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the-darklings · 3 days ago

Note

Oh god please write the timebomb fic!!! (or several lol)

ೀ pairing: ekko/jinx

ೀ wc: 5k

ೀ summary: "Always a dance with you, huh?" Or: two years after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko receives an unexpected visitor.

ೀ author notes: ask and you shall receive!!! I wrote this in one sitting in some weird ass haze and barely edited it, but this is the most fun I had in a long while so I hope you enjoy!!!

ೀ read it on ao3 | listen to the playlist

The first few days after the battle, Ekko doesn’t rest. He barely sleeps or eats, or allows himself time to think.

He can’t.

There’s too much to do. The dead are in their dozens. His Firelights took a major hit, and he knows that for the next few months his fingers will be numb from painting their pictures on the mural day in and out. So many who could have lived but didn’t. So many could have had better futures. But if he just runs, if he keeps pushing on, he can outrun these regrets and his grief, too. This way, he doesn’t remember Vi’s heartbroken expression when she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug after the fight, blood and sweat still clinging to her, her words choked when she told him—

Four seconds.

He could have saved her. He would have hauled her snarky ass out of that tunnel, ripped that bomb from her hands. He would have—

He runs from those thoughts, too. They suffocate him, and Ekko has too much to fix to be suffocated by his grief right now.

He sure as hell didn’t fight for Piltover. He fought for Zaun, for Firelights. Because he knew Ambessa Medarda would never settle for anything other than complete subjugation. She would have destroyed Ekko’s home. She was already busy murdering and imprisoning their people, and nothing but complete eradication would have followed in her wake.

Ekko did it for… her. The blue-haired symbol of defiance, of uprising. A loud declaration that they won’t live under Piltover’s oppression forever, that they’ll reach greater things one day and won’t be silenced. They won’t wait for permission to breathe again. It’s what she would have wanted, he convinces himself, even though part of him knows Jinx would have enjoyed the chaos of the fight more. Or maybe not. Not since that little girl. Not since he had to save her from herself over and over again, only to lose her anyway.

Undercity mourns her. Her visage is everywhere. Jinx the Saviour. She would have hated it, he thinks wryly. She never got to see just how loved she was.

Maybe he should have grabbed her and ran away. Maybe he should have let the world go to hell and saved her instead. The thought, born of fatigue, lingers only for a few fleeting seconds, a rare moment of selfishness amidst a day spent fixing the world around him.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. If only he had tried harder when they were kids and saved her from Silco. If only he didn’t give up on her.

She’s always been his biggest maybe. And now they’ll never be more. Not this version of them. Never him and her as they were.

Aw, are you gonna mope now, boy saviour?

“You’re not here.”

It punches clean through his chest. The realisation of it. The sheer, horrible weight. He’ll never see her again.

Constants and variables, Benzo told him once. Constants and variables, young Ekko.

A week after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko sinks to his knees inside his room, exhausted and heartbroken, and sobs.

Things begin to settle. Slowly, at first, the city might have been gutted after the battle but not destroyed, the morale low but hopeful. Hexgates are gone, and Ekko is glad when he finds out. He doesn’t want to see or hear anything about the arcane for a while. No magic in the world could fix the pain festering in his chest.

Sevika, Silco’s old second-in-command and once his sworn enemy, comes to him two weeks after the attack.

“They’re making me a council member,” she says, grunting when she falls into the tiny wooden chair inside his room.

She’s always been a threatening figure, power rippling from every shift of her body, but Ekko isn’t sure he wants to fight anyone right now. Nor does she seem interested in strangling him. She lights a cigarette, her scarred features set in a fearsome scowl.

“And?” he asks for anything better to say. “How is that any of my business?”

Sevika exhales through her nose, reminding him of an angry bull, all smoke and steely resolve. “I’m the only one presenting Zaun or her interests.”

Ekko almost rolls his eyes. Of course she is. The Council is simply falling over themselves to fix the situation. After months of harassment and oppression, false arrestments and beatings, they asked them to bleed for Piltover and its interests with nothing but the bare minimum courtesy extended towards them afterwards.

“I could use you, kid,” Sevika continues, and Ekko forces his anger away, loosening his fists. “Exactly for that reaction. You’re smart as hell, and been a pain in my ass for years. Pilties will try to walk all over us again in a few months’ time. You and I both know it. We gotta beat them in their own game. Not let them silence us again. I could use someone like you. Be my adviser. You’ll have a direct line to the Council. We’ll make an actual change. It’s better than whatever this is.”

Ekko’s expression sours at her words while Sevika’s gaze flicks around his room in contemplation. He works all day to a point of exhaustion, then passes out. It’s the only way he’s been able to continue, day in and day out. Being in a leadership position means you can’t take time off to grieve. Too many people are relying on him. It’s bad enough that he accidentally abandoned his people for months without meaning to. The guilt he still feels over everything has been nearly suffocating.

It’s a good gig, hero! You should do it and be a thorn in her side.

Ekko blinks the flash of blue from his vision, rubbing his brow just as Sevika adds: “It’s what she would have wanted, you know.”

A jolt of electricity runs through him. Everyone, even Vi, has been avoiding mentioning Jinx in front of him.

His jaw clenches. “You don’t know that.”

“Kid, I know what not letting go looks like,” she says, and it almost sounds compassionate, or as close to it as someone like her can get. “We had our differences in the past, I know as much—”

“You killed my people,” Ekko snaps. “Do you know how many lives you destroyed with Shimmer?”

“Sure do,” she replies listlessly, smoke billowing past her lips. “I won’t try to justify my actions to you. But y’know, when you were gone, Jinx united Zaun in a way I haven’t seen since Vander. Beats me how she did it, but people believed in her. Even your Firelights.”

It mirrors everything he’s seen and heard for weeks. Jinx freeing their people, Jinx the Saviour, the beacon for their new future. The one who set and lived by extreme examples, who made Piltover back off and take the Undercity seriously. Because they all finally realised that there can never be peace without a fight. She should be here to fight this battle with him. Ekko should be busy arguing with her that blowing up another building will not make things right. He shouldn’t be walking around with her ghost a step behind him, tormenting him with ideas of what could and should have been.

“And now she’s dead!”

His ears ring, his chest heaves, and he clutches his thudding heart, willing it back in its cage. He didn’t mean to come undone so easily.

“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Sevika says, and there’s a grimness to her when she says it, an unexpected pain buried somewhere deep in her gruff voice that makes Ekko see her differently. “I get it.”

“No,” he whispers, pained. “You don’t.”

Seven months pass before Ekko finally picks up a brush for her.

He sleeps better at night but not without nightmares. Not without remembering Powder from the alternative universe and how they danced. How sweet her kiss felt. Not without that memory smearing to finding Jinx with a grenade in her hand, again, ready to disappear, go somewhere he could never reach her.

Ekko still hears the detonation in his ears, over and over, on a sickening loop. His mind likes to torture him with ideas he failed to save her. That no matter what he does, or how he mends time, she’s forever out of reach. His blue beacon, his lighthouse he can never find in the depthless ocean of reality.

Many have drawn her, but he still thinks that no one knows the exact hue of her hair or the wicked shine in her eyes better than him. He’s spent an entire lifetime examining them, looking for them in a sea of thousands.

Their city is rebuilding. He agreed to Sevika’s request after a few days of contemplation. Caitlyn Kiramman’s expression when he ambled into the Council room was worth the additional burden now on his shoulder. But she’s changed too, matured, and now fills her position as the Council’s leader well.

Ekko won’t forget how she allowed his friends to be imprisoned, tortured, and, in some cases, killed, but her regret made her side with him and Sevika more often than not during voting, and maybe he could at least one day forgive her. Another maybe. For Vi, if nothing else, who clearly loves the blue-haired woman fiercely.

The barren wall stares at him. He’s painted Powder before, but this is different. One day, his friend, his dearest friend, was simply gone. Without a goodbye, in a wake of tragedy. The life Ekko once had disintegrated beneath his feet overnight. Benzo killed. Vander dead. Mylo and Claggor too. Vi died as well. Or so he believed for years. Powder was missing until a different knife was delivered to him weeks later, when the word on the street spread about Silco being seen with a little girl with blue hair.

Ekko sighs, hanging his head. The city is healing, but he isn’t, or at least not as quickly.

He runs his hand over the white wall, picturing Jinx as he saw her last, those precious hours between talking her down from the abyss and their joint attack on Noxian forces. It felt so good to rely on her again, to stand with her, side by side. As natural as breathing.

You’re the order to my chaos, hero.

“Leave me alone,” he says quietly, head hung low. “It’s been months.”

A figment of Jinx chortles, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the wall. You would get bored to death without me. Ha! Get it?

Shooting a glare at her, Ekko picks up a brush, his fingers quivering. Tears burn in his eyes when he dips the brush into the paints he painstakingly mixed. He works, and works, until his eyes are dry and his wrist hurts. Ekko doesn’t stop until he loses light and when he steps back, he is looking at Jinx. Equal parts chaos and something ethereal.

He wipes angrily across his mouth when he tastes saltiness pooling there and goes home.

There’s no sleep that night.

Time is a strange thing. It weaves and flows. Without his Z-Drive, he has no control over it. Time simply goes on, and he’s the passenger in a vehicle he doesn’t want to move.

He’s important these days. He’s one of the few bright minds still left, and he’s endlessly busy with something. City of Progress needs every mind that can be spared. Wounds heal, and time dulls the memory, but not everything is so easily forgotten. Piltover moves quicker, but the Undercity erects a statue for Jinx beside Vander’s. He sees Vi at the ceremony, and they exchange strained smiles. They speak sometimes, but it’s not as often as it used to be. They’re both dealing with their grief the best they can.

At least Vi has Cait. Ekko has nothing but a cold bed and purpose.

He and Sevika make a good team. It almost makes him wonder what could have been in a universe where they were on the same side from the start. His Zaun, cracked but not broken, is resembling the bright version of the Zaun and Piltover he saw in the alternative verse. There're years of work still left, but there’s something like hope in him, fragile and misplaced as it might be.

A year passes. Then two. He visits the graves; he lights candles for those lost. Some days Ekko sees her, other days he doesn’t. He hopes for a glimpse, even when he knows he shouldn’t. It should be easier to let go of what you never had, right?

His mural for Jinx grows. Other faces join her, people who died believing in her, surrounding the one they placed their trust in. And, at the centre of it all, her, her, her.

Still her.

Always her.

He’s not sure what arouses him. He hasn’t slept well in years, perpetual exhaustion clinging to him like a shawl. Some would call it the weight of living, no doubt.

There’s a shift in the air, a disturbance that’s not enough to make Ekko jolt awake and reach for a weapon, but enough to make his eyes flutter open. He breathes the cool air, pushing his grogginess away.

There’s a shape at the foot of his bed. Small and round. It takes several seconds for his vision to adjust, for him to realise that a hooded figure sits perched on his bed, knees pulled to their chest.

Ekko hasn’t had to rely on his battle instincts in two years, but there’s enough left in him to attack without hesitation. His fingers tangle in the cloak, shoving the figure down, his knee pressing harshly into their abdominal, hands seeking the intruder’s throat—

“Wow, little man, you sure know how to roll out the welcoming mat,” the all too familiar voice drawls before his fingers tighten instinctively around the slender, warm throat.

A haggard breath forces from Ekko’s parted mouth. In the wild struggle, the stranger’s hood has slipped down, revealing a familiar face with a startling crop of blue hair. His heart squeezes painfully, forcing him away from Jinx’s apparition.

“Leave me alone,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes till his vision swims. “Just leave me alone! I don’t want to see you anymore!”

“Huh, fine. I thought after two years, the welcome would be a tad warmer. Brrr.”

Ekko pushes himself to his feet, stumbling away, watching warily as the young woman sits back up, picking at her messy hair. She looks different. A little older than Jinx from his visions or memories. Her hair is longer, though nowhere near the same length she once had braided into two twin braids. She swings her leg back and forth, another pulled up to her chest while she watches him. And… her eyes. Ekko was the last person to see her with blue eyes before their battle on the bridge. The last time he saw Jinx alive, they were a dangerous, burning violet.

Now, even with the shade of the night, they’re a muddy mix between the blue he once knew, and the piercing violet that made her so deadly. As if that restless edge in her has calmed down and settled.

Ekko’s chest heaves as he stumbles back a step.

“Soooo—” she begins.

“You’re alive.”

Jinx shrugs her shoulders. “Yup. Clearly. In the flesh even,” she crows, but it’s more muted when compared to the wildness he once faced off against.

His hand flies to his stomach, and Ekko distantly wonders if he’s about to throw up in front of a girl he’s spent his entire life loving.

Mercifully, his stomach settles, but his heart beats so loudly he can hear the blood rushing in his skull.

“You’re alive,” he repeats, harder this time. “It’s been two years.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t offer more than that, but there’s a shadow over her narrow face. She’s healthier. There’s more weight on her bones, her skin has lost some of the pallidness. As if someone took Powder and Jinx, split them clean down the middle, and fused them into one body. Stronger, more self-reassured, less teetering on the brink.

“Would have written but mail is crappy where I was,” she jokes, her voice a familiar, drawling litany. “Besides, this is so much more mysterious—”

He closes the distance between them in two steps. His room isn’t big but he would have walked, ran, sprinted if needed to close the distance between them. His arms wrap around her and Ekko squeezes her so tightly he hears a small breath escape Jinx. She’s solid and warm. Smells faintly of sea and something metallic. Ekko buries his face in the soft crook of Jinx’s neck, gasping for breath.

“Woah, hero, you’re gonna break my ribs,” she whispers, but her arms wind around him, more careful, unsure. “I thought you hated me?”

Even when he releases her, Ekko’s hands linger on her, go to her face, examining her through the crack of light illuminating his room.

“I saw you,” he breathes, devastated. “I saw you everywhere. I hoped to see you everywhere.”

Something flickers over her face, an unknown thing, secretive and distant as she’s always felt to him.

“Geez, seeing things? And they call me crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

There’s such vehemence in his voice it startles them both. Jinx nibbles on her inner cheek, searching his face cautiously. “I thought you’d be mad.”

Ekko laughs, a low huff of amusement. “Do you think I care for you so little, huh?”

Too late he realises he’s without a shirt, and is, in fact, mostly bare before the girl he’s harboured a crush on for years. Near boyish shyness forces Ekko back, making him clear his throat. His hands tremble when he reaches for a discarded t-shirt, hoping it doesn’t smell bad when he pulls it over his head. When he glances at her over his shoulder, Jinx is still there, still watching him, though there’s a thoughtful air around her.

When she notices him looking, she offers him a sarcastic grin.

“No need to get shy, stud.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

He plops down on his unmade bed, watching her watch him. Her face is half hidden by her arms propped on her bent knee, but the silence between them isn’t awkward. They’re taking each other in, taking in the changes that have touched them both in the last two years.

“Why come back now?” he asks, eventually.

Jinx blinks, near feline-like, dropping her head back to stare at his ceiling as if it may offer an answer. “I’m a crappy friend, but not that crappy. Happy birthday, wonder boy.”

There’s a creak in his heart, a lightness in his ribcage, a balloon of affection despite their troubled history that inflates just for her. “You remember my birthday?”

She makes a sound at the back of her throat. Glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Well, we picked it together, silly, so sure I do.” Shadows fall over her features when she angles her head away. “I… I never thought I would come back—that it was better this way.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Something close to a smile ghosts over her face at his response. Ekko can’t rip his gaze away from her. He fears that if he does, he’ll wake up and she’ll be gone again, and he’ll have to relive the agony of losing her again.

“Does Vi—”

“No. No. And it’s better this way.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Ekko. Please.”

He does. Because this is too good to be true, and he doesn’t want this to end. Emotions mix inside him, battling for dominance, so he sits there, letting them all wash over him.

“You’ve been busy,” she says abruptly, nodding her head in the general direction of the outside world. “Their new wonder boy. I’m not surprised. You’ve always been good at creating things. Good things.”

“And you’ve always been good at fixing them,” he says.

Ekko thinks back on the countless times she helped him to fix up old rubbish others have discarded and sell them in Benzo’s shop as small treasures. It feels, now, like a lifetime ago. In a sense, it has been.

She snorts; it’s an ugly, hateful sound. “Not always.”

There’s weight to how she says it. Pain lingers in each syllable, more so a whispered confession. She’s thinking of others, those lost through accidents or her own direct involvement.

“I’m sorry about Isha,” Ekko says carefully, thumb pressing into the hollow of his bare knee. He itches to take her hand, to smooth his thumb over her knuckles instead, but he doesn’t. She’s never been his to touch. “Vi told me about her.”

Jinx shrinks, turning away and he mentally curses. A sore spot even years later. Understandably so.

“I… shit. Sorry.”

“What’s with the long face?” she exclaims suddenly, jumping to her feet and twirling. Her hands drop to her hips and she grins at him, all mischief. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

Ekko squints. “Uh, what?”

“It’s your birthday, silly,” she says, like it should be obvious. “We’re going to spend the day together.”

Jinx keeps her hood up, her gait steady. Any sign of blue tucked away. She’s changed her attire to draw less attention, and as they walk in the hazy dawn light towards the bridge separating the sister cities, it feels almost normal. Casual. Not at all like the last time they spoke, they were about to fight side by side in a battle for their lives. Not at all like he spent two years thinking she’s dead. That still stings, but knowing how she felt back then, the state she was in before he talked her down from the edge, the pain she’s been through, Ekko can’t bring himself to feel resentful. He only wants to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay because she’s not alone.

“You’re not saying, are you?” he asks, hands in his pockets.

“Nope,” she replies, popping the p. “Can’t.”

Words rush to his tongue. Insistence that she can and should stay—that there’s space here for her, not just in his life, but in the new Zaun he’s helping to shape. He almost admits it to her then. That he’s built this for her and the ones they lost along the way.

Ekko continues walking, staring at the ground, noticing too late she’s fallen behind. He peers over his shoulder and freezes when he notices what’s caught her attention. The mural. Welcoming anyone coming into Zaun. Her face, slightly younger but now immortalised, peers back at them.

“You drew this.”

He loosens a breath. “Yeah, I did. I, uh, just…”

Jinx reaches for her own face, fingertips ghosting over the painted wall. There’s tension on her face when she turns to look at him, something piercing and hard and thoughtful. Same pinch to her eyebrows he saw earlier in his bedroom.

“I won’t let them take you,” he says softly. “If they came for you. I would fight for you.”

She doesn’t break their eye contact. “I know. You shouldn’t, but I know you would.”

“Then stay.”

She saunters forward, stopping only when they’re almost chest to chest. “I’m not her, y’know? The other me. The one you love.”

He smiles, huffing a small breath, refocusing on her and her small pout. Ekko reaches forward, tucking a few stray strands back under Jinx’s hood, lingering for a beat. “I wasn’t her Ekko, either. That’s why I came back. I like this version of you just fine. But just so we’re clear, every version of you is a pain in my ass.” He tugs on a small braid, grinning when she shoots him an annoyed glare and slaps his hand away. “But I won’t have it any other way. Wait, no. It sure as hell would be simpler if you didn’t try to kill me anymore, but I guess I’ll deal with that, too.”

Jinx snorts, absently reaching for the spot he touched, her gaze softer than before. “Ha! You hit like a girl, by the way. I never got to tell you.”

“You tried to blow us up.”

“Eh,” she whines. “That was one time. You gotta let that go.”

Ekko exhales a small laugh and realises he hasn’t smiled or laughed this much in years. Joy was leeched from him with her absence, and while he did his duties, there was no security of Jinx’s usual push and pull to keep him balanced and focused. Even when they were enemies, hunted each other down and attacked each other, they existed on opposite sides of a perfectly balanced sphere.

Her nearness, the relief of having her there, overshadows the darker recollection of that afternoon when she tried to blow them up more than once. Memories so painful Ekko wishes to scrub them from his mind forever, yet they remain seared into his psyche.

She grabs his elbow, dragging him forward, breaking the surrounding gloom. “Come on then,. Things to do, things to see.”

And Ekko does what he’s done since they were young. He follows her. Because they might not have tomorrow.

The day goes by too fast. Almost a blur. A series of snapshots Ekko will lock away in his mind forever. He never expected he’d get to do this again. This is something his younger self could have only dreamt about once. When they dreamt of simpler things; flashy toys and delicious sweets, things only a young boy could fantasise about, aside from a loving home, because at least that much he had.

They walked and talked and joked around, eating street vendor food all day. Ekko knows they’re pushing their luck, but he can’t help himself. Jinx grew up here. This is her home too, and he wants to show her the progress they’ve made. There’s something comfortable about her snarky commentary and ill-timed jibes at the Council members. She asks about Vi only once, in relation to Cait, and Ekko tells her the truth.

They’re happy. They’re together. She nods, satisfied, and moves on.

“We should go see Jericho next.” It’s an offhand suggestion while they walk the newly paved river path. Now people from the Undercity can enjoy the same luxury of having a peaceful sidewalk to take their kids down. It’s amazing how it’s the small things that bring people happiness.

“Can’t,” Jinx replies, glancing towards the setting sun. Her smile twists; it’s still a smile, but it’s sad, in a way. “Sorry, hero.”

He takes several seconds to speak. “So, you’re leaving anyway.”

“Yes. I told you I can’t stay.”

“It’s a pity, then.”

She tilts her head. “Why?”

Damn her for even asking. Damn her and all the shitty circumstances for keeping them apart. Damn her for picking him during that game of hide and seek years ago. Damn her for being there for him and not being there at the same time. Damn her for being his entire world for years. Even when Ekko thought he hated her, he wasn’t free of her. He never could be. His girl with blue hair.

He’s in love with her, in every possible way, but they both know they can’t work like this. There’s too many ghosts for Jinx here, and despite the changes, Ekko can’t promise her she won’t get dragged off to Stillwater the moment authorities find out she’s alive after all.

Ekko frowns, clenches his fists, and walks away.

But she’s like an anchor to him. He stops several paces away, tied to her. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

They’ve been everything from friends to enemies and strangers to reluctant allies again. So much of his life has revolved around her. Continues to revolve around her. Past and present. But if Jinx sends him away now, if she walks away, Ekko will let her go. Because he can finally rest easy, knowing she is alive and well, even if they’re apart.

“In any other universe, I might have loved you,” she breathes.

He pivots towards her, his nostrils flaring. “Love me in this one,” he insists, reaching for her. Ekko cups her cheeks, tilting her head until her hood slips back down, exposing her blue hair to the setting sun. He’s glad there’s no one in sight because he can’t think straight right now. “Choose me now. Ask me to go away with you. Ask me.”

He presses his forehead to hers. Jinx’s empty gaze appears glazed over, her thoughts far away no matter how hard he tries to grip her and hold her close.

“I don’t deserve you, boy saviour,” she whispers emptily. “You’re good.”

“No one decides for me, Jinx. Not even you.”

She blinks owlishly, searching his wild stare, a pained expression on her face, her fingers knotting against her chest. “What if you don’t want me after a while? I’m… different and if I get bad again... What if—”

“Ask me, damnit.”

Jinx loosens a shaky breath, jumping through a hundred micro-expressions in a few seconds. A painful mix between hope and dread.

“C…” Her eyes squeeze shut. “Come with me.”

Ekko sags in relief. “Yes.” He holds her, wraps his arms around her despite the unsure way she folds against him. As if she’s unsure where to put her hands. If she should. “Yes, I’ll come with you. I don’t care if you’re different. I want you as you are, okay? No matter where we are.”

A tremulous breath wheezes past Jinx’s lips. But with that, she melts into him, burying her face against him. Her embrace grows desperate and tight, a tremble shuddering through her body.

“Always a dance with you, huh?” he says after a moment.

She chuckles, the sound warming his collarbone. “And you still got two left feet, boy wonder.”

Constants and variables, young Ekko, Benzo told him once. Everything bad that can happen in this universe might come to pass, but so might everything good.

----

an: ahh I know this isn't really my usual offering but I really hope you guys enjoyed, it's been a while since i've cared enough about canon/canon ship to do this.

#arcane #ekko x jinx #timebomb #ekkojinx #arcane fic #asks #thank you for asking anon!! just a tiny 'sort of fix-it'

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yunniverse · 2 days ago

Text

You’re My Dream

౨ৎ PAIRING— rockstar!jeong yunho x reader

౨ৎ GENRE— fluff, ended relationship, fem!reader

౨ৎ WARNINGS— angst, fluff

౨ৎ WORD COUNT— 1.4k

౨ৎ SUMMARY— you broke up because he was too focused on his music dream, but maybe you and love were the real dream all along.

౨ৎ A/N— i saw a lot of people saying they wanted a oneshot with the concept photos from the 2025 seasons greetings, so i made one! i hope you like it, even though it isn’t quite as angsty as you probably wanted :( still, feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading, lovelies! <3 (i’ll tag a few people who said they were interested if someone wrote one: @beabatiny, @goldendynastys, @kibs-and-bits)

Staring at the fire crackling, you try to hold back the tears that threaten to escape. When had it all gone so wrong?

Just last year, you had been enjoying your boyfriend’s Christmas show with his rock band, and now you’re sitting alone, the night before Christmas.

The crackling of the fire adds to your melancholy, the harsh cold winds blowing outside creating a gloomy atmosphere. You know you should forget like he has, but you can’t throw away two years of your life that easily.

The memories of last Christmas come flooding back to you, even as you try to suppress them. Memories of sitting beside the fire with Yunho, cuddling as you watched a cheesy Christmas movie. Or baking Christmas cookies together at his apartment, laughing as you threw flour at each other.

Turning to the remote controller, you press the power button, not expecting to see him on the screen. His band is playing, and you immediately feel a pang in your chest at the sight of him, his fingers dashing across the keyboard.

Even though he’s the keyboard player and not the lead singer, he has an air about him that draws you in, making it unable to look away, even as you know you should. Why is he still having this effect on you?

The song is one you recognize. “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call,” by Bleachers.

It’s a song he’d introduced to you last Christmas, and, even though it’s sad, it had been a source of joy for you in a way last year, because you remember dancing to the song with him, smiling and laughing.

Now, it really is sad.

When he gets up at the end of the song, leaning into the microphone, you furrow your eyebrows, listening.

“That song goes out to someone I lost a year ago today.” He looks right at the camera, his brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish it had been different, but know that I never really stopped loving you.”

You gasp, only momentarily questioning if he’s really talking to you, before you jump up, now determined to make things right for some reason. You know it’ll probably end in more heartache, but you have to try.

Grabbing your keys and coat, you hurry out the door into the winter storm, unlocking your car before hopping in.

Even though the roads are horrible tonight, you know the way to his apartment like the back of your hand, only slowing because of the snow.

About twenty minutes later, you arrive at his apartment complex, hurrying out of the car, through the blinding snow, and into the lobby of the building.

You try to calm yourself down, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button to the fourth floor.

When you get to the floor, you walk down the hall, slowing to a stop in front of his door. Taking a deep breath, you knock.

It takes about two minutes, but the door opens, revealing a messy-haired Yunho, a few locks of his dark blue hair having fallen in front of his brown eyes, which widen at the sight of you.

“Y/N?” he whispers, his hand clutching the doorknob so tight you think he might break it. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw the program.”

“Oh.”

With a sigh, you rub your arm, biting your lip, really starting to wonder what you’re really doing here yourself. “H-How have you been?”

“Is that really what you’re going to ask?” Yunho asks, giving you a half-smile.

“What else would I say?” you question softly, suddenly feeling stupid for coming to see him. “I can’t just say Merry Christmas or something stupid like I’ve missed you—”

“Can’t you?” he asks, his dark eyes searching yours. “Because I’ve missed you.”

Sighing, you frown slightly, “This can’t be happening. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let me just—“

He grabs your wrist as you turn to leave, making your gaze snap back to his. “Every day without you has been torture. You came to see me for a reason. Do you feel the same?”

“Yunho, it doesn’t matter how we feel. It can’t work now anymore than it did then. We have different goals.”

“We don’t have to!” he exclaims, almost desperately. “I can give up the band if that’s what you want. You were upset it took up so much of my time? I’ll quit.”

Your eyes widen as you shake your head, “Yunho, the reason you couldn’t give it up for me before is because it’s what you love to do. I can’t take that away from you. I can’t make you live without it.”

“Well, I can’t live without you.”

His words hang heavy in the air, making you suck in a sharp breath, “Yunho…”

“Don’t say anything,” Yunho tells you, taking a single step closer. “Just tell me…”

“Tell you what?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What do you feel?” he asks, just before he leans in, his face inches from yours. Your heartbeat quickens as his warm breath fans across your lips. “If you feel nothing, I’ll leave you alone.”

You’re torn between wanting to close the distance and knowing you shouldn’t.

You don’t have to wait for long.

It feels like the world stops when his soft lips brush against yours for the first time in months. It isn’t like an electric shock, with fireworks exploding, rather it’s like coming home after a long time away. Like warmth and softness and… love.

It only takes a few seconds for you to melt into him, the kiss deepening as he lifts his hands to cup your face, your hands finding his chest, his heartbeat quickens beneath yours fingertips.

After a few moments, he pulls away, his forehead resting against yours as he pants softly, waiting for you to respond.

“I wish I could say I felt nothing,” you whisper, feeling a little helpless against your emotions. “But I can’t. I’ve never been able to.”

“Then give us another chance,” Yunho pleads, his thumbs brushing across your cheekbones. “I meant what I said during the program. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“But what about the band? What about all the reasons we broke up months ago?”

“You and I both know we were being petty then. And I can quit the band, like I said,” Yunho replies, his tone serious.

“I don’t want you to,” you respond quietly, making him furrow his eyebrows.

“What?” he asks slowly, confusion etched into his features.

“I don’t want you to quit what you love,” you clarify. “That’s what ended things between us before. We quit on our love, and I won’t let you quit on the band now. I was stupid to think you loved me any less because of your passion for music. Please don’t stop playing, Yun.”

“Are you sure?” he asks slowly. “It’ll still take up as much time as it did before, maybe more, since we’ve grown a little more popular now.”

“I don’t care,” you smile softly. “All I care about is being with you again. And I won’t let my jealousy over your time get in the way again… as long as you let me come to your shows.”

“Every single one.”

With a small laugh, you lean forward, pressing another soft kiss to his lips before burying your face in his neck, inhaling his calming scent you’ve missed so much.

“Maybe we should get out of the hallway?” Yunho chuckles, tugging your hand, guiding you into his apartment. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

You smile shyly, nodding, as you let him close the door behind you both.

Three months later, you’re cheering for Yunho and his band as he performs, smiling widely when he finally comes backstage, his arms open as you laugh, throwing yourself into his arms for a hug. “You did so well, Yunnie,” you whisper in his ear.

He grins, nuzzling his nose into your hair, “Thank you, baby. You’re always the best cheerleader.”

“Can’t say I don’t like the fake tattoos on your hands either,” you tell him wryly, tracing the markings with your finger.

“Oh?” he asks, chuckling softly, his eyes sparking with mischief. “Maybe I’ll leave them on for a little while. And I’ll be sure to tell the stylist you like them.”

“Good,” you grin. “I’m good with anything now as long as you never tell me ‘please don’t call’ like you did last winter ever again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

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jellibelli123 · 2 days ago

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English 1010 and 1050 are too critical for developing powerful basic and complex critical thinking skills necessary for survival, and should absolutely be available and required for High School students (or similar grade outside the US)!!

English 1010 summary: https://chass.usu.edu/english/tracks/composition-resources/engl1010

English 1050 summary: https://www.calstatela.edu/al/english/engl-1050-argumentative-writing-and-critical-thinking

I got lucky with a prerequisite program at my high-school and got these while growing up in the heart of Utah, born in the Mormon Cult. Without it, I would have never deconstructed as soon as I did if at all (literally only took these classes because I thought it would help me write fantasy better; didn't in the way I thought, but oh boy does it get my evidence based research accurate in order to write about politically, socially, and scientifically complex things in fantasy.)...

This absolutely would give people the power to avoid falling to scams, and to common, charismatic based "vibe" missinformation that results in dangerous unknowns & reckless decisions (which resulted in two trump presidencies and the rise of white supremacy over these 3 decades.).

English 1010 is too necessary to be locked behind a college paywall, and at least here in the US we know why they keep it that way...gutting the already gutted Education system is a clue.

Fun fact: It will drive you up the wall when you see people not care enough and/or when people fall for, what is to you, basic missinformation......it is not basic to everyone else because they don't even have the chance to learn these basic skills.

ok so we know about the need to infodump, but what about the opposite? The need to absorb more information about your special interest like a sponge, but you literally can’t find any new material because you’ve already consumed every fact about it

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lunaandco · 1 day ago

Text

guys my age

pairing: alexia putellas x ofc

summary: the new rookie looks up to alexia, yes, but it's not as innocent as she would hope to

warnings: age difference: claudia is 20 yo; power imbalance; I forgot pina's name was actually claudia, so there is two claudia's on the team, deal with it; smut, thigh riding, nipple play

masterlist

Claudia is quite pretty. Alexia never tried to actively deny that, but it bothered her that she noticed far too much. Pale skin, rather small built, brown hair cut to her chin and icy blue eyes that made her look more innocent than a girl her age should be. Claudia was too young for Alexia's taste. And yet—

She was one of the Barça B girls joining them for training for a while now, reeling from the adrenaline of the debut, cheeks lit aflame and skin shimmering with sweat. When she arrived, the first days she spent them figuring out if she should be called Claudia or Díaz, since Pina was already stabilised on the team. But Pina chose her surname, so Claudia kept her name.

Shirt off, the red and blue fabric thrown over her shoulder—her debut shirt, she would probably frame it. Alexia remembered that euphoric feeling, of the first game, of the first goal.

Claudia's volley had been the seventh goal of the day, almost irrelevant to the punctuation. But it had huge emotional impact, and Alexia was sure it would make the rounds on the Internet, it was beautiful and powerful.

Salma threw an arm over her shoulders, as they sang some Barça chants. Alexia joined quietly, as she dressed on her street clothes. Slama and Claudia had become tight at some point or another, between training sessions and media obligations from the club.

Alexia wouldn't be surprised to see them become a couple, sooner or later, women's football was full of partners that were teammates or rivals, but there was something that bothered her about it.

She waited by the car, patiently. Alexia may be one of the older, more settled players, but she understood the juvenile need to celebrate a little.

Finally, Claudia rushed to her side, after saying her good-byes to Salma. It was when they were alone like this, that Alexia felt the strangest.

Backpack slung over her shoulder, a pair of dark blue jeans and a green bomber jacket, Claudia looked her age. But her blue eyes, always shimmering with delight, turned a little bit glassier and bigger, looking at Alexia.

"Thank you for driving me," she said quietly, settling on the passenger seat. Alexia wanted to ask where her parents were, how could they have missed their daughter's debut at the highest level, but she decided against it. The last thing she needed was to delve into her mommy issues.

"Don't sweat it," Alexia replied. "It's nice to have company in the car. Drives get lonely."

After that, they were silent, as Claudia hummed the songs on the radio and Alexia focused on getting her to her apartment without checking the map. She had drove this path more than once, Claudia always being passed around by the players with cars.

"We're here," said Alexia, parking on a miraculous free spot.

"Merci, capi" said Claudia, picking her things up. Alexia ignored how the nickname made her feel. Claudia bent over to give her a goodbye kiss on the cheek, like she always did, but Alexia was shocked when she felt Claudia's lips on the corner of hers, close enough to be noticed, far away enough to claim it was a mistake.

The kiss lasted a second longer than it was proper, but it was enough for a crawling feeling to take over Alexia's stomach.

"Adéu," said Alexia, but she was talking alone, as Claudia slipped away quickly.

💙❤️

The next game was away at Germany, and the team was buzzing with excitement. Alexia kept to herself a little, claiming that she was a bit tired because a bad night sleep, and letting Irene and Marta take over the captain duties.

Claudia had been assured that she would be subbed in around the 60s mark, Pere was very excited to see what his new youngster could do. Her and Salma spent all the plane ride giggling, showing each other silly things in their phones.

Alexia watched them for a while, a bitter taste invading her.

She could feel the ghost of Claudia's lips on her, and could not stop thinking about the way she looked at her, blue eyes big and shiny, like she adored her.

It wasn't uncommon for the rookies to have admired Alexia for long, but Claudia made it feel different.

Alexia couldn't lie and say she was never endeared, but that endearment was turning into something inappropriate, that she could not allow to happen.

💙❤️

The room assignments at hotels were made at random, making sure everyone shared room with everyone, in an attempt to increase the team's chemistry. Nevertheless, it still caught Alexia by surprise when Claudia rolled her suitcase inside of her room.

Alexia hoped the stay would be uneventful, for the sake of her consciousness, but at night, when the lights were off, and sleep was hard to come by, she heard the sheets rustling in the bed nearby, as Claudia got up and crossed the distance between beds in a blink of an eye.

Alexia was laying on her side, facing Claudia, but she kept her eyes closed, thinking that if she pretended to be asleep, Claudia would leave her alone.

More rustling, this time from her bed, and soon she felt Claudia's body, accommodating against hers. Claudia's head was pressed to her shoulder, little whines leaving her throat as she tried to find a nice position.

Alexia gulped, the feeling of Claudia's bare thighs against her own was too much. But instead of pushing the girl away, Alexia threw an arm over her torso, pushing her closer to her body, and dropped a kiss to her hair, already feeling the grasps of guilt.

Claudia's whining died and was replaced by a short purring sound, before her breathing stabilised and Alexia was left alone with a sleeping teammate on her arms.

She was, oh, so fucked.

💙❤️

Alexia woke up to to her alarm clock. In her arms, Claudia groaned, pressing her forehead to Alexia's clavicle. Turning off the alarm was challenging, having Claudia in the way, but she managed.

Alexia sighed, wondering if Claudia would be able to hear her heartbeat.

"You're very comfortable," said Claudia.

It confused Alexia, how Claudia could be so normal about this, how she didn't seem to notice what she was doing could get her, them, in trouble. Like flirting with your decade older captain was not a dangerous game to play.

"Claudia..." she started, but her voice died down on her throat as Claudia looked up to her, eyes sleepy but burning with desire. She pushed up a little and drop a small, quiet kiss, this time fully on Alexia's lips. "This is not a good idea..."

Claudia hummed, eyes closing and and squirming a little. Alexia's thigh was lodged between hers, ans she let out a little sound that had Alexia tightening her grasp on Claudia.

"Capi..." She should have stopped it. She should have been the responsible, wise captain she had been trusted to be. But that silly nickname took away all her self control.

The kiss was messy. Tongue and teeth clashing, Claudia was moaning softly, as her hips started moving, using Alexia's thigh to get some friction. She was suddenly grateful they had both chosen to go to bed with only a t-shirt and panties, because now it was easier to slide her hands all over Claudia's back, up and down to hold her hips and help her move.

The noises Claudia was making, both of their shaky breaths, Alexia was glad the volume wasn't enough to make it through any walls, because she could not stop. She felt the wet patch on her thigh, and it drove her even more insane.

Her hands pulled Claudia's shirt up, so she could play and suck on her nipples. The moans got higher pitched and soon Alexia had to help Claudia with her shaky hip movements, until the rookie was coming all over her thigh.

"Alexia..." she exhaled, cheeks rosy and eyes glazed, Alexia bit her lower lip. "Ah... Let me..."

Claudia's hand travelled to her panties, she wanted to help Alexia have an orgasm too, but Alexia wasn't ready. She could not let her know how wet she actually was, how turned on she was because of their illicit kissing and humping.

"We're going to be late," she said. Claudia pouted. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to take it up with Pere."

Alexia couldn't see that Claudia agreed. If there was something she wanted more than Alexia, it was to carve her spot on the team.

"Alright." She nodded. "But later..."

"We'll see," said Alexia, trying to be as vague as possible, but it was obvious to the both of them that she would cave in sooner or later. "Vamos," she gave Claudia a light smack on her thigh, and the girl giggled as she leaped off the bed, picking up her clothes and pausing to get one more kiss before going to the shower.

Alexia sighed, as she heard the door close. She was so fucked it wasn't even funny.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas x oc #luna's one shots #alexia putellas smut

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ghouljams · 15 hours ago

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Aphrodite!reader bringing Hephaestus!Nikto little scraps of metal or full on weapons/armor pieces she liked the metal that it used or thought he would find interesting to forge with.

Aphrodite!Reader asking Nikto if he would ever tell her what he was doing with specific steps in his forging because she just wants to hear his voice

Nikto building a different seat for reader to rest in but still having her little stool available for when she wants to come closer. Not that he understands why.

Reader bringing a drink or pitcher of some cold beverage for Nikto and him also being confused again as to why she’s doing these things. Obviously she’s sharing because she would feel bad if she didn’t and not because she knows that said beverage is his favorite or one that he enjoys.

you’ve definitely won me over (expected) (once again) (as usual) with this au. i am appreciative.

Someone on one of my posts about them mentioned it was fitting for the "god of passion to marry the god of invention." And it made me remember that quote that's like "I loved her to the point of invention" and yeah, good stuff.

It's not like you don't have things to do. You are a god, after all, you have duties to attend to, people to bless and all that. You have battlefields to walk through, soldiers that swear on their love's life, that beg to see them one more time, that take the rage of loss and channel it into power. You have weddings and births, deaths and funerals, first steps, reunions, first and last loves to look over. You have artists to watch, to stare entranced as they paint their muse, their passion seeping into every brushstroke, every strike of their hammed.

You pluck iron shavings off the floor and hum to yourself as you go. You pull arrowheads from broken ribcages. First teeth fall into your hands. Hair from a pet gone too soon. Lace from a wedding dress, notes off pages of music, stone chunks, paint chips, love letters half finished. You collect it all and shuffle through it as you sit outside your husband's forge. You don't have your stool out here, so you content yourself with standing. You shift your weight onto your other foot when one starts to ache.

You think he would like the nails, the arrowhead, the iron shavings, things he can melt down. He has better metal you're sure, but you don't know what to give your husband when you hardly know him. Does he even like his work? Is the forge something he's relegated to and not something he's passionate about. You love Love, you're the god of it, you find passion exhilarating, inspiring, transmogrifying. Nikto must feel the same about his work.

It's well into the night by the time the forge door swings open, your husband running a scarred hand through matted hair, tugging his mask off to reveal a crisp line of soot across his nose and cheeks. The black mark is matched only by the cacophony of white lines that strike like lightning over his skin, pulling his lips into a snarl and puckering his cheek. He freezes when he sees you. His eye twitches.

There's a large part of you that feels silly offering up your treasures. There's a small part of you that stares wide eyed at your husband, at the spectacular carnage that cuts his handsome features, and wishes he didn't slip his mask back on. So you offer him your metals, your scraps of love with nowhere to go.

"This is trash," He tells you, his voice muffled and distorted by the cylinders on either side of his mask, as he hands you a jewel, "we don't want it."

He turns, with your offering, and shuts the door to the forge behind him again. You can hear the heavy *thunk* of the lock sliding back into place.

Your bed is cold.

#cod x reader #x reader #cod nikto #call of duty nikto #nikto x reader #mwii nikto #nikto cod #nikto call of duty #gn!reader

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billthedrake · 1 day ago

Text

THANKSGIVING QUICKIE

It must have been a special occasion, because Cooper's parents let him sleep in. But it was Thanksgiving and the high school senior had turned in an incredible performance on the football field the evening before. He had come back home amped up on adrenaline and in no mood to go to bed at a reasonable time.

The jock stirred in bed now, his short sandy brown hair all mussed. It took a second to realize that a knock had roused him. The door opened, and his father peeked in.

"OK if I come in, buddy?" he asked.

The 18-year-old leaned up in bed, the covers slipping off his bare torso. He'd packed on muscle over the last couple of years, a lot lately. His dad had encouraged his gym and diet obsessions, maybe but it was kind of Cooper's thing. That need for perfection and athletic excellence.

"Um yeah," he answered with a soft croak.

Brian Murray slipped in and quietly shut the door behind him. That's how Cooper's still groggy brain knew what was on his father's mind. Indeed, as the 48 year old stepped in, there was a noticeable boner in his sweatpants.

"Your mother's making the turkey," he said, with a conspiratorial smile. "I figure that buys us a little time."

This was a game Cooper and his dad were playing. More and more it seemed. Neither knew if the risk turned them on, or if it was just too hard to resist fooling around.

The teen nodded. "It's been a few days," he said. Seductively, he slipped the covers down to reveal his half naked body. Mostly smooth, though some soft hairs were growing in on his chest and down a treasure trail leading to this boxer briefs, which were tented with morning wood.

It was Brian's turn to feel his voice catch as he stepped up to the bed. "That's beautiful," he said softly, his finger tracing along Cooper's strong quad muscle with its short brown hairs. His eyes swept up his son's form, taking in the eight pack and the taut chest and shoulder muscle. "You're beautiful, Coop."

The athlete's eyes swept up his father's form. The old man was beautiful to Cooper too. Handsome. Masculine. Whatever the word was, Cooper felt his Dad would make fun of him for saying it. But Brian Murray was in his prime, the ex-jock build thicker and bulkier these days but kept in fine form with manual labor and devoted time at the gym.

With a naughty grin, Cooper lifted his hips and slid down his underwear. The shank of cock hadn't softened a bit since waking up and it practically jerked in excitement now, especially with his father's eyes on it.

Brian gave a soft horny grin as his fingers traced up Cooper's legs, admiring all that tight end muscle he'd practically memorized for his jerk off sessions. 6'5" and 230 pounds of hard muscle. A beast on the field, but at home Coop was something else... a sweet kid who'd grown in to a bonafide Daddy's boy. Brian didn't deserve a son like this. And yet...

The father looked over his shoulder and tugged down his lounge pants. The thick piece of paternal cock stood up, maybe not with the innate rigidity of an 18-year-old, but it sure felt that level of fuck hard.

"How much time we got, Dad?" came the footballer's voice, still sleepy.

Brian was getting full on horny now. Like, seeing white, crazy horny. "Just a few minutes," he replied. Jenn probably wouldn't have any reason to come up to Coop's room, but they were taking a risk already. "Why?"

Cooper took in the sight of his father's cock. It was a like a new toy, though even over the course of the last two months, the jock had become strangely familiar with the dick that had made him. Its size, its shape, its texture and its taste. He looked up into this father's hungry brown eyes. "It's just been a while since... you know?"

Brian smiled. He loved how shy the kid could get sometimes. Particularly after his son's sexual imagination was what had fueled a lot of their crazy affair. "Yeah buddy?" he growled.

Cooper nodded excitedly and spread his powerful legs. The hunky young stud lay back in his bed and pulled those thighs back, showing off his still mostly smooth crack to his dad.

"Fuuuccck..." Brian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. Already his hand was drawn down to that magic spot. Brian had been Coop Murray's first. The first few times had been a real challenge but now Cooper was a little more skilled at taking his Dad that way. The father tried to think with his head, rather than let his dick call the shots. "Maybe we can find some time tomorrow, OK, buddy?"

Coop nodded, but he knew his Dad wasn't taking the initiative to pull back from the soft gentle fingering of his vulnerable pucker. "Come on, Dad... it can be a quickie, right?" he pleaded, like he was asking to stay out past curfew. "You probably won't last long."

Brian chuckled. He had one persuasive kid, but Brian also had to laugh at how right his son was: Brian's normal sexual experience and composure went out the window once he was inside Cooper.

The man took a deep breath and pushed the thin flannel pants all the way down and stepped out of them.

Cooper was already reaching behind his bed, where he stashed the vaseline.

The mattress sagged from almost 500 pounds of male flesh as Brian climbed up onto the bed, hardon pointing up to the ceiling. Normally composed, the middle-aged man's body was shaking as he watched Cooper dig his long digits into the petroleum jelly and lovingly slather it onto his dad's cock. Just as methodically, Brian took the tub from his son's hand and dug in for the own daub of jelly to smear on Coop's tight ring.

Setting it aside, he scooted up and started working the slickness into his son's hole. Eyes locked on Cooper's he did his best to read the athlete's reaction.

"Feel good, Coop?" he asked quietly. This was a crazy risk but both men were turned on like mad.

Cooper nodded. "Yah." Then, "feels great, sir."

God, this kid... Brian pushed a second inside Cooper. "It's gonna sting going in," he cautioned. Giving Coop an out if he wanted it.

The jock was ready for this though. It had been a solid week since their last fuck. "I know, Dad." Then realizing he was speaking too loud, he lowered his voice too. "I like that part, too, actually."

"Goddamn," Brian hissed. He pulled his hand back and moved his hips into place. "I'm gonna have the worst case of empty nest syndrome next year, you know."

Cooper smiled. The separation was going to be hard on him, too. So he was determined to enjoy every minute now. He pulled his legs back tighter now as his dad placed a pillow under his hips to raise the ass just right. The sight was incredible. As much as Cooper loved seeing his dad naked, there was something equally hot about seeing the man in his holiday casual mode, bedhead and a well-worn Bama T-shirt clinging to all that middle-aged beef. Cooper knew the only minor disappointment he'd ever given his father was not signing to play Alabama football.

"Ooof," the jock let out despite himself. Maybe one of these days the penetration would go smoother. Maybe one of these days his dad would learn that an ass takes more patience than a pussy.

Brian looked down in excitement. "Told ya, Coop," he said in apology. "You good?"

"Yeah," the tight end answered as he forced his teeth to unclench.

"Sure?" the father asked, battling his urge to just plow in.

"Sure I'm sure, Dad," Cooper answered just above a whisper. "Fuck me."

If the entry was uncomfortable, the sensation of that that thick dad bone riding over Cooper's internal spot was pure pleasure. THIS is what had him finally losing interest in hetero stories and porn videos and focusing on men. As Brian Murray' dong pressed against his prostate, Cooper's own prick jolted and dripped above his eight pack.

"A quickie, remember, Dad," the jock urged his dad.

Brian's voice croaked. "Yeah." Then his hips powered forward. All the way in. Buried inside his own son, his own flesh and blood. The wrongness of the act had him coming back like a moth to flame, unable to gain any self control.

And beyond the mental pull of mating with Cooper, there was the sheer physical sensation of his son's ass, milking his cock with steady soft clenching around Brian. Each fuck was a give and take between his son pushing him out and sucking him in. Between Brian's restraint and his pure male need.

"Yeah, Dad..."

Brian looked down at Cooper. So innocent. And yet an active sex partner. Active in a way Jenn never was. The jock stud looked up with sheer need, that teen hardon a sign of just how much the kid frickin loved it. How much he needed his daddy.

The father's hips were moving faster now. The bed was squeaking, goddamnit, but it was too late to stop now. Not with his son looking and giving that nod, that silent permission to cum inside him. For an inexperienced young man, at least inexperienced in THIS, Cooper sure had developed a keen sense of timing. He knew when his dad was climbing to orgasm, not quite at the point of no return, but close to it. Just then, the jock wrapped his sticky slick palm around his shank of hard meat and began stroking in sync to his father's thrusts.

"Jesus!" Brian hissed. The way Coop's insides clenched and fluttered around that dad bone was just incredible. They'd never actually done this before, but the two Murray men were gonna cum at exactly the same moment.

The father made sure of that. He may have not been in full control, but he paused his sexual response just four seconds, and it was enough. He could feel his O face forming just as he watched Coop's.

The mutual orgasm was wordless but both men let out a simultaneous grunt. Brian's hips seized into a deep plow and unleashed a load that was bigger than it had any right to be given he'd just fucked his wife the night before. And who knows how often the kid jerked off, the teenager he was, but Brian's nostrils filled with that floral-musky scent of his boy's own cum as Cooper pumped out a healthy load onto his taut, muscled torso.

They stayed locked like this for just a couple of seconds, savoring the aftershocks of the orgasm that were part of the pleasure itself.

Finally, Brian's guilt kicked in and more than that his senses returned. They were crazy for doing this with his wife, Coop's mother, just downstairs. He gently withdrew and then quickly got off the bed, finding his lounge pants to slip back on.

"Get cleaned up," he said brusquely. "Then see if you can help your mother out with anything, OK?"

"Yeah, Dad," Cooper said in polite resignation. He didn't blame his father for acting like that. After all, it was the jock who pushed his dad past his comfort zone, A LOT. But after the hotness of the sex, Cooper felt the urge for a quiet emotional time with his dad.

Brian slipped out a quietly as he entered. He was crazy, but he was glad in a way. It would have been torture to get through Thanksgiving dinner craving Coop the whole time. At least the fuck would take the egde off in a major way.

By the time the father had showered and changed into nicer holiday dinner clothes, he came down to the dining room to see Cooper dutifully setting the table. His son looked up with a smirk. Brian had to let out a silent laugh and shake his head.

He stepped into the kitchen. "Smells great, honey," he said, stepping behind Jenn and massaging his shoulders as she stirred the gravy. He gave a soft kiss to her blond hair. Yeah, Brian was a schmuck, but he did appreciate how his wife made these days special.

"You know you're in the way in the kitchen," she said in a soft laugh that let Brian know she wasn't too upset. "Why don't you help Cooper... the water glasses need to be put out."

"Aye aye captain," the masculine building contractor joked and stepped away from his wife's petite frame.

He entered the dining room as Cooper was finishing placing the silverware around the settings. Silently, Brian set down the glasses and circled that table across Cooper. His eyes watched his son, who returned his father's gaze with a silent communication. Conspiracy. Secret. There were no words to convey the gravity of their affair. But Brian knew that even if his son had showered up, that there was still a healthy load of Brian's cum deep inside the jock. He knew Coop would keep that semen inside him, prized more than one of his football trophies.

Their eyes flitted back and locked once more. Then knowing the coast was clear, Brian stepped around. "I forgot something earlier," he whispered.

"What?" Cooper said.

God, his son talked like a college kid already, testosterone deepness tinging his young voice.

Brian could hear the sounds of his wife whisking the pot. The coast was clear. He raised his hand and wrapped his fingers around his son's neck, pulling Cooper's face toward his. The kiss was soft with lots of gentle tongue.

"Love you," the father lipped silently when he pulled back.

That brought a big smile on the football player's face. Not a grin, a real smile. He now leaned in to place his mouth closer to his dad's ear. "Love you too, Dad."

Just then the doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of the first of the in-laws.

"Hold that thought, buddy," Brian said with a chuckle as he pulled back, meeting his son's eyes once more before going to answer the door.

#drakestories

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graysquirrel7 · 5 hours ago

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Her revenge, however, could not be simply the nova of a single oppressed person lashing out.

That was too easy to ignore.

Instead, she taught other people who were targeted by people like her captors what she had learned.

It was not as easy as setting up a classroom and inviting people in. She had had to build up trust first. Many of the other survivors and victims were not part of the nobility and had many reasons to not trust the highborn.

Not the least of which was the fact that until she had been captured, none of them had ever considered these kidnappings all that important. Not even her.

It also was not going to be enough to restrict the training and preparation to others who had already been victimized and survived.

She would teach people to avoid it.

Her revenge, when fully realized, would be the utter elimination of not just the specific people who had kidnapped and imprisoned her, but every person who attempted such things. Their demise would come from all angles and there would be nothing they could do to stop it.

Except to never try and control or abuse another person.

When it started, it looked like a series of unrelated incidents. Accidental fires that put some landlord into hospice. A group of wealthy wastrels with a reputation for forcing girls into sex work had the misfortune of being caught in the middle of bridge during a flash flood. Clerics and members of highborn families were falling down stairs or out of windows, untouched by human hands.

An atmosphere of horror started to loom on the horizon.

The second phase was to help people see the connections between the incidents. Survivors were emboldened to publicly attend the funerals of these people and recount the abuses that they had heaped on others. This public shaming caught them off-guard and slowed their ability to respond. The smartest among them knew that if they did not handle the situation well, the uprising would wash them all away.

Tavern and pub rumors were deliberately about how men who couldn't be bothered to respect the autonomy of others would get claimed by the spirits of the wild. The old myths about the Furies were once again common tales.

This redirected the helpless horror into public action.

People gently corrected their neighbors, to keep them safe from the Furies and other spirits of the wild. Highborn who care more for their reputation than the wellbeing of others retreated from the public shaming, finding that their power and influence shrank as they did. Their wealth followed shortly afterwards, because the things that they had held precious mattered little to the communities that had successfully cast them out.

Even the town militia and guard members were not spared. Far too often, they had used their badges and writ to push people around. Even if they weren't working with the kidnappers and abusers, they worked on their behalf.

The worst of them found themselves being taken down by the same villains that they had often turned a blind eye towards. The rest found that when the highborn families retreated, they had lost all illusion of their authority. The best of them willingly gave up their uniforms and weapons and turned themselves over to the people that had once lorded over, asking if there was something that they could do to help.

In the end, the need to use that power would wane. There would be no more towers. There would be no more isolated victims. Communities would look out for each other and work with other communities to ensure that such terrible power never needed to be invoked again.

Only then would her revenge be complete.

A princess is imprisoned in an abandoned tower that once belonged to a wizard. The princess spends years slowly learning the art of wizardry from the scraps of arcane lore the wizard left behind, until finally becoming powerful enough to escape from her tower and take revenge upon her captors.

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sweemmy · 3 days ago

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Darkness had never been a problem for Vi. She had grown up in it, embraced it as both a refuge and an ally in a world that gave her no quarter. But now, the darkness within her is different. It suffocates, ravenous—a beast that feeds on her deepest thoughts, on her obsession with you.

You are a glimmer in her shadowed world. At first, you seemed to bring a fragile light to her broken life. But that light didn’t heal her; it didn’t soothe. It was a spark that ignited everything she had left intact within herself. Vi knows this isn’t love in its purest form—love shouldn’t hurt like this. It shouldn’t burn through every fiber of her being. But what else can she call it when her entire existence revolves around you?

Sometimes, when she’s alone, her mind drifts back to the past. She sees herself as the girl she used to be—a girl with hope, with unyielding morals, with a sense of justice that brought meaning to her chaos. Those images feel so distant now, as though they belong to someone else. But they weren’t always this blurred. Vi remembers how she clung to that version of herself, struggling to reconcile her principles with the choices she made for you. Until one day, she stopped trying.

“Look at what I’ve become,” she thinks bitterly, staring at her hands, hardened by fights and scarred by the things she’s done in your name. Her knuckles, always marked, tell stories of the lines she’s crossed, of the faces she’s struck simply for coming too close to you.

The first time she stepped over the line, it was almost accidental—a punch thrown harder than it needed to be, a moment she couldn’t take back. But the effect was instant: a surge of power mixed with a dizzying rush that left her trembling. After that, it became easier, darker. Each decision pulled her further away from the Vi who once vowed to protect Zaun, the Vi who believed in something greater than herself.

But it’s not the actions that haunt her the most. It’s the constant thought, the unrelenting mantra she cannot silence: “I would let the world burn for you.” It plays in her mind like both a prayer and a curse. Because she would. Because she is. Every choice, every sacrifice, every boundary she’s destroyed has been for you, and she knows she’s losing herself in the process.

The darkness isn’t just in her mind—it follows her like a living shadow. The nights are the worst. When silence fills the room, the endless hum of her thoughts becomes unbearable. Every shadow on the wall seems to mock her helplessness, her lack of control. She dreams of a world without you, where she might find freedom again, but those dreams are fleeting and bitter. Because even in her fantasies, your absence feels like an abyss she cannot escape.

She watches you from a distance, trying to understand how someone like you can hold so much power over her. Sometimes, your words confuse her. “You don’t have to do this,” you say, but the smile on your lips betrays the truth. You enjoy being the center of her universe, though you’d never admit it. And Vi, caught in the web of her own obsession, can no longer tell if what she feels for you is love or self-destruction masquerading as something else.

Vi fights it sometimes. In rare moments of clarity, she tries to reason with herself, to remember who she was before you. But even those memories are fading, because everything that came before now feels insignificant. She wonders if her obsession began as love or if it was always this destructive force wearing the mask of something pure. But it doesn’t matter anymore. She doesn’t know how to let you go, how to tear you from her chest without bleeding out completely.

Every time she looks at you, she feels that toxic mix of devotion and despair. You are her salvation and her damnation, the anchor keeping her afloat and the chain dragging her down. And Vi, so proud, so stubborn, doesn’t know how to ask for help, how to admit that she’s losing this battle within herself. That her love for you isn’t saving her—it’s destroying her.

In her mind, the scenes replay: the faces of those who fell beneath her fists, the chances she missed to do what was right, the Vi she might have been if she’d never met you. But those images fade quickly, consumed by the fire burning in her chest. “It doesn’t matter,” she tells herself, “as long as you’re with me.”

When she closes her eyes, she sees it all burning: Zaun, Piltover, the entire world consumed in flames. And at the heart of that inferno, there you are—untouched, existing solely for her. The smell of smoke, the searing heat, the ash choking her lungs… all of it vanishes when her gaze lands on you. She knows there’s no turning back. Her love for you is her undoing, and though it hurts, though it scorches her to the core, she wouldn’t change it.

Sometimes, she imagines a different ending—one where she lets you go, where she finds redemption, where she becomes more than the chaos she’s created for you. But those fantasies are fleeting. Because at the end of the day, the truth is she doesn’t want to let you go. She can’t.

This love has turned her into someone she barely recognizes. But if that’s the price of having you, she will pay it without hesitation.

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane vi #vi #vi arcane x reader #vi x reader

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s-lverwing · 22 hours ago

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I’LL CHEW YOU, I’LL GO THROUGH YOU

pairing. emperor caracalla x wife!reader.

summary. What is the meaning of yet another scar upon your body and mind? When your husband’s illness twists his mind, turning him against you, and he accuses you of betrayal.

word count. 2.6k

warnings. angst, toxic relationships. heavy pinning. violence. blood. english isn’t my first language.

a/n. please if you enjoyed this leave a comment, reblog, whatever u want 🐛 I USED CARACALLA’s BORN NAME LUCIUS AT SOME POINT DONT BE JUMPSCARED.

The room was quiet tonight -- perhaps it was because the day had been full of entertainment for Emperor Caracalla, leaving him content and sated, pleased. Even Dundus, his ever-watchful companion, seemed subdued as he chewed absentmindedly on a piece of grapefruit, the soft sound barely breaking the silence. You caught the faint noise and felt the corner of your lips twitch upward—an involuntary, yet fleeting smile—as your fingers curled tightly into the delicate fabric of your dress.

Still, the knot of nerves in your stomach refused to break. It was no secret that Caracalla’s tolerance for absence was rather thin. His emotions were volatile, and the palace staff whispered of the storms that brewed when his wife strayed too long from his sight. Not even you were immune to the fear of those rages—not because you thought he would harm you, but because you knew too well the weight of his anguish when it overtook him. It wasn’t the anger itself that frightened you; it was the aftermath.

The soft sound of your sandals against the polished white marble echoed faintly through the chamber as you entered, the sound drawing Dundus’s small, curious eyes to you. His chewing ceased, his tiny body shifting toward you as though to signal your arrival. Inevitably, Caracalla’s gaze followed.

You hesitated under it, swallowing against the dryness in your throat. His eyes, so often shadowed with something too complicated to name, rested on you now, and though his expression remained stoic, there was a flicker of something—curiosity, might have been if he was another person, but Caracalla’s eyes were ready to blame you for something. It was the expression he usually gave to his twin brother, Geta. Your nerves prickled under his scrutiny, the tension coiling tighter in your chest and stomach.

Would he speak? Demand to know where you had been, his voice sharp with suspicion and laced with the undercurrent of his illness, or would he remain silent, his displeasure a force pushing you away? Tonight, it seemed he had chosen silence. He turned away, his focus shifting deliberately to Dundus. For a moment, you felt an unexpected pang of relief—until the realization hit you that his indifference might be worse than his fury.

You knew how quickly the calm could shatter, how easily the weight of whispers in the palace could drive him to the edge. They spoke of his instability, of his twin’s steadier hand, of how Caracalla’s mind was clouded by the slow and insidious progression of his illness. You had seen the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly when he thought no one was looking.

And yet, for all his wild unpredictability and impulsiveness, you had learned to weather his storms. Others feared his wrath—his soldiers, his council, even his brother at times—but you knew the truth of it. Even when he turns away from clarity and starts asking for your head to the Praetorians guards, still, you knew better.

There had been a time when his moments of vulnerability after the storm had frightened you, when you hadn’t known how to respond to the sight of an emperor—the ruler of Rome—curled in on himself, tears soaking your tunic as he clung to you like a drowning man. But now, you know him better. You know how to reach him when no one else could. It was a power that even his twin did not possess, and it had become both your burden and your solace.

You stepped further into the room, your heartbeat steadying as you drew closer. Caracalla did not turn, his posture rigid as if he were willing himself not to acknowledge you. The silence stretched taut between you, but you had grown accustomed to its weight.

“Love—”

You didn’t even make it past his name before his voice cut through the stillness of the chamber.

“—Where were you?”

His question was soft, measured, but there was something brewing behind the words, a quiet tremor that betrayed the storm building inside him. His voice wavered, a thin thread barely holding his emotions in check. It was the calm before the inevitable storm.

You stood frozen, as though the marble beneath your sandals had turned molten, holding you in place. The space between you both seemed enormous—far greater than the few strides it would take to reach him. Not just physically, but mentally.

Your eyes flicked to his hands, trembling faintly at his sides. You’d seen this before. It was the prelude to something larger, a wave of emotion that would crash over you before you could even think to steady yourself against it.

“I was with Lucilla,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You chose your words carefully, as though you were addressing a wounded animal instead of your very human husband. Your tone was gentle.

You reached for your hair to take one of the medicinal flowers she always carries around, as a proof.

But he wasn’t having any of it—he was far too lost within his mind to care about anything you had to say. Dundus was the first to sense the chaos, clutching tightly to Caracalla’s hair as though to anchor him to reality.

“You always lie!” he roared, his voice cracking with raw emotion as he stood abruptly from his opulent chair. The first glass shattered against the marble floor, fragments glittering like jagged stars under the candle light. “You’re just like Geta! You—you and him are against me! Like everyone! So don’t lie to me, don’t lie to me… I—I know you were with him. Yes, yes! Someone told me…”

His ringed finger jabbed toward you, trembling as his accusations poured forth, each word more unhinged than the last. His breath came in short, erratic bursts, his chest heaving as though he were fighting an invisible foe. His entire body shook as he tried, and failed, to hold onto the last frail threads of composure. And even as he accused you of treachery, of betrayal, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anger. There was no room for that—not when his anguish stood so naked before you, consuming him from within. Your love for him ran deeper than any wound his words could inflict, though you didn’t understand it.

You should leave. You knew it would be easier to walk away, to leave behind the chaos that seemed to follow him like a shadow. Far away from the Emperor, you could have peace, a life unmarred by this relentless storm. And yet, you will stay. You couldn’t turn your back on him. Not now, not ever.

You exhaled deeply, your breath trembling as you steadied yourself. You knew his instincts—he would try to mimic you, to find solace in your calmness. “Who is someone, Lucius?” you asked softly, your voice a whisper, barely audible over the sound of your fingers nervously fidgeting with the lavender flower you held.

His hands flew to his temples, pressing hard against them as though he could force clarity through will. “I can’t remember!” He shouted, his frustration bleeding through every word. “It’s all cloudy… But it’s true! I believe it’s true, and if I believe it, then it is true!”

“They are lying to you,” You said gently, a quiet plea against the chaos consuming him. “Not me. I’m your wife.”

His body shuddered as his breathing grew uneven. “I could have you hung!” He roared, his voice rising to a near scream. “Both of you! You and my brother, strung up outside the city for conspiring against me! My brother and my traitor wife hanged together for all of Rome to see…”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you held firm, taking a small step closer. “Would you like me hanged, then?” You inquiere, your tone unwavering despite the weight of the accusation.

“Don’t—don’t play games with me!” His voice cracked as his hands flew to his head again, fingers tangling in his ginger curls, tugging with a desperation that bordered on pain. “You’re messing with my mind!”

His breathing grew ragged as he paced, his voice rising in anguish. “Everything has to be shared! I have nothing that is truly mine—not even my own wife! Everyone loves Geta, they respect him… they trust him. And I’m so tired! Tired of giving, tired of sharing, tired of being left with nothing!”

“Why, then?” Your voice trembled but was steady enough to cut through his mind. “Why would you believe the words of a stranger over the words of your own wife?”

“Because you’re a liar!” He shouted, spinning toward you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, his entire frame shaking as though he were holding himself together by sheer will. “I have given everything to you, and it’s never enough! It won’t be enough now that my brother has laid his filthy hands on you!” His voice broke, and his face twisted in a mix of rage and sorrow.

“You love him. Admit it—you love Geta!” He spat.

Your breath hitched, and used all your willpower not to flinch. “I don’t love Geta,” You said, with a quiet but firm tone. ��I can barely stand him.”

“But you weren’t here!” His voice cracked with desperation.

You remained silent for a moment, knowing the truth was both a weapon and a fragile thing. “That’s true, I was with Lucilla…” You started softly, your voice trembling as you spoke the name. “She gave me this—”

“You alway lie!” His words cut through the air like daggers, and this time Dundus, perched nervously on his shoulder, became restless, chittering as his small claws scrambled across Caracalla’s back. The anxiety in the room was suffocating.

Without warning, Caracalla’s hands shot out, trembling violently as he grabbed one of the small vases sitting on the nearby table. His eyes, wild and frantic, never left yours as he impulsively hurled it toward you. But then, in a split second, he stopped himself. His breath caught, his hand frozen mid-throw as he saw that sudden flicker of fear in your eyes. That was when it hit him—the raw realization that the fear he thrived on, the fear he wanted and desired, was not something he ever wanted to see in you. Not in the person he loved the most.

With a strangled sound, he let go of the vase, watching it shatter violently against the marble floor, the pieces scattering besides the broken glass. The room fell silent for a moment, save for the soft, erratic sounds of his breath, and Dundus chittering.

Caracalla’s body trembled, not from anger, no, from something far more vulnerable. Something he couldn’t understand. His shoulders shook as soft sobs wracked his frame. His eyes were glossy, flickering with the first signs of tears, but he tried to hold them back, clenching his fists as if to stifle the emotion he feared would consume him.

“How—how can I fight against something I don’t remember?” His voice quivered, heavy with frustration, as his trembling hands pressed into his temples. His disheveled hair framed a face that was both tortured and childlike, caught in the haze of confusion. “I don’t—everything is cloudy,” He admitted, his words were fragile and raw.

Your heart ached at the sight of him unraveling. Slowly, you moved toward him, each step measured, as if approaching a wounded animal. You sank gracefully to your knees before him, the cold marble biting into your naked knees, avoiding the shards of glass. Your hands reached out hesitantly, settling gently atop his covered legs.

“I’m on your side, love,” You whispered, your voice soft as silk.

He stilled at your touch, his hands faltering in their frantic pressure against his temples. His wide, glassy eyes met yours, searching for something— whether it was truth, solace, or perhaps the faintest trace of reassurance you couldn’t decipher. He felt caught between the fragility of trust and the weight of doubt that lingered like a shadow over his mind.

In a second, Caracalla was subtly startled by Dundus’ quietly chewing, and before you could even catch your breath, your balance faltered. Your hand shot out instinctively, looking for anything to steady you, but the cold marble floor offered no comfort as your palm met it with a sharp glass, and a cry made home in your throat. You recoiled instantly, but not before you let the jagged shard of glass buried itself deep into your skin.

You gasped, a shudder running through your body as you stared at the blood that began to pool in your hand. The glass had left its mark, but it wasn’t the cut that stung the most. It would scar — in a similar fashion as the Emperor had made himself a place inside your heart, through blood and pain.

You drew in a shaky breath, steadying yourself as your fingers from the other hand, trembling with the sting of the wound, gently extracted the shard. The glass scraped against your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to flinch any further. Instead, you handled it with a tenderness that even surprised you. As if your body, despite the pain, knew the way to treat the wound, knew that softness was the only thing you could offer now. Not for him, not for anyone else — but for the wound itself. It mirrored the wounds marring your heart.

All that time Caracalla’s eyes were never off you. His gaze was turbulent and wild, following your every move. He was watching you with a hunger in his eyes — but his hunger seemed torn between fascination and frustration. His element was blood; he enjoyed conflict and violence and the mark it left on the knife when it met the flesh. He thrived in those who were in pain. He loved to see the wound open and bleeding. But not on you — never on you. So he wondered, as much as his cloudy mind let him, if what he was feeling was anguish, guilt or pleasure.

As you turned your gaze back to him, his entire demeanor seemed to shift. His disheveled hair, his paller face, the pink scars beneath his makeup make him seem so fragile. In a fleeting moment, he appeared even smaller, but more human. His hands were shaking when he reached for yours, but the touch wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, uncertain, as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do with you

And still, you held his gaze, despite the blood staining your hand, despite the way his trembling fingers gripped yours—not with tenderness, but with need, a need that seemed to tear him apart even as it pulled him closer to you.

And without hesitation, as impulsive as he is — he kissed your bloodied hand.

The kiss was rough, hurried, as if he feared everything would slip away before he had the chance to claim it. His lips brushed over the wound with a strange tenderness that conflicted with the violence of the moment and his grip on your wrist. He didn’t pull back when he felt the blood smear across his pale skin. Instead, his eyes closed for just a heartbeat, as if he was drowning in your blood, in the sight of it. The red streaked across his lips, staining him as much as it stained you. It was the mark of your suffering, the scar of your devotion. And yet, you decided there was no cruelty in his touch now.

When he finally pulled away, he lowered your hand with an unsteady movement. Then, in a way that felt almost fragile, as if the very act of smiling could destroy him, he fought to offer you the semblance of a smile. His lips, stained with blood, parted in a tremulous grin—teeth bared while the gold in his mouth shone, chin red. The whole act as if to say this is me. This is us.

And you couldn’t look away.

a/n: this might be a prequel to a period sex fic ive been wanting to make… thank you for reading.

#emperor caracalla x reader #caracalla x reader #emperor geta #emperor caracalla

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solxamber · 2 days ago

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Helloo, I absolutely love you writing! Your understanding of the twst characters’ personalities is phenomenal 😭❤️

May I request both Ace and Malleus crushing on reader simultaneously, and both are aware that the other likes reader (reader is oblivious hehe). Ace gets super insecure since he isn’t powerful nor of royal status and believes there’s no way he can compete against him, meanwhile Malleus gets super jealous since Ace has been friends with reader ever since and is the most close with him.

Ace x Reader x Malleus (Love Triangle)

a/n: the giggle i let out when i saw this!! such a fun concept and thank you so much 🫶🫶

It started with a normal day: you laughing at one of Ace's jokes, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind you. The storm in question was Ace and Malleus glaring daggers at each other over your oblivious head.

Ace was slouched in his chair, shooting side-eyes at the imposing figure standing too close to your desk. Why does he have to hover like that? he thought bitterly. Malleus, for his part, was casting pointed glances at Ace’s casual posture, as if silently saying, Is this the best you can do?

Neither could deny the truth. They were both hopelessly, tragically in love with you. And they both knew it.

Ace prided himself on being the guy you could count on for a laugh. But today, he was on a mission: show you how amazing he was.

“So, anyway,” he said loudly during your study session in the library, “I totally aced—get it?—my magic exam. Got full marks.” He leaned back smugly, hoping you’d be impressed.

Malleus, who had been quietly sitting nearby (because of course he was), looked up. “Impressive, Ace Trappola. But I suppose it pales in comparison to wielding centuries-old magic and commanding legions of loyal subjects.”

Ace choked on his own smugness. “Yeah, well, I bet you don’t even know how to mix a potion without turning it into swamp goo, huh?”

“Actually, I mastered potion-making at a young age. I created an elixir capable of reviving withered flora.”

“Cool, cool. Can you tell me how any of that helps the prefect with our history homework?” Ace shot back, leaning closer to you.

Malleus frowned. “History is one of my strongest subjects.”

“Oh my Seven—” Ace groaned and threw his hands up. “We get it. You’re ancient!”

You looked between them, confused. “Are you two okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Malleus said smoothly.

“Great! I was just explaining history to Deuce,” Ace lied shamelessly.

Lunch was another battlefield. Ace had secured a seat next to you and was recounting a funny story involving Grim, a mop, and a very angry caterpillar monster.

“…and then Grim screamed so loud, I think half the campus heard him! Right, Prefect?” Ace said, nudging you.

Before you could respond, the shadow of a tall figure fell over the table.

“Malleus,” Ace said with a forced grin. “Didn’t see you there. Like, at all.”

“I thought I would join you,” Malleus said, sitting directly across from you, his gaze unwavering. “Do you require assistance with your meal? Perhaps I could conjure something more fitting for your taste.”

“Okay, that’s just cheating,” Ace muttered under his breath.

“Conjuring food is a skill that requires great control,” Malleus said casually. “It’s a shame some rely solely on mediocre cafeteria fare.”

“Oh, so now the chicken nuggets aren’t good enough for you?” Ace snapped.

“They lack refinement,” Malleus said.

“Yeah? Well, you lack… I dunno, vibes!” Ace countered.

You blinked. “Ace, are you okay? You’re yelling about chicken nuggets.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good,” Ace mumbled, shoving a nugget in his mouth to shut himself up.

The tension boiled over during a school festival. There was a dance competition, and both Ace and Malleus signed up for one reason: to win your attention.

Ace went first, pulling off a routine filled with flashy moves that he definitely stole from a popular video. The crowd cheered, and you clapped the loudest.

“Not bad, right?” Ace said, slightly out of breath but grinning. “Bet I’m the first guy you’ve seen dance like that.”

Before you could respond, Malleus stepped onto the stage.

“I shall now perform a traditional dance of my homeland,” he announced.

It was graceful, mesmerizing, and undeniably magical—literally. The lights dimmed, and green flames swirled around him as he moved with perfect precision. The crowd was silent, utterly captivated.

Ace stood next to you, slack-jawed. “I… I can’t compete with that.”

You turned to him with a smile. “I thought your dance was amazing too.”

Ace lit up like a firework. “Y-Yeah? You mean that?”

Malleus, mid-spin, glanced at you both. His expression darkened.

Eventually, the competition escalated to new heights of absurdity. Ace baked you cookies, only to find out Malleus had hand-carved you a jewelry box. Malleus enchanted roses to bloom eternally, and Ace countered by organizing a surprise karaoke night with all your favorite songs.

But when you tripped and both of them scrambled to catch you, the ridiculousness reached its peak.

“You caught their hand,” Malleus said, an edge to his voice.

“And you caught their other hand!” Ace snapped.

You, still mid-air, sighed. “Can someone just catch me completely next time?”

Despite their antics, one thing was clear: they both adored you. And while their rivalry was exasperating, it was also… kind of sweet.

Well, for you, anyway. For them? Not so much.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #ace trappola #malleus draconia

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weaselle · 22 hours ago

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so i can't find any hard numbers about shark deaths or injury related to shark cable biting. I can tell you a few things that might help you though

So, i know i said "we know this happens regularly" but it turns out "it used to happen once every couple years or so" would have been much more accurate

Cable biting happens waaaay less now than it used to, and it was never all that often to begin with. Currently it's because we mostly use fiber optic cables instead of copper core now, which means we are using flexible glass to conduct light instead of using copper metal to conduct electricity, and that probably means the cables aren't as interesting to sharks, which have special organs for sensing electrical activity in the water. But before that switch, cable companies did engineer to prevent shark bites from being effective.

In order for a shark to take damage from biting an undersea cable, it would have to bit though all the insulation and get to the metal, which would short the cable out and require an extremely costly repair, which means the corporations commissioning the cables are moved by the only thing we can really trust to motivate them -- they are highly incentivized by money to make sure sharks can't get their teeth through the insulation.

We have been laying underwater cable for well over a hundred years by now. From 1901 to 1957, cable failures due to all fish bites (not just sharks) was just 28 times in those 56 years. In the next 50 years there were only 11 cable failures and probably none of them were shark related. Cable companies started using tougher sheathing materials over the insulation which helped, and so many of the cables switching to fiber optic really seems to have made a difference too. As far as I can tell, there have been zero suspected shark related cable damages since 2006

There is a percentage of cable failure/damage where the cause is not able to be determined, but it is extremely unlikely that sharks are involved -- it is usually very obvious when a cable is damaged by a shark because of the kind of damage and because they tend to leave teeth in the insulation when they bite. It is normal for a shark to loose a couple teeth biting a thing; their teeth do not have roots the way mammal teeth do, and they regrow an infinite number of teeth their whole life. Teeth are semi-disposable tools for them.

Also sharks bite things for the same reasons we touch things with our hands, and a lot of the time they bite something to learn more about it so they aren't actually biting very hard (i mean, still hard enough for their teeth to slice delicate human tissue, which is how what to a shark is a simple investigative bite can become a serious injury for a human, but they are often biting things with much less than full power when they just want to see what it is)

And finally, I can assure you that at least the shark in the photo above was totally fine, you can see that same shark bite happen in this video, showing the shark to be merely curious and maybe slightly confused by its experience with the cable

youtube

#Youtube

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makismei · 18 hours ago

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in the same universe as this :,) cw: toy usage, hint of brat taming, sadism & machoism, 18+ content, overstim, dubious consent, soft :(

“you’re doing it again,” he deadpans, knocking your thighs open, “keep. them. open.”

pearly slick oozes from your cunt, soiling the newly washed sheets and sticking to your inner thighs. toji sits in front of you, a blank look on his face but you know how he’s truly feeling from his eyes.

lidded and intently focused on your poor, leaky cunt, he mindlessly goes through a small box on the bed, feeling around for what feels interesting.

it’s your box of sex toys. the ones you used before you started dating the man in front of you. it’s been a while since you’ve reached for them, since it feels like toji knows your body wayyy more than you do, and also because he gets you there, he doesn’t let you escape until you’ve gone brainless from all the orgasms he’s blessed you with. why would you ever need to do the work again?

but toji isn’t all too familiar with adult toys. of course, he knows about the basics—dildos and vibrators, but when he accidentally stumbled upon this little treasure box of yours (his own words), curiosity took over him. he’s never seen pieces of silicone and plastic look so lewd, and the look on your face was so precious, he just had to try them.

“hmm,” lowly, he calls your name, “what’s this?”

heavy eyelids blink open, registering what’s in his hand before you shoot up, attempting to scurry away but your bed isn’t that big and his reflexes are out of this world—

“that’s a reaction,” he grins, eyeing the small red toy, shaped like a flower. “you used this one a lot?”

you shake your head, cheeks burning and eyes welling up with tears. crocodile tears, toji raises a brow, beckoning you to continue.

“‘s too much, it..” you trail off, breaking your gaze, but his hand guides you back, gently thumbing your cheek.

“you’re in control baby,” he whispers, “i won’t do anything you don’t want, you know that.”

of course you know, that’s why you let him do whatever the hell he wants with you. and frankly, him using that cursed little rose toy is making you more excited than you thought.

“it… made me squirt for the first time…” you squeak, speeding up with each word spoken, “i only used it a few times because the first setting was already too m—hold on, waitwaitwait—”

“this?” he drags you back, spreading your legs to make room for himself, “m’ gonna have fun with this.”

“toji,” you weep, anticipating, and he knows, a soothing hand caressing your thighs and waist, “m’ nervous.”

and toji knows he’s sick and utterly deplorable, because your reaction is turning him on. he’s excited, out of the few he’s tested already and the others yet to come, he has an inkling of a feeling that this one will be his favourite.

“s’ okay,” he coos, “what’s your word, gorgeous?”

“ginza…” the city you met him in. a little corny, but it works.

he hums, smiling. “you ready?”

you nod, shyly looking up before correcting yourself, “yes.. m’ ready.”

it doesn’t take him long at all to figure out the buttons. there’s only two after all, the power button and the other one that controls the settings.

the buzz makes you tense up, but you relax slightly under your boyfriend’s loving touch.

he spreads your lower lips with a thumb and pointer finger, whistling lowly. he lazily collects your juices, smearing it over your clit.

with bated breaths, you let out a quiet cry when the suction latches onto your swollen clit. back arching almost immediately, toji’s shocked by your reaction. he grins, amused. cute, he thinks, watching you drool and squeal.

you’re surprisingly still, muscles tense and lost hands trying to find purpose.

would it be too much if he started fingering you?

you let out a long wail, head jolting to look down at him. he’s smirking, pleased with your shocked expression.

but he’ll be nice, for now, only sliding in one finger as he eyes your reaction.

it hasn’t even been long, maybe just over two minutes, but by the telltale squeeze of your cunt on his finger he knows you’re cumming.

“already?” he laughs, crooking his finger just right, “no way.”

“i—i told yooouuuu!” you’re absolutely gone when he presses against that little spot inside of you, screeching as your body locks up. toji feels his finger being pushed out, a stream of liquid following, splashing lewdly from your cunt.

and god, just at the sight of you, the sounds you’re making—he’s about to lose it. but he grits his teeth, using a free hand to quickly hold himself off.

he takes the toy away, turning it off, but still stimulating you with his thumb. your body starts quivering from all the pleasure and it’s been a while since he’s seen you cum like that; he worries for a moment that he pushed you too hard.

but he lets you ride it out, quiet sobs of pleasure filling the room. your head is turned to the side, shaking hands covering your face. he praises you softly, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to the inner side of your knee.

when he sees you’ve calmed down, he gently moves your hands away, pressing a kiss to your tear soaked cheeks, both sides, before kissing you deeply. you moan, throwing your arms over his shoulders.

when he pulls away, he cradles your face in his hands. “how was that?”

it feels like a fire ignites beneath your skin, his stare rapt and focused only on you.

your eyes shift away, meek and ashamed, “i liked it…”

“don’t get all shy with me doll,” he grouses, “i gotta know how you feel.”

your hips are still twitchy, eyes glazed over. “toji,” you whine softly, tears pooling in your eyes yet again and this time he’s actually worried. “m’ not lying… it felt so good, but i’m really embarrassed.”

“baby,” he coos, chastely kissing your lips, “s’ okay, s’ nothing you need to be embarrassed about.”

he turns you both over, so you’re laying on his chest. you listen to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and true. the warmth of his body is soothing, his fingers tapping up and down your spine.

“toji,” you call, meek and unsure. he hums.

“i love you,” you mutter, raising your head, “i know we don’t say it a lot, b-but—”

he smiles, all the way from his lips to his eyes. his entire face lights up, “if i knew making you cum real hard makes you a softy—ow! okay! don’t bite me!”

he’s laughing, hand brushing the hair from your face. “i love you. more than you’ll never know, doll.”

it’s resolute, he’s so unashamed that it’s annoying.

you grumble, hiding your face in his chest. your breath stutters when you feel his cock poke your leg.

“sorry,” he chuckles, “he likes you.”

“shut up,” you mumble, hand reaching back. it’s searingly hot and heavy in your hand. you can feel one of his veins pulsing under your touch.

“sweets,” he panics, “s’ okay, jus’ leave it… holy shiitttt..”

you whine, thighs quivering at the feeling of his leaky tip pressing against your slit.

“tojiii,” you drool, looking up at him, “i want it.”

he rubs a hand over his reddening face, unsure. need is taking over him, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold back. “baby, can you handle it?”

you nod, “yes, yes please,” you call his name, drawn out and needy and fuck, he’d be a shit boyfriend if he doesn’t give his lady what she wants right?

#i need him BAD #this is my dream… a little deranged but still my dream nonetheless ….#jujutsu kaisen smut #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader

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