#roland x you

[fairy-writes]

Oh , hello , love your works!!! I wonder..if you still writing something about characters..can you write just some cute stuff about Roland fortis (from VNC) x female reader?

I LIKE YOUR HANDS

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): The Case Study of Vanitas

Pairing(s): Roland Fortis x Reader

Word Count: 0.4k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Short!Reader

Notes: Fun fact, I am most definitely not caught up with the manga nor anime. I’ve seen season 1 and part of season 2 but that’s it rip

__________________________________________________________________________

Roland was working late again. 

You can smell the wind on his clothes as he comes in late and puts Durandal by the bed. He always sleeps with it by his side of the bed. 

“Just in case.” He always said. 

You are teetering on the edge of sleep as he changes out of his work uniform and into pajamas. He slides under the covers with the grace of a cat and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. You squirm. 

“You’re cold.” You mumble, and he breathes out a soft laugh. 

“It’s snowing outside.” Is all he replies with, and kisses your cheek when you turn over to face him. 

It takes some wiggling, but you free your hands and press them to his cheeks. You always were envious of his smooth skin and the light dusting of freckles across his nose. He nuzzles his face into your hold and smiles,

“I love your hands.” He murmurs, and you chuckle,

“Why? They’re gross and stained with ink and—”

“Because they’re part of you. That’s why. You could be missing a few fingers and all knobby, and I’d love them all the same.” He says, and you can’t help but giggle. 

“Well, I’m glad you think so.” 

You wake up in the morning to a cold bed and frown. 

Where was Roland?

Durandal is still by his bedside table, but his coat isn’t over the rocking chair in the corner. And when you enter the living room, his boots aren’t in their place by the door. 

Just where was he?

Then you hear it. 

Just on the edge of your hearing… A scraping sound. Like metal on cobblestone. And when you peek between the curtains, you find out the sound of the noise. 

Roland. 

Shoveling your walkways and sidewalks outside your home. Immediately, your heart sings and a warm fuzzy feeling blossoms. You watch him for a moment before going back to the bedroom and changing out of your nightgown and into clothes for the day. 

You’re making breakfast by the time Roland comes in from shoveling snow. His cheeks are flushed pink and flakes of frozen water are melting in his golden curls. You tighten your apron around your waist, and snag the clean towel you had set aside for this purpose. He grins when you approach him, leaning down to peck your nose. You laugh and cover his face with the towel in your hands. 

Roland had always been particular about his curls, but whenever he was around you, those particularities go out the window. He allows you to run your fingers through the strands, ruffle them, whatever you like. So, he doesn’t pull away when you move to dry his hair. He laughs jubilantly when you cover his eyes with the towel in a game of peek-a-boo.

He stops you abruptly by leaning down and kissing your lips.

[soracities]

from "Roland Barthes: Love as Language", The Artifice [iD in ALT]

[unhappy-last-resort]

What Lovers Do (Yandere Roland x GN Reader)

Warnings: non con, implied past non con, smut, no mention of readers genitalia, implied bondage, penetration, use of lubricant, slight spoilers for future chapters but if you don't know then you can't tell

A/N: I started this at 4 AM this morning, apologies if the writing is a bit stiff I kinda wanted to get something quick out.

As always, constructive criticism is welcome and I hope you enjoy.

Status: Edited

"Then...can you tell me if I'm performing or being genuine right now?" The question was thrown at you with a chuckle and a certain glint in his eye, like he was a gambler about to win a bet. That should have been your first warning to say no, or better yet say nothing at all.

"I think..." It was less of a thought and more of a hope at the time. "You're being genuine." You spoke softly, as though you might shatter something if you spoke too loud despite your silly costume and unique setting. The maze you had cleared together now behind you, faux flower petals gently danced in the air above you. Despite the mechanoids of Constellia lacking a complete understanding of human aesthetics and choices, their imitation of them never failed to impress you.

In return, Roland gave a hearty laugh as he closed the distance between you two. "Is that so, Babylonian Commandant?" He reached his hand up and before you could stop him, you were stripped of your Sharksphere-esc head, leaving your face in his full view.

He held your chin gently, yet firm enough to hold you in place as he leaned in close, "Since I'm being genuine, why don't we commit ourselves to one another and do something only lovers do?" He whispered with a small smirk that barely contained his excitement.

While you had momentarily forgotten the differences between constructs and humans, but Roland was quick to remind you as he pulled you towards him, his other hand going straight to your crotch causing you to gasp and swat his hand away, which he ignored in favor of teasing you with his fingers.

"Roland, wha-"

"Shhhh...." He hushed you gently, as if he was consoling an upset child. "It's alright, just follow my lead and everything will be easier." You tried to push him away to no avail, it felt like you were trying to push a wall. Your struggling meant nothing to him as he held you tightly enough to keep you in place, but not so much that it was painful.

Despite yourself, you could feel your body responding in kind to his deceptively gentle touches and the occasional fleeting kiss on your skin as he whispered little words of praise or comfort to you, steadily drawing you into your first unsteady orgasm of the day.

Which led you to now, your costume and pants stripped from you and his artificial cock buried deep inside of you as he held you pinned to the floor, his black coating making him look like a wraith among the sea of pink and purple hues. It was so swift that you hadn't the chance to process what he was doing before your eyes widened and a stilted cry left your lips at the sudden intrusion. His faint scent of roses making your head spin as your walls spasm around him, struggling to adjust to him.

"Shhhh, Mon Chér it'll feel better soon, just wait." Roland held your cheek, making you look into his heterochronic eyes. One the color of the color of the sun and one the color of blood. Both looking at you almost sympathetically, had it not been for the subtle glee in his eyes you might've believed that sympathy to be true.

Before you could muster a reply, he very gently thrusted into you. It was clear now that he had slipped a lubricant on you amidst your earlier distraction of his insistent kisses as he removed your pants, easing your walls into accepting the stretch as each inch slowly sunk into you.

"This isn't..." You shut your eyes tightly as he slowly thrusted into you again, more lubricant this time than the last quickly turning the initial pain into pleasure. "This isn't what lovers do."

Roland raised a brow, his hips pulling back only to steadily push into you once more, reaching deeper with the help of the lubricant as you heaved an unsteady sigh. The sensation wasn't as painful as you'd hoped. "Isn't this what lovers do in a place like this?" Another drag of his cock easily had your body relaxing against the colorful floor of the venue. Empty chairs watching you both from a short distance away.

"They'd say their vows and consummate their love, ensuring they always love one another until the end of time?" His hold on your wrists had a grown a little tighter as a squelching sound filled the silence between you. You could feel arousal heightening your senses and making your body receptive to his actions despite you wishing it wouldn't.

Roland smiles sickeningly sweet as he leans in, your faces mere breaths apart. "You want this too, I can tell." He whispers before placing small kisses on the corner of your mouth. You take in a breath, about to protest before his eyes narrow slightly and a sudden thrust of his hips takes your breath away and leaves your mind buzzing with pleasure.

He kisses your face a few times, humming in satisfaction with your silence as he sets a steady pace inside you. Each thrust making his tip hit that place that had you seeing stars. If you didn't know any better, you would say it was almost with practiced precision, like he knew every inch of you better than you could ever hope to know yourself.

You can feel the smile on his lips as he decorates your neck with kisses, his iron grip on your wrists never once loosening. "You know, I was surprised when you contacted me." He whispers breathlessly, lightly nipping at your skin as your unsteady breaths turn into squeaks and moans. "I was certain this was a mere trap, or something so important it had left you desperate to achieve your goal no matter who you had to do it with." At that moment, a chime sounds and the doors leading to the exit of the maze open and all you can do is stare at it through glossy eyes as pleasure hits you like a wave with every thrust of his hips.

Roland chuckles again as he looks down at you, a gloating smile playing on his lips as he watches you fall apart, your human desires overtaking any protest or fight you might've had. "But when I came here and found out that you were simply naive enough to seek company from your enemy, well..." He drifts off, as his hips start slamming into yours with something that mimicked reckless abandon yet lacked the recklessness, being more akin to something designed for squeezing every little bit of pleasure out of you. "I couldn't help myself. How could an actor like me resist such an interesting plot?"

You jerk suddenly, your eyes seeing white as an orgasm crashes into you, leaving you dizzy in its wake as Roland's thrusts don't slow down or stop for a second. "You are such an interesting human. Like a blooming flower on a battlefield, I can't help wanting to pick it up and keep it for myself." He whispers with an edge, each brutal thrust of his hips making you writhe underneath him as your pleas are reduced to senseless babbling.

He leans in, your foreheads resting against each other and in this moment his expression falls away into something softer, almost loving. "We spent so much time arguing amongst ourselves, but seeing you like this makes everything we've done worth it." His voice sounds soft and raw, like a confession whispered only for his ears.

"C-can't...what..." Roland smiles and cups your cheek with his hand, freeing one of your wrists now that you can't struggle. His thumb brushes your bottom lip and it sickens you how genuinely happy he looks, his eyes full of adoration as the gentlest smile plays on his lips.

"I love you so much, you have no idea how many nights and days I spent on this Earth yearning for something to truly call mine." His pace becomes faster, any embers of your sanity fading with each slap of skin as the body heat of the construct above you rises. "And now, I can finally say..."

He grunts, his body shuddering as his eyes snap closed, a growl reverberating in his chest as he struggles to hold something back. "I can finally say..." His voice module strains as he arches into you, his cock somehow reaching deeper as he places messy kisses along your neck before he brings his face back up to yours again.

"I love you." His whispered words can barely register before his lips crash into yours, his eyes open to drink in every expression you make as he moans into the kiss. Your hips instinctively buck up into his as something hot coats your insides, he gives a final thrust to make sure you take every last drop of what he has to give and the sensation is enough to make your back arch as your second orgasm takes you.

He kisses you again and again, barely letting you breath as his other hand abandons your wrist and settles to hold your hip instead. "You have no clue how long I've wanted this to be true. Even if this is just a dream, or a play, I'm tired of playing to the audience's whims." He sounds ecstatic and desperate as he wraps his arms around and lifts you up as he slowly stands with cock still buried inside you, as if his previous orgasm meant nothing to him.

"Where are..." You slump against him, your head resting on his shoulder. You could barely speak, only just now having been given the privilege of breathing as you're vaguely aware he's walking, colors and light shifting around you in a blur.

"A proper place to continue our act, of course." He says as if it's obvious and kisses your forehead. "I'm not done yet." You're vaguely aware you're indoors again, a small living space greeting you, or perhaps you always were and you were too tired to notice.

"I hope this is to your taste," Roland says with his usual bravado. "Because we'll be here for a while." The bedroom door opens, revealing a bed illuminated by surrounding candles and the glitters of chains tied to its bedposts.

[idksmtms]

Courtside (Carlitos Alcaraz x Actress!reader)

Request

A/N: Thank you Anon for my first tennis request! I loved writing this! Since Challengers came out around the time I started writing this, I kinda mentioned that Reader gained popularity due to a tennis movie lmaoooo.

 I mention a female best friend (because in that situation I would totally bring mine) but I don’t give any hint of a name. Also, idk who in your life helped get you into tennis but for me it was my dad so I kinda hinted at that in like one sentence (it’s like almost unnoticeable so idk why I felt the need to mention this but I did).

Also, yes, I completely made up both of their speeches because I couldn’t be bothered to google them and watch the videos and figure out where to fit in the remarks I wanted to add. I hope it still sounds natural though because I tried to write the way I think they think… Thank you for dealing with my obsessive over-explanations. 

Even though writer’s block kinda hit me in the middle of it, I had a really fun time writing this! 

(Also, if you couldn’t tell, I love the Spanish language lmaoooo)

Summary: As you become more and more popular, you are given an invitation to the Wimbledon final between Carlos Alcaraz and Novak Djokovic. Maybe the sport has just gained a new avid fan, and maybe Carlos just gets to meet his latest celebrity crush…

Word count: 4,807 (I’m so sorry, IDK how it got this long, bro I thought I was writing a 1k cutesy fic and here I am…)

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, slight profanity (I curse a lot in my real life and as everything I write is completely self-indulgent, I have to include it in my writing as well), mostly just fluff (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

He could hear the crowd even from inside the main hall. A sort of buzz of discussion that had not yet been interrupted by the announcement of the players. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, shaking out each of his limbs and stretching his neck from side to side. When he reopened his eyes it was almost tunnel vision, just the doors in front of him, the court ahead of that, and a chance to win Wimbledon. He would think of nothing else, of nothing but himself and his game and the tennis ball that would be coming at him. No crowd, no opponent, no mercy… 

God, why was it so hard to not sweat in a fancy dress? It was like your body knew you didn’t want to do anything to ruin it and tried extra hard to do just that. This was your first time wearing something that a brand had requested you wear. It wasn’t your (very new) stylist choosing pieces for you, but a brand requesting it of you. Of course it came hand in hand with tickets to one of the most prestigious sports events of the year. Why give you a pretty dress and not have you show it off to everyone? And why not do it in a way to promote your movie? 

Your publicist had made sure you knew there was a very likely possibility you would be shown on camera at the stadium, or at the very least that someone would take a picture of you in the stands and it would be posted everywhere. Now that you were gaining a fan base (exponentially since your latest movie) you had to be aware of these kinds of things. Sometimes it was a little tiring, going from only being watched on a screen to knowing that someone was looking at you the second you stepped out the door. Regardless, you persevere, and that was that. 

You smoothed down the skirt of your dress as you waited for the players to come onto the court, stretching your neck side to side before turning to the girl sitting next to you. How could you come to an event like this and not bring your best friend? You plucked her drink from her hand and sipped on it. 

“Eugh!” It was the most bitter thing you had ever tasted and it took everything within you to tame your reaction to a grimace. “What the hell is in that?” 

“None of your business. How am I supposed to enjoy something I have no interest in without a little incentive?” She winked, before plucking the drink right back and chugging the rest of it. You began to laugh just as the umpire spoke up and began to announce the players. 

“Please welcome Novak Djokovic!” People hooted and hollered and though you had the urge to join in, you simply clapped politely like those around you. 

He was interesting to look at, this tall and lanky person that kind of reminded you of a pixie, mischievous and fun, but dangerous nonetheless. He probably had the straightest back you had ever seen and walked with an easy smile, waving to the crowd that was going absolutely mad to see him. 

The energy in the arena was contagious. You could feel the electricity in your bones and your face had already pulled itself into an uncontrollable smile. You began clapping louder, stopping just shy of hooting with the crowd. 

It’s funny in sport, how sometimes you just look at someone and you know you support them. Sport is all about people, and you suppose this is a part of the human experience. You don’t really know much about them, maybe a win here or a stat there, but you just look at them and you feel something for that person, and you decide that they deserve your love and support. Well, that’s how you felt when Carlos Alcaraz came onto the court that day with a big smile. 

Truly, at this point in your life, you would call yourself an amateur tennis enjoyer. You first began watching to study for the role, but that was only WTA matches. Every once in a while you watched a match that came up on the tv or if your dad had put it on, and you knew about the big three because who didn’t. As you sat there watching them warm up, you resisted the urge to instantly do a wikipedia deep-dive on both tennis and Carlos. He walked with a spring in his step, waving out to the crowd with this big and carefree smile, like he chose to enjoy every moment of his life, regardless of the lows or highs. You were enamoured. 

At some point in the movie, one of your co-stars had said that watching tennis was like watching a relationship crash and burn. It was argument after argument, each huff and scream, each slam of the racket against the ball, back and forth. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the court, your breath stuck in your throat of its own accord in the deafening silence of the grounds. When your breath did leave you, it was these gasping little tremors that fell from your lips before you began cheering for the players. Sitting there, watching it all, soaking in the electricity of not only the players but the crowd, you knew it was an experience you would never forget. 

During one of the sit-downs, you turned to your friend and began to gush about everything you had just seen. You could tell that she was stifling laughter at seeing you like this, her wide smile and raised eyebrows a testament to her humour, but you ignored it and continued on. Nothing could ruin your mood right now (except maybe Carlos losing). 

When you began a new tangent, she nudged your knee, subtly gesturing upwards with her head. You frowned, tilting your head at her but she did the same gesture again, moving her eyes upwards over and over again until you followed her gaze. And there you were, projected onto this huge screen hanging over the grandstands, turned in your seat to face your friend, sunglasses perched on top of your head, hands still raised in the air from your earlier gesturing. You felt giddy all of a sudden, and you began to laugh, this airy and jovial laugh that made you look rather pretty on the big screen and you waved in the direction of the camera, a sweet smile on your face despite how dizzy you now felt. The crowd whooped and clapped and you could only nod and mouth ‘thank you’, hoping the camera would move on quickly so this burning in your cheeks and the sudden build up of sweat on your chest would calm down. 

“Look at you, already a star,” she joked from beside you, giggling as you let your posture wilt once more and quickly brought your sunglasses down over your eyes for some semblance of disguise. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t help that giddiness again, a little bit of pride straightening your shoulders as you thought that maybe, just maybe, you were a little bit of a movie star now. A wide smile couldn’t be helped. 

You knew that if you were exhausted from just watching the match, the players must be barely able to walk. You understood why Carlos’s first reaction after they called the match was to lay down, flat on his back, on the court. You and the rest of the stadium’s occupants rose like a wave building in the ocean. The sound was deafening, everything from clapping to whistling to just plain full-throat screaming filled the stadium. You cheered with everyone else, hooted and hollered with everyone else, clapping until your hands hurt and then some. 

“I have to say, it wasn’t as boring as I thought it would be,” you turned to your best friend and flicked her lightly in the arm. 

“See?” You stretched the word out in a rather juvenile tone but both of you just laughed. “I can’t believe we got to see that.” 

“Yeah, I mean, I joked that you were some type of starlet earlier, but if you’re getting tickets like this then maybe you really are that famous.” You just scoffed at her but it made you smile nonetheless. 

“Hey,” from your other side, your manager appeared, still texting on her phone as her lanyard clicked against her necklace. “So, they just offered us an opportunity to meet Carlos after all this if we’re willing to stick around a little longer.” She didn’t look up at you once as she spoke but you paid it no mind, you were used to her obsessive multi-tasking by now and had learnt over time not to take it to heart. It was because she cared that she was always on the phone looking for opportunities for you. 

“Um, wow, yes, of course!” You let out a little squeal and clapped your hands together before pressing them to your lips, hiding a big smile. Your best friend just laughed at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pushing her weight onto you until you shoved back. Your manager had already turned away at this point, typing away on both her phones now, switching her gaze between screens and you just shook your head, before focusing in on the trophy ceremony. 

“Please welcome our runner-up for Wimbledon 2023, Novak Djokovic!” You clapped with everyone else, watching as Princess Kate handed him the trophy and they exchanged words. He pressed a hand to his heart, nodding with his words and she smiled and stepped back to let him walk to the mic. 

“Check, check, one two three, heh” he smiled and sighed, hefting the trophy slightly higher into his arms. “Well, first a huge congratulations to Carlos. We have seen your amazing talent so many times before, you are already a grand slam winner at such a young age, but today I think was extra special. All your hard work is paying off and I know you will win many more.” He nodded his head in the younger man’s direction as the applause rose, waiting patiently until it subsided to continue his speech. “To your team, also, they are doing an amazing job and you all deserve this amazing achievement.” Again he waited for the applause to subside before tilting his mic slightly so he could look in the direction of his own box. “To my team, I will never stop thanking you for all the hard work you guys put in to get me to places like this. We have worked together for many years and you never fail to push me to do my best. Thank you. “To my family, to my wife, and my two sons…” you could see the tears building in his eyes, could hear the way he choked up before looking down and pressing a hand to his eyes as his face crumpled slightly. You felt your own eyes begin to tear up at the vulnerable display. You chewed on the edge of your thumb, leaning forward in your seat to watch him more closely. “Thank you for everything you do for me and I am so happy that you are here to watch me. I wish I could have won for you…” he stopped again and your frown pulled at your cheeks and made the back of your throat feel slightly clogged. But he wiped his tears and shook his head and then forced a smile on his face as he looked up again. “Thank you to the staff and everyone who made this tournament possible. Whoever invited Carlos’s favourite actress, thank you for trying to distract him for me, but he is too good,” he chuckled. At the side of the court Carlos laughed loudly, dropping his head into his hands and shaking it, but everyone could still see the wide smile he wore and it made the entire crowd chuckle. You smiled brightly, laughing along with everyone else, but you began to wonder who it was. Zendaya was somewhere in the crowd, of course it was her. He was quick to finish his speech after that, thanking a few more people before stepping back to stand near the royals. 

“And finally, please welcome your 2023 Wimbledon Champion, Carlos Alcaraz!” The crowd was on their feet again as he stood from his bench and walked to the little stage area they had created. Your hands began to sting from how hard you were clapping and your wide smile kind of hurt your cheeks, but you didn’t stop until your best friend gently pulled at the back of your skirt to get you to sit down again.

He smiled brightly at Princess Kate as he took the trophy from her hands, nodding and almost bowing in thanks. When he walked up to the mic, he lifted the trophy above his head and smiled so brightly the crowd couldn’t help but hoot and holler and cheer with him. He brought it back down into his arms with a little huff and you were sure it must feel ten times as heavy as it actually was after all the energy he had used during the match. He began his speech with a big breath out and a murmur of laughter went through the crowd. 

“Firstly, Novak, whoever invited her did a good job because I was very nervous,” he joked, looking in Novak’s direction, and the man bent backward in laughter. “Hahaha, no no, not that nervous but, uh, thank you for coming,” and he reached his arm out to gesture…exactly where you were sitting. You laughed, a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else because the cameras had moved to you, but inside you felt like you were boiling over. Your cheeks were too hot, your ears were burning, you somehow both wanted to hide and sit there and bask in the flattery. His smile, wide and jovial and pure, had been directed at you and all you could do was laugh and shyly look down at your legs hoping your hair would hide your face. You licked your lips because suddenly your mouth was too dry but you were sweating from everywhere else and this very good looking guy had been looking directly at you and had called you his favourite actress and and and- you couldn’t really remember how to breathe anymore. 

“Congratulations to you Novak, you and your team have done an amazing job. You are constantly pushing me to-to be better and motivating me so thank you. To my team, thank you for-for everything you are doing for me, that you do for me, I would not be here without you. Gracias por todo.” He looked up to his box and his smile was so big and bright and beautiful that no one could resist feeling a little bit of joy if they looked upon it. “Thank you to my family for always supporting me, for always cheering for me and believing in me, te quiero mucho.” The camera cut between him and his box and you could see the proud smiles his parents wore, tear tracks on their cheeks and glistening eyes that beamed with pride. “Thank you to, uh, the organisers, and-and the sponsors, and everyone who makes this tournament happen. We would not be here without you,” nodding as everyone clapped, “and thank you to all of you, to all the fans who came today, you, uh, you keep us going, and we-we appreciate all of you.” People whooped at that and it took a little longer for the crowd to quiet down. “And… yeah, that’s it! Thank you!” He laughed and stepped away to get pictures, but your heart was still racing. 

“Alright, he should just be leaving the balcony so we have a few minutes before he gets here,” the official said to the room, but you were too busy trying not to gaup at Juan Carlos Ferrero as he stood right in front of you with a smile, switching between English and Spanish as he spoke to the physio and your best friend simultaneously. You had had a conversation with him a few minutes prior where it took every inch of your self-control to not gush and ramble and he had been very sweet, but your manager had pulled you away after a few minutes for approval on some social media posts of you at Wimbledon and you didn’t even notice that someone new was entering the room until people began to clap and cheer. 

You looked up and there he was, walking into the room with that big smile of his that lit up the room and a spring in his step. He was still holding the trophy but it was tucked under one arm almost carelessly and he was more focused on the people in the room. He hugged each member of his team, speaking in that naturally quick rhythm that the Spanish language carried but sounded so pleasing to the ear. You couldn’t tell what they were saying but they all sounded extremely happy and were smiling so brightly at him that you felt like you were intruding just by being in the same room as them. Juan Carlos clapped him on the back and pulled him into a hug. He whispered something in his ear that had him laughing bright and bubbly and looking around the room but in a way that looked as if he was trying (and failing) to be subtle at it. They pulled away and after handing the trophy off to Juan Carlos, he turned to you. He pushed his hair up and, you were sure you imagined it, but his smile became slightly nervous. 

You felt a bit starstruck in the moment, like the first time you had walked on set for your first major movie role and Cillian Murphy had somehow known your name and said hello to you specifically. You licked your lips, took a deep but shuddering breath in, but your hands were still shaking and your eyes weren’t really in focus anymore or maybe they were but they were hyperfocusing on little things and-

And then he was coming toward you. His arms were open, and you couldn’t quite remember the convention of cheek kisses in Spain (was it one on one cheek? Two per cheek? Did they not even do cheek kisses there?) or how you were supposed to place your arms when he finally held you (both arms under his? One above one under? Both above?) or if you smelled ok or how bad your makeup looked up close but then he was right there, smiling down at you because he was deceptively tall, and he wrapped you up in a quick hug that lasted no more than a few seconds and was loose enough for you to pull away if you wished. Would it be dramatic to say this was one of the best hugs of your life? Probably, but at that moment you couldn’t care less. 

“Hello,” he said close to your ear and you giggled nervously, wanting to instantly slap your hand to your mouth and tell yourself to shut up for goodness sake. 

“Hi!” You were far too loud and you closed your eyes for a moment as he pulled away, clearing your throat and trying to settle yourself before you spoke again. “It’s wonderful to meet you!” 

“Awh, thank you, thank you, I’m very happy to meet you as well.” You beamed at that, pressing your hands together in front of you and trying to suppress any sarcastic urges to dismiss the compliment. 

“Congratulations on the win, it was an amazing match to watch,” you told him, looking up at him with this small, sincere, smile that made his heart feel all kinds of fuzzy. Being praised by you? Well he could definitely die happy now. 

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it,” he told you, his smile wide again and absolutely infectious. 

“I’m not going to lie, I haven’t been watching tennis for the longest time, but even I can see that you put so much effort into your sport and the love you have for it. It’s well deserved.” You shrugged, as if that wasn’t one of the best compliments he could ever receive. Sure, he was always being complimented nowadays, but knowing that people recognised him past his talent, that people acknowledged all the insane amount of work that was put in to even be good enough to make it onto the tour, that’s what stuck with him. 

“Ah, I- thank you, thank you very much. And congratulations to you too, for your latest movie, I thought it was amazing.” He gestured towards you before crossing his arms over his chest, and you just dropped your head to the floor as an uncontrollable smile spread your lips. “I think maybe the best tennis movie there is.” 

“I- wow. That is high praise coming from you, my gosh!” You began to laugh, pushing some of your hair behind your ear as you gazed up at him. He laughed with you, eyes squinting, and something electric pulsed in the air as you gazed into each other’s eyes for a quick second. 

“I am serious! The-the scene where you play the Roland Garros final?” He stepped back and imitated the final hit you made down the line to win, before dropping to your knees and screaming at the top of your lungs. He threw his hands in the air and did a muffled scream as you laughed from the very depths of your stomach, shaking your head as he straightened up again. 

“I was actually so proud of that shot! I did it myself and it took forever to even be able to send a ball over the net let alone that precisely!” You giggled, and again he laughed with you. It was quickly becoming your favourite sound. 

“I think my favourite thing was the consistency of the dropshot, so smooth,” he imitated the motion with his hand, “right over the net, and barely a bounce. Even I cannot make a dropshot that good most of the time.” Your cheeks began to burn again but you just dismissed what he said with a wave. 

“Lies, I’ve seen your dropshots, they are that good, most of the time anyway,” you added cheekily and he just raised an eyebrow at you, feigning anger before laughing even louder than before. 

From the eyes of the others in the room, you seemed to be the perfect combination of people. You both liked to laugh, you both seemed to be smiley people, you matched each other’s energy. The conversation seemed to ebb and flow so naturally, and you guys had moved on to talking about the filming process, standing much closer together than before. 

“Oh my gosh, so we filmed at the real Philippe-Chatrier but the first two days when we were supposed to film, it rained and rained and rained when we needed sun for the sequence to match up. So we just used the court to practise over and over again. I hadn’t practised on the clay yet- I know, I know, it was stupid - but I cannot tell you how many good socks I have lost to that clay,” you sighed, pouting and shaking your head. He laughed softly, but nodded with you, sighing deeply. 

“Yeah, that is one annoying thing about playing on the clay, it gets everywhere. You’ll open your bag in the locker room and it’s just full of clay,” he sighed. 

“It was really weird though, playing in an empty stadium,” you thought back to those moments that you now cherished so much, “everything echoes in there, and it feels sci-fi to see all those seats around you.” You shivered exaggeratedly but he only chuckled, shrugging as if to say ‘I’m used to it now’. “I mean, it was weird to play there when the stadium was full too, I genuinely got so nervous when they had all the extras filling up the seats that it took me like ten tries just to not do a double fault.” You looked up at him and he was listening to you so intently and you just kind of… smiled, a sort of wistful smile, and shook your head as if to dispel all the thoughts. “Who am I talking to? You do that for a living, I’m sure you understand.” 

“The first few times it is very scary, but you just have to remember why you’re there. You have to focus first on yourself, and then you can start taking energy from the crowd, start enjoying how much they enjoy it, and it becomes less scary.” The way he said it, with his eyes so focused and his face so serious, you almost forgot to breathe. 

This was the first time it truly hit you how beautiful he actually was. His eyes, his jawline, even the floof of his hair. Of course you had noticed that he was attractive before, but at that moment he was beautiful. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, biting your lip as you smiled at him. He let out a little huff of a chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. He was silent for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. 

“I, uh, I don’t know if you want to or not, but there is this place where you can play giant tennis?” He scratched the back of his neck and laughed bashfully. “Like the ball and the rackets are huge and I went with some friends before the tournament and it is really fun. Would you like to go? With me?” 

You stared at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open at the invitation. Your heart was racing! Your palms felt clammy and you couldn’t quite believe this was real and not a dream but it also felt way too real to be a dream. You nodded before you could even try to speak, a quick and (rather embarrassingly) vigorous shake of the head before letting out a breath and smiling. 

“Uh, yes, yes of course, that sounds really fun! Um, yeah, oh! I just realised you’re asking for my number,” you sighed, shaking your head as you took the phone he had proffered to you. He just laughed again, smiled as wide as usual, and nodded. 

He watched you as you typed in the number and named yourself ‘my favourite actress <3’, chuckling to himself as he stared at it before pocketing his phone once more. By then the others had come to join your conversation, but the entire time you couldn’t help but glance toward Carlos. And of course, he couldn’t resist either. 

10 months later 

“Y/n! Y/n! Look here!” 

“Over here!” 

“Y/n! Please look this way!” 

The paparazzi had already begun to shout before you had fully stepped out of the car. There were still people on the carpet ahead of you, but some of the photographers near the end had already turned to try and capture pictures of you. You smiled brightly as a hand came out from your side to help you pull the rest of your dress out of the car. ‘Of course he was impatient and got out on the other side,’ you thought, laughing to yourself before turning and gently threading your fingers through his. 

You heard the camera shutters increase in volume as more and more people turned to catch pictures of you and your ‘mystery’ date. You heard the murmurs among the paparazzi as they realised who exactly you had brought with you, who had helped you pull the annoyingly long train of your dress out of the car and was now gently kissing your temple before letting you lead the way and soak up the sunshine of your stardom. 

The line of fans after the paparazzi were louder in their recognition, some even asking him to come forward and sign autographs for them. He only agreed after you beckoned him forward with a wide smile, kissing his cheek before turning back to the girl right in front of you who seemed near to tears. 

Finally, you reached the reporters. They all clamoured for your attention, but were quickly appeased by the appearances of your costars to steal their attention first. You smiled brightly at the first person, a young woman with shiny blonde hair perfectly set into curls. 

“Y/n! My first and most important question! When did you and Carlos Alcaraz start dating?!” 

[kit-williams]

Desperate thirsty yandere astartes who can't handle it when you sit on their lap cause it just makes them want to bend you over and plow a few kids into you.

This is Roland coded (sorry if you were wanting a different man) and Tulio coded

Roland leaned back in his seat as his Bäckerin was soon walking over sitting beside him as the impromptu meeting was drawing in more and more brothers. So it was understandable when you would sit in his lap... his soft Bäckerin. He felt his mouth water and salivate as you did your little hip wiggle like a Hen getting comfortable in her nest. He never wanted to tell you what you were doing to him... though he wondered if you knew it was why he was more eager whenever you two returned to the bedroom that he was so very eager to try to put a baby into you. But he did his best to control himself but oh... how he wanted to.

Tulio bit back a whimper as his Psychi crawled into his lap as his hands twitched not wanting to rest them in an improper way but he had convinced her to lounge with him. To get her off of her feet and to indulge with him as he enjoyed lounging and conversing, was the excuse he had given her. He watched her look away and the blush that danced on her cheek... the way she gently bit her bottom lip for only a moment before she crawled up against him. A stray hand of his brushed against her thigh pulling the swell of her ass to his hip and he had to will his cock to not twitch in pleasure nor to simply cum at the feeling of his Psychi against him as he offered her grapes and wine.

[comfortless]

write swagger. anything for swagger. anything. i’ll take a crumb, I’ll take medic x swagger i’ll take any overdone trope give me something for this man!!!! i love u and your writing sm syl i’m sorry this isn’t a köni request but..

Spin Cycle

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary fem!reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS: 18+ minors do not interact! violence, enemies -> lovers, implications of sex (no actual smut), swagger points a gun at your head sorry, reader may have a gun kink.

i hate(love) you, lele!! i listened to this guys voice lines so many times they’re just embedded in my brain at this point. lil rushed & not proofread, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

wc: 3k

Cold. Wet.

This isn't the weather for a battle. This isn't a night to die. But some lack taste in the intricacies of being victimized, and as her sight settles on the enemy maneuvering through the war torn warehouse, she realizes he certainly doesn't have a preference in which way he's ripped apart. The mask covering his face tells her everything she needs to know, he's dead already, hiding beneath an ugly cover to conceal his identity; an unknown, evil thing in her eyes. She would be doing him a favor. Mercy for the man marching around wearing a face not his own.

She slowly positions her pistol, quietly aiming as her finger brushes the trigger. Once, to prepare herself for more blood on her hands. Twice, to make peace with his creator in his stead— he wouldn't have the time nor the delicate nature for it. Thrice, because she likes the feel of the cold metal against her fingertip; it grounds her, tethers her to the reality of what she’s here to do. Lucky numbers be damned, it was all for the thrill of it.

She pulls the trigger and the bullet rips from the barrel as she bites her lip.

To her chagrin, it buries itself in the wall behind her target. To her relief, it definitely struck. The man buckles to the dirtied floor with a groan, gloved hands reaching out to apply pressure to the gash in his calf. It's not enough to kill, they both knew it, but it would put the buck down long enough for her to reload and fire a shot right into his brain. She wonders if she could tell what his face actually looked like when his mask was blown off and gray matter spackled  the floor behind him.

"Knew you were in here, you slimy bastard."

The voice pulls her from her thoughts, and if she were forced to have any sort of virtue left she could be honest and embrace the fact she isn't the most coordinated mercenary out there. Her pistol clatters to the floor. She quickly slips further into the dark, not bothering with her lost weapon for the time being as she positions herself behind a crate to hide.

"Your aim is shit. Your hands must be shaking."

The man's voice continues to rasp. He's taunting her, wants to lure her out. There's something playful about his voice that sends a swell of unease from her chest to the pit of her stomach. The man had just been shot, and that surge of confidence couldn't stem from a wounded man unless he had some sort of a plan. She's been here so many times with so many different flavors of prey that the warning signs aren't lost on her.

She swears she hears the click of him replacing his magazine, the static of his radio, the sound of ripped fabric and a lightening quick application of a makeshift tourniquet. The thought that the gunfire gave out her position crosses her mind.

"Come out, fucking coward."

She's been here so many times, in the dead of night, playing this one-sided game of cat and mouse. She's seen blood, felt the sting of a bullet carving it's way through her, and she's never been afraid. Not until tonight.

This isn't a night to die, yet she's pissed off the fucking grim reaper.

A church bell rings out in the distance, some small mercy. It plants the seed of an idea and she follows the path her mind carves with her hand grasping for a knife at her belt. The knife rips through the quiet air of the warehouse, coming to a clatter some three meters behind him after she tosses it. The man takes the bait, fires several shots in the direction of the noise as she quietly finds her escape. Delivered from death by the heavenly portal of a broken window.

But when it comes to the intricacies of being victimized, it's very rare that things play out so simply. Hunting is a messy task, and one slip up can so quickly prove that prey often have fangs, too.

Her target, some Polish elite soldier, Roland Kaminski, isn't a buck at all. Bucks are easy, they're skittish and stupid. You fire off a shot at one of them, they buckle or prance back into the plush foliage of the forest for cover. When thundering footsteps can be heard in the dark, just past the safety of the broken window, she realises she's not dealing with another deer. Shes got a frenzied boar at her heels.

She's defenseless, her arms scattered in the darkness of the warehouse the boar is charging from, and she finds she lacks the will to break her ankle jumping down onto the pavement below. This is the line where the hunt becomes a proper fight. Her pulse beats like the thunder tearing apart the sky above her, every muscle in her body pulled tight like a spring waiting to maul her impending threat.

The fight never comes.

One moment, he's charging through the wreckage inside like a behemoth with a taste for human flesh, and the next he's simply staring at her while he's shrouded by the dark. It's almost comical, really, her thoughts flood with pictures of horror mascots as she teeters on the windowsill, staring right back into the wide, dark eyes of his mask. They remain in a stasis for a moment, both breathing shallow, both watching the other. Then, he does something that surprises her. Surprises and infuriates her.

He pulls his radio up to his mask, breathes out a heavy sigh as the sound of static cuts through this pair's silence. The grim reaper has the audacity to pretend his frustration over arches her own, and she's gritting her teeth wondering how likely it was she could free his esophagus from the column of his neck with her mouth alone.

She feels his gaze rove over her, lingering along the empty holster at her hip and the garter on her thigh.

"Target's down."

He's lying to his team, lying because he pities her, and she can't think of a thing more insulting. A mercenary is no different than a prostitute, money for flesh, pain or pleasure. She's aware of it, she's seen her fellow mercs gunned down without a second thought from their enemies. She's heard the men in her company boast of ravaging paid women without thought. For some time, she's considered they may all be beasts, but the grim reaper is sparing her. Sparing her, because he doesn't see her as a threat at all. A defenseless woman clinging to a broken window like it's the only tether she has to the world at all. He's no boar, no blood-stained reaper, just a person. He doesn't see her as pounds of flesh to march into battle before him. She sees humanity, and he sees an insect unworthy of his bullet.

"I tried to kill you," she breathes out, enunciates each word careful and slow as she tries to get a read on him, praying her assumption isn't true. There's the creaking of broken glass beneath the toes of her boots as she pivots herself to fully face him, standing in the window with the backdrop of a dark sky threatening violence. The man shrugs his broad shoulders, turns away, as though nothing has even happened. Her stare drifts to the tourniquet on his calf, and it dawns on her that he isn't even limping.

"I wouldn't even need a minute with you." He sounds bored. The pity stung enough. She wasn't just a hapless rabbit in his eyes, she was a gnat. A nuisance to top it all off. "Who are you working for?"

She falls silent, teetering on the ledge of the windowsill in silent debate. The jump would end in injury, but the darkened sky and the rain could cover her. There’s a building less than half a mile away and if she just made it there then—

“Answer.” Roland’s gruff voice sounds out in the quiet warehouse again, and she hazards a glance up just in time to catch those dead eyes of his peering at her from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Roland merely huffs at that, rolls his shoulders a little. He’s confident, a bit too arrogant for a man that’s been shot. She may have seen a boar, and he may have seen an ange, because he has the audacity to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder with a gentle swipe of his thumb along her neck.

Tells her, “Get lost.”

Follows it up with, “Let us never meet again.”

She doesn’t die on this frigid, rainy night, but a part of her is lost with him. Lost with a man that looks at her as though she had tiny angel’s wing, buzzing at her back. Lost with a man who’s entire existence is an enigma to her. Shoot to kill, and she hadn’t. Shoot to kill and not ever would she again, not to him, not to the man who gave her mercy when she deserved none.

— — —

She finds herself working alongside the Polish GROM. Realistically, she had returned sopping wet to her shabby hotel and spent hours researching how to work her way in. She doesn’t know why, but she’s found herself enthralled in a shadow, worshipping him in her own way. All for a chance to see her should-be reaper. And she’s no elite, can barely keep her trigger finger steady, but supplementing for a fallen soldier is the standard and she’s got enough falsified experience under her belt to look the part of a proper gunman.

It pays enough to keep her afloat until the next thing piques her interest or her contract ends, whichever comes first. Her room is simple, a barren mattress and dark walls, a concrete floor. It doesn’t feel homey, but no place ever does nowadays. Small blessings are found in the fact she doesn’t have to share the space, it’s hers and hers alone.

She spends her first few hours inspecting the place for bugs, then takes to staring up at the ceiling, listless, because what the hell had made her so impulsive? Roland could have already had his head blown clean off by anyone else by now. Did she even want to see him? To choke him with his own words or thank him for his kindness?

All of this uprooting driven by impulsivity for a man who told her not to meet him again and yet she’s here, walking about the compound like she truly belongs.

She should have cut her hair, tried to make herself look different from the trembling mouse on the ledge that night, but a part of her wants him to see her. Recognize her, bring him down from that gilded throne of his where women like her are just nuisances instead of a proper challenge.

Only, she’s not a challenge. Not at all, because the second she meets him in the stairwell her mind starts swimming and all she can do is stare. He looks a bit tired, likely having just returned from some dreadful mission, even wearing all black he’s covered in sprays of dust, the denim of his trousers painted darker in some places, blood.

“Ja jebię.”

He hadn’t forgotten.

His breath sounds shaky, and she’s not sure if it’s because the gas mask in its proper place or if he’s actually surprised, startled. If anything could shake him down from his pedestal she imagined meeting the woman who tried to kill him once again would do it.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than your aim, pizda.”

She imagines that he would probably like nothing better than to put a bullet through her right then. The man merely laughs, something breathy and low. She’s surprised him, probably both startled and impressed that she even had the balls to face him again. She likes that, likes that little laugh, that his voice isn’t angry, that he’s playing with fire just as much as she is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Contract,” she states simply, not bothering to hide the way her gaze rakes over his body in the yellow haze of fluorescent lighting. “Just a few months, filling in a gap.”

He mutters something under his breath, a string of Polish and French that she doesn’t quite catch. She knows that he knows she’s infatuated, taking to follow after a wild coyote like a house pet.

It’s a dirty word, infatuated; dangerous in a way that scares her more than facing down the barrel of a gun.

Roland takes a step towards her, brushes her hair from her face with a touch too rough and leans in close to look at her, inspect her as though she’s not even really here, some figment of his vile imagination. She just… lets him. Despite her better judgement she lets him grip at her face like she’s nothing but putty in his hands.

“Here to kill me?” He asks his question as he retreats from her and drops his hands to his sides, staring at her as though she’s not an implant in his force, but an implant on the planet itself.

“Not this time.”

He gives her a tilt of the head and a grunt in response before brushing past in a hurry.

— — —

The following morning, she wakes to several rapid knocks at her door. Sounding just impatient enough to pull her from her sleep with her heart fluttering like a small bird in her rib cage. She readily hops out of bed and dresses before turning the knob to reveal something she didn’t expect— Roland. It’s the first times she’s seen him without his gas mask, but she recognizes him immediately. He’s more handsome when he doesn’t look the part of a famished buzzard seeking out carrion.

“Kaminski.”

“Swagger,” he corrects and she can’t help but laugh at the usage of his callsign. She wants to know how he got stuck with that, something so embarrassing it makes him sound as though he’s some teenage boy desperate to fit in or perhaps even a pirate, not the man she sees before her.

“We aren’t on the field.”

“Today we will pretend.”

He grabs her arm in the very same boorish way he had grabbed at her face just yesterday, and leads her down an empty hallway in silence. Each step seems to echo louder than the last. She wonders for half a moment if he does intend to kill her, hazards a look up at him expecting to see some flame of gruesome determination in his eyes only to be met with a calmness that makes her reconsider.

Today isn’t a day to die, either, it seemed.

He leads her to a room of bulletproof glass and well-placed targets. Pulls his gun from his holster after inspecting that she hadn’t thought to bring her own. She feels silly when his touch goes to prod at her hip, dips along the waistband of her trousers to seek out a weapon that just isn’t there. She’s ill-prepared and now her face feels hot all while Roland didn’t seem to have so much as a care.

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” he huffs as he steps behind her and places his gun in her hands, an ugly thing she recognizes to be a SIG P226. The metal feels cold and heavy in her hands, but she handles it well enough. It doesn’t particularly help that one of his arms curls around her middle to keep her steady. It’s even worse that one hand remains splayed over hers as she holds the gun.

Shooting when you’re in a desperate situation is difficult enough. The thought that death could be approaching doesn’t keep most grounded, not her at least. It makes her shaky. This is far worse. The man is so close she can smell him, gunpowder and something pungent and clean like mint. She feels his warmth cover her back, his fingers digging a bit into her side.

“I’m ready.”

He grunts in response, maneuvering her a bit closer to a small window carved out in the glass.

“Then shoot.”

So, she does. She misses, of course, and she feels even more silly when he mutters something into her shoulder and deliberately moves and angles her arm properly. The only thing good is that the gun’s recoil is soft, because if she were pushed any further against him she may very well melt down into putty.

Again and again she takes aim and fires at the brightly colored target through the window. After what feels like hours she’s finally hit some place that makes Roland give her an appreciative pat to her tummy.

“I’m improving.” She feigns his confidence, puffing out her chest a little in pride.

“Are you?”

He steals the gun from her hand and draws away to face her properly. There’s a tension she can’t place, something strange in the flicker of his eye.

“You saw—“

Her words are cut off when the man tackles her to the floor, covering her entirely as he pins her from either side. A sharp intake of oxygen is stolen as her spine tingles in pain from the sudden force. She yelps, he laughs, and none of it is funny because he’s still holding a loaded fucking gun. Only, worse, when he presses the muzzle against her cheek and uses his free hand to fix her wrists to the cold floor beneath her.

He tuts at her when she doesn’t try to fight him off, only looks up at him with wide-eyes and parted lips, a face too warm to only depict fear. If he didn’t know before, he knows now. She catches a mischievous glimmer in his eyes right before she tilts her head to kiss the cold steel clutched tightly in his fingers.

Roland stiffens above her for a moment, every muscle in his body pulled taut, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering.

“Not pizda,” he whispers as he clicks the safety back on and shifts to holster the weapon. “You are like a…”

“Ange?”

“Non,” he laughs. “Aniołku.”

If she didn’t know before, she knows now.

— — —

Any training session is spent with Roland.

Every mission they’re tethered to one another.

Any free time she finds yourself having is spent with him, even seeking him out herself just as often as he comes pounding at her door.

It feels both natural and absurd, sharing meals with the man she almost murdered, covering him as he covers her, both finding themselves less and less willing to be on their own as the days pass by. The progression just doesn’t halt, a train plowing off track, the man has his blunt talons curled into her and she just doesn’t have the sense to beat him back because she knows she’s got her teeth embedded just as deeply into him.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when she starts her mornings peeling herself away from him, still sleeping peacefully in her bed. His room lacks taste— too barren, too bogged down with well-oiled metal and violence. She’s spruced hers up in the free time she has with small items, things she can pack up and carry with her to whichever side she finds herself pulled to next.

The thing she keeps most sacred, however, is a little photograph of him, one he had insisted on her keeping on the bedside table, despite being in flesh, wrapped tightly around her each and every night.

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands a few times before the weight of a heavy hand splays itself out across her middle, languidly tugging her back down.

“Stay,” he murmurs, someplace lost between dreaming and waking.

“Just for a bit,” she whispers in reply, nestling close, curling against his chest.

“Forever, aniołku.”

With a soft inhale, she falls back against him in a tangle of limbs and warmth, a part of her lost to the fantasy of permanence.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

ange: angel (French)

Ja jebię: fuck me

pizda: cunt

non: no (French)

aniołku: angel

[jemkha]

Elliot, Leo, and some blonde man with big titas

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Strange Candy

After a strange encounter. A chubby witch must now figure out how to escape the interest of 3 very dangerous demons.

Fat! Original Female Character/Roland "Swagger" Kaminski/Nikto/Sebastian Krueger

Tags: enemies to lovers, monster au, blood, gore, masturbation, liberal use of italics, soul mates elements, chubby oc, stalking, multi-parts

(This is a self indulgent project that got a little out of hand, and the first semi-serious piece I've posted, so polite critique is welcome!)

Banner by @/cafekitsune

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski hardly read over the document before whipping his signature down and sliding it back haphazardly to his superior. The man had simply rolled his eyes before urging him to actually read over the document before departure. Swagger couldn’t have cared less. 

The contract was for the United States. Some bullshit intel regarding the smuggling of volatile chemicals. Orders were simple: seek, and destroy if appropriate. Half of their money up front, the other half when the job was finished. Not that Swagger cared about the money, none of the team did,  they all had more of it than they knew what to do with.  No, most of them had joined the private military group for their own…peculiarities.  

Being an untethered demon came with its own challenges, but Swagger was tenacious if nothing else. Had always known exactly where he needed to be, and when he needed to be there. Confident that all these twists and turns would lead him to his Chosen. To sate him when the time was right. 

Whether he would keep them or crush their bones between his jaws was still yet to be determined. Either way his troubles would be over. 

He’d had the same dreams since he was a wee beast. Loud music and blinding strobe lights. Smoke rolling languidly from ornate silver sensors. A witch of his own, hiding somewhere in the world.

As he strutted across the tarmac he couldn't keep the shit eating grin off his face, there was a humming beneath his flesh, a simmering excitement beginning to bubble its way up his throat. And as they drew closer, Swagger knew in his little black heart that his time had finally come.

_

It had taken a few days of ground work before they'd  gotten a reliable mark. As they would come to find out, one of the city's most popular nightclubs also posed as a front for illegal smuggling.

Very creative, Swagger huffed amusedly from his position. Feet kicking in the rafters as he watched the bodies writhe to the beat below him.  He had been quick to slink inside and let his compatriots handle the intricacies, having hardly paid attention to the briefing before sauntering off in the opposite direction. The other two would do perfectly fine on their own with the petty human mission. He had other business to attend to. 

He scanned the crowd through the round lenses of his gas mask. The head piece having become an unfortunate necessity over the last few years. The longer he'd gone without his Chosen, the more controlling himself had become…troublesome. Demons were insatiable creatures to begin with, requiring hardy meals of flesh and bone and blood that swirled through the living like the sweetest nectar. The longer he’d continued untethered, the more voracious his appetite became.  Frequent contracts kept him placated enough, but holding in his strength and shape, especially when hunger clawed at his belly, made him unsuitable for more delicate operations.

He wrinkled his nose against the onslaught of sheer stink in the room. Sweat and weed, and far too many humans drenched in cheap cologne. Making it nearly impossible to sift through the cocktail of what could be human or Other. 

Almost.

A scent wafts through the round vents of his mask, rich and sugary. Chocolate over cherries that was nearly lost among the rest.  He stands, immediately alert, desperately searching for the source. Blinding lights dance across the glass of his lenses, music pounds, and Swagger finds himself dizzy with deja vu of it. 

Here, here, here. They were here.

His body begins to tremble, sickly acid pooling in his mouth like some eager slobbering mutt. He slinks through the rafters, scanning body after body. His black little heart seizing in his chest when his eyes zero in on her. 

His Chosen.

She gyrates gracefully to the music. All long ginger waves and cherry painted lips. Multicolored lights dancing over the black velvet minidress that hugged gorgeous full breasts and a soft belly, the exertion of the night painting her cheeks and neck with a hot flush.   

She was perfect. Looking so warm and soft and fucking luxurious.

He could feel the tether rip through his chest, slamming his heart against the cage of his ribs as he drank her in. The once thin thread he had felt before now twisting and growing into a heavy rope, curling around his heart, suffocating him with the weight of its abundance. 

A feral grin splits across his face as he watches it slam into her too. She stumbles, brows knitted with a palm against her sweaty chest. She whirls in confusion, trying to find the source in the undulating crowd. 

I’ve got you now -

An explosion shakes the building, followed by the shrill bleating of alarms and pouring emergency sprinklers. The dance floor scattering in a flurry of frantic screams and flailing limbs. And in the split second his eyes tore away from her, she was gone. Lost in the sea of falling ceiling and fleeing bodies.

No, no, no.

He’d just found her! He couldn’t lose her now! Red hot anger rolls through him like a tidal wave. Roiling smoke spilling out from underneath his mask with the heat of it. 

His comms crackle to life. 

“They destroyed it themselves. Evac immediately.” comes a familiar german accent, Krueger, his unofficial lead for the operation. Always so fucking calm. 

He snarls, dropping from the high rafters with a thud, moving lightening fast to snag a straggler in the panic. Lifting them clean off the ground, and slamming them bodily onto the floor. He pins them there, using his weight to hold down their frenzied thrashing. Stupid, clumsy, humans.

Roland yanks up the edge of his mask, lips twisted into a snarl,  noxious fumes rolling out in waves from between his teeth. He opens his mouth, tongue lolling as he lets the acid there spill messily onto the flesh below him, relishing in the sizzle and burn as it melts through skin and muscle. The writhing stops soon after, and with little fanfare he plunges his fingers into now hollow sockets, snapping off pieces of blood soaked skull to devour like a gruesome party tray. 

“Kaminski, now”  comes another voice, very russian and very annoyed. 

He sits up finally, scrubbing blood off the scruff of his chin. The familiar weight of his tether tugging at his chest. His witch was fine, still firmly connected to him, he could find her again soon enough. He stares, just a bit dazed at the flames roaring around him, the headless corpse beneath him still spilling blood lazily over beer soaked laminate. Perhaps he had overreacted. 

He clears his throat, yanks his mask back down and dusts himself off. Pocketing the loose teeth he’d saved into his tac vest for a little snack later. With a tired sigh he trots outside as his teammates' annoyed tone buzzes in his ear once more. 

~~

What the fuck?

Ruby stands annoyed amongst the crowd of onlookers. Watching with healthy suspicion as the nightclub she favored most roared with flames.  

Tonight was supposed to be her little bi-weekly ritual. Self care and all that. Get dolled up and take herself out for something fun. Dance her heart out, and maybe a little more if something pretty came sniffing. Dousing herself in magic was never a smart thing to do given her heritage, and she rarely bothered with any magic that changed her appearance, but she had really put in effort this evening. Full hair and skin routine, silky sweet lotions rubbed into her skin.  All on top of the little black dress and blood red color painted onto her lips. 

All of which had been sorely ruined when falling strobe lights nearly crushed her, emergency sprinklers soaking her to the bone. Now she stood like a soaked rat in the crowd of onlookers, hair frizzy and wet heels sliding uncomfortably, thankful for waterproof mascara at the least. 

Something strange was afoot, and she wasn't about to chance a little charm to wick the water away, less even that draw something more unsavory to her. 

Something had struck her on the dance floor. She could still feel it now, not painful, but tight, like a thread around her heart. The strange weight still clinging to her ribs was proof enough that something was certainly wrong. She had hardly had time to look at the faces around her before the alarms blared. Was this something cosmic? A curse? 

She pondered her dreams.  The same visions had been repeating for weeks now, neon lights, flames.  Clairvoyance was not her specialty. Visions had never plagued her, nor did she seek them out. She had been taught early that the future was not finite, lines shift and flutter.  She had deemed the art useless long ago, too unpredictable, and certainly not because the art had always been like sand through her fingers. What was the fun in always knowing anyway?

In hindsight it should have been obvious. That maybe the dreams hadn't just been dreams after all, but warnings… like she was supposed to just know that! Instead she had stubbornly fixed herself a sleepy time tea and ignored them without a second thought.  A girl’s gotta get her beauty rest after all.

She had been in adamant danger.  Maybe the weird feeling in her chest was another side effect? A more physical warning to urge her away? A little too late, she groused inwardly. 

Another small explosion rocked the concrete below her, snapping her from her thoughts.

She scanned her surroundings again, her eyes falling to a trio of men in the distance. All clothed in masks and oddly tactical gear for just firefighters. She had caught a few murmurings around her. Something about a chemical fire and judging by the masks, that at least checked out?  She slipped through the crowd, eyes pinned to the men. Determined to at least get a practical explanation for her paranoia. 

She approaches with purpose. Heels in hand as she marches up to one of the men. Barefoot and lacking a fuck to give she asks whats going on, having learned a long time ago that if you say anything with enough confidence most people would just yield. She stares at the nearest one, his face nothing more than a black void behind a thinly netted veil. She no more than gets the words out before he is cutting her off.

“Keep back” he replies in a low german accent, holding a hand up to her in mild warning.

She huffs, feeling another set of eyes on her she spares a glance to one of the others, a bulkier man, with icy blue eyes surrounded in black fabric. There is something off about how they glow in darkness, and Ruby quickly averts her gaze, rolling her shoulders before she tries again, “What happ-”

“Confidential”  he barks this time, the timber of it hitting her just so over the roar of flames. It sounded distinctly different from the calm warning he’d given her moments prior, like he'd pushed it right into her head. 

She should leave. Instead, she pivots her legs, taking on a power stance as she crosses her arms. Lips pressed into a fine line, fully prepared to be annoying until she spots the third man coming toward them.

He approaches with purpose, flames dancing in the dark lenses of his gas mask. She cant see his eyes, but an unease washes over her, blood turning to ice. Adrenaline preparing her to fight or flee. 

Her chest tightens, and in a split decision she does just that, tucking tail with as much dignity as possible and turning on a heel. He was certainly coming as backup, and the last thing she needed was to be the asshat on the news who started beef with the emergency crew. 

Maybe she was just shaken up, it isn't everyday that you get nearly blown up. She'd survived, despite ignoring her dream’s incessant warnings. And maybe the tightness in her chest and belly was just gas. A serious case of the bubble guts after a truly dangerous encounter. She sighs, settling on taking the long way home and having a peppermint tea for safe measure. 

–

Judge greets her as Ruby swings open the door to her dusty loft apartment. The big shaggy hound stepping carefully out of his nest on the couch, old bones creaking with a drawn out stretch.  He trots over to her, big shaggy tail thwapping hard enough against her side table to make her keys jingle. She smiles at the old wolfhound, scrubbing her nails through the wirey fur of his chin. He schmoozes in closer, resting his big head against her belly as he leans on her bodily. She'd only been gone a few hours but the old man always acts as if it'd been days.

Exhausted from the night,she slides down her door and onto the floor.  Wincing at the squelch of her soaked dress as her ass hit the hardwood. 

She meets Judge's big brown eyes and sighs. “I think we got a problem buddy” she tells the gentle giant, who on cue begins giving her a once over, snuffling seriously at her ears and clothes.

Would he even be able to tell if something was off? Could familiars even smell curses? He continues his inspection, a steady rhythm of careful sniffing as he noses down her legs. 

“What's the verdict buddy? Am I going to turn into a toad? Have perpetually burnt toast?”

He finishes with a final snuffle to her face, huffing out a stinky breath, forceful enough to blow her hair from her face. With a tired yawn he lays down over legs, his large body hanging off of her at an obviously uncomfortable angle. 

If Judge wasn't bothered, It can't be that bad, right?

And yet….

She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths to center herself. She tries to see it. This pesky thing attached to her, and it appears. Nebulous in the ether of her mind, a wispy red thread stretching out from her and into the infinite darkness. She concentrates on it, reaches out to grasp it with both hands and yanks, like ripping off a band-aid.

It doesn't budge, only briefly pulling taught like a fishing line before falling slack again, floating easily in a nonexistent breeze.

She tries again, twisting her fingers through it, tugging it this way and that. Tries to pull the string apart between her fingers. It stretches and pulls, but gives no indication of damage. 

Well shit.

~~

Roland perches on a building ledge across the street, watching her through the large windows of her run down apartment. It's homely, with large bookshelves lining one wall,  filled to the brim with old worn out tomes who couldn't quite make out the titles of.  A myriad of plants hang from her high ceilings and fire escape. She’d even hung soft linen curtains and warm strings of tea lights throughout her space. Giving it a soft orangey glow. 

He wasn't going to follow her quite so soon. But when the silly witch toyed with their tether like that, she was begging him to come find her.

Nosey thing wasn't she? He'd lit up like a christmas tree when he heard her speak, stubborn confidence in a soft southern drawl as she'd sassed Krueger. He restrained himself as best as he could before approaching, giddy to get a better look at her. Only for the little witch to flee. Which was fair enough. 

His attention is pulled again when she comes shuffling back in, faced washed and now clad in an oversized t shirt and sweatpants. Grabbing a leash from the side table she swings her way back out the door, oversized hound in tow. 

Leaving again so soon? He'd been fully prepared to wait until she slept. Slink into her apartment and simply snag her there. She was either very brave or very stupid. Either way she would be under his wing soon, warm and protected. 

He tails her from the rooftops, ogling the sway of her hips as she trails behind her mutt. Waiting patiently as the dog stopped every few feet to sniff a trash can or street corner. 

Swagger waits, anticipating her route and slinking down into the alley near her complex. Eager to see her close up. As anticipated she passes through, eyes scanning the darkness where he lays shrouded in shadows.

However, the mutt pauses, sniffing at the air before standing stone still, a fine line of hair splitting up his back as his hackles raise, growling into the shadows. He would have preferred not to scare her first but no matter. 

He saunters out of the darkness, hands in his pockets as if this were a serendipitous reunion. She freezes, grasping the little bejeweled can of pepper spray tighter in her free hand. She stares at him wide eyed as he makes a careful approach, her eyes flickering briefly to lead attached to her first line of security.

“Easy, ma petite. I'm not going to hurt you” he coos softly. Pausing a safe distance away from the slobbering beast standing between him and his witch. She'd be smart to let it go, however if the dog bit him, he would most certainly be biting back. Dog isn't the worst thing he's eaten over the years.

“Look, I'm sorry about earlier, if this is some kind of interrogation tactic, I can't help you. I don't know anything about that club thing” she says slowly, taking a careful step away from him, one he follows immediately with his own.

He likes hearing her talk. Her voice is low and soft with a drawl he's only really heard in movies. It's endearing in a way.

“Not here about that.” he says simply, taking another step closer. 

Something unreadable flickers behind her eyes and he watches as her pretty plush lip wobble, eyes going misty.

“No need for tears, witchling” he reminds her softly. Even though she looked so pretty with tears in her eyes. His cock gives an interested twitch at the thought of licking those tears from her cheeks, tasting the salt of her on his tongue.

“Witchling?” she croaks, brows furrowed in confusion. Her soft body trembling as she tugs her pet closer to her side. 

Swagger cocks his head. Did she not know? He thought it was odd to see her on her own like this, had the great covens truly left their kindred to the wolves?

His poor thing, she was lucky she was his chosen, she'd be nothing but blood on the pavement if any other demon had happened upon her first. 

“Yes princesse, it's in your blood. I can show you” he offers lightly “Just need to come with me.” he takes another step forward, raising his arms in mock surrender. 

She continues to sniffle, eyes flickering back and forth in thought before she looks at him again.

And it happens all at once, her fear stricken face shifting to one of pure malice.

“I'm not going anywhere” she hisses.

He barely notices the flick of her wrist before the concrete rattles below him. No time to dodge away as jagged cement teeth emerge from the earth below him. A bastardized carnivorous plant made of stone and rebar. 

He howls as misshapen teeth split though muscles and bone. A sickening squelch echoing through the alley as his arm is ripped messily from the shoulder. The concrete monstrosity crunching audibly before sinking back into the sidewalk with its bloody prize. He clutches the bleeding stump. Stumbling and whirling to get his eyes back on his witch.

Gone, not even the sound of her footsteps. The sly shit hadn't wasted a second. He should be angry, furious at the witches' deception. 

Yet he stands there panting. Listening to the residual aura of her power fizzle and crack in the air around him like lightning. He feels elated. The static of old magic buzzing beneath his skin, raising his hair on end as what blood he has left flows between his thighs.

He curses, clumsily propping himself up against the alley wall, using his good arm to fish his cock out from his tac gear. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was clever, powerful.

He pumps himself lazily with blood soaked fingers. Groaning as he gives himself a squeeze. Swiping a thumb through the copious precum weeping from his tip and dragging his slick over the quickly drying tack of blood on his length. 

He's dizzy with it, whole body pulsing with pain and pleasure and the electric buzz of her still left the air. 

He pumps in earnest now, lewd slick sounds fill the alley as he pants like a dog. Fucking his fist to the thought of his pretty thing running from him. Tits bouncing and sweat slick as he chases her through back alley streets.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He spills into his hand with a choked sound. Pulling spend down his blood soaked cock in lazy strokes until it turns a pretty pink.

He remains there for a moment, catching his breath as he grows soft and the adrenaline fades. Leaving nothing but the radiating pain in his shoulder and the reality that he is literally standing around with his dick in his hand.

He tucks himself back in, giving himself a good natured pat over the groin, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He can't even find it in himself to be mad. Only amused at his witch's clever little show. Oh yes. She would do perfectly, they just had a few wrinkles to iron out. 

He winces a bit, the uncomfortable stretching of bones and flesh growing and stitching itself back together, reminding him of his new issue.

A quick meal would speed up the recovery, but it wouldn't go unnoticed by Krueger and Nikto. He pushes himself off of the wall, thinking up his next plan of action.

He already knew where she lived, and even if she ran the tether would bring them back together regardless.

He'd let her rest. Think on her actions.

For now. Dinner was in order.

[jay-wasstuff]

Some homemade memes of Dragon Age Absolution

[quinnleyaeroraen]

I cannot sleepbnhghn

This meme decided to haunt me at 12am so here they are

(Edit: if you saw that I forgot Leander's glasses no you didn't)

[libartz]

Gosh the best part of Absolution was the way Lacklon was like

Lacklon: Ugh I’m just here for the money, I don’t even like any of you people

Roland: *does anything*

Lacklon: 🫣🥺😤🥵

[soracities]

Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse: Fragments (trans. Richard Howard) [ID in ALT]

[honeydazai]

hello lovely followers, today i offer you a quiz to find out your vnc spouse 🙏🏻

take it now and reblog with your results /threat 🔫🔫

[idksmtms]

Mixed Doubles, Couple Goals (Andrey Rublev x Tennis Player!reader)

Request

A/N: Thank you so much for the request Anon! I took some inspiration from Paper Rings without copying the different instances TSwift mentions in the song because I feel like I tend to do that if I use song inspo and I wanted to try something different. I tried to use the theme of 3 kisses between the couple and just that general vibe of ‘you are everything I want so nothing else really matters’. Hope that’s ok! 

Also, I tried to write the way he speaks because I love it sm (and I hate when I feel like I can’t read an RPF with that person’s voice bc the speech pattern seems off) so I hope it came off ok! 

Idk why but I feel like Andrey would have such good self-deprecating banter if he had a gf who was ranked higher than him in the world rankings. 

Also, does anyone know if Andrey has a hitting partner and who it is?? I just put his coach’s name >-<

Iga is your coach. Why? Because I love her and want her in one of my tennis oneshots (also if she were still a tennis player in this AU, even I couldn’t make myself imagine that Reader was World #1). 

Summary: POV: you’re a tennis player dating a tennis player. 

Word count: 3,054

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, slight profanity (I curse a lot in my real life and as everything I write is completely self-indulgent, I have to include it in my writing as well), mostly just fluff (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

“You are ranked number one in the world! You shouldn’t be missing that!” Andrey called cheekily from the back of the court and you turned around with a scoff, clenching your jaw and lobbing the tennis ball at him. 

“Come, you try from that angle, let’s see you do it!” You yelled back, beckoning him over with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. 

“No, no, no, no thank you! I just make commentary, make life interesting!” He waved both of his hands at you, backing away slightly with a large teasing smile on his lips. 

“That’s what I thought,” you huffed, turning back around and squatting so he could serve. 

You and Andrey had decided to play a friendly game of mixed doubles with both of your hitting partners, but of course two professional tennis players playing any sort of game would become unnecessarily competitive. You loved your boyfriend, you really did, he was one of the sweetest men to ever exist on the planet, he was absolutely hilarious (sometimes without even trying), he was one of the best tennis players in the world, but you could not play it with him. He infuriated you, and you were quite sure you infuriated him in return. You seemed to click with him in every other aspect of your life. You guys could dance around the kitchen in the most perfect rhythm, but you had hit each other with tennis balls more than the actual court. 

“Alright, before you two kill each other and end our careers, the match is over,” Beto said, walking to the benches on the side of the court, Iga in tow, and put his racket away. You bent in half and sighed, taking in deep breaths before standing fully upright again and wiping the sweat from your forehead. You turned around and aimed your racket at Andrey. 

“I love you so much, but I am never playing doubles with you again,” you sighed, but he only laughed loudly and jogged up to you, kissing the top of your head before you pushed him away with an ‘ew’ at the feeling of his sweat dripping onto you. 

You all grabbed your bags and headed inside the club to have showers before leaving. You finished quicker than Iga and bid her goodbye for the day, mimicking her as she called after you to be up bright and early tomorrow for practice. Andrey met you in the main hall of the club, slipping his phone into his pocket as he noticed you approaching. His smile grew as you came closer, and so did yours when he opened his arms for you to throw yourself against him. 

This was one of your favourite things about him. Any time you were separated, even if it was only for a few minutes, he had to hug you or touch you in some way when you returned. You guys could be sitting on the couch together for hours, but you would get up to grab a snack from the kitchen and upon your return he would be making grabby hands at you to settle yourself against him once more. 

You sighed against his neck as he gently moved your hair to the side so he could kiss your shoulder. When you pulled away, he took your tennis bag from you and hoisted it over his free shoulder before allowing you to lead the way out of the club and to the car. 

“One more week and then we are gone again,” he said in a low voice as you walked to the car. He squinted in the sun and you smiled, pushing the hair from his forehead before pressing your hand to it to block the sun from his eyes. You always told him to remember his sunglasses and he always forgot them. 

“Yeah,” you sighed, though you didn’t particularly want to think about the start of your grass season. You were still reeling from winning the French Open, your first grand slam title and the win that pushed you to number one in the rankings. While you were proud (and still didn’t truly believe it had happened), you didn’t want to think about it too much because you still had so much to improve, so much more to win. 

And… and you didn’t want to be apart from Andrey again either. You loved grand slams sometimes simply because it meant you and Andrey got two weeks to be together while also being able to play tennis. The rest of the season was him travelling to one place, you to another. Even Halle and Berlin, you would be in the same country but still so far from each other. You purse your lips at the thought and bring your hand down to hold his for the last few steps to the car. 

Andrey could tell from simply the way you sighed that you didn’t want to talk about it anymore and he just leaned down and pressed three quick pecks to your lips before going to the boot to put both your tennis bags away. You couldn’t help but smile as you settled into the passenger seat and connected your phone to the AUX. No way were you going to let him choose the music as long as you were in the car. 

“Game, set, match, Rublev.” 

You watched Andrey fall to his knees on the clay, arms spread wide and raised to the sky as a bright smile spread across his face. He breathed deeply, eyes closed as he soaked in the cheering, the clay under his knees, the feeling of winning. Slowly, he got up and pressed the cross he wore to his lips, whispering a prayer to God in Russian as he jogged to the net to shake hands with Felix. 

From his box, he could hear one shrill cheer above the rest. He shook hands with the chair umpire before turning to see you, hands in the air and jumping up and down like you were a puppet attached to strings that were being thrown around carelessly. He began laughing as he watched you, tears in his eyes, and blew three air kisses in your direction. You pretended to catch them and pressed them to your heart before sending three back in return, before raising your phone to take pictures of him. He held up a peace sign and stuck his tongue out and you just bent backward slightly with the force of your laughter as you finished typing and posting. Your phone was already beginning to buzz with likes, though it had only been a few seconds since you had posted that picture with the caption ‘My Winner <3’. 

By then, Andrey had made his way up to the box and was hugging and hollering with all his coaches. When they finally let him go, a path parted toward you and you just stood there beaming at him for a second. He was sweaty and his hair was a mess from the way he had pulled his bandana off, there were splotches of clay all over him and he hadn’t shaved for a couple days so his stubble had started coming in and- he was perfect. He was as perfect as any moment where he had tried to pretty himself for some banquet or award, he was as perfect as when he dressed like an emo boy to go out to get lunch on a day off. You loved him with the very essence of whatever made you human, from the depths of your stomach to the tips of your fingers. Tears began to build in your eyes as you looked up at him biting his lip and you flung yourself at him.

Andrey wrapped his arms tight around you, laughing against your ear and shoulder as you pressed salty, sweaty, kisses to his cheeks and lips. He couldn’t tell if he was still red from the exertion or had now turned red from your aggressive affection. You grabbed his face in both of your hands and stared into his eyes as you yelled “I am so proud of you!” before kissing him once more. You didn’t seem to care that you were getting clay on your clothes and just pulled him into a tight hug again, rubbing his back and whispering how much you loved him. He whispered it in return, kissing your forehead and slightly pulling away so you could see the cheeky smile on his face. 

“We really are, what did you say yesterday? Couple goals?” He asked, tilting his head as he tried to think back to what you had said in your speech after winning the Madrid title only the day before. Your laugh was almost shrill with giddiness and you leaned up and kissed him again. 

“Yes, hahaha, yes, we are couple goals,” you nodded, wiping away the tears that hadn’t stopped streaming since the moment he hugged you. 

Quickly, he was pulled away from you and ushered back down to the court so the trophy ceremony could begin and you sat back down to watch eagerly. As the officials were announced, you scrolled through instagram for a moment to see if any pictures of Andrey had been posted yet that you could share on your story. Someone had posted one of you two hugging, his head bent so he could press his forehead to the top of your head as you pressed your face into his chest. You smiled down at your phone and screenshotted it before putting it onto your story. Whoever took that picture just gifted you your new wallpaper. 

You clapped for Felix as he received his trophy, as he thanked the crowd and his team and congratulated Andrey. And then you clapped even louder as Andrey ambled his way up to the stage and gently took the trophy from the director’s hands. You watched with a smile as he thanked everyone on the stage with that politeness that was tattooed on his bones before walking up to the mic. 

“Ah, wow guys!” He began, letting out a deep breath. “I cannot believe that I am here. Usually, my girlfriend is the winner,” he joked with a shrug and a cheeky smile, and you just shook your head and dropped it into your hands, because of course he had to make a joke like that while he stood holding a Masters 1000 trophy. “First I want to say thank you to my team, every single person works very hard and it is because of them that I am here. I want to thank the sponsors, and the tournament director and all the people that make this tournament possible. The kitchen staff and the medical team and the ball kids, all of you work very hard and we could not have this without any of you. Thank you, really, you guys are amazing.” The crowd cheered extra loud at this, and you could see some of the ball kids blush and straighten up even further somehow, proud smiles on their faces. “And of course, congratulations to you, Felix, and your team, you guys are working so hard and it is good to see you making your comeback.” He reached around his trophy to do a little clap of his hands in the direction of Felix with the crowd, and you could see the Canadian player smile in thanks. “So, finally, to my amazing girlfriend. Yesterday, she won right here and today, while she was supposed to be taking pictures and being fancy with her trophy, she instead came to see me maybe lose.” Again you laughed, but you blew three air kisses at him and made a heart with your hands as he laughed and watched you. “So of course, after that I had to win. But, anyway, congratulations to you too, I love you! And thank you everybody!” Then he stepped back from the mic and went to take pictures with the officials and Felix, clinging a little harder to his trophy in case he dropped it. 

It was a few weeks after Wimbledon, a rare minute in the calendar where you were home due to an injury and he had decided not to enter any tournaments and the both of you spent your time relaxing at home. The large glass doors that led out to the garden showed the sky turning orange as the sun began to set, and dressed in the comfiest pyjamas, you were curled up on the couch listening to the birds chirp their final calls, watching the clouds turn pink as they moved across the sky, and waiting for Andrey to come downstairs after his shower. A warm mug of thick hot chocolate was cradled in your hand and you sipped from it every few minutes while trying not to move your shoulder too much. You didn’t turn your head when you heard his footsteps coming down the stairs. They were a bit muffled and you knew it was because he was wearing those fluffy black socks with the Metallica logo that you got for him as a joke on his last birthday. 

When he finally came to stand in front of the couch, you realised he was out of breath and you raised an eyebrow at him, tilting your head as you watched his chest rise and fall. Clearly he ran down the stairs but you couldn’t tell why. He was wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a plain black shirt, the thin metallic cross outlined clearly on his chest. You smiled and reached out to hold his hand but he didn’t return it and you glanced up to his face. 

Andrey’s eyes kept glancing all around you, as if he wanted to look at you but couldn’t pick a place to set his gaze. He kept tapping his hands together and finally took a deep breath in and shook his head, smiling to himself as if he was making fun of himself in his head. You sat up, bringing your feet to the floor and pushing the blanket off of your lap. You leaned forward and set the mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table before reaching forward and taking one of his hands in both of yours. You caressed the back of it softly, eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at him. 

“You ok?” You asked quietly, lips slightly parted as you watched him. 

“Yes, very,” he answered instantly before shaking his head one more time and reaching into his pocket. You watched him drop down onto one knee and hold your hand tightly, setting it upon his raised knee and bending his head to stare at it. “I feel a bit stupid because I was going to wait until off-season before Australia and take you somewhere on vacation for a few days and make it all nice and romantic but last three days I am feeling very impatient and I cannot wait anymore. Since we first got together I look at you and I think ‘wow! She is real and she wants to be my girlfriend!’ and I cannot believe it. You are amazing. You are so cool, and funny, and smart, and-and you laugh at the stupid things I say.” You couldn’t see him clearly anymore and each time you tried to blink your eyes to clear your vision, more tears pooled in. A watery giggle fell from your lips but you stayed silent otherwise. “I love you, I love you so much, and last few months I go from thinking ‘she wants to be my girlfriend!’ to ‘will she want to be my wife?’ My entire coaching team is annoyed because I cannot stop thinking about it and, heh, Beto said to make it happen quickly because you are too good to let go, and of course I know this. So,” he took a deep breath in and while he paused he let go of your hand to open the ring box and proffer it to you. He finally looked up and met your eyes and let out a breathless chuckle at the sight of your tears streaming down your cheeks and the pursed-lip smile that seemed about to break open with all the things you wanted to say. “Will you marry me?” 

Your throat was too clogged for you to speak, your hands too shaky to do anything but grab his, so you nodded and let out this little squeaky sound that was kind of like the sound seals make and bent forward to kiss him. You slipped your hands into his hair and kissed him again and again until you lost your balance and fell on top of him, sending him toppling back onto the carpet. 

“Yes,” you whispered against his lips, “yes, and yes, and yes. Yes today, yes tomorrow, yes every day forever.” 

Both of you lay there for a few minutes in silence, staring into each other’s eyes and occasionally kissing again, just breathing in the moment. The sky outside was darkening and the shadows crawled across the floor and onto the both of you. Andrey only moved to reach his arm out to turn on the side-lamp before settling back underneath you. 

“Daniil and Daria helped me pick out the ring. If you do not like it, we can just blame them and get you a new one,” he joked, running his fingers up and down your arms as both of you looked at the ring. You laughed and smacked him lightly on the chest, pulling the ring out of the box and handing it to him as he sat up. 

“You could have given me a paper ring and I would have still said yes. Even a ring made with cherry stems would be beautiful to me,” you told him, hand quivering as he slowly slid the ring onto your finger then leant down to kiss the back of your hand. 

“So no fancy wedding?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You only scoffed and slapped him on the chest again. 

“Of course we’re having a fancy wedding, just because I would marry you anywhere doesn’t mean we can’t make sure it’s nice. It’s about the effort!”

He only laughed and kissed you again.

[nicos-oc-hell]

Day 4/10 of Dimitri Angst

previous <- -> next

I warned you @night-rhea

Posting the ones I forgot, the one that is actually for today will be posted when I find the audio again

[narastories]

I'm really not complaining but I'm finding it a little funny how there hasn't been any new, English Roland/skk story on AO3 for two months and then suddenly there's five. Are we feeling guilty because of Lee? IS THAT WHAT IT IS? lmao