#The only thing that's keeping me from doing that right now is the fact that this person who is slowly making things better for me DOES CARE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rhiannonsknife · 2 days ago

Note

could I request princess!lottie and knight!reader fic? Maybe one night lottie sneaks off and reader is looking everywhere to find her, sometime passes and reader finds Lottie just in the forest by a lake. While reader is shit scared and telling Lottie to come back, Lottie just finds it funny and tells reader to relax, which is how they end up doing it more often like this said night. They go to the river by the field and just lay there for hours.

-🪼

── WHEN YOU GET A TASTE, CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT'S MY FLAVOR?

— summary: you’re supposed to protect the princess with your life. she keeps running from you.

— warnings: gn!knight reader & princess!lottie. non-sexual nudity. not really a warning, but i’m mainly calling her charlotte in this au.

the castle is silent when you realize she’s gone.

the chambers that so often echo with charlotte’s laughter or the quiet hum of a tune she barely notices she’s singing are empty now, the absence of sound unnatural like an ill omen.

outside, the torches burn low, their flickering flames casting restless lights along the castle’s stone walls. it is well past midnight, the hour when even the most stubborn courtiers have retired to their beds, leaving the corridors hollow. yet sleep, a luxury for guards like you, is the last thing on your mind.

you check her room first. then the library. then the gardens. each place greets you with the same emptiness. her bed is untouched, silk sheets unrumpled and her favorite books sit neatly by the window, their pages undisturbed. with each failed attempt to find the princess, the unease in your chest coils tighter.

you do not allow panic to take hold, not yet.

instead, you seize a cloak from its hook and snatch a lantern from a nearby table. the guards at the gate scarcely glance in your direction when you pass. they do not stop you, knowing your place as the princess’s knight, sworn to protect her.

and yet, charlotte disappears into the night, time and time again, as if she thinks she doesn't need guarding, oblivious to the fact that if she'd ever truly vanish, it would be your head on the chopping block. you would be lucky to be executed. more likely, you would be cast into the dungeons, left to rot, condemned as a traitor unworthy of their trust.

so you follow like you always do.

the path to the lake is familiar by now, the trees shifting and parting around you as you navigate the uneven ground. you move quickly, your steps unfaltering, barely noticing the roughness of the forest floor beneath your boots. the only thing that matters is finding her, making sure she’s safe.

the lake is a place you’ve come to know well, a shelter for the princess. by nightfall, the track there grows darker, but you push forward without fear, not allowing your emotions to come between ensuring charlotte’s safety. still your eyes sweep over the shifting darkness, searching for any sign of movement. it feels like an eternity before something does catch your eye: a glint of silver, moonlight shimmering against the calm water. and then, at the lake’s edge, you see her.

charlotte is alone by the shore, her gown barely touching the damp grass. she looks beautiful, you can’t help but notice, the light catching in her long, dark hair. she stands barefoot, her shoes abandoned somewhere nearby, her hands clasped loosely before her as she gazes out across the surface.

for a brief moment, you allow yourself to watch her and dwell in both your frustration as well as secret admiration. foolish girl. does charlotte not know how vulnerable she looks like this? how easily harm could come to her?

beneath your boot, a branch snaps and she turns around, her lips curving into a smile. charlotte's expression is so calm that it sends a fresh wave of frustration through your veins, one you have no right to voice, because she’s the princess and you’re disposable. just another knight, trusted with her protection.

“your highness,” you call out to her. “do you mean to send me to an early grave?”

“i was sure you’d find me”

“and if i had not? what then? would you stay out here until dawn, alone and defenseless?”

“calm down, my knight.” she tilts her head as tough your worry is nothing more than a mild inconvenience. “i am neither alone nor defenseless. i’m perfectly fine. see?” charlotte motions around. “the lake, the night. there’s nothing to fear here!”

“do not jest with me, princess,” you scold, moving to kneel beside her. “you know the rules. you cannot simply...disappear like this! do you know what would happen if you-”

“you act like i’m fragile, knight. like i’m some delicate thing that needs constant protection. can you not just trust me for once?”

your swallow, your mind a mess of conflicting thoughts. your duty, your heart. before you can give voice to either, charlotte flashes you a smile, so unfairly disarming, melting away the doubts that had taken root. she leans back against the cool grass, calling out cheerfully: “sit with me? just for a while?”

it’s a gentle command, but a command nonetheless, one you should refuse. you should insist she return to the safety of the castle, remind her of the risks, of what’s expected. instead, you mutter: “you’re stubborn,”

“is that a complaint, my knight?” charlotte teases, arching her brow at you.

“it is a fact,” you reply, shaking your head. “you are impossible to protect”

“well, you're here.” she laughs. “you’ll always follow me, won’t you?”

gods help you, she is impossible.

you lean back, staring up at the sky as if the constellations overhead might have clarity to offer.

you remember another night, years ago, when you were smaller. still a child despite the weight of a weapon in your hands. the training yard had been ruthless that day, bruises blooming across your arms. when night fell and you were left you to rest, you and the others had stolen a moment for yourselves, slipping out onto the grass beyond the barracks, lying side by side beneath the open sky.

“there,” van had said, pointing up, her grin wide even in the dim light. you remember there was a gap where she had lost a tooth, making her lisp ever so slightly when she spoke. “that one’s a hunter!”

“you don’t know that,” taissa had countered, giggling with her arms folded behind her head. “you just made that up.”

“did not,” van shot back. “i was told!”

“by who?” nat had asked, unimpressed, toying with a blade of grass between her fingers.

van’s face scrunched up, deep in thought, and for a moment. “i don’t remember.” she admitted.

shauna, lying closest beside you, had laughed. “then how do you even know it’s true?”

van had only shrugged, stubborn. “it just is.”

the memory ends there, just as all things did, just as all things still do, with the royal family. the same one that had robbed van of the ability to recall anything prior to what she was given by them, the people who must have taught her the night skies and constellations.

now, years later, you stare at the same sky, the same stars, but you are not that child anymore. you are here, with her.

“this cannot continue,” you tell charlotte, even though you do find yourself enjoying the damp softness of the grass against your back.

she closes her eyes. “it will,”

and it does.

in the weeks that follow, it becomes a ritual, unspoken but still understood.

at first, you try to tell yourself that you will put an end to it. that next time she slips away, you will lay a firm hand upon her shoulder, guide her back inside, and remind her of her duty, of the weight of the crown that rests so delicately upon her head.

yet, every night when the castle falls silent and the corridors stand empty, you find charlotte's chambers deserted. each of those nights, you follow the familiar path, lantern in hand, armor heavy upon your shoulders. and every time, without fail, the princess is waiting by the lake.

the first few times, you try to reason with her about the dangers of slipping away unseen. she only smiles (that smile), tilting her head as if you are the fool.

“i have you, my knight,” charlotte says, like that's enough. and perhaps, to her, it is. out here, away from the castle walls and watchful eyes, she is free. the lake is the only place where she is not a princess bound by duty, and you, though ever conscious of your station, are not merely her guard.

charlotte confides in you now: she speaks of the pressures that press upon her, of her father’s demands, of the suitors who visit from far-off lands. she talks about the life that has been carved out for her since birth, and the walls of the castle that, no matter how grand, have always felt like a cage.

and you? you listen.

whenever she turns the conversation to you, you offer little, for there is only so little to tell. raised to wield a sword, you were only ever taught to serve, to protect what is not yours. that is the way of things. that is how it has always been.

unlike her, you have no stories of childhood games except for the ones you played in stolen moments, no memories of lazy mornings or warm hearths. your earliest recollections are of cold steel and calloused hands. drills in the training yard long before the sun had risen and voices barking orders as you struggled to lift a sword half your size. you were taught to fight before you could read, to obey before you could dream of anything beyond this.

at least you were not alone in it, which you do tell her about. there were the others, boys and girls who had been taken from their families just as you had and grew beside you. they bled with you, trained with you, fought with you. the closest thing you have to brothers and sisters, not by blood, but by years spent beneath the same banner. the crown’s chosen, as van would call it behind the backs of the knights ranked higher.

yet, for all that hardship, you never resented it. you have never wished for more. not until now. not until her and the pull of wanting something, someone, you were never meant to have. for the first time, you wish to be free.

until the night she wades into the lake, you're able to force all those obscene thoughts down.

then, after weeks of lingering at its inviting shore, charlotte steps into the water, seeking relief from the heat that clings to her skin even after nightfall now that summer has come, and you nearly fall apart.

one moment, she is beside you, plucking absently at the petals of a wildflower. the next, she is rising to her feet, fingers untying the silken gown that marks her as royalty.

“your highness-“ the full moon high above catches her skin, turning every inch of her silver.

charlotte sighs, stepping free from the gown and leaving it in a careless heap pooled at her feet. she does not stop there. what little remains, she sheds just as easily until there is nothing between her and the night air.

“i should like a bath,” charlotte announces.

you have seen her in finery, adorned in silks and jewels fit for a queen, but you have never seen her like this. entirely bare, her hair tumbling wild and untamed down her back whilst she walks directly into the water.

your hand tightens over the handle of your sword upon watching the lake water lapping at her calves, then her thighs. charlotte exhales slowly, tilting her head back until the ends of her hair float on the surface. in all the places where she has freed herself from the weight of her thin clothes, your armor suddenly feels suffocating.

“you needn’t stand there like a statue,” she calls softly, glancing over her shoulder. “you could join me”

“i don't think-“ the water does nothing to conceal her, and you swear your heart stutters in your chest as your eyes dart down to her breasts.

“you are always so tense,” charlotte points out, stepping back toward the shallows. “do you never grow tired of carrying such weight?”

you knuckles whiten around the sword's handle, that's how hard you're gripping it. always, you want to tell her. every moment of every day.

she does not realize what she does to you and your body betrays you like it never did before. eyes that once were under your command flicker, involuntarily tracing the delicate lines of her body as it emerges from the lake. when she reaches the shore, the water running in rivulets down her skin, you force your gaze away too late. charlotte halts before you, towering above where you kneel in the grass. “you’re staring,”

“forgive me, your highness. i did not mean-”

“did you not?”

your breath hitches when her fingers find the edge of your jaw. the touch is barely there at all, but it might as well have set you ablaze. the princess traces the line of your cheek, skin cool from the water, before drifting lower, where her thumb presses lightly against your bottom lip. “how proper you are,” she murmurs, applying enough pressure to part your mouth. “even now, you fight it.”

you do not (cannot) speak.

her hand stays in place, tilting your face toward her. your pulse pounds like a war drum in your chest, each beat a desperate warning. any closer and there will be no denying to what this is. any closer, and you won’t be able to contain yourself from her anymore. any closer and-

without warning, charlotte takes a step back. she turns, moving toward the place where her gown lays in a crumpled pile.

“you may look now,” she calls, fastening the ties of her dress while watching you. not just your face this time, but lower. your armor. “you always wear it,”

you shift, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “it is my duty to remain prepared, your highness.”

“prepared for what?”

charlotte reaches out, her fingers touching the edge of a buckle near your shoulder. a heavy drop of water falls from the ends of her hair onto the shoulder plate. “take it off,”

“i-”

“please,” she adds, softer this time. she could just command you, and you'd have to follow her orders without any protest. instead, the princess asks. you're about to unfasten them when charlotte steps forward, her fingers brushing against you, a silent request to stop. “let me,”

her fingers move expertly while you drop your own to your sides, loosening the first buckle, then the next. the armor shifts against your body, giving way to her slow administration.

the breastplate is the first to go: charlotte lifts it carefully, her hands barely making a sound as they run over the metal. the air is cold against your undershirt when she sets it down in the grass, a relief that only comes in the evenings, once you're freed from your duty and have permission to rest.

charlotte doesn’t stop there. her presence is a steady force as she circles you, undoing buckles and loosening straps in every place she puts her hands to. each piece of armor that falls away leaves more of you exposed, and though it is nothing indecent (your tunic still covers you and your trousers are laced tight around your hips), it feels like something intimate. it’s more than just metal that’s stripped from you, but all that you’ve been this far. your identity, laid out in pieces.

charlotte moves to your arms next, undoing the leather bindings that keep the vambraces in their place. when she pulls them off, her fingers trail over your bare forearms, feeling old scars, the raised ridges of past battles. they brush over your collar as well, where sweat dampens the fabric of your underclothes. then she shifts behind you again, her hands settling at your waist to pull on the straps that secure your faulds and tassets.

the princess is closer than she needs to be, her breath warm against your nape. “how strange it is,” she whispers as the last strap around your upper body falls loose and she drags her palms up your back. “i have seen you in armor for so long. it feels almost…improper to see you without it”

her touch trails all the way up, then pauses in one particular place. without turning to look, you know what has made her falter: the brand is small, just above the collar of your clothes; a faintly discolored mark that's been burned into your skin years ago. charlotte has seen it before, on the knights who stand guard outside her chambers, who kneel before her father. but this is different. this is you.

“this is the mark they gave you when you swore yourself to the crown,”

“yes,”

she lingers there, thumb brushing over it once. “it is cruel,” charlotte decides after a moment, “to mark a person like they would mark cattle.”

“it is an honor.”

“did it hurt?”

you glance over your shoulder. “yes,”

“i do not like the thought of you in pain,”

she continues her work as the words still sink in, kneeling before you to unfasten the greaves from your legs. the sight of her there, at your feet, sends yet another wave of heat through you, shameful in its intensity. it is not right; a princess should never kneel before her knight, and yet, charlotte does it anyway, not caring about the kingdom’s rules in the slightest.

by the time the last piece is gone, you feel lighter but exposed, and she sits back on her heels satisfied.

“there you are,” charlotte murmurs. her fingers remain curled around your wrist, thumb tracing slow circles over your pulse. there, beneath the thin skin, your heart pumps blood, an organ that's a servant to the crown, never meant for its daughter.

even through the linen of your tunic, you can feel the warmth of her. “you are trembling,” she observes as she steps closer.

it is impossible to be steady when the heir to the throne is looking at you like this, her gaze dipping, lingering on your mouth. charlotte is testing the boundaries she already knows you are powerless to uphold.

“it is cold”

“you're a terrible liar,” her hand drifts higher, ghosting along the side of your throat.

“we shouldn’t- this is foolish, we-“

the princess tilts her head, considering. “perhaps,” she does not step away.

one of you has to stop this madness. one of you has to be strong enough to remember what this means, what this will mean if you allow yourself to have this moment. but then lottie breathes your name and you shatter. her lips meet yours, and the world tilts.

she is soft, unbearably so, but there is nothing tentative about the way she kisses.

her hands thread into your hair and she pulls. it’s certainly not enough to hurt (somehow, you doubt charlotte is actually capable of that), but enough to leave you dizzy and make you gasp against her mouth.

the length of her tall body presses flush against yours, the warmth of her seeping through your tunic, branding you more thoroughly than any iron ever could.

charlotte’s mouth parts against yours, and your own hands, uncertain at first, find their place at her waist, where the fabric of her gown spills through your fingers. the other cradles the small of her back, feeling the faint shudder that runs through her as you pull her closer there.

you do not dare touch her where you want to, where you dream of, not yet, but charlotte makes up for what you lack in boldness; she presses forward, deepening the kiss, and grazes the hollow of your throat. no matter how featherlight, the touch sends a shudder through you nonetheless.

you gasp against her lips, and she breathes into you, as though she would gladly let you steal the air from her lungs if it meant keeping you close. there’s the taste of the princess on your tongue, sweet like the honeyed wine you have been allowed on very few occasions in the castle.

oh, how you are starving for it now.

you are betraying an oath by this, a vow sworn and sealed in the flesh at the back of your neck. whether charlotte cares or not, you don’t know, but if she does, she chooses defiance. just like she dismisses the suitors who come in secret. just like she turns her back on her father’s demands, she turns her back on this, too. you do not have the same luxury of recklessness. you are not a princess who can ignore the weight of expectation. you are a knight, bound to integrity and consequence. if anyone were to see you now, if the king were to find out-

a tug at your collar pulls you back to the present.

charlotte makes a sound of protest when you have to lean back, but her hands do not leave you; even when you part for breath, she doesn’t go far. her forehead rests against yours, lips still brushing with every tilt of her head, reluctant to lose even an inch of contact.

her gaze, once you finally dare to meet it, is half-lidded and utterly unchanged by what has just happened. against all odds, charlotte does not look regretful.

“this…this is forbidden,” you whisper. the reminder seems meaningless between you now that you’ve taken this irreversible step. if the law couldn’t keep you from one another, you doubt that anything else will.

“so is sneaking past the castle walls,” she laughs breathlessly. “and here we are,” her hands are still tangled in your hair, toying with their ends when she proceeds.

“tell me,” charlotte murmurs, nudging you with her nose with a soft chuckle. “will you call me your princess still?”

your hands tighten around her hip. “if you command it,”

“maybe i prefer you like this. unbound.”

you do not tell her that you are bound, now more than ever. that you would fall to your knees for charlotte if she asked. that you would break your oath, your honor, your very being for just another taste of her mouth.

— a/n: 2 very quick notes: 1. 🪼 anon, i’m so sorry it took me that long to finally finish this! the unedited version has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. 2. my nymph!lottie piece was lowkey inspired by some of this, so if you notice any similarities in the writing, that’s why! :)

#˙💌 ̟ !! ─ my works #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews x female reader #lottie matthews x fem!reader #lottie matthews x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x female reader #yellowjackets x you

173 notes · View notes

karikarasuno · 3 days ago

Text

part four | part five | part six

flowers. law buys you flowers as a thank you for taking care of him. he doesn't even know if you like flowers, but he saw the bouquet at the grocery store and figured it wouldn't hurt.

unfortunately, now he feels awkward. he's never been one to overthink. analytical, yes, but never nervous that he's going to do or say the wrong thing. when it comes to you, though, he finds it hard to concentrate. he very oddly wants to impress you. he also really enjoys the way you feel comfortable relying on him.

so, of course, he hesitates knocking on your door with the bouquet held firmly in his strong grip. what if you don't like them? or worse, what if you're allergic? he shouldn't feel embarrassed by the thought, but he does.

whatever. he's got nothing else to lose, so he rings your doorbell. you're breathless when you answer like he interrupted something. and he could have given the fact that your clothes look thrown on, your tank top sitting slightly askew on your chest and he has to fight the heat crawling up his neck at the fact that you're not wearing a bra.

"hi!" you breathe out with a friendly smile, adjusting your shirt when you notice. "how are you feeling?"

"good," he clears his throat when his voice breaks, "better."

"i healed you," you nod with a sly smile, hand rising to lay flat over your heart. the sight makes him chuckle. you always make it so easy for him to relax. to just feel normal.

"guess you're the real doctor around here." he stretches the hand holding the flowers to you and he watches as your eyes light up and a slight blush tints your cheeks.

both of your hands rise to cover his and you lean over to sniff the side closest to you. "i'm glad someone's finally noticed how talented i am."

you wink at him over the bouquet and he fights a smile. "i'm assuming these are for me?"

you take the flowers from him, delicately touching the petals. he only nods, shuffling a bit in your doorway. timid.

"how'd you know these were my favorite?"

"lucky guess," he shrugs, but something twists in his chest. pride, maybe. or perhaps it's something deeper. something sappier. something he hasn't felt in quite a long time. "it's a small thanks for everything you did."

"well, if you really wanna show me your gratitude i think i have something else in mind." your eyes wander down his body shamelessly. he tries not to tense up at the implication. but excitement drops low and heavy in his gut.

"my tv recently stopped working and the new one just came in..." you take a step back, beckoning for him to follow you inside. his eyes follow yours to the living room where a wide box stands in the center. he knows exactly what you want and he can't help but laugh.

"now you're just using me," he says with a shake of his head, but he still closes the door behind him. he still walks over to the large box even though you're heading towards your kitchen with the flowers. there's already a mount on your wall from the last tv, so this isn't a tough task. just a quick replacement.

"hey, it's not my fault," you call out from the kitchen, but he can't see you. "i could ask one of the guys to do it, but they're not as reliable as you."

that makes him feel good. until he registers the word guys. "what guys?"

he bristles. he has no right to feel this way. to be jealous. he'd be delusional to think he's the only man in your life.

"well i used to get kid to do this stuff, but he's useless and i hate him," you laugh. he warms at your disdain for your ex. "usually i get zoro to do it, but he's forgetful. franky on the other hand is super good at this stuff, but he doesn't go anywhere without robin and that makes scheduling tricky since we're all so busy most of the time."

you come over carrying a vase, showing off the bouquet pleased before setting it in the center of your dining table. he watches as you keep spinning the vase until you like the way it looks, nodding in satisfaction when you're done fiddling with it. cute.

"but you, on the other hand," you twirl to face him, "you're always around exactly when i need you."

his entire body warms up. law likes being needed. and you in particular are always so needy.

"i'm always happy to help," he says, grabbing the scissors you're holding out to him and slicing the tape to open the box. you plop on the recliner beside him, just watching as he removes plastic and styrofoam. your gaze is attentive. there's clear tension sparking between the two of you, but he ignores it. because he has a task to complete.

"hold the box for me so i can pull this out." he grips each end of the tv firmly but with care. you slide off the recliner, kneeling in front of him as you reach for the box. the position you put yourself in does not go unnoticed by him. he's positive it's intentional on your end, especially when you look up at him, eyes big and brows furrowing just slightly.

"like this?" the question itself is riddled in innocence. but he knows you well enough now. he knows what game you're playing, but until now his role in it has been passive.

"yeah, just like that." he keeps his tone neutral, but encouraging. you bite back a smile, pursing your lips to one side as you glance away from him. his keeps his own smile to himself, pleased by your reaction, before rolling his shoulders back and lifting the television out the box.

he asks for your assistance one more time just to hook the tv onto the mount on the wall. it's bigger than your last one and takes up most of the wall across from your couch. it's really nice.

"here," you hand him the remote as soon as he sits on the sofa. mindlessly he starts to set it up for you, flipping through the pamphlet that came with it. he knows you're watching him. your body is curled up on the cushion beside him. neither of you say anything though. but he can tell what you're thinking. because he's thinking it too.

honestly it's all he can really think about. he’s touched himself countless times to the thought of you with your thighs around his head. with your hands in his hair. with your lips on his neck. he’s thought of you on his drives to work, in the shower, in the brief moments before sleep catches him. it’s annoying the amount of space you take up in his mind.

you shift beside him, knees grazing his thigh as you move closer to him. the smell of whatever you’re wearing on your skin reaches his nose. the memory of you in his bed, beneath him and moaning his name, is triggered by the scent.

“what’s your email?” he clears his throat, eyes trained on the screen before him.

“hm?”

“to set up your account i need your email,” his eyes betray him as they move to glance at you. it was a mistake. your head is tilted and your breaths are steady but they’re so deep your chest rises and falls heavily. his eyes betray him again when they glance down. your boobs are pressed together, your nipples are poking hard against the thin material of your top. it’s cold in here, he reasons.

you start spelling out your email address, but law’s distracted. he misses a letter, you laugh, he corrects it, but then he misses another one.

“let me do it,” you chuckle when you see he’s clearly struggling. but he instinctively pulls the remote out of your reach.

“i got it this time,” he says, pointing the remote at the tv again. he’s not looking at you for the sole purpose of concentration.

“i’m starting to think you can’t spell my name,” you reach over his body to try and take the remote from him again, but he swats your hand away. it’s a playful back and forth, but you become more insistent. his hand grasps your wrist to push you away, but your shin finds his thigh. you’re practically in his lap.

he tosses the remote to the other side of the couch, grabbing your thigh with his free hand and swinging your leg to rest on the other side of his hip. straddling him.

“is this what you wanted?” he teases, his hand resting on the top of your thigh as yours comes to his shoulder.

“i don’t know what you mean,” you feign innocence, but your eyes are locked onto his lips. law rubs his thumb gently on the inside of your wrist. and if he glances down, which he won’t, he would see how close your chest is to his lips. “i wanted the remote.”

“right, so then how did we end up here?” his eyes are trained on your face. the tension is so thick it’s almost tangible. like he could grab onto it and mold it in his hands. he watches as you swallow. your lips part to say something but for once you’re at a loss for words.

“you tell me,” you whisper, leaning forward so that your forehead comes to rest against his. you really are too much. he’s never felt as drawn to anyone as he does you. you’re inescapable. it’s almost annoying except for the fact that it seems as though you want him just as badly.

his hand slides up your thigh until his fingers are wrapped around your hip and his thumb is pressing into the crease where your hip and thigh meet. he hears your sigh stutter out from between your lips. your eyes are closed now and you relax into him. you seat yourself fully into his lap instead of hovering politely like you were a few seconds ago. your breath smells like coffee. another addiction he can’t seem to rid himself of.

you kiss him softly at first. kind of shy. as if you’re testing his resolve. your lips tenderly meet his like you’re trying to share a secret with him, but you can’t quite get it out.

“i think,” he releases your wrist and moves to cradle the side of your neck instead, pulling you in closer, “you should kiss me like you mean it.”

something snaps between you at his words. a string pulled so tightly the strands shred and fray as your lips slot harshly between his. suddenly you’re holding urgency in your hands. you tug at him. your fingers seem to be everywhere all at once. and if he wasn’t as desperate for you, he’d hardly be able to keep up.

your tongue slips between his lips and licks into his mouth. a moan crawls its way up his throat when you grind down on him. your hands are quick where they pop the button on his jeans, far more agile than he expects when they pull the zipper down.

“wait,” he says against your lips as you begin to reach beneath his underwear. he’s surprised by your whine of impatience. amused when you huff an annoyed “i can’t.”

“ok,” he relents with a chuckle, bracing his hands on your hips. “go ahead.”

you kiss him again, sloppier than the last as you finally wrap your fingers around him. “oh, law.” he can’t breathe. not well at least with the way you stroke him. there’s added pressure from the confined space. and his cock is drooling with precum as it smears against your palm.

his hand rises to hold the back of your head, tilting it to deepen the kiss. his fingers tangle in your hair and he groans when you circle his tip as best you can in the tight space.

“lemme taste you,” you mumble out between kisses.

“what?” his mind is mush, his thoughts are broken and nonsensical. it takes him a second too long to process your request. instead you’re slipping off of his lap and sliding down to kneel between his parted legs.

“what’re you doing?” it’s a stupid question. he doesn’t even know why he asked because your fingers are already hooking into his pants and underwear and slowly trying to tug them down.

“what i’ve been dying to do.” you look up at him, pupils lust-blown and gaze hopeful. he lifts his hips just a bit to help you free him. your eyes widen when you see him. hard and reddened and aching. his cock twitches in response. his breath is caught in his chest and his abs are tightened in a way that’s almost painful.

you take him in your hand. your touch is gentle, exploratory. you stroke him slowly but your grip is firm and he’s biting back a groan that threatens to erupt from his chest.

your lips are next. they follow the path of your hand, featherlight as you drag them from base to tip. he can’t tear his eyes away from you. your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip, inadvertently licking his head just barely. but that alone has his hips jumping in your hold.

you conceal a smile. one that he catches a glimpse of before those same lips part and you take him into your mouth. you sigh out a small moan. almost of relief as your eyes drift shut and you start working him with both your mouth and hand. you take your time. spit starts seeping out from the corners of your lips as you continue to take him deeper.

nothing he could have ever imagined comes close to this. your tongue presses against his shaft and you swallow around him. this time he can’t hold back the noise that escapes his mouth. it’s deep and guttural and he watches it wash over you with a distinct shudder.

it only serves to spur you on. you start working him faster. your head bobbing as your hand meets each motion fervently.

he sees your other hand slip between your thighs. he can’t see what you’re doing but the action makes his hips buck and you gag around him.

“hah, shit,” law moans, his face is burning and his skin is so hot yet there’s goosebumps littering his arms. “are you touching yourself?”

“kinda hard not to,” you say, a string of spit connecting you to his dick as you pull away. your eyes are glassy from the tears that line your lashes. when you lean back in your tongue meets him first, licking a stripe along the back of him until his tip is pressed against the flat of your tongue. you look up at him with big wet eyes and he’s starting to lose it. his control.

law’s hand finds its way into your hair again, his fingers curl against your scalp gently, testing your limits. when you don’t make an effort to tell him to stop he balls his hand into a loose fist. he applies just enough pressure to make you whine, and when he tugs on your hair your eyes roll back.

he can’t do it anymore. his resolve crumbles into ashes as you light him on fire. your lips suck his cock back into your mouth. warm and wet and so skilled. he’s nearly envious of any man who’s had you before him. he can’t even stand the thought, especially when your fingers, covered in your own slick come up from between your legs to massage his balls.

“fuck, that’s-,” his words are failing him. law can’t even think with your mouth on him. “fuck, you’re gonna-,”

he’s so close. both of his hands are now practically knotted into your hair, following hopelessly as you continue your onslaught of sucking and licking. you moan around him every time his breath catches in his throat, or whenever his cock twitches against your tongue, or whenever he pulls a little harder on your hair.

it’s positively ridiculous how easily you’re unraveling him. he’s been so pent up, so frustrated, for weeks. law doesn’t need anyone. he’s fine on his own. but he needs you. he craves you in a way that feels dangerously addictive.

your name tumbles off of his tongue clumsily. the syllables disjointed as his orgasm rips down his spine, his voice nothing but crunching gravel. your hand grips his thigh when he comes, your nails scraping against denim as he unloads into your mouth. he doesn’t mean to hold you there. really.

but he can’t help the state that he’s in. that you put him in. he’s nothing but base instinct. something close to a whimper plucks at his vocal chords as you swallow every last drop until there’s nothing left for him to give you.

his back meets the cushion of your sofa again when he finally comes down. when the rush finally dies off and all that’s left is syrupy endorphins shooting through his veins. his breaths leave his mouth in hurried, pathetic puffs.

his vision is blurry but he can still make you out. you look a mess with your lips swollen and wet. your lashes are clumped together with tears. your hair is a nest from where his fingers pulled and twisted.

“i don’t think you realize how sexy you are,” you say, your voice is hoarse and you’re wiping at your lips with your fingers.

law pulls you into his lap again, clutching at your biceps until you follow his wordless request.

“it’s not me,” he murmurs, kissing you once you’re seated. “it’s you.”

his kiss travels to your jaw, open-mouthed. “you make me like this and i couldn’t even tell you why.”

he peppers wet kisses down to your neck, burying his face there as you move to give him more access. you’re so pliant in his grip again, your body just melting into him as he mouthes at your collarbone. he could do this forever. just gripping you wherever he can, tasting wherever you allow him to.

“you’re one to talk,” your voice is barely above a whisper, just wistful interest, “i can’t stop thinking about you. it’s like you’re haunting me.”

he chuckles into your perfumed skin, your words resonating strongly. he does feel haunted by you. your laugh, your wittiness, your body. he’s so ready to take this further. to undress you. to pleasure you in every way he can.

but his phone rings. you groan in annoyance. so he ignores it, deciding it’s much more worth his time to slip the strap of your tank top off your shoulder with his teeth. he likes the way it makes you shiver.

he urges you closer to him with his hand on the small of your back, plastering you to him. his lips dip lower, kissing the top of your breast as you sigh.

“mmm,” you hum, your fingers curling in his t shirt when he bites the tender fat of your chest.

but just as he’s about to venture lower, like he so badly wants, his phone rings again.

“jesus,” he grits out, fishing his phone out of his back pocket.

“don’t answer it,” you complain, all soppy and pitiful and his dick hardens just a bit again.

“it’s the hospital,” he says, knowing he has to answer since they called twice.

“hello.” it’s shachi. one of law’s high risk patients is having some post surgery complications and he has to go in. he’s disappointed to say the least.

“i gotta go,” he says, forehead pressed to your sternum to avoid the look he knows you’re wearing.

“i thought you were off today,” you say, whiny again and he really doesn’t know why your petulance turns him on so much.

“i’m on call.” you pull back to make eye contact with him and you look kind of angry. he physically has to remove you from his lap to keep from kissing you again. so he tosses you onto the seat next to him as you continue to glare in his direction.

“i’m going to scream,” you say, and law laughs. “i’m being serious. if we get interrupted one more time i’m gonna purposely get hit by a car because maybe we’ll finally fuck if i’m in a hospital bed.”

“that’s not funny,” he stands, shaking his head as he tucks himself back into his pants. you attempt to kick at his leg, but he catches your ankle before it makes contact, his hand bunching up the fabric of your cartoon pajama pants.

“are these men’s pants?” his brow furrows because he just noticed them.

“yes,” you yank your ankle back to no avail since law’s grip is strong.

“your ex’s?”

“ew no,” you yank your leg again, “i got them from walmart because they looked comfy.”

he drops your leg and it lands heavily on your couch as he moves to zip up his jeans.

“oh my god, are you jealous?” the delight in your tone doesn’t go over his head, instead it grates over his ears shockingly loud.

“no,” he lies because he honestly doesn’t understand why he even feels this way. he’s getting far too attached to you too quickly.

“oh you so are and if i wasn’t so sexually frustrated i’d totally give you shit for it.” you’re propped up on your elbows, grinning from ear to ear at him. well, at least you’re just as crazy as he is.

“i’m leaving,” he tosses a throw pillow at you and it bounces off your head. your laugh muffled by it, all maniacal and endearing.

“have fun at work,” you taunt, wiggling your fingers goodbye at him as he makes it to your front door.

“have fun alone,” he teases back, knowing exactly what condition he’s leaving you in.

“i’ll try,” you pout, staring at him through your lashes. “but my vibrator doesn’t compare to your mouth.”

he rolls his eyes, but a smirk tugs at his lips anyway. “next time.”

“no, next time you’re fucking me or else i might actually die.”

#ok forgive me for making law a little possessive #I just feel like he’s a little toxic and territorial #and he matches my freak ok?!!#enjoy🫰🏽#shortnspicy🌶️#neighbor!law au #trafalgar law #law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader

165 notes · View notes

paucubarsisimp · 1 day ago

Note

Reader finding out that Pedri sprays her perfume on his pillowcase and bed shirt before away games because he misses her and the smell reminds him of her 🥺

spray of love

pairing: pedri x reader

summary: basically the request

warnings: none!

tagged: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @nngkay, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

it was a busy day at the stadium. the game had just finished, and the team was making their way to the locker room. you had stayed behind a bit to talk to a few of pedri’s teammates, including ferran and gavi, who always found a way to keep things light.

you were chatting with them, laughing about a ridiculous play from the match, when ferran, with that signature mischievous grin, decided to drop a bomb.

“so… have you noticed anything strange about pedri’s clothes when he comes back from away games?” ferran asked, leaning casually against the wall.

you raised an eyebrow, curious. “what do you mean?”

gavi snickered, leaning in to add, “you know how he always smells like you when he gets back? like, every time. his shirt, his pillow… it all smells like your perfume.”

you blinked, a little confused. “wait, really?”

“oh yeah,” ferran said, practically grinning from ear to ear. “the guy sprays your perfume on his pillowcase and shirts before every trip. says it helps him feel like you’re there with him when he’s away.”

your heart did a little flip at the thought, and you stared at the two of them. “are you serious?”

“completely,” gavi replied, now fully laughing. “we noticed it when we went on a trip last month. he kept talking about how your scent was the only thing that made him feel better when he was away. he’s basically obsessed.”

ferran shrugged. “i think it’s sweet, honestly. he’s a little too shy to tell you, but we all know about it.”

you were a little speechless, your mind racing. pedri had been carrying a piece of you with him all this time without you knowing. you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. it was honestly one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for you.

“you’re telling me… my perfume is his good luck charm?” you asked, half-laughing, half-melting inside.

gavi nodded, grinning. “he said it makes him feel like you’re there, even if you’re miles away. it’s adorable.”

ferran teased, “you should definitely give him a little surprise next time. maybe spray extra perfume on his pillow before his next game.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “i think i will. i think i’ll just spray it on everything.”

as you turned to walk toward the locker room to find pedri, gavi called after you. “he’s totally going to get embarrassed when you find out, just so you know.”

“don’t worry, i’ll make sure to make him extra embarrassed,” you replied with a sly smile.

a little while later, you found pedri in the locker room, looking tired but happy after the match. as soon as he saw you, a soft smile spread across his face.

“hey, cariño,” he greeted, pulling you into a warm hug. you hugged him back, but you couldn’t resist the playful grin that tugged at your lips.

“hey, how was the game?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though your mind was still on what ferran and gavi had just shared with you.

“it went well,” he said, pulling back slightly to look at you. “glad to be back home, though.”

you nodded, but instead of answering right away, you stepped back, sniffing the air dramatically.

“hmm,” you said, tapping your chin, “i thought i smelled something familiar.”

pedri furrowed his brows, clearly puzzled. “what do you mean?”

“oh, i don’t know…” you leaned in closer to his shirt, taking a deep breath. “maybe my perfume? you’ve been wearing it a lot lately, haven’t you?”

he froze, his face turning an adorable shade of red. “uh… w-what? i—uh…”

you couldn’t hold it in any longer. you burst out laughing, both at the cute look of embarrassment on his face and the fact that he had been caught. “ferran and gavi told me everything, pedri. you’ve been spraying my perfume on your pillowcase and shirts so you can feel like i’m there with you.”

pedri’s face went even redder as he stammered. “i—I didn’t—gavi and ferran—”

you smiled playfully, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “it’s actually really sweet, you know? i didn’t think you were the type to do something like that.”

pedri’s eyes softened, his nervousness turning into a gentle smile. “only for you, cariño.”

you grinned, brushing your fingers against his chest. “well, next time, i’ll make sure to leave a little extra on your pillow for you.”

he smiled, still a little bashful but clearly touched. “i’d like that.”

and just like that, in the middle of the busy locker room, with the sounds of teammates laughing and celebrating in the background, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you—quiet, intimate, and a little sweeter than before.

don’t forget to leave a request!

#football #fc barcelona #footballer x reader #football imagine #pedri #pedri x reader #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri gonzalez #pedri fanfic #pedri imagine #pedri fluff

122 notes · View notes

karlachismylife · 2 days ago

Note

I am a little scared to write characters with different backgrounds, like Russian characters in the CoD franchise, because I'm afraid a Russian person will see it and be like, "What the fuck is this" and laugh at it maybe 😭 So I have to ask, do you ever find yourself judging fics based on how they portray the characters and the language? Like "this doesn't fit well" or "that's not how it works" type of stuff.. Are there any deal breakers, something you despise in fics, or maybe even advice for writing Russian characters... Thank you in advance, have a great day! 🩵

Hey comrade! This is a good question! And I can totally relate; not just to writing non-Russian characters, but even writing Russians from CoD is intimidating, because they are much older than me and witnessed a lot of historical and cultural changes in the country (even a whole another country if we think that at least Nikolai was born in USSR) that I haven't, and trust me, times haven't stopped being crazy here for the last 30 years or even more, so for me not having witnessed the 90s or being a baby in 2000s is a reason to be scared shitless writing for them, cuz fuck if I know how a person that lived through those times thinks.

All that to say, I think it's completely normal to feel awkward writing characters with backgrounds you're not familiar with, and also it's not a big deal if you get stuff wrong sometimes. I mean, isn't there like a whole bunch of fics about task force 141 and the "tapping out" ceremony that seems to exist in USA army only? People still enjoy them and no one was hurt by it. It's fiction and art, and first and foremost we want you to enjoy creating it; moreover, you are doing it and sharing it for free, so every decent person will always be grateful and supportive, and if anyone is coming at you aggressively for getting something wrong, you can tell them идите нахуй and block them. Mocking an artist that put effort and love into a piece of art is one of the worst things one can do.

(sorry this turned out longer than I expected so I'm hiding it under the cut). CW!politics and heavy themes, somewhat of a rant. I tried to summarize in the end and give a few tips so if you want to skip the rant, go down.

So me and my Paris (@nrdmssgs) came togther to make a list of stuff that might catch our eye or turn us off from reading a fic. Keep in mind that these are just opinions of two people! And I know for a fact that some Russians will not agree with me on some of these. So again, my main tip is not to overstress; we are genuinely glad when Russian characters get recognition despite all the negativity often surrounding them.

First, I'll just say, there are a lot of things that irk us in the games themselves. This goes not just for weird Russian accents or sometimes broken Russian altogether; I personally am very displeased with how freely (and wrongly, lol) they use the term "gulag" (ГУЛАГ) there. First of all, it is not a synonym to prison/camp, it's the name of the government agency that was in charge of running labor camps in USSR, so calling the camp itself this word is simply incorrect; second, it's a big tragic page in history, so throwing it around willy-nilly as some oooh scary prison place where characters in a pew pew game are put and can escape just feels insensitive to me. Generations of people whose countless families were hurt by this system are very much alive right now and it is a raw wound unfortunately, and the government is very much refusing to acknowledge this tragedy in its fullness. So there's that. There's also way too good-looking Makarov that spent who knows how much time in solitary confinement (we have people actively dying in solitary right now in much shorter time), there's Milena with a single bank account (show me one Russian oligarch that doesn't have their money shoved in 100 different places, uh-huh), there's Yegor Novak who is Ukrainan, but speaks Russian (yes, considering that he was born in USSR, he most likely speaks both languages, but erasing his identity is still problematic). So you see, there's a lot of shit to combat in canon already, and it's worth spending time looking into some of these things. Now to the fics!

I will say, I do notice of course when a Russian character is written by a non-Russian person that doesn't know much about Russian language/culture/mentality/history/whatever. And while I understand that it's hard and won't throw a fic away for not getting every little thing right, there is stuff that catches my attention.

The most obvious would be the language, of course. Russian is grammatically much more complicated than English and number one giveaway are mistakes in grammatical cases/genders. Even my good comrade here who knows Russian very well and surprises me with impeccable use of complicated constructions that show they understand some nuanced connotations/usage of words, even they often make mistakes with genders of words. And I can't blame them, for a native English speaker it is a new concept! But this, and also just the sentence structures, incorrect word choice (again, connotations are key) are always jarring in text. Usually I just skim over it and forget in the next sentence, sometimes it does make me laugh, but like. I'm not gonna make fun of anyone for making a mistake in a language, I appreciate when people make effort. But I do encourage everyone to send their Russian text to someone who can proofread it (me, for example, DMs and askbox always open). And if you really want to do it on your own, maybe don't just rely on google translate and such and try to do it with a dictionary and some base-level grammar lessons so you can make sure the endings of the words are alright, at least. Then we can talk about the difference between "blyat'", "blyad'", "blya", "blyadina" and "blyadstvo" :D

Another thing I do always have a quick upset sigh about is when people call borsht a Russian soup. No it's not, it's Ukranian. We do eat it a lot, yes, and it's not inherently bad or wrong to write a Russian character eating/cooking it, but it is nice when people do not add to the appropriation of Ukranian culture that's been going on since for-fucking-ever. Same goes for unfortunately many other cultures that Russian imperialism tried swallowing, so it's always better to google it and check. And just food in general, maybe spend a little time looking up what's the difference between pel'meny and varyeniky or what's okroshka. It's always an amazing experience when someone gets such details right! And an even better experience when you don't erase other Slavic or even Eastern European identities, brushing everyone under "Russian" rug. We are definitely nor a homogenous crowd! Moreover, not everyone born in Russia (and especially USSR) will be Russian. Looking into different ethnicities and nationalities that live here is just interesting if nothing else, but also very very important after centuries of opression.

I also have some non-serious beef with this magical "Siberia" western comrades love writing about, I touched on the topic here. An amazing impression is when people use less broad geographical names or look at less overused places. Did you know that Natalia "Raptor" Orlova is from Kamchatka? It's such a rich region with a lot to tell about!

What I do definitely dislike and it can turn me off from finishing the read at all, is insensitive writing of the characters themselves in terms of their background. It's complicated since I myself am not patriotic at all and I couldn't tell you for the life of me what it means "to be Russian", but it just. You can feel when a person thinks in stereotypes, you know? Like somewhere I saw something, I won't give a direct quote, but the main idea was that Russian/Slavic men all 100% have a breeding kink, and it was worded in a way that kinda felt like, hm, like a bit dehumanizing? Making them out to be these ooga booga barbaic cavemen? And yes, there is a lot to be said about Russian men, much of it very not good, and there is NOTHING wrong with writing a Russian character with a breeding kink, but it felt not nice to read that sentence, so just maybe after you write your piece do some introspection to make sure you weren't dipping into that kind of portrayal out of prejudice. If that's the effect you went for storytelling/your personal enjoyment cuz you like them ooga booga? I won't say a thing. Also the whole vodka/balalaika/ushanka/whatever bullshit, not entirely untrue, again, especially the vodka one, but if you write Nikto drinking kvas (which is non-alcoholic, okay, but still) or baltika beer instead of vodka, you'll make me happier, because it's like a signal "hey look I know a bit more about your culture that a James Bond movie intro showed me once". And in the next scene I'll forgive you even him riding a battle bear with vodka and balalaika in hand.

Coming back to the "barbarization" of Russian men in fics, it irks me a little when people lean too much into the whole Russian bandit/mafia stuff, and there are two characters that suffer from it, but each a little differently, the most. First is Nikolai, and while yes, he is a crime lord of sorts and he has that goddamn golden chain (which most Russian people or at least women find absolutely horrid and oh we do not come near men sporting those irl), I think people often write him... not intelligent enough? Too gruff and rough? He's an intellectual. Well-read, well-spoken, cultured. Level-headed. Whenever people write him too much like a 90s bandit, my heart breaks a little. But then again, I know Russian people that lean into the same set of stereotypes when writing him (but those same people have a lot of other uhhh xhenophobic tendencies that show when talking about other characters so I wouldn't rely on their views).

And then there's probably the biggest pet peeve of mine. Vladimir Makarov. Now, here is a big big disclaimer: YOU CAN WRITE WHATEVER YOU WANT IN YOUR FICS!!! We are already romantacizing military men that none of us (I hope) would approach irl; and if you want to write Makarov or Nikolai or whoever else in a certain way because that's what hits the spot for you, just do it. You want yandere Makarov or mummy issues Nikto or whatever else your heart desires? Go for it. I will be the first one defending your right to write it with a crowbar in hand, even if I myself would never read such a fic. So this here is entirely MY PERSONAL ISSUE. Deal? Deal.

I see it a lot here on tumblr (mostly in x reader fics) and it actually bothers me a lot, but when people write Makarov as this edgelord dark mafia boss. It just misses the point so much. He's an ultra-nationalist, a head of a PMC. They are not mafia, I would honestly argue that they're much worse. I get that they cast a very attractive man to play reboot Makarov and honestly the og Makarov too; I get that villains are the hot thing to be attracted to (sorry if I sound bitter, this is a separate problem I have with fandom and it doesn't matter rn), but Wagner (PMC that Konni is heavily based on) is a real life horror that is still existing even though there have been like structural changes. And they killed a lot of people and had enough power to threaten to overthrow the government so very recently. Rusich (another nationalist military group) is still active and doing horrible things and proudly reporting them online. Smaller far-right pigs are out in the streets doing horrible things. And a lot of it is (not so) subtly encouraged by the government. A lot of it is actively used by the government to gain more power, kill more people, instill more fear. It's a reality we live in, and to me seeing Makarov portrayed with none of that nationalism in sight and with all the allure of a dark romance novel mafia boss is... honestly, painful. Feels like a slap in the face, to be honest, and while I understand that this is the kind of nuance you can't just realize out of nowhere if it's not something you live around and that it's all fiction, it just is really, really hard to read for me. He is not just a complete crazy Joker-type freak, he's not a cool sexy mafia boss, he's a fucking nazi terrorist that can and will be paid by certain people in power to do their dirty work.

In the same route, but luckily I haven't seen it anywhere besides a certain group of Russian CoD fans (which is even more terrifying considering the political implications), but anyone who writes Barkov as a hero/in a positive light - fuck you. Just fuck you. He has interesting/attractive traits as a character, yes, I'm not saying you can't write about him, looking into him from different perspectives, simping for him if you want; but again, just spend some time reading up on recent history and politics that inspired the whole Urzikstan situation0 - and do it all with nuance. Or with a disclaimer that you don't support genocide at least, lol, cuz I'm telling you, I've seen people that made me scared.

However, once again, if you really want exactly that - ignore MY PERSONAL opinion and write it. I am just a gorilla on tumblr, my opinion is not the centre of the world. But what I do consider not a taste issue, but a deeper issue, is writing REAL PMCs and the likes of those in positive light. If anyone with a "Wagner OC" sees this post, just know, I would probably spit in your face irl. Making made-up Makarov go kiss kiss uwu or whatever irks me personally, but I can close the tab and let the author be; I'm sure many people have same opinion about Graves whom I write much more affectionately than some would prefer. But the real shit? That's a hard line.

A quick addition, back coming back to the "barbarization", just portraying Slavic characters being oh so very mesmerized by the !!!wonders of western civilization!!! is funny. There are definitely moments like this, but not as much as you think. Believe it or not, we actually don't live in bear caves.

This got way too long and dark, so let's finish on a lighter note. Russian characters celebrating some very non-Russian holidays (like Thanksgiving or catholic Christmas, even though the second one is not as bad) is funny, when it doesn't have much explanation (like them celebrating it with someone who actually does). "Suka blyat'" is funny, because it's often used where a simple "blyat'" would suffice.

Summarizing, here are general semi-short tips how to write Russian characters:

get your Russian proofread by someone who actually speaks it or at least don't fully rely on google translate. check your cases and genders!

especially if you use cusswords. it's an amazing characterization tool if you manage to use it right, so putting effort into it is always worth it

don't lean into stereotypes. they are partially true, but we kinda can tell when you do that intentionally and with nuance and when you don't know anything beyond them

be mindful about characters' identities and spend a little more time to make sure you are not writing someone else's stuff as "Russian". for the lack of better analogy, it's like mixing all Latin American identities together and writing them all as uhhh Mexican. we don't want to claim others' culture and others most definitely do not want to be erased again

be careful about the "barbarization" of your Slavic characters. sure, someone like Maxim "Minotaur" Bale won't strike you as the most intellectual individual (love you Max), but be intentional with it and don't just make every Slavic man go ooga booga but in Russian

didn't touch much on Russian/Slavic women, but be careful around the whole "money-hungry" stereotype

read up on political shit surrounding your characters. whether you like it or not, Russian people have been shaped by a lot of recent/current political happennings, so missing out even on general understanding of what your character witnessed/what their political views are can ruin a lot of characterization

Russia is fucking huge and does not consist just of Moscow and abstract "Siberia". the amount of cultures, confessions, nature stuff etc in the country is insane. not all Russians are orthodox Christians, but also - many of them are. and also - church was under fire in USSR so this is a separate layer of cultural shit you might want to consider

read Russian literature if you really want to write Russian characters a lot, it'll help you catch a feel of some very specific things like our yearning. it's a very specific thing that if you get right will give me a reading orgasm

same goes for Russian songs. also just don't underestimate the role of music in Russian life!

try to look up Russian "pop culture" (it feels kinda wrong to call it that, but I dunno how else to call it). if you can make your Russian character make an appropriate reference to a movie or say a Russian saying we actually use, it'll be amazing. but it's like level impossible i think so don't give yourself a headache over this, this is just that extra spice that will have me scrolling through your profle suspecting you're actually secretly Russian yourself

watch Soviet/Russian movies to get a better understanding of the vibe, not just what Hollywood portrays!

looking into architecture can be an interesting way to approach a character. we went through many different unique architectual styles, so if you're describing a character's home, it'll be a very cool move to specify what kind of apartment building they live in, for example

but most importantly remember: it's art you do for yourself first and foremost. don't take any of it as a strict guide you'll be punished for straying away from! we REALLY appreciate you writing for these characters, and you showed you put more thought into it than some of Russian comrades I know <3

and if you have specific questions, never be afraid to ask me or anyone else you know can help.

I hope I didn't scare you even more with this all, lol, I genuinely do appreciate you coming to me for advice, it means a lot when people show interest and effort. If you feel comfortable enough, send me/tag me in your fics, I'll be glad to read them and share with comrades that will enjoy them! From Russia with love ❤️❤️❤️🦍

#juju's replies #gorilla in the snow #cod #call of duty #nikolai cod #nikto cod #makarov cod #russian #writing tips #fuck these tags man i'm too tired to be arsed lol

75 notes · View notes

cheol-e-kat · 13 hours ago

Text

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉, 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. 𝒌.𝒎𝒈

pairing: kim mingyu / f!reader

summary: y/n just wants to settle into the place she is subletting from soonyoung, but sadly, the sublet is for her and a roommate whom she hasn’t even met - soonyoung’s mysterious friend ‘mingyu’

but mingyu can’t even be bothered to show up for coffee, much less to pick a couch for their shared space

worse, she has to deal with an asshole at work when all she wants is some peace and quiet and her own bedroom

genre: roommates au, workplace au, unreliable narator

characters: porn actor!mingyu, bartender!mingyu, makeup artist!reader

word count: 2.9k

rating: 18+, mdni, explicit

warnings below cut

warnings: drinking, explicit language, penetrative sex, messy sex, slight noona kink, implied role play

she had given up texting ‘mingyu’ - she hadn’t even met him, so she felt like she could pretend he was barely a real person, especially since he was climbing the list of her worst roommates so far.

he was allegedly a friend of soonyoung’s and meant to be subletting his apartment with her, but so far, she’d literally seen nor heard from him. she was starting to think he was soonyoung’s alter ego, à la fight club.

but she really couldn’t be bothered to keep trying his mobile when she had work to do - a job she had agreed to take only after her friend begged her. she wasn’t really one for being on set for porn films, especially when it was crowded and there were so many dicks swinging freely. she generally worked on set for magazines where the dicks were at least covered to some degree or being shown off tastefully.

from what she could gather, it was a giant casting call - there were ‘stars’ and hopefuls all lining up to get photos taken, audition, and even to be filmed in a single day. it seemed more based on the fact that the location was only rented for two days than anything else.

she had been there for hours - her feet were tired - she was tired. and the guy in her chair was obviously tired since he kept nodding off.

she had glanced at the sheet he brought along - a short description of what needed doing. for him, they wanted a ‘dewy’ look with a very ‘rosy’ cock. she had seen ‘wet’ looks, and ‘grunge’ looks, but ‘dewy’ was certainly new. she wondered who picked these adjectives.

initially, she hoped to work around the fact that he was tired, but she finally gave him a gentle poke in the cheek. “hey, sleeping beauty, can you just sit up a bit for me?” she asked, trying to be gentle.

he sat up, shooting her an annoyed look as he did. she set about trying to capture ‘dewy.’ but he slumped again and caused her to streak foundation across his face.

she wanted to scream.

she shook his arm. “hey - seriously, i need you to sit up for this,” she said sternly as she started to clean up her mistake and try to salvage things within her timeframe.

he apparently used the time she was correcting things to stew because when she was kneeling down to attempt this whole ‘rosy’ cock business, he muttered something about her just being a makeup artist.

she shot him a sharp look. “right, i’m just the one in charge of making you and your cock look as good as possible on film so that maybe you get this job - so completely pointless, right?”

she rolled her eyes, wondering where some random guy at a casting call for ‘big dicks 19’ got off thinking he had any business commenting on anything she did. even if he was hot. and had a nice dick.

she had dealt with plenty of assholes and was in no mood. she was quick finishing, using a bit of glitter spray in strategic spots to highlight his natural build - she wasn’t going to half-ass anything just because he was a cunt. and then she was done and waving him along to whoever else he wanted to be an ass to that day.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

and after working her magic on what felt like a million sweaty bodies, she got to pack up and go home. she had the only key to the apartment right now. she hadn’t had the chance to put her bed together or really unpack, even - but she happily flopped on her makeshift bed, aka her mattress on the floor. she took a quick nap before waking up, ordering some dinner, and taking a fast shower while she waited for food to arrive.

she didn’t bother trying to catch up with mingyu again. she wasn’t that worried, especially since he was already paying his half of things. for all she cared, he could never move in - that would suit her just fine.

she did call soonyoung, though, to let him know his friend was still a no-show.

soonyoung had hummed, “i mean, i know where to find him - i would have thought he would have shown up by now - i know he hates his current roommate.” he sounded perplexed.

“i mean, i don’t hate having the place to myself,” she said with a laugh.

he sighed. “fair, but i’m leaving in a few days - you two should at least meet before i’m out of the country.” she could hear the not-so-subtle suggestion in his voice.

“i guess send me an address,” she groaned.

she had had no plans of going out. in fact, she had planned to enjoy being totally alone in a gorgeous apartment that she was so far only paying half the rent of.

instead, she was getting dressed for some bar - she had looked it up. there wasn’t a dress code, but it was on the fashionable side. she felt like she had an outfit that would work, actually - insanely high-waisted trousers, cute bralette, vintage leather jacket, platform heels, and chunky earrings.

she had maybe been rewatching killing eve and channeling the feels she had for villanelle’s wardrobe. she slicked her hair back a bit and was ready to meet her mysterioso roommate.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

she grabbed a cab and met soonyoung outside the bar. it had a hole-in-the-wall vibe, except for the fact that she noticed several people she had worked with, as in people who got in front of the camera. but soonyoung seemed to know how to skip the line, opting for going in through the backdoor.

inside, it was really busy and definitely cramped. it was poorly lit, as any good bar should be, and there was the warmth that came from too many people in too small a space. a girl was walking around offering to take polaroids - a cute touch. they managed to order drinks before anything.

she sighed, watching people wander by, flashing brilliant smiles as they went off to dance or whatever else one might get up to in a bathroom.

after two drinks and the day she had had, she was pulling soonyoung away from a conversation to ask where mingyu was in the crush of people around them. it was why she was there, after all.

“which one is he?” she all but shouted her question.

he glanced around and finally oriented himself enough to point towards the bar. “he’s the tall one with black hair and no tattoos.”

she glanced towards the bar and groaned at what felt like a sea of people separating her from it. she thought soonyoung was going to introduce them, but he was engrossed in catching up with a friend.

she was left to make her way through the crowd - to her, it was like taking the train, she leaned with the crowd so she didn’t get crushed by it.

and when she finally made it to the bar, she was relieved that there was only one tall guy with black hair and no tattoos. but when she made eye contact with him, her mood dropped through the floor.

mr. dewy-skin-rosy-cock.

he seemed to make the same connection, flushing and deftly swapping positions behind the bar with one of the other bartenders. which only worked to irk her. she might have been in shock, but to see him actively avoid her only worked to renew her irritation.

once again, she wondered, who the fuck was he? slinking away like some ridiculous little boy who had gotten caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

she was quick to glance around for something to get his attention. but not seeing anything fitting, she fished one of the very perfect oversized ice cubes out of her drink and threw it.

she watched it fly through the air, almost in slow motion. she bit her lip gently, knowing it would hit him - just not knowing how perfectly.

it hit him squarely in the back of the neck, just above his shirt collar.

she almost giggled at how good of a shot it was. instead, she quickly glanced down at her drink, stirring it innocently, before he had time to whip around and make eye contact with her.

she sipped her drink before slowly looking up to see him staring at her, a look of complete disbelief coloring his face.

his disbelief was replaced almost immediately. he looked like he possibly wanted to kill her. she smiled and gave a small wave, pointing to her drink for a refill.

it wasn’t like he could prove she had thrown the ice cube.

he stalked over, his eyes signaling rage despite his customer service smile.

and before he could even ask what her drink was or reprimand her, she was leaning across the bar and introducing herself.

“i’m y/n - you’re new roommate,” she held out her hand in greeting, offering her best smile.

she was sure she could see his soul briefly leave his body at the realization.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

she knew mingyu watched her sitting at the end of the bar.

it was cute, though, that he kept refilling her drink. maybe a bit annoying that he seemed to water it down more and more. she just ordered a second one to counter it.

she hung around, glad for her late nap she had taken. she was in the perfect mood to flirt with the other bartender, the one with tattoos and the aussie accent, especially as the crowd started to thin and he wasn’t as busy.

he didn’t water down her drinks like some mother hen.

and when she offered to show him a trick, he was game.

“bet,” he said with a laugh.

“bet what, though?” she asked cutely. “i know i can do it.”

he shook his head, “naur, love, i don’t believe you - you can’t tie a cherry stem with your tongue,” he watched her, his gorgeous eyes taking her in.

she nodded. “but i can.”

she smiled and popped the maraschino cherry between her lips, eating the fruit and holding onto the stem. he watched her, appraising the situation.

“instead of a bet, what if i get a prize for doing it?” she whispered teasingly - she was loving his accent - she could only guess he would dick her down like there was no tomorrow. his black tshirt and jeans didn’t leave much to the imagination.

she watched the cute smile that flitted across his lips, “yeah, love, anything you want.” he whispered, his voice low and sweet.

she was certain his words went straight to her pussy. still, she popped the cherry stem into her mouth and, after a few seconds of work, stuck her tongue out, the little knotted stem sitting perfectly on the tip of her tongue.

“no way,” he whispered, laughing softly, genuinely surprised.

she laughed and held it out to him, “aren’t you glad you didn’t bet?”

he smiled, giving a soft nod. “impressive,” he whispered, taking the knotted stem.

he glanced up at her and started to say something.

but mingyu stepped in.

“hey, can you cash out the tab at the other end? it’s yours,” he said flatly.

she pointedly watched him walk away before finally glancing at mingyu.

“go home,” he muttered.

she leaned on her hand, “why? i’m having fun.”

he was wiping the bar and shaking his head, “you’re just sticking around to bother me.”

“and why would i do that? i barely know you,” she pouted.

he shook his head again, “look, i’m sorry about earlier”—

“yesterday now, i think,” she interrupted.

he glared, “whatever,” he said in exasperation, “i’m sorry - i was tired and in a bad mood. i shouldn’t have been rude.”

“so you’re trying to cock block me because you’re sorry?” she was confused.

but she saw the flush in his face.

no, she smiled to herself, he was cock blocking her because he thought she was cute. so fucking cute, she thought.

“and what are you going to give me if i’m a good little girl and go home?”

he shook his head. “different game,” he muttered.

she laughed softly, “tired of that one after today?”

he nodded, barely glancing up from what he was doing.

she put her hands flat on the bar, leaning a bit closer. “you’re so beautiful,” she whispered.

she could see the way red crept back into his cheeks. she smiled softly, just a gentle curling of her lips, knowing she hit the right note.

she leaned closer, her fingertips brushing his, “want me to go home and wait for you, gorgeous boy?” she bit her lip gently, her voice syrupy, “so i can take care of you after your long day, baby.”

she watched the tiny nod he gave her.

“closer,” he responded, his voice barely audible. he kept his gaze trained on the bar.

she smiled. “you know where i am, at least.” she stood up to leave - she had already closed her tab.

she didn’t mind leaving. she was glad to walk outside and feel the rush of fresh air. she had no clue when she would see him.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

it was nice to be home again. even if she had fun, she was always tired after staying up past her bedtime.

she took another shower and cleaned her face and teeth. she had dressed in a tshirt and underwear - just in time for her to hear a soft knock on the door. she grabbed an oversized cardigan and went to open the door.

it was the first time she could genuinely look at him without the rush of anyone else’s schedule or their existence bothering her. she tilted her head, watching him. it wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed how he looked the day before - it’s that she had been noticing him in a way that she needed to for work - what to highlight, what to conceal (barely anything).

but now she could see that he looked tired. there was no customer service smile. just eyelids growing heavy, even as he was standing. she trailed her fingers gently along the door until she reached the handle and turned it slowly, quietly.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“did you take the bigger room?”

she glanced up from her phone, “maybe we can share,” she offered, sitting up. she watched him towel off - she smiled at the lazy way he let the towel drop to the ground. something about seeing him so easily expose himself was - she couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped her lips.

she leaned back on the bed, opening her legs wide for him, dragging her fingers along her already slick pussy lips. “come here,” she whispered.

she bit her lip, watching him walk closer and drop to the bed. she grinned when he caught her thighs and pulled her down to him.

he kissed her more softly than she expected. she thought he would be urgent and hungry. but he was soft and needy.

when he finally pulled away, sighing softly, “sorry, i didn’t text sooner.”

he smiled as he said it. she shook her head, “liar.”

“but now i get you like this - all to myself - just you and me and your gorgeous cunt,” he teased.

she hadn’t known who he was the day before when she had given him a soft slap for being a bitch - she had loved the way he whined and pouted.

they were already supposed to meet.

she could feel his cock teasing her open. she pushed his shoulder. “lie back, let me fuck you.”

she straddled his hips and eased back slowly on his dick, moaning as she sank down, feeling his hands covering and squeezing her tits. her head dropped to the side - she knew she had done what she wanted, taking all of him.

her head swam. his dick was somewhere deep in her stomach, she was certain. and when she started to slowly move, she heard his soft moans - his cute whining. she reached down, tracing her finger along his lips. “so perfect,” she smiled, pressing her fingers into his mouth. riding him slowly while he licked and sucked her fingers was, fuck, she almost considered edging herself to make it last. she pulled her fingers away from him, loving that he whimpered for her.

she picked up her pace, though, riding him faster. bouncing on him - his fingers digging into her hips, leaving red marks.

“yes, noona, just like that - make me come,” he gasped softly as she started fucking him more erratically, wanting them to both come.

she was breathless, “good, baby?”

he nodded, “harder,” he rasped.

she groaned, reaching for the wall behind him for leverage, “such a fucking brat,” she groaned, even as her thighs were starting to burn.

but then she felt it - she felt him - the heat of him filling her, just as she dropped down completely, her pussy clenching around him as she came too.

and that was when he suddenly put her on her back, picking her thighs up, fucking into her fast and desperately.

“come again,” he rasped, looking at her like he was demanding it - demanding that she come for him.

he pounded into her until suddenly she was coming - she was coming. waves and waves of pleasure that were so delicious, she could practically taste it. and the lewd sounds coming from her pussy was the most perfect sound.

he fell against her. she hugged him and petted him.

“so perfect, baby,” she whispered.

a/n: if you don't play bingo with me i have to make my own and it is idk kind of fun ...smhhhhhh sighhhhhhhhhh - i'm lying btw...

♡ kat

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, leave a comment

[ full master list ]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐞_𝐤𝐚𝐭

teasers: mingyuAI [ teaser i ] |୨୧| all but break your heart

drabbles: summer coworker | #kat_drabbles

angst: no blueberries master list (college au)

fluff: waiting to feel foolish (college au) |୨୧| never happened before (magical realism au) |୨୧| hoodies & candy (college au) |୨୧| no strings (magical realm au) [pt. 1]

[ taglist ] ☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @halavia [e - drab/one/multi] ☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎ @ninigyuuu [m - e, b.f. priv] ☁︎ @starlit-rin [m - one/multi, b.f.non] ☁︎

120 notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 3 days ago

Note

Aizen from bleach with either the romance prompt or unrequited love prompt. Take care of yourself ❤️❤️❤️

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, manipulation, threats, blackmailing, isolation, abduction

Valentine's Day Special: Unrequited Love Prompt

It was cold for you could feel goosebumps appearing all over your skin. It was dark for you couldn't make out the figures avoiding the circle of light within the room. It was unnerving for you had a bad feeling within your guts, telling you that something was about to go terribly wrong.

"I apologise for the unpleasant transportation. I had instructed for you to be brought to me with gentler methods... Clearly Yammy has gotten ahead of himself."

His voice was as even as ever, not revealing any emotion that he might have felt upon gazing upon your battered and bloody form kneeling on the pristine floor. Perched on the throne like a true king, Aizen looked as composed and in control as he had been when he had abandoned Soul Society. As his voice traveled through the otherwise empty room, you spotted from the corner of your eyes a large shadow cowering momentarily as if the words had cut him directly.

You couldn't help but throw a scorching glare into the same direction even though you doubted that it would have much of an effect. After all you were the least person in this room to be feared for the man holding all the strings sat right in front of you. Aizen did not give Yammy that much attention as you did. That ignorance was perhaps much more terrible than any open disdain though you couldn't tell if there would be any consequences for the Arrancar later.

"It has been quite some time since we have last seen each other. Welcome, (y/n)-san."

It was a familiar courteous tone that you were very much used to from older times. From simpler times. Unfortunately nothing ever was as simple as it looked. The seemingly kind-hearted and calm captain from the past was still recognisable in the man who stood up from his throne to approach you. Yet now you knew that it was merely a shallow layer of his that he had put on for centuries all for the day where he would deceive everyone.

"Hoping to make me all sentimental by using that polite tone of yours, Aizen? Because it is not going to work."

Sass and sarcasm was all that you had at the moment, a smirk on your face. Not genuine at all but the only expression you found yourself able to pull at the moment.

His steps didn't falter at all. It would obviously take more to shake him up and you knew well enough that you weren't the right person to do that. What threat could you possibly pose after all?

"Is that any way to adress a Captain? Especially your Captain?"

A subtle twitch upwards from the corner of his mouth, giving it away to you that he was finding your behavior rather entertaining. Was he indulging for the sake of some nostalgia he still held for the past? You doubted it.

"You're not a Captain anymore and for that I don't owe you any respect. The only thing you are is a traitor. I'll treat you as one."

One of your hands came to land on the handle of your sword, your eyes managing to keep the contact with his. With your thumb you unsheathed your Zanpakuto slightly. In the corner of your eye you could see a few shadows mimicking your gesture, unsheathing their own blades. Aizen on the other hand didn't even flinch. In fact he didn't even direct his gaze to your weapon, holding eye contact with an opressing composure.

"You are not the type to wage a fight you're not confident you can win. You will not draw your Zanpakuto nor will you use your Shikai. Risking your life and dying in a fight you know you are going to lose is not your way."

Your eyes narrowed as his words echoed through the room. You could feel the embarrassment when you sensed how the Arrancar around you relaxed, trusting his word over your possible actions. There was half a though where you considered going against his words yet you knew that you had nothing to gain from it besides a petty show of rebellion. You were helplessly outnumbered by people several times stronger than you were. So you complied and did exactly like he had predicted, only able to give him a persistent stare.

There was no triumph nor any smugness to be found in his eyes. His observation of you was a mere fact that he knew to be true so why would he be pleased by something he already knew would happen?

"Why am I here, Aizen?"

"Straight to the point as always. You haven't changed one bit."

You didn't know if you had imagined the tiniest hint of fondness in his last sentence. Your ears deceiving you seemed like the more likely option. Learning from the aftermath of Rukia's planned execution had taught you to not believe anything that left his lips. For every word was only another lie. What was your purpose here? Was he planning to get valuable information out of you?

"You're thinking that I took you to find out what Soul Society has been planning in my absence."

Was he reading your mind? Or was it just a logical conclusion to be drawn from your perspective? You were hoping for the latter.

"Believe me when I tell you that I have no such small-minded intentions. What I have is a vision. A vision I intend to fulfill. You are also a part it. That's why I have brought you here."

Those words had you immediately tensing up. Vision? What vision? What was he planning to do? As Aizen stood before you, you realised just how little you actually knew about a man you had served under for years. For him you were an open book. For you he was nothing but an illusion you couldn't grasp. One thing wouldn't change though.

"I'm not going to help you. I don't know what you exactly plan to do with me but I will never participate in whatever it is you're doing."

How dare he to even suggest this to you after everything that he had done? He didn't care about the chaos that had ensued. He didn't care about Momo who had gone into shock ever since he had revealed his true intentions. Aizen didn't care about anything as long as he reached his vision. You could never understand that. You didn't want to either.

It was a small and insignificant outburst yet an outburst that had only served his personal entertainment. Somewhere in the background you could hear someone snickering. Your attention was forced on Aizen when two of his fingers reached under your chin, guiding your head to look up.

“No? I don’t recall offering you a choice.”

Unable to stay still in his display of power, you shook your head and forced him to withdraw his hand. Your dignity was the only thing you had right now and you wouldn't let yourself be belittled or humiliated by him or any of the Arrancar working for him.

"However, you have mistaken my intentions. I do not require your assistance. Your purpose to me is a different one."

Purposefully the answer was formed as vague as it was, leaving your head buzzing with guesses as Aizen turned away from you. Whatever his task had been, he seemed to have finished it for now. You clearly knew that this wouldn't be the last you would see of him. You didn't call after him, didn't ask him to specify what he was planning to do with you. Neither did you want to prolong being around him nor did you want to awake any impression of being desperate.

Your best choice and only choice right now was to comply. Though you had to wonder just how much you might just play into his hands by doing so.

#yandere x reader #yandere bleach #bleach x reader #yandere aizen #yandere aizen sosuke #aizen x reader #aizen sosuke x reader

57 notes · View notes

impala-dreamer · 1 day ago

Text

Rivers & Roads Away

A Tracker Story

Russell Shaw x Reader

2,345 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Romance and Leaving

For @jacklesversebingo 2024 “By the way, I’m not wearing any underwear”

If you haven't seen the show, this is still good. Just imagine a sexy drifter... lol

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

At first, he was joking. It was just something people said when things were becoming too intense, when chemicals were mixing and alcohol was flowing. When nerves were high and passion more so. But, after a few hours, she knew he was right: he would, in fact, be the death of her. Or at the very least, he’d haunt her dreams for the rest of her life.

She knew absolutely nothing about him beyond his name and the striking beauty of his green eyes. She didn’t know where he was from or where he was going; didn’t ask about his family, what he did for money, or whether there was a Mrs. Shaw. She assumed there wasn’t, as he didn’t seem the type to be bothered with anything so traditional as wedding vows or staying in one place for too long.

Knowing so little about the man in her bed wasn't unusual for her. She’d had plenty of casual affairs that were little more than drunken tangos and awkward goodbyes. But this was different. This wasn’t just a roll in the hay and a number jotted down on a bar napkin. He was different. She felt different with him.

Four days ago, she’d caught his eye while pushing through an unusually dense Thursday night bar crowd. Sweating from the heat, mascara smudged, and hair a mess, she fought her way to the counter and waved at the bartender, who ignored her.

“He’s an idiot,” Russell commented behind his beer. The long neck amber bottle was perched on the edge of his plump bottom lip and he spoke with a road-weary voice.

Y/N turned to see him take a sip and stared a moment too long as he tipped his head back for a deep swallow. His hair was long, skirting the collar of his worn canvas jacket, his throat was covered in a slowly graying dark beard, and his lashes were as long as she’d ever seen. It was hard to pry her eyes away but she managed to contain herself.

“Excuse me?”

He set the beer down and hunched over a bit as he settled back into place. He didn’t look over at her but said again, “He’s an idiot.”

Intrigued, Y/N moved a bit closer. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Green eyes turned to her and she swore they were flecked with gold.

“Only an idiot would ignore a gorgeous woman like you.”

Trying to hide her blushing smile was harder than usual as his eyes traipsed down her body. She bit down into her bottom lip and tried to play it cool.

“Well now I know you’re not from around here,” she said, forcing herself to turn away from his gaze and attempt to flag down the bartender once more.

“Why’s that?”

She laughed and looked back at him over her shoulder. “No townie has made me blush in forever.”

Russell nodded and let out a short laugh. “Shame,” he teased, lifting the bottle to his lips. “They’re missin’ out on quite a sight.”

Ignored again by the barkeep, Y/N gave up and turned to the gorgeous stranger. She rested her elbow on the sticky bartop and leaned against the old wood, her hip popped and curves on display should he desire a peek. Of course, he did, and she felt every flicker of his eyes as they savored her offering.

“You wanna keep hitting on me or you gonna buy me a drink already?” she asked, puckering her painted lips just enough to give him dangerous ideas.

Russel licked his lip and grinned. “Can’t I do both?”

The wet sheen on his mouth was captivating.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, “I still don’t have a drink…”

He held her gaze for a moment, digging deep into her eyes and holding her hostage. When his mouth tweaked in a sly half-smile, she knew she was taking him home.

Russell stood up and snapped twice toward the bartender who, amazingly, came running.

“Another beer for me,” he said, “and…”

Y/N ignored the bartender and kept her focus on Russell. “Whiskey, Neat.”

He smiled and nodded in approval. “Woman after my own heart.”

She shrugged. “I’m not fooling around.”

He sucked in a quick breath as if she’d knocked him off balance. “And a whiskey for the lady.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course…”

They drank a toast to strangers and Y/N downed her whiskey in a seasoned swallow.

Impressed, Russell leaned close. “Wow. You really aren’t fooling around are you?”

Y/N met him halfway, close enough to smell the beer on his breath and the Old Spice on his throat. “Never.”

He pursed his lips and tiny dimples popped above his mouth, nearly melting her right there.

“Oh, and by the way,” she whispered, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Russell smirked. “That’s funny. Neither am I.”

The weekend flew by too quickly.

Not an inch of her small apartment was left unbaptized by their lovemaking. They had all but destroyed her bedroom, christened the sofa, and used up all the hot water more than once. Much to her dismay, Y/N also found out that despite her pornographic fantasies, the kitchen counter was no place to fuck.

That bruise would stick around longer than he would.

Sunday night found Y/N catching her breath by the single bedroom window, looking out on the rainy street with a contented smile. She hadn’t felt so good in forever. Russell felt strangely safe for being a stranger, and she’d loved every second in his arms. She sighed softly and traced a raindrop with her finger, following its path down the glass to the paint-chipped sill.

“You ever race them?”

She smiled wider. “Race them?”

Fresh from a shower, Russell perched on the edge of the messy bed and dragged his boots from beneath.

“My brother and I used to do that as kids,” he said with a little laugh. “He picked one drop, I picked another, and… well, I always won.”

Y/N turned away from the rain and leaned against the window frame, watching as he tugged on his left boot. “I’m sure you did.”

Damp hair fell into his eyes as he bent to lace his shoe and Y/N felt a strong desire to tug it through her fingers again. While the fantasy was perfect, reality was hitting her hard.

“You going somewhere?” she asked, pushing off of the wall to close some of the space between them.

Without looking up, Russell laced the other boot with a practiced blur of long fingers. “Got some shit to take care of.”

She knew it wasn’t going to last forever, that their tryst was just that: a passing moment in time. And yet, it stung a little bit to hear that he was leaving so soon.

Trying to sound unphased and flirtatious, she sucked her teeth and moved in closer. “You coming back?”

Russell took a deep breath and let it out in a full-body sigh. His broad shoulders fell and his chest sank. Sitting up, he rubbed his palms down over his jeans and gave her a half smile. “Will you hate me if I say I don’t know?”

Y/N swallowed hard and took a final step. Their legs touched and she pushed her knee between his. The motion was far from unwanted and Russell’s hands were drawn to her, slowly sliding up her naked thigh.

“Yes,” she replied, staring down at him with a hunger he’d grown to love. “Forever.”

As his hand moved to her waist, she spread her legs and sank down, straddling his left thigh. The thick muscle tensed beneath her and she rocked her hips gently. Russell’s eyes glazed over as he stared at her, feeling her pussy nearly dripping through his jeans.

It was going to be hard to leave, but the road was calling him. The clock was ticking.

She kissed him gently. A soft, open-mouthed kiss that shut his eyes and drew his hands higher, tugged his arms around her. She was so warm, so fucking soft and delicious he was losing himself again.

He hadn’t meant to stay all weekend, but she was too tempting. It was too comfortable to be with her, wasting away the days in bed and toying with each other’s pleasure. She was incredible.

“Will you think of me every night for the rest of your life?” she whispered, pushing a delicate hand through his long hair. She pulled just enough to raise his chin and send a tingle down his spine.

He sucked in a quick breath and nodded. “Yes,” he confessed, echoing her truthfully. “Forever.”

Her kiss deepened and he gave in. A few more hours wouldn’t hurt.

Y/N gasped when he jerked his knee upwards, pushing his thigh against her pussy. She bit down on his plump bottom lip, tugging at it as she pulled back.

“Don’t go yet,” she breathed, rolling her body against him. Her breasts smashed into his chest and her softness drove him wild.

Russell’s strong arms curled around her; his right hand braced the back of her head. He licked into her mouth and savored the sweet moan she let loose.

“Not yet,” he agreed, leaving the rivers and roads to await his return.

She smiled against his lips and shifted in his lap, tossing her leg over his other leg to ride him properly. He hissed at the pressure she was encouraging as his cock grew against the hard zipper. She rubbed her panty-covered sex against the bulge and his fingers tightened in her hair; his blunt nails dug into her hip.

“Want you one more time,” he growled, firm hands roaming her body for the final time, mapping her curves in his mind.

“Just once more,” she teased as she leaned back and shoved at his chest, knocking him over.

He sank into the blankets and she attacked, climbing over him and kissing her way across his freckled face. She sucked on his ear and he palmed her tits. She bit down gently on his throat and he pushed a hand between her legs. He tapped her pulsing clit with his middle finger and she sat up, damn near ready to explode. In a fluid motion, she pulled her shirt away and he stared up in awe. She ran her hands down her chest, plucked at her nipples, chewed her lip as she held his gaze.

It was enough to shatter him.

Russell shot up suddenly and held her tight as he flipped over, pinning her to the bed. She laughed at the rush of fear and arousal shooting through her system. Before she could settle, he was there, forcing his hot tongue between her lips, distracting her while he tugged his jeans open and kicked them down. They hung from his ankles, stuck around his tall boots.

Y/N tugged at his hair again, pulled hard enough to earn a deep-throated moan that vibrated into her. Aching, she spread her legs around him and looked up into his emerald eyes, wanting the moment to last forever and needing him to move all the same. She let out a breath that he stole with a kiss, closed her eyes as his long lashes brushed against her cheek, smiled as his hair swept over her forehead. He was beautiful, his touch was divine, and he was leaving too soon.

They both held their breath as he tore aside her thin panties, soaking in the delicious anticipation. He nudged the tip of his cock against her wet lips and every drop of blood in his body surged down to fill him up. The ache was instant and incredible. He rocked his hips gently and pushed inside only an inch, watching the minute changes that played across her face. She was gorgeous, his damned-near perfect match, and he didn’t want to leave.

“Stop teasing me,” she whispered, craning her neck to chase his lips.

Grinning, he let her have a quick taste before pushing in fully. Her jaw dropped in a silent, pleasured moan and he licked at her tongue, pulling her back for a moment as he settled into her warmth.

“You’re amazing,” he said, shifting to lock his arms aside her head on the bed. “So fucking good.”

Her pussy tightened around him, swallowing him just as tightly and as perfectly as her mouth had just hours before. His eyes closed and he set a pace, slowly driving their pleasure higher. He wanted to make it last, wanted to make her whimper one more time.

He loved the sound she made just before the filthy noises broke free, before she cursed and clawed at his shoulders. It was a clipped, hard whine in the back of her throat, a frustrated grunt that meant she was holding everything back, afraid to be anything but ladylike and modest.

It drove him wild when she let go.

Y/N clung to his big arms, adoring the flex of his biceps and the look of concentration on his handsome face. The lines by his eyes deepened; his lips pursed beneath his beard. She held back, waiting for the deep snap of his hips that told her he was lost in the feeling, in her.

She loved the glazed look in his eyes when he finally sank into it.

It was amazing how they’d only known each other for a short while and yet they knew every inch, every dip and freckle, every sensitive spot.

It was so easy between them and yet the goodbye was so hard.

She held onto him a little too long.

He kissed her a little too hard.

She made him promise to call if he ever made his way back to town.

He swore she was the best weekend of his life.

The road was calling and Russell answered, watching in the rearview until her image was a faded shape he’d never forget.

Taillights disappeared and Y/N knew she’d never see him again except in her dreams.

2025 Tag List:

@1313diana @alwaystiredandconfused @bettystonewell @caplanbuckybarnes @cevenasdove-baby

@cosicas-cuquis

@Deans-spinster-witch @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @illicithallways

@impala67rollingthroughtown @Jackles010378 @jtink27 @justwhisperingfantasies @k-slla

@luvr4miya @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @mistressofallthingsgeeky @Mxtansy

@nightxcreature @peytongoose @shadyloveobject @somebrokeartstudent @the-wounded-healer05

@zepskies

Add Yourself To The List

#tracker fanfiction #russell shaw #russell shaw x reader #jacklesversebingo24

43 notes · View notes

smallestapplin · 1 day ago

Note

If Blades is the one to ask his s/o if they’d still love him if he was a worm…

How would Chase, Heatwave, and Boulder react to their s/o (human) asking the same question to them?

I love shit like this so much, I put my bussy into this

No warnings! Just fluff and sillies.

Chase

You know how your boyfriend is, you should’ve known a question like this would’ve caused some confusion but that was the point, you live for keeping this mech on his pedes. You’re sat so cute in his lap as he reads a manual, ensuring he knows how a new device the Burns got works. You can’t help but look up at him, loving how focused he looks.

Always so cute in your eyes.

“Hey, Chase, I have a question if you don’t mind me asking.”

You love how in an instant he places the book down on his knee to look at you, giving you his undivided attention.

“I do not mind, please, ask away. I am happy to be of service.”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You try not to laugh as he blinks rapidly as if trying to process what you just asked of him.

“Humans can turn into worms?” He asks in turn, bewildered at the concept or mere thought.

You snort at how shocked he sounds, “No, but if I did become one, would you still love me?”

“Do humans spontaneously get turned into worms, is this a realy threat to your kind that I was not aware of? Can worms even feel that level of emotions? I don’t recall worms having high intellegic to experience such complex emotions. Ah, hold on, dear.”

Chase picks you up and sets you down on the couch along with his manual, and walks over to the bookshelf as he begins to look for books about worms and animals in general.

“Chase, just a simple yes or no works.”

“But worms cannot feel what I feel for you, that and from this book my guess would be correct. In fact would you be able to feel as a worm, or would this be a worm with the brain module of you inside it? Or is it that when you turn into a worm, you fully become a worm and lose yourself in the process?”

Chase keeps rambling asking question after question that you can’t seem to keep up with as he thinks of every last possible scenario, and the different combination, and yet asking them so quickly you don’t even get a chance to ask them. You can only watch as he starts pacing the room as he talks unable to stay still for too long.

You smile, realizing this was your own doing, you set yourself up for this fate and now you must listen to him learn more about worms and ask questions about you being a worm in real time.

He’s so cute though.

You might(will) kiss him after he’s done rambling.

Boulder

Gardening with your big Cybertronian beloved on such a nice day was something you’d never grow tired of, you love telling him about the flowers or vegetables you’ve planted, love how gentle he is with them and helps you moving the bigger stuff. Boulder is a dream, especially as you two sit under a big tree, taking in the nice spring day.

You sit on top of his shoulder leaning against his helm as he enjoys the sight of butterflies and bees moving peacefully around your flowers, occasionally only being broken up but his chuckles as you place a kiss to his cheek. Boulder could get use to life being like this, calm and domestic with you, it makes him wonder if a human and cybertronian can spark bond, he wouldn’t mind this forever.

“Hey, Boulder?”

“Yes, my sweetpea?’

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

You lean away from hos helm to look at him, and to at least allow him to look at you too without disturbing you. Boulder’s optics widen a bit, a worm? Why would you ever be a worm? He’s never heard of humans turning into such a thing, and the idea of anything bad happening to you worries him to his core, but at the end of the day it would still be you, right?

Boulder smiles, carefully raising his servos to grab a hold of you and hold you up in front of him, his orange optics soften at the pure sight of you before he presses a kiss to your face, his engine rumbling softly as you start laughing at how much it tickles.

“I would find the best sized tank for you, get you the best soil I could find and fill it up with so many good and nutritious plants for you, find you little leaves and make your enclosure so pretty for you.” Boulder nuzzles his face against your stomach, smile stretching across his dermas.

“I’d make sure you soil is nice and clean every day, make sure you have plenty of water and natural sunlight when it gets too much. You’d be my little wormy.”

You can’t help but place your hands on his cheeks and lavish his face plate in all the kisses you could possibly give him, making the large mech giggle sweetly under all your affection. He holds you close, snuggly against his chassis. Boulder never wants anything to happen to you, he couldn’t live with himself if you were ever hurt.

But that wouldn’t stop him from doing everything in his power to make you comfortable, to tend to you, to love you even then, nothing could change how his spark felt for you.

Though don’t be surprised when his pet name for you goes from ‘sweetpea’ to ‘wormy’.

Heatwave

You think he’d ever let you away from him? Let you out sass him? Please, you don’t even know it yet but he will turn the conversation back around. Heatwave is stubborn and as quick with his intake as he is his pedes, his glossa can be vicious if you aren’t careful, yet he’s so adoring and attentive to you, surely this conversation would go well!

You are laying across his chassis in his habsuite, his optics are closed but you know he’s still awake. A servo on your legs and thumb rubbing slow lazy circles across your back, allowing you to full relax into him, enjoying the gentle touches and warmth of his much larger body.

“Wavey?” Your voice slightly muffled as your cheek is pressed against his chassis and youdon’t feel like moving too much.

“Hm?” He hums in return, acknowledging you but also not wanting to move much, as he’s enjoying having some peaceful downs time with you.

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

All his movements stop in an instant and he doesn’t make a sound for a solid minute before sighing heavily, cracking his optics open just to look down at you with a playful glare.

“Why would you want to a be worm, huh? Just to get away from me?”

“W-what? No!” You lift up on your forearms to look at him better, but he’s not having it.

“Oh so just being in the dirt is more fun than being with me? I see, I see how it is, you hate me and want me dead.”

“Noooo!” You whine pitifully, flopping back down before crawling up higher to meet his face.

Your give him a playful glare, angry pout on your lips while he has a shit eating grin across his face, knowing damn well what he’s doing and what you are asking.

“I just wanted to ask if you’d still love me if I was uselsss-“

“You think you could be useless to me? You really think that lowly of me?”

“Heatwave no, please, you know I love you!”

“And I love you too, so what’s the problem?”

Your head clunks as you drop it back against his chassis, sighing heavily as your stubborn mech of a boyfriend will not back down on this, this is a hill he will not only die on but drag you down with him, you just know it.

“You wouldn’t love me if I was a worm is the problem.” You pout, looking up at him with am exaggerated pleading expression.

Heatwave just stares at you almost wondering how he made it this far with you, until he remembers how dull his world would be without you. He rolls his optics with a huff, as if he’s doing you such a huge favor, though you know it’s mostly played up for the bit.

“You know good and well I’d let this slagging rock burn if anything happened to you, how dare you doubt me.”

“I’m not doubting you.”

“Then hush and try to recharge.”

he leans his helm back and closes his optics again, trying to at least get some shut eye before the morning comes, and with that would be new emergencies. You sudden in getting comfy once more, with him about to put his servo back on you, until you spoke again.

“Heatwave?”

“Now what?”

“Can I get a kiss before bed?”

“You are so lucky you’re cute.” He groans, but that soft smile is back on his face as he sits up a little, moving you to keep you safe and to bring you higher, pressing his dermas to your soft lips, before laying back down again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetspark.”

He’s so dramatic but you love him for it.

#transformers x reader #rescue bots x reader #transformers chase x reader #transformers heatwave x reader #transformers Boulder x reader #rb chase x reader #rb heatwave x reader #rb boulder x reader #rescue bots chase x reader #rescue bots heatwave x reader #rescue bots Boulder x reader

39 notes · View notes

a-dragons-journal · 2 days ago

Note

I'm glad we figured out a better term, and i do appreciate your open-ness during this process.

But i must admit, as someone who is Intersex, I'm perturbed by the fact that you brushed aside Intersex voices when talking about the H-slur.

I'm not trying to brush aside intersex voices when talking about intersex issues, and I'm sorry if I've come off that way. But I do want to point out that

a) As I have said at least once or twice during this whole debacle, a big part of the reason I've been a little hesitant to jump at the snap of the fingers of a couple random anonymous people on Tumblr has been that I know intersex people who agree there's no problem with using hermaphrodite in its scientific sense, and outside of that personal sample I've seen enough intersex people on both sides of the argument that to be honest I'm still not actually convinced that there's actual community consensus on this (which is why I'm like. I don't have a problem with using cosexual as an alternative now that I'm sure it's an actual legitimate synonym, and I probably will do so myself, but I'm still not honestly going to tell people they're wrong for using "hermaphrodite" to refer to nonhuman animals). Maybe my sample's just skewed, but I can only do so much about that (any attempts to search for advocacy groups' opinion on this have so far only turned up results on hermaphrodite's use as a slur against intersex people, which isn't helpful).

b) My point this whole time has been that this is not about intersex people - and, in fact, while I'm not necessarily arguing this, I've seen plenty of intersex people of the opinion that insisting that hermaphrodite can only ever be about intersex people (and therefore shouldn't be used for nonhuman animals) is part of the problem, and is in fact only encouraging people to keep thinking they mean the same thing when they don't.

c) Just in general, "listening to [x] voices" does not, cannot, mean "never hesitating, critiquing, or asking a solid logical argument from [x] people when they say something that doesn't make sense to you". For one thing, there's the "is this actually an [x] community consensus or is this a handful of people being loud about their opinions" problem; for another, that then leads to the problem that now any random stranger on the internet can claim to be part of [x group] (and I will remind you here that people can and do lie about this on the internet) and immediately you're not allowed to argue with them at all ever, which is. a problem for what I hope are obvious reasons? Yes, listening to the people who are part of an affected group when talking about a thing that affects them is important, but that doesn't mean that every person in that group is always right all the time, and it doesn't mean they shouldn't be able to back up their position with a logical argument. (And no, no one is obligated to argue these things - but you're in my inbox arguing, so clearly we're past that point.)

Maybe my hesitance has been a little overdone, but it's not because I'm not listening to intersex people, it's because I've got enough intersex people on both sides of the argument that that alone isn't enough to significantly help in making the decision for me - meaning it's down to the actual arguments involved, and frankly I still haven't actually seen an argument that convinces me it's outright wrong and harmful to use the word hermaphrodite for nonhuman animals it applies to. That it's uncomfortable for some people, yes; that it's harmful, no. Given that I don't really have a reason not to switch to a different word now that I have one that's a legitimate synonym, that's enough to justify doing so, but prior to that, yes, I'm extremely reluctant to move to less accurate language when the more accurate language isn't doing harm in any way I can see, it's just uncomfortable for people to see because of the harm it's done in a completely unrelated context.

I'm rambling at this point. Sorry, I'm getting a bit worn thin here by the sheer amount of malice that has been aimed at me over this. I'm doing my best to not let it put me into a defensive shutdown about it and continue listening and discussing seriously, but I'm getting a bit tired of it. Hopefully the ramble at least gets my point across.

EDIT: Oh, the other problem with point c) - you're making an assumption that I'm not intersex myself because I haven't said I am (to the best of my admittedly-not-very-good memory, I've never specified either way, or at least not during this discussion). You do happen to be correct, in this instance, but if I was intersex, I shouldn't have to disclose the status of my sex to be allowed to have an opinion in the discussion, and the only way to make that work is to discard the idea that people outside of [x] group aren't allowed to disagree or debate with people inside [x] group.

#rani talks #asked and answered #anonymous #hermaphrodite #community talk

32 notes · View notes

snailsgoingdowntown · 20 hours ago

Text

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Chapter 20

Story masterlist

Arranged marriage AU

Interact with THIS LINKED POST to be added to the tag list.

NOTE: Reader is not having a good time. Or Grizelda. Or Dion. Or Fontaine. No-one is. Whatever this chapter is, I do not know. It came to me in a dream/j (it's been sitting in my google docs and I decided to go with it in the end).

Warnings: toxic marriage/relationship, implied suicidal thoughts/ideation, attempted murder, choking (Dion to Fontaine), mental breakdown (Reader), Reader pulls her hair harshly, toxic and abusive family (the Agriches), talks of punishment, small themes of imprisonment, themes of abuse, implied past/recent attempted sexual assault, the Reader and Grizelda do get stalked a bit for plot reasons, the Reader can’t decide on what she wants, Dion gets called a dog a few times, mention of pregnancy once at the end, the Reader is an emotional mess and genuinely does not know what she wants in this moment, possible yandere themes (I’m not even sure, just adding just in case). Lant only cares about the hypothetical child since it would be Dion's and thus a rising star. Please tell me if I missed any.

Warning #2: some suggestive lines.

Everyone is out of character but that’s f i n e -

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS (BLOGS THAT DO NOT HAVE ANY CONTENT), BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICS, ART, ETC, OR EVEN ANIMAL PICS), DNI.

= = =

Grizelda had made a turn to show you some of the safe flowers. The direction also leads to the indoor training room, but she’s sure that Fontaine is outside the gates of the mansion - after all, it’s bigger. More room to act recklessly.

She didn’t know that others were outside it right now, which led to her older half-brother staying inside an isolated area, awaying from prying eyes.

You didn’t either.

“Oh, they’re… lovely,” your eyes soak in the sight of the colorful flora. The grass was also a healthy green - if there was one thing you could say about Lant Agriche, it’s that he makes damn sure everything is pleasing to the eyes.

If you ignore his face and the monsters raised here for dubious reasons. Fontaine being one of them.

You bite your lip - it’s still fresh in your mind. His voice. His touch.

No - just ignore it. He’s not here. Grizelda is.

Even so, you’re jittery, scanning your surroundings every few seconds. In spite of her good company, you can’t help but to feel naked, watched from the shadows. Paranoia works wonders, especially when you see a shadow move from the corner of your eye.

“They are, aren’t they?” She watches as you approach a rose bush, fingers lightly tracing the petals. The pink flowers she had given - burdened - you with are in your left hand, held against your chest. “I don’t come here often, but it’s a nice change of pace.”

She joins you in looking at them. However, she doesn’t admire them like you are. They’re beautiful, sure, but they wilt rather quickly once plucked. They’re also used to make drugs.

Of course, she keeps that fact to herself.

Approaching footsteps catches your attention, looking over your shoulder to see two guards. Your heart fills with guilt the moment you recognize them -

They’re the ones you smiled at while ignoring your husband. They look tired, a bandage on one’s neck while the other looks half-dead. You immediately knew that Dion was behind it - frankly speaking, you thought they would be dead.

You’re also amazed at how fast he works - it was only yesterday they committed the crime that is looking at you. You freeze as they get closer, making your sister-in-law curious.

When they see you they become stiffer than a statue. The air becomes awkward as Grizelda looks on with curiosity. Their eyes trail over to her, seeing that you’re not alone.

That’s when they bow.

There’s a bitterness in your mouth. You quickly remind yourself why they’re like this. However, this interaction is only making you resent Dion more. Your grip tightens on the flower stems.

“Greetings, Lady Grizelda and Lady (Name),” they say with a croaky voice. They don’t lift their heads for several seconds until your sister-in-law commands them to. When they do, they avoid looking at you, their eyes glued to something behind you.

You hold back an apology - what good would that do? If anything, you copy their behavior, humming awkwardly as you stare at the flowers in your hands.

The remnants of their ripped thorns dig into the fabric of the glove.

The three of you don’t want a repeat of that day - them getting punished for daring to look at Dion’s lovely wife, and you being ‘teased,’ hearing Dion call himself your husband - while it’s true, you hate hearing the word come out of his mouth.

You want him to leave you alone.

‘If it were me, I wouldn’t have left you alone in this maze of a mansion.’ A wave of nausea washes over you when his voice swims to the surface. Chills crawl down your spine at the thought of being married to Fontaine. It almost feels like a blessing that you got stuck with the second eldest.

But is it really…?

“... ah, we should get going - we’ve been ordered to help with the children’s lessons,” the brunette guard states. “They’re practicing with their weapons,” he finishes before attempting to walk past you.

“Oh? That’s today?” Grizelda asks the retreating guard. He stops, turning to face her as he confirms it. He tries his best not to look at you.

“Yes; it’s taking place in the outside training grounds, My Lady,” the grey-haired man answers. Now that his attention is on the seventeen-year-old, his body becomes less stiff, a bit more comfortable.

It makes you want to smack Dion.

… no, I shouldn’t… it’s tempting, but -, and the resentment only blooms more.

“Hm… I suppose that means we can’t go anywhere near there - father is rather strict about that. Not only that, but there’s a chance you might accidentally get hit.”

“O-oh.. right.” You nod your head.

The guards bid their farewells before leaving. You watch their retreating figures with a hint of guilt - they wouldn’t be like that had you just ignored them. But that guilt is slowly replaced with a thin layer of anger, baffled that Dion would go that far - you’re not sure what he did, but from how they acted, it wasn’t anything good - just because you smiled at them.

…does that horrible man expect you to eventually cave in? With his actions, it only makes you see him in a worse light, signaling he might not even let you have friends. The flower stems in your hand threaten to break under your grip. A moment later and you finally relax your hand.

For now, you bury the thought away, returning your attention to Grizelda. You try to smile. It feels tight.

“Since we can’t go there, how about another area? Anywhere is fine.” The sun beams down on you, your (h/c) shining in it as your (e/c) eyes reflect her figure, but there’s a hint of something she can’t put her finger on in them.

She hums, tapping her chin with her pointer finger, mulling over the options. “Well… we have to pass by the indoor training grounds - it’s a building smaller than the mansion, but still rather big. It’s usually used for whenever it’s raining and it’s too slippery.”

The description reminds you of a gym.

“Since the children are outside, it should be empty - no-one to run into. I doubt Dion is there, and Fontaine is probably taking his anger out on some monsters right outside the estate gates.”

As you would later find out, her guess was wrong. Extremely wrong.

She continues, “We have to pass it to get to this one area I would like to show you. It’s peaceful there; barely anyone visits. Same for the library if you ever want to check it out.”

You hesitate to nod your head, your gut twisting uncomfortably. The nice smell slowly fades away, unable to kick the feeling away. You must be tired.

“What type of place is it?” You ask instead, shifting your weight onto your right foot. The left one still has a faint sting. It’s barely there, but it’s still a reminder of what happened.

Despite your outward behavior, you can’t shake everything off. So, you just smile.

Either she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as she answers. It sounds like a nice place - a small gazebo tucked away in a corner covered by trimmed bushes.

Apparently it wasn’t as flashy as the rest of the mansion, simple but durable.

So ordinary that no-one bats an eye at it, and it is something that your father-in-law has forgotten about completely - a nice place to hide away from the horrors of the world.

“That actually sounds… nice,” you say with a smile - doing your best to forget everything that happened earlier.

Right.

The sun is bright and the air is fresh.

“It is. A nice little hiding place - I doubt that anyone is there right now.” And with that, the younger girl takes lead, and like a baby chick you follow, still holding the pink flowers as the red ones are in her own hands.

It still feels like eyes are on you. Your legs are starting to feel strained, walking becoming an effort. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing, a small sheen of sweat on your nape.

Your eyes travel downwards to the flowers in your hands - still vivid and pink, not a hint of wilt on them. You look back up at Grizelda’s back, her brown hair gently bouncing with each step. It’s peaceful.

… how long will this last…?

Your gaze drops to your feet, slowly inhaling before shaking your head at the silly and useless question. But the feeling of being watched only increases. The lie you told yourself moments ago is already starting to shatter as you’re imprisoned by your own mind.

“Once we get there, we can stay for a bit, admire the view of the garden.” The brunette suggests with a quick glance behind her shoulder. She looks back ahead once you nod your head. The rest of the walk is quiet, something heavy edging at the back of your mind.

When you get near the indoor training room, two guards are carrying dummies while heading towards it. You both halt, surprised to see anyone there - you shouldn’t be, but the sorceress was so sure of herself it almost felt like the scene was going against the laws of nature.

Confusion fills you - Fontaine was the oldest, Dion the second, Grizelda the third and Roxana the fourth. Twenty-three, twenty, seventeen and fifteen. The rest are considered children, therefore wouldn’t they be attending their lesson…?

Neither of them notice you, too caught up in their conversation. Both you and your sister-in-law don’t see a point in calling out to them, simply continuing your walk.

That is, until they drop the dummies, their expressions turning grave. They scream out two certain names before rushing in.

“M-Master Dion! Stop, please!”

“Master Fontaine!”

“...huh?”

“What?”

You both look at each other, Grizelda looking over her shoulder. There’s a pause before you silently agree to check out what’s the commotion about. You don’t rush, you don’t run, your steps hesitant while hers are confident. She drops the flowers once she peeks inside, still as a statue, eyes wide and mouth ajar - an expression you have never seen on her once, both in this life and your last in illustrations.

You hurry, heart dreadfully drumming against your chest, a hollow pain swelling your chest cavity. Both Dion and Fontaine are in there - just what’s going on?

The flowers drop to the ground as your grasp loosens.

Holding the first born against the wall, your husband was choking his own brother. You can’t see his face, but his entire body is tense, putting his all into trying his best not to snap Fontaine’s neck. You can see the veins on his neck and hands.

… it’s a nice sight, until you remember -

He’s not supposed to die yet. Fuck, he’s not supposed to die yet!

Reflexes taking over, you run over to the two men.

This isn’t supposed to happen. He’s not supposed to kill him. He’s not supposed to die yet - the story has changed so much already! What happens if he dies right here and right now!?

Someone calls out to you, their voice distant. Hands grab your shoulders, firm but not enough to stop you from shaking them off. You grab him without thinking.

Dion freezes.

You pull harshly. Part of you wants to watch the scene in full - does he even deserve to live? He’s trash, worse than your husband and yet -

The fear you’re feeling isn’t for your own safety nor is it for his outburst. No, in spite of yourself, it’s for Fontaine’s worthless life -

What happens if he dies right now?

It’s a question you don’t want answered.

Distantly you feel your head shaking side to side. You don’t stop pulling, but your body is screaming that you should. You ignore it, ignore the nagging voice at the back of your head to let it happen. A lot has changed already.

So, what if this happens? No, you tell yourself, no.

Your gut is twisting painfully, screaming he can’t die now.

Dion looks at you like you’ve gone mad and honestly, you think you have. You shouldn’t be saving his brother’s worthless life. You don’t want to.

But -

Not yet.

Two words you silently mouth. You dig your feet into the wood as you use all of your strength to attempt to pull your husband away. Of course, it doesn’t work, he’s too big and strong to be physically stopped by you.

His red eyes become blank as his grasp on his brother’s neck slowly loosens. Good.

He called himself my dog… Dion Agriche, you better keep that promise. You feel gross for calling him one, reducing him to something that has no choice but to listen to you.

You don’t notice how his gaze travels to your chest, the way his eyes narrow once they see the blood stain on your bodice. But you do notice how he tightens his hold on Fontaine’s neck again.

You’re not listening well for someone who said he’s my dog!

These thoughts will haunt you for weeks on end once all of this ends.

You try another method. It feels shaky as you talk, the words feel heavy. You force them out regardless, scared of what would happen if Fontaine Agriche were to die right here and right now. You can’t let that happen.

Even as a small part of you wishes to praise Dion.

“Dion… please.”

THUD

Like the obedient dog he promised to be, he lets go. He takes a few steps back and you follow suit. You don’t let go of his arm. You repeat your words from earlier silently.

Not yet.

The man looks confused before returning his attention to Fontaine. Your eyes also fall onto the older Agriche, small amounts of regret joining the fear in your chest. How are you supposed to take care of this…?

This isn’t like you.

You blink before you look up at your husband, seeing your reflection in his scarlet eyes. Your lips painfully force a smile and you hope it looks sweet and loving. Your fingers dig into his sleeved arm and you don’t even notice it.

It takes effort to rub your thumbs across his knuckles after a moment passes. Pretend to be a caring wife, pretend that you don’t want him to stain his hands further.

You can feel your hands tremble. It’s hard to keep smiling. The man before you said he was your dog and he listened like one, which brings forth a new worry -

What if he wants a reward?

You swallow the thought down. “Let’s go back. Please?” You don’t want to return to his room, you don’t want to be alone with him. But if you just leave him here…

Everything after that is a blur. The only thing you remember before reaching his bedroom is his tight grip on your hand. If only you noticed the figure in the background.

- - -

Grizelda stares at her older brother on the floor. He doesn’t make any attempts to get up, and he’s still breathing heavily. His men fret over him, but know better than to touch him. She wonders if he’ll kill them for not forcing Dion off of him.

The sight was amusing.

But it was also slightly… concerning.

‘... he listened. Fontaine knows he has a soft spot for her now… not to mention, Dion might even listen to all of her demands… ah, this will either be amusing or horrible.’

She leaves before Fontaine even notices her.

It’s concerning but also interesting. She slightly smiles in amusement - things will change around here.

But that amusement is washed away once someone calls her. When she looks at the person, she forces a scowl away. The tattle-tell will rat this out to Lant.

- - -

You’re still scared of your husband. You still hate him.

Your heart won’t stop hammering against your chest. Your hands feel clammy and his larger one holding yours only adds more heat. His pace is enough for you to keep up, but it still feels like he’s dragging you.

You feel like you’re becoming his little doll.

You want to cry. You want to scoff. To scream, to encourage his behavior towards Fontaine. But the uncertainty of the future prevents you from doing so, unsure if hell will be let loose if he dies so early, if doesn’t die at the hands of Cassis.

You bite your lip. None of this should be happening. You shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be married.

But someone has twisted their and your faith for entertainment.

Wait, you think. Maybe Roxana will pity you some more after learning what happened with Fontaine… hopefully that’ll give her a good enough reason to help you out of this hellhole.

Then, you realize it -

He knows.

Your heart drops at the realization. Why else would he try to kill him? So early at that, before the timeskip. Should… should you be happy he knows? That he tried to murder him for you?

But you didn’t ask him to. You might have, you probably would have once you found your voice. Regardless, your skin starts to feel filthy - are you, an unwilling wife, really about to rely on your sadistic and possessive husband? The same man who indirectly told you he would lock you up if you even try to leave?

You can hear your heart beating against your chest. The sound is loud, echoing in your head dully. It hurts, bringing your free hand to clutch at your chest. It does little to soothe the pain.

Breathing becomes difficult. Thinking about anything else is hard. If you’re not thinking about the man in front of you, then your mind reaches for the recent memories of being chased and touched. Threatened with violence.

Your waist starts to tingle where Fontaine gripped it. Your skin feels prickly, dirty. The taste of iron makes itself at home on your tastebuds again. A sharp sting on your bottom lip, the pressure only increases the longer you walk.

You made a mistake.

You shouldn’t have gone to him. You should have let Grizelda take care of it. You shouldn’t have fucking left the room.

He might lock you up after this. He might hover around you more now, might -

A hand gently cups your cheek, handling you with utmost care. Like you were made of glass. However, the touch burns your skin, bringing forth an unpleasant sensation that travels down your spine and drowns in your stomach.

SLAP!

“Don’t-!” By reflex you slap the hand away, taking multiple steps back until your back hits something sturdy. Pressed against the double doors, your eyes travel to your side, landing on the door handle. Your hand grabs it as you look ahead, seeing the figure of the man who might trap you in this very room, if it means Fontaine won’t touch a single hair on your head.

Safety for freedom - he would be that type of person. The bird he wants to keep is mere inches away from him - it would be easy for him to grab you. But it wouldn’t be in the same manner as Fontaine. Regardless, it doesn’t ease your worries.

You don’t want to be touched by that pervert but you also don’t want to be trapped by your own husband.

You don’t want to rely on him, either. He’s scum too, he took you from your family - why else would you be married to him? He probably blackmailed your father, or, or something.

An emotion unfamiliar to you flashes through his eyes. He almost looks hurt, but doesn’t take another step towards you. It’s then do you look around, only to realize you’re in his room.

This stupid room!

Your heavy breathing fills the room. Your head hangs, chest twisting and turning as your heart beats to a tune that’s too loud and heavy. It’s painful, breathing is painful, thinking is painful, you feel dirty -

You look at Dion again. Like a dog, he stays in place, waiting for you to call him. He looks worried and it makes you sick, stomach churning at an expression he shouldn’t even know how to make. This isn’t right.

This is going against the natural order of things.

This isn’t right.

A small part of you feels guilty. That small part wants to thank him and even praise him. But the rest of you want to run and hide from him, from Fontaine, from everyone.

Your husband remains quiet as your chaotic state of mind refuses to calm down. Your back presses harder against the door as you slide down, unable to support yourself on your feet and legs anymore.

Pathetic, I’m pathetic. This isn’t -

Should you blame yourself? Blame him? Fontaine?

Should you blame God?

… you don’t know anymore. You only know how to run and cry.

You should have stayed dead. Ah, but God wouldn’t give you that pleasure, would he?

“Wife -”

“Stop. Please. I’ve been through enough already,” you interrupt, on the verge of bawling your eyes out. You were able to touch him earlier. You smiled at him. You considered praising him on the way back.

What happened?

You were fine with him holding your hand. But now -

“You can’t keep ignoring this-! Whatever delusions you’re living in, they won’t!”

You should thank him.

You should curse him.

Stay.

Run.

Praise him.

Degrade him,

Accept him.

Escape him.

Harshly tugging at your hair, you fight with yourself mentally. It was fine, you were fine, you could touch him earlier, so why can’t you now? It feels like your scalp is being ripped apart. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts -

Something grabs your hands. It’s warm but unwelcoming. Firm enough to stop you but gentle enough it doesn’t hurt.

You hate it.

“Hey.” The voice is deep and scratches the back of your mind. It’s pleasant but the person it belongs to isn’t. Wait. No.

It’s not pleasant. It’s horrible, nails on a chalkboard, making your ears bleed. It makes you want to go deaf. You shut your eyes tight.

This isn’t right.

“...let go. You touched me enough, haven’t you?” Your words come out broken, small. He almost has to strain his ears just to hear you.

“If I do, you'll just hurt yourself again,” Dion states, refusing to let you go. This isn’t romantic. And both of you can’t even pretend that it is.

“... I… I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t ask for this either. I just… wanted some fresh air…,” you trail off, exhaustion catching up. Maybe you’re about to start your period - yeah, that’s it. That explains everything.

You’re just emotional because of the hormones. You’ll be fine in a week from now. This will be a distant memory.

The lie only takes you so far before Dion asks what you meant by that. The first part specifically, and it’s obvious that he’s trying his best not to grip your hands harder.

Dion… he… he wouldn’t blame you, right?

Hah. one moment you’re fearing him and the next you’re hoping he’ll take your side. You don’t know what you want anymore. You want to sleep everything off.

You can’t help but hate him. But as a husband, he should know, but you don’t want him as one -

“... he grabbed me. I - I stomped on his foot before he could go further - he ch-chased me but Grizelda he-helped me… I mean, that’s all he did, so I shouldn’t -”

“He would have done more if you didn’t stop him.”

The fact only makes you curl into yourself. Dion still has a grip on you, not allowing you to escape him. There’s nothing but static in your head. Your body is slowly giving up on you, having to remind yourself to breathe.

You have a family here, a lovely one. A father who cares. A mother who nurtured you, loved you. An older sister who guided you, a younger brother who teases you. You have a family who you love, who loves you.

Yet, resentment has been building up for a while now, hasn’t it? Small amounts of it that are starting to clump together. No, you shouldn’t, you love them.

But even at the thought of them, your breathing becomes slower. More gaps between each breath. You blink.

Secretly, you’re starting to wish that you would drop dead.

…is living worth it when I struggle to keep up?

It’s a dangerous thought. It darkens the corners of your mind the more it echoes in your head. You’re not supposed to be here. This is supposed to be a fictional world.

These people are supposed to be fictional characters.

This setting is supposed to be a dark fantasy, survival first and romance second. The Agriche family are only supposed to be names on the screen, beautifully drawn digital pictures to tell the story. You’re not supposed to be here.

But God has decided to make this your punishment.

Are you willing to do it? After all this mental distress? After wanting to survive and escape this hell - are you willing to do it?

Do you want to?

Living here is death. But your family, they’ll mourn, right? Don’t you want to see them again? Your siblings, your parents - don’t you want to hug and laugh with them?

So, why? Why are you considering -

Because you are weak.

“...” The air is suffocating, something is constricting your throat. Your mouth feels dry and your mind goes blank. You can’t think. The static gets louder and louder, filling your head, ringing in your ears. You were fine earlier.

But now something is tugging at your feet, daring you to stand. It would be easier to just drown at this point. If you’re breaking down just from this… then there really is no hope for you.

Your eyes feel heavy as you force yourself to lift your head and look at bright scarlet. His face looks fuzzy, but your reflection in his eyes is clear. That’s all you can see.

Today, you decide that you hate bright and vivid red the most.

That Fontaine Agriche is enemy number one.

Your mouth moves but you don’t hear your own words. You don’t see your husband’s expression. You can’t even feel the beating of your heart. You feel nothing but the static filling your little head.

The urge to die has begun to resurface.

- - -

“You what?”

Lant’s deep voice becomes lower after hearing the report - unfortunately for everyone involved, a faithful servant to the Black Master overheard and even saw the aftermath of the incident.

It was also that same servant who happened to be in the locked room across from Grizelda’s study when Fontaine showed up to wreak havoc. They had debated opening the door until the sibling’s conversation went on.

They decided to wait it out. To trail behind you and the Master’s daughter. He had planned on appearing sooner once he saw the physical assault, but his gut screamed he would die had he did.

The oldest son stands in front of his father’s desk with his head hanging low. Sweat pools at his temples before slowly sliding down his face. His hands are clammy as a million excuses rush through his head.

He knows that even if he were to tell Lant that you had stomped on his foot, it wouldn’t work for him but against him. Of course, there was a chance you would receive a small punishment for injuring an Agriche, but since it was he who went against Lant’s orders, Fontaine would get the worst of it.

You were off-limits. But the oldest son always had greedy hands.

Grizelda stands off to the side, watching the entire thing unfold. Lant’s faithful servant stands at his side, hands clasped as he awaits for further instruction. Silently she wishes for him to ram his pinky toe into the sharpest corner of a dresser while barefoot.

Fontaine’s men are on their knees, bowing with their head on the floor. The oldest person in the room pays no heed to them. Instead his heated gaze is on his own son.

“F-father… I was just -”

“Silence - I did not give you permission to talk, you fool!” Your father-in-law stands behind his desk as his fist slams down on it, unable to believe that his own flesh and blood would go against his orders. He doesn’t know what punishment to give him.

He doesn’t even want to see his dull face.

“Where is Dion?” He growls out, holding out a cigar for his servant to light. The smell of smoke starts to fill the room after a few puffs.

“He took the Lady with him, Master. I saw them on my way to the training room,” the man dressed in black answers. “He was holding her hand.”

A moment of silence before Lant lets out a laugh. “Is that so? Tell them both to stop by later today. I’m curious as to why he reacted so violently.” Dionn wasn’t exactly known to be emotional - he had little to no interests.

The change in his attitude is clear - anger at Fontaine, slight amusement with Dion. The grey-eyed man grits his teeth in silence. He was the one who got choked!

No-one notices the slight flinch Grizelda gives. This was why she didn’t want to report it - it’ll only cause complications. If her older brother does care about you, then Lant finding out would only bring forth something awful.

You’re a stranger but this wasn’t your fault. You just were a poor soul who got dragged into this hell.

Her stomach churns at thoughts of possibilities of what could happen. Dion was already unsteady deep down - this would only make it worse. What would happen if Lant does something to you?

“Going back to you,” their father looks at Fontaine again, taking a hit of his cigar. He puffs out smoke, doing his best not to physically lash out at him. Everyone waits with bated breath.

“The punishment room isn’t enough for you. You dare touch something that isn’t yours? Go against my orders?”

Lant goes on, watching as his son’s body starts to tremble. It’s a pathetic sight, and could have been avoided if he listened like the good boy he’s supposed to be. “But for now, until I say otherwise, you’re going to be held in a cell without any food or water - I’ll even lash your back personally.”

Another puff as Fontaine’s head whips up, protests on his tongue. He bites the pink and slimy muscle when Lant glares at him. “As for the girl - she’ll be confined to her room for a few days. She should have had a maid with her - what was her name again…?”

“Hana, Master.”

“Right. She needs to be punished too.”

“And what of Young Master Dion, Master Lant?”

The Black Master stops to think. While it’s true he was in the right - after all, you belong to him - he can’t exactly let him get away with attempted murder on a family member. It’s almost tempting, but then, thoughts might start to pop up in his head.

He doubts Dion will ever betray him. But, at one point, he was also a son to a father who trusted him. He was a son who killed his father.

Besides… he’s curious. Why would he react so violently? A man who showed no interest in anything, simply carrying out orders. Something’s not adding up.

Or maybe he’s just stressed right now, with the paperwork due and Fontaine being a fool.

“I’ll send him to the hunting grounds. It’ll take at least a month for him to return,” he answers after taking another puff. “Now, who should I replace that maid with…”

“... I’m regretful to say this, but Hana was sent on an errand by the Young Master when this happened. She was preparing the contraceptives on his orders.”

Lant blinks before sighing. “Right. I forgot about that.” He looks at the stack of papers on his desk - did this really have to happen when so much is due? His teeth grind against each other.

However, before Lant could think of what else to say, the servant spoke up once more. “While we are talking about the Lady… she hasn’t stepped foot in her room once.”

Grizelda’s nails dig into her palms once her father was finally alerted. Still, this could easily be brushed off as Dion simply sleeping with you, addicted to carnal lust. Until that damn man speaks more.

“Even when he’s off on missions, she stays in the Young Master’s room.”

This is a matter that frankly, doesn’t concern Lant. But does that matter? No.

“...interesting. I’ll question them about it later.”

Grizelda’s stomach twists. You’re nothing more than a stranger she pities. So, why? Why is this dread so deeply etched into her bones? You only spoke a handful of times before today - you are nothing to her aside from an in-law on paper.

This isn’t like her.

This doesn’t feel natural.

Oh.

Maybe… something interfered with their faith. With yours.

She scoffs at herself quietly enough that no-one hears. What a stupid thought. Her attention returns to her father. It’s here when he finally speaks to her.

“Grizelda. Tell me, why didn’t you report the incident that made her run into your study?” His accusatory tone is ironically justified, but he doesn’t need to know that. Grizelda has always been a good girl, and she never interacted with you once you moved in.

“I thought it would be best to have her calm down first. I was going to bring it up when we ran into each other in the hallway - but she was still jittery. Please forgive me, father.”

She bows her head before adding, “I’ll accept any punishment you see fit.”

It goes without saying that Lant considers this for a moment. After a beat, he replies with, “Until I say otherwise, stay in your room.” The same punishment as you. Twins!

Grizelda mentally cringes at her uncharacteristic thought. What was she, a child?

“Go and bring them both to me. Now.”

“Yes, Master.”

The servant leaves with a bow. The room goes quiet, panic in everyone’s head. Lant doesn’t dismiss any of them. His footsteps echo in the room until he stops right in front of Fontaine. He puffs smoke directly into his face, causing his son to cough.

“Prepare for the worst if she’s pregnant.”

= = =

Tag list: @umi-adxhira @queenofspades403 @pix-stuff @manitscold

@darkumbreon92 @s-ajia @disappointment-san @louissatturi @cjafjatkstke @rainofcrime @kokomi2 @elvinapandra @ishamyshaa @semi-wife @danae-misfortune @rosedellamorte @labryel @rentaldarling @tiny-mimi @puggyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

#yandere x reader #yandere #dion agriche #twtptflob #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #dion agriche x reader #yandere dion agriche #deon agrece #twtptflob x reader #grizelda agriche #yandere twtptflob #roxana #yandere dion agriche x reader #male yandere #male yandere x reader

32 notes · View notes

echolynn13 · 20 hours ago

Text

SFTH Chaotic Highlights (OMG Is This A Joke)

Alright, I'm finally starting to make these for the longforms! These are gonna be quite a bit longer than the other two I've made, since these videos are (typically) longer and I have a lot of thoughts about them lol (edit while writing, less than halfway through the video - yeah, I have way more to say than I thought I would)

Before I even get into the video itself, I just love the bold move of having their first Youtube longform be one about nazis, let's people know the kind of humor they'll be getting from these guys lmao

Also shout out to the not insignificant number of people who fully didn't recognize AJ with hair

Luke's executive decision to grab a prop gun and just stand there like 🧍🏼

"If he was only a foot and a half taller, he would be a perfect nazi!" Still one of my favorite Luke short jokes, because if I was him I genuinely wouldn't know how to take that observation-

Not sure why Sam chose the puffy purple jacket for his villain character, but at least we get to call him Ze Blackberry now

I'd like to imagine as Sam was introducing himself, he looked over to Luke like 'oh shit right, he's still just fucking standing there, I should probably include him somehow' and to Sam that ofc meant flirting with him

Which btw is the strangest flirting attempt I've ever seen- "Beautiful little pocket-sized Aryan" and "Sexy little ferret" ?? Guys I've never flirted with anyone but I don't think he's doing it right

"Guten Abend" Luke/Hans isn't good at this flirting thing either, but at least they're both having fun

Two French brothers casually parachuting over Berlin during World War II, nothing weird about that

"Ja- yes- er, oui! I'm trilingual, I'm sorry" Idk if it's the language confusion or the fact he apologized to the nazi, but this was a great line

"The plan is working perfectly, we're making them uncomfortable. Keep it up!" Luke, who has done very little in that regard except respond to Sam: "Okay!!" *just keeps standing there*

"Hard day being a nazi?" Considering you're currently giving him a backrub and are probably about to fuck him, I'd say he's having a pretty good day

Before Luke's BAFTA winning portrayals of grief in The Evil Make-A-Wish Kid and The Grape Depression, we had AJ's sobbing in OMGITAJ

So glad this play was set mainly in France so AJ could show off his French knowledge in the best ways (skipping across the stage and singing)

Sam characteristically entering briefly as an unspecified beast that for simplicity I'm going to call a ram

Genuinely one of my favorite and most underappreciated moments in the video is Katherine assigning Luke's character a feminine name, which he clearly didn't expect, and he just takes a moment to reevaluate life, while staring at the comedically placed banana in his hand. 10/10 fantastic bit

"My husband has been captured" "You know this for sure?" "Well he didn't come home and he's a French spy so" Fair logic that was 100% correct

"I already have a husband" "Well Xavier will have to wait until he's officially dead then" rip Jean-Luc man, at least Sarah seems to genuinely love him and be loyal though, good for them

Tag yourself, I'm AJ fangirling heavy over Xavier as he walks onstage

"I could have mimed it but I did not" has and forever will live in my brain rent free, bro had no reason to do that but took the fucking opportunity

Also Sarah's friend (did she ever get a name?) is simping for Xavier more than Sarah herself, they could've just fucked instead

"I don't know the French word for mice" "C'est une souris, une souris, une souris" French lessons with AJ

I've already made a whole post about my love for pre-reveal Xavier, but jesus, can you blame me? This character is the actual reason I started being attracted to Tom in the first place, why is he so SMOOTH-

Also the fact Luke didn't even flinch when Tom tilted his chair back and just nonchalantly crossed his legs- This whole scene is perfect istg

"I'm just going to take a few pictures-" That's so real of you girl

"I am a man" Gonna start saying this in front of the mirror as affirmations in the morning, same tone and everything

Tom launching himself across the stage before he even has the chance to rebutton his shirt lol

"Look out! It's the nazi-looking guy!" Saying this about the actual nazi is so funny

Not me being genuinely kinda sad about François getting killed

Katherine getting into Sam's carriage with a pumpkin (For some reason??) and Sam pausing not once, but twice, and eventually deciding to proceed as normal and not question it

Jean-Luc: *crying because trauma* Katherine: "Aw.. If you're thirsty you could drink it!" Katherine might've earned her place as my favorite 5th SFTH member they've had

Big Hans showing up with an entirely different vibe from the last time we saw him- Maybe because he's not busy being gay with Ze Blackberry

But really, why is this nazi boy so excited about the french language while he's taking over their country

"Les coqs :D" Sir what is this energy you're putting out, it's confusing me

I like that instead of just saying something like "It's a French horse, why do I care if I kicked it" he's just like "German horses wouldn't give a shit, your horses are just weak"

"Very hairy chickens you have here" A joke they couldn't have made now-

I'd just like to point out that Big Hans didn't get shot from what I could tell, so he could technically still be alive. Idk what to do with that information, I just wanted it out there

Tom pulling his classic sexy-character move: Foot dramatically placed on chair

The cleaner just being like "what a fucking mess, god I hate my job" as if Xavier and Sarah aren't currently having a whole plot-altering revelation in the same room

Oh yeah, and this is also the moment I was very relieved Sarah was a better person than me (/hj) and didn't sleep with Xavier

Also, mostly unrelated, but Katherine's voice specifically as the cleaner reminds me of DHMIS every single time and idk why

"Are you quite finished??" "... Honestly, no"

"But who would do that? Who would do- It was me" He tried to be mysterious but Xavier really wanted credit for what he did

Sam the Ram returns! Very cool that their first video had classics of all kinds: Sam being a chaotic animal, AJ getting to be French, Tom being a sexy German, and Luke being an equally-attractive-but-not-quite-as-played-up woman

"I was tortured by two men gettig with each other next to me" "They're always doing that, the nazis" If SFTH can make nazis gay af, they truly can do anything

Why does Ram-Sam look so offended on behalf of the French after Luke's "It's in my nature" line lmaoo

"Where did you get my dildo!?" Amazing line from Luke, but really what was that thing??

And ofc Xavier dies as he lived.. Shirtless. Sexy evil bastard-

#sfth chaotic highlights #aka: i rewatch the video and say every little thing that comes to my mind #hopefully y'all like that content #sfth #shoot from the hip #sfth luke #sfth tom #sfth sam #sfth aj #oh my god is this a joke

48 notes · View notes

itsnesss · 2 days ago

Note

Hi, I love the work you do.

I would like to give you an idea of a sub!min-su x dom!fem reader smut where she is manipulative and takes advantage of the fact that min su broke up with her girlfriend and takes advantage of the fact that he is very down to do with him whatever she wants.

If you take my idea, I would appreciate it.

𝐦��𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 | park min-su (player 125) × fem!reader

summary | after a painful breakup, min-su is vulnerable and lost. you, always calculating, see this as the perfect opportunity to take control

warnings | manipulation, emotional vulnerability, power dynamics, dom!reader, sub!minsu, smut, explicit content, handjob, p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 1.5 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

Min-su was devastated. You had seen it from the moment he stepped into the room—his shoulders slumped, his gaze empty. His recent breakup had left him vulnerable, and you, always observant, knew exactly how to play your cards.

"You should stop thinking about her," you whispered, slowly moving closer.

He didn’t respond, only clenched his fists on his knees. His eyes were lost, fixed on some nonexistent point on the floor. You knew that if you pushed at the right moment, he would break.

"She’s not worth it, Min-su," you insisted, your voice as soft as the brush of your fingers against his arm. "Why keep suffering over someone who left you?"

He swallowed hard. His gaze met yours, filled with confusion and pain. There it was—the crack you had been waiting for.

"I don’t know what to do…" he murmured.

You smiled, leaning in just enough for him to feel your closeness.

"Let me do it for you."

He didn’t protest. He couldn’t. He had surrendered without realizing it, caught in the web you had patiently woven. You savored his defeat, guiding him exactly where you wanted him.

Your fingers traced along his wrist with a light touch, feeling the faint tremor in his skin. He was so fragile, so easy to mold in this state.

"It’s unfair that she left you like this," you whispered, letting your hands glide over his shoulders with an air of false tenderness. "But maybe… it’s not such a bad thing."

Min-su shuddered under your touch, his body tense yet wavering. He looked at you with doubt, but there was something else in his eyes. Something that made you smile.

"I would never treat you like that," you continued, moving even closer. "I would never make you feel like you’re not enough."

His lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but you silenced him as you leaned in, letting your breath brush against his ear.

"Let me show you how much you’re worth, Min-su."

The silence that followed was heavy, charged. His breathing turned uneven as your fingers moved with more confidence, tracing a slow, deliberate path.

"Is this what you want?" you whispered, savoring the way he clung to the last shred of resistance.

Min-su closed his eyes, his shaky exhale giving you the answer you were waiting for.

"Yes…"

And with that, he was completely yours.

You are not what I needed, but you are not the only one who took the opportunity to satisfy your cravings. You were the best. The most cunning. The one who had managed to win him over with skill and subtlety. And nothing could stop him now.

"Let's go," you whispered in his ear, taking his hand. Let's keep that damn woman out of your life.

The smile slipped onto your lips as you guided him to your room. The crack had turned into a fissure, and soon you would have him completely broken. The pain, the trust, and the need intertwined in a deadly mix that gave you control. You had him at your mercy, and he couldn't avoid it.

You just had to wait for everything to end. You just had to wait for the perfect moment to make him fall. And when he did, he would do it hard. The deeper their emotions were, the more intense it would be. The more you had control.

When you stood in front of the bed, Min-su stopped. Her expression was a mix of longing and fear, as if she had understood that she should not give in. But you had already won. You had taken it too far.

"What's wrong?" you asked, your voice feigning surprise. "Don't you want to make me feel better?"

"Y-yes..." he stammered. But I don't know...

You smiled. You barely cared about his hesitation. What mattered to you was your victory.

"I will teach you" you whispered. "Just let me do it".

He nodded, and his response was enough to make you feel invincible.

You brought him to the bed without wasting time, the need to punish him for his weakness increasing with every second. You made him tremble when you started kissing his neck, the caress of your lips increasing in intensity.

"I'll do it as fast as I can," you made sure to whisper between kisses. As fast as you want.

Min-su gasped, his breath quickening with each kiss on his throat. His hand rose to grip your arm, but soon it turned into a caress sliding over your back. You forced him to lie down, kissing him with more passion until his body surrendered beneath yours.

Your fingers traced him, feeling every inch of his skin. You looked at him as he returned the contact, his eyes shining with a desire that seemed ready to burst at any moment. But you didn't stop. You weren't going to miss the chance to ruin it completely.

You forced him to undress, made him feel every caress and every kiss before pressing his thighs upwards. His skin trembled as you explored it with your lips, savoring every moan of pleasure. Her fingers curled into the mattress with the yearning for something more, something you knew you would soon have in your hands.

"You want this, right, Min-su?" you asked while licking his entrance. "You want me to do it."

He nodded with a gasp. The perfect answer. The answer you needed to make sure he had no choice but to give up.

"Good boy," you smiled. Then you'll have it.

You did it slowly, savoring the moment when his eyes widened in shock. You squeezed her legs, her fingers digging into your skin.

"I'm inside," you murmur, your hips moving with a deliberate rhythm. I'm so deep inside you that you won't be able to get me out of your mind.

Min-su swallowed hard with a gasp, her face so beautiful that it was hard not to stop and enjoy the moment. But you knew you couldn't stop. Not yet. You hadn't finished with him yet.

You moved faster, making him gasp harder until his breath turned into a burst of moans and gasps. His fingers held him tightly, and his eyes seemed glazed with a desperate desire for more.

"Please," he pleaded, his fingers sliding over your shoulders as if trying to make sure you wouldn't leave. "Please, don't stop. Don't stop..."

You smiled with satisfaction. You had Min-su in the palm of your hand, his body surrendered and his feelings shattered. He belonged to you, and he would for a long time.

"Of course, Min-su," you murmured, kissing his neck. I won't stop. I'll do it until you feel satisfied.

And you did it, your hips colliding with hers at a pace you made sure was getting faster and faster. Their screams and gasps blended into a sound that seemed sweeter than honey. You made him feel alive, you made him forget his pain completely.

But you didn't forget your purpose. You didn't forget that the only way to have Min-su at your feet was through manipulation. So you pushed him to the limit, waited for him to be ready to explode.

And when he did, you smiled. You made him do it all inside you, you felt him explode in an orgasm that seemed to consume him completely. The sounds of pleasure burst from his lips with a violent explosion, his eyes glazing over as his body trembled with passion.

You left him exhausted in your arms, smiling with pride at what you had just accomplished. You had ruined him. You had completely destroyed it. And there was only one way to make him accept it.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice so weak it seemed like the whisper of a lost soul. Thank you for this.

You nodded with a smile, your gaze locking onto his eyes. He had accepted his defeat without realizing it. He had accepted the manipulation and the pain you were going to inflict on him.

"You're welcome, Min-su," you slid off him, smiling as he shivered. You're welcome.

And with that, you had him. You had him trapped, and he wasn't going to escape from you so soon. You just had to keep doing it, keep manipulating him until there was no more room to resist. You just had to make him give up. And he would do it, because he had no other choice. Because he had been too perfect a victim for your games.

#squid game smut #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x reader smut #min su squid game #park minsu #min su x reader #player 125 x reader

30 notes · View notes

farfromstrange · 2 days ago

Text

Hello, I am not okay. I’m having thoughts. Someone revive me please and thank you.

Fuck.

Spoilers for DD:BA episodes 5 & 6 under the cut!

Episode 5:

Whoever had the idea for Matt to work with Kamala’s Dad to stop a bank robbery and use that as the filler episode deserves a fucking raise. Like, right now. That was the best fucking MCU cameo I could’ve fucking asked for. I love Yusuf, and I love how much he loves his daughter, and I just know Kamala lost it when her father told her about what happened.

Matt walking straight back into that bank as soon as he heard it was being robbed, acting like he had no idea was the most fucking insufferable and badass Matt Murdock thing this guy could’ve done.

Also, can we talk about the fight scene? That was a fight scene. Thank you, Marvel. Not only did he use his tie to choke the guy, he also choked him with his thighs. I have never been more turned in my life.

If you were expecting me to be elaborate about this episode, you’re going to have to wait for my episode 6 thoughts because episode 5 just made me horny.

I did not think I’d hear Charlie using an Irish accent in the year of 2025, but I am living for this shit! All I could think about was Michael Kinsella the moment he opened his mouth. Charlie Cox, the man that you are. Honestly.

He was smug. He was acting clueless. He was acting so helpless he became insufferable. This was out Matt Murdock in his fucking element. His cane turned into Billy clubs (love the two-in-one upgrade, by the way), he pulled the robber’s mask over his head so he wouldn’t be recognized, and then he beat the shit out of him, even breaking his leg like a fucking glow stick. Yes sir!

Also, I feel like that was basically just hinting at him suiting up again in the next episode. Fucking perfect. Never has a filler episode made the most sense.

Episode 6:

Frank was right, Matt is being haunted.

He prayed over Foggy’s prayer card, calls it “checking in”, and fucking kissed that piece of paper. This? This fucking broke me. He kissed it. That means more than just carrying it around in his pocket, or having it beside him when he works. He remembers the night Foggy died so vividly, and he prays because he needs to feel closer to him. I am sobbing.

Maybe for a moment it did help him, and maybe it does give him a little faith to check in on his best friend, but it doesn’t bring Foggy back, and it doesn’t erase all the shit that happened since he died. It doesn’t change the fact that Matt’s life imploded, and Charlie’s acting was just so fucking impeccable, I cried.

Moving on. Heather wanting to research vigilantes for her next book is not going to end well. I’m calling it right now. I mean, was it funny she suggested talking to Frank and Matt straight up laughing in her face because the idea is surreal? Yes. Did he have the blankest expression known to man when she mentioned Daredevil and did that make me cackle? Also yes. But I also still believe that him hiding the truth from her is not going to end well, and if she keeps pressing the issue, she might get hurt.

Also, her boyfriend who had been taken hostage in a bank robbery, like, a day ago acting like nothing happened (because he knew it was going to work out in the end, and that had nothing to do with faith) understandably made her worry, but she also acted like it didn’t even surprise her, so I don’t know what’s funnier, his awful attempts at lying or her awful attempts at playing along with his bullshit.

Also, Matt acting like everything’s normal reminds me of Season 1 when he was (awfully) lying to both Foggy and Karen and acting all oblivious about literally everything.

Now, Angela coming to Matt to do something about what her uncle had been working on, and Matt acting like he couldn’t do anything about it, I believe was his last attempt at holding onto his ‘let the system handle it’ attitude. I think he made his decision the moment Cherry told him about Muse, but it took for Angela to walk right into Muse’s arms for him to suit up again. And I think that, in itself, was amazingly well done.

Fisk’s anti-vigilante task force to catch Muse was expected, and I’m honestly not surprised he chose the corrupt cops for his cause. Frank is going to have a field day with them.

Anyway. There is so much to unpack about the last twenty minutes or so. We have Matt who said ‘fuck it’ the moment he realized Angela was in danger. Yes, he said the f-word. Disney let him say the f-word. And it was the perfect timing for that.

We have Matt who hadn’t put on the suit in over a year. And we have Fisk who handed Adam an axe, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to take him down, and then beating him in front of the same painting Matt once beat him before.

The original Daredevil theme played. Matt beat Muse to a pulp, and he was about to strangle him—yes, I’m convinced if Angela’s heart hadn’t stopped, he would’ve crossed the line again. Fisk was being Fisk. And putting both scenes together and switching between them was cinematic genius, in my opinion.

Matt has so much darkness inside him and he finally let some of it out. That grin, the way he was taking the punches like he didn’t even care, blood spewing everywhere, and he just kept going until he realized the reason he came was dying. And he couldn’t let Angela die.

He saved her life, quite literally, and when she called him Daredevil and he said, “I’m here,” my only thought was, we are so back. Like, yes, you’re here. And that suit is staying on for the foreseeable future. He tasted blood again.

And don’t even get me started on Matt’s prayer in the background as Fisk dragged Adam back into his cell, as Matt was giving CPR to Angela. He was so desperate not to lose her, too.

Matt embraced the darkness, and while he did that, they played a fucking church choir in the background, and Fisk also embraced his darkness again in the most violent of ways. Tasking corrupt cops with getting rid of vigilantes is one thing, beating his wife’s affair after basically handing him an axe to kill him is another. He played with that man like a predator would play with his prey. I was obsessed.

Matt is so much darker now than he was ever before. I personally believe the lines have been impossibly blurred, and now that he has finally let go, everything is just going to cave in. The past and the present are going to try and bury him. With Muse and Fisk and everything else, the odds are stacked against him, and I can’t wait to see where this goes.

Also, honorary mention to them displaying Matt using the disability aid on his laptop because yes, he’s blind. Yes, he needs accommodations. Just because he has heightened senses that allow him to fight doesn’t mean he’s not blind. He needs that shit to function and do his job. Anyway, I just thought that was a lovely and necessary detail.

And another note: I need to fuck this man. Or I need him to fuck me. Or both. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

#lizzi talks #ddba spoilers #daredevil: born again #episode 5 #episode 6 #daredevil born again spoilers #yes there is a lot of charlie cox acting appreciation in here fight me

29 notes · View notes