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[tronform]

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[a-d-nox]

how can you glow up: your 1h - your look

to work off my recent post about glow ups. today i will be taking a closer look at 1h themes regarding glowing up.

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

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1h aries (1°, 13°, 25°), 1h mars, and/or mars aspecting asc

style

embrace boldness: strong, eye-catching styles. opt for tailored cuts, statement pieces, and/or vibrant colors like red, black, and/or deep maroon.

minimalist edge: minimalist outfits with sharp, clean lines work well. think structured blazers, fitted jeans, and sleek dresses.

athletic influences: bomber jackets, chunky sneakers, or athleisure pieces that combine comfort and power/strength.

statement accessories: leather belts, combat boots, and/or metallic jewelry.

beauty

defined features: use makeup to emphasize strong features, like sculpted cheekbones (contouring), bold brows, and/or a fierce cat-eye.

bold lip colors: reds and deep tones are perfect for making a statement.

effortless hair: low-maintenance but striking styles suit these people. try tousled waves, a slicked-back ponytail, and/or a pixie cut.

skincare for vibrancy: redness or sensitivity are common for this placement. incorporate calming, anti-inflammatory products (aloe vera, green tea, etc) while also enhancing your natural glow with gentle exfoliation.

body language & presence

command attention: walk with purpose and exude confidence in every movement.

strong posture: your body should radiates strength, so maintain good posture and carry yourself with self-assuredness.

active energy: use expressive gestures and/or physical activity to channel your energy into dynamic actions that captivate others.

mindset mantras

“my energy is magnetic."

"i am unstoppable.”

“i glow when i embrace my strength.”

1h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°), 1h mercury, and/or mercury aspecting asc

style

play with versatility: you are adaptable, so lean into styles that allow you to switch things up easily. opt for pieces that can be layered, mixed and matched, or dressed up or down. modular wardrobes and quirky accessories can also keep things fresh.

focus on youthful, playful vibes: embrace fun patterns, bright colors, or playful silhouettes. think cropped tops (careful if you in corporate - office sirens are a tiktok thing they not real lol), sneakers, and relaxed tailoring.

highlight the hands and arms: gemini rules the hands and arms, so accessories like rings, bracelets, and polished manicures draw attention to you. potentially experiment with finger tattoos (i would say only if mercury beneficially aspecting mars and pluto), colorful nail art, or layered bangles.

embrace intellectual elegance: incorporate "smart", polished touches, like well-fitted blazers, statement glasses, or minimalist yet clever jewelry.

beauty

fresh-faced makeup: aim for light, natural-looking makeup that emphasizes radiance. think glossy lips, dewy skin, and fluttery lashes. experiment with subtle eyeliner or shadow to create a playful but polished eye look.

experiment with hairstyles: don’t be afraid to try new cuts or colors. bangs, layers, or multidimensional highlights could add to your playful energy. accessories like barrettes, headbands, and/or clips can reflect your quick-changing vibe.

skin-care for a luminous look: focus on lightweight, hydrating products that enhance your natural glow without feeling heavy.

body language & presence

curiosity: you should aim for being naturally inquisitive and engaging. a warm smile (ugh hate telling people to smile more) and attentive posture amplify your charm.

express with your hands: use gestures when speaking to showcase your animated and captivating energy.

keep your energy light and flexible: you come alive in conversations and movement, so let your personality shine in how you interact with others.

mindset mantras

“i am curious and adaptable.”

“my versatility is my superpower.”

“my playfulness enhances my every look.”

1h libra (7°, 19°), 1h venus, and/or venus aspecting asc

style

classic elegance: timeless, sophisticated looks. aim for chic silhouettes, neutral tones, and soft fabrics like silk or cashmere. tailored blazers, flowy dresses, or polished trousers.

balance in outfits: libra thrives on symmetry and balance. counter balance proportions (i typically do fitted top with wide-leg pants as someone with this placement) and pair bold elements with subtle ones.

romantic details: incorporate feminine, romantic touches like lace, ruffles, and/or floral patterns. accessories like pearl earrings (my fav).

matching color theory / finding flattering colors: usually these people are in a soft palette. so pastels and harmonious shades like blush pink, light blue, or cream highlight your natural beauty.

stylish accessories: beauty is in the details. think statement jewelry, a chic handbag, or elegant shoes can complete your look.

beauty

glowing skin: prioritize your complexion via hydrating skincare. face mists, illuminating primers, and natural highlighters can give you that venusian glow.

perfecting your brow shape: symmetrical beauty is a libra venus and rising thing, so well-groomed, balanced brows enhance your natural beauty.

soft makeup: opt for soft, romantic looks: rosy blush, nude or pink lips, and neutral eyeshadow. slight winged eyeliner adds a touch of drama without being overpowering.

the art of hair: best suited in polished hairstyles. consider sleek ponytails, loose waves, or elegant buns. highlights or balayage in warm, subtle tones can add to your perceived sophistication.

body language & presence

charm: smile often (i hate when people tell me that) and project warmth. libra risings have a natural charisma that attracts others.

posture: a graceful, upright posture enhances your air of elegance. yoga or pilates can help develop this poise.

be approachable: your energy is diplomatic and magnetic, so lean into your ability to create harmony in social interactions.

mindset mantras

“i am the embodiment of beauty and grace."

“my elegance is effortless.”

“harmony begins within, and it radiates out.”

1h sagittarius (9°, 21°), 1h jupiter, and/or jupiter aspecting asc

style

go bold: embrace bold colors and lively patterns that reflect an adventurous spirit. flowing, luxurious fabrics like satin or silk mirror the abundance you bring.

elevate with elegance: invest in quality over quantity. timeless pieces, like tailored blazers or elegant dresses, will amplify your glow.

cultural inspiration: styles inspired by travel or cultural motifs (like patterns, jewelry, or textiles) resonate beautifully with this aspect. of course in a non-appropriative manner .

comfort is key: ensure your wardrobe blends style with comfort. think soft, flowing cuts or boho-chic aesthetics.

beauty

radiant skin: focus on achieving a healthy, radiant glow through skincare. hydration and nourishing products are essential.

bright and open makeup looks: go for makeup that enhances your natural warmth. think luminous foundation, bronzer for a sun-kissed look, and golden highlighter work well.

hair with movement: jupiter’s energy loves freedom, so hairstyles that are loose, flowing, or natural-looking (like waves or curls) suit you best.

body language & presence

confident posture: you have a natural charisma. stand tall and own your space to project confidence effortlessly.

engaging smile: let your smile be your signature. a genuine smile enhances your approachable energy.

generous energy: exude warmth by being present and enthusiastic when engaging with others.

mindset mantras

“my positivity is my greatest glow.”

“i radiate abundance and confidence.”

“growth and self-love are the foundations of my beauty.”

1h pisces (12°, 24°), 1h neptune, and/or neptune aspecting asc

style

dreamy, flowing silhouettes: soft, fluid clothing. opt for dresses, skirts, or tops with flowing, romantic designs. sheer or satin fabrics amplify this vibe.

whimsical details: lace, embroidery, or shimmery accents add a touch of magic to your look. layering pieces like shawls or cardigans can evoke a dreamy, layered aesthetic.

soft colors: pastel shades, muted tones, or oceanic hues like lavender, pale blue, seafoam green, and silver.

beauty

luminous skin: enhance a natural glow. use hydrating skincare and dewy makeup products, like liquid highlighters or illuminating primers.

soft, diffused makeup: focus on dreamy, blended looks. think soft, smoky eyes, blush with a watercolor effect, and sheer lip glosses.

hair with flow: loose waves, soft curls, or tousled styles. hair accessories, like pearl clips or headbands, add a whimsical touch.

body language & presence

graceful movements: move with calmness and fluidity. practices like yoga or dance can enhance your poise.

mystical energy: lean into your mysterious vibe by being introspective and allowing your presence to speak louder than words.

soft gaze: your eyes are likely a standout feature. enhance your connection with others through warm, soulful eye contact.

mindset mantra

"i radiate beauty and grace effortlessly.”

"my creativity is my greatest assets.”

“i glow when i align with my inner magic."

1h ruler in the 4h

style

comfort meets elegance: blend cozy and chic. think knitwear, flowy fabrics, and soft layers that make you feel at ease yet polished. fabrics like cotton, linen, and cashmere resonate with the homey yet refined vibe they should aim for.

heritage-inspired looks: incorporate cultural or familial influences into your style, like heirloom jewelry, vintage pieces, and/or traditional patterns.

neutral/earthy tones: soft, calming colors like beige, cream, sage green, or light blues create a harmonious, approachable aesthetic.

classic, timeless staples: opt for timeless pieces that feel like a second skin, like well-fitted jeans, crisp shirts, and/or a versatile trench coat.

beauty

natural glow: emphasize a fresh, radiant complexion. focus on nourishing skincare and light, dewy makeup that enhances your natural features.

relaxed hair styles: loose waves, soft braids, and/or simple updos work well; they reflect their easygoing, comforting energy.

soothing beauty rituals: prioritize self-care routines at home, like face masks, at home manicures, or aromatherapy.

body language & presence

grounded confidence: project a calm, steady presence that reflects your inner security.

emotional connection: share your personal story or background when appropriate - it can make your presence more relatable and magnetic.

warm, inviting energy: your glow-up is amplified when you make others feel at home around you.

mindset mantras

“my glow begins from within.”

“i balance comfort and beauty effortlessly.”

“when i feel at home in myself, my light shines everywhere.”

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© a-d-nox 2025 all rights reserved

[tessasturns]

DIAL DRUNK

pairing... bsf!matt x fem!reader

summary... when you drunk call matt, he helps you get home safe.

warnings... swearing, fluff, drunk reader, tension, use of y/n, jealous bsf matt, throwing up (brief), slight cat calling, bsfs cuddling

divider credits… @issysh3ll

blessings and riches, tessa

(masterlist) (taglist)

“nah, i wont be drinking tonight.” you said to your friend who had offered you a drink.

that was you two hours ago, yet somehow you ended up completely wasted at some party.

you usually go everywhere with matt, the two of you have been attached at the hip since grade school.

however he’s not big on parties. otherwise, he would’ve been here with you, monitoring how much alcohol was in your system.

but he wasn’t, so you went out with your girls. the group was completely wasted, including you.

so what do you do? call matt, obviously. he picks up after a few rings.

“heyyy matt” you babble.

“hey, y’havin’ fun at your girls night?” he asks, knowing you’re probably drunk.

“mhm yeah… you should totallyyy be here matty, i miss you” you say. you were sitting on some random couch, your best friend next to you.

“kid, are you drunk?” he questions, knowing the outcome.

“noooo…” you say, not fooling anyone.

“alright, where are you? i’ll come pick you up” he tells you.

“uhhh somewhere downtown… you don’t need to pick me up! this really hot guy said he could take me home!” you say, too drunk to know his real intentions.

“absolutely not. drop your location, i’m coming.” he commands.

“ughhh you’re no fun!” you giggle. “fineee see you soon” you hang up the call and somehow manage to give matt your location.

matt walks into the party and sees you laying on the couch with your friend and some guy.

“y/n. we’re leaving.” he tells you, his voice raised to be coherent over the blasting music.

“oh, you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend sugar” the guy says, standing up.

“no, he’s not my boyfriend” you babble, trying to repeat the guy’s motion of standing up but almost falling.

matt catches you and grabs your hand. “we’re goin’ back to mine, i’ll give you some extra clothes.”

“but i wanna stay here! i need some more drinks matttt” you whine.

“c’mon, let’s go back to mine pretty girl” the guy states, reaching out for your hand.

matt immediately slaps his hand away. some random guy flirting with his best friend? he hardly knew anything about her! he couldn’t let that slide.

“y’stay the fuck away from her, ‘ight? let’s go.” he takes you out of the party and into his car.

he opens the passenger door for you as you sit down. he leans over you to buckle your seatbelt, and man, do you love him.

you just stare at him as he does this, in complete awe.

“y’got a staring problem?” he chuckles as he ruffles his hand through your hair and closes the car door.

he walks over to the drivers side, starting the car and pulling out of the driveway.

“how much have you had to drink?” he asks you. “uhhh like…” you didn’t actually know how much you had. “maybeee like six drinks?”

“six? and you’re this wasted? fuckin’ lightweight” he jokes. “shut up” you mumble, quietly laughing.

his hand lays on the center console, and you reach out and grab it. you trace your finger around his hand as if he were some antique painting.

he notices the small gesture, but just smiles and looks over at the road.

“matt” you say, breaking the silence.

“hm?”

“has anyone told you that you’re reallyyy good looking?” you giggle.

“ah thank you” he knew you were drunk and didn’t question the comment.

“no like you’re sooo pretty” you say. “do you have a girlfriend?”

his eyebrows raise at the bold question.

“you’re drunk, so im not answering that” you both chuckle at his response.

the rest of the car ride is drunk conversations and your random questions. once you get to matt’s place, he quietly walks you in, careful not to wake his brothers.

after a painful walk in the door and to matt’s room, he handed you clothes to change into.

“thanks” you say, taking them gratefully. an awkward tension rises in the room, the both of you unsure what to say. “can you like… uh leave so i can change please?”

“oh- oh right sorry” matt apologizes, leaving the room. you change into his clothes, stumbling into his bathroom.

you feel it- the alcohol, buzzing through your body at an uncomfortable pace. you feel it rush to your head, saliva filling your mouth.

you kneel in front of the toilet, matt rushing in and holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail while you puked.

he helped wipe your face after, lending you an extra toothbrush. he took you back to his room, leaving to get a glass of water and some makeup wipes.

he watches you as you’re sprawled out on the bed, giggling at something you said to yourself.

he smiles at you, his clothes against your figure making him unusually attracted to you. sure, he might’ve liked you more than a friend, but he loved seeing you in his clothes.

“drink some of this” he tells you, as you sit up against his headboard. you take a small sip, placing the glass on his nightstand.

“thank you matt, really. i love you” you say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and laying against his chest.

you slump into his grasp, being tired from the party prior to this. he grabs a makeup wipe, carefully swiping your makeup off.

he cautiously lifts your face, making sure you didn’t sleep in your makeup. he knew you were probably asleep, so he laid your head down on the pillow as he turned for the door.

“matt” you call out to the mere silhouette of the boy ahead of you.

“what’s up?” he turns to you.

“can you sleep here with me? pleaseee?” you beg as he hesitates.

“i-i don’t know-” “please matt?” you say again. your friendship with matt was a little flirty, and cuddling wasn’t a first with the two of you.

“fine, but you better not throw up on me” he reluctantly agreed, climbing into bed. “promise i won’t” you smile, placing your head onto his chest.

his hand thoughtfully rubs your back, comforting you. although the two of you were ‘just friends’ he knew he shouldn’t feel this way about a friend. he knew he loved you, he just didn’t know how to tell you.

tessa’s notes… sorry this took like forever i’ve been sick😞 wanted to take a break from smut lowkey, feel free send me some reqs !!

taglist… @emely9274 @baileysturnz @sllutty-sturniolo @chrisspussygang

comment to be added or removed.

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — golden hours, golden hearts : chapter 007 ! (wc: 1275)

the waiting room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the central heating and the soft background music filtering in from the hallway. you leaned back into the plush sofa, scrolling through your phone, only half paying attention to the emails and notifications that popped up. your mind was already on the shoot, mentally preparing yourself for what would undoubtedly be another successful addition to your portfolio.

the sound of footsteps nearing the door pulled your attention. you sat up slightly, tucking your phone away as the door opened to reveal the assistant from earlier.

"y/n," she said, her tone polite and professional. "your partner has arrived."

you gave her a small smile, curious, as she stepped aside to let him in. the man who entered first was unfamiliar. tall, dressed in a sleek blazer, and showed the calm demeanor of someone used to handling business. he's probably someone important, a manager, perhaps.

his presence was commanding, but your attention quickly shifted to the figure who followed him.

sae itoshi.

you've got to be kidding me.

he stepped in with a quiet confidence, his gaze scanning the room until it landed on you. for a moment, it felt like time stretched thin, the sound of aurora introducing him fading into the background.

"y/n, meet sae itoshi," she said cheerfully. "he's going to be your partner for today's shoot."

you kept your expression steady, the practiced neutrality of a model coming to your rescue. "it's a pleasure to meet you," you said, extending a hand.

sae's handshake was firm but brief, and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of amusement in his teal eyes. "the pleasure's mine," he replied, his tone even and annoyingly self-assured.

the assistant clapped her hands together. "alright, let's get you both to makeup and wardrobe," she announced, gesturing for you to follow her. sae, of course, fell into step beside you, his quiet presence lingering like the faintest cologne.

in the makeup room, the team worked like clockwork. your stylist began by prepping your skin, dabbing a lightweight foundation that enhanced your natural glow. they went for a sharp yet soft look, emphasizing your cheekbones with bronzer and adding a hint of shimmer to your eyelids.

they adorned you in a structured, black puff-sleeved dress with sheer detailing, a nod to high fashion. you glanced in the mirror and caught the reflection of sae, seated across the room.

his styling was just as flawless. the team dressed him in a tailored black suit, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top for a touch of casual allure. his damp hair framed his face in tousled waves, as though he'd just stepped off a motorcycle in the rain- unmistakably intentional. sae looked every bit the calvin klein man: refined, enigmatic, and quietly magnetic.

the room buzzed with activity, but he seemed entirely unaffected, his stupid pretty eyes glancing over at you now and then. when your eyes met, he offered a small smile.

you didn't return it.

the assistant reappeared moments later. "both of you look incredible," she gushed, motioning toward the adjoining studio. "let's move on to the set."

the set was stark and modern, with soft lighting and a neutral backdrop that allowed the clothes (and the chemistry) to do all the talking. the photographer explained the vision: bold intimacy, understated sensuality. he gestured to a chaise lounge positioned in the center of the room.

"y/n, you'll stand behind sae for this one. place your hand gently on his jaw, like you're asserting control, but keep it delicate. sae, lean back into her touch. make it powerful but restrained. got it?"

you stepped into position, your heels clicking against the polished floor. standing behind sae, you rested your hands under his jaw as instructed, tilting his head slightly upward. his skin was warm beneath your fingertips, and you felt his adam's apple shift as he swallowed.

"perfect," the photograph murmured.

sae, for his part, was infuriatingly composed, the corners of his lips twitching upward just enough for you to notice. "comfortable?" he murmured under his breath, his voice so low that only you could hear.

"completely," you replied coolly, keeping your focus on the lens.

the camera clicked, capturing the striking contrast between his relaxed posture and your commanding one. the dynamic was undeniable.

for the next shot, they had you lie on a pristine white bed, dressed in a fitted red dress that hugged your figure perfectly. sae joined you, his blazer discarded, leaving him in just the unbuttoned shirt and trousers. the photographer directed you both to rest your heads close together, your hands lightly cradling each other's faces.

the proximity was almost too much. his eyes searched yours, his gaze filled with something unclear. a challenge, maybe. or something deeper.

“try to soften your expression, y/n,” the photographer encouraged. “you look a bit guarded.”

you exhaled and forced yourself to relax, your fingertips grazing his jaw. sae tilted his head slightly, his lips curving upward as if amused by your hesitation.

“you’re tense,” he whispered, his voice a teasing murmur.

“maybe because someone keeps talking,” you shot back quietly, the barest hint of a smile betraying your irritation.

he chuckled, the sound low and rich. "relax, y/n. you’re supposed to act like you like me."

“acting is all it’ll ever be,” you countered, your voice dripping with faux sweetness.

“hmm,” was all he said, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long.

the final set was the most intimate. sae sat across from you, his dark suit contrasting sharply with the soft checkered fabric of your dress. you could feel his presence even before meeting his eyes, a calm yet electrifying energy that somehow always demanded attention.

“lean in closer, both of you,” the photographer instructed. “sae, rest your chin on y/n's hand, and y/n, mirror him. eyes locked. let it feel... natural.”

you hesitated for only a moment, adjusting your position. propping your elbow on the table, sae rested his chin lightly on your palm. you looked at him, and smiled. his face was close. so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

his teal eyes captured yours, their intensity unwavering. the distance between you felt insignificant, as though the room had shrunk to contain only the two of you. you tried to keep your expression neutral, indifferent even, but sae was unrelenting. his gaze wasn’t just looking at you. it was seeing you, disarming in its quiet persistence.

“perfect,” the photographer said, voice low but satisfied. “hold that for a moment. there’s a connection here. stay in it.”

sae’s hand shifted slightly, brushing against yours as if to test your resolve. your breath hitched at the subtle contact, but you refused to break eye contact. if he wanted to play, you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

his smirk deepened, but it was subtle; almost unnoticeable, like he knew something you didn’t. the camera clicked, but the moment wasn’t for the camera anymore. it was for you and him, a silent conversation spoken through the space between your fingertips and the weight of his gaze.

“alright, that’s a wrap for this pose,” the photographer called out, breaking the spell. but even as the room shifted back to its usual bustling rhythm, sae didn’t move right away. his eyes lingered on yours, a challenge and something softer layered underneath it.

finally, you pulled back, retreating from the unspoken tension. sae straightened as well, his movements slow and unhurried, his lips fading into something illegible.

chapter 006 > here > chapter 008

taglist is open ! <3

back to golden hours, golden hearts

a/n: alright first interaction irl yay

taglist: @darling-dearesttt @saeslove @yuukigyatgyat @sof888a @beepbopzlorp @luvrrin @narcjsistx @catukin @megumismyhusband @morgyyyyyyy @levihanmyotp @kaz-0e @nensi @vaelils @loverryxx @kunascutie @bbladie @swagkittybear @alexiaray @kaidostwin @black-swan-blog27 @syarc0re @vayahatesu @yangx2isawhore @pinkfqiry @treeguzzler @shumeow-h @modxbea @90s-belladonna @rory-cakes @sapph1r3x @yuiearyi @pctterheadd @thecallofmedusa @whisperofae @belovedfedya @anqelkoz @yukari1k @dontmindtheevie @pookalicious-hq @pan-kojiwa @spookysoowpprince @mivqko

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

Past, present, future

a/n: well, writing creativity hits me at the worst times. Including when I have a concussion! This one is for my silly moot @fortheb0ys

Minors DNI

Phillip was stressed. If stressed was even the right word. He was tired, and bored, and yet constantly busy busy busy. It was starting to make his head swirl so damn much that he decided to toss off his work and jobs to his poor second in command and go back to his little home town in the middle of nowhere Texas

He wasn’t there to see family, hell no. He had put his parents in a retirement home in Dallas years and years ago. He was going just to fish where he used to fish and enjoy how little that town changes- as if time was slowed there. He pulled up to his hotel happy as a clam and practically running to the local bar, enjoying as many drinks as he wanted to calm down, until he saw you walk in. Oh fuck

he hadn’t seen you since high school, since he left the whole backwater town to try his luck in the military, and told you by note. By note! He really did regret that now, how he had probably shattered you. Sure you two never ‘dated’, his parents would have slaughtered him for something like dating a man- but you two sure did everything a couple could. Nights spent together hidden away in a camping tent, secret kisses and hickeys littering him in the morning… he had really felt like shit having the nerve to show up here now, feeling wheezy and sick to his stomach.

he sat nervously next to you at the bar, letting you look him up and down as he drank a shot of whiskey, then two, then three. And a conversation started between you, about how your lives had ended up and how you’d stayed in the little country town and definitely flourished- calloused hands and well built figure filling in where you once were younger and softer, and the more he drank the more comfortable he felt around you, chuckling at your jokes and leaning into you as if he was head over heals again.

Four shots, five shots, six,

he was feeling real sick now, he wasn’t a lightweight by any means. But he had definitely lost track and gone above any standard he usually had. He felt Ick all over, barely wanting to walk out the door let alone leave you and go to his hotel- not that he could walk that far in the state he was in. He needed you in more ways than one, so he begged you pathetically to carry you home. Your grip and warmth grounded him enough that he got a grip while you carried him, softly nuzzling into your chest and hoping you’d stay just a little longer and indulge him just a bit more.

he didn’t deserve you, he knew that. You were his a long time ago and he had royally fucked up- but he missed everything about you, every little detail was making his mind spin with old memories he had thought he had forgotten. He let you carry him into your house without a single protest- too in bliss and too drunk to bother you with the idea of carrying him back to his shitty hotel, especially when your house smelt of your cologne and safety.

he almost melted in your bed; whining and pulling you next to him before utterly dozing off, and clinging to you as if you would disappear if he let go

he woke up with an utterly pounding headache and a hangover worse then death himself- sitting up with a groan before remembering where he was, and that he was in your jacket from the bar… he has definitely made a fool of himself in front of you. But he supposed it was better then being alone in your apartment- he laid practically on top of you, feeling your even breathing as you slept. He had missed the feeling of being oh so close to you, but he still wanted to be closer- okay sure, it might be a bit wrong but he couldn’t help himself but kiss down your neck softly, his hands wondering and his body slipping down a bit, in no hurry to wake you up- just wanting to feel you.

he mouthed at your boxers a bit, shaking you awake enough to get a groan out of you and a tired nod as you tossed your head back on the pillow tiredly, still half asleep as he tugged your boxers down your legs and wrapped his pretty lips around your cock-head, taking you inch by inch slowly and choking a bit until he had every inch in his mouth, little gasps coming out of his stretched lips as he breathed you in, tears and spit dribbling down his face. He was focused on solely you, only little grinds of his hips against your leg giving himself physical pleasure

he hummed softly at the feeling of your hand grasping in his hair, before getting thrown off rhythm at a rough tug from you, pulling him off- a small drop of pre-cum and spit connecting his lips and your soaked member before you forced him back all the way down. You had gotten a lot rougher, and it felt so so good to be gasping as those big blue eyes of his poured with tears- looking like a mess. But he was your mess again. Yours.

he choked and gagged every so often, but worked you up until you were grasping his shoulders tight enough to bruise, painting his throat white as he swallowed every drop down, cumming in his own pants untouched before he pulled himself away and rolled beside you

“missed you, sugar.” Was all he could mutter as he caught his breath

[lcvemiyuki]

"nostalgia and night patrols" | daichi, hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: after years apart, a chance encounter with your childhood crush, daichi, leads to a night that opens up a box of unspoken feelings for you; welcome home, y/n.

warnings: fluff, high school classmates to ??, timeskip!daichi, f!reader, y/n is clingy+touchy while drunk, drinking, light cursing

character(s): daichi

word count: 2878

a/n: rewrote this 3-4 times...but timeskip!daichi mmmmm. (not proofread!)

art cred: @/W4W7o (on twt)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

the moon gleams down onto miyagi as you and your friends celebrate your success in opening up your own business. it was only a matter of time before you built something from the ground up, fulfilling a promise you made to yourself to visit your hometown once your shop opened. its been five years since you’ve last been home. you were determined to come back and make your friends and family proud.

keep pushing forward, even when it gets tough.

it pulls at your heartstrings every time; what was he up to these days?

𓇢𓆸 later that night

the bell chimes once more as customers pour into the chaotic restaurant; dishes piling up on each table as work ends for every adult.

“i think that's enough for tonight, y/n!” your friend exclaims in concern while rubbing circles on your back.

what started with light drinking and bubbly laughter ends with your face down on the cold, metal table. your friends worryingly nudge you, fearing the last round might make you hurl.

your raven-haired friend nervously laughs, and you only make groaning noises as a sign of life. “okay! are you ready to take this lightweight home?” she claps her hands together, directing the conversation to the girl with curls framing her face, whose eyebrows furrow in worry for you.

the three of you soon exit the busy restaurant, and you wave your hand in the air, hoping your words reach the owner. “thank you for your service!” your friends stifle a chuckle as they cage you in and hold you up.

“i hope she wakes up and gives us a hundred bucks each for this tomorrow,” the raven-haired girl jokes as she struggles to hold up her end. a sigh heaves on the other side as the curly-haired girl tries to blow her curls out of her face.

as you stumble down the quiet, moonlit street, your intoxicated state makes you a challenging companion. you occasionally mumble incoherent words, your legs wobbling and causing your friends to adjust their grip frequently. you are a comical sight, half-laughing, half-struggling, as you make your way through the sleepy town.

“maybe we should have just gotten a cab,” the curly-haired friend mutters, her breath visible in the chilly night air.

“no way, we’re almost there,” the raven-haired girl replies, though the strain in her voice suggests otherwise.

just as you turn the corner, you almost bump into a tall figure. the streetlight illuminates his familiar features—daichi sawamura. his eyes widen in surprise, then soften in recognition.

“daichi!” the curly-haired friend exclaims, relief washing over her. “perfect timing. can you help us get y/n home? she’s, well, had a bit too much.”

“oh yeah, suprise! y/n’s home.” the other one chimed in, her free hand doing jazz hands.

at the sound of the oh-so-familiar name, you lift your head just enough to peek through your eyelashes.

he looks so grown up now. the light blue uniform clings to his form, the short sleeves seemingly inadequate for the freezing night. yet, he stands unbothered by the cold, a picture of unwavering composure. his broad shoulders fill out the fabric with ease, and the muscles of his arms bulge slightly, pressing against the tight sleeves. in the dim light, his presence is commanding, a blend of strength and tranquility, as if the cold air dares not touch him.

you audibly gasp, a hiccup or two crawling out of your throat.

“desk-mate!” you slur, your words slightly muddled as you throw yourself at him, intoxication evident in the lack of coordination in your movements.

daichi's muscles tense momentarily at the unexpected weight crashing into him, but he quickly steadies himself. his fingerless, black-gloved hand finding its place on your head with a gentle pat. an awkward laugh bubbles from his lips as he glances at your amused friends, one of whom is already lifting her phone to capture the hilarious scene, while the other attempts to push the phone back down.

“hey, easy there,” he chuckles softly. his tone, slightly raspy and warm, makes you straighten up slightly as he tries to guide you to compose balance.

“it’s nice to see you too, y/n,” he adds with a warm smile, his hand continuing to smooth your hair out in a playful yet reassuring manner. his gaze flickered briefly to your friends who are now fully engaged in their mock make-out session; hands crossed and on their backs rubbing all over the place as if it were someone else's.

you don’t say a word as if you could even make out any of the conversation—your heart drumming is to blame.

despite his attempts to help you stand up straight, you droop your head back down. your giggles mixing with the chilly night air as you lean heavily against him.

with practiced ease, daichi catches your stumbling frame once more, positioning himself for you to climb onto his back.

“all right, y/n, can you hop on? i can hold your heels if you want,” he offers gently, mindful not to speak too loudly given your state.

you respond with a playful salute, your movements exaggeratedly dramatic. “aye aye, captain!” you chirp, swiftly kicking off your black wedges before wrapping your arms snugly around his neck.

as daichi hoists the giggling, slightly wobbly you onto his back, he gestures for your two friends to walk in front of him, ensuring they remain within his line of sight. you four navigate through the dimly lit streets.

a few minutes into your impromptu piggyback ride, you, in a moment of drunken clarity, peek over daichi's shoulder and lazily poke his cheek.

“are you the real daichi? like, really?” your words slur slightly, carrying a curious lilt. “i thought i was hallucinating when i first saw you, mr. officer,” you ramble on, your train of thought not allowing daichi a chance to reassure you.

“oh my god, did i just randomly hug you? what if you aren't the real daichi?” your expression shifts to one of concern, teetering on the edge of tears. “it’s okay, you can arrest me, mr. officer. i've been inappropriate with law enforcement,” you add with a serious expression, offering your wrists for imaginary cuffs in shame.

this has daichi turning his head in the opposite direction to stop the laughter bubbling up his throat; a small grin curls upward. you squint at him a bit harder to see and can’t find the answer as to why it’s so funny.

your curious mind once again spoke out loud, “huh? what's so funny, mister? does this mean i’m not going to the slammer?” you reach out, placing your hand over the officer's heart, and sigh in relief as if it were your own.

his footsteps falter for a moment as he clears his throat, “y/n, you don’t have to worry. it’s me, daichi,” finally finding an opening to reassure you.

a few deafening seconds pass by as the cogs in your brain turn. “…oh,” a few more seconds pass, “oh! daichi!” your palm departs from his chest, and snakes upward to squish his cheeks.

the touch of your cold hands once again startles the officer, but they soon warm with the use of body heat.

you ramble on, your palms gently turning his head to face yours. “well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?! ah, it feels good to know i won’t get arrested after all.”

his smile widens, amusement dancing in his eyes. "you know i wouldn't arrest you, even if you tried to talk me into it." he replies, his voice teasing.

he had always been the sensible one in the class, the steady presence that balanced your more pessimistic tendencies. despite your different aspirations—his to excel in nationals and yours to make something of your own—you both found a middle ground through your shared ambition. you admired his dedication and often found yourself inspired by his drive, feelings that blossomed into a secret crush. even though your paths diverged, you continued to support him quietly. however, emails changed and no phone numbers were exchanged making it inevitable to lose touch; yet, the memory of him remained, a constant whisper in the back of your mind.

𓇢𓆸 five years ago

it was a sunny spring day, and the cherry blossoms were in full bloom; their petals gracefully drifting past the glass-paned windows.

our last day together.

you wanted to say it, to let those three words spill out and maybe change everything—but something inside you held your tongue. perhaps, it was the fear of being rejected.

‘you’re leaving for tokyo after graduation. why confess now? and have him wait for you for who knows how long? what if he doesn’t even like you back?’

the more you thought about all the possibilities, the more you convinced yourself against it.

a calloused hand rested on your shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts. “y/n,” he said, drawing your attention to his familiar short, coal-black hair. “are you worried about something?”

his eyes innocently searched yours.

‘about you, actually.’

“…yeah. i think i might get homesick, you know?” you played along—it was too late anyway. you didn’t want to ruin this happy moment right now; not when it’s the last day before everyone moves on to the next chapter of their lives.

“keep pushing forward, even when it gets tough.” his eyes were filled with concern.

you knew he wanted to say more, but was cut short by the class photographer passing by, wanting a picture of the two of you.

“daichi! y/n! let me get some pictures!” the enthusiastic classmate aligned the camera with you both as you smiled for the picture—daichi’s arm snaked toward your waist, his touch light and almost hesitant.

“say cheese!” the camera clicked twice with flashing lights.

it was a memory you wanted to hold onto forever, even if your heart ached with the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

𓇢𓆸 present day

some things never change.

ten minutes pass as daichi ensures the other two ladies make it back to their house safe and sound. both give him a good luck pat and wiggle eyebrows—he only rolls his eyes in response, a tiny chuckle escaping his lips as he watches them disappear into their house.

turning back to you, he notices your eyes drooping. his black boots clack softly on the cement as he continues the trip. “come on, let’s get you home,” he says softly.

the night is quiet, save for the distant sounds of crickets and the occasional car passing by. daichi can feel your breath against his neck, a steady reminder of your presence.

“daichi, you’ve always been there for me,” you mumble, your words barely audible breaking the silence.

just like in old times; he would always stick up for you and be the voice of reason whenever you got too much in your head.

his eyes flicker to the side to check up on you. “i’ll always be here for you, y/n,” he replies, his voice filled with sincerity.

“officer daichi to the rescue,” you tease, your voice filled with playful cheerfulness.

as you approach your front door, daichi pauses, his brows furrowing with apprehension. before he can speak, the door swings open, revealing your parents standing there, worry etched on their faces.

“oh, thank goodness,” your mother sighs in relief—a hand held to her heart as if she had gotten a big scare, “come in, both of you.”

your father steps aside, allowing daichi to guide you inside. “thank you for bringing her home safely, daichi,” he says, patting him on the shoulder.

inside, the familiar warmth of your home wraps around you. daichi gently guides you through the hallway to your bedroom, his touch steady and reassuring. your parents follow, watching with concern as he helps you sit on the edge of your bed, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer than necessary.

“thank you, daichi,” you mumble, your words slurred with exhaustion. “once again, saving my ass.”

he smiles, patting your head. “get some rest, y/n.”

as he turns to leave, you reach out, your hand catching him. “daichi, wait…”

he stops, looking back at you, his eyes filled with concern. “what is it?”

“daichi, i...” you begin, your voice barely more than a whisper. the words are on the tip of your tongue, but the exhaustion and alcohol make it hard to form them. “i...”

before you can finish, sleep overtakes you, your head falling back onto the pillow. daichi watches you for a moment, a mix of emotions playing across his face. he carefully tucks you in, making sure you’re comfortable.

your mother steps closer, her voice soft. “she’s lucky to have a friend like you, daichi.”

he nervously scratched the back of his neck, the weight of the moment dawning on him as he realized this was the first time meeting your parents. "of course," he managed, a hint of awkwardness tinging his chuckle as it slipped out.

“ah, i’m going to run to the store mrs. l/n. just to get her some remedies for tomorrow morning.” she simply nods with a heartwarming smile.

𓇢𓆸 the following morning

soft morning sunlight filters through the cream-colored curtain, casting a warm glow in the room.

you groan slightly and squint to see daylight once again. your hand lifts, reaching your forehead to pinch the pounding in your head. blinking slowly, you try to piece together the events of the previous night.

as you push yourself up, a wave of dizziness hits, and you groan again, cursing your choice to drink so much.

your eyes catch sight of a bottle of water and a few painkillers on the bedside table, alongside a neatly folded note. curiosity piqued, you reach for the note, recognizing daichi's familiar handwriting.

good morning, y/n. i hope your hangover isn’t too bad. i left some medicine for you. take it easy and rest up. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. - daichi (xxx-xxx-xxxx)

you read the note twice, a mix of gratitude and embarrassment flooding your senses. memories of the previous night begin to surface—your friends struggling to take you home, running into daichi, him carrying you to your bed.

you cringe inwardly, recalling drunken ramblings and how you almost confessed your feelings.

“dear god…” you whisper to yourself, the reality of your behavior sinking in. “what did i do?”

you flop back onto the pillow, groaning loudly.

“why did it have to be daichi? after all these years, and i act like that?” you cover your face with your hands, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to your cheeks.

images of daichi’s concerned face, his gentle reassurances, and his steady hands guiding you through your house flood your mind. you remember leaning into him, nuzzling his neck, and calling him "officer daichi" with a teasing cheerfulness.

“why did i do that?!” you mutter, your hand repeatedly hitting your pillow as if that could erase the memories.

your heart races as you recall the moment you almost confessed, your drunken state allowing you to voice the feelings you’ve kept buried for so long; thanking the universe sleep had taken over you beforehand.

“what does he think of me now?” you wonder aloud, anxiety creeping in. “i acted like such an idiot.”

you take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. unscrewing the bottle of water, you down the painkillers, hoping they’ll at least take care of the headache. as you do, you glance at the note again, daichi’s words providing a small comfort.

“always helping everyone still,” you whisper to yourself.

you couldn't help but glance over again at the digits scribbled at the end of the note; your heart fluttered once more like a teenager giggling over a crush.

𓇢𓆸 last night

with the small box of headache medicine in hand, he approached the counter, fumbling for his wallet. as he pulled it out, something fell from one of the inner pockets—a small, slightly worn photo. daichi paused, staring at the picture that had slipped out.

the photo was from high school, a candid shot taken by one of their classmates. in it, you were smiling brightly, your eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine happiness. daichi was right beside you, but his gaze wasn’t on the camera; it was on you. his expression was soft, a quiet admiration in his eyes that he had never voiced out loud.

a soft smile tugged at daichi’s lips as he remembered the moment. he could almost hear the laughter of that day, and feel the warmth of your presence beside him. tucking the photo back into his wallet, he felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with something more—a longing that had never quite gone away.

‘you’re finally home’

a surge of emotion washing over him. it was as if he had been waiting all these years, silently holding onto the hope that one day, you'd return.

the weight of unspoken words and hidden glances pressed heavily on his heart.

he was set on making sure you saw him more than just a lingering memory of the past.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[brodygold]

Truly Different

Nathan and Ryan didn't mind being identical twins. Most of the time anyway. The one thing they couldn't stand was people not being able to tell them apart. Even at the carnival they were attending with their friend group, they were still being called by the other's name.

The twins may have been nearly identical in appearance (Ryan had an extra freckle on his face), but the two differed greatly in personality. Nathan was bold, confident, and always eager to test his limits, while Ryan was more reserved, preferring to observe before acting. The two were truly different in this regard.

"Hey, check that out!" Nathan nudged Ryan, pointing to a towering structure ahead.

Ryan hesitated. "The House of Mirrors? I don't know, man. We really don't have many tickets left. Isn't there something else you want to do?"

Nathan grinned. "Come on, don't be a wimp. It’s just mirrors. What’s the worst that could happen?"

With a sigh, Ryan followed, their steps falling in sync as they entered the house.

The moment they entered, the atmosphere shifted. The sounds of the carnival dulled, replaced by an eerie stillness. Nathan looked around, realizing that Ryan was no longer beside him. The corridor of mirrors stretched endlessly, distorted reflections staring back at him.

"Guess the wimp couldn't handle it. Oh well."

Nathan strode forward, amused by the funhouse-like distortions until one mirror caught his attention. It made him look broader, stronger, his average frame replaced with chiseled muscles. His reflection smirked back at him, his jawline sharper, his stance more commanding.

"Damn," Nathan muttered. "I look... amazing."

Curious, he flexed his arm. The mirror flexed back, but something was different. His bicep was fuller, harder. He blinked and looked down to see his arms really were thicker. The sensation sent a thrill through him. His chest expanded, his shirt stretching over thickening pecs, the fabric straining until it simply dissolved away, leaving him bare-chested. His torso was firm, sculpted, like a seasoned athlete’s. He could feel the power in his body, the certainty in his movements.

A golden shimmer caught his eye. The mirror’s surface rippled, and from its depths, a shining gold soccer jersey emerged. He reached for it instinctively. The moment his fingers grasped the fabric, warmth flooded his body. He pulled the jersey over his head, the material molding perfectly to his new muscular form. His shorts shifted next, dark denim morphing into lightweight golden athletic shorts. His sneakers stretched, reshaping into cleats that dug into the ground, ready to sprint across a field.

A name burned in his mind. Not Nathan. That was soft, weak. He was something more now. Troy. A champion. A warrior for the Golden Army. He belonged on the field, leading his teammates, proving his strength. Memories of post locker room celebrations filled his mind, as did giving orders to the polo drones. As he should! He was better than those mindless husks could ever be.

He smirked at his reflection one last time, satisfied, before stepping forward to leave the house of mirrors behind.

While Nathan had gone one way, Ryan had taken another path, drawn toward a set of mirrors set lower to the ground. They forced him to kneel to get a better look, which felt strange, but something about them compelled him to do so.

"This is weird. I don't know if I like this..." Ryan mumbled, shifting uncomfortably as he knelt.

As he peered into the glass, his reflection showed him kneeling before figures clad in gold and black. Something inside him shuddered at the sight, yet he couldn’t look away. His limbs felt weaker, his body softer, until he realized the transformation wasn’t just an illusion. He was kneeling, just as the mirror showed.

The reflection altered further. His clothes melted away, replaced with tight black rubber clinging to his body like a second skin. Gold accents ran along the shoulders, crisp and authoritative, gleaming under the dim carnival lights. He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat as a rubber face mask appeared over his mouth and nose.

"Wait, no, I—" His protest was cut short as the mask secured itself, sending a wave of submission through his body.

His reflection’s face was blank, emotionless, obedient. The more he stared, the more the emptiness spread within him, eroding thoughts of individuality, of self. The reflection’s chest bore a number: 285. His mind latched onto it, repeating it, accepting it.

No name. Just a number. A unit. A drone. A tool to be used by its superiors in the Golden Army.

A strange satisfaction settled in his core as his transformation completed. The rubber of his uniform tightened, molding his body to perfection, a silent servant of the Polo Drones. A final surge of submission sealed his fate, and he rose, standing straight, and walking mechanically to the exit.

Troy strode confidently out of the House of Mirrors, flexing his arms, reveling in the sheer power he now possessed. His golden jersey gleamed under the carnival lights. He turned to see a figure in a sleek black polo stood before him before getting on its knees.

285's blank gaze locked forward. "Unit 285 reporting, sir."

Troy barely registered that something was wrong. He looked at the kneeling figure with satisfaction, the natural order of things now fully realized. He was meant to lead, and drones were meant to serve.

285 did not question. 285 did not resist. He simply knelt before the Golden Army’s champion, ready to obey.

The carnival continued around them, but for the "twins", there was no past, no shared history. Only the present, the identities they had been reshaped into.

The two of them were truly different, and they were both happy in their place.

[wesstars]

can't rely on my heart

wednesday addams x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: are people more likely to tell the truth while they’re drunk? wc: 800 tags: all characters involved are 18+. AU, they’re in some big city. wednesday and reader are childhood ‘friends.’ unresolved tension!!! a/n: i miss y’all 😭hope everyone is doing well!! welcome to another wednesday wednesday with the most amazing @evilwednesday. special good morning to @mindyswhore. @melrodrigo told me to hurry up haha. (let’s just ignore how I missed last week okay)

masterlist

1:28 am

come get your bitch.

Wednesday frowned at Yoko’s text. She wondered, briefly, who “your bitch” could ever be—unbidden, your grinning face came to mind, shining bright as a dying star. Wednesday hated it. It was stuff like this, knowing that your friends would ask Wednesday, of all people, to come pick you up, that was intolerable. Always popular yet with a genuine charm, you commanded attention wherever you were, so warm and dazzling that you eclipsed everything around you. You consistently crossed the line with Wednesday, since you really never knew when to stop. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed her car keys.

***

You were giggling. It was insufferable: it had already been enough to go to the bar—a place with sticky floors that Wednesday turned her nose up at—and it was excruciating to have dragged you out, catching you from rolling your ankle on the pavement, so your glittering laugh really was the worst torture Wednesday was willing to endure. Yoko had pushed you unceremoniously into Wednesday, while Enid sent her a sympathetic glance and a promise to text. Wednesday was torn between keeping her distance, so you wouldn’t throw up on her shoes, and holding you upright so you wouldn’t cause a scene, but you made her decision for her.

“You’re so—sloppy,” Wednesday hissed, grabbing your elbow to stop you from careening into a pedestrian. You’d always been a lightweight, since your university days, where you’d always show up, drunk as a dog, knocking at Wednesday and Enid’s place. You would claim that you lost your address. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be over there at all, every little quirk you had being memorized by the apartment: your mug, your spare key, your book on how the biggest planets are made of the very same things that humans are. 

“Wednesday,” you said, leaning on her shoulder. She wrinkled her nose. “Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday… 

She scoffed. “Just be quiet.”

“I don’t want to,” you whined, being the absolute child that Wednesday thought you were. She let go of your arm, stalking towards her car without you. While she definitely thought of you as someone she could do without babysitting, she still looked back to make sure you were following. You were tracing your crooked path on the sidewalk, scuffing your shoes as you trailed your fingers on every streetlight and sign pole that you passed. Something licked its way through Wednesday’s veins, destructive like fire.

“You…” Wednesday ignored you. Why had she parked so far? The sooner you crashed on her couch, the sooner you’d leave her alone. 

“You, with that beautiful smile—” gods, just how many drinks did you have?—“Hold on.” 

“I don’t smile.” Wednesday waited, for some reason, as you stumbled forward, catching up to her while the drinks caught up to you.

Ignoring her, you whispered, “I have something to say to you,” showing all your teeth in a dopey smile. When you leaned in, Wednesday saw how the shine of the streetlights caught on your rosy cheeks, glowing.

“You’re even prettier when you’re all the way here, with me, not just in my head.”

Wednesday felt her dead, still heart jolt with an artificial electricity, as if you’d pressed both hands to her chest and yelled clear! It was a startlingly alive experience, being touched by such a startlingly alive person. Every breath was hard to take, as you looked down. The streetlight cast a warm glow, lighting up your outline. You smelled too much like alcohol for such an admission, one where she could feel the cold metal of your arrow, Apollo ablaze, press up against her ribs.

It was weird, how one never really does know the answer to an unspoken question until it was right in front of them, burning. 

“You’re not going to remember this,” Wednesday said quietly. “I’m telling you now, so you can understand why.” She looked into your eyes; they were surprisingly clear for someone so inebriated. 

Your voice was a whisper, nearly drowned out by a car rushing past. “Why what?”

Wednesday looked up at you. You’d stopped right in front of her car, an accuracy unbecoming of how drunk you seemed to be. She placed a hand on you, your shoulder this time, and yanked you down to her height. You were so close, now, your nose brushing hers, and she felt you take a breath. “Why I don’t mind you being this close.” She hoped you could smell the jasmine perfume she wore. “Why I don’t mind when you cross the line.” Your hair fell into your eyes. “Why I’m driving you home.”

She stepped back, opening the car door and shoving you in. You leaned your temple on the seat, head tilted back to meet her eyes.

“I know, Wednesday.”

--

a/n cont'd: something something yearning something something

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[sai-int]

Panther | Marked

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MASTERLIST AO3

cw: strong language, depictions of violence, 4.1k words

Present Day - Belarus - SF Base - 2234

The briefing room was stifling. My seat was cold and hard, like the walls closing in around me. Across the table sat Ghost, Soap, and Gaz, all of them focused as the holographic map flickered to life in the center of the room. Laswell stood at the head, pointer in hand, her voice sharp and steady as she began the briefing.

I could hardly focus.

Ever since I heard that name outside the pub—Ivankov—I'd been like a wound left out in the rain, raw and aching. Now, sitting here with his name circling back again, it felt like all the air had been sucked clean out of the room.

"Earlier this year," Laswell started, gesturing to the map, "Ghost, alongside Shadow Company PMC's, conducted a missile strike to eliminate Iranian General Ghorbrani. He was in the midst of an arms deal with Sergei Ivankov, a Russian ultranationalist whose name should need no introduction."

My stomach twisted at the way the syllables left her mouth, the way they twisted together to form his name, like hearing a ghost that refused to stay buried. I held my breath, staring at the map but not really seeing it. My fingers fumbled for the little cross around my neck—the one I'd taken off Ma's body, slick with blood and gore that night. The same night I learned that God wasn't real. 

"Bea," Soap's hushed voice cut through the haze. "Ye're paler than a ghost. Ye alright?"

I snapped my head toward him, blinking fast. "Yeah, 'm fine," I lied, "Had too much t'drink at the pub. Lightweight." 

Soap raised a brow, clearly unconvinced, but didn't press. Ghost's eyes flicked toward me, unreadable behind his mask, but I could feel him watching all the same.

Laswell kept going, her voice pointed and focused. "With Ghorbrani dead, Ivankov stepped in to fill the power vacuum. We suspect he's been using Quds Force Major Hassan Zyani, Ghorbrani's second in command, to manipulate Iranian factions and further destabilize the region. Hassan has aligned himself with Al-Qatala, acting as a linchpin in whatever Ivankov's plan is."

The map shifted, highlighting routes and regions across the Middle East, some toward Russia. Lines traced where weapons had moved, where lives had ended, all with Ivankov and Hassan's fingerprints on them.

I could hear her voice, the syllables forming words I recognized, yet they might as well have been in a foreign language. The meaning slipped through my grasp, as though my mind had suddenly forgotten how to decipher English. All that remained was the relentless pounding of blood in my ears, each thud louder than the last, a thunderous cadence that drowned out everything else. It felt like being submerged underwater, the world above muted and distant.

My hands stayed tightly clasped in front of me, fingers curling so hard my nails bit through the calloused flesh of my palms. A sharp sting bloomed there, grounding me in the moment, though barely. I focused on the pain, desperate to anchor myself. I tried to keep my face carefully blank  and composed. My heart raced like a runaway train, hammering so fiercely I half-expected it to shatter my ribs, spill out, and run for the hills. Every breath felt too shallow, too fast, but I refused to let it show.

This can't be the same Ivankov.

Back then, he'd built a name for himself in the shadows, running a drug empire in Atlanta, making threats, and killing the opposition when necessary. But this? Manipulating entire regions? Playing puppet master with Hassan and the Quds Force? A bonafide fuckin' ultranationalist?

It didn't add up. Couldn't be the same guy.

I tried to listen and absorb information as Laswell continued, her voice unwavering. "Ivankov has been working to consolidate his power in the region, using Hassan Zyani and Al-Qatala to further his agenda. His reach is extensive, and his influence is only growing."

And then she did it.

With a click of her remote, his face—that face—lit up on the projector.

It was like someone had sucker-punched me in the liver.

Despite the mugshot-esq nature of the photo, it was clear that the years had been kind to him, in the worst way possible. The sharp jaw, the cold, calculating eyes, the smirk that promised nothing good—all of it was there. He just had a few more grey hairs, more dangerous, more in control.

My mind spiraled back to every moment he'd hovered over my life like a vulture, ready to pick me apart the second I showed weakness. How he let me crawl out of his world. Ma's lifeless eyes, staring up at me, her blood soaking the sheets and filling the room with the smell of death. The cross between my fingers felt like a lifeline, but it kept me connected to that night so I'd never forget it.

It's him. It's really fuckin' him.

I shot to my feet, the chair legs screeching against the floor in a harsh, jarring protest. The noise sliced through the tension in the room, louder than I'd meant, louder than it should have been. All at once, heads turned in my direction, their gazes sharp and questioning. The weight of their attention pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating, but I didn't falter. My jaw tightened, my hands clenching at my sides as I forced myself to stand tall, meeting their stares head-on.

"'Xcuse me," I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady. "Need some air."

No one stopped me. Soap raised an eyebrow, and Gaz's gaze lingered a second longer than I liked, but no one said a word. I didn't wait to see if they'd follow. I was out the door before anyone could think twice.

The hallway was cold, but I barely felt it. I pressed my back against the wall, trying to anchor myself to something. My chest heaved, but no sound came out. The air wasn't making it to my lungs; it just hit a wall in my throat. I was choking.

I stared at the opposite wall as my vision blurred. My eyes were blown wide, unblinking, like I was trying to drink in every detail of this moment—this horrible, spiraling moment—without letting it spill over. But it was spilling.

I couldn't stop it.

Her face slammed into my mind like a sledgehammer, sharp and vivid, like it had been burned behind my eyelids. Ma, eyes open, glassy and staring, her mouth slack like she'd tried to say something in her last moments but hadn't gotten the chance.

The blood had spread in a perfect, awful halo around her head. I remembered trying to close her eyes—because isn't that what you're supposed to do?—but they wouldn't stay shut. They just kept opening, like she wanted me to look. Look at what you've done, Beatrice.

My stomach churned violently and I clutched the cross. It didn't help. It wasn't helping.

The sound came back in echoes. His voice—Ivankov's voice—taunting and calm, the kind of calm that made you wish he'd just shout so you could match it with your own rage. But he never shouted. He didn't have to. His knife had done all the screaming for him when it carved into her.

Some doors, once opened, are never truly closed.

I pressed my hand to my mouth, swallowing the bile clawing its way up my throat. I thought I was going to vomit right there on the floor like a goddamn rookie.

Get it together.

But professionalism had no place here. Not when his face had been staring back at me from the projector, larger than life, with those cold, calculating eyes that had fueled my every decision for years.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to breathe—slow and steady, in through the nose, out through the mouth. The air finally made it to my lungs, but it didn't feel like enough. It felt like I was holding on to a thread, and it was fraying faster than I could tie it back together.

You can't let them see you like this.

The thought hit me hard. Soap's raised eyebrow, Gaz's curious glance—they were already watching me too closely. I couldn't go back in there looking like this. I hadn't earned my keep. No one could know. Not Ghost, not Soap, not even Price. They'd kick me off this team and I'd never get the chance to face him. 

I shut my eyes tight, forcing the memories back into their tomb. The cross dug into my fingers again, and I squeezed it harder, focusing on the sting of it cutting into my fingers.

"Breathe," I whispered to myself, so quiet it was barely a sound.

This wasn't about me. It was about the mission, about stopping him. And if I had to sit through that briefing and look at his face again, I would.

The man I'd sworn to kill one day. The man who'd taken the only person that I was living for. He wasn't just some ghost from my past anymore.

He was back and he was the enemy.

I sucked in a deep breath, trying to ground myself as I pushed the door open and stepped back into the dark room. My boots felt heavier than they had any right to, but I forced them forward, one step at a time, until I was back at my seat.

"Sorry 'bout that," I muttered, keeping my head down as I sank back into my chair.

The room went quiet, save for the faint hum of the projector. I could feel the weight of their stares—Soap's, Gaz's, Ghost's. Even Price was watching me like I'd grown a second head.

"You alright, Dawson?" Price's voice was low, steady, but there was an edge of concern there.

I nodded quickly, keeping my hands folded in my lap to hide the slight tremble in my fingers. "Yeah, 'm fine."

Laswell gave me a sharp look but didn't press, clearly weighing whether to pause or push forward. She must've decided there wasn't time to spare, because she turned back to the projection without missing another beat.

"Alright, let's continue," she said, stepping aside as the map zoomed in on Al Mazrah. "An hour ago, we received intel. Hassan Zyani is on the ground in Al Mazrah, operating outside of Iran's borders. This presents us with a critical window of opportunity."

Laswell clicked through the presentation, bringing up a map of a sparsely populated area in Al-Mazrah. The map was riddled with intersecting lines, markers highlighting key locations, and arrows indicating points of movement or strategy from the enemy. Alongside the map, surveillance footage from drones began to play on a secondary screen—grainy black-and-white clips showing the area's terrain and figures moving under the cover of darkness.

"Intel confirms a concentration of AQ fighters converging in the valley. We believe they're protecting something." Laswell continued, gesturing to the map. "Surveillance indicates soldiers guarding three structures. Major Hassan may be holed up inside. However, there's an added complication."

The map shifted again to a birds-eye,, indicating the three buildings by number. "While we can't confirm his presence, there's a possibility that Ivankov has sent fighters from the Konni group to support Hassan. It's unlikely he'll be there himself, but given his influence, we can't rule it out entirely."

My heart sank. He has the money for Russian PMCs? Fucking Konni? Peachy.

"Ghost, Soap, and Panther will lead a Marine Special Operations unit to kill or capture Hassan, tonight." Laswell added. "One helo will insert two teams at separate offset points bordering the target area. Bravo Team will sweep and clear buildings one and two, Alpha Team takes building three."

"One more thing," she said, pulling up a secondary map on the projector. This one zeroed in on Amsterdam, with a boat dock of sorts highlighted. The room paused, Price cocking his head with a raised brow, the rest of us following his lead.

"We've received intel on an active AQ cell operating in Amsterdam," Laswell continued. "It's small but significant. Their activity has been linked to Hassan's operations in Al Mazrah. We suspect they're coordinating on logistics and funding."

Price folded his arms, his expression grim. "What's the play?"

She looked to Price, "You and Gaz will deploy to Amsterdam," Laswell instructed. "Your mission is to track and gather intelligence on this cell. We need to know if there's a direct link to Hassan or Ivankov's broader network. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. This is recon and intel extraction only."

Gaz spoke up, his tone questioning but focused. "Are we expecting local interference, or are we clear to operate solo?"

"You'll have minimal local support," Laswell said. "The Dutch authorities are aware of the cell but are keeping a low profile to avoid tipping them off. You'll need to tread carefully—use the environment to your advantage."

Price nodded once, his jaw set. "Understood. When do we leave?"

"You're wheels up in an hour," Laswell said, glancing at her watch. "Get your gear sorted. I want updates every step of the way."

As Price and Gaz exchanged a brief look, I stayed quiet, letting the new information sink in. Amsterdam. Al Mazrah. It was all starting to feel like pieces of a puzzle I needed to crack as soon as possible. 

"Alright," Price said, his voice steady. "Gaz, let's move."

The two of them headed out, their steps purposeful, leaving the rest of us with Laswell. The map switched back to the area of operations in Al-Mazrah.

There was a moment of silence. "Back to you guys," Laswell gave us all a conclusive look, "All shooters have execute authority, but we want Hassan alive for interrogation." Laswell continued, "Be advised, Major Hassan is AQ's lifeline, if he is there, they will die for him."

The room stayed quiet as Laswell finished, her words hanging heavy in the air. No one needed to say anything—we all knew what was at stake. Price and Gaz might be handling Amsterdam, but Al Mazrah was going to be a warzone.

I glanced at Ghost, who was sat diagonally from me, his arms crossed over his chest. His mask didn't betray a damn thing, but I caught the slight tilt of his head. I was learning to read him—he was already strategizing, piecing together the mission before we'd even stepped on the plane.

Soap broke the silence first, leaning back in his chair with a sharp exhale. "Gonna get ourselves a win, yeah, Lt?" he quipped, his thick accent cutting through the tension.

I couldn't help but let out a soft huff of amusement despite myself, grateful for the break in the atmosphere. "Fuckin' hell, Johnny." Ghost rasped with a finger to his temple.

Laswell's sharp tone brought us back. "You're wheels up in three hours. Get your gear in order and double-check your loadouts. I don't want any surprises in the field. Good hunting."

She gave us one last glance before stepping out, leaving the rest of us to sit in the briefing room.

Soap turned to me, his grin as shameless as ever. "Ye good there, Bea? Ye look a wee bit better than earlier—don' go faintin' on us now."

I shot him a look, shaking my head. "'M fine, MacTavish." My voice came out steady, but inside, my nerves were still tangled tight.

Ghost stood to leave the room, his imposing figure cutting through the lingering tension. "You two done chattin', or do I need to start knockin' heads together?"

"Aw, come on, Lt," Soap stood with him, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "No need for violence so soon in th' night."

I didn't say anything further. I followed the two of them as we filed out of the room. We all knew there wasn't time to dwell on what had happened —my panic attack, the flashbacks, or the fact that Ivankov was now tied to something this massive.

We left the briefing room and headed down the dimly lit corridor toward the armory. The sound of our boots echoed off the walls, a steady rhythm that matched the weight in my chest. Soap walked ahead of me, Ghost just a step behind. I tried to focus on the mission. If Ivankov was there, he'd have to call in an airstrike to stop me. This could be my shot. 

Soap's voice cut through the silence. "Right then, Panther," he said over his shoulder, "What's th' loadout? Gonnae stick with tha' SIG ye got, or try somethin' with a bit more bite?"

I gave him a glance as we all walked in tandem. Laswell had shipped some of my usuals from back home. Sneaky bastard went through my stuff. "The SIG's fine. Does the job."

He turned slightly, walking backward now, his grin as cheeky as ever. "Just fine? Lass, it's precision incarnate! Ye sure ye're no' secretly Swiss?"

"Pretty sure," I muttered, shaking my head, though I couldn't help the small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. I could feel some of the tension leaving my body already. Johnny had a habit of doing that. 

"Leave 'er be," Ghost rumbled from behind me, his voice low and clipped. "'f it works, it works. Ain't got time f'vanity picks, MacTavish."

Soap scoffed, throwing up his hands. "Vanity picks? I'll have ye know, my baby's as practical as they come."

"Baby?" I asked, raising a brow as Soap pressed open the door to the armory. .

Soap strode to his locker, opening it with a flourish. "Aye, th' one 'nd only," he said, pulling out his FN SCAR-H. "Battle rifle perfection. 7.62 NATO, short-barrel config fer CQB, jus' enough kick tae remind ye ye're still alive." He slung it over his shoulder with an exaggerated pat like it was some cherished heirloom.

I stepped to my own locker, sliding it open and pulling out my SIG MCX Virtus. It felt familiar and steady in my hands, like an extension of myself. "This is fine," I repeated, checking the mag before setting it aside to grab my sidearm—a Glock 19 with a suppressor and custom stippling for grip.

Ghost moved past, silent as ever, his presence commanding despite the lack of words. He retrieved his weapon from the rack—a HK416 A5, equipped with a vertical foregrip, EOTech sight, and suppressor. Efficient, practical, and deadly, just like him.

"Should've known ye'd be a Glock user," Soap teased, nodding at my sidearm as he began assembling his gear.

I shrugged, sliding it into the holster on my thigh rig. "Good ol' reliable. Don't jam. Don't need anythin' fancy."

"Boring," he said with a dramatic sigh, before holding up his own sidearm, a FNX-45 Tactical. "This beauty's got capacity, power, 'nd a proper bit o' flair."

"Flair gets y'killed," Ghost said bluntly, locking a mag into his HK with a sharp click.

"Maybe in yer cold, dead world," Soap quipped, strapping his gear into place. He let out a theatrical sigh. "Ach, ye lot are no fun. First Bea, now you. Where's th' bloody romance fer th' gear?"

Romance. For the gear. Ghost ignored him, clearly accustomed to Soap's dramatics. I rolled my eyes, suppressing a faint smile as I strapped on my plate carrier. 

The two of them reminded me of Carlos and Leon back home—always messing around  until I had to step in and remind them to focus. Despite being friends, I was their platoon sergeant, it was my job. 

My combat knife was sheathed at my chest, and I adjusted the straps with practiced precision, ensuring everything was secure. I double-checked my mag pouches and grenades, each motion as fluid and familiar as breathing. 

Soap glanced my way as he clipped his SCAR to his chest rig. "Ye ready, lass? First dance with th' Task Force an' all?"

I finished securing the last strap of my plate carrier, locking it in place with a practiced snap. My gaze shifted to Soap. If he wanted banter, I'd give it to him. "Ready enough t'make y'look slow."

Soap's brows shot up, and then he broke into a wide grin. "Oh, ho! Tough talk fer th' new girl."

I shrugged, slinging my SIG across my chest. "I've heard the chit-chat. 'Best of the best.' 'M just here t'see if y'all live up to it."

That earned a low chuckle from Ghost from where he was checking his mags. "Careful, MacTavish. Sounds like she's already writin' your eulogy."

Soap turned to Ghost, mock offense on his face. "Y'know, I expect this shite from ye, but now her too? Bloody brilliant. I'll have th' both o' ye on my arse within a week."

I smirked, tightening the strap on my sidearm holster. "Chill, Soap. Just don' slow me down, 'n there won't be problems."

Soap opened his mouth to retort, but Ghost cut in, his tone as dry as ever. "Save it for after the op, you two. I want focus out there."

"Yes, Sir," I said smoothly, sliding a knife into its sheath on my right thigh. I shot Soap one last look and gave him a pat on his shoulder. "See ya on the field, big guy. Keep up."

Soap snorted but didn't say anything as I left the room, though the amused glint in his eye spoke volumes.

As I let the armory and  walked toward the hangar, Ghost matched my stride effortlessly, his steps deliberate. I only heard him because he wanted me to. His voice cut through the silence, rough and direct. "Not much of a talker, are you?"

I didn't look at him, keeping my eyes straight ahead as we moved. "Never had much t'say," I replied, my voice low but steady. "Less talkin', more shootin'. Johnny don't seem t'get that."

He grunted, sounding almost amused. "Don't cut him short yet. You haven't seen him in action." he mumbled. "But that's Johnny. Takes a bit of time t'figure out who's got the real grit."

I glanced over at him, quick enough to catch the sharp edge of his side-eye beneath the mask. "And y'think I got it?"

He didn't flinch, didn't back off. "I've seen your file. You don't make it this far without being capable. I told you you'd be a good asset."

I think that was a compliment—or as close as it was going to get with Ghost. I kept my face neutral, though I could feel the heat of the tension creeping up my neck, a telltale warmth that threatened to betray me. What happened in Russia wasn't in the file. It never would be. Only that I was responsible for killing Barkov, and that I needed mandatory therapy afterward.

"Files don't tell the whole story," I said, my voice steady despite the subtle tightness in my chest.

Ghost tilted his head slightly, the gesture barely noticeable, but enough to let me know he was listening. "No, they don't," he replied after a pause, his tone flat, yet weighted with something I couldn't quite place.

He continued, his stride never slowing. "But they're a start." He gave a short chuckle, the sound gritty. "You're here for a reason. And if you're here to prove somethin', don't waste your time. We all know the score."

"Don't need t'prove shit to y'all," I shot back, my tone sharper than I intended, but the words felt right. "'M here t'do my job. That's all that matters."

He stops in his tracks, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity I hadn't felt since the first time we met. The last time he looked at me like that was when we first shook hands. "Fair's fair," he says, his voice steady but firm. "Just make sure you don't forget: no one fights alone. Not even you."

I stopped with him, just for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. For all the distance I kept between myself and everyone I wasn't already close to, he wasn't wrong. But I wasn't about to admit that to him.

I cleared my throat. "Affirm, Sir." I turned, and kept walking till the hangar came into view. Ghost's footsteps followed behind me, the air between us filled with an understanding I couldn't quite place.

Ghost remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with something—recognition, maybe. "Don't mistake keeping it together f'not givin' a damn," he said. "People who say they don't feel anythin' usually feel the most."

I didn't blink. "Maybe. Or maybe I just know when t'shut up 'n do the job."

For a moment, there was nothing but the steady thrum of the hangar in the background. Ghost didn't press further, but I could tell he wasn't satisfied with my answer. "You've been through hell, haven't you?" he said quietly, almost like an observation rather than a question.

I stopped walking and turned back to face him. I didn't answer right away, letting the weight of his words settle in the space between us. When I spoke, my voice was steady but heavy with the past. "Everyone's been through somethin'. Don't mean we all wear a mask t'hide behind it."

Ghost didn't say a word, but I felt his gaze on me, heavy and deliberate as I turned and kept walking toward the hangar. It wasn't often people spoke to him like that—unfiltered. There was a shift in his gaze that I would've missed had I turned away a second sooner. Respect. 

[sethdomain]

more about the guys and special stats in read more

c!tommy

Member of the Republic of L'manburg, he quickly soared in rank and instantly became Wilbur right hand man and a commander in the ranks.

Wilbur really favored him and this caused a bit resentment growing toward Tommy because the member viewed his rise as 'unfair'

Strenght-> 5 -Average Joe / idk i think he would be normal

Perception-> 9 - Sniper Hawk/ He would be very very aware, because this bitch will literally die if his perception is so as much as lower than he is rn

endurance-> 7 -Tough as nail/ He was carrying Dream shit and run around across the desert

Charisma->6 -cheery salesman/ dude literally copied schlatt

Intellegent-> 4 -Knuckle head/ He is a bit dense sometimes and would made stupid decision without thinking through it(he made this often and still will not learn bruh)

Agility-> 6 -catlike/ I'd say with his built he have to adapt to a more lithe like base moveset

Luck-> 1- 13 pitch-black cats/ ironically, being alive gotta count as 10 luck but no. He literally almost die 24/7 i think dead itself might be a sparing from the current predicament he's being ensnared in contstantly, so dead would be considered a luck in itself /jokes.

C!Wilbur

The leader of L'manburg, an incredibly charismatic guy who managed to band together a set of people that supports his goals.

Strenght-> 4 -Lightweight/ I think wilbur dont do much in term of doing the heavy stuff, he just order people to be doing those

Perception-> 3 -Squinting Newt/ this guy doesn't gaf, he thinks he's invisible because he constantly has bodyguard looming over him and he tends to not be in the danger zone much

Endurance-> 2- Crumbly/Bitch need to run

Charistma-> 10-Cult Leader/ He literally managed to convince people to support L'manburg, which i remind you in this au is a shittier NCR

Intellegent-> 7-Know it all/ I would say he probably knows a little about medicine and weaponsmith, he's also very emotionally intellect

Agility-> 5-under control/ normal

Luck-> 9-21 leaf clover/ this guy is so fucking lucky and yet he doesn't appreciates it

these next session wont be as detailed cuz im yawnin g n tired

C!Dream

Leader of the Dream Legion, A group with the desire to end the suffering of the esempi wasteland.

Strenght-> 7 -Beach bully

Perception-> 7 -Big eyed Tiger

Endurance-> 7 -Tough as nail

Charisma-> 3 -Creepy undertaker

Intellgent-> 6 -Gifted

Agility-> 9-Knife Catcher

Luck-> 10-Two-Headed Coin Flip

C!Fundy

Member of L'manburg Wilbur son, ex-right hand man

S=5

P=6

E=4

C=5

I=9

A=6

L=4

C!Sapnap

One of Dream trusted men, he was a brotherhood Knight but joined Dream once he learn about his whereabout

S=8

P=4

E=8

C=6

I=3

A=3

L=7

C!Niki

Member of L'manburg, was a freesider but joined L'manburg with wilbur persuasion. She works as a medic and gunsmithing

S=5

P=8

E=3

C=7

I=7

A=6

L=7

C!Quackity

Schlatt fucking overworked casino worker he handles all his paperwork and feuds

S=1

P=2

E=4

C=9

I=8

A=7

L=8

C!Schlatt

control the monopoly in the las nevadas district

S=7

P=1

E=7

C=10

I=5

A=3

L=8

[noproofread]

The Boy Who Could Fly

"I guess I never should've loved you. But I'll do forever 'cause you loved me"

inspired and influenced by a pierce the veil song of the same name (the first of many fics inspired by their music)

angsty, fluffy, drinking. reader is sad about one sided feelings, drinks a little too much and accidentally reveals thoughts.

cw / tw: implied thoughts of suicide

word count: 1,508

masterlist here

btw if anyone wants me to tag them in my work pls let me know :)

The night was dark, only illuminated by the light emanating from the stars and the moon. A cool breeze blew through you, goosebumps formed down your arms and you instinctively wrapped your own arms around yourself to gather warmth as you walked. Your captain offered you the bottle of liquor he was holding, stating that it would warm you up. You took it in your hand, feeling the heat dissipating from your body for a moment as you took a swig from the bottle. The bitter yet sweet taste of the liquor coated your tongue as it passed down your throat. You winced as it went down. He was right, the warmth started in your chest and it enveloped your body slowly. You took a couple more swigs before handing the bottle back to your captain. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he took the bottle back, chuckling. A blush crept on your cheeks as you looked at him, hoping he would associate the red color on your face to the alcohol and not him. Although you would never say anything, you loved your captain. You were sure the crew knew, you were never good at hiding your emotions. Your face always gave you away. You were not sure he knew. He never acknowledged it, never commented on it, never joked about it. As far as you were aware, there was not a chance that he could ever reciprocate your feelings. It hurt but you tried to move past it. He was your captain, and that’s all he would be.

Only this night felt different. He felt kinder, closer somehow. He looked at you, his face flushed due to the liquor and the cool breeze. “Everything okay?” He questioned. His eyes met yours, yet they seemed hollow. Like part of him was there and the other part was too intoxicated to focus. You grabbed the bottle from his hand, drinking the remnants of it. He chuckled at your actions, unaware that you did it in order to wash away the knot you felt forming in your throat. “All good” You said. Law wrapped an arm around you as his chuckle turned into a laugh. Your heart pounded in your chest so hard you felt it in your ears. You heard nothing but the sound of the waves, the seagulls, and your captain’s drunken laugh. You reached for his hand, his hand that was draped around your neck and hanging over your shoulder. You grabbed it. Much to your surprise, he did not pull away. Your mind had a million thoughts racing through it, you kept telling yourself not to overthink. You could try other gestures to verify if he felt the same way you felt but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to ruin the seemingly perfect relationship you had with him.

The walk was cut short as you reached the hotel your crew was staying in. Law retracted his arm and took a couple steps back. You felt the absence of his heat as the cool air hit your skin once again. He looked at you, smiling. You smiled back, completely forgetting the sadness that surrounded your feelings for him. “Do you want me to walk you to your room? You didn’t drink much but you are a known lightweight.” As the words left his lips you felt the effects of the alcohol take control of your being. Suddenly, as if on command, your legs felt wobbly and your face numb. Your vision became slightly blurry and you felt heavy. You nodded yes as you leaned towards your captain, prompting him to catch you. You body flushed against him, you felt him chuckle. Law grabbed your arm, throwing it around his neck as he supported you. His right hand placed on your hip as he guided you down the small hallway to your room. You had never been so physically close to him.

He opened the door to your room. “Can you walk in on your own?” He asked in a hushed voice. You were so close to him you felt his breath in your ear and chills ran through your body. You shook your head no. “Carry me.” You replied. If liquor was good for anything, it was silencing your mind. The filter you had that kept you from saying every first thought you had out loud was temporarily gone. Law laughed softly, letting go of your hip as he bent down and picked you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you into your room. “You’re so attractive Captain.” The words fell from your lips with a slight slur. You could hear yourself but you could not stop yourself. He said nothing as he let you down on your bed. “I keep pretending that I don’t have feelings for you but I have soooo many feelings.” You extended your arms outward, emphasizing the “so” as you collapsed onto your bed. Law simply draped a blanket over you. He felt himself sobering up the more you confessed. “I know you don’t love me, and that’s okay.” You continued. Your voice flowed out of you like a pond connected to the ocean. There was no stopping it now, you were not conscious enough to stop it. You grabbed Law’s hand, preventing him from walking out of the room. “Just know that when I die, I’ll be happy knowing that you cared for me at least as a crewmate.” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes, you took a deep breath in an attempt to hold them back.

Law looked at you with concern, but didn’t interrupt you. “I have thought of what your life would be like if I was gone. It probably wouldn't change much but I can never do it because I want to see you everyday. It’s selfish but it’s true” The tears you were holding back began to fall without your consent. Law bit his lip, watching you break in front of him. He cupped your face and wiped away your tears with his thumb. He looked into your eyes as you hiccupped for air. You noticed how the light from the window behind you reflected in his eyes, making them sparkle. Water gathered around his yellow eyes, making them appear like stained glass. They were beautiful. He took a deep breath. “Get some rest, we’ll talk in the morning.” His voice was low and soft as he cradled your head and laid you down on your bed. You closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep as you felt the room spin around you.

You awoke to the sun peeking through your window, hitting your face. You slowly sat up, squinting your eyes as you began to feel every part of your body. You became aware of the pounding in your head as your eyes began to open fully and focused on your surroundings. You saw Law sitting on the couch in the corner of your room. A sudden flux of anxiety hit you as you remembered what you said the night prior. He was looking out the window before he noticed you were awake. He got up and walked towards you quietly. His face was serious, much like it is most of the time. You looked down at your hands that were gripping the blanket. He sat on your bed and placed his hands on yours. “Look at me,” he whispered. You did. “You remember what you told me?” He asked, his eyes fixated on yours. Your body felt hot as your heartbeat quickened. You nodded yes.

“You said I didn’t love you. That isn’t true.” Your eyes widened, a deep blush washing over your cheeks. “You said my life wouldn’t change if you were gone. That isn’t true.” He continued, squeezing your hands and pulling them close to his chest allowing you to feel the beating of his heart. It was beating almost as fast as yours. “You said you were selfish. That isn’t true.” He scooted closer to you, taking one hand and placing it on your cheek. His thumb caressed you as he looked into your eyes. “I need you to know that you make me a better captain. A better person.” His tone was gentle and a smile tugged at his lips. “I’d be nothing without you.” Your mouth opened slightly in disbelief at what you were hearing. You were so convinced that he would never feel this way, and here he was telling you the opposite. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and pulled you in for a hug. The kind of hug that enveloped your whole body and was not broken until you were ready to let go. And when you were ready, you pulled away. Tears pricked at your eyes as you smiled. They were happy tears. He wiped your tears away and smiled at you. “Let’s cure that hangover of yours” Law spoke softly, grabbing your hands once more and giving them a small squeeze.

[munipe]

Hii, me again! Thank you so much for the insight. I'm still learning how to write myself so the tips you gave are super helpful.

May I make a request as well? I have this funny idea that I'd love to see in your voice (if it's alright, thank you!! (^-^)/)

So imagine this... Cyno has himself a runner. He chases them through the market, leaving chaos in their wake. He catches them only to find out the reader was trying to smuggle in something silly like fake TCG cards.

The reader overall sucks at committing crimes. A no-good criminal indeed. Some would say "terrible," even.

“Watch it!”

“Hey!”

Sounds of indignation spring about clients and stall owners alike. Nimbly pushing by, your cloaked body stumbled but got up again.

In tow, a black and purple figure catches up, behind. You were elusive, but clearly you hadn’t been listening. He had no time for apologies. Civilians would just have to deal with this for now

Honestly, he was having such a nice stroll. He was even about to sit down for a quick game, but the commotion had pulled him to duty. Whoever you were, you’d pay, he had thought. Yet, he was able to tell you were…an amateur. You clearly had no sense of secrecy.

As your body stumbled out into sandy terrain, your footing twisted. The sound of some ‘oomphs’ and expletives were falling out of your mouth as you rolled down the sandy dunes. The general Mahamatra quickly slid down, this was his playing field. As he caught up, he pointed his polearm.

“Stand down, do not resist arrest,” he ordered.

.

You were definitely done for.

You panted as you rolled onto your back and looked up at him. The mirages made him appear unearthly. Beads of sweat had rolled down your face.

“Hand me your bag,” he nudged the edge of his polearm against your chin as he commanded you.

With your quick compliance, his eyebrow raised as he felt the lightweight bag. Odd. He kept his eye on you as he opened it up and saw…cards. Seriously? His day was disrupted by a fellow TCG played? Well, he presumed you had tasted. After all, such a game had a large player base. He found it despicable how you tried to sneak some false cards in and put the system.

…

Yet, it wasn’t of utmost urgency to arrest you.

“Do you know how to play?”

You nodded in response.

“Would you like to play a match?” He tilted his head. If you had disrupted his evening, he might as well get something out of it.

“Sure?”

“You are still bound by law enforcement, we will go through the proceedings later.”

You sighed softly, better than getting arrested now.

Cyno had thought he’d never seen such petty crime before, all for some cards.

Did I post this a year after they submitted this? Yes, I have. I forgot about this thing. Anon, I am so sorry 💔. This was written on a whim.

[robot-rarepairs-dotcom]

Bulkbee headcanons

Bumblebee has all kinds of goofy nicknames for Bulkhead. He's got 'Bulkbabe', 'Bulkyboo', 'Honeyhead', and 'Yolky-Bulky' (this one was after Bumblebee found out what an egg yolk was). Bulkhead responds to all of them, and responds to variations of them.

Bumblebee is clingy. He just needs to hold or be held a lot. Bulkhead doesn't mind it because Bumblebee's small, and lightweight enough to be carried around.

Bumblebee likes being manhandled. He finds it super hot. Bulkhead's nervous about being too rough with his little buddy, but when they get rowdy, they go crazy.

Bulkhead and Bumblebee both rise with the sun. Military training does that to a mech. Bulkhead goes to bed at 9pm, and Bumblebee goes to bed at 11pm. Bumblebee takes up most of the bed with his limbs. Bulkhead sleeps in the 1/3 that Bumblebee leaves him.

Bumblebee puts Bulkhead on to organic music, and Bulkhead falls in love with it. He loves classic rock, and 90s and 2000scountry. Bulkhead's favorite singer is Shania Twain.

Bumblebee is able to sit in Bulkhead's alt mode comfortably. He made a little cozy nest in there, and he watches movies with Bulkhead in there when they go camp out. Prowl doesn't consider it real camping, but what does he know?

Bumblebee thinks Bulkhead is too good for him. He does have regrets on how he treated Bulkhead in the past. However, Bulkhead reassures him that they're much different people than they were even yesterday. Bulkhead helps him remember to look forward at the future, and change.

Bumblebee thinks Bulkhead is beautiful. He enjoys the duality of Bulkhead. His frame is sturdy, and ideal for the work he does. His arms especially are strong enough to destroy, yet welcoming and warm. His voice can be calming enough to sleep to, and can be harsh enough to command.

Honestly, I think they'd get married at the courthouse. Though, if it was Bumblebee's choice, they'd get married in Vegas with Boulder Belushi (wrestler from the future) officiating. He thinks Bulkhead would look amazing in white lace.

I love how they have cringe ass pet names and are disgustingly in love /affectionate

Love your hcs they’re so soft and cute

[thetidesthatturn]

Tides of Fire and Gold

Masterlist

CREW ROLES

Park Seonghwa – First Mate and Quartermaster

Elegant, disciplined, and fiercely loyal, Seonghwa is the calm to Hongjoong’s fire. As First Mate, he’s second-in-command, enforcing the captain’s orders and maintaining order among the crew. As Quartermaster, he manages supplies and rations, and secretly acts as the crew’s voice when tensions rise. He’s also a deadly swordsman, known for his precision and grace in battle.

Jung Yunho – Boatswain

With unmatched strength and an ever-present grin, Yunho oversees the physical condition of The Halcyon. He manages repairs, rigging, and the deckhands, ensuring the ship sails smooth even in chaos. He’s the heart of the crew—lifting spirits with stories, songs, and a protective nature that hides a fierce temper when pushed.

Kang Yeosang – Navigator & Spyglass Master

Mysterious and sharp-eyed, Yeosang charts the course through treacherous waters and reads the stars like scripture. Silent and observant, he often spots danger—or opportunity—before anyone else. Many suspect he once belonged to a noble family, given his refined demeanour, but he never speaks of his past.

Choi San – Master-at-Arms

San is responsible for training the crew in combat and maintaining the ship’s arsenal. Known for his wild fighting style and explosive energy, he’s both admired and feared. He’s especially protective of Y/N, perhaps seeing something of his younger self in her rebellious fire—though he won’t admit it aloud.

Song Mingi – Gunner & Siege Expert

Loud, bold, and a bit unpredictable, Mingi commands The Halcyon’s cannons with dangerous glee. He’s a demolition artist with a love for blowing things up and a strange fondness for naming his cannons. Though often underestimated for his chaotic energy, his strategic mind in battle is unmatched.

Jang Wooyoung – Trickster & Infiltration Specialist

A master of disguise, deceit, and getting into (and out of) trouble, Wooyoung handles intelligence gathering, sabotage, and espionage missions ashore. Charismatic and quick-witted, he flirts with danger—and the crew—with equal ease. His close bond with San often makes them an unstoppable duo in battle.

Choi Jongho – Helmsman & Strongarm

The youngest, yet one of the most grounded, Jongho is the ship’s helmsman—steady hands on the wheel, especially during storms or chases. He’s also the go-to for brute strength, whether it’s hauling anchor chains or breaking through locked doors. Despite his stoic exterior, he’s deeply loyal and has a soft spot for Y/N, quietly encouraging her growth.

VISUALS

Seonghwa

• Hair: Jet black, shoulder length, always immaculate, parted neatly and tied at the nape with a dark ribbon.

• Uniform: Deep navy coat with silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar. His attire is always crisp, pristine, and worn with almost ceremonial precision.

• Preferred weapons: A slender rapier with an ornately carved hilt—quick, precise, as elegant as he is. Hidden daggers in his boots for when grace must give way to survival.

San

• Hair: Black, cropped at the back and sides and longer on top, often wind-swept, a few strands always framing his face.

• Uniform: His coat is open at the chest, sleeves rolled up, buckled at the waist to allow freedom of movement. Dark leather accents, often scuffed from scrapes.

• Preferred weapons: Dual sabers—fast, chaotic, lethal in close quarters. Sometimes carries a set of brass knuckles strapped to his belt for brawling.

Wooyoung

• Hair: Collarbone length, dark, messy and sea-salt waved—calculated chaos. Often tucked under a hood or hat when on recon.

• Uniform: Lightweight, built for agility. Black-on-black with hidden pockets, minimal metal to avoid making sound. A crimson sash across one shoulder as his only flourish.

• Preferred weapons: Twin daggers and a foldable crossbow. Always carries throwing knives. A master of sleight of hand and psychological warfare.

Yeosang

• Hair: Deep crimson and sleek, falling beautifully in waves that skim his eyes.

• Uniform: Dark olive-green layered with long leather straps and pouches for maps, compasses, and glass lenses. His coat is more cloak than armour.

• Preferred weapons: A single long-range rifle slung across his back—custom built. Close-range? A thin, curved blade hidden beneath his coat.

Mingi

• Hair: Cool-toned brown, soft mullet, wind-swept and dangerous

• Uniform: Heavier fabrics reinforced with armour pieces across one shoulder and forearm. Earth-toned, slightly battle-worn, always practical.

• Preferred weapons: A large broadsword he carries with deceptive ease. Also keeps a hand axe at his belt. If it’s brutal, he’s trained in it.

Yunho

• Hair: Silvery blue, long enough to fall over his eyes when he’s working. Sometime’s he’ll wear it slicked back.

• Uniform: Sleeves rolled up, gloves tucked in his belt. His uniform is reinforced with stitched leather, always slightly dusted with salt or ash from engine rooms and repairs.

• Preferred weapons: A reinforced steel staff, collapsible, which doubles as a spear. When he fights, he becomes the wall others shelter behind.

Jongho

• Hair: Deep, red-based chestnut cropped shorter than the others, neat and easy to manage. Sometimes a strand falls over his forehead when fighting.

• Uniform: Clean-cut, practical, with fitted armour under his coat. Carries himself with pride and youthful fire.

• Preferred weapons: A heavy mace he wields with devastating precision. Keeps a short sword at his side for speed, but he rarely needs it.

[yuquinzel]

— singularity.

feat. mikage reo. gn!reader. implied fwb. suggestive. i’d call this toxic. wanted to write reo in a new light. thank u user @fallenssun aka rosie for hyping me for this <3

mikage reo resents you, that much, you are aware of.

maybe hate is too strong of a word. you are afraid to use it. resent rings the right way — the perfect adjective to explain his lasting glares, the twist of his lips followed by dismissive responses whenever you strike a conversation. you catch his eyes on you often, maybe looking for more reasons to abhor you. he doesn’t seem to hide it either, whenever you flash him a smile and he only scowls at you. curse him, he wears it dashingly.

but then again, for reo to resent you so much he can not stay in the same room as you must mean you have done something to be the subject of his bitterness.

that, is where you are clueless.

despite his resentment, reo is quite gentle with you. when he needs to be, at least.

is tragedy a strong word too? your relationship with reo resembles one strikingly. a bloody-eyed tragedy dressed as a daydream in which tongue and limbs entangle and fingers run through disheveled hair, thumbs trace the bruised skin of the other. your vision is blurred and memories are hazy when blinded by euphoria. you can taste nectar on reo’s lips. as much as he resents you, he can not deny you either.

which is why you are still in his life, you conclude. you wonder if you could ever have the power to ruin him like he does with you.

nagi seems to have a strange liking in stirring up the already uncomfortable atmosphere, “think i’m gonna go, ’m too tired. ’ts such a pain seeing you both act like nervous teenagers.”

reo pays him no mind, instead finding the empty ochoko in his hand more interesting. he traces a lazy finger on its outlines, breathing a sigh of content when he pours himself more of the saké the three of you had indulged in.

it had been nagi, who invited you. he did not tell you he would be companied by reo as well. you guess reo must’ve tried convincing him otherwise. but you know you’re just flattering yourself — reo does not think of you as often as delude yourself.

“nagi, shut up. you’re the one who asked me to come. it’s rude to leave after that.” you say with blush-stained cheeks and a slurred voice. you haven’t drunk much. but you have always been a lightweight. nagi had known that, you think.

“come with me, then.” reo stirs in his spot. nagi turns to him. as the snow-haired male speaks the next dragged and slow syllables, you feel reo’s eyes boring into you. in any other occasion, you would’ve pretended to ignore him and shrink in your spot further. but maybe the alcohol has settled in your system. you feel defiant under his gaze. “reo wouldn’t mind, will you?”

it takes countable, pathetic seconds for reo to respond. you would call it hesitation — the second reo steals for an answer, but you know better. “i am going to stay back for some time. you can leave if you want.” he wears an elegant smile, eyes set on you. it is something the poets would call enchanting. a long-drawn breath leaves you. reo’s eyes haven’t left you. not yet.

you know what he’s asking. he won’t verbalise it. you know him. you feel compelled to play along with him. he knows you. you don’t really give him this power over you. he just commands it like it has always been his.

“that so?” nagi waits for your answer.

which comes in the form of a hesitant nod, “i’m staying back too, i don’t wanna go home yet.” you mirror reo’s smile. he pretends to look away and take a sip of his drink.

“ah. can’t be helped. ’m leaving then.” the subtle stretch of lips on nagi’s face and the tone of his voice is a little teasing. one you’d call mocking if you couldn’t hear the fondness behind it.

a part of you feels betrayed. that nagi has left you alone here, fully aware of your shaky relationship with reo. the more braver part of you is thrilled. you blame the alcohol. reo has never initiated a normal time together besides the unassuming “7:30” texts followed by the address of some five-star luxury hotel he must frequent a lot.

you always tell yourself it will be the last time. you always end up going again.

you wonder if this unplanned business is the same one as well. you would be disappointed if so.

the silence that encompasses the quaint tatami room is oddly comforting. there is a faint glow of honey, its origin nothing but the paper lamps hung over the walls. you think the restaurant must’ve been reo’s choice.

“i did not try to convince him to not call you, if you are wondering.” reo begins, and you feel like a part of you — hidden somewhere deep within the confines of your secrets is scanned over and vulnerably exposed. “i was the one who asked him to call you.”

“ah. i didn’t assume anything.” you lie, for reasons you can’t pinpoint. you shouldn’t be drinking more than this, it would backfire later. but it’s a good distraction from being the centre of reo’s attention. it is unnerving. you are not supposed to enjoy it this much.

as if reo can see right through you, he lets a chuckle hum in the air. “i see. that’s good. i was afraid i gave that impression.”

you know he’s doing this on person. that’s just what he does. and you don’t really feel like entertaining his amusement tonight, “you didn’t. but i wouldn’t have come if i knew you asked for me.”

your words take him aback, you hope so. reo clears his throat. “mhm. that’s why i asked nagi to do so. i have something to say.”

“and it couldn’t be over texts?” you lie again, because it is easier than admitting you wanted to see him.

“it couldn’t be over texts.” he repeats. “i had to see you.”

maybe the alcohol was too strong. reo has never been a lightweight like you. and he does not give you the luxury to discern his words further.

“do you hate me?” he mutters after a bated breath.

“i wouldn’t want to see you if i did.”

your finger goes to rest on your lips, brushing a little over the slightly chapped skin. you don’t miss the way reo’s eyes follow your ministrations. you hadn’t expected yourself to answer so quickly, or at all. but it is almost as if it was scripted. like you had hoped for him to be the one in doubts and for once, you being the one who subjects him to your cruelty.

reo lets your words simmer in his mind, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. some phantom words slither through his teeth and rest on his tongue, tasting bittersweet and dangerously addictive.

it has always been like this with you. you have always made him like this.

“do you think i hate you?” he asks. you hold your breath.

“resent would be the right word. you resent me.”

reo sucks in a deep breath, you see yourself behind his eyes. it seemed to you as if he was in pain. you also know you are the cause of it. it is both solemn and exhilarating. you feel bad. but you really don’t.

then he smiles at you. one you have always thought charming and fake. “would you like to go on a walk with me?”

.

.

when nights ascends the city of tokyo, bringing along a rainshower of artificial lights reflecting on the damp asphalt, dwindling the city scrapers with stars and fluttering with the scent of cheap champagne and take-out food— it’s when the city truly comes alive.

reo and you walk side by side. it is a little cold, so reo has you wrapped in his coat. it has been quiet for moments, maybe he is giving you the time to prepare yourself.

“i’m sorry.” the sudden apology hits you like a train. you could not have expected it. your face contorts into something intangible. reo sees your confusion.

“...for what?” you ask when he does not elaborate. you figure he had waited for you to question it.

“for wanting you.”

a nervous breath makes it way past your lips, and you struggle to find it again. the air is knocked out of your lungs just like that, and your heart stalls and stutters in your chest. reo sense your tension. he knows only he is capable of this. he does not say anything about it. if he expects you to question him again, then you’re afraid the conversation will end here.

but then he continues, “i’m sorry for wanting you. and i’m sorry i made it your problem.”

“what? — what are you saying, reo—”

“you have always been the only thing i’ve wanted. so desperately.” this is where reo pauses, to look at you. the contrast to his words and the twist of his lips, paired with the knit between his brows — it’s dangerously charming. “you are also the only thing i’m not good at. it makes me resent you.”

hearing the words resent and you in the same sentence in reo’s voice, directed at you — it would’ve tore you apart, it would picked at your skin until you bleed and fire smokes your lungs. but it would be peaceful. you could accept it and eventually come to terms with it. however long that takes.

but right now, it only leaves you more conflicted. if reo intends to love you, then it is a torment in itself.

“i despise finding you in everything. even when i’m not looking for you. i thought my resentment would eventually overrule everything else. but it didn’t. i only want you more than i can deny. you are on my mind more than you should be — and all that is making me realise i don’t resent you after all.”

a faint glow of strawberries is dusted on reo’s cheeks. you can feel the head radiating off him. along with the scent of his expensive luxury cologne, one he has covered you in many times before. it seems like a lie. “i just resent wanting you when i know i should not.”

seconds seem melt into infinity. you think your thoughts are no less than your words. they are spoken the moment they come to mind. when you part your lips, the december winter of tokyo manifests as the condensed air with your words. reo feels the urge to brush his thumb over your flushed cheeks. something about the moment is making you seem oddly vulnerable. “if you love me, you do not love me in a way i understand.”

your voice comes hushed. reo tenses up. then you hear his chuckle. it does not make you look at him. it does not make him look away from you.

you know you should walk away. this is not good for your heart. it makes you sick. you should walk away and never look back.

but instead,

“will you teach me?”

you feel a sick urge to smile, as wide as you can when you see reo part his lips. a broken voice, nothing more than an incoherent blurb of sound, leaves his lips.

it seems reo and you are not much different.

“teach me, how to love you that way. the kind that is so intense, it becomes greater than love and manifests as resentment. the kind you are so afraid to show. let me see it.”

there is not much distance between reo’s fingers and the heat of your skin. not when he brushes them over the outlines of your jaw, and then the corner of your lips. the very spot your own finger has traced only moments prior.

“you will leave me.” he says, pressing his thumb a little harshly on your bottom lip.

“if i had plans on leaving,” you let yourself lean into his touch. reo seems to like that, “you wouldn’t have seen me tonight.”

“i am afraid of hurting you.” reo knows his voice is weak, uncharacteristic and in contrast to his usual charm. he can’t seem to hate it though. he reminds himself you have seen more vulnerable than this.

he knows you will probably see more of him than he ever has, when your lips brush against his thumb. he aches to make it last, but then you speak again. “of course you’ll hurt me. you already have. i can’t promise i will not hurt you either. but i have stayed. love is just a compromise between hurt and adoration. you should know only you could hurt me in ways i’d adore.”

reo closes his eyes. you watch the rise and fall of his shoulders. “i wanted to see you one last time today. because i’m leaving.”

reo lets his finger rest between the crease of you brows. he smooths it over with a subtle drag. he looks like a bittersweet teenage dream. when he smiles at you like that. you should’ve been at a loss for words. you can not ask him when, or where, how far, how close — you can not ask him anything. yet you find yourself speaking anyway. maybe to fill in the silence. “do you expect me to ask you to stay?”

at this, reo has to look away. it is the first time tonight he has actively avoided your eyes. “no, but if i do — if i stay, will i see you again? will you let me? not just in hotel rooms or dinners like these, but everywhere. i want to keep seeing you.”

it is weak, his voice. he seems to be at the mercy of your reactions. it’s a little odd. your heart shouldn’t skip a beat at this.

“i will.” you don’t say, instead letting your hand rest on top of his. the one that is still caressing the side of your face. “then see me.” you don’t demand, instead clutching onto his hand a little stronger.

reo seems to understand you anyway. he has been good at that.

so he lets his lips crash with yours. there is no hesitation, it’s brimming with fervent passion. reo steals your breaths, as if he’s never had enough of it. he has always been a little selfish when it came to you — but you like him like that, he knows. which is why when he pulls back — only because he was breathless — he would look at your lips, swollen and bruised. he relishes in seeing your flushed cheeks. your parted breaths.

he tells you he loves you. in this moment. and later when you’d find yourself in his room, on his bed, covered in his sheets that smell like him. after, when you wear his shirt that hangs loosely around your shoulders. and when he drops you home, when he bends down to place a kiss on the side of your neck.

mikage reo tells you he loves you. and if you believe him, then this time you have no one to blame but yourself.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

unhealthy relationship based on physical attraction, which is mistaken for love. reo does not tell you he loves you, but you simply delude yourself into believing it. so when he does say it — you’re too in love to notice it doesn’t mean anything.

that’s what i was going for i mean but yeah ok. now back to characterizing reo right and writing fluff :> thanks for reading, cya !

[grailfinders]

Grailfinders Viewers' Choice: Don Quixote

today on Grailfinders we’re making Charle- wait, no, not him yet. today we’re making Don Quixote, the man de la mancha! he’s a Swords Bard to get a little too into tales of chivalry and make fantasies into reality, as well as a Watchers Paladin to bring reality crashing back down, but not before proving himself as a hero. maybe.

check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Ancestry & Background

we’ll get to Dulcinea/sancho panza/Rocinante later, but don quixote is definitely a Human. that gives him +1 Strength and Charisma, as well as proficiency in Acrobatics because you definitely fall off your horse plenty and don’t die, as well as the Charger feat. now when you dash, you can use your bonus action to attack or shove a creature, and as a bonus, if you move more than 10’ in a straight line beforehand, you either deal extra damage, or push them even further. it’s not a “good” feat, but it fits with the don’s battle style of charging in without much of a plan.

of course, quixote’s a noble so he gets proficiency in History and Persuasion as well. he’s a little too proficient in history for his own good, and people usually at least play along with whatever nonsense he’s gotten himself into.

Ability Scores

number one is Charisma. it’s how he casts spells, and presumably how his love for stories about knights is warping reality. second is Constitution, because it doesn’t measure how much health you have, but how many hits you can take and keep going. and god knows Quixote doesn’t know when to give up. third is Strength, while that probably should be lower, we need it for multiclassing and I’m not enough of a sadist to do that to you. your Dexterity is just okay. he’s a bit clumsy but its usually played for slapstick comedy. that means your Intelligence is middling- he’s well read, but only in fiction books- and we’re dumping Wisdom. if that’s a surprise to you I really don’t know what to say.

Class Levels

1. Bard 1: since quixote was a nerd and then he tried to be a night, we’ll be getting all his bard levels first, then go to paladin afterwards. that’s probably not the best way to do it in-game, but I’m a sucker for symbolism.

still, as a bard you start off with proficiency in Dexterity and Charisma saves, as well as three skills of your choice- Athletics to charge without getting wind(mill)ed, Animal Handling to ride a horse moderately well, and Deception to fool a country into thinking you’re a king. good luck with that btw, I haven’t gotten that far in traum yet.

you also gain Bardic Inspiration- as a bonus action you can give an ally an extra d6 to add to an attack, check, or save they make in the next minute.

also, you can cast Spells using your Charisma! cantrips like Blade Ward to not die til you have armor on, or Mage Hand for a lightweight Dulcinea; or even spells like Command to be a little kingly on occasion, Feather Fall for your flying girlfriend/horse to break your fall, Unseen Servant for a heavy duty Dulcinea, or Heroism to inspire yourself and others into a battle they probably shouldn’t be fighting.

it’s worth pointing out that bards don’t get proficiency with lances, but you can either call his weapon a spear or let him be not proficient with it. it’s pretty in-character tbh.

2. Bard 2: at level two you become a Jack of All Trades, giving you half proficiency in every ability you’re not explicitly proficient in. I think this is the first time I’d call this feature out of character, but we need it to get anything else out of the class. you can also perform a Song of Rest during short rests for an extra d6 of healing but that’s so negligible it’s barely worth mentioning.

the big bonus this level is your Magical Inspiration- now your inspiration dice can be added to healing or damaging spells to help them fantasy up the place. you can also cast Longstrider this level, quickening your step so you can move ten feet faster for an hour. it’s not huge, but it’s concentration-free!

3. Bard 3: at level three you graduate from the College of Swords, giving you proficiency with medium armor so you can finally get that breastplate out of your closet and go adventuring! you also get the Dueling fighting style, adding 2 points of damage to every attack you make with only one weapon in hand.

you also learn how to make Blade Flourishes by spending your inspiration dice. now your attack actions always increase your walking speed by 10 feet, and upon hitting something you can add an inspiration die to the damage and get one of three benefits. a Defensive Flourish adds the same roll to your AC for a round, a Slashing Flourish deals that damage to every creature you choose next to you, and a Mobile Flourish pushes the target, and then you can react to have Dulcinea drag you back into melee range.

you can also cast second level spells this level, like Enhance Ability, which gives you advantage on one kind of ability check. you can literally gaslight yourself into being stronger now! speaking of checks, your Expertise doubles your proficiency bonus in Persuasion and History checks.

4. Bard 4: at fourth level you can use your first Ability Score Improvement on something useful… or dump it into Charisma for stronger spells. spells like Minor Illusion to make little fantasies for free, or Kinetic Jaunt to ricochet around the battlefield even more! for up to a minute afterwards, your speed is increased by 10’, you don’t have to worry about attacks of opportunity, and you can move through creatures without slowing down! a knight always has to be on the front lines, after all. probably.

5. Bard 5: fifth level bards get some big ol’ boons, like a bigger Bardic Inspiration die, as well as becoming a Font of Inspiration, so you can recharge them on short rests instead of long ones. also you can start learning third level spells like Dispel Magic! it feels rough to end the fantasy before it begins, but it’s hard to get this spell later. it will instantly break any magic of third level or lower, and there’s a charisma check to break higher level spells. given how busted your ability checks can be, I doubt you’ll have a problem dealing with that.

6. Bard 6: at sixth level, bards can use a Countercharm to prevent their allies from being charmed or frightened for a round. it’s not great, you use your action on it, it doesn’t last long, and it only gives advantage on saves. still in-character though. even better, you get an Extra Attack each action, so now you can attack twice instead of once.

also you can cast Motivational Speech this level! it’s a more offensively-focused Heroism, which fits your skillset better.

7. Bard 7: seventh level bards get fourth level spells, like Confusion. let’s be honest, you were confusing people way before this, now it’s just official.

8. Bard 8: at eighth level you can max out your Charisma using your next ASI, and Dulcinea can also help free you from any predicaments you get caught in by giving you Freedom of Movement. while moving freely, difficult terrain and magic cannot slow you down or make you paralyzed or restrained, and nonmagical restraints can be escaped from with just five feet of movement. you even get to move at full speed underwater! I think the only water don quixote falls in in the books is a well, so this is probably canon.

9. Bard 9: ninth level bards get fifth level spells, and we can finally make your ascension-hopping make more sense thanks to the Seeming spell. for eight hours, you and anyone within 30’ of you will look different (if they don’t want to they can try a charisma save but good luck), allowing you to change their physical appearance as well as any clothes or equipment they’ve got. now you can turn beat up old relics into proper knighting around armor!

10. Bard 10: at tenth level, you get another round of Expertise to double down on your Deception game and your Acrobatics. you also learn a new cantrip, True Strike! it’s bad, but your strength score is still a 14 at level ten, so you’ll need all the help to hit you can get. also you can cast Legend Lore too, to learn (or make up) fantastical stories about whatever piece of garbage you find on your adventures.

the fun doesn’t stop there though! your Bardic Inspiration die grows to a d10, and you learn Magical Secrets, letting you pick up spells from other classes! now you can finally Summon Celestial to bring Dulcinea to life, or use Nystul’s Magic Aura to make your armor seem even more special than it already is. the latter spell lets you make nonmagical items magical or vice-versa, at least as far as magical detection is concerned. you can even make living things show up as other kinds of creatures, but that’s outside quixote’s scope.

11. Paladin 1: you’ve got all your delusions of grandeur, so now let’s get questing! at level one, you get proficiency with all martial weapons, so that means you can finally use a lance all proper-like. also you think you have a Divine Sense to root out otherworldly foes as an action 6 times a day. you’ll figure out what kind of enemy you’re facing, but not their exact identity. unless you make one up for them, of course.

also you can Lay on Hands, drawing from a pool of HP to give to yourself or your lady Dulcinea as an action. you can spend five points to curse diseases or poisonings, and they recharge on long rests.

12. Paladin 2: second level paladins get their own kind of Spellcasting, which also uses your charisma. unlike bards, paladins can swap their spells each day, so you can get a bit more loosey goosey here. that being said, I suggest checking out the Compelled Duel spell to force your dreaded nemeses to draw steel, Ceremony to give them a chance to repent like the noble knight you are, and Shield of Faith to actually make your shield a bit better for short periods of time.

you could also use those spell slots to make some Divine Smites, spending magic to deal extra damage with your lance. you’ve even got fifth level spell slots already, so you’re actually ahead of the curve compared to pure paladins. (right, almost forgot to mention, check your PHB to see what spell slots you have at any given point from here on out, multiclassing makes it weird.)

moving away from spells for a second, you get another Fighting Style, and the Protection style is perfect for a gallant knight protecting his lady love. when a creature next to you is being attacked, you can react to put your shield between them and their attacker, forcing disadvantage on the roll.

13. Paladin 3: at third level, you join the Watchers, and elite group of paladins dedicated to defeating evil from other worlds… which, if you’re being very generous, is what don quixote’s already been doing! (hey, his imagination isn’t the material plane.) when you join up, you can Channel Divinity once per short rest, letting you invoke the Watcher’s Will to give five creatures advantage on intelligence, wisdom, and charisma saves for a minute, or you can Abjure the Extraplanar to send aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, and fiends packing if they fail their wisdom save. alternatively, you can Harness Divine Power, spending your CD usage to regain a spell slot.

you also get free spells that are always prepared for you, Alarm and Detect Magic. quixote seems naturally jumpy, and you can’t end fantasy if you don’t know it’s there, probably.

you’re also in Divine Health, letting you ignore any diseases you get. sunstroke isn’t a disease though, you might want to get that checked out.

14. Paladin 4: at fourth level you get another ASI, and we could improve your strength so you can hit things better… orrr we can get Mage Slayer! now casting spells next to you provokes an attack of opportunity, and you get better at ending fantasy without even using a spell slot because everyone you hit has disadvantage on their concentration saves! you also get advantage on your saves against melee range spells.

15. Paladin 5: fifth level paladins get second level spells, a nice consolation prize since their extra attack doesn’t work with your bardic one. your freebies include Moonbeam, which will destroy any shapeshifters it hits, and See Invisibility. neither wolfman nor the invisible man could exist in 15th century Spain, I’m sad to say.

you can also Find Steed if you need Roccinante without all the others attached, or turn your lance into a Magic Weapon so you can actually hit people with it.

16. Paladin 6: at sixth level you get an Aura of Protection, giving everyone within 10’ of you a whopping +5 bonus to every save they make. some people thing spellcasting is a good choice of profession, so I guess it’s time you destroy their fantasy.

17. Paladin 7: seventh level watchers have an Aura of the Sentinel, giving you and everyone within ten feet of you a +6 to their initiative rolls. when you’re literally tilting at windmills, you’re always ready for a fight.

18. Paladin 8: okay fiiiine, I guess you can improve your Strength to something “not bad”, if you really want. now you might be able to actually hit the windmills when you fight them.

19. Paladin 9: ninth level paladins get third level spells, finally giving you Counterspell to stop fantasies in progress, and Nondetection to turn into a regular old man, no matter how many magical items you’ve picked up over this adventure.

we’ll also grab one last anti-fantasy spell with Remove Curse so now there’s practically no magic you can’t suppress, as well as Blinding Smite and Spirit Shroud for a more powerful girlfriend/squire/horse.

20. Paladin 10: with our final level, you exude an Aura of Courage, making you and friendly creatures nearby immune to being frightened. some say it’s because the image of a gallant knight riding to battle can stir the heart of the most craven of men, others say it’s because you suck all the gravitas out of a situation, but either way you won’t be fleeing any time soon.

Pros & Cons:

Pros:

bards are especially good at destroying magic, meaning this build can give even Medea and Sima Yi a run for their money in the anti-magic field. with maxed out charisma, an additional half-proficiency, and advantage from enhance ability, you have an effective +13 on your spellbreaking checks! that’s a 75% chance of breaking through ninth level magic, no matter what spell slots you use.

you’re also great at getting around. no, not like that, I mean you’re a speedy little bugger and you’re hard to pin down, letting you make sure you’re always in the least convenient spot for your enemies.

also you’ve got maxed out charisma and expertise in two different charisma skills, so you can dominate any conversation. whether that’s actually a good thing for your party or not is up to you.       

Cons:

I know I said charger is a bad feat, but it is impressive how poorly it slots into this build. you’ve already got spells that can improve your mobility, so it probably doesn’t help too much there, and not only does it stop you from using your inspiration or divine smites by eating your bonus action, but it prevents you from using your flourishes by keeping you away from the attack action to boot! in a similar vein, mage killer is nice, but if you’re using a lance you’d want to keep people at a ten foot range, not a five foot one, which negates most of the feat.

don’t spend ten levels straight in bard. just don’t. having divine smites or an aura of protection would have been super helpful earlier than we got them, and also we can’t actually use a lance as a spellcasting focus until we’re proficient with them- which currently doesn’t happen until level 11. that’s a long time to wait for a basic part of your build to work right.

the don doesn’t really have any clear direction about what they’re supposed to be doing at any point in time. you could go on defense with powerful anti-magic, or offense with divine smites, but both eat into the same resource and require your full attention to work well. and you might have high charisma, but you have terrible insight, so you’re likely to fall for the first liar you come across- making you the party’s face would be a recipe for disaster. thankfully your deception’s high enough that you can pretend those flaws don’t exist, and everyone will believe you.