#oc; jules

[lyranova]

hiii lyra! congratulations on 900 followers! um if youd LIKE,,, cielartemy (and maybe the kiddos if that is ok) for victorian au? you can say no obviously anyways congrats again byee

Hiya Tam, sorry this took so long! Thank you so much, and of course I would like to write for Ciel x Artemy 🥰! I hope you enjoy~!

Word Count: 1,232

Warnings: None

————

Ciel quietly leaned her head against the glass wall of her sunroom, the warmth of the sunlight hitting the glass giving her some form of comfort after a long, tiring day.

“ Rough morning?” A comforting voice asked as they placed a hand on her shoulder and placed a cup of tea underneath her nose.

The warm aroma of the ginger tea filled her nose, and a soft smile appeared on her face.

“ How did you know?” She asked softly as she gently took the cup from their hand. The person chuckled as they walked around to sit in the wicker chair across from her.

“ Because I’m your husband, and I know when you’ve had a rough morning.” Artemy, her husband, chuckled as he set his own cup of tea down onto the small table between them.

Ciel smiled, of course he knew how she was feeling without her saying anything. It was like he was an empath or something.

“ Wanna talk about it?”

She sighed softly and closed her eyes.

“ An inspector from Scotland yard came by,” She admitted, her voice soft and calm. “ They thought they had finally found the person that assassinated Loyce but…it wasn’t them.”

Artemy sighed and shook his head.

“ Dear, I’m so sor-.” He began, but Ciel cut him off.

“ I’m so sick of this,” She forcefully placed the tea cup onto the table as her eyes snapped open. “ I’m sick of constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the person that killed Loyce to come and kill me; or worse, kill you and our children.”

Artemy stood up and rushed to her side, where he knelt down beside her and held her hands.

“ Hey, it’s okay,” He told her comfortingly, his thumb rubbing circles on the top of her hand. “ Nothing’s going to happen-.”

“ How do you know? Loyce thought nothing would ever happen to him and look where he is now!” She told him, her tone panicked and full of worry.

“ That person could be out there right now watching us, waiting for the perfect time to strike,” She began, her voice still panicked. “ I won’t let them take another husband, or let them harm our children!”

Artemy leaned up, wrapped his arms around Ciel, and hugged her tightly.

“ Shh, it’s alright dear,” He consoled her softly as his hand gently rubbed her back. “ No one is going to take us from you, I promise.”

He continued to hold his wife as her body trembled slightly. He knew ever since her first husband's assassination she had been on edge, trying to keep herself and their son, Yuno, safe. He recalled how she was even on edge when they first met, keeping him at arm's length until she felt safe and comfortable around him.

Eventually she learned that he wasn’t a threat and let him get closer to her. They fell in love, and eventually had three children together.

But no matter how much time passed, she was still anxious; and it only got worse when Yuno decided to become an inspector like his father.

“ I know, because I won’t let them,” Ciel told Artemy seriously as she pulled away from him a bit. “ I’ll kill them first.”

He blinked in surprise for a moment before chuckling and shaking his head.

“ I don’t doubt it for a moment,” He said as he shook his head. She was a very protective person when it came to those she loved.

As the couple stared at each other adoringly they suddenly heard a bunch of footsteps rushing towards them.

“ Mama, look at the new dress Elise bought me!” Mila, their youngest daughter, announced happily as she stopped in the doorway and twirled in place.

“ My, don’t you look lovely,” Artemy said with a bright smile as he looked at her. “ Don’t you think dear?”

“ Yes,” Ciel began as she quickly composed herself and smiled warmly. “ You look very lovely Mila.”

“ I’m going to wear it to Yuno’s promotion ceremony this afternoon!”

Ciel blinked.

“ Wait, that’s today?” She asked as she looked back at her husband, who nodded.

“ Yeah, did you forget?” Jules, their middle child, asked as they walked into the sun room. Their brow raised in confusion.

Ciel blinked again before looking towards the clock; she had completely forgotten it was today, and now she only had a few minutes to get ready!

“ I need to hurry!” She exclaimed as she jumped out of her chair, making her husband jump up in surprise as well.

“ Don’t worry mom, I already have your dress and jewelry laid out for you,” Elise, their eldest daughter, said as she walked into the room. Ciel sighed in relief and gave her a grateful look.

“ Thank you dear, would you and Mila mind helping me get ready?” She asked, and the girls nodded before following their mother upstairs.

“ Dad,” Jules began softly as their mother and sisters disappeared up the staircase. “ Is mom alright? She looks a little…worried.”

“ She’ll be fine, she’s just having a rough day.” He told them.

“ Then, shouldn’t she stay home and rest? I’m sure Yuno would understand if she didn’t come to his promotion ceremony.” Jules suggested, but their father shook his head.

“ You know your mother; no matter rain or shine, sad or happy, healthy or sick, she’s going to be there for all your special moments.” Artemy said with a fond smile.

After a few moments Ciel, Elise, and Mila walked down the stairs dressed to the nines.

“ Oh my, don’t you all look so lovely!”

“ Really papa? You think so?” Mila asked brightly, and he nodded.

“ I do!”

“ I thought it would only be appropriate for the family of the newly promoted Inspector Yuno Grinberryall to dress like a million bucks!” Elise said with a grin before adding. “ Even though these outfits cost a lot less than that.”

“ Really? I wouldn’t have noticed had you not said anything,” Artemy said in disbelief. “ You all look lovely.”

“ And what about me? How do I look?” Ciel asked with a small smile as she placed a hand on her hip.

Her black dress was floor length, with buttons going from the waist band to her collar. On either side of her shoulder there were cobalt blue lace details that went down to the waistband like a pair of suspenders. The skirt was a bit more slim than their daughters' dresses were; the cobalt blue lace was etched all onto the black fabric of the skirt. To top off the dress she wore a matching coat, and a small black hat that slightly covered her now-updone hair.

“ You look…divine.” Artemy said breathlessly as his eyes went up, down, and up again. Ciel giggled as she walked up to him and gave him a sweet kiss.

“ You don’t look too bad yourself,” She said warmly as she noticed he had dressed up as well. “ Is the carriage ready? I don’t want us to be late because of me.”

“ It’ll be fine even if we are, Yuno will understand,” Artemy told her as he gave her another kiss. “ and yes our carriage is ready.”

He held his arm out to her.

“ Ready?”

Ciel took it and gave him a firm nod.

“ Ready.”

The family of five exited their residence, climbed into the carriage, and were on their way to see their eldest child and sibling get promoted at his job.

————

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

[lescarnetsdehaku]

Alone, on their own, or together. They have different ways to celebrate, but isn't it beautiful once they've reunited?

Happy new year ✨🥂

[boiledprawn99]

happy happy birthday stupid fish man

his wish sort of came true !!!!!!

[zvdvdlvr]

coffee shop meet cute + Spencer Reid

     “Hi! What can I get for you today?” You ask, not looking up from your tablet.

     “Uh…”

     You look up, a smile on your face. Your shift had just started and you had an astronomical amount of patience- you felt like it would be a good day the moment you woke up. When you looked up, your eyes widened. In front of you stood one of the finest, tallest, and smartest looking beanpoles that had ever came by your great aunt’s quaint coffee shop.

     His bottom lip was caught between his astonishingly bright teeth as he scoured the paper in his hand. “Sorry, I’d like a… I’m sorry, can I just give this to you? My friends sent me to get them coffee and I…” he looked up. The man’s voice trailed off: his eyebrows relaxing on his face as his mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’.

     Tilting your head slightly, you smiled. This guy was somehow smoking hot and adorable at the same time. “And you…?” you prompted.

     He blinked. “I’m- I’m so sorry! Uh, ca-can I just give this to you?” A hot pink Sticky-Note was offered to you that you excepted.

     Selfishly, you were happy there were no other clients in the café- you wanted to interact with this guy as long as possible. “I can definitely do that for you,” you inform the man, typing in the order for a few of your usuals. “Your total is… $18.57.”

     “Here,” he tells you, handing you a twenty. You hand him his change and start working on the orders. Swiftly and methodically, you complete the four orders like clockwork.

     When you finally set down the coffees on the table, you are not surprised to see the hot guy still standing awkwardly near the till. “Would you like a carrier?” You ask.

     “Please,” he answers with a nod. He takes the cardboard carrier and fits the cups snugly in the cupholders. “Thank you…” he reads the nametag on your apron, “y/n.”

     “You’re welcome…?”

     “Dr. Reid. Spencer- Spencer Reid,” he answers with a nod.

     “You’re very welcome Dr. Spencer Red,” you tell Spencer with a sweet smile.

     It would be a lie if you said you weren’t disappointed when Spencer gave you one last endearingly adorable smile and bid you goodbye. You watched his long legs carry him out of the building and busied yourself cleaning equipment until the bell rang and another customer came in and the world moved on.

     The bell rang- signaling a customer- and you frantically dried off your hands to tend to them.

     Words died on your tongue as the Dr. Spencer Reid strode up to the till while brushing his hair back. “I- Sorry if this is too forward- is there any way I can get your phone number? I’d love to get dinner with you sometime- or coffee or lunch or whatever you want- and get to know you more? If not, I can- I can just leave, it’s no problem-“

     “Spencer,” you interrupted him gently. Red bloomed all over his face an ears as he visibly deflated as he waited for your reply. “I’d love to have dinner with you. I can write down my number for you.” You patted down your apron pockets for the pad of paper you kept for special orders.

     Spencer watched you with bright eyes. Your kind smile, voice, and demeanor had struck him breathless. You wrote down your name and phone number with a little heart and smiley face beside the last digit. You handed the slip of paper to him with a bashful smile. “Thank you,” Spencer told you.

    You replied “you’re welcome” with the same sly smile as moments before.

     “I- I need to go to work,” Spencer stuttered out to you after checking his watch. “I’ll text you, y/n!”

     “I’ll be waiting, Spencer!” You called out to him as he scrambled out the door. 

      You were, in fact, right about today being good.

Bonus:

     ‘xxx-xxx-xxxx’: It’s Spencer from the coffee shop. I’m in town if you want to get dinner tonight. :)

     ‘You’: Hi Spencer! Can i call you spence? I’d love to get dinner tonight!

     ‘Dr. Spencer Reid :)’: Call me anything you want. Does Italian sound good? I can pick you up or we can meet there.

     ‘Dr. Spencer Reid :)’: Anything you’re comfortable with!

     ‘You’: I’d love Italian :D

     ‘You’: Send me the address and time and I will be there!

     Morgan loomed over Spencer’s shoulder during the entire conversation. Deep down, Derek felt honored Spencer cared enough to ask him how to respond to you charismatically and that was proud his ‘little brother’ was putting the moves on the ladies.

[this-should-do]

behind the scenes of the new vegas opening cut scene lol

[channnel]

Alan offers you his slushie. (Ft. Oc)

[revivemyreverie]

the creation spree starts up again heres rue's upper and lower classmen :DDD

[falloutspammer]

when theres only one bed but you have a zombie bite or three

[elderwisp]

𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎? 𝙱𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗?

[julietsbody]

bucky who very openly manspreads, he always sits down with a grunt, slumping down into the seat with his legs instantly parting from each other. and it’s not like it was a little part, something barely noticeable— no, his legs were spread as far as they could possibly be. buck always gripes at him about it, telling him he looks ‘easy’ in which bucky just scoffs, rolling his eyes and spreading even farther just to annoy buck. 

bucky who reeks of mint, coffee, and the cologne he deems the best ever made, pour un humme. 

bucky who rarely ever gets hurt, but when he does? he loves to put on a show for the nurses, wincing and groaning in pain over something simple like a paper cut, or stumbling into the infirmary with a busted lip after he decided it would be funny to box one of the majors on the british air forces. he’s always flirting, too, saying something cheesy like, “gonna take good care of me, doc?“ 

bucky who makes you call him sir when you’re in the empty barracks with him, as everyone else is attending the bar, he’ll tease and tease you until you’re pathetically begging him for him to fuck you— but you left out the one thing he wanted, making him click his tongue disapprovingly, “please who, huh? you gonna be good for me and call me sir, right?”

bucky who puts his military visor hat on you when you’re riding him, chuckling whenever your thighs shake at the feeling of his thick cock stretching you out, making some idiotic joke like, “tryna ride me like ‘m an airplane, huh, doll-face?” 

[mauvecherie-writes]

FREAKTOBER 06 | jules koundé.

RATING: 18+ NSFW mature. Google translated French.

🎀 FREAKTOBER MASTERLIST 🎀

The cool night air hit your skin, but the heat between you and Jules was more than enough to set the whole city on fire.

You barely had time to think before you were pushed up against the railing of the balcony of the hotel room, Jules’s rough hands were already pulling at your dress, his hums of satisfaction rumbling through the darkness of the night

“Jules baby, we’re—” you started say, glancing down at the street below, the lights of the city glowing, people walking by completely unaware of what was about to happen. You had drunkly mentioned how much you would love to have sex on a balcony spontaneously. He thought that now, after a beautiful date night as people rushed through the streets of Barcelona would be a good time as ever.

But Jules didn’t care. Because of his fame, you had been skeptical about someone possibly catching you in the act but the thought of it seemed to turn him on more.

“You worried about a little audience, sweetheart?” He rasped into your ear, his voice dripping with that familiar roughness that always sent a shiver down your spine. His hands gripped your waist, spinning you around until your chest was pressed against the cold metal railing.

The city was spread out below you alive and rushing with life, and here you were, at the mercy of this feral man you loved so much.

Before you could say anything, Jules’s hands were on you again, tugging at your underwear, rough and impatient, and you couldn’t help but moan as he peeled them down. The cool night air hit your exposed skin, the coldness nipping at your nipples and pruning them tight.

A stark contrast to the heat burning inside you, but you didn’t care. Not when Jules was behind you, his body pressed so close, his breath hot against your neck.

“You’re soaked already,” he growled, his hand running over your bare ass, squeezing possessively. “Trying to act all coy but you love this huh? Knowing anyone could look up and see you get fucked by me.”

You could barely respond; your mind was spinning from the intensity of the moment, but your body gave him all the answers he needed. You pushed back against him, craving more, craving everything.

Jules’s low, dirty chuckle told you that he knew exactly what you wanted.

“That’s my girl,” he muttered, and before you could catch your breath, he slammed his dick into you, hard and deep. The force of it made you gasp, your hands gripping the railing for dear life as Jules started moving, not caring at all who might be watching.

The way he fucked you was wild, reckless, like he couldn’t hold back anymore, and the thought of people walking below, just a glance up and they’d see you like this, only made it hotter.

“Ohhh fuuckkk!” You moaned as Jules’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air. You could barely think, barely breathe, the only thing you could focus on was the way he felt inside you, the way he owned every inch of your body.

“Bon sang, tu es parfait. Parfait pour moi.” [Goddamn you’re perfect. Perfect for me] Jules growled; his voice rough with lust. His hands slid up your back, rounded your chest and pulled you to his chest which caused you to arch even more so he could bury himself deeper, harder.

“You love this, don’t you? Letting everyone see how good you take it.” He mumbled in your ear, his words slurred.

“Yes, only for you baby.” You moaned, your body shaking with the intensity of it all, and Jules’s pace only quickened, his dick slamming into you over and over, making sure you felt every inch of him.

The thrill of being so exposed, knowing anyone could see, made it impossible to hold back, and you could feel your orgasm building fast, your body tightening around him, squeezing him so hard, his thrusts falter at the tension.

“Fuck! Jules!” you gasped, barely able to form words, just his name.

He wasn’t slowing down, he was relentless. The grip his hands had on your body would surely leave bruises on your skin but that was the last thing on your mind now. You just needed everything that Jules was giving you.

“I can feel you hot and throbbing. Come for me my darling.” With those words, the tension in your body snapped, and you came hard. Your legs were trembling so much as waves of pleasure crashed over you, Jules had to hold you down.

Jules growled in satisfaction, his hips slamming into you one last time as he chased his own release.

“Please, baby. Cum for me.” You whispered into his ear. You could feel him throbbing inside you, and then, with a deep, primal grunt, he came, filling you up as he held you tight against the railing as he stumbled forward due to the intensity of his orgasm.

For a moment, neither of you moved, just standing there as your bodies were pressed together as you tried to catch your breath.

The sounds of the city below seemed distant, almost unreal, as you slowly came down from the high of it all. Jules leaned into the side of your head, moving your tight curls of his was as his lips brushed against your ear. hefhechuckled softly.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” His question caused you to giggle as you rolled your eyes. It wouldn’t matter anyway.

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @hopefulromantic1 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @saintslewis @cocobutterqwueen @blowmymbackout @mochachocolatteyaya @greedyjudge2 @melaninpov @pickingupmymercedes @lewisroscoelove @kindan3rdy951 @elyseesarchive @sl33p-deprived-princess @soiguessimtheshit @acidlv @kriegertops @ermlolol @theogbadbitch @trinitoldyouso @ethereal555 @astrorainbow @jazziejax @laylaynaynay130 @khalaaylah @plan666 @crissrou @cookiecutterzers56 @cameroncrazie13 @shescatrinaxo @efefrf @wvvkndvibez @st4rgirliesstuff @gwenda-fav @fineanddandy @planetblaque @deja-r @kiraonthegooo @apimp-named-slickback @playgurlxoxo @gojosbabyma @heytaewrites @leilaxaliel @dyttomori @tasteofmyrainboe @livvy-lovess @violetmuses @jeanellepatrice @kaisage45 @planetnique

[iamquiantrelle]

PLAYING FOR KEEPS ────── iamquaintrelle (✨💕)

⌗ pairing : jules koundé x black oc

⌗ tags : @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @greedyjudge2 @f1-football-fiend @2serenity0 @peyiswriting @coffeevacation

⌗ summary : jules is focused on himself — no girlfriend, no drama — but now he seems to have both after pictures of him having fun at a friend's house party shows up in tabloids, and now fashion houses are calling for him? and his agent wants him to keep up this charade? ♡ masterlist.

Jules was all about the grind lately. Training, press, brand meetings, repeat. No time for relationship drama or late nights that didn't involve reviewing game footage. His DMs were constantly filled with heart emojis and "my friend thinks ur cute" messages that he left on read. The tabloids called him cold, but he called it focused.

That's why he was surprised to find himself at Antoine's 90s/00s-themed house party in Le Marais after a crazy few days of attending Fashion Week shows. The apartment was a vibe — exposed brick and big windows with vintage MTV music videos projected on one wall. Someone had hung those metallic dangly curtains everywhere, and the whole place was tinted in purple and blue LED lights that made everyone look like they were in an old-school music video.

The crowd was a mix of football players, fashion week leftovers, and local party regulars. Girls in low-rise jeans and crop tops were everywhere, and more than a few guys had committed to FUBU jerseys and backward caps. Jules had kept it simple - white tank, vintage Prada sport pants, and a gold chain.

"Get Low" started blasting through the speakers and suddenly everyone was dropping it like it was 2003. Jules nursed his drink by the window, watching the chaos. The bass was so heavy he could feel it in his chest, mixing with the persistent buzz of his phone. Probably his agent wondering why he'd been tagged at a party instead of resting before tomorrow's training.

He was about to leave — this wasn't really his scene anymore — when he spotted her across the room. The girl who regularly roasted his outfit choices at Louis Vuitton, looking completely different outside the store. She was wearing what looked like a reconstructed Dapper Dan-inspired vintage LV monogram dress that definitely wasn't official merchandise, her hair up in two buns Princess Leia would envy. And she was absolutely destroying everyone in a dance battle to "The Whisper Song."

Jules couldn't help but smile. Who knew the girl who told him his €500 sweater made him look like a sad corporate mascot could move like that?

He didn't realize he was staring until she caught his eye mid-body roll and smirked. The same smirk she gave him last week before telling him his new Balenciaga sneakers looked like "orthopedic shoes for a cyberpunk grandpa."

Maybe he'd stay for one more song.

The dance battle ended with her throwing up peace signs and disappearing into the kitchen. Jules found himself following, weaving through a crowd of people that was tonguing each other down. The kitchen was quieter, if you could call anything quiet when Lil Jon was screaming "YEAH!" through the speakers next door.

She was perched on the counter, drinking water from a wine glass like it was champagne. Up close, he could see her dress was definitely handmade - a masterpiece of Louis Vuitton shopping bags.

"Your Air Force Ones are actually clean for once," she said instead of hello, looking him up and down. "Did you finally learn how to use a magic eraser, or did you just buy new ones?"

"Do you ever get tired of roasting people's outfits?" Jules leaned against the fridge, trying to look unbothered, but she always had a way to get under his skin.

"Do you ever get tired of giving me material to work with?" She grinned, taking another sip of water. "What's a football boy doing at a fashion week afterparty anyway? Shouldn't you be in bed watching game clips or whatever it is you do?"

"Shouldn't you be at Louis folding scarves or whatever it is you do?"

"Bold of you to assume I fold anything. I'm strictly there to judge people's choices and occasionally sell bags to WAGs who pretend not to know who you are."

The music changed to "Say My Name" and a chorus of drunk screaming erupted from the living room. Jules found himself laughing — actually laughing — for the first time in what felt like months.

"I'm Mila, by the way," she said, extending her hand like a queen waiting for someone to kiss it. "In case you were wondering who's been destroying your fashion confidence for the past three months."

"Jules," he replied, even though they both knew she definitely knew who he was. "In case you were wondering who's been ignoring your styling advice for the past three months."

"Well, Jules, now that we're introduced, want to tell me why you keep coming into my store just to ignore my professional opinion?" She hopped off the counter, landing gracefully despite her platform boots. "Because either you secretly love being told your taste is questionable, or you're really bad at shopping anywhere else."

He was saved from answering by a girl bursting into the kitchen, her Y2K butterfly top slightly askew. "Mila! Dom's about to play your song but he's also about to pass out so if you want to—"

"That messy bitch," Mila muttered, already heading for the door. She turned back to Jules. "Don't leave yet. I still need to tell you how that chain is giving wannabe 2003 Justin Timberlake."

Jules watched her disappear into the crowd, presumably to save her DJ friend from face-planting onto his equipment. The kitchen felt weirdly empty now, even as drunk partygoers stumbled in and out looking for mixers.

He should leave. He had early training tomorrow, and his teammate was definitely going to snitch to their coach about him being out late. But then Nelly's "Hot In Herre" started playing, and he could see Mila through the doorway, dramatically lip-syncing every word while trying to prop up a swaying DJ.

Maybe he'd stay until the end of this song too.

Three songs later, he was still there, watching Mila and her friends absolutely destroy the choreography to "Dilemma." She kept catching his eye and grinning, like they were sharing some private joke about everyone else at the party.

By the time two in the morning rolled around, the crowd had thinned out, the playlist had switched to slow R&B, and Jules found himself back in the kitchen with Mila, both of them picking at the sad remains of the snack table.

"I'm starving," she announced, examining a stale chip like it had personally offended her. "And not in a 'these sweaty pretzels will do' kind of way. In a 'I need real food immediately' way."

"There's a McDonald's around the corner," Jules heard himself say, even though he hadn't had McDonald's since his academy days. "If you want actual food."

Mila's eyes lit up. "McFlurry run? In this economy? In these outfits?" She grabbed her tiny matching shoulder bag. "Absolutely yes."

The McDonald's was exactly what you'd expect at two-thirty in Paris — a mix of drunk tourists, exhausted delivery drivers, and a few fashion week zombies still in full runway looks. Jules and Mila probably should've looked out of place, but somehow they fit right into the beautiful mess.

"If you tell anyone at Louis that I'm eating McDonald's in this dress, I'll have to kill you," Mila said, stealing one of his fries. They'd grabbed a corner table, their knees bumping underneath because the space was tiny. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"What, the reputation of being fashion's most brutal critic? Pretty sure that's safe." Jules pushed the fries between them to share properly. "Yesterday you told a guy his Gucci loafers looked like something a divorced dad would wear to a casino."

"First of all, they did. Second of all—" She paused mid-fry theft, eyes narrowing at something over his shoulder. "Don't react, but there are definitely people taking pictures of us right now."

Jules started to turn but Mila kicked him under the table. "I said don't react! God, you're bad at this. Just act natural." She took a dramatic bite of her Big Mac. "Though I guess the tabloids catching you eating McDonald's is better than them catching you at that party."

"My agent's going to kill me," Jules groaned, but he couldn't bring himself to care that much. He was having too much fun watching Mila attempt to eat a burger while maintaining her cool fashion girl image.

"Please, this is probably good for you. Hot football player eating late night McDonald's with a mystery girl? Looking like a whole vibe in vintage Prada? The internet's going to eat this up." She dipped a fry in her McFlurry with zero shame. "No offense but you could use some spice in your public persona. You're getting a reputation for being boring."

"I'm not boring, I'm focused," he protested, but even he didn't fully believe it anymore. Not when he was sitting in McDonald's at almost three in the morning, watching one of Paris's most exclusive luxury store employees demolish fast food like it was her last meal.

"Sure, focused," Mila smirked. "That's why you keep coming into my store just to get roasted. Because you're so focused."

Before Jules could defend himself, Mila's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and nearly choked on her McFlurry.

"Oh my god," she turned the phone to show him. "We're already on Twitter."

The photo was actually good — like, annoyingly good. Someone had caught them mid-laugh, fries scattered between them. The harsh McDonald's lighting somehow glowed against the gold hardware of Mila's reconstructed dress and the vintage Prada track jacket Jules had thrown on before leaving the party. They looked like an editorial trying to be casual, except their laughter was too real.

"Look at the quotes," Mila scrolled, her platforms kicked up on his side of the booth now. "'Who is she?' 'The way they're matching without matching?' 'That LV reconstruction is everything!' At least they appreciate art." She gestured to her dress with a fry.

Jules leaned back, taking in the situation. He'd spent years cultivating his image - the serious athlete who just happened to have top-tier taste. The guy who could mix high fashion with streetwear so well that GQ had done a spread on his game day arrival fits. But he'd never looked this… effortless. Something about sitting across from Mila, who treated Balenciaga sneakers and McDonald's fries with the same level of critical analysis, made everything feel less curated.

"Your agent's definitely awake by now," Mila said, still scrolling. "The fashion girlies are going crazy trying to figure out who I am. Ooh, someone recognized me from Louis! Watch this turn into 'Football Star and LV Girl' by the afternoon."

His phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.

"That's probably my team's PR group chat exploding," he groaned, but couldn't help smiling. "Think Louis Vuitton will fire you for eating McDonald's in a dress made from their shopping bags?"

"Are you kidding? This is the most interesting thing that's happened to their brand this week. Fashion week's been boring." She stole his phone, adding her number. "You're going to need my contact info when this blows up anyway. Can't have you telling reporters the wrong designer credits for my outfits."

The notification previews were already wild — his agent, his teammates, fashion blogs, sports accounts. But watching Mila save herself as "LV's Meanest Stylist 👑" while demolishing what was left of their fries, Jules found himself caring less about damage control and more about when he'd see her again.

Even if it meant getting roasted for his next outfit choice.

It wasn't as brutal as Jules expected. Well, physically at least - he'd stuck to Gatorade at the party and he snuck in a power nap on the plane ride back to Barcelona. But his phone? Complete disaster zone.

217 unread messages. 68 missed calls. His agent had sent a voice note that was just straight screaming. Even his mom texted, asking who "that girl with the beautiful dress" was.

Jules scrolled through his notifications while his coffee brewed, still in his designer silk pajamas (that Mila would probably roast him for if she knew about them). Twitter had done its thing with someone had already made a thread analyzing their "couple aesthetic" and how it was "shifting the paradigm of sports-fashion crossover." Whatever that meant.

His phone buzzed again. Mila.

LV's Meanest Stylist: your form for running away from paparazzi outside my store is terrible btw. someone just showed me old pics. we need to work on that along with your sweater choices 💅🏾

He caught himself grinning at his phone like an idiot. Before he could reply, another text came through:

LV's Meanest Stylist: also check vogue's instagram story. we're about to have an interesting day at work bestie 🥰

The Vogue story was… a lot. They'd picked up the McDonald's photo, paired it with his past fashion week appearances and what they could find of Mila's work fits. The caption was killing him: "Football's New Fashion Power Couple? Jules Kounde spotted with mysterious Louis Vuitton stylist - serving looks and McFlurries 👀"

His agent was calling. Again.

Jules finally picked up his agent Bruno's call, putting it on speaker while he got dressed for training.

"Have you seen what's happening? This is Cristiano and Georgina levels of potential. She was at Gucci, he was just shopping, now look at them!" Bruno was in full spiral mode. "And yours is even better - you're both already in fashion, both have the aesthetic, and that McDonald's photo? You couldn't plan this kind of organic viral moment."

Jules tugged on a vintage Helmut Lang sweater (that Mila had actually approved of last time, even if she said it made him look like "an art curator having a midlife crisis, but in a hot way"). He thought about how he'd started finding excuses to visit Galeries Lafayette whenever he was in Paris, always timing it when he knew she'd be working. How she'd clock him the moment he walked in, already preparing her roast for whatever he was wearing.

"Bruno, it's not like that—" he started, but his agent was on a roll.

"The internet loves her already. She's got that whole 'devil in Prada' thing going but make it Gen Z. Plus she works at Louis! Do you know how perfect this is for your image? You're already getting more luxury house follows—"

Jules thought about Mila's unfiltered commentary on everything - not just clothes. How she'd rate people's outfits out loud in public like she was doing director's commentary. Everyone assumed it was an American thing, that typical no-filter attitude, but Mila took it to an art form. She'd call out fashion week scammers and hypebeasts with the same energy she used to debate whether Jules' latest Bottega purchase made him look like "money or new money."

"—are you even listening? This could change everything. The serious athlete image was working but this? This is—"

"Bruno," Jules interrupted, "I actually need to get to training. Can we talk strategy later?"

After hanging up, he stared at Mila's last text. She'd sent a photo of the crowd outside Galeries Lafayette:

LV's Meanest Stylist: these vultures really think i'm gonna serve them looks at 8am? bestie we need to coordinate our chaos because your fans are UNHINGED

He smiled, typing back: wear something worth getting photographed in, LV's meanest stylist 👑

Her response was instant: bold words from someone who owned those tragic Balenciaga crocs

His Urus purred through Barcelona traffic, Kendrick's "N95" drowning out his thoughts about the chaos waiting at training. The teasing was going to be relentless - his teammates lived for any crack in his usually composed life, yet his mind kept drifting back to Mila instead of dreading the locker room jokes.

Jules parked at the training facility, but didn't get out immediately. Against his better judgment, he pulled up Twitter.

"Fuck…" he muttered, running a hand through his locs when he saw he was still trending. The newest viral photo wasn't even from McDonald's - someone had snapped Mila at work in Galeries Lafayette, probably from earlier this morning.

She looked exactly like herself - unbothered and effortlessly cool in a blazer from Pharrell's men's line, paired with cigarette pants and what looked like an LV open-back crop top. Her brown skin glowed under the store lighting, her straight dark hair falling perfectly with curls at the ends, even as she seemed to be mid-roast of whatever poor soul was in front of her.

The comments were wild: "THE MATERIAL GIRL AND FOOTBALL BOY WE DESERVE 😭" "nah her style is actually insane?? that blazer with those pants??" "when is she coming to watch him play in barcelona tho 👀" "they literally match without trying, your fave couples could never" "LV girl has more sauce than half these football wives I'm crying"

Jules caught himself smiling at his phone. The internet was doing that thing where it turned real people into characters, spinning narratives from two photos. But they weren't completely wrong about Mila's style - she didn't just talk the talk. Even in the leaked store photo, she looked like she'd walked off a runway but make it corporate chaos.

His phone buzzed with another text from her: "your fans found my old fashion blog. it's giving parasocial relationship but make it haute couture"

The Barcelona training ground was already buzzing when Jules walked in. He'd tried to time it perfectly - not too early, not too late - but it didn't matter. He could feel the eyes on him before the comments even started, everyone had definitely seen the photos. His attempt to slip quietly into the locker room failed spectacularly when Marc, their goalkeeper, slow clapped his entrance.

"Damas y caballeros, nuestro propio personaje principal ha llegado (Ladies and gentlemen, our own main character has arrived)," Marc announced, grinning like he'd been waiting all morning for this moment. "El hombre que rompió Fashion Twitter con McDonald’s. El rey de las colaboraciones inesperadas. El..." (The man who broke Fashion Twitter with McDonald's. The king of unexpected collabs. The—)

"Cállate," Jules threw his bag at Marc, but he was fighting a smile.

"No sabía que lo tenías en ti (Didn't know you had it in you)," Pedri chimed in, not looking up from his phone where he was definitely scrolling through the trending topics. "Todo este tiempo actuando demasiado centrado en el drama, luego te vuelves viral con la reina de la mala de Louis Vuitton." (All this time acting too focused for drama, then you go viral with Louis Vuitton's queen of mean)

Jules started unpacking his bag, trying to maintain his usual unbothered expression. The kit designers had actually consulted him on this season's away colors - not that he'd tell his teammates that. They already thought he was too into fashion. "Todos ustedes necesitan mejores pasatiempos."

"¿Mejor que verte tendencia en todo el mundo? Nunca." Marc was scrolling through his phone now, perched on the bench like he was about to give a presentation. "Dios mío, ya hay cuentas de fans dedicadas a ti: ‘Jules and Mila Fashion Archive’ ya tiene 5 mil seguidores. Espera hasta que descubran que realmente vas a su tienda solo para que te asen—"

"¿Cuánto tiempo has estado tramando esto?" Pedri interrupted, finally looking up. "Porque mi chica sigue su blog de moda y aparentemente has estado en el fondo de las fotos de su tienda durante meses."

Jules paused midway through lacing up his boots. He hadn't known about any store pictures. The thought of him showing up in the background of Mila's content while she probably roasted his outfits to her followers was… actually exactly her style.

"Recuerda cuando firmó por primera vez y usó esos crocs de diseñador para entrenar?" Marc was on a roll now. "Apuesto a que ella tendría un día de campo con esas fotos—"

"Esas eran ediciones limitadas," Jules defended.

His phone buzzed in his locker. Speaking of the devil: your team's social media manager just followed me. should i be worried or flattered?

"Ooh, está sonriendo a su teléfono!" Lamine, one of the younger players, called out. "¡Julio en realidad está emocionando! ¡Rápido, que alguien tome una foto antes de que vuelva a su cara de modelo en reposo!" (Ooh, he's smiling at his phone. Jules is actually emoting! Quick, someone take a picture before he goes back to his resting model face!)

"¿Qué está diciendo?" Marc tried to peek at his phone. "¿Está asando tus opciones de atuendo a larga distancia? Porque esos pantalones de chándal que usaste la semana pasada..."

"Focus up!" Flick's voice cut through the locker room. "Save the gossip for after training. Jules, we'll be discussing social media strategy with PR later. Apparently, you're bringing in a new demographic we need to 'strategically leverage' or whatever they're calling it."

Jules grabbed his water bottle, already dreading the PR meeting. He could just imagine the PowerPoint presentation they'd prepared. As if his relationship with Mila - whatever it was - could be turned into a marketing strategy.

Another text came through as they headed out to the pitch:

LV's Meanest Stylist: some fashion blog found pics of you actually wearing the pieces i suggested. they're calling it a 'slow burn fashion romance' i'm screaming 💀 there's a whole timeline of your store visits matched with your match day fits. these people are UNHINGED. anyway good luck at training bestie, try not to get distracted thinking about my incredible style 😘"

"Julio!" Marc waved a hand in front of his face. "Deja de enviar mensajes de texto a tu gurú de la moda y concéntrate. A menos que quieras que el entrenador te haga hacer sprints adicionales."

He was definitely going to get megged at training for not focusing. His mind kept drifting to Mila's text about his match day fits - had she really been paying that much attention? The tabloids were about to lose their minds when they figured out he'd been lowkey getting styled by her through carefully timed "roasts" for months.

"Jules! Less smiling, more running!" Flick yelled.

Worth it though.

Mila's apartment looked like a crime scene of designer pieces she'd tried on and discarded. Her phone had been blowing up since that McDonald's photo dropped - fashion blogs, sports pages, and now Jules' agent calling for the fifth time.

She scrolled through her messages while heating up leftovers, pausing on one from her boss: "The engagement on our posts is up 200% today. Whatever this is, keep it professional." As if she hadn't kept it professional these past few months, roasting Jules' questionable fashion choices within the walls of Galeries Lafayette.

He'd shown up last fall during her shift, and when she'd told him his designer sweater was giving "tech startup CEO at a midlife crisis festival," he'd actually laughed. Started coming in several times a month, sometimes just to debate the merits of vintage versus new season pieces while she restocked displays.

Her phone lit up. Jules' agent again.

"Might as well," she muttered, picking up. "Hello?"

"Mila! Finally! Let's talk about this organic marketing goldmine you two have created—"

She moved the phone away from her ear, letting the agent ramble about engagement metrics and brand synergy. Her DMs were flooded with fashion houses wanting to "collaborate." Three months ago, they wouldn't even respond to her portfolio.

Her work phone buzzed with a store notification. Someone had requested her specifically for a styling appointment. Probably another footballer looking to recreate whatever was happening with her and Jules.

Mila put her phone on speaker, letting the agent's voice fill her kitchen while she made tea. He was going on about metrics and demographics, something about Jules' engagement being up 300% since the McDonald's photo.

"—and the fashion houses are loving this organic crossover moment. Your reconstructed piece was genius, by the way. Very editorial. Which is why we think—"

A text from Jules cut through the noise: "my PR team found your tweet about my 'tragic but endearing' yeezy phase. they're using it in the presentation. traitors."

Mila smiled despite the chaos. At least he was still giving her material to work with: "you wore those shoes to a MUSEUM opening. i was professionally obligated to drag you."

She hadn't meant to be at that party last night. Wasn't planning on going viral at McDonald's in a dress she'd reconstructed from LV shopping bags, yet here she was, accidentally becoming part of a narrative she hadn't signed up for.

Mila rolled her eyes, adding honey to her tea. She had three unfinished designs due next week and a client waiting on a custom piece. Whatever this was about could wait.

"—you two should continue dating. Or at least appear to be dating."

Her spoon clattered against the counter. "We should what now?"

"The optics are perfect!" The agent was on a roll. "The brutally honest stylist and the fashion-forward footballer? It's a narrative goldmine. Louis Vuitton's numbers are up, Jules' brand deals are through the roof, and you're already getting offers from—"

"We're not dating," Mila cut in, even though that was obvious. She'd just roasted his outfit choices for months and accidentally gone viral. That wasn't dating.

"Exactly! But imagine if you were. Or if people thought you were. The fashion week appearances, the match day fits, the social media moments..."

Her phone buzzed with a text from Jules: "my agent's crazy right? please tell me you're not actually listening to this facetime dating pitch"

"Listen," Mila pinched the bridge of her nose. "I style people. I critique awful fashion choices. I'm not about to play girlfriend for your marketing strategy."

"But you're already styling Jules. Already critiquing his choices. Already going viral together. Why not make it official? Think of the opportunities. The connections. The—"

Mila looked at her tea, then at her phone, then at the pile of design work waiting for her. This was ridiculous. She had deadlines. Real work. Actual goals that didn't involve pretending to date a footballer with occasionally questionable taste in sneakers.

But...

Mila glanced at her reflection in a mirror, mentally calculating. Jules wasn't completely lost when it came to fashion - boy actually had some drip. And unlike half the footballers who came through her store, he had his natural teeth - not a veneer in sight. The fact that he was fine as hell was just a bonus to his actually decent taste level.

Plus, this job was starting to drain her. The endless hours at Galeries Lafayette, the entitled clients who thought money could buy style, the corporate bullshit of it all. Last week some wannabe influencer had thrown a fit over a bag that wasn't even in production yet.

She could use this. Use him.

"What's in it for me?" Mila interrupted the agent's monologue.

The typing bubble appeared from Jules: "did you just ask about benefits? mila please don't encourage him-"

But she was already running the numbers. Fashion houses were watching. Her reconstructed pieces were getting attention. And Jules... well, having a footballer with actual potential to not dress like a fashion disaster wouldn't be the worst thing for her portfolio.

"Access to special archives for your reconstruction pieces," the agent started, like he'd been waiting for her to ask. "Front row at fashion week - not just Paris, we're talking Milan, New York. Creative control over Jules' match day fits, which means direct lines to any fashion house you want. Plus, Vogue wants to do a feature on your work - the pieces you've been creating, your styling philosophy, all of it."

A text from Jules popped up: "he's offering you the archives?? even I can't get in there 👀"

"And?" Mila took a sip of her tea, playing it cool even though her mind was already racing with designs she could create with archive access.

"And your reconstructed pieces get official LV backing. No more 'unofficial' collections. They're interested in a limited capsule release - young, edgy, sustainable. Everything you've been pushing for."

She set down her cup. Hard.

Another text from Jules: "take the deal before he offers to throw in his firstborn child 💀"

"Timeline?" Mila asked, already thinking about the archive pieces she could remix, the connections she could build, the doors this could open. "And I maintain creative control? Over everything?"

"Six months minimum. And yes - you've already proven you know what you're doing with his image. The McDonald's photo's got more engagement than his last three brand deals combined."

She glanced at her mood board, covered in designs she couldn't legally produce. Yet.

"Fine. But I have conditions."

Twenty minutes and several non-negotiables later, Mila's phone lit up with Jules' incoming call. She barely said hello before he started.

"So you like me that much, huh? Agreeing to be my girlfriend and everything?" His voice was annoyingly smug.

"Please. I like archive access and creative control. You're just the pretty package deal." She flopped onto her couch, kicking off her slippers. "How are you feeling about all this anyway?"

His laugh was unfairly sexy through the phone. "You're not exactly bad to look at yourself. Could be worse ways to boost my image than having fashion's meanest critic on my arm."

Mila rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Careful, I can still roast your outfit choices to my followers."

"You'll have to do that in person. Come to Barcelona - we need to get our stories straight anyway."

"I'll see what I can do." She examined her nails, trying to sound casual even though her mind was already picking out outfits.

"Mhmm," he hummed, voice dropping lower. "Bonne nuit, chérie."

"Sweetheart? Really getting a head start on the pet names?"

"Gotta save face, right?" She could hear his grin. "Sweet dreams."

The call ended and Mila's face broke into a wide smile, staring at her ceiling.

Oh, this was going to be interesting.

.................tbd

[lescarnetsdehaku]

My piece for Zine De Nuit latest issue, "Tied and Bound"!

It was about the ties inbetween original characters, as well as people being tied up, to add a little spice 🥵🫶

I choose Eufrasio and Jules because they are plaguing my brain, also I'm the author and I do whatever I want, I'm my own fandom. They're canon.

[vonlipvig]

in honor of 10 years of dashcon, we should all pay our respects by taking a little bit of time from our day to think about our favorite characters running/going to an absolutely dogshit convention. with a ball pit, of course.

[zvdvdlvr]

Take Care of You + Silco

Synopsis. After an argument with Jinx, you comfort Silco as best as he’ll let you.

A/n. I want to start a series of Silco x jinx’s eldest sister!reader. Let me know what you think :p

You’d heard through the grapevine that Jinx had gotten into an argument with Silco. Now, doing odd jobs all around the Undercity (sometimes being recruited in the bright, shining streets of Piltover), you couldn’t do anything to calm your youngest sister’s mind when you were miles away. 

When you did get home though, you immediately greeted the bouncers of The Last Drop with an exhausted smile and asked how bad he was doing.

The guy on the right- Cassin, if you remembered correctly- sighed. “It’s a relief to see you,” is all he said. You grimaced, knowing it had to be bad. “Jinx left about five hours ago and it’s been getting worse and worse. For everyone’s sake…”

Verin- the man on the left- finished, “Go talk to him.”

You nodded. “Have a good night, boys,” you told them as they pulled open the door. They replied with their usual ‘you too, ma’am’.

It was late enough. You signaled the bartender and told him to shut the bar down and start helping people out.

“Good evening,” you say in greeting after stepping into Silco’s office.

Silco doesn’t reply. He simply lights his cigar and daces the window, letting his other arm fall limply to the side. He reaches a hand up to brush back his hair.

You drop your bag of coins on the couch as you make your way over to him. Silco, to put it lightly, was out of touch with his emotions. Or rather, he wasn’t sure how to communicate with Powder- Jinx, as she had called herself after the night everything fell apart.

You were Powder and Violet’s older sister- the eldest daughter of Felicia and Connol. The enforcer, the empath, the scapegoat, and the vessel of unconditional love: all in one body. After the explosion that blew up the building, you remember pulling your crushed leg from underneath the rubble. Hobbling down to see Powder weeping over Vander’s body. Violet was nowhere in sight.

“Powder!” You called, limping toward her.

The little blue-haired girl tackled you in a leap and brought you to your ass. You stifled a painful, gutteral scream as your bad leg twisted even further. Powder latched onto you, staining your shirt with her tears. You leaned your head back on the cold, cold pavement and let yourself cry.

The building was still crackling with fire. You didn’t even hear them until you opened your eyes and saw him. Him.

You unsheathed the blade from your belt and pulled yourself as far from him as you could with a lame leg and with Powder mourning in your arms. “Stay away.”

Silco raised his arms to show he was weaponless. “Let me help you, y/n.”

You glared at him sharply. “What do you know about us?” When Silco took a step forward, you waved your knife in the air. He swallowed, but stayed back.

“I know you’ve been taking the blame for your sisters’ actions for your entire life. I know that you are an astounding individual with the capacity to hold your ground,” Silco gestured towards a sniffling Powder. “As well as the the smarts to recognize when you are in a situation where you cannot protect yourself or… her.”

You sneer at him. “You talk pretty, but I’m careless enough to give myself up to give her a chance.”

Silco just tilted his head. “But we know you won’t do that,” he said. “You’ve already imagine the outcome.”

You drop your arm. And when the blade clatters to the ground, so does your facade. The man approaches you, slowly- like he knows you want him to. “Let me help you, y/n.”

His eyes gleam in the light. Like two bright neon signs. Like the ones that light up Vander’s bar. You are caught in his gaze like his prey: right where he wants you. Something stirs in your belly- something unfamiliar and dangerous and… yearning.

Vander scooped you up like Silco did once. Only Violet and Powder had the luxury of being carried around. Vander loved you- that much was true, but you craved the same treatment as your sister instead of being the rational, eldest daughter everyone expected.

But as Silco slid his arms under you and carried you against his chest, you felt the feeling in your gut grow. Powder had fallen asleep against your breasts and you grit your teeth to prevent you from crying out from the pain in your leg. As the lean, muscled man led you further into the night, you looked up to see his bright eyes flicker from your bruised body to the night ahead of you as though he’d been caught.

“What can I do?” You ask him, wrapping your arms around his waist and letting your cheek press to the fabric of his clothes. He relaxes into you slightly, wearily snuffing out his cigar.

He stares out of the window for another long moment. The green illuminated the room, giving him the dramatic flair he loves so much. “I do not know what to say to her.” He turns into you, eyebrows knitted. “I… I feel like the only ome she listens to is you. She- I don’t know how to talk to her. I don’t lnow what to say. She argues so much when all I want,” he looks off, eyes clouding as he thinks of what to say. Your hands cup his face tenderly. “All I want is you. Both of you.”

His guilty whispered admission makes your heart swell. Silco has fumbled over actions and doesn’t quite know what to say to young Jinx, but he means well. “I know, Sil. She’s just… growing up. My baby sister just wants you to trust her. She’ll come back when she’s ready and- and we can all talk, yeah? Powder just needs time to cool down.”

Silco’s eyes search your pink ones. “Your rationale is incredible.”

You smile. “I’m a woman, Silco. I’ve been in her position before.”

“That too,” Silco relents with a tight smile. “How is your leg?”

You shrug. “Not like I can feel it.”

A few weeks after Silco had taken you in, your leg had gotten infected. Desperate to save you, you were taken to Singed. The muscle had a festering infection bad enough to required amputation. Eventually, the blood loss was bad enough that Shimmer was required to stabilize you. All in all, the operation was taxing on all parties involved and had put a damper on Powder’s relationship with Silco because she thought he was the one that infected her. 

Silco thought he may have cried with relief when you finally opened your eyes and soothed him with the knowledge that you were okay.

Another week later and you were getting the best prosthetics money could buy, thanks to Silco. Powder had insisted she be by your side every metaphorical and literal step of the way. 

These days, your leg ached because of the work you kept yourself busy with. Against Silco’s wishes, of course. You knew he didn’t like when you left. Everyone knew Silco didn’t like when you were just two rooms away from him. He was protective, possessive… He felt love. Stupid, passionate, unexpected love. You knew he loved you and you loved him too.

And with you constantly on your feet doing work you didn’t need to do, Silco worried. Or maybe that was just because he wanted an excuse to see you every moment of every day.

“Hey, let me take care of you for once,” you told him when he arched an eyebrow at you. A laugh spilled from your lips when Silco- as he routinely does- pulls your baggy pants up to your thigh and detaches the prosthetic limb just above your knee. Then, he pulls you into his arms, your familiar weight grounding him and reminding him of why he does what he does: for you and your sister.

Silco scoffs. “You take care of me by simply being around me. Besides, I am quite fond of carrying you to bed.” His tone lightens at the end of his innuendo and his bright eyes flicker to you. “But… if you wanted to repay my overwhelming affection and respect-“

When Silco lies you down on the bed, you waste no time in pulling him harshly onto you by the collar. “-then you know how to be good for me, don’t you, y/n?” Silco purrs out the end of his sentence. He slots his thigh between your legs and dominates your kisses.

[dellamortethelesser]

Duncan: "Your keeper and I have spoken, and we've come to an arrangement that concerns you. My order is in need of help. You are in need of a cure. When I leave, I hope you will join me. You would make an excellent Grey Warden." Mahariel: "Me? A Grey Warden? This is madness!" Keeper Marethari: "This is not madness, da'len. Your survival depends on it." Duncan: "The darkspawn taint courses through your veins. That you recovered at all is remarkable. But, eventually, the taint will sicken and kill you--or worse. The Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us." Mahariel: "I will not join out of pity." Duncan: "This is not simply charity on my part. I would not offer this if I did not think that you had the makings of a Grey Warden. Let me be clear: You will likely never return here. We go to fight the Darkspawn, a battle that will take us far from your clan. But we need you, and others like you." Mahariel: "Is the clan sending me away?" Keeper Marethari: "A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south. A new Blight threatens the land. We cannot outrun this storm. Long ago, the Dalish agreed to aid the Grey Wardens against a Blight, should that day arrive. We must honor that agreement. It breaks my heart to send you away. As it would to watch you die slowly from this sickness. This is your duty, and your salvation." Mahariel: "This is all I've ever known! This is my home!" Duncan: "A home that darkspawn may tear apart. This way, you can find a cure and protect your clan. Have courage." Keeper Marethari: "I… cannot express my sadness at sending one of our sons off into such danger, away from the clan that loves him. But if this is what the Creators intend for you, da'len, meet your destiny with your head held high. No matter where you go, you are Dalish. Never forget that." Mahariel: "Please, do not cast me away." Keeper Marethari: "I am sorry, da'len." Duncan: "Very well. You leave me no choice. I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription." Keeper Marethari: "And I witness and acknowledge your invocation, Duncan of the Grey Wardens." Duncan: "I am sorry this was not your choice, but the darkspawn threat is simply too great." Mahariel: "You cannot make me serve against my will." Duncan: "I will drag you kicking and screaming to Ostagar if I must. Would you rather die here, and sicken your own people?" Keeper Marethari: "I know you'll do your clan proud, da'len. Take this ring. It is your heritage and will protect you against the darkness to come." Duncan: "A valuable gift. So… are you ready to go?" Mahariel: "Now?" Duncan: "I have already waited longer than is wise. You can afford less delay than I can, and we have much ground to cover. But I won't deny you time to say your farewells." Keeper Marethari: "Come then, da'len. Before the Creators guide you from us, let your clan embrace you one last time."

Duncan forcibly conscripts Mahariel.