#the english language lacks the words to properly

[sansaorgana]

— THE GIFT

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You were born to be Feyd-Rautha's wife. You arrive to Giedi Prime to get adjusted to the new environment before your wedding. Your betrothed is trying to court you properly... but he only knows The Harkonnen ways of doing so.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — After a whole month of writing Thrown To The Wolves, I felt weird writing something with Feyd with a different Reader and a different plot. 🙈 But at the same time I was excited to explore a new scenario. 😄

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, blood, death

WORD COUNT — 3,700

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE GIFT

Giedi Prime was an unfriendly place – cold and colourless, nearly lifeless as well. The people you were seeing reminded you of machines more than humans. You were terrified as you realised you’d spent the rest of your life there. The Harkonnens were even worse. Rude, harsh, not very talkative. Your future husband had looked you up and down on your first day in a way that turned your blood cold.

You missed home. You missed your family. But you knew it was impossible to ever go back. You could run away – if you somehow managed to bribe the servants to help you – but it was impossible to hide from your destiny. You had been born to be Feyd-Rautha’s wife, and most importantly, to give birth to his child.

You were a daughter of an important Lord, therefore you weren’t opposed to the idea of an arranged marriage. You knew nothing else was waiting for you in this world and no one would ever let you marry a person of your choice. But why was Feyd-Rautha your betrothed? Out of all the people in the galaxy, why did you have to be promised to a Harkonnen?

Ever since you had been a little girl, your friends had been teasing you about it. Repeating the dreadful gossip about Giedi Prime and your betrothed who had become a famous and dangerous gladiator in the meantime. And now you were finding out that the gossip was not true – reality was even worse than anything you had heard and expected of this place and of this man.

You were supposed to spend three months on Giedi Prime before your wedding, away from your home and family, to adjust to the environment and the customs. Then the wedding would take its place and you’d become the na-baroness of The Harkonnens.

On your first morning you were woken up with breakfast brought to your bed by the servants.

“Why can’t I eat with my husband’s family in the dining room?” You asked them while sitting up and resting on your pillows.

The pale and bald women looked at each other significantly. Everyone looked the same here, you felt like a freak.

“Baron Harkonnen and his nephews do not eat their meals together, unless it is a special occasion, a banquet of some sort,” one of them explained. “Everyone eats their meals in their own private chambers.”

“I see,” you nodded and sighed at the sight of the food. It was as colourless as everything around. You missed the bowls of fruit and yoghurts you had been getting on your homeplanet.

After swallowing the last bit of your breakfast, you took a shower and let your new servants dress you up. The Harkonnens had requested for you to leave all your clothes and personal belongings at home. They wanted you to be as detached from your old self as possible. You were gifted a whole wardrobe of new outfits instead. All black.

You wondered if they’d ask you to shave your head, too. You dreaded that. Your hair was like an armour you could hide under. Your servants had no idea how to manage it so they left it loose. You brushed it with your fingers since there was no brush.

When you saw yourself in the mirror you thought that on your homeplanet you’d be called a feral woman. In a black, long dress, hair unkempt and dark bags under your exhausted and empty eyes that lacked any sort of emotion.

You were supposed to have classes about The Harkonnen culture. You had been studying it since you were a little girl but they did not trust your progress and they wanted to test you in a more practical sense. Your teacher was an old man with a contemptuous smirk, a close advisor of the Baron and most likely his spy.

He had been asking you questions for the past hour to which you answered perfectly well. It was becoming difficult for him to hide his surprised facial expression.

“You’ve been trained well, my Lady,” he admitted.

“This is all that has been expected of me,” you explained with a nod, your voice was hollow and emotionless as you realised how true your words had been. Your whole personality was limited to be the future Harkonnen Baroness ever since you had been a little girl. You couldn’t possibly tell what you would be like under different circumstances. You had never been given a chance to find out.

“Very well then,” he hummed to himself. “I’d like you to roam freely around the fortress and try not to get lost. Tomorrow during our class you will ask me questions about the things and places that made you curious,” he informed you and bowed down before leaving the room.

You looked around, expecting someone to fetch you but no one was coming. He had to actually mean that you were allowed to roam freely around the fortress. Carefully, you left the room and chose to turn right. You had arrived from the left side of the corridor so you were naturally more curious about the right side and exploring a brand new territory.

You were too scared to try to push any doors, though. You didn’t want to walk in on things that would possibly make someone beheading you for seeing. The occasional guards passing you by were looking at you suspiciously but they were not saying anything. After a while you stopped seeing them at all and realised you were in a dark maze of endless corridors that you had no idea how to get out of.

Trying to go back, you only ended up getting lost even further as you were going deeper and deeper into the maze. Your heart started to pound in your chest and your hands began to shake as they turned cold. The corridor was cold in general – much colder than the rest of the fortress. And it was terrifyingly empty.

You decided to stay in one place and wait. Someone had to eventually look for you, right? You hoped for it to be true. Trying to hug your own self for warmth and comfort, you rested your back on the cold, grey wall, taking deep breaths in. 

Suddenly, a loud and animalistic cry emerged from behind one of the black doors. You were startled by it and your body began to tremble even more. You wanted to get away as far as possible from that door but when you were about to turn around and run, they opened and your heart squeezed in your chest.

To your surprise, it was your betrothed leaving the mysterious room. He was wearing gladiator attire and holding a blade in his hand with blood still dripping. His eyes widened at the sight of you and you froze.

“What are you doing here?” He asked in his deep and raspy voice.

“I… I got lost, I’m sorry. I’ve been told to roam freely around the fortress and explore on my own but I got lost…” You explained as you shivered.

Feyd-Rautha approached you slowly like predators approach their prey. You took a step back and felt the wall behind you. You were trapped.

“Lost, you’re saying?” He smirked as he hovered over you. Your heart was pounding so fast in your chest that he just had to hear it. He rested one of his hands on the wall above your head and leaned in even closer. “You’ve accidentally gone underground where I train on my slaves,” he smiled almost playfully, showing off his black stained teeth.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to..” You gasped but he shushed you with a soft hiss.

“Did I say it was forbidden?” He asked and you shook your head. “Come, I’ll show you,” Feyd straightened himself and reached out his hand towards you as if he was a proper gentleman.

Everything inside you was screaming to run away and to not follow him anywhere. But you were aware that he would catch you in a second and your attempt would only most likely enrage him. And very soon you would belong to him anyway. You would be his property whether you wanted it or not.

You held his hand and he froze at the feeling of your ice cold and shivering fingers.

“You are cold,” he pointed out. “And scared.”

“I am not scared,” you lied. You had been taught that The Harkonnens hated fear and cowardice.

“And a liar,” Feyd-Rautha sneered and led you inside the mysterious room he had previously left.

It was big and dark like every other room in that fortress. There was a dead body of a servant in gladiator gear laying on the floor in the puddle of his own blood. The walls were covered in all sorts of weapons.

“This is where I train,” Feyd announced proudly. He had to think it would impress you but it only made you sick, especially the sight of the dead man on the floor. You had never seen death in such a brutal and ugly way before. But now you were sure it was not the last time.

Feyd was visibly waiting for your response as he let go of your hand and took a step back to tilt his head and watch your expressions carefully. You realised it was a test of how much you were able to handle as his wife.

You wondered what would happen if you failed all the tests. Would they just send you back home or would they get rid of you? Were they even able to do that? You didn’t want to find out.

“It is impressive, my Lord na-baron,” you admitted with a shaky nod of your head and he winced at your words which made you furrow your brows.

“Don’t address me like a servant, pet,” he clicked his tongue and you nodded, slightly uncomfortable at the way he had called you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised. “How should I address you then?”

“However you like,” Feyd shrugged his arms and approached you once again, raising his bloody blade slightly as you flinched. It brought a smile to his full lips. Looking deep into your eyes, he licked the blade clean. You clenched your jaw and tried to keep a poker face on but a knot formed in your stomach at the disgusting act.

You hated to admit that he was attractive for a Harkonnen. There was a magnetic energy about him that made you attracted to him like a moth was driven to a flame. Even his harsh and unpleasant voice was leaving you wanting more.

Feyd brushed your hair with the tip of his freshly cleaned blade, carefully, making sure not to cut any strand.

“I want you to always wear your hair like this,” he looked even more intensely into your eyes.

“That would be inappropriate,” you tried to explain. “It’s not considered elegant.”

“I said, I want you to always wear your hair like this,” he repeated like he couldn’t understand why you were trying to argue. He was a spoiled na-baron and completely not used to people disobeying him. So, you just nodded this time.

“Then I will,” you promised. “If I could only get a hairbrush, though. Or a comb. So they don’t tangle,” you pleaded and he squinted his eyes at you as the tip of his blade moved to under your chin. You swallowed thickly at that gesture.

“A hairbrush or a comb,” he repeated your words. “That can be arranged,” he added and you smiled nervously at him. “What are you scared of?”

“Of the blade under my chin perhaps?” You raised an eyebrow at him and he chuckled, however his hand remained still.

“Weren’t you sent here to be my wife?” Feyd’s smile dropped in an instant. He was serious again and you took a deep breath in, tugging on the folds of your dress to hide how sweaty your hands had become.

“Yes, I was,” you nodded.

“And what do you think of that?”

“I don’t think. I have been preparing for that since I was a child,” you answered.

“I want to be a good husband,” his sudden confession made your eyes widen. In one swift move he took the blade away from you and replaced it with his hand as he held your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. “My uncle says that a wife should not be an enemy. He wants me to court you properly,” he explained.

“Is your uncle experienced in marriage?” You asked, curiously. You had been taught that Baron Harkonnen had never been married.

Feyd laughed at your question as his grip on your chin tightened. He moved his face even closer to yours, your nose nearly brushed his and it made you hold your breath.

“Can you think of a woman who would not become his enemy after being forced to marry him?” He asked you and you dared to chuckle at that.

“So, I assume, I do not have to worry about you becoming like him one day?” You bit on your lower lip, realising that he indeed did not want to hurt you.

Perhaps that whole uncomfortable and threatening situation was his idea of intimacy. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“My uncle is not my role model,” he only answered and took a step back, removing his hand from your chin. “I don’t have idols.”

“What do you worship then?” You furrowed your brows.

“Blood and honour,” he answered with all seriousness. “Allow me to give you something, my pet. A gift for my bride to be,” he proposed and you hesitantly agreed, not wanting to hurt his feelings by refusing.

You expected him to approach one of the walls and hand you some of the weapons. But, to your surprise, he kneeled down next to the dead body laying on the floor and he opened its chest with the sharp tip of his blade. You gagged quietly and covered your mouth with your hand, trying to look away as the metallic smell of blood hit your nostrils, leaving you nauseous.

The sound of his heavy footsteps made you look in his direction again, not wanting to offend him in any way. He was walking towards you proudly with a real human heart in his hands, blood dripping off of it on the floor, leaving a trace. With all your force you stopped yourself from squealing at the sight. No amount of training and studying The Harkonnen culture had prepared you for this.

Feyd-Rautha reached his hands out as he offered you his foul gift. He was staring at you intensely, expecting praise of some sort or admiration. However, you had none. You let the wet organ slip into your hands as you gagged once again at the sensation and a shiver went down your body. Your reaction caused Feyd to tilt his head and squint his eyes.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” You asked in a shaky voice.

“You don’t like it,” he pointed out after a short while of silence and you got scared of upsetting him.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I just…” you started, trying to nervously explain yourself.

“You don’t like it,” he repeated, both annoyed and disappointed.

“I appreciate the gesture,” you tried to assure him. “I will keep it,” you promised.

“Why don’t you like it?” He asked once again, ignoring all your words. You sighed.

“It’s just not something I’m used to. In my homeworld, we don’t give each other human hearts,” you explained softly.

“What do you give each other?” His question was genuine and curious.

“Haven’t you studied my customs like I have been studying yours?” You asked but the answer was obvious.

“My uncle says it is not important for me to know your culture because you are here to become one of us,” Feyd explained. “The only thing I have been studying was the blade,” he added. “So, what kind of gifts do your people give?”

“Flowers,” you answered. “For example.”

“There are no flowers on Giedi Prime,” Feyd pointed out. “No seed blooms in our soil.”

“I understand,” you nodded, nervously. “I am grateful for your gift, Feyd-Rautha. I appreciate your courtship,” you assured him but your voice and hands were shaking as your face was visibly disgusted.

Someone knocked upon the doors and Feyd barked at them to come in. You turned around and saw two guards sighing out of relief at the sight of you.

“There you are, my Lady!” One of them approached you. “We’ve been searching everywhere. Let us escort you back to your chambers,” he bowed his head.

You nodded at him, relieved as well at the sight of them. You wanted nothing else than to go back to the familiar part of the fortress and to finally leave this awkward and uncomfortable situation with your betrothed.

Still holding the heart carefully in your hands, you walked out without even glancing at Feyd-Rautha. The guards took you to your chambers where the worried servants had been waiting. They gasped at the sight of your gift.

“What is it, my Lady?” One of the girls asked you.

“It’s a gift from Feyd-Rautha,” you explained as they all widened their eyes. “I have no idea what to do with it,” you admitted.

“Feyd Rautha gave it to you, my Lady?” The servant swallowed thickly and you nodded. “Do you know what it means, my Lady?”

“No,” you shook your head and handed the organ to another girl. “I desperately need to wash my hands and change my dress,” you said and disappeared into the bathroom where you spent fifteen minutes getting rid of the blood.

You took the stained dress off and threw it on the floor before walking out back to your chamber. The girls were already preparing the heart as they put it in a jar full of some odd liquid.

“It will dry in there, my Lady,” one of them explained. “Na-baron must be really enamoured with you, my Lady, or perhaps he is trying to show his best side to you.”

“Enamoured?” You snorted at her. “It’s gruesome.”

“It’s the most romantic thing a Harkonnen man can give to a woman, my Lady,” the other woman added and you gasped.

“I haven’t been taught that…” You whispered, feeling extremely stupid for the way you had treated Feyd-Rautha before. You had to anger him dearly and his rage was not something you wanted to deal with. “What is the equivalent of such a gift for a man? What can I give him in return?” You asked the servants and they looked at each other’s faces, surprised.

“There is no equivalent, my Lady,” one of them answered. “Harkonnen women do not court. Only men do.”

On the next day, when you were leaving your chambers to go to your class, you spotted the doors nearby opening and your betrothed walking out of them. Your room was in the same area as his so it was no surprise but you didn’t expect to see him at the same time in the morning. At the sight of you, he looked down and walked past you without a word, which made you feel bad for him and for the way you had treated him. But it also made you anxious because his uncle has been right about marriage. You didn’t want Feyd-Rautha to be your enemy.

Giedi Prime was far from perfect and your betrothed was an odd, psychotic creature. You couldn’t change your destiny, though, so you had to embrace it to make it bearable.

“Feyd, wait,” you rushed after him and he froze when you grabbed the sleeve of his robe. He turned around and looked at you coldly.

“I am in a hurry,” he drawled.

“So am I. But I wanted to apologise. I have been studying the Harkonnen culture for years but I have never been told of the meaning of such a gift,” you explained, feeling your cheeks getting warm. “Please, forgive me. I didn't mean to reject you.”

“The heart was of a low quality,” he admitted as his face softened slightly. “Next time I will give you the heart of a real warrior, a real enemy. Not some slave,” he added. “My uncle has already reprimanded me for that.”

You broke a smile at him. It was adorable in a way how this scary and dangerous man was following his uncle’s guide on courtship, trying to be on his best behaviour around you. It was making you feel powerful in a way.

“I would like to return the favour but my servants have informed me there is no such tradition,” you confessed. “What can I do for you to forgive me?”

Feyd-Rautha hesitated for a moment as he looked away, thinking intensely about something. Then he laid his eyes on you again and leaned in to join your lips together. You were startled at first, your heart pounded in your chest. Raised to become his wife, you had never kissed anybody before and saved yourself for him only, however it felt as if his soft lips were truly made for yours. You put your hand on his chest and opened your mouth to invite his tongue in. He devoured you, greedily wanting to explore your mouth and feast on your taste. His hands pulled you closer by your hips and you put your free hand behind his head. Seeing him for the first time in real life two days ago, you had been slightly uncomfortable at the sight of him. But now you did not feel any of that.

Even if you hadn’t been prepared to become his wife, you’d still want him. You had been born to be his.

Feyd’s hands moved up and cupped your face before breaking the kiss and moving away gently. You took a deep breath in as he stared into your eyes and caressed your loose hair.

“You’re forgiven, my pet,” he told you. “By the way, I’ve ordered a hair brush for you.”

MASTERLIST

[rhiannonsknife]

hihello how r u ?? :3

Shauna shipman whimpers in French into your ear when she's balls deep inside you.

That's it. That's the thought.

-🍭

you know what hell yeah 🍭 anon!! 🙂‍↕️ (nsfw content so mdni. also, again, i do not speak french!)

shauna’s face is buried in the crook of your neck. there’s sweat on her forehead, dark strands of hair clinging to it in damp lines, and her breath bursts from her lips in desperate pants.

she‘s clearly holding back, her hips rutting back and forth on every second breath in an attempt to make the moment last.

after eating you out, both to make sure you could take her and make up for the short time she would last once she’d fuck you properly, shauna now has you pinned to the mattress. your legs are open wide, giving her the room she needs to move between them, rolling her hips back and forth.

barely a few minutes in, and shauna’s grip on the english language has already vanished, reduced to breathless french phrases and muttered curses. “oh, mon dieu,” she groans as she bottoms out, drawing a moan from your lips in response to feeling her there.

her pillows and sheets are soft against your back, a stark contrast to the way she is currently holding you: hands on both of your legs, pushing your knees up against your chest to keep you open for her.

shauna’s breath hitches at a particularly good thrust that has you clenching for more around her length. “mhm, comme ça!”

“yeah?” you pant, hardly feeling any more coherent than shauna herself with how deep she’s fucking into you already. “do you like that?”

“oui- yes! m’sorry,” she slurs.

her teeth graze your collarbones, only the ghost of a touch that lacks its usual sharpness. you can’t deny that you love it when shauna gets like this, though: a babbling, mindless version only you get to see of her, too drunk on the sensation of your body to string together her words.

you run your hands through her hair when her hips piston forward slightly faster. the wetness between your legs squelches obscenely where shauna buries herself deeper and deeper inside your cunt, leaving your body no choice but to accommodate the stretch of her needs.

shauna pulls out once, moving her hips agonizingly slow to watch you part for her. she’s glistening wet under the light that comes falling through her curtains, coated in your arousal from root to tip. she groans at the sight, moaning a weak “putain,” before sinking back into you.

the sound of her skin slapping against yours grows louder the more shauna picks up the pace. “sorry,” she whimpers, her lack of control pathetic compared to her usual self. “j’ai besoin de toi…”

“it’s okay,” you manage, clinging to her now that she’s starting to fuck you harder. “it’s okay shauna, fuck me.”

and, oh, she does: with your short but desperate plead, the last of her restraints slip away and shauna readjusts above you, spreading your legs wider.

“god,” she groans, her nails scratching over your sides. “t'es trop belle…”

you know by the way she’s moving more and more erratically that shauna won’t last long. it’s not that you really want her to; the sight of her cumming is one that you can hardly ever deprive yourself of. besides, it’s not like not getting anything from this yourself: each time shauna rocks forward, she strokes up against your g-spot, reaching much deeper than her fingers ever did.

“shauna, please-“

she nods her head, her breath warming your throat in short puffs where she’s keeping her face hidden. her whole attic room smells of sex at this rate, and you’re forever grateful mrs. shipman has left earlier, or else she would definitely hear shauna’s bed slamming into the wall.

“t’es proche?“ she grunts. “fuck- i mean- are you close?”

if your moans weren’t enough of an indicator yet, you nod and let your hand fall between your thighs, rubbing your clit in sync with shauna’s thrusts.

“bonne fille,” she praises before ducking back against you, whimpering some more incoherent words until the feeling of your walls fluttering around her sends shauna over the edge.

[dedalvs]

My brother and I absolutely cackled after that Aemond and Aegon Valyrian exchange!

I wanted to ask (and I'm terrible at conlangs, so forgive me) what grammar/syntax Aegon is stumbling over here and how to properly say what he intended to? Any why is he making thise mistakes (simply lacking the vocabulary, or rules of the language he hasn’t grasped)?

Let's take a look at it. This is what he said:

Nyke koston... Bēvilus... Sētegon bīlīvāzmi?

The subtitles say this:

"I can... Have to... Make a war?"

Prior to this Aemond is, essentially, showing off. He knows that Aegon has simply not put any time into studying Valyrian (or studying anything). At this stage, Valyrian is no longer spoken by the family on a day-to-day basis—especially as Alicent probably never learned it at all (or if she did, only in a few scattered lessons here and there; not to actually use). In order for either of the boys to gain any kind of fluency in the language, they have to study constantly and find ways to use it. There's simply no daily need for the language—and plenty of reasons not to use it, as very, very few people they'll encounter on a daily basis speak the language.

Now, if we were talking about two random people in Westeros, this wouldn't mean anything. But these are the children of Viserys Targaryen, himself a descendant of Aegon the Conqueror. They brought their family line and their culture with them to Westeros—and, of course, their language. If someone like Alicent Hightower doesn't speak High Valyrian it means nothing. If a Targaryen doesn't speak High Valyrian, though… See, they're supposed to be able to speak Valyrian. Failing to do so carries with it a sense of shame that isn't present for a random person who doesn't speak Valyrian. Aemond knows this. Aegon is annoying him, so he goes poking at that wound.

Aemond could have fed him a short line with an obvious answer to help Aegon out, but instead he threw a whole mess of Valyrian at him. The longer it goes on, the more lost Aegon gets, desperately trying to catch up and figure out what was just said and thereby missing what is being said at that instant. From the whole speech, Aegon probably only figured out that he was being asked a question, and it was something having to do with planning.

So, back to what he says. The beginning student of a language is quite adept at doing a single verb in a present tense sentence. In a discussion like this, though, you're typically saying things like "I think that" or "We should" or "I suggest" or "Perhaps we might", etc. All that stuff that we need to offer opinions, make suggestions, hedge, etc. Much more than simple narration.

Aegon is attempting to do this without a sufficient command of the language. He knows some vocabulary, he knows some grammar, but he simply did not put in the work to actually speak this language. Thus, he has to overcome a lot of Common Tongue (i.e. English) interference.

There are many differences between Valyrian and English, but the biggest one by far is the major word order. In English, the verbs come before the rest of the junk; in Valyrian, they come at the end. And this is how things get all messed up.

In English, you start the sentence saying things like "I think" or "We should" or "It seems". In Valyrian, those things come at the end. If you start with the Valyrian equivalent of "I think", you will quickly realize (presuming you know enough of the grammar) that you're sunk, because once you've said it, the sentence should be done. Thus you get Aegon's false starts.

Starting at the beginning, Aegon says Nyke koston, which is kind of like saying, "I could". But there's nowhere to go. This is how a sentence ends. For example, if he wanted to say, "I could fly to Harrenhal", he would say Harenhalot sōvegon koston—literally "To Harrenhal fly I could". If you're thinking English-ly, you're essentially thinking backwards, and if you simply translate what you're thinking, you'll immediately have nowhere to go. You'll have to take a pause and think about how to get started again. And that's exactly what happens here.

Now, leaving aside that Valyrian is a pro-drop language and starting it off with nyke "I" is unnecessary and makes you look like a beginner, koston isn't bad (I mean, if used sentence-finally). Once he realizes he can't start there, though, he loses confidence. It's those old High Valyrian lessons all over again, and some maester suggesting he hasn't studied. That self-doubt makes his facility with Valyrian worse. This means his chances of recovery are severely hampered.

But onward he presses, and he decides to say "We have to" or "I have to". Now, the problem here is in Valyrian that requires the verb bēvilagon. This verb isn't used in the usual way. Literally it means "to lie on". If you wanted to say "We must mobilize our dragons", you'd say Īlvī zaldrīzī mazannagon īlo bēvilza. That's literally "Our dragons to mobilize us it lies upon". The one who must do something is placed in the genitive and put directly before the verb. If you start with the verb, well, you missed your chance to say who it is that must be doing something—let alone what they must do. Another false start.

It's also worth noting that he says bēvilus as opposed to bēvilza. Let's ignore that it's the aorist and focus on the fact that it's the subjunctive (just like koston). You use the subjunctive with your main verb when you're hedging—when you're suggesting. Not when you're commanding. Kind of an odd thing to say "We must do this" with the subjunctive. Kind of like saying "Maybe we might considering having to do this".

At this point, his confidence has completely evaporated. Everybody's staring at him like he has no idea what he's talking about; Aemond's eating it up. He knows he's cooked. He's got to say something, though, so he says sētegon which isn't even conjugated. It means "to make" or "to create", which might make sense in English (e.g. "to make war"), but doesn't make sense in Valyrian (a bit like saying "to construct a war" or even "to bake a war") and then tries to pronounce vīlībāzmi "war" (wrong case/number, wrong order) and fails, saying bīlīvāzmi, which means nothing (also he wanted vīlībāzme. Vīlībāzmi is "wars").

Long story short, he doesn't present himself very well—and we didn't even talk about his general pronunciation or intonation. It's kind of a great big mess in only five words. A true disaster.

But if there were no expectation that he should be able to speak Valyrian, none of this would matter! If there were no shame associated with him specifically not being able to speak Valyrian no one would expect it of him, and this challenge would mean as little as someone challenging him to speak the Old Tongue or Asshai'i. It'd be meaningless.

In short, this small portion of this scene is about being a heritage speaker of a language. It's the exact nightmare scenario all heritage speakers fear: To be put on stage and made to perform despite being unequal to the task while simultaneously feeling that they should be equal to it.

It'd be so cool if it was okay to be kind of good with a language—if that level of mastery was acceptable. In the real world, anyway.

[sweetshuga]

𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑺𝒚𝒓𝒖𝒑 ✧ 𝑪.𝑺

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

𝒃𝒇!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔! Begging you to give him head with strawberry syrup drizzled all over his dick. "Please, ma, I really want to try it out—just this once, pretty please?"

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂. Basically just that Matt imagine with the brownie, but it's Chris who's receiving<3 «𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅»

𝒘𝒄. 𝟣 𝒌 (𝟣,𝟢𝟤𝟢)

𝒑𝒔𝒂. English is not my first language! 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 (I know this is probably too long for an imagine, but that's alr ×-×)

⚠ 𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑴𝑷𝑻 𝑨𝑻 𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑬, 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑰𝑺 𝑷𝑼𝑹𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 ⚠

You went to the store to buy snacks and things for a movie night with Chris, your boyfriend. The list was simple, a few bags of chips, sweets and a few cans of soda – preferably Pepsi. Huh? You don’t remember writing that. You stared at the note you had made, an amused small chuckle escaping you. "Sneaky," you mumbled to yourself as you looked at his scribbled words.

𓆩♡𓆪

The moment you walked through the door, Chris greeted you with a peck on your cheek and he immediately helped you with the bags. "Shit, these are heavy, what did you even buy?" He looked at you confused as he set the bags of things down on the kitchen counter. "One too many cans of Pepsi, snacks and ice cream... And strawberry syrup." He raised his eyebrows in surprise, "strawberry syrup? For what?" You chuckled at his expression, "for the ice cream? What else?"

Chris was just about to say something back, but then stopped, closing his mouth and getting lost in thought. You blinked a few times, confused by the sudden zoned out look on his face. "Chris?" You tilted your head slightly to the side, "baby?" He blinked rapidly a few times, finally getting out of whatever trance he was in.

"Uh, yeah, what’s up?" You chuckled softly, a confused grin on your face, "what’s up?" You repeated his words with a confused undertone, "you suddenly just stared at me without talking." He grinned sheepishly, "sorry, ma, ’was just thinking of something." He gently grasped your wrist and pulled you towards himself, "mm, what do you say we cancel our movie night and do it tomorrow instead?"

You hugged his torso, looking up at him with a smile. "Why? Got something on your mind?" He nodded, looking down at you, his hand reaching out to put a few stray strands of hair behind your ears before speaking, "yeah, actually, I do have something in mind, but I don’t know if you’re willing to help me with it."

You smiled softly, "of course I’ll help you baby, just tell me about it." A smile grew on his lips and he leaned down to whisper in your ear, chuckling afterwards. Chris pulled back slightly to gauge your expression, his smile faltered when he noticed your lack of response and he quickly added. "Please, ma, I really want to try it out—just this once, pretty please?"

You chuckled, rubbing his back soothingly before finally speaking, "I wasn’t gonna say no." His face immediately lit up, "oh thank God, thought you’d be put off by it." You shook your head with a grin, "nope, far from it, that’s actually hot you know... wanting to have me suck you off with syrup all over your dick, honestly turns me on." You admitted, unapologetically grinning.

Throwing his head back as he laughed, and a few giggles later he looked down at you again, the grin on his face still present. "You’re a weird one, but then again, I’m the one that suggested it." He leaned in closer and left a soft peck on your lips, "alright, let’s see if it’s as hot as our imaginations."

"Oh fuck, just— just like that." He breathed out encouragingly, moaning lowly as you took him in deeper. His hand rested on the top of your head – not forcing or guiding, just resting there and occasionally caressing your hair. You had tied your hair up, and as much as Chris wanted to just help you hold your hair up with his hand, he knew he would be too lost in pleasure to do it properly so he let you do your thing.

You pulled his length out of your mouth with a wet pop and drizzled more strawberry syrup on it before flattening your tongue, and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. The feeling of him twitching on your tongue made you giggle. "Mm, so delicious," you murmured before wrapping your lips back around his tip, suckling on his sensitive head only.

His eyes rolled back briefly at your words and actions, a shaky whine leaving his swollen lips—swollen from making out prior to this. You didn’t give him what he wanted and instead of taking him deeper, you focused solely on his tip—the rest of his shaft getting a sloppy hand job.

He desperately tried to reign in his desire to fuck your mouth, wanting to let you take control for once. You swirled your tongue around his tip inside your mouth. The wet squelching and slurping sounds filled the room. You were thankful that you and Chris were at your place because he wasn’t exactly quiet, letting his voice out which he usually never did.

Chris let out a series of profanities along with a particularly loud whine when you stopped. "W-why?" He choked out, the only coherent word he could say in his pleasure-fogged mind. "No reason," you chuckled before abruptly moving your hand at a rapid speed, gripping his length tightly.

"Wait—fuck, fuck, fu—ck," he cried out, his hips bucking up in time with your hand as he shot out rope after ropes of cum, but you didn’t stop. "S-stop, can’t—too much," he mewled, his hands reaching out to stop your hand, but it was no use. His eyes rolled back as tears of pleasure ran down the sides of his face.

His hips jerked and bucked as he spilled again, the speed and tightness of your unrelenting hand proving to be too much for his sensitive flesh. "Aw, coming so soon?" You chuckled, gentling your touch. He put his hands over his face, embarrassed by the way his hips involuntarily jerked and twitched whenever your hand moved.

You leaned down to lick his cum off his abdomen, and he peeked from the gaps of his fingers. The sight made his cock harden again – already twitching with renewed desire. You looked down and smirked before looking back at his face which was partially hidden behind his hands. He gulped audibly when he saw the look on your face—knowing he was in for a night.

𓆩♡𓆪

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @sagesturns @chrisstopherfilmed @billiesbabya @h3arts4nat @moosegirl96 @sofiaaguilaxx @sturniolo-fann @goingtojohnkramershouseee @sturniolosluttt @chrislilcumslvt @mattsninja @bilssturns @sturnioloszn @slvtf0rchr1s @knowingnothingnoel @shadowthesim @brookheartsmatt @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @m00nl1ghts1vt @strnlslut @ribread03 @hearts4werka @larallott @ivysturnss @chrisfavoritewhore @peiivnao @sturniolokaulitz @diasturnsth @whore4mattsturniolo

© sweetshuga

[docdudo]

Hi!! I want to start by saying I absolutely love your writing! It’s great writing and is pretty good for me to understand (English isn’t my first language).

I just wanted to ask, How do you think poly hybrid 141 would react to adopted reader getting sick?? And I mean really sick, like a good case of the flu that takes a whole week, like 7 days and antibiotics to go away??

I could see them being so worried and stressed, taking her to doctors and everything because they get better in 24-48 hours with their fancy strong immune systems! I also wonder if adopted reader would be confused by going to the doctors, because if anything happend while in previous foster homes, she was told to just figure it out and get better on her own.

You are right about one thing: hybrids have a better immune system than humans do!

Humans are considered weak and frail in every sense of the word. That includes their health. In fact, a human's health is so discussed that specialists from other races all study the human body constantly so they would be able to treat one, would they ever needed it.

(Because of the lack of total humans on this universe, it's rare to find a human doctor, for example. So, other races have to cover for them in a lot of different fields. There are programs and organizations in this world that entierelly foucused on making sure the few humans that exist would get the care they need. So, for example, if you are a doctor and also specialize on taking care of humans beside some other race, you would probably be paid more by the governement).

Now, little reader getting sick? Like, really sick? Yeah, that house is turning upside down. As hybrids, the whole 141 pride themselves on being good caretakers and providers. They also know how much more frail humans are compared to them.

But know is different from experiencing.

Little reader would start off with the typical signs of the flu. Stuffy nose, throat a bit sore, a sluggish body. All that. But, as we all know, it's very quick for sickness to develop. And in the spam of a night, little reader is waking up with a high fever and a weak, useless body.

The 141 would notice almost immediatly. They can smell how sick you are, even from your room. That weird, almost sour smell that we can usually smell when we blow our nose.

Before you know it, you would probably be in Price's or Soap's arms, surronded by their warmth, hearing their cooed words that make zero to almost no sense to your sick and hazy mind.

And at first, they are very much panicking. They are calling the rest of their pack while cooing and conforting you, Laswell being the one to tell them to immediatly take you to the doctor.

And they do, everyone going on the car together, because if one of them had anything to do that day, it's immediatly getting canceled. They would still hold you close, on their laps, and every single one of them are cooing quietly at you. Even Ghost. Tho his "cooing" sounds more like his normal voice, just extra quiet and gentler than usual.

And it's true, you're not that used to going to the doctor. You usually never get that sick, and as a foster kid, it just doesn't happen often.

But, you were feeling pretty hazy, mind clouded and feverish. You barely remember going that first time to the doctor with them.

You barely remember the kind doctor that was trying his best to easy your foster parents' worries, and all the examination he did on you, even if you couldnt cooperate much with how confused you were.

You certainly got treated at the hospital and monitored until your fever came down a bit. After that, they send you back home with your parents, who had gotten a lot of new instructions and medicines to properly take care of you at home.

You took almost a full week to finally start getting better.

They would't let you sleep in your room anymore, since you got sick, you had been sleeping on their shared nest, with them. They would constantly check on your breathing and heartbeats, and would even feed you themselves and make sure you were plenty hydrated.

And even after you got better, they would still be extra careful and overbearing for a little while longer.

You can be sure that they would be taking extra measures now so that you never get sick again.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Other Girl Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

next chapter | series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: Whenever your world has fallen, your neighbor has been there to save you, but now it's your turn to do the same for him.

Words: 6k (I get crazier with each chapter).

Warnings & Tags: this is part of a series, check the masterlist to make sure you are in the correct chapter. mention of murder, injuries, violence, alzheimer, daddy issues, death. hurt/comfort. angst. painter!reader. post prison reid with almost all his past traumas. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I know it takes me a long time to publish the chapters but they all have a lot of emotional charge (in this one IS A LOT) and to get it 100% right I have to rewrite them little by little, it is complex because I am a perfectionist😞 BUT thank you all for the support, patience and love you have given me.

I'm also planning to upload an extra of this poor babies for Valentine's Day💕 It'll be a prequel to the series and is mostly fluff yum.

You still remembered the first time you climbed the stairs to your apartment.

At the time, it hadn’t been a choice but a necessity. The elevator had been out of order in the middle of moving week, and the building management had shrugged off your complaints with little more than an apologetic glance, a vague promise, and a string of excuses that never quite panned out. The idea of waiting for them to fix it seemed absurd, especially when you were already overwhelmed with boxes, tape, and the dull ache of exhaustion that settled in your bones after hours of unpacking. So, with your arms full of the fragile, mundane objects that made up your life—books, plates, electronics, and furniture—you had trudged up the stairs, one step at a time. Sweat slicked your back, dampening your clothes as each heavy step took its toll. The weight of your belongings had felt far less heavy than the weight of the exhaustion, the impatience, and the frustration that boiled just beneath the surface.

And yet, after all of that, you made a promise to yourself: as soon as the elevator was fixed, you would never do this again. You’d never climb these endless stairs in such a haphazard rush, sweat dripping down your face, your legs aching with every painful movement.

But as the days passed, the promise began to feel less like a statement of intent and more like a fleeting thought. The elevator was still out of order, and each time you ascended those stairs, something strange happened. The ache in your muscles, the deep, satisfied burn that had originally seemed like an unbearable weight, started to feel different. It wasn’t just the physical strain of moving boxes. It was something else, something subtle but undeniable. You were becoming accustomed to it. The repetitive rhythm of your steps, the quiet solitude of the stairwell, the knowing sense that this space, though public, was somehow yours. No one else was down there, nobody was watching, and nobody expected anything of you except that you climb. You weren’t running into awkward neighbors. No one was talking about the weather or the laundry room door that wouldn’t close properly. The stairwell became something more than just a space to get from one floor to the next; it became a moment of stillness, of pause, a small sanctuary from the chaos of the world outside.

Then your favorite neighbor noticed.

He didn’t say anything at first. Not until one evening, when you reached the bottom of the stairwell, your legs trembling from the exertion. You were trying to stretch your calves and soothe the burning in your thighs, cursing yourself for the lack of grace you were showing. You were already preparing yourself to leave when a voice, warm yet casual, interrupted your thoughts.

“You know, taking the stairs regularly can improve cardiovascular health, increase muscle endurance, and even help with cognitive function. There have been studies.”

You froze mid-stretch, eyes widening. Slowly, you turned to find him leaning against the wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, work bag slung over his shoulder. He looked like he had been standing there for a while, watching you struggle up the stairs far longer than you had realized.

“Spencer,” you panted, still catching your breath, “I just like avoiding awkward elevator conversations.”

A flicker of amusement passed across his face, the corner of his mouth twitching in a small, knowing smile. But he didn’t argue. Not that day. Not yet.

“Oh…that’s a good idea, I guess.”

But after that, it became a habit of his.

He started slipping little facts into conversation, always casually, always carefully, like he wasn’t trying to impose, just…offering something. He mentioned the importance of pacing yourself, of stretching, and of drinking water. He spoke of breath control, the way inhaling through your nose and exhaling with each push off the step could help regulate energy and heart rate. He never said it like a lecture, never demanded that you listen. He simply planted ideas, little seeds of knowledge, and let them take root on their own.

Then, he started timing his arrivals. You’d reach the bottom of the stairs, exhausted from your climb, only to find him standing there. He’d walk with you down the flights, his stride long and effortless, as though gravity didn’t pull on him the same way it did you. With each step you took, you found yourself straining to match his pace, to keep up.

One day, after you had finally reached the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing to catch your breath, he spoke again, voice low but insistent.

“You know,” he mused, watching you with that quiet, observant gaze of his, “you’d get even more benefits if you focused on your breathing pattern. Inhale through your nose as you step up, exhale when you push off. It helps with energy flow and helps regulate your heart rate.”

Another time, he raised an eyebrow as you finished stretching, his lips curling into a small frown. “Your posture could use some work. If you lean too far forward, you’ll strain your lower back.”

You had paused, mid-stretch, and shot him a look. “Are you coaching me?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Spencer, not even winded, just smiled that small, knowing smile of his. “I prefer to think of it as…guiding you toward better habits. So you live longer.”

There was something in the way he said it, something so utterly genuine, that you had no response. You just rolled your eyes, pretending his words didn’t settle somewhere deep in your chest.

Because he really did want you to live longer.

Preferably forever.

And hopefully, always next door.

Even if you didn’t realize it. Even if you just saw his words as a harmless nuisance, a quirk of his endlessly curious mind.

And somehow, the strangest thing? It worked.

You found yourself drinking more water throughout the day, stretching before and after walking, and adjusting the way you climbed to avoid unnecessary pressure on your joints. The things he told you weren’t drastic changes, just subtle shifts, quiet reminders. But somehow, they made a difference. And what had started as a mindless habit became something else. You noticed the difference, not just physically, but mentally. The clarity of thought after a climb, the way your body felt lighter, more in tune. And somewhere along the way, it became yours and his.

It wasn’t something you spoke about outright. There was no label for it, no need to analyze it. But it was there, woven into the fabric of your days. The quiet companionship. The unspoken rhythm of two people walking in sync. The way he filled the silences with facts, you pretended to roll your eyes at, even as you secretly liked how much he enjoyed your reactions.

It became normal.

Until, of course—

He disappeared.

No explanations. No warnings. No final conversation that you knew was final, no understanding of why. Just an empty, silent absence where he used to be. No more random nutrition facts, no more health tips disguised as casual conversation. Just gone.

Still, you did it anyway. Every day, without fail. Because habits don’t break just because people do.

And now, walking up those stairs alone felt heavier than it ever had before. The silence that had once been a comfort now suffocated you. And the idea of living a long, healthy life when no one seemed to care whether you did or not? Well. That was kind of a bummer.

But this morning, the stairs felt different. Lonelier. Less like a ritual, more like a weight dragging behind you, pulling you under. Your mind was stuck on last night. The chaotic blur of it looped in fragments, like a dream you couldn’t shake. A nightmare too sharp to be fiction, but too unreal to fully believe. And yet the bruise on your cheek wasn’t a dream. It greeted you in the mirror as soon as you woke, a dark, swollen reminder of everything you wanted to forget. Pain settled deep in your bones, not just from the stairs but from what had happened. What you saw. What you heard. What you couldn't avoid.

And now, as you reached the bottom step, everything felt wrong. Your chest was too tight. Your limbs were too heavy. The door to your apartment, just a few paces away, felt miles out of reach.

You stopped. Just stood there. The peeling paint on the wooden steps seemed to hold all the time that had passed, all the moments you wished you could undo. You stared at them, at the cracks, the faded edges, as if they might offer answers. As if they might take some of the weight away.

Then, you saw her.

At first, she was just a figure, an unfamiliar silhouette standing at the threshold of your door, her back turned toward you. She scanned the apartment numbers, her hand hovering uncertainly. Her movements were slow, tentative, almost fragile, and it wasn’t until you took a few cautious steps forward that something clicked in your mind. There was a faint spark in her eyes, something familiar.

Spencer’s mother. You were sure of it.

Although you had never seen her face-to-face, you had seen enough photos to recognize her without hesitation. He had told you about her often enough for you to know as much as you could. But it was her eyes that confirmed her identity to you; they mirrored those of her son in a way that made your heart ache. The same sharpness in her gaze, the same small, thoughtful movements, the same undercurrent of quiet intensity that seemed to follow every action.

But you can see something else in her, something that wasn’t him.

A weariness, a loss. You could feel it in the air, thick and heavy around her, almost like an invisible fog clouding her mind. She was lost in more ways than one, and her presence was a reminder of everything he had tried so hard to shield himself from.

Swallowing, you kept your voice gentle.

“Hi,” you said, careful not to startle her. “Are you looking for someone? Can I help you?”

At the sound of your voice, she finally turned.

For a fleeting moment, her gaze met yours, and you saw the confusion settle in, subtle but unmistakable. Her brows knitted together, her lips parting as if forming a question she couldn’t quite grasp.

“You…you’re…no. You’re not…No, I thought…” Diana’s voice trailed off, barely more than a breath, lost and small, as she sighed, a sound heavy with defeat.

Your heart clenched.

“I think I know who you’re looking for.” You softened your tone, offering her a small, steadying smile. “Spencer, right?”

Her eyes flickered at the name, the briefest flash of recognition breaking through the fog. A tether, however fragile. She nodded slowly, her hand falling to her side in a motion that seemed more instinct than intention. Her eyes then drifted back to the door, and for a long moment, she seemed lost again, looking at the numbers as if they held the answers she was searching for, her thoughts adrift somewhere far away.

“I just want to see him,” she murmured. “I can’t miss his birthday again.”

Oh no.

The words hit you like a physical blow. Spencer’s birthday wasn’t for another couple of months. You knew that with certainty, but hearing it from Diana, the way she said it, with such unwavering certainty, made your chest tighten. She wasn’t just lost in space. She was lost in time itself. And the realization, sharp and painful, settled in your stomach, a stone that refused to be dislodged.

You glanced at her again, her fingers twitching at her sides, lips pressed together as though trying to hold on to a thought, a memory, something that kept slipping away from her. The confusion was thick, almost palpable, and it filled the space between you, leaving you with the distinct sense that you were intruding, stepping into a moment too fragile, too fleeting to hold on to.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

You weren’t supposed to meet her yet.

Not like this. Not without him.

You exhaled slowly, steadying the tremor in your voice. “He’s not home right now, but I can call him for you. Maybe we can wait inside?”

Diana’s gaze darted back to the door once more. For a moment, she seemed suspended in two realities: the one in her mind and the one in front of her. The world she remembered and the one she now stood in.

“No…I—I should go.” Her fingers curled at her sides, her voice fragile, distant. “I just wanted to see him. I just…”

You felt a lump in your throat. Spencer had told you about those moments, but he never went into a lot of detail because he was afraid of scaring you. But he'd given you enough to understand how much they hurt and how much they terrified him. He never said it directly, but you could tell when he talked about her. You could hear the tension in his voice, the way his hands started to shake every time he got a call and thought it might be from the nursing home she was in, how he spent his time reading huge books and researching ways to help her with her illness, and most of all, in how he had delayed letting you meet her for fear that you would be frightened to see his possible future.

But now, here you were, standing before her anyway, facing the woman who had given the world someone as brilliant and kind as Spencer, yet who now stood stranded in fragments of a past that no longer fit.

“Diana,” you said, your voice firmer now, gentle but insistent. “It’s okay. Spencer would want to see you. Let me call him. He’ll come.”

She hesitated, her fingers twitching slightly. Searching.

“You know my son?” she asked softly.

“I do. He’s—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. What were you to him? A friend? A neighbor? Something else? The definition had never been clear, but it didn’t matter now. “He’s important to me.”

Something in her expression shifted, though the confusion never fully left her eyes.

“I have a key to his apartment,” you added carefully. “He gave it to me in case he wasn’t here.”

Diana’s gaze dropped to your hand, where the key glinted under the dim hallway light. She studied it for a long moment, her thoughts drifting somewhere you couldn’t follow.

Then, finally, she whispered, “Okay.”

You guided her inside, the familiar scent of his apartment wrapping around you both like something solid, something safe. She sank onto the couch with a weary sigh, looking small, fragile, as if the very act of being here took more effort than she could afford.

“I’ll make some tea,” you said softly, trying to fill the silence with something tangible, something grounding.

Moving toward the kitchen, you kept her in your sights, watching as her gaze flitted around the apartment. Her eyes were looking around, at the walls that had seen Spencer's life in all its quiet moments over the past few years. After watching her for a moment, you noticed that she seemed to be especially focused on the various pictures hanging on the walls. You had painted some of them, and he had bought the rest in his attempts to discreetly help you monetarily. Most of the paintings were landscapes, one or two inspired by the books he always told you about and how you imagined them, plus even a portrait of Mittens playing on the balcony.

Until that moment, you hadn’t realized just how much of yourself had become part of his home.

Something in your chest tightened, but you pushed the thought aside, stepping away to dial his number.

The line rang once.

Then twice.

Then—

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer’s voice, quiet and concerned, almost as if he had been waiting for your call. “I wanted to talk, but—”

You exhaled, relief and uncertainty tangling together at the sound of his voice. “Hi. I’m fine. Um…your mom is here.”

Silence.

Then, the shift, something you had come to recognize when he was processing information at a speed faster than most people could follow. “She’s—wait, she’s where?” His voice was sharper now, alert.

“She’s safe,” you reassured him quickly. “We’re in your apartment. But…” Your voice softened. “She thinks it’s your birthday.”

Another pause. A breath.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost a whisper. “I’m coming. Please don’t let her be alone.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I won’t.”

“And…” His voice faltered, then steadied. “Thank you.”

The call ended.

You turned back to Diana, whose hands were wrapped around a cup of tea. The liquid swirled gently as she lifted the mug to her lips, the warm steam rising in a delicate plume. She looked at the tea, but her eyes weren’t focused. They were far away, somewhere beyond the moment, distant as though she had left this room a long time ago.

“Spencer’s coming,” you said softly, as if the quiet of the moment demanded it. You knew how much she hated noise. “He’ll be here soon.”

Her eyes flickered for a brief moment, a slight shift in the dullness that had clouded them. She blinked, and for a split second, it felt like she was with you again, her gaze a little clearer. But then, just as quickly, the fog returned, and she glanced up at you with a faint smile, one that was both familiar and distant, like a stranger trying to be someone you once knew. She took another sip, the sound of it like a small exhale in the room.

Carefully, you lowered yourself onto the couch across from her, keeping your movements slow, deliberate, as if any sudden shift might shatter the fragile tether that kept her here in this moment with you.

“You painted these,” she murmured, more statement than question after her eyes drifted back to the paintings on the walls, lingering for longer this time.

Your breath caught for a second. How did she know?

“Some of them,” you admitted, glancing at the familiar brushstrokes, at the colors you had chosen, the emotions you had poured into each piece. “Spencer liked them. He, uh…kept buying them even when I told him he didn’t have to.”

Diana’s lips twitched, just the faintest hint of a smile.

“He’s always been like that,” she said softly, her gaze distant but warm. “Always finding ways to help without saying it outright. As a boy, he would leave little notes in my books. Facts about things he thought I would like, little reminders of things I would forget. He never wanted me to feel like I was slipping away.”

For the first time since you had met her in the hallway, she didn’t seem frightened. She wasn’t lost, drifting between past and present. She was here. Grounded. Aware of the space around her.

It felt like magic.

But then, just as quickly as it came, something in her shifted again. Her brow knit together slightly, and her fingers smoothed absently over the fabric of her sleeve.

“But I still did, didn’t I?” Her voice was quiet, almost fragile. “I slipped away.”

There was no easy answer to that. No a good one.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “He loves you,” you said simply.

Diana’s hands, which had been moving idly over the fabric of her sleeve, stilled. Slowly, she turned her head toward you. And for the first time, she really looked at you, not in passing, not through the haze of misplaced time, but deeply, as if seeing you for exactly who you were.

Something shivered through you under the weight of her gaze. You wondered what she saw. The faint smudges of paint still clinging to your sleeves? The way your makeup, carefully applied, hid the faint traces of a bruise in your cheek? The cup in your hands, her son favorite, still bearing the faded imprint of your lipstick, because Spencer always refused to wipe it completely away?

Something unreadable passed beneath the surface of her expression, something quiet but powerful. Then, after a moment, her features softened.

“He talks about you,” she murmured.

Your pulse jumped.

“He does?”

“Not in long speeches. Not in obvious ways. But I know my son.” She exhaled, her gaze flicking back to the paintings, the bookshelf, the little details scattered around the apartment. “I know the way he holds on to things that matter.”

Her eyes found yours again, gentle but knowing.

“And you…you’re in the details.”

The words settled in your chest, warm and heavy all at once.

Your breath caught as her gaze flickered around the apartment. Not just at the paintings now, but at the bookshelf, where your art books sat nestled beside his. At the little traces of you woven so seamlessly into this space. The familiar hoodie draped over the armrest, too big to be yours but still carrying your scent. The unopened package of your favorite tea sitting on the counter, bought without a second thought.

Everywhere.

You were everywhere.

The realization pressed against your ribs, something warm, something steady, something undeniable that made you nostalgic.

Before you could find the right words to respond, the sound of the front door opening cut through the stillness.

Spencer stepped inside in a rush, his eyes immediately locking onto his mother, scanning her with that same mix of relief and worry you had come to recognize. His bag hung off his shoulder, his coat still half-buttoned as if he hadn’t even stopped to fix it in his hurry to get here.

“You?” Diana asked suddenly, her voice small, uncertain. “What are you doing here? You are not invited to his birthday.”

He froze, and so did you.

His mother was looking at him, but she wasn't really seeing him. She was seeing someone else, someone from her past. Someone whose hair and eye color he had inherited. Someone he had accused of being a murderer years ago. Someone who was the first to leave him and say goodbye with a letter. Someone who forced him to be the one to take care of the rest since he was a kid. She was seeing his father.

You saw it in his face, the way something inside Spencer broke into a thousand pieces. And only then did you realize the pain he carried every day. Because just when you thought you had Diana anchored in the present, she slipped into the past and dragged an unwanted memory with her. That was the worst part, going from having everything to having nothing. To go from having your mother to having a stranger.

The silence hung heavy between you, and then Spencer did something you hadn’t expected. Slowly, carefully, he sank to his knees in front of her. It was a gesture of both humility and desperate tenderness. You could see it in his body language, the way he made himself small, as though trying to reach the part of his mother that still remembered him.

“It’s me, mom,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, breaking the stillness with the weight of everything unsaid.

Diana’s gaze flickered, her fingers tightening slightly around her sleeves.

“I’m here,” he said again, his voice soft but firm. “I’m Spencer…your son.”

You stayed quiet, watching as something in Diana’s expression shifted. She blinked once. Then twice. Her lips parted slightly, her brows furrowing.

And then, finally her gaze cleared just enough.

“Spencer,” she whispered.

The weight in his shoulders lifted, just barely, just enough for you to see the breath he had been holding.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

Her fingers twitched in his grasp before settling. A long, slow exhale left her lips, and she leaned forward, just slightly.

Your heart ached at the intimacy of it, at the sheer relief in his expression, at the way his mother finally saw him.

You didn’t move.

You just let them have this moment.

Your heart still carried the weight of everything you had witnessed earlier that day. The ache in your cheek from where you had pressed your hand to your face was almost unbearable, but it seemed so insignificant now. The pain felt almost like a distant echo compared to the one you could see in his eyes, the raw, and unspoken hurt that had been etched into his life for so long. Every time you thought about him, about what he’d endured, it was as if your chest tightened, the reality of his struggles pressing in on you from every side. What had you seen today? A broken cycle of love, loss, and confusion. And Spencer…he had lived it over and over again.

After his mother had finally recognized him, there hadn’t been many words exchanged. The silence between them felt like the weight of a thousand unsaid things, thick with all that had been left unspoken for years. He had explained gently that it wasn’t his birthday today, that it was still months away, but they’d celebrate together when the time came. The sadness in his eyes even as he reassured her, and the tenderness with which he helped her back into the present, spoke volumes. You had stood there, a silent observer, an outsider in their fragile moment. You had smiled at Diana, said your goodbyes softly to her, and watch they two left, knowing there was nothing more you could say.

And when the tossing and turning in your apartment began to make you and your cat dizzy, you retreated to the couch on the first floor, right in front of the front door, and watched every person who entered. Your mind was filled with a million thoughts, but none of them seemed to make sense. You waited for Spencer, not knowing how much longer you could sit there, but not wanting to be anywhere else.

The minutes stretched, thick and heavy, suffocating in their silence. What could you say to him when he came back? Was there anything you could say that would make even the smallest difference?

Then, at the seventh sound of the door opening, the cold air rushed in, followed by that unmistakable, familiar scent of him. Spencer. Your heart lurched in your chest at the sight of him, the weight of his exhaustion and sadness hanging from his shoulders like a heavy cloak. His face was drawn, his eyes tired in a way that made it feel as if he’d aged ten years in just a few hours. He looked so broken.

“You’re here,” he said, a flicker of surprise crossing his features when his eyes landed on you, as though he hadn’t expected to see you standing there, waiting.

You gave him a small, automatic smile, trying to make it light, but it felt flimsy, like a mask that wasn’t quite right. “I was…looking for my correspondence,” you said, the lie slipping out with the ease of a long-forgotten habit, but it tasted hollow in your mouth, as if the words themselves were trying to escape. It felt like a flimsy excuse, a weak justification for why you hadn’t been somewhere else, anywhere else, but here, with him.

As you walked beside him into the hallway, you did your best to keep the air light, to make your steps unhurried, as though everything were fine, even though the very air felt heavy, full with things unspoken. You glanced at him, trying to break the silence with something simple, something safe. “How’s your mom?”

The words hit him like a blow. His entire body seemed to stiffen, the tension rolling through him like an electric current. You immediately regretted asking, wishing you could take the question back.

“She’s better now,” he said, his voice tight with the weight of his unspoken thoughts. “I stayed until she fell asleep.”

You nodded quietly, taking in the weight of his words. His world, and his life, was full of unpredictable chaos, of moments like this, moments that no one should have to endure. You didn’t need to hear the details to know how much it hurt him. You stepped into the elevator as he held the door open, the tension between you thick and suffocating. The doors closed slowly, the sound of them closing almost felt like the world itself was pressing in, leaving you both suspended in a silence that was heavy, too full.

“I’m glad she’s okay,” you whispered after a long moment, the words tasting like something too small for the weight of the situation.

“Thanks to you,” he replied softly, and there was so much unspoken in those four words that it hit you like a punch to the chest. The sincerity in his voice, the gratitude mixed with something more, something raw, caught you off guard.

It was as if the Spencer who had come back a few weeks ago, the one who didn’t want you around, had disappeared. The man standing before you was something else entirely, and for a moment, you weren’t sure which version of him was the real one.

And then you noticed. He wasn’t wearing his coat. His shirt barely covered his arms, and despite the warmth of the building, his body was shaking from the cold, his lips a pale shade of purple. The tremors were unmistakable, the way his body quivered with each movement. It wasn’t just the chill of the air; it was something deeper, something that made your heart clench with an instinctual need to protect him.

“You’re shivering,” you said, the concern in your voice rising, louder than you’d intended, but you couldn’t help it.

He shrugged, his eyes quickly falling to the floor as though he were ashamed of his vulnerability, trying to hide it away. “Oh, I gave my jacket to my mom,” he muttered, the words barely escaping his lips, as though he didn’t want them to matter, but they did. They mattered more than anything.

Without thinking, you took off the cardigan he had lent you so long ago, the one that had quietly become a part of you because it carried his essence. You draped it over his shoulders with a tenderness that startled you, instinctively wanting to offer him something, anything, to ease the shivers and make him feel good. But when you saw the look in his eyes, you froze. He didn't seem to be used to being taken care of anymore, not like this, not after being on the defensive for so long.

It was strange to you that after only three months away, he seemed to have forgotten the way you were always willing to take care of him.

“Don’t,” he said softly, his voice apologetic, as though he were making a quiet plea for something you didn’t fully understand. He didn’t move to take the cardigan off, but his words had a weight, and for a moment, you felt a strange, painful distance between you. “It’s yours.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, an unspoken question in your expression, and he continued.

“Technically, it’s yours,” he added, his voice quieter now. “I haven’t worn any of this stuff in a while.”

And then you understood. The clothes in his closet had changed. Gone were the soft, earth-toned cardigans and slacks you used to love, replaced by sharp, black suits and ties, clothes that looked like they belonged to someone else, someone trying to appear more sophisticated, more put-together, more respectable. It was as though he was trying to transform himself into someone else, someone who had moved on from the things he used to love, the things that reminded him of you.

“I know,” you replied, your voice quiet, carrying more meaning than just those two words. A sad smile curled on your lips. “I miss it…I miss you in it.”

The words hung between you for a moment, heavier than the silence. He didn’t respond, his gaze flickering away, but you could see something shift in him, a softness, something vulnerable. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand brushing against his. His fingers were ice-cold, and you instinctively cupped them in yours, the warmth of your touch contrasting sharply with the coldness of his skin.

“I remember you once said something about the power of human warmth,” you said softly, your voice breaking the weight of the silence, a fragile smile on your lips. “Let’s try.”

The elevator was still, suspended in a moment that felt endless. Neither of you had pressed a button, and for a heartbeat, the world outside seemed to hold its breath. You were trapped between two floors, between the weight of the past and the uncertainty of what might come next. The world was still, but your hearts, your thoughts, they were swirling, caught in the same limbo.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice a little rough, a little uncertain. His breath caught as your warm fingertips brushed his, and for a second, the world felt smaller, softer.

“I don’t want you to freeze or get sick,” you whispered, the words soft but steady, even though your heart was pounding in your chest. “I want you to live longer.”

Because you really did want he to live longer.

Preferably forever.

And hopefully, always this close to you.

For a long moment, Spencer didn’t speak, the tension between you palpable, thick with everything unspoken. You almost apologized, the words tumbling from your lips, but before you could finish, his touch stopped you.

He grabbed your waist, pulling you close with a force that took you by surprise, pressing your bodies together in a way that was intimate, urgent. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you melted into him, your cheek resting against his chest, your hands sliding around his back. You could hear the steady, comforting beat of his heart beneath your ear, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside seemed to disappear. Everything else fell away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

The silence grew between you, and then, without warning, the tears came.

Hot, silent, as though they had been held back for far too long, breaking free from the calm of his chest. They soaked into the fabric of your shirt, but you didn’t care. You held him tighter, your arms wrapped around him, offering him what little strength you had left. The weight of his sorrow pressed against you, and you could feel the deep, guttural pain that had been locked away inside him. It spilled out of him in waves, raw and unfiltered, and you didn’t say anything. You simply held him.

His body shook with the force of his grief, his fingers clutching at your shirt as the tears kept coming. “I’m here,” you whispered, your voice a steady murmur in the chaos of his pain. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You gently stroked his back, your touch slow and grounding, the rhythm of your movements steady and soft. As he clung to you, you could feel the tension slowly begin to ease, just a little. His sobs quieted, the sharpness in his breath softened, and the storm inside him started to calm, just a fraction. In your arms, he found the space to grieve, to release everything he had held in for so long.

Everything shifted. The elevator, once a place of uncomfortable silence, became a sanctuary. A place where Spencer could let down the walls he had built around himself. A place where, for the first time in what felt like forever, he was free to feel, free to cry, free to just be. And you were there, holding him, never letting go.

And for the first time in a long time, you both felt like you were exactly where you needed to be: he was yours, and you were his.

Tag list ❤︎ ︎: @burningwitchprincess @withloverosse @fairiesofearth @pleasantwitchgarden @ximensitaa @lover-of-books-and-tea @cherryblossomfairyy @cherrygublersworld @i-need-to-be-put-down

Send me an ask or comment here if you would like to be added or removed!

[madschiavelique]

Restraint - Miguel O'Hara x fem!Reader

summary : you convinced Miguel to wear a muzzle to fuck you, and let's just say it drives him insane.

content warning : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex, unprotected safe (be safe kids), miguel becoming a tiny bit angry because he can't kiss you nor bite you, possessive miguel, no use of Y/N word count : 1,1k

note : needed to get this out of my brain, enjoy (english is not my first language and i tried to proofread it properly fdbfdgf)

Miguel grunted, his teeth clenching over the empty air. He snarled, thrusting further into you, trying to press his face into your neck to squeeze the metal and get closer to your skin.

You had managed, in a way that still impressed you right then, to convince Miguel to wear a muzzle during sex. You had smiled, telling him that "you won't be able to resist, it's impossible for you," because the words 'bite' and 'Miguel' were simply inseparable, whether in everyday life or just in bed. With an air of pride and restraint, he had replied, "I'll resist, and you'll be biting your fingers off."

And now, he was pounding into you, body all sweaty with the muzzle on. The restraint had enough space between the bars and his mouth that he only managed to partially graze the sides if he tried to spread his lips or his tongue.

At first, he had put it on almost like a medal, because he was convinced that he would overcome his cravings and control himself perfectly well. How wrong he was.

As soon as he realised that he wouldn't be able to kiss your lips again, that had been a problem. But to admit at that moment that he didn't like it would be to admit defeat a little too soon. However when he realised he couldn’t bite you ? Now that was a problem.

His hands came to grasp your body more tightly than ever. The lack of grip he had with his teeth resulted in his fingers digging into your skin, which turned red under the pressure.

His fingers were pinching, his hands grabbing everything they could get their hold of that he couldn't bite. He took one of your breasts in his hand, his thumb starting to play with it, but when he lowered himself to lick it, he was instantly stopped by the distance between his tongue and the metal. He frowned, but eventually resisted using just his fingers.

Then he realised he couldn't trace your belly with kisses and light nibbles. But the real weight of his little wager began to sink in when, on reaching your legs, he realised what a mistake he'd made. The soft skin of your inner thighs, where the traces he had left the previous time he had fucked you were beginning to fade, was beyond his reach. The very idea that he couldn't make sure it was newly marked, right here, right now, was driving him crazy.

And then, when he got to your pussy, disaster. It was already so wet, glistening with your own desire for him. He was already salivating at the thought of tasting it, of getting drunk on it until he fell off, of hearing you moaning as he made you go from orgasm to orgasm.

But he couldn't, the cool metal dampened by Miguel's breath on the muzzle sending a delicious shiver down your spine when he tried to kiss you there.

He grunted quietly, frustration really beginning to set in, and started to work his fingers instead of his tongue. You breathed a sigh of relief as he came back to you, wanting to nestle into the back of your neck, wanting to kiss it, to feel your cheek pressed against his. But once again, he was stopped by the meagre metal frame. This was where deprivation became sincerely complicated. He hadn't noticed until now how much power his mouth had over your pleasure. He still had control over his words and his voice, but everything else was forbidden to him.

He bit his own cheek as he thrust in you, the first thing he wanted to do with the moan you let out was to swallow it, to relieve himself from the taste of your voice, your whimper and all the others that were to come.

The idea occurred to him to suggest removing the muzzle, thinking that the argument of "but it ruins our common pleasures" would do the trick. But he stopped himself, setting off at a frantic pace, his frustration reflected in the depth and power of his thrusts. All those delicious noises you were making, he wanted them for himself, in his own body, he had caused them and they were rightfully his.

So he tried to press the muzzle aside, hoping that by contorting his lips he would be able to kiss your shoulder, but he couldn't.

"Cariño," he breathed at last, slowing slightly, "What do you say I remove this stupid thing, hm?"

The little flash of satisfaction lit up your eyes like lighters.

"What is it ?" you whimpered, looking up at him through your lashes. "Can't handle yourself ?"

His nose wrinkled under his frown, his lips forming an angry pout. But he had to retain some pride, so, reluctantly, he replied:

"I can handle this perfectly."

He turned you over, your head on the cushion, ass up for him, resuming its previous rhythm as your cries were muffled into the pillow. He'd thought maybe if he heard them less he'd be half as tempted to want them for himself, but the urge weighed.

And the noise that his pelvis made against your ass was pushing all the right buttons.

His fingers dug into your skin again, the desire to bite and kiss you becoming more and more unbearable. Perhaps in another position he would be less tempted?

So you moved into cowgirl, your pelvis undulating against his as his hands gripped your ass and your thighs. But seeing you like this, your teeth biting into your lips from time to time, prevented him from thinking straight. It was his own teeth that should have done that.

"You look frustrated," you noted as you leaned over him.

You had taken care not to kiss or bite him either, but you allowed yourself the small temptation to kiss his neck, and Miguel's desire was growing by the second. Then, with a mischievous smile, you came back to face him.

"I wonder why," you smiled, licking from bottom to top the surface of the muzzle in a slow, almost lazy gesture.

It was too much, he couldn't take it any more. So with a sharp jerk, he grabbed the strap of the object of all his torment and pulled on it, the strap ripping immediately.

He pounced on you, hungry, his lips attacking yours, swallowing your every moan with monstrous satisfaction. Inevitably, he lunged at the crook of your neck, biting down harder than he was used to into your flesh. He consumed everything in his path, insatiable.

"I'll burn that thing," he said between a kiss and a bite, thinking of the pleasure he would take in destroying the muzzle.

One thing was certain, he would never tire of devouring you whole.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?

female anatomy for reader (no use of y/n, gender-neutral pronouns)

nsfw, fluffy smut basically word count: 1900~ english is not my first language. if you spot any mistakes (especially grammar ones), any typos/misspelled words, or if you have any advice for me in general: please let me know. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated.

art cr: @arcanescribbles

"Have some mercy on yourself," you mumble, wrapping an arm around his slender waist, and its thinness has you puzzled and somewhat concerned again. He doesn't hesitate. Allows you to place that weary head on his shoulder, to nuzzle into the crook of his neck — a pleasant relief in the guise of your heat, of rhythmic breath tickling his slimline skin.

"You can't work that much,” you remind him, trying to hide your evident worry behind a light-hearted chuckle.

“Have you ever heard of a proper greeting?” Viktor quirks an eyebrow, and his deft hand quickly grabs yours to do a thing that never fails to make your heart shrink: has you melting at the feeling of his dry, warm lips on your knuckles yet again.

“Hug is a proper greeting,” you protest with a slightly offended scoff, burying your nose into the gorgeous mess of his hair — all unkempt strands and a sturdy scent of something pleasant, yet not exactly definable.

“Not when it comes with scolding,” Viktor releases your hand, the touch of his lips lingering on your skin, and he turns around, forcing you to break the embrace for a second — which you do reluctantly. But now you get to face him, and it certainly feels like a much bigger win.

A win and another reason to give him a lecture. Viktor initiates eye contact, runs a hand along the perfect curve of your hips, hoping that his gentle touch is a good enough distraction from his terribly deep eye-bags — so treacherously confirming your concerns about his sleep schedule (or the lack of such, to be precise).

"You've gotten thinner," you state with a sad frown, looking Viktor up and down. "And you need a nap," you continue, tangling two fingers into his hair. "And a bath.”

“I’ve missed you terribly, and that’s the first thing you mention when I finally have you in my arms?” Viktor cooes, staring at you with a guilty smile — your love-sick genius, always exhausted yet so unexplainably handsome in his own special way.

You scoff again, wrapping your arms around his neck and gently pressing him against the desk — a small gesture of care that allows his body better support without the cane.

“Have you eaten today?” you carefully ask, watching his expression closely.

“Maybe,” he grudgingly answers, and his amber eyes are lancing right through you in the dull light of his lab — tired, attentive, pretty.

“I don’t like that answer." Your voice is a sweet purr against his skin, and he winces as you slide a hand down his chest, fixing his vest for him.

“You’re being incredibly annoying today,” he informs you, pressing a quick peck to your lips. A brief one, barely palpable, too fleeting to give you a proper taste. “Perhaps I should appease you.”

“If you want to appease me, a kiss like that won’t do.”

“Demanding, are we?” He quirks an eyebrow, casually sitting down at his desk, squeezing your waist in a playful attempt to pull you onto his lap. But you don’t move an inch. Not until he kisses you properly, at least.

He gets the hint. Gently grabs your chin, pressing your noses together — kissing the right way this time, deep and slow, with his tongue brushing your bottom lip before slipping into your open mouth — it’s almost lewd when that small motion steals a surprised moan out of you. A kiss of a hungry, fervently missing his lover man. Your man.

“Better?” His question is rhetorical at this point. He knows he left you amazed and dizzy once again — your messy breath is giving it all away. But Viktor wouldn’t be Viktor if he hadn’t asked. The incorrigible tease at his best behavior.

“Much better.”

You give him the reassurance he’s been seeking, adding the missing touch to this affectionate gesture by nuzzling into his embrace, and he hums, satisfied with the solace you’ve brought him so easily with the mere power of your presence.

“So… is my darling appeased now?”

“Relatively.” You laugh, and a self-assured smirk plasters smugly across his face. “It won’t save you from having dinner with me tonight though.”

“Is that so? Well, I appreciate the effort, and the fact that you came here just to visit your sick, touch-starved man, but I’m afraid I still have work to do—“

“I’m not here just to visit you,” you cut him off, as one of your hands slips off his neck straight to cup his sharp knee. “I’m here to collect you. I’m stealing you home with me.”

“Oh no.” He cracks an exaggeratedly offended expression, but judging from the still present on his face grin — he’s actually rather pleased with your intentions. “Being abducted definitely doesn’t sound appealing to me at all.”

“That’s right.” You nod, nudging him softly. “I’ll even hold you hostage if that’s what it takes to bathe you and get you into bed.”

“But what a horrific torture!” he pulls away, slamming a hand against his chest with a low giggle — it lands on his sternum with a muffled slap, right where his thudding heart is. “How ever will I survive that?”

“I believe your fate is inevitable, so you better just accept it.”

“How unfortunate,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, and you gasp, allowing him to lay his cheek against your chest. “Can’t wait to end up in that bath with you,” he whispers, and you hitch in breath, your shaky hands stop massaging his scalp.

“Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?” you tease light-heartedly, feeling his grip tighten around your waist.

“Me.” His response is firm and simple, yet still maddening enough for you to go weak in the knees. Apparently, his nap is being delayed again.

***

Bath with Viktor is a death sentence — a long and squirming one, of countless orgasms and moans loud enough to wake up the whole Piltover. You tried, you really did, to talk him out of it, to make him wait until at least after dinner, but he’s stubborn and knows damn well that you can’t resist him. So all your warnings about how he needs some rest first were muffled mercilessly by his tongue buried deep inside you. At this point, you’re not even sure whether he’s really that into devouring you, or if he’s just trying to prove you wrong, to show you that he’s never tired when it comes to eating you out.

He has you sitting on the edge of the bathtub, legs resting on his covered in crescent nail marks shoulders, and you tug, tug, tug on his hair as he tongue-fucks you through yet another insane release. If only he could smile right now, which was obviously impossible in his position, he would definitely give you the most provoking signature smirk. So you mentally thank his passion for giving head, since it’s the one to blame for his inability to destroy you even more with those grins and his witty dirty-talk right now. He has you right where he wants you: with your thighs wrapped tightly around his head, with your slick getting quite literally everywhere — his tongue, his chin, some on his chest, even. And when you slam your head against the wall, light-headed and breathless, he knows it’s time to do a particularly vicious thing — to suck on your abused clit so hard he might as well just suck the damn soul out of you while he’s at it.

Too much. Overwhelmingly so. And those sweat drops forming on his forehead, and the way he digs his wet fingers into the soft flesh of your legs, and the way he laps up so thoroughly—

“Gonna cum.” You gather the last strengths in your possession to mumble an illegible warning and the skillful bastard between your thighs only picks up pace, leaving you wondering how his tongue is still intact after all that frantic motions inside your cunt. But the technique is rather impressive. You stare at him, wide-eyed and with your lower lip bitten. His sinful gaze meets yours with a guttural rattle when you grip a strand of his dark hair so hard your knuckles turn white. You want to tell him how good his mouth feels, how indescribably hot he looks kneeling in the bathtub, how attractive his skin glistens right now, in the warm water. But the words are unnecessary. Your precious cussing as you come undone on his agile tongue is the best existing compliment to him.

So you deliver. He coaxes the third orgasm out of you. Leaves you throbbing, making one of your shaking legs slip off his slick shoulder into the water with a loud splash. He licks the remnants of you tauntingly slow off his swollen lips, watching your every convulsion closely, and he’s so proud of himself that it almost re-turns you on all over again.

“Look at you.” His sultry whisper reminds you that his ability to be a smartass is back.

“Viktor—“ You suffocate, grabbing his shoulder to hold on for dear life, so you don’t fall out of the tub completely. He chuckles, carefully pulling you back into the water, thoughtful as always, like the gentleman he is. Well, if rearranging your guts with that tortuous tongue and thick cock could be considered something gentlemen do, of course.

He tastes like you now. His tongue is somewhat sour, much puffier in comparison to yours, and it’s not that animate anymore — he pushes it into your mouth rather lazily, evidently worn out by the intercourse.

“I thought the purpose of this bath was to get me cleaned, not dirty,” he whispers with a filthy giggle, wiping your slick off his chin. You roll your eyes, admitting that the single thing stopping you from biting him for that joke is a complete lack of energy. Admitting that he’d just one-upped every single man you've slept with before. Once again.

“Oh, fuck you.” You giggle back, nuzzling into his chest, and it feels so gentle — the lust is gone and the only thing left between you two is pure affection; divine, immaculate, expressed through the softness of your body and the sharpness of his.

“I would be a liar if I said it doesn’t sound tempting, but I don’t believe you’re in a state to do that, my love,” Viktor teases, but you don’t talk back. He left you witless. Too fucked out for your own liking and just perfect for his. “Do you think you can make it to the kitchen?” he asks, pointing at your wobbly legs.

“Yeah.” You hesitate for a second, reluctant to get out of the warm bath. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” Viktor shakes his head, and his response dramatically increases your urge to pinch him. That wasn’t the deal!

“No. Not a chance, you’re not skipping dinner again.”

“But I’ve already had dinner. Well. In a way,” he whispers, as the corners of his mouth curl into another insufferable smirk, and it takes a good ten-second uncomfortable pause for you to understand the pun.

“Eating pussy is not an actual meal,” you frown, pulling away.

“And that’s so unfortunate, don’t you think? At least that way, I’d never skip them…”

“Viktor!”

[miharuki]

𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

escapes to revelations that in the end resulted in a kiss

TW: none so far, making out, slight sexual innuendo but nothing TOO explicit, you're slow, justice league animated series

English is not my first language!

It had been a while—actually, even before the League was formed—but Wally, the current Flash, had always had a crush on you. On your hero form, to be specific. And not just that—he always dreamed of maybe taking things further, even as civilians. But while the Flash might have flirt, he lacked the courage to talk to you. He stuttered and couldn’t flirt properly without sounding like a total goof. He had already given up. You were way out of his league. Too closed off. He even thought maybe you and Batman were competing to see who could be the coldest.

Poor Wally. Everyone in the League knew about his crush—it was painfully obvious. Sadly, you never noticed, and no one ever told you. Flash begged them—literally on his knees—not to say a word. It was almost pathetic. He never thought he had a chance... except for that night.

You’d just escaped from the Thanagarian ship—Hawkgirl’s species. You all took shelter in a closed-down store. From the sound of wings flapping and voices nearby, there were several patrolling above the area. The only way to go unnoticed was to remove your suits—your heroic identities—and go civilian. Wally, of course, was incredibly curious to see what you looked like as a civilian, but also a bit scared. Scared that you might not like what was under his mask.

“Whoa, wait a sec—what about secret identities?! I trust you guys, but I don’t know if I’m—” the boy was cut off as Batman pointed at his chest.

“Wally West. Clark Kent. Bruce Wayne.”

“Show-off,” Wally muttered as he removed his mask, now staring at the tall man’s face—Bruce Wayne. Wonder Woman ran a hand through Wally’s hair, giving him a bit more confidence, but he was still nervous. When he turned to look at you, he was prepared to see disgust or disinterest… but you didn’t react at all. Instead, you also removed your mask (or, if you’re like J’onn, changed form, etc.), revealing your civilian identity.

“W-wait! [Your Name]?! As in [Your Full Name]?!”

You looked confused. Was your identity really more shocking than Batman’s?

“I thought you'd react like that to Bruce,” you commented as you picked up the clothes Diana had given you.

At that moment, Wally didn’t know what to say. Sure, it was shocking that Bruce Wayne was Batman—but it made sense with the whole billionaire thing. But you? He’d seen you. On magazine covers. He tried to say something, but Bruce threw a change of clothes at him.

With everyone now in civilian attire, the team agreed to regroup at Bruce’s house in Gotham. They split into pairs and trios, but as soon as one of the Thanagarians spotted you, you didn’t even have time to react—Wally scooped you up and bolted. With your arms around his neck, you looked back to see everything fading behind you.

Once he finally stopped, he set you down—but before either of you could say a word, you grabbed him and pulled him into a nearby alley as you noticed more Thanagarians approaching.

“Sorry about this,” you said, pushing him against the wall. He didn’t understand at first, but the moment he heard voices, it clicked.

He just didn’t expect it to go that far.

You lifted your leg and guided his hand to hold it, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Sorry for wha—”

He was cut off as you kissed him.

He could swear his heart was racing. This was a dream come true. It was supposed to be quick—but the hawk people just had to hang around the street, searching. At that point, Wally didn’t really care. In fact, he might even be grateful.

His hand on your waist squeezed slightly, pulling your bodies closer. The one on your thigh hesitated, wanting to go further. Your lips were divine to him—the color, the softness, the taste. Your mouth too. He was getting addicted. He didn’t want to stop. God, you were divine. If this was just a sample, he couldn’t even imagine the rest. God, he wanted you.

The kiss grew more serious—turning into full-on making out. Your hands ran through his hair, and you could swear you heard a moan from him. When your breath gave out, you pulled away. But as Wally leaned in for more, he didn’t expect you to go for his neck. He just prayed he wouldn’t get hard—that would be way too embarrassing. His body stiffened even more when a Thanagarian walked into the alley, then recoiled with disgust.

“Ugh, filthy humans. Nothing here!”

With that, the alien flew off. Once the coast was clear, you pulled away from the boy.

“Sorry about that.”

“Relax. I liked it. A lot, babe.”

You turned to the street and saw it was empty. Fixing your clothes, you said, “They’re gone. Let’s go.”

Wally was still dazed, but he let you lead him. He hoped that after tonight, maybe he could ask you out.

Later, in the Batcave, as you were discussing with the others, John—Green Lantern—looked at Wally and whispered,

“Looks like someone had fun.”

Wally looked at him, confused, until John pointed to his neck. When the redhead touched his own, his fingers came back stained with your lipstick. He smiled, blushing.

Yeah… he was definitely going to ask you out. Maybe he even had a chance to kiss you again.

God, you were divine—both as a civilian and as a heroine.

[russellsppttemplates]

No more of this (Lando Norris)

Lando is trying to stop the hurt of loosing you by getting ahead of it and (trying to) leave you first

Note: english is not my first language. It's angsty but has a good ending! ✨️ I took a bit of a gamble with this one, and I'm hoping it is still a good enough piece to read! This was from a request for which I had another idea whilst I was writing this one, so I might work on it if this truly is a bad take on it!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: relationship troubles, miscommunication, anxiety symptoms, alludes to the passing of a family member and consequent inheritances

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

Lando wasn't sure how long he had been in the room on his own, but he knew he didn't have it in him to leave soon.

He thought he wasn't enough, he was too much trouble for anyone around him, that's why no one is there for him right now.

He grabbed his phone and swiped the screen to check if the texts he sent you had gone through, but the lack of an answer from your part was simply that.

Not even Y/N cares about him or what he needs. Maybe he didn't word it in the right away? Surely, Y/N would have replied by now if he had written it down properly and not appeared like a clingy, needy child. Maybe he could send another one, just to make sure it is all alright.

To lovie ✨️

I'm sorry if that was a lot, but I just wanted to know how your day had been! I love you, sweet girl 🧡

There, all better.

The McLaren driver waited for your answer, hoping to make ammends from his previous tries.

Maybe she's busy, she has so much on her plate as well. She can't take care of Lando too. Lando wonders what his girlfriend would do if she knew you felt like this. If she found him lying in a bed, unable to move and startled by the idea of facing the outside? She would leave him right then and there. Y/N can only take so much and she's not going to take this.

The tears that fell went unoticed until they pooled on the pillow cover fabric, wetting it and dampening Lando's cheek and jaw.

The weight on his chest lightened when his phone vibrated.

From lovie ✨️

I'm so sorry, Lan - my phone was on silent because of the meeting with the notary and I forgot to turn it back up 🤦‍♀️

It has been a busy couple of days with the signings and handovers, but I can already see the end of it!

And how was your day, bubs?

I miss you loads and can't wait to kiss your handsome face 🧡 I love you 💖

There it goes, that wasn't so bad, right? She replied - she's safe, she has a reason why and she wrote I love you. Maybe all of that fuss was for nothing.

Lando quickly typed back a reply, hitting the button to send after reading it a couple of times to ensure it was good.

To lovie ✨️

It's okay, sweet girl, you don't have to worry! It's been same old, had a training session with Jon and then worked on the sim.

Can't wait for you to be home soon, I love you so much ❤️

You replied, that was all he needed. Everything is back to normal, the heartbeat has slowed down, the weight on the chest had been lifted, and breathing wasn't so hard anymore.

For now, anyway.

The last two days had been fine, good even - Lando spent the afternoon playing padel with Max Verstappen, streaming with Quadrant and even played golf on his own, relief washing over him when, despite being on his own, his thoughts didn't take him to the dark side like he expected them to.

You had FaceTimed every night and exchanged texts in the morning so there hadn't been any reason to worry - until now anyway.

When Max and Pietra told you they were flying to Monaco to spend the week there, you decided to postpone leaving for two days and take the flight with them instead.

You'd have to have reached the realisation that Lando is not the best you can do. You couldn't possibly be that blind.

Y/N knows you're he's not good enough, she knows she deserves so much more and now that she has property back home and a safe ground, she'll leave him before he knows it.

It builds up again, his breathing short and laboured while his heart speeds up, his hands unconsciously retreating into themselves and making fists as his nails graze his palm.

You are going to leave him.

Not if Lando leaves you first.

"This isn't even the worst flight we've had", Max reasoned once you landed in Nice, "you're really feeling it, aren't you?", he nudged your shoulder.

"It's just been a busy couple of weeks", you sighed, looking for your luggage on the carrousel, "I'm so glad it's all dealt with now and I can finally be home again", you smil3d tiredly.

"You mean you can finally be with Lando again", Pietra teased you.

"Can you blame me, though? I miss him so much I'm not sure I can keep away from him for long once I hug him", you admitted, spotting the bright blue luggage on the conveyor belt.

"Lando just texted me saying he is by the informative screens", Max offered, grabbing his and Pietra's luggage and leaving the way out of the busy airport.

Once you spotted your boyfriend, you hastened your pace to approach him, leaving the luggage on the side so you could jump into his embrace.

"Hey, my love, I missed you so much", Lando held you impossibly tight to him, nipping on the skin of your neck and inhaling your scent.

Y/N is back, she's here.

"Me too, baby", you said, kissing his neck multiple times, "I'm so glad to be home", you mumbled, pulling a smile out of him before you kissed his lips.

"One could argue we are here too, but we're clearly not that important", Max joked, patting Lando's back where he could given that you were clinging to him like a koala.

"The car is in the -2 Parking zone", Lando offered, grabbing your luggage and walking behind his bestfriend and his girlfriend while keeping you close to him.

For now, this would have to suffice before things changed forever.

The whole drive back to Lando's apartment involved light chatter and catching up on the past few weeks.

"I think we should go out, enjoy some of the night life while you still can", Max slapped Lando's shoulder once you had settled in and unpacked.

"I can get us entrances", the Formula One driver agreed, grabbing his phone before he went through his contacts.

Once the entrances and the dinner reservations were secured, the four of you took turns in showering and getting ready, Lando never letting you leave his sight for long.

"You look beautiful, lovie", Lando complimented, watching your shake out the curls you had done on your hair.

"Thank you, bubs - you look really handsome too, I love it when you wear all black", you mused, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles gently.

It was all good. You didn't seem mad or upset with him, in the contrary actually - like he felt, you too were a bit needy for his touch and to have him close to you, offering him reassuring words and sweet nothings every time you could. Maybe his thoughts were a lie. Some of them have been, maybe those were too.

The dinner was lovely and you were able to walk to the club you'd be spending the night in, getting drinks first before finding the area you were staying in. Lando was quickly pulled by the DJ on the booth, recognising him from previous nights out, while you, Max and Pietra stayed where you were.

He was enjoying himself before he noticed you were chatting with someone else, remembering him from your friend's birthday.

He has a girlfriend who is Y/N's friend, Lando has nothing to worry about.

Until he does.

He doesn't miss the way you hug him or the way you engage in light chat with him, all smiles and cheers.

You deserve someone who is always there for you, who can be present and make you smile like that all the time, and he knows he's not the person for the job.

"I'm going back down to my group - thanks for the invite", Lando shook his hand before pulling the DJ for a quick hug, making his way to you and your friends.

"Hey, love, you're back!", you smiled with a big wave to beckon him over, lacing your hand in his as soon as you were close enough, "you remember Marvin, right?".

"Yes, hi, how are you?", he mused, shaking his hand before protectively placing his arm around your waist.

Marvin had to leave to go be with his friend group as since then, you noticed Lando seemed weird. He was usually the life of the party and he always enjoyed himself in these environments, so to see him just stand there and sway his head to the music was a foreign sight.

"Dance with me, baby", you put your back to his chest, letting his hand hold you by your waist still while you swayed your bodies.

"I love you, Y/N, never forget that", he mumbled spontaneously after a while, kissing your cheek multiple times before hiding your face in your neck.

"I love you too, Lan, so much", you replied back as that was the last clue that something was going on.

A couple hours later, and after you had been sat at the booth for quite a bit, you told Lando that you felt a little tired, Max and Pietra agreeing with you that all the travelling had caught up with you, so you made your way out and back to his apartment.

"Have a goodnight, guys", you waved as Max helped his girlfriend into the room, the blonde woman having already fallen asleep on the way.

"Are you feeling better, Y/N?", Lando wondered as he watched you put your heels back in their spot once you stepped inside your bedroom and closed the door behind you.

You debated telling him the truth, but your relationship has been built in honesty and trust about everything, so the course to take was obvious, "Actually", you began, "I am totally fine, but I noticed you weren't great, you didn't seem that happy and I thought we could talk about it , if you'd like", you suggested, "or we could sleep, I'm fine with either, but I hope you choose the one that makes you feel better", you smiled.

The smile quickly vanished when Lando got up from the bed, his body language tight and tense, "now you care about me? Now you want to know if I'm okay or if I'm doing what makes me happy? All after I felt like shit and had to deal with things on my own?", Lando mused, taking you aback with such words.

"Lando, baby, what do you mean with that?", you asked.

"You were here and I was there, and then I have been here while you've been back home and you haven't been there for me", Lando spat, "I just wanted you by my side, I needed you and you weren’t there for me", he concluded. The anger previously in his tone was replaced by sadness and a hint of shame even.

"Lando, it's not like I have been on vacation purposefully away from you - there have been matters that my family needed me to take care of as there wasn't anyone else to take that responsibility! I don't understand where this is coming from - if I wasn't with you it's because I really couldn't be there!", you argued.

"It's... I can't do this right now", Lando looked up as tears started brimming his eyes.

"It seems not", you defended yourself, feeling the hints of accusation and the lack of flexibility and empathy from your boyfriend, "excuse me", you offered, grabbing your pyjamas and leaving your shared bedroom.

The accusations you threw to one another were heard by your guests as Max looked for you while you adjusted the living room sofa so that it could turn into a single bed, not needing the full sized mattress since you'd be clearly sleeping alone.

"What are you doing here?", Max wondered.

"You don't need to pretend you didn't hear that", you shrugged your shoulders before wiping your cheeks with your thumb, pulling on the sheet so the corner wouldn't fly off during the night.

"I can't take the guest room when you are sleeping here, Y/N", Max offered, pulling your hand so you would get up.

"I'm fine, it's not like I'm counting on getting that much sleep", you mumbled, sitting down against the cushions.

"You two are going to sort it out", Max gulped, "you always do, Y/N", sitting down next to you.

"Do you think we will?", you muttered, the weight of the words leaving your mouth settling in the possibility, "did he tell you anything? I'm at a loss at where all of this has come from", you offered your perspective.

"You're Lando and Y/N - there is no way in this world that you don't make it work. You are meant to be, no matter whatever turn you took in your life or whatever decisions you could've taken differently, you and Lando were supposed to meet in every single one of them", Max comforted as he rubbed your back, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

"Things are so messed up between us", you tutted at your boyfriend's earlier words and the disbelief that this was happening.

"Lando has been under a lot of pressure lately", Max offered, "I know his words hurt you and I'm certainly not justifying them, but he's... He just wants to be his best self for you, and between his family issues and this season's prospects, not having you with him there has shaken the foundation he thought was his steady self".

"I didn't notice it - yay for the bad girlfriend points!", you jokingly cheered before groaning, "I need out of this day".

"That's why you should go to the spare bedroom to sleep it off, Y/N", Max sternly said, "and you're not a bad girlfriend for this, not at all".

"I'm staying here, I told you", you stated, "you go and take that spare room, P is probably asleep on the bed already", you giggled, "I'll be fine".

"Tomorrow is a new day and a new opportunity for a fresh outlook of this whole situation", Max tapped his thighs before getting up, "Good night, Y/N".

"Good night, Max", you waved as he turned off the ceiling lights and closed the French doors that separated the living room from the dining room and the rest of the apartment.

Lando tossed and turned around for what felt like the hundredth time since he laid down on the mattress.

His words didn't come out the way he wanted them to.

But maybe it was for the best.

He didn't want to hurt you, and that is both a burden and a guilt that he will carry for the rest of his life.

She'll never forgive him. Not now that he's really shown how messed up and broken he is. How the playful, giggly boyfriend she was with is now a shell of a poor excuse of a man. He had been spending the nights alone since you were gone, but now that he knew you were - hopefully - still somewhere in the apartment and not next to him, the weight on his chest couldn't be heavier. It gets harder to breathe, and the thoughts don't stop.

He's lost the best person in his life because these insecurities got the best of him. Once again, he's letting them win and take charge of his life.

Lando sits up and holds the pillow you usually sleep with, trying to catch a small whiff of your scent that still lingers there and usually calms him down.

He's done something really bad. Maybe this was him. This was who he was nowadays and he was truly doing you the favour of letting you out before it got too bad.

When Lando wakes up after sleeping for what feels like a long nap, only Max is up as he steps into the kitchen.

"Morning", Lando muttered, not sure where to pick up from what he knows his bestfriend heard only a couple of hours ago.

"Morning, mate! P is feeling the hangover, so she'll be out for a while! Let's go on a run, it will do us both good", he put his hands on Lando's shoulders and patting them.

Lando groans and looks longingly at the living room, noticing the closed doors, wondering if you were still asleep.

Such an ass he is, letting his girlfriend sleep on the sofa.

Lando and Max run the usual distance, stopping to stretch at the little park area near his apartment, and because it's still early, there is no one else around but them and an older man walking his dog.

"Will you tell me what's going on with you and Y/N? Because by the looks of it, you really should talk to someone about it", Max stated. There wasn't a chance that Lando could run away from this, figuratively or literally, so he explained to his bestfriend what had been going on his mind.

"Do you think I am someone worthy of her? Y/N deserves so much better than me, so it's best if she leaves me first", Lando concluded.

"If she leaves you first, what?! Do you think it won't hurt you? Or her? Is that what this is all about?", Max argued, "you're seriously telling me that the only way you see a solution for this is to break up with her because you're so sure she wants to break up with you?! This is ridiculous, Lando!!".

"Of course it will hurt, Max! I love that girl with everything I have and I can't bear the thought of disappointing her, of her having less than she deserves, and I also can't even think about her leaving me! The anticipation that any moment she could say those words has been killing me!", he admitted outloud for the first time.

"Lando, that girl loves you with every bone of her body, do you really think she is going to break up with you?", Max sighed, "your mind is lying to you and it pains me to see the way it's doing it to you and the people around you".

"I'm not where I should be, these thoughts are consuming me left and right and I can't tell apart what is real and what my mind is catastrophising ", Lando agreed.

"Lando, people can't help you if you don't tell them you're feeling like that", Max stated, both sternly and empathetically, "and there are so many people that care about you".

They sit in silence in the bench as Lando ponders his words and Max replays them on his head.

"Is that what is going on in your head, though? That Y/N is going to leave you, and so you're getting ahead of it by breaking up with her?", Max mused.

"When you say it like that, it sounds so stupid and the opposite of what I want to do", Lando scoffed at himself, "but everything is aligned to it - she can do so much better for herself, and it's stupid I know, but my mind goes on and on about this and it almost never quietens down", he gulped.

"Y/N doesn't want to leave you, Lando, that's another lie you're telling yourself", Max offered, "she loves you and you deserve eachother because you're it, you're the endgame and you can work through this, but she needs to know".

"I know - sometimes I do anyway, I think", Lando chuckled lightly at his own joke, "we need to go home, I need to speak with Y/N".

"Indeed you do", Max agreed, getting up and following him to the apartment.

Pietra was already up and in the kitchen when the boys arrived, pecking her boyfriend's lips and looking at Lando, "Y/N's up, we have had breakfast and she went back to the living room while I was in the shower", she informed as Lando nodded.

"Can I come in?", Lando asked after knocking on the door.

"Yes, it's your apartment after all", you mused as he stepped inside

"No, Y/N", Lando groaned, "this is our place, my love, and there's something I need to tell you, many things in fact", he added.

"You should start then", you patted the spot next to the mattress where you had spent the night.

"I love you, Y/N, so much, that was never a question, and it was because I love you so much that every now and again, I have these thoughts that I'm not good enough for you, that I can't give you what you deserve and that you'd be better off with someone else, or without me", he took a big breath in, "I just wanted to be my best self for you, and it all comes crashing and building up and up and I can't shut the noise down".

"Lando, you could've told me, I would've helped, try to do my best in helping you so you weren't carrying this on your own", you offered, your hand crawling to his so you could hold it in yours.

"I hated that I needed you that much because you also have your own life and you don't want to be next to me every waking second. In my head, you shouldn't have to deal with me being needy of feeling like this", he admitted.

"And I'll be, I don't care what you need or say, Lando, I'm going to be here for you, I don't have to go back for a while now, so I'll be where you need me", you offered, "and, Lando, you could never be too much for me, you could never make me feel like I can do better because every day I thank my lucky stars that we're together and that you feel the same love I feel for you", you cupped his face, "you deserve so much, Lando Norris, and I'll work everyday to prove you that you're worthy of love and care and that things going on here are sometimes a lie", you kissed his forehead.

"I don't deserve having you, I yelled at you for no reason", Lando mumbled.

"There was a reason, and it would take me a lot more than you yelling at me when you're stressed and worried, but I'd also like to know whatever is happening when it is happening so I can help, or we can seek out professional help too", you rubbed his cheeks with your thumbs.

No one had ever fought for him like this. He's used to be the one to prove to people that they belong in his life and that's he's all in, not the other way around since, once every time his partners start to feel like it's too much once the honeymoon phase fades out and regular, day-to-day troubles show up notice it getting serious, they flee.

"We'll do this together, lovie", Lando muttered against your lips as he looked into your eyes, "I'm sorry I doubted you when in reality you are the one who's always stuck with me", he smiled, kissing your lips.

[yumeka-sxf]

Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family - part 2

Part 2 - Anya's "Anya-isms"

I think Anya has one of the most interesting ways of speaking out of all the SxF characters. But like with Twilight's dialogue that I previously discussed, it can only be fully appreciated in the Japanese version. Probably the most noticeable thing about her dialogue is how it's written compared to the other characters.

Written Japanese is comprised of three different alphabets: ひらがな (hiragana) and カタカナ (katakana), which together are referred to as "kana," and 漢字 (kanji). Kanji are the characters that hold the meaning of words, while kana simply represent the various Japanese syllable sounds and don't have any meaning on their own (much like the letters of the English alphabet). There are only about 100-ish total unique kana symbols, however, there are over 2,000 kanji in common use today. So Japanese children will start out learning kana and then learn kanji gradually during their school years. This is why Japanese children's books are typically written only or mostly in kana. This is also why manga and books aimed at a younger audience will have kana "translations" of kanji written above kanji characters, which are called furigana.

With that in mind, it's not surprising that all of Anya's dialogue in the Japanese version of the SxF manga is written entirely in kana. Even though using kanji in her dialogue wouldn't necessarily mean she knows kanji, reading a character's dialogue only in kana definitely gives off childish vibes – it conveys feelings of youthfulness and innocence, like "they're speaking only in kana because they don't know the kanji for these words…they're just a little kid, after all." At least, that's the feeling I get when I read Anya's dialogue. Though I haven't read enough manga in Japanese to say for sure, it seems like this concept of making little kids speak only in kana is not unusual, as there's at least one other example I know of: a manga from the mid-2000s called Yotsuba also has a titular 5-year old whose dialogue is written only in kana.

What's also interesting is that all of the other Eden kids speak "normally," using kana and kanji properly in their dialogue. This helps to convey the fact that, despite Anya being roughly the same age as them, their "rich family" upbringing has forced them to grow up faster. In the below panel, you can see how Damian's dialogue uses kanji (with furigana translations) while Anya's uses only kana, even for words that have kanji.

Interestingly, I found at least two cases where Anya does use kanji in her dialogue: when she's calling out the name of her big "Arrow of Light, Seize the Star" move during the dodgeball game, and when she calls out her "Lighting Bolt, Deliver my Aid" move when she tries to throw Yor's weapon back on the deck in the cruise arc. As you can see in the below panels, the names of these "moves" is written in kanji (with furigana translations). This makes sense not only because this is parodying shonen series where the characters shout out the names of their moves, but because it emphasizes how determined Anya was at these moments.

But going back to how Anya's speech compares to the other kids, another thing that stands out is that she speaks very "plainly." Her grammar is (mostly) correct, except for a few mistakes you'd expect a little kid to make. But she uses pretty much no colloquialisms, almost as if she knows the language but lacks the experience for using it in normal social interactions. I don't think this is unusual for a kid her age who's still learning, but it definitely stands out when compared to her classmates. For example, in the below panel, Becky uses normal interjections and other colloquialisms in her speech, like "ne" (ね), "wa" (わ), and "yo" (よ), which are all standard Japanese linguistic devices for softening or emphasizing your sentences. However, Anya doesn't use things like this in her speech. Again, this makes her speech come off as very plain and abrupt, almost like she's not a native speaker.

She also refers to herself in third person all the time in the Japanese version. In fact, I don't recall her ever using an "I" or "me" pronoun. I don't know why the English version of the manga doesn't keep this characteristic of her speech. I think it's very important in highlighting the childish aspect of her personality.

Putting all this together – the fact that she doesn't use typical colloquial speech and refers to herself in third person – really emphasizes the childish, naive, and almost baby-like nature of her character. I'm curious if Endo made her speak this way simply to show what a little kid she is compared to her classmates, or if it will somehow tie back to whatever roots she has in classical languages that he keeps hinting at. Regardless, as I mentioned in my full Anya analysis, what she lacks in speech and school smarts, she makes up for in empathy and resourcefulness.

Besides all this, Anya does make typical speech mistakes a normal kid would make, like mishearing words or saying things wrong. She mostly uses casual speech, but does try to use keigo (polite speech) on occasion, though not always correctly. For example, she says "ohayaimasu" (おはやいます) for "good morning" instead of "ohaiyou gozaimasu" (おはようございます).

But the most consistent "mistake" she makes (though it's not really a mistake) is what she calls Loid and Yor – "chichi" (ちち) and "haha" (はは) respectively.

Japanese has many different words for relatives depending on whether you're talking about your own relatives or someone else's, and whether you're talking to them or about them. "Chichi" and "haha" are the general, neutral terms for "father" and "mother," and are also used when talking about your parents to someone else. However, they're not used when talking directly to your mother and father. There are many other words for that, the usual ones being "o-tou-san" (お父さん) and "o-kaa-san" (お母さん), or some variations of these with different honorifics. Damian refers to his dad as "chichi-ue" (父上) which is very formal, while Becky calls her dad the actual English word "papa" (パパ) which is very informal and normal for kids to use. But again, "chichi" and "haha" are typically only used when talking about your parents, not to them the way Anya uses them. This started from the very first chapter where Loid asks her to call him something that sounds "elite." He originally suggests the very formal "o-tou-sama" (お父さま), but when Anya says "chichi," he doesn't bother to correct her.

Hearing a little kid call her dad and mom "chichi" and "haha" is kind of like calling them "my father" and "my mother" even when speaking to them directly – it's not wrong necessarily, just strange. But again, this serves to further emphasize the childlike nature of Anya's character.

<- Return to Part 1

Continue to Part 3 ->

[im-just-daria]

In The Dark

The Jackal x Reader

Fandom: The Day of the Jackal

Word Count: 2.107

Summary: Who knew your degree would make you a perfect acquaintance for an assassin?

Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and suicide, threatening, breaking into a house, the usual stuff you would expect from a series about an assassin.

A/N: Hi guys <3, my first fanfiction ever. The lack of writings on this man is very concerning. English is not my first language and there was no beta. Let me know if there are any mistakes or if something isn't tagged properly! Same with warnings missing- please let me know :)

''For fuck's sake'' you mumbled under your breath as you walked down the street. The rain was pouring down as you tried to get to your flat as soon as possible. Working in a local pub in London wasn't the worst until you had to get home on Friday at 1 am after the shift. You finally reached the bus stop and sat down on a little bench, very grateful for the little roof covering the seats. Today was just not your day; for starters, you got an email from your landlord about the rent getting increased soon. Secondly, you got rejected from another job you applied to and on top of all that, one of your coworkers took your umbrella from the staff room. You sighed and shivered as you tried your best not to cry. Your mascara was already ruined due to rain, and your hair was a complete mess, making you look as miserable as you felt.

You stood up as you saw your bus approach, giving a little wave to the driver, waiting for him to stop the vehicle. You smiled at the man behind the wheel, tapped your card against the reader and took your place at the end of the bus. With your headphones in, you looked around the bus and found the exact type of people you would expect to see on a night bus at 1 am on Friday in London. Two heavily intoxicated girls eating McDonald's, making a mess everywhere, some drug addict talking to himself in a corner, a woman crying and recording a voice message and a couple making out on the seats adjacent to yours. 15 minutes later, you left the bus and made your way towards the flat. You lived on the 3rd floor; it was a simple one-bedroom apartment. You unlocked the door and almost ran inside. Leaning your back against the door, you let a few tears run down your cheeks. You quickly removed your jacket and hung it on a wardrobe door to let it dry, taking off your shoes as well. You followed down the hallway to the living room, and as soon as you reached the room, about to switch on the light, you heard a deep and calm voice coming from your armchair.

"Don't turn on the light," you gasped, and your head snapped towards the man. You could barely see his outline; his legs were crossed, and both arms rested against the chair. You could see him staring at you, yet he was not moving at all. Your eyes fell to his right hand, and you inhaled sharply as you saw a gun.

''It is loaded, and the safety is off'' he paused, and you could see him barely tilting his head to the left. ''You won't have time to run, and if you scream, I will put a bullet through your head before you even open your mouth. Your next shift is on Sunday, so my guess is that no one would see your body until Monday morning.'' Your body just froze. You had no idea who this man was or how he knew your work schedule, but most importantly, you had no idea what he could want from you. You felt dizzy and lightheaded, so you managed to stutter out ''O-okay.'' You leaned on the wall behind you, staring at the man before you, waiting for him to do or say something. It felt like ages before he finally spoke up again.

''You graduated from the 'hair, make-up and prosthetics' course at the London University of Arts with a first-class degree; now, at 23, two years after graduating, you still work in a pub after being rejected from theatres and studios. On top of that, you won't be able to pay rent from May, and your best friend is ghosting you again for her boyfriend'' He paused again. ''Oh, and you are starting to get black mould in the bathroom, which your landlord completely ignores.''

You looked away and inhaled deeply. 'This is just fantastic,' you thought to yourself. You have a psychopath in your flat who clearly hacked your whole phone, and God knows what else, listing down all the failures and problems. You knew it was a hard industry to get into when you started university, but you always thought skills would get you to a starting point, at least. You never suspected it to be nearly impossible- every position on film sets and theatres was just filled with people hired because of their friendships or parents. Now, you worked full-time in a pub, and with inflation, you started to struggle with rent even though you were doing almost 40 hours a week. Your best friend stopped reading your messages a few days ago because she got back with her ex, who absolutely hated your guts (all you did was point out to her every time he cheated on her, forgot their dates, and ignored her anytime he was drinking with his mates). So you probably don't have a best friend anymore. You could call your mom, but she would probably turn this situation into blaming you, and your dad left you when you were younger.

All the stress from your life and no one to talk to is starting to rush down. Your job doesn't care about you, nor does your landlord or friends, apparently. And you have probably a murderer in your living room right now. Your vision starts to get blurry with tears again as your breath quickens. You look at the man across the room as he observes you. You just feel so tired and hopeless. A whisper comes out of you, and you hope he didn't hear it- you regret saying it as soon as the words leave your mouth.

"Just shoot me and take what you want." You always thought the phrase 'the silence was so loud' was exaggerated. It wasn't; all you could hear and feel was the silence. The man kept looking at you, observing; you felt almost judged but immediately scolded yourself, ''Why the fuck would I care that a psychopath with a gun who broke into my flat thinks I am pathetic?'' Too many dark romance books- you tried to explain to yourself. Reading about kidnapping and murder is your bedtime read, so of course, you normalised feeling bad about yourself in the presence of someone who can literally end your life. You patiently waited for his reply.

''Excuse me?'' He asked stoically, without any movement. You started to get impatient; it was almost 2 am now, and all you wanted was to get to bed; if he wanted to kill you, he would have done it a long time ago. If he wanted to sexually assault you, he would attack you already, and if he wanted to rob you, he would do it if you weren't home. You sighed and looked at the man ''Just tell me what you want; you clearly made a lot of effort to hack my phone and read through my messages, emails and work rotas. You broke in here with a gun, yet all you did so far is summarise my life and threaten me.'' You said all that in one breath; you crossed your arms as you continued. ''Tell me what you want, oka-''

''I need you to make a prosthetic for me.'' He raised his voice as he interrupted me. You stared at him in disbelief. ''THAT'S IT?!'' You could somehow see the surprise on his face despite the dark room as you nearly shouted. You hid your face in your hands and let out a laugh, all the stress involuntarily leaving your body as you kept laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. Your first contract after your degree will be to a criminal, that is, if he pays at all or doesn't shoot you after the job. ''I will pay you twenty thousand pounds.'' You went silent within a second. ''It should be enough downpayment for you to buy a property in England, especially since you already have 6,247 pounds saved,'' the man said calmly as he uncrossed his legs and straightened in the armchair. "You also hacked into my banking app?" you asked in disbelief as you started questioning the security systems of my phone and the bank itself. "Believe it or not, but using a variation of the same password everywhere possible isn't the smartest idea,(Y/N)." He said lightly as if he was making a joke. You chuckled, "Fair point, okay, I am in. What kind of prosthetic do you need?" The man took out a folder from the inside of his jacket. He slid across the floor towards your figure. You picked it up, and before fully standing up, he added, ''Go see the pictures in a bathroom, and don't even think about taking the nail scissors from the top drawer of your cabinet; I already took them.'' ''Creep,'' you muttered as you walked down the hall towards the bathroom. ''I heard that,'' the man replied from the living room. You could have sworn you heard him saying that through a smile.

You turned on the light and entered the room. It was a simple black folder with no labels or markings. You slowly opened it and saw 4 pictures inside. It looked like security pictures people would take when starting to work for bigger companies. The man in the pictures looked like he was in his middle sixties; the first picture looked like an identity card, just a simple portrait. The second one was from a side clearly taken by the same company, and finally, the last two were taken from a top and a back. However, they were taken from a street, almost as if the man was being followed by the photographer. ''No doubt who'' you thought. It is a rather complicated prosthetic with all the wrinkles and freckles, but it was doable, expensive but doable.

You closed the folder, left the bathroom and turned off the light behind you. As you expected, the man in the living room hasn't moved. ''I can do it; it will take about 10 days and maybe 5 grand for all the materials.'' ''I need it by Sunday next week; I will pay for all the materials and resources,'' he replied.'' I also need to know what materials to use to apply it.'' You looked at him sceptically as you leaned against the wall on your left side and crossed your arms. ''Have you ever put on a prosthetic? Especially a full-face prosthetic? Because there is absolutely no way you can manage to put it all on by yourself. Especially if you will have people around who know that man in the picture.'' You tried to explain to him, but it was hard to assume what he was thinking without seeing his face. You could only imagine his face remained emotionless. 'Oh, to have the confidence of white men, ' you thought. ''What do you propose then? How long do you think it would take me to learn?'' ''It took me 2 months to learn simple prosthetics and about 9 to do full faces with wigs. So there is no way you can learn it in a week.'' He sighed and leaned his head on his hand, clearly thinking about the next steps. Suddenly you've just realised what you agreed to, for all you know you can help him murder someone! 'No, no, you are just making a prosthetic, just make-up, you are just selling make-up' you tried to explain to yourself. You did very well with gaslighting yourself until he spoke up.

''Fine, you will put the prosthetic on me then. I will leave the folder and five thousand pounds here for the materials and flight tickets. I will let you know later which flights to buy.'' He stood up from the chair; you could see through his clothes that he was tall and lean. All the lights in the apartment were turned off, and he approached you. He stood directly before you, and it was almost possible to make out his features from a close distance. You unknowingly stopped breathing as he spoke up.

''If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you and your mother.'' He took a small folded piece of paper and handed it to you, as his eyes never left yours. ''Let me know if you need anything,'' he said, walking down the hallway. As he opened the front door, you asked quickly ''Wait, where are we flying?''

''Munich.'' He left without looking back.

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 11.

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Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content. It's a kinky writing challenge, so expect anything at this point, (nothing freaky, don't worry) but it's a surprise calendar so I won't spoil it! (Also, English is not my native language) Contains brief reference to Dec.1 (Sunshine) as well as Dec.9 (Whip Stroke) !

Summary: It's Christmas shopping day and Dean and you are cooped up in the fitting room, bickering, when one thing leads to the other...

Words: 2,170

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Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! And let me know whether you enjoy it so far! <3 A/N: This prompt took me way too long and I think it shows... I rewrote it a good 4 times and now I'm late with posting it :') But I hope it turned out well enough and ya'll enjoy it nonetheless!

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11th Dec. - Temptation

It's a bustling atmosphere, a wry cocktail mix of merry Christmas songs playing overhead and a grouchy Dean cooped up with you in the fitting room. “Maybe I should get the other tie…” you mumble to yourself, mentally going through different outfits for Dean.

“Please don‘t…” you hear Dean interject next to you, but you ignore him, focused on the task to get you both through this. With a contemplating hum, your eyes scan the assortment of outfits you had picked for him for the upcoming Christmas dinner with your family. You decide to start out with the white shirt, your hand running along the fabrics to smooth out some wrinkles.

Dean suddenly drapes his muscular arm around your neck, heavy and warm against your cheek before he pulls you in close to tuck your head under his chin where he places a soft kiss on your head. “Can we please go home?” He mutters against your hair, still keeping you close to distract himself with your scent (and to keep the clothings out of your reach).

You push a bit into his sides, turning in the narrow cabin to face him. “Nope, we‘re not done yet,” you chuckle as you tilt your head to glance up at him with a teasing smile. But your amusement dies down the moment you see his face; His eyes briefly pull shut before they go wide again in an effort to hold your gaze, his head visibly hard to keep up. Dean looks exhausted. You both didn't get much sleep lately, and on top of that, you know he is bored out of his mind, not being a fan of the holiday shopping spree.

“That bad?” you ask, although you already see the answer in his half-lidded eyes.

“Mhm,” he lets out a tired hum while he nuzzles his nose against your hair, sniffing the sweet smell of it. His voice is hoarse and quiet, seemingly left of any energy to speak properly, “‘m real tired…”

“Just this one, then we‘re done. Okay?” you insist while you reach up to gently tug at the front of his jacket, pulling it off and dropping it onto the small plastic stool in the corner of the cabin.

“You’ve been sayin’ that for the past 3 hours…” He groans and drops his forehead to your shoulder, “Please.” He begs now, his thumb gently caressing your upper arm.

Yeah, okay. You might have overdone it a bit. But it was the first day in months where you had a day - an entire day - with no hunting business whatsoever. So, naturally you took the chance. You‘d been running from one shop to the next since the early morning. Which wasn‘t that much of a deal for you, but clearly you overestimated Dean‘s shopping-stamina.

“Come on, we’re almost done,” you coo softly while you wiggle yourself free from his grip. “You wanna look good, don't you?”

His arms reluctantly slide off your shoulders to fall heavily next to his sides and his head drops forward for a moment. With a low grunt, he catches himself mid-air just to slump with his shoulder against the mirror, almost knocking into you in the process. “You kiddin' me? I look fucking great in anything...” he rolls his eyes and tries to argue cockily, but his tired words lack his usual bite.

Unperturbed, your hands effortlessly work their way down his buttons. He watches your stubborn determination with a frustrated look, but he’s too tired to put up any fight. “Up with your arms big baby.” You instruct and without waiting for his reaction, you first pull his shirt off and then unbuckle his belt to pull his pants off as well, stripping him naked for what feels like the twentieth time today.

You turn around to fetch a white shirt and marine blue pants off the hanger, matched with the first one out of the six suits, all waiting to be tried on. Meanwhile you hear him grumble something about ‘relentless damn woman‘ as he‘s rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You roll your eyes but keep going, pulling one outfit off the hanger after the other while Dean’s muttering disgruntled words under his breath. The entire time you try to navigate around Dean, but it was a difficult task with him almost keeling over and burying you alive in the narrow cabin at any given moment.

After a while you turn away again to finally fetch the last piece. “Your cute ass still red from all the whippin’?” he asks out of nowhere. And this time all of sudden his gravelly and slurred voice was way louder than before, enough to get you to whirl around with a panicked expression. A lazy, cocky smirk forms on his lips when he realizes that he‘s finally found a way to throw you off course and draw your attention away from the clothings, “I bet it is… the way you were whimperin’… an’ me whipping an’ fu-” your hand darts out to clasp it over his lips, mouthing a silent “shut it!”, praying that no one heard him. But he just continues to mumble, his words now muffled by your hand. You shoot him a glare, watching how he enjoys your flustered state with a tired version of his trademark cheshire grin, standing there in nothing but white boxers – tenting big time.

You had learned a while ago that when Dean is exhausted and practically running on steam, he has four phases; First he turns grouchy and irritated. When you won’t give in, his annoyance soon crumbles and he’s desperate and pleading. Still no luck? He’ll huff and puff and grumble in frustration like a child. You’re still relentless? Dean will lose every bit of the little inhibitions he has, and turn into a tired ‘n horny mess.

He gently grabs your hand on his mouth and places a kiss to your palm before his tongue suddenly darts out to lick it. You almost screech at the unexpected wetness on the inside of your hand and instantly pull it back. Dean grins mischievously with a hint of pride at his dirty move. “Y’know… I could use some juice,” he drawls out before he pulls his bottom lip back to graze his teeth across it. You stare up at him with raised eyebrows, the realization dawning on you; Dean has entered the fourth phase.

“Heh-heh,” Dean lets out his typical cocky chuckle in reaction to your lack of response. His half-lidded eyes glint with mischief when his hand trails down your back - but you swat it away before it reaches its destination.

“Dean, focus! Not here.” You hiss in a low voice, trying to get his mind out of the gutter. But despite your slight annoyance, you can’t fight off the small amused smile creeping up on your face.

“Oh come on baby, gimmi somethin’... please.” He mutters, leaning closer again to shower your scrunched up face with little kisses now. His strong arms are loosely draped over your shoulders, still heavy as they caress your back with slow circles. “I’ll be good… I promise…” He nudges your cheek with his nose before he drops his head to your shoulder, mumbling against your neck, “I need you… please….” His voice takes on that desperate, pleading tone which for some reason always slips into a sudden extra thick Texan accent when he’s this deadbeat. “‘m serious… I’ll be good… an’… an’ I’ll try on whatever you want… an’ be yer mule for the rest of the day…”

That earned himself a chuckle of yours to which he lifts his head to look at you with a lazy smile. For some reason you can’t help but feel like this cuddly, touchy, needy and hella knackered Texan-boy version of his has got something incredibly endearing.

He goes back to pepper your exposed skin with kisses and despite his half-comatose state, he manages to hit every single right spot on your neck all the way up to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, right to your core. His stubbles brush against your jawline while you nuzzle your nose against the side of his face, the smell of him suddenly much more intense and tantalizing. Without realizing it, you tilt your head to the side, gaining him more access. Meanwhile his hands travel down your back once more, but this time you allow him to move on, to squeeze and massage your ass. You have to stifle a small moan against his bare chest and moments later your lips start planting kisses all over his abs before you can even register it. Dean groans into the crook of your neck, his hot breath tingling your skin while his fingers dig into the fabric of your jeans.

But then you suddenly tense up and pull slightly back as you could’ve sworn you heard a noise from outside the fitting room. Wait - Shit. Right. You curse inwardly when the realization of you being in public slaps you right out of your mindless state. “Dean, wait-” you mutter in slight panic and Dean freezes instantly, his lips still pressed against your skin while he glances at you from the corner of his eyes with a raise of his brows.

“What if somebody hears us?” You continue, your rational mind clinging to your fear of getting caught.

Dean raises his head, just enough to whisper softly against your ear, his hoarse voice rumbling and reassuring despite his state, “s’okay… there’s no one else down here… nuthin’ to worry, sunny.” You raise an eyebrow at the new version of ‘sunshine’ but don’t get to comment on it, as he continues in a teasing tone. “An’ if anyone does happen to hear us, they’ll jus’ know we’re havin’ a real fun time.”

“But…” you start out, your increasingly clouded mind desperately trying to come up with some argument but ultimately giving in to the lips on your skin and the pooling heat between your legs.

It’s an interesting thing, how quickly the fear of getting caught can turn into excitement, only fuelling one’s desire to go on. The temptation to test the limits. Just a bit more. Just a kiss more, a touch more - okay, one soft moan won’t be enough to get anyone's attention, right? Yeah alright, that was a bit loud, Dean, but if we keep it down we can keep this going… just a tad bit longer.

“Nothing more than a little hanky-panky - okay?” You state between kisses.

“Nuthin’ more than a little hanky-panky.” He repeats huskily.

Minutes later that poor stool of the corner creaks under the combined weight of Dean, and you straddling his thighs, bouncing up and down on his thick cock. Your forehead drops to rest on his head, your teeth tugging at strands of his dark blond hair whenever he pulls you down by your hipbones. He groans into your shirt, his face dug between your breasts in a weak effort to muffle his sounds. You stifle a whimper when he suddenly grazes his teeth along the fabrics, pinching your nipple with his teeth. Your nails claw at the skin of his bare back and his neck, and your lips are firmly pressed against his hair as you try to hold in your own moans and your frantic panting.

The stool squeaks in protest when your rhythm picks up its pace and Dean starts to buck his hips to meet you halfway. A loud guttural moan escapes your throat when the tip of his cock hits a sensitive spot, but your sound is quickly muffled by Deans hand. “Shhh… let’s not alarm the staff…” He whispers into your ear with a sly smirk. You nod and he pulls his hand away again to clash his lips with yours, swallowing each other’s exclaims of pleasure while you both feel the need to go harder, deeper. Dean tightens his grip on your hips and you hook your feet around the stools legs. He slams you down on his cock, feeling it grow harder with each thrust when you start clenching your walls around him and feel yourself grow closer to that sweet release. A few moments later, all three of you are trembling and groaning, so close to the breaking point that - Hold on a second.

But it’s too late, you’re both too far gone to form any thoughts now, your bodies working mindlessly to get you over that edge. At last, a deep, muffled groan echoes through the room as you both come undone and collapse on the stool, shaking and panting heavily. Unfortunately that’s the last push needed to send the stool over the edge as well; before either of you realize what’s going on, its legs give in with a row of shuddering cracks and you all three crash into the floor in a cacophony of plastic snapping, a high pitched scream, and a half-strangled “Son of a bitch!”

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Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation

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Tags:

@ariasong11 @deansjacket @literallylexa @lmpala1967 @foxyjwls007 @impala67rollingthroughtown

[btstrology]

The Last Gift (Preview)

✯ Genre: SUPER ANGST but with fluff to compensate the pain lol, coworkers rivalry, from haters to lovers, slice of life, romance, mature, eventual SMUT, pregnancy, single parent.

❥ Pairing : Yoongi x Reader

✉ Plot:  After years of pursuing your dream job, you've finally been transferred to Seoul to work in the marketing division of Samsung. Everything should be fantastic except for one problem: your coworker has been an ass to you nonstop since day one. Fed up with his behavior, you decide to investigate him, hoping to dig up something that could get him kicked out of the company. But what a surprise when you find out his biggest secret.

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“It’s always been about her…not me…” a tear streams down your face as your voice trembles. “I should’ve known nothing would ever change” your breath hitches, fingers clutching at your sleeves as if they could steady you. “And yet, I ignored it for my own sake… because that was my way of coping with the fact that, despite all these years… you still… love her.” you gasp, tears falling uncontrollably.

Yoongi stands rigid, his eyes filled with pain as he watches you break down. He reaches out–then hesitates, his arm dropping limply at his side.

“And do you know what’s the most frustrating thing?” you continue, your voice cracking in a pained laugh. His lips part to speak, but no words come. “I can’t even get mad about it. Because I knew from the very beginning that I had already lost to her.”

A single tear escapes the corner of Yoongi’s eye, but he doesn’t move. Maybe because he doesn’t know what to do, maybe because he’s too scared that you will disappear if he does. 

You stand there, waiting for him to speak, to hug you, to tell you that everything will be fine, to do something–but he doesn’t. Unable to look at him any longer, you cover your face with your hands, your body shaking with sobs. “Tell me, Yoongi… Did you ever really love me, even once? Did you see me for who I am, or was I just a reflection of your past?”

He hesitantly takes a step forward, his voice barely a whisper. “I–”

But you step back, hating for once his presence near you. Your eyes lock on his face, searching for answers that you know you will never have “Just who am I to you? Who…Who really am I?” And as if he could sense it, he instinctively stretches his arm, his hand desperately to catch you, but before he can reach for your wrist, you turn and run, leaving him behind–broken, speechless, and alone once more.

He watches as you run away from him, turning to a small dot in the distance.

He wants to chase after you–he really wants to–but he’s too shattered, too weighed down by sadness, too exhausted. Exhausted by everything–by his own feelings, by his bad decisions, by the weight of the past. 

You left him, and in the worst way possible. 

If he had known that this would be the last day he’d ever see you, he would have run after you as if his life depended on it.

But sadly, in life, sometimes you only get one chance. 

And this was it. 

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Well… how do I start? I’ve always wanted to write, not just fanfics, but to write in general, but I lack experience and I’m such a perfectionist that I’ve never had the courage to publish anything until now. I’m still hesitating about pursuing fanfics because English is my third language, and I’m scared of making grammar mistakes. Sometimes I feel like I can’t properly express what’s in my mind because of this. Depending on how well my previews are received, I might give it a try…or not. I do have plenty of ideas and fics that I started to writing during the pandemic, but as I said, whether I publish them or not depends on how interested people might be in my stories.

For now, I’ll just publish the previews of each fic and see how this turns out.

To those who may read this, thank you for taking the time. I really appreciate it 🥺💜

PS: I'm really not happy on how this turned out so feel free to correct my grammar or anything you see is wrong~

[httpskuzuu]

If you even care

he can fix me

Yandere!Fyodor x Reader

idk english

summary: You don't see yourself properly. Fyodor helps... in his own way

tw: yandere behavior, kidnaping, unhealthy weight loss, reader is described as very thin, manipulation, low self-esteem, self-hatred, if I am missing something let me know

Your reflection was strange, unfamiliar with the passage of time. It's been a long time since you took a few minutes to look at your naked body and judge it. 

You've been too preoccupied with other things to worry about your appearance. It's normal, your “period of adaptation to your new life”, as Fyodor calls it, has not been easy. But now things have settled down and normality embraces you or suffocates you, depending on the day you will see it in a different way.

You went many days without eating properly, it wasn't because Fyodor wouldn't feed you, you remember perfectly the permanent knot that stagnated in your stomach those first days, causing you to feel nauseous and disgusted by the food you always loved. 

You lost a lot of weight and it's noticeable now that you stand in front of the mirror, noticing your marked bones in your skin and the little fat you have left. You don't have an opinion on what you think, it's just... strange. You wouldn't say it's pretty, but it's not hideous either. It doesn't feel like your body, it has changed in such a short time without you being able to observe the process that now feels foreign to you. You can't contain the question that runs through your mind, “Am I this person?”.

You run your hand across your stomach and stroke your ribs. You can only frown at your new, sicker, sadder self. 

You get dressed again, wishing you had never noticed your appearance again, and leave the bathroom. You join Fyodor in the living room, you know there is no point in trying to isolate yourself from him, it will only drive you mad quicker. Loneliness is like a dagger in disguise for humans, it seems harmless, that you won't be affected by the lack of contact with another person, but little by little it's tearing you completely apart.

“What happened?” He says after looking away from his old-fashioned looking book. He stares at you, examining your face as if for the first time.

“What?” The discouragement in your voice is noticeable no matter how hard you try to camouflage it. You examine him too, like a competition. Fine, elegant features despite the sickly pale skin tone. You are a little envious of his beauty sincerely. 

You avert your gaze when you see him frowning, not so much angry as confused. You want to ignore him, you don't feel like getting into his mind games or whatever he has in store for you this time. 

“You seem upset.”

Damn Fyodor and damn ability he has to read you. 

You try to distract yourself by gossiping in the bookshelf full of books, as if you really want to read something or even understand the language they are written in. 

“I’m normal.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

“Don't pretend you care.” You can't help but stare at him indignantly at his earlier words. 

Your intention when leaving the bathroom was to relax and forget your reflection, to forget how your empty eyes stared back at you, but with Fyodor nothing is as you wish. Although there is still the idea of putting your head between two pillows and not getting up from there…

There is another part of you that doesn't find the idea of fighting with Fyodor bad. He is the cause of all your ills, the devil himself. If he hadn't taken you as if you were a doll all your problems would be solved. 

Well, that last part isn't true, but it looks a lot better if you pretend it is.

“I care about you.” His look is like that of a father who is used to his child's tantrums. It would be endearing if it weren't for the current situation. “Do you think I don't? If that were the case, you would be dead.”

His words do something to you, a feeling of movement in your stomach that you haven't felt for a long time. You don't like him, you want to get away from him even if it means going back into the pit of loneliness. 

“I'm a lucky one…”

“Are you, or do you prefer death?” A shiver runs down your spine and you purse your lips. You don't want to play this game anymore, so you curl up as best you can on the couch and drop down there, as if that will save you from his voice. 

Fyodor recognizes your stubborn behavior. He closes his book without bothering to mark the page where he left it and looks at you. “Don't ignore my question, Дорогой. What's on your mind?”

You close your eyes. There's a hint of embarrassment bubbling in your throat at the thought of your response. You should either be honest, or tell him to go fuck himself. Either one will be an incentive for your talk, that's for sure.

“I’m tired.”

“Of what?”

“I don't know. Everything, I guess.” And you realize you sound like that stranger on the Internet who vents to other strangers. “I don't know what I feel.”

Staring back into their eyes is painful. That's what love must feel like, his love, and it almost makes you laugh. All your life believing that your soul mate would come for you and it turns out that instead a terrorist came to rob you. 

“But you know what brought that on. Tell me.”

“Why me, Fedya?” The old nickname makes your chest hurt, but you couldn't even stop it from coming out of your mouth. “You literally look perfect, and with your attitude you sure could have found anyone else.”

“Ah, I see what is going on.” And with that, he gets up from the armchair next to the sofa and stands in front of you. You don't even pretend to raise your head.

It's almost as if you're frozen. He knows what happens? And what happens? God save you from this man. 

“You don't feel like you're enough for me. Am I right?” How you would love to tell him no and punch him in that perfect face, you would really love that. 

And your silence answers him. You still don't know why he's still with you. Maybe before the kidnapping you could understand, your self-perception wasn't so screwed up and you could realize your past beauty, but now? You don't understand what it is about your empty eyes that makes Fyodor want to keep you. And it's not just about outer beauty, your whole psyche seems disgusting to you: Your insufferable behavior, your mood swings, your treatment of him. Sometimes you're just left pondering why you can't go back to what you were before. 

“I don't understand how you haven't killed me yet.” The words come out raw and for a moment you wonder if you're already crying. “Don't you miss what I was before you kidnapped me?”

Fyodor shakes his head. Still his smile shows. You suppose it's funny to see you being so pathetic and using your captor as a psychologist. 

“Милашка, you are idealizing your past self.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Do you want to go back to the times in your life when you looked for love in any fool? Or when the slightest comment against you made you collapse?” Finally he sits down next to you and you almost want to run away, far away. Not to escape, it wouldn't make sense to do that at this point, just to get away for a few moments, to be able to breathe and cry without this suffocating feeling over you. 

Fyodor grips your hand so gently, as if you were made of glass. You feel your cheeks wet and how the sobs come out of your mouth despite trying to keep it shut. It seems like this is one of those loud cries, though it doesn't matter. Fyodor doesn't mind you screaming. 

You end up seeking solace in the man who ruined you in the first place. You don't understand the pain and comfort it causes you in equal parts, but there's something addictive about it. You cry against his chest like a small child. Fyodor strokes your hair comfortingly. You would stay like this for the rest of your days if your mind would let you. 

“I love you for who you are, whether good or bad. If you think a new version of you is going to drive me away you are very wrong.”

[haru-dipthong]

Fansub release + translation notes for Utena ep 29!

Girl 1: でもさー　るか先輩もひどいんじゃない？ Girl 2: そう？あの子が勝手に盛り上がってただけじゃない。 Girl 1: あー　そういうとこある！ All: あるある。

Girl 1: Don't you think Ruka was kinda mean though? Girl 2: Yeah, right. I bet she was just getting hysterical over nothing. Girl 1: Oh yeah, maybe! All: Yeah.

I love translating these scenes with the faceless girls talking because the Japanese is so natural and real. Naturalistic speech is a fun challenge because there’s a lot that can’t be directly translated (like filler words and the absence of words), so you really need to consider what these people would be saying if they were speaking English instead. It’s a challenge of creative writing, recalling lived experiences, and using learned social scripts all in one!

For example, the “getting hysterical over nothing” part translates 勝手に盛り上がってた (lit. getting herself worked up) and the 勝手 part implies that Ruka is blameless. But “getting worked up” sounds a bit too animenglish for my tastes, and doesn’t communicate the intensity of the emotions involved. On top of that, I think these gossipy scenes are intended to be a commentary on how women also uphold patriarchal ideals and perpetuate misogyny. So with that in mind, I chose the word “hysterical” — it being a word often used to belittle or dismiss emotional outbursts of women. “Over nothing” was a way to communicate the “Ruka is blameless” piece in a natural sounding way. Altogether I think it’s a great example of the challenge of translating natural language while also factoring in your other aims in the translation like preservation of major themes.

Ruka: だが彼女はわがままで強引で自分勝手で、おまけに嘘つきときている。申し訳ないが、誰があんな女とだ。 Juri: 貴様！何様のつもりだ！

Ruka: But she's narcissistic, coercive, and selfish. And a liar to boot. I'm sorry, but who could put up with that bitch? Juri: Fuck you! Who do you think you are?

This scene is so intense. I’ve never used so many swear words in a single episode before, let alone a single scene! During editing, Anya asked about how I decided where to put the swear words, given that there aren’t really equivalents in Japanese. It’s a complicated question but there are a few things that I factor in.

First of all, there are kind of equivalents, sometimes. In the example above, I translated 貴様！ as “Fuck you!” Kisama is often translated as “bastard” or “jerk” or something similar because it’s a disrespectful form of address. Japanese has lots of disrespectful ways of saying “you” but no equivalent of “fuck” or even “fuck you”. I thought “fuck you” got across the anger Juri put into her 貴様！ much better than any name calling she could have done. Having done this translation now, I really lean towards “fuck you” being a standard translation of 貴様 (content rating depending).

Juri: 誰が貴様なんかと！ Ruka: 本当はフェンシング部の部長である僕の事が好きだったんだろう。 Juri: ふっざけるな！侮辱するにはほどがある！

Juri: Who the fuck would want you? Ruka: The truth is, you've always had a crush on your fencing captain, haven't you? Juri: Are you fucking kidding? I've never been so insulted!

The second factor is, unfortunately, based solely on vibes (and tone). Juri’s first line here literally translates to “who would … you (derogatory)”, with the verb omitted and implicit. But there’s that kisama again, adding an extremely spiteful and emotional tone. The fact the sentence is a rhetorical question also impacts the tone, and the lack of verb makes it feel even more like it’s being spat out at Ruka like an attack. All of this together makes me feel like it needs a swear word in here to properly convey the vibes being communicated in how Juri is talking.

And again, in her last line from the above example, the vibes are powerful and resentful. Even though it’s just a single word, ふざけるな (lit. don’t joke around/are you kidding/etc), the way she delivers it is so spiteful that translating as “are you fucking kidding” just feels right.

Juri: なんといやしいやつになりさがったんだ！

Juri: When did you become such a miserable piece of shit?

I don’t have anything to say on this line that I haven’t already above, but I liked it so much that I wanted to highlight it!

Thank you as always to my amazing editor @dontbe-lasanya! This project would be impossible without you!

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Rose divider taken from this post.