#like i had no prior knowledge that they were getting dinner

[reidmotif]

Behind Closed Doors

Summary: Reader and Spencer are known to be a "tame" couple at work. They get fed up and decide to change how people see them.

Request: Reader and Spencer (in an established public relationship) where they don't do any PDA and you can hardly tell they're a couple. Reader and Spencer get offended, and decide to fool around to get caught.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: Reader POV, established relationship, semi-rough sex, dirty talk, heavy making-out, unprotected sex, semi-public sex

Word Count: 4.8k

Dating Spencer Reid, in a word, could honestly be described as a dream. 

When I’d started a career at the BAU, the last thing on my mind was dating, let alone dating my coworker, but Spencer Reid had subtly woven himself into the corners of my heart with his idiosyncrasies and musings, all without my awareness- and when he'd asked me out? Saying ‘yes’ was the easiest thing I’d ever done my entire life. 

He was ridiculously old-fashioned, and I loved it. He insisted on dinner dates and opening doors for me at any possible opportunity, and I was happy to let it happen. He was a gentleman at every turn, and made me feel special in ways no one had before. If I wasn’t already hopelessly infatuated with the man prior to our relationship, I certainly was now.

A year of dating, a year of loving Spencer Reid, and I honestly couldn’t see my life without him. We’d grown our lives around each other in little ways at first, and it resulted in us being tangled up in the sweetest way imaginable. 

And while my memory isn’t as capable as my boyfriend’s, I can recall in perfect clarity about how fucking good he is in bed. It shouldn’t have surprised me like it had the first time we had sex, but when he had me pinned down to his mattress, pounding into me unlike anyone before him, touching me whilst whispering dirty nothings in my ear, I knew I was a goner. It was simply another facet of Spencer Reid that further cemented my enduring captivation to the man. 

Of course, there were rules when it came to our relationship, considering that even for a blissfully happy couple, we still worked together. Spencer loved having his hands on me, whether it was innocent or not, but when it came to the BAU and public displays of affection, there was a mutual understanding between the two of us that some things were simply kept private. 

Which is why as we stood in the bullpen, side-by-side, we exchanged horrified looks when the surprise seminar that morning was about “inappropriate workplace relationships”. To our knowledge, we’d always kept the romance to a minimum in the office, stealing a kiss here and there when no one was around, or a squeeze of the hand, but nothing beyond that. However, as the moderator for the training began, we both sighed a breath of collective relief as she brought up some suspiciously specific scenarios, realizing today’s seminar was not in fact about us, but rather our coworkers, known for their raunchy telephone escapades, two of our coworkers who were most definitely not in a relationship. 

As we trickled out of the room, exchanging giggles about the very awkward display we were made to watch just now, a very mortified Penelope Garcia approached us.

“Who blabbed?” She asked, adorably frantic as Spencer and I simply smiled and shrugged. 

“Wasn’t us.” Spencer said, a bit and gesturing to me and him. He put his hand on my shoulder and I instantly felt relaxed with the comforting weight of him on me. I gave my own chuckle, naturally bringing my hand up to touch Spencer’s as I responded to Penelope. 

“I mean, you and Derek aren’t exactly quiet about what you do over the phone.” I said, a little mischievously. “I mean remember when Strauss picked up and-”  I started, only to be met with Penelope placing a distressed finger over my lips, hurrying to silence me before I finished my sentence. 

“Shh! I thought we promised to never speak of that godforsaken incident ever again!” Penelope whisper-shrieked, only to be met with my grin. 

“My bad.” I say, while trying to soothe Penelope. I then got a little serious, moving from Spencer’s subtle touch to get closer to her.  “It’s not that bad, Pen. I’m sure everyone will forget in due time.” I said, in my most assuring tone. Unfortunately, Penelope didn’t seem very swayed. 

Derek walked to where we were standing and chatting,  coming to protectively wrap his arm around a very miserable looking Penelope. 

“Did I just hear you say ‘it isn’t that bad’?” Derek said, using air quotes for his imitation of me, laughing as he pulled Penelope closer to him. He continued, “Because from where I was, you and boy genius looked pretty worried for a second.” 

Spencer answered a little defensively, “I mean, obviously.” He replied. “We’re the only ones in the BAU in a public relationship and it’s a surprise seminar on inappropriate relationships, why wouldn’t we think it’s about us?” He explained, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head a little. 

“Because you two don’t even look like a couple!” Penelope said, still sorrowful from her unexpected callout. “Of course it’d never be about you two!” 

“What?” I say, now matching Spencer’s defensive tone from before. “It totally could be about us! And we do look like a couple.” I say, crossing my arms and standing beside him now. 

“Sorry pretty girl.” Derek speaks up, “But Penelope is right. I don’t even think I’ve seen the two of you hold hands or kiss around any of us.” 

Spencer sputtered a little at that, “Obviously! We’re at the workplace!” He says, in a higher pitched tone, fortifying his stance against Derek’s allegations. "It's common to not show PDA in professional settings."

“True love waits for nothing, Einstein.” Derek teases, and then he laughs again. “Pipe down, Reid. I’m only joking.” Spencer seemed  to retract his opposing stance reluctantly, but then Derek added, “You and (Y/N) shouldn’t worry about being appropriate in the workplace, you know? You’re both more than proper when you're in or out of here.” He said, winking, speaking with a knowing tone. 

Spencer groaned at that, but before he could retort and deny Derek’s assessment of our relationship, Derek whisked Penelope away, presumably to console her further over today’s events, leaving me and Spencer just standing there. He looked a little on edge, and I placed a hand over his shoulder, squeezing it softly. I could instantly sense the words, on some level, had gotten to him, and wanted to nip his self-doubt and nervous spiral in the bud before it could even begin. 

“You know he was just joking, right?” I say, speaking gently. 

“I know.” Spencer responded, a little bitterly. “I just.” He stopped, taking a breath before continuing. “I just hate that’s how they see us, you know?” He says, frowning. 

“Well, trust me, Spence.” I say, in an attempt to cheer him up. “This relationship has been anything but proper from the moment we’ve been together.” I say this with a small smirk, hoping he’d catch onto the scandalous undertones of my words, which he did. 

He smiled a little, before murmuring, “Thanks.” I smiled back, and let my hand drop from his shoulder again. 

“C’mon, we got a case.” I say, and he dutifully followed me into the round-table room, the previous interaction with Derek seemingly wiped away from his mind for the rest of the day. 

It wasn’t until a few days later, in the comfort of Spencer’s apartment, (which was honestly ours, at this point) where he spoke up about the incident again. He was lazily playing with my hair as I was sprawled on his couch, my eyes closed with my head in his lap, a documentary of Spencer’s choosing playing in the background. Truthfully, I was more focused on his fingers lightly trailing over my scalp, the sensation lulling me into a state of deep relaxation and serenity, rather than the droning voice of the narrator, until his voice broke my thoughts. 

“I just don’t know why Derek would say that.” He remarked, out of nowhere. 

“Say what, baby?” I say, opening my eyes slightly. I tried to remember if we’d mentioned Derek at all tonight, and when my memory came up short, I squinted, trying to think, “What are we talking about, again?” I attempted to actually look at him from my lower angle, reading his expression for any clues. 

“You know.” He says, continuing to play with the silky strands of my loose hair, “The thing about us being a boring couple.” 

Memories of the interaction came to mind, and I nodded and let out a noise of realization. “Ah, yeah. From the sexual harassment seminar.” I closed my eyes again, and laid back in his lap. “What about it, love?” 

“It didn’t bother you?” Spencer commented, and I opened my eyes yet again, to see the face of a man who clearly hadn’t brushed off the comment like I thought he had, days ago. 

“I mean, not really, baby.” I say, carefully, trying to not offend him. “But it’s okay if you felt bothered- but I really do think Derek didn’t mean anything by it.” I say, moving out of his lap so I could better see his face. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He says, quirking his mouth to the side.  “I just hate that they think we’re boring or-” 

“Even though we both know we definitely aren’t?” I say, laughing a bit. 

“Exactly.” He responds, with a little bit of a smile. “I just wish we could somehow, I don’t know. Stick it to them? Does that sound petty?” He says, chuckling now, and rubbing the back of his neck in slight embarrassment. 

“Not at all.” I say, quickly. “But it’s not like we can just, you know, start sucking face in the bullpen.” I joke, with a giggle. 

“That we cannot.” He replies, his mood seemingly a little more uplifted from when we began our conversation. “Still.” He says, pursing his lips. 

An idea came to my mind, and I grinned a little at the thought of it. I wanted to make my boyfriend feel better, to let him know at the very least nothing about him bored me in the slightest. 

“Spence.. what if we did anyway?” I say, coming closer to him with an excited lilt in my words. 

“Make out in front of all of our colleagues?” Spencer replies, with a chuckle. “(Y/N), I love you, but no way.”  He says, immediately shutting me down, but I shook my head. 

“No, like more than that.” I respond, quickly, as the gears in my head begin to turn. “What if we like.. pretend to have sex in a closet, let them think they know what’s going on in there, and walk out, totally unscathed.” I continue, a playful glint in my eyes.

It sounded absolutely crazy, but I could tell he was definitely considering it, especially susceptible to an idea like this one after what had happened a few days ago. 

“But we wouldn’t actually be having sex- right?” Spencer says, cautiously. “Just… pretending?” He adds, adorably, biting his lip. 

“Yeah.” I respond, instantly, soothing his worries. “Trust me, having sex in a closet in a federal building seems like a pretty solid fantasy, but I’m okay with leaving that to our imaginations for now.” I say, smiling a little wildly. “So is that you agreeing to it?” I question, looking at him eagerly. 

“I guess it is.” He says, the look on his face now matching the enthusiasm on my own, and he leaned over to plant a soft kiss on my lips. I immediately melted into him, moving to straddle his lap, smiling into each press of his lips against mine. His hands went to my hips, a broken moan escaping him as I felt myself move against a fast-forming bulge underneath me. He breathlessly pulled back, licking his lips. 

“Mm." He said, breathing a little heavier now. "What would you say to a practice round for our pretend session tomorrow- you know, just to get it right?” He murmurs, feeling his cocky grin against my lips. 

“Do you even have to ask?” I retort, smirking. 

My words barely left my mouth before he flipped me onto the couch, leaving me giggling delightfully and sighing with pleasure, as I felt him start a trail of wet, hot kisses down my neck, eliciting soft moans and whimpers that only spurred him on to do more to me. 

I closed my eyes with a dazed grin on my face as he continued his actions, knowing he’d take care of me tonight.  Spencer Reid, without a doubt,  was definitely the best boyfriend I’d ever had. 

That morning in his apartment, Spencer was all smiles, even more touchy than he was normally if that was possible. He languidly wrapped his arms around my waist as I brushed my teeth, placing little kisses on the back of my neck as I tried not to laugh with toothpaste in my mouth.  

“Someone’s happy today.” I spoke, or at least attempted to speak, whilst he  attacked any exposed skin of mine with his soft lips. 

“Mm.” He grumbled deeply behind me, never once letting up on the task he’d delegated to himself: to somehow kiss every inch of my body before we even left the apartment.

“Maybe I’m excited about what we’ll be doing today.” He replies, clearly very satisfied with what we’d decided the previous night. 

There was a closet in Quantico, just off the hallways. It wasn’t an active hallway bustling with people, but oftentimes agents would come and go through there, and we both decided it provided just enough privacy so that people wouldn’t actually try to come into the closet- but open enough that at least one or two people were bound to hear us, and hopefully ease any concerns anyone had about Spencer and I being a “proper” couple. 

I giggled. “You know Spence.” I move away a little to spit my toothpaste out and rinse my mouth. “You’re a bit more of an exhibitionist than I pegged you for.” I said, a giggle in my voice. 

He wrapped me up in his arms, bringing me as close as he possibly could. “Sure I am.” He mumbled in a sarcastic tone, kissing the top of my head. 

I smile, speaking into his chest, trying to hold back my laughter.  “I don’t hear you denying it.”

“Shhh.” He said, before letting me go with a smile on his face. “We’re not even actually having sex in the closet. It doesn’t count.” He called out, biting his lip with a boyish smile, the type that made me want to jump his bones here and now.

“Whatever you say!” I respond, with a sing-song voice, flashing him a grin before going to get changed for work. 

Throughout the day, I could see Spencer just itching to carry out our plan. He kept making those eyes at me and I’d shake my head, silently communicating that now wasn’t the time. I could see him grumble and lean back in his desk chair, barely able to focus on his work. I giggled at the thought. My genius boyfriend, unable to do simple tasks because the idea of faking sex to get back at our coworkers rendered him stupid. 

As Emily would say, “An IQ of 187 slashed to 60.” 

Finally, after lunch, and less eyes were on either of us, I subtly caught his gaze, tilting my head in the general direction of the closet, and he nearly leapt from his seat. I silently thanked the Gods above that he didn’t draw anyone’s attention, what with how eager he was acting, as we quietly made our way towards the closet. As soon as we were out of the bullpen, and the long, empty hallways of the BAU, he laughed as he unexpectedly stole a long, passionate kiss from me, his lips pressing against mine insistently. I pulled away after a few seconds, thrilled. 

“What was that for?” I ask, with a dazed grin on my face as he continues to walk me to the place of our imminent rendezvous, nearly dragging me there by a firm grip of his hand in mine. 

“I can’t kiss my girlfriend?” Spencer retorts, smugly. 

“Oh, you can kiss her.” I responded eagerly. “I am not complaining whatsoever. Just curious." I said, squeezing his hand lovingly.

He quickly pressed his lips against mine one more, so quickly I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it. "I'm just excited, I think." He responded. There was a puerile smile on his face, as he led me further and further away from any of our colleagues and towards our final destination. 

As he opened the closet door, he shot me one final look.

“You’re actually okay with this, right?” He asks, surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to his previously excited nature. 

“Second thoughts?” I respond, raising an eyebrow.

“No, no.” He said, laughing. “I just want to be certain that you’re good with this.” He implores, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles absentmindedly. He gave a sigh, biting his lip.  “I know you’re doing this for me and I-” 

I immediately silence him through interruption. “Spencer. I want to do this.” I said, softly. “Please.” I add, conveying that while, yes, this was for him in some roundabout way, pretending like I wasn’t absolutely exhilarated at what we were about to do would be a gross misrepresentation of the situation. 

He seemed to relax at that, grinning a little bit. He let out a little breath of air. 

“Come on.” I urged. “Don’t you wanna make sure the team never calls us dull again?” I said, smirking and egging him on the best I could. 

He nearly shoved me into the closet as he opened the door, with a laugh. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

He placed me in front of him, and we stood face to face in the cramped space. I could feel his breath on me, hear the beat of his heart and I knew that there was no part of me that was hesitant about this. On the other hand, Spencer seemed a bit.. confused. His smile faded, before he knit his eyebrows together. I watched him bite his lip, before pressing them together in a straight line. 

“How do you fake sex in a closet?” He paused. “Do we just.. moan?” He said, tentatively, looking to me for direction.

I decided to just go for it, giving an almost pornographic moan. “Oh, yeah! Right there, oh!-” 

He quickly clamped a hand over my mouth. “(Y/N), what the-” 

I removed his hand with a giggle. “Come on." I urged. "Be loud, it’s what’ll work.” I say, grinning, before letting out a higher pitched moan, attempting to recreate what I normally sounded like during sex. “Yes, Spencer! Please! Please!” I moaned, closing my eyes and really getting into what we were attempting to recreate. 

I could feel Spencer watching me, and heard him breathe before moaning out himself. “Yeah, you like that, you whore?” He groaned out, a little flatly, but groaned out convincingly, nonetheless and I could tell he was enjoying himself. 

“Yes! Yes!” I nearly screamed out. “Fuck, you feel so good.” I moaned, in an exaggerated manner. “More, please!” I said, trying to beg just as much as I did when Spencer was actually fucking me. 

We continued this back and forth for a minute or two, and I grinned internally. Anyone who happened to walk past the closet would’ve definitely heard our faked passion, and to be honest, I was into it. Having people know how well Spencer treated me, it made my heart jump, and I could feel myself clenching around nothing at the thought. My eyes were shut, as to immerse myself in the fantasy more, and my moans only got louder, pitchier, more desperate with every passing second. 

It wasn’t a few moments later that I realized that I was the only one making noise, Spencer going quiet, and I noticed the absence of his soft breathing that was there previously. I opened my eyes, to find an incredibly wide-eyed, embarrassed Spencer, looking right at me. 

“Shit, I’m sorry (Y/N).” He said, awkwardly shuffling. “I didn’t think- it’s just- your moans sound so good and-” 

I knit my brows in confusion at his words before my eyes trailed down, revealing the strained fabric of his slacks, his cock tenting inside them at an alarming rate. His eyes met mine as I scanned them back up to look at him, and he stifled a groan. “Fuck.” He murmured. 

“Look, you can just leave.” He said, a little defeated. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. I can't go out like this." He said this while already moving away from the door, motioning for me to leave. 

My lips parted as I shook my head. “No.” I whispered, stepping even closer. “Fuck me. Let me help you." I murmur, placing both my hands on his shoulders and rubbing them soothingly, before starting to kiss his neck sweetly, with feather-light touches.  

Spencer rolled his eyes. “(Y/N). Don’t tease me right now. Especially right now.” He whined out, craning his neck as I planted soft kisses on the skin. The rest of his body leaned into me, desperately seeking the relief my touch brought him. 

When I began sucking at a particularly sensitive spot of his, I earned a throaty moan from him, his head thrown back, and his hands grabbing my waist and pressing our bodies flush together. 

"I'm not teasing." I mumble against him. "I want you."

“Fuck. I’m serious. I’m this close to just-” He spoke, his voice low, but I didn’t want him to be logical about this. I wanted this now. I  interrupted his words with a deep, long kiss.

It seemed to work, his lips crashing into mine, over and over again, like this would be the last time we could ever savor the taste of the other again. As grabbed my face, lips moving ferociously over mine, his grip shifted so he could pin me up against the wall. I moaned into his mouth as his hands trailed down, squeezing the fat of my hip unexpectedly, and he used it as an opportunity to slip his tongue in, lazily exploring my mouth with his own. When we finally pulled back for air, I whispered against his lips. 

“Do it. Please.” I croaked, already grabbing the fabric of his shirt. “Please, fuck me Spencer. Use me. I need you right now.” I wanted to sound as desperate as I felt, the heat between my legs growing unbearable at this point, my clit already wildly throbbing with need. 

“We’re in a closet. Someone could catch us." He quietly groaned out, but I could see the restraint leaving his body with every moment he looked at me. He looked wrecked already, hair strown about messily, his lips red and swollen, chest moving up and down. The only sounds in the closet at this point were my pants and his heavy breathing to accompany it. He took another look at me, my eyes blown out and pleading for him, and it seemed like every barrier in his body suddenly broke.

With no warning,  he spun me around so my back would be towards him, pushing me up against the wall as he hurriedly worked away the button of my jeans.  I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter with anticipation, and when he worked my underwear down my legs, I could sense that I was already dripping, even though he'd barely touched me.  

He seemed to be doing the same undressing to himself, working at his slacks with his deft fingers, and I whimpered when I felt his heavy cock slot between me, the head of his tip running through my folds. I could feel how needy I was for him in this moment, and he seemed to enjoy the sight of my legs spreading just for him. He leaned over to let his finger trail over my slit, collecting some of my arousal on my finger. My thighs immediately quivered at the sensation, a loud moan escaping my lips. 

I felt him grab the back of my skull, forcing me to bare my face to hip. 

“Open.” He commanded, and my mouth hung open, almost as if I was under a spill. He roughly shoved his finger into my mouth, and I understood, closing my lips around them, swirling my tongue around his digits, praying that he’d fuck me soon. 

“Good girl.” He said, smoothly, and I nearly fell over from how weak he was rendering me, but a steady grip on my hair kept me upright. When his finger was sufficiently cleaned, he removed it and kissed me once more, smashing his lips aggresively into mine. I kissed him back, but in that moment, there was really only one thing I wanted. 

“Spencer, please.” I panted in between his never ending kisses. “I need you inside me.” I moaned, trying to convey the enormity of my desire for him. He chuckled at my pleads, pulling my hair so I’d be forced to look ahead of me instead. The anticipation absolutely killed me, and I brokenly moaned again, about to beg once more before he suddenly thrust into me, eliciting a yelp from my lips, which I immediately swallowed down as he began to jut his hips against mine. 

“That’s it. Go on, take it.” He whispered, roughly. “You were made for this, weren’t you?” He questioned, cruelly. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He goaded, going harder and harder with every word he uttered to me in the closet, my desperate attempts to stop my whimpers not being received well by him. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” He sneered, continuing to buck against me. “Didn’t you want the whole team to know what a whore you are for me?” 

I tried to keep my restraint, a low mewl escaping my lips, but that seemed to incentivize him to go even faster, the sounds of our skin slapping against each other filling the room, the smell of sex overtaking every one of my senses. 

“Come on, baby. I wanna hear you.” He then groaned once more, and I could feel how bad he wanted this, how badly he wanted me. The thought made me clench around him, which elicited another moan from his mouth. “I want everyone to hear you.” 

It was like a dam broke through me, and in an instant I was moaning, louder than I had that whole time in the closet, my noises marked by a carnal desire for this, for him. 

“Please, oh god. Spencer- I need to cum, please.” I begged, my mouth hanging open as he fucked me dumb. 

He chuckled at my loss of prudence, rewarding me accordingly. He moved his fingers down to where we were joined, beginning to rub fast, tight circles around my clit. 

“Go on, then.” He murmured. His hips never once wavered, and I could feel his grip on my hips, so tight I was sure there'd be bruises tomorrow. “Come for me.” 

I did, nearly toppling down as waves of my orgasm hit me, convulsing in his arms as I registered the feeling of him continuing to slam against me. I braced myself on the wall, letting him take me the way he wanted, and I could hear his broken moans and whimpers echo throughout the closet.

"Fuck. You're so good." He groaned out, and I let out a low whine at that, which transformed into a sob as he bottomed out in me, making me feel so full. In an instant, I could feel warmth flooding my deepest point, his hips beginning to slow down and still entirely. He pulled out of me, still panting. 

“Holy shit.” He murmured, still panting, watching as the evidence of what we’d just done dripped down my thigh. He helped me out of my bent over position as I smiled at him, dazed. 

“Holy shit, indeed.” My voice came out hoarse, scratched up from how loud I’d been screaming for him. 

“Remind me why we don’t do this again?” He said, grinning and breathless. 

“Something about professionalism?” I offered, still absolutely fucked out as I tried to regain some semblance in my appearance. One look at Spencer and I, and it wouldn’t take long to figure out exactly what we’d been doing. 

“Yeah, somehow after that, I don’t really care about professionalism.” He said, before pulling me into one last, idle kiss. He felt safe, and it felt so good to be with him like this. 

“Good.” I murmured, when our lips finally separated. “Because I don’t think I’d be able to survive if we only did this once.” I said, giggling. 

“Wanna go again?” He offered, raising an eyebrow and running a hand through his hair. 

Let’s just say that the closet became a frequent spot of ours after that. And with how loud I was screaming his name every single time? It’s safe to assume everyone else knew about it too. 

EDIT: read part 2 (where they get caught!) here!

sorry about the wait this time around! i try to keep my fics within a week of each other, but i've got some life commitments to attend to now. (unfortunate). i hope you guys enjoyed this though!! <3 likes, reblogs, comments, are all greatly appreciated. thank you for all your support<3

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #smut #spencer reid request #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

[fiapartridge]

2/2. May I please request something with Jack? His girlfriend being nervous/insecure because not only does she not know his family/team mates/friends etc but she has no prior knowledge/experience with hockey (any sports/sport activities really) and boating etc. Just feeling out of place in a world where her boyfriend and his family are some of the best/most famous. Obviously take this in whatever direction you wish or ignore it. (I come from a family of artistic city people and my only extracurriculars were volunteering at libraries and museums, I am as boring as they come lol)

obsessed | jack hughes

"i'm so obsessed with your ex..."

jack hughes x reader

summary: realizing that you have nothing in common with jack, you start to wonder why he even likes you in the first place.

warning(s): angst with a happy ending, cursing, luke and quinn being dicks sorry lol

fia's note 💌: VERYYY loose interpretation of this request LOL SORRY IF THIS IS ASS okayyy enjoy!

not proofread (i got lazy sorry lol)

You should’ve known what you were getting into once you got into your relationship with Jack. You should’ve known that it would be hard; that dating a hockey player—a famous hockey player—would be hard, but you, for some reason, didn’t let that stop you. During times like these, you wish it did.

“So, Y/N, how’d you get into hockey?” Ellen asked from across the dinner table. You were too busy stuffing your plate to hear, and once the table fell silent, you knew she had asked you something. 

Embarrassed, you set your plate down, taking Jack’s hand instead. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

She laughed, and then the whole table laughed, and you felt your cheeks grow warmer and your body more tense. Was it that bad? “I asked how you got into hockey, honey.”

“Oh,” you smiled, turning to her. “I didn’t really get into hockey until I met Jack,” you said, leaning closer to him as he smiled softly in return. To be honest, you were glad that you hadn’t been into hockey, or any sports in general, prior to meeting Jack. He taught you how to score a goal, how to celly, and even how to take a hit on the ice. (Jack said he was hitting you just how he would any guy, but you knew he didn’t even put a 1/10th of his weight onto you. Then, he called you Hulk for not even realizing how hard it was. You thought he was bluffing; you still do.)

“You don’t play, or skate, or anything?” Jim asked, cutting into his steak and stuffing the small slice into his mouth.

You shook your head. “No, I, um, my family wasn’t really big on any of that.”

Poking his head up, Luke smiled towards Jack as he pointed his fork at the older boy. “Katy knew all about hockey.”

Katy? You tilted your head to Jack, silently asking who Katy was. It was like he was trying to not make eye contact with you, like he was embarrassed. For who? For you? For him? Slipping your hand out from his, you placed both of yours under your thighs, trying to still yourself from shaking. You shook when you were nervous. Jack knew and he was scared—scared that his family was gonna go ahead and ruin it all. 

Sensing your confusion, Luke nodded at you. “Katy was Jack’s girlfriend in high school. Lead scorer in her team’s league. She was legendary. Whatever happened to her, Jack?”

You felt your chest clench, and your hands underneath your thighs weren’t helping anything, and you couldn’t stop bouncing your knee, and Ellen was staring at you again. You just wished they would stop staring at you, like they were waiting for a reaction from you. 

“Luke, shut up,” Jack scolded, trying to grab your hand from under your thigh as you shook your head. You just wanted this to be over. You shouldn’t have agreed to meet his family. You shouldn’t have agreed to be with him. You were never going to be enough; not when there’s Katy; not when he had the most perfect girl for him, and he still chose to break up with her. When was he going to break up with you? Probably after this dinner. Probably after his family tells him that you’re not the one; that you’re not like Katy at all.

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted as Luke was just about to spew his rebuttal. You stood from your chair, laying your cloth napkin on the table as Jack looked up at you with concern. “Um, can I go to the bathroom?”

Quinn laughed. He laughed. He fucking laughed at you.

“Sure, honey,” Ellen smiled, silently scolding Quinn. “It’s in the hallway by the kitchen, third door on the right.”

“Thank you,” you said, not even looking up at anyone before quickly racing to the bathroom. 

Locking the door, you sat on the toilet cover, pulling out your phone, and immediately going to Instagram. He has to be following her. Someone has to be following her. And right when you searched up “Katy” on Luke’s Instagram following, there she was, in all of her hockey glory. The perfect girl. 

She had sandy blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, and she looked at least 5’8, maybe even taller. She wore designer brands that your bank account wouldn’t even allow you to look at, and God, she looked amazing in that dress. But somehow, in some possible way, she looked even better in her hockey gear. She still had posts with Jack in her tags. She’s sitting on his lap at a party, red Solo cups in hand as he stares at her with a look he had never given you. You can see the way she’s loved by everyone around her; the way Ellen holds her like a daughter; how Luke plays games with her like a sister; how Trevor carries her over his shoulder like they’re best friends. You’ve never felt that way with anyone close to Jack.

Even back in New Jersey, every time you went out with the team, you felt like you were just there. Like you were just wasted space. Sometimes you wondered if they even knew your name. You told them plenty of times, but Dawson still asks every time you see him, and Nico still gives you those sad pity smiles, like it’s another reminder that you don’t fit in with Jack and his friends.

Sometimes you even question it. Why are you with Jack? You’re total opposites. He loves hockey, you know nothing about the sport. You think staying in and knitting is fun when his ideal nights are going to parties and getting drunk off his ass. You guys don’t even look good together. You know who he looks good with? Katy. 

Katy. Katy. Katy.

You’ll never be Katy.

“Y/N?” A knock at the door took you out of your spiral as you stared at the wooden slab, too scared to open it and be met with his entire family laughing at you from the hallway. “Baby, it’s Jack. I,” he stammered. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized, his forehead resting on the door in front of him. I lost her, he thought. There’s no coming back from this. She hates me and my family, and I blew it. “I screamed at Luke; he had no right to talk to you like that. And Quinn’s getting yelled at by my mom as we speak. Please just—please let me in.”

Slowly, hesitantly, you opened the door, being met with a distressed Jack whose eyes were red and whose lips were swollen with the amount of chewing he was doing to them. It broke your heart to see him that way, but his family was right. Katy was perfect, and you’re nothing like her.

“Baby,” Jack stepped closer as you took a step back, ripping his heart into pieces. “Y/N.”

“Your family’s right, Jack.” “No, they’re not,” he argued.

You nodded, frowning, and holding back a sob because it felt over. It felt so over. “They are. They are because what do we have in common, Jack? Nothing! We have nothing in common, and everybody sees it! Jack, I—”

“Don’t,” he shook his head. “Don’t say it. Don’t break up with me.”

“Jack—”

“Who the fuck cares?” he exclaimed. “Who cares if we have nothing in common? I like you, I want to be with you, you’re my person! I don’t see that with anyone else.”

Rolling your hand down your face, you let out a tired sigh. “You’re gonna see it, Jack. You’re gonna realize that I’m not your person; that I’m not the one you want; that I’m awkward and boring and don’t get along with anyone you care about, and you’re gonna break my heart. And that’s just how it is.”

“Are you listening to yourself right now? You think I could ever get tired of you? I like you because you’re nothing like my friends, or my family, or anyone I’ve ever dated. I broke up with Katy because her life was just hockey, and my life was just hockey, and everything was just hockey.” Stepping closer, he held your hips as your back hit the sink behind you. “I don’t want my life to be hockey. You’re the part of my life that I need. If I didn’t have you in my life, I think I’d go crazy,” he laughed as you rubbed your sleeve against your wet nose.

“Your friends don’t like me.”

“Fuck them,” he grinned, running his thumbs up and down your waist. “Plus, you haven’t met Coley yet. Think he’d like you more than he likes me.”

“What’s he like?”

“Taylor Swift karaoke—”

“Sold,” you chuckled as he shook his head, smiling at you like you were the only girl in the world, because to him, you were. “So this Katy girl,” you said, raising your eyebrow slyly.

“Is irrelevant,” he answered. “I only have eyes for you, pretty girl.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes imagine #new jersey devils #nj devils #njd #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #jack hughes angst #jack hughes fluff

[banjjakz]

convection currents ; yuuta x GN!reader

“Am I important to you, Okkotsu-san?” God, he can’t stand it. The way you look at him, the uneven lilt in your fragile, quavering voice; it makes him want to bury himself alive inside of you. “Yuuta,” he says. “Just ‘Yuuta’ is fine.” 

word count: 7.6k

warnings: horizontal hanky panky, obsession, possessive tendencies, unhealthy relationships, codependency, semi graphic descriptions of violence, major character death

‪♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

likes + reblogs appreciated!

Yuuta wants to like you. 

And he does – like you, that is. He really, really does.

But there have been some moments that give him pause.

Don’t get him wrong! You’re sweet, kind, doting, attentive, and very clearly an anxious bundle of painful self-awareness. He finds comfort in the kindred connection between your loner spirits. Training is made infinitely easier when he steals a glance at the gentle flash of your sweet smile, the soft flutter of your hair in the breeze, the twinkle of your laugh, floating through the air as a windchime’s ephemeral melody serenades the breeze. Everything about you seems to be perfectly enveloped and embedded within his daily reality at Tokyo Tech; natural, easy, right. That is what it feels like, to be at your side. 

The budding affection between the two of you kicks his foolish, stuttering heart into overdrive. How long has it been, since the blood pumping through his veins was motivated by a sensation other than mortal terror? 

You make him want to envision a reality wherein he’s embedded into the fabric of the living, breathing world, rather than continue to occupy his perch as a pariah, perennially scapegoated to the periphery. 

Each sidelong glance thrown your way is accompanied by the erratic twitch of his clammy hands, as he tries and fails to pay attention during one of Gojo’s rambling, nonsensical lectures. The light in his eyes revives when you call his name. Innards undulating in and out of place, he tracks your body’s every movement, your muscles contorting fast as quicksilver during scrimmages, lethal and alluring all at once. 

These are some of the objectively positive aspects of his attraction to you; the things that pull him from his bed in the morning, calling to him like the abyss compels a creature of the night to rise from its coffin.

And then, there are the more…er, complex moments.

“Did you just come back from a mission, Okkotsu-san?”

Like today, for example. Yuuta had just arrived back on campus after a fun afternoon spent with Toge traversing around Tokyo, patronizing various cafes and konbinis. You were lingering at the entrance of the dormitory, back to the front door, effectively coming between him and his bed.

“Ah, no. I was with Inumaki. We were hanging out for a bit.”

“Where?”

“Just in the city…”

“What did you do?”

He stills, uncertain. “Um…that’s…”

“I’m sorry.” Your head ducks in shame, hiding your face from his quizzical glance. “It’s been hard adjusting to student life as a mid-year transfer. I keep up well enough in classes, and on missions, but I don’t think any of the other students like me all that much. Forgive me, Okkotsu-san. To be honest, I’m jealous of how easily you get along with Inumaki-san and Maki-san.” 

Of course. How could he assume anything different?

As a non-lineage sorcerer, you were haphazardly discovered by one of the senior sorcerers on a mission gone south and roped into the jujutsu world without prior knowledge of its existence. From a firsthand perspective, he of all people should be able to understand how isolating that must be.

Kicking himself for his judgemental first reaction, Yuuta forces his skeleton to release the tension it harbors. “No, don’t worry. Have you been sleeping well? Did you eat dinner?”

Sheepishly, you shake your head.

This is how he finds himself alone, with you, in a secluded alcove on the outskirts of campus. The afternoon has matured into a thick, syrupy evening, the sky bruised with a smattering of warm hues. You sit on the grassy bank as a pair, shoulder-to-shoulder, your union celebrated by the rhythmic thrum of the cicadas’ song. 

“Here, take it.” He offers you the last flavored onigiri leftover from his spoils of konbini adventures. 

You protest, waving your hands in front of you. “No, no, no. I’m fine with just a plain one. Please. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“Plain is my favorite,” he lies. “I don’t even like yaki.”

“...Then why did you have one in your bag?”

“Haha! That’s a great question! I don’t know!” Beet red, Yuuta scratches the back of his head. 

Out of mercy, and perhaps pity, you graciously accept the yaki onigiri. Munching in companionable quietude ensues for several minutes, as you both watch the sun impale itself on the dark horizon, bleeding out across the sky in dark, inky tones. 

Without sitting face-to-face, it’s easier to speak to you, somehow. The insistent pressure on his chest lifts long enough for some words of actual substance to slip forth. “It’s hard, the first year.”

You remain silent.

“My first year was hell, too. Although that’s probably because I was being haunted.” 

“By who?”

He blinks, your question knocking him off balance. Not by “what,” but by “who” had he been haunted? You’ve always been observant. This is why you’ve survived for so long. 

“Um, it’s a long story… I’ll tell you in full one day. For now, I’ll just say that there was someone very special to me when I was a child… and it was hard for her to let go of me, when push came to shove.” 

“Ah. I see.” 

Although August has yet to conclude, the air around him is significantly chillier than what is characteristic of Tokyo’s late-summer hazy heat. Yuuta shivers, pulling his knees up to his chin. 

“Yeah. But, um, anyways. If you need someone to talk to…to be by your side… I would like to be that person for you.” He utters your name like a prayer, too concentrated on not stuttering to be embarrassed at the earnest tremble in his voice. “I wish I had a confidante when I first got here. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.” 

“A confidante? But didn’t you have your friend?”

Your reply jolts him into looking at you. The expression on your face tells him that you truly mean it as a genuine inquiry. 

“Well, um. I was being haunted…and Rika – er, she didn’t really listen to me. She actually got a little overprotective, I think.” 

“Do you think she was evil?”

“No!” The denial explodes from his mouth before Yuuta can even fully process the nuance of the question posed. “No,” he repeats, at an appropriate volume, this time. “She was clingy, and protective, and possessive, and honestly violent, but she wasn’t evil. I loved her. I think a part of me always will.” 

Love? What is he doing talking to you, alone, at night, about love? How embarrassing. He hadn’t meant to say all that! 

Quickly, he stuffs his mouth with the remainder of his onigiri. No more talking. Just chewing. 

If you are perturbed by his sentimental ramblings, you show no sign of it. If anything, your face remains impassive, serene, undisturbed like the surface of a tranquil pond. 

“You loved her for that, then. Was she haunting you if you were in love?”

After he finishes choking down the final, sticky remnants of his dinner, Yuuta frowns, mulling over your words which are heavy by the virtue of their implication, yet hang and sway in the air as an empty noose dangles from the gallows. 

“...I don’t know.” Yuuta says, at length. “That’s what I was diagnosed with when I came here. And it was hard for me to function, back when Rika was still here. I didn’t have any friends. And people close to me got hurt a lot.” 

“It sounds like she was always trying to protect you… even when you were apart. I only wish one day, I find someone who would have the capacity to care for me like that…”

“You want that?”

“I do.” Not an ounce of hesitation in your firm, forthcoming reply. “I’ve spent my whole life as something worth less than notice or acknowledgement. Always feeling invisible, never having anyone – not even one person – who cared about me. Up until this point, I’ve lived life wanting to die every day.” 

For lack of a better reply, Yuuta simply asks: “What changed?”

“...I met you, Okkotsu-san.”

Oh, wow. 

It’s kind of funny – where other people describe feeling hot, Yuuta has always been chronically, terminally cold. Your words induce a rapidly onsetting deep-freeze which permeates every layer of his skin, every molecule of his bones, every wretched atom of marrow lying dormant inside of him, all of it, every fiber of being rooted to the spot in an indescribable emotion. 

“I–I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I apologize for making you uncomfortable.” 

That’s wrong. “No, you didn’t! You didn’t, I swear. Just… um, I’m also a person who is lonely, like you described. So I’m not used to, err, being, ah, important. To people? I guess?”

“Oh… I see.”

Clearly, the higher function of critical thought has abandoned him; this is the only explanation for how he reaches to grab your hands, sending the half-eaten yaki onigiri tumbling down to the dark earth beneath your anxiously shifting feet. He squeezes you, tightly, and is delighted in a morose sort of way to find your digits even colder than his. 

“Let’s teach each other. How to be important to someone else.”

“Am I important to you, Okkotsu-san?”

God, he can’t stand it. The way you look at him, the uneven lilt in your fragile, quavering voice; it makes him want to bury himself alive inside of you. 

“Yuuta,” he says. “Just ‘Yuuta’ is fine.” 

;

Field missions have been a part of his daily life as a sorcerer since the day he arrived at Tokyo Tech. Battle has always been challenging for all the obvious reasons, but never before has Yuuta had to deal with the added hardship of fighting alongside you.

This, of course, is not meant to imply that you aren’t able to hold your own; on the contrary, your physical and cursed prowess has granted you the rank of semi-special grade despite this being your first year enrolled in any kind of formal jujutsu schooling. Your cursed technique is innate to your personality and sensibilities, which helps. But even if that weren’t the case, you would still be one of Tokyo’s top-performing students.

Missions are difficult because, despite all of this being true, Yuuta is powerless to curb the instinct to protect you during fights.

It manifests in small ways, at first: insisting to be paired up with you for assignments, always volunteering to partner up when splitting from the larger group during an investigation– things like this. 

His behavior starts to stray into problematic territory the longer he is allowed to get away with it, unchecked.

“After Ijichi casts the veil, we’ll sweep the building. Inumaki and Yuuta, you two take the upper levels. We’ll do the bottom half,” orders Maki, gesturing between you and herself.

Immediately, Yuuta objects. “No. I’ll do the bottom half. You and Inumaki should go up together.”

“What?”

“I have a phobia of heights,” lies Yuuta, shamelessly. “It will impact my performance.” 

“I have literally never heard you talk about being afraid of heights before.”

“Shake sushi,” agrees Inumaki. 

You remain silent, pupils trembling, bottom lip severed between your teeth in a display of bashfulness reserved only for Yuuta’s blatant favoritism, which he wields frequently, in hopes to catch a even a single glimpse of you just as you appear now. 

“I’m self-conscious about it,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Thank you both for understanding.”

“Wait! Okkotsu, we didn’t–”

And with that, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you away with him, sprinting into the abandoned love hotel before Maki or Inumaki can prevent you from absconding. 

The two of you are laughing, tickled as usual at the effects of pissing Maki the hell off. Consequences will rain down in due time, no doubt, but for now, it feels best to bask in each other’s presence. 

Once through the front door, Yuuta halts to an easy jog, guiding you past the cobweb-covered front desk, around the decrepit scraps of the once-ostentatiously decorated lobby, all the way to the far back corner, where a solid, heavy metal door obfuscates the emergency stairway. 

“Oh, it looks jammed… Should we–”

Your stumped musing is cut off by the ricocheting cacophony of Yuuta’s boot violating the door. The metal itself bends and warps, caving in on itself in a hurry to make way for the unstoppable force of the sorcerer’s impassioned blow. He didn’t have to activate any cursed energy.

“Let’s go!” Chirps Yuuta, cheerfully. 

In another context, maybe, it would be appropriate for his pulse to spike, for his hands to clam, for his breath to quicken, at the prospect of being alone with you. However, the reality of the current situation is that Yuuta is dragging you down into some dark, unknown depth, where neither of you will be disturbed. As you descend the concrete flights, visibility is increasingly hard to come by, and this, too, excites Yuuta. He is now forced to rely more heavily upon his other senses, which naturally prioritizes the scent of your sweat; the sound of your rabbit-paced heartbeat; the feeling of the paper-thin skin of your inner wrist; the taste of his own desire. 

The cursed spirit they’re looking for has been wreaking havoc on the surrounding commercial strip, to the point where several businesses have had to draw their shutters in the wake of the love hotel’s primary foreclosure. Evidently, recurring, unresolved muder-suicides did not bode well for business. 

“Um…if we’re supposed to be searching for the curse behind all of the couples’ deaths, shouldn’t we be looking in the bedrooms?”

Your voice echoes, tinny, in the thick, humid air of the emergency stairwell. They haven’t hit the bottom yet. 

“Eh, maybe. This doesn’t feel like that kind of case, though.” 

“Huh? How do you figure?”

Although moving swiftly, at the speed of light, your footfalls make barely a whisper against the aged concrete steps. Still, it’s enough for Yuuta’s hypersensitive ears to pick up on. Deprived of the sight of you, he drinks in the intimation of your existence, greedily. 

“Heat rises,” he says, slowing pace as they approach what can only be the door to the boiler room, which has been left ominously ajar. “Cold sinks.” 

“...Um, I’m not sure I follow.”

Stealthily, he slithers inside the slender crack between frame and the door itself. The angle of its opening doesn’t even waver. He pulls you along with him, replying as he moves, “Crimes of passion carry a kind of hot, frenetic energy. Panic, impulse, instinct – all of those things have lots of, hmm, friction? Like an explosion. Really hot at first, dangerously hot, and then it fizzles out into nothing.”

Unfamiliar pieces of enormous machinery tower in the dark. As much as you are able to while crouching so low to the floor, you take care not to trip over any errant pipes.

“So this isn’t a hot curse?”

“No,” Yuuta confirms. “The curse–” murder-suicides in a love hotel, how on-the-nose could it be? “–is premeditated by nature. Obsession solidifies over time. To act on that is a calculated choice.” 

He stops short. You would’ve crashed straight into his shoulder blades if he weren’t painfully cognizant of your whereabouts at all times. He preemptively steadies you on your feet before you can even begin to stumble.

“At some point in this building, someone,” says Yuuta, quietly, as he cautiously eyes the opaque blackness before them, “spent a lot of time thinking about their beloved.” 

“How can you tell?”

“Cold sinks,” Yuuta repeats. 

Violence explodes, seemingly, out of nowhere. The curse attacks all at once, aiming perfectly towards you as though it had been lying in wait, stalking your every move. Yuuta always takes point whenever you pair up together, because he always insists on taking the first hit. It is this presupposition that leaves you wide open, vulnerable for attack from behind. 

“Yuuta!!” You shriek, desperately dodging the grotesque appendages reaching out to you. Your body hits the floor just seconds shy of what would have been a gory fatality. 

When you lift your head to identify the exact form of the curse, you still in uncomprehending terror. 

“...Yuuta?” 

How can this be?

Not even seconds prior, Yuuta had been a whole, living, breathing, intact person, guiding you as solidly as your own personal anchor. Why, then, does he appear to you now as a corpse, brain matter spilling down his temples, bloated limbs belying days of decay, flesh pale and tender and loose around the bone. 

No, no, no. Had you been too late? Had the curse gotten to him first? Are you next?

Despair fills you, overflowing your sensibilities with the intrusive desire to rid the world of your miserable existence. How could you have let him slip through your fingers? How could you be expected to return to any semblance of a life, with Yuuta gone? You don’t deserve a future without Yuuta – you don’t even want to imagine one.

You’ll do what’s right, and offer your life in penance that you failed to protect his own.

Cursed energy welling within you, threatening to tear you apart at the very seams, you are about to implode with all the conviction of an abandoned lover– but a familiar, desperate cry of your name halts your ministrations.

That was Yuuta’s voice calling out to you.

But there he is, lying before you as nothing more than a desecrated body.

Unless…?

Yuuta calls your name again, sharply, this time in a tone adjacent to something scolding. The fear of disappointing Yuuta outweighs all else. It’s enough to snap you back to reality, to clear your clouded faculties and reveal to you the real Yuuta, who stands on guard just a few paces away, living, breathing, sweating, crouching, preparing for action.

“The curse,” he calls, eyes never leaving the thing in front of you. “It’s the curse. Don’t worry, it’s not real. You’re alive.”

“I’m alive?” You parrot incredulously. “That’s your corpse over there!”

“...Huh? My corpse? But I see yours–” He cuts himself off, face going eerily blank. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Close your eyes. Don’t flinch.”

In your defense, you try your best.

Remaining sightless and motionless is difficult as the rest of your senses are inundated with the disgustingly explicit soundtrack of slaughter. The sound of flesh forcibly sliding apart on the edge of Yuuta’s cursed katana is familiar, at this point, but no less gut-wrenching to bear witness to. When he deals the final blow, the evidence sprays all over the front of you, drenching you from head to toe in what should be the curse’s blood.

And yet, the liquid is frigid. Like you’ve been assaulted by the waves of the cruel, immortal sea. 

“You can look now.”

Hesitantly, your eyes flutter open. You’re met with the sight of Yuuta, also covered head to toe in the viscous liquid produced by the corpse’s demise. Now that the exorcism has been completed, the preternatural heaviness is lifted from the building. But still, you struggle to breathe.

“Why didn’t you let me fight?” Something horrible announces itself, crowing from an ugly, dark corner of your mind best kept away from public view. “Was I going to slow you down?”

He sheathes in katana without sparing the gory weapon another glance. The space between your bodies is quickly extinguished, as Yuuta crosses the space in a matter of heartbeats. Blood roars in your ears, drowning out all which does not consist of Yuuta’s fixed gaze, Yuuta’s shaky breath, Yuuta’s pallid, sweaty skin, Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta.

“No.” 

A large, wet palm meets your cheek. The soft squelch should be repulsive. Your stomach flips for entirely unrelated reasons.

“Why do you think all those murder-suicides happened?”

The question catches you off guard, but you answer, nonetheless. “The curse.”

“What do you think the curse made people see, for them to do something like that?”

You want to ask what the hell this line of questioning has to do with anything, with the mounting intensity in his stare, with the firm hand on your face, calloused thumb rubbing miniscule half-crescents into the crux of your jaw where the bone and flesh is pliant and breakable, could crack open like the shell of a creature already cooked alive, prepared to be split open for gluttonous consumption–

And then, rudely, the memory of mere moments prior hits you:

You’ll do what’s right, and offer your life in penance that you failed to protect his own.

“Oh,” you whimper, pathetically. “They see– the curse makes them see, um, someone special to them.”

“Not just ‘special,’” Yuuta corrects. From this close you can see the faint trail of blue-green veins spiderwebbing their way from his eyebags, metastasizing every which-way, just underneath his skin. “What is a curse?”

“The coalescence of negative energy secreted by human non-sorcerers.” You rattle off the elementary answer without second thought. 

“What kind of curse was this?”

The moisture evaporates from your mouth. “A cold one.”

“Why?”

“‘Obsession solidifies over time. To act on that is a calculated choice,’” you mimic back. 

Although, your tone doesn’t quite replicate the self-assured way by which Yuuta had originally imparted the information. No, your voice shakes apart, just as disjointed as the rest of your body feels at this moment. 

“What did you see when you looked at the curse?”

He already knows. He wants you to say it. You want to plead for mercy, if only to savor the eroticism of begging for something you know will not be spared for you. 

“I saw you, Yuuta.”

The curse’s blood is bitter and cold, like soured juice, when it is thrust upon your tongue. Yuuta is uncaring of the gore coating the both of you, the time-sensitive nature of this mission assignment, the way your knees sway and buckle as the adrenaline begins to leak from your body, replaced by a new, even more exhilarating sensation.

Opaque darkness still shrouds the boiler room; and yet, it isn’t enough to prevent your souls from recognizing one another. Hands wrestle with buttons, fingers grapple with zippers, teeth gnash into flesh, and the two of you take each other apart not with the reckless abandon of lovers under the duress of a transient liaison; no, you are methodological, thorough, all-consumed by the well-marinated desire that has been fertilizing from the moment you first came into contact with one another. 

Yuuta throws you down to the floor and moves his body at a preternatural speed so that he beats you there, his hand cradling the back of your skull before it can strike the concrete. 

“I saw you too,” he huffs into your mouth. 

“You were d-dead…” The way you struggle to say the word is cute. You’re so fucking cute. God, he’s no better than a fucking curse. 

It’s impossible to curb the temptation to sink his teeth into your neck, eagerly feeding off of the intoxicating effects of your pained, thrilled squeal. “You weren’t,” he murmurs into the abused flesh, pressing a kiss where he’d just gnawed. “You looked close, but you weren’t dead.”

“...Huh…?”

Can you even think right now? Do you understand what he’s saying to you? How could you possibly grasp the implications of what is transpiring, right now, when you’re laid out on the floor, snow-angeling in the blood and guts and gore of a murdered curse, delirious off of a heady combination of lust and adrenaline and fear?

“You were just barely alive. On the edge.” He moans, rocking the hard line of his body into your own. “Do you know what you said to me?”

“Tell me.”

“You asked me to finish the job.” 

Back arching off of the grimy, gritty ground, every fiber of your being reaches out for the fingers that tear at the cloth of your uniform as though it is nothing more than some cheap costuming. “You know what? I knew it wasn’t the real you, when it said that. ‘S not like you.” 

He’s monologuing to himself, it seems. You are far beyond the hope of verbally communicating in anything other than your strained, hoarse whines. 

“You’d never ask me to do that. You’d stay with me until the very end, wouldn’t you?”

Desperately, hopelessly, you nod, your fingernails carving your intentions into the meat of his shoulders. When had his shirt come off? Did you do that? 

Are you the one tearing away the last bits of offending clothing, or is that him? Do you growl in stoked desire as he breaches your entrance, or does that inhuman noise come from the both of you?

When Yuuta is buried inside of you, he feels like he’s finally been laid to rest. There is the warm, comforting embrace often described as death – but instead of an eternal bliss found at the conclusion of his life, Yuuta is able to access this euphoria by burying himself inside of you. You are his headstone, his tomb, his coffin: all of you exists to house the death of all of him, and without him inside of you, you would live on in aimless unfulfillment, anxiously awaiting the day a beautiful boy will come to die under your care and linger with you in eternity. 

You are–warm, hot, burning up, self-immolating beneath his fingers. Every thrust forward threatens to scald his hips on your molten flesh. 

“Fu-fu-fu-fu-fu–” you stutter, body shuddering to life, rising from the ground, seizing and contorting in strange shapes as you struggle and fail to cope with the insurgence of pleasure coursing through you. “Yuu–ta–”

“Promise me.” 

“Wha–”

“Promise me,” he hisses, hands coming to your throat. “Promise you’ll stay. You’re too important to me, I c-can’t lose you too, hnnnnn–”

Promise you, I’ll never leave you, is what you are able to only mouth, breath and voice held captive in his unrelenting grasp. Because you cannot voice it entirely, you pour all the contents of your heart and soul into the sentiment. Fingers rising weakly to clasp onto his, you tighten his grip on your windpipe and take comfort in the drowsy haziness that cradles your consciousness. 

When he comes, he holds you to him like he’s afraid you’re going to crawl off and die somewhere else if he doesn’t keep you right where you are, crushed against, his shivering frame, so tightly bound to him that he can hear your diaphragm contract and expand, over and over and over again, each breath cut short by a wheeze or a sob. 

Through it all, he cradles you. Naked, bruised, and forever scarred from the sight of not-Yuuta’s rotting corpse, you cling to him and release your sorrows into the dark, empty abyss of the boiler room. 

Back and forth, he rocks your body, soothing your nervous system into an illusion of safety. There is no such thing as “safety,” not for jujutsu sorcerers – but together, with limbs intertwined as one, this is the closest you can come to fooling yourselves into hoping, one day, for a safe place. A safe person, even.

“Shhh,” he simpers, thumb swiping your cheek, which is damp from an unholy mixture of cursed blood, sweat, spit, and tears. “We’re together. It’s all okay.”

“T-together…”

“Yeah. Just you and me.” 

;

“You don’t think that’s an issue?”

“I’m not saying there isn’t an issue. But we should tread lightly, here. We don’t know what could happen if we interfere.” 

“If we don’t interfere, the newbie might die.”

“It won’t get to that point. I won’t let it happen. Oi, don’t blow smoke in my face. That’s unladylike.”

“Don’t lecture me on what’s ‘ladylike,’ cocksucker.” 

“Wow! That burns!” 

“Come here, I’ll show you what else burns.”

Lingering outside the door to the infirmary, you shift your weight from foot to foot, unsure of the appropriate course of action to take. Clearly, Gojo and Ieiri are in the middle of a conversation that is not meant to be heard by prying ears – not that you can make heads or tails of what they’re talking about, anyways. 

All you wanted to do was come see Ieri for your weekly check-up, as was customary following the love hotel mission. The adrenaline must have numbed your pain receptors in the moment, because as soon as you’d arrived back on campus, your entire body felt like you’d been through a grinder. 

You were kinda confused, at first, because you didn’t even engage the curse in combat. In due time, of course, you remembered what–or who–had actually bruised your ribs, broken your skin, sprained your joints, left you carrying the contours of his wanting.

Why were they talking about you dying, anyways? Yuuta saved your life. Nothing was going to happen to you as long as he was by your side.

“Hey.”

Jumping out of your skin has started to feel good, kind of. You look forward to Yuuta’s unceremonious greetings as he creeps up on you in silence, futilely waiting for you to detect his concealed presence. 

“H-hi,” you demure. Why are you shy? He’s been so far inside of you he practically fused into your skeleton. Blushing because he caught you unawares is ridiculous. 

“Aren’t you going to go in?”

Wondering how he knows what you’re here for is pointless. Equally as useless is trying to deduce how he was able to figure out your recurring appointment time. He’s Yuuta – it’s natural for him to acquire knowledge about you, as easily as one picks low-hanging fruit from a tree. 

“Umm, I think they’re talking about something.”

He frowns. “About what?”

You hesitate. Should you tell him what you heard? “Ah, I don’t know...”

“Are you sure?”

You remain silent, unsure of how to proceed. Part of you wants to bare your innards at all times, whenever Yuuta is around. It feels natural, like a rabbit’s cowering. On the other hand…

Somehow, the thought of telling Yuuta the truth–yeah, Gojo-sensei and Ieiri-sensei think there’s a chance I might die soon–would not end well for anyone involved. If there was something you truly needed to know, you’re sure your senseis would tell you. 

Right?

“Please trust me,” you whisper, only feeling a little guilty. You’re doing it to protect him. If something dangerous is going to happen to you, Yuuta shouldn’t be involved at all. He must live. You must make sure of it. 

Reluctantly, he acquiesces, although he insists on accompanying you to your check-up that week. Strangely, neither Gojo nor Ieiri seem surprised that he is here with you, and make no effort to question why. Yuuta is allowed to linger at your sides as Ieiri takes your vitals, reviews the status of your various injuries, and even holds your hand when she scans your cursed energy levels. Thankfully, you are on track to make a perfect recovery. 

In fact, not only are you replenishing the strength and ability that had been impaired during the love hotel mission–you are regenerating cursed energy at rates which exceed your natural capacities. 

When Ieiri relays this to you, Gojo, who has been lingering in the infirmary for some unknown reason (you suspect it’s simply to annoy Ieiri with his very presence) speaks up: “Do you know what that means, kid?”

“Um…” You start, nervous. Everyone’s eyes are on you. It feels like you’re under a microscope. “I’m moving up a rank?”

Gojo bursts into a fit of giggles, doubling over at the waist. “Wow, what an opportunist! Haha, maybe in the future, if your cursed energy continues to compound exponentially. I’m asking you about the cause. Any idea why you’re suddenly overflowing with power?”

“No.” Your answer is as truthful as it is anxious. 

“Typically, a dramatic increase in output like this only occurs after a Binding Vow. Make any life-or-death promises, recently?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, the way Gojo says it. You can tell because his crow’s feet dip down just far enough away from underneath his blindfold that you can tell whenever he smiles with his eyes. And he is smiling, after he cracks the joke. You’re also able to intuit when he stops smiling, as the depressions on his face smooth out into a careful blankness. You are thirty seconds too late to the punchline. Instead of laughing along, you remain damningly silent, and Yuuta shifts uncomfortably at your side. 

“Okay,” says Gojo, clapping his hands. “Alright.” 

Although you’re fully clothed in your school uniform, it makes you feel chillingly exposed when what feels like all Six of his Eyes bore into the collection of dark marks ringing your neck in a brutal, makeshift collar. Those were not, in fact, the work of a curse. 

Yuuta fidgets with the flimsy paper lining the examination bed. You kick your feet like a child in time out.

“You owe me seven thousand yen,” Shoko deadpans. 

“Hey! Didn’t we say forty-five?”

“Don’t kid around.”

Am I in trouble? The terrified plea swells to the front of your mouth, begging to escape. You force the words to sit, stay, and curdle on your tongue. 

“Can we go now?” Asks Yuuta, uncharacteristically direct. 

Given the odd gravity in the room, you don’t expect Gojo’s easy wave of his hand, dismissing the two of you with a flippant hum. Not having to be told twice, you hightail it out of the infirmary, grateful to be released from the constant invasion of privacy and security that is a prolonged existence within the reach of Gojo’s Six Eyes. 

Finally alone once more, the training grounds are a welcome reprieve for you and Yuuta, who crash into the grass clearing hand-in-hand, heartbeats synced. 

“Did we make a Binding Vow? When we…you know…”

Yuuta’s voice trails off, lamely. 

“What if we did? Would you regret it?”

“Huh? No, of course not! It’s just…well–”

“Well, what?” 

“That’s kind of permanent,” Yuuta whispers, dark pools of obsidian sorrow holding your gaze in its cruel, captivating clutches. “And we don’t know what will happen if it breaks.”

For one second, the rawness of it hits you. Fear washes down your back, prickling your flesh, raising goosebumps, locking your spine rigidly into place. The two of you had certainly made a life-or-death promise, infused with cursed energy and blood and…other…bodily fluids. To inadvertently perform a Binding Vow meant that the sheer intensity behind both of your wills was purely, wholly devoted to the promise. 

Which is why you take a step closer to him, voice steady. “I didn’t make that promise with the intention to break it. Ever.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Don’t…you can’t be sure of that.”

“I am.”

“You won’t be able to guarantee it.”

“I will.” 

Familiarly calloused hands grab your shoulders, jostling you with charged intention. “You don’t get it! My favorite person in the whole world already left me once. If that happens again, I can’t… I don’t know…”

“Yuuta.” You don’t have to lay a finger on him for his entire body to stand at attention, drawing tall and taught, when you call his name. “I will never leave you, even if I die.” 

The ensuing kiss tastes like metal. 

Despite the passionate fervor with which he devours you, his mouth his cold, and his digits even more so as they dig into your cheeks, your throat, your waist, your chest, groping and pulling and kneading your flesh to loosen the rigor mortis that has arrested your willingness. 

“D-don’t, ah, make any m-more marks…” 

Your protest is, at best, unconvincing, the person least of all convinced being yourself, as Yuuta’s teeth and tongue on the tender flesh of your neck make you feel like you’re about to leave your body. “Hnng–Gojos-sensei already knows, I think.”

“Good.” He’s crazed, nipping and slurping at your sensitive soft bits like a man starved. “Let him know. Everyone should know. I shouldn’t even–” he kisses “–have–” he bites “–to say it–” he licks you in between speaking, as though it goes against the grain of his being to part ways with you for more than just a few jagged inhalations. 

The ground hits you hard, reprimanding you for your clumsiness with a firm impact on your backside. Yuuta pursues with haste, hands slamming down on either side of your head, ripping the grass in retribution. 

“Yuuta,” you hiss, hands flying to his dark mop of hair, trying to reel him back – in vain, of course. “We are outside. In the middle of the day. Anyone could walk by!”

“Don’t care.”

His eyes are glazed, half-lidded, pupils blown wide and deeply dark as a gunshot wound, uncaring of your anxiety as he attempts to dive back into you.

“Wait! What if someone sees me?” Now, he rears back. “I don’t want anyone else to see, Yuuta… only you get to see me like this.” 

Even the ants traipsing across the clearing stop dead in their tracks, rendered motionless, silent, at the abrupt onslaught of highly charged cursed energy that washes through every living and non-living thing within a five-mile radius. 

“Okay.”

Wordlessly, your world upends as you are thrown over a wide shoulder clad in spotless, wrinkled white. You’ve always thought it was funny – how Yuuta’s uniform never managed to permanently stain itself with any of the gore he frequently encountered, and yet, there was always a noticeable depression in the seams, ever-lurking, complicating the otherwise flawless expanse, evoking a sense of pity. 

Even when the shirt flies off, abandoned to crumple sadly in the corner of his bedroom, you can’t get its image out of your head. That spotless white. Those gleaming gold buttons dripping in iridescent rivulets down the front of the garment. Only within the intricate designs etched into their surface is one able to glean the barest hint of blood, staining the metal a pale crimson. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t notice it.

But you have always sought out his ugly, twisted parts. Even when he tries to hide. Even when he might duck from them himself. 

That’s okay. 

That’s why he has you. 

When he bites you so hard that the wound draws blood; when his palms squeeze around your windpipe so deftly that you lose vision; when pins down your bruised hips, ignoring their wriggling avoidance; when his unquiet nature makes itself known, eclipsing the carefully bashful performance he puts on for his peers so that he might be liked, or loved, even–that is when you feel most connected to him. That is when your affections burn brightest. 

And during the comedown, as he holds you close and rocks your brutalized body back and forth and back again, you are well aware that it is he himself who he seeks to soothe.

He doesn’t know, you realize, broken out of your post-coital mental haze with a pointed moment of clarity. 

Yuuta has no clue what lurks inside the haunted catacombs of his soul. 

What does it say about you, then, that his naivete only serves to further incense your want, smoldering like an inferno brewing at the base of a pyre, threatening to engulf your sorry corpse in entirety? 

;

As third year trudges on, instruction takes less time in the classroom, or on campus. More frequently, you find yourself out on missions from sun-up to sundown, running around Tokyo-to and even surrounding prefectures. The grades of the curses you go up against only increase with time, and so, to, does your proximity to mortal danger.

Through it all, Yuuta is present. Indignantly so. Despite your rank as a semi-special grade sorcerer, you have yet to embark solo on an assignment. The pair of you are one combative unit, at this point so intertwined in sentiment and instinct that rarely is it necessary to reach for verbal exchange while engaged in battle. It is as though the reserve of cursed energy you draw from is a pool shared between you, a combination of your innate abilities plus an additional overflow, supplied by the Binding Vow you had consummated all those months ago. 

So close are you, now, that Yuuta grows comfortable – confident, even – with your hold on his proverbial leash. These days, he is less neurotic when you inquire as to his whereabouts. Your prying questions provoke within him nothing other than a deep-seated sense of reassurance. He no longer doubts where he stands with you, as he once did when you were still a fresh-faced, mid-year transfer adjusting to life at Tokyo Tech. 

In retrospect, he recognizes that he should never have let his guard down.

It’s his fault, really. Entirely his fault. The extra strength provided by the powerful effects of the Binding Vow deluded him into a false sense of security. 

He shouldn’t have been so careless with your life. He shouldn’t have strayed so far from your side. He shouldn’t have let you out of his sight. He shouldn’t have left you alone, even if it was only for a split second–not even. 

Once again, he has failed to save the most important person in his life. Somehow, losing you is worse than losing Rika. He is no longer a child. He possessed both the skill and ability to save you. 

And yet, he had been absent in your time of need. 

The one time you’d been off on a mission without him. The one and only time. Principle Yaga’s sorry excuse was that the higher-ups found it strange that you, as a semi-special grade, had never completed a solo assignment. Apparently, your rank was being threatened if you refused any longer to display independent capability. 

Well. Now there’s no rank for you to claim, anymore. 

After news of your death reaches him, he roams campus like an aimless specter, as though he is the one who has been robbed of life. 

In a way, he has. Half of his being has perished. He limps, lopsided, dragging the phantom weight of your body with him wherever he goes. 

It takes a while to get used to the absence of your physical, living, breathing manifestation. As a fellow sorcerer, you have been wholly eradicated from the fabric of his reality. 

But as a spirit…?

Death is not enough to break a Binding Vow – this, Yuuta knows better than anyone. He retains his augmented cursed abilities, along with your presence. The two of you join once more in battle, as he summons you to protect and guard him in life as he failed to do for you. Your selfless nature has never been more clearly evident. Not a single call goes unanswered, not a single need of his unmet. 

Is this a haunting?

No, he doesn’t think so.

When the two of you had still been skittish and shy around one another, nothing more than a pair of innocently covetous children, you’d dared him to reflect on his relationship with Rika. What had been translated to him as a haunting, you reimagined as something more corporeal, something genuine, something worthy of gratitude, and love.

This is how he chooses to think of you – the both of you, together, still joined in perfect union. No matter the fact that you will watch him age, change, develop, and eventually die, one day, should he be so lucky. You do not haunt his waking hours. You do not terrorize his dreams.

You love him in a way that transcends the bounds of space and time.

He has not been cursed. Rather, he has been blessed with your unconditional love.

To earn true forgiveness, he must show you his, as well. You must occupy his every waking thought. You will invade his every intention. You are at the forefront of his mind when he rises with the dawn, and the memory of your breath against the shell of his ear whispers to him good night. You dress him. You urge him to sustenance. You machinate his combat. You heal his wounds. You wipe his tears when he sobs, alone, terribly alone, sobbing into his knees after each time the life of a friend meets a senseless, violent conclusion. 

You are still there when he wraps a rough, harried palm around his throbbing arousal, thrusting up into an elusive, now long-gone pleasure. You guide his hands’ journey across the hazardous dips and valleys of his rib cage, the grotesque concave of his stomach, the sharp blades of his hip bones. His skeleton threatens to crawl outside of his flesh. It yearns for something beyond this senseless cycle of bloodshed, grief, and rage.

 Never does he feel closer to salvation than when he is on the precipice of ecstasy, dehydrated, underfed, delirious, heart beating so fast that it limits his vision, his lung capacity. When he occupies this liminal space, it is not the brink of orgasm which he straddles. As he approaches climax, he yearns not for an explosion of wet heat, but for the euphoric embrace of a final ending: your arms around him once more, real, tangible, warm. 

Until then, he will trudge onwards. Miserably alive. Cold inside and out. Numb to physical pain, constantly inundated with the wounds inflicted on his spirit, his sentiments, his soul. 

Solace finds him in the fact that you committed to remain by his side, forever. How could he wallow in total despair when this remains true?

You chose this, after all.

You chose him.

You did. 

Didn’t you?

#okkotsu yuta #okkotsu yuuta #okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #yuta x reader #yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta x y/n #okkotsu yuta x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk ao3 #jjk reader insert #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jjk smut #okkotsu yuuta smut #jjk reader insert smut #my writing #mine #fics

[xxblairexxss]

Prime

Pairing : Jude Bellingham x reader

Theme : Fluff

Got this idea from those tiktok videos of him playing football with a group of kids. You probably know which one I’m talking about if you stumbled across one. Haven’t proofread! Sorry for any mistakes.

Jude was like your mom’s favourite child. She was eternally grateful for her lovely daughters but when you introduced your boyfriend to the family, you knew she had put him above you and your sisters. Your dad was a huge fan of football and he thought you were joking when you told him you were dating Dortmund player so of course when Jude first joined your family’s dinner, your dad was elated that you thought he would have forgotten about you if it wasn’t for your constant glare at him.

Since then, Jude always got invited to any family events of yours, just like how he always invited you to his family events.

judebellingham has added to their story

Your nephew, Noah was obsessed with football. Guess it ran in the family because of how the obsession went from your dad to Noah. Different from you, who barely knew anything about it. Noah had asked you a week prior if Jude was gonna come to the housewarming party but when you asked why he was so eager to know, he said it was secret. Turned out he wanted to ask Jude to play football with him because he got a proper football ball from his birthday last month.

You were in the kitchen, taking over the duty to cut the fruits so your sister could sneaked out to the nearby store to get some more ingredients for roasted garlic hummus with her husband. You were left with Jude and the kids as your parents are yet to arrived.

You were decorating the plate with the colourful fruits when you felt a sudden impact on your side. It was Noah, who was suddenly crying and hugging on your legs. Confused, you bent down and wiped the fresh tears on his cheek as he pulled away.

“What’s wrong? Did you fell?”

“No…”

“Why did you cry?”

“Jude wouldn’t give the ball back…”

“What…?”

That was when you saw Jude walked in with Noel, Noah’s baby brother.

“Jude Victor William Bellingham! Did you seriously make my nephew cry?”

“I didn’t! He asked me to play like I was in a match.”

“You are so silly! He’s not prime Lewandowski, is he?”

He chuckled in response before leaving a peck on your lips and squatted down to be on the same level with Noah, who was now refused to look at him.

“I’m sorry, buddy. Let’s do another round, yeah? You’ll be in the same team with Noel and I can only play with one leg, how about that?”

Noah responded with an immediate “Okay!” and a wide grin as he ran to Noel to pull him outside. You could see the little one waddled trying to catch on his brother.

Jude stood back up and pulled you closer by your waist. He found you so adorable when you were still frowning at him that he wanted to just planted kisses all over your beautiful face.

“I’m sorry, princess. I swear I didn’t mean it. Anyway, I didn’t know you actually have some basic football knowledge. I thought you don’t know any other players except me. That was kinda hot, not gonna lie.” He bended down his head to kiss on your exposed shoulder blade from your off shoulder crop top, pressing his body against yours even more.

“Well, I’m actually a barca girl.”

Jude tilted your chin up as he brushed his lips against yours before nibbling softy on your bottom lips.

“Shut up, you’re my girl.”

“Jude, come on!” You heard Noah called out for him from the backyard, probably getting annoyed at how long he was taking his time.

“Coming!” He pulled away and strode across the living room to the kids, leaving you with butterflies in your stomach, even after all these years.

#football imagine #jude bellingham fics #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #football imagines #football fics

[reminiscingtonight]

Prior Engagements

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

[WOSO Masterlist]

This is a bad idea. 

This is a really bone-headed, captain-title-revoked worthy, bad idea.

Slightly buzzed, Alexia stands staring at the door in front of her. In one hand is a bottle of wine, the other a container of food. Chicken Alfredo, she reminds herself. Your favorite pasta dish. 

The day had started out like any other. Alexia woke up in time to see the sun rise, got a quick workout in before practice started later in the day. The coffee she picked up on her way to the training grounds filled her car with a sweet aroma, something only outshined by the beaming grin on your face when she handed you your coffee minutes later. Ignoring the hoots and hollers of her teammates, Alexia couldn’t take her eyes off you the entire training session. 

It’s been like this since you transferred to the club. From day one of your signing, Alexia hasn’t been able to stay too far away from you. You brought an air of confidence from the moment you stepped onto the field. All of the Barcelona players were attracted to it, your cool demeanor making you pop to the top of everyone’s list, Alexia not excluded. 

While she enjoyed all the excitement new people bring to the team, your outgoing persona is honestly a bit intimidating to her, the Spanish midfielder always stumbling over her words when in your presence. 

Mapi’s the first to pick up on her crush. After being caught watching you one too many times, Alexia had to start perfecting what she dubs the ‘never being in the same room as Mapi and (Y/N) at the same time’ move. Her best friend held up to her title, making sure to tease Alexia to hell whenever you were nearby, hence the necessity of such evasion tactics. 

And, of course, the events of tonight all started with the one and only Mapi León. 

It all began after practice ended. Everyone was still milling about the locker room when Mapi brought up the idea of going out for a group dinner. There’s a quick buzz around the room as most of the girls start agreeing. 

It’s subconscious, the way Alexia’s eyes drift to you. Your head’s buried in your bag as you shuffle around, not agreeing nor backing out of the dinner plans. At least not until Mapi gives you a gentle nudge. When you lift your eyes, Mapi’s tilting her head at you, a silent question in her gaze. 

Alexia deflates when you shake your head. “Sorry, I’d love to go out but I have some prior engagements I can’t get out of.”

When you leave minutes later, the locker room instantly dissolved into hushed giggles and speculations of which lucky girl you were off to go meet or which party you were heading to. It’s common knowledge among the girls of your late night adventures. Eight times out of ten you’re dropping out of whatever group event is going on, only ever joining when the girls send Alexia after you. (The Barcelona captain tries not to read too much into why you usually say yes to her but not to anyone else.)

Although it’s fun catching up with the rest of the girls at dinner, Alexia still can’t help but think about you the entire night. She’s scatterbrained, something Mapi doesn’t miss. It’s at the insistence of the blonde that Alexia finds herself here, standing on your doorstep, nervously hoping you’re home alone. 

It’s quiet as she knocks, her breath coming out in nervous little puffs. Alexia is just about to call it a bust when she hears a muffled “coming!” echoing through the door. The wine bottle in her hand feels heavy, palms profusely sweating as she hears the quiet padding of feet. 

There’s the gentle click of the lock before the door’s opening before her.

“Ale, hey.” There’s surprise in your voice, but with her eyes still glued to her feet, Alexia doesn’t make eye contact with you. 

She starts speaking before she can second guess herself. “I know you said you have plans, but I just wanted to--”

The words die in her throat when she finally looks up, locking eyes with yours… Your eyes that are hidden behind a thick frame. 

Standing in front of her, dressed in only the comfiest pair of sweatpants and fuzzy slippers, you have a pair of glasses on your face. 

Alexia blinks. 

“You have glasses.”

You nervously fidget, hand coming up to push your slipping glasses back up your nose. “I wear contacts when we’re out on the field.”

“You look cute.” Both of you are turning red at once. You for the compliment. Alexia for actually saying it out loud.

Coughing to clear the air, you take a step back. “Sorry, where are my manners? Come on in.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind your company.”

Alexia follows you through the door, instantly noting the books laid all over the floors. There’s barely any walkable space in your living room, most surfaces either being covered by textbooks, notebooks, or diagrams. From the look of things, you’ve been at this for a while. 

Alexia can’t help but wonder for how long. 

“Excuse the mess, I was, uh…”

Alexia raises an eyebrow at the sheepish look on your face. “Prior engagement-ing?” 

A light blush coats your cheeks as you nervously scratch at your neck. You don’t even try defending yourself. “I have a test tomorrow. I’m not even halfway done with the material.”

From deep in her memories, Alexia briefly remembers you saying something about studying for accounting. It was only a brief sentence during your initiation introduction, but from the look of things you were clearly still trying hard to finish your degree.

Alexia gives you a gentle smile, definitely not missing your squinty eyes or slightly hunched over back. All signs indicating the start of a killer headache. 

“Well good thing I brought wine and pasta. Can’t have you studying on an empty stomach now can we?”

Your eyes light up when you notice the container in her hand. 

“Is that--”

“Your favorite,” she confirms, fighting the urge to laugh when you instantly make a grabby motion with your hands. Alexia passes you the food with ease, this time not able to hold back her laugh at the way your eyes grow in size when you open the container.

“Please marry me,” you groan, already taking a forkful of the pasta.

“Take me on a date first,” Alexia nervously laughs, hoping you don’t notice how pink she’s gotten.

“Does tomorrow night at 6 work?”

Wait. 

Did you just…

Alexia chokes. “I-- you… what?”

You grin around another forkful of food. “I’d take you out right now but I have a test to study for. And there’s no point in wasting the food you already got for me.”

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

[meraxesmoon]

Dragon Riding

note: the urge to write subby aegon was too strong you guys

warnings: yandere aegon, but he's soft, simp aegon, msub, incest (reader is rhae's daughter and heir), perv aegon, au where laenor lives, reader is a peacemaker, dinner scene, he's drunk, smut, mentions of childbirth, reader had a baby like a year prior lol, so curvy reader ig, idk chubby women make me go crazy, riding, aegon gets emotional, reader fucks him stupid bc who wouldn't want to fuck a man dumb, crybaby aegon, soft! dom reader, soft stuff

Family dinners were far from Aegon's favorite. They were always tense and dull, but with the arrival of his half-sister, dinner was even more unbearable. The only enjoyable part of dinner was the fact that he was seated next to his wife, and he had spent most of his time gazing at her cleavage.

(Name) was happy, that much was obvious. Her wide smile and sweet tone of voice made his head spin, as it often does when he's in her proximity. She had missed her parents and brothers, that much was clear. She was right next to Jacaerys, holding his lower arm in a comforting manner.

"It's been too long, little brother," she says, happily smiling at Jace as she looks at him lovingly. "I wish you all would visit more often, and for much happier occasions." (Name) grimaces as she remembers the fate of Vaemond Velaryon, her uncle by law. He had been promptly fed to Syrax after losing the top half of his head.

Aegon feels sick watching them touch. His wife would never be disloyal to him, but there was still the thought that (Name) would have been married to Jacaerys if Rhaenyra had gotten her way.

"Indeed," Rhaenyra speaks up, watching her daughter with a loving gaze. "You should come to Dragonstone sometime as well, daughter."

Aegon may hate family dinners, but Aemond had been the one to fuck it up this time around.

"Enough of this!" (Name) is shrill when addressing her brothers. "We are a family, grandsire is on his deathbed, and you all insist on childish arguments," she was gorgeous when angry. "Aemond, I do apologize for Luke, but it was a jest."

Fuck, he was hard.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Tipsy and horny, Aegon waits in their bedchamber for his wife to return. She had informed him that her family would be returning to Dragonstone in the morning, and she likely wouldn't see them again for quite a bit. (Name) was particularly fond of her father, Ser Laenor, and had gone to bid goodbye to him before he took Seasmoke and fled Kings Landing.

He's in the middle of undressing and gulping down a goblet full of wine when the entrance to their bedchamber opens, revealing (Name) in all of her glory. She was still in that beautiful midnight-blue gown that she had worn to dinner, and she looked positively exhausted. Shutting down family disputes usually had that effect on her.

Her eyes catch Aegon in the middle of slipping off his trousers, and she lifts an eyebrow at him.

"Lord Husband, what are you doing?" (Name) asks this question despite already knowing the answer, and Aegon swears she only does this to tease him. He steps out of his trousers before answering. "I'm undressing..." his voice is wobbly and unsure. Perhaps it was the insecurity that came with knowing he was the worst husband that his saint of a wife could have been sacked with, or the knowledge that Rhaenyra would annul their marriage without a second thought. Aegon felt unsure of himself as he walks towards his wife, eyes watery and wide.

"I was hoping that my Lady Wife would be able to offer me comfort," Aegon gives his wife the look he knows she can never say no to, and he drops his undergarments to the floor while standing right in front of her.

(Name) shoots a subtle look of pity, one that many wouldn't be able to catch before she's cupping his face and pressing her lips to his own. Aegon promptly melts, his hands coming to her shoulders as he tries to shake off her dress. It was the kind of dress that had no shoulders, so it realistically should have been easy to pull off, but the nerves and alcohol running through Aegon's body were doing him no favors. She had given birth to their son nearly a year ago, but she still forewent corsets, proclaiming them as uncomfortable. Aegon had never raised a complaint, he loved seeing her natural body fill out those elegant dresses that she owned.

"Aegon," (Name) pulls away from him, hands brushing away the hair that fell in front of his face. "What's the matter?"

The loss of contact is the only thing that Aegon processes, a pitiful whine leaving his lips as he grabs at her hands. Aegon starts to walk backwards, he eventually makes it to their shared bed, and once he lets go of her hands he falls back into the mattress. This is the best view (Name) could have asked for, her pathetic husband laying drunk and insatiable in their bed, his weeping cock bobbing against his lower abdomen.

Aegon Targaryen may not have the longest cock in Westeros, but he most definitely had the thickest.

"I want," Aegon smooths his tongue over his chapped lips. "My wife to ride me."

It doesn't take much longer for (Name) to rid herself of her dress and undergarments, only being left with a long necklace made of jade. That's where Aegon looks as she climbs on top of him gently, taking his face in her hands once again.

Until being married to her, Aegon had never been treated so tenderly in his entire life. His mother, his sister, the whores he had filled his time with, none of them had ever treated him like this. Helaena loved him as her older brother, but being a Dreamer took a huge toll on how she acted. His mother was simply disappointed in him. She loved him, but she did not like him. His marriage and loyalty to his wife was the only thing that had ever made her proud of him.

When he was with (Name), he felt loved.

He felt especially loved once she guides his cock into her cunt.

Aegon whines before arching his back, his hands gripping at the covers of their bed. His usually pale cheeks were blown pink and his forehead was already beading with sweat as (Name) grinds her hips against his own. It was funny to Aegon, because he had never been this sensitive with any whore he'd ever been with. With (Name), he felt utterly out of control. The pleasure of her cunt squeezing his cock made his eyes roll to the back of his head.

"Aegon... ah, is this what you were wanting, husband?" (Name) keeps rocking her hips, her eyes locked on Aegon as he writhes underneath her. This was a welcome sight, and one she knew well. Their dynamic was an odd one, if you were to explain it to other ladies in court, they would gasp in faint. However, her precious husband didn't like being in control when they were in bed together.

In response to her question, Aegon reaches for her face to pull her in for a sloppy kiss. He's hardly focused enough to follow through with the kiss, the sensation of his cock being pleasured was too much for his brain to handle, but that was alright. (Name) followed his lips, kissing him softly. She was always so gentle with him, it was something Aegon absolutely craved.

Aegon mumbles something in between their soft and passionate kisses, and (Name) asks him to repeat it.

"Fuck me... fuck me," Aegon, brainless at this point and nearing his release, whines this out as he grabs onto (Name)'s love handles. He's moving his hips erratically, tears slipping past his eyeline as he whines loudly. Usually, (Name) would beg her precious husband to quiet down a bit. She'd hate for someone else to overhear their bedroom activities, as they had that happen with Aemond once before. Breakfast had been horribly awkward the morning after.

However, she could tell that Aegon's desperation was stemming from something devious. Something in his head was torturing him again, and she hated seeing him like that.

He suddenly shoots up, his arms wrapping around her body as he begs her to keep going. Aegon is sitting up with (Name) in his lap, her hips still rocking against his own as he cries out into her neck. "Fuck, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop-"

It only takes one more rock of (Name)'s hips for Aegon to reach his peak, his orgasm hitting him harshly, despite the gentleness of their lovemaking. Aegon arches his back as he erupts, his cum flooding (Name)'s cunt as he digs his blunt nails into her soft back, crying out in overwhelming pleasure. With her own hips stuttering, (Name) reaches her own finish, her lips pressed against her husband's neck. The sounds Aegon made only spurred her on, and her hips stuttered as she came.

Exhausted after dinner and riding her husband braindead, (Name) rises off of Aegon's spent cock before collapsing into bed, and not too soon after he crawls on top of her, pressing himself against her chest. The only sounds in their room were (Name)'s soft, ragged breaths and Aegon's pathetic little whimpers. He was still sensitive, and (Name) doubted that he even knew what was going on.

Once he settles down on top of her, (Name) runs her fingers through his hair, humming a soft tune in hopes of lulling her needy husband to sleep. She was so tired, and he'd likely try to get her to fuck him again if given the chance.

"How are you doing, Love?" She questions, soothing Aegon as his whimpers and whines die down.

"Hmph..." This is Aegon's only answer as he laces their fingers together, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles.

The both of them fall asleep like this, and Aegon wishes they could stay like this forever.

i'm so embarrassed posting this, if you guys like it please let me know because this made me so insecure.

anyhoot, soft! femdoms > hard! femdoms

#cw: yandere blog #cw: yandere content #cw: yandere #yandere aegon ii targaryen #yandere aegon targaryen #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #yandere team green #yandere team black #yandere smut #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere content #yandere #kay writes #rhxegal

[nicksbestie]

hi as of like yesterday yr requests are still open so i hope this isn’t a bother ! but anyway i was hoping to see some caregiver!reader + agere!johnnie ? preferably gnc reader but fem would also be okay ( whatever prior relationship you want :] ) don’t have many ideas for plot aside from maybe johnnie has had a bad day/is really stressed out so he kinda starts isolating himself, which reader respects but is also really worried about him :( so after a while reader uses maybe like a spare key to go into johnnie’s room and at first it just seems like he’s just upset but as reader starts trying to get johnnie to open up and trying to comfort him, he regresses which makes him more upset/panicky. whether reader has prior knowledge of regression is up to you but in general they’re just really sweet and supportive trying to calm johnnie down <3 maybe they eat dinner/reader feeds johnnie, and watch a movie/cartoon while cuddling ? ( little spoon johnnie ofc ) anyways feel free to add or take away anything i just want johnnie to be taken care of and as an agere i am totally projecting lol

Secrets - Johnnie Guilbert

Summary : Johnnie's biggest secret is exposed without him being ready, but it goes better than he thinks it will.

Pairing : Johnnie Guilbert/Reader (romantic)

Warnings : descriptions of mental health issues, depression, and isolation

Word Count : 1541

A/N : This is an age regression fic, which is purely safe for work and innocent. Any hate/disrespect towards me, my work, or readers, will not be tolerated.

Everyone has secrets. Some of them are terrible ones, skeletons in your closet, ones that would ruin many people’s lives should they escape out into the public. Others are small and simple, things they just like to keep to themselves, and wouldn’t hurt anyone if other people knew, they just don’t want them to be everyone’s business. Some people keep secrets to protect themselves because they would be embarrassed about it if anyone found out. Everyone keeps secrets, and sometimes they’re revealed at the wrong time. Johnnie had secrets, and he was in no way prepared for his biggest one to be exposed to anyone, especially not you, but sometimes life goes in ways that we just can’t predict. 

Johnnie had been struggling a lot lately. That wasn’t a secret, and although you knew about it, you didn’t pressure him very much. He wasn’t the type to open up when he was overly pushed about whatever was wrong, and you wanted him to feel safe and comfortable coming to you when he was ready, and not before that. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t concerned, because you most definitely were. This bad spell for him was bordering on being one of his worst ones ever, and you were about to step in, because you couldn’t stand to see him hurting on his own any longer, even if that was what he told you he wanted. 

Johnnie had begun to isolate himself for almost every hour of the day, only exiting his room to eat and use the bathroom. He didn’t talk much to you out loud, texting instead, as it took much less energy out of him to take that route. He didn’t like to talk about it, despite knowing that he most definitely needed to. You hated how he could be so self destructive, but you knew that you did the exact same thing when you felt the way that he did. So, you respected his space and always let him have it when he asked for it. However, it normally didn’t last this long, thus feeling the massive worry that encased your mind. 

After a couple more hours, you continued to let your worry grow, but you decided to do something about it. You hated the fact that you were about to ignore the boundaries that Johnnie had put into place, but you were seriously concerned, and you hoped that he would be able to understand and forgive you should he be upset with your decision. You grabbed the spare key that unlocked all the doors in the house, kept in the kitchen just in case of emergencies, and gently knocked on his bedroom door. You weren’t going to just barge in, you wanted to give him the chance to open it himself. When he didn’t reply, you softly called out to him, telling him that you were going to open the door. He didn’t argue, so you did just that. 

Walking into his room, you noticed that the blinds were closed, the lights were off, and he was quietly laying in his bed, staring at the wall. You immediately laid down next to him, letting him curl up next to you. You noticed the stained tear tracks on his cheeks, your heart breaking for him as he simply laid there. You let the both of you cuddle in silence, not wanting this to be a heartbreaking moment for the both of you, so you didn’t break the silence for a while. You knew that you should probably talk about what was going on, but the moment was so peaceful that you didn’t want to say anything. You both laid there quietly for about half an hour, taking in the comfort of the other’s presence, before you said anything. 

“We should talk about this, baby. It’s getting worse this time.” 

You could feel him shake his head against your chest. 

“No. I don’t want to talk.” 

“Honey, it’s important-” 

“No!”

Woah. He very rarely snapped at you. He had almost never snapped at you, especially not when he was feeling like this. But, in all fairness, you had pushed him a little bit. You could feel the tears from his eyes soaking your shirt, and you decided to not speak any more for a little bit. You gently pulled his face up, wiping his tears away with the soft pads of your thumbs, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, brushing his hair out a bit with your fingers. You noticed that his eyes were widened more, much more glassy, and you definitely were concerned about it, but you brushed it off to the tears causing it. 

You were more surprised when he pulled away from you, as he had never done that. You gently reached out to try and cuddle him again, but you noticed that he wouldn’t even look at you. He seemed to be panicking about something, and you couldn’t figure out what it was. You weren’t upset with him, but from the anxiety radiating off of his body, you could tell that he probably felt like you were. So, you immediately spoke up to try and help him recognize the fact that he was always safe and loved with you. 

“Love, what’s wrong? It’s all going to be okay.” 

You were now completely confused, as the second that you spoke, your boyfriend burst into tears. He seemed to be absolutely inconsolable, crying nearly at the top of his lungs and clutching the squishmallow on his bed tightly between his arms. You didn’t know what else to do besides just hug him, whispering comforting words as you told him that everything was going to work out, and that you were here for him. It wasn’t until he looked up at you with the same glassy-eyed look as earlier and spoke a few words when you realized what was going on. 

When a choked out “I sorry” left his lips, you put together the look in his eyes, and unexpected crying, and the clutched stuffie, and immediately realized what was happening. Your boyfriend had slipped right into his littlespace, a littlespace that you were completely unaware of, and was absolutely distraught. You had been a caregiver in a previous relationship, and you quickly controlled your shocked face, bringing him as close to you as possible and gently stroking through his hair. 

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. You’re safe, angel, nothing to be sorry for. I’ve got you, you’re going to be alright.” 

It took a lot of repetitive words and soft praises for Johnnie to relax, his crying eventually slowing when he realized that you weren’t upset with him, and that you were still there and still loving him despite his newfound headspace. He wrapped himself back around you, seeming to become a very quiet little. You were more than excited to get to know him in his headspace, so excited to get to love and spoil a little one, as it had been a long time. Less than an hour later, the two of you were still curled up next to each other, you simply hugging your little boy and whispering sweet nothings to him as he relaxed. You both enjoyed the quality time, and as it turns out, Johnnie is a very silent little, despite when he’s not upset. It wasn’t for another half an hour or so that you moved, and you probably wouldn’t have moved at all had it not been for Johnnie’s stomach growling. 

You held his hand as you walked to the kitchen, calling him the most adorable as he rubbed his eyes with a fist. You put some chicken nuggets in the oven for him, before you went to the bathroom and you helped him remove the makeup that he’d put on that morning. He hadn’t gone anywhere, but he put it on to cover the dark circles under his eyes. You were gentle but bubbly, and you noticed that your little loved to laugh, and giggled at every funny face you made at him. Dinner went quite smoothly, him eating all of it, which absolutely warmed your heart, as he hadn’t been eating much lately due to his depressive slump. 

Little Johnnie seemed to love food, and you were grateful for that, because you didn’t want dinner time to cause him to be upset again. After he had finished eating, you got him a popsicle from the freezer, wrapped it in a paper towel so his hands didn’t get cold, and tucked him in on the couch while you cleaned up the plate and put it into the dishwasher. He was wrapped up in a blanket, cuddled with his stuffie, and you sat down next to him as soon as you were done. You gently tapped through channels and shows as you waited for your little one to pick a cartoon he’d like to watch, finally settling on “Spongebob”, and he immediately wrapped himself back up in your arms. 

He’d been in a dark episode for a while, but now, it seemed like he was able to see the light at the end of it, and you couldn’t wait to be here to help him through it all.

~ taglist : @jake-and-johnnies-slut @elliem505 @gvf23 @ilydeaky @maryx2xx @oobleoob @aemrsy @jasperthefriendlyghostt @707xn

~ if you'd like to be added to my taglist, click here!

~ my inbox is open, come chat!

#johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert fanfic #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert fic #johnnie guilbert fanfiction #johnnie and jake #fanfic #jake webber fluff #jake webber fanfic #jake webber fanfiction #jake webber #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert age regression #sfw fic #johnnie guilbert sfw #caregiver johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert agere

[hooked-on-elvis]

The "Street suit", worn onstage by accident (1975)

TWO-TONED STREET SUIT | Other names: Penguin suit Used only once onstage, on August 19, 1975, at the Hilton Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada, during the Midnight concert. Elvis wore the suit with a Black Macrame belt. Info from website elvisconcerts.com (Jumpsuit index)

According to the rumors, Elvis was late for the show that night and he had no time to change his clothes, so he just walked on-stage wearing what he had on at the moment: the Two-toned Street suit.

Elvis during concert in August 19, 1975, at the Hilton Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada.

This sounds a little off to me, to be truthful. If EP in fact wasn't intending wearing the Street suit onstage then I wonder the reasons why: Did he get distracted and forgot to change his outfit in time? Maybe he was visiting with fans backstage or too busy chatting with guests/friends/family in his suite while resting before another concert could begun? (He performed the dinner concert the same night at 8:15pm and wore the Totem Pole suit for it); perhaps something happened with the other outfit he planned to change into for the second concert, considering he didn't want to wear the Totem Pole suit for both concerts the same night; or Elvis simply felt like wearing the Two-toned Street suit because he felt more comfortable in it at the moment. I guess we'll never know what actually happened.

UPDATE: I learned reason why he probably wasn't properly dressed for the August 19th concert. Thanks @deke-rivers-1957 for commenting on this post and sharing your knowledge on what was going on in Elvis' life in those days. I see I was only trying to be optimistic while guessing why Elvis wasn't properly dressed onstage in August 19, 1975 because it went through my mind it could be due to illness someway but I chose not to mention this possibility before. Thanks to you, we have an answer to share here. There you go:

Friday 15, in August 1975 "Late in the evening Elvis leaves Memphis for Las Vegas, very likely in the Jet Commander, but the place is forced to make an unscheduled stop in Dallas when Elvis has difficulty breathing. After resting for several hours in a motel, he recovers sufficiently to continue on the trip." Excerpt from book "Elvis Day by Day: The Definitive Record of His Life and Music" (1999) by Peter Guralnick and Ernst Jorgensen.

Using my words to finish the explanations, Elvis was visibly not okay since, at least, August 15, but all signals were ignored by him and the ones around him. On August 18, 1975 Elvis opened another engagement in Vegas, at the Las Vegas Hilton, but he was visibly still not in good shape. In the book, Ernst Jorgensen says "Elvis had to sit down for much of the performance". The 19th was the second concert night at the venue. Apparently, other than the "wrong suit" situation during the second concert that night, the shows ran smoothly — During the first concert that night, Elvis wore one of his proper performance outfits, the Totem Pole suit, as mentioned before. A possible reason why for the second concert he was dressed casually can be explained from what happened in August 20. On August 20, Elvis told his manager, Col. Parker, he wasn't feeling good enough to perform. Colonel Parker told him to perform that day again because "no prior notice had been given". After the concerts in August 20, the remainder of the shows at the Las Vegas Hilton for that season (it was suppose to be a two-week engagement) were "canceled due to illness". On the 21st, Elvis was back in Memphis and he was hospitalized at the Baptist Memorial Hospital.

The way I see it now with the accurate information, Elvis was trying to say he wasn't feeling okay and this suit was likely his way of showing he was ready to go home. It's only mentioned he was vocal about his illness on August 20th, but knowing this "Street suit" concert was the second that night on the 19th, Elvis was probably not intending to even perform a second concert when he wore his off-stage wardrobe during a performance that night. Maybe backstage he was trying to convince Parker to let him cancel the second show for the night and he didn't succeed in his attempt but it was too late to change his outfit for the show, or, perhaps, knowing a little of Elvis' personality, he was probably not dressed to perform just to piss Colonel Parker off, a way of showing his will needed to be respected and taken seriously.

I confess I really was trying not to imagine EP was sick during that concert, but that's the backstage story behind the "Two-toned Street Suit" worn onstage in 1975.

LET'S SEE THE KING IN ACTION WEARING THAT SUIT:

Elvis had several different colored "two-toned street suits". He wore them during 1975 and 1976. This was the only one which was worn on-stage. Excerpt from website elvisconcerts.com (Jumpsuit index)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

VERSIONS OF THE TWO-TONED SUIT

About that, it's a part of Elvis's personality, as his friends told over the years, "when Elvis likes something, he goes all the way". From general off-work activities (going to the movies, amusement parks, riding motorcycles, collecting guns/police badges, and so on), to food and also to his wardrobe choices, Elvis overdid things when he liked something.

The King owned clothes in the same model in different colors, usually his favorites (blue, red, black and white). Below we have an example of this, before going to the Street Suit.

Two-toned Street Suit

EP had at least four of them: two are black and white with the variation between them being the reverse color scheme, another one goes in two shades of blue and a fourth suit goes in brown and beige tones.

The one he wore onstage is in the second picture below, this time worn casually, as usual. On the photos in both sides of that one, Elvis is wearing the reverse color scheme suit - same model but white with black side stripes and black lapel. On the latter pictures Elvis is wearing Two-toned Street suits in blue and another one in brown/beige tones.

Sometimes Elvis would wear the Two-tone suit jacket as a coat, over his actual stage wear:

The King wearing the Chicken Bone suit with the jacket of his blue shades "Two-Toned Street Suit" over his shoulders.

Elvis performing at the Hilton Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada, on August 19, 1975 (Midnight concert).

Note: Those are only the pictures I could find of this one suit model Elvis had in different colors but it wouldn't surprise me if EP had more of them, which I imagine it would go in red-white or red-black color schemes or even all white/all black versions, but I haven't found pictures that can endorse this theory, so far.

#elvis presley #elvis fashion #1975 #street suit #elvis #elvis the king #elvis fans #elvis fandom #elvis history #70s elvis

[saintwyfe]

࿐ ˚ . ✦ FLOUR. jude bellingham

summary. what seemed to be a harmless night to bake turned out to be a disaster.

warnings. cursing

word count. 937

“JUDE!”

you yelled from across the house. it was getting late in your household, but you still hadn’t started on the cookies you were bringing to your friends’ dinner party tomorrow night. 

you really had no idea where to start; all you really knew was that you needed to get this done soon because of the short amount of time you had available tomorrow.

you could hear him stumble down the stairs while you were fishing through the pantry, trying to figure out where the flour was. 

“yes, love?” he murmured behind you, resting his head in the crook of your neck, his arms making their way toward your waist to pull you closer to him. 

"do you mind getting some stuff for the cookies from the fridge for me? i think they might be on the bottom shelf," you huffed, eventually retrieving the bag of flour that was hidden behind a few random jars. he nodded before kitchen into the kitchen, beginning to search the fridge, grabbing the basic ingredients needed for cookies.

you grabbed a few other things–measuring cups, sugar, and baking powder, to name a few—before meeting him with the ingredients disarranged on the counter. you quickly thanked him before quickly scrolling through your phone to find the recipe you saved from instagram and shuffled to find a mixing bowl to combine everything.

you put your phone down before starting the wet cookie mixture, mindlessly dumping the ingredients together and stirring as you go.

“do you need help?” he chirped. you had no idea he’d been watching this entire time, but the sudden murmur startled you. “jesus christ, jude.” you jumped.

“what were you doing? i thought you went back upstairs” you scolded him as he caught the bowl you slid from across the counter. he dashed alongside you, eager to learn about the new experience about which you had prior knowledge.

“where do i start?” queried the curious boy. pointing at the flour, you replied, “grab that first.” 

he grabbed the paper bag as you handed him a measuring cup, tapping at the line in the glass. "fill it up to here, okay?" you uttered as he grabbed the handle and slowly poured the bag. you switched your focus back to your bowl, reaching for the vanilla extract before you felt powder splatter on your face.

“jude… what. the. fuck.” you gasped. you quickly wiped the powder off the side of your face to reveal him with his mouth agape, slowly pacing backward, holding back laughter. you clutched a fistful of flour before running toward him and smearing it across his face, leaving him stunned. “thought you could get away with that, didn’t you?” you chuckled, watching him process the mess you left on him that slowly dropped to the floor.

“nah, now you’re over” he snarled with a stern voice, approaching the bag of flour and snatching a chunk while you were running around the kitchen trying to dodge him.

"jude, please stop," you begged with your hands together like a prayer. You were on your way to the bathroom at this point, but as you approached the doorknob, he grabbed your waist and powdered the top of your head. you immediately winced; you thought that maybe you’d gotten away from the mess. you quickly turn around at the grinning face. you tried grabbing the bag to get revenge, but he’d already raised it above your head—so you couldn’t reach it if you tried to. you tried to jump, your legs wrapped around his hips, hoping to yank the bag, but he'd held it even higher; you were helpless.

"what’s the matter, baby? are you mad you can’t reach?" he was inching toward your face, teasing you. 

you sighed, pretending to be upset, walking back toward the kitchen, continuing where you left off. “y/n,” he muttered. “are you actually upset?” you could feel him inch towards you before secretly grabbing an egg. 

“you know i didn’t mean i-” he tried tugging at you for your attention before you smashed the egg on his head. you both quickly froze, and the room fell silent. the look on his face was priceless—he was astonished. “no way you actually…” he was clearly still trying to process what had happened. 

you knew you were in danger as soon as he started trailing towards you, so you quickly ran in the other direction before tripping on a rolling pin, which you had no idea was there in the first place. 

yelping, he quickly caught you in time before fixing his eyes on yours. there was a long stillness before he smeared the flour still on your head onto the rest of your face. you huffed—this was never going to end.

“you’re so annoying,” you muffled as he tucked a strand of hair behind your eye. “but…” he paused, “you love it.” he flashed a cheeky smile before pressing his lips onto yours. he picked you up and placed you on the counter, maintaining the kiss. your legs were wrapped around his waist as you stroked his ear. you could feel him smile through the kiss, softening at your caress. 

you pulled apart, leaving a small peck on his lips. the room was silent, yet comforting. “you don’t taste that bad with flour all over your lips,” he mumbled. you rolled your eyes as you jumped from the counter. “we should probably clean this mess up,” you said, scanning the floor as you snickered, “but not before we shower.” you glanced at him. 

“i mean…” he smirked before you grabbed his hand, signaling toward the bathroom.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham imagine #football fanfic #football imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #football imagines #jude bellingham fanfic

[automeris-io-moth]

More? More please? Pretty please? I'm loving One to go so so much

One to go pt. 3

Part one; Part two

Supervillian held them tight against them, arms gentle, but firm as they kept them pined. Civilian trashed and cursed in their hold, trying to get themselves off the grasp, to keep running and get far, further away from the criminal’s base.

Cold air blew in their face, burning as if the sun was shining, the mountains ominous before them as they laid half in the ground half in the other’s chest, breathing harshly for their lungs ached with the rush and freeze around them.

Tired of their struggles, Civilian ceased after a couple more pulls, and a last, lazy, try to dislodge themselves from the other’s grasp. They looked up, half seeing the starry sky above them, greatly clearer, to their short-lived amazement, than the one in the city; and half Supervillian’s face, sharp eyes looking right back at them, a smile, not quite mocking yet very much entertained, shining right under. 

Unbothered, seemingly, was the other for the chase, no catching their breath, no sweat, no scrapes and no worry in their eyes, they had been certain the whole time, of the outcome, and Civilian felt like a fool thinking, without skill or knowledge of where they were, that they could outrun Supervillian, much less outsmart them, not in strategy to the one who had made professional Hero’s look like idiots in national television not even a month prior. 

How very stupid of them. 

Civilian hit the criminal leg three times, as a surrender, or so they expected them to understand, and tried, with an elbow on the rocky ground, to stand or at least sit straighter, attempts cut short once more by an arm tightening around their middle, aiding them a little further up yet still close against their chest. 

“Catch your breath first, there’s no need to rush,” Supervillian said over exaggerating their own breathing so the other could follow, and, after a moment, Civilian did, sinking in tiredness over the criminal “It was respectable attempt, you actually did almost tricked me into believing you were not preceding until tomorrow.” 

“It was stupid, I made a fool of myself!” they yelled “there was no way, I had no chance, I couldn’t have gotten away.” 

“Of course you couldn't have, of course,” Supervillian affirmed nonchalantly “but I must acknowledge a proper try when made, little I’ve seen of that lately, to be truthful, as my people I must highlight your triumphs.” 

“I’m not your people,” Civilian answered, face burning, for the coldness or the praise, they couldn’t yet tell, they weren’t used to being praised. 

“Yet.” 

***

The water was warm in the shower of the room, bathroom spacious, more lavish that what they had ever seen outside of Hero’s compound, certainly not thought for a prisoner, yet they were not stupid, Supervillian wanted them to lure them into their side. They had to wait just a bit more, Civilian was certain, their friend was coming to get them back. 

Supervillian left them a change of clothing on the sink, grateful they were that it had no logos or colours like the ones the employees wore outside the small apartment-like room they were being held in. 

Steam left the room with them, entering the main room, with the bed they had woken up in, and the blinking lights they’d failed to notice before, scattered around the room. 

A warm meal awaited them over the desk. 

Just trying to get in your good graces, they want you to work with them. 

Civilian drowsily laid in bed shortly after dinner, warm, clean and well-eaten. Academic life, heroic friendships and bills to pay allowed such luxuries in very scarce occasions, and if they could indulge in such for just a bit, perhaps taking the chance wouldn’t be so bad. 

The bed was soft, and big and…

Warm. 

It was very warm, not comfortably anymore.

It was too warm.

Was the fire on? 

Their eyes kept being closed, they couldn’t quite open them. 

The food was drugged again, the chimney was lit. 

What a stupid thing to think, they were trying to get in their good side, Supervillian wouldn’t, it made no sense. 

But then why were they short of breath, why was it so difficult to open their eyes and why were they so hot inside the room. 

Civilian cleared their throat a couple times, half their face pressed against the pillow, light on and over the covers.

“Supervillian,” they called barely above a whisper “Supervillain!” then screamed. 

 And after what felt like hours, the door opened. 

Someone said something, and the mattress dipped beside them. 

They could distinguish little of what the other person in the room said, but they could feel their hands gently handling them up. 

“Supervillian,” they called again. 

“Civilian, it’s me, I’m here,” the other voice in the room called, holding with callous hands their face with care “open your eyes, open them please, you’re panicking.” 

“Turn off the fire, please, turn it off,” Civilian muttered, breath quick and short, words scrambling without sense or structure “I won’t try it again, just turn it off.” 

“There’s no fire here,” they answered, slowly, understanding “but I can open the window if that would ease your worries.” 

A nod, multiple, harsh, bordering erratic. 

Supervillian didn't move, but the window did open, they could feel it in the cold air of the night. 

“If you let go for a little bit I can get us more comfortable.” 

Oh.

Civilian let go of the criminal, shaking still. 

Supervillian did as they told, laying across the bed with the other on top, this time, getting themselves comfortable close by, with their knuckles still turning white with their grip, and their head still spinning, yet, seemingly, more responsive than minutes prior. 

They drew circles on the other’s  back, slowly, aiming to ground them, to calm them just a bit before asking, even if the reason was clear and before them, even when they wished not to acknowledge it. 

Minutes ticked on the clock, and Civilian became heavier on them with every passing one. 

A light snore broke the silence. 

Or maybe, they could ask in the morning, Supervillian chuckled. 

The criminal slid their unwilling guest to the bed, brushing their hair away from their face and covering them up with the thick duvet, leaving the window open but closing the door behind them. 

Back in their office they fixed the camera’s of the room at the very front of the screen, for if anything else was needed through the night, they’d have loved to stay, but the heroes had already put an alert on Civilian, a hostage situation, for the moment, and they had still quite some things to do.

Part 4

_

Masterlist

:))))))

<3

#hero and villain #heroes and villains #hero #heroes #villain x civilian #villain #civilian #civilian x villain #civilian x supervillain #supervillain x civilian #short story #my writing #writting #writing snippet #writing wip #whump #civilian whumpee #villain caretaker #kinda #they forced their way into the role #creative writing #snippet #wips #hero whumper #it's coming #next chapter #ig #supervillain caretaker #hero x villain #villain x hero

[081314]

Sebek Zigvolt (Vignette) – Master Chef

Following is my translation of the vignette from Sebek Zigvolt’s Master Chef card.

Spoilers after the cut!

Part 1

Sebek: Before we begin, there is something I’d like to ask you.

Ghost Chef: Ah, did you have a question about what I was explaining to you earlier?

Sebek: No, I comprehend the gist of this Master Chef Program. What I’d like to ask you concerns the particulars of what we’ll be making. Will our assignment involve any dishes one might present as an evening meal?

Ghost Chef: Yup. The chicken noodle soup I’ll be having you make today is just perfect for dinnertime.

Sebek: Judging by the name, I presume it contains pasta of some sort? Soup isn’t a bad choice at all, for it both warms one’s body and satiates one’s stomach. Excellent! I’ve now a clear goal in mind. I shall master the art of preparing this chicken noodle soup and then employ this knowledge for the young Lord's sake.

Ghost Chef: Oh? Are you wanting to make dinner for somebody?

Sebek: Yes. For you see, I noticed the other day that my master, Lord Malleus, appeared rather despondent when he sat down for breakfast. When I enquired what was the matter.... he told me that he had partaken in some of Sir Lilia’s cooking the night prior.

Ghost Chef: L-Lilia-kun… You don’t mean the Lilia-kun, do you!? The one who keeps coming back to the Master Chef program and has all those terrible rumors swirling around him!? Now I understand why you’re doing this… Lilia-kun’s cooking certainly is… unique... both in appearance and taste.

Sebek: Precisely. The flavors encountered in Sir Lilia’s cooking are just much too… overwhelming… to enjoy at dinner. I’d like to hone my cooking skills so that I can prepare a most pleasing meal for the young Lord. 

Ghost Chef: Okay! Then this Master Chef program will be just perfect for a student like you. I’ll be sure to guide you all along the way, so that even with your lack of experience, you’ll be able to make something truly delicious. Let’s both give this our best shot!

Sebek: Indeed. I’ll be counting on you.

Ghost Chef: Okey dokey, let’s get started. The broth is going to provide the foundation for this dish’s flavor, but this time, we’ll just be using consommé powder.

Sebek: This time…? Do you mean to say there are alternative methods available?

Ghost Chef: Yeah. Some people will make their own broth by simmering different ingredients together. Back when I was alive, I’d spend hours and hours facing off with my soup pot doing just that. And that’s why consommé powder is so convenient! You can save yourself a whole bunch of time by using it.

Sebek: Hmm. For my own future reference, could you tell me… To what extent does the flavor change when you make the broth from scratch, as opposed to utilizing this consommé powder?

Ghost Chef: Ah, that’s not really something you can generalize. It all depends on what types of ingredients you add in, and how you season the broth and what not. This powder we’re using today is made by a brand that’s been around for a long time now. It’s really popular, and pretty much everybody gives it their seal of approval.

Sebek: I see. You’re saying it’s not always the best choice to put in all that time and effort into making your own broth, then. For an amateur such as myself to be able to produce a flavor such as this - one that’s been endorsed by so many people for such a long time - it truly is a revolutionary product. If it were that handmade broths were clearly the superior choice, then I would have extended my time in this program for as long as possible, however… Your explanation has dispelled my concerns. Well then, I’ll be looking to you for guidance, Chef.

Ghost Chef: Ah, sounds like I just narrowly escaped having to work a bunch of overtime…. Okay, first we’ll need to chop up the ingredients that we’ll be adding to the soup.

Sebek: I see the ingredients are chicken, cabbage, carrots, and onions. And what shall we be using this garlic for?

Ghost Chef: We’re going to use the garlic to add some aroma to the soup, so you’ll want to be sure to chop it up really thin. The rest of the ingredients, you can just cut to bite-sized portions. By the way, have you used kitchen knives before, Sebek-kun?

Sebek: Kitchen knives, huh…. Well, I do know my way around a dagger, but… When I lived in Briar Valley,  my grandfather would always look quite displeased with me anytime I stepped foot into the kitchen. That is why I'm not very familiar with kitchen knives or even just cooking utensils in general.

Ghost Chef: Oh, my… I had no idea. Well then, I’m glad you’re taking part in this Master Chef program. At least since you’re used to handling sharp tools, I don’t need to worry as much about you hurting yourself, I guess. Let’s start with the onion first. After you’ve peeled it and removed the stem and roots, you’ll need to cut it in half lengthwise.

(Sebek starts chopping the onion)

Sebek: …How is this?

Ghost Chef: Perfect! You can cut it however you want to, but… How about you chop it up nice and thin? That way, the heat from the flame will be better able to cook through all the pieces. Take that section you cut just now and place it face down, and then cut it into thin slices, following the direction of the fibers.

Sebek: Follow the direction of the fibers and cut it into thin slices…

(Sebek starts chopping faster and faster)

Ghost Chef: Ah…! Stop, stop! Put the knife down for a moment, Sebek-kun!

Sebek: ?

Ghost Chef: Aah, it's just as I feared. You didn’t cut all the pieces equally, and now some are a lot thinner than others. I’m sorry, I should have explained it to you better.

Sebek: Is there a problem if they aren’t all cut to the same thickness?

Ghost Chef: Yes, they won’t cook evenly now. Also, when you make sure to cut up your ingredients so they’re the same size and thickness, that helps make your presentation look better. Okay, uh, let’s cut the remainder of the onion so all the pieces are about 5 millimeters thick.

Sebek: Hmm… So rather than focusing simply on cutting the ingredients, one must also be sure to keep in mind how one’s decisions will affect the remaining steps in the cooking process. If I am to present my dishes to Lord Malleus someday, then I cannot afford to compromise on either the taste, nor the appearance. I shall be sure to keep that in mind going forward. I’ll need to cut all these pieces equally thin, then. Alright, I shall resume working now.

(Sebek starts chopping again, more slowly this time)

Ghost Chef: Yes, yes! Just like that. It’s no wonder you’re so good at this, since you’re used to handling sharp tools and all.

Sebek: Fufu. Now that I’ve gotten the knack of things, something as menial as this is no trouble at all.

(Sebek starts chopping a bit faster)

Ghost Chef: Ooh, and now you’re speeding up! You’re doing a wonderful job. You really do handle the knife so nimbly.

Sebek: Ha ha ha! I shall deal with the rest of the ingredients just the same!

Part 2

Sebek: ….Okay. I have finished chopping all of the ingredients. I’d like to keep practicing using the knife in this manner some more, so that my body might remember the correct movements… Seeing as we’ll be getting evaluated later on and all. But first I must complete this dish. Chef, what is the next step?

Ghost Chef: Next you’re going to sauté the ingredients over a light flame. Once that’s done, then you’ll add some water to the pot and let everything simmer for a while.

Sebek: Understood. Is it alright if I go ahead and add all these vegetables I’ve chopped into this frying pan here?

Ghost Chef: No, hold it. First you need to sauté the garlic in some olive oil.

Sebek: The garlic? …Ah, that’s right. You explained it to me earlier. So this is the stage where we’ll be adding some aroma to the dish, I suppose. Cooking involves such a multitude of steps…

Ghost Chef: Once you do it a few times, it’ll all come naturally to you. Okay, let’s go ahead and oil up that frying pan and add in the garlic!

Sebek: Darn it….! I thought I’d been paying close attention, but some pieces of onion got burnt before I realized it. CHEF, HAVE I FAILED!?

Ghost Chef: You just added a bit of color to your dish, is all. Something as minor as that is tolerable enough. Everything looks just about done cooking, so let’s go ahead and add the water now.

Sebek: It's tolerable enough…? Argh, so I really will get points docked for it, then. The pieces that burned were the ones I cut too thin. When you said earlier the ingredients wouldn’t cook evenly, I now understand this is what you meant.

Ghost Chef: Mm-hmm. Even though I didn’t give you any advice about it, it looks like you've learned your lesson from this experience.

Sebek: Chef, I’ve finished seasoning the soup. This consommé powder truly is amazing. To think, one could produce such a profound flavor just by adding a bit of salt and pepper.

Ghost Chef: Right? And you also get a lovely umami flavor from simmering those ingredients. And now, it’s finally time to bring in the star of the show.

Sebek: That bag you’ve got, is it filled with… a short pasta? When I heard “Noodle”, I imagined a long, thin variety of pasta. Such as the kind one can wrap around one’s fork and eat.

Ghost Chef: Yes, there are times when you’ll want to use a long and thin type of pasta, like the kind you’re thinking of. But since we’re making this as a dish to serve at dinnertime, I chose a short pasta, which is easier to eat.

Sebek: I see. One must choose the correct type of pasta based on the circumstances the dish will be served. I’ll go ahead and write that down.

Ghost Chef: Fufu…. You have such a lively passion for learning, Sebek-kun. I’m glad to have you as my student.

Sebek: It says on the bag here that this dried pasta can be added to the soup without issue…. But is it really alright?

Ghost Chef: Sure is. It cooks up really quickly, and the flavors from the broth will seep into the noodles. It's truly wonderful, I say.

Sebek: Hmph. Sounds reasonable.

Ghost Chef: How exactly you boil the pasta, and how long you boil it for, varies depending on the product you’re using. Always make sure to read the instructions thoroughly every time you cook.

Sebek: ….This pasta here needs to be boiled for 10 minutes. Since the recipe calls for 100 grams, then that will be the entire bag.

Ghost Chef: You’ll need to stir the water now and then, so that the noodles don’t stick to pot. But do be careful you don’t stir too much, or else you’ll risk breaking apart the other ingredients.

Sebek: I understand. I shall be careful. Ah, while we’re on the topic, there’s also raw pasta available…. Is there a difference between using that, versus this dried pasta?

Ghost Chef: Yes, there's differences in the ingredients they're made from, as well as how long they'll stay good for… There’s lots of things I could talk about, but from the viewpoint of the person who’s eating the dish, the biggest difference is the mouthfeel. You look like a formidable young man, so I think it’d be good if you try making your own pasta someday. Once you get a bit more used to cooking, that is.

Sebek: I wonder, which would Lord Malleus like better… Should I prepare his meals using raw pasta or dried pasta…

Ghost Chef: It’s all just a matter of preference. And as the person who’s making the dish, I also consider which type would pair best with the seasonings and type of sauce that I’ll be using.

Sebek: Ah…. So by utilizing the type of pasta that is most suited for the dish in question, then Lord Malleus will be even more pleased. Thank you for this valuable information. I’ll need to be sure to study more on the intricacies of proper pasta selection.

Sebek: There, I’ve got everything plated…. And with this, we are done cooking. However…

Ghost Chef: Hey, hey! Sebek-kun, hurry and bring your dish out to the judging venue!

Sebek: A-alright…

Sebek: Will you be handling my evaluation, Jack?

Jack: Sebek…!? Never woulda thought you of all people would try out this Master Chef thing…

Sebek: In order to become the perfect servant, I thought it important I acquire at least basic knowledge in areas beyond just the martial arts. That is all. Here, this is the chicken noodle soup I’ve prepared. I must let you know that when preparing this dish I- …Ah, never mind. Do give me your honest assessment, Jack.

Jack: *sniff* *sniff* It doesn’t smell bad or anything. Okay, here goes…

(Jack starts eating the soup)

Sebek: What do you think…?

Jack: What do I think? ….I think it’s not delicious enough to be amazing, but it's also not gross enough to make you wanna hurl. It’s a totally normal bowl of soup.

Sebek: My chicken noodle soup is.... normal…? THAT CANNOT BE! This soup contains pieces of onion that I didn’t cut to equal size, and other pieces that have been burnt! Being marred by such blemishes, anyone who eats it should find it a failure!

Jack: Huh!? The heck are you going on about? I gave you a passing score, so I don’t really understand why you’re complaining. No matter how you look at it, this is just a normal bowl of soup. You need to accept your judge’s evaluation, Sebek.

Sebek: Drat…! I cannot tolerate being given a passing mark for such slovenly work!

Ghost Chef: Ah ha ha…. I guess there really is such a thing as having standards that are too high...

Sebek: To be completely forthright, I truly do not approve of this, but… An evaluation is an evaluation, and I shall accept it in earnest. I now know what points I must improve upon, so just you watch! Next time, I shall prepare a dish so flawless I’ll be able to present it to Lord Malleus in absolute confidence!

You can read my translations of this card's voice lines here!

#sebek zigvolt #jack howl #twst spoilers #twisted wonderland #twst #my tl #vignette

[ae-azile]

Progression - Chapter 20 Preview

Arm: I'm taking the day off. Sorry. Good luck with the meeting and the dinner later, because I am not attending it either. 

Once Kinn looks at the message, it forces him to do a double take at his phone screen. He can (almost) ignore the fact that Douglas is talking to Porsche. 

Almost. 

The abrupt text really isn't like Arm. He rarely takes days off, likely because he is the most knowledgeable in all aspects of their security. There was no question on who would be replacing Chan. They asked Arm as soon as he began organizing the reconstruction and clean up. Tankhun had thrown a fit, and Arm initially said no because he thought it meant being removed from Tankhun’s team. It took a lot of incentives and adjustments to get him to agree, including letting him stay on Khun’s security team and becoming the co-head of it with Pol, which admittedly made sense since Arm was now the most seasoned out of Khun's guards and Pol was the most frequently scheduled with him. But Kinn has never seen Arm argue so much prior to that, although emotions were running high. While Arm never said as much, he is sure Pete’s abrupt departure upset him. Pa faking his death and getting so many people hurt or killed probably pissed him off more. Since he respects Arm and they could NOT lose more staff, Arm got pretty much every incentive he asked for. He probably knew he had the upperhand. Kinn is relatively sure Khun strongly encouraged Arm to play his hand that way, although Khun never admitted that. When Kinn mentioned Arm suddenly being a pain about it, Khun just smirked. 

Despite all of that, Kinn eventually respected Arm more for the out-of-character stubbornness he showed. But he hasn't experienced a defiant Arm since. 

At least until now.

Kinn: This is sort of sudden, considering you left the conference room without a word. Is everything okay? 

Arm: My preference is to not lie to you about this, so no. It's not okay. I sent the email file with the security upgrade plans and presentation if you wish to present it anyway.

Kinn: We can reschedule the presentation. The guests will be here all week. 

Arm: I will let you know if I feel like I can do it without significant decisions and adjustments being made. 

What the fuck? Why is Arm being an asshole right now? Since there is no active discussion going on and people are just socializing, he takes the time to step away to call him instead. He is actually grateful that Tankhun decided Arm and Pol would keep their phones, even if it was technically special treatment. He's probably right. They are in the know about Namphueng, and Arm is the head of security and surveillance. After everything he has done, he deserves his phone. 

But Arm sends his call to voicemail.

That. Fucker. 

Kinn: This is unprofessional. Call me. 

Arm: I am getting your brother out of the compound. That is more important right now. I apologize for the lack of notice. We should be back late tonight. Pol is staying with Nam and Phoenix. If you feel reprimanding me is called for, you can do so when we get back if you are still up. Or you can do it first thing in the morning. Up to you. 

Kinn grips his phone tightly in his hand, then lets out a steadying breath. If Pa saw these messages, he would require a punishment. He may say it calmly, or even chuckle about Arm’s sudden audacity, but he would still require it. 

He would punish Arm for having his phone without prior authorization too, but Kinn has long decided to let that drop. 

The thought of punishing Arm leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He has spent a lot of time with him the last few months, and he is the one who tracked down Kim. Not only does Kinn respect him, but he has also felt like a good and very reliable friend as of late. The anxiety brought on by the thought of spending the day in close proximity to Douglas actually lessened because he knew he would have people he trusted there. Mainly Porsche, but Arm was in second place, since Arm has been a friend. That's what he thought, at least. 

So more than anything, he feels hurt. 

Kinn: I really don't want to do that. Are you upset with me about something? You are being very short with me, so if you are and want to discuss some things, we can do that tonight or tomorrow. If I did anything to piss you off, I apologize. 

Kinn: I can't think of anything recent, but please let me know if I did.

Kinn: Can you let me know what it is? 

Arm: I have no issues with you. I am sorry if I came off that way. My sudden absence has nothing to do with you, but I need some time to cool off. It's personal, but I will let you know if I am able to talk about it soon. I need to leave for the day, and I want to work on some things tonight when I get back. I will let you know if we can talk about this in the morning. Sorry again. 

Just as Kinn trying to figure out a way to get Arm to call him so he can get a slightly better idea of what's going on, he gets a text from Khun. 

Khun: Leave Arm be. Please. It's my fault he's so worked up. He's protective of me. You know that. We are going on a day trip so we can both get our minds off it.

Kinn: Off of what? 

Khun: If I say, then I am failing to get my mind off of it, aren't I? 🙄 Arm is trying his best though. He even called Pete to see if he wanted to go on the day trip with us! But Pete is already out of town with Vegas and Macau. 😒 I would be more hurt, but he said he would rather be with us. Some family drama is going on back in Sisaket. He said his grandma was fine, so it is probably his annoying and abusive estranged father getting arrested for assault or drugs. 😡😤 His grandma HATES his father, so she won't help her ex son-in-law when he gets in trouble with the law. If Vegas truly loves Pete as much as his Instagram implies, he should slaughter him for everyone’s sake. 

Kinn knows Khun is trying to distract him from the topic at hand. It's glaringly obvious, even if Khun is telling the truth and genuinely wants Vegas to kill Pete’s father. The thing is, it sort of works. Bringing up Vegas tends to distract Kinn from whatever he was talking about. It doesn't distract him in a good way, but it distracts him. 

But that frustration is quelled by the relief of seeing emojis in Khun’s text. The first one didn't have any, and that is usually a sign Khun is anxious and not doing well, as strange of a sign that is. 

Kinn: Can you please convince Arm to meet with me tomorrow morning?

Khun takes longer to answer than Kinn likes, but he does get back to him. 

Khun: We’ll see.

Whatever. 

“Is everything okay?” Porsche asks when Kinn walks in. Kinn doesn't nod, shake his head, or provide any peace of mind. He just opens his texts with Arm and hands his phone over to Porsche.

“What has gotten into him?” Porsche asks, “This isn't like him.” 

“I was hoping you could tell me. He's your friend.” 

Porsche glances at him, “He's becoming yours too. This might be a good sign, at least in some ways. He feels more comfortable being defiant with you.”

“Is defiance something he frequently displays outside of work?” 

“Not really,” Porsche says, “But he has a strong sass streak when he's feeling annoyed.” 

Kinn huffs at that, “Still shouldn't have left.” 

“Oh, come on,” Porsche says quietly, “Maybe something personal happened and he needs some time. It's not the greatest timing, but he's done so much for everyone. I doubt he would just take off without a legitimate reason. Besides, all these men are longtime allies, right? The mutual business connections are beneficial for everyone? There probably isn't a reason to prepare for a significant threat. Right?”

As Kinn looks away and chooses not to answer that, he locks eyes with Douglas. The older man is staring right back at him with a smirk on his face. 

#armkhun fic #kimchay fic #kimchay fanfic #kinnporsche fanfic #progression spoilers #progression preview #chapter 20 preview

[necros-writing-stuff]

The Eden Analysis/Lore Dump.

Part one of idk, we'll see.

Note: all sources are Vrel confirmed. This means scenes written by or approved of by Vrel, as well as Vrel's posts on the blog. There is additional info from people asking Vrel things on discord, but idk if all of these are confirmed so I've left them out. A lot of Eden scenes are not included due to controversy around them being OOC (these were not Vrel made scenes).

All info is collected up to the date of 19th September 2022, game update 0.3.11.

Tumblr doesn't like a lot of photos, so I'll keep them out of this, but if you'd like to see screenshots of the lore I've compiled I'll be able to show you in another post or an ask.

Discussion welcome about points made!

Warnings for: Eden being Eden meaning noncon, petplay and pred/prey, but various forms of child abuse mentioned in theorising their past.

Who is Eden?

The basics. Eden is a hunter in the forest of DoL. They do not like the town, they don't like technology or modernised ways of living, and they are not afraid to be an asshat. They kidnap and rape the player character, as well as putting them in a collar or even a cage later on.

Eden does not like animals and warns PC to stay away from them. They also don't like people that much.

What are they like in the present?

Eden's schedule is filled by them having breakfast, getting ready for the day, tending their crops, going out hunting, preparing any catches, chopping wood, having a bath, maybe having dinner, and then sitting around reading or tending their gun.

PC is able to clean and organise the cabin, help Eden farm, clean and gather things outside of the cabin, fix Eden's clothes, cook any food they have, and since Eden has no electricity or plumbing, they'll likely have to fill the bath by boiling pails of water one at a time.

Prior to PC, Eden would have had to do all of this by themself. This helps explain why their home is so spartan. It explains why the crop field is all weedy, why the spring is dirty and why they have no mushrooms. It simply would have been to time consuming when they already has so much to do.

Eden's favourite hobby seems to be reading. Despite not doing well in school, they enjoy old literature that quite often is worded in ways that take a little bit of know-how to fully understand. I don't think Eden was bad at school because they're stupid. I think they dropped out of school because they had too much going on at the time to put effort in.

Their anti-modern stance could be worsened due to how much tech would have advanced while Eden was in the forest. We don't know how long exactly past "a very long time," but I'd wager Eden watched things on VHS and has no idea what a Netflix or Amazon Prime is. Lack of knowledge in something can often lead to fear.

Eden also used to have quite the libido. This has since been reduced from what it used to be, but the hunter and PC can still go at it roughly 12 times a day depending on lust and other things.

We see that Eden is quite insecure in their appearance. Vrel says that they've "Whipped themself into a state of anxiety over it." Whether this is because of their toned form or the scars they have is up for debate, as both could be from life in the forest.

Eden hates going into town. They wish they didn't have to make supply runs, but the forest doesn't give Eden nails to make repairs. It doesn't provide bullets for hunting. Eden's hatred of town is a funny thing, because in the first scene where they drag PC back home at low love everyone fears them. This fear could be from childhood.

We also see that Eden has their anal and oral virginities. They used to have a hand holding one, but this is no longer the case.

Eden's behaviour towards PC is very controlling. From spanking to collars to cages, they aren't afraid to put them in their place - below the hunter and obedient to them.

The hunter has been described by Vrel as "quite vanilla." This is a curious description, especially as Vrel also said that they'd be intrigued by a PC wanting to taste their blood. Eden also engages in pet play adjacent things, as well as predator/prey. It could be that Eden is rather vanilla compared to most other people in the game, rather than vanilla themself. A lot of the pet play we do see from Eden (and even the spanking) is something they do as a punishment. It could therefore be argued that their hatred of animals translates into these moments where PC is not what they want. Eden therefore treats them as one.

However, Eden is loyal and certainly expects it back. Vrel says that they will not cheat and will be driven to violence and punishment if PC does.

One more point from the present: Eden is said to distrust the temple. They don't know Jordan or Syd, however. Yet Eden is unaware of Ivory Wraith, even if Wraith seems to show some curiosity towards them in scenes involving both of them. Eden could perhaps not believe in the supernatural or religion and be seen as a heathen by the temple when they were around town.

What do we know about their past?

Not much to be honest. Eden outright refuses to talk about it beyond some cryptic things. We know that they didn't do well at school, we know they've been in the forest for a long ass time, and we know that they don't want to talk about their family.

The only proper connection Eden seems to have to the outside world is Bailey. What started as a theory of Bailey and Eden knowing each other more than as just client and seller is pretty much confirmed. The theory started with Eden chucking after PC asks them where they got their magazine from. Eden replies "An old friend," as they draw PC in closer. This, along with the fact that Eden somehow can buy you from Bailey, set off the theories. Vrel more recently said on the blog that "Bailey and Eden do interact outside that, but scarcely."

The most popular theory on how they met was that Eden was orphaned as a child, either through abandonment and abuse or a harsh death of their family. Bailey was either another orphan or a child Eden met at school.

Vrel mentioned on the blog that Eden dropped out of school before they could graduate - and even knew Winter - so it is possible that Eden left and ran straight into the forest or that they left to get a job. Perhaps illegal jobs with Bailey.

Regardless, a life as an abused orphan with no family also helps explain the bareness of the cabin. They have nothing sentimental worth keeping.

I do theorise that Eden is keeping something of importance. Perhaps Bailey gave them something important to look after out there.

After all, there are many around the same age as Bailey and Eden (both said to be in their 30s by Vrel) who they could have issues with. Briar, Landry, Remy, even Quinn. With Bailey working for Quinn, it is possible that Eden did something against Quinn that means they have to hide. Maybe Bailey did something against Quinn and Eden took the blame as they were already wanting to leave into the forest.

If Eden has pissed off someone important it could add to their fear of town. As mentioned above, people clearly fear them when they are around. Its highly unlikely that Eden would be a target - unless it's by someone paid to do it. Perhaps by someone rich like Quinn, Briar or Remy. Maybe even Leighton. Or, Eden's past abuse simply clouds their perception of themself due to how long they've been alone. This is emphasised by when someone asked Vrel if Eden would accept a yandere PC stalking them. Vrel said it "could work." Does Eden really fear being victimised? Or would this be a special case as they'd like PC?

The "Eden was an orphan" theory also means Bailey likely gained the role of caretaker as Eden was leaving or had left. With Bailey being around the same age its highly unlikely that they were the caretaker at the time. The abuse Eden faced either as an orphan by another caretaker or at the hands of their family may have been worse than what we see PC goes through. Sexual abuse is a probability. We don't know how Eden lost their virginites. We don't know if they were abused, the abuser themself, or if it was consensual. It also could explain Eden's closed mouth on their issues. They could have been taught that sharing that stuff was weak and to bottle it all up.

Eden's need for control does imply that they were hurt indeed. The animal hatred element is obvious, in the forest with aggressive creatures it is nigh impossible that Eden hasn't had some bad run-ins. Maybe even some sexual ones they didn't consent to. The temple could also be involved with this, fueling Eden's distrust of them.

So how does this theorised past impact PC?

I'd argue that Eden sees themself as a saviour to PC in a way. If Eden found peace living in this way after a childhood similar to PC's then they could believe that PC will find the same comfort they do out in the woods.

If Eden lost a friend in Bailey and now has a very strained relationship with them or was abandoned as a child somehow then it helps to explain why they're so possessive over PC. They don't want to lose someone else.

If Eden has been hurt by animals, then they lash out at PC by treating them as one.

They do love PC, as Vrel has said, just in their own way. An unhealthy and twisted way. They also do view PC as incompetent or soft (Vrel says Eden views PC as too gentle to shoot them with their gun) - perhaps willingly putting this on them for their own peace of mind or seeing a younger self in PC.

This can also been seen in how Vrel says Eden would not care if PC was previously a criminal or rich before they got them. Eden doesn't want PC to be someone they were before. They want PC to be who Eden wants them to be. Or, who Eden knows them to be. It's up for interpretation.

Where does this leave us overall?

Eden is paranoid, controlling, hard working and I don't believe they've as dumb as popularly interpreted - especially when you consider that they have to be dumbed down for gane mechanics and fairness reasons.

They trust next to no one and act out when that trust is broken or when their control is shaken. They are insecure.

They keep their cards close to their chest. They know how to keep secrets. But what those secrets are remains to be seen.

Further updates may provide more answers, especially a big update such as Pregnancy. We'll be able to see Eden's behaviour towards a baby and glean some info then.

#eden the hunter #eden analysis #degrees of lewdity #'nw grapefruit'

[council-of-beetroot]

Explaining the Passover Fic

Alright so I have had a lot of people come to me and tell me that they found the fic funny but don't have much knowledge of Passover. So I am going to give a brief overview of Passover and then explain all the jokes and references.

This is almost like a behind the scenes what my thought process was while writing this

Link here to the fic

What is Passover?

Passover is a seven day holiday that celebrates deliverance out of bondage. The holiday includes a festive meal, and retelling of the story of Passover. here is the article explaining it on chabad and here is one from my jewish learning

Jokes and References

He was apprehensive about having Feliks join as he enjoyed the orderliness of the seder, and Feliks might as well be the personification of disorder and disarray

a Seder is the 15 step ritual observed on Passover. Seder literally translates into Hebrew as "order" or "arrangement" so this is a pun here saying feliks is the opposite of that.

“First of four? I love this already! Why is drinking four glasses of wine not obligatory every other night?” Feliks beamed.

Part of the seder is drinking four cups of wine throughout. Wine is a symbol of freedom.

Adéla tells him to wait until they get to Ma Nishtanah, This is the part of the seder where usually the youngest person present recites four questions that are answered which explain these traditions. So basically, she is saying wait until we get to that part and then we can answer your bajillion questions feliks.

By now, Feliks had taken notice of how Roderich was sitting, and as a result had assembled and plopped himself on top of a comically large pile of cushions.

“Why don’t we do this every other night?” Feliks asked.

Adéla tells him to wait again because this is one of the four questions as it goes

"That on all other nights some eat and drink sitting with others reclining, but on this night, we are all reclining?"

The answer to this is because if you were free, you could sit and recline and dine. However, if you were enslaved or were a servant you were probably the ones who were standing and waiting on and attending to those who were eating dinner.

Now I originally wanted Feliks to bring an illegal polish moonshine called duch puszczy to the seder. but then I realised i couldn't figure out if it was kosher for passover. So I looked up kosher for passover alchohols and found that in Poland to this day they make śliwowica paschalna a plum based alchohol that was popular among the jewish community prior to wwii.

I wanted Duch Puszczy because the name translates to spirit of the forest or wilderness which I found funny because Bamidbar means in the wilderness and is the fourth book of the torah (Book of Numbers) and listen it is only funny when you've studied the tanakh.

While it’s not as potent as some of Feliks’ stuff, I will assure you that there is no way you won’t be seeing Elijah after this.”

when Adéla gives her passover alchohol spiel, she says this. This is referencing the tradition where we leave a cup of wine for the prophet Elijah who is said to visit each and every seder after we like invite him in basically. Basically she is saying she brought so much alcohol that let's just say you're going to have a fun time.

ilu shika tzareinu b’tocho

Dayenu is a traditional song sung usually after the telling of the story of Passover (Maggid) it basically says that any of the miracles G-D had performed would have been enough yet He did all of them and so it's a song of gratitude.

This line that i have Feliks singing enthusiastically probably while somewhat tipsy means "If He had drowned our oppressors in it," meaning when G-D have the sea close up on the egyptians pursuing the jews crossing the red sea causing them to drown. I feel like Feliks as he currently isn't free and on the run from his own oppressors namely Ivan and Gilbert, he's probably thinking "hey yo, Can You like do that for me?"

I think singing dayenu thirty-six times in a row is more than enough!" 

This is another pun as dayenu means "it would been enough" additionally 18 and products of 18 in jewish culture is good luck.

Feliks finding the afikoman

Earlier in the seder, a piece of matzo is broken and the head of the household hides one of the pieces. and after dinner, the children have to go look for it. The one who finds it gets to demand a prize, often money in return for the afikoman being returned. In one of the strips of the manga, Feliks dresses up as santa and demands Tolys give him a present so this fits him.

The Ending

The end has feliks reflect on the story of Passover and I figured Feliks is devout even though he's not Jewish, so he has probably read this part of the bible. After the Jews fled Egypt, it wasn't exactly home free yet and cue forty years in the desert. Feliks thinks about this, his yearning for freedom and then acknowledges that even when he achieves independence once again there is still a a metaphorical wilderness that he will have to traverse to make Poland a country back on it's feet. And even then once he does that, it's not even a guarantee that it will last i.e he doesn't know it yet but he will have to fight once again just as hard.

Feliks then reflects on the phrase לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה בִּירוּשָלָיִם which means next year in Jerusalem. basically it was part of the seder that was added after the destruction of the temple that basically is our wish to return from exile. Feliks admires that enduring hope that has lasted thousands of years among the Jewish People and hopes he too can maintain that strong of faith that he too can return and see his nation born again and for a future of peace.

I might go and edit that part a bit because rereading it the wording is off but okay i think that's everything

[berriesandjunnie]

reader is multilingual [performance reactions]

performance unit x afab!reader unit reactions requested by anon lowercase intended [i only type grammatically for fics lol] translations: ; 小花 [xiao hua] - little flower

✎ when junhui started dating you, he had no real concept of how many languages you knew? obviously he knew you spoke korean - that’s how you conversed with him and the rest of seventeen so he was pretty blind to the idea of you knowing any other languages. but slowly, he started opening his eyes while you conversed with others. he noticed you speaking english with joshua and vernon (you had even helped mingyu with his english at one point and he hadn’t noticed), you’d had a phone call with an international friend in their native language after you dedicated yourself to learning their language and he’d even seen you converse with japanese carats; albeit perhaps not fluently. 

after he began to realise that he’d been blind to his partner’s lingual talent for the entirety of the relationship, he trapped you against the counter in your shared kitchen one evening while you were cooking dinner. “小花?” he would mumble as he cuddled into you, his head resting on your shoulder as you hum a little “hm?” in response. “when was you going to tell me you’re so good at languages?” junhui would whine the question and you were prepared for him to beg you to learn cantonese (or at least chinese) next if you didn’t already know it. “have you never noticed?” you teased and junhui huffed, rolling his eyes. stubbornly, he wouldn’t admit in vocally but you were correct, he’d never noticed. but now he had, he was purely amazed with the talent his partner had.

✎ soonyoung was aware you spoke at least two languages, he wasn’t stupid - especially since you’d helped him with his english when you travelled with them to english speaking countries and of course, you spoke korean. after years of dating you, he was certain you were only bilingual and could only speak english and korean - fair enough, i mean he’d only seen you speak them. so yet again, you tagged along with the boys on another world tour. you had tried thoroughly to tell them that you wanted to hold back on this tour and let them have a tour without you following them around but soonyoung begged you and you can’t say no to a clingy boyfriend like him.

following the usual pattern of a world tour, one of seventeen’s first stops was indonesia - a country in particular that you thoroughly enjoyed. on the first night after a refreshing cool shower that soonyoung had dragged you into - where he literally just sang shinee songs and made your hair incredibly soapy - he begged you to get nasi goreng for dinner. nothing wrong with that, so you agreed and went to a local restaurant to the hotel. soonyoung sat opposite you, staring with wide eyes and a grin as you ordered in indonesian. “wahhh...” he cooed, amazed as you stared back at him, confused. “you speak indonesian too?” you never expected soonyoung to make such a big deal out of you being trilingual, making you incredibly flustered as he proceeded to ring his hyungs to tell them.

✎ it took a while for minghao and yourself to get close and acknowledge a relationship between the two of you. you’d lived in korea most of your life but you was close friends with junhui, meaning you knew two languages to everyone’s knowledge - including junhui. minghao was very quiet prior to the two of you getting together and even when you got together, the poor man was still worried about mixing korean and chinese when speaking to you. you reassured him it was fine!! like you were going to understand him no matter which of the two languages he spoke so he had no need to panic!! minghao also had a lowkey jealousy for how you could switch between the two languages so effortlessly when you was with seventeen.

what minghao never noticed is that sometimes you did get languages confused. junhui had seen many times how you counted in japanese instead of chinese or korean and sometimes you’d even ask something in japanese and not understand why he was staring at you like an absolute moron. on this evening, minghao and yourself were cooking dinner like usual. he loved cooking with you, just as much as he liked doing most of the household chores to take some weight off your shoulders. humming to the playlist you’d put on, minghao could only stare in confusion when you uttered something in japanese. he didn’t respond, unsure as to whether it was because you could speak japanese or because he had no idea what you had said. it took you five minutes of staring at him waiting for him to pass the salt for you realise that you’d yet again mixed up languages and promptly apologised to him in a panic, reiterating what you’d asked but this time in chinese. 

✎ chan couldn’t even comprehend you knowing more than korean, for some reason? he’d only ever heard you speak korean even to seventeen’s foreign members. so the day he caught you on the phone to your family speaking your native language, he felt betrayed he’d never heard you speak it before. he lingered by the door, watching in amazement. he had no idea what the hell you was saying but he couldn’t get over the fact you spoke another language. when you caught him by the door, you quickly greeted him in korean and chan beamed at his bilingual girlfriend.

to really put a cherry on the top of chan’s new found discovery of your language talents, carats had found an old video from your preteen days on youtube where you was speaking in japanese and proceeded to do a cover in japanese in the same video. they resurfaced it, tagging you and chan in every post imaginable to man. chan would look up from his phone, his mouth gaping open as his eyes landed on you across the room. you would proceed to smile sheepishly at him, more embarrassed that the video had resurfaced as you apologised to him, “that’s such an old vid-” “YOU SPEAK JAPANESE TOO?”

#cafeshuaaa #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen reactions #seventeen performance unit #svt imagines #svt x reader #svt #svt fluff #performance unit #wen junhui #kwon soonyoung #xu minghao #lee chan #moon junhui #xu myungho

[mintibunny]

Cooking For One

Minti Chocolate prepares a home-cooked meal.

(This takes place prior to patch 6.55. Mild spoilers ahead.)

"Cooking should be a act of love, whether that is for yourself or others."

---

Chopped dodo breasts were simmering in a bright orange tomato sauce, naan was puffing up on hotstones, and crumbly cornbread was sliced and laid out on the dinner table. Tonight's supper would be a tasty, filling meal.

Minti wasn't entirely sure why she was cooking at home tonight. Most days she wouldn't need to; the preserved meals in her saddlebags were enough to keep her moving. Yoghurts, bread bowls, that suspiciously tasty bowl of chowder from Twelve-knows-when, all were fair game when it came to fighting the latest incarnation of Titan or Garuda.

Maybe it was the new voice in her Choir, The Physician, pushing her towards better self-care. Ever since Minti got her own sage crystal, his had been a constant voice in her mind, fussing over her sleep, her diet, her spreading herself thin to keep people believing in the Warriors of Light. He was a gruff tenor, his song cracked from old age, the sum of many sages who poured their knowledge into the crystal.

If only he didn't find ways to complain about everything.

At the very least, Minti and The Physician agreed on the value of a well-cooked meal. What that consisted of was up for debate, but tonight's was agreeable to all. It consisted of proteins, carbohydrates, grains, and vegetables - everything you could find in an Archon loaf, but in a more presentable form.

(The Physician) One of these days, I'll have you in better shape than you are. Cooking for yourself is a good start.

(Minti) I'm doing fine.

(The Physician) You could be doing better. Your sleeping is lacking, your diet is not ideal, and your liquid intake could include more water.

(Minti) Everyone says to drink more water.

(The Physician) You should, it's good for you.

(Minti) Help me get this done, please? We can talk later.

(The Physician) Your funeral.

The chunks of chicken were starting to blacken in the pot. Time to pull them out and spoon them into a bowl. The naan was just the right fluffiness, excellent.

(The Physician) I'm just looking out for your best interests, Minti. You took the first step by deciding to help that paladin in Limsa. You could have left her there, but you didn't.

(Minti) I bet you're going to ask me-

(The Physician) Why? Why help her if you're going to end up fighting me? What's eating you, Miss Chocolate?

Minti didn't have a good enough answer. Besides, it felt like The Physician was goading her into a brawl with him, much like Signora on one of her bad days. The best way to deal with a voice like this was to ignore them, and continue doing whatever it was she was doing. Tonight, that meant finishing food prep and having some quiet time to herself.

(The Physician) We'll have this discussion later.

And that, thankfully, was the end of things, for one evening. The butter chicken was tasty and just the right amount of spicy, the naan a perfect complement and dipping tool, and the cornbread a nice end to the meal.

The Physician was right about one thing, though. There was something gnawing away at the happiness Minti felt, in that quiet bliss after good food.

She was lonely.

Ever since Krile received that letter from the New World, from Tural, the scion had kept herself locked away in the Baldesion Annex. There was something in that letter she needed to study, something that required time away from Minti and the other Students of Baldesion.

"I'll show you when it's time, Minti."

When would that be?

"I can't say for certain. Soon."

Maybe it was time to set sail for new horizons, find a new port to call home. Minti had picked up everything before, she could do it again. The pain of leaving for the open seas would go away with time, as they always did before.

Until then, the viera would be cooking for one.

#final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy oc #ffxiv #minti wol #minti chocolate #final fantasy viera