#i will be mad about this for a few days and then I will accept the circumstances

[callsign-rogueone]

some girl on a horse

Sawyer Henrick x reader (peach!) words: 4k 🏷: major iron flame spoilers in this one, peach is a horse girl lowkey, temporary heartbreak, miscommunication (or just lack of communication), sawyer should really be in the doghouse here but he's too damn cute to be mad at, sweetheart cameo... that's all I got. onyx storm tomorrow! why am I dreading it...

With each passing day, it has become more clear that you and Sawyer are done playing pretend. He’s fulfilled his duty, and is probably glad to be done with it, not having to cross the bridge to go see you every day, or to spend his weekends with you in town. He has better things to do as a rider, and an executive officer at that. 

Maybe this was the will of the universe, having your paths split, then cross, then split again. It was childish to think that you’d stay close forever, that he’d stick around longer than he had to. He’d invited you out with his friends as a nicety, and then been too polite to decline when Rhiannon had volunteered him to be your knight in shining armor. You’d been an obligation to him, nothing more. 

But there had been so many moments where you saw something like love in his eyes when he’d looked at you, felt it in his touch and heard it in his words.

He’d have made a great stage actor.

Hot tears slip down your cheeks, blurring your view of the setting sun. You’ve started spending your free time out by the end of the bridge. You can’t cross it, but you can sit there and wait. And wait you do — a book laying in your lap unread, your hands numbing from the cold wind as you gaze across the river.

Your heart leaps every time anyone comes by, falling harder each time you realize it’s not him. It’s getting dark earlier each day, getting closer to the solstice. If Sawyer and his friends have really dumped you, then that’ll be a lot fewer presents to make. 

But the boy you’d grown up with wouldn’t do this to you. He was good to the core, always one to do the right thing, the one person you could always rely on and could always trust to keep your secrets, that you’d been content to die beside when that fire had swept through the village all those years ago.

That’s what’s kept you putting on the necklace he’d given you each day after you say your prayers, kept you reading the death rolls every morning for his name and waiting out here every afternoon for any sight of him — the belief that he’d come back to you if he could.

He’ll be back tomorrow, a little bruised but otherwise intact, and you’ll bandage him up, and everything will be alright. It’ll go on like that until July, when you graduate and get shipped off… somewhere, and then maybe the gods will be kind enough to let your paths cross again.

You’d quietly accepted that you’d drift apart at school, but now that he’s back in your life, losing him is going to hurt so badly.

Your friend bursts through the doorway, panting. “The riders are leaving.”

“What?”

“Look,” she wheezes. 

Your heart drops at the sight: at least a hundred dragons all flying straight overhead. Dozens of them are red, and any one of them could be Sawyer’s. Did he leave with them? Where are they going? Is something terrible happening, and they were called in as reinforcements? 

They’re headed south, not west — not to the border with Poromiel. Navarre probably isn’t going to war, then. But what else would demand that much firepower? 

Nothing good, that’s for certain.

————————

Rumors swirl around the quadrant for the next few days, every patient and healer having something to say about the week’s events.

Are we sure this isn’t just another one of their games?

Traitors, the lot of them. They should be rounded up and hung.

I’m sure there’s a reason why they left. Maybe they know something we don’t. 

Someone calls your name down the hall; Yara, a scribe cadet you’d befriended last year.

“It’s good to see you— oh!” you squeak in surprise as she pulls you into a hug — you hadn’t taken her for a hugger, and you really aren’t that close.

“Don’t react,” she whispers into your hair, “but his name is on the list. He left, and the rest of his squad, too. The Sorrengail girl, at least.”

You blink, stunned. “To where?”

“They’re saying Riorson led them all to Tyrrendor. That venin and wyvern are real, but the leadership and the crown are ignoring the threat.” She breaks the hug, painting on a bright smile. “Me and some of the girls are going out for drinks this weekend. You should go.”

You search her eyes for some indicator that she’s hinting at what you think she is.

“It’ll be a bit of a hike,” she continues, “but we’ve done crazier things.”

Have you, really? What she’s suggesting would be capital-I Insane, and potentially land you in prison. And wyvern and venin are just fairy tales, aren’t they?

You chew your lip, thinking. If Yara is right, and Violet, the smartest person you know, had left with the rest of them, there must have been some pretty damning evidence to convince her. And if she left, then Sawyer, Ridoc, and Rhiannon definitely went with her. 

“Maybe,” you respond a moment later than appropriate for the conversation you appear to be having. “I don’t know if it would be the best idea — I have a botany test that I really need to study for.”

“Understandable. Let me know either way. Good seeing you!”

“You too,” you manage, your heart and mind both racing. Did she really suggest that you follow them to Tyrrendor, or are you going completely insane?

There’s only one person you can talk to about this.

—————

“I can’t decide if this is the best idea you’ve ever had, or the worst,” Sarah offers around a yawn.

“Hopefully not the worst,” you reply, looking around the barn. Your eyes settle on a chestnut mare, the only one awake at this hour. “Hi, girl. You wanna go on an adventure with me?” She snorts softly, happily letting you scratch at her chin. “I’m taking that as a yes.” You turn back to Sarah. “If anyone asks…”

“I have no idea where you are. Do you have everything you need?”

“I think so. I took everything I care about, so if they want to assume I’m dead, I’m fine with you burning it all.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point.”

“Thank you for everything,” you say softly, pulling her into a hug. “I’ll write from the road — or your uncle Fergus will. Leave her stall and the barn open. Some idiot forgot to lock up properly and she bolted.”

“This is why you’re the smart one. Too bad you’re absolutely nuts.”

You laugh, quieting as you realize that it’s still very much four in the morning, and you’re supposed to be making a silent exit. 

“I really fucking hope you’re right about this,” she whispers, holding you tighter.

“Me too.”

The horse lets you saddle and mount easily, walking you toward the door. “Alright, girl,” you say, patting her neck. “Let’s see how fast you can go.”

————————————

“Did you need something?” Brennan asks the infantry officer, looking rather peeved that he’d interrupted his lecture. 

“We have a bit of a situation,” he says quietly, embarrassed. “There’s some girl on a horse outside, says she’s a healer. Came all the way from Basgiath.”

Second squad exchanges a look.

“There’s only one healer I know that’s crazy enough to do that,” Rhiannon whispers.

Violet looks over at her, incredulous. “You don’t think…” 

Ridoc grins from ear to ear, clapping a hand onto Sawyer’s shoulder. “Why are you still here? Go get your girl.”

Sawyer bolts from his seat, ignoring Brennan’s protests as he races down the hall toward the front gates. “She’s on our side,” he calls, and the two guards lower their swords, letting him through.

Your head snaps up at the voice, your body flooding with relief at the sight of him. You spring forward and hug him tightly, clutching the black leather of his jacket for dear life. “You’re alive,” you breathe, and his heart cracks right down the middle. “Gods, Sy, I was so scared… The leadership wouldn’t tell us anything, and I didn’t hear from you or Violet or Ridoc or anyone… I waited for you at the bridge every day, but you never came, and I thought…”

He wraps his arms around you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, peach,” he whispers, rife with guilt. “It hurt so fucking bad to leave you behind, but I knew you’d be safer there, under the wards.”

You’re crying now, tears slipping down your cheeks and seeping into the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t tell me that anything is safer than being with you.”

He holds you a little closer, rubbing your back gently — slow sweeps of his palm, up and down, up and down, letting you get it all out. 

“I mean it,” you sniff, still clinging to him. “I need you, Sy. I don’t ever want to be away from you like that again.”

“Hey,” he soothes, holding you closer, “I swear to every god who’s listening that I will never leave you behind again. You have my word.”

“Good,” you say in that same cracked whisper you’d used when you’d agreed to let him protect you from James, to play pretend with him.

He continues to whisper soft reassurances to you, rubbing your back. “I’m okay. Everyone is okay. They’re all here, Ridoc and Violet and Rhiannon and everyone. They’re all safe.”

That makes you feel a little better — you’ve become deeply attached to his squad in the last three months, and you couldn’t bear the thought of any of them being injured, or worse. “Is it true?” you ask softly. “All those fairy tales about wyvern and dark magic?”

“It is,” he says quietly. “All of it.”

You exhale deeply, sitting with the information for a moment. “I don’t know what to say,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Your tears have dried by now — you don’t have any left, likely because you’re so dehydrated. Water had been scarce the last few days. 

He finally puts it together. “Did you steal a horse?”

“I prefer the term liberated,” you wheedle, and Cinnamon chuffs softly in agreement.

“From who?”

“Some poor infantry cadet. They didn’t treat her right, anyway.”

He laughs, bewildered. “You’re absolutely crazy, Peach.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, waving him off, “but you love it.”

He holds you tighter, letting you lean into him — you’re exhausted, your entire body sore from your journey. “I do,” he says softly. “I do love it. I love everything about you.”

Your breath catches. “Sawyer…” you whisper, a warning that you’re getting close to something you can’t ever come back from. 

He ignores it. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m so grateful that you came back into my life when you did. I don’t want to play pretend anymore. I want this to be real.”

“I want that too,” you say quietly. “I was going to tell you the day that you left.”

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I promise you that I’ll spend the rest of my days making it up to you.”

“I don't think I was ever really pretending,” you admit into his shoulder.

He laughs softly, his chest shaking against yours. “I wasn’t either.” You shiver, burrowing into him further — it’s freezing out here, but he’s impossibly warm. “Alright. Let’s get you ladies inside.” 

Cinnamon lets him take the reins easily, trusting him to be gentle with her after seeing the way you ran to him and hugged him so tightly. 

You stay tucked into his side as you make the short walk to the stables. 

He turns to you after a moment, pausing his work of undoing the tack. “Wait. It’s a twelve-hour flight from here to the school… When did you leave?”

“Nine days ago,” you answer tiredly. “It would have been eight, but there was a rockslide in the mountains, so I had to double back and take the long way round.”

“Nine days?” he echoes. “How did you…”

“I followed the south star,” you explain, gazing up at him. “And then a friend of ours found me, and led me the rest of the way here.”

“You’re welcome,” Sliseag adds.

Sawyer blinks for a second, processing. “You two never cease to surprise me.”

You laugh, the puff of breath visible in the air. “Him and I have an understanding.”

“Evidently so,” he agrees, finishing up.

You step outside, tilting your head up to watch the flakes fall. “Just like home.”

He smiles, tugging you closer. “Just like home,” he agrees, leaning his head down…

You put your hand in front of your mouth to stop him. “That’s not a good idea,” you squeak, your cheeks warming. 

He looks at you, confused and a little hurt.

“Sy, I’ve been camping for the last three days,” you prompt, embarrassed. “There weren’t any inns between here and Deaconshire.”

It dawns on him after a second. “Ah.”

“Yeah. So if there’s a bathtub and a sink in that castle back there, I’d like to use them.”

———————

He isn’t expecting you to start stripping so fast, but you’re so eager to be out of your dirty clothes and into the warm water that you don’t think about the fact that Sawyer is still standing there.

He whirls around as soon as he realizes.

“Facing the wall and closing your eyes? I’m almost a little offended,” you tease.

You can see how red his cheeks are in the mirror as he responds. “It’s called being respectful. I’m gonna find you some clean clothes. I’ll be back.”

You hum, letting your head tip back against the tiled wall. By the time Sawyer returns, you’ve washed up, and are just relaxing, enjoying the moment of peace. The warm water is so nice after the freezing cold weather outside, and besides the last week of traveling, you haven’t taken a real bath in two and a half years — showering at Basgiath just isn’t the same. 

“You about ready? It’s almost dinnertime, and you need to eat something.”

You whine in protest, sinking deeper into the water.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Five more minutes. But you’re gonna get all pruney.”

You wiggle your fingers at him playfully. “Oh, it’s too late. I’ve been pruned.”

He rolls his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

“C’mere,” you coax, sitting up a bit and resting your forearms on the edge of the tub, leaning toward him.

He settles onto the floor, at eye level with you.

“I brushed my teeth,” you tell him. “So I’m ready for that kiss now. Are you gonna do it, or should I—” Your sentence is interrupted with a soft whimper as he pulls you forward with a hand on your jaw, guiding you into a dizzying kiss. Water sloshes against the side of the tub as you rise up onto your knees, wanting him even closer, but you have to pull back for air. 

“Minty fresh,” he pronounces, brushing his nose against yours.

“Gods,” you breathe, “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”

“I have no idea. But we have the rest of our days to make up for it.”

It’s your turn to tug him forward. You bring a hand up to cradle his cheek, sending water droplets running down the side of his neck, but he doesn’t seem to mind, still entirely focused on you as the kiss gets deeper and deeper, making up for lost time.

He pulls back after a moment, and you whine softly, pouting up at him as he stands. “Dinner,” he reminds you gently. “We can pick this back up later tonight.”

That seems to appease you — there’s that mischievous little twinkle in your eye, the one he loves so much. “I’m holding you to that,” you warn.

“Please do,” he answers a little too quickly, holding out a thick towel and turning his gaze to the wall so you can get up.

“Averting your eyes again? Ouch.”

He reddens, still looking away. “If I see you naked right now, we won’t make it to dinner.”

You giggle, taking the towel from him and pressing a kiss to his flushed cheek. “You, Sawyer Henrick, are adorable.”

He clears his throat, gesturing to the pile on the counter and changing the subject. “I think these should fit.”

Black on black, of course. This castle… palace? fortress? is full of riders. At least it’s cotton fabric and not all leather — that would be a bitch to put on with wet skin.

You throw your still-dripping hair into an easy style; you’ll take the time to dry it and detangle and everything later. “This feels like a hallow’s eve costume. All I need is the jacket,” you joke, examining your reflection.

He shrugs his off, draping it over your shoulders, and your heart nearly stops. 

You’d had his tongue in your mouth not three minutes ago, but this somehow feels even more intimate — wearing his jacket, with his name over your heart, being wrapped in his scent and the warmth of his body that lingers on the fabric... Definitely against regulation, but so are a lot of things you’ve done in the last week, namely taking an unplanned and unsanctioned leave of absence from Basgiath with no real plans to return. 

You’ll deal with those consequences later. Maybe.

—————

You freeze at the sight of the group of people entering the hall, their brown uniforms and the quivers of arrows over their shoulders marking them as gryphon fliers. You’ve never seen one in person before. 

“It’s a very long story, but they’re on our side now,” Sawyer explains, but he still holds you a little closer anyway — it’s unclear if he doesn't fully trust them, or if he just wants to comfort you in the presence of the people you’d been taught to treat as enemies.

“That should not have been a surprise after everything else you told me,” you laugh, but the sight of them still makes you a little nervous. 

He stops at one of the long tables and drops a kiss to your forehead. “Sit. I’ll get you some real food.”

Rhiannon is the first to spot you. “I told you it had to be her!”

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Violet says, wide eyed.

You laugh, settling into an open spot on the bench. “I feel like a little kid playing dress-up. But at least I don’t stick out so much anymore. The blue was a little…”

“I thought it was nice,” someone says quietly — a girl sitting next to Ridoc with a book open in front of her. You recognize her from the infirmary; he had brought her in one morning, covered in cuts and bruises. A little butterfly had fluttered around her the whole time, landing on your arm once as you worked.

You offer her a soft smile. “Glad to see you in one piece.”

“I hear you’re our newest healer,” someone greets — a man who looks a bit older than you. Your eyes catch on the Lieutenant Colonel insignia on his jacket, and then the mender’s patch. He must be the equivalent of Nolon around here.

“Yes, sir,” you answer shyly, suddenly a little embarrassed to be wearing someone else’s uniform. “Or one in training, anyway.”

“We’ll take what we can get. Come by the infirmary tomorrow, and we’ll get you started.” He pats Sawyer on the shoulder in passing, giving him a knowing smile. “Your squadmates can fill you in on what you missed this afternoon.”

Sawyer reddens. “Thank you, sir.”

You wait until he returns to the head table before you look back at Violet, wide-eyed. “Is that…”

She nods. “Officially, he isn’t. But yes, that’s my brother. How did you know?”

“You have the same smile. And the signet patch — Nolon talks about your brother all the time. He’s the best mender there’s been in a hundred years.”

“He’s pretty good,” she concedes. “Second only to Lieutenant Avan, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Your ears prick up at the mention of the girl. “Is she here too? How’s she doing?”

“You know her?” Ridoc’s girl asks, curious. 

You nod. “She came in all the time with Professor Carr to practice. Oh, I hated that guy. Poor girl always looked so uncomfortable around him, and he’d work her to the bone every time. I talked back to him once, telling him to let her stop before she keeled over, and I was sure that he’d get me in trouble for it, but he just gave me that creepy stare and left.”

“I know the one,” she says with a shudder. “He’s the worst.”

“Food,” Sawyer prods before you can reply, pushing the plate closer to you.

You roll your eyes at him, but you finally realize how hungry you are, tucking in to your first real meal in days — nothing fancy, just some kind of fish and vegetables and brown bread, but it’s much more appetizing than anything you’d had at any of those terrible inns in Deaconshire, and with much better company. You had to cut everything with one hand, the other under the table clutching Sawyer’s dagger to defend yourself against any of the other patrons, but praying that you wouldn’t have to. Mercifully, they’d all left you alone.

It feels like you’re back at school, crammed around one of the tiny tables at the tavern you’d frequented — the same laughter and easy chatter, as if you aren’t preparing for a war of proportion you don’t yet understand.

You keep up with the conversation for a little while, finishing your plate and resting your head on Sawyer’s shoulder for a moment, a gentle gesture of thanks. He wraps an arm around you, tucking you into his side as the squad continues to discuss several things that go in one ear and out the other, but are likely important to this effort — journals and runes and wards and the original six.

You can’t keep your eyes open. Now that you’ve reunited with Sawyer, gotten cleaned up and eaten something, the adrenaline has faded, and you just want to sleep for the next four days — in a real bed with real blankets, not a thin sleeping bag on the frozen ground.

“M’sorry,” you murmur. “Just really tired.”

He chuckles softly. “It’s okay, sweet girl. Let’s get you to bed.”

You bid everyone goodnight, trudging up endless flights of stairs to a barracks room that’s devoid of anything except a bed made up with plain sheets and the pack you’d taken from school. 

“Home sweet home,” he announces. “At least you don’t have a roommate. I get to deal with Ridoc twenty four hours a day now.”

You manage a laugh, kneeling down to look through your bag and setting a few things on the empty desk. “Now it’s home.”

He raises his eyebrows, amused. “Glad to see that your bunny made the cut when you were packing a bag to commit treason.”

“I wasn’t going to leave him behind after twenty years,” you defend, a little embarrassed.

“Understandable,” he offers. “Alright. You’ve got pajamas, bathroom’s down the hall, you have your key… you all set?” You nod in affirmation, and he kisses your forehead, giving you a soft hug before he turns toward the door. 

You whine softly, holding on a little longer. “You’re leaving?”

“I need to shower, but I can come back after, if you want.”

You cover a yawn with your hand. “That would be nice.”

“Alright. Get changed. I’ll be back.”

The door unlocking and the movement of the mattress under his weight stir you from your sleep. 

The bed is just barely big enough for the two of you, but you don’t mind, curling into his side and nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder. He’s warm, and the weight of his arms around you is soothing.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.”

[writingwisterias]

How would the different eras of Leon act if he knows he shouldn’t be with the reader (ada wong typa shit) but he can’t escape from her like whenever something happens (like maybe she spotted arias’s wedding in vendetta ?) she is deff a part of it and he keeps running into the reader 🙏 i love your work btw you’re the reason why i keep refreshing the tag 💪💜

Hiii

I love this idea lmao and thank you! You are so sweet - I hope you have a great day <3

Warnings: None Fem! reader

RE2:

Post the events of the game let's say he sees you around the training grounds

After the events you both went through at a young age I think he finds it easier to blame you for letting him fall for Ada's tricks

It grows heated and hurts you that he treats you like that around the camp

Krasuer actually makes you sparing partners on purpose hoping that you would hone in your anger and focus on creating your skills

It doesn't work

RE4R:

He sees you as he's running around but almost plays it off as just a figment of his imagination

It would a similar reaction to Ada in the game but let's say he actually is hung up you and has feelings then he would slip up more

He'll expose these feelings more often than showing you he's angry.

I don't think however you would use this to your advantage but find it cute that he is struggling

He's almost drawn to be at your side more than he is to focus on the mission. Ashley's presence is a reminder of what he's meant to be doing

Infinite Darkness:

Grows frustrated at first, like how are you here again

At this point I think he'll just assume the universe thinks you are meant to be together

Again is more likely to draw in close and team up in a way where he's not just straight up being used

He's been there done that

Better at hiding his feelings but does slip up a few times

Damnation:

He's beginning to get used to it at this point, I don't think he would really get mad

I think again it's just surprising how you are always there as a thing in his life and he never seems to know you very well

Playful banter, enough to get through the mission

Kinda accepts what you do as he's just used to it at this point so there's no tension or arguments on that front

He assumes you are hear on orders for someone. Doesn't agree to it but if you don't stop him from doing his job he wont stop you doing yours

RE6:

He surprised you are here, like he just wasn't expecting you to be involved with this plot scheme or that it was that large you would have an interest in it

Smiles to himself every time you talk or do something to help him. He's smitten at this point.

The dynamic has shifted dramatically at this point, there is hidden feelings waiting to be exposed or spoken about.

But when do either of you have the time?

It's just forever left unspoken

It would be easier to deal with it like this but at the end of the day it's too obvious now

The final 'goodbye' is the hardest

Vendetta:

So I think he would actually get annoyed but because he's not in the right frame of mind to deal with the emotions that follow from seeing you

He would provide information for the others about you if you are involved.

When he actually sees you he's silent. Not really talking to you all that much.

After the mission though when he's starting to get in a better mindset I think he will attempt to reach out

Maybe for some stability after all you have been there through literally everything

It could progress romantically but I think that's just what you were both expecting at this point if it does happen.

Soulmates in a way

Death Island:

You are either currently fucking or have fucked recently

Lingering touches when he does see you, its playful and the other don't really know how to react

He's not surprised that you are somehow involved and will stick by your side during the fights just in case

You both meet up together of course

At this point you just accept each others company and allows it to develop in whatever way it does

If it works out then great. If not then until next time.

[sunsetsover]

I don't think people say GMMTV is sabotaging FK; the correct word would be neglecting. GMMTV neglects FK, and it is extremely obvious if you pay attention.

idk what exactly prompted this ask bc i made that post like a week ago and from what i can tell it hasn't really got any notes for the past few days and i haven't even been online so maybe this is just something that had been bothering you? idk but. and i don't mean to be rude when i say this! but i must say i don't like the tone of this. i'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume it was accidental, but jsyk this came off as very passive aggressive, like im somehow an idiot for not seeing it. and i will tell you that i have definitely seen people accusing gmmtv of sabotaging fkt and thk, which as i said is silly, but yes some do say that! i've seen it with my own two eyes lmao

like literally today i saw someone on twitter saying exactly this bc the gmmtv twt account posted upcoming events for the next week. now mind you! first is LITERALLY on holiday with his family rn, so how (and more importantly why) do they expect him to have events next week? well when someone mentioned that in the replies, their response was just 'well clearly you don't see it the way i do' which ?? what way is that ?? that he's on holiday?? that he can't be in two places at once??? and other people in the replies were like 'well why can't khaotung have solo events!' and it's like ?? idk maybe bc he's at home gaming, hanging out with his sister and playing his instruments ?? maybe it's bc the two of them are CLEARLY on a break and just bc khaotung is still at home doesn't mean he's not RESTING??

and yes i'm mad about that kind of stuff! it comes off as so selfish and spoilt!! and not to make everything about bts but bts have this exact same issue w some fans to the point where armys literally came up w a name for to refer to these kind of fans: mantis (manager+anti). an explanation of what that means from reddit (bc it's better than i could ever explain it): 'Mantis are antis who essentially hide behind “stanning” so much that they themselves feel like they know the group, and their career, better than the group does. These are the fans constantly trying to "protect" them, beyond normal levels. The type to think they are constantly mistreated/tortured by the company and don't get to make any decisions of their own. Also tend to call out other fans "for not being real fans" if they don't join in on the concern.' like literally i read some of stuff some (emphasis on SOME) fkt fans say and it literally is like. i have played these games before!

and listen i'm not gonna pretend i know much of anything abt that company. i'm new here as it is and i really don't pay attention to any other actors or shows or whatever to compare it to so im deffo not the authority in this regard!

but all that said i 1000% get the impression that there are some fans that kinda... infantilise fkt when it comes to their work. like they have no choice or agency and gmmtv are keeping them locked in a basement somewhere. and i do believe that the majority of them mean well (altho i do think a lot of them want/expect way too much from fkt but i'll get to that), but it's almost as if they forget they're grown men who are more than capable of advocating for themselves. i mean fucking hell, was it not them aggressively advocating for themselves for years that got them put on a show together in the first place? first and khaotung are clearly not people who have difficulty going after what they want, esp when together. i've heard that fkt are notoriously picky about which scripts they accept, which doesn't sound to me like people who are really being neglected by their company. neglected actors don't get the luxury of being picky about jobs. neglected actors are lucky to get any jobs.

(and this goes for events and stuff too, which is a common gripe i've seen. in my opinion - and this is just mine! - people who take their acting as seriously as first and khaotung may not want to take loads of events where they're essentially glorified salesmen. and i mean that with no shade bc make that bag always, but as i see it that's all those events are - extra money in their pockets. i can't see how they would do anything for their career really. and doesn't it just make sense that if they're picky abt their jobs that would also extend into events and stuff too? like? i mean ppl are free to disagree w me on this bc this is just my opinion but yknow. i just think ppl make this into a bigger thing than it is)

and funnily enough i also saw a thread on twt the other day abt how fkt are much bigger internationally than they are in thailand. the shows they've opted to do (again, opted, bc they have a choice) are shows that allegedly don't appeal to a domestic market like most other gmmtv shows do. and so, no matter how you or i might feel abt it, from a business pov it makes sense that they might not be getting the opportunities some other actors might be getting if there simply just isn't demand for it domestically. which sucks, but if that's how it is, that's how it is.

and don't get me wrong i completely get viciously advocating for your faves ok? im an army. for half of bts' career fans were all they had. but sometimes that advocacy becomes a) kinda ridiculously demanding given the context and b) almost condescending. or very condescending sometimes. this goes for bts and fkt both. and while it's all well and good wanting things for them, all i'm saying is let's not forget that they are grown men who are not new to this business. not to mention the fact they have a known track record of advocating for themselves, or the fact that they enough scripts coming their way to be able to be picky, or the fact that already have a new show lined up. first has two even! and a show currently airing! and a cameo that just aired like last week! and another one we know is coming! like my god these are not men who are hurting for work rn.

and in my humble opinion, coming to learn about this industry relatively recently, i think ppl expect too much from these actors overall. i think a lot of them - fkt included - work a hell of a fucking lot actually. i think demanding much more is just selfishness. if im honest. like yes it's nice to see them doing events and stuff. but it's not necessary. and i'll be honest! would i like more interviews and magazines and things like that? sure! but like i said if the demand isn't there, neither will the offers be. that's just the reality of what it is! i'm not going to be sending trucks about it lmfao

the bottom line is this: i'm not saying gmmtv do or don't neglect them. i don't have enough information to have a strong enough opinion one way or the other. but from the outside looking in they seem to be doing just fine. they've got work. they've seemingly got money. and like i said, they're grown men. this is their careers. if they have issues with one thing or another, i trust that they will address those issues as they see fit between themselves and their company. until the day that first and/or khaotung themselves express unhappiness or discontentment, i will take them at face value and believe that they're happy w the way things are. bc literally who tf am i to tell them they should be doing anything different?

[tia-amorosa]

Episode 8: Last Day for Two (Part 1)

The next morning, breakfast was accompanied by one of the family's older ghosts, Victor Grusel. At least more or less. “And you're sure you'll find your mother, my dearest?“/”I'm not sure, but I'll try everything…“/”We used to have many scientists, but no one who dared to venture into such spheres. I wish you every success“/”Thank you, great-grandfather”…

After breakfast, Cassandra went upstairs to change her clothes. “Oh, you've made yourself pretty, Cassandra. But surely not for the desert? I don't want to know how hot it is there"/ ”No, I want to go straight to Don's, he's off again today. I'll definitely pick something else for Strangetown"/ ” mhm. Then make the most of today"/.

“Thanks, I will. And try to get out a bit too“/” well, I wanted to get some new oil paints anyway,…"/,,See, that's a good reason to stretch your legs outside. I'll be back here tomorrow morning"/ ‘Oh… I see. See you tomorrow then’. Cassandra deliberately wanted to spend the last few hours together with Don. Due to work, there was always little time to really spend the day together. Today was going to be different.

A little later. Don opened the door with a big grin. “Hey, wow, you look great“/”hn-hn, and you too, actually, as always grin. Can I come in?“/”Yes, sure. Have you had breakfast yet?“/”Yes, not even an hour ago”. He took both her hands and looked into her eyes. Then he kissed her and slowly pulled her into the house.

He closed the door once they were inside and go on with it. He kissed her passionately, which she was only too happy to accept. He pressed her tightly against him again and kissed her neck, then returned to her lips. “oh, D-Don, don't make me so weak“/,,you just taste so good, Cassy, hhh, there's nothing I'd rather do right now than taste everything of you”.

“I'm sorry, Don, you know I want nothing more than you right now. But I can't…” Her voice trembled a little. “What was the old witch thinking? I'm allowed to kiss you, but not sleep with you?“/”It's about the act itself, Don…And…we'll probably have to wait a little longer now, I have to go away for a few days“/”what? where?“/”Strangetown, a few colleagues asked me to come there because of my mother”.

“You have to go to another city because of your mom?"/ ”It's about all the equipment that's supposed to help me find her. Don. Everything is already different between us anyway… I understand that you're sleeping with other women just because you… can't wait until I'm ready for you. But I love you…”. Don paused for a moment. Then he looked at her and realized how important the whole thing was to her now. “And you love your mother. So take care of that first, okay?"/ ‘And you're not angry…?’…

“No…why should I be mad? Because I'm horny as my neighbor's dog and my fiancée is under a curse and I'm not allowed to sleep with her? It's damn unfair, yes. If I didn't want you, I would have broken up with you long ago, wouldn't I? Besides… I feel partly responsible for your mother being gone. I shouldn't have called her here so late, then maybe she wouldn't have disappeared"/ ‘Oh Don’…

“We are a strange couple. I let you sleep with other women just because I'm not free and only a wedding can redeem me“/”what do you actually do when you get this craving for another body?“/”I… I do what anyone else do in this situation“/”mmh. O.k…. When do you have to leave?“/”Tomorrow”.

“And how long will it take?“/”That depends on whether and how quickly mom can be found“/. “And the boys are Experts?“/”Yes, quite good ones and Polli too“/”who is she?“/”thihi, no “she”, Pollination is an alien who has been living there for many years.“/”uh, a real alien?“/”mhm, do you want to come and see it, hn?“/”no, I'm needed here, you know that. If I was on vacation, I'd say sure!. But I'm irreplaceable at the moment”.

“And do you have accommodation there?"/ ”The boys have a guest room in their house, I can sleep there. Pascal has a son"/ ‘and they're all married or what?’/ ‘No, not as far as I know. hey, is this going to be an interrogation? don't worry, I have to be abstinent anyway, huh?’/ ”Hehe. If I sleep with other women, you can flirt with other men too.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh please, I don't think I'll get around to it there"/ ,,hnhn. And now?” he asked her with a slightly challenging look.

“Well, I don't have to go to the institute today and you don't have to go to the clinic. Either we make ourselves comfortable here with a few movies, or we avoid any atmosphere that could lead to… Sexual desire and get me into trouble. We could go swimming instead“/”you in a swimsuit, or worse, bikini…hmm“/”hmm…let's just go out, shall we?” He smiled, kissed her again. “Alright, I'll take you wherever you want”.

@greenplumbboblover , @solorisims , @plumbobgothica 🙂

Note: Unfortunately, I can't say which poses I used back then. I really don't remember. Sometimes I get really annoyed that I don't make a note of which poses I used at a given time. It's often difficult or even impossible to find them again.😥👀

My story posts are also welcome to be shared.😊🙂

[dykedvonte]

Can you talk about trans!Curly a little bit more? I'm curios if you have any headcanons and the like

-💀

It's just such a thing in my mind because it adds a truthful sadness and differing aspect to mouthwashing.

If Curly was trans it adds the horror of the horribly selfish thought he could have easily been in Anya's situation. It could've been him but it wasn't and he so conflicted on the pit it put in his stomach that brings and the shameful relief it wasn't. In this scenario he is friends with Jimmy for a long time still. Jimmy likely knew him pretransition. Maybe he gave Curly weird looks then, maybe they never stopped after, maybe they seemed meaner. They are guys now, bros, both of them are. He doesn't really have to worry what those looks mean anymore, Jimmy just has that face with him sometimes. It's recontextualizing a lot of things for him that he was in denial about or too ashamed to admit. How naive he was being and how he let that get another person hurt.

Specifically with Anya, it's he knows the dread and fear she's feeling. He can understand it because he had to live with it for a good portion of his life, he knows it cause he still does, just in a slightly different way. It makes him think of all the times he's been alone with Jimmy, all the times he's been way more drunk off his ass and not remember the night, Jimmy was always with him the next day. Makes him think of the comments he would laugh off both because that's what guys do but because that part of being a girl says to laugh so Jimmy doesn't do something. It's the selfish realization that he was never safe and he's uncertain now too. Mad at himself for forgeting that feeling, espcially since for a long time he would've been considered the only woman on a crew (with all that implies) for a long time.

He should've taken those blinders off, step back into that position for just a moment and it's so much more painful that Anya likely came to him because he should've gotten it. Those thoughts don't leave his mind after the crash when he's in an even more vulnerable position than she was...

[novelconcepts]

In watching more interviews with Liv about Van and the escalation of Van's pragmatism to such dark degrees, I find myself genuinely baffled that anyone could ever think Van the bad guy. I mean, I'm perplexed at finding ANY of these girls The Bad Guy. The bad guy is the situation. It's being lost. It's freezing. It's starving. It's being scraped down to the barest bone of being alive. They make choices that might be snippy, or cruel, or hard-headed, sure--Shauna refusing to just hash it out with Jackie; Jackie being too stubborn to come inside; Taissa refusing to discuss her situation plainly; etc--but by the time we reach the end of season 2, it doesn't even matter. Petty bullshit doesn't matter. Jealousy doesn't matter. Those things are still going to be present and complicated, because--for all their choices, for all the distancing they're trying to do--these kids ARE still human beings. But it isn't the point.

The point is survival. Plain, simple, straightforward. Van's pragmatism is survival. It is the difference between living another day with blood on your teeth or dying pretty. It is the difference between fighting forward through the fire and the snow and the hell of it all, and laying down to die. Van knowing, in watching the ritual violence of Shauna beating Lottie nearly the death, that they will be killing and eating one another soon. Van coming up with the cards for the hunt. Van not blinking when the moment comes, Van choosing a weapon that doubles as a tool to bring the body back, Van refusing to apologize for staying alive--it's not evil. It's not Bad Guy behavior. It's purely about survival, because there is nothing else left to her--or to any of them. They can play the pretty little Sweet Angel Girl game and die, or they can get dirty, bloody, horrific and fight. Van chooses the fight. Van chooses to fight for herself, for her lover, for her team, even knowing not everyone is going to make it out...because the alternate path there is that no one makes it out. Van knew the baby wouldn't live. Van knows the rest of them won't, either. Not unless they start making the hard choices.

And, honestly, the fact that Van sees this narrative coming. Comes up with this plan. Brings out the cards. To me, that is the opposite of Bad Behavior. That is as close to justice as anyone can find in the wilderness. If someone else came up with an idea, maybe it would have come down to voting--but that would have had such a human element to it, with bitterness or hostility or whatever ultimately petty shit always comes of humans selecting who to Other. The cards don't leave room for that. It isn't fair, because the situation isn't fair, because Man vs. Nature isn't fair, but it's as close to a just system as they could possibly find. It's the kindest solution to an unwinnable game. Not to bring it back to American Gods again, but all I can think is "it's easy, there's a trick to it: you do it, or you die." Van gave them that.

[pomimon]

dear cousins.. did you know i’m brazillian? yes i am ! that means my twitter was nuked 2 days ago, in the Great Brazillian fall of 2024. most of my art was posted there, so i have no actual archive of my stuff anymore, SO i will try to update this account little by little and keep it as my main.

[sukibenders]

Bridgerton really is the only fandom where you could create a random ship for pure enjoyment, that was about the two characters in said ship finding one another and the life they could have together, and yet somehow certain people in this said fandom would go "Okay but what about this person outside this ship (who wasn't even mentioned)? Obviously, if this ship exists they can't be happy, so just stop talking about it in general. Besides, it's not canon so just accept reality. "

[unma]

Saw the Epilogue for Liar Satsuki just now and yeah no, I was coping when I thought it'd make things better. I still can't believe Akira and Satsuki didn't end up together. After EVERYTHING these two have been through together. Komachi is not even slightly as relevant for most of the manga, and you can say what you want about both their abilities tying them together thematically and what not, but frankly the entire manga set it up such that Akira x Satsuki was the obvious choice.

[capriszn]

almost every cdrama i‘ve watched could have been a 10/10 if it wasn’t for those last ten minutes packed with the entire finale like every single one without fail got that rushed ending…. why do they keep doing this to me stop

[oh-no-bummer]

Appena realizzato che quest' estate dovrò fare finta di essere eterosessuale di nuovo whoho! E non ho neanche amici queer in zona su cui riderci sopra. Lonely girl Summer here we come.

[rafey-baby]

older!rafe can’t always be mean to his delicate flower, can he?

c/w: fluff with a little bit of angst in the beginning, rafe feeding sensitive!reader pasta, slight subspace, smut: oral (f receiving), overstimulation, use of daddy & dad, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2k

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

Sock-covered feet pad along the hardwood floors when she finally hears the lock of the front door turning. Rafe’s home later than usual— a fact she’s entirely too aware of since she’s been impatiently waiting for him to return ever since he left her this morning without so much as a goodbye.  

Usually, she’d stir awake to him smearing kisses all over her face and mumbling sweetened words about how much he’s going to miss her during his meetings— sometimes even wake her up with his cock prodding at her entrance before fucking her all sleepy and sloppy until she’s a sobbing mess.   

However, she assumes he was still mad at her because she forgot to let him know she was going out for drinks after her lecture before her battery had died. Therefore, she hadn’t received his several calls or the texts filled with concern and only a few hours later, did she remember that she’d never actually sent the message regarding her whereabouts.  

When he came to pick her up after she’d borrowed her friend’s phone in order to reach him, he was clearly displeased; merely muttering out a “ask you to do one thing and you can’t even do that. You know how fuckin’ worried I was?” and crudely telling her to go sleep in the guest room because “daddy doesn’t feel like dealing with your shit tonight”, which had resulted in wet droplets surfacing to her waterline while she kept apologizing over and over again, but to no avail.   

In the morning, she’d woken up to a tear-stained pillowcase and a headache. And when she tiptoed over to the bathroom, she realized that the entire house was desolate; he hadn’t even left a note.   

Therefore, she’s not exactly sure how to approach him, hesitant in her movements before she sees him in front of her in all his glory.   

“Hi,” her voice is quiet, but her forlorn face lights up nonetheless. 

Rafe is in the process of mindlessly kicking off his shoes when he looks up; a tired smile tugging at his lips when she practically tumbles into his arms in a greeting.  

“Missed you,” she mumbles against his crisp button up when he rests his big hands on her hips in an attempt to steady her.   

“Missed you too,” he murmurs into her hair. “Got you somethin’,” he reluctantly pulls away in order to present her with a bouquet of pink lilies; her favorites.  

“What’s this for?” her moony eyes stare up at him in bewilderment.  

“Drove past a flower shop…guess they made me think of you,” he admits, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek; confusing her to no end.  

“But I thought—” she utters out, hesitant to take the flowers she feels unworthy of.   

“That I was mad at you?”   

She nods, looking up at him with guilt swimming in her eyes.  

He lets out a sigh.  

“Listen, I was, uh, maybe a little too harsh on you last night, okay? I know how forgetful you can be. Was just worried when you weren’t home and didn’t answer your phone until hours later. Thought somethin’ happened, you know?” he explains with a calmness that placates her racing mind as she accepts his gift.   

“I know, m’sorry. Won’t happen again, promise. Texted you today the second I was home, right?”   

“You did,” he confirms as he peels off his suit jacket before sniffing the air. “Smells good, what’re you making?”   

“Oh, I made you dinner,” she says bashfully, almost as if waiting for his approval.  

“You did? All by yourself?” his brows climb his forehead in surprise.   

She nods, a soft smile on her lips before he’s ushering her towards the kitchen and plucking a glass vase from the top shelf for her. 

Usually, he’s the one cooking for them since she’s not greatest in the kitchen, always so tired after studying the whole day, she’d probably forget the stove on and cause some sort of a fire due to her absentminded nature. Therefore, he prefers to prepare his girl a nurturing meal whenever he doesn’t have to work late.   

“How was uni today?” he asks as she sets the now flower-filled vase on their dining table.  

“A lot. Was kinda stressed the whole day cause I have so much homework and reading to do, don’t know how I’m supposed to have time for all of it. And then have this group project and the deadline for this essay approaching and…I don’t think my brain works anymore,” she sighs out when she peers down at the steaming bowl of spaghetti Bolognese he places on the counter.   

“Good thing you don’t need to worry that head of yours over anythin’ with me. Let dad do the thinking for you, yeah?” Rafe’s voice is as smooth as honey, causing her to blink up at him— something cottony dusting over her mind in response to his sugary cadence.   

Strong arms lift her up and place her on the marble countertop before he settles right between her thighs, like a puzzle piece she’s been missing the entire day; tall frame hovering over her even as she’s practically perched on a pedestal.   

Then, he’s picking up the plate in the most casual manner and contently shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth before groaning in satisfaction.   

“Shit, this is amazin’,” he praises around the mouthful.   

She mumbles out a flustered thank you, her thoughts all over the place since she thought he’d still be mad, but then suddenly he’s not. In fact, he’s seemingly in a great mood.   

“Did you eat yet?”  

“No, was, um…waiting for you. Didn’t wanna eat alone,” her volume is nearly inaudible. 

He stops chewing.   

“Waitin’ for me, huh?” he rasps out before he’s lifting the fork closer to her mouth.   

She looks up at him, puzzled.   

“Open,” he orders and she has no choice but to obey— let him feed her because truthfully, whenever she’s around him she gets a little dumb; can’t really focus on anything except his low drawl and gemstone eyes.   

“Good, right?”  

She hums her agreement around the bite, barely registering that some of the tomato sauce stains her chin in the process.   

“Always so messy, huh?” he tuts disapprovingly, even if he’s the one holding the fork.   

However, before her mushy brain has the time to even comprehend what he’s doing, he’s laving the flat of his tongue under her mouth; cleaning it up for her.   

“There we go,” he murmurs as he rubs a thumb over the spot for good measure.   

She swallows.   

“Want some water?” he asks and she nods, all of a sudden unable to utter out words.  

Then, he’s tipping a glass of ice-cold water to her lips, carefully watching her gulp down the liquid before he decides she’s had enough— withdrawing the cup in order to drink some of it himself.    

He continues feeding her every other bite and making casual conversation, all the while she feels herself softly slipping into a very specific headspace. And before she realizes, he’s placing the empty dish in the sink with a slight clatter; their bellies full and happy.    

She doesn’t think she wants to eat by herself ever again.  

Then, her foggy mind registers him in front of her again as he pulls her closer— warm palms slipping under her top and his thumbs idly smoothing over her tummy while she quietly stares at him with hearts for eyes.  

“You put this tiny thing on just for me, hm?” he questions as his eyes drop down to her cleavage; the pale pink lace doing a very poor job of concealing what’s underneath since she’s forgone a bra (and pants), as she usually does whenever she’s merely loitering around their home.  

“Look so pretty in this,” his dreamy voice rumbles as he swipes a thumb over a covered nipple, causing her to let out a faint gasp at the sudden contact.  

“Ray…” she hums out while he keeps rubbing over the squishy part of her body he knows gets her buzzing.  

“Hm? You feelin’ floaty already?” he asks with a gentle cadence. And she’s not sure how he always seems to know just the right words to say in order to turn her into clay.   

“Yeah, missed you so much,” her hazy eyes flicker over his face while he simply gazes at her, before he’s smearing his mouth on hers.   

There’s something hungry, primal in the way he groans against her lips— causing a whimper to escape her throat in response.  

Then, all of a sudden, he’s lifting her over his shoulder as if she weighs nothing more than a single paperclip; making her squeak out a sound of surprise when he jokingly smacks her ass while walking out of the room before throwing her on the bed.   

“Let daddy say hi to his favorite girl, yeah?” he coaxes her before he’s prying her thighs apart and nuzzling his face into her cunt through the material of her panties; nose bumping against her clit, making her shift closer to him.  

“Missed my pussy so much, you know? Wanted to fuck you nice ’n slow last night but you never came home.”   

“M’sorry, daddy,” she can’t help but whimper out when his warm tongue licks over the already dampening fabric of her underwear.   

“Yeah? You gon’ make it up to me? Let me eat you ’till I forgive you?”  

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want,” she blabbers, a whine leaving her vocal cords when he plucks the soaked through material to the side and blowson her sensitive cunt.   

“Shit, you’re so wet already,” he says in awe, letting spit drip down his tongue and onto her folds anyway. Then, he’s wrapping his lips around her clit, making her cry out because she can already feel her orgasm lingering underneath the surface.  

“Need to come, can I? Please m’gonna— ” she says, almost in a trance; already so wound up. And the way he’s practically torturing her achy button with his mouth isn’t really helping.  

After he’s hummed his agreement, she’s not able to hold it in any longer— his tongue poking at her opening when the knot in her belly unfolds. She’s shaking, thighs yearning to close, if not for his strong arms holding them open as he groans around her, seemingly lost in a daze with her taste and smell practically suffocating him.  

Since he knows how insatiable she tends to be, he refuses to pull away from between her thighs. And two more orgasms later, she’s a whimpering muddle; desperately trying to drag her hips away from his unrelenting hold. However, he’s entirely too strong and she doesn’t stand a chance. 

“Ray, s’too much, need a break—” she complains, eyes beginning to turn watery in response to the overwhelming pressure.  

However, despite her protests, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he begins to mess with her entirely too sensitive clit with his fingers now— pressing and pulling and making her whine as tears trickle down her cheeks and she tries to fruitlessly wiggle away from him once more.    

“Nah, you’re good, dad wants you to give him a few more, think you can do that?” he mumbles against her sticky folds, stuffing the tip of his tongue into her weepy hole as an effort to persuade her.  

“I don’t know if I can—”  

“Shh, jus’ wanna make you feel nice, you don’t want me to?” he feigns hurt when he lifts up his head, beginning to mouth over the soft skin of her inner thighs to pacify her; his slight stubble tickling her in the process and making her twitch.  

“No, I do, I do…”   

“Then quit whinin’ and let me take care of you, hm? Show you how much I love you,” he coaxes her to give in. And when he puts it like that, she thinks it does sound rather romantic. 

[ridher]

rafe cameron too fine i wanna squish his cheeks til he's mad

you adored your boyfriend — yes, we're talking about the same person. though he wasn't much different from the reputation you'd heard all too much about, now he was yours.

so when he comes home from whatever errands he had to run around the town for that day, you're already mulling about the cameron mansion — something not so uncommon in the few months you'd been together.

a loud click of the front door slamming shut echos through the long, empty halls and almost instantly reaches your ears. you know who it is based on the aggressiveness of the person's footsteps.. and because you were periodically checking life360 with an impatient biting of your acrylics.

yet, you don't move from where you're curled up on a spacious couch in the living room despite how badly you want to see him — he can take some initiative sometimes.

so it startles you slightly when he plops down beside you with a heavy sigh through his nose, having silently found you and entered the room without you even realizing.

tilting your head to look up at him all wide-eyed, his gaze is glued stoically to the excessively huge television across the room playing whatever you'd been mindlessly binge-watching.

you shuffle closer, disregarding the blanket that slips off your bare legs while doing so — something he doesn't miss out of the corner of his eye.

he softens up only slightly when you lay your head against his bicep and curl up at his side, following his gaze to focus back on the show though his presence clouds your thoughts.

as if it's such a chore, he wraps the arm around you and your head slumps to his chest, suddenly all smiley at the warm feeling of his hand across your back — slipping under your baby tee through the bit of skin it exposes.

you look back up at him again to find the grumpy boy already staring down at you, any hint of affection hidden from his expression at being caught admiring his girl. but, you're already smiling sweetly at the sight of a flush across his face to which he redirects his attention from you.

giggling, you reach your hands up to cup his face and sit up slightly to be partially on his lap and face him. his reaction is an immediate furrow of his brows and a frown tugs at his lips, tensing while trying to lean away. but you don't let him — instead holding his cheeks and squeezing gently as you would a child.

eventually, rafe grabs your wrists and pulls your hands away, clearly displeased by your act of babying towards him — he's a man, after all. debating with himself while glancing across your happy little face, he digresses and pulls you against him with the grip he had on your arms.

you just giggle again and cuddle up against his torso, grabbing at the hem of his shirt to cling to him more acceptably in the opinion of rafe.

he shakes his head to himself and looks down at you with the most subtle of smirks, one hand going to the back of your thigh right under the curve of your backside and the other firmly against the back of your head, long fingers spreading through your hair.

"shiiit," rafe drawls, thinking over the situation and the pretty girl he's got so obsessed in his lap. he couldn't stay mad.

[cherienymphe]

The Ghost of Harding Manor

Friedrich Harding x Reader

Summary: Your marriage is haunted by the ghost of the wife who came before you, and the walls of Harding Manor bear witness to your husband's descent into madness.

warnings: Dub-Con, loss of virginity, obsession, unsure if stalking counts if it takes place in your own home, implied chronically ill!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

♱

You were not Anna.

You were reminded every day from the moment you wed Friedrich Harding and became his missus that you were not Anna. Anna who was perfect and said the right things and walked the right way and was a walking temptation to the man she called her husband. Anna who—even in death—called to Friedrich from beyond and was nearly successful if it were not for strong hands and strong voices keeping the dark-haired man from throwing himself into her coffin with her. Anna who was well on her way to giving your husband a third child.

Anna whose touch still lingered in this home and along these walls and in the long dead flowers that Friedrich refused to throw out.

Anna who haunted you much more than she haunted your new husband.

Illness had not just taken the angelic beauty, but her three children with her, one never even getting the chance to take his first breath. In your solitude, you sometimes thought that you did not know what was worse—their two daughters remaining and forcing you to fill the void the other woman left in multiple lives…or your life as it were as you were forced to give Friedrich a whole new family and reason for existing.

You knew from the moment you became betrothed that you had a heavy vacancy to fill…but it seemed that Friedrich had no intention of you filling it.

“He does not touch me, mother.”

The words were whispered in the quiet home one day, and you looked around, ignoring the feel of the older woman’s gaze in favor of imagining what this house must have been like before the tragedy. You imagined how loud it must have been with two animated little girls running around. You imagined how good Friedrich must have been with them, and thoughts of Anna welcoming him home with a kiss and her arms full made your heart sink.

You were not her.

The advice of your mother went into one ear and out the other. You had long accepted that you were a poor replacement that Friedrich could hardly stand to look at. You were alone on your wedding night and again the night after that and the night after that. You were always alone, and the few glimpses that you got of your husband since the wedding day only proved fruitful in your gazes meeting for a stolen moment…and then he was gone again.

You were always alone, and he was always gone…

Until the morning you would not rise from your bed.

The fever struck you in the night, and by the time morning came you felt weighed down by sand. Any strength you had was used to keep your breathing as even as possible, unable to even muster an attempt to open your eyes and tell your cold husband that you were well. Conversations swirled around your head for what felt like days, and in between the feverish dreams, you caught diagnoses and assurances here and there.

“It is merely a cold,” the doctor told Friedrich. “Her body is fighting it quite well, and she will be like new in a matter of days.”

You recalled agreeing with the assessment, feeling more fatigued than anything else—you’d always been rather sickly—but your peace had been broken for the first time in months. The voice of your husband had reached your ears—so broken and angry and unlike anything you had experienced with him.

“...and how exactly did this come about? She never even leaves the house, for God’s sake.”

You heard the rustle of fabric and heavy steps and an even heavier sigh.

“In a matter of a night, my wife has taken ill, and I am assured that she will recover in no time, but I have heard that before…” his voice shook. “I will not bury another wife—I cannot!”

It all seemed so unlike him, and so you convinced yourself that you merely dreamt it up. The fever was clouding your mind and making you conjure up your innermost desires, namely Friedrich caring for you for more than just a societal duty to bear sons that would carry on his name. You allowed yourself to slip into darkness and dream some more.

A masculine hand in yours, a finger tracing patterns into your stomach through the fabric of the bedding, soft lips brushing along your fingers and facial hair tickling your flesh. Your mind conjured up all sorts of things that simply could not be true, and yet when you fully opened your eyes for the first time in days, you were not alone.

It was not easy to place the look upon Friedrich’s face as he stared down at you, towering over your bed with a smoke in hand and dark circles beneath his eyes. He did not look well himself, and you could not help running your eyes over him, wondering just how much sleep he had gotten this past week. The room was quiet as you two just stared at each other, and just as you parted your lips to inquire about his own health, he was abruptly turning away from you. His voice rang throughout the house as he demanded someone send for the doctor.

It was only hours later that it was professionally confirmed that you were almost as good as new and would probably only have to put up with a light cough for the next day or two. Hearing those words relieved you, and when you looked up at your husband, you could not tell if he shared your relief. You frowned up at him as the doctor poked and prodded at you, wondering, for the first time, just what the dark-haired young man was thinking.

He only stared back.

In fact, he only ever stared these days.

When you were walking through the silent house much like the ghost that haunted your marriage, you could feel the heavy weight of his stare pressing down on you. It was not easy to ignore—nor did you want to—but whenever you turned, no husband was there to meet your gaze. The only sign of his presence was the flutter of a broad shadow passing along the walls. He was much bolder when you found your nose buried in a book, and oftentimes when you lifted your gaze to catch him, he did not shy away.

“Yes?” you would wonder, voice quiet as both uncertainty and unease filled you.

Sometimes he did not answer, merely content to gaze at you, and other times he took his time in responding. He would exhale smoke and it would billow between you, briefly obscuring his features before he swiped his tongue between his lips.

“Supper will be ready within the hour.”

You would nod, and he would make no move to leave, and you would be forced to turn your eyes back to the pages before you…resolving to ignore the silent presence in the doorway that was your husband. You found yourself doing that a lot—resolving to ignore his presence. Otherwise, you would never get anything done.

His gaze clung to you when you ate, the dinner table silent outside of the sound of food and utensils hitting dishes. When your eyes would meet, you would send him a small smile, thinking to yourself that your marriage was just progressing slower than most, but he never returned it. He never smiled at you, only preferring to stare. When you ate, when you read, when you found yourself outside amongst the flowers…even when you slept.

You had never once shared a bed, so it was startling to answer a knock on your door one night, coming face to face with your other half. Your nightdress kissed your feet, and the sleeves tickled your hand, and despite that, Friedrich gazed at you as if you were standing naked before him.

“I only wish to make sure you are well throughout the night.”

You did not know how you felt both relief and disappointment, but you managed.

It took you some time to respond, nodding with a small ‘of course’. You still let out a cough here and there, and you did not miss the way Friedrich’s head would abruptly turn with every heave of your chest. Your marriage may have been cold and strange, but it was obvious that your husband had grown paranoid with the fear of burying a wife for a second time. You imagined that it would not reflect well on him.

…and so you laid beside him and closed your eyes and even in the cover of darkness…

You could feel his gaze.

It unsettled you, and you had half a mind to seek the advice of your mother the next time your parents came for a visit, but she—ever zestful and bold—completely took hold of your train of thought.

“...and when might I expect a grandchild?”

There was a teasing smile on her lips as she regarded you, and you merely sighed before taking a sip of your tea.

“You know my situation, mother,” you murmured, setting your cup aside.

Father was with Friedrich, and you hoped that he was enjoying his company much more than he seemed to his daughter.

“Yes, but that was months ago, and I can tell that things have shifted.”

At that, you frowned, turning to face her.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Your marriage was just as cold as it was in the beginning, only now a strange voyeuristic atmosphere had descended over it. Your husband had gone from ignoring your very presence to shadowing your every footstep in the house. Her light chuckle made you flinch, and she gazed at you as if you were playing some joke on her.

“Darling,” she took a sip of the warm drink. “I saw the way he was looking at you when you welcomed us through those doors.”

Your frown deepened.

“That is the gaze of a man fighting with all of his might to resist his beloved wife.”

Now it was your turn to think she was playing a jest with you, but you had no more time to linger on that for the voices of your father and husband soon filled the house as they made their way inside. You could only swallow as mother stood to welcome father back, slowly rising as your own husband neared you. When you traced his face with your eyes, you noticed the ease upon it, and you felt relieved to see that he and your father got on well. He looked like any normal man alight with the mirth that came from being in the company of other like minded men, and so you disregarded your mother’s words.

As you stepped past him to approach your father, your back felt aflame with the heat of a familiar gaze.

You saw them out and wished them safe travels and your father placed his hand on your cheek before he went, speaking good health over you. While he may have been used to your sickly nature, any instance that required bed confinement for his daughter always worried him. He wanted to leave with the trust that you would be well looked after…and well looked after you were.

“Your father was very transparent with me about your health.”

Friedrich towered over you as you sat at the table, having been unsure where this conversation was heading when he interrupted supper. A small container was in his large hand, and when your gaze lifted from the bottle to his eyes, you swore that you saw him falter, his words momentarily stuck in his throat.

He placed the bottle down before you, his hand remaining on the table, and the scent of him filled your nose.

“I have gotten the doctor to make a tonic for you. You are to take a few drops with your meal once a week… It will keep your strength and health up.”

He only moved again to open it, and despite the fact that you felt it was hardly necessary—having survived so long without it—one look into the eyes of your husband told you that not only could it not hurt, but for his peace of mind, you needed to do this. You two gazed at one another as he held it in his hand, and after some time, you realized what he wanted. Parting your lips for him, you swallowed down the few drops he administered to you, but even after you swallowed the herbal mixture down…Friedrich continued to stand over you.

It was in this moment that you finally started to voice your thoughts, asking him why he stared at you so when his movements completely stumped you.

His thumb found the corner of your mouth, startling you, and it remained there for some time before he brought it to his lips, tasting whatever had been lingering there. His blue eyes—normally so cold and unreadable in your presence—suddenly glinted with a look you could not place. It happened so fast that you would have missed it, but you did not, and the intensity there was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Friedrich parted from you as if nothing had happened, and you watched him round the table to take his place across from you once again. It took you some time to pick up your utensils again, rejoining him in eating your supper, and now it was your turn to stare at him…unable to forget that shadowy something that passed through those blue eyes.

He was staring again.

The wind howled outside of the window with the storm and flashes of lightning lit up the otherwise dark room from time to time and your chest and shoulders moved evenly as you feigned sleep. You stared at the wall before you, and Friedrich stared at you. If at all possible, he grew more shameless with it, and if you were a normal loving couple just so wrapped up in each other—as you were sure he was with Anna—then some part of you might have found it romantic.

Tantalizing even.

As it were, you were not, and as silly as it seemed…you felt hunted in your own house.

You constantly felt like prey under his ever watchful eye no matter how justified he made it seem. Concern for your health, making sure no food disagreed with you, seeing how fair you slept. The paranoia of losing another wife suffocated you both for different reasons and in different ways, and you felt as if you were moments away from choking. Your mother’s voice crawled through your mind, and words that you had once dismissed now rang through your thoughts like a melody.

The room glowed with another flash of lightning…and you felt the gentle feel of fingers on the side of your face. You sharply inhaled, startled from both the sudden touch and the foreignness of it. His hand rested on your hair, ensuring that he could gaze upon your face no doubt, and when you felt the bed jostle, you closed your eyes. His lips found your tresses, and his hand found your shoulder, and you both heard and felt him breathe you in.

Friedrich’s nose traced the curve of your ear and he descended until his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Despite all of this, your heart remained steady, and you remained still as he gently pressed his lips to your skin and traced patterns through your sleeve. You felt his larger frame shifting closer, and at that—at the feel of him pressed so closely to you to where you could feel every curve and ridge of him—you shuddered.

Yet you still feigned sleep.

“You will never be her,” the words he murmured into your skin had your brows furrowing. “...and I will never let you.”

Contradictory to the words that left his lips, the hand on your arm found its way to your waist, his arm completely circling you and holding you to him. That was how he remained throughout the night, and only when you accepted the permanence of his position, did you finally allow yourself to find sleep.

It was dreamless, and when you woke up, you woke up alone.

You chose to ignore the relief that filled you at that discovery, telling yourself that Friedrich was still grieving. It was an easy answer to his behavior and treatment of you, and yet, you wondered how much longer you had to endure it. You wondered how much longer you would feel watched and shadowed in your own house.

At breakfast, you parted your lips for Friedrich as he gave you a few drops of the tonic, and he watched you eat, and you pretended not to notice. For some time that is. Finally, after a while, you placed your utensils down, and you lifted your gaze to meet his head on. Ever bold, he did not look away, those blue eyes momentarily making you lose your train of thought.

“Why do you stare at me so?”

You finally voiced your concerns with him, and you watched the mustache twitch from the movements of his mouth at your sudden and brazen question. Friedrich looked as if he had never anticipated you asking that of him, but eventually he straightened, pushing his shoulders back as he studied your face.

“I am afraid you will slip away.”

His answer made you blink, eyes widening slightly.

“I fear…” he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “...like my Anna, you will slip from my grasp.”

Your lips parted at the unexpected answer, and you were unsure of how to respond. Friedrich took a deep breath before digging into his own breakfast, those blue eyes finally refusing to meet yours.

“I will not allow you to become her…lost to me too.”

It was in that moment that you realized you completely misconstrued his words from the previous night, and you stared at the man before you who was so desperate and driven to uncomfortable lengths to ensure he did not bury another wife. Some part of you felt awful for feeling so put off by his uncanny behavior…but some other part of you recognized that your husband was slowly being pushed to madness.

If he were not so already.

“She vexes me so…”

Those were the words you overheard a week later, your house hosting a small handful of people that Friedrich knew. The wives took to you well despite your quiet disposition, and when they proposed an evening walk along the beach, you went in search of your husband to inform him. When you found him, he was in the company of three other men, the smell of tobacco reached you first and then his words followed.

You froze the moment you realized it was you he was referring to.

“She is so quiet and frail…like a mouse” there were a few chuckles. “...and I so desire to hear her squeak.”

You felt yourself take a step back.

“...but it is because she is so fragile that I cannot bring myself to touch her…” you heard Friedrich inhale. “I fear I would ravage her.”

How was it possible for his words to both terrify and entice you? It was a relief to know that your husband did not balk at the sight of you as you once thought, but you did not hold the same sentiment in confirming you were indeed being hunted in your own house. Friedrich had made no moves to warm you to him and progress this marriage in a way that a normal man would. After all these months, he was still little more than a stranger to you.

A stranger that was increasingly losing himself more and more at the thought of ever losing you.

“...but Friedrich we only just got here.”

You looked to him with a slight frown, the ocean breeze a soothing feeling against your skin. So turned around by his words from the other night, you had completely forgotten all about the beach, returning to the other wives in a bit of a daze, something they happily sat you down and fetched some water for.

With one look at you surrounded and feverish with some water in your hand, Friedrich had cleared the house out immediately, saddening you. You were at the beach, now to make up for it, but you were sure that you had only been here all of ten minutes.

“It is a bit airish out,” he said to you, keeping your hand in place on his arm. “I do not wish to see you fall ill again.”

You struggled to argue with him about your health, understanding both the sensitive nature of the topic and the determination in his eyes to see you back inside the house. Despite what you wanted, you allowed him to guide you away from the water and sand. His hand remained on yours the whole way, and the closer you got to your home, the more your unease grew.

“Perhaps we can try again if the weather is better tomorrow,” you proposed the moment you were inside the warm walls of the house.

Your husband did not answer right away as he removed his coat, and for a moment you feared he never would, but his eyes met yours as he turned to you. He was gentle and meticulous in unbuttoning your own coat, his chest so close to yours as he slowly peeled it off of you. The words that he did not know you heard were on your mind as he looked down his nose at you, and he only answered when your arms were finally free.

“We shall see.”

His tone and his words did not seem to be in agreement, and you were unsurprised when tomorrow came and went and you did not leave the walls of your home. You found enjoyment in your books instead, and like always, you eventually felt goosebumps crawl over your arms as you became the subject of his scrutiny yet again.

Only this time, you were surprised to hear him approach.

“Read to me,” he quietly asked—demanded—of you, and you felt his hand in your hair as he sat down on the couch behind you.

It was an unexpected request, and you were silent for a few moments more as he made himself comfortable behind you. His legs were on either side of you as you relaxed on the floor, the fabric of your dresses and undergarments cushioning your bottom. It took you some time to do as he asked, but once you did, you started to forget that he was even there.

Until his fingers started to move over your scalp and he drew himself closer, his knees in your line of vision now, and his gentle breathing started to accompany the sound of your own voice. You read to him for what felt like hours, both of you only pulled from the moment when the cook informed you that dinner would be ready soon.

Much of your time was spent reading to Friedrich these days, and you wondered if he thought it a sufficient enough distraction to ensure you hardly noticed he never let you out of the house anymore. Your requests to go to the beach grew less and less with every denial and every ‘maybe’ that would just turn into a denial. The day you asked to accompany one of the staff to the market, he visibly blanched, his head shaking as he snarked at you how completely out of the question that was.

You finally spoke up when the monthly visit from your parents did not come to pass.

“I did not think it wise for them to be here,” was his only defense, and you gaped at him.

“...and why not? Why am I the last to know this?”

His hand wrapped around your arm as he pulled you away from the curious eyes and ears of the kitchen staff, guiding you through the house with that long stride of his that almost made it hard to keep up. When he noticed, he slowed down, eventually halting his movements just outside of his study, and when you hesitantly reached for your arm, Friedrich loosened his hold.

You watched him use his free hand to gently brush his fingers over the appendage, looking down at it with a frown before meeting your gaze with a more even stare. 

“...because they are always trotting off to God knows where around God knows who, and I will not allow them to bring even so much as a shallow cough into this household.”

You blinked at your husband, understanding dawning on you, and you struggled with a response. You realized now that appeasing his paranoia—not fighting it and letting him have his way—was doing more harm than good. Friedrich was so good at hiding his emotions from you—even the ones you wanted to know about—but in the dimly lit hallway, you could see it clear as day in his eyes.

He was consumed with the fear that you would wind up just like Anna and his children.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly reached for his hand, removing it from your arm. You did not break your gaze, wanting him to listen to you loud and clear, and you swallowed down the unease that filled you as you stood under his unwavering gaze.

“Friedrich…” you whispered to him, so unused to the feel of his name on your tongue. “That is no way for me to live a life.”

He pushed his shoulders back at that, and you knew that he was going to argue with you, so you continued.

“You have gotten me a tonic from the doctor…I am the healthiest I have ever been…and I would very much like to see my mother and father.”

His mustache twitched as the corner of his mouth curved upwards at your attempt to put your foot down. The both of you stood there for a lengthy amount of time, just staring at one another, and for the briefest of moments, you thought that Friedrich would see reason. Your hand was still on his, and your husband maneuvered them so that your hand was now in his, and when he stopped closer, you knew then that you were not getting your way.

“Perhaps some other time.”

You knew what that meant as you watched him walk away, and dread began to fill you as the reality of your predicament was truly setting in. Your eyes roamed along the walls, no longer feeling haunted by Anna, but her husband instead. He was haunting you, and she was haunting him, and in his desperation to keep you from suffering the same fate as his previous wife, Friedrich seemed content to keep you behind a gilded cage, a manicured box.

Like a porcelain doll.

Your days were consumed with only him and the house—reading to him, tending to the flowers, picking out patterns for some new drapes or a new rug to be made. It was enough to ignore the obvious for a while, enough to keep your mind off of the prolonged absence of your parents and the unmet desires to see the water and the way Friedrich stared at you like he expected you to crumble at the drop of a hat.

He was driving you nearly mad as he, and perhaps that was why you did it.

The caretaker was new and had not yet learned that Friedrich Harding preferred to keep his new wife locked up like some sickly child. Why would she? You were sure that you would be back home before he returned, but when you entered your home—the sun still at its peak outside—you did not miss the way some of the servants avoided your gaze. Only one approached you, quietly taking your coat as her gaze found the floor.

“Mr. Harding is waiting for you both…”

Your heart sank at her words, and you looked to the caretaker, knowing that you just cost her employment. That had never been your intention, and you walked ahead of her, prepared to plead her case to your husband, but he let her go on the spot before you could get a word in. Everything you said went ignored, every plea and every excuse, and it was only when the staff made themselves conveniently scarce did your proper and mighty well-to-do husband finally…

Break.

“Do you wish to ruin me? Is that it?”

His voice bounced off of the walls, and your lips parted as he stared you down. His eyes were alight with every emotion known to man, and his shoulders heaved with every breath he took. You only just started to shake your head when he spoke again.

“For surely it will be the end of me if I have to say goodbye to another wife,” he angrily whispered, and you took a step back. “I do not ask much of you.”

“I know-.”

“I have not forced you to my bed, I have not demanded any sons or daughters,” he let out a tearful chuckle. “I do not even demand you greet your husband with a kiss when he returns home.”

All of this was true, and yet…

“All I ask is that you remain here.”

He said it so casually, as if he were not asking the world of you to remain prettily seated in a cage. You had never known how to gently broach this subject, understanding the sensitive nature of it, but as you stared into the face of your husband—driven mad with trauma and paranoia—you accepted that there would be no gentle way to do it.

“I am not Anna,” you breathed.

The man before you froze in place as you said her name, and you swallowed. 

“I am in good health now,” you licked your lips. “You saw to that…”

You slowly reached for him, and you did not miss the sharp look in his gaze as he followed the movement with his eyes.

“I am not going anywhere, and I implore you to have faith…”

Your words trailed off as the sound of his bitter chuckle reached your ears. Friedrich moved closer to you with no intention of stopping it seemed, and your back hit the wall. 

“Faith,” the dark-haired man sneered. “Why would I trust faith to keep you with me when that very same faith failed me before?”

You had no answer for him.

His fingers touched your face, and you looked between his eyes. His chest heaved, and his heavy breathing was the loudest sound in the room. His fingers trailed down the expanse of your neck before his hand moved to rest on the back of it, moving closer.

“You are so frail,” he murmured. “I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.”

He forced your face closer, and you pressed your hands to his chest. The conflict was evident on his features, a furrow between his brows as he drank you in with those sad blue eyes of his.

“I fear that a change in the wind would rip you from my very arms.”

“Friedrich…” he gave no indication that he was listening to you. “I have not seen my mother and father in months. I know they must worry and… All I ever see are these walls and the staff and my books and you. Do you wish for me to be unhappy?”

He tilted his head.

“Do you wish for me to be alone again?”

“Friedrich, please,” you begged, and he was shaking his head as soon as you said his name.

“I cannot do what you ask of me,” he forced out, eyes becoming glassy.

You pulled at his arm and pushed at his chest, but your husband was a mountain of a man, and it did you no good. The room was filled with both of your voices at once, both of you pleading with the other—you for freedom and he for understanding.

“You do not understand the lengths I go to…”

“I will be driven to madness!”

“...the nights I refuse my own desires,” he tearfully spat.

“So you would have me be your doll then? Placed on a shelf where only you and the staff can see me? To only be looked at like a trinket until the end of my days?”

Your poor choice of words had him freezing, his voice dying in the air as he gazed at you with a stricken look in his eyes. He did not move for a concerning amount of time, and as he stared into your eyes, tears kissing his own, you wondered who he saw, right now.

You or Anna?

The wife he had lost or the one he was scared of losing?

“I cannot bear it,” he choked out, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. “It is an impossible thing to ask of me.”

You said his name, but he felt lost to you, mumbling to himself and kneading at you through the fabric of your dress. When his soft lips pressed against the skin just above your bosom, you tensed. You could feel the wetness from his tears on your flesh, and you said his name again.

In this moment, you were wholly aware of your disadvantage.

“All I do is try to protect you, and all I ask is that you help me…”

“Friedrich.”

He was on his knees, now, burly arms circled around your waist, and blue eyes wide and bright and tearful as he looked up at you.

“Yet you fight me every step of the way.”

“I am not Anna,” you said to him, trying to get him to see reason.

…but he knew exactly who he was talking to.

“...and you will never become her if I can help it.”

You felt his hand slide to your backside, pulling you closer as he buried his face into the fabric of your skirts.

“Night after night…day after day…I fight with myself for fear of hurting you, of doing irreparable damage.”

His arm tightened painfully around you, and you gasped, reaching down to pull at his sleeve.

“...and for what? For a wife who still leaves these walls and puts herself in harm’s way even after her husband begs her not to.”

“I cannot…”

You struggled to breathe, and you no longer just wanted him to let you go…you wished to get away. You both heard and felt him press a lingering kiss to your stomach, his tears wetting the fabric of your dress.

“If I am to risk you in any capacity…then surely it should be for the betterment of us both.”

So focused on trying to take in air, you did not fully register his words and the implication behind them. Your chest was tightening and your stomach was hurting, and your husband was losing his mind, and you did not know how to convince him that he would not lose you too. You pushed further back against the wall in an effort to relieve some of the painful pressure when you could suddenly breathe again.

You sharply inhaled…and the sound of tearing fabric reached your ears.

The pressure around your abdomen was loosening in more ways than one, and when you looked down, Friedrich had his hands quite literally inside of your dress. It was one that your mother had commissioned for you, but you could not find it in yourself to mourn the loss of the beautiful gown. You were more focused on your husband’s sudden animalistic nature.

You said his name, pushing at his hands, but you were no match for his strength.

“I cannot stop,” you heard him murmur, making your blood run cold. “Do not dare ask me to stop.”

With his hand at your back under the fabric, it was not long before you quite literally felt the fabric and strings of your corset being pulled taut against your flesh before ripping and popping completely. A panic seized you as you fought to get away from Friedrich, and he fought to rid you of the mountain of layers that covered you.

“Friedrich,” you gasped, pushing at his face and head, but with his arms around you in a vice-like grip, you had nowhere to go.

You pushed one foot forward, a difficult feat with a grown man attached to you, and your husband did not like that. He pulled at your dress some more—pulling down—and the action had you careening forward as you attempted to get away from him at the same time. With the floor fast approaching, you were prepared to crawl away from him, but Friedrich was much quicker on his feet than you.

Arms that were now increasingly familiar to you wrapped around your waist, catching you midfall, and Friedrich’s chest was to your back as he stood and brought you with him. You could feel his facial hair tickling your skin as he leaned in, deeply inhaling and kneading his fingers just under your chest.

“I cannot…”

His words trailed off as he forced you to face him, pink lips parted and blue eyes glazed over. Every step back from him was followed, and his nose touched yours while one hand found a home on your cheek. His lips touched yours for half a second before you pulled away, and he let you, frowning at you as if you confounded him.

She vexes me so.

You recalled those words that were not meant for your ears.

“I cannot…” his frown deepened. “I cannot resist you any longer.”

He finally stole a kiss from you, his lips covering yours in a way that no one ever had before. The kiss at your wedding was sweet—chaste even—but this was nothing of the sort. Friedrich deeply inhaled your every breath and pawed at you and pulled you closer if at all possible. The kiss made your head spin, and every time you attempted to move your head back, he followed. It was hard to breathe with his lips on yours.

You realized that what you felt against the back of your thighs was the bed, but only too late and when Friedrich’s hands tightened on the neckline of your dress. His lips sought out the flesh of your throat as he pulled and ripped it open completely. His blunt nails softly dragged against your skin as he yanked it down, moving closer, and with nowhere else to go, you felt yourself backed into a corner.

Your resistance was clear, and your husband wrapped an arm around your waist, briefly lifting you before dropping you on the soft surface. His large frame found solace between your legs, and you felt irreversibly trapped. He towered over you and his mouth held yours captive and his arms did not allow you anywhere to go.

You gasped his name into his mouth, a protest in your tone.

“I no longer have the strength to keep myself from you,” he murmured into the kiss. “Do not ask me to for I cannot do it.”

His hand slithered between your legs like a serpent, and you squirmed in a way you never had before. You had never even touched yourself there on lonely nights, recalling how unclean and unchaste it was said to be, but Friedrich was your husband. Surely that made it okay…but then why did it not feel okay in your chest? Perhaps it was because he scared you and isolated you and kept you locked away like some prized possession.

You felt yourself growing wet beneath his touch, and a low hum climbed from his throat as you laid your hand on his arm. When a finger slid into you, you dug your nails into his arm. The feel had you blinking, and when he added another, your eyes widened. A third had you gasping and him cursing—something you rarely heard. You felt stretched, and when he moved closer, forcing your legs to part more to accommodate him, you hissed.

“Lie back, my love,” he murmured to you. “It will feel much better.”

You refused to, one hand on the bed behind you in some weak hope that you could stop this before it went any further. You simply wanted freedom, and pleading with Friedrich for something so simple had ended in him seeking out his own pleasures instead. You could feel yourself dripping around his hand with every thrust of his fingers, and shame filled you.

When you were unable to swallow down a moan, you hid your face.

“There she is,” he slowly whispered, and when his thumb brushed over you in a way that had your arm weakening, he took advantage.

In one fell swoop, you found yourself on your back, your husband on top of you and his fingers still pushing into you. Your ruined dress hung off of you in tatters, and Friedrich tasted whatever visible skin there was. His large frame kept you pinned to the bed, and your eyes rolled and lashes fluttered from the way he moved his fingers and his hand between your thighs. You weakly murmured his name, and beyond that, in the quiet room, you could hear his movements. You could hear the wet sound of it, and more shame filled you, but you were not given time to linger on it.

He sat up on his knees, reaching down with his other hand so that he played you with both. You felt your back arching, and your breathing grew more shallow, and one hand gently massaged your mound while the other continued to push his fingers into your slick walls. He curled them into you over and over, massaging your insides and pressing the pads of his fingers against you.

It was unlike anything you ever felt, and when your stomach tightened—a rope or a coil or something deep within your gut—you let it until it could not any further, and you were suddenly gasping and whimpering in a way that made you sound possessed. You could feel Friedrich’s gaze on you, and when you managed to focus your own on him despite the difficulty, he wore an expression that you were sure you had never seen before.

It made you want to cover yourself and shy away, and when he pulled his fingers out of you—a tinge of red on them—that was exactly what you set out to do. 

Feeling hot and confused and unsettled by the man before you, you reached for the covers in an attempt to hide your nakedness, but your husband would not have it. He climbed over you, keeping you pinned between his thighs as he peeled off his light jacket, his tie and shirt and undershirt quick to follow.

You imagined that your wedding night would have been something akin to this, but only without this level of unease and fear and confusion. As it were, your wedding night was nothing like this. You had been alone, convinced of your husband’s lack of care for you, and now almost a year later, you were squirming beneath him and wanting to be as far away as possible from the man who metaphorically locked you in the tower and tossed the key.

“Friedrich,” you choked out, pushing at his chest. 

He leaned in and kissed you again, and you felt every bit of him as he forced you out of your garments completely.

The tip of him brushed against your sensitive flesh, and you shuddered beneath him. He would not stop kissing you, tasting the inside of your mouth and inhaling every gasp that escaped. His normally perfect hair was in disarray, and when he reached down between you, his other arm was proactive in holding you tight and in place for him.

The feel of his cock pushing into you almost made you wish for his fingers instead. You thought that you felt stretched before, but it was nothing in comparison to the slow way in which he sheathed himself inside of you. You felt unnaturally full, and it took your breath away. Friedrich groaned from above you, and you felt a shudder crawl up his back as he rested inside of you.

“I tried,” you heard him whisper. “I tried so very hard…but I cannot go another day without having you.”

He slowly pulled his hips back until only the tip of him remained before sinking into you completely. You could not stop the movements of your body, your hips lifting with his as if being carried by a wave, a breathless sigh escaping with every thrust. His bare chest was pressed to yours, and his burly arms kept you right where he wanted you, and you felt yourself slowly forgetting why you had ever resisted him.

“Endless nights of lying awake and knowing you were a mere room away,” Friedrich breathed against your skin. “So close…and so forbidden to me.”

The speed of his hips grew, and your nails dug into his skin, dragging over it as he plunged his cock into you with a vigor you did not know he had. He was always so cold with you, keeping you at arm’s length even when he was touching you. You recalled the feel of his hand on your hair and his fingers on your mouth and a brush against your waist. Always giving in just a little bit more until he no longer had the desire to hold himself back. Always staring and watching and craving.

It was so clear to you, now, and all you could think was that your mother was right…

…and you were a fool.

“I feared I would break you,” he panted, thrusting into you so strongly that the bed beneath you shook. “I still fear that I just might.”

He pushed himself up onto his hands so that he could look down at you, and the dull tender ache had started to subside, replaced by something that far exceeded the pleasure his fingers had given you. Your back arched, and Friedrich wasted no time in dipping his head to wrap his lips around a heaving breast. His tongue swirling around a hardened bud had you reaching up to thread your fingers through his dark locks.

He groaned at the action, and when he lifted his head again, his intense blue gaze sought out yours. You softly moaned every time his hips curved into yours, his cock smoothly sliding between your folds, now and stroking you in a way that momentarily convinced you your freedom was not all that desirable. Your husband did not look away from your eyes again, and it felt overwhelming to be beneath him and staring into his eyes and feel him within you.

One of his hands reached up to touch your cheek, and a frown formed between his brows.

“So fragile… It would take nothing for me to break you, to snuff you right out,” his words made your heart skip a beat. “You test my self control in ways that terrify me.”

His hand traveled to your neck.

“I was right to fear the monster that I would unleash if I ever got my hands on you…”

His fingers danced to the back of your neck, and he gripped the hair at the nape there, slowly and gently forcing your head back. His hips did not relent once, meeting yours again and again, the sound of skin meeting skin reaching your ears among other things that filled you with shame. So much shame.

“For I will never be able to resist you again.”

He leaned in and pressed gentle kisses along the expanse of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste the damp skin, humming at the salty nature the thin sheen of sweat gave it. You whimpered when he reached down with his free hand, fingers brushing against you and circling you as you greedily clenched around his cock. 

“If anything happened to you,” he whispered into your neck. “It would be my undoing.”

[suiana]

imagine rejecting a yandere! god and he gets all mad and petty so he curses your love life

so maybe you used to be a cleric or something that worshipped him and he decided to be silly and come down to earth in a more human form (still godly but less flamboyant). he was bored and what better thing to do than to meet up with his worshippers? especially you, his most devout and sweet little thing?

of course, he eventually fell for you and confessed his feelings. you're just so captivating after all.

"hey i really like you-"

"sorry, i am only meant for my lord and saviour☺️ we can still be friends."

"oh... that's not..."

yeah, he kinda forgot that you think he's joking about him being your god and stuff... oops...

whatever! you should've accepted him anyway! you'd break your vows for him wouldn't you?! apparently not.

yeah, so he decided to curse your love life becase he's petty like that and you wouldn't give him that time of day. wouldn't even entertain his delusions for a bit smh. how could you just leave a literal god heartbroken like that?

and just like that, your first life as a devout worshipper came to an end.

your next few lives were... rather tragic too.

all your lovers would randomly die, disappear, or leave just when things were getting good. it was infuriating and you were starting to think that the gods had something against you. well, more like a god had a thing for you but who cares right?

meanwhile, your petty and childish god was just watching over you from his abode. he really likes watching you. no, he's not a stalker. he's a god. there's a difference okayn gods can watch over humans like this! what? creepy? no he's not creepy! don't call him that!

he... also probably has a shrine and collection full of things from all your lives or something tbh. and no! it's mot creepy!

in any case, he didn't interfere in any of your lives directly up until your current life.

when you suddenly showed an interest in him again.

yes, after your first life you had also forgotten all about him. no, it wasn't a part of the curse he laid on you. it was probably just your soul getting revenge on him for cursing you. or... maybe it was because you were human. duh. unfortunately, your god has a peanut sized brain.

in your current life while reading on about mythology for your studies, you started gaining interest in him again.

"huh... god of... mischief? sounds like a real troublemaker."

you immediately moved on to another god after that.

and the god lets out an audible gasp.

how could you be so cruel? not even a, oh he was hot or something like that? just a simple he was a troublemaker???

also, he was not a troublemaker!

sure he might've meddled with your romantic partners and cursed your love life... and also caused some major disagreements in human history... but that's just a little bit of tomfoolery! a little bit of trolling if you will!

ugh! he's seriously getting mad again!

guess he'll have to come back to meet you in person to show you he means business this time.

[danielnelsen]

my dad’s doing an amateur radio competition which is great for him and all, but the interference from his radio keeps crashing my computer and im in a Bad Mood