#we mostly use them to fool around with friends
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Yeah me and Dorotha i’m going to use these for our discord accounts
They look so cute
-Wheat
Matching Ragatha and Pomni icon commissions! Felt so lucky to be commissioned to make these, n I'm proud of how they turned out :))))
Anyone can use this as their pfp as long as I am credited, thank you!!
#taikko art#the amazing digital circus#tadc fanart#tadc#tadc ragatha#tadc pomni#pomni#ragatha#endo safe#did system#did community#actually did#did osdd#osdd community#actually osdd#osdd system#osdd#pluralgang#plural stuff#actually plural#plural community#plural system#plurality#matching pfps#miscellaneous#yes we each have discord account#we mostly use them to fool around with friends#And introduce friends to her#without outright coming out as a system to them
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the sinus headaches are already not great but Extra Shit has been added to the pile and im just sat on that right now trying to figure out what the fuck to do
#ive uh not processed it yet and it also wont really shake out for a little while now i guess but .. yeah#long story short my friends who ive been A Trio with since we were 11 might be done with each other#theres a LOT of additional factors but theyre splitting a house share so one can go live with a boyfriend#and in the process it sounds like theyve made a lot of selfish choices for some unknown reason#ngl theyve pissed me off a little bit for being so weird and reclusive since theyve had the boyfriend as well but only with us#its ... yeah i dont know what alls happened because i dont live with them#but i just cant fathom how they got to this point quibbling over the contents of their shared house of 5 years#over a boyfriend whos been around for 2 or 3 years ..... to ruin a friendship of 18 years ????#again i dont know the whole story but i trust what the friend whos still good at talking to us to not lie about them being screwed around#i just dont get it at all how to reconcile what ive been told with who ive known over half my life#theyve felt off .. or wrong for a while now tbh ... i miss them#i havent seen the other one since before may ...#the thought that mightve been the last time we all hang out is kind of killling me inside lol#and it was also pretty weird and stilted again because it was very boyfriend-centric#this always happens to me lol ive lost count of all my school friend groups who end up basically fighting over me after they fall out#its a MAJOR trauma point for me and i thought we kind of grew past that but i guess i was wrong#ive been catching myself with a weepy eye or a single sob all day#i dont know what to do i wanna know what the fuck happened and what was worth doing this for#i wanna confront everyone and ask for a fucking explanation as to why my single life solid bedrock is falling apart#i mostly wanna dig a hole and die in it ... im fine im safe but im bothered by like ...#what a total fool ill look like if i just melt down at work ... i might find the mental health first aiders list and write an email lol#im like not okay cksbdkssj fucking hell#i have some hope but its ... its hard out here#i need to go to bed fuck#id dont neeeeed thiiiiisss im gonna choke on life agaaaiiinnn#the battle to keep my shit together enough to at least not self-sabotage ??? its testing my patience#rory's ramblings
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How Do I Make My Fictional Gypsies Not Racist?
(Or, "You can't, sorry, but…")
You want to include some Gypsies in your fantasy setting. Or, you need someone for your main characters to meet, who is an outsider in the eyes of the locals, but who already lives here. Or you need a culture in conflict with your settled people, or who have just arrived out of nowhere. Or, you just like the idea of campfires in the forest and voices raised in song. And you’re about to step straight into a muckpile of cliches and, accidentally, write something racist.
(In this, I am mostly using Gypsy as an endonym of Romany people, who are a subset of the Romani people, alongside Roma, Sinti, Gitano, Romanisael, Kale, etc, but also in the theory of "Gypsying" as proposed by Lex and Percy H, where Romani people are treated with a particular mix of orientalism, criminalisation, racialisation, and othering, that creates "The Gypsy" out of both nomadic peoples as a whole and people with Romani heritage and racialised physical features, languages, and cultural markers)
Enough of my friends play TTRPGs or write fantasy stories that this question comes up a lot - They mention Dungeons and Dragons’ Curse Of Strahd, World Of Darkness’s Gypsies, World Of Darkness’s Ravnos, World of Darkness’s Silent Striders… And they roll their eyes and say “These are all terrible! But how can I do it, you know, without it being racist?”
And their eyes are big and sad and ever so hopeful that I will tell them the secret of how to take the Roma of the real world and place them in a fictional one, whilst both appealing to gorjer stereotypes of Gypsies and not adding to the weight of stereotyping that already crushes us. So, disappointingly, there is no secret.
Gypsies, like every other real-world culture, exist as we do today because of interactions with cultures and geography around us: The living waggon, probably the archetypal thing which gorjer writers want to include in their portrayals of nomads, is a relatively modern invention - Most likely French, and adopted from French Showmen by Romanies, who brought it to Britain. So already, that’s a tradition that only spans a small amount of the time that Gypsies have existed, and only a small number of the full breadth of Romani ways of living. But the reasons that the waggon is what it is are based on the real world - The wheels are tall and iron-rimmed, because although you expect to travel on cobbled, tarmac, or packed-earth roads and for comparatively short distances, it wasn’t rare to have to ford a river in Britain in the late nineteenth century, on country roads. They were drawn by a single horse, and the shape of that horse was determined by a mixture of local breeds - Welsh cobs, fell ponies, various draft breeds - as well as by the aesthetic tastes of the breeders. The stove inside is on the left, so that as you move down a British road, the chimney sticks up into the part where there will be the least overhanging branches, to reduce the chance of hitting it.
So taking a fictional setting that looks like (for example) thirteenth century China (with dragons), and placing a nineteenth century Romanichal family in it will inevitably result in some racist assumptions being made, as the answer to “Why does this culture do this?” becomes “They just do it because I want them to” rather than having a consistent internal logic.
Some stereotypes will always follow nomads - They appear in different forms in different cultures, but they always arise from the settled people's same fears: That the nomads don't share their values, and are fundamentally strangers. Common ones are that we have a secret language to fool outsiders with, that we steal children and disguise them as our own, that our sexual morals are shocking (This one has flipped in the last half century - From the Gypsy Lore Society's talk of the lascivious Romni seductress who will lie with a strange man for a night after a 'gypsy wedding', to today's frenzied talk of 'grabbing' and sexually-conservative early marriages to ensure virginity), that we are supernatural in some way, and that we are more like animals than humans. These are tropes where if you want to address them, you will have to address them as libels - there is no way to casually write a baby-stealing, magical succubus nomad without it backfiring onto real life Roma. (The kind of person who has the skills to write these tropes well, is not the kind of person who is reading this guide.)
It’s too easy to say a list of prescriptive “Do nots”, which might stop you from making the most common pitfalls, but which can end up with your nomads being slightly flat as you dance around the topics that you’re trying to avoid, rather than being a rich culture that feels real in your world.
So, here are some questions to ask, to create your nomadic people, so that they will have a distinctive culture of their own that may (or may not) look anything like real-world Romani people: These aren't the only questions, but they're good starting points to think about before you make anything concrete, and they will hopefully inspire you to ask MORE questions.
First - Why are they nomadic? Nobody moves just to feel the wind in their hair and see a new horizon every morning, no matter what the inspirational poster says. Are they transhumant herders who pay a small rent to graze their flock on the local lord’s land? Are they following migratory herds across common land, being moved on by the cycle of the seasons and the movement of their animals? Are they seasonal workers who follow man-made cycles of labour: Harvests, fairs, religious festivals? Are they refugees fleeing a recent conflict, who will pass through this area and never return? Are they on a regular pilgrimage? Do they travel within the same area predictably, or is their movement governed by something that is hard to predict? How do they see their own movements - Do they think of themselves as being pushed along by some external force, or as choosing to travel? Will they work for and with outsiders, either as employees or as partners, or do they aim to be fully self-sufficient? What other jobs do they do - Their whole society won’t all be involved in one industry, what do their children, elderly, disabled people do with their time, and is it “work”?
If they are totally isolationist - How do they produce the things which need a complex supply chain or large facilities to make? How do they view artefacts from outsiders which come into their possession - Things which have been made with technology that they can’t produce for themselves? (This doesn’t need to be anything about quality of goods, only about complexity - A violin can be made by one artisan working with hand tools, wood, gut and shellac, but an accordion needs presses to make reeds, metal lathes to make screws, complex organic chemistry to make celluloid lacquer, vulcanised rubber, and a thousand other components)
How do they feel about outsiders? How do they buy and sell to outsiders? If it’s seen as taboo, do they do it anyway? Do they speak the same language as the nearby settled people (With what kind of fluency, or bilingualism, or dialect)? Do they intermarry, and how is that viewed when it happens? What stories does this culture tell about why they are a separate people to the nearby settled people? Are those stories true? Do they have a notional “homeland” and do they intend to go there? If so, is it a real place?
What gorjers think of as classic "Gipsy music" is a product of our real-world situation. Guitar from Spain, accordions from the Soviet Union (Which needed modern machining and factories to produce and make accessible to people who weren't rich- and which were in turn encouraged by Soviet authorities preferring the standardised and modern accordion to the folk traditions of the indigenous peoples within the bloc), brass from Western classical traditions, via Balkan folk music, influences from klezmer and jazz and bhangra and polka and our own music traditions (And we influence them too). What are your people's musical influences? Do they make their own instruments or buy them from settled people? How many musical traditions do they have, and what are they all for (Weddings, funerals, storytelling, campfire songs, entertainment...)? Do they have professional musicians, and if so, how do those musicians earn money? Are instrument makers professionals, or do they use improvised and easy-to-make instruments like willow whistles, spoons, washtubs, etc? (Of course the answer can be "A bit of both")
If you're thinking about jobs - How do they work? Are they employed by settled people (How do they feel about them?) Are they self employed but providing services/goods to the settled people? Are they mostly avoidant of settled people other than to buy things that they can't produce themselves? Are they totally isolationist? Is their work mostly subsistence, or do they create a surplus to sell to outsiders? How do they interact with other workers nearby? Who works, and how- Are there 'family businesses', apprentices, children with part time work? Is it considered 'a job' or just part of their way of life? How do they educate their children, and is that considered 'work'? How old are children when they are considered adult, and what markers confer adulthood? What is considered a rite of passage?
When they travel, how do they do it? Do they share ownership of beasts of burden, or each individually have "their horse"? Do families stick together or try to spread out? How does a child begin to live apart from their family, or start their own family? Are their dwellings something that they take with them, or do they find places to stay or build temporary shelter with disposable material? Who shares a dwelling and why? What do they do for privacy, and what do they think privacy is for?
If you're thinking about food - Do they hunt? Herd? Forage? Buy or trade from settled people? Do they travel between places where they've sown crops or managed wildstock in previous years, so that when they arrive there is food already seeded in the landscape? How do they feel about buying food from settled people, and is that common? If it's frowned upon - How much do people do it anyway? How do they preserve food for winter? How much food do they carry with them, compared to how much they plan to buy or forage at their destinations? How is food shared- Communal stores, personal ownership?
Why are they a "separate people" to the settled people? What is their creation myth? Why do they believe that they are nomadic and the other people are settled, and is it correct? Do they look different? Are there legal restrictions on them settling? Are there legal restrictions on them intermixing? Are there cultural reasons why they are a separate people? Where did those reasons come from? How long have they been travelling? How long do they think they've been travelling? Where did they come from? Do they travel mostly within one area and return to the same sites predictably, or are they going to move on again soon and never come back?
And then within that - What about the members of their society who are "unusual" in some way: How does their society treat disabled people? (are they considered disabled, do they have that distinction and how is it applied?) How does their society treat LGBT+ people? What happens to someone who doesn't get married and has no children? What happens to someone who 'leaves'? What happens to young widows and widowers? What happens if someone just 'can't fit in'? What happens to someone who is adopted or married in? What happens to people who are mixed race, and in a fantasy setting to people who are mixed species? What is taboo to them and what will they find shocking if they leave? What is society's attitude to 'difference' of various kinds?
Basically, if you build your nomads from the ground-up, rather than starting from the idea of "I want Gypsies/Buryats/Berbers/Minceiri but with the numbers filed off and not offensive" you can end up with a rich, unique nomadic culture who make sense in your world and don't end up making a rod for the back of real-world cultures.
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pure adoration w/ nightwing rules | m.list
note. fluff and soft stuff in delivery! love him sm i couldn't help it so there you go :) please feel free to request <3
Dick was a fool for you, and everyone knew it pretty well. You could have done absolutely anything, even the worst thing possible, he would have found a way to defend you. In his eyes, you couldn’t do anything bad. You were too perfect for that. The prettiest girl he ever saw, the smartest he ever talked to ; you had the qualities a human could have and even more. It was easy to say that Dick was putting you on a pedestal.
To his defense, you were actually really sweet. The type of person who helps others without asking for something in return, even if you had quite your own character. You weren’t afraid to say what was wrong, and if you had to fight, then you would never step back. You were everything Dick could dream of, even if your friends saw you as a pitbull sometimes.
Dick didn’t have the bravery to ask you out on a real date. Yes, the Nightwing himself was scared of rejection from the girl he could have died for. So he kept on inviting you to go out together but always as friends and nothing more. Sometimes, he even told you to bring other people to not make it too weird ; even if he only had eyes for you.
This time, it was only the two of you. You were sitting in front of him in the coffee shop, your hot drink between your hands as you were talking. He wasn’t sure if he was still listening to what you were saying or if the sound of your voice was simply soothing his mind ; but his gaze didn’t leave your face for a second. His cheek was resting in the palm of his hand and his eyes were observing every detail of your face.
Suddenly, you stopped talking and it got him out of his thoughts almost immediately. “Is something wrong?” He asked you the second after, a hint of worry in his eyes. You sighed slowly as you looked away. “Sorry, I talk too much.” You told him and he swore he never saw you like this before. Who ever told you that? Not him, that was for sure, because he could have listened to you talking forever. Dick grabbed your hand in a gentle move, stroking the back of it.
You met his eyes again, and you felt your heart skipping a beat at the look he was giving you. Since when did he look at you with so much adoration? You were sure you never noticed it before, but you couldn’t ignore it now. “It’s never too much. Please, talk all you want. I’ll listen anyway.” The soft smile that appeared on his lips after his words could have brought the tears to your eyes if you weren’t fighting them. Your grip on his hand slightly tightened before you nodded softly.
“Thanks Dick,” you told him, and he left a kiss on the back of your hand as an answer. It caught you off guard, and you had some trouble going back to what you were saying after that. If one thing was sure, you wouldn’t be able to forget this look in his eyes for a while.
After that day, you noticed all the little things that Dick was doing toward you, and you felt dumb for not noticing what was going on earlier. How he was always complimenting you on what you were doing, or how he always made sure that you were feeling comfortable about everything. He kept on taking care of you without being too intrusive and it broke your heart to think that he was probably sure that his feelings weren’t mutual.
This is why you decided to talk to him. You asked him to come over at your place, and this is how you ended up sitting on your couch together. Dick looked at you, a bit worried. He could feel that something was off, but he didn’t know what it was. “You wanted to tell me something?” He asked, and you quickly nodded, turning around to face him.
“Listen, I’ve thought a lot. About everything, but mostly about us, and we can’t…” He didn’t let you finish, his voice going out a bit more desperate than what he thought. “Did I go too far? I’m sorry, I’ll stop. But please, please don’t leave.” He took your hands between his and you didn’t expect this reaction from him. You slowly put your hand on his cheek, stroking it gently.
“Hey, hey. Calm down, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” Your voice was so soft, like sweet music to his ears. He melted onto your touch, looking in your eyes as he waited for you to keep going with what you wanted to say. “I wanted to say that we can’t keep going like that, because I can’t stay your friend.” His grip on your hand got a little tighter but your gentle smile calmed all his worries.
“I like more than that, Dick. And if you let me, I’d love to be more than your friend.” He was sure that he felt his heart stopping into his chest when you stopped talking. It was a dream, it couldn’t be otherwise. There was no way you were really saying those words to him. “Really..? You really want to be… my girlfriend?” He asked, and you only answered with a nod.
You didn’t have the chance to say anything because Dick cupped your face with his hands so his lips could meet yours. It was so sweet, your lips feeling like honey against his own. When he let you go, you were quickly stuck into his embrace. He was holding you tightly, nose in your hair. “I’ll make you the happiest girl on Earth, just like you’re making me the happiest man alive.” His eyes met yours right after that, and the smile on his lips made your stomach do a flip. He really seemed to be the happiest right now.
You sure took your sweet time to realize your own feelings, but now, you knew that nothing could make them disappear.
thank you!! hope you liked it <3
#dc comics#dcu#dc characters#dc x reader#dc headcanon#nightwing#dc nightwing#nightwing x reader#nightwing headcanon#batfam#batfam x reader#batfam headcanons#dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#dick x reader#dick grayson headcanon
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This scene is wild. He doesn't notice her exhaustion, says he wants to use her powers, then, to top it all off, when Dustin and Lucas leave him alone with her, he looks back at her then where they left irritated to be there
Craziest part? This is the last scene before their first kiss. It is actually the direct reason they have it.
Dustin and Lucas leave him alone with El and he asks her to the Snow Ball and kisses her. But do not be fooled, he is not in any way taking advantage of the opportunity of being alone with her.
As we know, he only brings up the Snow Ball after being prompted by her confusion. The intended conversation is about how he's happy that soon she will be able to live normally, with a bed and food. And even on the topic of the Snow Ball, he does not have intention to kiss her. He does it out of visible exhaustion at explaining it as a substitution for defining romantic feelings.
He did not want to be alone with her, preferring to go after Will and even looking a bit upset with Lucas and Dustin for leaving him with her. When left alone with her, he struck up a conversation about her living situation without no intended segue to romance before becoming avoidant to questions about romance and kissing her essentially to end the conversation.
He became her friend in season 3. He loved her starting when she got back and he actually got to know her - the her that teases and jokes and likes comic books and says bitchin'.
In season 1, he was impressed by her, he appreciated her understanding in a time when he needed it, and he was grateful for her help in finding Will. Here, she was not using her powers so he was not impressed, he was not in need of her comfort, and most of all, being with her was actively barring him from going after Will. So he resented it.
He loves her now. But in season 1, she provided a service he was eternally grateful for. That is never more clear than here: when she is not providing it.
As is always a version of this question that gives us our every answer:
He loves her when she's helping him find Will. But does he love her or that she's helping him find Will? The only way to know? What does he do when choosing between the two.
In season 2, we see this with Dart. He does not care and is more neutrally curious about Dart, if a little grossed out, like the others...until Will expresses distress over him. Then he hates him. But we only know this because in episode 4, when given the choice to tend to Will's distress or find Dart, he goes to Will.
Similarly, here, he meets El. He cares to ensure her safety, but it does need to be with him. He says outright that once his mom has helped them get her somewhere safe, he will go back out in search of Will. He also explains directly to Lucas that he kept her around because she knew Will. And then we have this moment: El or Will.
In seasons 1, he seemed in love with her because El and Will were a single choice. But when they weren't, he was exasperated to not be able to choose Will.
In season 2, it is mostly sidelined so harder to notice, but he chooses Will. In season 2 episode 3, he thinks she's right outside the door but doesn't find her. What does he do next? Pursue her? No. He goes to find Will and stays with him for the rest of the week and stops calling her. "353 days" is less romantic when you consider that it had been around 357 by now.
And, of course, in season 4, see him do the most interesting of all. After a day of seemingly choosing El - a year, really, including the previous season - he reveals that it had been surface level. He stops looking for El. He is the one who stops walking to fight with Will about their issues.
His priorities are clear if you look. Progressively, you need to look less and less. But they have always been there.
And in season 1, he didn't love El. He loved Will through her.
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Okay, continuing the idea from this post... (Basically, that the witchers from each school can shift into the animal that their school is named after, but also get some comical/cute traits of that animal.)
The mages didn't intend to create shapeshifters originally, they were mostly just fooling around and seeing what would happen. (With real children, yes they are horrible people.) But then someone found a combination of chaos and genetics that allowed a subject to shapeshift into an animal under certain circumstances. So they went "hey, what else can we do with this?" and on the testing went.
Eventually they thought to send their new experiments up against actual monsters and realized that they had the potential for a magnificent warrior...or minion. Same thing.
Over time, they realized some drawbacks:
The new creatures - dubbed "witchers" and further divided by which creature they could shift into - would first shift into a baby of their species. Not terribly useful.
As the witcher grew in age and chaos ability, so did their animal form...and never seemed to STOP growing. (There was a long argument over whether this was beneficial or not.)
When terribly wounded, the witcher would often change into their animal form, seeming unable to control the change until they healed most of their wounds.
Shifted witchers required both food and magical energy to sustain themselves and their abilities. This made them ferocious against chaos-fueled monsters, as they could absorb the chaos from those they killed, but proved a weakness if they absorbed less chaos than they needed to heal the wounds they had taken.
The full moon, which raised the ambient level of chaos in the world, would force a shift unless the witcher had impeccable control. Even then, it was so-so.
Once shifted, the animal instincts easily overpowered the witcher's conscious mind - at least until they had long practice in controlling themselves. Young cats got the zoomies and old ones took long naps. Wolves played. Vipers sunned themselves. Bears foraged for food or - if it was cold - hibernated.
The mages attempted creating a female bear ONCE. It proved to be their downfall - mama bears do not suffer threats to their cubs.
Now please imagine:
Teeny tiny wolf cubs chasing each other around the training grounds, biting each other's tails and tripping over their new paws.
Master trainers scruffing them and carrying them in an elbow or over a shoulder, while the tiny puppy tail wagged uncontrollably. Teaching them what their new bodies could do, with the teacher the size of a wagon and the students not yet knee high.
Puppies trying to scratch an itch and slowly tipping over.
Adult witchers shifting and cuddling with the students, carrying several on their back.
Ivar, oldest and most powerful of the vipers, is as large as a barn and can hold his entire school in his coiled form - and can swallow most monsters whole.
Vesemir is the size of a shed, and Geralt (twice grassed) and Eskel (incredible chaos) are not much smaller. Lambert is a perfectly normal size, thank you very much...he just looks tiny next to them.
Clothing, armor, and weapons which are crafted from the remains of chaos-fueled monsters (ie, they are inherently magical) CAN shapeshift with the witcher. Mundane items (cotton or wool, iron and plain steel) cannot. They lose more knives that way...
Young witchers learning how to harvest, process, and use various monster bits so they don't shift, shift back, and end up naked or in ruined clothing. (Yes, even the THREAD used to sew the clothing together must come from monsters. It's a pain.)
An old witcher taking the time to relax in their shifted form in the woods and being mistaken for a monster, so a nearby town hires a SECOND witcher to hunt them...bonus points if the second witcher is a friend or lover of the first, who came looking for them. Just walking into a clearing going "really? You know that town is going crazy over a huge monster that's moved in, and here I find you lying around."
(It's Ivar and Keldar. Ivar just laughs. "I ate the only monster last week, while I waited for you." And then he snatches Keldar up and wraps him in his coils.)
@everything-but-the-not-natural I know you were excited about this AU!
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🔮 The Fool’s Journey (Into Trouble) 🔮 | Ch. 5
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Lilia Calderu x fem!reader
summary: A matchmaking event, a reckless plan, and a game that cuts a little too deep—because playing with fire always has consequences
wc: 8.3k (Chapter 5/?)
a/n: I'm reading all the reviews you're leaving, and it's filling me with so much joy, seriously, thank you so much! I promise I'll eventually get around to replying to them all, but for now, just know that I've seen them, I appreciate every single one, and they are absolutely fuelling me to get these chapters out faster. If I had to stare at this chapter any longer, I was genuinely going to throw myself off a cliff, so here it is before I lose my mind. I don’t know, I hope you like it!
And just a heads-up—ratings have officially gone up 🔥 y'all better handle this with care.
Ch. 4 ch. 6
also on ao3
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The next few weeks flew by in a blur of routine and mild frustration. I’d gotten used to maneuvering on crutches though not without my fair share of near-disasters and before long, I was downgraded to a boot. A clunky, annoying boot, but it was better than nothing. And now, I was almost out of it, counting down the days until I could finally move like a normal person again.
Lilia had been... Lilia. Ever present, always hovering just enough to make sure I wasn’t doing anything too reckless, but never crossing the line into anything that could be considered more. There were lingering touches, soft smiles, and the occasional meaningful glance, but nothing had really progressed.
And, honestly? That was fine.
Mostly.
Between the shop being surprisingly busy and my friends constantly roping me into their latest schemes, fundraisers, work drama, and questionable life choices. I barely had time to dwell on it. I liked keeping busy, helping where I could, and throwing myself into distraction after distraction. It was easier than thinking about how much I wanted Lilia but didn’t know how to move things forward.
Some days, it felt like we were stuck in this comfortable, frustrating limbo. We'd laugh, we’d bicker, we'd work side by side in the shop, but there was always this invisible line neither of us was willing to cross.
Still, things were good.
Lilia was still a mystery I was determined to solve, even if she sometimes acted like an impenetrable fortress. But there were moments, tiny cracks in the walls she put up. The way she’d refill my tea without asking, or how she’d linger at the end of my shift, pretending to read while really just making sure I got home safely. The way she’d watch me when she thought I wasn’t looking, like she was thinking about something.
And those moments? They were enough to keep me going. For now.
One afternoon, as I hobbled around the shop stocking shelves, I sighed dramatically. "Lilia, please, I cannot wait to be out of this boot. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster."
Lilia smirked from behind the counter, flipping through an old grimoire. "You only have to wait till this afternoon."
I shot her a glare. "Rude."
She chuckled, but there was that usual softness behind it, the kind that made my heart skip a little. "You'll be back to your reckless self soon enough. I'm sure I'll regret it."
I grinned. "Oh, you will. First thing I'm doing is dancing barefoot on the counter just to spite you."
Lilia rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she just said, "I'll keep the first aid kit ready."
I snorted, limping toward the register. "You should always have that thing on standby with me around."
"Trust me," she said dryly. "I do."
The bell above the shop door jingled, and before I could process it, Jen and Agatha waltzed in like they owned the place.
"Y/n!" Jen beamed. "Still hobbling around, I see."
Agatha leaned on the counter, eyeing Lilia with that devilish glint in her eye. "And, you're still under Lilia's watchful eye, huh?"
Lilia arched a brow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
Jen smirked at me. "Oh, it's not a bad thing at all."
I groaned. "Guys, please."
Agatha ignored me, grinning. "Anyway, y/n, you up for helping me with something later?"
I sighed, already knowing I was about to get roped into something ridiculous. "What is it this time?"
Jen wiggled her brows. "Oh, you know, just a little... matchmaking event."
I blinked. "No."
Lilia, to my absolute horror, looked very interested. "Matchmaking?"
Agatha smirked. "Yeah. You in?"
Lilia, without missing a beat, looked directly at me and said, "I think y/n should go."
My jaw dropped. "What?!"
Lilia’s lips curled into that maddening smirk. "It could be... fun."
I groaned, slamming my head onto the counter. "I hate all of you."
Lilia just sipped her tea, looking far too pleased with herself. "You'll survive, baby."
“What exactly is a matchmaking event?”
Jen leaned against the counter, grinning like the devil she clearly was. "Oh, y/n," she purred, eyes sparkling with mischief. "A matchmaking event is exactly what it sounds like."
I narrowed my eyes at her. "And why, exactly, do you think I need to attend one?"
Agatha smirked, completely ignoring my very valid concern. "It's a charity event, actually. Think of it like speed dating, but fancier, cocktails, music, a little light mingling." She waved a hand dramatically. "People will bid on dates, there'll be matchmaking games, the whole romantic shebang."
I groaned. "You have to be kidding me."
Billy, who had apparently appeared out of thin air (or just snuck in without me noticing), clapped his hands together. "Oh no, she's not kidding, and I am so excited for this."
Lilia, who had been sipping her tea silently this whole time, finally spoke up, eyes fixed on me in that infuriatingly calm way she had. "I think it’s an excellent idea."
I gaped at her. "Et tu, Lilia?!"
She shrugged, setting her cup down with a smirk. "You did say you were bored."
Agatha nodded sagely. "Exactly! And what better way to pass the time than by meeting some... interesting people?"
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "Oh my God, no. I am not getting auctioned off to the highest bidder like a damn prize goat."
Jen laughed. "Oh, come on. It’s for charity! Think of it as... networking."
Billy wiggled his brows. "With benefits."
Lilia quirked an eyebrow, but there was something sharp in her eyes now, something that made my stomach flip. "You never know, y/n," she said smoothly, "maybe you'll find someone... intriguing."
I stared at her, heat rising to my cheeks. Was she actually encouraging this?
I pointed an accusing finger at the coven. "You’re all just doing this to watch me suffer, aren’t you?"
Agatha grinned. "Absolutely."
Billy winked. "One hundred percent."
Jen shrugged. "You should be used to it by now."
I sighed, sinking onto the nearest chair. "This is actually my worst nightmare."
Lilia, standing far too composed and far too smug, leaned against the counter. "You'll do fine, baby."
And the way she said it, soft, teasing, but with just enough of an edge, made me wonder if she was enjoying this a little too much.
I stared at Lilia for a long moment, watching the way she casually sipped her tea, completely unbothered by the absolute chaos the coven was throwing at me. Mixed signals? Oh, she was full of them. She’d spent weeks hovering, making sure I didn’t overdo it, looking after me with a quiet protectiveness, and now she was totally fine with me flirting with other people?
Okay, Lilia.
Fine. If she wanted to play it cool, I could play it colder.
With a wicked smirk, I crossed my arms and leaned back into my chair. "Alright," I said, shrugging. "I'll do it."
The coven exploded.
"YES!" Billy practically fist-pumped.
Jen beamed. "Oh, this is going to be so good."
Agatha cackled. "I knew you'd come around."
But I didn’t take my eyes off Lilia, watching for any flicker of emotion behind that carefully composed exterior of hers. She raised a brow, looking mildly impressed but ultimately unfazed. “Good for you,” she said, nodding. “You’ll enjoy yourself.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I smiled sweetly. “Yeah, maybe I’ll meet someone intriguing, like you said.”
Lilia’s lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “Perhaps.”
Ugh.
I was going to do this. Not because I wanted to, but because if Lilia was going to keep up this whole mysterious and unattainable older woman thing, then I was going to make her watch me flirt with someone else.
By the time I got back from the hospital that evening, boot-free and feeling like I had reclaimed my dignity, I was on a mission.
I went all out.
I pulled out one of my best dresses, the kind that hugged in all the right places, paired it with strappy low heels— I wasn’t about to push my luck after just recovering from a broken leg — and topped it all off with red lipstick. My hair was styled to perfection.
I looked in the mirror and grinned. Damn, I missed dressing up.
Before I left, I snapped a quick selfie and sent it to the group chat.
Me: Ready to break hearts tonight.
Billy responded instantly.
Billy: BABE. I AM DEAD.
Jen: GIRL, THEY WON'T SURVIVE YOU.
Agatha: Show Lilia. Right now.
I rolled my eyes, typing back.
Me: No way. Let her suffer.
I grabbed my clutch, took one last glance in the mirror, and smirked.
Lilia Calderu had no idea what she was in for.
I arrived at the venue, the heels clicking confidently against the pavement as I made my way inside. The place was fancier than I expected, soft lighting, elegant decor, and the kind of crowd that screamed money meets desperation.
I spotted Agatha immediately, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, watching me approach with an impressed smirk. Her eyes swept over me from head to toe, and she let out a low whistle. “Damn, y/n. If I weren’t rooting for Lilia, I’d bid on you myself.”
I rolled my eyes, planting myself in front of her. “Alright, what do I need to do?” I asked, folding my arms.
Agatha grinned wickedly. “Eager, are we?”
I sighed, eyeing the bustling room. “Let’s just say I’ve been encouraged.”
She chuckled, handing me a glass of champagne like she hadn’t practically dragged me here. “Alright, here’s how it works. There are three... let’s call them options.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Go on.”
Agatha held up a perfectly manicured finger. “Option one—the bidding auction. People bid for a date with you.”
I groaned. “Hard pass.”
Ignoring me, she lifted a second finger. “Option two—the matchmaking questionnaire. You fill it out, they set you up with someone they think is compatible.”
I stared at her. “Do I look like someone who’s here for a deep connection?”
Agatha smirked. “No, you look like someone here to make a certain divination witch jealous as hell.”
I didn’t deny it. “And option three?”
Agatha smirked, holding up the final finger. “And then there’s option three... mingling, flirting, working the room.” She gestured grandly at the crowd. “And, honestly, that’s where you shine.”
I sighed, taking a slow sip of champagne. “And which one exactly do you want me to do?”
Agatha’s grin stretched impossibly wider. “Oh, baby, I didn’t bring you here to find your soulmate.” She winked. “I brought you here to make Lilia Calderu jealous as hell. So, option three it is.”
I arched a brow. “And if she doesn’t show up?”
Agatha shrugged. “Then at least you’ll have some fun and free champagne.”
I sighed, finishing my drink. “Fine. Let’s do this.”
Agatha grinned, looping her arm through mine. “That’s the spirit. Now, go mingle. And remember, eye contact, light touches, and laugh at everything.”
I groaned but let her pull me toward the crowd. This was going to be... interesting.
I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back and putting on my most dazzling smile. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.
Armed with another glass of champagne and Agatha’s ridiculous advice bouncing around in my head, I stepped into the crowd, letting myself glide from conversation to conversation. I laughed, I touched arms lightly, I made just enough eye contact to keep people interested without giving too much away.
And through it all, one thought lingered in the back of my mind.
Please show up, Lilia.
I scanned the room subtly, pretending to be fully invested in whatever some guy in a ridiculous suit was rambling about, but my heart wasn’t in it. I could feel the absence of her. Could feel the weight of her not being here.
The evening dragged on, and despite the flattering attention I was getting, more than I knew what to do with, there was an ache in my chest that wouldn’t quite go away.
I found myself standing near a group of women, effortlessly charming my way through another conversation, when I caught myself staring toward the entrance for the millionth time.
Nothing.
I sighed internally, feeling my excitement wane just a little.
But just as I turned back to my conversation, I caught a shift in the air. A presence.
And then I saw her.
Lilia Calderu, standing in the doorway like she owned the place, dressed in a simple but devastatingly effective black dress, nothing overly elegant, just effortlessly put together, the fabric skimming her figure in a way that made my mouth go dry. Her dark curls were loosely pinned up, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and those brown eyes of hers scanned the room with sharp intent, missing nothing.
My heart stopped.
She looked... incredible.
Her gaze locked onto me almost instantly, and I saw the way her eyes flickered over my dress, my posture, the easy way I was leaning against the table with a glass of champagne in hand and a smile that may have been a little too smug.
For a second, I thought she might turn around and leave, but instead, she walked in with the kind of calm, deliberate grace that made my stomach twist into knots.
Agatha, appearing by my side out of nowhere, whispered, “And there she is.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I thought she wasn’t coming.”
Agatha smirked. “She didn’t think she was coming. But then she realised she couldn’t let you have all the fun without her.”
I watched as Lilia made her way through the crowd, her expression unreadable, but her eyes, her eyes, never left me.
I forced myself to smirk, turning back to the group I was talking to, making a show of tossing my hair over my shoulder and laughing lightly at something someone said. But my heart was pounding.
Lilia Calderu was here. And she was watching me.
Game on.
I took a slow sip of my champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on my tongue as I kept my posture relaxed, my smile effortlessly charming. I could feel her gaze burning into me from across the room, sharp and assessing, but I didn’t look her way, not yet.
If she wanted to watch, I’d give her a damn show.
“So, y/n,” the woman beside me purred, leaning in just a little too close. “You never told me what you do for a living.”
I smiled, tilting my head coyly. “Oh, you know... a little bit of everything,” I said smoothly, trailing a finger along the rim of my glass. “Keeps life interesting.”
I swore I could hear Lilia’s scoff from across the room, and it took everything in me not to grin.
Agatha, who was lingering nearby, nudged me under the table with her foot. “Subtle,” she whispered, her tone practically dripping with glee. “She’s watching you like a hawk.”
I shrugged, pretending to be unaffected. “Let her.”
I felt her familiar presence before I even saw her. Lilia’s energy was intense, heavy and magnetic, drawing people in without her even trying. And then, just as I was laughing at something unremarkable, I saw her appear at the edge of my vision, standing beside the group with her arms crossed, a neutral expression on her face.
But her eyes? Her eyes told an entirely different story.
They flicked from the woman leaning too close to me, to my lips, and then, finally, locked onto mine.
I arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Lilia,” I greeted, taking another slow sip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into that maddeningly subtle smirk. “Neither did I.”
Agatha, not missing a beat, grinned and chimed in. “Lilia! Finally decided to join the fun?”
Lilia’s gaze didn’t leave mine as she responded, “I suppose someone had to keep an eye on y/n.”
“Oh, I think I’m doing just fine on my own,” I shot back, playful but pointed.
Lilia’s lips twitched. “So I see.” Her gaze dragged over me, slowly, taking in every inch of my dress, my posture, the way I was standing just close enough to the woman next to me to imply interest.
I held her gaze, my heart racing. “You know, you could’ve just stayed home,” I teased, my voice dropping just a bit. “No need to check up on me.”
Lilia stepped closer, leaning in just enough that I could catch the faint scent of her perfume. “Maybe I just wanted to watch?”
I swallowed, my bravado slipping just slightly.
Agatha, watching the exchange like it was the best thing to ever happen to her, nudged me again and whispered, just for me to hear, “You’re losing, babe.”
I straightened up, regaining my composure, and smirked at Lilia. “Well, since you’re here... maybe I should introduce you to some people.” I gestured to the woman beside me, who looked suddenly very interested in this new development. “This is—”
But before I could finish, Lilia reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering a second too long. The touch sent a shiver down my spine.
“Enjoy yourself, baby,” she murmured, her voice low and full of something I couldn’t quite place. “Don’t let me stop you.”
And with that, she stepped back, leaving me absolutely reeling.
Agatha burst into laughter. “Oh my God, she is so playing you.”
I clenched my jaw, staring at Lilia’s retreating figure as she casually wandered toward the bar, looking as cool and composed as ever.
Oh, hell no.
I was not about to let Lilia Calderu waltz in here, throw me off my game with a well-timed smirk and a touch that lingered just enough to make my brain short-circuit. If she thought she could walk away with the upper hand, she had another thing coming.
I plastered on my best grin and turned back to the woman next to me, who was still watching the whole exchange with keen interest. “Sorry about that,” I said smoothly, letting my fingers graze lightly over the rim of my glass. “Old friend.”
Lilia, who had just reached the bar, tilted her head slightly at my words, clearly listening in.
The woman smiled, intrigued. “Old friends who stare at you like they’d rather eat you alive?”
I laughed, but it wasn’t entirely fake. “She’s... complicated.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lilia's shoulders tense slightly. Gotcha.
Agatha, still lingering with a devilish glint in her eye, whispered in my ear, “Atta girl. Make her work for it.”
With renewed confidence, I turned my full attention to my current company, leaning in just enough to make it seem like I was entirely absorbed in our conversation. I laughed at all the right moments, let my hand casually brush against hers, and even threw in a little coy lip bite for good measure.
And Lilia saw every second of it.
I could practically feel her eyes on me, dark and heavy, her carefully composed façade slipping by degrees.
When I dared a glance her way, I caught her watching with that unreadable expression, cool, detached, but with a flicker of something darker beneath. Jealousy? Annoyance? I wasn’t sure, but I liked it.
Still, she didn’t approach.
Fine. If she wanted to play it that way, I’d push a little harder.
I tilted my head back, laughing at something the woman said, making sure my posture screamed confidence, my neck arched just enough to be noticeable. And then, as casually as I could manage, I said loudly enough for Lilia to hear, “You know, I was a little nervous about coming tonight, but... I think I’m really enjoying myself.”
From across the room, I saw Lilia’s grip tighten around her glass.
Agatha, ever the enabler, had appeared at the bar, bit back a grin and leaned against the bar near Lilia. “So, Lilia,” she said innocently, “what brings you here tonight? Surely not jealousy?”
Lilia’s eyes flickered with something sharp, but she simply took a sip of her drink, her voice smooth as silk. “Just making sure y/n doesn’t get herself into too much trouble.”
“Oh, I think she’s handling herself just fine,” Agatha teased, shooting me a wink.
I smirked, running a hand down my hip and throwing Lilia a pointed glance before turning back to my conversation.
But before I could say another word, Lilia appeared at my side, moving silently and suddenly. Her presence was commanding, and I felt it in every nerve of my body.
“Y/n,” she said smoothly, her voice velvety and low. “A word?”
The woman next to me raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said, clearly amused. “I think I’ll leave you to it.”
I swallowed, my heart pounding, but I kept my smirk firmly in place. “Of course, Lilia.”
She led me away from the crowd, her hand resting lightly on my lower back, just enough to own the situation, just enough to remind me exactly who I was dealing with.
Once we were in a quieter corner, she turned to face me, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “Having fun?”
I shrugged, playing it cool. “I was.”
Lilia’s lips twitched, but her gaze sharpened, laced with something I couldn’t quite place. “You’re walking a fine line, baby.”
I tilted my head, stepping closer, pushing just enough. “Maybe I like the edge.”
Her eyes darkened, and for the first time all night, I wondered if I’d pushed too far. But instead of pulling away, she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, sending shivers straight down my spine.
“Careful,” she murmured, voice low and dangerously smooth. “You might find yourself wanting something you can’t have.”
I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my cool. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting.”
Lilia’s expression remained unreadable, her head tilting just slightly. “Getting ahead of yourself, baby.”
I exhaled sharply, biting back the urge to roll my eyes. “And you love dragging this out, don’t you?”
She made a soft, thoughtful sound, her gaze sweeping over me like she was deciding just how much she wanted to let me have. “Mmm. Maybe. Or maybe you’re seeing something that isn’t there.”
Heat curled in my stomach, frustration and want tangled together, her eyes flicked down to my lips for half a second, just long enough for me to notice, but before I could say anything, she let out a slow, almost teasing sigh and stepped back, putting space between us. “Go on, baby. Enjoy your night.”
And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me reeling.
Agatha appeared at my side almost immediately. “So... that looked intense.”
I took a deep breath, my heart racing. “I think I might be losing.”
And honestly? I didn’t want to play this game anymore.
Agatha grinned. “No, babe. You’re both losing.”
I groaned. “Great.”
I huffed, crossing my arms tightly over my chest as I watched Lilia disappear back into the crowd with that same frustrating grace she always carried. I turned to Agatha, my lips pursed in irritation. “You know what? I don’t want to do this matchmaking thing.”
Agatha, ever perceptive, didn’t even argue. She just sipped her drink and gave me a knowing nod. “Of course, no problem.”
I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”
She smirked, leaning against the bar. “I know when you’ve had enough, y/n. And right now, you look like you're two seconds away from murdering someone.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on me. “Yeah, I think I just... I need to go home.”
Agatha nodded, patting my arm. “Good call. Go home, take a bubble bath, and—”
“Eat my feelings?”
Agatha grinned. “Exactly.”
I gave her a small smile, grateful she wasn’t pushing. “Thanks, Aggie.”
She winked. “Don’t worry, babe. We’ll gossip later.”
I nodded, weaving my way through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances and the lingering presence of Lilia somewhere in the room.
By the time I stepped outside, the cool night air hit my skin, and I let out a long breath. The tension that had been building inside me all evening eased slightly, but the frustration was still simmering beneath the surface.
Because despite everything, the flirting, the teasing, the stupid mixed signals, Lilia still managed to keep me at arm's length. And I was tired of playing the waiting game.
As I made my way home, heels clicking against the pavement, I couldn't help but feel like I had just walked away from a fight I wasn't even sure I wanted to win anymore.
I made it home, kicking off my heels the second I stepped through the door. The silence of my apartment felt jarring after the noise and chaos of the event, but it was exactly what I needed. No prying eyes, no teasing coven, and most importantly, no Lilia.
I sighed, rubbing my temples as I walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and downing it in one go. The adrenaline from earlier was fading, leaving me feeling tired, annoyed, and... a little disappointed.
The evening had started off fun, with the whole “make Lilia jealous” plan in full swing. But somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about teasing her and started feeling like something else. Something heavier.
I wanted her to chase me. I wanted her to want me.
But instead, she just kept pulling back, staying in that frustrating space of almost.
I flopped onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling, letting my thoughts spiral.
Maybe she really doesn’t feel the same way.
Maybe the age gap is too much for her.
Maybe I’m just a fun distraction to her.
I groaned, tossing a pillow over my face. “Ugh, stupid.”
Just as I was debating whether to text Agatha and unload my feelings, my phone buzzed against my thigh.
I grabbed it, half expecting it to be one of my friends checking in, but my breath caught when I saw the name on the screen.
Lilia.
I stared at it for a beat, my thumb hovering over the screen.
Was she going to scold me for leaving early? Check on me? Or just... toy with me some more?
Taking a deep breath, I swiped to answer. “Hello?”
There was a pause, then Lilia’s voice, soft and measured. “You left.”
I blinked, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, I did. I wasn’t feeling it anymore.”
Another pause. “I see.”
I rolled my eyes. “Did you call just to state the obvious, Lilia?”
She hummed, and I could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “Maybe.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Lilia.”
She sighed, and for a moment, I thought she might actually say something real. But then—
“I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”
My heart did that stupid little flutter thing, but I pushed it down, forcing a casual tone. “I’m fine. I always am.”
There was silence on the other end, and for a second, I thought maybe she’d hung up. But then—
“I shouldn’t have encouraged you to go,” she admitted quietly.
I swallowed, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. “Why did you?”
She didn’t answer right away, and when she did, it was softer than I expected. “Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”
I clenched my jaw, feeling frustration bubble up again. “And? Did you enjoy the show?”
Lilia exhaled, something close to a chuckle, but there was an edge to it. “More than I should have.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”
Another pause. “So I’ve been told.”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Go to bed, Lilia.”
“You too, baby,” she murmured, and before I could come up with a snarky response, the call ended.
My heart pounding, frustration and something else, something deeper, swirling in my chest.
I stared at my phone for all of ten seconds before I muttered, "No, fuck this." Without thinking any further, I tapped Lilia’s number and called her back.
She answered almost immediately, her voice a little softer, maybe a little surprised. “y/n?”
“You’re confusing,” I blurted out, pacing back and forth in my living room, frustration bubbling over. “You are so confusing, Lilia.”
Silence.
I didn’t care, I was on a roll now. “You flirt with me, you pull away, you get all soft and caring, and then you act like none of it happened. And I keep trying to play it cool, keep waiting for you to make up your damn mind, but you never do.”
She didn’t say a word, and I wasn’t stopping.
“And fuck you and this whole age gap excuse, because that’s what it is now, Lilia. It’s an excuse. You keep telling yourself that’s the problem, but it’s not. You flirt with me, you want me, and then you shut me out like it never happened. I’m tired, Lilia. I’m so tired.”
I paused, breathing hard, and then it hit me. My eyes widened as I blurted, “And you never even gave me my underwear back!”
I was hysterical.
I could hear Lilia inhale sharply on the other end, and for a second, I thought she might say something, anything. But all I got was silence.
And that silence was worse than if she’d yelled at me.
I swallowed hard, my anger deflating into something... heavier. More raw. My voice softened, and I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling the weight of it settle in my chest. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you.”
Still, she said nothing, and it was starting to hurt more than I thought it could.
I took a shaky breath. “I’m done, Lilia. I can’t take any more.” My throat tightened, and I blinked back the sting in my eyes. “It hurts too much.”
For a long moment, there was only the sound of my breathing and the faint static of the line. Then, finally, Lilia’s voice came through, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.
“Y/n...”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Don’t.”
Another pause. Then she sighed, long and slow, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I never meant to hurt you.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well... you did.”
Silence again, and I could almost imagine her, standing in her shop, looking down at the floor with that troubled frown she always wore when she was thinking too hard.
After another beat, she said, “I—” but she cut herself off, like she couldn’t finish the sentence.
I shook my head, wiping at my eyes. “Lilia, I can’t do this anymore. Not unless you actually want me. Not unless you’re willing to admit it.”
There was a pause. Then, finally, so quietly it nearly shattered me, she said, “I do.”
I froze, my heart slamming in my chest. “What?”
“I do,” Lilia repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just... I didn’t know how to.”
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “Then why are you pushing me away?”
There was a long silence before she finally admitted, “Because I’m scared.”
I felt something shift inside me, my anger melting into something softer. “Scared of what?”
Lilia sighed again, and this time, she sounded... tired. Vulnerable. “Of how much I want you.”
My lips parted, my throat suddenly dry. “Then stop running,” I said softly. “Please, Lilia. Just... stop.”
She was quiet for another long moment, and then— “Come over.”
My breath hitched. “What?”
“Come over,” she said again, a little stronger this time. “Now.”
I hesitated, my heart pounding. “Lilia, are you sure—”
“Yes,” she interrupted. “Please.”
And just like that, I didn’t even hesitate. I grabbed my coat, shoved my feet into my shoes, and bolted out the door, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The night air was cool against my skin, but I barely registered it, I was too focused on getting to Lilia.
The drive to her shop felt endless, every red light an eternity, every turn slower than I wanted. My fingers tapped anxiously against the wheel, my thoughts racing.
She admitted it.
She finally admitted it.
But what did that mean? What was waiting for me when I got there?
By the time I pulled up outside her shop, I was a mess of nerves, my stomach churning with anticipation and something I couldn’t quite name. I parked and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to collect myself.
Come over, she’d said. Not “we need to talk,” not “I need to explain.” Just... come over.
I swallowed, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car. The street was quiet this time of night, the shop windows dark except for the faint glow of a single light inside.
I knocked, and almost immediately, the door creaked open.
Lilia stood there, looking... different. Her usual confidence wasn’t as sharp around the edges tonight. Her hair was loose, curling naturally around her face, and she had changed into casual wear, soft sweater and leggings, barefoot.
Her dark eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.
I exhaled shakily. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she replied softly, stepping aside to let me in.
The familiar scent of her shop, incense, old books, and something distinctly her washed over me as I walked inside. She closed the door behind me, and the quiet settled around us like a heavy weight.
I turned to face her, my heart still racing. “I meant what I said, Lilia. I can’t do this anymore if you don’t—”
“I know,” she interrupted, her voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. “I know, baby.”
The sound of her calling me that made my knees weak.
I swallowed. “Then why—”
Lilia took a slow step forward, her eyes locked onto mine. “Because I’ve spent a long time being careful, y/n. Too careful.”
I didn’t move, didn’t speak. I just let her talk.
“I told myself I couldn’t do this,” she continued, her voice quiet but sure. “That you deserved someone... younger. Someone with fewer complications. Someone who wouldn’t keep you waiting.”
I blinked, my throat tightening. “Lilia...”
She stepped closer, and this time, she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over my wrist. “But you’re right. The age gap, the excuses... they’re just that. Excuses.”
I felt something break inside me, my breath hitching. “Then stop making them.”
Lilia looked at me, really looked at me, and I could see the struggle in her eyes, the hesitation, the longing, the fear. But then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she cupped my face in her hands, her thumb grazing lightly over my cheek.
“I’m done,” she whispered. “No more excuses.”
I barely had time to react before she kissed me.
Soft at first, hesitant, but then I melted into it, my hands gripping her waist as I kissed her back with everything I’d been holding in for weeks, months.
Lilia pressed closer, her body warm against mine, and I felt her exhale shakily into my mouth, like she was finally letting go of all the barriers she’d built between us. Like she wanted this just as badly as I did.
I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my forehead resting against hers. “Took you long enough,” I whispered, my lips curling into a smile.
Lilia chuckled, her fingers still ghosting over my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip. “I know, baby. I know.”
And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could finally breathe.
But Lilia barely gives me a second to recover before she’s grabbing my hand and pulling me through the shop, her grip firm, her steps hurried, almost reckless. I can barely keep up, my heart racing, my body already aching for her before we even make it to her bedroom.
And then I’m there, being pushed back onto the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me as I look up at her, chest rising and falling rapidly.
She’s standing over me, eyes dark and burning with something dangerous, something I’ve been craving for so long.
I moan, unabashedly, because fuck, she’s so hot. The way she looks at me like she’s about to devour me whole, like she’s going to ruin me, like I’m something she’s been starving for.
And then she starts stripping, slowly, painfully slow, slowly, deliberately, eyes locked onto mine the entire time. Teasing me with every inch of skin she reveals. She peels her sweater over her head, her curls tumbling loose, and I watch, breathless, as she undoes the clasp of her bra with deliberate precision, letting it fall to the floor, her smirk growing the longer I stare. Her hands move lower, hooking into the waistband of her leggings, sliding them down her hips with an agonising pace. She steps out of them with ease. My pulse pounds in my ears as she takes her time, dragging it out, knowing exactly what she’s doing to me, letting the last of her clothes slip from her body until she’s completely bare, standing before me in nothing but those dark eyes and the wicked smirk playing on her lips, and I’m left staring, aching.
I can’t take it.
I stand up, lurch forward, hands reaching for her, closing the space between us, my hands immediately on her body, kissing every inch of skin I can reach her collarbone, her shoulders, the curve of her neck. My hands roam over her bare back, pressing her closer, needing to feel her. My teeth scrape over the pulse hammering at her throat, and I hear her breath hitch.
Lilia moans, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging me even closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off her. I trail kisses down, across her chest, down her stomach, dragging my nails lightly, down her ribs just to make her gasp, desperate to taste her, to make up for all the time we’ve wasted.
I want her. I want to wreck her, hear her fall apart beneath me.
But Lilia has other plans.
With a low growl, she shoves me back onto the bed, straddling me before I can even react. Her body pins mine against the mattress, a delicious weight that has me gasping. She tugs my dress up, her hands rough and impatient as she drags it over my head and tosses it aside. A shiver runs through me as her fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, and without thinking, my hips lift to help her slip them off.
And then she does the same to me. Lilia’s lips are everywhere, hot, demanding, claiming me in a way that’s anything but soft. It’s hard, it’s raw, it’s pent up tension that’s been building for weeks, and it’s so damn good, and I can feel it in every press of her teeth, every bite of her nails against my thighs.
She kisses me like she’s making up for lost time, her hands gripping my hips tightly, grinding down against me, slow and deliberate, teasing me with the friction, with enough force to leave bruises in the morning. My nails rake down her back, desperate, needy, and she loves it, moaning into my mouth as she deepens the kiss.
We don’t stop.
There’s no hesitation, no second guessing, just heat and need and the overwhelming feeling of finally having what we both wanted.
I gasp as Lilia's hands roam lower, her touch possessive, her mouth following her hands, unrelenting, claiming every inch of me. She grips my thighs, spreading me open, pressing teasing kisses along my inner thigh, slow, deliberate, making me squirm.
She pauses just above where I need her, her breath warm against me, teasing, torturous. And when she finally looks up at me, her lips just barely brushing my skin, her eyes are dark, lips slick, pupils blown wide with hunger. She smirks.
“Took me long enough, huh?” she murmurs against my skin.
I can’t even answer, just nod breathlessly.
Lilia’s mouth is on me before I can even process it, her hands pressing my thighs apart with a hunger that makes my head spin. She doesn’t tease. She doesn’t drag it out. She takes.
She devours me like she’s starving, like she’s been holding back for too long and refuses to do it a second longer. Her tongue moves with precision, slow at first, savoring, before she licks deeper, pressing her mouth against me with a hunger that has my head spinning. She flicks her tongue, dragging it over me just right, and I sob, my body jerking beneath her.
Her fingers slide through slick heat, teasing, testing, until—
I gasp, my back arching off the bed as she pushes in, stretching me, filling me in a way that has me gasping for air.
She’s ruthless, curling her fingers just right, stroking deep, pushing, pulling, setting a pace that leaves no room for mercy.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me, baby?” she moans against me, the vibrations sending a shiver up my spine. Her fingers don’t slow, thrusting into me hard, fast, each stroke deliberate and punishing. “The things I’ve thought about... every time you walked into the shop in those little skirts, every time you teased me?”
I whimper, my hands clutching the sheets, head thrown back in pure bliss.
She bites the inside of my thigh, and I cry out. “Those panties you left behind,” she breathes, her voice thick with lust, “I couldn’t stop thinking about them. About you. About what it’d feel like to have you.”
A desperate moan rips from my throat, my body trembling under her touch. “Lilia... please.” My hips lifting, chasing her, needing more. She hums, low and indulgent, before finally sliding another finger inside me, stretching me open, pushing deeper, pressing her palm against me just enough to make me whine. My hands clutch at the sheets, my body burning, every nerve ending sparking.
“I should’ve done this sooner,” her tongue circling me in slow, teasing strokes, drawing me apart piece by piece. “Had you like this ages ago. Been wanting to hear these sounds from you for weeks”
Her fingers press against that perfect spot inside me, and I choke out a sob.
She licks deeper, pressing her tongue flat against me before sucking lightly, and I jerk, crying out.
“Want to hear you cum for me,” Lilia purrs, her voice dark and commanding, before she sucks harder, her fingers thrusting into me faster, curling deep, coaxing me higher. “Come on, baby. Let me hear it.”
And I do.
The pleasure crashes through me like a tidal wave, my body shaking, moaning her name over and over as I fall apart beneath her touch. Lilia doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until I’m completely wrecked, panting, and twitching from the aftershocks.
She finally pulls back, pressing a final, lingering kiss against me, her breath warm and heavy.
“Good girl,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach, her voice full of praise that makes me shiver all over again. “You did so well for me.”
I can barely respond, my limbs boneless, my mind hazy. But I know one thing for sure, I want more.
It takes me a moment to come back down, my body still trembling, my breaths ragged and uneven. Lilia watches me with dark, satisfied eyes, her smirk smug and dripping with confidence. Her fingers still teasing lazy circles on my thigh like she’s enjoying the way I twitch under her touch.
But I’m not done with her, not by a long shot.
Before she can even process it, I flip us over, pressing her into the mattress with a wicked grin. Her eyes widen, but there’s no surprise, just anticipation, hunger.
“Fuck.” The word comes out in a breath, barely a sound, but enough for her to hear.
She hums, amused, her nails skimming over my arms as if daring me to continue.
My fingers trail lower, slipping between her thighs, and I pause, my breath catching as I feel how absolutely soaked she is. The realisation sends a shiver through me, and I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips.
I pull back slightly, looking at her properly now, taking in the way her lips are parted, her pupils blown wide, her body already straining toward me.
“Oh,” I breathe, teasing my fingers against her, dragging them slowly to feel every bit of her need. “You don’t need any help, do you?”
Lilia’s breath hitches, her hips twitching beneath my touch, but she doesn’t answer, just watches me with dark, half-lidded eyes, her lips parted in anticipation. Fixes me with a look that makes my stomach flip.
It’s daring. A challenge. Like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.
“Fuck,” I say again, letting out another slow breath, pressing a little firmer, feeling how she responds so easily. “You really have been waiting for this,” I murmur, my voice dark, satisfied. “Haven’t you?”
She parts her lips to respond, but I don’t give her the chance.
I sink my fingers into her, slow at first, teasing, stretching her open, feeling the way her body clenches around me.
And then I push in deeper, hard, and she gasps, her back arching, her fingers digging into my shoulders..
I don’t go slow. I don’t tease. I take her hard and rough, my fingers moving with purpose, curling inside her in a way that has her moaning instantly.
Lilia’s hands grasp at my shoulders, her nails scratching, dragging down my back, and I lower my mouth to her breasts, sucking one of her nipples between my lips. I swirl my tongue around it, biting down just enough to make her cry out, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
“Fuck, y/n,” she moans, her hips bucking up against my hand, her thighs trembling around me.
I smirk against her skin, flicking my tongue over the hardened peak before moving to the other, lavishing it with the same rough attention while my fingers pump into her relentlessly.
She’s so wet, so tight around my fingers, and it doesn’t take much before I feel her start to tighten around me, her walls fluttering, her breath coming out in broken gasps.
“So, you’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?” I murmur against her chest, my voice dripping with satisfaction. “Thinking about how I’d feel inside you?”
She groans, her back arching as she gasps, “Yes... yes... fuck.”
I grin wickedly, increasing the pace, curling my fingers just right until she’s on the edge, her breath coming in short, desperate pants. “Come on, Lilia,” I whisper against her skin, sucking hard on her nipple as I thrust into her with delicious precision.
“Let me hear you.”
And she does.
Lilia spasms around me, her moan breaking apart into something raw and desperate, her entire body trembling beneath me as she comes undone, gasping my name like it’s the only thing she knows.
I watch her fall apart, mesmerised, drinking in every twitch, every gasp, every sharp intake of breath, and it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever seen.
My fingers slow, riding out her high as I press soft kisses along her collarbone.
Her breathing is ragged, a deep flush crawling up her chest, sweat slicking her skin, and she lets out a soft, breathy laugh, pulling me against her, her fingers tangling in my hair. “I should hate how smug you look right now,” she murmurs, voice thick and shaky.
I smirk, kissing along her jaw. “You love it.”
She hums, her lips ghosting over my temple as her breath steadies, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.
After the intensity of it all, after the heat, the moans, and the desperate need finally sated, we collapse into the sheets, bodies still humming with the aftershocks.
Lilia sighs softly against my hair, her arm draped lazily over my waist, her chest rising and falling steadily beneath me, and I feel her hand lazily tracing circles on my back.
I shift slightly, my leg sliding between hers, my fingers still ghosting over her skin, unable to stop touching her even in the aftermath.
Her skin is warm, still damp from sweat, her breathing slow and steady.
“Comfortable?” she murmurs, voice low and raspy, and I can hear the lingering amusement in it.
I nuzzle against her neck, pressing a lazy kiss to her collarbone. “Very.” My voice is heavy with sleep, and I can feel the exhaustion creeping in, but I don’t want to move. “You?”
She hums, her lips pressing against my temple in a slow, lingering kiss. “Mm. I could get used to this.”
My heart stutters at that, but I don’t say anything, just smile against her skin, letting myself bask in the warmth of her.
Minutes pass, maybe hours, time feels irrelevant when I’m wrapped around her like this. Lilia strokes her fingers through my hair absentmindedly, and I can feel her breathing slowing, the tension that always seems to cling to her finally easing away.
I sigh, letting my eyes flutter shut, my body melting against hers. “Don’t retreat in the morning,” I mumble sleepily, barely coherent, but needing to say it.
She chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through me. “I won’t, baby.”
And that’s enough for me. With her promise lingering in the air between us, I drift off, feeling safe, sated, and completely tangled in her. Tangled in her warmth, in her scent, in the quiet hum of her presence.
#lilia calderu x reader#lilia calderu#patti lupone#agatha all along#agatha all along fanfic#my fanfic
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Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 85 (Searching for Rafa Bonilla)
cw: mentions underage trafficking, drug smuggling
Conrad looked for Rafa Bonilla between his regular cases at the precinct, following clues and booking suspects to keep his captain satisfied. A few months into his search he finally located one of Rafa's known associates, according to police reports.
He called Heather, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Hey, you've reached Heather's phone. It's either the middle of the night or I'm with a patient, so leave a message and I'll call you back."
"Hey, it's me. I was hoping to talk to you, but I've got to work a little late tonight. I'll make it up to you. I'm sorry. I love you."
He drove outside Brindleton Bay to greet the man who thought he had everyone fooled with his chess mentorship program. It would be less than thirty minutes before his students - mostly children - started showing up for their scheduled lesson in the park, so Conrad knew he had to work fast. He shuddered as he got closer to him, and not just because it was freezing outside.
"Jimmy Stefano," he said, dropping his voice an octave to sound serious.
"Not lately," mused the man with a laugh. "Who's asking?" He turned to face the voice who knew his old identity. "You? They said you were a cop now. No surprise they never let you work our cases."
Conrad knew they had no time for small talk and he whipped out his cuffs. "You're under arrest for aiding and abetting a known fugitive."
"You can't be serious! Who?"
"Rafael Bonilla."
Jimmy's face went white, but he stopped resisting. As Conrad cuffed him, he asked, "Are you taking me in to help San Myshuno PD, or did she call you?"
Conrad scoffed. "She who?"
Jimmy laughed. "She told both of us sweet nothings, old friend. You were just dumb enough to believe them."
"Shut up and get in the cruiser."
Back at the station, Jimmy looked around the interrogation room in his orange jumpsuit once Conrad booked him. "Aren't you going to need the cameras on to record your attempt at my confession?"
"I want you to speak freely, Stefano. Tell me everything you know."
Jimmy eyed him suspiciously. "You're not working with San Myshuno PD at all, are you."
"I didn't stage an elaborate arrest just to scare you. I still plan to file a report after you and I catch up. Just talk."
"She really did get to you. Are you trying to let her ruin your life again?"
"Where the hell is Rafa?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen him in two years, when the last job we did together went bad. I assumed his sister told him to run since the charges he's facing are so serious."
"She doesn't know where he is."
"I'm sure she told you that. Did she tell you she was done with Los Tigres, too?"
Conrad flinched, and Jimmy raised an eyebrow.
"I'm happy with my chess students, but I can't get out now. When you walked, I should've joined you, but I didn't have your father's connections at the police station to keep me out of jail."
"I wasn't even there that night, but you gave them my name."
"Yeah, I did, because you walked before you even got started. Los Tigres only let you live because you became a cop and they didn't need the heat. I don't know what she told you, but if you think Ximena's turned over a new leaf and is done smuggling for the cartel, you're an idiot. She just uses new aliases these days."
Conrad breathed in through his nose. "If I turn the cameras on, will you avoid mentioning our history while you tell me what Ximena's still doing with the cartel?"
"What's in it for me, Sargent?"
"If it comes to it and you're telling the truth, I only want Ximena. As long as Los Tigres doesn't get caught up in anything at the Brindleton docks, I've got no reason to open up a window to the past. You should think about moving on, too. Turn that chess mentorship program into more than just a front."
Jimmy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Some of us are lifers, you know."
Conrad hit record while Jimmy told him everything he knew about Ximena's past - how she escaped being trafficked in her teens by offering to run drugs for Los Tigres de Selva, working her way up to running an entire operation moving drugs from Selvadorada to San Myshuno, through Britechester, and back again. Her associates called her The Chameleon because of how often she changed her hair.
She'd been arrested but never did hard time, with those who worked under her often taking the fall, instead - like Jimmy Stefano. Twice. Ximena kept herself just clean enough to avoid prison, and dragged her brother into the same life. "Rafa and I used to pose as Simlandian military to run product for his sister, but he never got caught for that," Jimmy said.
"When was the last time you worked for her?"
"Four months ago."
Conrad led him through several questions, showing copies of Ximena's old police reports. When they'd finished, he released Jimmy Stefano. It didn't satisfy him to send a known smuggler back to the streets, but he'd gained some incriminating evidence against Ximena, at the very least. He was beginning to think he might need it, eventually.
He headed home in darkness, and his mind raced with possibilities. Could Ximena's activities have led directly to her brother's disappearance? Who were her enemies these days?
He tried to call her, against his better judgment, but she didn't pick up her phone. He hung up before the voicemail kicked in.
When he walked in the door, he found six-year-old Ash on the floor, working on a castle diorama for extra credit at school. He knelt down to help him without even changing out of his work clothes. "Can you help me with the small pieces? Mommy won't let me use better scissors, but my kid scissors barely cut anything!"
He grinned. Grateful for the distraction, Conrad pulled out an instruction booklet tucked under the edge of the box. "Of course. What did you need me to cut?"
"Just these windows," he said. "They're too small. And can you measure to make sure my towers are big enough? I want the biggest towers of the whole class! Like the Spire Tower!"
"Tallest towers, can do. Hey, did you want to use this lump of clay for anything?" (Finally, the clay comes out at a sensible moment!!)
"Yeah! Moat mud! And we could use real water!"
"Your mom won't be very happy if we make real mud in the house, buddy."
Heather walked into the room then, kneeling down next to them to play with Gord. "Please don't make real mud. Why don't you use the clay to mould a base for the castle?"
"Good idea, Mommy! Can we have pancakes for dinner tomorrow night? I've been thinking about pancakes all day!"
"I can make you pancakes for dinner, but your mom and I won't be here to eat them with you," said Conrad. "Tomorrow night, I'm taking your mom on a date."
"What's a date?"
"It's when people who like each other hang out," Heather said.
Ash's eyes grew wide. "Is there kissing?"
Conrad grinned. "There might be. What do you know about kissing?"
He paused. "Nothing, I guess. Scotti Holiday says it's like eating faces, but why would people who like each other eat their faces?"
Heather laughed. "Don't worry, Conrad's not going to eat my face. Are you almost finished with your diorama for the night? It's getting late and you should get to bed soon."
"Just a little while longer, Mommy. Please! I'm not tired and I'm almost done!"
When he and Conrad had finished, they displayed the excellent diorama on a kitchen countertop until Ash could take it to school in the morning. Before he went to bed, Conrad went upstairs to check on his sleeping baby girl.
Intuitive to his human's growing stress level, no matter how well he hid it from everyone else, Gord followed him. ->
<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start
#sims 4#sims 4 gameplay#sims 4 screenshots#sims 4 legacy#sims in bloom#ts4#ts4 gameplay#ts4 legacy#ts4 screenshots#sims 4 story#ts4 story#legacy challenge#sims legacy#ts4 legacy challenge#gen 2#brindleton bay
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ef3df0258a0919bbacbbfd979ef1dd2f/075805c98809fd73-ca/s540x810/ff7692c410ab7591d9e66e994501ec296790b245.jpg)
Escapism.
plot: In which two lonely souls find each other in the middle of the woods
pairings: HeadlessHorseman!Nanami Kento x Reader
genre(s): Hurt with Comfort, Porn with Feelings
warnings: unedited (mostly). a load of crying from the reader. the headless horseman is an absolute gentleman. COURTING. gifts (f receiving). reader is a jokester. nanami is actually headless and the reader is scared of him at first. PIV SEX. fingering (f receiving). squirting. rounds and pounds. nanami falls first and HARD. he is covered in scars. traumatic past. lowkey its an "I can fix him" au. Couple's Banter.
w.c: 9.02k
The spare sunlight trickled from between the clouds and kissed the rippling water of the lake. The morning dew was still heavy in the air and it created a mist above the water. I broke through the milky terrain and debated whether I should catch up with my companions. They seemed to be miles away from me, engaging in some kind of conversation. By the smiles on their faces, it had to be one they both enjoyed. Perhaps pertaining to their blossoming relationship.
I wasn’t a fool.
I could see the way they looked at each other. The love they shared grew every time we were together. The smiles never seemed to leave their faces when they were side by side. The lingering touches seemed far too intimate to have belonged to “just friends”. There was more going on than they let on. More than meets the eye. Yet, I couldn’t talk about it. I couldn’t mention it. I knew that the moment the question “Are you fucking?” came out of my mouth that I would be shamed. They would minimize my every observation and make me believe that I was seeing things. What made the notion worse was that they would immediately alter their behavior afterward. They would go back to being just friendly with one another and pretend like they weren’t engaging in a forbidden romance just before.
We were supposed to be celebrating my birthday and new promotion. Yet, here I was. Playing the third wheel to my so-called “friends”. There was an intense feeling of loneliness that drifted through me when I was around them. I almost felt excluded from my very own camping trip. I just didn’t connect with them like I used to. The moment the possibility of love came between them, they blocked out everything and everyone around them. They were so absorbed with one another that they didn’t see anyone else. They couldn’t see me— desperately trying to get their attention. So, for both my sanity and my dignity, I’ve decided to cut the trip short. At least, my participation in it. I was going to give the lovebirds all the room they needed to mess around. I could no longer stomach the feeling of exclusion any longer.
A single tear rolled down my cheek and I quickly wiped it away. Removing the evidence of any notice of sadness on my face.
Through the milky mist, I could Trista and Jessica boarding the doc. Their hands were tighter interlocked and their smiles were even wider than before. They were still too far ahead to hear their conversation, but I could tell it was a continuation of the funny one from earlier.
I tore my eyes away from the couple and looked into the rippling water.
It was so inviting and pleasant.
I dropped the teary hand into the water without thinking. I swirled the digits into the clear pool and felt tingles slowly course through my body. Instead of providing a cool sensation, the tingles gave me a warm one. It made the water feel even more comforting. The emotional feeling was neither familiarity nor longing. It was neutral. Almost the feeling you get when you start a new relationship. Right after you discover that your potential suitor may not be an axe murderer. The moment you realized that they had the potential to be your one and only. The water felt, simply put, hopeful.
I kept quiet on the drive back to the cabin. I allowed the lovers and the radio to occupy all the space between us. My eyes drifted out the window, taking in the beautiful woodlands around us. My heart ached at the notion that I could never truly enjoy it. Six months of planning a fantastic rural getaway ruined by the people I held most dear.
“Sorry to interrupt your jam session,” the radio host interjected, mid-song. “But, it was just brought to our attention that a massive mud lid has shaken Evergreen County. It has blocked off access to Route 78, meaning no one will be coming in or out of Evergreen until it is all clear.”
“That’s really unfortunate,” Trista said, clicking off the radio.
“Yeah,” Jessica replied, her eyes flicking over to me in the rearview mirror. “Good thing Y/N booked the cabin for the rest of the week and stocked the fridge, right?”
I gave her a weary smile and looked back out the window.
My plan of leaving was completely foiled. I was stuck with these damned lover birds until the roads were clear. My sadness was quickly replaced with anger beneath my skin. I didn’t have the energy to conceal my emotions anymore. I was incredibly tired of engaging in the activity and lacked the social battery to communicate with these women any longer.
“What with the long face, Y/N?” Trista asked, turning her head towards me. “Are you boat-sick?”
I nodded. “That must be what it is.”
“I’ll put on a pot of tea when we get back to the cabin, okay?” She cooed.
I hummed in agreement. “That sounds good.”
“Maybe you should lay down for a bit, as well,” Jessica chimed in. “Just take the night off. Leave dinner to us for once.”
“Yeah! I can finally make that lasagna soup I was telling you about!” Trista squealed. “When I tell you guys it’s so good! I mean it is to die for.”
“I can’t wait to try it.”
I used the boat sick excuse to hole myself in my room for the rest of the night. My tolerance for their lies had reached its limit and I really wanted to be alone. After a quick shower to wash off the smell of the outside, I slipped into my favorite nightgown. It was a custom number from a Parisian seamstress, a birthday present to myself. The garment was made of deep mauve-colored silk with a lace neckline. It had been well fitted in the waist and thigh air— yet came down to my ankles like a silken waterfall. The seller was so kind to give me a matching robe and bonnet with my order; which I also wore to bed that night. I pulled the fluffy duvet up to about chest level, before lowering my eyemask. I relaxed all the muscles within my body and released the tension in my jaw. I took several deep breaths and rolled over to my side.
However, neither one of these tactics seemed to work.
I had laid in my bed for hours, unable to relax fully.
My mind was simply too busy to sleep. The sadness arose once more now that I was alone. There was a gnawing in my chest that I couldn’t shake. It had gotten worse the longer I held it in. The call/text for dinner had come and went eons ago. The faux bubbly persona of my friends had retired to their rooms and left me to my own vices.
In desperate need of a change of scenery, I swung my legs from the edge of my bed and put on my slippers. I grabbed the chunky knit sweater that hung behind the door and slipped it on. I made sure to keep my footsteps light when walking through the hall. I didn’t want to wake Trista or Jessica. Both claimed to be really light sleepers, but I found that hard to believe.
About halfway through the corridor, I realized that my actions were done in vain. Trista’s room had been right near the staircase and her door was cracked open. Pleasurable moans and sensual sighs oozed from the room. There was a subtle creaking sound from the old bedframe as well. I recognized Trista’s voice sending hushed praises to the other lover. Whispering to Jessica about how good at “it” she was and how she never wanted her to stop.
Suddenly, the house felt entirely too small for the three of us.
My gentle footsteps carried me outside to the porch. I took a seat on the old rocking chair on the left and found myself looking up at the sky. I could not spot a single cloud in the sea of stars. The moon was full and gave everything around me an ivory tint. It was beautiful, for lack of a better word. It was the reason I decided to come to Evergreen County in the first place. I sat up in the rocking chair and placed my forearms on the railing. I allowed my chin to rest on the fleshy area and simply looked at the property around me. I took in the loud chirps of the crickets and the subtle twinkling of fireflies. I felt the cool breeze kiss my skin and the smell of pine invaded my nostrils. I tasted the fresh air on my tongue and felt it penetrate my lungs. With a deep breath, I tried to force all the negative shit out of me. I brought the pain from my chest and to my head. I finally let myself cry.
After a few minutes, I realized that I was no longer alone. I could hear the sound of horse hooves clicking against the pavement. Coming up the driveway was, in fact, a horse. A massive black stallion with a mane that is only seen in fairy tales. Its shiny black coat sparkled in the moonlight and gave it an ethereal aura. Its steps were careful. Almost like it didn’t want to alert anyone of its presence. For that realization, I had to give all the credit to its rider— who was equally as large as the horse it seemed. He, too, was shrouded in all-black. His long, overcoat was tailored perfectly to his body. It accentuated his broad chest and shoulders. He had thick, long legs that hung on either side of the horse. He wore black, freshly shined boots on each gigantic foot.
Although, it felt as though my eyes were deceiving me.
Despite how close the man was getting to me, I still couldn’t make out his head. I couldn’t make out the color of his hair or even get a general outline of his face. I squinted my eyes, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of something.
It wasn’t until the horse made it about six feet away from the house that I realized that I wasn’t going crazy.
The lone horseman was completely headless.
A wave of fear coursed through my body and I felt myself rise from my chair. I made a beeline to the front door and yanked it open. I shoved my body inside the home and swiftly locked the door behind me. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest at the sound of his heavy boots climbing the porch steps. My breath had become uneven from the sounds of my erratic panting. My hands were trembling as I slipped the phone from my cardigan’s pocket and unlocked it. I pressed the little phone icon and began to dial for the police.
But, then, the moment I went to press the phone to my ear, I heard the sound of receding footsteps.
It took all the courage in me to crawl to the window and peer out of it. I had caught a swift glimpse of the horseman mounting his horse, before directing it back down the driveway. Just as swiftly as they appeared the man and his horse disappeared. Leaving me alone once again. I took the phone away from my ear and hung up the call. After another minute or so, I unlocked the door and stepped onto the porch. I looked back at the driveway once more; a frugal effort to ensure that he was truly gone.
He was.
As much as I wanted to ponder why out of all places he came here, to my cabin, I couldn’t. The reason was sitting directly in front of me. Just three feet from the door sat my ring. A friendship that Trista and Jessica both wore as well. We had gotten them right after graduating college. It was a vow to always stay true to one another and to work things out when things had gotten hard. It felt more like an empty promise these days though. I didn’t even notice I had lost the gold band. My mind must’ve been so numb from their fallacious activities that it didn’t even process that it was gone. Even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have looked for it. It didn’t matter to me anymore.
Next to the ring sat a bouquet of wildflowers. The huge bundle was made up of blue and white blossoms. Their scent was sweet and clean. It eased into the nostrils and hardly ever lingered. It made my heart flutter ever so slightly; temporarily lifting the sorrow from it. A tingling sensation bloomed within my chest. It was almost identical to what I had been feeling in the lake earlier when I had put my hand in the water. The tingles gave me comfort. Almost like I had been experiencing the beginnings of a new relationship. As much as I wanted to be mad at the feeling, I couldn’t. My capacity for feeling my emotions had already been filled to the brim. I no longer had the mental space to process this ordeal. I would simply have to wait until I was no longer burnt out to confront the horseman.
Every night the headless stranger would stop by. And every night he would bring me a gift. It was usually in the form of flowers. Fragrant and wild. They filled the small cabin with their scent and added a homey feel to the place. The flowers were a wonderful distraction from the loneliness that remained in my heart. They brightened the rainy days and gave me something to hope for. The mudslide had seemed to have gotten worse with the constant showers. More and more debris had filled the road, making it even harder to leave. The rain had limited our outdoor activity, as well, and forced me inside the force. I couldn’t even use the beautiful scenery to distract from the betrayal anymore. I was trapped.
By the fourth night of spending a whole day pretending to be fine, I found myself on the porch once again. There were no tears in my eyes that time, though. I was all cried out. The sadness had moved from my heart and unrooted an emotion I tended to avoid: anger. I started to become angry that my “friends” had thought so little of me; how they had the gall to sneak around right under my nose and think it was perfectly acceptable to do so.
I don’t know if it was being trapped in the house or the cold, rainy days, but I could hear them messing around almost every night. I heard almost every pleasurable sigh, bed creak, and intense squeal through my very thin wall. It was so infuriating. I wanted nothing more than to just bang on the wall and ask them to stop. Or, at least, take it down to the basement where I wouldn’t hear them. There was an escape from their constant torment. It wasn’t the loving glances and gentle hand brushes in the day— then it was the aggressive humping and loud moaning at night. I was reminded of their betrayal every second of the hour and I was slowly losing my mind because of it.
I was so deep in thought on the fourth night that I didn’t notice the horseman’s presence, until after he placed the flowers on the porch’s steps. Their bright yellow petals had torn me from my reverie and brought me back to reality. The hulking figure had stood several paces away from the steps. His hands were crossed against his chest and there was a slight tilt in his body. If he had a face, I imagined it could have been a quizzical look upon it. He’d seemed rather confused, yet intrigued at the sight before him. The image of a relatively young woman, adorned in a silk nightgown and robe, pacing back and forth on a front porch. It was way past midnight and the air was borderline arctic. Yet, she still decided to wear a fashionable outfit while mumbling to herself like a crazy person. I am sure any given person would have stopped and stared at me if they had the chance. Even if they had been a ghost.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the realization of his presence finally hit me.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I hissed, taking a step back. “Where the hell did you come from? Sneaking up on me like a ghost in the night.”
I mumbled the last bit under my breath, but the headless horseman seemed to have heard it anyway.
He gestured to his body, lifting both hands up and down at the same. Almost as if to say, “Don’t you see me? I am the ghost in the night.” The last part was solidified by the gesturing of the empty space between his shoulders; right where his head was supposed to be. The movements were playful. Some would say they were even comical, but they still didn’t get much out of me. Not a laugh, nor a giggle. Just a slight smirk and a shaking of my head.
“I’m gonna have to get you a bell or something so I know you’re close by.”
He gestured to the massive black stallion tied to a nearby tree.
“Oh yeah. . . I forgot about that. Good point,” I replied, scratching the back of my head. “I really must’ve been out of it, huh? I didn’t even hear the heavy hooves of that big ass horse over there. Well, shit. I really made myself an easy target, didn’t I?”
The horseman gestured to his belt. It carried several weapons, such as an axe and a revolver. The second movement was something I didn’t realize he knew. He puffed out his chest and placed his hands on his hips. He assumed the Superman stance— the pose made more clear by the way his jacket blew back in the wind. That was something I couldn’t help but smile at. It seemed that he had been trying his best to make light of the situation. From the comical gestures to how he stood a good five feet away from the porch. It felt like the horseman didn’t want to impose, but he also didn’t want me to dwell on something so upsetting. The realization had struck a chord with me. The fact that a ghost could pick up my change in attitude and my friends did not was eye-opening. It was downright alarming. It just solidified to me that they had truly been on another planet. Never mind the fact that I had only officially met the headless stranger several days prior.
“So, you’ll protect me, hmm?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and tilting my head. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
The being lowered his hands to his hips and took several paces to the porch steps. He lifted the bouquet from the polished wood and gently passed the bundle to me. I took the yellow daisies and brought them to my nose. Their scent was fresh and inviting— almost like new love. There were hints of chamomile within its petals, although I couldn’t stop the little flowers anywhere. I watched as the hulking figure lowered himself onto one knee and placed a hand on his chest. He outstretched the other towards me, his fingers spread and his gloved palm open.
The love confession, as simple as it may be, made my heart flutter.
It hadn’t taken long for me to realize just how meaningful the horseman was. He relied heavily on his actions to perpetuate his feelings. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to tell a lover white lies to pass the time. Perhaps it was the absence of his head that forced the notion, but I appreciated all the same. He seemed authentic and raw in his sentiment. He probably couldn’t lie, even if he wanted to. The movements of his figure would give it away. It was easy to lie using your vocal cords, it was even harder to lie through body language. The more I thought about it, the more I understood why I had entertained this attraction for the past several days. Not only did it serve as a distraction from my dishonest vacation buddies, but it felt genuine. It felt so fucking real in a world of grey skies and black smoke. The Headless Horseman was the only one expressing his true self these days, the only one unable to lie to me. Although, I am pretty certain he wouldn’t want to if he had the option. He was a gentleman above anything else, and he wasn’t the type of guy to misdirect his lady.
The longer I looked at him, the more my heart pounded. A million thoughts exploded through my mind at once. The main one was how I only had two more days left of this vacation and how I would probably put this place behind me— due to the unfortunate actions of my friends. It almost saddened me that I would never be able to see someone as sweet as the horseman again. It was truly insane how a ghost knew the art of courtship better than the living, breathing humans I accompanied on the daily. Yet, I digress. The second thought was of my friends upstairs. There was no doubt in my mind that the act they were engaging in was somewhere between sinful and unholy. They had been fucking like rabbits since the mudslide happened. However, the judgment in my being was beginning to subside.
Sure, I didn’t hand a human participant to engage in such disgusting activities.
But, I did have a ghost.
A sexy one, at that.
Call it petty, but, I had a sudden taste for vengeance.
“Mister Horseman?” I hesitated.
He rose from the ground and took several steps closer to me. It was just until his shins were touching the bottom step of the porch. Still, he opted to keep his distance. Just like the gentleman he was. Even after all that time, he worried he might scare me.
I lowered the flowers back onto the floor and proceeded to untie my silk robe— ever so slowly. I allowed the garment to fall to the crooks of my elbows and expose my bare shoulders. My nipples pebbled in the cool night air and a shiver crept down my spine. I saw his body tense at the sight of my exposed skin and his hand balled into a fist. Hollow breaths fell from my lips as I took several steps back. They weren’t out of fear, no. They were to add to the art of seduction. I pulled the silk bonnet off my head and allowed my goddess braids to flow down my back. I saw his chest rise and fall at a rapid rate. Despite him having no head, it seemed that the horseman was struggling to breathe. It was an intriguing sight.
“Allow me to be the first to say that the feeling is mutual,” I said, breathlessly. “I, too, hold a certain affection for you.”
His body leaned closer and began to tremble after digesting the words.
“However, unlike you, I was not blessed enough to show my talents through crafts,” I said, gesturing to the bouquet on the ground. “I was blessed in other ways. Ways that I can only show you upstairs, in my bedroom. And I would have no problem showing you—”
His gloved hands were on my body before I could finish the sentence. I could feel the cool leather through the soft silk against my hips. He held the plush area firmly, hesitant to bring any lower. The horseman was testing the waters, attempting to see just how comfortable I was with him. I brought his palms lower and slid them to my backside. I guided them to my plump rear and assisted in his grabbing of it. A soft gasp fell from my lips as I felt him reciprocate the action on his own. Gently, he massaged the plump muscle, bringing my body slower the longer he did it. About thirty seconds later, my chest was pressed against the top of his abdomen, and my arms were drabbed over his shoulders.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I purred, pulling away to open the door.
The horseman, quickly, pulled me back against his body and lifted me in one fell swoop. My thighs rested on either side of his slender waist and ankles locked just above his rear. My arms immediately gripped his shoulders, while one of his arms wrapped around me— holding my body completely steady. He used his other hand to open the front door quietly and let us both inside the cabin. He took careful steps; I could barely hear his footfalls on the hardwood floor.
“My room is upstairs,” I whispered. “It’s the third door on the left.”
The horseman took silent steps up the creaky old stairs. Both hands were around me now. He caressed my back sweetly as we ascended to my room. If he had a mouth, I was sure he’d hum a loving tune in my ear. My heart couldn’t help but sway at the action. It had only been a few minutes of him embracing me and I was already starting to fall for him. Maybe it was loneliness or the betrayal that left me so sensitive, but I couldn’t help myself. The horseman was simply too impactful.
However, the temporary bliss was cut short by the sight of Trista’s cracked door. Just as I had expected, lustful sounds danced from within the room and caressed my ears. I could feel my expression immediately drop at the sound. My inference had been correct. They were still, in fact, fucking like rabbits. As much as I would’ve loved to side my expression, I couldn’t. The horseman's face, or lack thereof, was right next to mine— meaning that he saw everything.
Instead of simply ignoring it, he gripped my body tighter and took quicker steps down the hall. He, still, didn’t make a sound. He walked right through my open door and gently lowered me onto the bed. He stood before me for several seconds, taking in the sight before him. A significantly smaller woman, adorned in lace and silk, with a face stricken with sorrow. I doubt that it was a pretty sight, though his actions said otherwise.
The horseman shrunk down to the floor before me and placed his hands on my knees. He slowly pushed them apart. Unlike the men before him, the horseman didn’t dive right in and reach for the slick lips underneath my silk skirt. He placed his body between my separated thighs and placed his hands on my hips. Gently, he moved them up my soft sides and back, just before stopping at my collarbones. With the cool leather of his glove, he caressed the soft area. The horseman gradually moved his embrace up my neck and to my jaw. His thumb ran across my bottom lip tenderly and sent shivers through my body. His other hand gripped the side of my face and started to brush against my cheek. I felt my eyes close at the action. My heart was warm and my mind was beginning to ease. The irritating sounds from earlier had left my mind and been replaced with a sense of tranquility. It was strange how someone so mythical was able to get such a reaction out of me. Especially after just knowing him for a few days.
“Let me feel you,” I said, opening my eyes. “Let me feel your skin against mine.”
The word “please” lingered after those sentences, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. I wasn’t the kind of woman to beg anyone to do anything for me. And I wouldn’t be starting now.
I felt him tense at the rest, almost as if he hadn’t expected it. Or, he just didn’t want to do it. Yet, he still obliged with my request.
Slowly, the ghost removed his hands from my face and placed them on my lap. He started on his right hand; pinching each finger and pulling it away from the skin. When each digit was loose, he pulled the glove off his hand with an air of hesitation. Clumsily, the leather garment was removed from his palm and tossed aside. Underneath was a stark, pale, icy-cold hand covered in an array of scars. His fingers seemed to be trembling slightly. His sensitivity to rejection was prevalent and made itself known to me. I took the massive palm into my hands. I bent the fingers at the knuckles just slightly before pressing a sweet kiss on the chilly surface. My eyes instinctively zeroed in on the empty space his head used to be. I stared at it, imagining it was actually there.
“You’re beautiful,” I found myself saying. “Scars and all. I accept you as you are. Thank you for sharing your body with me.”
A wave of relaxation overtook his rigid demeanor. His body eased into the confines of my own, before wrapping his arms around my waist tightly. It was a simple hug, yet it felt like so much more. It was the only way he could possibly show affection without easing into a carnal activity. The absence of lips had made this rendezvous so much more difficult. I wanted nothing more than to press my mouth against his and press his against mine. I wanted my hands to be in his hair, while he roamed underneath my skirt and beneath my thighs. I wanted to be as close to him as physically, and maybe spiritually, possible. But, I had to settle for a hug instead. I wrapped my arms around the undead man tightly and simply took in the moment.
Upon releasing me from the embrace, the horseman pressed a tender hand to my chest and pushed my body back. It was until my back hit the mattress. Then, he slowly pushed the wrinkled, skirt from my ankles up to my rear. I placed the bottoms of my feet at the edge of the bed, just to give him more access. Nestled between two soft thighs was my womanhood. Damp, curly, and absent of panties. The grip that the horseman had on my thighs firmed and I watched his chest expand. Almost as if he were holding his breath. He quickly removed the second glove before getting to work. The icy finger brushed against the hot vulva and caused me to shiver. A pleasurable sigh fell from my lips as I relaxed completely atop the bed.
His gentle digits proceeded to separate the lower lips and expose the sensitive bud beneath. Before touching the throbbing clit, the horseman slid his thumb along my slit. He gathered all the lovely slick my walls produced on the thumb’s pad, before swirling it along my bud. I hissed at the feeling of his finger against me. The cold sensation was making my walls spasm a little. He rubbed my bud in large circles. The horseman added just the right amount of pressure to have me moaning up a storm. At some point, I lowered my bent knees to a wide ‘v’ shape and gave him more access to me. My hips rolled and bucked against his hand, desperately wanting more than he had to offer. Like a friendly visitor, one of his fingers tapped against my entrance. It was his silent way of asking for my permission.
“Yes,” I sighed. “Put it in.”
The thick finger eased into the slick center and I felt my world come crashing down. The coolness of his digit in my hot crevice was something I couldn’t mentally fathom. It was foreign and almost bizarre, yet I couldn’t stop myself. It swiftly became addicting. The horseman added another finger and flexed the digits upward— pressing directly against the g-spot. My legs twitched and my breath started to hollow. The movements of his fingers were stern, not rough. They were meant to hammer the sensitive area— they were supposed to massage it. The skill in his fingers was something of a legend. They stretched the walls within, ever so gracefully. They prepped me for the awaiting member I already caught a glimpse of moments before. From the imprint it made on his trousers, it was big and girthy. It would probably tear me in half without the right preparation. Yet, despite how intimidating the semi-hard member seemed through the fabric, I couldn’t have been more excited about it.
The orgasm was deep and erotic. And completely took me by surprise. It unearthed something divine within my womanhood and presented it to the horseman. My back arched against the bed as my mouth grew wider. My moans bounced on the walls as the orgasm nipped at my heels. The warm sensation in my belly grew wider until my entire body was on fire as a result. My fingers dug into the bedsheets as my toes curled and my body shook. My eyes were squeezed shut and my breathing grew erratic. My legs twitched and vibrated against the horseman’s forearm. He had to remove the thumb from my clit to hold my left leg.
“Oh Dear God. . .” I slurred as my eyes rolled to the back of my head.
The movements of his hands never stopped, they only made the orgasm longer and more powerful. I was seeing stars in my mind as my slick coated his hands. Thick cream oozed from my cunt as my body started to settle against the mattress. The after-effects of the climax started to wear down on my nerves. After some time, the ghost removed his cool finger from my center. He massaged the soft flesh of my thighs for a little while, before rising to his crouched position on the floor. I plopped my body onto my elbows and watched as he began to disrobe. The heavy, wool cloak was removed from his broad shoulder. Underneath was a stark white shirt and silk suit vest. Slowly, the ghost undid the buttons of both garments. Taking special care of the flawless pieces as he did so. Just as his hands, his chest was covered in an array of scars. They are arranged in size, shape, and depth. My heart sunk at the sight of them in the pale moonlight.
It was unclear whether or not he received them all at once, but one thing was certain. The Headless Horseman had a very rough life. Underneath the scars was a body I hardly expected. Almost every muscle along his figure was pronounced. From his rock-hard abs to his rippling arm muscles. Every last one was on perfect display for me to see. And what a beautiful sight it was.
His shoes were the next thing to come off. Followed by his pants. It felt like that bit was in slow motion. He unbuckled the silver belt buckles and undid the closure with ease. Slowly, as if he knew I was watching, the horseman pushed his pants down his thick thighs and forced them into a puddle on the floor. Just as I expected, the member was big and girthy. It seemed the nickname “horseman” was a double entender. Even in the pale moonlight, I could see the pre-cum leaking from his slit. It painted the brown tip gloriously and made it glisten. One of his wide palms inched down to his member and took a firm hold of it. I watched him stroke the member slowly. It felt like he was seducing me. Fortunately for him, it was working. He took several slow steps toward my body, I could feel my heart pound in response. Before we did any more damage to my favorite nightie, I lifted the silk garment off my body and tossed it aside. I, also, scooted back against the bed; in able to give the horseman more room to work.
The ghost proceeded to crawl against the fluffy mattress, flexing every muscle in his body as he did so. Groans left my mouth at the sight. I had never seen something so sexy in my life. Before long, his cool hands were pressed against my thick form once more. In one swift motion, the horseman spun me on my stomach and angled my hips in the air. I didn’t even have time to process what was happening, since his hands were palming my ass. He squeezed and massaged the soft tissue in a way I didn’t expect. He seemed completely mesmerized by it. Maybe it was the size or how soft it felt in his grip, but the horseman couldn’t get enough.
I giggled at the notion. “You could give it a smack if you want,” I said, wiggling my hips against his palms. “I won’t mind.”
The ghost paused the massaging of the rear and hesitantly raised his hand from my right cheek. He proceeded to give me the softest spank I had ever received in my life. I couldn’t help but erupt in a fit of laughter.
“You can do better than that,” I chuckled. “I’m a big girl, horseman. I handle a little pain.”
With a firm hand, the horseman spanked my ass once again. The feeling was somewhat indescribable. I had never been one for experiencing pain during sex, but being with him was starting to make me think otherwise. The sheer sting of the hit was enough to make my walls clench. He seemed to have noticed it as well. A shocked moan fell from my lips when the horseman did it again. That time, it was placed on the left cheek. A buzz of electricity coursed through my being with the second hit. My walls were oozing for him to invade them. The desire to be torn apart by the horse cock between his legs was growing greater by the second. The closer our bodies became, the more I wanted him. There was a force that was drawing us together. Something completely mythical and absolutely otherworldly. It felt like it was trying to tell us something.
But, I couldn’t decipher the message.
At least, not yet.
The moment he sunk into me I could feel my nerves begin to sing. The coldness of his body against my hot one was something divine. I pressed my face deeper into the pillows as he gave me everything he had. And it was a lot. It stretched me in either direction and made my canal spasm as a result. His cock pushed against every pressure point within my womanhood and I knew, then, that it would simply destroy me. I brought a shaky hand between my thighs as he started to rock against me. I rubbed my bud in lazy circles, a frugal effort to aid in my adjustment to his size. Low mewls fell from my lips as the thrusts started to increase in speed. The horseman had both hands on my hips as he moved against me. His hips rolled against my ass in a wave-like motion. The horseman didn’t seem interested in ‘fucking’ me, per se. He had no interest in giving me all that he had and shoving me into the mattress. When he moved against me, it didn’t feel like he was using my body. I didn’t feel like a tool to assist in his cardinal desires. He treated me like a prize; as if I was the main attraction. Even without a mouth, the horseman had communicated his intentions clearly.
He wanted me as a potential lover, not as a passing phase.
His actions— from the beautiful bouquets to the way he fingered me— were an act of courtship. Even with his member buried in my pussy, the ghost was still courting me. The rolling of his hips against my cunt and the soft grip on my hips were examples of that. Again, the horseman had no intention of ‘just’ fucking me. He wanted more. So, this little rendezvous was the perfect opportunity to express that. Rather than use me like a living, breathing fleshlight, the horseman decided to make love to me. He was proposing what a union could be like between us. Without saying a word, the horseman was explaining to me that I was capable of having both a lovely companion and a seductive paramour. He showed me that it was possible for me to have a gentleman that would get me flowers, and fuck me within an inch of my life.
Suddenly, a warm sensation started to flutter about my body. It gave me an air of comfort that I never experienced before. It gradually started to pool in my stomach, making my tummy feel warm in the process. The muscles in my body started to tense up and my grip on the mattress tightened. The breath in my throat grew thicker and my eyes fell shut. The gentle sound of the wind was the only thing to grace my ears. Every other sound drifted away. I could no longer hear the bed creaking beneath us, or the headboard hitting the wall. I wouldn’t hear my desperate gasps or the sound of our wet bodies hitting each other. Most importantly, I couldn’t hear the sapphic lovers enjoying themselves next door. At that point, their union no longer mattered to me. It was swiftly becoming something old and stale. Their betrayal was the most mundane thing to happen since we entered Evergreen County. In less than a week, I had a natural disaster grace my path, discovered that mythical beings existed, and was actively pursued by one. Not only that, but he was a better lover and companion than everyone before him.
Maybe I was entering my fifth stage of grief or maybe I was delusional, but I was swiftly getting over it.
“That’s it. . .” I grunted, my body still tense. “Keep going. . . I’m so close.”
The ghostly gentleman squeezed my hips tighter at the request. He kept his deep, seductive pace— not changing it one bit. If the arrangement was different, if he had a head, I knew the horseman would be the kind of guy to talk me through it. He’d whisper sweetnothings in my ear, calling me “beautiful” and “gorgeous”, while turning me into a slobbering, cock-hungry slut. He’d have a tongue like a snake, sneaky and deceptive. The horseman would never get rid of me if I could hear him speak. I’d never leave Evergreen County, even if my life depended on it.
The water in the shallow pool slipped over the edge and sent me into a spiral. The orgasm was deep, slow, and soul-wrenching. It unearthed something downright feral from my being. A low, groan poured from my mouth as I subconsciously threw my hips back to meet his. My mouth hung open like a bitch in heat and drool poured from the side of my mouth. My eyes rolled back until the whites were the only thing visible. Oxygen came rushing into my throat all at once. My throat started to heave and my heart began to pound in my chest. It was so loud. It began the only thing I could hear for a short while.
I didn’t even register that the horseman had changed positions. He hoisted my body from the bed and pressed my back against his chest. He hooked his left arm across my body and gently cupped my right breast in the process. His right arm wrapped around my waist, while his right hand gripped my hip. The ghost sunk back on his heels and separated his thighs a little bit more. My ass sat comfortably on his lap and his cock felt deeper than before. My walls were still fluttering when he started to move. The pace was faster than before. His hips moved like a piston, almost mechanical and precise. I could feel the head of his cock hammer the underside of my cervix. The pleasure point was getting obliterated at record time. The warm, fuzzy post-orgasm feeling had swiftly left my body. It was replaced with a burning hot desire that I, sadly, recognized. It was a feeling I had grown accustomed to in the short time our bodies were joined. The horseman was the only being to make me feel such cardinal desires. He was the walking epitome of sex, despite not having a head. Sex with him didn’t feel like a chore. It was an experience. An activity both parties could enjoy. And I was enjoying myself more than he could ever know.
It wasn’t long before his quick, machine-like thrust turned sloppy and clumsy. I could feel his lips begin to twitch the longer he pounded into my pussy. He was reaching his limit. I could feel the rapid pace at which his chest rose and fell against my back. It was a strange feeling, to say the least. At the front of my mind, I knew the horseman wasn’t alive. I knew he was a ghost, a headless one at that. However, I couldn’t process the feeling of humility I had gotten from him. The coldness I first felt when he touched me was no longer present. His body felt warm and inviting. It even had a thin sheet of sweat on it, just like mine. It could have been the crazy sex hormones coursing through my body, but it felt like the horseman was slowly becoming human.
I didn’t have to time to analyze the thought any further before the third climax came knocking at my womanhood. It was somehow even more powerful than the ones before. My entire body trembled as I came undone against the horseman. A loud, pleasurable scream flowed from my lips as I threw my head back. My hips bucked against his lap as liquid shot out of my cunt and coated his rod. My nails dug into his warm flesh as I rode out my high. The massive member began to vibrate and twitch within me. Shortly afterward, thick ropes of cum coated my slick walls. I groaned at the sensation. The horseman continued to pound into my used pussy until he physically couldn’t anymore. His body, also, trembled and shook against mine. The lasting effects of overstimulation eating away at his feral demeanor. His sloppy thrusts came to a slow stop and his arms loosened their grip.
The horseman repositioned our bodies for the final time that night.
With both of us on our sides and my face buried in his chest— I had never felt more content in my life.
I awoke to a gentle kiss placed on my forehead. Followed by another on the tip of my nose and one on each eyelid. A soft hand readjusted the silk bonnet on my head, before capturing the side of my face in its palm. It was warm, familiar, and inviting. I found my sleepy form leaning into it, nestling against it for comfort. Slowly, my tired eyes eased open. The bright sunlight forced me to immediately shut them and groan in annoyance. The thumb, attached to the warm palm, gently caressed my face. It stroked my cheek lovingly, before moving over to my lips. Tenderly, the digit ran across my bottom lip; sending shivers through my body once again.
Once again?
The memory of the horseman’s gentle fingers immediately came to mind. How they caressed my face and neck, before easing down to my cunt. The feeling of his thumb running against my lips was identical to the sensation I was feeling now. But, something was different about it. There wasn’t a sadness in the touch as it was before— only anticipation. As if he was waiting to finally kiss me after the night we had. That would’ve been impossible, given his current disposition. It would be impossible to share a kiss with the horseman since he was without the equipment necessary to achieve said embrace. Unless he managed to grow a head at some point during the night—
“Open your eyes, darling.” The voice was deep and smooth, like an aged wine. It brought pleasure to my eardrums and made my heart sing.
Upon easing my eyes open, I was graced with the most beautiful man I had ever seen. The warm sunlight gave his pale skin an ethereal glow. His deep, brown eyes shined like ambers in the light. He had high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Resting above a very pronounced chin was a pair of plump lips. They were soft and had a pinkish hue to them. Above them was his nose; it was straight and came to a subtle point. The shape of his eyes was narrow and just above them were a set of thin, blond brows. They matched the messy blond hair atop his head.
A smile spread upon his lips. “Good Morning, little owl,” he purred, pressing another kiss to my forehead. “How did you sleep?”
I matched the smile on his face. “I slept well,” I replied. “It’s great to finally see you. All of you.”
“And what a marvel it is to be seen by you,” he hummed, lovingly.
Hesitantly, I raised a gentle hand to his face. My warm fingers brushed against his plump lips; a weak attempt to determine if I had been dreaming.
I was not. This was all 100% real.
“You know,” I started, combing through his soft locks. “I have a lot of questions about. . . this.”
“I’m sure you do,” he smirked. “And I am more than happy to answer every last one of them.”
“Quite the charmer you are,” I quipped. “I bet you have all the ladies losing their heads over you.”
A deep, guttural laugh erupted from the man above me. It warmed my heart.
“You are quite the jokester, aren’t you?” He replied when he finally died down. “On the contrary, it was the exact opposite. I lost my head for a lady.”
A frown took over my face. “I’m sorry.”
The horseman used the awkwardness of the conversation to adjust his position above me. He slumped into the space on my left side and pulled me closer. His stronger arms cradled my soft body against his hard one. My bare chest was pressed against his and our legs were intertwined. It was painfully obvious that we were both quite naked underneath the covers. I could feel a familiar friend begin to twitch against my right thigh. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t ready for another round. Sure my body was on fire and there was a subtle ache in my walls, but the feeling of that man against me was something I wanted to relive. Especially now that I had something to look at.
The horseman was so pretty that it fucking hurt my feelings.
“It was a long time ago,” he sighed, stroking my cheek. “I hardly ever think about it anymore.”
“But. . .” I hesitated. “How were you able to wander around without your head?”
He thought for a minute. A sour look overtook his look of contentment. There was also a hint of shame in his eyes as well. Whatever he was about to say, he was deathly embarrassed about it.
“I made a bargain with the forest guardian as I was dying,” he admitted after some time. “I asked her for a chance to walk the earth again. To experience the love I had just previously lost again. Even after all she had done, I still loved my wife and I wanted to get back to her. The forest guardian must’ve been sympathetic and granted me one more night on this plane. In exchange, I was to be her servant and guard the north side of the forest until she no longer needed me. However, like most bargains, there would be a catch. I was to remain headless and walk the forest until the end of time.”
“But, what changed?” I asked, hanging on the edge of my seat. “Why do you have a head all of a sudden? After all that time has passed?”
The warm smile from earlier reappeared on his lips and the horseman pulled me closer. “You came into my life and changed everything.”
“How?” I said. “I didn’t even do anything.”
“That’s the point. You did nothing to warrant such devious actions from your friends, yet you still got betrayed. As did I,” he answered. “We share a pain known to many but not often spoken about it. The loss of a community. I could feel that pain the day you were in the boat. It drew me to you. I watched you cry from the shadows and my heart bled for you. I wanted to make you feel better by any means necessary and I heard flowers would do the trick.”
“So you started making me bouquets,” I interjected.
The horseman nodded. “But, I think it was your acceptance of me that freed me from servitude. Your words last night were genuine, along with your actions. You meant what you said and it thawed my frozen heart. I no longer wanted to live in solitude, roaming the forest for the rest of eternity. I wanted to be in love. You made me want to love again.”
I raised a shaky hand to his cheek and stroked it lovingly. “This is a lot to take in. There’s so much I to say, but I don’t even know where to start.”
“How about we start with our names?” The horseman suggested. “My name is Nanami Kento. What’s yours?”
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a/n: long time no see! I missed y'all! this took longer than i expected, but i hope it is to your linking. please give you sis some feedback! i wanna hear what you think. also, please vote for what piece you'd like to see me upload next!
click here for the POLL
until next time! see you later!
#chubby!reader#plus size reader#black reader#chubby reader#jjk angst#jjk fluff#jjk smut#jjk headcanons#jjk imagines#nanami jujutsu kaisen#kento nanami#jjk nanami#nanami smut#nanami kento#nanami x reader#jujutsu nanami#nanami jjk#jujutsu icons#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami drabbles#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#nanami kento smut#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami kento x y/n#jjk season 2#jujustsu kaisen x reader
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✧ mcl (hsl) flirts - voice headcanons ✧
note: receiving an ask wondering who i’d headcanon as voice for castiel, i got the idea of making hdcs what the hsl boys voices would sound like!!! obv everything is sfw, cts of the pics used to the respective owners on pinterest! enjoyy xo
𖹭 castiel.
i feel like castiel has the typical american english accent. i headcanon him to be born in a big city, like new york or los angeles, due to his parents having a well-paid job that allowed that kind of life.
for that reason, i think chris pine (jack frost’s voice actor in “rise of guardians”) would be a perfect example of what his voice would sound like;
sassy, provocative, yet kind and genuine.
𖹭 nathaniel.
as mentioned in my amber’s hdcs, i headcanon his family is german. both him and his sister can fluently speak german and they do have a little bit of an accent when talking in other languages.
someone like louis hofmann (werner pfenning’s actor in “all the light we cannot see”) would suit him good, even if his accent would be a little less marked than werner’s.
his tone is mostly quiet and low, but he does have his bursts of energy, especially when addressing castiel or others he doesn’t really like; that’s when the german kicks in the most.
𖹭 lysander.
oh, this boy is a gentle giant and his voice is definitely the deepest one, which is accentuated by the way he talks: basically whispering all the time. nobody knows whether it’s shyness or just his normal way of speaking,
all i know is that his voice would sound close to josh o’connor’s (price charles in “the crown”, season 3).
yes, he is british, with a beautiful londinese accent.
𖹭 armin.
lucas zade jumann (gilbert blythe’s actor in “ann with an e”) would be perfect for him. just a little more expressive.
listen, this guy is a walking meme, okay? he’d be dead serious for a moment and making questionable noises (yes, he’s the type of friend that would moan when you’re on call with your mom) the second later. he’s also freaking loud when talking and doesn’t even realize it.
another thing: he’s scarily good at making impressions of anime characters. beware for phone pranks.
𖹭 kentin.
even after puberty hit, his voice still remains the sweetest of them all. his french accent only makes it worse, making jessie james grell (armin arlert’s english voice actor in “attack on titan”) a pretty accurate option for him.
the voice actor isn’t french and i don’t really know if he ever played french characters, but just imagine his voice with a subtle french accent in it.
don’t get fooled though. the boy has lungs and, just like armin, can easily forget how loud he can get when upset. mostly happens when castiel’s around.
gosh i had so much fun writing these headcanons!! tbh i hope these are good, i mainly listen to italian stuff so my knowledge of english voice actors/actors is limited :,) lmk what you think, if the voices match what you think they’d actually sound like.
✧ mcl navigation. ✧
#my candy love#mcl high school life#my candy love high school life#mcl headcanons#mcl hsl#mcl castiel#mcl nathaniel#mcl lysander#mcl armin#mcl kentin#my candy love kentin#my candy love nathaniel#my candy love lysander#my candy love castiel#my candy love armin#castiel veilmont#nathaniel carello#lysander ainsworth#armin keenan#kentin lerhay#✧ mora’s mcl.
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Everything is Not As it Seems - Part 3!
Summary: You’ve been abducted, and the inner circle have to find you as quickly as possible.
Author’s note: Part three baby!! There will be one last part, I really just want to draw out the ending a bit.
(Part 1) (Part 2)
Rhys’s words ring in your ears.
“No that’s not.. that’s not… possible.” You say, thinking about the past month with Azriel. “I’m really good at seeing through glamours, I would have seen.. I would have seen something.”
You back away from them, not knowing what to think. Was this some cruel joke? Some initiation as Azriel’s bride-to-be? Some payback for the two of you keeping them from wedding planning?
Feyre grabs your hands, removing the bracelets and rings from your wrists and fingers. “We believe Eris had Hybern custom make these, to block out your power. We also think he put faebane in your food to keep your powers down.” She pauses, keeping a hold on your hands, gently stroking them with her thumbs. “We also think the faebane was laced to make you more accepting of things - so you wouldn’t question too much.”
Feyre speaks to you so softly, so gently. She knows what it’s like to be disillusioned from the one you love most, but she can’t begin to understand how embarrassed and used you feel.
You look between the two of them, not knowing what to believe. Why would they lie to you? Then again, why would Eris go through all this trouble to marry you?
“I think seeing these might help,” Rhysand replies, pulling out a massive stack of opened envelopes. They were all addressed to you from Eris. “None of them say much - mostly just pleasantries, asking how you are, that sort of thing.” Rhysand hands the stack to you, “but he’s been sending them weekly for a few years now. They stopped arriving the week you were taken.”
“I’m gonna be sick,” you tell Feyre, and Rhys winnows you into your bathroom. You spend the next several hours vomiting, the two of them at your side as you process this.
The entire time you begin to tell them things in-between waves of nausea. They find out you haven’t seen anyone else in the time you’ve been captive, other than seeing the occasional servants and wedding planner. It seems Eris kept you a well-hidden secret.
You tell them about how Eris saw you every day, sleeping in your bed every night. He ate dinner with you every night, telling you how much he adored you. He spoke of his excitement for your wedding, your future children, when you realize something.
“I could never say his name.” You whisper, as you lean against the porcelain toilet, “I would try to call him Azriel but it would never come out.”
You stare at the wall in the bathroom, still digesting that none of it was real. “It all felt so real,” you whisper, the admission making your heart ache. “I feel like a fool.”
“Mother above,” Cassian says, standing in the doorway, a mixture of horror and anger overtaking his features. “I’ll kill him,” he says, coming to wrap you in his arms. He sits down on the ground next to you, letting you crawl into his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, and just sob.
“Does he know?” you choke out later on, voice hoarse from crying and vomiting and your voice muffled from burying your face in Cassian’s neck. The question had been at the forefront of your mind, but fear keeping it from your lips.
“No, he just knows you were engaged.” Rhys replies, his tone betraying the cool exterior he’s trying to show. Truthfully, all of your friends were heartbroken at this event, heartbroken knowing that they’d bring you home, but that you would never be the same again. Heartbroken that this might keep you and Azriel away from each other.
“I can’t see him,” your voice barely a whisper, “at least not yet. I- it’s - too embarrassing,” you say, looking away from your friends, but still seeing a sliver of pity cross all of their faces at your words.
-
Azriel had no idea why Rhysand wouldn’t let him visit you, going so far as someone always being on post outside if your door. It was, quite frankly, starting to piss him off. All he wanted was to see you, to make sure you’re okay. As okay as you can be, in these circumstances. He hadn’t even caught a glimpse of you, for mother’s sake.
Not catching sight of you was the only thing keeping him from tearing Eris limb from limb. He just needed to catch a glimpse, then he could tear Eris apart.
Azriel had kept shadows posted to watch the guard change outside your door, and, although he isn’t proud of it, maybe he laced his brother’s meal with some sedatives so he would fall asleep at post outside your door.
Azriel slips into your room, quietly shutting the door behind him, trying not to disturb Cassian slumped outside of your door. He comes to sit in the chair next to where your head lays, waiting for you to wake.
-
“I do,” he says.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant tells you two. He pulls back your veil, his beautiful hazel eyes turning quickly into amber, his features sharpening. He laughs, the sound dissonant across your ears.
“Oh little fox, if only there was a little shadowsinger who loved you.” Azriel began, his hair turning bright red, his skin paling, his wings shrinking. “It’s too late for that love story, but now ours can truly begin.”
“Eris?” You ask, as the male before you has shifted completely. “Where’s- what happened to Azriel?”
He puts his hands around your face, “he was never here,” and he leans in, kissing you.
You jolt awake, breathing heavy at the dream. You start taking in the room, and someone’s sitting in the chair next to your bed, his wings ducking to appear smaller.
“No no no,” you say, scooting away from him. You look down, seeing the black bed sheets, your black nightgown, and you stop. You look around the room, breathing heavy.
Azriel hears you muttering, “I’m in the night court, I’m here, this is real,” on a loop before he hesitantly approaches.
Your breath hitches, and you hold out a hand, stopping him in place. Your hand is shaking, gods what happened to you? “Tell me something only the real Azriel would know.” You say, with pure conviction on your face, despite the tremors across your body.
He pauses, considering this. “On solstice this past year, Rhys won the annual snowball fight. Cass and I think he cheated, but we have no proof.”
You let your guard down a little. “You’re here right now, visiting me, Azriel. You’re Azriel, spymaster, shadowsinger, my friend. Real or not real?”
Azriel didn’t think his heart could break more, but he just heard it shatter again. What did Eris do to you?
“Real,” he states, hoping that’s the right answer.
He realizes that you can’t keep eye contact with him, but you keep looking at his forehead.
He cautiously sits on the bed, a few feet away from you, extending a hand if you wanted to take it. The nature of your relationship was incredibly friendly, the two of you often seeking out the other’s touch, whether it’s holding hands, an arm around your shoulder, or even late night cuddles. You two have always been incredibly honest and open with each other, which is why Azriel starts speaking.
“I’m glad you’re home.”
And the sob that tears from you pierces his soul.
“Az-“ you choke out, “I have to tell you something. I don’t want to tell you, but I have to.”
He watches you, looking like a cornered animal, afraid that he’d pounce on you the moment he saw an opening.
“Eris, uh,” you say, pausing when you hear Azriel’s growl at the name, “wanted me to marry him.”
You look down at your hands, trying to extend the moment for as long as possible, because everything will change. It’s not just the pain of the rejection that will hurt, but you know Azriel. He’s always so soft with you, and the softness he’ll use to let you down gently will feel like a stab to the heart.
“To get me to do that, he uh. He changed his form,” you say, hands shaking, not wanting to tell him this. “He glamoured himself into someone that I would marry. Someone I wouldn’t question why we had to get married so quickly.”
Azriel was following along, afraid of what you were going to tell him, who you would possibly marry in less than two months given the option.
“We stayed in a cottage I own in Autumn, I haven’t been there in decades, I should have seen a connection, but I didn’t.” You take a large inhale, hoping the words will come out strong and steady. Rip off the bandaid, you think.
“Eris glamoured himself into you, because he knew I’d say yes. He glamoured himself into you because he knew I wouldn’t question a fast engagement and I would marry you, no hesitation.”
Azriel reaches a hand out onto your calf, trying to ground himself in anyway possible. His breath hitches, hoping he isn’t mistaking your words.
“You would marry… me?”
You nod timidly, embarrassment shining through. “I almost did,” you squeak out.
“But that wasn’t me!” It’s a sentiment you’re familiar with now, but it still stings. You physically flinch, your worst fears coming to the surface.
“But I thought it was! Now I have all of these fake memories of a relationship with you that never happened!” Your voice starts getting louder, “I feel so embarrassed! He played me like a fiddle! It’s so obvious how in love with you I am someone pretended to be you and I fell for it! If Feyre didn’t come when she did, I’d be married to Eris right now!” You pause, your voice going soft when you say, “I’m so blinded by you, that I never once thought to question it. I’m embarrassed because I know you don’t feel that way for me, but I fell for the illusion anyway.”
The tears were streaming down your face, now. Azriel was frozen at this admission. The words he so desperately wanted to hear, but not in the context he wanted them. He was stuck in his own thoughts when he heard you say, “can you please leave now? I’ve been uh humiliated enough these past few months, I don’t need it furthered by watching you contemplate how to let me down gently.”
“Sweetheart, I-“
Rhys barges in the room, having heard the commotion. He starts speaking mind to mind with Azriel, telling him to leave or he’ll make him leave. Azriel wants to listen to his high lord, but he quickly grabs your hands and tells you, “I would have fallen for the same trap. No matter the warning bells or questionable signs, you could ask me to marry you right now and I’d find a priestess.” He paused, about to leave, “if you want to call yourself a fool for falling for it, you’d have to call me a fool as well. You could hold a dagger to my heart, and I would say yes.”
Rhys’s power over Azriel finally won out, Azriel’s form folding into this shadow. Now that he got access in, he left a few shadows to keep you company and to send for him when you want to talk again.
Rhys comes over to you, and holds you while you cry. “Rhys, I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
#acotar fanfiction#azriel#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#azriel fluff#ahhhhh!!!! what do we think???#azriel angst
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Zutara prompts: Stepping in front of the other to shield them from something/someone.
Please ☺️
Zuko was shocked to see his father had actually showed up tonight. It wasn't the first time Zuko was being honored for an accomplishment, and this wasn't even a particularly big win for him. Last year, he had won a Phoenix Crown award for his work on the score of the Painted Lady movie. By comparison, a golden leaf at the Yangbaechu Awards for his tsungi horn album was the equivalent of taking home first place at a school art show. It was still an honor, of course, but far fewer people cared. Still, his uncle had insisted on throwing a party to celebrate, as he always did (though Zuko suspected Iroh had only really meant to provide an alternative to the wilder celebrity after parties that usually took place on these nights). Tonight, Ozai had surprised everyone by actually showing up.
Far less surprising was the look of disapproval permanently etched onto his face. Ozai's face was twisted as if he smelled something terrible. He cast a judgemental look around the room in such an obvious way, Zuko knew that his and Iroh's guests could tell exactly what he was thinking. Zuko could practically read his father's thoughts. So disappointing, his son. Zuko had managed to achieve his own fame and fortune separate from Ozai's political and business world, yet he wasted his time and talent on movies with no prestige, and concept albums that most people only pretended to understand. He was friends with mostly B and C list celebrities- certainly no power players who could help Zuko move up in the world. Never mind that Zuko was making a living- a very good living- doing what made him happy. Ozai had never cared for his son's happiness.
Right around the time Zuko was beginning to wonder why Ozai had bothered to show up at all, his father met his eye. Then to Zuko's surprise, Ozai came over. Zuko down the last of his lava whiskey sour and braced himself.
"You're wasting your time," Ozai said. Zuko fought the urge to lower his head. He was as tall as Ozai now. His father couldn't tower over him to intimidate him anymore.
"I've got an award that says otherwise," Zuko replied through clenched teeth. "Several of them, in fact." Rage flashed across Ozai's face, and in spite of himself, Zuko cringed a little.
"Still a mouthy little snot after all these years."
"Why did you come?" Zuko demanded. "Since I'm such a disappointment to you, why don't you just leave me to live my own life?"
"And let you keep embarrassing the family name?" Ozai sneered. "It was bad enough when my brother turned his back on the company to start his little tea shop, but now here you are making a fool of us with your antics. Your sister is poised to launch her campaign for governor, but all anyone can talk about is what actress you're dating, or what foolish little superhero movie you're making songs for."
"Well, I'm sorry Azula isn't more interesting," Zuko said. "Why don't you tell everyone what she got up to in college? I bet the people would find that a lot more interesting than what I'm doing. I know that would defeat the purpose of you spending so much money to cover it up, but it would take the attention off of me."
"I see your success has made your forget to be humble. I ought to remind you." Ozai scowled at Zuko. His hand flexed at his side, as if he were going to strike his son. It wouldn't be the first time, but would he really dare in front of so many witnesses?
"There you are!" Zuko and Ozai jumped in surprise when Katara appeared at his side. Katara had a wide smile on her face, but her sharp eyes were on Ozai in a way that Zuko knew was a warning. "You can't spend your entire party tucked up in a dark corner. At least not without me. So, catch me up. What are we talking about?"
"This is family business," Ozai sneered at her. "Why don't you go find some paparazzi to pose for."
"Maybe some other time," Katara's smile never wavered, but her eyes grew sharper.
"Do you know who I am?" Ozai sputtered, affronted.
"I do know who you are," Katara said, crossing her arms. She stepped forward, and drew up to her full height (which still left her a good half a head shorter than Ozai, even in heels), and glared at him directly. She stood in front of Zuko protectively. "I know exactly who you are, and I don't like you."
"As if I care what some tarty little slut thinks," Ozai sneered. "I'm talking to my son, so leave us alone, or I'll-" Before Ozai could finish his threat, Katara had grabbed his arm and thrown him over her shoulder. He landed on his back with a body rattling thud. The air left his lungs in a whoosh and all Ozai could do was groan weakly.
"I've taken Southern Tribe style martial arts since I was a kid," Katara said, leaning over Ozai. "I know exactly how to handle bullies like you. Now, I have on good authority that you're trespassing, so I'd suggest you leave before I really have to get tough on you."
Ozai managed to stumble onto his feet. He glowered down at Katara. She stared back at him defiantly. He seemed to be about to retaliate, but then he saw Zuko standing behind her with a dark, challenging look on his face. Then Ozai noticed that the other partiers had stopped their talking and dancing and were now watching him with various degrees of warning on their faces. Then he saw the security guards standing at the perimeter of the room as if they were waiting for a signal. For the first time in Zuko's life, Ozai looked a bit scared. Finally, he straightened his jacket and sniffed haughtily at Zuko and his friends, and left without another word.
After a few minutes, the party atmosphere returned. A handful of Zuko's friends came up and checked in on him to make sure he was okay, but after some brief reassurances, they returned to their conversations and drinks and Zuko was once again surrounded by the lively sounds of his friends having fun. Katara slipped her arm through his.
"I'm sorry if I went too far," she murmured. Zuko leaned down and kissed her forehead.
"No, you were spectacular," he assured her. "I didn't think I could be any more attracted to you, but I stand corrected."
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One of the best prank ever
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b3244294cb3e1f614137fb9636ca64e5/430ddd7494622c0c-e9/s540x810/9418909807505f72f17e891a79a647392ef5be13.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b3244294cb3e1f614137fb9636ca64e5/430ddd7494622c0c-e9/s540x810/9418909807505f72f17e891a79a647392ef5be13.jpg)
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader
Summary: Yelena and Kate fools Peter into a web of lies that eventually creates something more than a mischievous prank. [Loosely based on this incorrect quotes]
Warning: 18+ (G), fake relationships, comedy, pranks, fluff | Word count: 2.9k
| Remember, they’re married! | Notify | Navigation |
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b3244294cb3e1f614137fb9636ca64e5/430ddd7494622c0c-e9/s540x810/9418909807505f72f17e891a79a647392ef5be13.jpg)
A joke was uttered harmlessly into the pleasant space, materialized at a whim, and evolving into something hazardously serious. It was that, neither of them would come to discover who was to blame for such a disobedient indication. If not for the known existence of two culprits, already pattering of their next move, tarnishing what peace that once held—which havoc was meant for outside threats, thus, less nuisance was applauded—and the ones who oath to mischiefs tendencies. An unlikely duo at first glance and the absolute roar of chaos together; Yelena Belova and Kate Bishop.
And alike brilliant ideas, it had begun from a harmless observation. Though, it wasn’t the two friends, a renowned spy, and a witty archer, it was another who had awakened such impish ideas in the head of such operations. It was that voice, an adolescent boy, chattering away cluelessly and who had uttered;
“I saw Natasha in the training room before I came here. She was training with Y/n again— I mean, not in the again, like uh that’s bad, but the— sorry, they’re always training together! They’re such good friends. I like seeing them together, it’s just like me and Ned! We always do things together…our bond is that strong.”
Peter Parker was always mindful of those around, reasonable as he speaks and caring as he offers support without expecting for something in return. He was the youngest among the two friends, often confiding them of his adventures as Spiderman and his ordinary life or merrily gushing about something in the compound. Those known to his behaviour, doesn’t consider more than a young boy’s excitement of working with the Avengers which electrifying high has yet to diminish from his mind.
“I saw them sharing lunch too. But Ned doesn’t really share, he says he will, then he ends liking the food he didn’t order so I end up eating the food that he doesn’t like but ordered…” Peter continued, retelling another tale of his friend from outside the hero business.
He visits the pair occasional, mostly when he had time to spare, since the heavy load of starting university and extended time spend swinging around the neighbourhood. Similarly, they were three the youngest in training and felt more correlating with the other as compared to the older members. If the pair wasn’t there, he occupies his time pestering Tony or exhausting himself with training which had led him to his current position in the kitchen. An hour of training later and he was eager to satiate his hunger.
Yelena and Kate were intently listening to Peter’s usual rambles or more so, exceedingly interested in watching him use his webs to gather ingredients for his sandwich while they sat there, eating their mundane made bowls of cereal. Nods of interest was shared at the one side conversation, till that bubble was popped by Peter’s spike in narration about the two former spies of opposing countries and their incredibly treasured friendship.
His tone resonates of something remarkable about witnessing you and Natasha training together and the murmurs of almost never seeing you both apart. Natasha and Y/n are always together, Peter had acknowledged, tumbling upon more story of the two spies together and the honourable mentions of his own friendship.
At that notable realisation, an idea surface brashly in Yelena’s mind, blossoming sweetly in her broad mind as her lips curls brazenly with a smile at the prospering idea. Peter’s unintentional nature of oversharing at times instigated troubles while some rare moments, a blessing for those around, and it was the sole reason for the fuelling ideas in her head. Those that pleads for her to listen and martialize vague thoughts into brilliant reality, and with that—a story far less innocence than a scene of two friends training together, spending endless time together, and just the idea of them together.
Yelena performed first, conveying the look of disapproval by the shake of her head. Blonde tresses budge at the motion, tickling her cheeks as she brushes strands of her hair away. “Oh no, Peter Parker,” her voice dropped, eyebrows furrowed, and arms crossed, as if contemplating on disclosing a crucial information. “No,” she dragged the word, staring at him like he had candidly shared a confidential information.
This was it, the perfect opportunity, that seldom occasion that roused gleefully in Yelena’s favour and she cherish it, accepting the gracious chance happily. Despite the distinct warnings echoing her head. The voice of her sister, Natasha, taunts her mind with an intimidating glare set on her form and the scolding heard from various voices after. However, the golden opportunity had appeared suddenly, and it offered her a chance of an adventure to prank merrily and verbalizing funny jokes, sometimes far too dangerous too. Yelena rather partakes in activities that wasn’t projected upon her life by other, and enjoy the taste of freedom with it.
It was that, the sweet joy derived from stolen childhood, and the American dream, like those shown on television.
On the other end, Kate was situated in a conflicted position. She wasn’t aware of her friend’s noiseless scheming. Confusion swirls tiresome ideas in her mind at Peter’s tales, the questions of why was stuck at the tip of her tongue, till her gaze flickers to her friend. Those ardent eyes swims in hues of hazel and gleams gleefully, eyebrows quirks and lips pressed together, translating to none other than the common expression of trouble.
The same look that illustrated their ultimate trademark as mischiefs or troublemakers as Clint had proposed, still fuming in annoyance and tired at the unlikely duo of friends.
Conveniently, their shared moniker symbolised the start of their hectic friendship which ensued after the success of their first operation coded as Hawk and Sparks. An apparent dazzling prank involving radiantly colourful glitters and Clint’s most priced weapons, his beloved pair of bow and arrows. The foremost comedic performance or perhaps, scary, depending on who you asked—corresponding to Kate’s rational fear of inciting resentment from her idol and partner—was the exaggerated appearance of said hero’s threatening weapons. A bow glazed in glitters of various hues and each arrow adorned with a specific colour of glitter.
Despite the enrage brought devastatingly upon Clint, the enemies were apprehended swiftly from their bewildered seconds of weakness at witnessing Hawkeye tugging at his weapon and revealing such glowing equipment. It wasn’t the least bit intimidating when sparkling weaponries was their hostile warning.
The wondrous duo of Yelena and Kate, somehow, and frequently, find themselves tangled in one mess after another. It seemed as if, trouble appears on a gleaming golden platter for their joyous consumption.
Only to them, and only for them.
Kate sighed, half concern by the erupt exchange and half struggling to imitate Yelena’s expression. Acting and pretending wasn’t her expertise. “Yeah, very bad,” she pushed, cheeks puffed, and her arms crossed at the scene unfolding before her curious eyes.
It was once terrifying to not know of her friend’s scheming, specifically for someone who had habitually found herself in compromising situations, Yelena’s influence had undoubtedly brewed confidence from being an accomplice to her friend’s ideas. At the stage of their friendship, worry doesn’t itch her throat as she continued her performance to invoke the best realistic lies at every spoken word.
The two friends wordlessly collaborated for their present plan or more so, the inevitable prank, by gazing into each other eyes, the gleaming sort of difference between two, and only known to them as their anticipating mischief. Other had seen this. Peter had watched the scene of them, he was watching them, the exchange and the revelation that came after. Worry looms over him at his friends’ expression. His eyebrow twitches, brains pulling at each thread to recall the decisions he made within the last twenty-four hours.
Peter doesn’t reconsider anything else than something he had done. It must had been his fault. He was different like that, so unlike them. Always genuinely polite, and naturally attentive to conversation. Aunt May taught him the best manners which he promised to preserve. The friendly pose he exhibits was always prominent, either as an average boy or a crime fighting hero, and accurately credited as the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.
“What’s wrong? What did I do? Please, I can fix it,” Peter expressed worriedly, fingers drumming nervously on the surface of the grey marble counter. His hunger forgotten as he wondered if the kitchen was always unpleasantly humid, the kind of heat that scorches through his suit and formulate a layer of sweat on his skin, or perhaps, his body was simply steaming from feeling anxious.
Yelena surveyed the scene first. “Do you not know?” she asked, feigning disbelief as she steps warily into his space and pressed her hand firmly on his shoulder.
Peter denied, shaking his head at the supposed information, and sharing a look of nervous between the pair. “It’s bad, isn’t it? It’s about Tony, isn’t it? He thinks of me as too much of a son so he doesn’t want me here anymore.”
The ambitious performance halted at such unexpected revelation. Kate’s eyebrows furrowed as her mouth parted in utter shock, and Yelena remained standing there, both glancing at the other, sharing the same perplexed look at their friend’s fumbling state. Kate mouthed something along the line of, “Daddy issues,” and Yelena nodded her head hastily. “So weird,” she had responded in a similar manner.
Pausing for few seconds, Yelena interjected Peter’s tormented mumblings. “No, no, he doesn’t know!” she makes a clicking sound after, her crimson tongue tapping at the roof of her mouth. She wordlessly announced her exit with a final squeeze of her hand over his shoulder and turning away from his doe eyes.
“Wait!”
A smile curls on her lips, kind of worrisome look for those aware of her brashness. Delight stirs in her chest at her quick-witted scheming. Yelena swiftly spins, immediately masking her pleasure with a miserable frown, aiding to her performance and agony that looms on the poor boy’s hunch posture.
Peter fumbled with his agile fingers, pressing them together on the marble counter. It was a stark contrast from his pale skin to the grey shade, then he stared at it enough to agitate himself into clasping his hands together. Ultimately, his arms fell entirely to his side with a defeated sigh. “Please tell me what’s wrong. I will fix it. I swear,” he promised, and instantly stumbled backward into a stool behind him, Yelena’s swift reflex halted his embarrassing fall. “Sorry, sorry, and thank you…” he shyly scratched the nape of his neck, a red rash appearing at the nervous impulse.
Yelena released an exceptionally long sigh and nodded her head, staring ahead at Peter. “Follow me, Spider-man,” she demanded, promptly taking the steps aways from the kitchen.
There, head of blonde locks bounces to a familiar tune that buzzes at her mumbling, and something that sparked Kate’s mind into trying to remember the song. All while Peter trails behind the two friends quietly. The two friends were discreetly observing their surrounding for any sort of unexpected guest or disruption, and exchanging a pleasant nod with the other at their current prank.
Offices and vacant rooms were insignificant as they passed each one, before standing across the merge of two heavy metal doors. It led to an extensive training room, equipped with various gym equipment and an area for sparring. Out of the three, Kate advanced forward, warily peeking through the rectangle window situated on each side of the door. She met sight of the two occupants, former assassins huffing and exerting their strength by sparring together. Both were completely unaware of prying eyes outside or Peter’s feet anxiously tapping the ground, each struck of noise echoes through the hallway.
Natasha was standing in the middle of the navy-coloured rubber mat, graciously shifting between her bare feet, fists raised securely, and an arrogant smirk curls on her lips. It takes a moment, two bodies round the other, before she swiftly pushed you down with a loud thud. Muddled chuckles was heard soon after. A victorious smile appeared on Natasha’s face while you had scoffed, shaking your head at your defeat, then a smile sneaks onto your face as Natasha uttered something.
It was enough proof for Kate to shift her gaze, meeting Yelena’s awaiting answer and nodding her head in confirmation.
Yelena takes the same steps forward, facing the opposite window from her friend. She leisurely taps the glass with her knuckles. “You see them, yes?”
Faith seems eager by her side, easily following through her plan, when they witness Natasha extending her hand towards you. Unexpectedly, your body plummet into Natasha’s body when you had lost your balance, and she swiftly held you, bodies pressed flushed together. The sheer seconds where eyes met, the undivided attention, the touch of skin, the hands that grasps the other, the corners of full lips lifting with a smile, the shared clumsiness which made those smiles widen. It was the perfect moment.
Yelena beams at the sight. She was witnessing you and Natasha like this, so foolishly relaxed, so easily drawing into her plan like there was an understanding on the extend of where her ideas went.
Peter’s eyes widen more after witnessing the exchange. “Yes— I mean, I guess-- they’re really good friends?”
His innocent perception of such scene had nearly influenced her decision from continuing with her vicious plan. Those doe eyes, high-pitched voice, and legs alike a new born reindeer, tripping with his steps or simply falling into her mischief plotting. It almost urges her intuition to end her plan, dust her shoulder off that mischief dirt, and move forward with a different kind of plan which will surely be another prank.
Almost, that word bears a hefty weight, and Yelena is far stronger than some word.
“You are so wrong. Kate Bishop, tell Spider-man that he’s wrong!” she waved her hand, emphasising the mistake made by the boy, and her friend speedily agreed. Both mirrored the look of disappointment to abet their narrative.
“No! I can’t mess this up.” Peter whined, feeling apprehensive at the possibility of being rejected as an Avenger. One mistake and it’s enough to end everything. He can’t afford that.
Kate, the overly compassionate friend between the two, hurriedly comforted him. “Okay, calm down. Peter, everything will be fine,” she verbalized softly, and taking into consideration of his hyperventilating as her hand pressed firmly on his shoulder. “Let’s listen to what Yelena has to say, okay?” she proposed as she discreetly sends a pointed look at her friend.
Out of everything that Kate had learned, either willingly or unwillingly, on the topic surrounding Yelena—the most palpable trait of her friend was her constant desire to dramatized situations with the ultimate purpose of agitating said person. She had mentioned once or twice of how it was amusing to witness people stir by the simple work of her words. However, Kate isn’t too keen about it, the first time she experienced still instigates a chilly feeling over her body.
Yelena groaned at her friend. “Fine. Ugh, so impatient.”
Before disclosing what was presumed as the most significant information, Yelena crossed her arms and straightened her posture, she spared one last look through the window where her sister was training with her partner. Muffled thuds could be heard, then the nervous tapping of Peter’s feet and Kate’s jacket rustling at each movement as she attentively surveys their surroundings.
“They are not friend, Peter Parker.”
The declaration was clear. It wasn’t alarming or thrilling, perhaps, it sparked more confusion than worry on the gullible boy. Peter’s eyes, wide and bleary, darts between the two friends to ensure those words were the climax of a finality that caused him stress. Kate answered his unspoken questions with a lenient nod of her head, enough motion for her brunette hair to drape around her face and shield herself from revealing her lack of understanding on Yelena’s plan, and another, revealing the truth to Peter.
“They are married. Natasha and Y/n are married.”
Kate gasped, slender fingers drawing her hair away like pulling apart curtains, and revealing her expression, mouth gaping and eyes wide open. Two stunned faces stared at Yelena’s knowing façade. The new information was unexpected to them, neither assuming anything close to this.
Your friendship with Natasha was familiar to everyone, one always helping the other and working together fluidly. Marriage, however, wasn’t something that would have been a conclusion to the close relationship.
“Unless you are married to your best friend,” Yelena spoke teasingly, her forefinger pointed at the pair then meeting Peter’s eyes, he denied with flushed cheeks. “They are very close, not like friends...but as a married couple,” she added, nodding her head approvingly at the statement.
They glanced into the training room where you were playfully pushing Natasha’s shoulder as she retaliated with a harsher push. Still, all so unaware of the declared marriage to each other.
With that, the start of a harmless joke turned into a thriving prank by the marvellous mind of Yelena Belova and Kate Bishop.
The mischief duo, after subsiding Peter’s worry, had spent hours narrowing down the best name for their plan. It was accordance to what Yelena had argued as the best, what Kate presume was easier to remember, and the final that would be deemed as; one of the best prank ever.
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NEXT
#Remember they’re married!#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x you#yelena belova x reader#kate bishop x reader
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Old Habits Die Hard
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summary: you and jude have been best friends all throughout middle and high school and often had this running joke of pretending to be a couple to get out of uncomfortable situations or just to laugh about it. But ever since he went to germany and you started university in Madrid, things have slowed down. What happens when he signs for Real Madrid and your paths cross again?
pairing: Jude Bellingham x Y/N
genre: slight angst(maybe not)/ mostly fluff
————
You started your day as any other, getting up and ready and heading to your first class of the day. It’s been like this for two years now, you left Birmingham to study communications in Madrid and started living there. It wasn’t bad, you had friends and your family visited regularly but if you had the chance to bring something back from your old life it would be Jude Bellingham.
You guys were best friends all your younger years, your families were close and so were you. Even though your lives were different, this didn’t let it affect you and lived your lives as besties. You knew the line between friendship and more was blurred on several occasions where you had to pretend to be together at a party or on the streets and felt uncomfortable. At first it started out as just that, a protective shield Jude had for you but after a few times it became more often and you did it as a joke. Holding hands and holding each other close, fooling the world but the only people fooled were you two. You had feelings for each other but didn’t see it until it’s too late and you had to move across europe being far away. He moved to Dortmund and you got in a school in Madrid.
That was it until he signed for Real Madrid this summer and you heard it over the news, you tried keeping in touch but it was hard and your schedules didn’t allow you, daily facetimes soon turned into montly texts but now that he’s here, you wondered if he’d reach out. You could also do it but you decided to wait to see if he’d do it. He didn’t.
“Earth to Y/N.” Val said as she waved her hand in front of your face.
“What?” you asked not realizing you were thinking about Jude again.
“Do you want to go to the game with us?” she asked motioning between her and her boyfriend, Marco.
“What game?”
“Madrid against getafe of course.” she laughed but when you didn’t join her face became serious.
“What’s going on baby?” she asked.
“Nothing, of course I’ll go” you said even though your face looked white. You had gone to games with your friends before but this was different, you were going to see Jude for the first time in years.
At home you fixed your jersey you got last year with Vini’s name on it and looked at yourself. Your hands were slightly shaky and you thought about texting Jude but decided against it. It was a match day and you didn’t know how he’d react. Also, you didn’t want to see him, you repeatedly said to yourself, he didn’t call you.
The stadium was halfway full when you entered. Found your seats with Val and Marco anxiously waiting but this didn’t stop you from taking a photo and posting it on your story. After 10 more minutes your phone lit up and you didn’t expect to see the name Jobe Bellingham on it.
“Are you at the game🤩” he asked on insta.
“Yes, are you?” You missed Jobe, spending this much time with Jude meaning you were around him always, practically growing up together.
You quickly sent a few texts back and forth and he insisted on getting you into the family section to sit with their mom. You declined politely, nervous about the whole thing, saying you were with friends but Jobe didn’t listen and got you your seats before the game even started. You hugged them while explaining your friends how you know the family and Val whispered “You’ve got some explaining to do once we get out of here.” You just shot her a look and sat down. You started catching up with Jobe and Denise.
“Did Jude not book you seats in this section?” Denise asked shocked about your seating decision before meeting them.
“Actually, he doesn’t know I’m here.” you politely smiled not knowing how much Jude has told them about your falling out.
Jobe gave his mom a look which means he knew.
“Oh honey, you should’ve just told him. You know he has a thick head.” she laughed and you just felt comfortable around them.
The match started and it was a great one, with a goal from Jude on the 95th minute winning Real the game and the whole stadium stood up cheering, you included.
After everyone started clearing out the stadium Val looked at you.
“We need to go, are you coming or”
“Oh she’s with us don’t worry” Jobe said over you and you couldn’t even protest. You hugged them goodbye and started getting up thinking you were all leaving.
“You should wait at the tunnel.” Jobe said into your ear
“Jobe, look I don’t even know”
“Of course you do, you’re just too stubborn to admit it. Now go.” he said with a stern look and it wasn’t very effective but you still stood up and made your way to the tunnel shaking from excitement. What if he didn’t want to see you?
“Are you lost?” someone said behind you and you realized from the shirt he was a Getafe player. He was smiling genuinely.
“No I’m actually” you started but was cut off immediately.
“Oh hey baby, are you ready to go?” you looked up at the voice and saw Jude standing between you and the other player looking at you smiling. He looked like he just got out of the shower with a towel in his hand. His arm slipped around your waist and squeezed it lightly to get you to react.
“Oh yes love, I’m all set. Great game by the way.” you said to Jude and smiled noticing the Getafe player was already gone.
You looked up at Jude and he was giving you a mischievous smile.
“I guess old habits do really die hard.” you laughed and said as his hand went to grab yours and interlocked his fingers with yours smiling widely.
#football#football imagine#football x reader#football x y/n#football oneshot#football x you#real madrid#football angst#football blurb#football one shot#jude bellingham x yn#jude bellingham angst#jude bellingham x you#jude bellingham#jude bellingham oneshot#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham imagine
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hi :) could you do steve x shy reader at like a party or something and steve is her boyfriend who is super flirty but she's never had a boyfriend before so she's nervous bc he's being flirty?? i hope this makes sense 😭 thank you!!
it makes so much sense! i hope this is good! fem!reader | 2000 words | suggestive but no smut
"we should leave."
you look up from the fire, a marshmallow melting on the metal skewer you're holding. "really? why?"
steve shrugs. "let's do it."
"why?" you laugh. you're not disappointed; you wouldn't mind going back to his place and getting in pajamas, where it's quiet and familiar. but it had taken a lot of convincing on steve's part to get you to come to the bonfire in the first place, so you're surprised he would want to leave so early. he'd even convinced you to wear your bathing suit, although you'd worn his shirt over it for most of the night.
he hasn't answered.
"are you upset?" you ask quietly.
"no, it's not that." he smiles at you, a little crookedly. "sorry, babe."
"it's okay," you laugh. when you flip your skewer around and bite into the marshmallow, he inhales- bending down to pick up your purse. when you bite the rest of it off the tip of your thumb, his nostrils flare.
your eyes flash wide. "what?"
"nothing. you wanna go? we don't have to."
"yeah, but-"
"i got you, then. my car's out front. did you know that?"
he's murmuring and grinning like a fool. yeah, he jokes again, this time in your ear. let me take you home. you can't help but laugh.
there's a small chorus of friendly but mostly unfamiliar girls around the fire who whine various lines like, no, don't take her yet! or, leave her with us! and while you're flattered that so many people have taken a liking to you in one night, you're perfectly relieved to go home.
steve puts his hand on your back while you weave through the small crowd. his friends holler at him, trying to say goodbye, and he waves back at them, every gesture noncommittal. the sky is a murky, midnight blue, the sun completely gone. you're gawking at him by the time you've hiked back to the empty section of the field where you parked, a handful of other empty cars around you.
"are you sure nothing's wrong?"
"wrong?" he scoffs. "no, nothing's wrong."
"you're scaring me."
he opens the passenger's door and leans on it, smiling. "you're ridiculous."
"what!"
once you're inside, he shuts the door and hauls around to the driver's seat, shutting it and locking it behind him. the breadth of his shoulders blocks the moon, his hair fluffy and dark, mostly towel-dried after swimming. you lean away and he's watching you- so you're tempted to lean back over and just let him do whatever it is he's planning to do. but you're genuinely rather confused, so you hold your ground against the seat. it's cold against your back, even in the dead of summer.
"your hair is still wet," steve murmurs.
"i know. sorry, i'm getting it on your seats."
he reaches over and takes a section of your hair in his fingers. "babe, you know i don't care."
"i know."
he's still smiling.
"what is your problem?" you nearly shriek.
then you're laughing, and he's laughing even harder, and then he kisses you, and you're very, very quiet.
he's still grinning. his fingertips rake against the back of your neck, at your hairline, careful not to yank at the wet strands there. his thumb skids over your cheek, your face still slightly damp, your skin too-clean and sensitive and a little cold.
"are you cold?" he says suddenly.
"no," you breathe. not now.
you pull away, dizzy. he breathes hard, beaming at you, but he doesn't look nervous. he's steve. he doesn't get nervous doing stuff like this. especially not with you.
why would he, with you? he's your first boyfriend. he doesn't have to impress you, if he doesn't want to. maybe you're not very impressive, either. every time he kisses you, you feel like you're going to pass out. that's not very cool girl of you.
now is not the time to be feeling insecure, but the feeling has already set in- even after he wraps his right arm around your waist and hauls you over to the driver's seat. you squeal as he sits you on his lap, grabbing his keys from the console and putting them in the ignition behind you. the heat comes on in a dull wave.
he's about to kiss you again, and then he stops, pulling wet, knotted strands of hair away from your eyes as you loom over him, not fully settled.
"you okay?" he asks.
"yeah," you try to say confidently. it's more of a wheeze.
"yeah?"
"yeah."
he smirks, and it might look a little evil if he wasn't so sweet.
"can i kiss you?"
it's the stupidest question you've ever heard. he's practically gloating.
"again?"
he gawks at you, laughing. "again, yeah."
"you want to?"
you're not even sure why you say it. but you do, and at first, steve just snickers quietly. then his smile goes a little crooked and his brows knit together. and he says-
"of course i do."
you swallow. "okay." be cool. "do it."
that was not cool in the slightest.
steve watches you, leaning back a little bit, like you're something to examine. you fight the urge to wrench your eyes shut. one of his hands lands softly on your hip, and the other comes up to rub your arm, warm over the thin tan sleeve of his waffle shirt.
"are you okay?" he asks. this time, he really means it.
"yeah," you nod. "i'm okay."
"but you're hovering."
"i'm what?"
"sweetheart," steve laughs softly, letting go of you for a moment. you droop a bit, and realize he's right. "you're not sitting."
"you can't just ask a girl to sit on you, harrington."
he looks like he might laugh, but he doesn't- his expression oddly serious for the night. "did i do something?"
"no!"
you finally lock eyes with him, and he looks so worried that guilt blooms in your gut. just be honest.
"i don't know, sometimes...i just get nervous. when we're together."
your words seem to wound him, but he's listening intently. "okay."
he brings his hand back to your arm, tracing lines on your skin over the fabric of his shirt.
"i...haven't had a boyfriend before," you say. it's not a shock- he knows. "you're my first. for everything."
he nods. "my luck is crazy."
"sure," you scoff, but his face is gravely serious. "i just worry sometimes that you're going to realize i'm not worth it. sometimes, when you...when you kiss me, or...touch me, i just get scared you're going to realize i'm not what you want. you could have someone who's less nervous. or who's been with other people before."
someone who isn't me.
you're a little horrified once you've said all of it. steve just watches you, crickets chirping outside the car, the heater blowing by your waist and over your elbows. his hands go still, and his face crumples, like he'd cut himself on something sharp. his mouth falls open a little bit.
"honey," he laments.
"i know. sorry-"
steve leans forward and wraps his arms around you, pinning your biceps to your sides at first, not weaving your limbs with his. you both inhale. he squeezes you, your head drooping onto his shoulder, and then he pulls you away and loops his hands through your sides; where you finally sit on his lap, thighs brushing against the console and the door. he holds you around your stomach and puts one hand on the back of your head, holding you to his neck. the scent of sunscreen and bug spray laundry detergent make it more real; his hands warm and dry from swimming, his neck tan from being in the sun. the entanglement of you both is a heavy weight on the seat.
you breath in again and exhale. he's real, and he loves you, even when it's hard to believe it.
"are you kidding me, sweetheart? are you joking?"
"no," you laugh, voice muffled at his neck, but he doesn't in return.
"you should have told me that before. i feel like i'm gonna be sick."
"steve!"
he squeezes you once more and plants a kiss to the top of your head, then one on your forehead. his palms meet your cheeks and he tilts your head back, your arms wrapped around his neck.
"i don't want anyone but you," he says earnestly. "there is no one i want to be with but you. it doesn't even cross my mind. it's not an option."
you might cry. he wipes his thumb over your cheek, now hot as an iron.
"you're it for me," he says plainly. "okay?"
"okay."
"do you believe me?"
"yes," you nod, embarrassed.
he shakes his head at you, expression still pained. it's almost comedic how awful he feels, but you feel even worse for bringing it up.
"i'm sorry."
"don't," he retorts. "no. don't be. c'mere."
you lean forward and kiss him this time, and he's happy about it; the palms on your cheeks sliding back into your hair and over your ears, drowning out the sounds of the field like a fishbowl. all you hear is him. all you feel is him.
"i love you," he murmurs, kissing your lips- and then the tip of your nose, and then your chin and the crook of your neck. "you're my girl. i love you. there's no one else."
you melt like ice cream, slumped in his hands. what else can you do?
"steve..." you whisper.
"mhm?"
"let's go home."
his response is delayed. he kisses the crook of your neck again, then closer to your collarbone. when you inhale sharply, he leans back, screwing his eyes shut.
"but we have to drive all the way there."
"you're the one who wanted to go home in the first place!" you beam, amused at his grimace.
"home is far," steve utters. "you're here. right now."
you're going to die if he keeps talking like that. so you climb off of him and drop ungracefully into the passenger's seat, clicking your seatbelt into place. steve groans.
"oh, that's evil."
"take me home, harrington."
he sits there for a second, and then shakes his head; running his hands over his eyes and his hair, black against the night. his laughter is a quiet rumble.
"you're killing me. you don't even get it."
"what'd i do?"
his head is still in his hands. "you don't even have to do anything. you're just sitting there, and you're driving me insane. it's embarrassing. it's bad for my reputation."
"take me home, steve."
you're trying to be firm, but you're smiling. it's impossible not to. steve sighs once, then sits up, putting the car in reverse.
"you need to watch for cops, at this point, sweetheart, because i'm going to go fifty over until we get home."
you consider saying something snide in return, but honestly, you'd be perfectly happy if he did.
#stranger things#steve harrington#steve harrington imagine#stranger things fic#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington x reader fluff#steve harrington x you#stranger things x reader
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Part 2 of Let them be | 1k words
< Part 1 | Part 3 >
Let boys wear skirts
James had started a protest against the school rules not allowing females to wear trousers. How? By breaking the dress code. Of course Sirius was going to follow up and also put on a skirt. His brother Reggie desperately needed to change uniforms.
What he wasn't expecting was how it felt. The fabric was nice and it was much more freeing, refreshing. But there was something else. He felt different. He felt pretty. I mean, he was always gorgeous. But not like this. He was looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, turning to see the skirt from different angles. He put his long black strands behind his ears and smiled. Sirius didn't know what it meant. He wasn't like Regulus. He wasn't trans. He liked being a bloke. He never felt discomfort with his body. The knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts.
"Sorry I'm going!" Taking the towel and his pajamas, he opened the door to a Moony in a skirt. Obviously they had all agreed to it but he just looked so awkward and cute, with high socks to hide the scars. But Remus would look good in anything. At least in Padfoot's eyes.
Lupin didn't budge when the bathroom got free. He stared, looked his friend up and down.
"What?" Did he look bad? Did he wear the skirt upside down? Did he just look ridiculous with his hair like that, which made him look even more feminine?
"I- uh- nothing, I just… It suits you." Was Moony blushing? Did Sirius only have to wear a skirt to catch his crush's attention this whole time?
"You think?" Pads did a little twirl. The skirt was a little short but what did he care?
"Yeah. You look… Pretty."
"Thanks. I kind of like it, actually…"
"I see. Uh Pads, can I use the toilet?" Sirius stepped aside and ever so slightly glanced at the boy's arse. Lupin looked a lot more modest. It made sense with his 'problem', as well as anxiety and low self confidence in general. Black didn't expect him to follow the protest. The four of them were in, though. Even Wormtail. Lily's skirt was slightly tight but he said it was fine since it was for a good cause. He could use a spell to largen it but none of them had mastered those yet. They'd end up making a skirt big enough for the squid.
There were whistles from the Gryffindor table as soon as he walked in for breakfast. Mckinnon was hyping her friend as usual.
"Look at her!" She was joking, of course. But it hit Sirius. He felt a knot in his (her?) stomach. Why did he like that? He was fine with male pronouns, never had a problem. Still didn't. Shrugging it off, the drama queen paraded to the table, followed by an anxious werewolf.
"Don't worry Moons. If anyone looks I'll just be flagrant and get the attention off you."
"Thanks Pads." He smiled, his cheeks still slightly tainted. Perhaps he was too hot from the high socks and long sleeves in the hot weather?
"Good morning, lads! How are we feeling? I see Padfoot is confident, great. Wormy is getting used to it. Moony, you good, mate?" Potter was such a mum. People would think that Remus being the most sensible out of the four, he would have the responsible, more parent-like role. To be quite frank, he didn't give a shit. If his friends made a fool of themselves he'd laugh. Prick. Hot prick, though.
"Yeah." He looked to his left and back at Prongs. "I'm okay."
The day went as expected, they got detention quite soon, the first class was thankfully History of Magic and their ghost of a teacher didn't even know he was dead, let alone what his students were wearing. They received plenty of comments. Some cheering, mostly from girls, some were snarky, and some of the students called them girls, which Black didn't seem to mind at all. And of course, there were lots of stares.
The Marauders walked together everywhere, to be stronger and avoid being attacked. James was incredible, swagging around the castle with his head held high.
"Hey, Prongs? Can I ask you something?" It wasn't until they were in their pajamas that Sirius gained the courage to talk about it.
"Of course."
"How did you feel wearing a skirt? Were you uncomfortable? Did you like it?"
"Well…" Potter twisted his mouth to the side, as he always did when thinking. "It was fine, I suppose. I wouldn't say I liked it, I wouldn't choose to wear one. But for the cause it didn't bother me."
"Hm." Pads's gaze was distant. He had time to figure it out, they were going to keep wearing skirts until a teacher heard their complaints. At least Sirius and James were.
The next day, Marlene joined the protest, borrowing Sirius's trousers that were oversized for her. The lads had gone downstairs and she was in their dorm with Black, getting ready. They had no problem changing in front of each other since both were gay.
"You seem to be enjoying the skirt." That tone meant she was onto something. The fucker could always read Sirius. Even better than James, at times.
"Yeah… I suppose so. Makes me feel pretty."
"Just pretty or more like a girl?" Bloody hell, she had figured it out even before Sirius.
"I'm not sure…" Marlene put on her tie, done getting ready.
"Do you want to borrow my makeup? It might help." Pads turned around nervously yet excitedly.
"You sure?"
"Yeah mate. You also have to repaint your nails, they're all chipped. Wait here, I'll get my stuff."
"Thanks Marls…" She winked and left, coming back a few minutes later.
"I also brought a small mirror. Sit, we're having a beauty session." It was funny. Marlene wasn't that feminine. She didn't wear makeup all that often and when she did, it was more of a rock punk look with smudged black eyes. It wasn't anything like Evans or Mary, which were a lot more elegant and traditional.
"You don't want to eat first?"
"I'd rather get you all prepped up to see people's faces when you show up all girly."
And the faces did not disappoint. Black and Mckinnon walked into the Great Hall with wrapped arms. She had her hair in a messy bun, her shirt not fully buttoned up with her tie loose, the trousers covering her feet and a bit of a black smudged eyeshadow. Sirius, on the other hand, wore the skirt from the previous day, which was slightly short but still covered up everything, the shirt also not buttoned up all the way as per usual, and the red and gold tie undone, sitting on his shoulders. Some black nail polish and winged eyeliner, too. He couldn't deny it, it felt pretty good.
The best face was Remus's, who literally dropped his toast. The pink cheeks were definitely not from the weather. It sparked a little hope in Padfoot, that maybe his dreams of being with his best friend would come true. However, Moony would probably forget about it as soon as the protest ended.
It took a while until that happened. Pads and Prongs wore skirts for around two weeks (and some of the girls wore pants - Marlene, Lily, Mary, Dorcas, Pandora), eventually Reg felt comfortable enough to join, he had never felt so good at Hogwarts.
Mcgonagall was the one who spoke up about it, saying it was getting ridiculously out of hand and that she saw no problem with girls wearing trousers 'But for the love of Merlin, boys, put on some trousers'.
Dumbledore agreed to change the rules, as the protest was distracting the students' focus during classes. Fully aware the Gryffindors weren't going to back down.
Regulus was ecstatic and thanked all of them. Sirius was happy for his brother but he was going to miss the skirt. In this journey of self discovery, he had come to the conclusion that he felt both masculine and feminine, some days more than others. All the pronouns felt right, but he did prefer being called pretty over handsome. Maybe Sirius would be able to wear a skirt again someday. Until then, makeup was the only way of expression. He would also miss Moony's glances, he ought to come up with a new way to lure the Gryffindor boy.
#genderfluid sirius black#trans regulus black#trans regulus#marauders#marauders era#the marauders#harry potter marauders#marauders fandom#dead gay wizards#sirius black#wolfstar#marauders headcanon#marauders hc
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