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wttcsms · 1 year

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“she fell first, but he fell harder” with any inarizaki boy of your liking please! 🩵 have a good day~

pairing rintarou suna x f!reader word count 2.6k content contains mutual pining, tutor!au, right person/wrong time, bittersweet ending, unrequited love, slight angst author’s notes maybe not what u anticipated hehe

You don’t look up from your book even though the slamming of a bookbag on top of the table obnoxiously announces the arrival of another student, one who’s obviously going to take the seat next to yours.

“Hey—” So it’s a boy then.

“—can I ask you for a favor?”

Now you look up, partially annoyed that he’s interrupted you while you were in the middle of reading a particularly interesting paragraph, but more curious than not. You tilt your head, taking him in. Of course, you know Rintarou Suna — it’s hard for any student in the school not to know him. But just because you’re aware of his existence — and if you dare to allow yourself to be bold enough, you think he’s aware of your own — doesn’t exactly make the two of you chummy enough to ask each other for favors on a Tuesday morning.

You must have a bad poker face because he raises both hands in mock surrender. “Look, just hear me out. I need to pass this English class or my coach and captain won’t sign off on allowing me to play in the next few matches. I’ve seen the rankings; you’re top of our class. You know this shit a lot better than I do.”

A beat passes.

Two startling and equally scary revelations:

Now that you’re finally seeing him up close, Suna’s eyes are a much lighter shade than you thought they were. (Not that you’ve given his eyes much thought up until now, anyway.) It suits him. And,

Suna is absolutely aware of your existence.

“I’ll owe you one.” He says, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He’s playing at being nonchalant, but you can see it in those lighter-than-you-thought eyes of his that he’s practically pleading with you.

“I want you to convince Atsumu Miya to do an interview for the school paper.” You finally say.

Raised eyebrows is the closest thing you’ll get to seeing emotion on his face, you think. “Done.” And then, “Why Atsumu?”

“He’s not an easy person to get a hold of, but I know being the first person to ever interview him will probably mean something in the future.”

He nods, taking it in. “So it’s not because you’ve got a crush on him?”

You can’t tell if he’s teasing you or not; his voice and facial expression give nothing away. Shifting a bit in your seat, you frown. “No. His bad dye job makes him an eyesore.”

The corners of Suna’s mouth curve up at that.

ii.

“I didn’t know you wrote for the school paper,” Suna says.

“I’m the president of the club.” You push a paper covered in red pen marks, all of them corrections and criticisms against him. “Suna, we’ve been going at this for almost two weeks now. How have you barely improved?”

“Maybe you’re just not a good tutor.” You can read him well enough to know that he’s only joking. “You wanna be a journalist or somethin’?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. At least pretend to look over your paper.” Sighing because you know he won’t actually do anything unless you appease him, you shrug. “I want to be a sports reporter.”

“So that’s why you were so excited to meet with Atsumu!” You don’t expect him to actually be invested in your life, but you excuse his exclamation as him being bored out of his mind and savoring any distraction he can get.

The idea of being just a pleasant distraction from the pain of schoolwork makes you feel weird.

iii.

As you near the two-month mark since your tutoring sessions began, you make progress with Suna. He’s funnier than you realize, both of you sharing the same dry sense of humor that has jokes that can only properly be delivered if you say it with a straight face. He’s shown you about 200 of the images and videos cluttering his camera roll, and you pretend there’s no intimacy in that. His grades in English have substantially gotten better, to the point where you’re certain one day he’s going to decide that he doesn’t need tutoring anymore.

(For some reason, that makes you kind of sad.)

For now, you’re content to just be sitting next to him, both of you silently working on your assignments. He’s rewriting his essay due tomorrow (he’s a bit of a procrastinator, really) and you on your latest article for the school paper. The silence in the library — the silence wrapping the two of you together — is surprisingly comfortable.

Sometimes, Suna can’t make it to the tutoring sessions, and you pretend that it doesn’t matter. You just shrug and smile and move on. After the third time he does, he confesses that it’s because he’s seeing someone.

We’re just talking, he tells you. But you know that he must really like her because Suna doesn’t usually waste his breath talking about things he doesn’t care to talk about. He’s the one who brought her up completely unprompted. You actually would have been more than okay with remaining completely oblivious to whoever Suna decides to enter the talking stage with.

He yawns, stretching his arms while he does so.

It should be illegal, you decide, for someone so out of reach to still be so close to you. If you shifted your body back against your chair, nothing would stop the inevitability of his outstretched fingers brushing against your hair. The thought of that happening makes you far more excited than it should.

(He never tells you when they stop talking, but you know when they do because somewhere in between all these tutoring sessions, you started to learn him.)

iv.

“You really think I’m just messin’ around?” He’s got his elbow resting on the library table, cheek and chin laying against the open palm of his hand. When Suna smiles, it’s a little crooked, almost like a smirk, yet warm enough to cause heat to rise to your cheeks, especially when he’s smiling and staring at you like that, like you’re the one person he actually wants to see.

“You’re always messing around,” You point out.

“I wouldn’t joke about this.” There’s that familiar pleading look in his eyes that contains enough superhuman strength to pound away at your steely resolve. It’s the same look he gave you all those months ago when you two were nothing more than classmates exchanging favors. It’s the same damn look that got you caught up in all sorts of messes: rearranging your schedule to tutor him, suddenly spending more time making sure you look good for school, rejecting the other guy who first asked you the same question Suna’s asking now…

“I’m serious. Please go to the dance with me.”

“You didn’t even give me chocolate or flowers.” You manage to say, trying to ignore the pleased sensation that overtakes your body. It’s a different reaction from what you felt when your other classmate asked, and he at least had the decency to bring you your favorite drink from the vending machine when he did it. “This doesn’t seem like a very serious request.”

He snorts. “Would you have even wanted me to show up to homeroom with a poster and a bouquet and the twins serenading you as I asked you to a school dance?”

He knows you well enough that an extravagant proposal like that would have you wanting to run into the nearest bathroom stall and lock yourself in there until school ended. The fact that he knows you would hate anything remotely close to that, less dramatic or not, makes you agree to go with him.

(Perhaps he’s spent these tutoring sessions learning you, as well.)

“Hey!”

You turn around at the sound of a familiar voice, smiling when he comes into view. Donned in the same oversized gown, graduation cap hanging from one hand, Rintarou Suna is smiling back at you.

“Knew you would graduate top of our class. Congratulations.”

“And you were ranked within the top twenty. Being a volleyball star just wasn’t enough for you, huh?”

It feels good to be out here, freshly graduated and knowing the rest of the world is out there, just beyond the boundaries of your high school. The heat is getting the best of everyone wearing the thick graduation gowns, but instead of looking like a sweaty mess like the rest of you mere mortals, Rintarou just seems to shine, as if he’s made for summer. His hair sticks up, probably an effect of being stuffed in the cap for so long, and you find yourself pressing down on his hair. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to help him tame his cowlick, and the action is so familiar, that it doesn’t even catch him off guard.

“My tutor carried.” He says, grinning at you.

(You feel considerably warmer now, and it’s not because of the sun.)

The laugh you give him makes his grin only grow wider. You sound equal parts pleased and surprised, just like how you always do whenever he decides to randomly compliment you. Is it bad that he wants to make you laugh like this for the rest of his life?

Before he can make a proper quip, one that will surely have you laughing even harder, someone is gently tugging you away from him.

“Hey, babe, my parents wanted to get pictures of us together.” And then, as if realizing Suna’s right there even though he’s tall enough to be hard to miss and close enough to tug you back towards him, the boy stares at him. “Oh, hey. Suna, right?”

Everyone here pretends as if it’s not already obvious that you all know each other.

“Congrats on nationals, man.”

“Thanks.” Suna says, without sounding the least bit thankful, even though he should be. He thought the two of you broke up already, and he’s been preparing for how he’s going to confess his feelings for you for the past two months now. At least now, he won’t have to suffer your rejection and embarrass himself for making a move on a taken girl.

“C’mon, my mom’s going to hate us if we keep her waiting any longer.” Your boyfriend is holding your hand, leading you toward wherever his parents are. You turn your head, looking like you want to say something to Rintarou, anything at all, but instead you give him a shrug and a small smile.

He keeps that smile of yours tucked safely in his pocket, not knowing that it’ll be a few more years until he gets to see it again.

vi.

Staying in touch is hard, but Suna is nothing if not stubborn. A random TikTok sent to you at 2 AM here, an attempt to meet for lunch if the two of you are in the same city at the same time there.

Getting drunk from your high school reunion and sneaking into the library the two of you spent the better half of your high school years pining after each other in is the most fun Suna’s had in years. The two of you are lying on the plush carpet, too drunk to care about how dirty it must be.

“Gosh, we spent so much time in this place.” You’re looking up at the ceiling, tacky glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to it, remnants left behind by students who graduated way before you two.

“Some of the happiest times of my life.” He’s being too honest without realizing it.

You laugh, thinking he’s just joking because you always think he’s joking every time he tries to hint at his feelings for you. Feelings that didn’t hit him until he realized how pretty you are, even with your hair tied back and your bottom lip being bitten to death by your teeth as you type away at an article none of the students in this school will even bother to read. Feelings that he wished he confessed to you on the dancefloor, when the two of you slow danced, and you asked him are we doing this as friends? and he didn’t have the balls to say anything but of course it’s as friends.

“Yeah, I bet having me roast the shit out of every paper you wrote was the highlight of your second year.”

“It’s because it was you doing it that made me so happy.”

You laugh even louder at that. “Oh my God, Rin, you’re such a sap when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not just sayin’ shit just to say it, y’know? I mean it.” He tries his hardest to make the sincerity in his words stick, but he’s drunk, and his words are kind of slurred, and his intentions just slip and slide away. “I liked you back then.” Still do, he doesn’t say. I still like you.

“No way, really?” You turn to face him, wide-eyed with a tipsy smile on your face that lets him know that you just don’t know how serious he is right now. “Because I had the biggest crush on you in high school too!”

He always assumed the feelings were returned, but the possibility that they weren’t — that him confessing would just fuck up your friendship and have you leave him — was too large for him to risk it. Swallowing hard, he asks,

“Did you… Did you ever think we would end up together? Back then, I mean?”

You hum, too inebriated and maybe too distant to him now to recognize the pleading look in his eyes. “I wanted us to, but then I thought there wasn’t a chance in hell you would actually like me back. Gosh, this was all so long ago, though. I can’t believe we used to like each other, isn’t that so funny, Rin?”

The used to reveals enough to him.

vii.

You’ve made a name for yourself now. You’re not just a mere sports reporter (he doesn’t know that he’s the first person you confessed your dream career to), but every professional volleyball team in Japan has deemed you their favorite reporter to see out on court. Rintarou blames the fluttering of his heart and the excitement that floods him every time he sees you at one of his games on your popularity, but he sees through his own flimsy excuse.

You don’t show favoritism when it comes to conducting your post-game interviews, but tonight, you’re standing in front of the camera with him, smiling up at him with a microphone in your hand. He’s happy you’re here, but the only question he cares to answer is the what if? that’s been haunting him ever since that reunion. What if he confessed in high school? What if he sobered up after that night and told you the truth? Would this interview be different, then? Would you still say,

“Congratulations on a game well played!”

And would he still say,

“I heard some more congratulations are in order.” He’s giving you the same lopsided smile he always gives you, the smile that rests on his face yet belongs to only you. It’s all anyone could talk about. Pictures of you flood his timeline; his teammates, other players, and sports fans alike all were overjoyed at your happy announcement. You didn’t just win his heart over, but a good portion of Japan’s as well.

“Congratulations on your engagement.”

You smile at him, practically beaming, shining so much brighter than these stadium lights, and he holds onto this one even tighter. A smile just for him, placed right next to the memory of the one you’d given him at graduation.

#suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #rintarou suna x reader #hq x reader #fluff #one shot #drabble #angst #imagine #hq fanfic #wttcsms writing warmups

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robins-egg-bindery · 1 year

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ever in your favor by @iron--spider

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him.

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

fic by @iron--spider

art by @angel-gidget

624 pages / 153,984 words

Title Font: PP Hatton, Rustic Printed

Body Fonts: Californian FB, Moonglade, Bebas Neue, War Is Over, Architects Daughter

More on the process below the cut!

I have...SO much to say about this project! This fic was one that I've wanted to do ever since I started fanbinding, and it was one I saved until my technical skills caught up with my vision for the book. @iron--spider is my favorite author and a wonderful friend, and I wanted to be able to do this masterwork justice!

Given that it's a Hunger Games AU, I wanted to touch on the Hunger Games aesthetic while still being unique. I started with the cover; I knew I wanted red and yellow, something bold and evocative of the Iron Man, Spiderman vibe. It also doubles as an implication of the blood spilt during the games, especially in volume II - when Peter actually enters the games. I chose the spider for the cover, and painted it on the cover paper with inky black paint; I cut a stencil, and while the images did have some drippy areas, I don't mind it so much. It's meant to look like graffiti, Peter's symbol that the people of the Districts scrawl everywhere they can get away with it.

In turn, I also experimented with a paint pen on this one of the titling, done on the spine piece, which is black Better Than Goat leather! Again, I went in with a stencil, and opted for blockier letters, like something you might see spray painted onto a wall.

The endpapers are custom; I messed around with a weird cityscape I found and came out with the image you see above. The setting for the games is a futuristic city, much like MCU NYC would be, complete with an Avengers Stane tower.

And then of course, there's the typeset itself! The Hunger Games books don't have particularly striking typesets, but I did go for the dystopian vibe with the Rustic Printed font on the chapter numbers, and Moonglade for the chapter titles, giving it a very industrial feel.

It was also a pleasure to include the art that @angel-gidget did for the fic as well! Her book covers are so gorgeous and I love her manip style so much <3 I also included the short drabble @iron--spider did on her Tumblr, a post-story snack-sized fic, as well as a meta question she answered via her asks that I thought was particularly interesting. The District guide at the back, including what Districts each character belongs to and whether or not they are deceased was interesting to put together, and I hope I didn't make any mistakes!

Last, but certainly not least, this book was the first one I was able to do really nice headbands on. Shoutout to @morningstarbindery who helped me learn how! They look phenomenal and I never would have figured it out on my own <3

I'm excited for everyone to see these books! One day I'll have all your works on my shelf ;)

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bluesylveon2 · 11 months

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Can I request number 6 with Azul ashengrotto? :3

Hi!!! I meant to post this earlier but my summer class started and I've been busy 😭. Fun fact: past fics with "I Won't Say I'm in Love" had people telling the TWST boy or Yuu that they are in love. Who did I use for Azul? It would have been the Tweels but it is actually Azul himself! 😂 I hope that you enjoy, anon!

Notes: Yuu is bold, mentions events in Book 3, 4, and 6, and Azul having an internal crisis

Word Count: 1011

Warnings: possible ooc characters (I feel like Azul is) and not beta read.

Azul did not like the Ramshackle Prefect. Not in a romantic sense. Why would he? It's not like she stayed in his head rent-free for the past few days. No, he was thinking about how to get her to work for him for free.

He was not jealous that, according to ADeuce, the Prefect was spending time with Prince Rielle from RSA. How did they meet? Azul will never know, but one thing has been bothering him. SHE decided to have their date in town rather than in his perfectly established restaurant that was only a short walk away!

Azul set his pen down after signing the last contract of the day and stared at the ceiling. He recalled the first time he saw the Prefect during the entrance ceremony and how her cat monster set the room on fire. He did not care much about her then since his focus was on this year's profits.

His indifference changed when he wanted her dorm as a branch of his restaurant. Did he leave her homeless? Yes, but within good reason. He no longer wanted that embarrassing photo of himself hanging around the Atlantica Memorial Museum. How did she get so popular to get close to Leona, of all people? If only she and her band of Savanaclaw members did not get in his way. Azul's hand clenched into a fist at the thought of the pesky lion disintegrating his hard work. This was the only time he truly disliked the Prefect.

Of course, that backfired back on her when she got trapped in Scarabia by Jamil. Azul could not hide his smug look when she pleaded with him for help. He, being benevolent, acted like her knight in shining armor to save her (read: it was Jade and Floyd that did all the work) as the damsel in distress.

Azul hummed in thought when he realized something. The Prefect was less of a damsel and more like a knight after she broke into the Isle of Woe to save him and the rest of the overblot guys.

It was only after the whole fiasco that Azul slightly liked the Prefect.

Did he get any romantic feelings during the process? No, he did not.

Why should he, anyway?

She was nothing more than a magicless human. A reckless one, in fact.

If anything, she should be the one to develop feelings for him.

Azul knew multiple ways to charm the girl. He would start by treating her to deals in Mostro Lounge. Then, he would do different favors for her, like give her a study guide or serenade her with his lovely voice. Finally, he would be the one to save her from different incidents (orchestrated by the Leech twins); she would fall in his arms and for his charms.

She would fall for him so much that she would be at his door on her knees, begging to be his girlfriend. And Azul, being oh so benevolent, will agree.

Azul smirked. There was no way she could not resist him.

"You're amazing as it is, even without stealing anyone else's powers," Yuu's voice called out in Azul's mind.

Ba dump

"What the?" Azul clenched his chest. He could feel his heartbeat increase under his fingers. Why were the Prefect's words coming back to him?

"Your incredible diligence is so rare, it left the headmage at a loss," her voice continued to sing to him.

Ba dump

It has been months since their interaction at the museum, where Yuu had uttered those words to him, leaving him at a loss. Azul was touched by them, but he had put it back in his mind after the trip. Now they suddenly emerge and haunt him while he thinks about the Prefect.

Wait.

The Prefect.

Azul suddenly sat up and ran his hands through his wavy hair. Why did he care about the Prefect being on a date? Why was he setting up a scheme to have her begging to be with him? Why are her words echoing in his mind like a mermaid's song?

Azul's eyes widen in realization. A long time ago, when he was still a crybaby octopus, his mom told him a story about how a mermaid princess sang to a prince after she saved him. The princess had to leave before the prince gained consciousness, and he made it his mission to find her. The princess's voice was so beautiful that the prince would play his flute at night using the same tune in hopes of finding her because he loved her.

He was like the prince in the story.

He loved Yuu.

Azul took deep breaths to calm his wild heartbeat and wiped his sweaty palm on a handkerchief. He might have realized it now, but he won't say it out loud. No, he would continue his plan once Yuu returned from her date. The male leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. He had to remain with his suave nature around her.

The room was quiet as Azul was deep in his thoughts.

CRASH

Azul immediately stood up, "What the?" his eyes landed on the door wide open. Yuu stood in the doorway with the Leech twins smirking evilly from behind. Only a few seconds passed, and Yuu was now standing before Azul. She grabbed his hand and proceeded to drag him out of his office-

Wait a minute.

"What are you doing?" Azul sputtered out, his face now red.

"We are going on a date! You and me."

"But I thought you were supposed to be with Rielle?"

Yuu shook her head, "He was just showing me around, and we're only friends. Besides, I'm only interested in octopi anyway."

Azul's mouth opened in shock, "How did you? When did you?"

"The twins told me. Now hurry up before the shops in town close!" She dragged the poor housewarden through the doors and out of Mostro Lounge.

Meanwhile, the Leech twins could not hide their laughter.

"Have fun, you two."

"Don't hurt Shrimpy now!"

Disclaimer: I do not own Twisted Wonderland and its characters. Those belong to Aniplex, Walt Disney Japan, and Yana Toboso.

©: This story belongs to bluesylveon2 2020-23. DO NOT modify, republish, or plagiarize my work.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #azul x yuu #azul ashengrotto #thank you for the ask!#400 follower event

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sastiel-is-my-serotonin · 2 months

Text

Rosy Hues

Castiel walked into the library and spotted Sam who was leaned back in his chair, balancing it while clicking a pen as he read his book. "Sam?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam tore his eyes away from the book as Castiel walked towards him with their hands behind their back, "Cas?"

With Sam's raised eyebrows, and glancing to Castiel's hidden hands, suspicion and confusion was to be expected, Castiel held out a hand, "I got this for you." Revealing a simple orange rose, "I know you guys don't celebrate Valentines, neither do I, but... I thought you'd like it."

"Thank you, Cas." Sam said, taking it and twirling it around, thousands of thoughts running through his head as he smelled it, "I appreciate it."

---

Sam managed to locate Castiel alone in the kitchen reading a newspaper, Sam doubted it was a recent one, Castiel had their favorite issues and rotated through them, "Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Sam," Castiel greeted back, tilting the newspaper down and looking up to see Sam hiding a hand behind his back.

Sam sat across from the angel and looked down at the table, "I uh," he laughed through his nose, "I wanted to return the gesture, for earlier," Sam said, revealing a lavender rose. Handing it over to the angel who fully placed down the newspaper in favor of the curious flower.

"Thank you," Castiel said, observing it closely, it was a beautiful rose that revealed a lot to Castiel who was curious if Sam knew what the first rose meant.

"Yeah, it was uh, no problem." Sam said, with a slight nod, even though he had to go to an actual florist for that flower, the local grocery store didn't have one.

With that Sam got up, not knowing what else to do, leaving Castiel with much to think about.

---

In his room, Sam sat on his bed wondering if he made the right call with the rose. He's not an expert on flowers by any means but he had been curious if there was a meaning to the orange rose, and was surprised with what he found.

He wanted to give Castiel a rose as well. And one that could be overlooked but mean what he wanted to convey. Red was way too bold. White didn't feel right.

When he stumbled upon a lavender rose he knew he had to find one. The florist had suggested to add more than one but Castiel went with one and Sam didn't want to them to be suspicious.

There was a knock on the door and Sam called out, "Its open," knowing it was Castiel. They opened it, their rose in hand.

"I have a question," Castiel said, walking further into the room, Sam watched carefully as Castiel sat on the edge of his bed.

"Go on," Sam encouraged and the angel looked up, noticing the floor they had given was in a vase with water on Sam's nightstand.

They rested the flower on their lap, "Did you know my intentions with my rose?"

Sam tapped the bed, "I think so."

The angel nodded, "So this color was intentional?"

"As intentional as yours," Sam confirmed, feeling the need to hold his breath as if he had somehow misread everything.

"Interesting," Castiel said, twirling around the rose.

Sam didn't know what to say and just glanced back at the rose, "I think these two flowers, while different, belong next to each other," Castiel said, getting up placing the rose in the vase.

Catching the smile from Sam, "Yeah?" He asked, Castiel sat much closer to Sam this time.

"Yes, they fit." Castiel said, admiring the beauty in the room.

Sam looked down unsure what to do under Castiel's gaze, glancing back at the flowers, "They do."

Castiel reached out a hand that Sam took, "I don't expect anything to change if you don't want them to, but are we on the same page?" Castiel asked.

Sam moved closer, cupping Castiel's face, noses pressed against each other, not moving forward until searching in Castiel's eyes for an okay which he found.

Closing the distance, sinking into that feeling, not wanting to come out of it, as Castiel kissed back.

Both falling into the motions, allowing it to take them away for as long as they could dare.

Pulling away enough to breathe, Sam asked, "Do you think we're on the same page yet?"

"I don't know," Castiel murmured against Sam's lips, "I can do with some clarification."

Sam smiled, pressing his lips against Castiel's, happy to clarify however many times needed.

#bit late but i got the idea last minute #its fine im always late with holiday stories #alr gn #hope you snjoy and there's probably plwnty of mistakes #I'll reread it bsfore posting it tomorrow #sam winchester #castiel #sastiel #samstiel #samcas

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speakeasyaoi · 8 months

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Sedgewick Sable x M! Reader

> Requested by anonymous | I actually really enjoyed this prompt! I might go on to write some fanfic inspired by it, just because I had so many ideas...

PROMPT: The reader is Sedgewick's secretary.

He has to sit himself down with a bit of alcohol to contemplate and think once he manages to realize that he's falling for you. ...A 'bit of alcohol' soon turning into a bottle or two. His feelings are all mixed up and complicated when it comes to yearning for another man, let alone one who's working so closely with him, which leads him to have a bit of a personal, moral dilemma; this is all so new and strange to him, and he's completely lost on how he should handle his newfound feelings. You likely being his queer awakening certainly doesn't do anything to help that. As opposed to women, whom he's significantly more flirty and forward with, with you, Wick is more inclined to bury his affections under a front of nothing more than a typical professional relationship-- out of a cross between repressed queerness and fear of his feelings not being reciprocated. He's not opposed to it, just very...inexperienced.

With so much extra money at his disposal, he can't help but dote on and spoil you with gifts and raises in your pay (which would already be considerably higher than he would give to anyone else in your same position, considering how he feels about you). He tries to limit himself to more discreet, smaller gifts--knowing anything too drastic would give away his feelings, no doubt--but in the end it's rather obvious anyway. Fancy pens and pencils and office supplies to 'help with your work' soon progresses to buying you clothes and accessories and other, more luxury items, and eventually it wouldn't be out of place to find a new set of cufflinks boxed on your desk, or a fine pocketwatch, or a rock or geode that he found interesting. ...That last one is probably more meaningful in his eyes than it is in yours. But it's the thought that counts.

Oftentimes he'll get the urge to come by your workspace to 'check up on you' and make sure you're doing your job properly, which normally just consists of him standing over your shoulder for as long as he can without raising suspicion, paying more attention to you than he is to anything you're doing. He'll comment and make an attempt at sparking up conversation here and there, but he soon grows nervous he's being overbearing, and leaves you to your own devices with a hasty pat on your shoulder.

If you burn through your paperwork and manage to finish everything you need to do early, Wick gradually begins to ask you to do more and more mundane, everyday tasks for him just so he can get you to stay around him a little longer. And if he's feeling particularly bold, he might ask you to stay afterhours, just for some quality time.

He frequently comes up to you and adjusts your uniform, straightening your lapels, tightening your necktie or messing with your buttons, and while he tells you it's for the sake of maintaining your professional image, it's pretty obvious he just wants to be up close and make any sort of physical contact with you. His hands linger for a second or two longer than they need to.

He tries his hardest to foster a connection with you outside of the workplace. In his eyes, it heightens his chances of gaining your favor, and lowers the chance that his advances will be rejected. This initially starts out with him taking you out to a quaint little bistro or a nice restaurant to discuss business, and over time, the topics of conversation become more and more personal and intimate. It's most likely that he'll end up drunkenly confessing on one of these occasions, or giving away too much, which prompts him to fluster and apologize once he sobers up.

He always finds some way to join you on your smoke or lunch break. Maybe for the whole period, or a part of it, or even just dropping by to check in on you, but it's practically a guarantee that he'll be there. Half of the time he can't even muster an excuse or any sort of reasoning to defend himself, he just wants to be able to spend as much time as he can alongside you.

Other notes: N/A

#lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #lackadaisy comic #Lackadaisy x m!reader #lackadaisy x m! reader #lackadaisy x m reader #sedgewick sable #wick sable #lackadaisy wick #sedgewick sable x reader #wick sable x reader

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 3 months

Text

The Bird And The Man

Chapter Seven

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: fingering (in a way), dropped the big three words, nightmare is living his best life

Ao3

Chapter Six | Chapter Eight

Notes: -hands yall a congrats on the smut cake-

Nightmare and Orpheus are like two sides of a man, the duality of man. Is the monster truly a monster? Is the man truly the facade he portrays? The worst part is they share that spark of life, the soul divided but connected. They both share everything but their personalities.

The heart being one of those things they share, this budding love for you. Orpheus, the Novelist, does not fall in love easily. Orpheus, the ‘Nightmare’, falls in love easily. You have something he never thought to have, companionship.

He is a hunter, a creature created from the darker parts of Orpheus, yet there you were trying to communicate with him. Nightmare could tell at first you were afraid but you are brave, bold, and stubborn too; you refused to be frightened away. The bird is grateful.

If the circumstances were ideal, if he was still part of Orpheus, he would like to court you properly.

But this will do, you seem content with it too. No, not content, happy with the things he shows you.

Tonight, the full moon is high in the sky with stars flickering in the clear cold night.

You found him in the library, reading your book. The Nightmare had not expected to see you, he wished for you to enjoy yourself. But you told him you want to be where he is.

Something in him was beating fast, a warmth spreading, and at that moment he ached terribly.

He wrote down that he wanted to show you something.

And now here you are…

Up on the roof, there is a dip enough for someone to sit comfortably and stargaze.

And that is exactly what you did with him.

You currently are leaning against him covered by his coat, in and out of sleep, warm and safe.

“Thank you.” For everything? For being there? You are not sure what but you know you are grateful for him. A strange stability, someone you found this companionship with. To many, it will seem odd given he is a creature and one who has harmed many, but you know deep down he is trapped too. The gentleness he has soon you, letting you into his space, to communicate for hours; you know Orpheus is there deep down.

The gentleman novelist, you kiss him on the tip of his beak. “Orpheus,” He tries to kiss back but stops in favor of moving you onto his lap. Your back against his chest, legs partly open, you look up as his hands hover above your chest. “Hm?” His hands instead move to rest on his knees rubbing them as if nervous. “You can touch me.” Saying with as much of a steady voice as you can muster. He goes still, claws gripping his knees.

You take his hand, without the quill, and place it on your chest, your heart beating fast. “I want you to touch me, Orpheus.” Saying his pen name makes you groan. “Orpheus.” Saying it in an attempt to sound sexy.

His breathing slows, a sharp inhale from his nose as he draws you closer and shifts his coat to lay over your front.

Your cheeks burn as you feel him explore. Nothing too much but enough that you are squirming.

Nightmare is nervous and cautious, you are fragile compared to him. Many times he has bled out a survivor by simply crushing bones or cutting them deep enough. He is a monster, the wolf while you wander aimlessly within this dark forest with no path home.

Yet, you know all the horror stories about the hunter, know that in the end, you will fall by any of their hands— Including his— But here you are soundlessly moaning and fidgeting on his lap as he treats you with the utmost care.

Is that what you want? To be intimate with a monster like him?

Outside of the three brothers, the rest of them look normal. Even Fool's Gold was able to have a night of pleasure with a survivor at a party long ago.

“Hypnos.” A whisper in the wind, “Hypnos.” The vibration of his voice is muffled by his mask against your shoulder down your chest. “Hypnos.” His knuckle goes faster

You moaned louder, pitchy too, as his finger touched the top of your pants. It is wordless but he wants to know if he can go further.

“Orpheus,” Your hand on top of his, “I love you.”

Love, he is not deserving of it. Nightmare is a monster, the darkness of Orpheus made manifest. Your hand reaches up and behind you touching his masked face.

“I love you.” Saying it again as his finger slips inside of your pants. “Orpheus!” Moaning out his name as you learn you are sensitive.

He is going to be selfish, voracious, and take everything you are and hold it deep with his un-beating heart. You will be the one and only piece of his heart left in this world.

Nightmare rubs slowly, carefully, as he uses a knuckle as he fears his claws may hurt you. Your hips move as you chase that bliss, legs bending then stretching out, you suddenly are not cold either. Your breathing is uneven, your core weeping for more than being rubbed off.

“More, oh, please more.”

He curls around you, protective and his eyes enjoy the sight of you lost in pleasure. Your mixed scent (especially with the scent of his counterpart) is being changed to his and yours only, as it should be.

“Louder.” Sing his canary, no one can hear you up here aside from him and the night sky.

“Orpheus, Orpheus!” Chanting his name over and over as you start writhing on his lap, “I‐I feel ah…” No amount of romance novels could prepare you for that snap. They can describe the ideal orgasm but to experience it… You felt like you died! Body going taunt as rushes through you like the time Luca accidentally shocked you. Nerves on fire, but the difference is how blanked your mind goes, the way your heart is racing enough to hurt. The panic and thrill all at once.

The creature helps you through it as his own breathing is ragged with lust and a need he will not be pressing on you though he knows you will try to reciprocate. Having you in his arms, his finger and hand covered with your cum, and his scent all over you.

Perfection.

“Oprhy.” Drunk sounding as you are still on your post-orgasm high, “Cold.”

Right because you both are still outside in the cold on a winter starry night.

“Inside me.” Shivering but wanting more, “You.” Stopping his hand by grabbing his wrist from leaving your pants. “Please.”

Nightmare knows better, and fights against his desires, to take you like a harlot. To defile you on his cock, to have you walking among your peers– Among Orpheus– With his claw marks all over you.

“Future.” He swears he must be a gentleman. “Soon.” You whine but you are too high to complain properly.

One back inside, he sunk you to your room. Nightmare made sure no one saw you both in the halls of the survivors’ manor. Everyone seems to be at the party, save for the one room he passed by that lewd sounds from inside.

Not surprisingly, it is the holidays. Orpheus has many stories of adventures from after-holiday parties. Drunken escapades, a few times with the same gender too.

He found your room by asking the head butler who was making his rounds. Nightmare knows the man will not tell a soul who is and was here in your room.

Quietly and carefully entering your room, the creature felt nostalgia seep into his heart. The smell of ink and paper, the mess of balled-up tossed away drafts, and cups from drinking coffee or tea. Your room is small but you make it feel personal with your personal touches. Drawings, not well made, on the walls. Letters, he can see they are from a postman, on the desk. A few pictures were taken on a birthday with some of the survivors. You told him that despite the horrors of the Manor, you found joy. It is a positive outlook you said needs to grow in the darkness, light will find a way to shine in the most unlikely of places.

You hold onto him as he places his coat on the chair at your desk, you kiss his neck when he starts removing your clothes. His groans like honey as you bite leaving a mark on that bluish-gray skin, “Take me.” You want him badly, you want more, and want to share the bliss he gave you. Seeing you only wearing undergarments, ruined makeup, and the expression of want is hurting him.

“Again.” He lays you on the bed with him above you, the bed protesting by the creeks as his hand is once more between your legs.

Nightmare stayed longer than he planned, you were insatiable to a point but he knows most of it was because you want him; all of him without fear or regret. When he looks at his hand, now clean after wiping you down and preparing you for rest, he swears he can still feel you. Of course, he could not use his fingers the ideal way but his hand is large enough that he was able to tease your hole with his knuckle. The creature turns his head to see you fighting to stay awake, your body curled up towards him, a nightgown on you for modesty, Nightmare pulls the blankets over you.

You are the most beautiful person he has ever met.

He leans a little towards you when you stir and touch his arm, a strong grip on his forearm as if you fear he will disappear if you fall asleep. Partly true, he will return to his room but he will not be disappearing.

Your voice cracks as your throat is sore from all the moaning and cries of his name, “Stay.” That is impossible but you can feel the gentle loving gaze he has behind that mask. “One day, you can stay.” Knowing better. There would be no punishment as these are the only times both factions can visit each other, however, there will likely be questions and you will not be willing to let anyone make you question your love for the hunter.

He chirps, meeting you halfway to rest his forehead on yours, his now clean hand stroking your cheek. Nightmare for a night felt like more a man than a creature thanks to you.

“I. Love. You.” Broken sentence but he gets it out.

You smile goofily, “I love you too, Orpheus.”

#orpheus x you #idv orpheus x you #orpheus x reader #nightmare x reader #idv nightmare #nightmare x you #identity v x you #identity v x reader #identity v #idv reader insert #idv orpheus #idv novelist #idv x reader #reader insert #idv

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cheapfakeblood · 6 months

Text

here is something i know: i will never meet my heroes. i will never meet achilles, aristos achaion. i will never meet dorian gray. i will never meet patroclus, best of the myrmidons, i will never meet neil gaiman, and i will never oscar wilde, and i will never meet vincent van gogh.

they tell me that i wouldn't want to meet my idols anyway. they tell me that, when i stand in line on the bank of the river styx, waiting to pay charon my fare, i will see the faces that haunted me in life, and i will turn right back around. they say i will not want to meet the men my heroes were.

they are wrong; and i am wrong, too.

i hear the voice of achilles every time i dive a little deeper into the four-metre deep end of the pool. "make me proud," he says. "train to fight. train to hold your own."

i see the face of dorian gray every night as i look into the bathroom mirror. "do this right," he says. "you have youth. do not lose it. follow my lead."

i see the grin of patroclus through the cracks under closed doors as i take falls that aren't mine. "be brave," he urges me. "fortune favors the bold. i know you will not let me down."

i hear the strokes of two pens in the dead of night. "keep going," mr. gaiman tells me. he does not stop his writing. "keep going, even if you are wrong. never stop learning from yourself." mr. wilde hands me a green carnation.

i feel the phantom touch of vincent van gogh when i brush my hand against my mug of brushes. "make something," he instructs me. "make something from your pain, and make it beautiful."

here is something i know: i will never meet my heroes. however, i also know that, when i stand in line, coins in hand, to see their faces across the river, i will not turn back. i will not run from the men they were in life.

here is something i do not know: have i made them proud? when i swim, when i spar, when i write, when i paint, do i make them proud of me?

#dark academia #i ramble #shitty poetry #spilled ink #literature #love poem #to old dead men #i'm normal #about them #i'm so normal about them #vent #only one of my heroes is still alive #and one of them was never real at all #diary entry #basically

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saucy-sassy-sparkly · 1 year

Text

Moments: Seven

Author's Note: The Chris Evans fandom is a complicated place to be right now, so I've been off and on Tumblr to avoid the chaos. As usual, the italics are flashbacks. Bolds are text. I’m aware that the timeline in the real world of movie releases and shooting is off; it’s a work of fiction so I manipulated things to work in my favor… or I was as vague as possible to avoid anyone noticing.

DISCLAIMER: the photo inserts are horribly inaccurate to where they actually are; I know this, but I wanted some visuals of what was in my head.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Word Count: ~7.1k

Moments Masterlist

2014: Boston

Scott grinned at Y/N as he stood on the threshold of her home with Chris. She’d just opened the door in her robe after several minutes of him frantically knocking. Sure, he could’ve used his key, but what fun would that have been when he could see Y/N’s exasperated face? He was holding flowers and a card and yelled, “surprise!” as he thrust them into Y/N’s hands before walking by her to greet Dodger.

“Hello, Scott, do come in?” She said sarcastically as she shut the door and followed Scott into the kitchen where he had already opened the fridge and helped himself to a seltzer. Y/N added a bit sarcastically, “would you like a drink?”

Scott rolled his eyes playfully and plopped down on the kitchen floor to continue to pet Dodger. He gestured to the card and flowers, “I'm supposed to make sure you open the card right now.”

Y/N made small talk with Scott while she stepped over him to get a vase and put the beautiful bouquet in water. He chatted happily, watching her lovingly arrange them and take them carefully to the kitchen table in a prominent view. She cinched her cozy robe tighter and then finally she picked up the card from where she’d dropped it on the table and smiled at her name scrawled on the front– Chris’s handwriting.

Her sweet, goofy Chris, who was back in Atlanta filming and had been for over two months. She’d been down to see him twice, enjoying the time with him and catching up with some of his co-stars who were starting to feel like extended family or luxuriating at the pool at his rental. He’d come home to celebrate Christmas and New Year's with her and their families, making sure to carve out three straight, glorious days with just the two of them and Dodger lounging around their home. On the first day, they’d been so thrilled for some time alone that their celebration had broken a leg on the kitchen table where the bouquet now sat. Y/N felt a blush creep up her neck when she thought of it and she turned back to the card in her hand, running her fingers across the place where his pen had scratched her name.

Besides those visits, they’d been existing on FaceTime and long emails. Sometimes, it was fun that way. Of course, she missed his presence, his laugh, his touch, but she couldn’t help but enjoy the way the distance forced them into something akin to love letters. They managed to get on the phone together most days and text often, but their real communication was through long emails.

“Why didn’t he send this straight to me?” Y/N mused out loud as she turned it over and opened the back.

She looked up in time to see Scott shrug and fail to hide a huge grin, “just read it.”

Pulling out the greeting card, she sighed and smiled at Chris’s 12-year-old humor. She opened the inside and read his inscription:

Y/N, my cinnamon bunny, I’ve been missing you like crazy, I need to see you, honey, And stay in bed with you being lazy.

Go pack a bag, With clothes that are warm, Don’t worry– no place with jet lag, Just somewhere to watch a snowstorm.

Love, C

Y/N was laughing out loud by the time she got to the end of the truly awful poem and Scott was getting to his feet, “I helped him write it. The original version was even worse.”

“Where are we going?”

“Not telling. You have an hour to pack, I’ve got Dodger and the house under control, Chris already talked to Stacey, and your clients are covered until Wednesday. No more questions, go get dressed and pack.”

“Scott,” Y/N whined, “where is it?”

“Don’t you worry, bunny,” he booped her nose and laughed at the face she pulled, “but your hour is wasting away!”

Y/N huffed and started toward their shared bedroom while Scott headed in the other direction, “why would he send flowers if I’m going away!”

“My brother is an idiot, but I’ll enjoy looking at them while you’re gone!” Scott’s voice was distant as they moved apart.

She muttered to herself when she got into the bedroom and went straight for the closet, starting to pull out sweaters, jeans, and underwear. She’d gathered her travel toiletry bag and was staring at the pile she’d made on the bed and debating about bringing something dressy when Scott reappeared with a suitcase. He dumped it on the floor beside the bed and started to take the neat piles she’d made and haphazardly put them in the luggage.

“Scott! I don’t know if I’m taking all of that!”

“You are, just keep bringing me stuff. We’re going to fill the bag.”

“Dude, I’ve used that bag to pack for a month in Europe. I’m not going to fill that for a long weekend.

“Yes, you are. Or I’ll do it for you. Go grab some dresses and heels.”

“Can you just tell me where he’s taking me?”

“I cannot, but I can tell you that you should have lots of options.”

“Why?”

Scott rolled his eyes, “because I know you and I know you like to have options. Bring that black velvet dress you keep making excuses not to wear… And something fun to go under it,” he winked and Y/N rolled her eyes in return.

“Scott, please don’t talk about my underwear,” she laughed as she disappeared into the closet and did gather some lingerie to add to the bag. Scott entered the closet after her and pulled out some heels and boots and another two dresses and then added them to the bag.

“Finish up here,” Scott waved his hands around and disappeared back out into the living room and then quietly snuck out the front door, bringing Dodger with him. He dialed Chris, who picked up on the first ring.

“All good?”

“She’s packing,” Scott grunted as he wrestled to get the box from the basement into his trunk and Dodger ran into the yard after a squirrel.

“Thanks for doing this, I hope it’s a good surprise.” Scott could hear Chris's anxiety through the phone and he stopped what he was doing to focus.

“You guys haven’t spent more than 36 hours together in weeks. She’ll be thrilled.”

“She’s texting me so many questions,” a light chuckle left Chris as he read through them. “Is she really worked up?”

“You know Y/N, she’s always slightly worked up.”

“But does she seem excited?”

“Chris,” Scott’s tone wasn’t a warning, it was trying to probe his older brother, how he knew so well. He could hear in Chris’s voice that his anxiety was about to boil over.

Chris picked up on it immediately, “I know, I’m just nervous.”

“It’s going to be perfect.”

“What if it isn’t? What if–”

“Stop psyching yourself out. You’re both going to remember this weekend forever.”

“But what if–”

“SCOTTY!” Y/N’s voice came from the front door. She emerged from the house in ripped jeans, and Vans, and bundled in a sweater, coat, and scarf and she was dragging the giant bag behind her. “You insisted I bring this giant bag, so come carry it.”

“Gotta go,” Scott muttered into the phone over Chris’s protests.

The line disconnected and Chris looked at his Home Screen- a picture of Y/N and Dodger on a hike a few months ago; the golden hour sun perfectly silhouetted his two favorite creatures standing in front of a beautiful vista– for a few seconds before he got another text from Y/N.

Y/N: Christopher, are you really not going to tell me where I’m going? Chris: you’re coming to see me 😘 I’m here waiting for you Y/N: chrisssssssss! I hate this! Chris: but I love you and I can’t wait to see you Y/N: yeah, yeah. We’re in the car on the way to my mysterious flight. I love you, you little fucker Chris: 😂 💙

The nature of their relationship meant that they spent so much time apart, and it made their reunions always exciting. It wasn’t just the sex- it had been for the first few months- but Chris quickly came to miss the feel of her weight on his chest when she fell asleep on him while they watched tv or read tangled up on the couch. He missed watching her facial expressions while doing everything- her expressive face and talking hands never failed to make him smile. He missed her giggle when he caught her talking… or singing… or dancing alone… or with Dodger, who was never happier than when he was sandwiched between Chris and Y/N.

Chris paced, his worries starting to bubble to the surface while he waited. He took the beer he’d been nursing and finished the rest of it. Chris prided himself in his romantic gestures- he loved to surprise her with something special. In the year and a half they’d been together, he’d done several sweet surprises ranging from small things like a delivery of her favorite flowers to work on a whim to something big like when he flew home from location and booked the last appointment on the Friday before her birthday (under a code name, of course).

But he’d never moved her by surprise. He’d always given her a warning if they were traveling, and always let her choose dates or locations. He’d never called work for her, he’d never overhauled the whole operation without her consultation. He was worried that she’d be upset. She had her own world too and had already sacrificed parts of it to move to Boston nine months ago. He never wanted to seem that he expected her to give up everything for him and he was starting to panic that this would feel controlling to her rather than romantic.

“Scotty, please,” Y/N begged, leaning across the console and batting her eyes at him, “tell me tell me tell me tell me.”

“You are so obnoxious!”

“But I want to know where I’m going!”

Scott grinned as he slowed and turned on his turn signal, “actually, we’re here.”

“This isn’t Logan. I’m not flying?” She peered out the window at the tree-lined road.

“You’re flying.”

“How am I—“ her voice cut off as he pulled around a small, simple building to reveal several hangers, a small flight tower, and a runway. “Oh!”

Chris saw Scott’s car and walked down the stairs of the small jet he’d chartered, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and waiting for the car to come to a stop. Before Scott had the car in park, Chris barked out a laugh as he watched Y/N and Dodger tumble out of the passenger seat and run towards him. He crouched to greet Dodger briefly before opening his arms just in time for Y/N to jump into them.

“You asshole!” She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him hard; when she pulled back he was laughing and she continued, “can you please tell me what’s happening now?”

“I missed you too,” he kissed her again, pulled back and grinned at her, kissed her one last time just a little more deeply before he cut himself off and slapped her ass, signaling her to hop down, “let me help Scott, then I’ll tell you some things.”

She sighed heavily and let him set her down, following him to the trunk of Scott’s car. Chris lifted her suitcase out of the trunk and Y/N balked at the items below it, “when did you get our skis?”

“While you were complaining,” Scott smirked, pulling out the box of their ski clothes and boots and the long thin bag of skis. Scott and Chris made dragging the bags across the tarmac look easy as they handed them off to the small crew. The boys turned back to Y/N who was gaping at the jet.

Chris was watching Y/N’s awe with a smitten, far away look on his face; Scott grinned at his brother, briefly hugged him, and did the same with her before he jogged back to the car with Dodger, leaving the two at the foot of the stairs.

“Shall we?” Chris gestured to the stairs and her eyes widened further. He couldn’t wipe the smirk off of his face; she’d always refused to take a private jet when he’d offered to coordinate one. She thought it was too much and over the top– and it often is– so she’d fly commercial, particularly as they so rarely got a chance to fly together. Usually, it was one of them flying to meet the other or Chris flying home with the occasional vacation mixed in.

“Seriously?” She clapped her hands together like an excited toddler and started up the stairs, warmly greeting the crew and babbling about the interior of the plane. “Where do we sit?”

Before he could answer, they were interrupted when the flight attendant offered to stow their coats; Chris pulled his puffer jacket off and handed it to her before reaching for Y/N and helping hers off her shoulders. His hands caught the soft fabric of her warm sweater and he let out an audible sigh; having his hands on her in any way brought him such comfort that he could feel his tension easing. After giving the attendants their coats, he was ready to give her his full attention when he turned back.

She’d wandered back to the plush sofa built into one of the walls and had dropped her tote bag on the seat. She was distracted as she hunched over it to root around– presumably for her book based on her usual flying habits– and Chris approached her, swatting her ass playfully and making her yelp.

“Christopher!”

When she turned to him, he immediately grasped her hips, rubbing his hands on the soft fabric and squeezing her hips firmly before planting a tender kiss on her lips, “I’m so happy to see you.” He muttered against her lips before kissing her again. He loved the feeling of her arms dragging up his shoulders to play in his hair. He loved the feeling of her body pressed into his. He missed it all so much when he was gone.

The older he got, and the deeper in love he fell with Y/N, the more he realized that his job was great, but he didn’t love it or the constant travel anywhere near as much as he loved her.

“Where are we going?”

“That,” he pecked her lips and started to pull away when he noticed the attendant returning with two glasses of champagne, “is still a surprise.” He took the glasses off the tray and held onto them while Y/N got situated on the sofa, buckling her seatbelt as instructed, and then holding the glasses while Chris did the same. They toasted each other and their time together before another kiss and a deep pull of the fizzing drink. Y/N tucked her legs up, leaning her body into Chris and enjoying being close to him and wrapped up in his smell. She always missed him while he was away working, but the way his smell slowly started to dissipate from the sheets, the t-shirt she slept in, and the house while he was gone was always the most noticeable difference.

For the duration of the flight they were wrapped up in each other, Y/N’s book laying forgotten on her lap. They chatted, they pressed into each other, and they made out; Chris had found a blanket and wrapped them both in it while they watched the snow-covered descent. It was dusk when they disembarked and walked across the small tarmac to the waiting, warm SUV where their luggage had already been loaded.

“Do you know where we are?” Chris finally asked with a smirk, holding her hand in the back seat while the driver navigated the snowy roads.

She peered out the window, squinting in the setting sun for road signs or clues. Coming up empty, she finally shook her head, “no idea. I’m assuming this is the part where one of you murders me.”

Chris chuckled, “no, bun, look,” he pointed out the window behind her and she turned to crane her neck at the sign of the hotel they were approaching.

“Shut up,” Y/N said slowly before repeating, “SHUT UP!” with more excitement. “I haven’t been back here since…”

“Since President’s Day Weekend 1997?”

“It’s President’s Day Weekend,” she mused, her eyes widening. “Oh, this is so sweet!” She pulled him towards her to kiss as they pulled into the Lodge at Killington Ski Resort. The driver held the door open when they arrived at the side entrance and Chris donned his usual Bruins hat pulled low over his eyes before he got out. He held out his hand to Y/N and guided her into the building and they quietly checked in, Chris requesting that their luggage be brought up to the room.

Y/N was surprised when the manager walked around the counter and escorted them to their room, taking them down the same passageway they'd entered, across an outdoor alcove, and into another building. After a set of elevators and a few twisting hallways, she swiped the key card and pushed open the doors; Chris put one hand on the small of Y/N’s back as he shook hands with the manager, presumably with a tip in hand, and thanked her before she quietly exited the suite.

“Babe, this is beautiful,” Y/N stepped away from him towards the windows that were thrown open to catch the twinkling of the lights on the lift and the reflection of the moon on the snow where their room overlooked the mountains. She felt him approach her from behind, wrapping his burly arms around her center and resting his chin on her shoulder. She nestled into his embrace and heaved a heavy sigh, “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but thank you.”

Chris pulled her to face him so quickly that she let out a gasp. He held her fast around the waist and looked at her carefully. “You didn’t have to do anything to deserve this. I’d give you the goddamn moon if I could, Y/N. You deserve so much more than I can give you but I’m so grateful you love me.”

Y/N was stunned and raised her hands to his cheeks, caressing the brustle of his beard, “is everything okay?” She noticed his eyes watering and he started to avoid her eye contact. “Chris?” She asked again, pulling his face towards her but he fluttered his eyes closed. “What’s going on?”

He forced a laugh, “nothing.” She knew it was a fake laugh and she knew it was a fake response but she decided not to press the issue, just giving him one last curious look before pressing up to kiss his lips gently and then turning in his arms to lean back against him. His grasp tightened and she swore she heard him sniffle when he settled his chin back on her shoulder again after kissing the crook of her neck and shoulder.

Neither of them was sure how long they stood there, but it was the rumbling in Y/N’s stomach that alerted them to the need for dinner. They opted for room service and were surprised by its speed. After scarfing it down, Chris suggested they finish their bottle of wine out in their private deck jacuzzi.

Y/N donned her simple blue bathing suit and wrapped in a fluffy resort robe to slip out onto the cold deck. Chris was facing the mountains and lounging casually in the warm water when he heard the french doors shut and turned his attention to Y/N just in time to see the robe drop and the cheeky cut of her bathing suit when she bent to drape it over the bench where his already was. He groaned, thinking of how long it had been since he had his hands on her and his fingers, his tongue, his cock inside of her…

“Bun, you look good enough to eat,” he said as he moved to the side and held her hand while she stepped in. The moan she made as the warm water hit her body and soothed her tired muscles didn’t help him calm down.

“As much as I love you and miss you, Christopher, a good makeout is the best you’re going to get tonight. Your girl is very tired,” she emphasized her point by scooting over in the seat to press her side into his and lean her head on his shoulder. He slid his arm around her shoulders and draped it over her, running his fingers lightly on her arms. He could feel the goosebumps rise to the surface of her skin.

“We’ve got a lifetime of sex, baby, I don’t need it every time I see you. I want it– I always want it– but I’m happy just sitting next to you.”

Y/N’s heart thundered at the word lifetime but she didn’t say anything, afraid to spook him. She’d been thinking about marriage for a while now; she was ready and she couldn’t picture her life without Chris in it now. But he shied away from the topic, always redirecting when it came up. He constantly reassured her that he loved her, that she was the only thing he wanted– he talked about the future regularly– but that word marriage seemed to freak him out. Plus, with the way he’d clammed up just an hour ago, she decided to let it pass.

Instead, she let her hand rest on his thigh under the water, the other holding her wine just above the water level and taking careful sips. Their conversation was whispered and full of long pauses while they took in the beautiful evening and each other’s presence. When the wine was gone, Chris pulled Y/N between his legs and started to run his hands up her waist, over her shoulders, gently kneading the muscles in her neck and back. The straps of her bathing suit fell away but neither of them fixed it. He slowly worked across her shoulders and neck, then down her back, occasionally leaning forward to press a kiss to a particularly tight knot before moving on to another. Y/N’s hands were grasping his thighs tightly, squeezing in time with the occasional sighs and moans she’d let out when he made a particularly good move. She could feel him twitching behind her but she chose to ignore it, knowing that she didn’t have the energy and he’d be lying if he said he did. He’d put his all into making love if they did, but they both needed this intimacy of the private moment exploring each other’s bodies more than they needed another carnal meeting.

When his hands slowed and trailed back to her waist– after brushing the sides of her breasts on the way south– she leaned back against him and turned her face to look at him. “My turn?”

“You don’t have to,” he whispered, taking advantage of her facing him to kiss her lips. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“All I’m promising is a massage, but I’m happy to do it.”

“Let’s go inside,” he pushed her up and held her waist while he stood. He exited the water and stepped out, wrapping himself in his robe before grabbing her hand and then helping her bundle. They scurried inside to avoid the cold and dried off the rest of the way before changing into dry clothes for sleep. “I swear I’m not looking for payback, Y/N, I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“And you did, and it won’t lead to sex, but I want to touch you for a while,” she pointed to the bed as he climbed on and lay face down. He felt her climb onto the bed and then straddle his back, sitting on top of his ass in her tiny sleep shorts. He could feel the warmth of her core pressing into his lower back. Her hands trailed the skin on his exposed back, starting with his lower back and making her way up his spine, gratefully working the muscles. By the time she reached his shoulders and neck, he was in a blissful state of relaxation and he almost missed the featherlight kisses she trailed down his spine before she crawled off and pulled back the covers.

Chris slowly worked his way under the covers and yanked her to him; by this point in their relationship, they didn’t sleep pressed against each other most nights. They were used to sleeping alone and the nights they slept against each other were usually just when they fell asleep naked, too tired to even get dressed after a romp.

But tonight, he needed her closeness. He needed to feel her and know that she wasn’t going anywhere, that she was his and only his.

They slept late and lazed about the suite, again opting for room service and reading in bed before they got ready for a day on the slopes. Chris had arranged all the lift tickets and necessities beforehand (or at least his assistant had), and they could just walk straight out to the lift and start their day. A day of laughing and competition built as they sped down the slopes, only stopping briefly for cheeseburgers and beer at the lodge before heading back out to burn off more fuel. They took to the skills park and tried to beat each other at everything, poking fun and making a light and special day they hadn’t gotten to spend with each other in so long.

So often their time together was squished in between their work schedules and regular daily life or surrounded by family for holidays; it had been ages since they just got to spend the time as the two of them. Towards sunset, they reached the bottom of a trail and Chris pulled off his goggles to catch her eye. “You wanna do one more run?”

“Yes, please,” Y/N grinned, heading towards the lift line and enjoying the pressure of Chris’s gloved hand on her back while they waited. It seemed that everyone had the same idea, so the line was longer than it had been, and Y/N could feel Chris’s impatience next to him.

“This is where we met,” she turned to him with a grin.

He hesitated and took everything in. Not one bit of it had changed. The creek and grind of the lift, the trees were more full but were all still there, and the most beautiful girl he’d ever met was there too. Neither one of them had paused all day to really think about it, but the glow of the setting sun, the feel of the end of a long day moving, and the nostalgia all kicked in at once. When Chris looked back at her, Y/N had tears streaming down her face.

“Baby?” He said quietly, getting as close as he could with the puffy coats and skis, “are you okay?”

“I just can’t believe we made it this far,” she breathed, laughing at herself and swiping at her eyes with her gloves. “Sorry. Just who knew those two idiots would end up living together.”

Chris pulled off his glove and used his cold fingers to pull her chin to face him. “Who would’ve thought those idiots would end up in love.” He kissed her so hard she nearly stumbled both with the physical and emotional impact of his words. “I love you, bunny,” he whispered against her lips when he kissed her again, only pulling away to move them forward in line.

They waited and then boarded the lift in silence, stealing glances at each other and grinning. When they got off at the top, Chris again pulled her as close as he could through the accessories and kissed her without another word. They moved away from each other and towards their favorite trail– still The Jug– and took it slowly and leisurely; Y/N still remembered her last run that day years ago and didn’t need another broken ankle.

They returned to their room and lounged around, Chris eventually showering while Y/N dozed by the fireplace. He roused her and convinced her to shower, telling her that when she got out, they’d make dinner plans. After luxuriating in the warm water for longer than she planned, Y/N exited the bathroom in the same fluffy robe she’d been wearing in the room, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Chris was standing before her looking handsome in a sleek black suit and thin tie. If she’d been wearing panties, they would’ve been soaked immediately, and she couldn't stop her jaw from dropping.

“What– Chris– You look–” She stuttered while Chris laughed, adjusting his cuffs and watching her from under his lashes. He approached her slowly, putting his hands out to caress her hips and pull her to him.

Kissing her, he murmured, “Get dressed, baby, we have dinner reservations in 30 minutes.”

“I don’t have anything to wear that matches that!”

“Nothing black and velvet?” He asked with a crooked grin, “I’ve never seen it on you, just on the hanger in our closet. Wear it for me, please.”

Y/N’s throat was dry and she nodded vigorously. “30 minutes?”

“30 minutes,” he repeated, dipping his head to kiss her again. “I’ll get out of your way,” he murmured against her, squeezing her hips and then sliding down to squeeze her ass. She hurried back into the luxurious bathroom and got to work fixing her hair and putting on some makeup. She was grateful that she didn’t normally spend much time getting ready, so 30 minutes didn’t panic her as it would some of her girlfriends, but it was still a rush to get it all together.

When she stepped out of the bathroom in her svelte velvet dress and knee-high suede black boots, she knew how good she looked and she knew it would be all he could do not to fall at her feet. She was right; her heels clicked in the hallway of the suite as she came to the bedroom area and found him lounging across the king-sized bed scrolling his phone. She didn’t miss his eyes widening or him adjusting his slacks.

“Ready to go?”

“No,” he answered, swiftly sitting up, “I changed my mind.” Chris flew off the bed and started towards her, but Y/N stepped away and pulled her jacket out of the closet. He relented and helped her into it, but not before watching the way the muscles in her lower back moved when she slid into it.

Dinner was off the resort property so they climbed into a waiting car; Chris’s hand fell immediately to Y/N’s thigh in the back seat. She only had to swat it away once when it started to trail too high up her leg. After the short drive, they arrived at a lovely, beautifully lit restaurant nestled on the other side of the mountain.

Chris led her into the restaurant, the warmth of his hand bleeding through her thick peacoat as they walked to the hostess stand. It was cozy inside with exposed brick and lights strung across the bustling tables.

The hostess led them around a corner and up a secluded set of stairs. She pushed the door open and they entered a beautiful rooftop lounge overlooking the mountains. The whole area was empty but clearly expecting them as all five of the fire pits in the area were roaring. The table they approached was next to the biggest fire and had two large faux fur blankets waiting for them.

Chris shrugged off his jacket and then reached for hers. When she hesitated, he smiled softly, “I promise I’ll keep you warm,” and she relented and slipped out of the coat before sliding into the booth and close to the fireplace.

He draped one of the blankets across his shoulders and then reached across her back to drape it around her. Y/N busied herself spreading the second blanket across their laps and gladly accepted the hot toddy the waiter had ready. She snuggled into Chris’s side and he wrapped her up tightly, kissing her temple. When she finally relaxed and looked around, she took in the moon's reflection on the snowy mountain and the soothing sounds of the crackling fire.

“It’s beautiful here,” she looked up at Chris, who leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

“You are beautiful,” his lips were warm and tasted like the whiskey and cloves of his drink as he pressed his lips into hers one more time, holding her face to his by the back of her neck. Y/N grasped his thigh and sighed as he leaned back, “I love you,” he pecked her nose, “my sweet bunny.”

Under her hand, his phone vibrated in his pocket and she ignored it, grinning up at him, “thank you for this weekend.”

“Anything for you,” he finally felt it and leaned away from her, pulling his phone out, briefly checking the screen, and then dropping it on the bench. He returned his attention to her and then sipped their warm drinks while Y/N crossed her legs towards him, letting her top leg drape over his.

Eventually, the waiter came back with menus and warm bread and butter; they pursued in companionable silence when Chris’s phone started to vibrate on the bench. With a heavy sigh, he checked the screen and groaned, “it’s Megan, baby. She’s called twice now, and I blew her off yesterday too, do you mind if I just see what she wants? I’ll get rid of her quickly.”

“Of course,” Y/N waved him off, still scanning the menu while he answered his phone with a curt, “Meg, I’m at my anniversary dinner with Y/N, what’s up?”

Y/N grinned to herself. Anniversary dinner… she supposed it was their anniversary. 17 years ago this weekend Scott nearly killed her and sent them on this long journey to today. They hadn’t really celebrated an anniversary since they’d gotten together– they’d celebrated major milestones in their relationship like saying I love you and moving in together, but it had never occurred to either of them to discuss an actual anniversary date. Hearing Chris say that to Megan, and knowing that this was special to him, made Y/N’s heart ache with so much love for him.

When she pulled herself out of her daydream, she noticed Chris’s tense body next to her. His end of the conversation had been short, mostly listening to Megan, but his body language had changed drastically in the last thirty seconds.

“I don’t understand,” his voice was low and sharp and his free hand was clenched in a fist. “Can’t I just comment?”

Silence.

More silence, filled only with Chris trying to steady his breathing and the low murmur of Megan’s voice on the other end.

“What the fuck, how did this happen?” Megan’s response was short, and Chris heaved a heavy sigh, “but we both know that wasn’t what it was… is she commenting? So, I just have to let it happen? Are you fucking kidding me?” More waiting on Megan. He glanced over at Y/N and forced a strained smile. Y/N reached for him and unclenched his fist, sliding her hand into his. He squeezed it and held her eyes while he said to Megan, “I have to tell Y/N.”

His facial expression changed and he paused to listen to Megan, but he quickly furrowed his brows, “no, it should come from me. Thanks, Meg.” He hung up and scrubbed his hand over his face, then took a long pull from his drink and set the empty glass back on the table.

“Baby, some of the gossip rags are running a story. Meg is on it and trying to squash it and my legal team is working with her, but it’s already all over the internet.”

Y/N squared her shoulders and bit her lip, “… okay.”

“Remember a few weeks ago when I told you I’d run into Minka?” Y/N nodded, thinking back to Chris’s frantic phone call. He’d been so nervous; he’d called her from his trailer between shots to say that he’d heard Minka was filming something in Atlanta and one of his co-stars had run into her at a Starbucks. The co-star had invited her to a dinner the cast was having and Chris was so worried about Y/N’s reaction that he hadn’t waited for another second to get in touch.

Y/N had assured him that she trusted him wholeheartedly; she knew about his past as he did about hers, and she knew that in Hollywood, exes crossed paths by nature of the job. It was bound to happen and Y/N had encouraged him to go, to enjoy himself. They’d gone to dinner at a local restaurant- six of them in total, including Chris and Minka. He’d text her occasionally through dinner and sat on the other side of the round table from Minka, only engaging in polite small talk. He’d excused himself early to run an errand at a shop a few doors down from the restaurant and then head home. On the way out of the store, Minka had been waiting for her Uber. He’d stopped to wait with her– the first time they’d been alone all night– offered her a hug, put her in her car, and walked back to his rental.

“Apparently some paps got some pictures that look compromising and they’re running them.”

“How compromising?”

Chris winced at the same time that Y/N felt her phone vibrate for what felt like the 100th time since they sat down. She knew when she pulled it out of her clutch that it would be covered in texts and calls.

“Chris, how compromising?”

“Y/N, I love you and nothing happened, I swear it was nothing.”

“How. Compromising.”

“Chris?” Chris’s head snapped up when he heard the voice; he’d been grinning at his phone and the group chat from his siblings when Minka’s voice startled him.

“Mink, hey, what are you doing?” He shoved his phone in his pocket– the one that held his newest purchase.

“The corner by the restaurant was really crowded,” she shrugged, crossing her arms and smiling up at him, “I walked down here to wait for my Uber.”

“Did you know I was here?” He gestured at the store behind him, feeling suspicious.

She laughed, “I swear,” she threw up her hands in innocence, “I’m not stalking you. I thought you’d already gone home. I just didn’t want to wait in the crowd,” she pointed towards the group of people eating outdoors on the sidewalk surrounding the restaurant they’d just left.

He nodded, “so, how ya been?”

“You don’t have to wait with me, Chris. I’m a big girl. I know you didn’t want to see me tonight.” Her voice was tight and clipped.

“I’m not going to leave you here alone,” his tone matched hers.

“So did you want to see me tonight? Or were you avoiding me?”

He sighed, “I was avoiding you. I just don’t think it’s appropriate to spend time with you.”

“So go then,” she was clearly hurt and Chris, momentarily, felt guilty.

“Minka, I’m not leaving you standing here alone.” He repeated, “Ma would kill me.”

“Lisa does love me,” she grinned.

“She did.” Chris countered, “but she adores Y/N.”

“Right,” Minka dropped her gaze to her heels and kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk, “she’s the one from the ski trip right?”

Chris couldn't stop his grin or the words that tumbled out, “Yup,” he popped the ‘p’ before he continued, “she’s the one.”

Minka’s head snapped up at him, “the one? Like…” Chris nodded, his grin so huge it his face ached. She couldn't help but smile softly, “Is that why you were here?” She pointed at the store behind him. A local jewelry shop. Where he’d just picked up a custom-designed engagement ring.

“You’re going to propose to her?”

“We don’t have to talk about this.”

“When?” Her voice was soft, but she was smiling.

“President’s Day weekend. It’s when we met,” Chris was giddy with excitement as he pictured sliding the ring onto Y/N’s finger. He’d planned the whole weekend already and he couldn't wait for it to get here. “Do you– do you want to see it?”

Minka nodded, reaching out her hands; he pulled it out of his pocket, and with it came his phone, which crashed to the sidewalk next to him. He handed Minka the box and knelt to grab his phone, pausing to check it for damage and cursing lightly at the cracked screen.

“It’s gorgeous, Chris,” Minka grinned down at him, turning the box in her hand while she gazed at the ring. He rose and leaned over her shoulder to stare at it. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

A black car slid up to the sidewalk and Minka checked her phone, “that’s me,” she pointed, handing the box back to Chris, who pocketed it with his now broken phone. She hesitated before pressing a kiss to his cheek and wrapping him in a hug, “I’m glad you’re happy, Chris.” He released her and watched her step into the car, offering a final wave before driving off.

“They’re making it look like I proposed to her,” his voice was strained and he was rubbing his hands across his neck, his face, his thighs, anywhere he could reach. He wanted to reach out to her but he wasn’t sure if she’d take it.

She was silent for several seconds, staring at him with her mouth open. “How is that possible?”

“I haven’t seen the pictures, but I guess the angle they got, the expressions or something… Megan is on it. She’s trying to get Minka’s team to comment. I’m sorry, baby, this isn’t how I pictured this night going.”

Y/N shook her head, “yeah, me either, what the fuck, Chris. What were you doing with Minka that could possibly be twisted into a proposal?”

“Bunny, it was so innocent. I don’t know how they spun it.” Chris was drenched in sweat; the engagement ring in his pocket felt like it weighed 1000 pounds and his chest ached to watch the different emotions cross Y/N’s face.

She reached for her phone and started to click through notifications. Everyone she knew– everyone she knew, including Chris’s siblings– had texted her. She went for Scott’s first.

Scott: you know him and you trust him, Megan will make it go away. Y/N: send me the picture Scott: that doesn’t seem like a good idea Y/N: I’m going to search it if you don’t. Please, Scott.

There was a pause when Scott sent a screenshot of the story. The headline read “Exclusive: Chris Evans and Minka Kelly: Engaged at Long Last!” and the picture did indeed appear to be a grinning Chris and Minka standing outside a jewelry shop in Atlanta. Minka had a black ring box in her hand and Chris was kneeling in front of her.

“Chris,” Y/N whispered and handed him the phone. She was trying not to cry while she tried to determine what was the reality of all of this. She knew that the paparazzi twisted everything. She knew that the gossip magazines would make anything into a story. She knew she’d been dragged around the internet a few times for being seen kissing Chris at baseball games and the supermarket.

She also knew that Chris had “claimed” her– they lived together, and Megan and Chris had both confirmed the relationship. Her name had never, to her knowledge, been officially released, but her picture certainly had. Since they’d moved in together, he hadn’t had a premiere, but they’d already discussed the plans for the next several: she’d walk the red carpet with him. Y/N knew her place in his world and tried to remain calm but this picture, their expressions, Chris on his knees… it was hard to keep her resolve.

Taglist: @bellaireland1981 @before-we-get-started @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @elrw244 @maylaysia109 @royalwritersoftheuniverses

#chrisevans #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans series #chris evans fluff #chris evans angst #chris evans smut

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zkyfall · 2 years

Text

Trans Arcane Week - Day 2: Family

A late submission for Day 2 and a preview of day 3: self-expression:

Silco’s always supported Jinx expressing herself. He shouldn’t have been surprised when she wanted to return the favor.

----

“One layer is enough right?” Jinx asks from her perch on the couch, boots and socks off and toes splayed wide so the freshly-multicolored nails don’t touch.

“No.” Silco answers from his permanent post at his desk, not looking up from a shipping manifest. “Let the base set, then build up, layer by layer.”

“Layers? What am I, a cake? How many? Two?”

“With a sealant on top, to preserve it.”

Jinx groans and kicks her feet into the air.

“Patience, child. These things take time.”

“I’ve been patient. Ugh, I need to create a formula that dries faster.” Jinx jumps to her feet and wobbles across the office to throw herself across the desk in an exaggerated swoon. “This is the WORST. I’m so BORED. Let me paint yours.”

Silco signs a looping ‘S’ on a dotted line. “No.”

Jinx grabs his hand anyways. He smoothly transitions his pen to the left hand and keeps working (the showoff). She nibbles her thumb and rubs at his fingers with her other hand, admiring the sheen of his nail bed. “Wow, you have really nice nails.”

“Because I don’t chew them.”

Jinx scowls and retracts the digit from her mouth. "GOOD. Then the nail polish will last longer."

A few seconds later, a colorful assortment of pilfered nail polishes are strewn across Silco’s desk. The full gamut of neons, pastels, and even some boring ones thrown in for CONTRAST.

“Hmm, what to pick, what to pick.” Jinx examines each bottle in turn: winners get a comfy spot on top of a pile of receipts while losers get chucked in the general direction of the couch. The temptation to pick pink or lime is almost overpowering but Jinx tamps it down. She’d have to ease her dad into those. Better to start with something he’d be only a little uncomfortable with, something already in his existing palette maybe–

“Ooooo, this one! Black. Bold. Fits the whole vampire goth thing you got going on.”

Silco lips quirk up at that. “Good guess.”

“What?”

“That was my preference, a long time ago. When I was around your age.” When Silco talks about the past, he either overflows with zealous passion (which means its BIG speech time ugh) or sinks into a wistful nostalgia. This time, Silco’s face softens. “Black or blue. It did look good.”

“Oooh, were you exploring the joys of adulthood? Finding yourself through creative self-expression?” Jinx rolls her eyes and gesturing at his stuffy attire. “Shame it didn’t pan out”

Silco sighs and leans back into his chair, carding fingers through his hair though it was already perfectly styled. “I put that part of myself away.”

Jinx furrows her brow, she’s been hoping he’d rise to her bait, not get…sad or whatever. “Like…you didn’t like it?”

Silco hums. “Not quite. It simply didn’t serve me.”

“Serve you? What happened to ‘wear what makes you happy, Jinx’?”

“Nothing. You should wear what makes you happy.” Silco leans forward and levels a steady gaze on his ward. “And I wear what gets me results.”

“Oh no,” Jinx groans, “I feel a lecture coming on and I’ve already hit my lecture quota for this week sooo–”

“I had to become what they fear, Child. That took some forms of self-expression off the table.”

“Hahahah, so that”–Jinx waves at his chest–“is what people are afraid of? Fancy vests with gold trim?”

Silco huffs a laugh. “Oddly enough, yes. People are strange. The structure, the materials, it sends a message.”

----

I WILL FINISH THIS, I SWEAR @arcanefandomweek

#transarcaneweek #silco #jinx #arcane #nailpolish #all the fathers day posts got me in a mood #so here's a lil familial bonding #arcane silco #arcane fanart #arcane jinx #the only reason Jinx's nails look good in this pic is because she JUST painted them before doing her toes ahah

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soberlovey · 5 months

Text

out of the ashes that burn.

JOHN WICK + F!READER father/daugher. (PLATONIC)

THIS WILL BE A ONGOING SERIES (if continued)

mild cussing, yah yah..

You placed your wet hand on the brick wall, it making a dark hand print where it lied. Your eyes shined in the dark streetlights, tears running down your cheeks while your arms struggled to stay upright while pressing against the rough, white, brick wall.

The streets were emptier than normal, however this was the part of the city where barley anyone was. Especially at night. By a lot of people you knew, this part of the city was called "Dead Of Night"

Your jacket stuck to your skin, humid and wet. Your black long sleeved shirt grey from the streetlight shining on it. The rain pattered against your head, large, heavy droplets descending from the dark clouds in the sky.

Running from a car nearly hitting you because you decided to jay-walk is scary as hell.

Hands off the wall, you took a step back as the weight of the damp sleeves of your shirt weighed your arms down. You took out a sharpie and held it to the wall, eyes searching for any nearby cameras.

Nothing, but thats not a surprise.

Taking a moment to think what to write, the puddles near you splashing from the raindrops, giving the slightest inspiration to you.

"Dont jay-walk. You'll drown in your own blood."

Warning people is fun, hm?

You shoved the marker back in your pocket, then looked back up at the writing on the wall, reading it over and over again.

Then, that loop of reading got interrupted.

Footsteps echoed from the corner of the building you stood near, they were audible, but you couldn't hear them that well.

You figured it was most likely the mailman. You were near a neighborhood afterall.

Dismissing it, you decided to walk off.

Curiosity grew, you were aware this person was behind you. You had to look back.

Your head spun, looking back as the shocked mailman jumped.

"Oh my gosh! Ma'am im so sorry."

The mailman yelped.

The guilt rose from your heart, you felt horrible. You didnt mean to scare the poor guy.

"Oh, dear. Sorry. I thought you were following me."

The mailman's words started to jumble and he stuttered as he tried to explain.

"I-I mean you were heading to a certain address.. I thought."

"No. Its fine."

You were a bit tired from talking to this socially unstable mailman, obviously.

"Listen, Ma'am I have to deliver some mail-"

The drop of a slightly heavy envelope interrupted him mid sentence.

You read the address, a bell rung in your head as the familiar name struck your memory.

"Oh, The Continental? I know where that is."

You picked the envelope, it sounded like a few quarters or something were in there.

"Say, how bout' I do you a favor.. and I drop this off at The Continental."

You smirked as the mailman's expression changed to a look of concern.

"Ma'am. Its my job. I got it."

Really? Well, you did have to stop by the store near that dumb hotel anyway. Why not have something fun to do while you were on your way.

"No, sir. I insist. Just tell your boss you got it, alright!"

You didn't even give him a chance to respond, but it was clear he agreed.

As you walked, the wind gusted against your clothes even though the rain stopped. Your body, still wet sent chills along your back.

The urge to open the envelope grew, well because what seemed to be in that envelope didnt seem like a rent due notice or a letter from the owner.

Some coins and a letter didn't seem like that at all.

"I have to open it"

You whispered under your cold breath, as the transparent gust left your mouth from the coldness of the air.

Using your nail, you opened the envelope for a piece of folded paper and two big, golden, coins to greet you.

The light reflected off them as the light from the reflection glazed your eyes at the slightest.

You grabbed the piece of paper and held it up to your eyes.

"John Wick"

Written across the front of the folded paper in black, bold pen.

Hm, whos that?

Opening up the paper, the dark words seemed as less professional than a eviction notice or anything. This was obviously a letter to John Wick, whoever that is.

Your eyes went back and fourth across the paper as you read the letter.

"Dear Jonathan, I and my crew are aware of the situation you have gotten yourself in over the past few weeks, and fortunately we stand with you. We have made sure to help you the best we can by providing you with ammunition and weaponry. We pray for you and your safety."

"Well, no sincerely? I guess we'll never know how this belongs to. Not my problem. Unless this "John Wick" Becomes my problem."

You whispered with every ounce of pride, it was clear no one could hear you. But it wasn't necessary for anyone to hear your prideful remark.

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iad0ru · 1 year

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Switched — first concert ever

Pairing Popstar!Bahiyyih x Princess!reader

Summary In which the popstar is tired of her stressful life, and the princess is tired of her boring life, so what do they do when they meet at a concert? Switch lives of course!

w.c.: 675

warnings: none!

masterlist

sliding on her shoes, y/n looked in the mirror at her concert outfit. deeming it acceptable, she grabbed her small bag, slipping her basic concert necessities in it, as well as her small pen-looking wand in the bag. Who knows what she might need it for, having never been to a concert (other than an opera) before.

stepping onto the heart-shaped concrete walkway, y/n called for her driver, to which he quickly arrived and y/n slipped in the back of the car. looking out the window, she could see yuna, her assistant, running down the long entrance hallway before skidding to a stop outside, waving excitedly at y/n as she drove away.

after a little while a nervous fretting at the thought of being around so many people, she arrived at the venue. large groups of people were milling about in different areas, some at concession stands, others getting lightsticks or other merchandise, others just simply talking.

"wow... it's like a press conference meeting but for teenagers," the awestruck princess muttered, remembering the insane amount of people with caneras and mics that she and her parents would have to entertain for over 3 hours.

walking into the semi-empty venue space, y/n looked out over the sea of chairs and lights. there were only staff on the stage at the moment, but y/n knew the opening duo would go on soon. kep1ve was a new japanese duo that took the internet by storm. reportedly, they were also really good friends with hiyyih, the main artist performing tonight.

looking at her ticket, y/n found her seat, making herself comfortable before watching people start to run in for their seats before the music started.

a few notes start up and kep1ve, rei and hikaru, walked out, yelling out greetings to the crowd in english, korean, and japanese. even though they weren't who most people were here to see, they knew how to hype a crowd, and as they finished their short set the crowd was going wild.

"now, i'm going to need you all to do us a favor! are you listening?" rei asked, her sweet toned voice echoing over the screaming sea of lightsticks. the crowd responded cheerily, which made rei giggle before letting hikaru talk,

"we need you to start chanting, like this," she motioned over to rei and they both spoke gently into their mics at first "hiyyih, hiyyih, hiyyih, hiyyih" before climbing into a shout, motioning for the crowd to do so as well, "HIYYIH, HIYYIH, HIYYIH"

"like that! perfect!" and that was all they said as they walked off stage.

As the shouting became louder and louder, a tall figure finally stepped onto the stage, and roses, hiyyih's fandom name, lost it. if you were close enough, which y/n was, you'd be able to see hiyyih take a shaky breath before looking up with a bright grin on her face.

"hello roses! oh, i'm so happy to see you all! thank you so much for being here and giving me the opportunity to be here with you!" she said, repeatedly bowing and waving, occasionally blowing kisses.

letting out a cheer, y/n clapped and hopped on her feet. hiyyih turned to y/n's section and started waving and blowing kisses. deciding to be bold, y/n decided to call out,

"hiyyih, we love you!" she said, grinning as hiyyih turned to her, locking eyes with her and giving the brightest grin yet,

"i love you, too!" she giggled through her words before moving more center-stage and making a motion to the band behind her.

"are you ready to hear frozen petals? yea? alright!" and with that she started singing, her candy-toned voice sending smooth notes across the crowd, the pumped up song making the still-sitting people rise from their seats and jump to the beat, the flashing rose lightstick glowing colors pink and white with each beat.

hiyyih paused between lyrics to shout once more,

"let's go!"

Taglist — open!

a/n i want to go to a concert so bad...

#🫧 iad0ru #✨ Switched #🌑 — thalia writes #bahiyyih x reader #hiyyih x reader #kep1er smau #kep1er x reader #kpop smau

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booksandwitchery · 6 months

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23 October, 2023

This post was conceived when, a few hours ago, I was so frustrated and borderline anxious because I couldn't find my fountain pen. I had reread some words in Vol. 2 of my grimoire about the voice of intuition feeling bold, expansive, and full of possibility. I wanted to write some reflective thoughts/notes about this in my Book of Shadows, but for around thirty minutes my fountain pen was nowhere to be found. I have loads of pens that would have worked fine. My fountain pen isn't particularly fancy, either--if I remember correctly, it was cheaper than $10. I think, how did it happen that I have become so attached? Luckily, I found my fountain pen after about thirty minutes, immediately feeling this nonsensical feeling of relief and comfort. And I began to write in my notebook.

I guess that's a testament in favor of the argument that physical objects can aid a person's magick by the feelings they evoke or the symbols they represent within our psyche. I feel more powerful when I write in my Book of Shadows with this specific pen, and this means something.

It brings to mind that for the past couple days I've been listening to a podcast called Cats, Tea, and Witchcraft. In one of her early episodes from 2020, the host Fawna talks about foundational witch tools (wand, athame, chalice, broom, candle, etc.) I listen to this thinking, I'm still so skeptical about things of that nature; in fact, I've been feeling lately that my skepticism is really blocking my progress.

See--I'd long ago made the decision to see Paganism and witchcraft as psychological and spiritual tools for bettering myself and living an improved, meaningful life. I understood and connected with Mark Green's 13 Principles of Atheopaganism, the first of which is "I understand that the metaphorical is not the literal." He elaborates more on this principle in one of his blog posts:

"Very meaningful experiences may well have been fully or partially a hallucination. Does that mean, then, that the meaning derived from such experiences is necessarily invalid? No, it does not-it merely means that we understand that we created that meaning. It was not inherent in the experience."

Yes, I fostered the psychological environment that makes my fountain pen a magickal tool. I don't know why this concept has been such a barrier for me--but it's holding me back from practicing in a serious sense. The thought of writing a spell and carrying it out, and using magickal tools to do so, scares me because I am unconsciously refusing to embrace this idea. I'm afraid to feel silly or disappointed in the results; ultimately, I'm still fighting the neural pathways that society has carved into my brain. I've been lingering here in this in-between state, dipping my feet in the water but never diving in. And this will not a powerful witch make.

It's funny but I'm actually glad that I couldn't find my fountain pen?? I think I'm finally going to get over this obstacle now.

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levy120 · 7 months

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[PART 1: Foreign] Rating: T Words: 1500 (Complete) Genre: Introspection, Speculation, AU Lore: Rayman 2, Captain Laserhawk speculation Characters: Rayman, unnamed manager, citizens

Summary: Rayman makes a Name for himself Warnings: F-Bomb, violence, drugs mentioned

AN: This escalated so much, so fast, but apparently I can't help the temptation and possibilities of a character deconstruction if it promises development - even if it's active deterioration.

Read also on: [dA] | now also on [ao3] ❗❗❗

See also: [Part 1] | [You are here] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5]

More like this: [Rayman Oneshots Masterpost]

That is not the same creature she left behind this morning.

The Limbless’s posture is straight, his glare confident. He's not at all what she would consider cute anymore.

There's a feral glint in his eyes that makes her scared of locking the door behind her. She just knows it will choose violence if given the chance.

Putting on a neutral face the assistant walks over with the regular dinner.

"So…" she starts and lifts the device with her notes again.

"Let's try this again. The file says your name is Rayman?"

It twists his head as if to loosen a neck that doesn't exist.

"Yes."

Ah. Good. So it's down for talking.

"What am I doing here?"

And asking questions already, it seems.

"We'll get to that," she replies, pointing her pen at his nose. "Let's deal with the basics first. So Razorbeard's report says you have experience with being - and I quote - 'a beacon of hope' - endquote."

That makes the limbless creature livid for some reason, but considering how they came to acquire him it's probably just salt in an open wound.

When it looks like he’s about to snarl a comment, she beats him to it.

"Case in point,” she says, “You can make people trust you?"

The question is met with a sneer.

"Why would that matter?"

The secretary stops, puts the tablet in her lap.

"The boss hasn't decided yet. It's not for me to tell," she says. "But-" she pokers, trying to read him.

"The people of this town could use a little hope for once."

The sneer doesn't vanish from his face, but she knows that she struck a chord with him by the look in his eyes. It betrays him. He's a softy at his core, and it bolsters her own resolve towards his earlier aggression.

So he can act on a surface level. Good. She ticks that box off in her mind, to report on later.

---

Why. Why. Why.

The question won't leave him.

The night is quiet and his thoughts are loud.

Why him?

Why do these people need hope?

Why are they suffering?

Why are the folk running this town in dealings with Razorbeard?

Why was he here?

It reeks to the skies and truth be told Rayman wants no part in it.

He misses his friends.

Mourns everyone who is still in Razorbeard's clutches.

But he hates to admit that his lot might be a good one.

No one has been rude or violent yet, or asked him to do something outrageous.

But it's just the calm before the storm, he tells himself. The second he lets his guard down the true colors will be revealed to him.

With a sigh, he stares up at the ceiling.

Maybe he should just go for it. Play along.

They do have connections to Razorbeard, and maybe, that’s the ticket to getting his friends out of there as well. A blessing in disguise.

It would be bold to assume - in his position - that he had the right to ask for favors if only he does as he's told.

But there's a pinprick of hope that drilled itself into his fluttering heart.

Maybe there's a chance in this entire mess. The lady hadn't been wrong when she'd called him a beacon. He wants it, truthfully.

It's just that he doesn't know what to do.

---

"Of course we'll pay you," she asserts. "We're not monsters, despite what the public unrest would have you believe."

Rayman considers her with… suspicion again.

"Is this a test?"

It’s certainly not the kind of favor he had in mind, upon asking.

"Honey," she says patronizingly, "I don't know where you come from, or how things worked in your old home, but you'll need pay if you wanna survive in this world."

He mulls that over in his mind with a hum.

"When do I meet your boss? You said he’d be coming around here?”

"My boss is your boss," the manager answers flatly. "You can have a meeting with him once you earn it. Until then all communication goes through me. Perform well, and he might be up for a chat."

Rayman’s demeanor shifts. That’s not what he’d been told yesterday!

The manager in turn can't help but notice the way his knuckles tighten unconsciously, but he'll just have to get used to receiving answers he might not like.

"Was that all?" she asks and prepares to leave.

"No," he says and walks around her to block her path. His body parts stretch further apart as though to make himself look taller, but it hardly works. She towers above him easily.

"Why do the people need hope so badly?"

She narrows her eyes at him. He's asking too many questions.

With a hum she starts tapping at her tablet.

"I'll organize a TV for your room," she says, "then you can watch the news."

At least that way they can control the kind of information he is fed.

---

That night, Rayman still can’t find sleep.

He honestly wonders whether he will again in the near future.

But this time, it’s not just his thoughts running wild.

There’s a commotion outside.

Some sort of alarm is blaring loud enough to wake him, street lights still glaring enough to pinpoint the scene of the scuffle from his window. It’s a loosing battle of a lone, hurt individual facing off against an entire mob.

Instinct takes hold, but when Rayman tries to wrench the window open, it won’t give.

So he’s winding his fist without thinking about it. Powers or no, he’ll just have to make habit do. After a couple of attempts the window cracks, and shatters. The blaring noise from outside gets worse. Even from up here he sees the group of people tearing into their victim already cowering on the ground. Without a second thought… Rayman jumps.

He’s using the momentum of the leap to get there faster, only activating his helicopter to soften the landing and decks the assailants to shield the victim.

“The fuck?!”

The one Rayman caught in the nose screams bloody murder and backs off. His fellows surround the Limbless, crude weaponry at the ready and flashlights blinding.

But Rayman’s not backing down. There’s a familiar fight tingling in his core. He lowers his center of gravity and starts winding his fist again.

The perpetrators run.

“Dude!” Someone cries out and it’s only now that Rayman takes note of a crowd that’s been watching the scuffle. Some of them are staring, others are holding up little gadgets pointed at him. It remind him of the manager’s gadget, but smaller.

A sudden flashing light blinds his gaze - but that’s at least something Rayman knows. Blinking the spots from his eyes he finds the dude with the camera staring open mouthed at him in the crowd.

He shields his gaze from the murmuring crowd. The victim still cowers on the ground in a frantic panic. Rayman turns to him with a concerned “Are you alright?” and reaches out a disembodied hand to him.

The guy gapes at him, his mouth going slack. He looks absolutely dazed.

With a shaking hand he reaches out for the one that’s been offered.

“I’ll never take drugs again,” he says, voice wavering.

---

"What did you DO?!" the manager is furious when she returns to his room. Wild pacing, slammed doors, everything. The breeze from the broken window is cool. A screeching tantrum.

"You weren't supposed to wander off!"

Multiple phones on her self are blaring for attention.

The Limbless doesn't even look embarassed or the least bit regretful.

“The man needed help!” he has the audacity to insist, “If you want me to help, then let me do it my way!”

She’s tearing at her hair now, “You got involved in a gang-fight! Do you have ANY IDEA-”

A new ringtone blares up to interrupt her and the manager lady screams in frustration. It's a first to see her go up the wall like that.

"I have to take this," she bellows, "You! sit! here! I'm not DONE with you yet!"

She takes a deep breath and brushes through her hair before taking the call.

"Hello, boss," she starts, "I can explain- Yes, we're already working on getting the videos taken down. ….What?"

She falls silent suddenly.

Then turns to look at Rayman with a haunted expression on her face.

He just raises an eyebrow at her and tilts his head with those idiot puppy eyes!

Her phone is noisy in her silence. Rayman can't make the words but from the sound of it…

"Understood," she says and hangs up. Her arm falls limp by her side, Rayman is almost surprised she's not dropping it.

"You've gone viral," she says.

"And what does that mean?" Rayman asks.

#Rayman #captain laserhawk #clabdr #fanfic

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