#i just can't make the border look nice

[the-blind-geisha]

I dunno.

There was a Rosalina with a sorta kinda flower border in my WIPs that sat there forever, so I threw out the old idea that would take too long for me to work with & just did this instead.

[bunnys-kisses]

blues, reds and pregnancies

max verstappen & charles leclerc

cw: smut/pwp, pregnant!reader, threesome, sub!charles, "dom"!reader, dom!max, breast play, body worship, oral sex (reader & max receives), threesome, max is monsieur and reader is madame, dom/sub play, praise kink, pregnancy kink, protected sex, filth(!!), 3.3k words

bunny says: *big shrug* i don't know! (comments and reblogs are always appreciated!)

max wasn't stupid. a keen eye like his made it hard for him to miss things. both on the track and off. he knew how charles stared at you. max thought it was a seething jealousy that charles had, that max had something he couldn't have.

while he brushed it off, almost smiling in a smugness, he noticed something changed once you got pregnant. you and max were beyond excited to have a child, max made sure to show various ways that he was thankful for giving him the chance to be a (good) father.

so max noticed when around the fifth month of your pregnancy, a sunny track day in italy, that charles was a lot more hands-y than usual. you didn't mind the attention on you, you knew people were just being nice. so charles' hand on your swollen middle was nothing out of the ordinary.

but max could see the almost nervousness on charles' face. especially when you beamed at him.

"yeah, he's been moving a bit recently." you beamed, "i can't believe i'm saying this, but i think he knows what i'm at the track. i wouldn't be surprised if he could hear the engines." you laughed.

charles' eyes were on your bump that could be outlined in the dress you wore. both hands on your belly as he listened with attention. you blabbered about all the updates with your son.

max should've known that charles had a soft spot for mother's, and that soft spot left him feeling a little hard. it would only fully click when after the monaco grand prix, and a party by a pool was in full effect.

max stayed with making sure his wife was taken care of. but he could see that charles' gaze lingered on you. the two piece swimsuit was comfortable, and not meant to turn heads. but max swore he saw charles adjust himself in his own swimsuit when he saw you bend over to hand max another drink before you sat down on the chair beside him.

to test the waters, max leaned forward to your warm cheek but with his eyes on charles. he placed his large hand on your belly and winked at the other driver. charles' eyes went wide before he turned away, probably to get another drink.

"what are you doing, schat?" you asked.

he pressed a kiss to your cheek and dodged the question as he responded, "your dutch is sounding better, mijn vrouw." then gave your swollen middle a rub.

-

"hey, charles. i need some advice." max said with his phone in his hand. they were about to get ready to practice in spain. he leaned over to charles when the other man looked at him.

"yeah?"

max showed his phone to charles, "do you think the red or the blue looks better?"

charles raised his eyebrows at the other man as he took the phone. he almost dropped it when he saw the first photo. it was you in front of the full length mirror in a red pair of underwear that went over the bump you were sprouting and a matching bra with a bow in the middle that was yellow.

the thing that took charles off guard was that the red of the garments were not a nice maroon or even bordering on a pinky colour. no it was red, ferrari red.

max reached over and swiped to the next picture. it was a similar set but except in the same dark blue colour of max's driving suit paired with a little red bow in the center of the bra. ferrari and red bull. the dutch driver seemed unfazed as he asked, "so which one, leclerc? i'm thinking she looks better in the blue."

charles looked at max and exhaled deeply, "are you trying to kill me?"

max feigned confusion as he responded, "i thought we were friends, charles." he shrugged and added, "you stare at her enough, i thought you'd know what she looked good in. i'm pretty sure if she sat in the stands, you'd crash just to get a good look at her. so which is it, red or blue?"

charles' jaw tensed and he looked back at the photo on max's phone, "red." he replied.

-

you sat there at the edge of the bed with your thighs pressed together. you looked at both of the men in front of you with your arms crossed.

"hello mrs. verstappen." charles said as he slowly took off his driving jacket, "you look.. good."

you raised your eyebrows and chuckled, "oh charlie." you said, "do you have a thing for mothers?" you hard to lighten the mood because both men were looking at you like hungry wolves.

charles looked away for a moment and rolled his shoulders, "i mean, you and max have given me a wonderful oppurtunity. i couldn't say no!"

you and max laughed, then you spoke as you leaned forward. you took his hand and pulled him a little forward as you leaned back a little again, then placed his hand on your stomach.

"i'm sure my husband went through all the rules?" you weren't going to throw yourself onto charles or let max control the entire situation, not that your husband would've done that. so there were rules, rules that all three parties tonight had the follow.

the driver nodded his head quickly, "yes, max went over it twice." he spread his hand further across your bump.

you tilted your head to the side and asked, "what is the number one rule?"

charles swallowed, "we never talk about this after tonight?"

you looked to your husband for a moment before you took charles' other hand and placed it on your swollen middle. you then asked, "rule two?"

charles leaned a little more forward, "use protection."

you nodded and smiled at him, "such a good boy." you looked at max as you reached up and combed your fingers through charles' hair, "where have you been hiding him?" and laughed.

charles swallowed, his face went pink. his hands planted on your belly, not applying any pressure as to not hurt you. he mumbled, "thank you, madame."

you took him by the face and looked him in the eyes. you were all smiles and laughter. you pulled him in for a soft kiss, when you parted you said, "and that's rule three. max is monsieur and i am madame, correct?"

he nodded, "oui, madame!"

max came up behind charles and started to get the ferrari branded t-shirt off his torso. he leaned in to the other driver, "you're going to treat my wife well tonight, charlie?"

charles thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest. he let max takes the shirt off of him and he was pulled into bed with you. his eyes went wide as he ended up beside you on the king sized hotel room.

you were still in the underwear and got yourself close to charles. you took him by the face and kissed him gently, your belly brushed against his abdomen as the two of you made out.

charles' didn't know what to do with his hands, but max's voice rang in his head, "just touch her." which gave him the courage to explore your body with his hands.

the bed shifted as max got behind you, his hands on your body too. you giggled at their touches between kisses. max pulled the underwear down under your belly, exposed your swell to him.

charles got a good sight of your swollen middle, free of clothes and swallowed as he pulled away from the kiss. his eyes stayed on you. max rested his chin on your shoulder, he looked at his fellow driver and had both hands on your belly.

"jealous?" max seemed almost cocky.

charles swallowed, "i feel like this is a trick question. you are very pretty, madame, but i am afraid your husband might kill me if i say too much."

max chuckled against your skin, "i'll allow it, leclerc. but don't think this is a daily thing. she is still my wife." his hands went to your breasts and groped them through the bra.

you felt hot between the two men. their hands trailed along your body until they began to grow impatient. max's lips were on your neck and charles' lips were on your own. your husband undid your bra and with a little held from you, he got it off your body.

the process for all three of you to get out of your clothes was a slow process but eventually the three of you were naked and charles got himself in between your legs.

your head was in your husband's lap with his cock up against your cheek. you were laid out on your back, your pregnancy bump on full display.

charles swallowed, "you're very pretty, madame."

if anyone caught the three of you in such a compromising position, the media would have a field day. two rivals and a wife in the middle. the sound you made when charles' dove his tongue between your lags was almost pornographic and made max's cock twitch against your face.

you kicked your legs out and charles held you by the hips as he feverishly lapped at your pussy. you shuddered and felt a skip in your heartbeat.

charles had thought frequently about your pussy. there was something about it that made his cock stir. he would never admit it to anyone (especially not max, he wasn't insane), but he had masturbated to the thought of fucking your sweet pussy. it was like a dirty little secret that he kept buried deep inside. but he guessed he wasn't so good at hiding it, considering that you and max figured it out.

he continued to lap at your sex and your hands went into his hair, you held on tightly then turned you head and started to kiss at max's cock. max enjoyed the sight in front of him, his longtime rival and friend alongside his wife.

it was a kind of debauchery that would never leave the bedroom. your moans were music to his ears paired with the sounds of charles between your legs. if max was a little braver he'd try to get his phone to take a photo, but rules were rules.

he tensed up a little bit as you continued to lick his cock from the odd angle. your tongue and lips on his length was always a nice surprise. his own hand was in your hair as he guided you up and down his cock.

the entire room grew hot as the sun set over the horizon, the late afternoon light glimmered through the large windows of the hotel room. two drivers and a driver's wife were tangled up in bed. charles between your legs, his cock heavy and leaky against the bed. and you between your husband's legs, playing with his cock.

you clutched onto charles' hair when you felt the warmth of climax pool in your gut. you tensed up and moaned, gripping onto his dark hair. you raised your hips a little to rub up against him further.

"shit, charles." you panted as you came on his tongue.

charles groaned against your cunt as continued to lap at you like a hungry animal. when you relaxed, he pulled his face again. the bottom half gleamed with your wetness and his pupils were dilated. not to mention

max chuckled and when charles' was resting on his heels, cock painfully erect, the dutchman grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a searing kiss. charles' cock twitched at the feeling of max's lips against his.

your eyes went wide at the sight of it.

"my wife tastes good, does she not?" max asked when he pulled away, his grip still hard on charles' shoulder as if to steady the other man.

charles nodded and swallowed, "lucky man." then watched as max grabbed a condom from the box on the nightstand.

max reached down and held you face to look up at him. he looked down at you, "i think you should thank charles for his hard work."

you looked to the other driver and smirked, your head still abuzz, "thank you, charlie."

charles smiled, "of course, madame."

you and max watched charles put the condom on. he was painfully hard, the tip almost purple and achy. he was leaky with precum. max thought this was a perfect time to tease his fellow driver, "charles?"

the other man looked at him.

the dutch driver continued, "what do you like about my wife?" he ran his fingers through your hair as you once again kissed his cock, "i see how you look at her. you know she is not a piece of meat." he shook his head a little, "you could have almost any woman in the world, and you're here with me and my wife. why?"

charles leaned back a little and stroked his condom covered cock, the lube on it getting all over his palm. his cheeks were bright pink, bordering on red as he said, "i can't help but be a little jealous." he felt a little more embolden to speak, "she looks so good carrying your child. makes me wish it were mine." he swallowed and looked at max, "i've dreamt of this moment since the first moment you brought her to the paddock."

max looked down at you, "i told you, you'd make the impression." then looked back to charles, "i suggest you make that dream a reality before she gets impatient." then flashed a smile at the other driver.

charles took you by the thighs then kept one hand on you and the other on his cock as he examined your soaked pussy. he felt an excitement through his body as he inched his cock into your pussy. he could feel max's blue eyes on him as he sank all the way in.

the noise you made sent a thrill through him as he kept you by the thighs and started to rut against you. charles fucked you, while you orally pleasured max.

max kept his hands in your hair, charles' hands were on your hips and your fists were knotted in the white bed sheet. you could feel the pleasure course through your body.

the bed moved under your collective movements, the sounds of sex was heavy in the air as was the heat between three bodies. this was nothing short of a miracle that this even happened, that everything aligned perfectly.

"she's a pretty girl, isn't she, charles? you should be lucky i'm letting you have sex with her. you're a lucky man." max said as he continued to guide your head onto his cock while the other driver bullied his cock into you, "you fuck like an animal, leclerc. remember she is pregnant, be a little gentle."

charles licked his lips, "can't help it."

max reached across and grabbed the other man by the hair and looked him in the eyes. it was all fun and games until you got hurt. he raised his eyebrows at the other man. both of them were flushed in the cheeks and could feel the sweat on their bodies, "i'm not having my wife be in pain because of you, leclerc."

charles slowed down a little, "sorry... monsieur."

max found it endearing seeing charles like this. the rivalry between them ran deep, but to see the ferarri driver just come apart at the feeling of your pussy around his cock. it was something else. he pulled him in for a hot kiss as both men moved against you, sandwiching your pregnant body between them.

if max knew that he could make charles so submissive, he would've proposed this a long time ago.

you covered your face from the heat that grew on your cheeks. but max noticed when he stopped kissing charles. he looked down at you and peeled your hands away from your face.

"no need to hide, mijn liefje." he said with love in his voice. the strong dominance was slowly slipping the more you caved under pressure.

he kept your hands pinned to the his thighs as you whined. your lips went back to his cock. a pace was soon established. it was less of a carnal, quick fuck and more of a slow, hot sex.

you felt the curl in your gut of pleasure. you could feel the heat in your body as you gave and received pleasure. you were the first to finish. you came for a second time and kicked out your legs from the intensity of it all.

"oh mon dieu." charles panted as he felt the sweat trail down his back, he was trying to keep it together as to not hurt you. your body was an alluring siren in his mind. his cock twitched inside of your sweet pussy.

a fertile beauty, carrying the child of his rival. it was strange, but it left charles aching for more.

"she's just that good." max purred, seeing the expressions cross charles' face, his head clouded with lust as well. the entire environment felt hot and sensual.

"i'm gonna finish." charles choked out, as if looking for permission to do so.

max looked down at you, pleasure was marked on your expression. he relayed charles' request to you, "may he come?"

you nodded and swallowed, trying to regain yourself. your husband's cock painfully hard against your face. pre-cum oozed across your skin, making it tacky and shiny. you'd look like a whore if it weren't for the gleaming wedding ring that max had meticulously picked out.

"use your words." max cooed. he had let go of your wrists to pump his own cock that was still wet with your spit. the sight of you was erotic and filled him with a smugness and a lust.

you opened your eyes a little more and looked at charles. you said with as much steadiness as you could muster, "please.. cum.. now."

charles panted and replied, "oui, mon cheri."

max could've wrung the other driver's neck for breaking the rules, but the three of you were so lost in the pleasure and the heat of lust that it could slide... just this once.

with a hard thrust of his hips, charles' buried his cock into you and finished with a loud groan. he could feel the shudder of pleasure in his body. a heightened euphoria that left him panting wildly. he rambled, mixing between english and french, he could feel his heartbeat in his ears.

exhausted, you flipped yourself over as fast as a five month pregnant woman could and fully gave your husband the oral sex he deserved. charles watched your head bob up and down quickly.

"that's it." max purred before he sank his cock down your throat and finished quickly. the feeling was too much for him.

you took your mouth off your husband's cock and wiped the side of your mouth, "okay, okay. i'm done. mama's tired." then chuckled a little bit, exhausted.

both men weren't going to argue, even if the fucked-out mrs. verstappen was a sight to behold.

the three of you soon after laid in a tangled mess, you pressed against your husband while he was resting against the headboard and charles' face pressed against your back. his arms wrapped loosely around you.

max played with your hair as he asked charles, "and what do we say?" getting a slight glee out of the authoritative tone towards charles.

the other driver yawned, "merci beaucoup, monsieur et madame."

-

charles saw you and max again only a few weeks later at silverstone. it was rainy and a bit colder. max had put his jacket over your shoulders and kissed you on the cheek. charles had been having a hard time keeping it together since spain.

max pulled the hood of the jacket over your head to protect you from the light rain. he kissed you on the lips before you leaned up to him to whisper something in his ear. he smirked and whispered something back, his gaze was towards charles who was nearby.

later the dutch driver would ask, "hey charles. red or blue?" <3

[annacaffeina]

Where the hell did this idea of the West, and primarily the U.S. dismantling the country of Israel even come from?? It's so fuckin puzzling to me! How did so many people decide simultaneously that the U.S. can and should do this?? It's completely insane! It entirely ignores reality! It's bonkers to me that so many people look at the very serious, genuine humanitarian crisis and come to the conclusion "what if a big part of this problem simply wasn't real" and then act like that's a real policy plan. It's delusional. It's magical thinking. "Well, we'll just get the U.S. to make it not real." What kind of logic is that? If that were even possible would you want that to be how you encourage the US to behave? Just erasing countries? Like a magical wizard? Have you thought this through At All?? There are some actual facts that are simply just facts, and one of those facts is that there is a country called Israel. It just is! I feel insane! I feel like, for instance, I'm looking at Chicago and asking if we should do something about gun violence and everyone around me keeps saying "all I see is a weird metal bean and a half constructed condor rehab center" and no matter how many times I say "It's Chicago! It's right there! You can see it!" they just look at me like I'm the crazy one and keep talking about one bean, empty fields, and half a construction project. I'm a little envious tbh. It must be nice to have a solution so easily in front of you and not have to worry about reality. It's like someone going on CNN and saying with a straight face "Ukraine could defeat Russia in a week if Ukraine were allowed to put their giant dragons and their best orcs all along the border, but you know how the West feels about other countries having dragons" and then everyone just sadly shook their head about how Ukraine can't use their best dragons. It's whackanut. And yet all at once bunches and bunches of people, theoretically empathetic and logical people started talking about making a full country just disappear like david fuckin copperfield. Like there isn't a full on country Right There that can easily be seen. Like some kind of collective delusion. What the fuck happened?!?! How did we get here? Where is anyone's basic grasp of reality??? How did this bullshit delusion suddenly just sprout the fuck out??

[zweiginator]

college!patrick corrupting innocent reader……………… gawd

thinking about this but like. him bringing art in. needs his best friend to enjoy this too!!!

oh fuck because i'm thinking that patrick wants to teach you how to give head. the only problem is that he doesn't trust himself. he knows as soon as you're swirling your tongue around his tip and moaning around him with those big watery eyes of yours--he'll start fucking your throat. he can't control it and it makes him want to be the guinea pig so much fucking more. you're such a good little student; he knows you'd take it like a champ. but he'll be good.

you don't realize patrick has an agenda here. that he has strategically thought out everything he wants to teach you and put it in the order that makes most sense. it feels sleazy to him that he hasn't even seen your pussy. hasn't felt that velvety skin against his tongue, your silky wetness coating his fingers or his cock.

but he assures himself that waiting will make it better. and patrick doesn't tell either you nor art what's on his little agenda. he just tells you to come over around seven. shoots art the same text.

so you both wait outside his door. neither of you have knocked yet. you notice how art's cheeks are dewy and pink, a mixture of his proximity to such a beautiful girl, and remnants from the five mile run he just completed.

you introduce yourself.

art wipes his clammy hand on the back of his grey t-shirt and slips his palm into yours

"i'm art. it's nice to meet you." his voice is soft. he's handsome in a way that is different than patrick, but you can't quite put your finger on why that is. maybe a fundamental difference in their first impressions with you.

patrick was unabashed in his actions. aware of his effect on other people. willing and able to use his charisma to get whatever he wants in a way that borders on manipulative but couldn't quite be classified that way.

art has more trepidation. but he still has confidence in the way he carries himself. his shoulders are back, his posture near perfect.

"are you here for patrick?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"yeah," you answer, looking at the time. 6:59. you and art are very timely. "he told me to come over at 7."

art fumbles with his phone, pulling it out of his shorts pocket. it's hard to see with the glare of the late spring sun, but he shows you the text patrick sent him. it's verbatim what was sent to you, and you tell art this.

"weird. are you guys dating or something?"

you shrug. "no, i don't think. just hanging out."

art knows what that means. and he chews on the inside of his cheek. his jaw pops.

"how do you know each other?" it's your turn to ask questions.

"he's my best friend." art knocks on patrick's door for the third time before crossing his arms over his chest. you sense more urgency in the way art is acting. "we grew up together, played tennis all throughout childhood and here we are."

"patrick plays tennis?" you notice art's t-shirt and hat. it's on backwards, but it's embroidered with stark white lettering. stanford tennis. "i didn't know that." you feel small, realizing you don't know a huge part of patrick's life. naive to his hobbies and talents and his best friend. maybe you overestimated your role in his life.

art senses your disappointment in how your voice falters.

"he's not a very open person. hence why we're both here right now. dumbass probably sent me the text by accident." art kicks the door. "pat! open the fucking door, man! it's hot out here!" the veins in his neck tremble as patrick flings the door open.

"come in, come in." he ushers you both inside.

so he really did mean to text art.

he sits between you both on the couch and puts his arms around you and art. spreads his legs wide and lets out a deep sigh.

you and art look at each other, confused. but neither of you speak up just yet; perhaps its a subconscious nod to the fact that patrick is in charge here. a way to foreshadow.

"she's pretty, isn't she artie?" patrick turns to his best friend and you see him flush a deeper shade of pink.

"um, yeah. she is." art responds.

you swallow. both of their legs are spread wide, to the point where you barely have room to fit on the couch. it seems rude, but then again, maybe patrick is doing this on purpose.

"and artie?" he turns to you this time; his broad, strong torso almost obstructs your view of art behind him. "he's handsome. lots of girls think that."

you nod. "yeah, he is handsome." it's innocuous enough. and you wouldn't lie, of course not.

"what's the deal here, pat?" art says it breathily. like he knows patrick has a trick up his sleeve.

"we've been having some lessons." patrick says, only to art, as if you're not there. "i taught her how to kiss."

your breath hitches. is he going to tell?---

"and i taught her how to give a handjob, just last week. her first one ever."

"patrick this isn't my business." art shifts uncomfortably, watching the clock on the wall tick, tick, tick.

"but there's still a lot to learn for her." patrick continues, unfazed by the obvious discomfort in the room, the shifted mood that seemingly affects everyone but him. because again, he's in power. it's his prerogative. and here you both exist, at his mercy.

you're awfully quiet, but you stay that way.

"i want to teach her how to give a blowjob." patrick says it as he picks lint from his shorts, like it means nothing. and it makes you want to do it. to impress him and stay on his radar. not to be a temporary plaything.

so you lean into patrick and press a kiss to his neck, open-mouthed at the part that makes him shudder and melt. but he pulls away from you.

"not on me, sweetheart."

you look at him, bewildered. art shares the same expression, except his jaw is clenched and a pearly bead of sweat trembles over his browbone.

"on him."

art can't pretend he isn't intrigued. maybe he should put a stop to this. put his foot down and say no to patrick. except he wants it. and god, he hopes you want it to.

art looks at you, his lips parted and pink to match the supple skin of his cheeks.

patrick watches you two. has a look on his face that reads well what are you two waiting for?

you crawl over patrick's lap so you're leaning over his body. using him like a bridge. your hands grip onto patrick's thighs until you find balance. art sits up straighter, meets you in the middle so patrick has a perfect view of your profiles.

art cups your cheek and pulls your bottom lip with his teeth before sucking it into his mouth. you feel his jaw move, opening wide so he can envelope you in an open-mouthed kiss that sets your body on fire. patrick watches spit dribble down your chins in a messy meld of kisses, of tongues, of hands all over each other.

patrick grabs your wrist, the one that rested on art's jaw, and plants it square on art's erection.

neither patrick nor you expect the carnal groan that emits from art's throat.

[doberbutts]

Is the high level of inbreeding in dobes more because "undesirable" traits are common so those dogs get weeded out (whether actual bad things or just not fitting the breed spec), a small number of breeders having the monopoly, or because they are all related anyway so there's no way of avoiding it without an outcross program? Is something like the Doberman Preservation ​Project a realistic future for the breed?

The doberman breed is in the current shape its in due to multiple genetic bottlenecks- some simple stupid breeding decisions and others due to active war zones and the consequences of wars- paired with people who are stubbornly refusing to even try to make it better because they have convinced themselves that what they're doing is right.

Fenris is my lowest COI dobe to date [23% iirc] and while not the lowest I've seen in the breed [19%], still a huge improvement over to 50-60% breed average. But people have argued again and again that lowering COI means making breeding decisions that produce inferior dogs, and so many refuse to even consider it as a possibility.

(For non-dog people, COI is coefficient of inbreeding, and it is a look at the numbers behind how inbred a population is. You want as low of a number as possible. 25% is equal to immediate siblings. Ideally we'd want single digit numbers, with anything over 10% being a major problem to fix. To compare, my chihuahuas are something like 6% (Fae) and 0.02% (Tater). Sushi is a direct line breeding aunt-to-nephew so she's up in the 40s.)

(It doesn't necessarily mean a dog is immune to genetic predisposition to bad health, as evidenced by Tater's CM diagnosis, however it does seem to correlate directly with longevity and likelihood of developing these problems, meaning Tater unfortunately just lost the genetic lottery)

In other words, it is certainly possible to reduce the COI of the breed by HALF with smart breeding decisions, and people are plugging their ears going LA LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU because it means actually going out and looking past the popular sires and taking a chance on a dog that might not be your exact type but will still improve the next generation. This is not just a show line problem because I spend the majority of my time with working line dobes and working dobe people and this is an incredibly annoying problem there too. Fenris himself has popular sires in his pedigree, both the show half and the working half, so it is demonstratably very difficult to avoid.

I do think a well executed outcross project is needed, however... the problem I have is that the current proposed projects all suck. There's not a lot of direction outside of throwing things into the pot and seeing what sticks, and a lot of the resulting dogs quite frankly aren't what doberman people would be looking for anyway. Farm collies? Bulldogs? Bullies? Carolina dogs? Border collies? Pyrs? Why??? None of these are going to make a dog that has the temperament that draws people to this breed.

There are. A bunch of breeders who are waiting for an outcross project that actually makes sense. They've even posted in various outcrops groups that they would support a project if it had certain specifications. Many have said, get yourself a nice female and title her out in a bite sport and do all the doberman health testing even if she's not a doberman and we'd be interested in contributing semen. The response almost invariably has been "but I don't want a protective dog". Then what are you doing in a DOBERMAN project??? So of course the chief complaint is that most of these projects are not looking to make dobermans, they're looking to make their own breed and just have a doberman paint job. Well, sorry, but most involved doberman people want a DOBERMAN, not just a dog that looks like one. This is the only AKC recognized breed with the sole function of personal protection. They are protective dogs. Either accept that, or get interested in a different breed.

I have heard increasingly concerning things regarding the temperament of the doberman diversity project dogs, which does not surprise me unfortunately as none of these dogs are in any way sourced from dogs with verifiable correct temperament. What do you get when you cross a Craigslist Corso with a Craigslist doberman? Well the first generation might be okay for people who want pets but apparently the ones that have worked in protection are awful at it. Same with the malinois crosses- of course, you took a lukewarm malinois and bred it to a z-list doberman and you're surprised that you got a bunch of lukewarm at best pet dogs.

I think the only project I solidly am somewhat interested in is the bandog cross, and that cross works just fine but then of course it does because in that country, bandogs are exclusively military, police, and security dogs, and she bred it to a igp3 doberman. Unfortunately the doberman died before his 10th birthday, so now we're all waiting to see what happens with his progeny.

[daenysx]

hii, i have a request for your sleepover but it might be a little angsty! james with a reader who never felt like having children, and they always avoid this discussion but it's pretty obvious, and one day james agrees to babysit one of his friends' kid without telling r (you can take it from here) thanks for considering it 💐🫶🏻

"oh, okay, you wanna play with this?" you hear james's voice but it's faint. who's he talking to? "here you go, sweetheart, let me hold it for you."

you walk into the apartment, putting your bag to the side. "james?" you call for him. "i'm home."

"we're in the living room." he says. "welcome back, angel."

little babbling noises fill the room as you step in. james sits on the couch, toys and dolls cover the rest of it as he holds a baby on his thighs. you know who the baby is, it's andrew's little girl, one of james's teammates. she plays with a purple monkey toy, such a happy baby with blushy cheeks and a huge smile.

"hi, jamie." you say, sitting next to him. "hi, pretty girl."

"i'm sorry i couldn't call you but andrew had an emergency. he'll be here in an hour to take little daisy."

"it's okay." you say, giving daisy a smile. "she looks so calm. you're a good babysitter i guess."

"well, yeah." james says casually before leaning in and giving you a kiss. "babies love me."

you let them play for a while, pressing a small kiss on daisy's head before going to kitchen. you can see james from your spot, he's having a nice time playing with the baby. he knows how to talk to babies, you realize, something you don't consider yourself being good at. you watch them and- they look really nice together. james looks really nice with a baby in his arms.

you've never spoken about having kids before. you know james likes kids and it's obvious he'll be a good dad. it's just- something you can't see for yourself. not now anyways. james doesn't push you into having the baby talk, but seeing him with a baby feels different. he's- he looks so natural.

andrew takes daisy after a while, you help james picking up her toys. when they leave you offer james a cup of coffee, he gives you a proper kiss before taking a sip from his cup.

"how was you day?" he asks. "we couldn't talk, it's a bit hard talking on the phone when there's a baby asking for attention all the time."

"it's okay." you say, your voice a bit off. "you had a nice time with her."

"yeah, she's- she's so calm for a baby, you know? she didn't make a fuss, just waited for her daddy. it must be nice to have a baby like her."

your face gets the look of thinking something that upsets you and james notices it immediately. he realizes his words and he can't really take them back, it's all in the borders of baby talk.

"i mean- for andrew. it's probably nice for him." he says, reaching for your hand.

"do you- i suppose you want to have kids one day, don't you, jamie?" you ask, voice deep in thoughts.

"angel." he starts, pulling you to him. "i want what you want. i like spending time with kids or playing with them but that's not what being a parent is all about. and it's a big decision."

"it's just that- we never talked about it and i think it's because of me. i just don't want you to give up on something you want on my behalf."

"hey." he cups your cheeks. "look at me. daisy is a wonderful kid and andrew is lucky to have her, but it's all about their life, okay? we totally have our own thing, i don't want you to think i'm giving up on having kids because of you. i don't want anything you don't want."

you try to give him a smile. "i think i'm not ready to think about being a parent yet. if i change my mind one day, i'd definitely want to think about it with you."

"we don't have to rush into anything, okay?" he says, kissing your forehead. "i love you, and i love having you with me. what we have now is more than enough for me."

he takes another sip from his cup, you hug him. he keeps you close, gives you time to think about everything that crosses your mind. you like how he means each word he says, and the comfort of not rushing into things is nice. james doesn't let go of you until he finishes his coffee.

sad girl sleepover ♡

[msgexymunson]

Kitten

Description: Eddie can't believe you're still his nice adorable kitten, even when he's buried inside you.

Warnings: NSFW, porn without plot, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, kinda mean dom Eddie, sub fem reader, degradation, crying, pet names.

A/n: I dont know what to tell you. This is just filth that was floating around in the cesspool that is my brain. Enjoy my dirty girls. If you like it, please comment and reblog!

1k words

Masterlist

"Please please please-" you moan into the empty air, unfeeling ears refusing to absorb the sounds. Sweating and clenching around thick fingers, you wiggle; a fish caught on a line, helpless, unable to break free. Your legs are draped across Eddie's lap, panties pulled to the side, your juices dripping all over his jeans.

Please what? Are you looking for more? Or are you looking to be set free? Its unclear; your pelvic movements are dragging you closer to his sodden cluch; wet, sticky sound of your release echoing everywhere, dampening the edge of your pleated mini skirt.

Disgusting sounds clog your ears; a soaken squelch pervades every sense, filling the room with a dirty, desolate want. A desire to be desiccated.

"Please, Eddie, please-"

"Please, oh please?" He mocks, thick fingers soaked with your release, a milky ring of your slick circling them.

"Please what? What do you want?" His mocking tone cuts through, humiliating you further, "tell me, or I can't give you what you need."

You know you never said, you want him to absorb knowledge at this point. He should know what you need. He does know what you need.

Your moans pierce the air while Eddie fucks you ceaselessly with thick fingers, pushing you towards sticky, squelching release. Again.

"Come on kitten, what do you need? You never said. Come on baby, you can do it." Thick, dastardly fingers continue to invade your cunt and push you to your breaking point. They know exactly what you need, but they want you to say. Your wanton moans are half the fun.

"Eddie, I need you to- please-"

"Please what? You let me bury my fingers in your pussy but you can't say the word fuck? You're fucking cute as hell kitten."

A blush smothers your cheeks, fuelled by his mocking and the heat between your legs.

"I need you inside me Eddie," you pout as his movements slow, still buried deep but his digits are rocking back and forth; so deep its bordering on painful, making you hiss.

"I am inside you kitten." He smirks when you huff, letting out a mirthless laugh.

Thighs quivering, you pull yourself nearer to his ear, your shaky breath a whisper.

"Please, I want your cock inside me. Please fuck me Eddie."

Eddie groans, eyes rolling back at your words. He pulls his fingers from you with a wet noise that makes you cringe. A smug smile stretches across his handsome features.

"See? I knew you could do it. That's my kitten."

Laying you gently down, he slowly pulls your sodden underwear off you, throwing them somewhere on the floor. His pants and boxers are next to go, leaving him naked, narrow hips slotting between your glistening thighs.

You reach to the side to unzip your skirt but Eddie bats your hands away. Rough hands flip your skirt up, exposing your slick soaked cunt. He pulls your tank top up to reveal your breasts, nipples hardening in the cooler air.

"You look so fucking hot like this. Such a dirty whore for me. Hmmm." Lust filled eyes drink in your form as he slowly fists his cock.

"Eddie, please." You frown up at him, hands balled into little fists.

"Stop being a brat and take what I give you." His voice is quiet, but hard. A threat dancing on his tongue. Looking up at him with wide eyes, your lip quivers.

"Aw, my little kitten gonna cry? I'll give you something to cry about."

He lines up his throbbing dick and rubs it through your glistening folds, gathering wetness, before pushing himself fully into you.

Tears rush to the corners of your eyes, pushed out by the sheer size of him. You gasp and grip his shoulders.

"Oh my God Eddie!"

"What's wrong kitten? Can't take it?" His lips draw into a condescending pout.

"No! I can Eddie, I can." You nod at him trying to convince him.

"Ok kitten if you're so sure..." as he starts slowly thrusting in and out of you, his hard member dragging against your sticky satin walls. The stretch was intense, leaving you groaning and gasping, a pretty mess just for Eddie.

A particularly deep thrust has you closing your eyes, moaning loudly.

"Yeah? That good baby?" You nod but its not enough.

"Hey, I asked you a question." He slows, making you grab his biceps, eyes widening.

"Yes, so good, please, don't stop!"

Eddie laughs and starts thrusting harder, faster. One hand keeps him upright, the other grasps you firmly by the jaw.

"You gotta look at me kitten. I wanna see you cum hard."

You stare into his dark eyes as you feel your world begin to unravel. The burning deep in your belly is threatening to spill out over your whole being.

"Eddie, oh my-" you're about to warn him when the feeling crashes over you, fluttering through your nerves, leaving you clenching around his length, whimpering your devotion to him.

"Fuck, you're so fucking pretty when you cum, holding me so tight, my dirty little girl, holy shit" his thrusts begin to falter, finally letting your jaw go, gripping so tight to your shoulder you think he'll leave finger print bruises.

"I'm gonna cum, where- fuck, where do you want it?"

"Inside me, please Eddie."

He breaks character for a moment. "Shit really? Are you sure?" As you nod emphatically, nails leaving red crescents in his back.

Features hard once again, he pounds into you even faster, "gonna fill this pussy up, just like you want, Jesus Christ!" Holding you close he releases deep inside of you. You can feel his dick throbbing, whining at the feeling.

Eddie collapses to the side of you, body shining in sweat. You allow your legs to slowly unfold, still quivering at the strength of your release.

"Sorry kitten if that was a bit much." He strokes your thigh, eyes seeking yours.

"Well you were a bit of a-"

"What princess? A douchbag? A prick?"

"A- a meanie."

Eddie's laugh echoes through the room. He scoops you in his arms.

"And you are an adorable little kitten."

Just tagging a couple of people who I know will enjoy this lol

@lunatictardis @munson-blurbs @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @billybluboy @zestychili @eddiesprincess86 @cluz1babe @joejoequinnquinn @onehotgreasymechanic @eddiemunsonfuxks

[macsimagines]

I’m so sorry that you’re getting hate. and I’ll make sure to reblog your works more to make sure you feel the appreciation you deserve!

but, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask for a request! Headcannons with Izana, Mikey, and Kisaki that have a photo of their darling on there desk, but when their secretary comes in to the office to hand them paperwork but knock down the photo in the process on purpose. the secretary obviously has a distaste for you being their lover so how would they react to it?

I love a jealous bitch. You just make things a little more interesting for Darling and their man. also this borders on a hyper specific scenario and i hate those so please if you have a fic idea try writing it yourself

TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, MINORS DNI, NSFW, JEALOUSY, TOXIC BEHAVIOR, MURDER MENTION, NSFW

Yandere!Izana Kurokawa

Let that bitch secretary of his stick around because he knows she makes you insecure. No joke, he really does let her act out how she wants because he wants to keep you in check.

Izana will allow her to flirt with him in front of you, maybe even give you some attitude and practically lets her roam around his office flaunting her goods because he wants you to feel bothered and belittled.

He's basically saying; "Look at what I can have and feel blessed I still choose you." without ever saying it.

But he knows he's pushing it and never lets her do anything further than those few things. In fact he treats very coldly if he's alone with her. He only goes out of his way to be nice when you're watching.

Truth is, he can't stand her. Hates her perfume, hates the way she looks, hates the way she speaks. She's only good for one things and that's keeping you in line he doesn't need or want her for anything else.

Then one day, she got cocky, one day she really fucked up. "Oops, knocked over your wife's picture. But it's fine sir, you don't really want to be looking at her when you have me right~?"

After that you never see her at the office again. Her replacement is actually a man hired by Kakucho, who went out of his way to find a proper replacement because he pitied you.

"My old secretary? She got too comfortable. I don't need an annoying woman like that. Now come over here and thank me for my kindness."

Yandere!Manjiro Sano (AKA Mikey)

Hates that bitch but can't get rid of her. Apparently everyone in the office has had a taste and his underlings convince him that's good for morale. Also she does her work well enough and he can ignore her.

He kidnapped you, robbed you of all your autonomy. He didn't go through all that trouble to just have some cheap whore when he already has you.

But then you keep trying to hold out on him, you're not breaking even though he loves you and on the bad advice of probably Sanzu he tries to use her to make you jealous.

Lets her flirt and even flirts back in front of you, just because he wants to know you still care. At one point you loved him, maybe its still there?

But you're a brick wall, maybe even amused by his antics. And he just goes back to despising her, because she's not you. Not your hair, not your smile, not your smell. She's fucking wrong wrong wrong wrong.

The unfortunate thing is that she's gotten ballsy. She thinks she has a shot, even though he was just trying to use her to get at you. This bitch actually defiled your picture by pushing it out of the way and Mikey...

He sees red. He doesn't like hitting women, maybe that was just the little bit of honor left in him, but he can kill this pig with his bare hands and not even flinch.

Mikey doesn't hear her screams, her begs or even her sorrys when its all said and done. Just a bloody pummled mess on the floor.

Maybe she can be good for something because he calls you into his office and makes you watch his men clean up her corpse and get rid of it. Just as a reminder of how much he loves. And what he's still capable of.

Yandere!Kisaki Tetta

He hates her. You're his whole world and perfect Darling. He showers you every day in affection that he only gives to you and she thinks she has a place?

Kisaki had hired her as a favor to business partner. His eldest daughter. And to keep good morale and images with this other company he gave her a job.

Don't worry, he was going to bleed that company dry and toss her out on her ass when he was done ruining her family's name. She was just a pawn, but you are everything.

But all that doesn't make her obvious attempts at winning him over any easier. Her father probably had sent her to seduce him and probably take your place as his new wife.

The thought makes him want to puke. As if that ugly cow has anything on you, the reason he lives and breaths and conquers the very business world.

You don't even know about the games this Secretary is playing because he doesn't need you to worry you're perfect pretty head about it. This is his problem and he will handle it when the time comes.

But that happens sooner than later when she DEFILES your image by accidentally knocking your photo into the trash. "Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. I was only putting it where I thought it belonged~"

Well Kisaki was a patient man, but if it was time for action... Her father's company is destroyed, her family name ruined with scandal and defamation, and her corpse was somewhere floating all alone in the ocean.

And you were at home with Kisaki suddenly planning a surprise vacation. "You deserve it, Honey. I just want to spend some time with you."

[strwberri-milk]

Hello can I request for Rafayel x Fem! reader head cannons (you may add the other guys if you think it applies). It’s sort of angsty but (imo) mainly funny. 

Rafayel is making his move, trying to show that he’s genuinely interested in the reader, but to his dismay she’s not getting it. The reader is pretty dense, so at the start she genuinely doesn’t get it. Later on, as Rafayel makes it a bit more obvious, and she picks up on it, but the is in denial. It could a be mix of insecurities, and not wanting to ruin the friendship, but she’d rather assume that he’s being friendly or that he’s just like that because they’ve grown closer as friends. So now the reader is in this weird state of being both dense and in denial while Rafayel is struggling. To top it all off, I think Rafayel would especially be frustrated when he does this nice bordering romantic gesture for the reader and all he gets as a reply is “oh, thanks dude!”

I hope this is all coherent. Thank you and have a nice day!

makes perfect sense!! i love. dense object of affection failing to see affection being given to them grr

Rafayel is rich, famous, and not to mention drop dead gorgeous. He's constantly surrounded by upper society and you just somehow became lucky enough to meet him during a chance encounter and now. somehow, he considers you his closest friend. Any of those things on their own would intimidate you greatly but the fact that he has all of them together makes it hard for you to believe he'll look at you as anything other than his friend.

Rafayel however looks at you and sees the life he wishes to have more than anything. He just wants quiet afternoons with you, to ramble out whatever thoughts he has in his mind, cook and take care of you. At first he was under the impression that his feelings were subtle. He thinks he's a good actor and for the most part he is very good at concealing his feelings but when you don't respond to anything romantic that he does he first thinks he wasn't obvious enough and ups the ante. This makes him become even more obvious to everybody around the two of you except for you for whatever reason.

It's gotten bad enough that he tried to surprise you with the works. Flowers, your favourite treats, some other trinkets that made him think of you all wrapped up in a pretty basket sitting on your doorstep when you came home and yet all he got in response was a string of emojis and a very platonic thank you. He's doing his best not to rip out his hair at how dense you are, finally realising that if he doesn't tell you straight up you'll never recognise his feelings for you.

You on the other hand had noticed that he was getting more romantic with you. You'd begun observing the things he does around other people versus you, knowing that he treats you differently than others by a great margin but also refusing to attribute such behaviours with a romantic intention. After all, why would he pick you out of literally anybody in the world that he could have?

You two are spending the evening together as per usual, Rafayel insisting you come over for dinner because he's received an exceptionally fresh batch of fish tonight and you absolutely have to try some. Conversation flows easily over the sound of your cutlery against the glass and you can't help but notice the soft look in Rafayel's eyes. It's as though he's dropped all his walls just for you in this moment, cheek resting against his palm as he listens to you speak.

"You really don't know how I feel about you?"

Your eyes widen as he speaks for the first time in a while. You were going on and on about something and he was more than happy to just listen to you do so, sitting back in his chair as he crosses his arms. You decide to play more dumb, biting back the doubt in your mind that he actually means what you hope he does.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you laugh, taking another bite of the food.

"Do you really think I'd do all of this for just anybody?" he asks with a chuckle, gesturing to the table.

"I - I mean we're close friends, aren't we? That's what I thought this was," you stutter, averting his gaze.

"We've been close for a while and you told me yourself I'm your best friend. You keep people at an arm's length and you just seem so lonely I don't want to even think about anything that could ruin our friendship."

You ramble a little, Rafayel carefully considering your words as you continue give him excuse after excuse as to why he wouldn't return your feelings for him.

It doesn't take him long to get fed up, scoffing a little as he comes around the table to stand beside you. He slips his arms around your shoulders, sighing happily as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

"You're really dense, did you know that?" he says against your skin, looking up at you.

"I do so much for you and you still don't know how I feel about you," he whines a little, resting his hands on your shoulders.

"I just didn't want to get ahead of myself," you finally admit, mind spinning from how close he is to you right now.

"Well, you aren't getting ahead of yourself at all. If it takes you even more to finally believe me then I guess I can keep going."

Despite the supposed annoyance in his voice you can tell by the way he slumps against you that he's glad the two of you are finally on the same page. You can't help but press up against him closer, putting a hand on one of his and rolling your eyes playfully at his dramatics.

[yesimwriting]

post match

----

the edge of your thumb brushes against the bottom of your racket. again and again, a much more docile back and forth than the game of tennis you just finished.

"now that was a...game." the breathy quality bleeding into patrick's voice implies a tiredness that serves as a point of pride. you're a fan of keeping friendly games friendly, but after playing with a talented duo that understands each other as well as patrick and art do, it's nice to know that you held your own.

your knees bend slightly, arm reaching downwards to grab the gym bag that you abandoned on the sidelines. "yeah," you hum earnestly, "you guys were great."

art tilts his head upwards, the corner of his mouth tugging itself upwards as he reaches for his own bag. "please," he mumbles as he unzips his bag, "even when you were on the singles side you had us fighting for our lives."

the warmth of art's words makes it hard to focus on rearranging the contents of your duffle bag. "you're exaggerating." you push the sandals you were wearing earlier, a spare pair of socks, and a set of tennis balls to one end of your bag. "but i appreciate it."

you're a little more careful when it comes to moving your t-shirt and denim shorts, taking the time to keep the clothes folded as you move them further into your bag. as you retract your hand, the side of your palm brushes against something cool. your water bottle.

how did you forget about that? you pull out the metal container, tucking it between your chest and forearm as you adjust your hold on your gym bag. finally, you shove the head of your racket into the newly available space.

your eyes shift upwards as you tug on you bag's zipper. patrick and art are standing close together in a way that highlights their familiarity. you've always felt the way that they understand each other on the court, but you're just starting to get the way that their closeness translates itself into life outside of the game.

"you guys are really good together." the suddenness of your own words surprises you. "anticipating moves, knowing when to let who go for it..." your explanation borders on awkward for some reason you don't exactly get.

there's a beat of silence, and the two of them exchange a look. you don't fully understand that either, but the corner of patrick's mouth shifts into a smile. he leans towards art, extending an arm to pull it around art's shoulder. "we're the team."

art works at remaining stiff, shaking his head slightly as patrick makes a show of squeezing his arm. "yeah, because he needs me to-"

"need?" patrick tugs on art's arm. "really? i need you?"

art lets out a partial laugh, shaking his head once as he halfheartedly tries to pull away. "no, no--you cut me off."

patrick looks over at you, eyes narrowing skeptically. "i don't believe him."

you twist the cap off your water bottle. "i'm neutral."

"neutral?" patrick repeats, letting his arm fall off of art's shoulder. he takes a small step in your direction. "really?"

you nod once before lifting your water bottle to your lips. before you can actually take a sip, the bottle is pulled out of your hand. you recognize patrick's smug smile before you've fully processed the fact that he's now holding your water bottle.

you cross your arms in front of your chest, lifting your chin slightly in an attempt to seem firm. "patrick."

"what?" his grin broadens as he bends his arm, holding the water close to his chest and out of easy reach.

you let your arms fall to your side in an attempt to seem nonconfrontational. patrick watches you, eyebrows raised and smile still glued into place. you take one step forward, and then another, again and again until patrick's within reach.

he watches you with an openness that's almost hard to take in all at once. you hold his gaze for what might be a second or a minute--you can't quite tell--and then you lift your arm as quickly as you can manage.

patrick's not thrown by the suddenness of your movement, taking a step back with an ease that's honestly a little irritating. he lets out a slight laugh as his arm bumps into art's.

art places a hand on patrick's shoulder in an attempt to keep him steady. you reach forward without thinking, your hand finding the skin beneath his wrist.

his grin broadens. patrick moves at a snail's pace. your fingers bend around his forearm. to your surprise, he doesn't move away again. he extends his arm carefully until the water bottle is just shy of your lips.

sometimes patrick's full attention feels so intentional, you feel like you should be able to pinpoint why he's looking at you so distinctively. if you dwell on it for long enough, you start feeling like you're missing something.

this time, though, there seems to be a silent question behind his gaze. you let your chin dip downwards in a cautious nod.

patrick tilts the container, the edge of it pressing against your bottom lip as water spills forward. you take two sips before patrick's straightening his wrist. he pulls the water bottle back enough to offer it to you. you take the bottle back out of instinct.

the confidence his smile radiates implies a smugness that digs at your skin. if he was anyone else, you're not sure you'd be able to stand him. "come on." patrick slings his tennis bag around his shoulder. "we need to hurry if we're going to make that movie you want to see."

patrick turns on his heels, walking forward without another word. it's instinct to want to follow along. patrick's a touchy person, and if no one else is going to consider what just happened weird, you won't either.

art's still, tennis bag sitting on his shoulder. you can't get yourself to take more than a step forward without seeing him move. "art?"

his gaze shifts from something just past your shoulder and onto you. the weight of art's full attention settles on you differently than patrick's. when art watches you, it's consuming in a way that's patient. there's a steadiness to any underlying intensity, like a minute could pass or an hour or an eternity and it wouldn't make a difference. he'll see whatever he needs to all the same.

art turns to face you fully before taking a step forward. he continues to walk towards you until he's so close you can see the faint array of freckles scattered across his skin. there's a particularly dark one near his chin.

he lifts an arm slowly. you don't move, not even when you can feel the tips of his fingers near the side of your cheek. art studies you for a second longer before letting his thumb brush against the edge of your bottom lip. the side of his thumb briefly presses into your skin, just enough to get your lips to part.

art pulls his hand back carefully, letting his palm linger against your skin as he moves back. "there was water on your..." his eyes briefly dip downwards before finding your own again. "patrick's messy."

"oh," you say, because you need to say something, "yeah."

the corner of his mouth pulls itself into a partial smile. he turns before you have to say anything else. "come on." art throws an arm around your shoulder. "we're gonna miss the movie."

you smile, a part of you glad that neither of them are looking at you right. "yeah, let's go." it takes a conscious effort to keep in pace with his long strides, but you don't mind it. "i don't want to miss the previews."

art's eyebrows draw together as he turns his head. "no one likes the previews."

you force a glare, tilting your chin downwards in an attempt to seem more intimidating. "i like the previews."

he squeezes your shoulder warmly. "you're so weird."

you let out a mock gasp. "really? i'm the weird one?"

[milkweedman]

Fiber Sale (need money for moving; also trying to destash) !! Only shipping to the US. All prices include shipping.

Would also really appreciate donations if you want to help support me but can't buy something for whatever reason.

Check the original post to see what's been sold and what hasn't (I will cross out sold items). First come first serve.

https://ko-fi.com/kolyenka

Prepared Fiber--all of this is prepared by me :) the following 4 are cheaper as I can ship them in normal envelopes

A: 0.14 oz, combed top. Blend of bfl, tencel, tussah silk, corriedale, merino. Very soft and shiny. $8.

B: 0.11 oz, combed top. Blend of tussah silk (black) and mohair locks (green). $8

C: 0.22 oz, combed top. Same blend as A, just a lot more of it and in different combos. Distinct gradient from one end to the other. $10

D: 0.4 oz, rolag (made on blending board). Tussah silk, mohair, and bfl. Very squishy and fine. $13

E: 0.29 oz. Rolag, wool and cotton blend. Even more stripes of color under the surface. $13

F: 0.51 oz. Rolag, wool blend with some Angelina. Purple underneath. $15

G: 4.75 ounces. Rolags (many many rolags). Blend of various wools; some fibers are not quite next to skin soft, but overall it's a soft blend. Mix of red, orange, white, purple, and black. $45

H: 1 ounce. Washed longwool fleece (breed unknown). Dyed by myself with onion skin. $10

I: 1.2 ounces. Southdown flax blend, predrafted from rolags. Could potentially make up to 6 ounces total of this. $18

FLEECE

J: 6 ounces. Washed jacob lambsfleece. Very soft for a jacob, large bits of vm (was able to get it out with hand cards). $20

K: 5.5 ounces. Hampshire with 2+ years growth, washed fleece. Definitely an odd fleece, not like your usual down breed. Has vm; washed it multiple times but still looks gross--I've found its almost impossible to get totally clean before it's yarn. Recommend combing, spinning, then washing. Nice and soft. $25

L: 7.5 ounces BFL cross. Very soft and with good luster. Some vm, was able to remove with hand cards. $25

M: 4.75 oz. Jacob x Border Leicester. Good luster, warm brown tips. Nicely soft. $20

SPINDLES:

1: thin spindle (7 inches long). Good for cobweb weight but can achieve thinner and thicker. Birch wood with woodburning. $80

2: thick spindle (7 inches long). Good for laceweight but can achieve thinner and thicker. Wood type unknown (some sort of fruit tree iirc). No woodburning due to lots of wormholes and spalting which provide their own visual interest (they don't cause problems spinning don't worry). $60

3: thick spindle (6.5 in long). Good for laceweight, can spin thicker and thinner. No clue on wood type. Woodburned on most of the surface, the rest has wormholes again. $90

BAGS

4: handblended handspun handknit drawstring project bag, 20 inch circumference. Cord is handspun flax. It's folded in half in the bigger picture. $90

5: handblended handspun handknit pouch. Don't remember the circumference but you can compare to the other bag. Body is entirely southdown babydoll wool. Handle is handspun icord. $75

HANDSPUN YARN

6: 4 oz, 325 yards. Hand blended and handspun. Alpaca, wool, silk, silk noil, angelina. 2 ply fingering weight. Very textured. $65

7: 5.75 oz, 572 yds. Merino and silk blend, 2 ply, dk weight. Blended for a triangle shawl, stripes get longer as you go. Very soft, shines very beautiful in the light. $115

Please DM if you're interested--first come first serve. I take payment via ko-fi.

[hussyknee]

Libs are like, "YOU CAN'T LET TRUMP WIN JUST BECAUSE BIDEN IS COMMITTING A GENOCIDE! THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR SINGLE-ISSUE VOTERS", when the fact is that people are already really fucking angry at him for funding two wars during a severe cost of living crisis. Biden's pet dog has already gotten Israel and the US embroiled in a steadily escalating conflict with Houthis and Hezbollah in Syria and Lebanon, and now Netanyahu is trying to ethnically cleanse two million Gazans by pushing them out of the country into Egypt, one of the countries the US gives billions of aid money to make nice with Israel and help them trap the Palestinians. Egypt is already mad about this (although Idk what they expected lol) and if Israel creates a border conflict with them, Iran might press their advantage and then the whole region descend into an all-out war in which the US is embroiled. At which point oil prices will jump, the US economy get even worse, more tax money funnelled into TWO wars, one of which is due to the genocide.

People might not care about Muslims living thousands of miles away, but they have some very strong opinions about putting food on the table. At this point there's a pretty significant shift in the Black community towards Trump because Biden has INCREASED funding for police, is supporting Cop City that someone DIED protesting, and hasn't made a dent in mass incarceration (the marijuana pardon was fucking hilarious in a depraved way). The right has also been weaponizing Black people's resentment against Latino "illegal aliens" and Biden's "concessions" towards them, when actually his immigration policies have barely been less draconian than Trump's all this time. The reason he's making those concessions is that he has to look more progressive than him, except he's also been slowly escalating ICE crackdowns, keeping kids in cages and building a border wall. So the Latin voters are entirely fed up with him too.

So far, he's lost the Muslim vote, the Latin vote, the Black vote, the youth vote (people of ages 18 to 35 are the most outraged at the genocide in Gaza), and they're hemorrhaging the working class votes. These are the extremely angry and betrayed people the liberals are currently working overtime screaming at about Trump "bringing the death of democracy", like democracy means anything to them compared to losing jobs, money, visas, family members, health (Biden's first and ongoing genocide is disabled people due to his COVID policies), social infrastructure and money.

Y'all said Blue Not Matter Who and elected a career racist and known incompetent who supported segregation, was an architect of mass incarceration, got Clarence Thomas elected to the Supreme Court and spewed rhetoric against Arabs so genocidal that motherfucking Menachem Begin was like "....bro." And you got exactly what you paid for. If Trump gets on the ticket next year he's going to win, and no amount of screaming at people online is going to change that. So I suggest you start organising now. The age of trying to create a revolution at the ballot box is over.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

daddy az?? daddy cass?? what about daddy eris 🥺🥺

Oh, I've been waiting to write for our fire boy more.

Future daddy

Let's all be honest with ourselves here. Eris is not someone who would go bouncing off the rooftops when you tell him that you're carrying his baby. That is not to say that he isn't happy. He is. But he's so unbelievably scared that it overpowers everything else. Especially if Beron is still alive and in charge of Autumn.

Hence why, I think, he's getting you out of the main quarters. Somewhere deep into the woods. In some cabin that only he knows of. Somewhere close to winter's borders so that in case you could cross it and Kallias would take care of you for the time being. Because Eris is paranoid. He only trusts himself and his childhood healer who has been in his life ever since he was born. And so I think the beauty of the first months of your pregnancy is kind of washed away by all of this. The worrying. The panic. Eris constantly being on the edge.

But then it all slowly starts to change. One morning he noticed, while you're slowly getting dressed, the tiny bumps forming there and he's never the same afterwards. Eris rolls out of bed, sinking to his knees right in front of you, warm palm carefully caressing the little growing baby there. His eyes fill up with tears as he rests his head on your chest, "I've been such bad mate, such a bad father", he crocks out. "What are you on about, Eris?", you ask him feeling concerned. "You deserve so much more. I haven't even told you how happy I am... How much... How much I love you both", he breathes out. "We both know, darling. Believe me. We love you endlessly", you mutter while brushing his tears away.

And it all just changes. From then moving forward. The only way he can sleep at night is if his hands are resting on your tummy, so big spoon Eris is in full force. He never leaves without giving you and your bump a kiss. The same goes for saying hello. He too enjoys talking to the belly. But I would say that he reads to it more than tells stories of the day. Eris's days are too full of his father's brutality and he wants to keep away from the baby. So he reads the books that he had read to Lucien himself, or found in a little market. He's so good at making different voices for the characters and you can't help but look at him with so much love, already picturing him reading the same story to your baby when they are older and can understand or at least react to their father's voice.

Call me out on it but I think Eris is exceptional at making food and he also loves doing it. So on his free days, he is more than happy to cook for you or make sweet apple tarts. He's also working on a crib himself. Carving all the little woodland trees and creatures, squirrels and deer, berries and leaves. It's something that he's extremely passionate about and let's face it you would be sobbing once he shows it to you. Something so special. Made with so much love by their father. And I think he would like to leave space around the borders so he could carve out your baby's name and keep adding names with each new family member.

Takes you on walks through the forest because moving around is important. Hand around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other on your bump. Stopping to pick flowers for you and thread them through your hair. Plus imagine how nice his fire hands would feel again all the pains and aches. And he does it without even being asked. If you two are sat down on the sofa or even in bed, he always massages your feet. Stopping to rub your shoulders and back. Loving to just sway with you while he's holding up your bump once it gets heavier.

Not to mention a pack of wolf-breed dogs that are your army. Like, forget doing anything on your own. You're peeing with at least twelve eyes looking at you. Receiving bumps to your leg or side if you haven't eaten anything in a while and they start to feel your blood sugar dropping. Heck, trust them to bring you snacks from the kitchen. And the best naps in between all the fluff furs. Eris is more than happy that his doggos are so in love and protective of you two. It's that extra comfort for him. He knows they would fight till death to protect you two.

[mistle10]

Pairing: Rook Hunt/Vil Schoenheit x gn afab reader

Rating: 🔞🔞🔞

Content: cuckoldry, voyeurism, body worship, minor humiliation

Summary: Rook loves to prepare you for long nights with Vil.

Rook loves it when you get fucked by Vil. He always gets so eager to prepare you for him, making sure you're weak in your step, thighs already soaked by the time you get to his dorm room.

Rook makes sure to take his time with you before the two of you head off. He's surprisingly gentle, determined to make sure you are thoroughly aroused. Imagine his head dipping between your legs "for just a quick second, mon aime," but you end up being ten minutes late because he just couldn't resist your sweet taste, and the way you moan so delightfully... he's absolutely obsessed. Sometimes he pulls away just before you're about to reach the apex of your pleasure, leaving the rest to Vil.

Of course Vil adores how needy you are. He can tell just by looking at you whether or not you already came. He would scold Rook a little, saying he told him to prepare you, not destroy you. He can have you on his own time.

Vil would start slow, sensually bringing you back up to that peak of arousal with his hands and his words. He would stare at you, occasionally murmuring something like "how gorgeous you are, splayed out over my bed like this," and slowly works his hands under your night clothes, his manicured nails ghosting your skin as he reveals it.

Rook usually sits either at the vanity, or on the chaise lounge at the foot of the bed. He loves watching, especially since the both of you are his two favorite people! He can't help but give tips to Vil on how to better please you, or vice versa.

While Rook is usually incredibly eager, sometimes bordering on impatient when it comes to making love, Vil has all the time in the world to make sure you're gasping and arching under him, begging for more. He would edge you, something Rook doesn't have the heart to do. As soon as Rook hears "please," of course he'd give in.

Imagine? Leaning back against Rook while Vil takes you, feeling his hard cock pounding into you while Rook's nails run through your hair. The sensations are almost too much to handle as one of his hands moves down to your clit. The whole time, Rook is giving you so much praise.

If he was feeling extra devious, Vil would have Rook stand in your view. Humiliating the both is you is a rare but special occurance.

"Oh, look at you, my dear, such a pretty slut," he would purr, "does that turn you on? Having your boyfriend watch us like this? I bet I do it much better, isn't that right?"

Cumming hard from both of their ministrations is more intense than you've ever felt, it's unbelievable. But of course, Vil has plans of making you cum again and again, until you're utterly spent, laying on the bed with a small pool of cum dripping out of you.

Aftercare with either one of them is always nice, but with two doting men- you'll never have to clean yourself up ever again.

[luveline]

OK THE STEVE ZOMBIE AU BUT HE DOES FINALLY MIRACULOUSLY FIND ROBIN OR MAYBE DUSTIN OR LITERALLY ANYONE FAMILIAR. Our girl is happy but also like 👀 u finna ditch me now?

theres literally no zombies in this lmao </3 apocalypse au with new (but not really) boyfriend steve wherein you reunite with some old friends and find a community (and worry steve is gonna break up w u) fem!reader 7k words

The border between Indiana and Michigan is quiet. Nothing denotes its location besides a Welcome to Indiana sign. 

Steve's hand tightens around yours. You stand there for minutes, wind breezing past your tired bodies and ruffling his limp hair. 

"Do you think this is our last time seeing Indiana?" you ask quietly. 

There's no need to shout. The town surrounding the border is abandoned. 

He drops your hand. You miss his touch and the soothing effect it gives to hold it immediately. 

"Maybe," he says. "Does that bother you?" 

It fucking scares you. Staying there wasn't really an option anymore, not with the infestation of geeks dribbling away from Indianapolis or the lack of food. And besides that, you'd wanted to get to Michigan badly. Steve and his friend Robin had been planning to come here together before their untimely separation. Half of Hawkins had been aiming for Michigan after the news broke all those months ago — Illinois, Ohio, and Kentucky overrun by flesh-eating monsters. 

But if you leave Indiana, you're admitting it's a lost cause. That the lives you led there are gone, candles snuffed out by a sudden ripping gale. 

"I just…" You look over your shoulder at Michigan. "Can't believe we're here." 

"I think I'm glad we're here." 

You cock your head toward him. 

"Not just to find Robin," he clarifies. "But, no offence? Indiana was kicking your ass." 

You grimace at his implication. Indiana was kicking your ass. You've rolled your ankle more times than you can count. You'd fallen ten feet through the floor and given yourself a major concussion. You've been snarled at, robbed at knifepoint, and almost eaten. 

"Fucking Indiana," you say. 

"Fuck Indiana." He turns on his heel, but not before he's wrapped a hand around your arm to drag you with him. "Michigan better be nice to my girl, or we're going to Canada." 

You've already let him walk you a couple of feet when you have the bearings to splutter, "Your girl?" 

He ignores you, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips. You’re pretty confident in being his girlfriend, but something about being ‘his girl’ makes your head rush.

You'd found a gun a little ways back but no ammunition for it. It's a good prop regardless, so Steve keeps it in hand stuffed into the pocket of his windbreaker ready to scare off anyone with enough wits to find guns scary. You're sitting ducks otherwise, armed with one small penknife and the metal baseball bat that Steve keeps in the strap of his rucksack, so you stick to the side roads. Being out in the open is risky. You're used to this mode of living, adept at slinking and skulking in dimly dark places. 

"Steve?" you ask, a murmur in the ringing quiet. Cicadas chirp in the trees, leaves rustling with each burst of wind. 

"Yeah?" he asks shortly, distracted by the door in front of him. 

He's attempting to pick the lock of a convenience store's sidedoor. You're standing guard.

"Where do you think Robin is?" 

He doesn't answer for a while. He works a delicate job, the slim pick in his hand creaking formidably with every wrong move. He's too forceful, and you're the better locksmith, but your wrist still twinges from your fall in the woods a few days ago. Steve's too protective for his own good. 

"I don't know. But she's smart, and-" He hisses, hair falling into his eyes. "I'm hoping she's still here." 

"If I were her, I'd wait for you." 

He tips his head back to meet your eyes. "If you ever stay somewhere dangerous waiting for me, I'll fist fight you." 

Usually you'd burst into laughter at his familiar abrupt absurdity — you've grown to adore his jokes now that you know there's no real malice behind them — but you want him to hear what you're saying. You want to know if he'd do the same. 

"I would," you say softly. 

The lock clicks open. 

Steve grins at you. "You won't need to. You're stuck with me like glue." 

Inside of the store is a sorry sight. While the shutters had been down, a good sign, the interior is much less promising. Sunshine filters in through the smallest cracks, casting a scarce light over what's left of the aisles. Two are crushed to one side as if a huge hand has swept them away. Smashed booze bottles litter the floor. Glass like snow crunches underfoot, and a sticky sour smell is heavy in the air. 

You ease into the room on pins. 

"There's gotta be something," Steve says, pulling his pocket-sized torch out to give you a better view. 

Where the shelves have collapsed, there's a small tunnel to the front of the room. You bend down to assess it. 

"I think there's cookies over there." 

"Where?" Steve demands. You point to aforementioned treats.

He army crawls through the gap and pops out on the other side. Those few seconds where you can't see him are unsettling, and from the speed with which he looks at you, he may have felt the same. 

"Keep an eye out," he says. 

You turn to the door. You've closed it tight but it won't lock without a key, and anyone might assume what you have and come inside. 

Steve hisses an excited, "Yes!" 

"How'm I s'posed to keep watch when you're doing that?" 

"Babe, there's fucking Chips Ahoy." He loves them.

"I'm sick of Chips Ahoy," you mumble to yourself. "I miss carrots. And potatoes. I miss pasta. Pasta." 

"Should I be jealous?" 

"Definitely. I'd trade you for a full, home-cooked meal any day, handsome. Fresh made pasta, sun dried tomatoes. Garlic bread." You could cry thinking about it, all those rich flavours together. 

"Call me crazy, but I think we could make you some pasta. Look-" He holds up a small jar. "Crushed garlic." 

You brighten. "Where'd you find that?" 

Garlic is a great flavour to make literally anything taste better, like all the canned stuff people don't always take: artichoke hearts, asparagus, aubergine. 

"Holy shit, score.” Steve holds another tin up, torch held between his chest and his upper arm. 

Your eyes turn round as saucers. 

That night, you decide to stay in the convenience store. You'll be cornered if somebody tries to get in, but you'll be safe from geeks and the elements. Two out of three isn't bad. 

You and Steve share the only fork, chowing down on his amazing find of tinned vegetable soup and dumplings. It barely registers in your head that it's cold, it's so nice to be eating something that isn't spaghettios. You could've built a fire outside to warm it if you weren't scared of being spotted by scroungers. Or worse, cannibals. 

"Maybe we should go outside. Look for smoke," you say. Smoke means people.

"Good idea.” He urges you to take what's left of the soup, stands, and kisses the top of your head as he does.

You're pretty sure there's bliss like the light of a star radiating off of your skin, elated at his easy affection. You're almost as happy to get to finish the soup. 

While he's gone, you open your bag and scrounge for what little self-care you have. Toothpaste is abundant in every store no matter how looted, as is soap, but soap needs water, and you're running low. You brush your teeth with toothpaste alone and use a little bit of water on a rag to wipe the oil off of your face, guilty and thankful at once. If you don't wash yourself when you can, you'll go crazy. 

You apply another layer of roll on old spice and hope it'll hold out until you can find another lake, river, or tributary, which shouldn't be impossible. Michigan is surrounded by water, a fact that had put you off coming here at first. 

You go where Steve goes, though, so Michigan it had been, and Michigan it is. 

Your first night’s already proved fruitful. There's more than enough food here if you're willing to get weird (and you and Steve usually are). More food than you could carry. 

Which is a little suspicious, now that you think about it. 

Nobody thought to look here? 

Is there anybody to look? 

You push all your stuff aside and scramble onto your knees, suddenly paranoid. Steve's taking too long, what if this place is a trap? A honeytrap to lure in mindless ants. What if they've already grabbed him, and– 

"Oh, Jesus," Steve says as he opens the door, voice uber loud in the night time stillness. "You scared me. What's the matter, need to pee?" 

"I thought somebody kidnapped you," you say, trying for joking and missing by a mile. 

Steve leans against the door. He's regained his controlled volume and demeanour, "Safe and sound. I'm serious, do you need to pee?" 

You and Steve pad out your corner of the store against the pilfered chip aisle. He lets you use his chest as a pillow, and when he turns off the torch there's nothing to do but listen to his breathing and feel his chest move under your ear. 

You rub his sternum with the heel of your hand. "You could use me as a pillow sometime. If you wanted to." 

"Yeah? You're softer than me, I think I'd love that." 

You draw a short line to his navel, thinking. Lucky to have found him. Lucky to like him this much, and lucky that he likes you. You're 'his girl', and you get to sleep on his chest and sometimes when he's not worrying himself to the bone he'll tell you secrets. You know him better than you’ve ever known anybody.

He curls his arm around your shoulder and takes your upper arm into his hand, the heat from his fingers seeping into your skin. You've taken off your coat because it's uncomfortable. Steve will fold it over your chest when you fall asleep. 

"It was a good day, right?" He sounds terrified of jinxing it. 

You kiss his chest, or his t-shirt, so lightly he likely doesn't feel it. A kiss for your sake rather than his. "It was a good day." 

He holds you close. His heart thrums in your head. 

"Floor's like a fucking ice cube," he mutters. 

You cover as much of him as you can with your arms, sleep tugging at your eyelids. "I'll keep you warm," you promise as they close. "Wake me up when you get too tired." 

"Alright." He massages your arm in his hand gently, and you fall asleep. 

—

Steve flinches awake at the whisper of a sound outside. A younger Steve, one who'd known nothing about geeks, or people, really, how awful they can be, wouldn't have woken. Hell, Steve could've slept through a hurricane when he was in high school, all those years where he'd stayed up too late playing hooky and smoking Malboro's behind the Big Buy. He looks back now and wonders how much sleep he missed out on in his king-sized mattress, up to his eyeballs in cushy sheets and fresh linens. Why had sleeping felt like such a chore? 

And after that, when he and Robin would stay up watching shitty movies and eating the free stale popcorn from the video store. Though he wouldn't trade any of that away. 

Fucking idiot, he thinks to himself scathingly. He was not supposed to fall asleep. He checks you over quickly. In your sleep you've slid off of his chest and onto the tarp next to him, but you’re unharmed.

He sits up and scrambles for his penknife. Weak dusk light breaks through the store's shutters, dust motes disturbed by his movements diving between rays of light like lightning bugs. His joints click with the force and speed with which he springs up to protect you. 

What sound was that? It had come as loud as a crack of thunder, but could've been something small, a squirrel over a tree branch. 

He should wake you up. If it's one person, even two, you could help him. But if it's more, and they find you… 

He shoulders open the door and walks out into the morning light. 

— 

You wake to hands on your shoulders. 

You're scared instantly. Steve usually wakes you reluctantly, a shake and a whispered, "Up," or, "Up, baby," if he's especially tired. 

"It's me," he says, his voice burning with something you haven't ever heard before. "It's me. Time to wake up." 

You peel your eyes open, horrified at the sight above you. Steve face hovers over your own with his hair tucked behind his ears and a blazing smile, daylight behind him haloing him in gold. 

"You didn't wake me." You bring clumsy hands to his rough cheeks. "Why didn't you wake me? You look so tired." 

He looks electrified, the bags under his eyes no match for his smile. You can feel it as he leans down, as he plants a kiss firmly to your unsuspecting mouth. He kisses you all over, a joyous chuckle bubbling out between them. 

You laugh yourself, tickled as his stubble scratches your cheeks, your neck as he works his way down. 

"There's- There's people," he says. "My people. Fucking Robin-" 

"What?" 

You're a half inch from headbutting him unconscious. Luckily he's already veering upward, stuffing what you'd left on the ground back into your packs. 

"I haven't seen her yet, but there's this other girl we went to school with, Darcy Mulligan, and she said this is an outpost, right? They keep all this shit here for people who need it, and then they watch to see if you're dangerous-" 

"They were watching us?" 

He plows onward, ignoring you, "And they saw us and I went out thinking they were gonna shoot me but-" 

"Steve, we can't go with these people." 

His smile fades a little. "No, we aren't. I told them already, we aren't that stupid. But," — he grabs your arm — "they said they're gonna bring Robin." 

You don't want to keep fighting him. To shoot down this newfound hope, this lightness you've never seen him shine with before, feels cruel. But you don't want him to get ahead of himself. 

"What if they're bringing back reinforcements?" 

He swallows and nods, reassuring your conjectures. "Right, I thought that too, but- I don't know, baby, Darcy was with a guy, and they both had guns. They could've shot me. 'N' if they were empty, the guy could've just knocked me over the head with it, you know?" He crawls impossibly closer than he'd been, hands rubbing your arm unthinking. "I think this is real." 

I want it to be real goes unsaid. 

You're ashamed that you can't find any excitement to wear with him. Dread licks over your skin as you smile at him, as you cup his cheek in your hand, and as you stand up to help him pack away his things. You feel like you're going to your death. 

Steve can read you well. He grabs your shoulders. You're selfishly hoping he'll say you can run. He doesn't. "You trust me?" he asks. 

You deflate, shoulders falling. "Of course I do." 

"Thank you." He tries to pull you in for a hug but you're reeling, distracted, he has to persuade you, and he does so sweetly. "Hey, c'mere, come on." He pulls at you. "Come here." 

You flop into his chest with all the grace of a shored fish, arms limp. He smells like sweat which probably means you do too, but he smells like himself, and that's what's important. 

"Nothing bad is going to happen to you." 

"What about you?" 

"If Robin's here, I have to take the risk. She's my best friend." 

You understand that. You'd never ask him not to do this, because you'd do it for him. If you'd ever gotten separated, you'd spend months looking for him. Years, maybe. He's the only person left. 

You have no clue if he'd do the same for you.

He scrubs at your back roughly. Such a boyish kind of hug. 

"You have your knife?" he asks. 

You have it. Rather than let them corner you in here, you both make your way out into the woods. Steve shows you the short path he'd taken to find Darcy Mulligan and the man she'd been with, evidence of their stakeout left in the embers of a small fire. You stand frozen with a tree trunk to your back and Steve stations himself in front of you, pack secured on your back. Steve has his baseball bat in hand. What good will it serve against a possible group of gunmen? You start to panic, really panic, and you're a hair's width from begging him to run with you when his grip on the bat falters. 

"Fuck," he says softly. 

Three people turn the corner; a dark haired girl with twin pigtails and a rifle hanging at her side; a boy, presumably the man Steve had mentioned; and a shorter girl with light brown hair, her expression — her entire body — lit with happiness, elation, and her laugh loud enough to prove it. 

"Holy shit," Steve says. 

You forget to be scared. You forget to worry. Steve lets the baseball bat drop out of his hand, and then he's taking three weak steps forward to meet her, and that's it, it's her, Robin throws her arms around his neck and nearly barrels him to the ground. His hands come up to meet her. He's shaking so hard you're surprised he can grip her waist, his face crushed to the side of her head. 

Tears well in your eyes. To get to see this, so soon, when you'd thought maybe Steve might never see his best friend ever again, is a blessing. It's a fucking miracle. 

Your tears bite back when the boy moves forward and hugs him too. 

You tighten your grip on your knife and pull it from your pocket, confused and alarmed that Steve's about to get gutted, but Steve starts to shake worse. 

It takes you a second to realise he's crying. 

"Henderson," he says. 

Oh. It's Dustin. You've heard enough stories about him to know it. He has the same curly hair, and while he's taller than you'd thought, Steve had only ever talked about one Henderson. 

Steve's relief is a knot in your throat. You wipe your cheek quickly with the back of your hand and shove the knife into your pocket. 

Over their heads, the dark haired girl narrows her eyes at you. 

"I can't believe you're here," Steve says, voice raspy with emotion. 

You have never heard him cry. 

"Where have you been, Steve?" Robin asks hoarsely. 

You take a step toward him without thinking, and he hears it despite everything and looks up at you with a teary-eyed smile. 

"We got lost," he says, holding your gaze. 

"Lost? It's been months. We thought you were zombie mulch, you shithead." 

"I'm here, aren't I?" He rolls his eyes at you, like he's saying Get a load of this guy? 

It's a reassuring gesture even if he doesn't mean for it to be. You're still a team. 

"Hi," Robin says, her hands clasped in Steve's shirt, but her attention fully yours. "I'm Robin." 

You don't have a chance to introduce yourself. Steve does it for you, and he says, "She's my girl. Saved me this entire time." 

What the fuck does that mean?

Robin looks at you again. "No fucking way." 

"Only took an apocalypse for Steve to get a girlfriend," Dustin says. 

There's something about their playful arguing that makes you want to cry again. It's the relief they've padded it with. You can imagine how brilliant it must feel to make fun of somebody you'd thought long dead. 

"Don't worry, Y/N," Robin says gravely, "there are tons of dudes at camp. You have options." 

Steve steps on her foot. 

"We should head back," Darcy says shortly. 

On the walk, Steve feels very far away. He keeps looking at you to check you're there, but his thoughts are months ago, recounting the details of your survival to his friends in short. You and Steve had been together since basically the very start when you'd saved him from a horde, and he tells that with pride. So much so you feel heat blooming behind your neck and at the tips of your ears. 

"We fucking floored to to the meeting point but you guys weren't there-" 

"Sorry-" 

"No, it's okay," he says. "I get it. It was rough." All of you shiver at the memory. Hawkins had been hit hard, a close knit town with nowhere to hide.

"No we- we should’ve fucking waited- I begged them to wait," Robin says. 

"Who did you get out with?" 

And there's the list of survivors. It's short. The amount of orphaned kids is extremely depressing, and for a while there's silence. All those people. Dustin's mom, Robin's dad. 

"Hopper's here, though," Dustin adds after a while.

"That explains why you're still alive." 

"Actually, dickhead, we're alive because I'm awesome. The radio-" 

"How many people are there?" Steve interrupts. 

"It's a whole new world, Harrington." 

It's better. 

You turn onto what looks like an old college campus and suddenly, there's people. So many people you walk backward and almost tumblr off of the curb, because fuck. There's noise, and smells, and sounds. There are little kids running around in a closed off area of the quad, laughing and chasing after one another. There are guns on guards patrolling makeshift walls. 

Your ears start ringing. 

"Think your girlfriend's gonna pass out," Darcy says. 

You're the last one to figure out she's talking about you. 

"Oh, hey. Hey," Steve says, stepping toward you. 

You take another step back. 

"Baby," he says softly. 

"There's people here." 

"So many new boyfriend's to choose from," he jokes. He's tentative, but he offers his hand like he knows you'll take it. "Come on. I promise I won't get jealous when you run off with somebody cooler." 

"I don't want somebody cooler," you say. 

"Okay, awesome, 'cause I was lying. I'd be super jealous. I'd feed myself to the geeks." 

"Don't say that." 

He grins at you, hand hovering in the gap between your bodies unwavering. Trust me, it says. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. 

You take Steve's hand. 

—

The world is more than you and Steve against it. There are people to answer to. 

Chief Hopper actually recognises you when he sees you. He recognises Steve first, and he gives him a pat on the back. You aren't expecting any hellos, figuring you're barely a memory to him, but Hopper smiles at you like you've just told him you have the antidote for zombification in your rucksack. 

"It's good to see you, kid."

That night, in the dining hall, you get a small welcome between shift announcements. Hundreds of heads turn your way, and while some house cagey unsurety, the majority are happy to see you. 

You sit with Steve and his friends (plural, a growing number, because nearly all of them are here), torn between stopping him from crying his eyes out with happy tears and listening to the older woman sitting beside you. Her name is Mallory, and she offers a generous gift. 

"You have any questions at all, sweetpea, and you can come to me. Or if you just wanna talk, my shoulder's right here." She pats it for emphasis. 

"Thank you so much." But, you want to say, I have Steve.

"Young love, and in a time like this." Mallory's smile is genuine, if a little haunted. "It's amazing." 

You indulge her, turning from Steve just slightly. "But?" 

She brushes a strand of hair behind her ears. It's three colours, a faded red at the middle, a mix of grey and brown at the top. "Listen, I have some unsolicited advice for you hon, but I'm not trying to offend you when you just got here." 

You shake your head. "No," you say hurriedly, "of course not. I wouldn't think that." 

She digs around in her pocket and opens her hand covertly under the table. When you look at it, she hisses. "No, don't. Keep your eyes up." 

You right your gaze accordingly. The canteen is simply that — the college's canteen. Every night there's something cooking, and every morning if they can afford it. Although you'd been told some people eat at home, most people come here, because this is the only place with a reliable generator. From where you're sitting, you can see everybody, and you suspect Steve had chosen this vantage point on purpose. 

Hopper stands at the front of the room behind another man, who's moved from the important stuff and is now lamenting at the book club's low attendance. They have a fucking book club. You can't believe it. 

Mallory drops something into your hand. A hard-boiled candy.

"My advice," she says, the two of you watching as Hopper and the second man confer, "is to try and be in both worlds at once." 

"You've lost me." 

"That's not a good sign, I've barely started," she jokes, laughing so much that the men sitting across from you laugh too. She carries on, "What I mean is, this isn't home. It probably never will be. We fight so hard to make it home, we plant trees, 'n' we sleep warm every night, but…" She squeezes your shoulder amicably, a light, quick touch. "I know how it felt when I got here. Me and my husband, we kept to ourselves. And we were right to, not everybody here can be good. But when he died, I had nobody." 

You let your eyes drop to you plate, a small portion of a soup that's not the best and a sandwich that's marginally better. You get what Mallory's trying to say — don't put your eggs all in one basket, not when the basket might get mauled to death any day coming. 

You get what she's trying to say. You don't appreciate it. 

"Thank you," you say weakly. 

She nods, and Steve saves you from anymore conversation with an arm hooked through yours. 

“You okay?” he asks. Unmistakably fond. 

You can feel the eyes of all of his friends. All these people you knew too, or knew of, and should be happy to see. You should be so fucking happy right now. 

So why aren’t you?

You turn your face to his and take him in. He’s got a red rash of skin over the top of his head from prolonged sunburn and a scar under his left eye from a cruel tree branch. He looks different than the Steve you’d met at school, and he looks different still from the Steve you’d saved on day 1. 

But he’s your Steve. 

You drop your forehead into his neck, love like a warm blanket encapsulating you when he presses a kiss against your forehead. 

“I know,” he says, moving back, forcing you to sit up again. “It’s crazy.”

You return his smile, though you aren’t sure you're on the same page. 

—

Little Hawkins makes you want to curl up into a ball and cry. It’s a floor of rooms in the campus dormitories, and Robin shares with a couple of other people your age. She only has a mattress and her things on the ground in one room, but soon Steve and another guy are dragging another mattress from across campus while you watch. 

"No offence," Steve says, "but I'm trying to spoil you right now. Can you stop pouting? I'm giving you a breather." 

"I don't believe you." 

He and the unnamed man lean the mattress up outside of Robin's door. 

"Well," he says warmly, and you're starting to feel lovesick with how sweet he's being, nearly enough to forget how scared you are, "maybe you should try." 

Steve is nice. He's always been nice, ever since you met him, even if that nice was strapped down and buried under one layer of derision, one layer of sarcasm, and another layer of sternness for prosperity. But this is another level. Ever since he woke you up he's been ridiculous (he's been the kind of affectionate you've secretly ached for). Steve's sparing with affection but you wouldn't ever complain — can you expect him to play doting boyfriend when each day he's hardwired and on the fritz trying to make sure you both don't die agonising, gross deaths? 

This is fucking crazy, though. 

Steve pulls you bodily by the waist into his front and talks into the highest point of your cheek, words muffled by your skin, "When was the last time we slept on a mattress? Gotta be months ago," — you lean into him entirely, he takes your weight with zero qualms — "when we were in that house by the lake with all the soaps." 

"So many soaps," you murmur, melted by his closeness. 

He laughs. He giggles, all boyish and pretty and you can't help yourself, you lift your chin, practically begging for a kiss. 

You get a short one. Steve's too busy laughing. "And the canned pickles. I know they were, like, doomsdayers, but what did we count, like-" 

"Fifty seven-" 

"Fifty seven jars of pickles," he finishes. 

If this is what Steve is like here, you can make the trade. You don't trust anybody that isn't him, and it feels like you're surrounded by people who could easily hurt you, but his easy joy right now is contagious. 

Robin's voice comes loud from inside her room. "Hey, lovebirds! Are you coming in? They turn all the lights off in like, twenty minutes." 

It's obvious how much Steve trusts Robin. You get the mattress in her room through a series of squeezing and hoping, and she shows you her fancy little sink with running water, nothing short of pride in her eyes. 

"It's freezing," she says, "but you can wash up." 

It genuinely doesn't bother you that it's cold, emotionally. Physically you get the jitters, and it's worth it because Steve pities you and wraps you up tight to rub your arms. He and Robin talk a lot, so much that your brain has given up on listening. It's not something you're happy to hear anyhow, your perilous journey. Steve is generous on your account, leaving out all your most embarrassing moments. 

You sit on the end of the mattress and wonder if you can take your shoes off. 

"Robin?" you ask. 

Both turn to look at you, surprised. 

"Yeah?" 

"Does the door lock?"

She brings her legs up to her chest, chin on her knees. "There's no deadbolt, but you need a key to open it from the outside. So kind of?" She watches you for a moment, and then she nods towards the desk covered in books. "I used to put the chair under the handle when I first got here. You can do that, if you're worried." 

You nod uselessly and get up to do just that. 

"Thanks, Robs," Steve says. 

"Yep." She flops into a ball on her side and pulls the blankets up and over her face. "Goodnight, then." 

Steve laughs and steps over your legs so he can get to her. "Robin," he says, pulling the blankets down. "I- I really missed you." 

She holds out her arms and they hug. She pats his back. "Missed being a pain in my neck, maybe," she mutters. He pushes away from her in mock disgusts and they smile, a shared smile that douses you in an unfair jealousy. You shrug it off pretty quickly when he sits down on the mattress beside you, looking content and, shockingly, really tired. 

He encourages you up to the top of the mattress beside him and folds up the blanket from the rucksack for you as a pillow, sliding it under your head. When he seems confident that you're comfortable he blows out the candle burning on Robin's desk. 

This part's easy, you and Steve in the dark. You're practised in the art of moving around one another. 

Your heart pounds in your ears as Steve pulls a heavy blanket over the both of you, his arm strewn across your stomach haphazardly. 

"Are you okay?" he whispers. 

You turn your face to his though you can't see it. "Of course I am. Are you okay?" 

"I know this is weird." 

Weird doesn't feel like the right word. Surreal, maybe. Something out of a dream. 

"I think my back aches more on the mattress, I'm so used to twisting myself into knots between your legs." 

He snorts. "That doesn't sound right." 

You cover his arm with your hand. "Pig." 

"You can lie on my chest, if you want." 

"Think it's your turn to use me as cushioning." Your voice is coloured by your smile. 

He exhales into your shoulder. 

"Mm. This is nice," he murmurs. 

"You want me to take the first shift?" 

"I don't think we need shifts." 

You can't agree. Steve trusts Robin and you trust Steve, but you do not trust Robin. She seems lovely, and through Steve's stories you know she's a good person, but he hasn't seen her in a year. She could be anybody, and she's locked into a room with you.

You don't mean to be deceitful. "Alright," you utter, "no shifts." 

"You smell nice," Steve says. His lips move against your skin, and he lifts his head enough to kiss your jaw, three kisses in succession. "Goodnight, honey." 

You raise your hand to his head. "Goodnight." 

He falls asleep to you carding through his hair. Even when you're sure he's dead to the world you keep going, the feeling of it between your fingers calming. 

You don't sleep a wink. 

—

It becomes a mantra. Steve is happy here. Over and over and over. 

You're happy too by consequence; Steve is a new person, still the man you know but with this emanating happiness rolling off of him in waves. 

Chief Hopper has promised to get you and Steve a place together if you want one. This had scared you half to death, because you want one bad, but you'd been expecting a little resistance from Steve (or, admittedly, a lot). Because… 

You're starting to think maybe you aren't scared of the people here. You trust Hopper to run a community that's safe if he says it is, and as the days stretch into a week, two weeks, you start to feel secure. Steve's never far, but that's the terrifying part. 

You're worried Steve is going to leave you. 

It sounds dramatic. It is dramatic. But you're scared shirtless that Steve is going to wake up and realise he doesn't owe you a thing, that he doesn't harbour the affection for you that he thinks he does. You're worried that Steve had gone soft on you because you'd been there, like a habit. 

Your feelings for him only grow, despite this. He's fucking handsome when he's clean-shaven, clean in general. Somebody's mom gives him a haircut and you can't believe it, because he's always been good looking but you can tell he's more confident like this, and the confidence makes him golden. 

He's also super handsy. 

You love it, and you get it. You know you look prettier clean, even more so after somebody's mom gives you a haircut and you've managed to scrub the perma-dirt from under your nails. The want to kiss him is dialled up by a thousand because you always have clean teeth.  

The nagging fear remains even when he's got a mouthful of your neck. 

"Ouch," you moan, hands in his hair, legs spread enough to accommodate his figure between them, "s'like a geek, nibbling on me." 

Steve bites a little harder. 

You gasp at his show of force and push your head away from him. "Steve," you say with a laugh.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologises, pulling back. Elbows at your ribs, he holds his weight off of you though there's no reason to. "My teeth missed you." 

"What the fuck." 

"All of me missed you." He strokes the side of your face mildly. "I hate this." 

You wiggle under him, mattress springs digging into your back. He doesn't bother explaining what he'd meant, only leans down to kiss your cheek, your chin, the tip of your nose. 

You stare at him. 

"What do you hate?" 

He scrunches his nose up like it's obvious, and you're stupid for not knowing. "Us being on separate schedules. It's fucking shitty." 

You don't have an answer for him. It seems more than lucky that he would assuage your worst feelings considering you haven't told him anything at all. You haven't told him about staying up at night to make sure Robin's not gonna kill him, or how worried you are that he's gonna realise he can leave you now you're safe, now you don't owe each other anything. You haven't told him how much you love him, and how much that would hurt. 

Somehow, you get the impression that he knows anyway. 

"This is really nice," you say eventually. 

He rests his face against yours. You close your eyes. 

"What's nice?" he asks. "Our separation? You're sick, babe. I'm trying to bare my heart here and you're stomping all over it." 

"Not our separation, dummy. This. You lying on top of me. It feels really nice." 

His small laugh warms your cheek. "I know. Why'd you think I let you climb all over me for months?" 

"'Cause otherwise we'd freeze to death?" 

He kisses a line down to the skin under your ear. "That, too. But mostly because it feels good." 

You wrap your arms around him and press your nose to his hair, smelling him for your own self-indulgence. He lets his weight press down on you, shifting his arm so they're digging behind your shoulders. 

You hook a leg behind his. 

"Steve, I…" 

"I love you." 

You stiffen. 

He hugs you that tiny bit tighter. "I love you," he says again. "I should've told you before, but I- I was so afraid that you'd-" He clears his throat quietly. "I was fucking terrified that I was going to let you down. You kept almost dying on me, and I kept realising I wouldn't be able to do this without you." 

"I love you too," you say, shell-shocked. 

He kisses your cheek slowly, softly, and then he lifts himself up so you're face to face. 

"I love you," you say, because he'd said it twice. 

His smile is gentle, eyes creased with a loving amusement. "I know." Steve steals back one of his arms so he can thumb under your eye. "I know you're not sleeping." 

"Steve-" 

"No, listen. I know you don't trust Robin-" 

"I do-" 

"You don't, and it's okay." He cups your cheek. "It's okay. You know, Hopper said it wouldn’t take long to find us a room. A couple more days and you won’t have to worry. And you know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” you say, voice softening to match his own. 

He squeezes your cheek. “There’s a lot of stuff I should say to you and I’m kind of trying to hang onto my last shred of dignity here, but I mean it. More than I’ve ever- More than anyone. I love you.”

Your lips fall into a self-pitying pout. You won’t cry, though you feel like you could, because this is possibly the happiest you’ve ever been in your life. Steve loves you more than anyone, plain as day. He wouldn’t say that if he were going to swap you out for a new apocalypse girlfriend anytime soon, ‘cause Steve doesn’t mess with feelings. He’s earnest. 

“Ever since we got here, I’ve been waiting for you to break up with me,” you say. 

Which is funny in itself. You and Steve kissed each other every now and then for weeks before you had the conversation — it feels juvenile to think of boyfriends and girlfriends in life or death, and, paradoxically, it feels really important. The label means a lot to you. The ‘I love you’ means the world, even if he’s been showing it everyday since he met you. 

He makes a sound that’s a combination of a scoff, a snort, and a pitying sigh. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. 

You laugh so loudly it surprises you both. “I’m ridiculous? Get off of me, rich boy.”

Steve hunkers down. “What? No way. I live here now.”

“Seriously, Harrington, get off. I'm sick of you. Robin promised she’d find me a new boyfriend. Maybe I’ll get one with compassion.”

He laughs. He’s trying not to, and it comes out warm and soft to spite him. “Fine, let’s break up.”

“Fine.”

He tilts his head toward yours until your foreheads are touching, staring into your eyes. It takes a lot of willpower to hold in your laugh. “Wanna go on a date with me?”

You lift your chin and kiss him through giggles. “Yeah, okay. Options are pretty limited here, anyway.”

[dearmantis]

Dried Flowers

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x fem!Reader

Summary: After killing another person who tried to earn your hand in marriage, Aleksander finally manages to get you right where he has always wanted you.

Warning: murder, slut-shaming, blood, obsession, manipulation, dacryphilia (kind of? not sexual, he's just weird about tears??)

Word Count: 2k

Authors' Note: My ability to form sentences in English is slowly disappearing. What is grammar? I don't know anymore. What is logic? I don't know that either. I think I know nothing at all, actually. I also didn't proofread this at all and this isn't my native language, just fyi.

The blood tints the water a beautiful rose colour, similar to the petals of a flower Aleksander has seen you wear in your hair a few days ago.

He's washing his hands slowly, making sure to get every single drop off using the strongest smelling soap he owns in hopes of removing the metallic smell from his skin and a small brush to get the dried flakes out from under his nails.

His gaze moves over to the mirror, checking his shirt for blood splatter in the reflection, but he luckily finds nothing. There are some drops on his face, the red covering his cheek, nose, and parts of his forehead.

He has licked the ones that landed on his lips off a while ago, enjoying the taste of it like an expensive wine as he watched the man bleed out on the floor, his blood forming a small puddle beneath his body while his weak voice begged for mercy.

When he's sure that he got everything off his hands, he grabs a small handkerchief and dips it into the water before using it to remove the blood from his face. He has no time to waste, but he wants to make sure he looks right nonetheless.

In an hour, you will realize that your Lord Peter will not come to your planned shared breakfast. You will send servants to his room to check on him and they will discover the letter he forged, explaining how the Lord wanted to use you as a distraction after falling for a young woman in Ketterdam during his travels and recently decided that he loves her too much to stay away from her any longer.

It will break your heart, but sacrifices must be made, and breaking your heart now would be better than breaking it later after you truly lost your heart to him.

It was a shame, really. Lord Peter had been nice, one of the few nobles in Ravka who did not openly talk badly about Grisha, but Aleksander still couldn't let you marry him. No, you had to stay here, right in the Grand Palace, and Peter would've dragged you to his estate close to the border, never to be seen again.

And Aleksander needs you here. You can't leave. Ever.

After the blood is fully washed off his face he washes the handkerchief and places it on the windowsill to dry in the rising morning sun before opening the window and moving to dump the bloody water into the bed of flowers growing below.

Then he sits back down at his desk and moves to continue with todays paperwork while he waits, patient like a cat that knows that the little mouse will walk right into its mouth.

An hour later you are sitting on his lap, hands tightly holding onto his kefta while he uses the handkerchief he used to remove the blood from his face to dry your tears, carefully dabbing the soft, freshly washed fabric against your skin.

"I just don't understand why this keeps happening." He hears you whisper under your breath, his eyes still focused on the tears rolling down your cheeks. You look so beautiful when you cry. Ethereal. Magical. "Why am I never enough? Why not?"

He can feel a painful pinch in his heart when he hears your words. It's not you who isn't good enough for them. They aren't good enough for you.

You, his beautiful little Princess who boldly stands up for his Grisha and gets harassed with horrible rumours in return. Who gets shamed and threatened and withstands it all despite your softness, like a wild flower surviving the most destructive storms.

"She's under the Darklings spell."

"Nobody wants to marry her except the General and now she defends him to make sure he doesn't loose interest."

"The poor girl is being manipulated by him. He uses her as a shield to protect the Grisha and the stupid thing is too blind to see it."

"He must've fucked his magic into her and it scrambled her mind."

So much gossip surrounds you, but you never complain. You don't even mention what they say about you, probably fearing that he will distance himself from you as well after finding out how people talk about you. That the last friend you have left will leave, unwilling to have his reputation ruined even more.

But he would never leave you. In Aleksanders eyes, you're the only honourable otkazat'sya currently alive in all of Ravka. He will do everything in his power to make sure you stay right here with him and influence politics further. You're a sensible person. Good. Kind. And you work hard to make sure people understand and respect the way you see the world. You fight for change.

So you have to stay right here with him.

"You're more than enough." He answers softly, dropping the handkerchief onto the sofa next to you before his hands move up to cup your face, making sure you're looking him in the face and see the truth in his eyes.

"You are so much better than anyone in Ravka understands. You have a soft, caring heart, and those who do not understand it see it as weakness. But I understand. I understand your strength."

Every single word that falls from his lips is calculated, his voice soft and kind in hopes of making you more susceptible to him.

"And you understand me. You understand how I see the world. What needs to change to make sure Grisha and otkazat'sya can live together in peace. You are perfect."

You don't understand him, not yet, at least, but you will. He will make sure of it. You will understand it all. His little flower.

He lets his hands move down to your waist, and your head immediately drops to rest on his shoulder, your face pressing into his neck.

"Why can't I just marry you..." Aleksander hears you murmur, almost entirely soundless, and he has to fight the smirk trying to find its way onto his lips.

"What was that?"

An embarrassed whimper leaves your lips, a sweet, pathetic sound that he would love to hear forever. "Forget it."

"No, no. Come on, don't be shy." Aleksander encourages, carefully drawing circles on your back while you press your face closer to his neck.

"It's stupid."

The Shadow Summoner doesn't respond, instead choosing to simply wait until you manage to collect enough confidence to repeat and explain yourself. You need to make this step on your own.

"My father will not stop until I'm married. He will continue to set me up with new people in hopes of marrying me off to get me out of the Palace."

You lift your head to look into his face, probably fearing that he won't understand you if you keep whispering against his neck, forcing you to repeat this whole thing a third time.

"And the people he chooses will continue to run away from me. Even the nicest people leave me behind and instead pick a different fate for themselves. For some reason, everyone seems to agree that marrying me is not worth it, a destiny too cruel to live through. No one ever stays with me. No one except you."

New tears sparkle in your eyes, and Aleksander decides it's the most beautiful sight he has ever had the privilege of witnessing. When you cry, all of your emotions are so visible in your eyes. You hide nothing, the mask that all nobles in Ravka wear washed away by the tears rolling down your face. The fact that you trust him to see all of your vulnerability and weakness fills him with glee.

"So I thought that maybe... maybe it would be an option for us to marry."

Before Aleksander gets the chance to respond, you begin talking once more, making it clear to him that you will probably start rambling.

"Of course, that's stupid. We're friends, and I really don't want to ruin this, and I know that I just did that by mentioning that I think we should marry, and I'm really sorry. It's pathetic and honestly disrespectful to you to ask you to marry me just because I'm sick of being alone and I'm pretty sure my father wouldn't even allow it so we would have to do it in secret which isn't fair to you and I-"

He cuts you off by carefully touching your face once more, willing his gaze to soften. He needs to at least pretend to be vulnerable right now to fully get you where he wants you to be.

"It would be an honour to marry you, moya tsarevna. It doesn't matter if in secret or in front of all of Ravka. You are my best friend, and it would be a privilege to be tied to you legally and free you from this constant pain of losing every person you get close to in the same breath."

Leaning forward, he presses his forehead against yours, hoping that the physical proximity will make him seem more honest than he truly is.

"But I don't want you to marry me just because you fear that you will end up alone. I want you to decide for yourself that you want a future with me. One where we can fight side by side for Grisha and Otkazat'sya to live in harmony."

He would marry you right now if you simply ask him. It's the ideal end to his plan, after all. If you were married to him, he wouldn't have to keep killing all of your friends and possible marriage candidates because you would already be tied to him and the Little Palace. You could never leave. You would be here with him forever.

Or, well... until you died from old age. But that's a problem he can solve, he's sure of it. He will make sure his little flower will live on and continue fighting with him. You're part of this eternal battle now, and he will not let you escape it though something like death.

It really doesn't matter why you want to marry him, but it would make the future easier for him and yourself if you simply learned to love him romantically. You'd also probably be more likely to forgive him for the more controversial ideas he has if your heart is full with love for him. As much as he wants to grab you and drag you over to a church to get it over with, he needs to be patient.

The end is in sight, there is no reason to rush things and risk mistakes later. This is the foundation for a bright future.

The worst thing that could happen is that you choose to wait and get to know another Lord who your father wants you to marry.

Another person for Aleksander to kill.

And then, when his dead body slowly starts to decompose in the flowerbeds of the Little Palace alongside the other people he has killed for this, you will find your way back into his arms for comfort and decide that you will marry him. There's no reason to force you to marry him now.

"I would love to be married to you, General. It would be an honour for me as well. You are a great general and an even greater man. I respect you more than anyone else. I promise it's not just because I fear to disappoint my family and end up alone. I have always admired your protective and caring nature, and I genuinely believe that you could be a great husband. One that I can easily love."

He moves your face back to the crook of his neck, his arms wrapping around your waist and pressing you tightly against his body. He can't hide the wide grin on his face.

The mouse walked into the cats open mouth. You are his.