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thexsilentxwordsmith · 10 months ago

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Older!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Bartender!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A military lieutenant closing in on retirement, a younger, beautiful bartender, when you and Lt. Riley meet there is an instant chemistry, though it doesn't really go anywhere as he thinks himself a little too mature for you... until one night he stays at the bar later than he ever has and gets caught in a storm. What will happen after closing time?

Word Count: 9.4 k

Warnings:

The night that Lt. Simon Riley walked into the local bar for the first time started off as any ordinary night would. A man of quiet and solitude, spending nights alone in his room were more of his style, but the older that the introverted military officer got the more a stiff drink at the end of a long week seemed to hit better and since there was usually no liquor to be found on base, the next best thing was the bar not a ten minute drive away…well, seven if he took his motorcycle.

Accompanied by a few of his long time colleagues he stepped into the establishment with nothing else on his mind other than wanting a bit of liquor to ease the ache in his sore limbs and to take the stress of daily life off his mind. The place was small, the locals that seemed to fill the space were nothing noteworthy, but as soon as he settled in at the table the group had chosen and he caught sight of the beauty behind the counter pouring the drinks with a gentle smile on her lips his mind went blank as his heart leapt in his chest.

The lieutenant had done much in his long career and he found it odd how he couldn’t get himself to even walk up to the bar to order from you as a cold sweat broke out across his body. Was he really going soft the older he got? It took him several minutes of self coaxing to get him to actually get out of his seat. Thank fuck for his customary mask otherwise the product of his racing heart would be plastered all over his face for everyone to see.

As he stepped up to order and your attention landed on him, all the military training in the world didn’t prepare him for how to keep himself composed in that moment. Even that first conversation you had that night left him reeling. You asked about his mask in the most casual way and something inside him decided to play things up. He told you how he needed it to fend off stares whenever he was in public.

Trying not to chuckle at that curious furrow in your brow as if skeptical about how a 6’4” man wearing a painted balaclava wouldn’t draw attention, he continued by saying how he was just too good looking to go out without it. The laugh that followed, that genuine wide smiled laugh that you desperately needed after the awful night you had had was already working its magic on him.

He was addicted to your company from that moment on. A strange occurrence for someone who had previously been completely to spend time with no one but himself.

Seeing soldiers around wasn’t strange being near a military installation, you’d gotten used to it rather quickly, but the lieutenant was no ordinary serviceman. Skull masked and huge he was hard to miss, yet what surprised you more than any of that was how his personality was much more gentle than what his appearance would lead you to believe. He was a man of few words, but the ones he gave you were always kind and even sometimes funny and in time you have come to enjoy him being around.

Time has passed, but not much about that has changed. It is always a toss up whether you’ll see him that week or if his presence won’t be around for some time, but you swear that whenever he reappears with his war buddies in tow and those dark eyes find you standing in your customary place behind the bar, the tension in his shoulders eases and the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly through the visible gap in his mask as if his mouth has suddenly upturned. You convince yourself that it’s just for the commodities you supply…and yet… that doesn’t stop the way your heart thumps a little harder every time you see him.

It’s dumb, a stupid crush that won’t lead to anything anyway. He’s older, more mature and a bit intimidating, what would he want with someone like you? A man who’s seen the world would surely find a local bartender boring. Still, you can’t help the excitement that fills you up when he returns and immediately seeks out your company for a bit of chitchat and jokes.

You try to hide away your infatuation as best as you can and soon you feel comfortable enough to call him an acquaintance, maybe even a friend. Just a friend, right? Just a friend.

Don’t mind the fact that you can’t stop yourself from sneaking glances over at him whenever he lifts the lip of that black mask up off the lower half of his face to take a drink. It doesn’t distract you, you haven’t accidentally spilled liquor all over the bar because of it. It’s the only part of him you have ever seen besides his eyes, the only part of him that you truly know, and yet it is more than enough to fuel a certain overwhelming yearning for him.

Wishful thinking, you constantly remind yourself because nothing is ever going to come of it.

You almost trick yourself into believing that’s true until you notice that the usual routine begins to change. The last couple of weeks he’s been sitting solely at your bar rather than with his friends, lingering until the last minute where they have to shout his name before he decides to leave. It causes your mind to swirl with the possibilities of what this might mean.

Especially tonight.

There is something about tonight that seems different. It’s a fleeting tension in the air, a feeling that permeates the atmosphere inside the bar until you can’t seem to shake it from your mind no matter how you try to distract yourself from it. Is it exhaustion? You try to convince yourself that you’ve just worked a long, busy shift without a break and that’s what got you feeling off, but still something about it won’t quit playing through your thoughts.

Last call, last rounds, and the bar is slowly emptied out of its patrons one by one until only a few straggling regulars remain inside while they finish up their drinks along with their conversations. Your eyes flit down to the end of the bar and notice that he’s still there. At the counter perched on a barstool, a nearly empty tumbler of whiskey still resting in his large hand, sits the masked military official.

As you wipe down the glasses you’ve just washed and put them up, you can’t help the quickening in your chest as you keep stealing sneaky glances down towards him. He’s never stuck around this long; you watched as his crew left him behind and yet he doesn’t look too concerned or eager to follow them. Not that you’re complaining, far from it, but you can’t help being curious about how long he’s going to stick around. Could he still be here when the rest leave?

…please…

You need a plan, something you can put together quickly to make him stay. Every second that passes that he doesn’t move gives you more time to think, even with your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Deep rumbles off in the distance can be heard over the music idly playing through the speakers, the first signs of an early storm about to roll in at any moment and that sparks an idea. If he can just stay past closing time, you know how to tempt him into sticking around. You just hope the weather will cooperate with what you need it to do.

From within the shadow around his eyes created by his mask, that autumn-colored gaze follows you carefully as you move about tidying the bar while he pretends to nurse his drink that he hasn’t taken a real sip from in almost half an hour. An empty glass won’t give him an excuse to stay; he just has to wait a little longer and he’ll be the only one left.

Then what? The lieutenant hasn’t thought that far ahead. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to leave.

He brings the cup up to his mouth and holds it there, watching discreetly over the rim as you finish up the tasks you can while patrons still inhabit the space. Setting the glass back down as if he’s taking a sip, Lt. Riley pulls out his phone and the screen blooms alive. The light illuminates his eyes as he immediately draws them to the clock at the top left hand corner. It’s less than ten minutes till close and then it’ll just be you and him.

He continues to follow you with his eyes as you leave your spot to persuade the few drunkards still dawdling about the place to head on home to sleep off their hangovers before they get caught in the rain, but you never once make the same request of him even as you pass him to lead the stragglers out into the night. Just as the last patron leaves out the door you are holding open the tinkling sound of rain hits his ears, followed by the distinct click of the door’s lock engaging, and he takes the last swig of brown, biting liquid to finish off the glass before setting it back down on the counter just as you reappear at his side.

Coffee eyes dart up to yours only to get locked in their gaze as he carefully lowers his mask back over that chiseled, stubble-covered chin and a subtle change in your expression catches his attention. It is fleeting, but for a second the way you look at him with those wide, doe eyes he swears there is a hint of worry in their depths.

Is he planning on leaving now? No, you need to put your half-baked plan into action fast or you might lose the moment and you don’t know if you will get an opportunity like this again. The rain outside is picking up heavier now, which gives you courage to follow through with this.

There is a noticeable flush in your cheeks now and he likes the color it adds to your face. He wonders what’s got you all worked up and secretly hopes that it is in fact him, even if he quickly dismisses the idea before it can take hold of him.

“Guess you’ll be wantin’ me gone so ya can finish up,” he says from behind the fabric, though he makes no attempts to stand.

“Who said anything about leaving?” you reply with a smile as you step up to the counter beside him and reach over the cool, sealed wooden surface of the bar to grab you a fresh glass and the bottle of bourbon he’s been drinking that you’ve purposely kept close by.

Your items procured, you move to the seat next to him and sit down. “Join me for a drink while we wait out the storm. I know you drove your bike here, you don’t want to go out in this. Unless you have somewhere to be, that is.”

He doesn’t say a word, just stares at you as you tip the lip of the bottle into your glass before reaching for his, pulling it to you, and doing the same. He watches the amber liquid pour and swirl into the bottom of his cup and still makes no attempts to exit his seat. You take it as a good sign. “On the house,” you nod towards the vessel of liquid as you hand it back.

Well, no sense in wasting good bourbon; he might as well stay for a bit. Only for the bourbon, he tells himself, only for the bourbon and to wait out the rain and nothing else.

The sound system continues to cycle slowly through random songs as you raise your glass to him before downing the first swig with gusto, only a slight wince on your face as the alcohol burns its way down your throat. The lieutenant re-situates his mask above his lips and follows your lead. The moment the glass is back on the bar you quickly take it from him and set up another round between your cups before he can object.

“Like a woman who can hold her liquor,” he chuckles quietly and you match his energy with a giggle.

“Then you’d really like me cause I can handle a lot more than that,” you pick as you place his glass back in front of him. Your heart pounds hard against your ribs as you surprise yourself at how easily the words flew from your lips.

He brings the glass up and keeps it pressed to his mouth for a moment without taking a sip so that he won’t choke from the unexpected innuendo he thinks he’s detected in your comment. Won’t do to look the fool if it actually isn’t there and he’s reading too much into things.

Heavier still the rain pounds on the roof as it pours down outside, making the small space feel entirely secluded from the outside world. Here within the walls of the bar it’s like you two are the only people left in the world as everything else is cut off by a blanket of precipitation. You turn your attention to the doors to watch the droplets hit against the glass as you breathe deeply through your nose in a vain attempt to slow the racing in your chest.

“It’s really takin’ a poundin’ out there,” the lieutenant comments as he follows your gaze and you have to clamp your mouth shut as the way he says the sentence has you dangerously close to accidentally admitting that the weather doesn’t have to be the only thing that could be taking a pounding right now.

You swallow hard as you turn back to him and again grab the bottle of liquor. “Guess we’ll be here a while,” you nervously chuckle, waiting for him to finish his second round so you can set up another before tending to your own glass.

“Ya keep pourin’ free drinks and tha time’ll pass just fine,” he returns as he reaches for the drink and the back of his fingers accidentally brush over the skin of your knuckles before you can pull your hand fully away from the glass.

That stoic military man plays it off as if the minimal contact doesn’t feel like the magnitude from the collision of two universes and it hasn’t just made his heart forcefully restart. You notice his subtle readjustment in his seat and you pretend you aren’t struggling to even pick up your own glass as your limbs turn to jelly and your breath catches in your throat. An uncommon silence falls over the two of you as you both sit facing forward, staring at your drinks and yet you are sure that Lt. Riley is somehow closer to you than he had just been moments ago.

Three shots in and the alcohol is starting to play its deadly tricks. You really shouldn’t be doing this on an empty stomach, but you don’t want him to leave, not yet. The quiet tension that fills the short space between your bodies is thick enough to cut with a knife and the impulsive thoughts that are starting to swirl around in your head are becoming harder and harder to tune out.

Just watch what you say and don’t let the liquor get to your head, you coax yourself internally. If you can just hold it all in, you won’t risk making a fool of yourself. You need to say something, strike up some nonchalant conversation like you usually do; that should help with that ache starting to form inside.

But as you turn to face him, your eyes get caught in following the line of his strong jaw up to the curvature of his mouth. You begin committing all the subtle details of the lower half of his face to memory now that you are at his side and can notice the beautiful imperfections of those visible features without the distraction of customers to take your attention away: the hints of gray peeking through the hair in his stubble, the mature lines around his mouth, the scars that are aged and faded. He raises his glass to his mouth and you watch the plump flesh of his full lips wrap around the rim in such a sensuous way that your mind instantaneously is overwhelmed with the need to become an inanimate object.

Squeezing your thighs together a little tighter, you scramble to find an ounce of sanity to cling to while you fight off the desperate thoughts at the back of your mind as Lt. Riley sets his glass back down on the bar top. He feels your gaze boring into him and something about that tonight is sending him into a tailspin that causes him to take a moment to steady his voice from being influenced by the quickening in his pulse before he can ask what it is that’s causing you to stare.

“Ya alright there?” he poses the question as he turns to face you and he can’t help but get caught up in the look in your eyes, curious about that shine in your dilated pupils as they focus on the bottom of his face.

That’s when it happens; a momentary lapse of judgment, that’s all it takes, one split second where you let your resolve slip and suddenly it isn’t just your eyes that are on his lips anymore. Leaning up into him, you meet his warm mouth in a hazy, quick embrace that makes your mind swim in ecstasy until you aren’t sure how much time has passed. Then all at once you are jolted back into reality as the heat from his breath makes the skin on your lips tingle and the horrid realization of what it is you’ve done slams into your chest with the force of a freight train.

In a flash you break away with an awkward chuckle at the ready to disguise your true feelings by being humorous. “Shit,” you say through your laugh as you place a hand to your temple, “looks like I’m a bit more tired than I thought. Liquor has gone straight to my head.”

Your mind is frantic to come up with something to get you away until you can calm down, but the lingering feeling of the friction of his lips against yours still permeates your every thought. Still it seems your feet know what to do without even thinking as you are now standing. “Let me go clean myself up while you finish your drink, yeah?” you suggest as the man beside you sits silent. “Like I said, it’s on the house, so feel free to leave even if I’m not back once you’re done.”

Those full lips you had just been pressed against stay closed and you don’t give him any chance to respond as you immediately turn tail to head straight for the restrooms at the other side of the bar without a single look back, that euphoric feeling slipping away as anxiety settles itself in your heart. It is probably just a bit of paranoia, but you swear you can feel his eyes staring holes into your back as you finally reach the door and quickly pop inside.

The hinges on the bathroom door screech through the rust that covers them as you rush to step inside and head straight for the solitary sink near the back wall of the tiny, confined space. “What the fuck was that?” you question yourself as if you have any idea of why you would do such a thing.

You turn on the taps and cup your hands under the cool water to gather enough in your palms to splash into your face. Fuck, you need to calm down and get a hold of yourself. Blindly reaching for the paper towel dispenser to your right, you grab a fistfull of those coarse bits of paper and pat the liquid off your cheeks before your eyes clock your reflection in the mirror in front of you. Those glistening irises stare back at you as your hands grip onto the sink as if it will help you in taking deep breaths. The blush in your cheeks has blossomed quite bright, bright enough that there is no hiding it even after the few minutes you’ve stood there just inhaling and exhaling.

Great, you’ve probably run off the one person you actually enjoyed seeing around this shithole by losing yourself in the moment. Is it going to be worth it when he decides to avoid you from now on? That’s the only logical response you can imagine from the events that just took place. Closing your eyes tight, you hang your head with an exasperated sigh as you let the negative self-talk run its course, hoping that at least by the time you finish he will be gone and you can let yourself wallow in shame alone.

Back outside the bathroom, the lieutenant’s silent gaze follows you all the way until you disappear behind the barrier clearly marked for the toilets. He grips back on and holds tight to the nearly empty glass as he finally turns his attention back around to the rest of the room before him and licks the length of his bottom lip heavily with the end of his tongue to catch the fleeting taste of your kiss as he sits in stunned silence, scrambling to take in all that has just transpired.

With a few deep breaths inhaled, he throws back the rest of his drink and sets the glass down on the bar with a muted clink for a final time and turning his head back towards the restroom, he pulls his mask down over his face and gets to his feet to slowly head for the door.

It isn’t clear how much time passes before your ears pick up a sound that you do not expect.

Out of your thoughts you hear the familiar squeak of the door hinges and your eyes shoot open to instantly drift towards the source as that can only mean one thing now that the bar is shut down. There, standing noiselessly on the inside of the closed door and taking up most of the frame, is the imposing figure of the one and only Lt. Riley.

The faint bit of sultry music filtering into the bathroom from the speakers outside the door fills the otherwise quiet of the space as you and that hulking military man simply stare at one another waiting to see who will be the first one to speak. After a few seconds though, the lieutenant makes the first move and slowly crosses the short length of the room with a calm and calculated precision.

He comes to stop within a few feet of you and finally you find your voice. Those striking eyes never leave yours as he looks down at you through the space in his concealing balaclava and try as you might you can’t read what’s being expressed in his gaze. Is it anger, is it disgust, is it…something else? You don’t know, but you expect the worst and God do you hope you can fix this.

“Listen, I am so sorry about what I did back there. I’m sure you’re uncomfortable,” you instantly stammer out another apology, only this time with more sincerity. “I genuinely don’t know what came over me to do that to you; we’ve only ever been friendly and I know I’ve overstepped. I won’t make excuses for my behavior, but I promise it won’t happen again. I would just hate to know that I made you feel too awkward to come back.”

There is a pause as his sight stays locked onto your face for what feels like an eternity as he silently tries to discern something within your eyes, a spark that he saw back at the bar, until he finally speaks for the first time since the incident.

“Did ya not wanna do it?” he asks in a murmur, almost as if he is uneasy to learn the answer.

The question catches you off-guard, being the only thing that your mind had not anxiously thought could be asked. What are you supposed to say? Under his tender stare you scramble mentally for a believable fib that you can pull off in your distracted state, but the only thing you have is the truth. Goddammit…why can’t you lie to him?

“I- I did, I do, but…” you say in an attempt to explain yourself, but his action causes the words to get lost on your tongue.

This is not something that Lt. Riley is used to doing, he feels a bit too old and out of place for this sort of thing, but if there is one lesson that the seasoned military man in him always remembers, it’s that when you see an opportunity, you take it and so he moves in until his boots are nearly touching the tip of your shoes. Raising his hand to your head, he brushes his rough fingers through a few loose strands of hair hanging down around your face to tuck them delicately back behind your ear. More of your warm cheek is revealed to his touch and he wastes no time in placing his coarse hand to rest up against it.

The sound of his voice hits your ears, but your mind is too numb to make out the words as you continue to stare up into his face while his thumb risks a few gentle strokes along the contour along your jaw. You desperately try to speak up, wanting to ask what he said, but your breath gets caught somewhere in your throat as that tender bit of intimacy disrupts all the involuntary processes that normally conduct themselves to keep you functional.

Being here with him in the soft flickering fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, crammed into this tight space between him and the wall as the natural heat of his body makes the subtle scent of his spicy cologne bloom on his skin, it fills your head with disastrous thoughts that leave you in a haze of intoxication. You swallow hard to gain control.

“W-what?” you ask.

Lt. Riley’s strong jaw shifts beneath his mask, preparing himself to restart an admission that could be disastrous, but you’ve already played your hand and now he feels like he should too. “I said I’m done keepin’ this all in,” he reiterates as the softness of your skin under his rugged hand makes his fingertips ache to feel more, “sittin’ in here countless nights pretendin’ like it’s all fine, tryin’ to keep certain thoughts from gettin’ out. Told myself over and over I was too old for ya, that ya’d never go for a bloke like me, and it worked for a time. Then ya kiss me and suddenly I don’t fuckin’ care anymore. Ya say we’re friends, but, ya see, I’ve got enough mates, sweet’art.”

Drifting his thumb over from your cheek to the corner of your mouth he begins to slowly pull the pad of it across the silky skin of your bottom lip. Your mouth parts open with a faint inaudible gasp as he runs the length of all that tender, yearning flesh that is driving him to the brink of insanity. One kiss, that is all it took and now he is sure that there is nothing else that will satisfy him except for you.

“I wanna be so much more,” he says without breaking eye contact.

The fingers of his opposite hand find themselves at your side and glide eagerly around the band of your jeans they rest right against your hip. As his exploring touch makes contact with the balmy flesh of your pelvis up under your shirt, sparks of electricity feel like they web out over your skin and your breathing quickens with the increasing beat of your aching heart.

“Been thinkin’ a lot ‘bout what I’d do if I ever got a chance wit ya like this.” His voice is heavily accented and husky with the magnitude of his need. “Thinkin’ ‘bout all the fuckin’ desperate things I wanna do to ya, but I never thought I’d get an opportunity like this. And now that we’re both ‘ere, I can’t stop the way I’m thinkin’ ‘bout those things again.”

As Lt. Riley traces burning lines over your skin, goosebumps forming wherever he goes, it’s hard to think of anything outside of how he’s never felt more alive than he does right now against you. His experienced fingers flit across your heated flesh the higher they go up your hip and your body trembles under the contact. Is this wrong? Is this right? He isn’t sure of the answer; shit, he’s getting closer and closer to retirement every goddamn day, but all he knows is that he needs you now more than he has ever needed another being before.

And you need him just as badly.

His inhale is what brings you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. It’s a sharp intake of air and as you focus your sight back onto his eyes, he pauses the movement of his hand before it can get any further up the side of your torso. He’s getting ahead of himself and he needs to hear you to confirm that you need this too.

“So, that’s why I gotta ask again,” he breathes the words into your face. “Did ya wanna fuckin’ kiss me? Or was it really a mistake?”

You can’t help letting out a wavering breath. Had you been holding it in this entire time? “I did want to do it,” you confirm quietly, struggling to get the words out through the dryness in your mouth.

In your thoughts you silently beg the universe to not let this be some alcohol induced dream, even though you can feel his hand playing along your skin, sense the proximity of your bodies and the heat that flows off him to let you know that he is real, still you worry. What if this is all wishful thinking? The product of desperation in wanting something you don’t think you deserve to have? You stare back at him with bright eyes, begging for him to prove to you that this is so much more than delusion.

“I swear from the moment I first saw ya behind the bar, every fuckin’ time ya look at me with those pretty eyes ya nearly make me lose myself,” he says, his body so close that you are being physically swallowed up in his massive presence. “I need ya so fuckin’ bad.”

You look into the covered silhouette of his face and up into those dark eyes, the eyes you have adored from afar for so long, and fuck is it intoxicating to finally be the sole object of their unwavering admiration. It is impossible to not feel the want in his gaze, that same want that is overwhelming you too. And suddenly you realize that neither of you is leaving this bathroom…at least not for a while.

“Y-you don't have to run from it anymore,” you say back softly, “Cause fuck, do I need you just as bad.”

The desperate way you say it makes his whole body shudder and he struggles to control the ache flooding his limbs as the sound conjures to mind images of him pinning you to the wall and taking you with everything he has, capturing your lips himself this time in an embrace that will leave you faint as that insatiable hunger overtakes him.

Fuck, if he gets any harder he is gonna rip through the zipper of his jeans.

Your gaze pleads with him before it shifts down to the area of his face with the one thing you crave in that moment: his lips, his kiss. You need to have those full bits of flesh against your own again, it’s the only thing you can comprehend the feeling of in the haze that the overwhelming nature of his presence is currently producing to cloud your mind. You have to test that what you felt back at the bar wasn’t just the result of exhaustion and liquor, but that all that chemistry you felt in that moment was real.

And as if in answer to the question you haven’t asked, Lt. Riley slips his fingers into the neckline of his black t-shirt to find the hem of his mask and deliberately he pulls the fabric up to reveal his mouth and stubble-covered jaw to you once again, letting the excess cloth rest across the bridge of his prominent nose in the way he usually does it.

He parts his lips open somewhat to let in a little more oxygen as the space inside the bathroom suddenly feels far too small and the air much too stifling as he succumbs to the anticipation of meeting your lips with his again. This time it is deliberate; what if it doesn’t feel like that first time? It would kill him to know that after all the pining and aching for your touch that he has done that the spark he had just felt was all a farce caused by the liquor and unexpected timing.

Yet without even thinking suddenly the lieutenant realizes that his hand is cupping the back of your head, his long fingers tangling into the strands of your hair to hold your head in place and you inhale sharply at the rougher contact. A smile forms on his mouth at your reaction, followed by a low groan that emanates out from deep within his chest.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, ya know that? Pretty girl.”

Those full lips of his ghost themselves over your own until the proximity makes you tremble from their seduction and your eyes flutter shut a moment as you let yourself succumb to the anticipation of when exactly he will break the distance. He waits on baited breath until your eyes slowly flit back open and your gaze meets his before he finishes his thought. “I wanna make ya mine so fuckin’ bad, luv.”

A smile crosses over your mouth as you hold his longing stare. You know he’s giving you an out, a way to step away if this isn’t really what you want, but from the moment your lips met back at the bar, there was no turning from this. “Then what are you waiting for?” you ask in the softest whisper as you can almost taste his breath from the proximity of his mouth. “Kiss me. Make me yours.”

You hear the deep breath he intakes before all at once he leans into you in a frenzy, not able to hold back that overwhelming tension for another second. The grip from his large hand palming through your hair is strong and keeps your head safe as he shoves you both into the wall, his firm torso pressing tightly into your curves as the brunt of his need and months of pent up longing is forced upon your lips with a feverish intensity that makes you instantly lose yourself as explosions like fireworks light up inside your mind.

Over and over he captures your mouth with hot aggression until your lips start to burn from the friction the harder he presses into them. You try to draw in air, but his heated advances on your mouth make it almost impossible to breathe; still, you won’t let him pull away even if he tries. The sparse dusting of stumble along his jaw pricks your cheeks and the skin around your mouth as the taste of the whiskey that he had just downed for courage floods the inside of your mouth from his breath and it hits your tongue with its sharp bite.

Your own hands decide they need to explore the man currently devouring your lips and you run up the back of his muscular neck to the bottom of his mask only for your fingertips to be met with cropped hair at the back of his head. The feeling of your fingers brushing over the short strands near the nape of his neck makes him shiver as the pleasure of the act snakes down his spine and you sigh into his mouth.

Lt. Riley is completely and utterly captivated by you…and he needs more.

The hand he has wrapped around you he draws in towards himself so that you are pressed to him even tighter until your bodies are molded together as if you are one being, your curves meeting the firm muscles along his abdomen, and fuck if there isn’t something hard and throbbing piercing against your inner thigh that he starts to grind into you.

“That’s it lieutenant,” you coax him as you match his movements in that desperate back and forth, scrambling to get as much friction as possible between your aching bodies.

There is a deep grunt as he shakes his head. “Simon,” he growls into your open mouth as he readjusts his hips more squarely against you, “I need ya ta call me Simon. Say my name.”

Christ, his first name tastes like honey on your tongue and you feel feverishly excited to repeat it aloud now that you finally know it. His name. “Simon,” you groan through a break in his mouth’s connection.

Those lips of his that dominate your own are frantic to embrace you until your mouth is on fire from the pressure. It’s like a spell the way you say it and suddenly there is nothing else he wants to hear more. “That’s it,” he breathes into you, “Say it again.”

“Simon.”

He had always been lieutenant or Lt. Riley, but now he is Simon. Just Simon. And even though this has just started, it already feels like he is your Simon.

There is a heat in the middle of his chest, a burning, gnawing desire that has gripped his heart instantly in a desperate chokehold as his essence leaves your soft lips. “Fuck… again, sweet’art,” he begs; never has his name ever sounded so beautiful before and now that he has a taste of it off your tongue, he realizes just how starved he is for it.

You say his name again, this time like a plea for more and it leaves him in a tailspin. His body cries out to feel you, all of you, without any barriers between your skin meeting his. He needs to experience every detail, explore every curve, relish every soft bit of flesh he can get his hands on; he’s waited long enough to have you. First he has to start with his mask. It’s in the way and he has no need to hide from you, not anymore, not ever again.

“Screw this damned thing,” Simon groans with agitation at the fabric still sticking to his heated features; he doesn’t want a single restriction between you both and with a quick pull starting from the back of his head, he rips the mask up and off his face, throwing it away without even caring where it lands.

Cupping your face in between his large palms, he pauses only a moment to take you in as a new man, one entirely free of his anonymity, and allow you to truly see who it is that you crave. There is a vulnerability in his brown eyes that he cannot hold back as if he is waiting for you to change your mind now that you know the face beneath the disguise, but that could not be farther from what you are thinking. The desperate need he has for you shines in the depths of his gaze and it makes your already shallow breathing hitch in your chest.

A gorgeous mess of dirty blonde hair is accentuated with silvery whisps at his temples, making him look distinguished and experienced. His eyes are even more intense now that they are not hidden in darkness and those solid, distinct features are highlighted with a little spackling of hair along his jaw. You can’t help but stare while you scramble to memorize every beautifully mature detail of the man you desire. He is everything and more than you could ever have imagined and all of it only for you.

Reaching up, you trace the contours of his visage with the tips of your fingers as if sight isn’t enough and you can feel him tremble under your gentle touch. You outline old scars and just forming creases around his eyes as if they are precious and something about the tender way you take him in is enough to stop his heart.

The way your eyes linger on his face has his blood racing violently through his veins and in a haze of lust and euphoria he grabs you by the biceps to spin you round before he slides his hands up under your arms to pick you up, setting your ass on the edge of the small, one person sink. Expertly he slides himself between your open legs while pushing them open wider with his hands to accommodate his broad hips.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted ta do this for so long now,” he says as his eyeline locks directly onto your full, juicy pout before he immediately has his hand catch the back of your head again to pull your face back to meet his. He connects your mouths back together with another moist, sticky embrace.

Simon cannot get enough of you, not when it feels like you are meant to take every single ounce of his desire from the moment your lips met each other back at the bar. Unintentionally you roll your hips into him and fuck does it feel good for you to grind against that stiff peak strainging his jeans to capacity.

He tilts your head back, his hands cradling your neck as his thumb brushes down the side of your throat closest to him. So soft, so silky, his lips ache to get a chance to caress such beauty. The longer he stares the more the idea blossoms in his mind that all that free space would look perfect with a little reminder of where he has been.

Never has he had something so gorgeous at his disposal. It’s enough to make a man lose himself.

“Ya know what I really been thinkin’ ‘bout? Wanna markup this pretty neck ‘a yours,” he groans the desperate request into the skin of your lips. “Leave my signature on what’s mine now.”

His.

Fuck, why does that sound so good? Now you can’t think of anything else other than that one word being said in his voice: mine. Nothing has ever made you so instantly needy than the sentiment behind his statement. To be claimed by him is all you want.

“Please,” you beg enthusiastically, “I want you to mark me.”

You’ve barely finished your sentence before your words are quickly followed by an open-mouthed moan as Simon doesn’t waste a single second in moving his lips straight to your throat, using the pad of his thick tongue to lick up to the spot he’s aiming for before latching onto that thunderously pounding vein right beneath your jaw. The sound of your moan pulls a tight knot deep in his belly so that his cock twitches at the tone.

“Gonna leave ya wit somethin’ beautiful,” he grunts the passionate words without lifting his lips off of you. He has to be sure that the pressure takes and leaves the area nice and visible with his signature.

His mouth latches onto the side of your throat just below your ear before you feel the sharp sting as his teeth dig hard into the soft, supple flesh. The pressure is so intense from the suction of his lips you can almost feel the skin bubble up further into his mouth; there is no question that there will be a big, angry, purple blotch by tomorrow.

“Open. Your. Legs.”

With shut eyes you hear his demand through the fullness in his mouth and widen the gap between your thighs just as a broad hand slithers its way inside the top of your jeans and into your panties right up until Simon cups it over your pussy. Your lips are already puffy and slick with your need, the heat filling his palm with your desperation for more as his thick fingers part them like a hot knife through butter.

Gently he uses the pad of his middle finger to circle around the tiny nub at the top of your pussy, that sweet little button full of nerve endings that immediately make you whimper as he plays around it, teasing the sensitive tissue with a light, steady touch without making any contact with it yet. He’s waiting to feel a tremble shake its way through you, your body’s way of begging for more stimulation, before he gives in to the gnawing ache he’s desperately trying to create in you.

“Please,” the whispered plea falls from your raw lips as agony sets in, but he stays the course.

You groan deeply, your body straining to hold on as your clit throbs, and just as your head falls back and your eyes close there is a quiver that ripples through your inner thighs. There is no way for you to know, but you swear that his lips upturn against your neck and suddenly he is stroking the tip of his finger over that pulsing node.

Raising your hands to his shoulders, you dig the tips of your fingers in hard to the muscles in shoulders through his t-shirt to hold on as your entire body is enchanted by his stimulation. The pressure from your touch causes him to grunt excitedly into your neck, aroused by the desperate roughness of the contact, and you can feel the vibration in the back of your throat.

The fluorescent lights overhead flicker with a metallic click and his eyes flutter open just as a bead of sweat catches the light as it rolls down your chest and into the valley between your breasts. Simon watches its entire path as it descends into your cleavage before another grabs his attention. Before this one can get away he licks it up with the tip of his tongue, capturing your salt in his mouth. There is nothing on you that he wants to go to waste, not when he has waited this long to finally have a taste of you.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he moans deeply into your skin as if he is trying to fuse his words with the flesh so that you will carry them with you. “I’m one lucky bastard ta even get the chance ta touch ya.”

“I’m the lucky one,” you breathe. “I’ve wanted you for so long Simon. Just didn’t want to risk looking the fool and driving you away if you didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t stand you not being around.”

Simon pulls from your throat and his face drifts back up to look into yours, his fingers still working their magic. You meet his gaze with an open mouth as the ecstasy builds, the eye contact intensifying the already intimate act.

“I’m not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere,” he says with conviction that it turns your already desperate need for him completely feral.

You tug at his belt, your fingers clumsily fidgeting with the buckle until it finally comes loose and falls away, hitting his hips with a jingle as metal clanks against metal. A swift nip at your bottom lip is his response to being undressed as you grab onto the pull of his zipper and rip it all the way down to reach the seam. His pants are barely hanging onto his body now, clinging ever so carelessly at his hip bones and ready to slip off them at any second with the slightest amount of movement.

“I need you inside me,” you breathe into his mouth as your hands gripped onto his hips push the fabric down, making him lightheaded at your neediness.

Of course you’re curious about the protuberance prodding into you and as the last of his clothing falls away, your eyes drift down. “Fuck…” you whimper in a whisper as you release his cock and it springs to life as it’s no longer confined.

“It’s all yours, sweet’art,” he says as he runs the edge of his teeth across your lip while his hands paw at the waistband of your pants. “Been fuckin’ gnawin’ at the bit to bury it in ya. Goddammit, ya get me so fuckin’ hard I can barely handle myself sometimes. Have to rub one out the moment I get back to base.”

It’s your turn now and he helps to keep you steady while you raise your hips off the sink enough that he can pull down your pants and drag them off your legs, taking your skimpy panties with them so that there’s nothing left to remove. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says, his breathing shaky as he takes you all in. All that glorious, soft, supple skin could not be more beautiful.

You cup his cheek and he comes back into himself, back into the moment with you. “Simon, please.”

That’s all he needs to hear before he moves to align himself at your pulsing and dripping core. “Need ya ta breathe for me,” he reassures, “just breathe.”

Your head is held upright as he peers deep into your eyes while you struggle to take him in, his girth stretching out your tight hole the deeper he goes until your body contours to his specific shape. He tries to speak, but only incoherent, slurred words trip off his tongue at the feeling of his cock being throttled with how tight and wet you are. How can a being so exquisite want someone like him?

“You’re perfect, luv,” he groans as he scrambles to settle himself so that this doesn’t end prematurely by digging his fingers into your hip. “Ya drive me insane, pretty girl.”

God, his honeyed words act as an aphrodisiac and the pleasure is almost too much. “I’ve wanted you for so long Simon, thought I was gonna break everytime you came in for a drink. I need you to fuck me good. I’ve waited so long for this.”

He chuckles as he lifts your chin. “Baby, I only want to make you come,” he says while staring deep into your eyes, clenching so that his cock twitches within you to make you gasp with a surprised smile.

To be inside you is mind-numbing, but that doesn’t stop the need he has to thrust, to shove his cock further and further up into you. Even within the first few minutes he is already pussydrunk so that he is slamming into you with a feral roughness that leaves his rhythm scattered for a bit as his brain only has one objective and that is to make you both fall apart.

One hand, fingers spread wide, braces against the wall aside the mirror, the other rests around the back of your neck as his hips snap up into you with a consistent fluidity. The sink beneath you groans and squeaks in time with each of his thrusts, the unfamiliar strain putting pressure where it connects to the wall.

Having him pounding inside you has you so wet that the sound of slapping skin against skin fills the bathroom and Simon pulls back just enough to watch himself pump in and out of that beautiful opening. A sight like this is deadly and he prays that it is burned into his mind cause he wants this on replay in his thoughts. Nothing could ever look better than this.

Taking two fingers he brings them straight in towards your clit, wasting no time in drawing circles over that overwhelmingly sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips buck hard against him at the extra stimulation until you are pushing down onto his hand, your eyes rolling back as the ecstasy flows through your veins and that recognizable warmth starts to gather in the pit of your stomach.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, each second bringing you ever closer to your release. “Gonna cum soon.”

Those three lethal words he has longed to hear for months and months now only fuel those strong thrusts and quick flicks of your clit. “That’s it, darlin’, fuckin’ come for me,” Simon growls so desperately it makes your head spin. “I need to feel ya.”

The pace never falters even though Simon is hanging on by a thread and his body is burning from the constant movement. He can’t be stopped, not with his goal so close. And all that hard work pays off as with a few more minutes your head finally flicks back and your thighs clamped down around his hips, a cry exploding out of you as you come violently that you nearly fall off the sink, but he isn’t going to let you go anywhere.

“Good girl,” he praises breathlessly. “Ride it out, all the way for me.”

Your core is fluttering around him, squeezing around his cock as he takes you all the way through your ecstasy until it’s too much to handle. His fingers scramble to rip up your shirt off your torso to secure it above your bra; he won’t be able to hold on much longer. A few heavy breaths get panted out in time with his thrusts and that is it, like flicking on a lightswitch he cannot hold off the pressure any longer as it reaches its peak.

His raw mouth latches onto the crook of your neck just as he rips his cock out of you and into his hand to stroke out his orgasm and cover your stomach in his warm cum. Simon’s body shudders as he releases a loud groan with a bass that vibrates through your shoulder as he desperately tries to keep quiet as the intensity of his pleasure rips through him like a tidal wave with each stroke of his hand over his sensitive cock.

“Christ,” he grunts into you as he milks the last bit of cum out and releases his grip on himself.

Simon’s head hangs limp a moment as he breathes, exhaustion flooding his limbs so that they feel weighted, before he leans down and catches your mouth in a much more tender embrace than the ferocious ones he had been placing on it just moments ago. Your fingers run through his sideburns and he can’t help sighing contentedly with a smile meeting your lips.

This has been more than worth the wait. “You’re amazin’ sweetheart,” he murmurs sweetly. “The best thing ta ever happen ta me.”

Simon keeps you in his arms even after he’s gotten you cleaned up and back onto your feet, holding you close to his body as he drags his rough, hardened fingers down over the palm of your hand with a light touch, bringing them down to the tips of your own until goosebumps begin to form along your forearm.

“It’s late; you’ll probably want ta be headin’ home now,” he mutters quietly as his sizable fingers part through the spaces between your own until they latch your hands together.

“You’re right,” you agree with a nod of your head, both of you still reeling in the ecstasy of your copulation as your eyes linger on the tender connection of your hands.

Simon looks up from your conjoined limbs to meet your bright eyes and the smile he greets with his sight leaves him desperate to feel it on his lips. You grip into his hand tighter as you move to step towards the door. “You coming with me? Gotta lock up before we can head to mine.”

He smirks to himself with a shake of his head as he lets you lead him by the hand back out into the bar, ready to head to yours for the night to get lost in you all over again. Fate gave him this opportunity and he is going to take full advantage of enjoying the one thing he’s craved for too long now.

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quartz-kilsviken · 5 months ago

Text

Written in the Runes

Chapter 1

➸ Synopsis: Ekko, your mischievous yet endearing local troublemaker, trails a wealthy academy student from the topside. When you end up with the student’s satchel, you find a notebook filled with intriguing magical research. Unable to resist, you embark on a quest to uncover the secrets of this mysterious scholar.

➸ pairing: jayvik x reader

➸ word count: 3,649

➸ tags: Slow Burn, yearning, eventual smut, not canon compliant

➸ notes: This is going to be an eventual Jayce/Viktor/Reader romance. I want a boyfriend and I want my boyfriend to have a boyfriend. The goal is for this to be an incredibly slow burn. Timeline might differ slightly to the show, and I’m making shit up as I go. I don’t understand LOL lore or magic, nor do I want to. You can also find me on AO3 Quarts_Kilsviken :)

➸ Next Chapter Link- Pt.2

For centuries, art has served as a means to capture moments otherwise lost to time. It functions as a time capsule, preserving not only events but the emotions felt by the artist. Families fleeing war, yet pausing long enough to capture the image of a single flower—the delicate curve of its petals, the vivid color stark against an ash-covered ground. A mother, imparting forgotten magic beneath the soft glow of firelight, a pale blue shimmer in the child’s wide eyes. Runes etched into the dirt, knowing they can be erased in an instant. These fragments call to you, urging you to remember moments you’ve never known. Moments your mother never had the chance to share with you.

As your pencil glides across the thin paper, you wonder if, one day, someone will look back at your captured moments. Will they find meaning in the images of waves crashing against the dock and sense the longing that fills them? You doubt it. The flimsy paper will likely disintegrate into dust within a few years. Still, you continue—perched atop a warehouse roof, waiting for the familiar ship to arrive. These moments are yours, the sunrise painting colors across your pages unseen in your home.

With a long stretch, you stuff your sketchbook into your bag and begin the familiar descent down the side of the building. The cool breeze from the water seeps deeper into your jacket as you approach the ship. After a minute of waiting, the cold settles into your bones and you decide it’s far too frigid to remain outside any longer. Avoiding the eyes of the workers, you slip up the ship's ramp, hurrying down into the cabin.

“Got anything good today, Khal?” you call out, trying to suppress a wince as you hear the loud thump and the string of curses that follow. The yordle emerges from behind a stack of crates, rubbing the top of his head.

“Ah, damn it, I told you to stop coming in here. Couldn’t you wait another five minutes?” Khal mutters, continuing to gather various items from the crates, placing them carefully into a large black bag.

“I’m doing you a favor, really. Now you won’t have to make the trip outside. It’s windy today, Khal—you might get blown away,” you tease. He glares up at you, unamused by your joke as you stand over the bag. Realizing he has what you want, you try to smooth things over with your most innocent smile. “Seriously, you don’t have to thank me for going the extra mile. But if you do—”

“Sorry, kid, no magic stuff today.” He shakes his head, zipping the bag shut with a snap. “They’ve been cracking down at the borders. Rumors of a new drug shipment coming to the docks are making it impossible to get anything in.” Khal sighs, sensing your disappointment, though it’s clear he’s frustrated with the situation as well. “Look, I managed to get some paint from Noxus for you and the kid. I know it’s not what you were hoping for, but—”

You cut him off with a tight hug, leaning down to wrap your arms around the furry little man. Though he doesn’t return it, when you pull away, you spot the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth, trying to suppress a smile. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Now get out of here before the enforcers start their rounds.” You grab the bag, tossing it over your shoulder. With a quick farewell, you make your way away from the water.

As you enter the Lanes, the cool breeze morphs into warm, acrid smog. Your feet instinctively know the route home, staying in the shadows so no one catches sight of the bag hanging from your back. You push through the door of the familiar shop, relieved to unload the weight of the bag. Benzo looks up at you from behind the counter as you make your way over. With a grunt, you hoist the bag onto the table,

“You know, Benzo, I should get hazard pay for this. My back’s gonna be shot by the time I’m thirty, I swear. Should start saving for an early retirement,” you joke.

“You’re already robbing me blind with what I pay you, little lady. Anyone give you trouble on your way back?” Benzo peers at you over the rim of his glasses.

“Nah, not today,” you say, hopping over the counter and tossing a few items onto the shelves. “With all these new trade precautions, I bet most people don’t think it’s worth the hassle anymore.” You wrinkle your nose at a rusty pocket watch, trying to decide if it’s even worth trying to sell. Benzo sighs and settles back in his chair, apparently leaving the rest to you. You continue sorting through the shelves, but something’s off. No, scratch that—a lot is off. You stop mid-motion, eyes darting to the now-empty display. “Were we robbed?”

It takes him a second to figure out where you’re looking, and when he does, he chuckles, clearly unbothered. “Nah, some academy kid cleared out the display a couple hours ago. Ekko made a killing off him.” You knew you’d never have enough to buy even one of the items, but it still stings to know they’re gone.

“What would an academy kid even want with magic artifacts?” You bite the words out, too sharp, too bitter. You immediately try to reel it back. “He probably doesn’t even know what he’s got—just hoarding them to show off to his rich friends.”

Benzo shrugs like he’s heard it all before. “You know the drill. We don’t question customers.” He takes a beat, then adds, “But if it helps, the kid seemed pretty knowledgeable.” That makes you feel a little better, though not enough to erase the empty, hollow feeling in your chest. The case sits vacant, mocking you.

Suddenly, the door slams open with a crash, followed by a flash of white hair as the little whirlwind zips across the room. Before you can even react, the kid darts through the back door like he’s on a mission.

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing at the sight of Benzo, stone-faced, staring after the boy. With a quick swipe of your hand, you snatch the paint from the now empty bag, slip through the door, and head after him. Listening carefully, you figure he’s made it down the stairs to his room. You knock softly before poking your head inside. Ekko’s in the process of shoving something under his bed, looking incredibly guilty. When he sees you, his face lights up with a giant smile. The kid’s clever, but not great at hiding things.

“I’ve got something for you, little man,” you say, leaning against the bed. You wave the paint palette in front of his face, teasing him, but snatch it away before he can grab it. “If you want it, you’re gonna have to tell me what’s under there.”

Ekko starts pacing, looking like he’s weighing his options, then stops, squints at you, and says, “You have to promise you won’t tell Benzo.”

You put on a mock-serious face, tapping your chin. “Depends. Did you kidnap someone? ‘Cause I’m not sure I wanna be an accomplice to kidnapping.”

“No,” Ekko says, a little too quickly, his eyes darting nervously under the bed.

“Fraud?”

“No.”

“Murder?”

“No.”

You chuckle and shake your head, finally giving in. “Fine. I won’t tell Benzo.”

Ekko resumes his pacing, looking oddly pleased with himself. “Okay, so this guy comes in earlier today. Buys a bunch of fancy stuff—the kind we usually keep behind glass. He’s got a ton of money, I’m talking a lot.” He pauses, grinning. “Obviously, I charged him double.” He snickers to himself, then continues. “Anyway, I was curious, so I followed him.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised, but somehow, you still are. You stare at him, rubbing your forehead. “Ekko, really? Benzo said he’s an academy student. You followed him all the way topside?”

Ekko avoids your eyes, and you already know the answer. “Ekko.”

“No one saw me, I swear!” He glances back at the bed, stalling. After a deep breath, he adds, “Okay, so the guy put his bag down to grab his keys, then went inside—probably too distracted with the rest of his stuff to remember he left it behind.”

You gasp. Without thinking, you dive under the bed and, sure enough, pull out a satchel. You immediately regret your earlier promise. “Ekko, what if there’s something valuable in here? If he gets enforcers involved and this is going to be the first place they look.”

Ekko waves a hand dismissively. “Come on. Think about it. He came in for a bunch of illegal stuff. He’s not going to risk it. Plus, he’s loaded. Whatever’s in that bag, he can buy it again.”

You look at the satchel again, hesitating for a moment. Then, curiosity wins out. You pat the floor next to you, and Ekko eagerly plops down beside you. You pop open the bag and dump its contents onto the floor in one smooth motion. Ekko dives into the mess with excitement, while you start inspecting the items. It’s a mess—books, pens, random junk. Exactly what you’d expect from an academy student.

Ekko picks up a wallet and flips through it before remembering that he already cleaned out the guy’s coin. Losing interest, he starts to toss it aside, but you snatch it up before he can. It’s plain, brown leather with neat stitching—nothing special, but maybe it’s worth a little something. As you dig inside, your fingers catch on a student ID card. It’s scratched up but still in decent condition. You flip it over, and a pair of big eyes stare back at you. The blurry picture shows a young man, maybe in his early twenties, with a wide, gap-toothed grin. Handsome, you think, not at all who I imagined. You slide the card back into place and shove the wallet into your jacket pocket.

Ekko’s rummaging through the rest of the bag, clearly unimpressed by the contents. You laugh at the face he’s making and, still grinning, grab the paint you’d dropped earlier. “Khal said these are from Noxus. Definitely worth a lot. So, don’t let Mylo use them to paint middle fingers on Jericho’s stall.”

Ekko snickers, jumping up to stow the paint away, tossing the pens he grabbed from the bag into a drawer with a careless flick. He starts cramming the rest of the bag’s contents back in, and you look over at him, an eyebrow raised. “Do you mind if I, uh, borrow your stolen bag?”

Without missing a beat, Ekko flashes you a sly grin. “Sure, but just so you know, that officially makes you an accomplice now.”

You can’t help but laugh as you leave Ekko’s room and wander down the hall. By the time you collapse on your bed, the exhaustion hits you like a wave. Dock runs only happen once a month, but they require staying up all night—leaving right after sunset and staying until the ship docks at sunrise. It used to be so much easier—endless nights that never seemed to take a toll. But now, as your joints creak and protest, you feel like a 23-year-old who’s already past their prime. You glance down at the satchel, chewing the inside of your cheek. You’ve already gone through it—hell, you dumped its contents all over Ekko’s floor. So why the sudden wave of guilt?

You decide to be more careful this time, taking things out slowly. The first item is a crumpled piece of paper, which turns out to be a grocery list. You set it aside with a sigh and reach for the next thing: a hardcover book, dark blue canvas, its corners fraying with age. The moment you touch it, you can tell it’s old—the scent of it, the brown tint of the pages. The text is foreign, some language you can’t quite place. Maybe it’s from overseas? Curiosity gnaws at you, but you set the book aside and move to the next.

This one catches your attention immediately. The cover’s worn, but it’s the script inside that makes your heart beat a little faster. You flip through the pages and realize it’s a grimoire. Runes cover every inch, some familiar, others completely alien. How did he get his hands on this? Sure, he’s rich, but something so detailed, so rare? There’s no way it would’ve come from Piltover. The heat of anger burns through you, a deep, familiar ache that’s almost like grief. He’s carrying around a book that details the same magic your family nearly died for. But is it really just anger? No, it’s something else. The pages seem to hum, drawing you in, much like your mother’s paintings once did—pulling you toward something. Your past? No… not this time. It’s something else entirely.

Finally, you pull out the last book from the satchel. It feels heavier, like it’s carrying something more than just weight. You run your fingers over the hammer etched into the cover, studying its details before opening it. Inside, it’s filled with messy notes and diagrams, all jumbled but with a clear purpose. This is it—this is what he’s been working on. He’s trying to harness magic.

Though your body is screaming for rest, you can’t bring yourself to put the book down. When you finally glance at the clock, it’s already 5 AM, but you’re still lost in the pages. You’re hooked—caught in the madness of it all. It’s brilliant. Insane. Revolutionary. And completely, utterly terrifying. His scrawl is all over every page, his signature tucked into the corner of each one. Even though this is clearly just one of many notebooks—a fraction of his larger body of work—it all makes perfect sense. Harnessing arcane energy through crystals. Capturing raw, chaotic magic and transforming it into a usable, practical source.

It’s clear he knows what he’s doing, but there’s something missing in his understanding of the arcane itself. His notes drip with frustration, especially where he’s tried to decode the runes—almost every page filled with scribbles, crossed-out lines, and half-baked theories. It’s as if he’s so close, yet there’s a final piece that eludes him.

And then it hits you. You might be that missing piece.

You’re no scholar, and you certainly aren’t a genius, but you know more than most when it comes to the arcane. You’ve lived it, felt it, and you can see the gaps in his research—things that could be the key to unlocking it all. Maybe you could help him. You feel the weight of the possibility, the urgency of his discovery. It’s world-changing. The visions he’s drawn out on each page show the immense potential for how this technology could revolutionize not just Piltover, but the Undercity, too. His research could bridge the gap between the two worlds, completely reshaping everything in its wake.

But as the minutes slip by and your eyelids grow heavier, you realize your body can no longer keep up with your racing thoughts. The words on the page blur into one long stream, and before you know it, your head tilts to the side. Your hand slips from the notebook as sleep finally pulls you under, the weight of your thoughts fading into the quiet dark.

You’re stirred awake by a quiet knock on your door. “You dead in there?” Benzo’s voice filters through, soft but insistent. As your mind clears, you realize your bed is strewn with the contents of the stolen satchel. Panic flickers for a moment before you shove the books back into the bag, tossing it under the bed just as he softly cracks the door open. Benzo stands in the doorway, glancing over you with a raised brow.

“You look like death,” he says with a tired chuckle. “How long you been sleeping?”

“Uh...” You glance at the clock. It’s already 6 PM. You wince. “About thirteen hours.”

He rubs his temples, sighing. “Get cleaned up, then come watch the shop for a while. I’ve gotta head out with Vander.” The fatigue is clear in his face, the lines around his eyes deepening.

“What happened? Is he okay?” You start picking out clothes, your movements automatic as the weight of the situation begins to settle in.

He exhales sharply, dropping down onto your bed with a heavy sigh. “Vander’s fine. But the kids... well, they’ve stirred up some serious trouble. You missed all the fun. Yesterday there was an explosion and a chase topside. And today? Enforcers barging in here looking for four kids. They tried to rob a rich academy topsider, but things went sideways. I heard the whole side of the building got blasted off, and now the Enforcers are crawling all over the Undercity.”

Your stomach drops. “Was anyone hurt?”

He glances at you, his expression softening. “No, thank the gods. But the building—turns out it was the Kirammans’ place. What was in there? I don’t even want to think about it.” His gaze sharpens. “The kids will be fine. Vander and I will handle it. But they need to lay low for a while. Knowing them, though, that’ll be a battle.”

You nod quietly, though the weight in your chest only grows heavier as he exits your room. After a quick shower, you find yourself behind the shop counter, brown cloak draped loosely around you, trying to mask the weight on your shoulder. The place is eerily still, save for the hum of your own racing thoughts. Your eyes stay fixed on the door as you wait, the uneasy silence pressing in.

When the door finally opens, it’s Ekko who walks in, looking surprised to see you behind the counter instead of Benzo. His usual brash energy is subdued, and he leans against the counter, avoiding your eyes.

“Bet you already heard what happened,” he mutters, picking at some invisible spot on the counter. “Vander’s really upset with us.”

The weight of his words hits harder than you expect. For all the bravado Ekko tries to show, you know how deeply he feels. You reach over, ruffling his hair, offering what little comfort you can. “Hey, little man, it’s gonna be okay. Everyone makes mistakes. I get why you did it. Vander and Benzo, they’ve made their own share of screw-ups, so they have plenty of experience fixing them.” Ekko gives a small, grateful smile at that. “Go get some sleep, alright? Things’ll cool down by tomorrow.”

Just as you finish speaking, the bell rings, and Benzo reappears, starting to lower the shutters. Before he locks the door, you move to slip out. “Get some rest, you two. I’m heading out for the night.”

Ekko gives you a tired wave as he heads for the back. Benzo, however, doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“You know,” he says, arms crossed, voice low, “I can’t stop you, but I’m still gonna tell you—it’s a bad idea. Enforcers are everywhere. There’s fighting on every corner.”

You both hold eye contact for a long beat, but he lets out a resigned sigh. “No arguing with you, is there? Go on, get out of here.” He opens the door for you, and you catch him off guard with a quick hug before slipping out into the night. His grumble follows you as the door clicks shut behind you.

The streets are a war zone. Enforcers litter every corner, and the air is thick with tension. You move through the Undercity carefully, staying in the shadows as much as you can, until you reach Piltover. There, it’s quieter, and for a moment, you feel a strange kind of relief.

There’s no sign of enforcers from atop the large buildings, but as you crouch to catch your breath, the sight in front of you makes your chest tighten. From this angle, calling it an explosion doesn’t even come close. The place looks like it’s been torn apart. A sinking feeling settles in your gut.

It makes sense the building looks abandoned now��who would stick around in a wreck like this? But then you realize it: you came here without a plan. What was your angle? Strut in, say you’ve got stolen research, and hope for the best? Ridiculous. Still, you’ve come this far. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to get a bit closer.

With a deep breath, you sprint across the gap to the next rooftop, landing lightly and pausing to steady yourself. And there they are. Two figures, barely visible in the wreckage, illuminated only by the faint glow of a lamp. One is scribbling on a chalkboard, broad shoulders following the movements of his writing. The other holding a book in one hand and gripping a cane in the other, standing a step behind him. You squint, trying to make out the messy writing, but the shadows blur everything.

Just then, they turn—though you know they can’t possibly see you. Still, a chill runs down your spine, and you freeze, watching them move through a door, disappearing deeper into the building.

That’s when it hits you—the pull. The whispers, soft in the breeze. The tug in your chest. Every moment, every choice, has led to this. The memories flood back: your mother’s hands glowing with magic, her soft voice teaching you. Benzo, taking your hand as he led you from the ruins of your home, offering you a new place where you could rebuild, and with it, the hope that you could be more.

And now you’re here.

You feel the wind, the pull drawing you forward. Without thinking, you leap.

#viktor arcane #jayce x viktor #viktor x reader #jayce talis #arcane jayce #jayce x reader #jayvik #jayvik x reader

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embersofhope-if · 1 year ago

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What interactive fiction would you recommend (besides this one)?

oh anon i follow over 150 if blogs let me get you some of my favorites😊 This is very long so all of them are under the cut🫶

some of these you'll probably already have heard of bc of how popular they are, but trust me, they're popular for a reason, lmao

these ones all have demos (if i messed up and some dont uh ignore that)

@infamous-if - "You're going to be a superstar, no matter what it takes." genuinely one of my favorites ifs (seven lawless my beloved please come back home the kids are asking whats taking so long)

@coeluvr - "You play as the only remaining member of the royal family of Vesphire; living in the home of the man who took away everything from you." another ive been obsessed with recently. i will forever love revenge stories (and my pookie helios)

@merrycrisis-if - "As a late 20-something year-old fresh from a recent break-up and struggling to pay rent in New York, life throws up more questions than answers."

@ramonag-if - "When your village is razed to the ground, you're left fleeing with an exiled prince. You can trust no one but each other. Your father's dying wish was to protect the prince, but can you really trust a man who was exiled from his kingdom?"

@nyehilismwriting / Project Hadea - "Set in a distant future, you play the role of an elite operative of Scytha Industries, a private contracting firm. ‘Contracting’, in this case, refers to anything from political assassinations, to private security, to bodyguard services."

@vapolis - "You’re a mercenary, gun for hire, assassin, information extractor, delivery person – call it what you want, because the people that hire you for your services don’t give much of a shit what you call yourself as long as you actually get them what they want."

@godsandvillains-if - "As the only metahuman with the ability to wield the powerful Chaos Magic, your very blood holds the answers to unlocking the secrets behind the control of time and space, but it has the drawback of being almost completely volatile."

@hvllowheart - "LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER is a spy game where you take on the role of an agent under the codename Wraith, who up until two years ago was one of the best agents TERRA has ever made. now the agency returns into your life and pulls you back into the field as agents go missing by the dozens."

@eyesofshan-if - "Years ago, you were uprooted from the only home you had ever known and captured to be sold as a slave. Now, war is at your doorstep once more while you are left in a delicate position — as a commander of the country that invaded your homeland. While investigating a case of illegal human trafficking, you come across a plot that threatens to rip this tentative peace apart."

@apt502-if - "Moving from your small home to New York City was supposed to be a dream. You were supposed to start your new life with your long-distance partner and dive headfirst into full-on adulthood. Everything was supposed to be perfect. How can you not love being in your mid-twenties in the Big Apple?That is until your put-together, white collar partner dumps you the same day you arrive. Fun."

@acourtofserpents - "As the only human in the Kingdom of Faerie, you're no stranger to shining eyes that hold looks filled with hatred, lips painted in the color of forest fruits whispering your name, heads with pointed ears turning at your every step. Though you long for their approval, for a place amongst the wicked immortals, they remind you with every breath you take that as you came from dirt, to dirt you will return."

@softlyopulent-if - "All of King Adder’s children are a mystery to the common folk, but you—you are nothing but a ghost. A ghost, that spends eighteen years locked away in the deepest part of the palace, so that no eyes may lay upon you.And those that do—they do not treat you kindly.And when you are finally of age, at last, you are betrothed to the child of the King of a far away kingdom, to secure an alliance that your father has been seeking for years.And you are swept away to a place even more foreign than your own land, to be wed to a stranger that looks at you with contempt. To live in a kingdom of citizens that despise you. And perhaps, just perhaps, fight a war."

@heromaker-if - "Stories of heroes, legends and chosen ones are commonplace. But you'd never thought it was your child who would have to save the world from the Demon Lord's clutches."

@theabyssal - "In The Abyssal, you assume the control of a powerful deity that was betrayed by their fellow gods. Imprisoned against your will for all eternity, you had a long time to plan your revenge."

@milaswriting - "By birth, and association, you are one of the most famous people in the big city of Lehsa. Your father's the mayor, and you're from a bright, vibrant, bustling city... and yet, until recently, you didn't realise all the secrets yourself and the city held."

@zico-if - "You were supposed to be a sacrifice in order to bring an eldritch god to your realm, a sacrifice that was never supposed to live. Instead of dying and summoning the god intended, you find yourself face to face with an ancient being that was chained and locked away for the horrors they once committed."

@collegetennisoriginstory - "Experience the ups-and-downs of life as a freshman on the Cargill University varsity tennis team amongst a colorful cast of characters."

@disenchantedif - "You used to be a beacon of hope. Now they only know you as the failure, the Unchosen. Will you rise above them? Will you become better or far worse than they could ever imagine?"

@bouncyballcitadel - "Play as a first-year surgery intern at Citadel Health. Will you become the star intern and curry the favor of the chief? Or will you uncover Citadel Health’s secrets and break a story or two? This will be the best and worst year of your life. Don’t forget to save lives and break some hearts along the way."

@leoneliterary - "You play as a thief pressed into the employ of a mysterious nobleman. With the your life, the fate of your guild, and your honor on the line, you'll have to navigate the perils of the royal court and combat a more mystical threat. The story is set in Cusmo, the naturally fortified, desert capital of Hashind, and will showcase the much praised Upper Cusmo, the crime ridden Lower Cusmo, and much more."

@doriana-gray-games - "Play as your version of Sherlock Holmes in this romance detective game!"

@fallenlightsif - "You are the half-sibling of High General Ezrah Rhys and have lived the past twelve years of your life in Kesdon, the capital of Ebia. You've spent most of your time training and honing your skills for the future that awaits you. A future that is entirely your own."

@shai-manahan - "They call you Ripper. It’s a horrendous name to give to a detective like you, and definitely not one you chose for yourself, but you suppose it’s to be expected given your reputation for putting powerful people behind bars. Businesses feared you. The other cops hated you. Local gangs despised your entire existence. Yet, despite all of that, you remained untouched. Until that day, when all the lies and the deception and the foolish mistakes turned your life upside down."

@larkingame - "someone is after you. for over a decade and a half now, you’ve traveled up, down and across the country--running schemes and hunting fiends with your mentor, con-man-by-day, vampire-hunter-by-night, Wyatt Abrams--the prolific vampire slayer and the living descendant of Gregory Abrams, founder and prophet of the Abrams Family, the nomadic vampire-hunting cult that raised you--and was wiped out years ago. carrying the abrams name means also means carrying on it's enemies--but that isn't to say you haven't forged a couple of your own along the way. now, it seems someone is trying to make good on old threats and promises. they've placed a bounty on your head. so you and wyatt do what you do best: you run away. to some little town, out nevada ways, where the title of town preacher is unexpectedly thrust upon you--bringing back years of trauma you thought long tucked away."

@evertidings - "you are a bounty hunter. responsible for taking in rogue supernaturals, you work for IAOS—the international agency of supernaturals—where, alongside your best friend and partner, you two have quickly become the best hunting duo of the branch. after a particularly tricky hunt, you brief your boss, Caine Atheron, and come back to work the next day to find that he has mysteriously disappeared overnight, the company is now in the hands of his best friend, Sebastian Mai. and though no one else seems to question it, something tells you that there's more to the story."

@rotten-games - Regrets Of The Traitor: "You are the Ruler of Hadaria after killing the previous Queens and betraying all who once trusted you. Sat upon the throne with all the power available to you, one would be forgiven for believing you finished with your quest. With a strange figure in your dreams speaking vague prophecies of magical artifacts, a mysterious cult moving into the city, and a group intent on unseating you from your place, perhaps you’re way in over your head for a farmer’s kid. City of Immortals: "You follow a pair of siblings worlds apart as they get accustomed to their new realities in two very different worlds. One trapped in an unnatural desert wasteland where every resource has a scarcity, not knowing if they’ll be the only one left when everything turns to dust, the other working as a private investigator in a sprawling underground metropolis of the undying. Each not knowing the other is alive, will they unravel the mysteries that somehow connect their two new homes?"

@shepherds-of-haven - "Shepherds of Haven is a dark fantasy interactive fiction game. In it, you play as a Mage living in a world where magic is outlawed and your people—those possessing supernatural powers—are oppressed and reviled. The world is ruled by humans who believe in science, technology, and industry: at best, you and your kind are nothing more than a fairytale, and at worst you are the state’s greatest threat."

@someoneverypretty-world - "As a child, growing up in the slums of Hvinir without any guardians, you believed you would not live to see 30. Until Haven, a thief guild, took you in and taught you how to survive. Facing hardships, the guild leader tasks you to sneak into the castle with the mission to take."

@northern-passage - "The Northern Passage is an 18+ horror fantasy CYOA, where you play as a hunter sent up north to investigate a series of missing people along the border of your home country and in the port cities of the Blackwater. Working with your handler, Lea, you will travel north and discover that things are far worse than you ever could have imagined, and that there is something powerful lurking out in the deep, dark sea…"

@thedecoy-if - "♔ The Decoy is a dark fantasy that follows you, a 21st century normal human, kidnapped to an alternate magical universe to play the part of the missing heir to a powerful throne...who also happens to be your doppelgänger. ♔"

@ripperplague - "You are a doctor, a prodigy in hiding. Deep in the underbelly of Valeris, you hide among the shadows. You work hard to wring the blood stains off your palms, your face...your soul. Redemption and revenge are parallel goals, the flames of rage and disgust mingling. How could anyone ever love you?"

These ones dont have a demo yet, but im still absolutely obsessed

@pavedinashes-if - "You're only 20 when suddenly your life goes bam! Throwing you into a whole new city, a different country even. Wasn't part of the plan, but you know how life loves to mess with plans. People happened, stuff happened, and suddenly you're on the move. The new chapter ahead? Buckle up, 'cause it's not gonna be all sunshine and rainbows. And guess what? Your step-mom? Yeah, she's right there in the same city. She's always had this knack for trying to steer your ship, like every decision's a GPS checkpoint. But hey, there's this one thing that's never let you down—your skateboard. It's like the buddy that's been with you through thick and thin, the one that never bails. Among all this craziness it's like your anchor. So, the big question is—can you break out of the loop you got in? Find your place in the world and restart or lose yourself in temptation? Time to find out."

@riptide-if - "Your dad has always said you swim as if your were born to be in the water; the rest of your family has always said that he is the whole reason you turned out like that. So, it's not really a surprise when you had used all the money you got for your 7th birthday to buy a surfboard. And even less of a surprise when you started joining small surf competitions by the time you were 10, later followed by bigger competitions. It seems you are the only one surprised when it turns out you're able to compete in the World Surfer's League's Ultimate Tournament Tour*. Thrown into a mix of fellow surfing prodigies, rookies, and pros, do you really have what it takes to win?"

@weepinwriter - "You are inmate No. 1441, incarcerated in Tartarus, the most notorious prison on the continent. You find yourself imprisoned for a crime that you do not remember committing, leaving you in a state of uncertainty about your own identity and purpose. The first memory you have is awakening to the sensation of a gun being shoved into your mouth."

@whatawaitsus - "Despite being one of the most expensive schools in the nation, nothing particularly interesting has happened at the school in the nine years you've been here— aside from the occasional accidental possession caused by a ghost or the common room getting flooded after a nixie gets too frustrated over their homework. That is until students start to go missing."

@evermount - "Blue-suited guards stand in every corner, but they're no threat—you're under threat. And this is how you keep safe. It's necessary; the council said so themselves. Under no circumstances shall Evermount be left, ever. So, no one has, and no one intends to. Why would you? It's peaceful—you're at peace. You have your spouse, and you have your house; everyone's happy. This is all you've ever known."

@forsakensword-if - "When the Deathless, an Ancient Evil that hasn’t been seen in over two million years, returns to Earth, it threatens the extremely precarious peace that has settled between the warring factions of Heaven and Hell. God, in an effort to protect Humanity from the consequences of a war between the Angels and Demons, sends Heaven’s best warriors to banish the Deathless once more. When that ultimately fails, it is declared that God’s Sworn Sword and Heaven’s Chief Angel will be charged with finding a way to destroy the Deathless once and for all. That Angel is you. The Archangel Michael."

@velena-if - "You wake up in a dark, cold place with no memories of yourself, save for one: the memory of your death. It becomes clear soon enough that you are in the Nav, the domain of the goddess of death, Morana, and the sanctuary of all the evil spirits and monsters. For you, Nav will be the place where your life changes forever."

@countdown-if - "Three months ago, life took a sharp turn. Your mother found herself entangled in a situation so bad, she couldn't dig her way out of it, like usual. This time, the hole was way too deep. She needed help, and the only people capable of aiding her were the same ones she had vowed never to allow back into her life, let alone introduce to you and your younger sibling. Who were they? Your grandparents—a powerful and well-established duo. In short, they did manage to help your mother back on her feet, but not without strings attached—never without strings. Now, you're facing a senior year in a private school, fully funded by none other than grandma and grandpa, dearest. The only task at hand: do what your mother couldn't—graduate."

@dropout-if - "This is your first summer home since you began studying in Stanford. That is what everyone thinks. This is your first summer home since you dropped out of college, thus becoming the biggest disappointment in your neighborhood. That is what only you know. "

@stonewall-if - "Stonewall Military Academy: the most brutal, merciless, and unforgiving boarding school in the country. Most recruits either desert or die by the end of their first year. It is where the fiercest and deadliest killers are trained and molded to be the military's steel fist. And it is not for the faint of heart."

@viperdove-if - "You are the Dove, the heir to one of the most powerful crime families in your country. The grip your family--your father--has on their side of the land is tight, and now that you've reached adulthood it's time for you to be fully absorbed into the machinations of gang warfare. That means opium, mercenaries, assassinations. In this ancient world, blood moves people just as much as money does."

@fallen-if - "You are an individual that has been known by many aliases over the years. Child of the dawn, the original sinner, star of the morning. But no matter the name, your identity remains the same. You are the one that defied the heavens, the one that cast aside the shackles of tradition and broke free from the constraints of the divine. You are Lucifer Morningstar - The Fallen Angel. "

@maboroshi-if - "Maboroshi is an Interactive Fiction Game based in the world of Naruto, however, all events within the story span during the end of the First Shinobi War and the beginning of the Second Shinobi War."

@greatprotector-if - "Forced out of your family's farm against your will, you are now an ocean away from home, and you have somehow been chosen to be the main protector of the heir to some kingdom you’ve hardly even heard of. The spot's only open because the former protector died of old age, so that's probably a good indicator that it won't be as strenuous as it sounds. But despite that, you pour yourself into your work. You can't help it. You feel safer decked out in armour, and you like having something you're trusted to look after. Protect some royalty, cover all your blind spots, and try not to worry about all you've left behind."

@retribution-if - "Retribution, He Cries is a revenge story set in the Dark Ages of the fictional world of [REDACTED] and other realms."

@thescarsilivewith-if - "You were a kind monarch once. After your mother’s brutal reign, you thought your people needed respite. Evidently, they didn’t think the same since their bloodthirst only increased. Three years after your coronation, your mother’s favourite consort dethroned you with the army and the clergy’s support. As you fled from the palace together with your spouse, from an arranged marriage celebrated only three months earlier, you were found by slavers. You managed to save your spouse but not yourself. Four years later, your spouse finds you, though you’re not the same person they knew. You are not changed in spirit alone, however, for your magic grew in your captivity and now you’re unbound. When the crown chose you as its owner, you wanted peace for your kingdom. Now the only thing you crave is revenge."

#thanks anon!#this took me way too long lmao #i was gonna add more but u can only @ 50 blogs in one post🙁#anyways! enjoy🫶#rec list #other ifs.

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no1whippedcreamenjoyer · 4 months ago

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Do you have any headcanons about the spire gang (shadow milk, Truthless recluse, Candy Apple and Black Sapphire?) for example I have a headcanon that Truthless is actually a huge gossip once you get him going and that candy apple and black sapphire include him in fun minion activities.

So I DEFINITELY do, but they don't start out fun

I'm gonna label these the hurt, and the comfort

Trigger Warning for Candy Apple using 'autistic' as an insult in the comfort (she's autistic)

---- THE HURT -----

I think Black Sapphire and Candy Apple were kind of raised in the spire, that's why they're Shadow Milk's only cookie minions left.

Candy Apple claims that Shadow Milk created her.

And Shadow Milk also refers to Recluse as 'a new child of deceit'

Who are the other children of deceit? Candy Apple and Black Sapphire

I think the reason for Candy Apple and Black Sapphire's collective crashout in BY8 is primarily because;

They blame Pure Vanilla for Shadow Milk's neglectful behavior

AND they're scared he likes these new kids; Gingerbrave, Strawberry, and Wizard Cookie More than Them.

Shadow Milk made rooms for all four of them, Shadow Milk stopped being super cruel to the kids during the card game- Shadow Milk seemed fully intent on keeping the kids around

Even if they don't have a parent/child relationship- they both seemed to feel like they were being replaced.

I think if Truthless Recluse had stayed in the spire, he would have a hard time reaching out to them.

And I also don't even think Shadow Milk realizes that they See Him as a father figure. He's not a terrible father on purpose. I'm certain he /wants/ kids because of how he interracted with the kids prior to throwing them off a building. He's just an idiot who doesn't understand children (because he was never a child) and thinks they have a working relationship.

---- THE COMFORT----

Okay so I have an AU that is either going to be the ending of reluctant truth or a total seperate War Is Over AU/Domestic AU

With Pure Vanilla's help Shadow Milk ends up realizing he DOES have kids, and owning up to his mistakes- like- a lot.

Black Sapphire and Candy Apple move into the Vanilla Kingdom, and Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk personally paint their rooms. Candy Apple's has a mural of an Apple Tree in it and Black Sapphire's has a mural of bats running a radio show (sort of like the one in texas chainsaw 2)

They both go to school at Pardaedia institute- And Shadow Milk apologizes to Latte to try to get them in

She says if he really wants to make it up to her, they're in need of a new theatre teacher

Cue Shadow Milk teaching actual children and not graduate students for the first time in his entire life

and unexpectedly? Loving the hell out of it

Candy Apple is proud to be the self proclaimed best actress in theatre class (Shadow Milk keeps avoiding giving her leading roles so it doesn't look like he's playing favorites)

Cream Puff Cookie offers to be friends first- and Candy Apple tries to be Mean About it. "I don't NEED friends- what are you autistic?"

"Oh- um- yes- actually?"

"mmmmmmmmmmmmm. That gross old man Pure Vanilla says I am too. Meet me in the auditorium at lunch. You can eat with me. Have you ever tried putting Syrup in your hair? I think you'd look pretty"

Princess Cookie and Knight Cookie spend a semester at the school because Princess is looking to improve her magic

This leads to Candy Apple being forced to apologize. Which makes her HATE Princess Cookie. Which then leads to a 'Well my dad could beat your dad' arguement and then-

'Well ANYONE could beat My Dad, Candy Apple Cookie, But I bet Your Dad Couldn't Beat My Grandpar!'

Shadow Milk is SOMEHOW dragged into a fight against Pitaya Dragon Cookie- And ALSO ITS A PEP RALLY????

Black Sapphire has major angst over Shadow Milk just Now realizing he's their dad, and Refuses to join Theatre. Pure Vanilla encourages him to join the debate club instead because he's always liked public speaking.

Black Sapphire and Walnut cookie are Debate Rivals turned partners- and despite Almond Cookie being the debate coach- Black Sapphire's fairly certain Walnut Deserves to be the debate captain.

Pure Vanilla still picks his kids and his husband up from School and Work- and when Shadow Milk has to stay late for meetings, or to grade assignments, Pure Vanilla takes the kids out to have fun.

Despite hating the idea of going to an amusement park at first, the kids are really delighted when they find out that Cream Unicorn's has a haunted house (It was designed for pumpkin pie cookie). They love forcing Pure Vanilla to go in with them because he still gets scared every time.

I have like 5 billion ideas about this au so feel free to ask more if you like it dhfjvjv

#Shadowvanilla #pureshadow #vanilla milkshake #pure milk #Candy Apple Cookie #Black Sapphire Cookie #Domestic AU #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #crk #fics #hcs

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nikalaeva · 3 months ago

Text

I just read a post where the author claims to be pro-Nesta, but at the same time justifies explains why the Inner Circle did everything right.

Here are some quotes for an aperitif.

"None of the IC are just disgusting that she’s drinking a lot or having sex or partying"

Really? Why then did infinitely rich Rhysand read out the list of her expenses? Nesta didn't buy unnecessary jewelry, a brothel or a piece of land. Was it necessary to bring your beloved wife to tears, to humiliate your brother by saying that his mate was a shameless spendthrift? This scene shows not the depth of Nesta's problems, but rather that Rhysand is a pathetic douchebag who is used to not paying his warriors (homeless Illyrians send their regards).

"Nesta was also given the choice of if she got help or not. Once again, something Feyre was not"

Mmm, our little star Feyre, my sweet fly in the ointment. I don't know in what parallel universe is it considered a "choice" between prison and a hunting ground where a fairy would be like game. Oh, sorry, the HoW is not a prison? But what do you call a place from which you physically cannot leave and are completely dependent on the guards? Prison is probably better, because the guard does not dream of fucking you every second.

Now to the point.

Feyre doesn't act like a sister. She clearly says that she's ashamed that Nesta is shaming them by not helping the Court after war. She decides that the best way to "help" Nesta is to shame her in front of everyone, and then complain that she's overreacting. Feyre could have gotten Nesta a job in a bar, a dance teacher, a library job with salary, and spend time with sisters on weekends - without Rhysand and his gang of cocksuckers. Feyre and Nesta could have tea in the garden or learn baking with Elain. Feyre could have invited Nesta and Elain to an art class with the kids. Of course, it's so useless compared to being able to swing a sword, and - oh my! - not cool compared to the scene in the swamp.

Well, this illustrates well how powerless Feyre as High Lady is when it comes to improving the citizens' living conditions, and how much Elain doesn't give a shit.

Cassian's "help" would only do a dead man no harm. He wanted to help Nesta so much that he brought her to train with the Illyrians. You know, the warriors who don't accept women or magic, and are cruel even to their own children.

And how thoughtful of the IC to entrust Nesta with the mission of finding the Dread Trove. Yeah, a minute ago she was just a traumatized girl in need of help, but now Feyre is pregnant, Elain has no one to trust to water her garden, and the IC has some other things to do (Rhysand, wake up, you're short-staffed), so Nesta is definitely the one who can be trusted with safety of all of Prythian. What about her bestie Amren? Nah, she's lost all her power and can only spew shit out of her dirty old-hag mouth.

Maybe we should enlist the help of the High Lords like Tarquin, Kallias, Helion? After all, the threat concerns not only the Night Court, and they supposedly forgave that mess at the meeting and are now friends... Haha, don't go crazy. Can "the most powerful High Lord" take such a risk? What if these spineless idiots tell Nesta that she will be better off in their Courts? What if they say that Rhysand has no right to wield the Troves only because Nesta is a citizen of the NC? (which, by the way, she didn't choose either) Sounds like the worst nightmare of his egocentrism and SJM Amren's wet dream of a High King.

I ask a lot of questions and drip with sarcasm bordering on passive aggression because it's as fun as arguing that ACOSF is a great book about healing, family love, power of friendship and redemption. Even if you poured colorful paint on a pile of shit, it would still stink and attract flies. And ignoring the message that in order to heal from psychological trauma you just have to do whatever people who only care about their own emotional comfort say is the same as secretly wrinkling your nose.

But I'm glad there are plenty of people who point their fingers and are not ashamed to say: "This is a pile of shit. Don't pretend it's okay in a public place." You are the best 🫂

#anti acotar #anti acosf #sjm critical #anti feysand #anti feyre #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #anti cassian #nesta archeron #nesta acosf #pro nesta #never getting tired of being a mean bitch #and unlike Nesta I don't give a shit who doesn't like me #bad critic

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thedeadhead · 7 months ago

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I imagine once brought up to speed on his involvement in the war, the Citadel would be willing to lend Ame aide on the day the Man In Black arrives at her door again

Probably won’t be the case, but you Should imagine the wizards all scheming on how to best trap the cottage

Man In Black: “Ame, Witch of Toma, I have come as promised, I —“ *boot steps onto the path, magic landmine goes off*

Steel in the bushes with camo face paint: “OPEN FIRE ON THE EDGELORD ON THE ROAD” *9th level fireball*

And then a thousand wizards in gillie suits jump up from hiding as well holding guns and shoot him

Alt.

Man In Black: *knocks on the cottage door*

Door opens, it’s Steel with a steel chair: “Surprise Motherfucker”

And then she hits him over the head with it, no magic, full beats him to death

#brennan lee mulligan #aabria iyengar #erika ishii #lou wilson #worlds beyond number #wizard witch and wild one #the king of night #ame witch of toma #ame wbn #sword of the citadel

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senka-mesecine · 9 days ago

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*rolls up sleeves*

I’d love to see some kidnapper!Barnes I know that’s a CRAZY first statement

But him being so used to slaughtering all of his victims and discarding them one after another, only to nab this woman one day that he ends up falling in love with and he becomes obsessed with her in a way he’s never felt before

Trophy Collecting.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

---

― Thing is, nothing in life was ever given.

If a man wanted something, he to had to go on and take it.

Ain' gon' be served on a silver platter for him.

That's the conclusion that overpowers all other conclusions as the Captain gives him and 'Lias a good, stern talking to in tandem; promises of investigation hanging in the air like a swaying executioner's noose, the notion that there would be consequences if it's concluded there's been an illegal killing, that jailtime would be the final solution. Long Binh Junction. LBJ Ranch. Maximum security prisoners were housed individually in five foot by 7 foot sheet metal and wood boxes or in CONEX containers measuring 6 foot by nine foot --- a metal cage filled with low lives, junkies, spooks, mooks and rotten darnel best left sifted out from the rest of the wheat. Not even broken, overworked field mules transported to a stockade for slaughter after years of service by a meat butcher would be detained in conditions like that. So, what was he supposed to do? Allow one of his soldiers pinned up with a nail slammed through the heart, body hammered to the wooden post at the bend of the river, left like that, like a displayed, stuck animal and not immediately retaliate? Let them know that this is no way for an American soldier to be treated? That there would be consequences? That for any loss of his men, they'd take ten, twenty, a hundred of theirs in return? Suppose he did simply allow that? The general contempt. Do nothing about it? Tuck his tails between his legs? Who would ever respect this outfit, this infantry, this platoon ever again? Every pig herding jungle man, every limp wrist sack of shit civilian, every painted villager, every old man, every barefoot, bare ass woman or snot nosed child that they'd cross in their path would be throwing rocks at them bypassing every settlement from north to south simply because they'd have no fear of god in their hearts where they were concerned. And what's an army that's not feared, not respected? No better than a travelling circus full'a clowns in green fatigues, wanderin' from hooch to hooch, from outpost to outpost, from hut to hut doin' magic tricks for the natives. Might as well open a hen house next and start entertain' next.

So, Barnes had to take the fear himself; force it upon them.

Bring it to their doorstep, where those motherfuckers slept.

He thinks of you, he supposes, that entire stretch of time between the village incident (or rather, the stirrin' up of righteous justice) and filling 'Lias's body with lead, leavin' him for dead, abandonin' him to the fray, to silence him from ever snitchin' on him like the self-righteous weasel that shit-heel with no sense of military brotherhood and silence was; Thought of you and how this war has gone to the dogs. The minute a man couldn't wage it the way it ought to have been waged, the minute he was bogged down by needless rules, bureaucracy and nitpickin' from the moral police and men up in Washington who have never picked up anything heavier than a caviar spoon, conflicts were bound to be lost. And this shit? It was slippin' through his fingers more and more every day, he figures, after the smoke of battle has died down and the sack of shit Taylor boy has him in his crosshairs, threatenin' to go code red on his ass 'n shoot him even after Barnes has given him a direct order to just do it, only to watch the gutless coward turn his back and leave him alive. What was there left for him now? A promise of a court martial, the end of the war loomin', the prospect of all accolades, medals, titles and well earned badges he accumulated over the years lost in disgrace, stripped --- he looks at you, even as you dab away his bloodied body on the stretcher in your tent, givin' him stitches and injections for infections after they dragged him back in from the bush, torn up, muddied and as filthy as a rabid dog. This war would end and what would he have to show for it? Nothing but a collection of scars, a fresh, newly acquired bullet wound between his thigh and knee that he could go ahead and add to his vast and diverse assemblage of injures that would endow him with a limp for the rest of his life possibly, resentment and an empty, neglected old rickety cabin he was born in up in the Appalachians. He'd be a disgraced, partial handicap --- a semi-cripple with the face of a devil to top it all off.

A man couldn't be poor, ugly, angry, sick, lonesome, with a plate installed into his skull and having lost everything he's dedicated his adult life to all at the same time.

Wasn't right.

Had to have somethin' goin' for him at least --- pride demanded it.

― What if you returned with her? ― You an' the lil' woman you went'n'brought back from the war? ― The beaut. Your beaut. As sugary as pecan pie. ― The only purdy thing worth a damn you found out here.

The thought germinates and he measures it like fine chewin' tobbacco, pondering it.

Sure, he's collected severed human fingers before --- toes, pieces of skin.

Ears cut off from the lobe and shell of dead VC scouts sprawled on the jungle floor.

Molars and teeth pulled out during interrogation, worn as collectibles and trinkets.

The occasional scalp, the way the Injuns used to do it back in the days.

Captured equipment, belt buckles and bandoliers.

Never a full blown, live human before.

Not one who wasn't collected in the capacity of a POW, anyway.

It could be said you liked him back --- loved him the way he loved you, in that unassuming, understated way he enjoyed most --- silent, unspoken; he saw the manner in which you looked at him. The way you looked away too when you noticed that he noticed. The way you lavished him your attentions, writin' it off as mere professionalism. Care for care's sake, when nobody cared for anyone else as much as you cared for him unless there was feelings involved. Leavin' hot canteens on coffee next to his cot. Makin' him meals with the loyalty of a lil' housewife homemaker out here in the wilderness. Washin' his bedroll, fatigues and sheets with such diligence without needin' to be asked. Preferential treatment abound. Takin' a personal interest in sowing up ripped pieces of fabric he's worn so he wouldn't go 'round lookin' all raggedy. Tendin' to him the way a wife tends to a husband, quietly, makin' no fuss about it. Would it be desertion? It would be, yes. Abandonin' one's post. Neglecting the terms and conditions of one's tour. He'd be the first one to line up motherfuckers like that up against the wall and have them executed, no trial, no nothing, for failin' their country and honor bound duty. But, was there any duty to be had when one's government was preventin' one from winning a war they were all sent to? Drafted to? Volunteered to? He invested well over a decade into this shiet; invested his mangled face. His body riddled with bullets. His life. Wasn't that too a sort of betrayal? The notion he'd have more luck clearin' out these jungles, these villages, these settlements all on his own, with a limping gait, if he simply went renegade? With you in tow? Hell, he figured that if he downright asked you, you might even say yes, you and your googly eyes directed at him. And if a figurative jury ever caught him and questioned him why he did it? Because y'all left me no choice, he'd answer. Y'all took my machine and beat it with wrenches, ruinin' the damn thing and so I took myself and the one thing, one person still worth a damn and packed gear.

They'd have to catch you first, though, he reminds himself.

Waiting for you on the perimeters of the base camp.

Where the edges of a ramshackle civilization met with the overgrowth of the jungle.

He's killed before, so what's an abduction in comparison?

Burned, maimed and executed before, so what's a kidnapping?

Stared death right in the eyes, so why shouldn't he have the right to this, now?

He's earned the right.

Bled for it. Put in years for it.

To take what he wants. Who he wants. When he wants.

If the army wasn't goin' to reward his efforts, he'd reward himself.

It was either that or death.

-"Oh, sir!"-

You're startled, gasping spotting him in the overgrowth of the forest, ambushed without entirely realizing you're being ambushed, a twig cracking beneath your careless steps as you press your fingers to your collarbone, jumpy and taken aback by his presence --- his firearm is lifted; if you didn't know any better you could very well assume he was standing watch on perimeters. In fact, anyone who'd accidentally stumble upon the sight would think the same. The only unnatural thing about his presence here was that he was strapped and ready. Rucksack on his back. Helmet on his head. Weapons loaded and sharpened. He was ready to go. -"It's you."- You sigh after a moment or two, seemingly relieved, cracking a tiny half-smile to which he, as if on cue, lowers the barrel of his M16. Of course it's him. Like he'd ever allow anyone get this close to you out in the wilderness. Anyone but himself. -"Oh, goodness, you scared me. You blend in so well, I didn't even notice you."- You approach him tentatively, all friendly like, your shoulders dropping --- bless your heart, you thought this was an accidental, spontaneous encounter; one he didn't plan when all of it was premeditated. The time was now. There was talk of Saigon fallin'. Talk of them pullin' out of country. Dismantlin' bases. Givin' the fuck up. Processin' who they percieved as war criminals. Packin' them up in jails here and there and everywhere. Well, he wasn't gonna let that happen. He was goin' out there. Into the wild frontier, taking down as many gook motherfuckers as he could while the war still lasted, makin' them pay for every boy lost and then he was settlin' down somewhere with you in tow 'cos he wanted to have something to look at every mornin' and think, goddamn, that's pretty prey I came back from 'Nam with. You look him up and down, no doubt worried that he was already out and about, what with his injuries and all and Barnes almost wondered how long it'll take for you to figure it out. What this was. That you should take one last good look at the edges of the fenced off base behind his back, obscured by foliage and trees 'cos that'll be the last you'll be seein' of that place. -"You shouldn't be out here with that leg, Sergeant, all due respect."- Tenderness and care seeps from the precipice of your mouth and by then, his weapon is almost entirely lowered and he just looks at you; takes it in --- the blissful unawareness. You bein' as sweet as a peach. Was it bad if he coveted that? The deep silence of a one sided conversation causin' you unease and you stutter, momentarily wary, uneasy, looking around the forest like you were expectin' a Sasquatch to jump out at you any second.

-"Something the matter?"-

You manage, muttering, scratching your forearm nervously.

There was plenty of daylight left.

Barnes figured that with the right pace, he could make good progress with you.

Be out of sight by nightfall --- be swallowed by the jungle with the first darkness.

He could go for as long as he had to go, just livin' off the bare land itself.

Huntin' for you, feedin' you, takin' good care of you, lookin' after you.

You'd be losin' your post here 'n gainin' yourself a husband.

Was that such a lousy trade to make?

Not with how this war was bein' run it wasn't.

They were all lookin' at him like he was off his rocker with the Taylor boy fillin' everyone's ears with snake venom and soon, they'd start lookin' at you the same way too simply for bein' occasionally kind to him. For tendin' to his wounds. Removin' the bullet of his thigh. Carin' to wipe the sweat off his brow. For occasionally sittin' down and havin' coffee with him. That was just reality. Not that he wanted anyone's approval, but he sure as heck didn't intend to be looked down on by gutless pieces of shit who ain' gone through what he's gone through, who had what to return to, who could hang up their cap with a sense of rightness and sleep relatively peacefully at night. Life forces'ya to choose sides eventually and you too had to choose --- you had to choose what he chose for you. Unlike these lump of shit motherfuckers at least he loved'ya the best way he knew how. He lifts the barrel of his firearm up again, shifting it into position, aimin' it back at you. Could've called this a plain ol' abduction, sure, why not. He wasn't gon' go 'n run from the fact. Wasn't gon' go and dodge the facts of life neither. He was gonna take you whether you wanted to or not. You knew him well 'nough to understand that he could.

That he intended to.

That it was either this or puttin' a cap in you and then himself.

Crawling to your dead body and holdin' you dyin'.

Ensurin' he has you that way if no other route was in the cards.

-"You reckon we ought to go out, have ourselves a stroll down west 'n' then jus' keep goin'?"-

He drawls as tenderly as he can muster, makin' a suggestion --- a lil' proposal.

Your lips part, perplexed, but no words come forth as your lashes flutter wildly.

You take no steps back, no steps forth either, legs firmly locked in place.

Like you were considerin' it without even realizing.

Your body language givin' you away.

Seems like the gravitas of the situation hits you right 'bout then.

-"Jus' us two?"-

He adds with a sense of finality, his barrel gesturing deeper into the jungle.

Neither of you stickin' around in that particular place for long.

Not even a minute passes and his whole hand is coiled around your wrist.

Guidin' you into the shadowed bosom of the woods, never to be seen again.

― Thing is, nothing in life was ever given.

If a man wanted something, he to had to go on and take it.

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therandompagesblog · 6 months ago

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SKZ War Chapter 2

Trigger Warnings: None

It was cold, dark and empty. The wind was blowing. The trees shook. It was every and Lucas was all alone outside his home. There was no mum nor Dad there with him. There was no Moon. Only him. It was only him walking through the trees, bare footed. The leaves crunched under his feet the further he went. The deeper he went into the woods. All of a sudden he was back at the haunted house. The house that was trapped in spirits because of an alpha named Hongjoong once meddled with witches and killed omegas, trapping their souls deep within the spiritual barrier. They learned the lore at werewolf school but everyone thought it was a spooky horror story and none of it ceased to exist.

"Lucas." The wind called. "Lucas come here." The wind called again. "Lucas. Come inside. It's cold outside." The wind said, luring Lucas into the house. The house smelled damp and rotten. It smelled like a place of executioners. A place where souls were murdered. A place of torment. Lucas walked into the house and up the stairs, following the light. The floorboards creaked underneath him with every step that he took. "Come here little apex." The voice called out, making Lucas stop. The young man had his back to him. He was by the fireplace, watching, curiously. The man had blackened hair like his soul. His shirt was shredded from the last encounter he had. The last encounter with her.

Lucas crept forward and looked at him. The man was frozen like a painting. He did not move and he did not speak but Lucas got a good look at him. His face was slim and he had high cheekbones. If he smiled there would be a dimple somewhere. If he laughed it would surely look possessed. His neck down to his chest had scratches, making the young apex want to reach out to see, but he stopped himself. All of a sudden the man moved and turned away slowly, waiting for the apex to follow. Lucas followed him down the stairs slowly, when the man spoke. "I once had a lover. My sweet omega. She had a fiery heart with passion. She was my best friend. She would always wake up early to bake me cookies. She tended to my pack until her soul was taken from me." The man said sadly. "What happened to her? Your lover?" Lucas asked, following the man. "What do you know about Hongjoong, Lucas? Did you know his lover's soul was taken by another alpha? That he possessed her brain. Manipulated her and then she was gone." The man cried. Tears of blood streamed down his face. "Are you Hongjoong?" Lucas asked. "Yes." Hongjoong turned around. "Her soul changed. It turned evil because he was evil. She didn't know who I was when she was taken. She was gone." "I'm sorry!" Lucas apologised. He didn't know what to say to the heartbroken man.

Lucas thought Hongjoong was executed for playing with dark magic and killing omegas. Lucas didn't know why Hongjoong was calling him for his help. "Please believe me. I want to be buried. I don't want to be trapped in these walls anymore. Will you help bury my body so I can move on?" Hongjoong begged. Dropping at the young boy's feet. "There is a way to get my body out and set me free. All you need is yourself and your brother Moon to help. On the next full moon come to me. Step into the fog and I will reach out. Pull my body out and then bury me in the back garden. Do not tell anyone. Elders and alphas believe I was evil but it was the werewolf pack that stole her. Please help me!"

Lucas shot up sweating profusely. He hadn't experienced a dream so real before that it shook him up. He didn't understand what was going on. First, the weird house he and Moon fell upon, then the dream. None of it made sense to him. Lucas shook his head when he heard his father demanding him. "What?!" Lucas shouted. "Don't 'what' me. Your mother has called you five times this morning." His father said. "Yeah. Let me get dressed." Lucas groaned when his father opened the door making him glare. His father had long curly hair that was slightly dishevelled and his eyes looked tired as if he was sick and tired of shouting at Lucas for getting up late every day. "What's the matter with you?" His father asked. "Bad dream. Can I get changed or are you gonna watch?" Lucas said plainly. "Enough of the attitude." His father said and left the room making Lucas roll his eyes.

Lucas spent the whole weekend feeling tired and his mother thought he may have gotten sick. Apparently, there was a werewolf viral infection going around so by Monday he was in bed with his mother checking his temperature. His mother was the most beautiful woman he had seen except for the girl in the werewolf lore class. She was cute too. "You're not hot." His mother said as she felt his head. "Are you cold?" "No mum. I promise. I think it's a stomach bug!" Lucas assured. He didn't want his mother to baby him. He wanted to prove to his mother he was strong and sickness wasn't anything that would stop him. But that dream. That forsaken dream bothered him. Moon had even suggested talking to his father, Jeongin, about it but he didn't want to. Technically he was closer to Father Felix but he didn't want to burden him with such dreams. "Mum," Lucas called out before his mum could escape and get some soup for him. "Do you think the lore about Ateez is true? Someone didn't lie did they?" Lucas watched his mother's face shift quickly and she shook her head. "No. It is the truth. Only focus on it for your test. Don't ask questions." His mother said plainly. He couldn't even ask her because she was so dismissive. Even his father's would be the same. Why would they teach about a topic they wouldn't speak about at home? Why was it so taboo?

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@silentreadersthings @ihrtlix @galaxy4489 @catlove83 @linocz @eastjonowhere @hyunmikim @hpnsfwaddict @tsunderelino @multistan248

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drarryspecificrecsdaily · 8 months ago

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2024.10.23

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. All is found by ProseMary [G, 16k]

It had been six years, and things were going better than ever. [...] But Draco supposed it was too good to last. Every bubble had to pop, soon or later, by one thing or another, because that was just how life worked. Draco’s life especially. In this case, it would be the return of Jay Rossy.

2. A Black Cat's Good Luck by @handledwithgloves [E, 6k]

On a stake out for the DMLE, Harry has to remain in his animagus form. His stake out location? The alleyway next to Draco Malfoy’s apartment. So, is it really his fault if Draco takes him in and keeps him as a pet? Especially when Draco is more gentle with Harry than anyone in his life has ever been?

3. Caught in a witch's spell by Shaming_Leo [G, 4k]

Harry made a promise the day his cousin beat him for the last time—just the day before his birthday—that no one would step over him again, literally or figuratively speaking. [...] So when the pretty blonde at the robe shop showed a little bit of interest in him, it felt nice. Not many girls –if any, actually– had shown interest in him before. She was a little bit rude, but the predators needed that to stay at the top.

4. Celestial Being by Year_ofthe_Rabbit [?, 192k]

The entire universe conspired to make clear that the king Draco’s family had put into power deserved to be overthrown in a bloody coup, to be replaced by a younger, brighter, more beloved king. Draco lost everything and was left to live as a despised servant in his aunt's household. He didn't accept it. No, he would do whatever it took to recapture the life he deserved. Even if that was only possible during an equinox ball, where he could live one anonymous night at a time as a captivating celestial being.

5. Defiant Hearts by @coffeedrgn87 [E, 117k]

In Regency England, the price of love is high. Draco, the sole heir to the Malfoy family's vast fortune and reputation, longs to marry for love. His father, Lucius Malfoy—a cold, heartless man—disagrees. With his father breathing down his neck, demanding that Draco court a suitable young lady, Draco's time to find a love match is running out. Then there's Harry, the last descendant of the Potter family, once a noble house with a vast fortune, great respect, and considerable influence. Harry knows his duties, but what he truly desires is a love match—an equal. When an unexpected Regency-style meet-cute turns everyone's plans upside down, Draco becomes a rebel, and Harry must make a decision that will define the rest of his life.

6. How Could You? by Devious_Muffin [E, 3k]

Harry finds himself in detention with Draco, forced to clean without magic while Draco gets a much easier task. He tries not to let Draco get to him, but the combination of insults and an odd Potions ingredient lead him to take actions he never thought himself capable of.

7. Planar Distortion by Missbridg [T, 14k]

Harry is working as a Prof of DADA 12 years after the war has ended. Despite the time, repairs to the castle continue- including major restoration of magical portraits throughout Hogwarts. To restore the paintings both visually and magically, McGonagall hires a Magical Art Restorer to live in residence while completing the work. Harry is shocked to learn that the best man for the job, by all accounts, is one Draco Malfoy.

8. polleniser and lactogen by @thisisformyfanfiction [E, 5k]

Draco and Harry are out gathering ingredients for Draco’s Potions lessons, and take an unexpected stumble into strange flowers.

9. Practically Married by @dobbyrockssocks [T, 3k]

Harry and Draco wake up the morning after a night out in Vegas with matching wedding rings. There’s only one explanation, right?

10. When You Unfold Me by @hephaestiions [E, 6k]

Harry’s high. He knows this because Draco Malfoy has stars in his eyes. — Or: a conversation in the common room takes a turn.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. (sex) Toys are a Guy’s Best Friend by Anonymous [E, 3k]

Harry learns that sometimes great things come in unexpected packages. ★ 2024 H/D Muggle Fair | @hd-fan-fair

2. You're alright now by @poetryobsessedbi [E, 1k]

Harry gets a phone call that no one wants to get. Draco is in the hospital because of a car crash, and not even in a magical hospital but in a muggle one. Harry doesn't hesitate to drop everything and go to his boyfriend. They'll manage together, at least magic can heal a lot. ★ Cult of Chaos Cultober 2024

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2024 #2024.10

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room-surprise · 7 months ago

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Mithrun in my modern college AU

(SEE THIS POST ON AO3)

Mithrun as he appears in the beginning of my modern AU, Show Me How to Get Off the Ground.

Caption reads:

Though the city they go to university in has a hot tropical climate, Mithrun doesn't like to let people see his body. This is unusual for an elf, since most elven fashion involves a lot of bare skin being on display.

Because of his desire to cover up and his cropped ears Mithrun is often at risk for overheating. Normally elves use their large ears to help regulate their body temperature. Despite this, at the beginning of the story Mithrun feels best wearing his leather veteran's jacket, an elven style T-shirt, sweatpants, tall-man style combat boots, sunglasses and any kind of hat that helps hide his ears.

The sweatpants are covered in stains that are hopefully just paint. He always tries to keep new pairs of pants clean, but they all end up looking the same in the end.

His preferred sunglasses are aviators, a style that was designed by the elven empire during the Great War to be worn under helmets. These sunglasses are characterized by dark reflective lenses, and metal frames with multiple nose bridges. Aviator style sunglasses attempt to cover the entire field of vision of the human eye, and reduce the amount of light entering the eye from any angle.

Mithrun's trauma in this story doesn't have a magical element, so his remaining eye is still silver, and his prosthetic matches it.

The veteran's jacket is something elven soldiers are given when they leave the military. Many veterans wear them all the time, either because they provide a sense of pride or comfort, or because they've become disabled due to their military service, and are so destitute that their veteran's jacket is the sturdiest piece of clothing they have left.

Mithrun's jacket used to have his name on it, but he removed it for security reasons. The name Kerensil is famous, so he is living in the East under the false name Mithrun Sharma.

(COLLEGE AU EXTRAS TAG)

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #mithrun #mithrun of the house of kerensil #show me how extras

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ar-ghilas-vir-banal · 5 months ago

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@fenharel-babe this is your fault. You left some tags and… time for me to live up to the gut-wrench of my name, I guess.

Memory was cruel.

His was sharp, acutely efficient at recalling the most minute details, from a scent on the breath of an Elvhen noble to the pauses between words meant to convey emphasis.

He could remember the first time he saw her. Laid flat on a sour straw pallet, drenched in sweat, the green glare of his Mark on her palm. Solas hadn’t focused much on her face then; he’d noted the Dalish markings of Mythal and that was enough of a reason not to examine the woman’s features for too long.

Would that he had. Would that he had simply stopped and allowed each and every single moment of their time together stretch for as long as they possibly could. There was always something drawing his attention. Always the next event, or mission. Always a bit of research.

And there was the matter of the Inquisitor’s own duties. She had been cast headlong into a den of vipers and she was at war from all sides, besieged and harried, fighting for not only her people and the world… but herself. Her personhood.

Her true self.

“I feel safe with you, my Solas,” she’d said once.

He could remember smiling at being called hers. He wanted to be. He longed to rise in the morning, warmed by her body and spirit, to live days at her side performing only simple tasks of the home together. It was the dream he liked best, even if it increasingly cut away at his heart; dreams with no chance of coming true were often jagged, weighty things.

Solas had also taken pride in the fact that out of all of their companions, he was the one in which she sought refuge and respite. He was the calm for her storm. There were times when he felt that his heart could soar for her, on the wind of her success and triumph…

Now, Solas felt as if his chest contained a fractured shard of obsidian. It sliced away at him with each breath, each push of blood through his lyrium-formed veins.

She lay still. As still as she had in Haven. The arm he’d severed some years back rested at her side. Her hair, longer with time, fanned out behind her head. Her face was serene and soft as driven snow. Not a crease, not a flaw; the blood from the wound in the center of her body had been cleaned away.

She could have been one of his paintings.

Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain were no more. Rook and the surviving Veilguard core team were quiet now, mourning their own dead. Morrigan was… somewhere. The various groups Rook had allied with were working on the wounded, fighting. Trying.

He hadn’t even been able to fight for her. She had been gone when he’d reached her. Face slack. Eyes wide open. She’d looked so small. Abandoned. Alone.

The Nevarran professor, Volkarion, Solas recalled numbly, had helped him bear up the Inquisitor. He was a slender man, graying of hair. But with kind eyes and an even kinder heart. He’d not made Solas speak while he made a place for them. Emmrich had even been so good as to find something to place under her head, and covered her with his own cloak.

It had been hours since it was all over. Solas hadn’t moved. He’d sat beside her, clasping her hand, watching her face. Pleading. Pleading with whatever gods there had ever been, in dreams or in the waking world, pleading with his own magic, with any Spirit that might hear him…

Elgar’nan had stabbed her with a blight tendril. He’d laughed, sensing Solas’ shock upon seeing her. Connecting the dots, as Sera once said.

Something in the mere recollection of their old Inquisition partner broke loose a final barrier within him, and Solas leaned on the table where Emmrich had laid his love, and wept.

He touched her arm, her shoulder, her face. Whispered her name. She had only wanted him to love her. And he had been too bent on his own internal morality that he’d refused both of them what they truly desired. Over and over he had pushed her away, but she had never stopped following him.

Solas had heard her calling out to Rook in the battle, Elven flying from her tongue, strong and swift. She’d moved with a grace befitting Andruil, quick and agile. Determined. She’d run to him, intent on freeing him from a huge arm of Blight. And she’d succeeded... Her life was the price for his freedom.

“Vhenan,” Solas begged. “I stopped, I- I will not… please. Please.” She, of course, did not answer. All Solas could do was hold her dead hand, kiss her dead lips, and hate every fiber of his being for bringing her to this fate.

It was exactly what he had done. He might as well have plunged the Fang into her heart, as well as Varric’s. He’d never deserved a second of her time. He’d never earned the gentle touches, the embraces round his back that made him want to melt… the kisses. The precious touches of her hands.

“She got your letter.”

Solas shuddered, unable to lift his head from her. But the knowledge seemed to claw its way through him, a demon born of grief. She’d come because of him. Why had she loved him? What in him had she been so… why? Why couldn’t she have loved one of the others? Blackwall… Thom? Or the General? Bull… they would have been good to her.

“For what it’s worth… she wouldn’t have been anywhere else. She spoke of you so… she never gave up. You proved her right. Stopping…”

“I killed her… I-“

Rook drew near, boots scuffing the ground. Their hand rested on his back. “… I’m so sorry, Solas. She deserved that future she wanted… she dreamed of being with you, you know? You were happiness to her… even just… the thought of you.”

“I wish she’d never loved me,” Solas whispered, cradling her face in his hands. He’d never held her with abandon before, placing his hands exactly where he wanted. Where she wished. He could never.

“Solas… I’m sorry but… I have an idea.”

Solas didn’t immediately look up. But he sighed, heavy, exhausted… he hoped he was dying. He hoped it would all just stop. Drawing back, he kept the Inquisitor’s hand, brushing his lips to her knuckles. Her fingers.

“Please leave me alone,” he asked in a gray, lifeless voice.

“It is just that… the Veil needs a source of power. To remain effective, a life must supply it.”

“Please…”

“You’re not hearing me, Solas. If your life could sustain the Veil… it could sustain her. I am a necromancer. Her spirit is here, with you. It will always be, until you release it. Stop for a moment… feel for her.”

Rook’s hand withdrew, giving Solas space. He lifted his head a bit, letting his eyes close. Tears fell across his cheeks, down his neck. His mind was so very tired, battered. He wished to stop… to cease.

“Vhenan?”

All at once, there she was. Warm. The light. He couldn’t see her but… she was there. As if his use of the name, her name, had given her just enough tether to let him see her.

“What must I do?” Solas half-sobbed, opening eyes that pled with the Professor, and then with Rook, who clasped his shoulder. Steadying him.

“Shed your blood, for the Veil and for her, let… let them mix.”

“Dorian.” How long the Wizard had been there, Solas didn’t know. But the man looked every bit as wrecked as Solas felt. They looked at each other across the broken down courtyard, matching haunted stare for haunted stare.

“I’m here for her, Solas. This wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for you… but she wants… wanted you. You fail, at least you’re protecting the world she loved. The world she died for.” Then Dorian’s face darkened, hardening. “And you will protect it.”

Solas swallowed, nodding once. There weren’t any words to speak.

Rook slipped something into Solas’ hand. The dagger. “Here… best hurry.”

He’d never done anything so easily in his long life as draw the blade over his hand. It stung, but he turned toward the glowing rift behind them, and slung the cupped handful of his own blood at it. It pulsed as if receiving it. Then Solas gingerly pulled open the Inquisitor’s tunic and laid the flat of his cut palm over the wound near her heart.

“Please,” he whispered, bending close to her, gathering her up to his chest. “Vhenan, please.”

But she just slumped there, her head nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. Not a stir of breath. Not a twitch.

Dorian stepped forward but Emmrich held up a warning hand. “The bond must be made. Give it a moment.”

Rook fidgeted, rocking side to side worriedly.

Only the necromancer watched with a serene understanding. And then… a slow smile.

“Mm… what… Solas? Solas…”

He wept. He’d broken before Mythal, as she released him. He’d shed tears so often in the Fade that Spite had remarked that he smelled of them… as well as in the Lighthouse. But never like this. Solas collapsed, knees buckling under him. He pressed his face into the Inquisitor’s lap, clutching her to him, unable to do anything else.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-“

“Solas! Solas, Vhenan, Vhenan.”

She was crooning at him, her voice was divine, she was alive, she was alive!! Her hand smoothed over his neck, the back of his hand and shoulders. Then she made him look at her, and she smiled…

“Ar lath ma,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes. “I knew you could save us. I knew you could.”

He surged up into her arms, lifting her, shivering under her kiss at his forehead and temple, and then, miracle of miracles, Solas kissed her. It was a tearful, graceless thing full of trembling lips and hands that clutched at the other too tightly.

And it was perfect.

How Solas allowed her to leave his arms, he couldn’t ever know. She didn’t let go of him, though; she gave him her prosthetic hand to close his around.

Dorian wept but kissed his best friend’s forehead. “Take your wolf on home, now.”

Rook and Emmrich gave her encouraging smiles.

She tugged at his hand, giving him a wide, unrepentant smile. “Vhenan. Ir ghilana.” So he allowed her to lead him. Up the steps. Across the platform.

“Hamin.”

“Solas. Garas.”

He drew her close, close enough to see the flecks of green dance in her eyes. Her alive, vibrant, empowered eyes. “Ar ghilas vir banal… .” She was bound to him, to his life force… but the thought of her suffering his own fate. There would be a time where he may find atonement… but peace… no. Not if she remained. But she should remain.

The Inquisitor shook her head and smiled. There was nothing but pride and love in her face. It made Solas want to bow down to her. “Tel’banal ar ama. Vir shiral malasa… bellanaris.”

She kissed him. Short and gentle. It took his very breath. And then she tugged at him again. “Garas.” When the rift sealed behind them, neither looked back.

#i’m just rambling #this was going to be so much more tragic but I literally couldn’t do it #too sad man too sad #solas x lavellan #solas dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #solas x female lavellan #solavellan hell #my fic #I guess #this is how i cope #I’m just a wreck over these people good LORD ABOVE

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