ll be with a bitter aftertaste of “but it wasn’t really his fault, and he’s still trying anyway!” Which paints Nightmare not only as a perfect victim, but also a complete saint that has never and will/can never do anything wrong

3- Dream’s and Nightmare’s relationship would just be null and void, especially with the fact everything can be written off as “Dream doesn’t blame Nightmare for anything cause it wasn’t even him doing all the hurting”, and where Dream would be justified for protecting Nightmare from those rightfully seeking revenge, in fact, those he abused would easily be written as “irrational” for seeking vengeance, like their abuse didn’t even matter, how it wasn’t Nightmare that abused them, but someone wearing his face, and therefore he shouldn’t be blamed at all

When you can instead, write Nightmare pre and post corruption as the same person and get an interesting story about Dream’s very biased views and his tendency to surrender to his feelings, how he can be a bit of a hypocrite for protecting his abusive brother, where his morals clash with his own personal interests, which you can’t really write if Nightmare is wholly innocent no?

4-Dream’s endeavors to “save” his brother would just be completely justified, and in turn, make everyone else out to be irrational for thinking Nightmare is a bitch and that Dream needs to stop trying to save him and instead actually kill him, when in reality Dream is the one that should be written as “irrational”

Instead, if Nightmare is the same person pre and post corruption, you can write a wonderful story of something along the lines of Dream understanding deep down that his brother can’t be saved and that his attempts at “saving” Nightmare is from a deep pain in his chest where he can’t get over the grief of losing what he and Nightmare had before, and even worse, how he’s extremely terrified of a future where he no longer has his other half, and how he isn’t ready to live half empty for the rest of his life

5- writing Nightmare’s story to simply conclude with “and he was saved and they live happily ever after” is such an unsatisfying conclusion to the Twins’ story, to just negate all the hurt, all the trauma, and all the pain, by making them live happily ever after, like they didn’t endure 500 years of misery, to assume that they can actually just heal together (and immediately) just because Nightmare “wasn’t really the one to hurt people” is absolutely not something I’d be fond of

Of course, not saying you can’t make a story interesting with the idea of Nightmare and Corrupt as separate people (for example, I think you can write an interesting story about how Dream’s perception of Nightmare could be really distorted after so many years of Corrupt manipulating him that he’s indeed his brother, and that even after saving Nightmare from Corrupt, Dream now feels like everything is wrong and that Nightmare doesn’t feel like his brother anymore)

I honestly don’t mind the idea in itself, just that, I can’t really see how you can make a satisfying narrative and conclusion to Nightmare’s and Dream’s story with it

#anothers ask #nightmare sans #dream sans

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munchablemusic · 2 days ago

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honeypot au jayvik

I've been plugging away at this little thing for a few months and was wondering if anyone would be interested? obviously its not complete but idk if its all that great and would love feedback. :)

And for reference: this is one of the early parts of the story, with them getting off on the wrong foot and Viktor not trusting Jayce to begin with. ok thanks bye

In a flash, Viktor’s hand is pushing against his chest, shoving him to the wall. Jayce is startled enough to not notice the other hand reaching up and grabbing his neck in a grip that’s strong enough to not choke him out completely, but leaves him still gasping for a full breath of air.

Viktor’s hand is cold and slim, with perfectly manicured nails that almost seem comically out of place circling around Jayce’s neck. His strength is startling, his middle finger and thumb pressing into his carotid with a force that belie his small stature.

Viktor says, “I think you should start thinking about what your words could imply before you speak. I trust that you know the implications of betraying Silco in our line of work. Your-” and here he pauses, looking for the right words to say. His grip tightens a bit, squeezing out the last of air in Jayce’s lungs. Reaching up to try and pry Viktor’s fingers away from his throat, Jayce finds that he actually really does need oxygen to function, as Viktor easily bats away his efforts to escape.

“Your coworkers would not particularly care for your well being if word were to go around that you aren’t loyal to Silco. I wonder especially how they would take you apart if someone told Silco that his little toy genius was leaking information to someone on the outside. Someone in the high nobility.”

Cait.

A jolt of complete fear spikes through his heart. How did Viktor know- especially when Jayce had taken such precautions to ensure that no one could ever find out his connection to her-

Viktor says, “You should think twice before you start snooping around my work. I take this very seriously, a trait that you seem to not possess in the slightest. Next time I won’t be so lenient. Next time it’ll be your head that decorates Silco’s wall, hanging pretty for everyone to see.” His claw-like grip releases from Jayce’s neck and drops him unceremoniously to the ground. Jayce gasps and chokes for air, feeling like he might puke. His chest moves sporadically up and down, trying to make up for the lack of air he’s lost in the last minute.

okay let me know if anyone likes it or not! i might publish it regardless but it would be nice to know if its at least good lol

#jayvik #jayce talis #arcane #jayce arcane #viktor #viktor arcane #jayce x viktor #jayvik fanfic #trying my best here lol #im my own worst critic and cannot tell if i like this at all. might just scrap and start over with a different concept tbh

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theallianceofcelestials · 24 hours ago

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I'm recently thiking about how would the Mirror SEA family react to the Og's, from the Sun and Moon Show canon dimension?

I have the impression that canon Solar, along side with the rest of the canon family, would be quite protective of Mirror Solar, if they ever found out about how Mirror Moon is. (Which honestly, i think his personality would creep Moon out)

Like always checking up on Solar, staying around him, never leting him and Moon alone, not even letting the kids alone with Moon, just to make sure he doesn't do anything.

Imagine how shocked Solar must be to find a version of his uncle that isn't creepy and is actually super chill with him.

Only to find out this version from him is from another, another dimension, where the Moon was, of course, an butthole, and that world no longer exists, because of a certain someone.

Which when imagining this situasion, why do i have the feeling that once they found out who killed a alternative version of their baby brother/son/nephew, Ruin would wonder, where the bloody hell is this Boss Music coming from?!

I also think about their thoughts on how much more emotionally closed Solar can be in this dimension and how diferent this Sun looks from theirs.

Sun sill looks the same, he just acts different. Unless you meant in how he carries himself, which is pretty different yeah

But if they ever met Canon, then it'd probably happen after SEA meets Canon and has become a semi regular occurance, so at first they'd be like: SCP Lunar get the fuck out of the bushes! We see you!

And he'd be kinda scared like what? Canon would have a fun time once they realise it's an entirely different group of people. Canon Moon would probably be fascinated by the idea of there being a SEA dimension. And with Solar no less! How interesting!

They'd quickly recognise the problems too yeah, mainly from how Killcode is eyeing his own brother. And how SEA Solar freezes whenever he's grabbed only to relax after a bit. How everyone is uneasy when M!SEA Moon grows quiet, except for Sunny who seems oblivious.

Canon Solar can immediately tell what's going on. Even if his own didn't actually treat him decently not even once, he recognises the signs of his own Moon.

So yeah, they'd probably not leave the two of them alone. Something M!SEA Moon only excuses for Canon Solar, because he looks like his beloved nephew, even if he's healthy, something which greatly fascinates him. Like wouldn't it be great if his own one was?

M!SEA Moon would also be really soft and gentle with Canon Sun too, questioning Moon about his treatment of his brother, and how he could have let his Sun become so tired and sad and lonely.

SEA Solar and Earth would become buddies though, bonding over their shared suffering, even if Solar's issue is not chronic pain like Earth's. They'd be good friends, and with Canon Solar, they'd become a great friend group

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 1 day ago

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Forbidden Fruit (Winchester men x female reader) - Chapter 2

You're over at the Winchester house, meeting Dean and John for the first time. When you and Sam disappear to his room after dinner, Dean and John think about what it would be like to be with the girl the youngest Winchester brought home. And maybe, just maybe, you're thinking of them too...

Read it on AO3

Rated E

Part 2 coming to AO3 this Sunday!

Chapter 2 - Dean

Dean still can't believe the catch his little brother made. He lets his eyes wander up your thighs as you stand on your tiptoes to pull the plates out of the top kitchen shelf. If that skirt were just an inch shorter...

He sips on his beer, making casual conversation, being his best self. For Sammy, of course.

It isn't how he had planned spending the evening. After that waitress at Wendy's ditched him he had decided to turn the night into some quality brother time, which he and Sam haven't had in a long time. But this is just fine, too. Maybe even better, since he gets to tease his little brother and check you out while doing so.

You seem to be one of the cool chicks, even though he'll probably never understand how someone with your looks would go for a guy two years her junior. You could have anyone. You could have him. Not that he would ever do such a thing to Sam. Well. Except for that one time with that blonde girl, whatshername... Rachel? But that really was all her. That girl must have been a succubus or something. He still feels a little dirty when he thinks of that night. He shudders at the memory, but brushes it off. 's not like Dean Winchester can't handle a wild one.

As the three of you set the table, Dean flashes his brightest smile at you, and you mirror it. You really are a cute one. Feisty. All wits and giggles, touching Sam here, biting your lip there, always making eye contact with Dean. He can't blame you. It's just the effect he has on women.

As the man of the house, Dean starts serving you and Sam when he suddenly hears the front door. That... wasn't the plan. His hands go still for a moment as he looks at his father coming in, and he can see Sam doing the same out of the corner of his eye. John's face is speaking volumes.

It's the face he makes when he doesn't get his way, in this case meaning he couldn't get his hands on the artifact he had been hunting for almost a week. But that's not something they can discuss right now. Not with you present. He wonders what's going to happen now, if John's going to have an outburst, kick all of you out. It wouldn't be the first time.

Dean snaps out of his stupor as Sam finally speaks, introducing you to his dad. To his surprise, at least a little of John's tension seems to fall off him as he eyes you carefully. A good sign.

When you address John, your voice sounds different than it had sounded earlier, bantering with Dean. There's this quality about it that he can't exactly put his finger on, something almost authoritarian, a tone that's not disrespectful but he would never have employed toward his dad. And when you call him Mr. Winchester it just... it makes his breathing stagger for a fraction of a second.

And it seems you really do have some magical effect on John as well, because he just walks over to the table, throws his jacket over a chair and sits down to reach for the food.

Dean hesitates for another moment, and then all of you resume what you were doing before. He's still a little skeptical of how... normal all of this feels, how nice. Like an actual family dinner. He pokes at his chicken, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He flinches a little when John speaks again. Dean looks at you, trying to gauge if you saw his involuntary reaction, but fortunately you seem to be looking at your boyfriend for once.

"So," he hears his dad asking, "how did you two meet? Dean, get me a beer, will ya?"

He immediately gets up to the fridge, fulfilling John's request, but listens closely to what you're saying.

He grins at you telling them how you and Sam met in a bookstore. Of course, that's where Sammy goes to pick up girls. A freaking bookstore. Such a dork.

He opens John's beer and sits back down to join the conversation, making a crack at Sam. He's still chuckling at his own joke when he hears you say another couple of magic words. You go to the local community college. Dean's sure his eyes must have lit up like a Christmas tree when hearing those words. You're a goddamn college girl.

He stares down at his plate, drowning his food in hot sauce and stuffing his mouth because he's sure he's starting to salivate a little, images he wouldn't want Sam to read off his face popping into his head. You, sitting in class, chewing on a pen. You, having a PJ-pillow fight with your equally attractive roommate. You, at a kegger, downing an entire solo cup in record breaking time. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, trying to make a little more room for his physical reaction to those mental pictures of you.

He takes another big gulp of his beer. It's just not fair, college girls going wild? That is one of his top three fantasies. His mind makes it back into the actual room just in time for him to hear you saying you study something with languages. He bets you're really good with all things French, alright.

And then he sees you, leaning into Sam, your thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth, which is already a gesture that's making him want to get up and grab you, and then your lips meet your boyfriends'. Dean is mesmerized by the pure beauty of it, God knows he has kissed his fair share of women, but the way you do it, so casual, so unashamed and loving in front of everyone, that's just something he hadn't expected.

He's never had someone do that to him. He feels that a lot of his girlfriends only wanted him for his looks. To parade him in front of their friends. Or to piss off their parents. Or both. Not that the devil-may-care attitude he's cultivated so well over the last few years would have allowed anything deeper than that. There was this one girl, Jackie, captain of the high school soccer team, who he tried to talk to, about Sam, and how he felt it was his responsibility to keep him safe, but she had just stupidly grinned, stuffed her panties in his mouth and ridden him for the next couple of hours. But you, you're different. You...

There's a bang, and suddenly, while Dean is still enchanted by your nonchalance, Sam sends hot sauce flying everywhere.

He almost jumps up, worried for a second he might get sauce all over his shirt, and then he sees that you got sauce all over your shirt.

His eyes follow the trail the thick droplets leave going up from your stomach, getting smaller higher up your chest, and two tiny ones directly on that soft, soft skin of your cleavage. His tongue darts to his teeth, the impulse of licking it off you almost strong enough to act on it.

He watches you like in slow-motion, getting up, leaning over toward him. He thinks you're wiping the spilled sauce on the table away, but he's not entirely sure because all he can focus on is the jiggling pair of tits right in front of his face.

Dean cocks his head a little, looking glass-eyed, imagining his face pressed up against those lush curves, and then the moment is over as quickly as it came.

You stand up, apparently going to change. He wouldn't have minded you just taking the stained shirt off and remaining in your bra, but alas.

With you gone, the room suddenly goes quiet again, like it usually is. Dean stabs at his food for a little while longer, thoughts still hung up on that tiny bit of lacy fabric he thinks he saw under your shirt. He swallows, looks at Sam. His damn little brother who scored such a minx.

Then you're back, and Sam is saying something, but Dean's not paying attention. He's just looking at you, your beautiful smile that is so prominent in your eyes, and how you look so pretty even in Sam's old shirt. It makes him tingly, and not only in that sultry way he is so used to, in all the ways.

He is somewhat relieved when you and Sam get up to go to his room, to watch a movie or something. Probably some fantasy flic with a bunch of dragons. He's a little sad he doesn't get to ogle at you anymore, but it's probably for the best. The way you made him feel right there, smiling, licking your lips at him... it would have only gotten harder if you had stayed.

So he finally clears his plate, says good night to John, and is off to his room.

Dean closes the door behind him. He just stands there, a little unsure of what to do with himself now, and listens for a moment. Then he hears the front door go, which must be John leaving. Other than that, everything is quiet. Slowly, an idea forms in his head. Dean lies flat on his stomach next to the bed and reaches underneath it, blindly feeling for something. He pulls out a navy sock, an alarmingly large dust bunny and then finally the cardboard box he is looking for.

He blows on it, which he immediately regrets, then opens it, sitting on the bed. At the top of the stack of magazines lies his favorite edition of Busty Asian Beauties, but that's not what he's hungry for right now. He flips through the magazines, a couple of them sticking together, searching for a specific one. He carelessly throws one after another aside, until finally, almost at the bottom of the stack, he finds it.

It's a Playboy with a feature series on weather girls. On page 13, next to the recipe for a Vesper Martini, he finally finds her.

She's wearing a see-through swimsuit, holding a tiny parasol and is sucking on a twisted lemon peel. And she looks just like you. Well, the nose is a bit off, and the hair. Her boobs are bigger, too, but yours look more real. And her smile is not as pretty as yours. But it'll do.

Dean blindly grabs for the lotion on his nightstand, his muscle memory instantly kicking in. He shimmies his pants down, his slick hands finding his half hard cock. He looks at the girl in the magazine, pouting her lips at him, and starts pumping.

Dean imagines you pushing him down on the bed. That tone you used talking to John... it has given him ideas. You're a girl who knows what she wants. Who gets what she wants. He imagines you tearing his jeans down, dropping to your knees, marveling at his cock. He thinks the slight curve of him would make you bite your lip, because a girl like you appreciates the things you can do with that. He knows it's a great dick, and for a second he feels kind of sorry for you that you'll probably never get to enjoy it. But that's not what he wants to think about right now. Now, he wants to think about what your mouth would feel like on him. He can almost feel your tongue running up his shaft, those soft, plush lips of yours kissing the groove on the underside.

He imagines your fingers digging into his thighs, holding him in place while you explore him. He'd want to fuck you right away, show you what a real man could do, but you've got your own head. And you love giving head. You want to tease him, give him the full college girl experience, and you call him Mr. Winchester.

You hollow your cheeks like a goddamn professional, taking all of him deep without—

Dean suddenly snaps out of his fantasy. Was that...? He furrows his brows, straining his ears. He could swear he just heard someone... moan?

All of a sudden, his mouth feels very dry, and while she is gorgeous, he's having a hard time focusing on the weather girl. He stays silent, alert for another couple of seconds. Nothing.

He clenches his jaw, tucks himself back into his boxers and gets up to get himself a glass of water. He really is having a hard time swallowing.

He awkwardly shuffles out of his room, his erection straining against his pants. He decides not to switch the light on. He's somewhat slower when he passes Sam's room, listens for a moment, but the silence is deafening.

Yeah. He was probably imagining things. He ventures on into the kitchen, downs a big glass of water, splashes some on his face. He wipes it away with his sleeve and makes his way back to his room to finally take care of the tent he is pitching, and then he stops dead in his tracks a couple of feet away from Sam's door.

His eyes go wide as he hears it again, that sinful, high pitched moan. A moan that lets him know you're having all the right buttons pushed, probably at the same time.

He presses his back to the wall next to the door, his hand shooting into his boxers. He closes his eyes.

Dean pictures the face you're making, enjoying whatever the fuck it is that is eliciting that kind of sound from you. He likes to think it's his tongue. Teasing your entrance, lapping at your juices. He wonders what you taste like. If it's anything like that deliciously crisp apple scent of yours, sweet and alluring, like any forbidden fruit.

He imagines pushing a finger into you, your hand rough in his hair, rasp voice telling him to give you more. He imagines sucking on your clit, making your eyes roll back into your head while you pant his name. He knows you'd enjoy that. He's really good at it. Or so he's been told.

There's another moan from the other side of the door, and some squeaking from the terrible mattress he knows Sam sleeps on.

Now you're straddling him, giving him a full view of those gorgeous tits of yours, bouncing up and down just like he had imagined back at dinnertime. Who gives a crap about continuity, this is his fantasy, and since he can't have the real thing he's going to make this an experience to remember. His fist clenches around his dick.

You're grinding yourself down on him, your hips under his firm grasp rolling beautifully. One of your hands is scratching over his chest, he likes the way it stings a little. He also likes the idea that you'd mark him up as yours. The other hand is running through your hair, he probably picked that up in one of John's old VHS porn tapes that he found when he was 11, but who cares. Your hand runs over your neck, your chest, and your mouth falls open as you gently pinch your nipple. Yeah. He likes that. This perfect picture of you fucking yourself on him, using him for your pleasure. Ruining him.

He picks up his pace, because he feels you'd be close. You'd be so on the edge, the feeling of fullness he's giving you, that you'd want him to meet you halfway, his hips thrusting against your wetness. His breathing becomes irregular, and it's a good thing you're not actually there because he's not sure how much longer he can—

No. Not like this. He wants to come inside you, but you want to taste him. He's stroking himself, just the last couple of pumps, in his mind looking down at your beautiful features, tongue stuck out, those gorgeous eyes blinking up at him. The image of you waiting for him to paint your face with his spendings is just too much. Dean comes, hard, shuddering, careful not to leave a mess anywhere. He shivers. Takes a breath. Looks around.

He can still hear you and Sam going at it, but he's done. He grins to himself. Good for Sammy, he thinks, taking his girl to town.

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