#the moment they realise their efforts were not in vain

[blackhazefanblog]

I really want to see Duke Artian and Nuadly’s reaction to finding out Lanoste was still alive. 

[band--psycho]

Silco x Reader - Injuries And Admissions

I know lots of people are waiting for the next part of my Vander story; I promise I am working on it, but in the meantime I thought I'd post this story based off of this request! (Thank you to the Anon who sent this request in)

This is also my first Silco story, so please be kind! 💛

I hope you all enjoy this! Reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support!💛

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Silco Masterlist / Arcane Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, being stabbed, murder, protective Silco/worried Silco, gangs/gang violence, knives

You’d been summoned to Silcos office; you assumed it would be about a job he needed you to take care of, but when you got there, you noticed that he was not sitting in the chair behind his desk as he so often was.

Instead he was in front of it, leaning against it, his gaze completely fixed on you as you walked further into the room, closer to him. 

“What happened?” 

His words caught you off guard, before realisation dawned on you about why you were really here. 

It wasn’t for a job at all.

It was about the injury you’d suffered earlier that day. 

“Who told you?” You sighed as the question fell from your lips, wondering who of the very few people that knew about your injury had informed Silco. 

You hated the fact that he knew you’d been hurt; it made you look weak. 

And you hated looking weak. 

Especially when you should've been prepared for an attack like that. 

Silco becoming the kingpin of the Undercity came with risks; you knew this, and you accepted that there was a high probability that you could get injured. 

This was your own fault. 

You’d been wandering through the Lanes, when a group came up behind you. 

There were five of them and one of you; they made it very clear that they were enemies of Silcos and  wanted to kill you to ‘send a message’.

It wasn’t long until four of them were on the floor, groaning in agony at the injuries you’d caused them. 

You were holding the member that had threatened you against the wall, your blade to his throat and a warning on your tongue. 

You should’ve killed him. 

Should’ve killed them all straight away. 

But you didn’t. 

You threw the gang member to the ground; not realising that one of the others had stumbled to their feet, until you felt a sharp pain in your side. 

Quickly you turned around and slit their throat, watching the blood pour out of him as he fell back to the ground. 

The others ran; scared that they were going to be next. And they were right to run, because with the adrenaline that was coursing through your veins in that moment, you could’ve killed them all. 

They were lucky. 

But in all honesty so were you, because the wound could’ve been much worse. 

“What happened?” He repeated, ignoring your question about who told him. 

“Nothing,” you answered, hoping that brushing off his question would stop him from asking any further questions about it; you thought he’d be mad. 

Mad that you were meant to be one of his top people and you’d been injured so easily by a gang of radicals; but you saw no fury in his eyes, just an unexplainable emotion that if it had been anyone else you would’ve classed as worry.

But this was Silco. 

Your boss.

And the only person you’d ever seen him show that type of emotion to, or any type emotion for that matter, was Jinx. 

You thought it was just your mind playing tricks on you, that was until he spoke. 

“This…” he began, taking a few steps towards you, his hand delicately hovering over the wound on your side, “isn’t nothing.”

It looked worse than it actually was; not helped by the fact that you’d sewn the wound shut yourself, but it helped the bleeding stop. 

“You should see the other guy,” you joked awkwardly, attempting to lighten the mood; but your efforts were in vain; and Silco still just continued to stare at you, awaiting an answer to his question.

It was only in the silence that you realised how close the two of you were to one another; your mind was screaming at you to move, to pull back, to keep the distance between you so that your heart wouldn’t get ahead of itself. 

But despite your mind urging you to move, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

“I handled it,” you stated simply, hoping that your answer would suffice. 

It’s not like you couldn’t handle yourself, you were capable of handling situations, it was something you were used to; something you had to be used to whilst living in the Undercity where there were very few people to trust.

Today was just a mistake, one you would be sure wouldn’t happen again. 

“Oh I have no doubt about that, love, I know you’re quite capable, I just want to know what happened?”

“And why do you want to know that?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

You were confused both by the nickname he’d called you, as well as by the surprising tone of his voice as he softly said, “Because, I want to know who did this to you.”

This was a side of Silco you’d never seen before; and you didn’t quite know how to react to him. Not only were you used to his voice being firm and authoritative, instead of the gentle and empathetic voice that had said such protective words, but  you also weren’t used to his touch at all, nor were you used to the feelings it created. 

‘Why is he being like this?’ You thought to yourself; suddenly feeling the touch of his soft hand on your face; his actions only deepening your confusion, something that Silco was quick to notice.

“Is it really so surprising to think that I care for you?” His words caught you off guard. 

Yes was the simple answer. 

Why would he care for you? You were nothing special…

“Is it so surprising that I want to find the people who dared to hurt you and make sure they’re punished for it,” he continued; his eyes meeting yours, allowing you to see the honesty within them.

“Silco,” you breathed, unable to think of anything else to say; you were trying to processing his words, but yet you still remained completely confused by them. 

“I don’t like seeing you hurt, Y/n,” he stated simply, The hand that was on your waist remained there, whilst his free hand rose to your face, settling delicately on your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“I’m sorry-” you rest of your quickly fell away from your mind when you heard a knock at the door; the sudden sound making you jump a little.

A small chuckle fell from Silcos lips as he reluctantly stepped away from you, he didn’t want to.

He wanted to stay that close to you, he wanted to tell you how he truly felt; but as much as he wanted to, now was not the right time. 

You needed to rest; he knew that more than you did. He could see that you were exhausted from the day you'd endured.

And he needed to sort out whatever problem had undoubtedly occurred, leading to the knock at the door.

“Stay here and rest,” he ordered, giving you a small smile before walking past you towards the door, “I’ll be back soon, we’ll talk more then.”

Those were the last words he said to you before opening the door and quickly closing it behind him, leaving you alone in his office as you tried to work out what the hell had just happened.

Taglist:

@xacatalepsyx @barbersjoy @conretewings @the-lone-librarian @cass-brightwood @fortune-fool02 @arielpanda1 @mothratic @simping-ella @stickyrice5096 @levis-butterfingers @lesbianinyourarea @eternallyvenus @trixiex2 @nagislemontea @dazecrea @artemis0054 @ironwerewolfpeanut

[777gojosgf]

ALWAYS AN ANGEL NEVER A GOD

777GOJOSGF IS TYPING…

777gojosgf: tired!reader x satoru gojo

IN WHERE :: no matter how hard you try, your efforts will never be recognized as much as the ones of the strongest sorcerer.

a/n :: angsty time!

YOU STARED AT THE mission report containing information on your latest mission handed out by the principal and that pitiful feeling swarmed in your belly. it didn’t make sense. you had a perfect score on everything but somehow it wasn’t considered enough and you were still not named a special grade.

it certainly couldn’t be your fault, not when you had spent morning and night training at the grounds of jujutsu high. you barely had an ounce of sleep as you had tackled the training dummies for hours, trying to boost your stamina by running for miles and trying to adapt to your cursed technique. you had never taken a break, always having your eye on the prize.

you were always ahead of everyone at a young age when you still attended a normal public high school, excelling at every subject and the teachers always praising you for your efforts and high marks. but everything was different now that you were suffocated by the terrors and demands of the jujutsu world.

in the realm of jujutsu, you had become lost in an abyss, and you were no longer the greatest. the smartest, the one you had to defeat to win. no, you had lost your prodigy label and had to start over because intelligence was not the sole requirement for survival. to learn how to fight and defend yourself, you must have physical strength. act rationally rather than emotionally.

as a result, you trained yourself until you were blue and bruised, and there was never a day when you didn't start the day with a morning workout and/or a night session. you had this need to be the greatest at everything, unsure of whose approval you sought. it did not matter. you only wanted the gratification of doing good and being respected for it, to be feared rather than despised. however, your hard work was in vain because you were not promoted to a higher level.

what the fuck did they want from you?

and when was it ever enough?

before you realised it, you had crushed the mission report, which had fallen from your strong hold onto the floor. you weren't sure if you were angry or sad; maybe it was a combination of the two that was boiling deep inside and surging through your body. it was so puzzling because you had trained yourself and knew the answer to everything. missions were no trouble for you, and even single missions went well; why the heck haven't you been named a special grade yet?

“what has gotten you into such a buzz?” you heard coming from down the hallway as you turned around only to face the sorcerer you had envied the moment you had become a jujutsu sorcerer yourself. of course it was the fucking six eyes himself.

with lengthy steps, he effortlessly filled the gap between the two of you, his gaze drawn to the crumbled paper on the ground. he used his skill to raise it up and unfold it so he could read what it stated, but he didn't understand why you were so upset about it. it was an excellent mission report, with no further casualties or difficulties. what was the big deal?

"you. the higher-ups. fucking everything, okay?! i’ve worked my fucking ass off for years. i still have the scars from when i initially visited these grounds and worked out till i fucking blacked out, just to resume once i woke up. do you realise how damn fortunate you are? how do you get practically everything? you can do whatever the fuck you want because you are goddamn gojo satoru— that is my problem." you yelled angrily with shaking legs and hands, angry tears welling up in your eyes, but you knew it wasn't fair because he hadn't chosen this kind of life and how everything turned out was simply a matter of luck, but you couldn't keep your indifference hidden.

if he had felt hurt by that, you wouldn’t have known because there wasn’t any kind of feeling displayed on his face. instead, he leaned against the wall with a blank expression and averted his gaze away from you, a small sigh escaping him.

suddenly it had felt as if the world collapsed on you as you slid against the wall and eventually sat on the ground with your arms on top of your knees, your head buried into your arms as the angry tears had trailed down your face. it wasn’t fair. nothing was fair. the higher ups, him, but also the way you reacted wasn’t something he deserved that and you knew that deep down. but still— it was bound to come out sometime.

“i’m so tired…” you whispered to practically no one at all with a shaky breath, your eyes closing as you felt a headache starting due to the amount of crying and a strained voice by yelling. you had expected him to leave and find something useful to do, to not take this venting bullshit from you.

instead, you sensed his presence next to you as he sat down with his legs spread out on the floor. his back was leaning against the wall as he looked up, but he hadn't said anything yet, and you weren't sure whether he was going to. it did have a strangely soothing sense with him seated next to you.

soon enough, he had silently wrapped his arm around you and moved you closer to him. you hadn’t questioned any of his actions, you couldn’t when it felt as if there was a cloud above your head. Instead you nestled into his side and looked up at him teary eyed. “i’m sorry.” you breathed out defeated and gave him a weak smile which he only shaked his head to in response.

"don’t worry about it. you have a point, but i didn’t chose this either. you know? but it's true that they haven't been treating you fairly; i expected you'd be promoted months, if not years ago." he remarked, but he couldn't meet your gaze even though he had removed his blindfold, his white hair strewn haphazardly across his head. you merely nodded, about to open your month and clarify that it wasn't his fault, when he placed a finger on your lips, causing you to scowl.

it made him chuckle, the scowl you had on your face. he admired your feistiness and ability to stay strong even though things weren’t working out. perhaps it made you even stronger than him in a way.

“i know what you’re going to say, but i shouldn’t have showed off my abilities everywhere. however, i’ll fix this. alright? you just go and have a good night sleep.” he reassured you which only left you confused. how was he going to fix this and what for? you had basically just thrown a tantrum like a small child.

your thoughts were interrupted as you felt him drop a kiss on your head, causing blood to surge to your cheeks. you were about to comment on it, but he had already stood up and reapplied his blindfold, making his way to whatever he was planning to do.

"hey, satoru!" you yelled out from behind, still seated on the floor, arms on top of your knees. he came to a halt in his tracks and casually turned around; if you hadn't known better, you could have imagined there was a faint red glow on his own face.

“thank you.”

“no worries, y/n.”

the next morning, you awakened and put on your uniform, eager to get out of your room, until you discovered the mail slipped beneath your door. you frowned as you kneeled to the ground and picked up the letter. as you read what it stated, a huge grin appeared on your face, and a sense of victory ran through your body.

you were officially named a special grade.

you had no idea how satoru had done this or how he dealt with it, but you were extremely grateful. you realised you may not have earned what he had done for you after complaining about him in such a dramatic manner, but you couldn't help how you felt.

though it wasn’t long before you managed to figure out a way on how to thank him.

[jasmines-library]

Lazarus Rising

WHUMPTOBER DAY 27: Prompt ‘scars’

Fandom: Batfam

Summary: after an accident takes your life, your brothers manage to find a way to bring you back. But it leaves you with a set of prominent scars that you struggle to come to terms with. But your brothers are there to help you realise that you are beautiful just the way you are.

Warnings: Death, description of wounds and scars, self hate.

Word count: 1.6k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

It was a nasty accident.

An accident that had cost you your life. Your brothers had raced towards you, trying to haul the debris from the exploded building off of your body, but they were too late. You were dead. Still chest, blank stare, stone cold dead.

For a while, no one dared to move as Bruce cradled your bloody body. Not one of the boys attempted to hide the tears that rolled down their cheeks as you lay there devoid life in a pool of your own blood. The shrapnel had embedded itself if your back, and had sliced into other parts of your skin. You could see from the gash on your hand and on your cheek where you had tried to protect your face in vain.

The sight made Damian queasy and so he was the first to turn away, trying to burry the thought that he would never see the way you smiled with your eyes or simply hear your voice again.

Jason was the last to move. Long After Bruce had hauled your body away and his older brother had tried to pull him away gently by wrapping a strong arm around him. But all he could do was stare blankly at the crimson that stained the ground. It should have been him. He was the one who was supposed to be on patrol that night. But he bunked off and you took his place instead. His stomach knotted, tightening around him like a noose. He promised himself that he was going to find a way to bring you back.

And he did.

He didn’t want to tell his brothers what he was trying to do at first. But they caught on quickly after Jason was unable to hide the dark bags under his eyes any longer and they threatened to tell Bruce if he didn’t let up.

They were hesitant at first, but soon the four of them spent their free time delving into books and research. For a short while, their efforts seemed in vain and there were more frustrated sighs drifting across the room than words. But in one glorious moment, the words finally floated into Jason’s ears.

“The Lazarus pit.” He read from the screen what illuminated his small face in the dark. He had managed to find it after getting in contact with his mother and wracking his brain for something she had accidentally mentioned in passing. Talia was reluctant at first, but with Damian’s charm she was quick to give in. “My mother knows where it is. We can bring y/n back but…”

Tim, who had crowded round his little brother squinted. “But what?”

“She’s not going to be the same. The pit it-

It messes with your mind. And it might not work at all… there’s a time frame.”

Jason shook his head and pulled on his coat. “It’s better than nothing.”

~

The four of them carried your body gently towards the swirling green liquid. The pit was hidden in some sort of cave that had been dug out into some sort of lab.

“So this is it, huh?” Dick asked as they lay you down gently next to the pit. He could hardly bring himself to look at you. Your beauty was still obscured by the nasty gash that still hadn’t closed. He was so gentle as he manoeuvred your fragile body, as though just his fingers grazing along your cold skin would hurt you.

“Yeah.” Tim sighed.

“Keep your guard up. We don’t know how she’s going to react when she wakes up. She might be scared and confused.” Headed Damian who had practically recited his mother's words after committing them to memory.

There was little else said as they eased your body into the green liquid, watching as you floated just below the surface. It didn’t take long for the chemicals to take effect, stitching your skin back together and bringing more structure back to your bones and more life back to your skin.

Suddenly, you sat up with a gasp, flailing and splashing the substance of the edge of the pool as you dragged yourself out of it. Your clothes clung sticky to your skin. Your eyes were wide and didn’t settle on anything long before they were darting to the next thing and the next after that.

When Tim reached out to you your instincts kicked in, and you gripped his hand to flung him over your shoulder which caused him to let out a grunt as he collided with the stone.

Your mind was racing at a million miles an hour. You were scared. You didn’t know where you were or why every inch of your body was drenched in a dull but persistent ache.

“Y/n?”

You froze calming down for just one brief moment. You knew that voice and its gentle lilt. It was a voice you could picture a face with. Dark haired with stern eyes, but behind the facade was really a gentle boy with a soft spot for his little sister. You turned, tilting your head at the boy.

“Jason?”

~

You couldn’t bear to glance in the mirror anymore because they were all your gaze could settle on. Pale and spidering the scars crawled up your back and along your neck to your cheek. The pit had worked to some extent and although your mind was seemingly recovering and readjusting, the pit had failed to completely heal your skin, leaving a scar in its wake. Damian said it was something to do with the time scale. Something to do with the fact that the Lazarus put worked better on the dead the shorter they had passed.

You still couldn’t quite come to terms with that word. Dead. It sat in your mind like a weed. No matter how many times you plucked it, it always wormed its way back through the cracks.

For the first few weeks of being back at the manor, you spent a lot of your time trying to cover up the angry lines. The ones on your back were easy enough. You had just resorted to wearing a hoodie. Usually one of the boys’. They gave you a sense of comfort. But after a while, you began to miss wearing your own clothes. You missed being able to express yourself without it feeling wrong. So, there you were, standing in front of your full length mirror in your favorite top, staring at the scar.

There was a soft knock on the door before it peeled open, whining on its hinges and Jason saw you standing there. He couldn’t help the small grin that ebbed onto his lips.

You immediately tried to cover yourself. “Get out.”

“I-“ Jason didn’t want to move. He often feared that it he took his eyes off of you for too long then you would vanish again. Which meant that he was checking in on you much to your dismay. He was so proud of how far you had come in just a few short weeks. “You look beautiful, y/n.”

You recoiled. What? “Jason. Don’t look at them.”

You were about to pull on a hoodie when Damian’s voice peeped round the corner. He had grown impatient and set off with Tim to drag you to movie night. Dick went with them too, unable to shake his worry. Since you came back the four of them were constantly on edge, even if they didn’t care to admit it. “Is she coming or- whoa.”

Tim nearly squealed at the sight of you. “I thought I’d never see that top again.”

Your skin flushed as you sank down onto you bed.

“All of you. Out.”

“Why?” Damian implored.

“Because…I don’t like people looking at them. They’re disgusting.”

“Why the hell would you think that?” Jason was practically outraged at your words.

You couldn’t help it when your eyes brimmed with tears and your voice wavered. “Look at them, Jay!”

“I don’t see anything wrong with them.” Dick shrugged coming to sit next to you. “Do you?”

The rest of your brothers shook their heads.

You gave him a look.

Dick rolled up his top to reveal a long scar along his solar plexus. “Do you see anything wrong with this one?” He asked. Jason then pulled up the hem of his red top and shifted round on the mattress to show you the ones that littered his back. They were pinkish and resembled various different shapes. Or those?”

You shook your head. “No…it’s just. They’re everywhere.”

“So? They’re beautiful y/n. You’re beautiful. Does having a scar make Jason any less of a person that he was before?” Tim asked. You shook your head meekly. “Your scars don’t define you. No matter how much you think they do. You’re still the same gentle girl you were before.”

“Besides,” Damian chimed, “I think they’re really cool. Like lightning.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought. Your brothers always had a way of bringing light to a dark situation. It was just something that they did; they helped without thinking no matter the cost. You were glad to have them by your side, even if they did get a little annoying at times.

Although it took a little while, and a bucket-load of tears, your slowly began to embrace the scars. You began to express yourself in new ways that you hadn’t done before. In ways that brought a beaming grin to your face. And to your brothers. They were unbelievably proud and their hearts swelled. But it was one thing that you had learnt that really stuck out to you. That they loved you, just the way you were.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 26 ⛤ DAY 28 ->

Taglist:

@deans-spinster-witch

@senjoritanana

@amaryllis23

[jjklvr9]

ɴᴏᴛ ᴜ ɪᴍ ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ( ʟ. ʜꜱ ) 𑁤

18+ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 .ᐟ

𐙚 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 : 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 x 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𐙚 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ⇢ 𝖨𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾

𐙚 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 : 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, smut- 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝖽𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀!

𐙚 𝗐.𝖼 : 3.6𝗄 (𝗈𝗇𝖾-𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍)

𝖺/𝗇: 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝖼 ;_; 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍!

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭�� 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ♡

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Greying clouds and rolling thunders, the stormy weather made you reminisce. Huddled in the comfort of your blanket, your eyes gaze up at the ceiling of your bedroom as thoughts flood in with memories of your youth. It wasn’t that long ago when you left university; a mere 4 years ago, prompting the end of a chapter to move on to the next. That time of your life was unforgettable to say the least, not like you’d ever tried to forget even in the slightest way; the highs and lows of friendship, the overbearing pressure of excelling in your studies and of course, love.

The first time you had your heart broken, it felt impossible that the tiny fragments could ever be picked up again. It was hell for you, the countless nights spent awake and crying your eyes out, the loss of purpose in anything and everything. You chuckle back at the thought of how helpless you were, how young and naive you had been to be falling for someone like Lee Heeseung.

The fresh air of summer with the golden shine of the sun must’ve made you delude in your fantasies that this man wanted more with you. All you ever were to him was someone he could use, someone he could have at his disposal. So why did he do the things he did with you, if all he ever wanted was sex? Why did he treat you like you were his and he was yours, pouring somewhat a level of affection enough to make you feel like it was all real. Surely, he realised this himself, cutting you off as nonchalantly as he could with excuses and avoidance until you couldn’t take it anymore. He got what he wanted. 

So why was his name lit up on your phone screen right now? Where did he get the nerve to even ring you up after all he’s put you through these past few years? You were in disbelief at the audacity this man had, but more so at the effect he still had on you. You didn’t even know he was back in town. The last you heard of him was that he left abroad to pursue his dreams.

“Hey..” his voice was low and muffled like he had his face buried in his pillow as he talked. You weren’t sure why you even picked up in the first place, why you still had his number saved and why he still had yours. 

“Y/n?” he calls out, voice a little clearer this time when you failed to respond. His low, resonant voice saying your name sent a shiver through you, as if you'd been waiting for this moment all your life. “Heeseung.” was all you could muster up to say, fog caught up in your head now that you could not think straight. 

“I missed you.”

Your body froze, yet a rush of heat flooded through your skin, as if you were about to succumb to a fever. It seemed as though all the effort you had put into walking past the memories of him was in vain. With a heavy sigh, you surrendered to the weight of honesty.

“I missed you too.” 

“I know it’s been so long..but I’ve been thinking about you. Can I come see you?” 

His voice, slightly slurred as if intoxicated, echoed in the quietude of the late hour. Despite the lateness of the night, the vulnerability of your state crept into your mind, causing you to falter at his request. The memories of his voice, with its subtle imperfections, stirred emotions long kept at bay. As you hesitated, time seemed to stand still, the weight of his words and the intimacy of the hour enveloping you in a moment of uncertainty. 

"Okay," slipped from your lips almost involuntarily, a breath held for too long now exhaled. With a click, Heeseung ended the call, leaving you momentarily suspended in silence. The phone lingered against your ear as the void of nothingness enveloped you. Yet amidst the silence, the echo of your racing heartbeat echoed, a frantic rhythm driving you into the depths of the apprehension of what you just did. Before you could fully register the abrupt end of the call, your phone screen illuminated with a gentle buzz, signalling the arrival of a new message. The sudden interruption broke through the silence, injecting a flicker of anticipation into the stillness surrounding you.

"I'm outside." 

Your eyes widened slightly as you read the text, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With a jolt of panic, you rose from your bed, the gravity of the moment sinking in. 

With a quick glance into the mirror, you assessed your reflection and your lack of clothing; only covered in a nightgown that ended before your knees and not missing the faint traces of anticipation etched upon your features. Hastily, you scurried towards the door, your hand hovering over the knob as you hesitated for a moment. Despite the urgency pulsing through your veins, you paused, drawing in a deep breath to steady your nerves before slowly turning the knob to open the door. And there, standing before you, were the eyes that held a magnetic pull, captivating you in an instant. In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as you found yourself locked in a gaze that stirred familiar sensations within you, melting away any lingering doubts or hesitations. After all these years, he still wore the same expression, the familiar boyish smile gracing his lips as his big, deer-like eyes sparkled under the fluorescent lighting of the hallway. Though maturity had softened some of his features, it only enhanced his appeal.

"Hey," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours, conveying a depth of longing as if you were the missing piece he had been yearning for his entire life. How ironic it seemed that despite his past selfish actions, he still regarded you with the same affectionate gaze, and even more ironic was the fact that you found yourself succumbing to him once again, as if nothing had changed.

You parted your lips slightly, as if poised to speak, yet found yourself speechless, overwhelmed by the sudden closeness. Sensing your vulnerability, Heeseung seized the moment, drawing himself nearer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. With gentle yet firm hands, he guided you back into the comforting embrace of your home, the door closing behind you with a soft thud as he kicked it shut. Pausing, he brought his face inches from yours, your noses brushing lightly against each other, a silent exchange of longing and familiarity lingering in the air.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, and you found yourself mirroring the action, your heart pounding with anticipation. Without hesitation, he bridged the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender yet desperate kiss. With each passing second, he deepened the kiss, his desperation palpable against your lips. It was as if his emotions were pouring out, tangible and raw, seeping through your skin and intertwining with your own. In that embrace, there were no words needed—only the fervent exchange of feelings, each kiss a testament to the depth of his hunger and the intensity of his craving. Your hands instinctively found their way to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, as if unable to get enough of the lingering touch of his piers. Heeseung swipes his tongue against your bottom lip and pushes it in at the brief parting of your lips, licking your cavern wet and continuing to knit both of your tongues together, sucking on them ever so roughly. Breaking the kiss, dishevelled and breathless, traces of mixed saliva lingered on your jaw. The man took this instant to rest his forehead against your own, his dark brown orbs locked with yours in a gaze that felt eternal. 

You weren't sure what thoughts were swirling in his mind, so you sought solace in his eyes and scanned his expression, yearning for any hint to ease the doubts clouding your own thoughts. "Hee-" You barely had time to mutter his name before Heeseung's lips crashed onto yours once more, but this time harsher and intensifying than before. You responded with equal eagerness, matching his vigour with your own as he lifted you effortlessly, his hands securing around the curve of your ass and groping them. With an urgency born of lust, you wrapped your legs around him, drawing him closer as if trying to meld into one another. Without breaking the kiss, Heeseung easily guided both of you back to your dimly lit room, moving with a familiarity that suggested he knew the layout of your apartment like the back of his hand. With gentle precision, he lowered you onto the surface of your soft mattress, maintaining his position above you, the heat of his body a comforting presence as the passion of the moment encompassed you both. 

With one hand supporting himself on the bed for balance, Heeseung's other hand began to trace the soft, bare skin of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. His fingers traced up your skin, reaching the hem of your gown with familiar confidence. You felt a ripple of tension as he boldly pushed the fabric away, his touch climbing higher with each movement. As his fingers made contact with the now-damp fabric of your underwear, a soft moan escaped your lips, betraying the intensity of the sensation coursing through you. You try to lean up closer to him, your body responding instinctively to his touch; his finger resting on your underwear begins to move, the motion slow and deliberate. With each circular rub, he teased you, eliciting soft moans that escaped between kisses. Your hands, now gripping onto his shirt, pulled him closer, your bodies pressing against each other as if he'd disappear if you let go.

"Fuck, you're so wet." Heeseung lowly breathes out into your mouth meshing with your moans, and holds your underwear to the side with his thumb, pushing two fingers into your folds. As everything escalated rapidly, you found yourself swept away in the heat of the moment, unable to recall the last time you took a moment to breathe and process what was happening. Each touch, each kiss, seemed to blur together in a whirlwind of desire and passion, leaving you breathless and intoxicated by the intensity of the experience. The experience you've been dreaming of and longing to relive again for the past four years. 

As his fingers push in deeper and faster in and out of your clit, the grasp you had on his shirt tightens at the feeling of increasing pleasure shortly before they sneak downwards to the growing mound in his pants; gently but firmly grasping its outlines, earning a stifled hiss from him.

"Yeah, yeah, more. I need you, Hee." the said man groans with quick movements of his digits at the sound of his name moaning past your lips, his upper body grinding against your breasts covered by the gown. 

 A smirk lifts up the corner of his lips at your desperate plea only fueling the fire within you. With a sudden force, he pushed his fingers deeper, igniting a surge of pleasure, before withdrawing them completely, leaving you achingly empty for a moment. "You want me? You need me?" he taunted, his words dripping with mockery, as he rose to stand on his knees above you. With a casual flick, he lifted his shirt off and discarded it onto the floor, revealing the expanse of his bare chest, a testament to the power he held over you. 

Despite the blush spreading across the apples of your cheeks at the tone he used, you couldn't help but take a moment to examine him. His chest seemed broader now, his arms more muscular than you remembered, evidence of the passage of time and the changes it had brought; while his tousled hair only added to his allure, making him undeniably more tempting in your eyes. Feeling the subtle twitch beneath your clammy palm, your attention was drawn to the burgeoning bulge, signalling his equal excitement as you gazed down his body. Heeseung takes this beat to pull your underwear down and off your legs completely, flinging it away to the floor and joining his shirt.

"Say it again," he demanded softly but with an underlying firmness, his touch tender as he brushed his hand against your cheek before gently grasping a handful of your hair and pulling it slightly. This caused you to wince, a reflexive response, as the hand that was resting on his bulge instinctively grabbed onto it slightly. Looking up at him, lust overtook your eyes, the intensity of the moment washing over you in waves. It was a view you never imagined facing again, yet here you were, consumed by fixation in his presence. It was as if he had this hold on you, encompassing your mind, your body, your entire life, a force you couldn't escape no matter how much you wanted to and you realised at this moment, you've never wanted to. 

"I want you, I need you, Heeseung," you exhaled firmly which earned an approving chuckle from him. Heeseung withdrew his hand from your hair and began to pull the hem of your gown up and off your body, revealing you to lie there bare between his knees for his sight. You were beyond the usual feelings of vulnerability with him, even in this exposed state. The way he looked at you made you feel wanted and desired in a way only he could evoke. A profound feeling of belonging, as if you were exactly where you were meant to be. Old feelings came rushing in like waves, a flood of adoration and longing for this man overwhelming you. You weren't certain if he felt the same way, but as the tension grew thicker in the air, the look in his eyes, entranced by your bare figure, seemed to confirm that he too was lost in reminiscence. 

"Fuck, you're the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on." he murmured, and though you weren't entirely certain if he ever meant whatever he says to you but at that moment, it didn't matter. Without wasting another moment, Heeseung swiftly untied the drawstrings of his pants and pushed them down along with his boxers, allowing them to rest just before his knees and springing out his cock free. You gazed down at it for a moment, memories of past pleasures flooding your mind, salivating at the thought of the satisfaction it once brought you. Heeseung lowers his body to hover on yours once again, delivering a firm kiss on your lips as his hands push both your thighs apart and bringing them up to rest each on his shoulders. He positions himself between you, steadying himself with hands gripped on your ankles. He then proceeds to tease you

with the tip of his erection gently brushing against your clitoris before thrusting himself inside roughly without even a warning. The folds of your clit envelope him completely in an instant, with every quickening thrust he pushes in constricting yourself around his cock. As the strands of his hair fell to cover his now hooded eyes, a primal groan escaped past his lips, the sound resonating in the room as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation coursing through him. You echoed his groans with your own, your eyes tightly shut as you indulged in the comforting waves of pleasure washing over you. Heeseung starts to pace faster, his fingers gripping your ankles tightening. 

"Open your eyes, baby. Look at me while I fuck you." he commanded with a tinge of dominance in his tone. You complied, trying to resist the urge to close them again, locking gaze with Heeseung's darkened eyes as they bore into yours. "That's right, look at who you belong to," he groaned lowly as he quickened his pace; yet you don't miss the smirk forming on the corner of his lips. The slickness of your gushing clit made his movements effortless as he slid in and out of you, overwhelming you with a high you could not replicate without him. Heeseung was like a drug you were addicted to, irresistible even with a sheer brush of his skin. 

Your hands roamed aimlessly over his bare chest, absorbing the warmth of his skin. Time seemed to freeze as he thrust harder with each breath you inhaled, every sensation heightening in your veins. Despite the lingering guilt and regret of letting him use you yet again, they weren't strong enough for you to care. 

"Mmhm..H-Heeseung. Your cock feels so good in me." Your moans grow louder as you squirm around him, fingers now tightly grasping your bedsheets but you made sure to keep your eyes on him. Heeseung released one of his hands on your ankle and gently placed it on top of your belly, applying light pressure as he leaned down to nibble on your earlobe. "You feel so fucking amazing. I missed you baby." his gentle whisper pulled you out of your thoughts, warmth flooding your cheeks at his tender words. Despite the softness of his tone, he continued to slam against you even rougher than before. Both of your chests were heaving rapidly by now, trying your best to catch your breath in between.

Heeseung buries his face on your chest, leaving gentle brushes of his tongue against your nipple before he sinks in his teeth to the flesh of your breasts; leaving distinct marks behind. Marks that showed you were his. "I-I missed you too," you managed to stutter out, your breath hitching as he pulled himself back to tower over you once more. He examined the ecstasy filling your expression, taking in the pleasure he had brought you with a satisfied smirk. 

"Yeah? You missed me fucking you like this baby?" The tip of his cock was slamming against you harder by now, it was getting harder to resist shutting your eyes in pleasure. "Nobody fucks you better than me, yeah?" Faster and harder, he pushes his hand down your belly even more. Taking his other grasp off your ankle, Heeseung gropes one of your breasts harshly as pleasure seeps through his skin. Your knuckles were turning white from gripping the bedsheets tightly as he continued to lace his groans with lustful words, each one sounding like music to your ears. Feeling the tip of his cock pushing itself exactly into your right spot, you whine out his name repeatedly. The back of your body arches, toes curling as the air around you grows hotter with every nerve on edge. A whirlwind of emotions rushed through you all at once, lost in the throes of ecstasy as your vision and mind grew hazier by the second. 

"O-only you, Hee. Only you fuck me this good." Your louder moans indicated you were nearing the climax, the intensity building with each passing moment. Sensing this, Heeseung quickened his thrusts, both of you on the verge of reaching the pinnacle of pleasure together. 

"Cum with me like my good girl, yeah?" Hoarse, low groans escaped from his lips with each accelerated movement, echoing your own whines of pleasure. With one final deepened jab at just the right spot, you cry his name loudly as so does he with yours; feeling the surge of his warmth fluid fill you to the brim. "Fuck." you hear him mumble under his breath as he tries to catch it. Lost in the aftermath of pleasure, you were dazed, unable to comprehend the implications of what had just transpired. Yet, with his chest resting gently against yours and his soft kiss, a feeling of completeness washed over you. With his head now rested on your breasts, you both stay like that for a while basking in the stillness of the moment only to be occupied with controlled breaths. 

The moment Heeseung pulls himself out of you and rests your legs down on the mattress, the momentary feeling vanishes in an instant. You observed his quiet yet swift departure from the bed, his silhouette disappearing into the connected bathroom and back to you with a wet towel. In the quiet of the room, your eyes fixated on Heeseung as he meticulously cleaned you up; and though you wanted to say something, anything, no words came out. What was there to say? You knew deep down that this was how it was going to end, that it was no different from before. What made you think it would be any different this time? This time, you only had yourself to blame.

As Heeseung picked up his clothes, dressing himself in silence with his eyes fixed on the ground, you couldn't help but feel a pang of ache etched in your chest. Once he finished dressing, he approached you, gently pulling the covers over your bare form before meeting your gaze one last time. You searched desperately in his eyes for any sign, any glimmer of emotion that might hint at something deeper than mere lust. Yet, as you gazed into his eyes, all you found was a reflection of your own longing, mirrored back at you with a tinge of guilt. It was a new facet of him, one you hadn't seen before, but it offered little solace in the face of the inevitable farewell. "I'm sorry," his voice finally broke the heavy silence, leaning down to press a fleeting kiss on your temple. With that he turned away, his departure signalling the end of this fleeting chapter in your life once more.

Heeseung was nothing but a ghost in your life. A shadow coming back to haunt you mercilessly, only to leave again like he was never there. And once more, you felt the familiar warmth of tears forming in the corner of your eyes, stinging pain in your heart just like the first time it broke. 

[lalunanymph]

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑

𖨆♡𖨆 itoshi rin x fem!reader x itoshi sae

✧˚ · . a tornado meeting a hurricane, a wild flame catching onto dry straw—that was how it felt like to love the both of them: disastrous.

✧˚ · . cw. love triangles, sae is 27 / rin is 25 / yn is 24, cheating (w. rin), established relationship (w. sae), explicit smut, degradation (w. rin), dubcon (w. rin), stalking (rin), unprotected s[e]x (w. rin), language, tension, family dynamics, mentions of food, toxic relationship dynamics

dawn says: a reupload !! hopefully this permanently stays in the tags askdjf enjoy <33

masterlist | playlist

#1 — A BACKWARDS DANCE

The ticking clock overhead mimicked the nervous bumps of your heart as the atmosphere around the Itoshi dining table remained frigid. 

Despite Mrs. Itoshi’s efforts to keep the conversation going (Hana—she told you to call her Hana), the hard block of tension icing over the two grown men in the centre of the fold could’ve cut anyone’s efforts short. Sae was picking at his kare dish, listlessly nodding whenever his mother tried to poke more information about Spain out of him. Sometimes, he would reach underneath the table to take your hand, squeezing it—a silent reassurance that this will be over soon, baby, okay?   

But, funnily enough, it wasn’t your boyfriend who was contributing this level of unease throughout dinner.  

Sae was a perfect angel tonight (well, as perfect as one could get).

He remembered his manners, treated his parents with respect, did not turn the wrath of his apathy on them and even helped his mother to set the table while waving you off to catch up on the 7 o’clock news with his father on the sofa. 

The reason why this delicate balance of comfort this entire evening threatened to tip towards outright edgy nastiness was because of one dark-haired striker glaring at you from across the table.

Sae’s little brother, himself: a glaring and uncommunicative Itoshi Rin. 

Your friends did tell you that meeting the family for the first time would be awkward, but was it this uncomfortable?   

Despite your thin blouse and skirt, you felt stuffy and itchy all over; one hot gust was enough to make you break out in sweat like a sinner in church. You tried to be nice to Rin; asked him about his progress in Blue Lock, encouraged his sharing on his victories on the field (while pinching Sae’s thigh so the elder Itoshi would not make a nasty remark which would boil over this unbearable tension—and wisely, he kept his mouth shut). 

But, all your efforts were in vain. 

Rin would give you one syllable retorts or grunts, never peeling his glare from his slowly congealing kare. Even Hana had noticed and with the patience of a martyr, tried to worm out what was bothering her youngest. You could see how much she loved Rin; those teal irises she passed on to her sons would soften, and she would ask him about how hard his training was; if he was happy with his friends and working hard at the facility. 

Oh, yes. It was winter now, and the clubs were closed to prepare for football season in the early summer. You had halfway forgotten.

“I had a friend who used to manage a training facility,” you tried to gain a foot into the conversation. Sae’s shoulders suddenly tensed, as if preparing for a fight. If you had an iota of self-awareness, you would’ve noticed how the older brother’s eyes flashed towards the younger, a wordless warning to be fucking nice to you. “She loved it so much and spends every weekend there. Have you ever considered opening up your own training club, Rin-kun?” 

For a moment, he didn’t reply. Rin slid his sullen glare from his food to you, and your heart made a weird, constricting movement somewhere above your knotted stomach. You hadn’t realised you were holding your breath. 

Those cool, aquamarine eyes appraised you with barely concealed disinterest, though unlike his older brother’s natural apathetic appearance, Rin could not quite hide the flickering flame of anger behind the stoic facade. It made you want to curl upon yourself—hide your face in Sae’s shoulder until he told you it was safe to come out.

The tablecloth rustled for a moment, and Rin winced. The hostility soon clouded over, and a neutral sort of detachment took its place. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, using the tines of his fork to poke a limp carrot. “If football wasn’t so demanding. Yeah.” 

At least he had uttered five more words to you than before. You counted it as progress.

Rin’s animosity aside, the entire dinner with Sae’s family was lovely. His father was good-natured enough to jab a few jokes, and his mother was a complete sweetheart with how much she doted on everyone at the table.

Only one person did not give you his full approval, and you desperately wanted to earn it. 

His acceptance would mean you and Sae were right for each other; that this relationship was worth pursuing and sticking to in the long haul. Granted, Sae and you have only been dating for a year, but you really could see yourself going the distance with the famous midfielder.

But, maybe, Rin probably thought you were with Sae for his money. 

This wouldn’t be the first time. 

Though your relationship was not yet public, you could foresee the SNS pages not-so-subtly hinting at your poorer background as a sports physiotherapist who had managed to sink her talons into Japan’s football prodigy. 

It was unfair, but a completely plausible reason why Rin was treating you coldly.

With that thought in mind, you waited until your boyfriend and his parents were in the living room watching a movie before joining the youngest Itoshi in the kitchen to help wash up the dishes. 

While you were bemoaning Rin’s disdain for you, what you didn’t know was that Rin could not stand being in the same room as them—as those fucking pacifiers. 

Despite how his parents knew what Sae had done to him; how the older man had intentionally ruined their entire sibling relationship, they still decided it was a good idea to spring this dinner on him the very second he entered their house. 

Idiots. Rin squeezed too much soap onto the sponge and started to scrub his mother’s fancy strictly-for-guests cutlery roughly. Not only did they tell him at the last minute that Sae was coming for dinner, but they also conveniently forgot to mention that he was bringing his girlfriend along. 

His girlfriend who was far prettier than that asshole deserved; whose vanilla perfume engulfed him the second you stepped close enough to give him an awkward one-arm hug.

He couldn’t get rid of the memory of how your pretty eyes sparkled whenever his father told a joke, or how softly you glanced at Sae everytime that fucking bastard opened his fucking mouth.

You were too good; too pure for someone as undeserving as Itoshi Sae. 

“Rin?” 

He almost dropped the plate he was holding. Thanking his fast reflexes, Rin tightened his hold on the delicate porcelain and turned around to find you hovering hesitantly by the doorway. 

“I thought you could use some help.”

Before he even had the chance to open his mouth to crisply tell you that he had it under control, you padded over, grabbing one fluffy white cloth and picking up a mug to wipe it down. 

“It’s fine,” he gruffly muttered, fully expecting you to come to your senses and turn around in embarrassment with an excuse that you had to go back to Sae.

But, you didn’t do any of that.

Rin’s ears pricked with the sound of your tinkling laughter. He turned to face you and it was a huge mistake.

Your smile was purity in itself, shining brightly with your effervescent personality that drew him in like a moth to a flame. He raked his eyes down the dip of your collarbone (how did Sae even allow you to dress this provocatively in front of his little brother?) and drank in your plush thighs jiggling slightly from the high stockings you wore which just touched the hem of your miniskirt. 

I’m going to fucking kill him for putting her in front of me. 

“You know, Sae always did say you were a little, um… different.”

At the mention of his nii-chan’s name, Rin calmed the ridiculous thudding in his heart enough to shoot you an unimpressed grimace. “I take it he means something offensive?”

“No, no,” you retorted hastily, and impulsively reached out to touch his arm. Rin hated how that simple motion got his cock twitching in his pants, and he involuntarily jerked back, sloshing soap suds onto the counter. You gasped softly and reached for a cloth the same time he did. 

Your fingertips grazed the other and you hastily retracted your hand, unaware of how hot your face was growing. It felt like a spark had gone off between the both of you, and you were incredulous to discover blood roaring in your ears; your heart thudding a mile a minute.

Rin fell into a thick disquiet, returning back to the dishes. You scrambled to pick up the cloth, steadying your heartbeat and trying to pretend like these last few seconds never even happened. Perhaps you should try again.

“He meant it in a way that you’re special.” 

Whatever he expected you to say, it was not this. Rin stopped his methodical scrubbing, and glanced at you from under those glossy dark green bangs falling in his face. An irrational urge overtook you to brush those stray strands from his eyes, and you almost did. 

Almost reached out to sweep them away so casually you had to catch yourself from acting out on that impulse. 

Almost crossed a huge line when it came to your boyfriend’s little brother. 

The butterflies in your belly quickly became warning chimes. 

Rin’s presence itself set you on edge; like a predator to prey, you wondered when he would sink his jaws into you. Tell you that he knew the only reason you were with his brother was because you were attracted to the yen signs and not the man behind them. 

You could not bear to handle such an accusation from someone this familiar with Sae. 

The potential backlash from tabloids were one thing (you would never pay them any mind), but if Sae’s otouto himself deemed you were nothing but a money-hungry gold digger, you would never get over the utter dismay of not being fully accepted into the Itoshi family. 

So, you waited with your hands clenched around the soft cloth. Waited for him to throw you a harsh word or shatter his judgement into your face. 

You never anticipated what he would say next.

 “You’re too good for him.” 

Something deflated in your chest, making you curl forward and hunch yourself like a frightened animal. Rin’s words echoed in your mind like you were standing under a roaring waterfall, clogging your ears up with cold disbelief of the implications behind such a treacherous observation. 

There was nothing you could do but chuckle uneasily, shrugging your shoulders.

“I like to think I don’t deserve him.”

“No.” 

This time, the frustration was evident in his tone. “You’re nice. You’re smart, kind and funny. What the fuck are you doing with a man like him? You can do so much better.”

He dried his hands off and perched those large, veiny palms on the edge of the damp counter, peering at you with those piercing teal eyes you were halfway drowning in. Your throat felt like it was closing on itself, and the utterly heavy realisation that set in far too late shook you to the core. 

Rin… wanted you. 

He wanted you. 

You were sure of it. 

Those half-hooded eyes, the parted mouth. You had only ever seen that familiar expression on your boyfriend’s face. 

Like someone had thrown ice-cold water into your face, you took one step back; though you were positively sure he could not miss the way your pulse was rapidly ticking like a trapped hummingbird against your flushed neck. 

Rin did not corner you nor call you to come back. 

He simply let you mumble an excuse and high-tail it out of the kitchen. Later, when he was finally done with the dishes, he stepped out to an empty living room and his mother’s inscrutable gaze.

“Sae and Y/N have gone home,” she declared, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “I take it you were nice to the poor girl? You know how much she means to your brother.”

She does? 

Rin had barely noticed Sae’s presence at the table. 

“I was nice,” he murmured defensively. Then, he let curiosity overtake him. “Is she returning to Spain with him?” 

Hana hummed, running a hand through her silver-streaked reddish brown hair and shrugged. “She’s staying behind, I think. Sae didn’t mention anything about her following.”

His mother would never know how much her words ignited such a strong fixation in him to track you down and finish what you both started. As much as the world saw him as Itoshi Sae’s little brother, he had forged a name for himself beyond the association to his brother’s lukewarm prodigy status, becoming a formidable foe on the field.

And subsequently, someone with a ton of contacts. 

He would find you, and he would make you admit the inevitable truth—that what you both felt in that little kitchen was not as unreciprocated as you would’ve liked to believe.

Ever since your encounter with Rin, you felt as if the air was humming with an inevitable storm. 

Its electric presence clung to the tips of your hair, a slight tremble in your fingers whenever a tall, dark-haired man appeared in your periphery. Sometimes, you would find yourself doing a double take at the familiar stranger and harp on your own stupidity. 

Rin wasn’t serious, you tried to persuade yourself. He’s just testing me to see if I’m true to Sae. 

And you were. You loved your boyfriend with every beat of your heart. You showed it to him through consistent calls and texts now that he was back in Spain. Sae’s presence was marked in your constant soft smiles and eager heart which yearned for him to come back. He had a match tonight and like a good girlfriend, you told him you would be watching it from home. 

Massaging your neck, you tried to ease out the kinks as you closed your shop for the day. As a physiotherapist, your expertise was sought out near and wide for giving mobility back to the people who needed it. Most of your clientele were athletes, which was how you were introduced to Sae when he came in for a sore hamstring. 

The world outside was quiet, streetlamps casting their orange glow on the rain slickened pavements. Your mind was working on autopilot, a constant hum of dishes, Netflix and mid-week laundry stringing in between your thoughts with the reminder of FaceTiming Sae after his match had ended. 

You didn’t hear the bell above your tinkling, nor feel a presence ambling into your shop until he cleared his throat.

A familiar pair of teal eyes shocked you out from your reverie, and you pieced on an uncertain smile when you realised who it was.

“Rin—hey. What’re you doing here?” 

He was clad in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a black turtleneck, his coat hanging limply in his arms. A cool draft seeped in from an open crack at the door, its chill mimicking the tightness in the corners of your eyes.

“I heard from Isagi that you’re one of the best for strained muscles,” he dropped his coat onto the counter and you tried to ignore how tall he was—easily towering over you and his brother. It would’ve been amusing to see how much Sae’s younger brother was bulkier and ganglier than him, but the flash of irony dissipated when he leaned forward, trapping you between the marble high top and his build. “Can you help me? My back has been feeling tight lately.” 

A bubble of nervous laughter spilled from your lips and you took one step back, trying hard to ignore how his warmth encroached your personal space and left behind the dizzying scent of pine and musk. 

You flickered your gaze to his damp hair, and surmised he must’ve been caught out in the rain. 

“Did you run here?” you tried to tease him, shifting past the behemoth of a striker to fiddle with the heater. Switching it up to sweltering proportions, you turned around and spared him a smile. “Don’t want you catching a cold.” 

You were ignorant to how Rin’s eyes darkened when you flicked off your white coat, pushed up your sleeves and beckoned him into an examination room. Warmth pooled from between the vents, swirling around both your close bodies when you positioned him on the table and started to feel up his tense back. 

Finding the tight knot in record time, you hummed. “I was right. A strained external oblique. I noticed it from the way you're compensating your weight on your right side—it must be sending dull sparks of pain upward, correct? Your brother had a similar injury before. Must be a family trait to kick the ever-loving shit out of a ball, huh?” 

Your joke barely found traction, and instead of offering a polite chuckle, Rin’s teal irises clouded over with an inscrutable emotion. The merriment withered on your tongue and you cleared your throat, beckoning him to remove his shirt. 

Rin did so without a single protest, and you couldn’t help yourself from raking your gaze down his defined back. 

“I sprained it while doing a sharp turn a few days ago,” he started to divulge. “Guess that’s what is causing my sleepless nights.” 

You prodded the toughened muscle with a pinch in your brow. “Is it affecting your sleep? That’s horrible. Let me help you get it sorted.”

Using a cold spray, you focused it on his strained muscle, the smell of sharp mint hitting your nose. When he was sufficiently medicated, you instructed him to raise his arms over his head. Rin did as you told him too, and you missed the tiniest shudder when you gripped his wrists and gently stretched him to the side, opening up his muscles slowly.

His hiss of pain made you wince and you chuckled lightly to hide your sudden nerves. “Deep breaths, Rin-kun. The pain will dissipate.”

“Why do you insist on calling me Rin-kun when you’re a year younger than me?” 

The sharp question he threw at you caught you off-guard. Luckily, your face was hidden from his prying eyes and you quickly schooled your features to one of professional neutrality. 

“I don’t know. Habit, I think. I am dating your older brother.”

It became like a game, then, for you to constantly remind him of Sae. You would tell him about his brother’s plays, the things he said about his otouto and the numerous dumb things you both would get up to, but it sounded hollow. Distracted. 

Rin could guess as much. 

“You hate it when he’s gone, huh?” 

He was bent forward on the table and your hands stilled from kneading his sides. Swallowing a sudden wad of nerves, you forced out a chuckle. 

“I do. I hate it so much. It makes me feel needy.”

Rin hummed, and turned his gaze behind to catch your wide ones. “It’s because he never made you feel secure in the first place.” 

You felt like he had scalded you; stripped your bare of your defences till you were left naked and bleeding, completely susceptible to his scrutinising dark eyes. Those same eyes that reminded you of Sae’s, yet were filled with more fire than his older sibling’s. More passion that made a shiver run up your spine just from thinking about it. 

Involuntarily, you took a step back, and the tense atmosphere tightened a bit more. It was unbearable how he was looking at you, like you were a treat dangling right in front of his face that he could not bite into. A forbidden fruit he was thinking of claiming for his own without caring about the repercussions. 

Rin shifted from his seat to face you, his thighs spread around either side of your body. You couldn’t move away, not when he picked up your hand and pressed it right onto his chest. 

“I meant what I said in the kitchen,” he mumbled, dark bangs falling in front of his face. Your fingers automatically brushed them back and his eyes rippled close, like your touch seared his skin and he lived for the thrill of that sharp pain. 

He brought you closer into his orbit, where you were close to crashing onto his murky surface. 

Rin’s lips ghosted your collarbone, and your breathing hitched. Unbidden, your eyes drooped close, and you held your breath.

Make it stop… I can’t keep away from him…

With a strength you never knew you had, you braced two hands onto his broad pecs and pushed yourself from the freefalling edge back into safe waters, gasping like you had nearly drowned. 

The spell broke and Rin’s eyes shot wide open. For a second, neither of you could speak. Your chest rose and fell with heaving breaths and his inscrutable eyes were peeled onto your faltering expression. 

“Are you testing me?” The quiet anger in your voice was unmissable. “Did you think I would fold and you could tell Sae that I’m nothing but a gold digger? You’re such an asshole.”

Rin blinked, computing what you were trying to say. “Wh—no. I didn’t,” he vehemently disagreed, standing up. 

You tried and failed to keep your eyes trained away from the deep V on his stacked abdomen leading to a slight dusting of dark hair, warmth scrawled across your cheeks. Embarrassment held you hostage to this situation, and you didn’t think to move yourself away from the crossfire until he roped his defined arms around you, bringing right back into the fray. 

“Rin—”

The press of his lips on yours shocked you like a lightning bolt. 

Your gasp was mistaken for eagerness, and Sae’s younger brother didn’t hesitate to dip his tongue into your mouth, drinking in your honeyed moans with fervour. His warmth was intoxicating, spreading from your palms pressed onto his broad chest. Rin kissed you differently than Sae did; where the older Itoshi brother was hesitant pecks that melted into slow, mind-numbing kisses, his younger brother was all fiery determination to eat you whole one kiss at a time.

You barely noticed that your back was against the wall, only cognizant that your thighs were wrapped around his waist when he hoisted you into his arms. Rin kneaded your ass cheeks with an eagerness that belied his dirty intentions. The taste of him invaded your tongue, saturating it with something sweet, musky and a flavour that was all him. 

He grunted when you tugged on his locks feverishly, your core rocking against the half-hard bulge tenting from his jeans. 

Hands which were intimately acquainted to how his older brother’s skin felt gliding against yours trembled when they reached for his pants, unbuttoning it with one swift tug. Rin was agile enough to manoeuvre you higher against the wall while he released his cock from its denim confines, letting the leaking head touch your bare thigh. The short skirt you wore was perfect for this quick rendezvous, and you could sense his impatience when he pushed your panties to the side and lined himself up with your slick entrance.

“Rin—” your gasp was cut off by the delicious stretch of his cock invading your most sensitive inner spots.

The blunt head grazed a part in you that had you gasping and keening, your thighs tightening around his waist. Rin started to move and the pleasure was unbearable. It felt like hot coals sliding down your spine, bringing gooseflesh to your skin and tears to your eyes. 

You were close to combusting from both the guilt and rapture combined, your heart aching even as it soared when his lips collided roughly with yours.

“Fuck,” he grunted against your lips. “S’fuckin tight for me… like you were made for me.”

You didn’t give him a response, and he didn’t need one. The hitch in your breath was proof enough that you were quickly unravelling; giving him a prime view of an untouchable woman coming apart just for him. 

Rin could hardly believe this was happening: Sae’s shiniest trophy right in his arms, moaning breathily into his ear. 

As a teenager, he would spend hours in front of his brother’s most prized accolades, glaring them down, pushing himself to be harder, better, stronger so none of them would mean anything to Sae anymore when Rin could easily surpass him at every turn. This was no different.

You were a golden notch on Itoshi Sae’s bedpost, a woman out of his league that Rin halfway wondered if you were cursed with blindness for loving a man he had the displeasure to call his brother. What a lukewarm choice. Rin was completely serious when he said that you were too good for his brother. Your shining smile, your lovely laugh and your endless kindness was wasted on a man who cared about nothing in his life but football and himself.

Would it be a shame that you would never get to experience real love from someone who meant every gesture and promise? Sae could not give you that. He had lost both his heart and the respect of his younger brother in Madrid all those years ago. 

One particularly hard thrust made your toes curl in his periphery and your head toss back, a cry of his name rebounding across the room.

Take that, asshole, Rin thought viciously as he bit on your lower lip hard, swallowing your dulcet whimper. She’s already mine. 

The walls of your pussy were slowly melting around his cock, leading him down this final path of heady betrayal. 

What you both did could not be undone; you had effectively cheated on Sae with his younger brother. 

Rin had to hide his feral grin in the crook of your neck at the image of his older brother’s wide eyes; his shocked expression to find his girlfriend in his younger brother’s arms, swivelling her hips in a silent plea for him to let her cum. You lose, nii-chan. 

“Rin!” your gasp rang loudly and your release was swift. Those perfect velvet walls sucked his cock in deeper, not willing to let go. Rin was hard pressed to fight against it, letting your composure and release crumble all around him. Your body went lax in his grip, your keens turning softer, skin flushed with pearly drops of sweat.

He gave a few more pumps before white-hot strings filled you to the brim, eliciting another soft moan from your swollen lips. Rin leaned down to kiss you the same moment his cum overflowed and oozed down his length, staining the floor underneath the both of you with incriminating evidence of this betrayal. 

Your arms were tight around him, your face nestled in his neck that he almost missed your soft sobs. 

Rin used the remnants of his strength to sit you both down on the edge of the examination table. If you both were actually lovers, this scene would’ve been heart wrenching—you staining his neck with salty tears, thighs trembling around either side of his waist and your sweet cunt still moulded around his softening dick. 

He rubbed his hands up and down your back, offering you quiet comfort to ease the festering guilt slicing through his soul. The hard reality slammed into him the same second you lifted your watery eyes to touch his own darkened ones.

I fucked my brother’s girl. 

A firm push of his hands away sobered him back to the grim reality that you two were not lovers. The darkened look flitting across your face was enough to remind him of his misdeeds. 

You clambered off his lap, the fall of your hair hiding your trembling lips and shiny eyes. Methodically easing your panties back up your hips, his outstretched hand to help was met with an instinctual flinch and a frosty glare from you, one which shocked the young striker into silent regret.

“Get out,” your cold voice pierced him worse than any injury he had ever faced from the brutal fields. “This never happened between us, do you hear me?” Taking a deep breath, you had no idea how much your next words hurt him to the core. “I love Sae. I love him. He’s the only one I want, not you. Get out.” 

Rin wisely kept his mouth clamped shut, though his hard teal eyes told a different story. I know you’re just trying to convince yourself.

He could sense it in your tight shoulders and downturned grimace. You loved every single second of this. How could you not see it? 

The both of you were perfect for each other. 

But, Rin sensed it was better to keep at bay than goad you on. 

He eventually regained his common sense and pulled his pants up, shrugging his shirt back on and walking out of the clinic, letting the door creak close with a muffled thud to cover your slowly spiraling sobs.

© LALUNANYMPH. do not copy, repost, or claim as your own.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Remember me? (Part 11)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Summary: Under the Mountain, Y/n met the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand. She was scared of him, but soon she found out that he wasn't who he pretended to be. Despite her efforts at not falling in love with him, she fails. It's not that bad as he loves her back.

But now he's gone, and she's left alone with nothing.

Except for a very adorable reminder of him.

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Tw: secret pregnancy, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: honestly dedicated to @thehighladywrites because we love High Lord Eris in this house 😏😌🫶🏻

also, i feel like this timeline ca be confusing because i honestly dont know what im doing lol so just so you all are aware, this part is supposed to be based on the time just before feyre has fled the night court 😉

(Not edited as i am going to slee, sorry! ignore any mistakes ❣️)

•○🌑○•

The curtains were parted to let in a gentle autumn breeze which toyed with the ends of Y/n's hair, and she huffed gently when she felt someone watching her.

She finished adjusting the covers around the sleeping Fin, taking her time to smooth out the creases before she straightened, turning to find Eris leaning against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes trained on the softly snoring boy on the bed.

And he was shirtless.

Y/n told herself it was not that big of a deal, that she had seen plenty of men naked, but seeing that pale expanse of skin covering those hard earned muscles, something shifted in her belly.

He glanced at her, blinking when she stepped forward. He straightened when Y/n continued walking forward, and his arms fell at his sides when she passed by him.

Her brows furrowed as she glanced at him and found a blush covering his face.

"Eris? Are you alright? Is your magic malfunctioning or something?"

He shook his head, still standing in the doorway. She paused to turn an watch him.

"You look a little red, you know. Are you sure you don't have a fever?"

He shook his head again, glancing back at Fin once before he inclined his head towards the corridor leading away from the boy's room.

To say Y/n was concerned and confused would be an understatement.

Eris closed the door to Fin's room gently, then grasped Y/n's hand, hesitantly, tugging her towards a large window nearby.

Y/n whirled towards him the moment he stopped walking. "Eris? What is going on?"

He didn't say anything, simply pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket of the pants that hung dangerously low on his hips.

Y/n's frustrations finally got the best of her. "Are we playing charades, Eris? Or did someone cut off your tongue?"

He sighed. "I did not want to be the bearer of bad news, but I guess I still am as I brought you the letter. It's from Feyre. Forgive me for reading it, but it was open when it fell onto my desk."

Y/n's heart slowed down in fright. It... It could also be something good, right? It didn't have to be about her leaving Rhysand. It could be about him getting better and apologizing...

Y/n knew how stupid it was, really, to hope for that.

And even if that hope had really come true, Feyre was responsible enough to not send the letter practically in the middle of the night.

Y/n opened the folded piece of paper, her eyes moving frantically as she read it and searched for words that would soothe her worries.

It was all in vain.

Y/n, I can't live here anymore. I will soon be winnowing to autumn with Nyx. I hope you don't mind.

Y/n suppressed the rage that reared its head in her chest, taking a deep breath as her eyes rose to meet Eris's.

His eyes held the same sadness she felt and was sure were displayed in her own eyes.

"I have weakened the wards enough for both of them to come through without any harm coming to them, and have already ordered the servants to prepare quarters for them to live in. You don't have to worry about much."

Grateful, Y/n moved without realising what she was doing. One moment, she was standing facing him, the cool autumn air curling around her, and the next, she was surrounded by warmth, her face buried in his shoulder, her arms thrown around her neck. He stiffened, but moments later, he relaxed with a heavy sigh, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Thank you." She mumbled onto his welcoming skin, tightening her hold, knowing she shouldn't.

She felt him nod, and she pulled back to glance at him.

If there was any chance Y/n had been mistaken before about him blushing, she wasn't now.

He definitely was blushing, as red as the colour of the leaves in the court he ruled.

"It- it's nothing."

Despite the heavy news that they had received, Y/n felt her lips curl. "Are you blushing, Vanserra?"

He huffed. "Of course not. Why would I blush?"

"You know," Y/n began as se stopped leaning on him and straightened, though his hands tightened on her waist, as if unwilling to let go. Y/n chose to remain silent on the matter. "It is not nice to lie. Did your mother not teach you?"

He leaned his head closer, a smirk forming on his lips. "She might have, but she also focused more on how to treat the female you love the right way. Must've forgotten about the lying lessons."

Y/n blinked, her face going hot. But before she could say anything, she felt Eris stiffen under her arms. He pulled away instantly, tearing his hands through his hair.

"She's here."

Y/n nodded, her hands falling heavily to her sides.

"Let's go welcome them."

•○🌑○•

Part 12

Remember me Taglist: @holb32 @awoa1 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @luvmoo @we-were-beautiful @eerievixen @zoe2 @fussel9913 @j-pendragonx @thesnugglingduck @jesssicapaniagua @devilsnightz @esposadomd @littleffawn @mandowhatnow @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @princesslolaasworld @asemkta @cat-or-kitten @txzii @bunnyredgirl @theofficialmadman @leeknows-wife @aria-chikage @amygdtjhddzvb @azriels-mate123 @inky-clover @kemillyfreitas @12358 @justdreamstars @cuethedepession @princessvesta @fides25 @nocasdatsgay @acourtofbatboydreams @stained-glass-eyes0708 @glaciuswduo @wallacewillow0773638 @cassie6392 @quackitysdrugdealer @txzii @anuttellaa @coisas-da-dani @hnyclover @sassyslytherinshai @historygeekqueen

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

Eris taglist: @kennedy-brooke @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter

[aspentreewrites]

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 2

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: (for current arc) slow burn, fake dating, only one bed, general angst and pining, Obi-Wan is not as mentally stable as he may seem, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and thank you to @whenyourfavouritedies (their AO3 link here) for beta reading.

Fun fact: my WIP document title for this chapter was 'middle aged man yaoi', so do with that what you will. Get ready for much pining and shenanigans - also an exceedingly indulgent dive into my favourite lightsaber headcanons.

Please let me know if you're interested in being added to a taglist!

Wordcount: 9.6k - link to chapter 1 here

✷✷✷✷✷

Cody wakes slowly, a number of objective facts about his surroundings flitting through his awareness as he produces a tactical assessment of the situation he finds himself in.

The first thing he notices is sunlight. Soft, gentle, yet altogether far too much brightness pressing against his eyelids for this time in the morning. A low groan slips its way out of Cody’s mouth as he presses his face into his pillow, trying in vain to chase the peaceful dream he's been rudely woken from. Something to do with a pair of pet tookas…? It’s lost to him now, despite his efforts.

The second thing Cody takes stock of is the solid, steady, yet altogether unfamiliar warmth of something nearby to him. Something, his mind supplies to him lazily, that’s breathing.

This series of truths might, on a usual morning, serve to alarm the Commander in his half-awake state; this morning, however, Cody just finds himself sinking back into the allure of a light doze. 

You’re safe here, his subconscious whispers to him, just let yourself rest.

It’s not the message he’s used to hearing upon waking in an unfamiliar location. He spares a moment to marvel at the rarity of it all, before he gives himself over to it, completely.

It’s only later when a light, warm breeze passes through the room, courtesy of the balcony door he’d left ajar the previous night, that Cody finally opens his eyes.

… And with the action, he finds himself jolted into awareness with all the subtlety of a raging bantha. He remembers where he is. Exactly where he is. A luxurious hotel room, a number of gaudy decoration choices, and a kriffing Jedi asleep in bed beside him.

Cody swallows thickly.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts to sit up so they’re not laying facing one another as they were. He thanks every deity he knows of for the fact that they’d remained relatively on their own sides of the bed last night - if they were any closer, he’s not sure he could have handled it. 

As he watches the steady rise and fall of the sheets with each breath from Obi-Wan, Cody feels a painfully familiar ache in his chest - one he’d long-since promised himself he would forget. 

As much as it would be easier for him to continue to pretend that he has absolutely no idea what’s been causing this uncomfortable reaction from him for the past week or so, he’s beginning to suspect that he knows better.

Damn his traitorous heart to Moraband, and let it rot there.

It’s a stubborn infatuation - an entirely unprofessional (and, he’d thought, temporary) interest that he’d taken in the other man a short ways into his deployment. 

It had, nonetheless, begun to haunt his mind during the quiet moments of those early months.

It’s not that it was an unusual thing to happen - in the early days of the war, the vode were gaining feelings for the Jedi they were serving with left right and centre. They were the first people they’d met outside of the Kaminoans… it was, in many ways, inevitable.

The thing is that most of the men’s feelings ended up dissipating over time. The longer they were deployed, the more frequently they met other non-clones who were fascinating, and kind, and who treated them like people. Crucially, these non-clones also happened to not be part of an order that forbade any form of romantic attachment.

It had taken time, and a considerable amount of discipline, but Cody had come to count himself among these numbers of individuals who had managed to move on.

Had.

The Commander might consider himself an expert in denial, in delaying acknowledging his feelings until they either quell or are forced to spill over, but he’s far from a fool. As unsure as he is about why it’s returned now of all times, he recognises that flutter in his heart when he feels it.

He sighs softly. Not much use in brushing it off now.

In the quiet of the early morning, with only the sunlight and the sound of the birds outside to keep him company, Cody allows himself a singular moment of weakness.

He returns his gaze to the sleeping Jedi beside him, and lets himself take a moment to just… look. 

Stars, Obi-Wan is a beautiful, beautiful man.

Hair fans out across the pillow beneath him, set aglow in the soft light of the dawn and unspooled like golden thread. His freckles are almost countable at this distance, as are the slight indents of wrinkles, faint lines that have become progressively more pronounced over the course of the war. 

Cody finds he looks so much more real when softened with sleep - no longer the perfect Jedi General, a poster-child of the war effort, but a tangible, flawed, flesh-and-blood man.

Over the years, Cody has found himself making note of the several crows feet that have begun to nest at the outer corner of his Jedi’s eyes, the worry lines that have found their home at his forehead. 

The everpresent crease between Obi-Wan's brows is eased in rest, though not nearly enough. Cody has to resist the urge to gently press his thumb there in a bid to encourage the muscles to relax further.

Cody does his best to not let his gaze, as inappropriately indulgent as he’s being, dip below the neckline, or further, to where the sheets pool at the other man’s chest. It’s certainly not helping his situation to discover now of all times that his General apparently sleeps shirtless.

The Jedi lets out a soft murmur as he begins to stir; Cody shakes his head to dispel his wandering thoughts. He takes the movement as a sign that his temporary surrender to the yearning of his heart must come to an end. He's felt it, he's acknowledged it… now comes the time to put it to rest and tell it to leave him be once more.

… He just hopes it’ll listen this time.

Quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping man beside him, Cody slips out of the bed to grab his clothes and steal away to the ‘fresher for a morning shower.

He’s grateful for the distraction that trying to solve the enigma of the shower provides him, even if it means he has to take nearly ten minutes to navigate getting the damn thing to work. It seems to be an immutable rule of his life that in every hotel or inn that Cody is doomed to stay in, the only shower available exists solely on settings that are inscrutable to the average man. 

Waxer had claimed one day after training, with an entirely misplaced air of wisdom about him, that every sentient has both one mundane superpower, and one boring facet of life they’ll forever have inexplicably bad luck with.

His brothers had teased him endlessly about the idea, upon which he had confessed he had read it in an article linked to by some cheesy pop-psych holonet forum. It hadn’t helped his cause.

Cody had initially scoffed at the idea along with the others, though he quietly suspects that if there is any truth to it, then his divine misfortune must absolutely, unequivocally be the way unfamiliar showers seem to go out of their way to break on him.

On the other hand he had determined –after deciding there was no harm in entertaining Waxer’s superstitions a little– his mundane superpower would probably be his uncanny ability to end up with his General’s lightsaber whenever he loses it in critical moments. 

If only the other man actually kept his eyes open on the battlefield… though Cody would be lying if he told himself he doesn’t privately enjoy the way Obi-Wan’s expression always softens in both gratitude and sheepishness whenever he holds out the recovered weapon to return to him. It would almost be a shame if the Jedi suddenly gained competency in holding onto his precious items now. 

No, his mind is straying back to dangerous territory again. Breathe. 

Cody refocuses, directing his attention to the sensation of his blunt nails running across his scalp, digging in just a little harder to create a point of focus to ground himself with. In the present moment, all he needs to think of is getting ready for the day. No need to reckon with unnecessary, transient, emotions. 

Once his shower is finished and he returns to the room, he’s met with Obi-Wan, awake and sitting cross-legged on the bed in a meditative position. He doesn’t open his eyes as Cody steps through, though his lips quirk upwards just slightly, the hint of a smile hidden behind his beard.

“Ah, good morning, my friend.” 

By the sound of his voice, it would be impossible to tell he was asleep just minutes prior. Always perfectly lucid and alert when he needs to be… Cody has privately wondered if it’s thanks to some supernatural ability from the Force that Obi-Wan is able to bypass the half-awake stupor that everyone else seems to struggle with. It does sound like some osik that Jedi would be able to do…

Being honest with himself though, he imagines it’s probably just an ‘Obi-Wan’ thing. Most of the man’s oddities seem to be.

“Morning,” he returns, sounding considerably more gruff than his companion as he scratches at his stubble. He’s had to forego shaving for the past few days to look right for the part, and it’s starting to get irritating to deal with. 

“Sleep well?”

Cody hums in response to the question, absently heading across the room to open the small fridge in their room in search of something to drink. He spares a horrified glance at the prices on the tiny cans inside, before promptly closing it again.

“Mm,” he returns his attention to the still shirtless man sitting on their shared bed. He tries not to think about the implications the thought provides him. “Surprisingly well, actually.”

Obi-Wan nods, tilting his head slightly in Cody's direction, eyes remaining closed.

“Benefits of the ocean air, do you think?” he suggests. 

Cody is incredibly aware that it wasn’t that at all. He manages to only briefly pause before getting out an answer.

“... Something like that, I'm sure.”

Before the two get ready for the morning, they take a moment to pore over what they need to get done before their mission starts in earnest this evening. The agenda for this first day is a relatively simple one: gather as much information as they possibly can about the resort’s layout, entrance and exit points, and try to get a sense of any particular locations they could make use of for eavesdropping on their targets at the party tonight.

The main man they’re keeping an eye out for is Atashe Barrek - a Rodian that they only have a handful of grainy holos of, but thankfully for them happens to have a distinctive, bright red tattoo of a rifle covering the majority of his left arm.

(Obi-Wan had raised his brow at that, upon an initial glance. Cody snorted at the look of disapproval, throwing him a playfully warning glance. “Careful,” he said, flicking through the projected images, “half of the boys have something as tasteless. Wouldn’t want to go insulting them, would you?”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose a little. “Our men tattoo each other. That’s a ritual that means more than how it ends up looking after the fact. This was likely done by a professional.” He looked down at his datapad with a sigh, and made a note on Barrek’s file. He had tutted softly then, and Cody had to disguise his smirk behind his mug of caf. “Really, I’m unsure of what you want me to say, Commander. It’s garish.”)

Alongside the Rodian will be a handful of others there to facilitate the deal - a human woman with short ginger hair, a Togruta man with one broken montral, and a Separatist agent of unknown species and gender.

The party, such that it is, will be attended by a fair few resort-goers in the evening. They have it on good authority that Barrek and company secured their tickets early, making it a near guarantee that they’ll be present tonight. It’ll be taking place at the hotel’s casino and bar area on the lower ground floor - a fairly large space, which could be both a boon and a curse: more room for them to hide and listen in without being spotted, but equally more space where their quarry can slip out of sight.

Cody brings up a small projection of the resort’s floor plan, setting it on the edge of the bed. It’s basic at current, with just the barebones annotations they’d made upon arrival yesterday. He makes a gesture with his hand to enlarge the image, looking over at Obi-Wan.

“I’ll take the ground floor and the immediate outside area. With any luck I’ll also be able to mark down vantage points for when the party spills out to the gardens at a later point.”

He points to a different part of the map, zooming in a little further. “While I’m doing that, you can have a look through the casino and the adjacent dining area. Maybe get talking to one of the bartenders if they’re around, see if they can tell us about the party setup tonight. If we can get a sense of how many tables there’ll be out, we can see how fast we’ll be able to move in an emergency.”

Obi-Wan nods with a thoughtful hum, stroking a hand over his chin.

“That sounds perfectly reasonable. What time is the event starting?”

Cody checks the chrono on the nightstand, currently cheerfully displaying that it is 8:42am on the local rotation. 

“1900 hours. So we’ve got a considerable amount of time before then.”

“Shall we reconvene here at four to combine notes, if we’re not back before then? It would be a good idea to grab some dinner together too, if we are to be consuming alcohol.” 

Cody powers down the holoprojector, shooting Obi-Wan a smirk. “Are you sure any alcohol consumption is a good idea though, sir, being the lightweight that you are?”

The Jedi narrows his eyes at the challenge. “The dinner was a suggestion for you, my dear Commander, lest you forget that I can use the Force to flush my systems of any substances.”

“I’m just saying,” Cody shrugs. “It doesn’t change the fact that you get drunk incredibly quickly when you don’t cheat about it.”

“When I don’t cheat?” Obi-Wan scoffs in mock-offence, placing a dramatic hand over his heart as he stands to head for the refresher. “I’m outraged,” he declares, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Wounded. I’m starting to regret my choice of compatriot on this mission.”

“Uh-huh.” Cody pockets the projector, glancing over his shoulder as Obi-Wan walks away. “Oh, I should mention. You’ll have to pull the shower head away from the wall to get the hot water to work.”

Obi-Wan pauses briefly in the doorway. “Oh. That’s... unique. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Being helpful.”

The Jedi quirks a brow, mouth pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. “Oh? And here I thought your talents were limited to passively criticising me every five minutes.”  

Cody huffs out a chuckle, meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze. Despite the other man’s irritation, a soft glint in his eye gives way to the fond nature of his teasing. “No, that’s just one of my better qualities. Only the clones with the most sparkling of personalities get made Commander, you know.”

“Wonderful. I’m so pleased for you,” Obi-Wan returns dryly, before slipping into the bathroom and clicking the door shut behind him.

Cody watches after him for a beat, his expression soft as he feels an all-too-familiar stirring in his chest. Blinking, he shakes his head, as if physically dispelling the emotions plaguing him. Time to focus, Commander. There’s work to be done. 

______________________________

Obi-Wan considers himself a rational man. Not easily swayed by his emotion, and always taking the route of most reason.

It is perplexing, then, that he cannot seem to rid himself of the strange fluttering that’s been happening in his heart for the past few hours. He sits at the edge of his bed, rubbing a hand over his brow as he revisits the events of the day in his mind once again.

It had been a fairly routine skirmish all things considered: pushing back Separatist forces from an occupied village in Republic space. Thick smoke had engulfed the field from the explosives that had been set there, and at the time he had been sprinting through it in low visibility, single-mindedly trying to get through to a group of civilians on the other end. 

And then, emerging from the smoke at his side had been his Commander. 

He’d shouted something his way, though Obi-Wan had been too distracted to take it in. Instead, his attention had been pulled to the way Cody’s arm had been outstretched, a lightsaber in his hand. His lightsaber. 

Obi-Wan hadn’t even realised he’d dropped it. 

Something other than the smog had choked his lungs for a brief moment. 

He, of course, hadn’t had the time to explain just the implications of what Cody had just done. He’d simply taken it, thanked him, and rushed ahead to get the mission done. It doesn’t really matter that it was perhaps something the Commander might be embarrassed by had he known - Obi-Wan had needed the weapon at the time, and ultimately that was what mattered. 

Still, the crystal inside had hummed in his mind, something a little too warm and content given the context, as it was pressed into his palm.

He looks down at the weapon in his hands now, absent-mindendly running his fingers over the cool metal of the hilt.

Anthropomorphising a kyber crystal isn’t exactly the right way to go about things - it doesn’t have feelings in the same way a sentient would, per se. It’s more that it is an emotionally resonant mineral that is heavily in tune with the Force - a fact that allows it to bond itself with the Jedi that chooses it.

Still, in this specific instance, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that it felt… happy. A soft buzz in the back of his consciousness that had nothing to do with being returned to him and absolutely everything to do with the man who had been holding it a few moments ago. He’d nearly stumbled in surprise when he first held it in his hand again.

… And then there was the matter of Cody holding it in the first place.

Your lightsaber, Qui-Gon had impressed repeatedly upon Obi-Wan, who in turn had passed on (even more frequently, given the boy’s forgetfulness) to Anakin, is more than a weapon - it is your very life. 

As such, asking another to wield or hold yours is an… intimate thing - almost equivalent to allowing someone to hold a piece of your soul in their palm or clipped to their belt.

It’s not an infrequent request to make from one close member of the Order to another, particularly between Masters and their Padawans, but it is understood each time as a sacred responsibility to undertake. 

To trust a non-Jedi to hold your lightsaber is practically a marriage proposal. 

Cody hadn’t known, of course - how could he have done? In any other circumstance, Obi-Wan would have simply dismissed the motion as something a little awkward but ultimately harmless and silently vowed to keep a closer eye on his weapon in the future.

No, the problem here, the one that has Obi-Wan feeling so out of sorts now, isn’t that it happened, but rather that it didn’t feel nearly as strange as it should have.

It has, admittedly, only been a few months since he first met the man, but the trust shared between the two would position Cody as the next most likely person after Anakin, Bant, or Quinlan (though he’s reluctant to admit to that last one), that he might ask to take care of his ‘saber in a time of need. 

It should be, he thinks to himself, a fact that means nothing other than the proof of the camaraderie that has grown between them.

Unfortunately, Obi-Wan knows himself a little better than that. 

Only one other non-Jedi had ever felt the weight of his lightsaber in their hands, and that was Satine, many lifetimes ago, now. 

Obi-Wan sighs deeply, holstering it back to his belt as he stands, eager to shake such thoughts from his mind. He will meditate on the situation, put the image of the other man emerging from the smoke from his mind, and that will be that.

As the war progresses, days bleeding into weeks bleeding into months, Obi-Wan continues to tell himself that one day he’ll come clean. That he’ll tell Cody exactly what it means for him to hold his lightsaber as easily as he does, and appropriately apologise for not speaking up about it earlier.

That voice in his mind gets progressively quieter as time marches on.

About a year into the war, Obi-Wan knows it’s far too late for him. It’s a quiet, shameful feeling, but one he has come to know intimately.

When his Commander adds a holster to his armour specifically for his lightsaber, Obi-Wan feels as if his own heart may as well be nestled there, too, steadily beating at the side of the man who’s come to mean so much to him as of late.

It is inappropriate in far too many ways, and equally as forbidden, but he is at peace knowing this. He just feels sorry that Cody, while under his command, is subject to his clandestine and thoroughly unprofessional affectations, even if he is unaware of it.

Perhaps, once the war is finally over and Cody has his own space and freedom, he can finally confess to his shame, and ask for his friend’s forgiveness.

… Though he isn’t certain he deserves it.

______________________________

The chrono on the bedside table pips loudly as it hits 7pm.

Cody spares it a brief glance before he returns to his cufflinks, fiddling with them for a moment longer. It would be a stretch to call the suit he’d been provided with by the Council formal, by any means.

The navy jacket is a little oversized, and has been altered to appear worn with a patch of fabric over one of the breasts. His trousers are a mismatched shade of blue to the rest of the suit, the white button-down shirt he’s wearing unironed and crumpled. Cody feels that he wouldn’t look out of place on some neon sign blazed down in the Lower Levels of Coruscant, with the word ‘WANTED’ pasted underneath and a ridiculous sum of credits. 

He’s been given a scuffed silver watch to wear on one wrist, and his loosened curls have been pulled into the closest thing he can get to a bun behind his head, though the frontmost strands at his temples can’t quite reach and instead fall down to frame his face.

After a moment of consideration in the mirror, he turns up his collar. Vidarr is, after all, not a man overly concerned with appearances.

At that moment, Obi-Wan steps out of the ‘fresher, brushing down his clothes. He’s in a suit of his own, a plain, sleek black material with a deep blue pocket square. The Council didn’t deem fit to embarrass him like they have Cody, though he supposes it makes sense. Renne did have a mark on his file claiming he was ‘stylish’, after all.

The Jedi offers a supportive smile as he heads over, hands raising to gently flatten down Cody’s collar. An electric current moves through the Commander at the smoothing motion, his skin tingling at the contact, even through the layers of clothing. “There we go,” Obi-Wan murmurs softly, “now you look the part.”

As soon as his hands have retreated, Cody frowns, turning it up again.

“It was a deliberate choice,” he protests, feeling oddly defensive.

Obi-Wan hums at that, before reaching out once more to fix it.

“It was a poor one, darling.”

Cody is certain the term of endearment is a joke, something done exclusively to poke fun at their given aliases, but he feels his chest tighten nonetheless.

The two manage to keep up their petulant staring match for a few seconds before cracking into smiles. 

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, slipping his hands into his pockets and nodding towards the door, “shall we?”

Together, they head down the hall to the lift, taking it down to the basement level of the resort. Obi-Wan’s posture changes markedly as soon as the elevator doors slide open, facing the line of people waiting to get inside the event. Confidently, he saunters forwards to join the queue, one hand remaining tucked into the pocket of his jacket and the other slung lazily around Cody’s side. 

The Commander tries his best to match him, loosening his posture as much as his body will allow, fighting against the way he instinctively wants to straighten up whenever someone so much as glances their way.

When it’s their turn to enter, Obi-Wan flashes their tickets to the bouncer, who waves them through a large set of double doors.

Cody takes in a steadying breath as he’s near-immediately confronted with an assault to the senses, his eyes scanning across the open space ahead of them. 

To their left is a series of slot machines that are already all occupied with patrons, the loud chimes and whirring of the motors as they spin contributing to an overwhelming level of background noise when combined with the chatter of the eager and already tipsy clientele.

Directly ahead of them lies the bar, where a majority of the partygoers are currently gathered. The rest of the space that isn’t blocked with statues, plants, and other manner of decoration is packed to the brim with tables and various seating arrangements. 

A buffet to the right is boasting freshly-cooked local delicacies, though Cody isn’t certain that a planet that has only ever been owned by corporate investors can really claim to have ‘local roots’ as they seem insistent on doing.

Some tinny, yet upbeat jazzy music plays from speakers throughout the hall. The general chaos of the atmosphere is not Cody’s usual scene, to put it lightly.

A gentle squeeze from the hand at his waist doesn’t serve to calm his nerves.

“Shall we split up?” he murmurs, glancing over at Obi-Wan. “You take the left side, I take the right?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker over Cody’s face, hesitancy in his expression. “That would be wise, but… are you certain? I don’t want to leave you to the wolves if…”

“I’ll be fine,” Cody insists, cutting him off with a slightly forced smile. “Besides, the worst that could go wrong is an awkward interaction, right?”

“Right,” Obi-Wan nods at that, giving him a grateful smile. “Then, yes, divide and conquer would be the best way to start, I think.” He leans in, pressing his lips close to Cody’s ear in a move that, to outside observers, would easily read as normal for two lovers. To Cody, it just serves to make his mind go entirely blank.

“Comms are on. Stay in contact,” he whispers, and Cody forces himself to not shiver at the feeling of his breath ghosting over his skin. Shields, Cody, he reminds himself forcibly, scrambling to throw up a mental wall so that his Jedi isn’t slapped in the face with the incredibly embarrassing intensity of his reaction.

He gives Obi-Wan what he hopes is a not-at-all shaky smile as the two part ways, slipping through the throng of people to get to the buffet table. He can stall a little while here, make use of the vantage point to try and pick out any familiar faces. 

Within seconds, a waiter glides past with a tray in hand, and offers him a well-rehearsed smile. “Drink?” she asks, plucking a flute from the precariously balanced platter and holding it out to him.

“Uh, sure. Thanks,” he says, taking the glass from her. He sips at it idly while looking over the assembled guests. Granted, Cody is not a regular drinker of champagne, but he gets the feeling that it tastes cheaper than it probably should for a hotel such as this. Not that he’ll complain about free alcohol - the prices at the bar, in comparison, are painful to even look directly at.

He watches the partygoers mill around for a little while, eyes dancing over the crowd as he instinctively monitors the changing threat levels of the unfolding situation around him. 

There’s a door nearby to the adjoining restaurant that looks like it would become a choke point in an emergency, that’s a trample risk - there really should be more guards on duty here, given the number of guests. All it would take was one aggressor…

Cody sighs, leaning against the wall as he continues to idly observe the goings-on. Perhaps he’s just overcautious from a life spent embroiled in war, but crowds like this set him on edge.

It’s not all too long before something familiar catches the periphery of his vision, and he turns his head subtly to make note of it without being too obvious. Blue skin and the flash of an aggressively red tattoo… It seems he has eyes on one of his marks - the Rodian. Cody pretends to be preoccupied with tucking his hair behind his ear as he discreetly flicks his comms on and off once, twice to get Obi-Wan’s attention.

He moves to follow as casually as he can, making as if he’s perusing the canapé offerings while sidling closer to the other side of the room. From the corner of his eye, he sees Barrek, two humans, and a Togruta take their seats at a table in the corner, drinks in hand. Jackpot.

He feels an arm slip around his shoulder as Obi-Wan finds him amongst the crowd, drink in hand. Cody manages to shoot him a plastered-on grin.

“Hey, uh, sweetheart,” he says, the words coming out a little stilted. It feels unnatural falling from his lips, but Obi-Wan is gracious enough to not look too amused at his discomfort. “I was thinking we could take that table over there,” he points to a tiny table behind a divider, a few metres away from their quarry. “But there’s only one chair. Perhaps we could ask that group if they can spare one?” 

He punctuates his words by discreetly toying with the proximity listening device in his pocket. Obi-Wan thankfully seems to catch his meaning.

The Jedi turns, drawing the two over to Barrek’s table. “Of course, love. Hey, guys,” he says, a little louder, and Cody internally sighs. He’s entirely certain by now that he absolutely hates the damn voice Obi-Wan is using for this persona, and he’s already looking forward to never hearing it again. “Mind if we take a chair?” 

The group turns, and Barrek gives Obi-Wan a fairly disgruntled look up and down. Obi-Wan, for his part, does a good job of looking like the oblivious tourist, unaware of his intrusions on a clearly private conversation.

“... Why can’t you get a chair from any other table?” he responds gruffly, and Cody takes the opportunity while they’re all looking at Obi-Wan to discreetly attach the small device to the underside of an unused plate sitting near the edge of the table.

One of the human women places a hand on Barrek’s shoulder and shoots him a reproachful look.

“It’s just a chair, Atashe. No need to be such an ass.” She nudges him, and the Rodian scowls, but ultimately backs down, slumping in his chair. The woman gives Obi-Wan a polite smile. “Don’t mind him. It’s all yours.”

“Thank you kindly,” Obi-Wan drawls, taking the chair and pulling it away to the small corner table a little ways from them.

“Let’s hope this works,” Cody mutters, slipping in the earpiece as subtly as he can manage while they take their seats.

Obi-Wan swirls the drink in his glass, and takes a sip. “Let’s hope the cleaning staff don’t take that plate.

“Mm. Now all they have to do is stay close enough, and we should be good to go.”

Cody takes in a breath as he hears voices crackling through the receiver. He leans in, reaching over to take Obi-Wan’s hand so their quiet words look a little more like intimate conversation.

“It’s coming through,” he murmurs, and Obi-Wan smiles. At this distance, the action might be enough to be lethal.

“Good work, Commander.”

The two fall quiet as Cody begins to listen in, the bustling sounds of the party around them fading to background noise.

______________________________

“Oh, Obi-Wan.”

“Do not,” the Jedi Master mutters, scowling into his glass, “take that patronising tone with me.”

To his credit, Anakin doesn’t smirk or make some ill-advised quip as he usually would. Instead, he just takes a seat across the table from him, an unreadable expression on his face. 

A heavy silence permeates the air between them. The ticking of the chrono on Obi-Wan’s desk seems louder than usual, off-kilter from its normal steady rhythm. Or maybe that’s just an illusion courtesy of the alcohol. It’s getting hard to tell.

“I’m just… worried,” the younger man starts, pointedly ignoring the way Obi-Wan grumbles under his breath and ploughing on regardless. “Look, they’re sending Rex to the mind healers because of everything. And neither of you are talking about what happened down there, and–.”

Obi-Wan raises a hand to interrupt him and finally looks up, meeting Anakin’s concerned gaze with unfocused, red-rimmed eyes. “I’ve had worse,” he says gruffly, finishing off his drink and wincing a little as his throat burns. It’s a pleasant type of hurt, especially in comparison to the past week. “Besides, you were there, too,” he points out, and his former apprentice scoffs.

“Yeah, but I was engaged with the Queen. I wasn’t being worked half to death by the kriffing slavers!”

“Language, Anakin,” he warns.

“Deflection, Obi-Wan,” comes the counter.

They glare at each other stubbornly for a few moments, neither wanting to lose this battle, but ultimately the older man is far too exhausted to keep this up. He slumps back in his chair, defeated, and lets his head loll against the backrest as he squints upwards. 

The world is the tiniest bit hazy from the alcohol, and the intensity of the fluorescent lighting overhead creates a throbbing pressure behind his eyes.

Obi-Wan could flush the sensation out, purging his blood back to purity with the slightest bit of concentration in the Force, giving him his senses back and taking away the pain.

He doesn’t.

“You know I’m not going to speak of it,” he says slowly.

Anakin turns his head towards him slightly, digesting his words.“... I know. Not yet, at least,” he murmurs. 

Obi-Wan continues to stare at the ceiling, absently noting the way black spots dance in his vision as he sluggishly blinks.

“So why are you really here?”

Anakin sighs softly and stands, heading over to flick off the overhead lights. Obi-Wan lets out a quiet, pathetic noise of protest as the dull ache disappears. In the low lamplight, the Jedi Knight steps over to his former Master, fixing him with a worried frown.

“Cody asked me to check in on you.”

… Fuck.

Obi-Wan drags a hand over his face, fighting against the way his brain wants to crawl out of his skull, the skin of his back still prickling under the mountain of bacta patches he has strapped to him under his robes.

“He mentioned you flat out ignoring his questions earlier,” the younger man continues, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes.

“Anakin,” he breathes, more of a plea than anything else.

“And he said you were zoning out during the debrief,” Anakin adds, his gaze unwavering.

“Look, I–”

“He’s worried about you. And so is half of the Order, for that matter–”

“I don’t need–”

“For kriff’s sake, just let us help you!” 

Another silence falls between them at the outburst, and Obi-Wan slowly opens his eyes to look up at Anakin. 

Despite it all, a rueful smile makes its way onto his face.

“And just when did you become the reasonable one of the two of us?” he asks.

Anakin rolls his eyes, expression begrudgingly fond as he helps Obi-Wan slowly stand.

“Hopefully never, old man. C’mon, let’s get you to bed. Then I can report back to your Commander that you’re being taken care of.”

Obi-Wan sighs as Anakin helps him over to his bed, falling back on it heavily.

“... I hope I didn’t cause him too much stress,” he finds himself saying. He’s not quite sure why.

Anakin eases him onto his side to get him in a safe position, slipping back to the entryway to turn off the last of the lights.

“... He’ll be fine, I’m sure. Goodnight, Master.” 

Obi-Wan lets his eyelids fall shut, sinking into the mattress beneath him.

“Thank you, Anakin. Tell Cody I’m sorry.”

The other Jedi lingers in the doorway for a long moment, before dipping his head in response, leaving him alone for some much needed rest.

______________________________

It’s been nearly an hour of idle conversation from the group at the table, and Obi-Wan is returning from his second trip to the buffet table to keep up appearances that they’re out on a date night. Cody glances to the plate put in front of him with a raised brow.

“... I’d have preferred the vegetarian option,” he comments dryly.

Obi-Wan looks unimpressed.

“Has anyone ever told you you could have a wonderful career in comedy, my dear?”

Cody smiles. “Shockingly, it hasn’t come up before.”

“Well, you should consider it.”

“Mhm.”

They lapse into silence as Obi-Wan returns to his seat, Cody absentmindedly toying with the wedding ring they’d been provided with for their cover. He almost starts when he hears a voice in his earpiece refer to a ‘deal’, and he snaps to attention, giving the Jedi a surreptitious nod.

The two lean in further across the table as Cody begins to furtively feed back the information he’s hearing. 

“A weapons shipment,” he whispers. 

Obi-Wan nods. “We suspected as much.”

“Pyke involvement.”

“How directly?”

Cody shakes his head. “Unclear, it was a passing comment. Wait–” he holds up a hand, staring down at his plate as he takes in the rapid discussion happening in his ear. Did he just hear that right…?

When he glances up, he sees the concern he feels mirrored in the Jedi’s gaze.

“What is it?” He asks quietly, eyes searching Cody’s. He reaches out to squeeze his hand, and Cody plasters back on a tight smile, remembering that anyone could look over.

“Aruetii. In the GAR command,” he says through gritted teeth, holding the smile as evenly as he can. Obi-Wan blinks slowly, carefully keeping his expression neutral.

“... A mole. I see. We will need a name,” he murmurs calmly, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “... Rather urgently, at that.” 

Cody nods, returning his attention to the earpiece. A Separatist informant amongst their higher ups… it’s not exactly like the Republic is hiring - someone must have been bought off. The only question is who.

After a few minutes, Cody lets out a frustrated grunt. “They’ve moved on,” he mutters quietly, giving a tiny shake of his head. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker over his Commander’s shoulder to the group behind him, before returning to meet his gaze.

“Of course they have.”

Cody taps the fingers of his free hand against the table, his mind working overtime. “Near the start of the conversation, Barrek mentioned a document in his room. He referred to a– a packet of information, a datastick. It might tell us who we’re looking for.” He shifts a little in his seat, lowering his voice. “... And if it does, our best shot to access it would be during a time we know he’ll be away.” 

Obi-Wan hums quietly, picking up on his meaning. “It would be a little risky to take something that would be so missed, no? Or if we were to rush there now, we might find ourselves out of time. Reading through for one name that might not be there at all would likely be looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“We might not have time to look over it ourselves, but we could upload a copy back home,” he counters. Obi-Wan’s brows pinch together slightly, and he tilts his head a little.

“Where it could be read by the spy?”

Cody presses his mouth into a thin line. True, that wouldn’t exactly be ideal, especially if said spy was closer to them than they realised. He glances back down to their entwined hands for a moment, gears turning in his mind. “... I could accidentally upload a copy to one of ours first,” he suggests. “Slip of the finger.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan says, a small smirk spreading across his features. “I suppose such a mishap might be… understandable.” He looks over Cody’s shoulder again with a subtle nod as he moves to stand. “But for the moment, it looks like we have a more urgent matter to attend to.”

Turning, Cody sees Barrek in the process of scooping up the empty plate the listening device had been placed on, making his way over to the buffet table. He curses under his breath. If they discover that there was a bug planted on them, their entire cover would be blown before it even truly began. Obi-Wan places a soothing hand on his shoulder, giving him a calm smile.

“Not to worry. Come with me, dear.” 

With that, he sets off at a strong pace directly towards the buffet table, smoothly striding forwards. By the time Cody has gotten up from his chair, there’s an irritated yelp as Obi-Wan apparently barrels directly into the other man.

A heads up would have been nice. 

Cody rushes over as Obi-Wan pretends to steady himself on Barrek’s arm, the Jedi successfully sneaking his hand up to rip the bug from the underside of the plate and slip it into his sleeve while the black market dealer is distracted with berating him. A group of nearby guests share glances, steering clear of the argument.

“You absolute kriffing moron–” he spits, and Cody pulls Obi-Wan back a step with a firm grip on his arm. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, he’s–” Cody tenses slightly as Barrek whips his head around to face him, giving him the best apologetic smile he can manage, before shooting a glare at Obi-Wan. “He’s had a lot to drink. I tried to tell him…” 

At that, the Jedi slumps slightly, adopting a glassy look in his eyes as he easily plays into the cover.

“Yeah,” Barrek sneers, looking disdainfully at Obi-Wan as he brushes himself off. “I can tell.”

“I’m sorry again,” Cody winces. “l’ll get him back to our room so he can damn well sober up,” he adds in a hiss, putting on his best ‘long suffering husband’ look. Barrek scowls, checking Obi-Wan with his shoulder as he moves past.

“You go do that,” he mutters irritably.

As soon as the Rodian slips out of sight, the two get moving. Obi-Wan puts a gentle hand on Cody’s lower back as he surreptitiously steers them towards the exit, keeping his eyes ahead. 

Cody forces some of the tension out of his body, doing everything in his power to hold onto a relaxed, steady stride, even as he feels adrenaline buzz through him. 

That was far too close. If he had discovered the listening device…

His thoughts are interrupted as Obi-Wan glances over at him with a sparkle in his eye.

“Great work. I truly felt scolded there for a moment.”

Cody rolls his eyes, though he can’t help but return the fond smile. “Thanks. You’ve given me plenty of practice over the years.”

They approach the large double doors leading back out to the rest of the resort, and a worker standing by gives them a small bow of his head. “Ah, heading out, sirs?” he asks, opening the door further to allow them to move past.

The Jedi nods, and coolly lifts a hand to wave in front of him, keeping the movement as small as possible. Cody subtly positions himself between Obi-Wan and the crowd of people behind them, just in case.

“You haven’t noticed us leaving. You will forget you saw us exiting the room,” he states, and the worker’s eyes obediently slide into a glassy haze, his mouth falling a little slack.

“I haven’t noticed you leaving. I will forget that I’ve seen you exiting the room,” he repeats monotonously. Cody spares a furtive glance to the rest of the partygoers, but it seems no one is close enough to overhear. 

Obi-Wan smiles placidly, patting the worker on the shoulder as they pass. “Good man.”

The pair slip out into the corridor and break into a faster stride as soon as they confirm they’re alone. Obi-Wan swiftly takes out his comm-link, tapping into a secure frequency.

“I have a key to get into their systems, though hacking has never particularly been my forté,” he mutters, eyes scanning the tiny projected display as they step into the elevator. He passes a hand over his beard, clearly trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. “Anakin has always been considerably more proficient at it, but given that he’s not here…”

Cody presses the button for the top floor, just so the doors close and they can buy some more time alone.

“Respectfully, sir, I’m grateful Skywalker wasn’t assigned with us. I have a feeling he wouldn’t be the most…” he tries to find polite words to describe the whirlwind of impulse that is the General’s former Padawan, “... stable presence on an undercover mission.”

Obi-Wan huffs, glancing up from his work.

“He’s not so bad at it, actually. Still, we have the tendency to be a little… antagonistic towards one another on excursions such as these.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Mm. I’d tell you we’re not that bad, but I think you’d be aware that that would be a lie.” He pauses, letting out a pleased hum. “Ah, there we are. I believe our man’s room is number 842.”

Cody nods. “Good timing, then, we’re coming up on it now,” he murmurs, pushing in the button for the eighth floor. The door slides open with a soft ‘ding’, revealing a long hallway, empty apart from a maid pushing a cleaning cart around a distant corner. 

They find the room they’re looking for in short order, a little ways down a side corridor to their left. Cody leans against the wall, keeping watch for anyone coming by as Obi-Wan closes his eyes, focusing on the mechanisms of the unfamiliar lock through the Force and beginning to carefully prise it open.

“How long do you think we’ll have before Barrek comes back?” he says quietly, glancing back at Obi-Wan as he focuses.

The Jedi considers for a moment. “Barring an unforeseen incident at the party, I’d say an hour at the very least. They were very involved in their discussion, and seemed intent on getting a little drunk before leaving.”

“I got a similar impression.” He falls quiet again, allowing Obi-Wan to return his full attention to the door. After a few minutes, he hears a quiet click, and Obi-Wan opens his eyes, giving him a firm nod.

“There we are. Go ahead, Cody.”

Cody pauses, wrinkling his nose. “And what if it’s trapped?”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “Then I shall briefly mourn you and then finish the mission on my own.”

Cody snorts, pushing into the room. “It’s so nice to know you care.” 

It’s neat inside - evidently having just been cleaned - though a number of personal items are scattered about on various surfaces. A closed, thin suitcase sits upon the bed, and Cody makes a beeline for it, looking at the numbered padlock with a frown. He begins to attempt to brute force combinations as Obi-Wan glances through some papers on the bedside table, before moving on to a datapad on the desk.

Cody spares a glance over to the Jedi as he hears Obi-Wan make a soft tutting sound.

“Rule number one of dealing in illicit activities, Commander,” he starts, expression more than a little smug, “is not to leave your digital devices unlocked for anyone to see. It seems we’re dealing with an amateur.”

He takes a moment to scroll through the information on display, eyes narrowing a little. 

“Try 1114,” he instructs. Cody adjusts the number displays on the lock, and gives it a tug.

“Not it,” he says, shaking his head.

“2793?” the Jedi tries, scanning the document for more combinations that could prove fruitful.

“Not that either.”

“0914.”

… There. Cody feels the lock give way. With a satisfied hum, he slides it off and lifts open the suitcase. Obi-Wan makes his way over, and they both sigh as they take in the contents.

“Well…” he tries, but falls short of any silver lining he seemed to be reaching for.

“... We really should have expected this.”

Inside sits a frankly ridiculous amount of datasticks. They had been hoping for just one so they could upload the information and leave, but it looks like there could be up to thirty here, at an estimate. They’ll be here for much, much longer than they initially thought.

Sharing a glance with Obi-Wan, Cody deflates a little. The Jedi heads to the doorway to take lookout duty as Cody takes out his comm-link, starting the first of the file transfers.

Why can’t anything ever be simple?

______________________________

It takes them close to forty minutes, but eventually the files have been uploaded to Captain Gregor along with a brief explanation of the situation, and Cody clicks the suitcase shut, re-scrambling the code for the lock.

The pair step out into the hallway and close the door behind them, ready to head back to their room.

Cody is just musing on how smoothly that all went, when from by his side Obi-Wan suddenly pauses, eyes widening ever so subtly. It’s a familiar mannerism - one that means he’s sensed something particularly concerning in the Force. In combination with the way Obi-Wan’s jaw ticks near imperceptibly, Cody can tell the man is definitely on edge. 

He doesn’t bother wasting the time to ask what’s happening, his fingers already itching for the concealed blaster at his side.

“Someone’s coming,” Cody states, and Obi-Wan nods, expression clouded.

“Barrek. Must have forgotten something in his room.”

“Great,” Cody responds tersely, his expression stony. His eyes sweep over the corridor. There’s not exactly any place to hide here, unless one of the other rooms happens to be miraculously unlocked and free of any occupants. He curses under his breath. “Fantastic, even. I’ve got my silencer–”

Obi-Wan shoots him the subtlest glare he can manage. “We will not get into a shootout here.”

“But if he sees us, he’ll recognise us. It’s not hard to put together that we were just snooping around–”

He suddenly finds himself pressed up against the wall. 

Alarmed, Cody’s hands instinctively come up to seize the arms that are boxing him in. He’s about to break out of the hold before his brain catches up to who, exactly, is the one accosting him. He may have the reflexes of a battle-hardened warrior, but Obi-Wan is a Jedi, keeping him still with surprising ease.

For a moment, he just stares at Obi-Wan, who is startlingly close, confusion coursing through him. “What are you–”

“Easy, there,” Obi-Wan says, voice low and quiet. His arms continue to cage the Commander against the wall, and Cody feels his mind blank completely.

The Jedi has the decency to not mention the death grip his Commander has on his forearm, instead just giving him an apologetic look.

“This isn’t ideal,” he says, briefly glancing down the hallway to the lift before returning his gaze to the other man. The breath from his words ghosts over Cody’s face, and the Commander does his best to suppress the shiver that works his way down his spine. “But if we look… occupied, it’ll be our best shot at being ignored.” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes flick over Cody’s face, his eyelids dipping briefly as his gaze drops to his lips, then back up. There’s something deeper behind the look of concern in his eyes, but Cody can’t read his General as easily as he normally could, not while he’s reeling like this. 

The Jedi looks guarded, swallowing tightly. His head lowers slightly, drawing closer. “We don’t have long. May I…?”

Cody’s mind spins violently. May he what? What is he…?

 Oh.

… Oh.

They remain close, the two practically sharing breath as Obi-Wan irresponsibly waits for his reply. 

Cody is more than aware that it would be smarter to just act - their cover hinges on this, regardless, and they need to move fast, Cody, give him a damn answer. Despite this, a more illogical part of him is grateful for the opportunity to stall so he can try to collect himself.

It doesn’t work. 

Cody doesn’t quite know what possesses him as he blurts his next words out, but they’ve left his mouth before he can stop himself.

“I don’t know how.”

Obi-Wan stops in his tracks, pulling back slightly. He looks a little bewildered as the words sink in. “You…” he blinks. “Oh.”

It’s not exactly the truth, but it’s not far from it either. It would be more accurate to say that Cody has never kissed anyone while sober. He’s had his fair share of intimacy while drunk - shameful, secret nights going home with men who, through squinted eyes and the haze of alcohol, look a little like the thought of home. Beards neatly groomed but a little too long, eyes still blue but far too deep, red hair that catches the light but lacks that distinct golden glow.

Come morning and the inevitable hangover, he’d convince himself that their similarities to a certain Jedi were just happenstance, though if there’s a limit on the amount of times he can use the excuse of coincidence on this matter, he’s sure he’s exceeded it many times over.

Kissing someone while drunk is easy. It doesn’t require any knowledge, nor skill to do right -  just tongues and teeth and enough desperation to want to feel something that isn’t the press of a blaster in your hand. 

Sober, on the other hand? Cody doesn’t like the idea of walking into anything without a battle plan while sober. 

It’s just not something he’s ever had the time to do, nor the inclination, really. He’s a Marshal Commander in a war, he’s busy, he doesn’t need that type of entanglement with a stranger, for Stars’ sake–!

Still, he has no idea why he felt the need to actually open his mouth and say it. Cody finds himself facing down the sudden desire to put his head through the nearest wall.

A silence falls between the two of them that they don’t really have time for.

“... Cody. Please, trust me.”

Even in this situation, even with nervousness whirling through the Commander like a hurricane, asking him to trust his Jedi is like asking him to blink, to breathe.

Cody barely has time to nod before the lift doors slide open, and Obi-Wan closes the distance between them.

All of the air leaves Cody’s lungs in an instant as his eyes flutter closed, a hand slipping up from the Jedi’s forearm to instinctively hold the back of his head, drawing him closer. The soft sound that he’s rewarded with for his efforts makes his chest burn, his heart threatening to escape his chest with how fast it’s beating against his ribs.

He feels like he’s unmoored, untethered and floating in a blissful haze where all that he seems to be able to get his brain to register is that his General is damn good at this, leading them gently through this dance.

It’s probably – definitely - unprofessional and wildly inappropriate, but he can’t help but sink into him, an almost embarrassing sigh escaping him involuntarily as Obi-Wan’s jaw shifts, tilting downwards to open up more for him.

For him, for him, for him…

Fast-paced, hurried footsteps march past the two of them and eventually disappear down the corridor, until they’re met with silence once more. 

Obi-Wan slowly, slowly pulls back. For a moment, they lock eyes, breath heavy and a little uneven, before reality falls into place and they break apart completely. 

Obi-Wan clears his throat, gesturing to the lift.

“We should…”

“Right.”

Cody’s mind is a mess. He’d worked so hard to put a lid on these feelings, to push them back into a dark recess of his consciousness where it could gather dust and go ignored in his day-to-day… After what’s just happened, he’s not so certain he’ll be able to get it back there again.

The two make it to their room without further incident, and Obi-Wan, a little awkwardly, excuses himself to the refresher to get changed back into his robes. They had succeeded at navigating the changing mission parameters, yes, but neither of them seem able to talk about their next steps just yet.

It’s only after the door closes behind Obi-Wan that Cody is struck like a lightning bolt with the realisation that in all the chaos, he hadn’t had the wherewithal to shield his emotions during the kiss. 

At all. 

… Shit.

(next chapter)

[canmom]

conflict variations

A character wants something. But it's not easy to get! Over the course of the story…

1.1: they get it

…after various struggles, they get exactly what they want. They exit the story, their narrative force spent.

…they get what they wanted, but it turns out that it doesn't make them happy - and they abandon it to pursue something else.

...they get what they wanted, but it turns out that it doesn't make them happy - and they just have to live with that malaise.

…they get what they want, but the cost turns out to be too much to bear, and they must live with the regret.

...they come into zero-sum conflict with another character with a conflicting desire, and win. Are they magnanimous or cruel in victory?

…they pursue their wish to the bitter end, only to die attempting to realise it. Posthumously, their efforts finally bear fruit.

1.2: they don't get it

…they almost get what they want, but at the last moment they lose hold of it - whether by ironic twist of fate or fundamental character flaw.

…they discover that what they wanted is unattainable, and give up to settle for some other desire, bitter or just resigned.

…they discover what they wanted is unattainable, but refuse to give up, going ever further off the deep end in futile attempts to realise their goal.

…they are distracted or waylaid by other things, only to realise too late that they missed the chance.

...they come into zero-sum conflict with another character with a conflicting desire, and lose. Do they accept it gracefully, or are they a sore loser?

…they pursue their wish to the bitter end, only to die attempting to realise it. The goal is never realised, their efforts were in vain.

1.3 they realise they don't want it after all

…they are torn between this and another, conflicting desire, and forced to decide what is most important.

…they realise that what they thought they wanted isn't what they really wanted.

...they change over the course of the story. Why did they ever want that so badly?

1.4 they're in an episodic story

…they comically fail to achieve their goal again and again, and yet never give up, always coming back to try again in each episode of the story.

…they come close to achieving their desire, but fall short. But they'll try again, as many times as it takes - cue the next instalment…

…the overriding motivation fades into the background, serving mainly as an excuse to throw the character into other characters' stories. Perhaps it will be revisited at the very end?

1.5 they aren't moving today

…they make no real movement relative to their goal, but the moment portrayed serves to illustrate what sort of character they are or how they are feeling (a 'postcard' scene - can be a whole story).

...the reasons that they came to want this thing are explored, perhaps in detailed flashbacks, changing our perception of the character (great setup for 1.1/1.2/1.3).

[askinkiskarma]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ ᴠɪɪɪ - ᴠᴏʏᴇᴜʀɪꜱᴍ

pairing: neteyam x metkayina!reader

➽ a/n: i actually quite enjoyed this, and this might also have to get a part two at some point in the rest of kinktober. i can't believe i officially participated in every day so far - i don't know how much longer i can keep this up, considering i write these the day before hahaha, but i will try my best xx love u besties, smooches 🤍

➽ words: 1.1k words

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: dry humping

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

Nights in Awa’atlu were sparkling and beautiful, filled with an aura that was missing in the forest. There was brightness that stretched for miles and miles, a pleasantly humid air that made each moment feel relaxing, almost like a break from the confines of the fear that etched so deep in the Omaticayan consciousness, after the humans returned. The sky was as clear as Neteyam only saw it on special evenings where he took his ikran to the top of the Hallelujah mountains and slept there, put to sleep by the blinking, beautiful lights that he knew from Norm were other planets, foreign and distant, but beautiful in their own way… just like you. 

Neteyam was taken with you from the moment he spotted you in the crowd, as his family arrived on the now familiar island. He could barely believe his eyes, or his mind, that short-circuited a little taking your beauty in, transcendent and incandescent. He wasn’t one for outwardly declarations of love, or obnoxious displays of affection, so his approach was subtle and, to his dismay, was all in vain, as soon as, after settling in the village, he realised you were already promised to someone else, someone he didn’t particularly liked, and yet, this was a line he couldn’t justify crossing for nearly anything.

Sometimes, he felt like you reciprocated his feelings - you would look at him in a certain way, smile with a twinge of longing or want in your eyes, find ways to stay close to him or correct his form on the Tsurak, even when he feels like he’s mastered it. But it can’t be, and Neteyam knew his mind was playing tricks on him - cruel, unsavoury tricks, meant to torture him and wreck what little lucidity he felt he possessed whenever it came to you. You weren’t his - you couldn’t be. So Neteyam would have to find joy in the little moments, the glances and fleeting touches. 

At least that’s what he thought. 

It didn’t feel like that right now, hidden from sight in a mangrove tree, a place he normally liked to come and think, or be alone, or take a break from essentially being a parent to 3 children he didn’t help bring to life, a place that he was now stuck in and suddenly felt tainted, as he was watching events unfold that, if he was honest with himself, he’s pictured doing with you for a while now. Your back was neatly pressed against the bark of the tree, head pushed back to give Aonung access to your neck, that he was ruthlessly attacking, the purple bruises starting to appear visible even to him, looking down from an elevated tree branch. You seemed to enjoy it, though, your small, lewd moans echoing through the clearing until it hit his ears like a melodic choir, making blood travel instantly to his lower half. 

“Fuck.” It was wrong, being here, looking at you like this, but what was his alternative? Jump from the tree, interrupting what was clearly a scene no one was supposed to be privy to, make it known he’s been there, lurking unintentionally? Absolutely not. It was wrong, but shit, watching you like this, free and uninhibited, picturing how much better he could be fucking you, how he’d eat you out until you’d be pushing his head away from your core with your hands, how you’d not put nearly the effort you could be into it because you secretly wanted more, how you’d curse and mewl as he entered you, stretching you out, over and over, until the shape of him was imprinted on you… 

All these thoughts, swirling in his head, mixed with the images and sounds he’s only known in his mind’s eye until now, made the already tented tewng so tight it hurt, so he found relief in his hands, palming himself over his clothes until the pain dulled, but not as much as necessary. He was rock hard now, watching you as you shifted positions and pushed him until he fell to the ground, straddling his hips and grinding on him, allowing the pleasure to overcome your senses. Guess some things are better done yourself, especially if the company wasn’t… satisfactory, huh? 

Your face looked so blissful, contracted in unadulterated pleasure, eyes shut tightly and eats pushed back flat against your head, your canines dug in your plush lips so deeply there was blood dripping down your chin and onto your azure chest. Your hands were desperately grabbing at your tits, twisting your nipples in between your fingers and the sight was so impossibly erotic, Neteyam couldn’t help himself anymore. It was so easy, easier than it’s ever been, getting out of his cloth, shuddering lightly when his length encountered the crisp night air. His hand fisted on his cock, pumping himself vigorously, the precum staining his fingers as it erupted from his tip. Looking at you, perverted and nefarious images behind his eyelids, of your pretty little mouth around his cock, he was shocked when he realised your eyes were open and staring at him, needy and desperate look hidden beneath the surface, the shock on your face quickly dissipating to unleash desire and hunger and smirking lips. 

You continued grinding on the chief's son, your moans and mewls increasing with each second you were getting closer to release, your eyes locked onto Neteyam’s throbbing cock, desperate to find out how it would feel splitting you open, pumping you full on his cum until it spilled all around you and down your ass. You hoped he could hear you, read your lips - you needed him to hear this, you needed to moan it as he was rutting into you like an animal in heat, but this will have to do for now.

“Make me cum, pretty boy.” 

You couldn’t even hear the whispers of the man beneath you, not as your mind was empty of everything but him, not as your orgasm hit you like a torrential storm in spring, ready to tarnish everything in its path. You came at the same time, moaning a breathy slur of his name that only you could recognise for what it was - for now. Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, Neteyam would learn to know every whimper coming out of your mouth for what it meant, and you’d learn his, as he fucked you dumb and you let him, as you rode him like your life depended on it, as you let him use you, your pussy, your mouth, your whole entire body. 

When the high subsided and you gathered yourself, you heard Aonung speak as through a foggy, far-away echo.

“So… was that good for you?” 

You suppressed a chuckle, eyes finally snapping from the tree and carefully avoiding his. 

“Yeah… yeah, that was good for me.” 

taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @hadesbabygurl@linydoll @the-mourning-moon

[intothegenshinworld]

Fate’s Destiny ~ Chapter 17 || Finale

You somehow, not being able to explain it, had fallen into the Genshin world you know oh-so-well. You were no new player and had explored most of the nooks and crannies of the world. When you first had woken up in Windrise you wondered; it might be a dream, after all, you were behind your screen usually, and now- here? It made no sense, and the world was keen on keeping it that way.

Warnings: Spoilers for main story.

Word count: 1k+

Auteurs note: Posting all that's left in one go <3

↺ PREVIOUS CHAPTER || MASTERLIST

In the presence of nothing, everything returns as it once was. 

ㅤ

…

With a single blink of your eyes, you find yourself in a serene place. It is a bright, colourful, and peaceful domain; a drastic contrast to the violent void that had consumed you a moment prior. Without a clear journey from your old to your new destination, the sudden shift in your environment is aberrant. Your mind tries to catch up to the facts and you realise you no longer remain in Teyvat, nor are you on Earth—the planet you originally came from. 

When you gaze at your reflection on the watery surface below, your fading appearance is solid again. With the world no longer ridding itself of you, you stop looking impaired. 

Your memories are restored and you remember who you are, and what had happened. 

This is the 794th time you tried to escape the code of ‘Teyvat’. 

You straighten your back and find your strength returning with every second spent in the astral plane. The area you currently reside in is something you would describe as a crossing between ‘your world’ and the world you were previously stuck in. A save file —the place you return to when you fail to meet the right conditions to ‘survive’. 

Despite the weight of ‘dead’ lingering in your mind. There is a feeling of peace now that your memories are restored. You still have no idea how you ended up in Teyvat, but the past ‘runs’ of the ‘game’ fill in the blanks. 

The first time you had awoken in Teyvat, you had seemingly come out of nowhere. Yet, your sudden appearance would not be your downfall. Instead, it consistently appears to be your interaction with the world that causes it to ‘break down’. 

During your 1st time in Teyvat, you had done many things different than this time. You were naive and content to take on the name of ‘Creator’ without hesitation, taking things as a joke and not feeling any danger despite the ‘code’ detecting you as a virus. Your existence contradicted how the ‘story’ was written; and so it tried to erase you. Yet, your impact had gotten too big and it could only end with the collapse of the Teyvat. 

Que, your second try. This time, once you had escaped the astral plane to try again, you could still remember your family and friends, anything from your past world, as could you recall the events of the past world. Trying to change your previous choices, you went to Mondstadt, only to ruin the ‘story’ by explaining that you are from a different world. Your impact changed the code again, and so you, including all you had influenced, were bound to be destroyed.

Many variations of your efforts to escape this world have gone in vain. 

Since you are the only one to remember the ‘before’ and the ‘truth’, you can’t ask for any help or clues. Trial and error got you to a certain level of experience, but at some point, you stopped getting information and were lost without a way to survive.

This evolved into a feeling of desolation. 

If all your actions end with the same ‘ending’, do you have a choice in the first place? Perhaps certain things are set in stone; maybe it is your destiny to relive this story over and over.

However, things took a positive turn when you met Dainsleif. 

At the beginning of your run-ins, he could not remember you. It appeared that he, too, was limited to the code. Yet, he always found you, again and again until something changed. 

As the deaths and rebirths of ‘Teyvat’ increased, he got closer to ‘the truth’. 

One day, you woke up in the field of Windrise with him by your side. He knelt beside your resting body and spoke your name when you woke up. 

Dainsleif remembered , and so you tried to uncover the truth together.

The memories of your previous world had proven to be useful after this. They explained how the world worked and that, at its core, it remained a game. Everyone’s actions and fate were predestined by the code that had written ‘life’ into the world, and anything that defied it was seen as an error. 

Your fading appearance and the loss of memory started to make sense once you uncovered this truth. Continuous exposure to the code had made you fragile. Not only were you corrupting the code, Teyvat was corrupting you. You were crossing the line between ‘human’ and ‘code’, and once you became one with the game, you would no longer have access to the ‘savefile’ and die once the code had exterminated its error. 

Somewhere after the 680th time, you had become a walking amnesiac, and no matter how many times Dainsleif tried to explain the workings of the world to you; you would end up forgetting it. The only times you were able to speak with him as you are now were in the first few system hours in the game. 

Dainsleif will wait at the tree in Windrise and update you. You would decide a new strategy and he would lead you as best as he could. 

At your 700th try, you offered your life for the world that was not yours. Dainsleif had regretfully promised to take you out before you could impact the code. 

It did not work. Even if he got rid of you, he was still impacted.

In the last timeline, you started with even fewer memories. Your mind held on to the few fragile memories that made you ‘you’. 

Your name, your age… but things like your friends and family became a distant thought and you know you will lose those memories again once you leave the ‘savefile’.

And herein lies the ultimatum.

ㅤ

…

ㅤ

At the sound of bricks being stacked against one another, a familiar white door materialises behind you. Its imposing presence casts a solemn shadow over the otherwise serene landscape. Every time you return to the familiar gate, a weighty decision is put into your hands. Sometimes it feels like the door itself holds the key to your fate.

Your eyes follow the familiar shapes of intricate carvings on the framing. 

Memories, vivid and fleeting, flood your mind like waves of a restless current. 

You’re at the entrance of the game. 

ㅤ

ㅤ

DO YOU WANT TO TRY AGAIN? 

ㅤㅤ[ YES ]             [ NO ]

If you liked this chapter and think I deserve a comment, please leave one behind! I appreciate it a lot and it'll make me more motivated to write in the future ♡

© intothegenshinworld. Do not copy, repost, translate or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thanks for reading.

[autumnshighlady]

All I Gave You Is Gone (ACOTAR x The Silmarillion AU) - Chapter 1

RHYSAND'S SISTER X MAEDHROS

summary: The story begins with High Lord Rhysand’s sister, Ravenna, moments before her death. Before the sword is swung across her neck, she pleads to the Mother to rescue her, to intervene and get her out. Ravenna’s prayers are answered, and she wakes up in a strange land across the stars, far away from her home – Arda.

warnings: graphic violence

word count: 3.6k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: this AU is so niche that most people probably don't know what the Silmarillion is - fear not! I will be writing it in a way that you won't need to know anything about lotr or the silm to understand it, as everything will be explained. I'm super excited for this series and I hope you guys grow to enjoy it. Any support is appreciated! Huge shoutout to the Anon that inspired this!

Screams rang through the shrieking wind, rattling Ravenna’s eardrums as a coppery tang filled her mouth. It was almost impossible to see anything amidst the smoke and rain, not that she wanted to be cursed with witnessing the horrifying scene. No, part of Ravenna was glad for the masking of the carnage.

The scent of blood choked her senses, closing up her throat and making her eyes burn. Her head throbbed from the impact of its collision on the nearby rock, stomach stinging in pain from the arrow laced with faebane that was lodged in her flesh. Through blurry vision, Ravenna lifted her head, groaning as every ounce of her body protested. Up above, the few fully trained Illyrian soldiers that were stationed at the war camp were falling from the sky, their lifeless bodies brutalised upon meeting the rocky ground. Hybern soldiers swarmed them like ants, their laughter echoing above the sounds of slaughter.

Tears pricked at Ravenna’s eyes as she inhaled deeply, immobilised by her wounds and the faebane arrow in her stomach that stifled her magic. She hadn’t even wanted to come here today to the Illyrian war camp with her mother, Nienna. They had fought over it – Ravenna had even offered to go to the Hewn City with her brother, Rhysand, then accompany her mother to Illyria. She hated it there. Everything from the leering males and the icy chill, to the sight of downtrodden females with their heads low and their wings clipped. Despite being half-Illyrian, Ravenna never felt any desire to spend time there.

Her black hair stuck to her face, clinging to her skin as the rain poured down. She lifted her wings, trying to flap them enough to get her body off the ground, but it was no use. They were dead weight on her back, too exhausted from the effects of the faebane to help her. Panic began to settle in as Ravenna realised she could not make her wings disappear with the poison in her veins. Her wings were a target now, a weak spot. Unable to defend herself, she was now a sitting duck.

As she laid there half-conscious, the screams eventually stopped, her blood turning to ice at the eerie silence from Illyrians in the war camp. Ravenna let out a sob. As Hybern soldier’s footsteps echoed on the hard ground, growing closer to where she was laying beside the rocks, she knew she was going to die.

“Hey! There’s one over here!” A gruff male voice called, followed by the sound of cheering. 

No. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real.

Pathetically, Ravenna tried to drag herself away, fingernails breaking and scraping against the hard rock, efforts in vain. Panic rose in her chest as the sound of the soldier’s leering grew closer, closing in on her like a pack of wolves.

Thanks to the arrow, she had no magic to defend herself. Her asshole father, Ronan, the High Lord of the Night Court, had never even let her train to defend herself. She knew a couple moves from her sparring with Cassian and Azriel, but they were useless in this situation. Ravenna could hear Azriel’s voice in her head, pleading for her to get up and take a stand. But she couldn’t. Every muscle in her body was lifeless, her head spinning and aching with pain.

“Pretty little princess, all on her own...” One of the soldiers sneered, twirling his sword in his hands as he came to stand above her. She could practically smell his rotten breath amidst the blood covering his body that was not his own. 

Ravenna tried to lift her head, but a dirty boot quickly connected with it with such force her neck snapped backwards, body jolting painfully. Fresh blood began to pour from the gaping wound on her forehead, and she cursed under her breath. Snide laughter sounded from above her, echoing in all directions as the world spun. “Nobody can help you now, princess.” One of the other soldiers said. “Not your half-breed brother, not your spy boyfriend. Certainly not your mommy.”

Ignoring the screaming pain, Ravenna opened her violet eyes and looked upwards at the soldier. Her gaze met his blood-stained face, then travelled down to his hands, eyes settling on what was grasped within them.

In his left hand was a familiar set of wings, tarnished with mud and dirt. Blood pooled onto the ground beneath them like a river. Bile rose in Ravenna’s throat as her gaze landed on his right hand.

And she screamed, raw and painfully.

In the soldier’s right hand was a severed head with long, dark locks identical to her own. Purple eyes were wide, face twisted in a frozen picture of agony, a female mid-scream. Bruises and scrapes were littered across the face, but it was unmistakable nonetheless.

It was Nienna. Her mother. The beautiful seamstress who had held Ravenna in her arms for countless nights, who taught her everything she knew. The female who kept her chin high, even as males sneered at her for her lowborn status. Dead. Dead before Ravenna’s very eyes.

Screams continued to rip through Ravenna, cursing the Hybern soldiers with promises of slow and agonising death. She didn’t care that she, too, was about to meet the same fate as her mother. As soldiers grabbed her arms and hauled her upright to her knees, she thrashed and fought like a wildcat. More hands grabbed her, steadying her slightly as she spat at them, tears streaming down her face. 

“Hold her steady!” One of the soldiers snapped before bending down to sneer in her face. “It’s your turn, half-breed bitch. But first we gotta take care of those wings. Can’t have you flying away now, can we?”

“If you cut off my wings, I will flay you.” She spat in his face, screeching as one of the soldiers reached down and ripped the arrow out of her stomach, shredding the flesh as blood began pouring out of her faster.

The soldier snickered, his dark eyes brimming with hate as his twisted face stood mere inches from her own. “We won’t do that quite yet, that takes away half the fun. Your bitch mother bled to death when we ripped her wings from her body, so we didn’t get to enjoy her. We won’t make that same mistake with you.”

Ravenna howled furiously, sinking her canines into the nearby arm of a soldier as hard as she could. A whip cracked across her back in response, cleaving flesh from bone in one stroke as it shredded the material of her black dress. She bit down harder on the arm as pain blinded her, the blood of the soldier making her gag and eventually release him. At least her scream had been muffled.

Before she could curse them out again, she felt it. The presence of a cold, small blade against her wing. Right in the very spot she had seen scars on every female in the Illyrian camps.

No. No no no no.

She hadn’t even realised she was screaming the words out loud, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks as she begged and pleaded pathetically. Flying was her favourite thing to do. She would spend hours soaring through the skies, feeling the wind on her wings as she shot through the air like a shooting star. Sometimes she had flown hand in hand with Azriel above Velaris before their relationship had soured in the last few months, admiring the dazzling view of the city below. Flying was her peace.

Ravenna had accepted that she would die at the hands of the soldiers. But to die with her wings clipped would break something inside of her.

“Rhys!” She began screaming out her brother’s name mindlessly, despite the fact he was miles away and likely clueless as to what was going on in the war camp. “Rhys! Rhys!” She screamed over and over, praying that somehow he would show up out of nowhere and save her. 

Her pleading only spurred the soldiers on more, and then that blade made an incision in the wing’s tendon near her back, the one that her wings relied on to carry her body. She barely even felt the physical pain from the slice as she screamed furiously, not just for herself, but for every female who had gone through this.

For decades, she had argued with her father over the practice of wing clipping. Gone head to head with the High Lord over it. Rhys would often have to step in, talking his father down from clipping his daughter’s own wings as punishment for slaughtering every male she could find who kept the practice going. Ravenna never cared how angry Ronan got with her over it, for she had no shame in taking it upon herself to try and end wing clipping. No matter how much he threatened her, yelled at her, she didn’t care. For she knew that she was untouchable – the people of Velaris loved her too much for the High Lord to get away with locking up or punishing his own daughter.

And now here she was, bleeding from that one tendon in her wings, rendered unable to fly for the rest of her life.

The soldiers whopped and cheered, spurred on by her tears as Ravenna cried angrily. Her body felt numb – a blessing as the Hybern soldiers began to brutalise her body with their fists, whips, and blades. Her skin was sliced and bruised and spat on, but she barely felt it. All she could feel was the hole inside her chest at the sight of her mother’s wings and head, now discarded on the cold, wet ground like trash. 

Rain mixed with blood, blood mixed with tears, mud and grime becoming her second skin as Ravenna was pummelled into the ground. A barbed whip lashed at her skin, the soldiers having ripped open parts of her dress to expose her soft flesh like meat about to be butchered. The whirling black Illyrian tattoos that marked her body were now hidden behind red blood. They had begun at her left thigh and coming up across her hips and ribs, swirling up to the right side of her body across her back and collarbones then travelling down her arm. Now, they were marred, a ruined art piece at the hands of Hybern.

Please. Ravenna begged the Mother silently, teary gaze lifting up to the darkening sky where a few stars peeked out behind the rain clouds. Please help me. Get me away from here. Please, I will do anything. Just get me out of here.

She could have sword one of the stars brightened in response. Throughout lash after lash, she kept praying silently. Grimy hands groped at her flesh, digging into the fresh wounds and twisting her like a ragdoll. She closed her eyes, feeling the cold blade of a sword line up against the back of her neck, ready to swing down on it and cleave her head from her shoulders.

And then everything went bright, instead of the darkness that Ravenna had expected. White hot fire overtook her body, and then it all faded away.

****************

The first thing Ravenna felt was the wind on her skin. It was gentler than the harsh wind of Illyria, but still strong. It soothed her body, which felt lifeless. The rocks she was laying on felt different than before, and she realised it was dirt beneath her, not stone. Her throat was dry, mouth caked with blood as she inhaled a deep breath. The air was fresh, not stifled with the scent of the war camp’s death. It filled her lungs blissfully, and it took all her strength to crack open her eyes.

She was met by sunlight, blinding her momentarily before her eyes finally adjusted. From her position on the ground, she could make out soft, windswept grass on either side of a dirt road. She was in a valley, a mountain pass judging by the steep hills nearby and the narrow windingness of the path ahead. 

Ravenna’s mind was still swirling as she fought to figure out where she was. The landscape was unlike anything she had seen before in the Night Court. There was something different here, something that unsettled her bones. It did not feel like Prythian, somehow.

Before she could go through what she knew of the landscape of the various other courts, voices sounded in the distance, along with hoofsteps. Ravenna stiffened, pushing herself up into a sitting position as the sound grew closer. But it did not sound like the rough, sneering voices of Hyberm. No, these voices were different. They were strong, but songlike, lilting up and down in tones unfamiliar to Ravenna. From the winding path emerged a small group of males on horseback. They donned silver armour, long hair flowing in the wind and revealing pointed ears. Ravenna’s brow furrowed. She had not seen fae like this before, but something in her gut told her they were different. Sure, they donned the same ethereal grace to them matched with pointed ears, but there was an unsettling difference between them and the fae males Ravenna had previously encountered. They did not have a predatory feel to them like most fae males, but seemed colder. Calculating.

And nonetheless, terrifying. 

A male with long blonde hair shouted something and charged his horse forward, icy blue eyes fixated on Ravenna as his group followed. She could barely move her aching body, merely slumping in defeat as the horses surrounded her in a perfect circle, a various assortment of blades and arrows pointed at her. On instinct, Ravenna lifted her wings to shoot herself up into the sky away from the males, but with the incision made she could barely lift them off the ground.

Once again, she was defenceless.

A male with black hair and cold, grey eyes barked something at her in that unfamiliar language. Squinting against the bright sun, Ravenna looked up to meet his stare. He and the blonde male were the only ones without helms and armour – the leaders, she presumed. An eight-pointed star marked the centre of their embroidered white tunics, and red capes flowed behind them in the wind.

When she didn’t answer, the black-haired male repeated his question, angrier this time.

“I’m sorry…” She muttered, barely getting the words out due to her dry throat. “I don’t understand…”

This time, it was the blonde male who spoke up. “You speak the common tongue?” He asked, his voice less harsh but still with a lethal edge to it. She nodded.

“Who are you and why are you in the pass of Aglon?” He continued, pressing his blade against her throat. She swallowed – never before had she seen such a beautiful blade, marked with swirling inscriptions and metalwork that would impress the most prestigious blacksmith in the Night Court.

Evenly, she met his blue eyes, which scanned her up and down. Distaste and surprise came across his beautiful features as he seemingly focused on the blood covering her body rather than her wings. Finally, Ravenna realised her dress had all but been torn to shreds, revealing her wounded skin in places she would have preferred to cover up. She curled herself into a ball, hands desperately trying to cover the parts of herself that had been revealed by the rips in her dress. 

But the males did not leer like she had anticipated. Even the dark-haired one who had snapped at her in that foreign language did not seem affected by her skin on display. He was more focused on her wings, which were covered in Illyria’s mud and dirt. Ravenna still trembled with fear in their presence, but at least they seemed better than Hybern thus far.

“The pass of… what?” She asked, even more confused. She had never heard of such a place before. Certainly not in Prythian. Where the hell was she and what happened?

“She’s a spy of the Dark Lord, brother.” The dark-haired male said, a hateful look in his eyes as he drew his bow. “Let us kill her and be done with it.”

“Put that away, Curufin.” The blonde one scolded with authority. “We are in Maitimo’s lands. He will decide what to do with her. Spy or not, she comes with us. He will have our heads if we kill her without his permission.”

Curufin rolled his grey eyes and retracted his bow. “As you wish, Tyelkormo.”

Ravenna’s mind reeled and the sound of the names being given, especially the last one. They were unlike anything she had heard before, leaving her even more confused. Was she dead? Was this some sort of strange afterlife? She shivered – by the way the wind bit at her cold skin, she knew she was very much alive. 

The blond one whose name Ravenna’s brain hadn’t wrapped around took note of her shiver, huffing loudly before muttering something in another tongue to one of his guards. He swung a leg off of his grey horse and slid down onto the ground, walking over to where Ravenna sat in the dirt. Part of her instincts told her to run, to back away from this ethereal, too-perfect looking male. But another part of her was lured in by his beauty, as if some strange spell surrounded him. 

She baulked as he came to stand over her, blue eyes mercilessly staring her down as if she were nothing more than a speck of dirt. The male was enormous, almost a foot taller than Cassian was. Long, silver-blonde hair flowed over his shoulders, two small braids behind each ear trailing down beside his neck. Jewellery adorned his pointed ears, which were similar in shape to her own. Based on his elaborate-looking attire this male was of a decent status wherever they were. 

The blonde male unclasped his cloak, tossing the fabric towards Ravenna. She caught it, the material soft as clouds in her hands as she wrapped it around herself, grateful for the warmth. 

But there was no warmth in the male’s eyes as he barked at her, “Get up.”

Keeping the cloak wrapped around her blood-soaked body, Ravenna pushed herself up. But her legs buckled, sending her tumbling painfully back to the ground. She hissed in pain, pressing her hand into her stomach where the wound from the arrow was. Her fae healing had kicked in enough that it began to slowly heal, but not nearly fast enough.

“Are you incapable of following orders and standing up?” He hissed angrily.

Despite her pain and exhaustion, fire lit in Ravenna’s veins at his attitude. “I’m not exactly in a position to do so without struggle.” She snapped, unfolding the cloak just enough to reveal the large, unmistakable arrow wound in her stomach. 

His blue eyes followed, assessing the wound with impatience. “You’ll live.”

“Unfortunate for you.” She shot back, temper heightened by the ache in her wings.

The male scoffed. “Do you even know who I am?”

“No.”

“I am Lord Celegorm, Prince of the Noldor and third son of Fëanor.” He stuck his chin arrogantly in the air. 

Ravenna took a deep breath to steady herself, slouching and rolling her eyes. “I must have hit my head pretty hard. I have no fucking clue what any of that means.”

Surprise crossed Celegorm’s face, and he exchanged an uneasy look with his brother. Curufin shrugged, muttering something in that strange tongue before turning his grey eyes back towards Ravenna. “And who exactly are you, may I ask?” He said dryly.

“Ravenna,” She said. “Princess of the Night Court. Daughter of Ronan, the High Lord.” She introduced herself in a similar manner to Celegorm, snorting at the confusion that continued to grow on his face.

“What are you talking about?” He snapped. “There is no such a court here, or a Lord Ronan.”

Ravenna shrugged. “Now you know how I feel, I guess. Believe me, I don’t know where the hell I am or how I got here. I am just as confused as you. I mean you no harm, I swear by the Mother.”

“That will be for Maitimo to judge.” Was all Celegorm said before reaching down for Ravenna’s trembling, weak body. She did not have time to protest or process what was happening as he reached underneath her wings and legs, lifting her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. The world swayed as she was picked up. Thankfully, he did so in such a manner she remained covered with the cloak.

Still, she did not like being manhandled. “Put me down!” Ravenna hissed furiously, writhing as best she could in his grip. But it was no use – between her weakness, lack of powers, and Celegorm’s sheer size and strength, it was pointless.

Celegorm lifted her onto his horse and set her on the front end of the saddle before climbing up behind her. She winced in pain as his large frame brushed against the incision on her wings. “Watch the wings.” She snapped.

“We are taking you to our eldest brother.” Celegorm said, ignoring her protest but leaning back ever so slightly and relieving the contact on her wings. “He can decide what to do with you. It is half a day’s journey from here, so I suggest you rest while you still can.”

All Ravenna could do was sigh and hold onto the horse’s mane as the prince sent the group forward up the winding mountain pass. She had come no closer to figuring out where she was, or who these strange fae-looking people were.

And she had half a day to do her best to figure it out.

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @decadentpostnacho @

[cupids-diner]

It's great to hear that i am ur first requester ^^

Okay soo ummm, i think i prefer a oneshot and the words is up to you. YESSS YOU CAN MAKE YOUR CREATIVITY MOODBOARD 😍😍

Maybe the plot is in D3, the reader is like Linda (a ballerina) but opposite from her in love life. The reader likes adam banks but he does not. So, when the reader talks to him, he ofc gives her a cold ahoulder and play hard to get. So after that, adam kinda shouts at her and she leaves him alone, realises that he loves you too when you're not like usual. Maybe at the final hockey game the incident. When you have ballerina performance, you want adam to come however he says that Linda or Connie force him too (but they weren't 😆), and then he pecks you on the cheek and say congrats 🙂‍↕️

The Final Play - Adam Banks

Adam banks x Ballerina!Reader

Warnings: none

Rating: angst/fluff?

Eden Hall Academy buzzed with the excitement of a typical school day, but for You, today was anything but typical. As a dedicated ballerina, you had spent weeks preparing for your big performance that evening. The studio, with its grand mirrors and polished floors, had been your sanctuary, but today your thoughts were elsewhere—on Adam Banks.

Adam was the school's star hockey player, and although they moved in different circles, you found yourself drawn to him. You admired his skill on the ice, his confidence, and the effortless way he commanded attention. your feelings had remained unspoken, yet you hoped for a spark, a sign that he might return your interest.

You had made several attempts to talk to Adam, but he always seemed distant. His cold shoulder was like an impenetrable barrier. He would nod politely but never really engage. Recently, he’d been particularly aloof, playing hard to get in a way that left her confused and disheartened.

During his final hockey game of the season, you watched from the stands, hoping that your presence might make a difference. As you stood amidst a sea of cheering fans, you could see Adam skating with intense focus, his game face on. You felt a pang of sadness when, in a rare moment of confrontation, he shouted at her from the ice, his voice cutting through the cheers and chants.

“Why do you keep showing up here? Just stay away!” he had called out, his frustration evident. The words were harsh, and your heart sank. You had been trying to support him, hoping to find a way to connect, but his reaction was a bitter blow.

Stung, you left the arena, tears brimming in your eyes. The night of the performance loomed ahead, and you couldn't shake the feeling that your efforts were in vain. The disappointment hung heavy as you prepared for the ballet, practicing your routines with a heavy heart.

Despite the turmoil, the performance was a success. The auditorium was packed, and as the lights dimmed, your focus shifted to your dance. You poured your heart into every pirouette and leap, your emotions channeling into the graceful movements. The audience's applause was a distant echo to her own internal triumph.

After the show, you stood backstage, the weight of the evening finally lifting. You were greeted by friends and family, but her gaze wandered to the audience, searching for familiar faces. To your surprise, Adam was there. His presence was unexpected, especially given his earlier reaction.

“Hey, Adam,” you greeted him as he approached. His expression was softer now, though still tinged with an awkward edge.

“Hey, Y/n,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, Connie kind of… forced me to come.” There was a hint of reluctance in his tone, but you could tell it wasn’t entirely true. His gaze lingered on you, a mix of admiration and something more.

You tried to keep your composure. “I hope you enjoyed the performance.”

“It was really good,” Adam said, his voice more genuine now. He stepped closer and, to your surprise, leaned in to peck her lightly on the cheek. “You did great.”

Your cheeks flushed at the unexpected gesture. “Thank you, Adam,” you said softly, your heart fluttering with a blend of hope and disbelief.

Adam looked at you, his usual bravado replaced with a genuine warmth. “I guess I should’ve paid more attention before. I, um, I really liked the performance.”

As you looked into his eyes, you saw the change—a realization that maybe, just maybe, his feelings had shifted. There was an honesty in his gaze that spoke volumes. You smiled, and for the first time, Adam’s presence felt like a promise of something new.

“Thanks for coming,” you said. “It means a lot.”

“Anytime,” Adam replied, his voice holding a sincerity he hadn’t shown before. “And, uh, sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be so harsh.”

Your smile widened. “It’s okay. I’m glad you came.”

As they stood there, the night’s events slowly weaving their own new narrative, it was clear that both you and Adam were standing at the edge of something different—a beginning shaped by unexpected turns and newfound feelings.

A/n: I hope this was good! I do accept any criticism! I am just starting out and I haven’t written in a while because of babysitting and family and friends birthdays and such. I hope you enjoy this!

Moodboard links!

Ballerina!Reader

Adam banks

[manari-archives]

how many things | LS18

I wonder how many things you think about before you get to me I wonder how many things you wanna do you think I'm in-between I feel myself falling further down your priorities And I still make excuses for you constantly

pairing: Lance Stroll x Reader

warnings: angst and alot more angst

word count: 1.4k

note: again this isn't based on the entire song, just a couple of lines mentioned. this took longer than expected to write and ive realised im not the best at writing depressing stuff which is ironic cause the entire eics album is mainly just sad songs. also english isn't my first language so any corrections feel free to let me know and any feedback is welcome :)

masterlist

Lance slept on the other side of the bed while you sat up reading your favourite book, a frown present on your face as you watched him. Over the last few weeks, he had abruptly become distant. Initially, you attributed it to a tough race but this strange and unusual behaviour persisted far too long. When you questioned his engineers and friends, they claimed everything was normal at work. However, you knew something had changed when he stopped doing the little things that made you fall in love with him in the first place, yet you waited for things to return to normalcy and for him to stop treating you like you were not even a second thought

The next morning, you woke up beside him and watched him sleep, realizing that the intimacy you once had faded. You no longer sat on the roof talking until the sun came up, he no longer held you close at night. You wondered the possible reasons for his sudden detachment, perhaps he felt you were too needy. You also considered the possibility that something had happened at work that he didn’t want to burden you.

Lance used to let you know when he was returning home after the race but he stopped doing that as well. You used to eagerly wait for him at the door, but those days had passed

In a vain attempt to salvage the relationship, you had put in extra effort to spend time with him, but he brushed it off, claiming he ate at work and showing no gratitude for your gestures. His cold demeanour and passive-aggressive remarks during everyday tasks made it difficult for you to express your feeling. The lack of appreciation and affection left you feeling neglected and unseen.

As time passed, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, making excuses for him constantly instead of confronting him directly. The emotional distance between you had grown, leaving you feeling unloved. You couldn't even remember the last time he said he loved you.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you confronted Lance about his distant behaviour. You expressed your frustrations, pointing out how patient and understanding you had been for months, yet he remained closed off and dismissive. 

You couldn't hold back your emotions any longer. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you faced Lance, feeling a mix of frustration, sadness, and love. His eyes welled up too, but he seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

"I can't do this anymore, Lance," you said, your voice shaking with emotion. "I've tried my best to be patient, to understand what you're going through, but you keep shutting me out. I feel like I'm living with a stranger, not the man I fell in love with.

Lance looked pained, his brow furrowed as he tried to respond, but you couldn't bear to make more excuses for him, it's become a habit at this point. You continued, your words gaining strength.

"When was the last time you told me you loved me?" you asked, your voice wavering. "It's been months, Lance. I deserve better than this."

As tears streamed down your cheeks, you couldn't help but wonder, "Am I not even a second thought in your mind?" The realization hit hard, and you felt yourself falling further down his priorities with each passing moment. 

You questioned, Your voice trembling with emotion, "How many things do you think about before you even get to me? It feels like I'm lost in the background of your thoughts." The weight of your words hung heavily in the air, reflecting the growing distance between you and Lance.

"I can't help but wonder how many things you want to do, and I feel like I'm just in between, an afterthought," you added, voicing the uncertainty and doubt that had been plaguing your mind. The sense of being unimportant and overshadowed in his life continued to haunt you.

Amidst the turmoil of emotions, you realised that his corner in your mind is well established, but you're starting to fear that you don't have a prominent place in his anymore. The contrast between your feelings of devotion and his apparent detachment became increasingly evident, leaving you with a sense of insecurity and sadness.

Despite your heartfelt plea, Lance remained resolute in his emotional distance. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, but he couldn't find the words to express what he was going through. You could sense that he was grappling with his demons, but his inability to share them left you feeling helpless and rejected.

"I can't do this anymore," you said, your voice trembling as you stepped back from him. "I love you, but I can't keep waiting for you to let me in. I need more than this."

Lance looked at you, his face a mix of pain and regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but it felt like an empty apology.

"I deserve more than this," you repeated, trying to steady your voice, but it cracked with emotion. "I deserve someone who will communicate with me, who will love me, who will let me be a part of their life. I can't be with someone who keeps shutting me out."

He reached out as if to touch you, but you flinched away, the hurt too fresh and raw. "Please," he pleaded, "give me more time. I'll figure this out."

But the well of patience had run dry, and you shook your head sadly. "I've given you enough time," you said, your heart breaking with every word. "I can't keep sacrificing my happiness for someone who won't let me in."

With that, you turned away, unable to bear the pain in his eyes. The weight of your decision settled heavily on your shoulders as you grabbed your belongings and left the apartment, the echoes of his apologies lingering in the air.

As you walked away, tears streamed down your cheeks, and you couldn't help but glance back one last time. But you knew deep down that you had made the right choice, as difficult as it was. You deserved to be with someone who would cherish and communicate with you, and staying with Lance would only prolong the heartache.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and the ache of loss remained, but Lance's silence remained. He never reached out, and you found yourself trying to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart. It hurt to think that the love you once shared had slipped through your fingers, lost in the abyss of his silence.

You tried to move on, to fill the void he left in your life, but the pain of losing him lingered. Every little thing reminding you of him, there was hiding from the thought of him and you got ways to find him in every corner. You cherished the memories of your time together, but they became bittersweet reminders of what once was.

And in the quiet moments, you couldn't help but wonder what went wrong, how the love that once burned so brightly had fizzled out into nothingness. You would find yourself looking back, wondering if Lance had ever found the strength to open up, to let someone in. But that chapter of your life had closed, leaving you with the poignant lesson that sometimes, love isn't enough to heal someone else's wounds. 

In the end, all that remained were the fragments of a shattered heart and the bittersweet memories of a love that had been lost. And as you gazed into the night sky, you wondered if time could ever truly heal the wounds it had caused, or if some scars were destined to linger forever.

[chronophobique]

Cursed!Draco as a Triwizard Tournament champion

— 1135 words

content warning: drowning (no one dies I promise)

Draco knew, since the moment he thought he saw a green flash hit him during his heated encounter with that one student from Ravenclaw—whose name he’d never cared to learn—on the train, that something was wrong with him.

He could feel it every time he climbed stairs, when he found himself panting like an old man as if he’d never got used to climbing them in the past seven years.

But he wasn’t going to pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey just now and ruin his chances at finally proving himself.

Not when the Cup had chosen him. Not another Chosen one or a brave heart, like it had in the past. Him. The only student in this school who had been an Azkaban convict.

It hadn’t enchanted him, at first. The opposite, in fact. The war had made him a target—quite rightly. Now certainly wasn’t the time to be in the spotlight.

But it was his opportunity to show them he wasn’t the boy who had blindly listened and obeyed to stronger than him anymore. And he wasn’t going to miss it just because of some pain in his chest.

“Ten galleons that someone will take care of his case before he has time to step a foot into that arena,” he heard a Hogwarts student not so discreetly tell a Durmstrang student as he passed them in the corridor. It was the day before the First Task.

The dark-haired girl met his gaze, then, considering her answer, when a familiar bushy head interrupted her train of thoughts, a finger pointed at her interlocutor’s face. “We don’t bet on the champions’ lives, Darwin. Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

“You can’t do that,” Darwin exclaimed indignantly. “We’re from the same house!”

“All the more reason to teach you a lesson,” Granger snapped back, eyebrows drawn severely as she walked away, barely giving him a glance.

As with his trial in which she had testified on his behalf, it wasn’t the first time she put her nose in his business to get him out of an uncomfortable situation, and all it did was make him more confused. Angry. Ashamed.

The third time was during the Second Task, when he realised with horror and ever more incomprehension that she was the one thing that had been stolen from him.

It was already a surprise that he hadn’t drown in the first few minutes of the task, given that he had been denied access to the library due to his past and exposition to the Dark Arts and therefore had been unable to find a way to breathe underwater, but seeing her floating amongst the hostile merpeople for him to save really was the cherry on the cake.

As his lungs painfully rejected the freshwater of the lake, he hesitated. None of this made sense. What the fuck did it mean, Granger being stolen from him? What would it mean to others?

Still, he’d made it this far. Somehow. And before his brain could even process it, he was grabbing her by the waist and pulling her to the surface as if his four members now had a mind of their own.

Or at least, he tried, because as soon as he started kicking the water it suddenly felt like claws were closing around his heart, dragging him down.

Down.

Down.

Overcome by panic, he kicked harder, but his efforts were in vain. In just a few minutes, he lost his hold on Granger, breathed what he was convinced to be his last, and let the depths of the lake swallow him.

He regained consciousness with a start, coughing up all the water that had seeped into his lungs.

“Mr Malfoy, are you feeling alright?”

“Obviously not,” he rasped, lying on his side, going completely still when he noticed Pomfrey wasn’t the only witch present in the tent.

As soaked as he was, a few curls already sticking up on either side of her face, Granger was looking straight ahead. Like the last place on Earth she wanted to be right now was on this stool but she had no choice.

Looking down, he quickly realised why; her hand was laced with his.

Appalled, he tried to wrench it out of her grasp, but she held on strongly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Madam Pomfrey warned, a close eye on his vitals.

“Why not?” he asked through his teeth, goosebumps all over his skin.

“Because you’ve been cursed, Mr Malfoy.” She let that sink in, probably unaware that it was a daily occurrence for him. “And whoever hit you with it didn’t want you dead, but miserable for the rest of your life.”

That didn’t explain why Granger was holding his bloody hand. Merlin. He’d never had anyone hold his hand like this before.

“Well, clearly it failed. As you can see, I’m alive and don’t feel particularly worse than usual. Now tell her to let go of me,“ he groaned.

“The thing is you shouldn’t be alive. And you have Miss Granger to thank for that.”

“I didn’t do anything—” the latter said, still not looking at him.

“Voluntarily, no, but it doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

He saw her stifle a laugh and wondered if he was imagining the pinker tint to her cheeks.

“Care to explain?”

“You were hit by an Octopus curse,” Pomfrey revealed, point blank, lips pursed. “A rare curse which forced your body to undergo certain changes in a very short amount of time, such as growing two extra hearts.”

Rendered speechless, Draco could only listen, though the warmth of Granger’s skin against his own was irritably distracting.

“Two hearts you’ve already lost,” she continued in a graver tone. “As one was apparently stopped with the Killing Curse and another deprived of oxygen for too long.”

“One heart left, lucky me,” he muttered sarcastically after a few seconds, sitting up and locking eyes with Granger. “And what should I be thanking you for, hm?”

Eyes as dark as he’d ever seen them, the witch looked like she wished he’d never resurfaced.

“You remaining heart, it seems, only beats because of me, Malfoy.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. What an insufferable show-off. “Yes, I figured,” he snapped. “What I meant was—”

“Because,” she cut him off, squeezing his hand so hard he feared for a second his bones would break. “I make it flutter every time our eyes meet,” she spat, her voice full of reproach. “And makes it beat faster when I touch you. I keep you alive.”

“In simple terms, she has your life between her hands,” Pomfrey added as if she fucking needed to. “So I suggest you listen carefully to what I have to say.”

[feyd-meowtha]

Sneak Peak of 'Born Slippy' (a Curt/Ken installment in the 'Our House' universe)

He met Bucky in high school, or John as he was called back then, sometimes even Jay by some of the stoner kids he used to hang out with when he wanted to smoke for free. Joining a new school in the middle of the year was never a good look so Curt's head ticked over every eventuality on the long drive from New York to Chicago. Planning for every possible problem. Strategy, he told himself, as if making people love you was as simple as a game of Risk. Who did he want to be? He knew had it in him to be a lot of things - the fighter, the class clown, the burnout stoner-kid or the mysterious new boy. He even considered being the gay kid, holding the possibility between the tips of his fingers as if it might bite him, latch onto him like a facehugger and worm its way down his throat until he didn’t have a choice but let it out, guts and all. 

On the first day at his new school Curt walked into a classroom in chaos. A dark-haired boy in a backwards Yankees cap was at the centre of it, standing on a desk and singing an almost unrecognisable rendition of “Don’t You Want Me,” to a girl who clearly could not want him any less if she tried. When he realised that his efforts were in vain he scanned the class for a new victim, his eyes lighting up when he saw the new kid walk through the door, overstuffed backpack still on and wearing an expression that said please, god, no. 

Of course that only spurred the crazy boy on further so he dove toward Curt, taking his arm in his own and swinging him around in a circle as he belted out. 

“I was working as a waitress at a cocktail bar.”

And that was how Curt discovered that the double-role of gay class clown was already taken by a six foot two lunatic by the name of John Egan. Though it would be a lot longer before he understood that the other boy’s daily antics were a result of the fact that his father could barely stand to look at him. None of that mattered though, not who their families were or where they had come from. What they shared that day, as complete strangers at 9am on a Monday morning in front of the dismayed faces of their classmates, was something deeper.

In that moment his fate was decided, Curt settling straight into his new role as co-class-clown as John approached the chorus of the song and he thought fuck it and joined in, the two of them marching around the classroom for a painful, ecstatic few seconds before they were silenced by the arrival of the homeroom teacher. 

She frowned at the commotion before asking sheepishly. 

“Curtis Biddick?” 

“Yes, maam,” he replied, unhooking his arm from John’s as the taller boy collapsed in a heap of giggles. 

“Curty boy!” John echoed, slapping his leg and biting his lip in amusement as the homeroom teacher pointed Curt to his desk and he sat down, cheeks blazing red but unable to hide his grin.

Curt told that story many, many times in the years that came after as he and John followed one another from skate parks to sports bars to bona-fide nightclubs. He told it so many times that even he began to doubt its validity. Unsure which parts had been embellished from one blurry night to the next, the two of them taking it in turns to add the next line as if it were a scripted sketch in a comedy show. People were right to doubt it, it sounded fake as hell, but this was the story they told and therefore that was the story that mattered. When the two of them were together things just seemed to happen and besides - they were still best friends, what more proof could you want?