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jadeshifting · 1 month ago

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★⋆. — HOGWARTS ELECTIVE CLASSES TO SCRIPT

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

𓆩♡𓆪 — ENCHANTED ARTIFACTS

ever wanted to know how cursed rings, bewitched mirrors, and sentient diaries work? this course teaches you how to identify, dismantle, and (if you’re brave) create magical relics—you never know when you’ll need an enchanted necklace or a vanishing cabinet, i suppose

𓆩♡𓆪 — WIZARDING FASHION HISTORY

from the enchanted silks of the 1500s to robes that literally spark joy (or flames) in the 1900s, this elective dives into the who, what, and why tho of wizarding couture. you’ll learn how clothing reflected magical politics (hello, anti-Muggle fabrics), the most popular clothing charms over the centuries, and why Merlin’s pointy hat was such a massive deal at the time

𓆩♡𓆪 — CURSE REVERSAL

sometimes, magic backfires—this class teaches you how to undo everything from jinxed cauldrons to full-on blood curses. it’s half science, half art, and fully life-saving

𓆩♡𓆪 — HEALING

for the bleeding hearts (and bloody injuries). this elective teaches advanced healing charms, restorative potions, and how to fix the most catastrophic accidents without having to Floo to St. Mungo’s. class is split 50/50 between the healers of the next generation, and mischief makers that are so unhinged they have to heal themselves. this class sees all the good, the bad and the ugly

𓆩♡𓆪 — DRAGON STUDIES

learn all about the physicality, variety, and history of these dynamically unique creatures, and perhaps learn how to not get torched while studying them along the way. the course includes field trips (waivers from home and insurance spells VERY much required)

𓆩♡𓆪 — CHARMED CULINARY ARTS

enchanted cooking utensils will be your best friend as you navigate this course, learning to do everything in the kitchen from baking bread that sings to brewing drinks that bubble with magic. (house elves are assistants in this class, and you can always convince them to slip you an extra treat or two)

𓆩♡𓆪 — ADVANCED DIVINATION

tea leaves and crystal balls don’t even begin to scratch the surface of everything divination has to offer—if you’re a believer, and grounded enough to put up with the kooky professor. this course dives into obscure methods of divining the future: dream walking, cloud reading, rune casting, and much more. perfect for the more spiritually inclined students (or those who just enjoy the professor’s cryptic drama)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL FORESICS

got a Sherlock streak, or always wondered how the aurors do it? learn how to dissect magical crime scenes, trace hex signatures, and untangle the threads of a cursed crime

𓆩♡𓆪 — MINISTRY POLITICS & MAGICAL LAW

in this course that’s absolutely not for the academically faint, you’ll find yourself taking part in debates more than any other course. debate the ethics of using Veritaserum in court, or why house-elf labor laws are a mess. these students are likely future members of the Wizengamot

𓆩♡𓆪 — ENCHANTED HOMEKEEPING

from self-sweeping brooms to magical security systems, think Martha Stewart meets The Standard Book of Spells. this course covers everything you need to know about using magic to run the most efficient household ever (you get a headache when you think about how Muggles do all of this without magic)

𓆩♡𓆪 — ALCHEMY: THE ART OF TRANSFORMARION

arguably the ultimate nerdy class—i’ve yet to meet a single person who wanted to handle the theories and coursework of this class. learn the secrets of transmutation, potion refinement, and (the whole thing’s pretty mysterious) all about the quest for immortality

𓆩♡𓆪 — SPELL CREATION THEORY

an elective created as the direct remedy for students making overeager and academically misguided attempts to make their own spells (some spells don’t exist for a reason, Fred and George.) learn the theory of how to craft spells from scratch and fine-tune them to your exact needs—perfect for the creatively chaotic. though, of course, you don’t actually make spells in class (that’s a direct ticket to St. Mungo’s)

𓆩♡𓆪 — THEORY & ETHICS OF NECROMANCY

strictly theoretical, of course (for legal reasons), this class dives into the magical theory of spirits’ existence, resurrection spells, and the history of necromancy. it also manages to cram most of one of the longest-standing debates in magical history into a year-long course (we can raise the dead, but should we? HM, i wonder)

𓆩♡𓆪 — WANDLESS MAGIC

if you’re someone who thinks ‘why bother with a wand when you are the magic?’ this course is for you—it trains you in wandless spellcasting, so you can cast even when you’ve “misplaced” your primary weapon

𓆩♡𓆪 — WIZARDING FOLKLORE

from ghostly greenhouses to the allegedly haunted halls of Hogwarts, from ancient fairy tales to horror stories that keep even the bravest wizards awake at night, this course covers all of the folklore and tall tales from centuries of wizarding history and storytelling

𓆩♡𓆪 — ENCHANTED CARTOGRAPHY

i’m sure you already know that making an enchanted map is a skill that never goes out of style (cough, Marauder’s.) in this course, learn to create enchanted maps that move, update themselves, and accurately portray secret rooms and passageways (though they might not cover the more mischievous aspects in the course, i’m sure you can figure those out on your own time)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL ETHICS & PHILOSOPHY

all the way from time turners and truth serums to love potions and dementors, this course holds a magnifying glass to all the moral dilemmas of using magic in gray areas—just because you can hex someone doesn’t mean you should, and if you need a love potion, maybe you should reexamine some things first

𓆩♡𓆪 — QUIDDITCH ANALYTICS

a course all about the stats, spells, and tactics behind the wizarding worlds’ favorite sport. think of it as sabermetrics, but with broomsticks. students are an even split of quidditch players, and those who love quidditch without wanting to zoom hundreds of feet above the ground (understandable)

𓆩♡𓆪 — WANDLORE & CRAFTING

take your first step towards becoming the next Ollivander by studying wand woods, cores, and how to match them with their perfect witch or wizard. careful, your own wand might be open to more scrutiny than you’re accustomed to. warning: NOT a class for people with butterfingers

𓆩♡𓆪 — MOVING PHOTOGRAPHY

learn how to properly snap a good photo and develop moving pictures, charm them with special effects, and create photo albums that are magically cohesive enough to tell their own stories. with moving photos holding entire memories, someone always needs a good magical photographer

𓆩♡𓆪 — GRIMOIRE WRITING & SPELL JOURNALING

every great wizard of the past and present had a grimoire to keep track of their endless magical escapades. learn how to create your own spellbooks, safely document your findings, and make them impossible for dark wizards (or just nosy siblings) to read

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL LINGUISTICS

communication is key, whether it’s haggling with goblins, charming house-elves, or negotiating with dragons. this course helps you break through the language barrier—literally—to the entire wizarding world and all its species

𓆩♡𓆪 — MAGICAL JOURNALISM

for aspiring Rita Skeeters (hopefully no one, let’s make it ethical), this course covers investigative reporting, spell-resistant quills, following the honor code of interviewing and writing, and even some tips on how to charm the Daily Prophet editors with your work and score a job in the journalism field. NO Quick-Quotes Quills allowed, ever !!

𓆩♡𓆪 — TIME MANIPULATION THEORY

absolutely no time-turners allowed, despite learning all about them. learn the ethical and practical implications of bending time, including nearly every historical horror story of witches and wizards who got a little spin-happy with the power. (does the course only exist as a big fat warning for the students who are granted use of a time turner? we’ll never know—but yes, probably)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MUSIC & ENCHANTED COMPOSITION

a course taken by many of the choir members, which allows you to delve deep into the magic behind musical spells, how to ethically enchant instruments for killer performances, and both writing and performing magical compositions. don’t mind the frogs in class, they’re brushing up on their technique, too

𓆩♡𓆪 — SPELL COMBAT TACTICS

this course covers a mix of strategic dueling with battlefield planning, as it covers pretty much every notable magical duel and battle in history. perfect for those angling to join the Aurors, or those who are just looking to win every wizarding duel

𓆩♡𓆪 — WIZARDING THEATER

this course involves combining drama with charms to bring stories literally to life on stage. props are enchanted and can interact with the actors, the weather matches each set, and actors might just float mid-scene. students can sharpen their acting and set enchantment skills to hopefully be on one of the great wizarding stages one day (or working behind the scenes of one)

𓆩♡𓆪 — MUGGLE STUDIES: ADVANCED INTEGRATION

forget the “what’s a toaster?” training-wheels shit—this course is about truly blending wizarding ingenuity with Muggle innovation. a popular course among muggleborn students, who have the opportunity to actually use their heritage in their favor to explore a whole world of social and magical possibilities

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

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the-winter-spider · 5 months ago

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What I Have | B. Barnes

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning: Probably the fluffiest piece ive written lol

A/N: I was listening to What I Have by Kelsea Ballerini and well here we are lol

—-

The year was 2024, over one hundred years since you were born—105, to be exact. Your life hadn’t turned out at all like you had dreamed or hoped it would.

You were supposed to marry the boy next door once the war was done. You’d picked out your wedding dress while window shopping with your best friend, even before he proposed. You made a scrapbook, meticulously curating hairstyles and makeup looks, debating over the choices as if they were the most pressing decisions in the world.

You sketched out your dream house, selecting the colors, the flowers for the front garden, and the vegetables you would surely grow in the back. You even chose the font for your new last name on the mailbox.

You had each of your children’s names picked out—three, to be exact. Two boys and one girl, you had hoped. Everything was a dream, but it seemed so close, so possible, as if it should have been a reality. You should be dead by now, having lived a full life, with your children who should have been walking the earth with their children, your grandchildren.

But everything went wrong. Literally, everything possible went wrong.

Bucky fell off a train and died. He actually fell off a train, and they declared him dead. In reality, he had lost his arm, survived the fall because Hydra had already experimented on him. They brainwashed him, like something out of a twisted fairy tale, turning him into a deadly assassin. Your beautiful, blue-eyed Bucky, your sweet Bucky, became a killer. A Bucky you would never see again, because even though he was still here, and you were so thankful for that, he would never be your Bucky again.

And then there was Steve. Of course, Steve found him, because of course! And let’s not forget that your best friend, Steve, who was once smaller than you, was injected with a serum that not only tripled his size but turned him into a superhero because, yes, apparently those needed to exist. Of course, he went off to war, driven by a need for revenge for his best friend, your fiancé Bucky. And of course, he had to be noble, going down for the cause, leading everyone to believe he was dead. But of course, he wasn’t. They found him, frozen but alive, because he was Captain America, and that’s just what happens.

And then there was you, consumed by grief, first losing the love of your life and then your best friend. You begged, on your knees, begged Howard Stark to use you as his test subject for cryogenic testing. You couldn’t bear to be here without your boys. He hesitated because he loved Steve, and he knew Steve wouldn’t want this for you. But when you threatened that if he didn’t, you would take your own life, he relented. So, of course, it worked because it was Howard, and he was a Stark. But decades passed, and the year he was supposed to wake you up, The Winter Soldier murdered him. So, as usual, you stayed frozen, but alive, until Howard’s son, Tony, found you in his father’s hidden lab.

You woke up to a world that was not your own, a century too late for the life you were supposed to live. The world had moved on, but you hadn’t. Your friends were legends now, mythologized beyond recognition. And you, well, you were the ghost of what could have been.

The years that followed were a blur of new faces, new battles, and new griefs. You tried to adapt, to find a place in this future that had no room for you. But every corner of this brave new world reminded you of the past, of the life that slipped through your fingers.

And then one day, while sifting through old boxes in Tony’s lab, you found something. It was an old, faded book, as soon as you saw the brown cover you heart dropped you knew what it was, it waa your scrapbook. The cover had an old faded photo of you, Bucky, and Steve, taken on a sunny day before the world went mad. You barely recognized the girl in the photo, with her bright smile and unbroken heart. But there she was, a relic of a time that now felt like a dream.

You realised then that maybe you didn’t belong in this world. Maybe you never did. But as long as you were here, you could try—try to make sense of the pieces left behind, to find some small measure of peace in the chaos.

And that’s exactly what you did. Even though you didn’t have the life you had once dreamed of, you still had them. And in what world does all that trauma happen, and you still end up alive with your boys?

You picked up the dusty book, holding it close to your heart, as you navigated through the compound, following the sound of laughter coming from the living room. You paused just outside the doorway, soaking in the warmth of his laugh—a sound you feared you might never hear again after Bucky began recovering from his trauma. But here it was, filling the room, and even though it wasn’t the same Bucky you knew decades ago, his laugh was unchanged, and it made your heart swell.

Rounding the corner, you saw Steve clutching his chest in joy, playfully shoving Sam, who was grinning widely.

Bucky’s eyes immediately found yours; he could always find you in any room. “Hi, doll,” he said, getting up to kiss your cheek and taking your hand to lead you to the couch.

“Hi, Buck. Hi, Stevie, Sammy,” you greeted them, settling in beside Bucky.

Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Bucky glanced down at the book in your arms. “What’s that?”

Steve’s smile faded into something more serious as he noticed the book, instantly recognizing it. “Is that what I think it is?”

You nodded, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “Stark… he kept it. I haven’t opened it yet. I thought… I thought we could do it together.”

“What is it?” Sam asked, his curiosity piqued.

“It’s my life,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “There are a few pages of what I thought it would turn out to be… but after everything happened…” You paused, taking a steadying breath. The memories of losing Bucky and Steve were still fresh, no matter how much time had passed. “I never planned or dreamed of anything else. It just felt silly without you boys. So, I just filled it with photographs.”

“Photographs of who?” Sam asked, leaning forward.

“Everyone,” you replied softly, glancing between Bucky and Steve. “Peggy and Mrs. Rogers,” you said, meeting Steve’s gaze. You saw the emotion in his eyes at the mention of his mother. “Becca and Winnie, Mr. Barnes,” you continued, feeling Bucky tense slightly at the mention of his mother and sister, their faces now distant memories. “I even have Howard and the Commandos.” You smiled a little. “But mostly, it’s us—all of us.”

Bucky reached out, gently taking the book from your hands. His fingers brushed the worn cover, the room fell silent as the weight of the past settled around you all.

“Let’s open it together,” Steve suggested, his voice thick with emotion. He moved closer, his presence a steady anchor as you all gathered around the book. Sam stayed distant, letting the three of you have your moment but still staying there.

Bucky opened the cover, and the first page revealed a photograph of you, Bucky, and Steve, taken in a simpler time. The three of you looked so young, so hopeful. You felt Bucky’s hand tighten around yours as he stared at the image, memories rushing back. It was a photo from your 16th birthday, the day he had gifted you the book.

“I gave this to you,” Bucky said quietly, the realization settling over him.

You nodded. “For my birthday. You wrote…” You trailed off, pointing to the top left corner of the front of the book.

He read the words aloud, his voice filled with emotion. “Happy 16th birthday to my best girl. I hope you fill these pages with your hopes and dreams. I can only hope that somewhere in amongst them, I’ll be a part of it. With all the love, Bucky.”

Sam smiled, leaning back in his seat. “Who knew you were such a romantic, Buck?”

You watched as Bucky’s cheeks flushed a light shade of red at the comment, and you gave his knee a gentle squeeze, feeling the warmth of the old affection between you.

“For y/n, he was crazy,” Steve chimed in, grinning. “You should have seen him—head over heels is an understatement. Try obses—”

Before Steve could finish, Bucky reached behind you and gave him a playful shove. “Can it, Rogers,” he muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Steve just laughed, catching himself before he toppled over. “You know it’s true.”

You chuckled, resting your head against Bucky’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

Bucky’s hand found yours again, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. “Neither would I.”

As you all shared a quiet moment, the weight of the years seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of old memories and the comfort of the present. Bucky turned the page, revealing more photographs—snapshots of moments that had once seemed so ordinary but now felt like treasures.

The pages turned slowly, revealing a life that could have been—a wedding dress sketched out, a house with a picket fence, names of children that never came to be. And then, the photographs—snapshots of moments frozen in time. Peggy’s bright smile, Mrs. Rogers’ kind eyes, the mischievous grins of Becca and Winnie, Howard’s confident stance, the Commandos’ camaraderie. But the most frequent faces were your own, Bucky’s, and Steve’s, from a time when the world was both simpler and infinitely more complex.

Each image told a story. There was one of you and Steve dancing at a neighbourhood block party, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand. Another showed Bucky in his military uniform, giving you a wink as he prepared to head off to basic training. Then there were pictures of Steve and Bucky goofing around, each trying to outdo the other in some silly stunt, and you caught in the middle, rolling your eyes but smiling all the same.

There were pictures of Bucky and you around the campfire on the night before everything changed—before he fell off the train. Bucky paused on that photo, his eyes lingering on it. “That was the night before…” he said softly.

You nodded, squeezing his hand, understanding the weight of those words.

“Night before what?” Sam asked, his voice gentle.

“Before I fell,” Bucky replied, those three words carrying a lifetime of pain and loss. The room grew still, the significance of that moment hanging heavy in the air. Sam didn’t say anything more, sensing the depth of emotion in Bucky’s words.

Bucky’s gaze remained fixed on the photo, his voice quiet as he continued. “It was the last time I felt so much joy… I feel it now, but it was different then.”

Steve nodded in agreement, his expression solemn. “I get it, Buck.”

“Me too,” you added, your voice trembling slightly. “I keep thinking about what was supposed to be, what should have been.” You paused, wiping a tear from your eye. “I don’t understand why it all happened the way it did—why I didn’t get the life I thought I was going to.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky whispered, his hand gently reaching out to wipe away your tears, his touch as tender as it had always been.

The room fell into a reverent silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts, the weight of your shared history settling over you like a heavy blanket. Finally, Sam spoke, his voice soft and full of understanding. “You’ve lived a hell of a life.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you wiped away a stray tear. “It wasn’t what I planned,” you admitted, your voice thick with emotion. “But I wouldn’t trade it. Not if it meant losing this—losing you… both of you.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “We didn’t get the life we dreamed of, but we got each other. And that’s enough.”

Steve leaned back, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “We’ve been through so much, but we’re still here. Together.”

Sam smiled, the warmth in his expression offering a quiet reassurance. “That’s what matters in the end. Not what you lost, but what you’ve kept.”

“Till the end of the line,” Steve spoke, the words heavy with emotion and depth.

“Till the end of the line,” Bucky echoed, pulling you closer to his side.

You glanced around the room at the faces of the people who had become your family—the ones who had stood by you through the darkest of times.

As the pages of the scrapbook turned, the photographs shifted from black-and-white to colour, reflecting the passage of time. The images grew fewer as the years became harder, but each one was more precious because of it.

Finally, you reached the last page, where an empty space awaited a new photograph. You looked up at Bucky and Steve, both of them gazing at the book with a mix of nostalgia and gratitude.

“You should take a new photo,” Sam suggested, his voice soft but certain. “One to mark this moment.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that melted away the years. “Yeah, we should.”

Steve grinned. “I’ll get the camera.”

As Steve stood to retrieve a camera, you leaned into Bucky, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your hand. This was the life you had, and it was more than enough. The empty space in the book was no longer a reminder of what was lost, but a promise of what was yet to come—a new chapter, filled with love, laughter, and the people who mattered most.

Sam took the camera from Steve, ready to take the picture. But just as he was about to snap the shot, you paused. “Wait!”

“What? You don’t have food in your teeth, but your hair…” Sam teased with a smirk.

“Well, I was going to say I want you in the picture too, but…” You trailed off

“No, no! I’m sorry, you’re beautiful… perfect—”

“Sam, watch it, that’s my girl,” Bucky warned, a protective edge to his voice.

Sam rolled his eyes, chuckling. “The whole world knows that, Buck.” He placed the camera on the tripod and took a seat beside Steve. “You sure you want me in this?”

“Of course, Sammy! You’re one of us now,” you insisted, smiling warmly at him.

Sam’s expression softened, and he nodded, touched by your words. As the camera clicked, capturing the four of you together, you knew that this was the memory that would fill that final page—the proof that even after everything, you still had your boys, old and new, and they still had you.

The book might never hold the life you once dreamed of, but it would hold the life you had lived—the one you had fought for, the one you had loved.

And that was more than enough.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky banres #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #james barnes x you #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic

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spiderfunkz · 30 days ago

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MISERY LOVES COMPANY

cho hyun-ju x f!reader

cw: gender dysphoria, struggles with identity, fluff, the use of 'y/n' like once. inspired by young-mi's "you're beautiful, unnie".

it was finally time to rest. this has been more stressful than you imagined, the blue badge by your chest representing the opposite of your thoughts. you wanted to continue, ignoring all the mean quips given when voting. you knew the risks, but it meant more than anything to pay off all of your debts. to finally live life with no more worries.

but of course it is with struggle. the games were so difficult, but you didn't want to die because of a children's game. that's just so pathetic, is what you think. truly, you wanted to go home, to your tiny cramped apartment. to be able to sleep on the thin mattress you took take for granted.

you couldn't sleep like this. so you got up to go to the restroom, after some debating with the guard, you were let in. you remembered when you were younger, people seemed to think nobody could beat you in a debate, you still believe that is true.

your skin was tainted in blood, your hair was so messy, and you felt so extremely tired. you stood in front of the sink, trying your best to scratch away all the blood that seemed engraved in your skin.

that's when you noticed someone beside you.

she was beautiful. so, so, so beautiful. her hair was tied back in a ponytail, her nails were painted— you've seen her earlier.

player 120. you noticed her earlier during the games, how she seemed so brave and fearless. you wished you had that sort of bravery, maybe then, it would've been easier for you.

but in this light, she seemed rather sad.

"are you okay?" you ask, your voice was shaky. were you nervous?

she looks at you, nodding. this was your chance to open a topic. find a friend, that's something you've been struggling to do this entire time. you've gone through many different players throughout all the games so far, you realized forming allies wasn't your best suit.

"i'm y/n," you give her your best smile,

"hyun-ju." she replies, you think you could listen to her voice for hours. "that's pretty," you hummed, "your name is very pretty."

you see her cheer up slightly, "thank you."

"i have been saying, you know— people who have really pretty names are the prettiest themselves." the blood on your skin seemed to have gone away. as if your worries went with it.

"you don't mean that."

"i do."

you observe her, oh how she was gorgeous. "you are very beautiful, hyun-ju." you smile again, she smiles in return. "would you like to be friends? i've had very little luck with finding friends here,"

she nods, profusely. "i would love to."

"okay then, nice to meet you, hyun-ju." she shakes your hand. from here and on, you've got a feeling this game would go by much easier.

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alonetimelover · 1 year ago

Note

i was wondering if you could write something about harry and famous!reader where they’ve been dating for a while and reader makes cameos in harry’s music videos (sometimes big parts and sometimes small parts in the background) and it’s just a cute thing that harry and reader love and so do their fans💕

pairing: Harry Styles x famous!reader

a/n: Thank you so much for requesting, I hope you like it!

masterlist taglist

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2017

yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 3 492 492 others

yourinstagram don't let the video fool you, he was terrified to fly two metres above the ground

view all 103 392 comments

harrystyles Lies, lies, lies. I am very brave.

⤷ yourinstagram of course you were. of course.

annetwist He was afraid of heights when he was younger!

gemmastyles You should just write that you are better than him.

⤷ yourinstagram I should, shouldn't I?

⤷ gemmastyles That's my sister (from another kister)!

harryupdates ohhh, yn was behind the scenes!!!

hArrysbtch i love how she's been supporting him from the very beginning

⤷ harryoftimes hi, im quite new to fandom. can you tell me how long have they been together?

⤷ hArrysbtch oh, they've been together since like 2013! right after YN got famous for her voice acting in Tangled!

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harrystyles

liked by yourinstagram, annetwist and 5 302 592 others

harrystyles // KIWI // MUSIC VIDEO // OUT NOW // starring Lily YSN //

view all 203 392 comments

yourinstagram The star is here!!!!

⤷ harrystyles Thank you, love.

⤷ yourinstagram I was talking about Lily, my little star.

annetwist Adorable!

harryupdates yn's sister in the video???

harrysmoustache YSN family is just THAT famoly: talented, beautiful, unproblematic

hArrysbtch i can't believe that he filmed a video with children to the song about faking the big 'o' and all that

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2019

harryupdates

liked by hArrysbtch, harrysmoustache and 44 302 others

harryupdates HARRY and YN for LIGHTS UP music video!!!

view all 4 302 comments

hArrysbtch WTFJSIW

hArrysbtch he mistook the 'tube' app. it wasn't meant for YouTube. no way.

harrysmoustache well... I've never thought I would see a video of THE yn and THE harry grinding against each other. especially in a video that was APPROVED by both of them

stylesbabie it's a great day to be bi 🏳️‍🌈

harrysmylife but but but, the scene were suddenly all other people disappear and they are alone just 'brushing'??? CINEMA

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles and 6 308 492 others

yourinstagram there is no land quite like it... written by yours truly, starring my man and my beautiful baby boy

view all 410 201 comments

harrystyles The smile that brightens the world.

⤷ yourinstagram all yours.

⤷ harrystyles Debatable.

annetwist My beautiful grandson is already a star! 🥰

gemmastyles petition to release the 'baby' cut!!!

harryupdates THEY HAVE A SON???

hArrysbtch those bitches grew the whole baby while being gone from the media and all

harrysmoustache it doesn't surprise him that the most cinematic music video was written by yn

stylesbabie i still hope he's releasing the mv for watermelon sugar

⤷ gemmastyles Please, don't.

⤷ harrystyles :))

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2020

hArrysbtch

liked by harryupdates and 68 301 others

hArrysbtch just my fav stills from watermelon sugar mv...

view all 5 301 comments

harryupdates I still can't believe he did it

harrysmoustache all of the moments of yn are just majestic. it feels wrong to watch it, but I can't take my eyes off the screen!!!

harrysmylife it's even better when you see that all harry's individual shots are right after yn's.

stylesbabie oh he enjoyed that watermelon sugar, oh he did

harrysmylove im just happy for her, she's in good hands. really good hands from what I saw in this video

harrysfan56 no wonder they have a whole child now

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2021

harrystyles

liked by yourinstagram, annetwist and 6 391 493 others

harrystyles // Happy New Year, from The Styles to You // TPWK music video is out now //

view all 492 301 comments

yourinstagram I'm the Styles.

⤷ harrystyles Yes, you are. ❤️

gemmastyles My girl leading the dance because of his two left feet.

⤷ harrystyles Didn't you see our Dirty Dancing moves?

annetwist The Styles production!

harryupdates they are married. woah.

harryupdates it really should stop making me all surprised that this man is announcing something huge so casually.

hArrysbtch MY FAVOURITE COUPLE IS MARRIED !!!

harrysmoustache that's what I'm talking about

harrysfan84 finally the tpwk video!!!!!

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2022

ynandharryupdates

liked by yourinstagram, harryupdates and 45 392 others

ynandharryupdates HARRY with his and YN'S second baby in the BTS for As It Was... they have another child...

view all 6 390 comments

yourinstagram she's a mommy's daughter

⤷ harrystyles Nope. Daddy's daughter.

⤷ ynandharryupdates HELLO YOU TWO

harryupdates THEIR LITTLE FAMILY OF FOUR...

hArrysbtch they are not stopping with those babies and good, share those good genes

stylesbabie the way she was so happy in harry's arms and then heard yn's voice nad immediately started looking for her

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 12 201 402 others

yourinstagram 📣announcment📣 somehow I have fallen pregnant. If you know the possible reason for it, please send it my way, we need to talk.

view all 594 302 comments

harrystyles I may know it, but it's conidential.

⤷ yourinstagram im on the couch in need of answers, pickles and cuddles

⤷ harrystyles Happy to provide.

annetwist You're making me the happiest grandma on earth

gemmastyles I don't want to know. BUT I will spoil this little wonder as much as I can

harryupdates she was like 'fine, have it' and I love her for it

hArrysbtch YN you know how babies are made, don't you? it beginning with s and ends with x...

⤷ yourinstagram SIX??? no way. what's next, NINE?

⤷ stylesbabie NASTY

⤷ hArrysbtch yn you little tease

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harrystyles

liked by yourinstagram, hArrysbtch and 5 402 492 others

harrystyles LATE NIGHT TALKING. OUT NOW. with YN YSN-STYLES.

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yourinstagram you meanie. i have tickles.

harryupdates she's in his every video, i love it

hArrysbtch if I ever have a partner im gonna show them off just the way harry does with yn

harrysmylife ohhhh

harrysmoustache the video was so sweet and wholesome!

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles and 16 392 392 others

yourinstagram 10 years together. 3 years sharing the last name. I couldn't ask for a better partner to go through life with.

comments to this post have been limited

harrystyles There could be no better person to share children with. You being their mother is the best that could meet them.

⤷ yourinstagram im still emotional. stop.

annetwist There could be no one better for my son.

gemmastyles I'm still mad you aren't with me, but that way I wouldn't be an aunt. So okay, have it, little brother.

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a/n: i enjoyed so much writing for this pair. should i write some more?

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles instagram #harry styles one shot #harry styles fake ig #famous!reader #dad!harry

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babbushka · 6 months ago

Text

Death At The Dive Bar

Flip Zimmerman X F!Reader

Inspired by this request, some weird twilight-zone occult occurrences happen to happen to our favorite detective. 3.4k, NSFW

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It’s always the same -- a scream, a crash, broken glass bloodied on the floor. A gunshot maybe, or maybe not. In the dead of night, acts of violence hiding beneath a cloak of darkness.

It’s always the same -- a 911 call, frantic panicked voices demanding someone come down from the station, someone please help, before it’s too late, even though the very act of them picking up the phone means it’s already done.

It’s always the same -- until it isn't. And on a dark and stormy summer night in the thick of the Rocky Mountains, a tiny dive bar calls the nearest police dispatcher, and calmly requests to speak to one Detective Flip Zimmerman of Colorado Springs.

Flip had been in the area when he got the call over the radio, wandering around, scoping out the woods. He knew at once where it was, had heard stories of the place of course, way back in the day when he still wore the weight of the war like a thick leather jacket around his shoulders. When he pulls up in his Chevy it looks exactly the same as it always had been described: run down, small, with a buzzing neon sign proudly proclaiming The Mile High Tavern as the best place to grab a Coors within 50 miles. Nevermind that it was the only place.

He sits in his truck and glares at the bar. Popular with passers-through along winding scenic roads and most frequented by motorcyclists seeking shelter from the rain, he wonders (not for the first time this week) what the hell he’s getting himself into. The note from the dispatcher had been vague -- a lady was askin’ for him specifically, and he was supposed to find out why. Things like this didn’t bode well for him, usually.

Especially not lately, not with the way his last relationship flopped. He had tried to explain to the nice woman that his job took up a lot of his time -- had hoped that her big city job had given her a different perspective, but she didn’t seem to think his work hours applied to her. That had been three months ago that she left him, and he was still sore from it.

No, a woman asking for him directly was the last thing Flip wanted to get himself tangled up in, regardless of the reason.

Despite the rain, there isn’t the usual line of motorcycles out front. In fact, there was only one car to be seen, an oldie -- something chrome plated and pink, but he can’t really tell in the rainy darkness. The Mile High Tavern appeared for all intents and purposes to be empty, and so Flip takes one last drag of his cigarette, makes sure his gun is loaded and in its holster, and with a sigh of resignation steps into the downpour.

“Let me get you something nice and warm,” A friendly voice calls over to him from the counter when Flip steps over the threshold, your back turned to him. All at once, Flip’s heart begins to pound. Something about this place felt odd to him, an uneasy feeling that shifted his stomach around. He took another step closer and you continued, “I’m afraid the only hot thing we’ve got tonight is coffee.”

“Coffee’d be just fine, thank you.” Flip nods with gratitude, before sitting at the bar. Looking around, he notes how quaint the little place is. It’s neat and clean and warm, and he confirms that you are the only person in here. He wonders if you’ve been alone long, and frowns. “I’m sorry - I’m Detective Zimmerman, someone here rang for me?”

“I’d be that someone, yes.” You slide him a cup of black coffee down the counter that you lean against with a smile. It is dazzling, bright in the dark light of the dive bar. “Thank you for coming out here, I appreciate how quick you were.”

Well shit, Flip grimaces into his mug, now he feels like an asshole for sitting in the truck debating when, or if, he should brave the rain to head inside.

You smile at him like you knew he was out there biding his time, a teasing smile that lets him know you’re not mad, even though you could be. It wasn’t professional for a law officer to keep someone waiting like that.

“What seems to be the trouble?” He doesn’t bring up the fact that they’re alone.

It was dangerous these days, with all the murders in the woods lately. Women being slaughtered left and right by what Flip is certain is a serial killer, but no one will take him seriously enough about it to do anything. Not without more evidence.

“Do you..” You pause, as if you’re trying to find the words. No, that’s not it, as if you’re having a hard time spitting them out, like something is preventing you. “May I sit next to you?”

You look at him with expectation and hope, and he stares into your eyes, searching for what the hell brought him all the way out here on his night shift. The clock strikes three in the morning.

He doesn’t notice himself nodding with allowance, until you’re walking around the counter and getting close to him. Even though it’s warm in the bar, your hands are cold.

“Thank you,” You breathe, getting close to him. Not so close that you’re touching, but close enough that he could brush against your shoulder with his own. “I don’t usually work alone, but tonight the other server is sick, and with the storm we aren’t expecting too many people, so here I am. There was something out there.”

You stare directly into his eyes, and he’s almost taken aback by the seriousness and bluntness of your voice. Your voice is hypnotic almost, the edges of your words fuzzy and sharp at the same time, an impossible combination that has his palms sweating. He wonders for a brief moment if you slipped something into his coffee, but the thought leaves him as soon as it arrives.

“What sort of something?” He finds himself asking quietly, not wanting whatever it is to overhear. He thinks back to the past few weeks, the broken in-houses, the tape on the floor, the screams of agony. Flip sets his jaw and leans in close, looks deep into your wide open eyes, pupils huge in the dark.

“A figure, on the other side of the window. I saw it in the lightning, I saw its eyes. I think it’s a man. I’m scared.” You whisper, lowering your voice to match his pitch.

“I can escort you home -- ” He goes to get up, a rush of protective energy flowing through him, scraping the bar stool against the wooden floor, the sound so so so loud in the quiet of the bar, but your hand is gripping his arm the second he gets up.

“No!” Your voice is too sharp again, dark around the edges, and Flip looks down and sees panic in your eyes. He softens immediately, and even though he’s not supposed to, even though it’s unprofessional, even though you’re a stranger, he pulls you into a hug for some comfort. You throw your arms around him in return, and he’s not certain who is comforting whom. “No -- I -- I don’t want it to know where I live, if it follows us. I was hoping you could keep me company.”

Your face is pressed into his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he feels complete, he feels like he’s never ever going to let go. He feels like you were made to fit into his arms, against his chest. He grows hot, his throat clearing as he immediately steps back to give you some space.

You’re a stranger.

He doesn’t even know your name.

The rain pounds outside and lightning flashes, and Flip snaps back to reality.

“I don’t think I can stay all night, I would have brought backup.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, offering, “I can do a search of the premises, if that would make you feel better.”

“You shouldn’t go outside.” You shake your head, and Flip lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, glad that you have relieved him from what would have been one bitch of a job. Especially when you look up at him through your lashes and bite your lip and say, “I would prefer it if you stayed in here. With me.”

“Alright.” He smiles, throwing all caution to the wind because what the hell else is he going to do on a Monday night? “If you’d feel safer with me staying here with you, I’ll stay. But in the morning, I’ll escort you either home or to another safe location, or hell even to the station and you can give a statement, and we’ll have someone out here searching the woods.”

“That sounds like a plan, thank you.” Your hand rests on the bar counter close to his, so close, he nudges his pinky against yours. There’s no rings on your finger, he notices.

“In the meantime, what should we do?” He licks his lips, knowing that it’s wrong, it’s an abuse of power -- but who has power over whom? He’s getting lost in your eyes, in the pretty smile you give him as you reach over the bar counter and grab a small rectangular pack of --

“I have a deck of cards.” You brandish them at him, looking over your shoulder with a grin. The way you’re bent over the bartop has Flip’s mind doing awful things, things like picturing you without any of those clothes on. “You any good at poker?”

Flip was not good at poker.

He’s lost the past two games and you’re already shuffling for a third. The energy in the bar has relaxed significantly, and Flip is starting to forget why he’s there.

“Let’s up the ante.” You say, in an attempt to discourage or motivate him, he isn’t sure, as you shuffle and shuffle and shuffle the cards. “Each hand someone loses, they take something off.”

“I don’t see how this ends any other way than me naked.” Flip grunts, not entirely displeased by the prospect.

“You could win, and then I’d be the naked one.” You point out, and he laughs, a snort through his nose that exhales blue wispy smoke from his cigarette.

On the first hand, Flip loses -- but that’s all it takes. He unbuttons his shirt and you’re hot on him, pinching his cigarette out and flicking it into the ashtray for him, your lips searing onto his. No one can ever find out about this, can ever know he’s about to fuck this stranger on the job, fuck you silly over the bar counter while on a call, and you don’t seem like the type to tell. Not with the way you’re pulling your blouse up over your head.

He hadn’t really paid any attention to what you’re wearing until it’s off, in a heap on the floor around him. The undergarments you wear are old fashioned, a bullet bra and girdle that hold up a pair of stockings. The clothes on the floor are old fashioned too, almost like the same exact uniform that a waitress might have worn at the Tavern twenty years ago.

But they look new, and maybe the tavern never updated their uniforms,Flip doesn’t care, not with the way your hands are on his belt, pulling his hard dick out of his pants and spitting down onto it, spreading the spit around, his tip leaking and joining the mix.

With ragged breath, he pushes you down face first onto the bartop again, pops the straps of your bra, your garter, pushes down your stockings. They rip under his rough treatment, and he feels bad for a moment, just a moment, until his cock is rubbing at the soft wet folds of you and you let out a moan that fills the tavern with warmth.

“I don’t have a -- ” He starts, pulling away, trying to remember that he’s almost forty for fuck’s sake, he needs to be responsible, he needs to --

“It’s alright.” You reach behind him and grab at his hand, leading him to drape his body over yours, giving him permission to fuck you anyway.

With a sharp breath he pushes in all the way, bottoms out so that his cock is completely enveloped inside of you, his hips pressed against the smooth skin of your ass, and he almost can’t move he’s so blinded by the feeling. You’re so tight, and so wet, the bar smells like musk and sweat and rain, the sweet salty combination making his mind go dizzy.

He’s never talked much during sex, and this is no different, but in the back of his mind he wishes he had something good enough to say to you, something impressive. Instead, he thrusts in a steady harsh rhythm that has your knees buckling, your hands gripping the far edge of the bar counter, your cheek pressed against the polished wood, mouth dropped open and eyes shut tight in pleasure.

Flip’s hands on your waist are tight enough that he could dig them into you if he wasn’t careful, he could leave marks. He almost wants to, wants you to remember him when this is over and he’ll have to go back to the station, have to write a report about all of this. Not this, not you, not the way your sweet cunt clenches around him as you take his force, take his length, hot and pulsing inside of you.

He needs to see you, all of a sudden, he needs to. Grabbing your arms, he pulls out only long enough for you to whine in protest for a few short seconds, and then he’s taking you to a booth, taking you somewhere padded that he can lie you down and brace himself on top of you.

You lick your lips as your head rolls back, legs spreading for him to nestle between them as he bends over you, those same legs hooking around his waist. You’re completely naked, your perky breasts begging to be sucked on, and so he does. He wonders if the rasp of his clothes on your skin feels nice, if you like it. If you like him.

It’s too hot in here, Flip thinks, his eyes shut as he pants against your body. Too hot and bright, bright behind his eyelids as he groans and moans. He’s sweating, and it’s loud, the sound of rain too loud, its wooshing a roar that deafens his ears. He almost can’t think about anything else, can’t think about the way you feel under him, why is it so bright why is it so hot --

It hits you first, and you’re squirming, panting and moaning as you come. Flip can feel it squelching between your thighs, his cock pulling out shiny and glistening with your orgasm. It makes him go over the edge, his come filling you up, the hot white spread of it. He tries not to worry about fucking you raw, but it’s been a long time since he hasn’t used a rubber.

You give him a big grin, stretching out beneath him, your legs falling to the sides where they can. It’s still raining.

Wordlessly, he gathers you up from underneath him and settles you down on the floor, kissing all over your face, your neck, your breasts. Your stomach chuckles underneath him as you hold him close, breathing in the smell of him. He doesn’t want you to ever let go.

“Then don’t.” You sigh into his hair there on the floor, and Flip closes his eyes, tired from the events of the day.

He doesn’t realize that you’ve responded to his thoughts, until he’s in a deep sleep.

In the morning, he’s alone.

In the morning, the dive bar isn’t just old, it’s run down. The windows are smashed like kids had been playing pranks here, tossing bottles and rocks through the glass. The shelves are all empty, no liquor, nothing.

Flip feels like he is frozen as he looks around him. Where were you? Where were the cards that had scattered all over the floor? He is fully dressed, asleep in a booth that is covered in dust and cobwebs -- it wasn’t that dirty yesterday, was it?

He’s sick, his stomach lurching as he sits up. He doesn’t even know your name to shout it out into the bar. In the light of morning, the rain has stopped, and Flip gathers himself up on uncertain legs. He looks around, trying to find any trace of you, but there isn’t one. There’s only one set of boot prints in the dust on the floor, his own.

Confusion continues to wash over him, which slowly morphs into panic. These windows weren’t broken last night, the floor wasn’t dusty, where the fuck were you? He stumbles to his truck, his mind working double time trying to piece together what happened. Surely he hadn’t dreamt this, what was he doing last night? He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t stoned he --

“Come in, Flip, come in!” A panicked voice crackles from his car, and making sure his gun is still in the holster, Flip runs right to his truck, hopping in and turning the engine over.

“Ron?” Flip grasps the radio tightly in his hand, tuning the frequency to hear better. “Ron is that you? What’s going in?”

“Flip! Where are you?” Ron asks, direct to the point.

“I’m up by the fork in the mountain pass, just off the scenic highway.”

“What?! Are you safe?”

“Of course I’m safe, why wouldn’t I be? Ron what the fuck is happening?” Flip’s eyes are hard on the tavern, and even from the outside, something is wrong. This place was not open last night, it couldn’t have been. The walls are blackened with soot, the doors are boarded shut. How did he get in -- how did he get out?

“There was flash flooding, down the scenic road. It brought rocks down with it from all the rain. Search and rescue found a couple cars down the cliffside.” Ron rushes to explain, and Flip feels like he’s going to be sick.

“They’re dead?” He pinches the bridge of his nose -- people were getting caught up in a flash flood while he was getting laid last night.

“Yeah. You need to get back here, where did you say you were at again?” Ron asks, and Flip can hear that he’s pulling out a pen and paper from his desk.

“Mile High Tavern. I spent the night here” Flip responds, and then there’s silence. “Ron? Did you hear me? I said I’m at -- ”

“I heard you, but that’s not possible.” Ron’s voice is shaken, “That bar burned down back in ‘57.”

All at once, everything stops.

He blinks, and he’s in the roar of the inferno as he comes into your body.

He blinks again, and the bar is gone entirely.

Nothing remaining but a patch of scorched earth in its place.

No neon sign.

No motorcycles

No single car out front.

Ron is saying something on the radio, but Flip can’t hear. He is reversing out of there so quickly that he almost misses the flash of something behind him -- almost. Flip looks back in his rearview mirror at the bar and sees something, a shape, a young woman in old fashioned clothing far away, through the trees.

A hand waves, and Flip knows that whatever you were, you saved him, protected him from the flash flood that killed. You saved him, and he fucked you, and he’s sick to his stomach about that, not sure what was real and what isn’t, not sure of anything anymore except that he wants to find you and do it all over again.

But he blinks, and you’re gone.

#flip zimmerman #adam driver #adcu #adam driver fanfic #flip zimmerman fanfic #flip zimmerman x reader #summerween 2024 event

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pathetic-gamer · 5 months ago

Note

Can you say more on The Burning Wheel? The information on the site doesn’t distinguish it much from other TTRPGs that I can tell, aside from being a D6 system. What makes it unique and worth playing? (You don’t have to provide a huge rundown haha I’m just curious!)

Sure! I tried to keep this short and failed miserably, but I'd be happy to expound even more upon specific things later, if people want more :)

(Please note that, as with any ttrpg, it would be hard to claim any of the things mentioned here are wholly original to The Burning Wheel. It would be even harder to claim that no other systems have used these mechanics or philosophies in the 20 years since The Burning Wheel came out. I am not going to claim either of those things - its the combination of them and the play experience they have resulted in for me that make it unique, so that's the angle from which I'm writing this post.)

So. why is it worth playing? How is it different?

I could talk about the skill learning system, the war rules codex, the whole concept of versus tests vs bloody versus tests. But to me, there are two main ways that it stands out from other systems: its treatment of role-play as a mechanism, and the overall philosophy behind the game's design, including the concept of setting clear expectations.

(using section headers to break up the text lol)

How it uses role-play:

The most obvious thing to point out is that there's a whole set of encounter mechanics for social situations or debates (Circles checks, Duel of Wits, etc.) - sort of the epitome of crunchy role play. But thats not what I'm getting at! What I'm getting is the fact that good role play is integral to the way the game functions.

Let's go back, all the way to character creation: When you're burning a character, you selecting life paths (page to squire to knight, etc.) with their associated skills and traits, then tie them in a pretty bow with beliefs and instincts to guide the character's actions. All of these things feed into each other to make a complete character. Easy! Familiar! We all know how to make a character, even if the numbers and labels are different!

What really matters to this engine once you're playing is whether the character you're acting as matches what you built. If it doesn't, the rules nudge you to redefine your character until it does through systems of rewards, penalties, and consequences. You are rewarded for sticking to and acting on your traits, beliefs, and instincts through different types of points distributed and voted on by fellow players, which can be used to alter the course of events or turn the tide of a bad situation later on. If you're not living up to a trait, on the other hand, you can lose it and all its benefits. (Took the fortitude trait, but ran from trouble one too many times? tough luck! the other players voted to take away that trait and now you can't call on it in moments of peril.) The beliefs and traits of a single character can end up at odds with each other, resulting in characters having to make choices that in other systems might seem insignificant or carry few lasting consequences, but here may alter the function of your character.

It's not all punitive measures, btw! One of my characters caused problems for everyone else by refusing to put away a weapon when someone else was in danger, playing off of an instinct that states he draws his weapon whenever his master does. After the session, another player suggested everyone consider nominating the Brave trait for him the next time we update them. As a character-type trait, it has no effect when rolling dice but does mean that henceforth and forevermore, anyone who interacts with him will notice a sense of bravery. Delightful!!

Also, the beliefs of different characters are practically guaranteed to stray from one another at some point, which is the primary source of inter-PC conflict. Because the mechanics of the game encourage and reward sticking to your beliefs or following your stated instincts even when it makes things significantly harder or causes problems, you're much more inclined to do it. As someone who is terrible at not slipping back into the same kind of character over and over again, I think this fucking rules.

I'm playing with a group of people I've been gaming with for almost five years, and this has opened the way for much richer dynamics between our characters than any of the other systems we've played, in part because as players we're less interested in acting on concensus to drive the plot forward. Working as one unit simply isn't the goal, and if it was, we would play a different system that encourages and rewards that.

the game's philosophy, aka setting intentions and also reading rules:

Now we're starting to get at the philosophy behind the game's design: It believes you have to know why you're playing burning wheel instead of literally any other game. This isn't a system you play on accident. It's admittedly a complicated game with a LOT of rules. It asks for a huge amount of engagement from all of the players, not just the GM - something like inter-PC conflict can only work well if everyone is on the same page (figuratively, but also literally lol) and ready to help adjudicate rules, ask for tests, discuss intentions, etc. Dream scenario for a chronic rules lawyer lol.

Obviously any game will be more fun if everyone has actually learned the rules before they start playing, but this is one where it's extremely difficult (if not impossible) to play if most players haven't learned them, and deeply rewarding if they have. It really operates on the expectation that everyone is putting in work, and everyone has respect for the time and effort the others are bringing to the table.

It's hard to put a finger on how this all impacts play other than the obvious elegence of People Knowing What Theyre Doing, but on a purely emotional and meta level, knowing that everyone is investing so much time and effort to play a game with you is just.. idk, it feels special and makes the time itself feel even more valuable. In that sense, the satisfaction of playing the game isn't coming from the game itself, but is still shaped by it.

(In my mind, this is the #1 reason to try the game, but as @thydungeongal alluded to yesterday, finding people willing and able to do it is also the #1 hurdle to, like, actually having a good time. it would be completely miserable otherwise.)

Also, for a game that does not boast a collaborative nature the way some others do, it is honestly pretty fuckin collaborative lol. I don't know that this was Luke Crane's intention in designing the game, but closing out sessions by going through and grading everyone's work and giving each other glorified gold stars, you will inevitably end up discussing and dissecting things, learning from people's character work, and seeing where and how you can improve individually and as a group. It creates a table culture that values honest expressions of discomfort or dissatisfaction, and also of appreciation and celebration. It's after-care. It leads naturally into setting intentions and expectations for the next session. It just feels really nice!!!

That's obviously a table culture that can be cultivated anyway, and it's a practice my group has learned to be very intentional about facilitating, but it's just interesting how The Burning Wheel of all systems manages to support that. I think that's what the website means when it says playing this changes how you play other rpgs lol

So yeah, idk how much more to say and also I'm sooooooo so eepy and was like an hour late for work, so its a weird brain day. but there you go lol

#burning wheel #the burning wheel #ttrpg #tabletop games #☕️🥧#answer #pg plays ttrpgs #ttrpgs

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wri0thesley · 1 year ago

Text

legally binding - neuvillette x reader (8.4k)

monsieur neuvillette will ensure that he finds your brother not guilty at trial. for a price.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. DARK CONTENT. extremely dubious consent/non-consent. clothed neuvillette, naked reader. cunnilingus, threats of caning, blackmail, fingering, piv sex, coming inside. neuvillette refers to reader as "little one". reader is afab and is described using language such as 'breasts' and 'cunt'.

“If the terms of our arrangement are not agreeable to you,” the honorary Iudex says to you, his gloved hands steepled before him as he sits calmly behind his desk, “you do, of course, have the right to say ‘no’ at any time. I shan’t hold it against you. It merely means that the particulars of our little entente need not be fulfilled on my end, either.”

You press your lips together as frustration and anger war within you. You would like to explode at him; you would like to pull the books lining his office walls down and use them as projectiles to hit him straight in his infuriatingly calm and peaceful face.

That he has the nerve to keep talking to you like this - his voice perfectly even, almost calm, his tone soothing and bordering on paternal (like you’re a little child who he’s telling the ways of the world to), when his proffered ‘agreement’ is so heinous . . .

“You’re utterly abhorrent,” you seethe to him, but the Iudex does not react to being called such a thing - merely tilts his head to one side.

“So you’ve said,” he agrees mildly. “But it does not change your position, does it?”

He is right in that. You stand there awkwardly for one moment more, debating if this is really the hill you are willing to die on; if you are indeed ready to trade away your dignity for the price of your brother’s freedom.

He seems to take pity on your floundering.

“You agreed to this,” he reminds you, his tone unerringly gentle and patient. “But it does not mean you have to go through with it. I will keep the terms of our pact, my dear, as long as you uphold your own - but I will not hold it against you if you decide you are not . . . brave enough to follow through.”

You wince despite yourself at the deliberate emphasis of the word. You know that this is not bravery; you know, too, that what Monsieur Neuvillette is asking you to do is nothing short of corruption of the highest order.

And too you know that the only person ranked higher than him you could conceivably go to is Lady Furina herself.

“I’m sure that a guilty verdict for your brother would not be so bad,” Monsieur Neuvillette continues, and despite the mild tone he uses he must know that he is hitting you exactly where it hurts. “Incarceration is not the be-all and end-all, nowadays - why, many enjoy the Fortress so much they choose not to leave even once their sentence has been finished--”

“Don’t,” you squeak out, and Neuvillette stops speaking. You take a slow breath to steady yourself, and when your voice comes out this time it sounds far more certain than before. You’re proud of yourself, even, for the way that it quavers for only an instant at the end of your next sentence. “I’ll follow through on our agreement.”

“Lovely,” Neuvillette lowers his chin so that it rests atop of the steeple of his gloved fingertips. “I’m glad that you understand the position we’re both in. Well, then, shall we begin?”

You give him a jerky little nod, and he smiles at you like an Archon receiving a prayer of benediction. You stand there awkwardly for a moment more, before Neuvillette lets out a soft chuckle.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “You really haven’t done any of this before, have you? Let me make it easier for you. Why don’t you disrobe and show me what you have on under your clothing, hmm?”

You take a slow, calming breath. This is not so bad; you had known you would have to take off your clothes for this bargain. You suppose, if you had been a different kind of person, you might even have felt a thrill at the thought that it would be Monsieur Neuvillette who would be the first man to see you bared - but instead, there is just a cold thumping terror as you work at the buttons and catches of your outfit.

You are dressed smartly but not prettily. You have never had much time for the fripperies that many Fontaine citizens prefer to indulge in - and especially for your meetings as a desperate petitioner with the Iudex, you had thought sombre was the way to go. This has carried through even to your undergarments - the chemise you wear is plain, without even a trimming of lace. Your brassiere is equally simple, as are the plain cotton bloomers that hide your most intimate place from his inquisitive eyes.

You swallow as your thumb and forefingers fasten about the hem of your chemise - and then, thinking it better to rip off the bandage from the wound rather than pussyfoot about it, you pull it off and drop it in an unruly pile with the rest of your outer clothes by the Iudex’s desk.

He sits there in silence for a moment that seems to stretch out for an hour.

“Not much for decoration, hmm?” He asks, after what seems like forever. You shift there awkwardly from foot to foot. You have never been looked at before like this by a man - and though you do not want him to find you attractive, the idea that he’s disappointed in what’s before him is equally horrible. He chuckles softly beneath your breath at the expression that must flit across your face. “Ah, please don’t mistake me as unappreciative. There is very little as lovely as simplicity, I find.” Your cheeks heat. “On that note - I think we ought to lose this layer too. Let me see you as nature intended, my dear.”

You had thought that once the first layer of your clothing had been stripped, it would get easier, but you find now that it is much the opposite. Your hands tremble as you reach behind you for the clasp of your brassiere. It is cool in his office, but a bead of sweat rolls down the nape of your neck and sets your palm sticky and wet, and it takes you three attempts to unclip.

You have never been shy before - you had certainly not been shy when you had barrelled up to the Iudex in public and demanded an audience with him, much to the distaste of all around him - but this is enough to make you feel awkward.

The fabric falls away from the swell of your chest, and Monsieur Neuvillette makes a pleased little noise almost like a purr in the back of his throat.

“Ah,” he says. “Very nice. The underwear too, if you please.”

Your nipples stiffen in the cool air of his office, the buds puckering and hardening under the twin problems of the temperature and Neuvillette’s stare. It is even harder to convince yourself to hook your thumbs into your underwear, but eventually your body agrees to your demands and you find yourself rolling the plain cotton down past your thighs and your knees and down to your ankles--

You fuss for a moment, putting them with the rest of your clothes, if only to delay the inevitable for a moment longer - that time when you will have to stand and display yourself in your full nakedness for the Iudex. But there is only so long you can conceivably push his patience, and sooner than you like you straighten your spine and try and jut your chin out and pretend that there isn’t a wash of humiliation drowning you as you wait for his next pronouncement.

You’re surprised when he stands, leaving his cane leaning against his desk, and strides towards you with purpose writ clear in his eyes. Surprised enough that a soft, startled noise falls from your mouth as he reaches for you, and suddenly his gloved hands are palming the weight of your breasts. He lets out a slow, measured breath as his fingertips dig into the soft flesh there. You squeak again as his thumbs brush over the hard nubs of your nipples, and this time he laughs.

“Don’t be so surprised,” he murmurs. “Our agreement involved touching, did it not?”

“I-it involved more than touching,” you whisper, as poisonously as you can manage - but his thumbs are still slowly swirling about your nipples and the sensation of it is making you feel dizzy, little electric shocks of surprise zapping through your synapses.

“Mm,” Neuvillette agrees. “But I am not so much of a villain that I would simply have my way with you without ensuring you were properly prepared, my dear.”

You don’t know if this is worse, actually. If he had chosen the latter option, perhaps it would have been easier to close your eyes and grit your teeth and pretend to be somewhere else. But the way he is looking at you, the way he is touching you . . . those things make it far more difficult to separate what is going on from yourself.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Neuvillette says to you - and you almost protest, until you remember the terms of the agreement once more.

(“You will give yourself to me intimately,” Neuvillette had said. “I will have my fill of your body, and in return I will find your brother not guilty in court. Is this agreeable to you, little one?”

You had wanted to scream and shout and spit. It was certainly not agreeable to you; Neuvillette was a corrupt pervert, taking advantage of his position. How many other desperate petitioners had done this for him?

“Oh,” Neuvillette had said, when you’d been unable to stop yourself biting out the last thing. “None at all. I’ve never been quite so intrigued by any of them or wanted to have any of them bent over my desk quite so much. I suppose that makes you special - and isn’t that nice?”)

You feel at his mercy like this, bare in his office, when he hasn’t so much as taken off his gloves - and indeed, the cool silk of those gloves against your heated cheek as he pulls you up into a kiss reminds you of who exactly has the power. He sighs softly into your mouth, teeth nipping at your lower lip. They’re sharp, and you gasp in surprise and win a low growl from Neuvillette himself. His kiss is wet and messy, and he seems almost disappointed when he pulls back from you with his eyes half-lidded.

“Mm,” he says, “How many others have kissed you like that, little one?”

You press your lips together in a show of defiance, and he chuckles.

“As I thought,” he murmurs, lowering his head again - this time, the kiss he gives you is pressed to the top of your cheekbone. Slowly, carefully, peppered down your jawline. “Ah, don’t worry - you did perfectly well.”

You let out a noise of wordless disbelief and embarrassment that he could tell, which is quickly cut off when he tugs at your earlobe with his teeth instead. It is his canines that are sharp; you give a hot intake of breath at the scratch of them on your sensitive lobe that in turn makes him shudder.

You hate the shivery feeling of pleasure that the bite sends zipping down your spine; a heat that settles firmly between your thighs, that mixes with the pounding of your heart.

“Give in,” Neuvillette says softly. “You have no choice if you want me to uphold my word; you may as well enjoy it. I have no wish to be cruel to you, little one. If you like it too, so much the better.”

“I--I won’t--”

Your voice is reedy; it wobbles and shakes in the air. Both you and Neuvillette know that it is a stubborn and hopeless task, when his kisses and his tugging at your nipples and his soft nipping bites against your most vulnerable parts have already made a slick drip between your thighs you do not want to admit to.

“A pity.” Neuvillette pulls back, and your body misses him - you find yourself making a soft noise of displeasure as his weight moves from in front of you and beside you, before he goes to stand beside his desk and takes his cane back into his hands, leaning on it almost casually. “Come here, little one. Bend over my desk.”

You flounder there, unsure now if you really are willing to go through with things the way that you had agreed to. Your throat feels dry. Disrobing had all been very well, letting him touch your chest had all been very well, but . . .

He taps his cane gently on the ground and makes a soft chiding noise with his tongue.

“Come now, little one,” he murmurs, his voice perfectly agreeable. “It’s not so large a thing, is it? For the price of your brother’s reputation?”

You shake your head and take a slow, nervous step towards his desk - a large, terrifying presence in the room. How many people has he held the fates of in his hand as he sat here in the Palais Mermonia and read their files?

The reminder that you are indeed in the Palais Mermonia - that only down a hallway is a whole group of gestionnaires utterly unknowing of what their honourable Iudex is doing with the young citizen he has an appointment with - makes your heart beat faster, nervousness rise up in your throat like a tidal wave. One foot in front of the other.

You wish the walk to his desk was shorter at the same time as you wish that you would never make it to the end.

It is not to be. Your bare hip bumps against the desk’s edge and you let out a slow, steadying breath.

“That’s it,” Neuvillette says agreeably, and his cane taps on the ground as he comes to stand behind you. “Brace yourself on the table now; palms down. I’m not going to hurt you. Bend over and show me what I shall have the pleasure of conquering, hmm?”

You burn with humiliation as you do exactly what he asks; place your hot palms down directly upon the table and bend at the waist. Neuvillette sighs as if he’s terribly pleased with what he’s seeing. You start as you feel a gentle nudge against your bare ankle, and you realise that he’s touching you with his cane.

“Spread these apart a bit further,” he murmurs, and you comply despite the way you feel utterly debased by the treatment. “Ah. Very nice. Lovely, in fact.”

If you have one thing to be grateful for, it is that he does not mention what you both know; you are wet. The way he had touched and palmed at your chest, the kisses . . . you can feel the beads of slick on your inner thighs, the dampness of the folds of your cunt. The position he has put you in means, too, that you can feel the cool air on your exposed clit - the little button swollen and standing to attention.

Neuvillette’s gloved hand gently comes to rest upon the back of your thigh. Slowly, slowly, he maps a path over your bared skin; the round curve of your ass where it’s presented to him, down and--

A hiccup of surprise escapes you and you almost rock back into him, but manage to stop yourself at the last moment, as those silken gloved fingers brush feather-light over the soft mound of your cunt. He does not press down yet; merely lets himself get accustomed to the shape of you. Your hips cant forward against your will as his fingertip brushes against the sensitive bud of your clit, a whimpering gasp falling from your lips.

You have never been touched by anyone before - and the fact it is Monsieur Neuvillette doing it, under these circumstances--

You squeeze your eyes closed, willing yourself not to cry. You are grateful at least that he cannot see you; in fact, he seems rather preoccupied now, those long silken fingers spreading the plump lips of your labia further apart so that he can see your entrance.

“My,” he says, a smile apparent in his voice. “We’re going to have to do rather a lot of preparation, aren’t we? Sweet little thing, you look tight as a vice.”

“I don’t . . .” You don’t understand quite what he means by preparation, but the soft rustle of his clothing still sets your teeth on edge. You’d known that he would disrobe too, of course you had, but it somehow all seems to be happening so quickly--

A strangled gasp escapes you.

The rustling was not him disrobing. Instead, he has knelt down - and his mouth is hot when he presses it to the sensitive places on the backs of your knees, his tongue wet as he trails it up the back of your thighs.

“Th-this isn’t what we agreed!” You say, panicked, as his mouth inches ever closer to the place between your thighs. Despite the heat of his tongue, the puffs of breath that escape him with his dry little laugh are cool.

“Isn’t it, little one?” He murmurs, in between the wet kisses; you keen softly as he digs teeth into sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, fangs sending confused shockwaves of both pain and pleasure directly to your sex. “Let me see . . . Did I not use the terms ‘have my fill’? Why, little one - whyever did you think that would begin and end with my cock?”

It’s too intimate. You have to be too present for it all, and the tears that have been threatening to spill out do so at the same time as his tongue oh-so-gently prods against your folds in interest. If Neuvillette notices that you’re crying, he doesn’t say anything - and you are grateful for that, as he presses his mouth fully against your cunt with a horrifically wanton wet noise and you realise that you are crying in no small part because his mouth against your heated core feels good.

He merely mouths against you for a moment, his tongue delicate as it travels across your folds and drinks in your wetness. You shudder as he finds your clit, and his tongue flicks against it playfully. Despite what he had said about not having done this to any other desperate citizens, the way he works his mouth against you belies that he has at least some experience--

You know absolutely nothing about the Iudex’s private life, much like the rest of Fontaine.

He pulls back from you to murmur against your thigh.

“You’re so wet, little one. It’s very charming. I think I shall use my mouth on you until you are glad to have the desk to keep you standing. It would be a hard-hearted creature indeed who would not want to feel you come on his face, under his tongue--”

You whimper out some kind of horribly embarrassing noise, as he returns hungrily to his former task; he licks at you and suckles at you like a man starved, and your body reacts with hot little shivers and shudders and jolts of pleasure. You make an attempt to curtail the pleasure - try to tell your body that it ought not to be enjoying this - but pure animal instinct wins out, and you are bent double over the desk whimpering helplessly, tilting your ass up to give him more room, and grinding your cunt into Neuvillette’s face despite all of it.

Neuvillette does not seem to mind at all. He groans into you instead, using the flat of his tongue to stroke as much of your cunt as possible, to work through your folds and suckle on your clit until your entire body feels aflame with strange new feelings. Every so often, he teases his tongue over your entrance, the tip circling the ring of muscle - but he does not push into it yet.

His grip on your thighs is iron-tight. You don’t know when he let go of his cane, but both hands dig into the soft pudge of your inner thighs now, keeping you spread for him despite how the twists of pleasure make you want to squeeze your thighs together.

You don’t know how you’re still breathing, as Neuvillette’s tongue continues to lay claim to you. You can feel your inner muscles clenching around nothing; slick accumulating around your entrance, just begging for something to be inside of you (though, in truth, you’ve never had anything more than your own finger and even then had felt hot and unsure of it). He growls, tongue flicking out against your clit in a rhythmic drumming that makes you whine.

“O-oh,” you manage, through the lump in your throat. “Archons--”

He gives your inner thigh a warning pinch, just enough to make you stutter, as he pulls his soaking wet mouth away from you and murmurs;

“No, little one. No archons here. Remember who it is, who's here with you.”

You are almost tempted to throw his own words back into his face; to tell him that you’d made no such bargain that you had to acknowledge that he was there. That, according to the legalities of the agreement you’d both made, you only had to let him use your body - not your voice, not your head, not your heart. But the lack of his mouth on you now feels like a peculiar kind of torture. You want him to stop. You want him to carry on. The whimper falls out of your mouth to a groaning purr of satisfaction from Neuvillette himself;

“M-monsieur--”

“That’s better.”

His mouth is back on you, hungrily working his tongue between your folds. Hungrily suckling and stroking and working you over until you feel hot and boneless, trembling on the edge of something - your entire body is a taut string, pulled to the point of snapping. Your cunt is wet and messy with drool and fluid and slick, sliding down your thighs - you cannot see Monsieur Neuvillette, but you’d wager that his cheeks are wet and shiny with the same, if only due to the utter eagerness he was still displaying.

It’s too much.

With a whine and pitiful jerk of your hips, you feel yourself slide down into some dark abyss; the thread that’s been threatening to snap finally does exactly as it was always going to do, and a wash of shameful pleasure crashes over you like a stormy sea. Neuvillette lets out a pleased groan as you feel yourself let another gush of arousal out, hungrily drinking you in with lewd, wet noises that have your face as hot as any Natlan springs.

He carries on using his tongue on you; licking, sucking, lapping like a man parched for water - just to the point where your over-sensitive body begins to complain that you are still too raw for such hunger, and then he pulls his mouth off of you. You stay there, bent double over his table, wheezing softly as you hear him dust off his clothes and the click of his reclaimed cane as he comes around to the other side of the desk so that he can look you in the eye.

He really hasn’t disrobed at all.

It’s a callback to the power imbalance between you both; a reminder that, no matter what, you are entirely at Neuvillette’s mercy. You are glad, at least, that he has a reputation for being honourable in his agreements - you have only the very vaguest flutter of a fear that giving him your body will be for naught and he will go back on his word. Everybody knows that the Chief Justice values that same standard he is entitled to embody.

“You were crying,” he says, leaning forward and cupping his hand about your cheek, a thumb sliding over the apple of your cheek. “It suits you. I’ve never quite understood this human urge not to cry - you look terribly pretty with those diamonds on your cheeks.”

He leans in closer and closer, closing his eyes - and you go stock-still as he kisses the tears from your cheeks and pulls back, licking his lips as if he is savouring the taste of something special.

“I-is that all?” You ask, a hopeful tone to your voice - but Neuvillette simply smiles at you kindly, as if you’re silly for even asking.

“Of course not, little one,” he murmurs. “That was merely a precursor to the main event, to ensure you’re . . . sufficiently ready. As I have already said; I am no villain, and I have no desire to hurt you physically. I want to ensure your body is primed to accept me, for the sake of both of our pleasure. And it was pleasurable, wasn’t it?”

You press your lips together, hot shame rising up your neck.

“No need to get shy,” he says to you, that soft, kind smile not leaving his face. “By the way you were grinding against my face, and how prettily you came for me . . . Mm, I’d wager you enjoyed it very much. But it’s alright if you are not ready to admit it; your body doesn’t lie, sweet one, and I know it will accept my fingers and my cock far more readily than you’d like it to.”

. . . You had enjoyed it. You had felt that pleasure that he was so willing to give to you, and the thought that you were actually deriving some enjoyment from this thing that was supposed to merely be about procuring assistance for your brother . . . You don’t quite know how to feel, as Neuvillette presses a paternal kiss to your forehead and you hear the slow click of his footsteps as he returns to the other side of the desk, where your nakedness and your readiness for him are far more pronounced.

“You really are quite lovely, you know,” he murmurs, letting his gloved fingers slide down the arch of your back, from the nape of your neck and down your spine. “Ordinarily, I’m not too fond of ostentation - but ah, you . . . You could benefit from a little more ornamentation.”

A palm, cupping your ass - giving it a slow, considering squeeze, almost too hard to be painful but not quite.

“This, for example,” he murmurs, “would be lovely with some discipline. Imagine; how pretty you would be with welts from my cane.”

“Monsieur Neuvillette--!” It comes out in a panicked little gasp, but Neuvillette merely chuckles.

“Now, now, little one - settle down. As sweet as it would be - I am still aware of the legal terms of our arrangement. I won’t force you to give me any extra - and whilst caning you would be terribly satisfying for me . . . it doesn’t count as satiating my desire in that legal sense that is so important to us both.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. Somewhere inside of you, your heart pounds at the thought of letting him do as he wishes with you - but you squash it down, holding to the comforting lie that you are getting absolutely nothing out of the arrangement you had made with Neuvillette.

His hand curves over your ass and slips between your thighs.

“A-aren’t you even going to take your gloves off?” You seethe at him, through clenched teeth, as a fingertip slides between the plump lips of your sex once more, to find the wet mess that he had left there earlier.

“I fear it would be most unprofessional of me to undress in my office,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Forgive me, little one. I think I will stay as entirely clothed as I am able.”

His tone does not broker any argument, and you bite your tongue as he - slowly, maddeningly slowly - slides his finger through the valley of your cunt, approaching your clit with a near-torturous pace. Your breath stutters in your chest as his silk-gloved finger finally brushes over the delicate nub, and he increases his pressure from feather-light to something firmer as he begins to make slow, small circles on the pleasure point.

Your hips don’t know whether to shy away from the certainty of his manipulations or to lean into them, so you do the only thing you can think of and let loose a soft whine into the charged air of his office.

After he has played with your swollen clit for a few more agonising moments, his fingers drag back through the soaking wet valley to toy with your entrance. You feel yourself flex as he comes near, as if your cunt is begging him to finally put something inside of you - and though he gives a soft chuckle, he does not tease you any further.

“I’m going to put a finger inside of you now,” he murmurs - again, you are not sure if it would be worse if he had not told you. With this knowledge, you have just enough time to catch your breath before he slides his finger into you with one quick movement.

It punches the air out of you. If you had not been bent over the desk already, you’re sure you would have lost your footing - but as it is, Neuvillette goes about opening you up with a kind of determined certainty. The finger inside of you gives a few lone pumps, working your tight insides open - you are wet and pliable enough that it does not hurt near as much as you had thought it would.

“Good,” Neuvillette murmurs, “Are you ready for me to add another?”

Again, you want to whimper and scream and bite - but as he continues to pump his finger in and out of you, you realise with that same shame that the feeling of him inside of you is good and could only be improved if he filled you more thoroughly.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, your throat dry - and you are rewarded with another low murmur of praise, and the feel of a finger joining the first at your entrance. You take another steady breath, but you do not need to; two fingers fit inside of you with only the barest modicum of resistance, your body silky wet and tight and welcoming. The silk of his gloves rubs against your inner walls curiously, making you feel utterly dizzy with sensation.

There is a purpose to this that there hadn’t seemed to be when he was using his mouth on you. When he was using his mouth, though he had said it was in order to make the final result easier on you both, you had gotten the distinct impression he had rather enjoyed the process - the sucking, the wet noises, the lewd sound of his tongue against your soaking cunt. But here, Neuvillette crooks his fingers inside of you and pumps them in and out and scissors them slightly in a way that leaves no doubt that he is ensuring you will be able to take something even bigger and wider than his fingers when we have done.

He still does it all with a trademark thoroughness; he rests his other hand on the small of your back to keep you still as those digits plunge in and out of you. You dread to think how soaked through with your slick his gloves will be when he is done--

But he does not use his fingers upon you to completion.

You feel it building up inside of you with the way he curls them just so, rubbing against a spongy spot inside of you that makes your thighs tremble - but he doesn’t follow through on the promise that begins to build, dizzying, between your legs.

He pulls out his fingers with a slick pop and a wet clicking noise, giving your cunt a gentle pat on his way out.

“There, my dear,” he says. “It will still be a tight fit, of course . . . but I should cause you no undue pain. And, if I may be so bold, little one - I’m absolutely certain you’ll feel exquisite.”

This time, there is no question that the rustling noise you hear behind you is him partly undressing; that the soft pop is the sound of buttons being freed from the confines of his placket. He lets out a pleased sigh - you assume at the feel of his hand on his own cock.

“I’ve been longing to touch you,” he murmurs, as he slots himself between your hips. “I had to prepare you, naturally - oh, but little one, I’ve been hard since the moment you walked all trembling and righteous into my office.”

“D-do you say that to all of the poor hopeful people who come into your office hoping you’ll grant them justice, Monsieur?” You manage, and he chuckles. His hips fit neatly in between your own spread thighs, and you feel the heavy, silky, hot weight of something as it slaps against the meat of your inner thigh and leaves a sticky wet trail upon the skin there. His cock. His pre-come, on you--

“As I’ve said before, little one,” he murmurs, and he readjusts himself and you hiss yourself as his cock presses softly against the pudge of your outer lips. He doesn’t move it yet; merely lets it rest there, letting you get used to the size of him and the knowledge that he is going to put it inside you. “I have never been so intrigued by any of them to want to. But you . . . ah, this human quality of resilience! You’re utterly darling. There’s even still fire in you now, when I have you naked and at my mercy. Tell me, little one . . . what would you do if I went back on our agreement now and still fucked you?”

You half rear up, and the way your body moves has his cock nudging at your clit, against you - you find yourself half-enveloping the thick shaft of his cock with your labia. It makes you breathless that it doesn’t even come close to disappearing inside you; indeed, the stretch of it reminds you of just how big he is.

“You wouldn’t!” You say, a tone of petulant fury edging your words - Neuvillette makes a hum of agreement even as his gloved hands travel up, over the curve of your hips and then your waist, until he is cupping the weight of your breasts in them and your nipples are once more trapped between the silken pinch of of his thumbs.

“You’re right,” he says, calmly. “I value justice too much for that - but oh, you’re quite something when you’re full of moral fury, aren’t you? Justice . . . a funny thing, isn’t it? One might say that having you right here, in my office, naked and hot and wet and exactly where I want you is a just reward for my years of service, wouldn’t they?”

You don’t respond, and he chuckles; nips a bite into the sensitive part of your throat where the curve of shoulder and neck meet that sends another electric zip down your spine.

“I’m going to put it inside of you now,” he says, still as calm as a placid lake. “And then I’m going to fuck you, little one. Are you quite ready?”

He tilts his hips forward as an urge for you to do the same; to lower yourself back down over the desk. You hiss as his cock slips and slides between the folds of your cunt, but it is nothing compared to how it feels when he pulls back and the wet head of his cock nudges almost impatiently against your entrance. He does not let go of where he is still pinching and rolling at the buds of your nipples, sending light-headed little thrills right down to between your legs - your sex clenching at the emptiness, missing his fingers.

“As ready as I think I’ll be, Monsieur,” you manage, hoping the title comes out as barbed as you want it to - but then he is pressing inside of you, his cock opening you up, and you bump against the table and go utterly blank of thought at the sensation of being claimed.

It feels like all of the air inside of you deflates as Neuvillette pushes himself into you. He had been correct on one count - he had prepared you well enough that there is only a light sting, the feeling that is to be expected when something large fits itself into a tight hole. You wheeze over his desk, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, as he seems to keep pushing and pushing and pushing--

You don’t think you’ll possibly take all of him, and then he stops and you feel his pelvis pressing against your ass, and you realise he is fully inside of you now.

“There,” even Neuvillette sounds a touch breathless. “Didn’t you do well, little one? Are you ready for me to begin moving?”

His only answer from you is a huff, as he pinches your nipples again and you feel yourself clench around the cock buried inside of you. He laughs softly, and with a wet drag you feel him pull out of you - and then drive back inside again with a wet pap, the sound indecently loud in the quiet office. Neuvillette had already established when he had made it clear he expected you to fulfil this arrangement in his work chambers that the walls were thick enough no gestionnaires would come running no matter what, but you still have a vision of it happening.

Some poor underpaid Palais Mermonia worker, coming in to ask the Honourable Chief Justice some question or another, only to find him bent over a shivering whining citizen, naked on his desk. The thought of someone seeing you, at such a powerful man’s mercy--

You clench around Neuvillette again, whining softly into the polished wood of the desk, your body wanting to welcome his cock inside and keep it for yourself. It feels so good - you can barely stand knowing how right and full and warm you feel, how you know that if Neuvillette stopped fucking you that you would have no choice but to beg him to carry on and let you come.

“Good,” he murmurs, as he finds himself a rhythm that makes you quake. Every drag of his hips sets your body aflame, every twitch of his cock makes you huff and whimper. You’re moaning, you realise, as if you are somewhere very far away. “There now, little one - doesn’t that feel good?”

You don’t reply, but you do not need to. The sound of him fucking in and out of you - the wet sticky slap of his cock as his hips bounce against your spread thighs, the obscene feeling of your own arousal drooling out of you, and the noises that keep escaping your mouth unbidden all do that for you. Your body does not even try to push him out; merely pull him in tighter.

He stops pinching your nipple with one hand, dragging it back down the curve of your body to curl around your thigh, sneaking between you and the wooden drawers of his desk - and you keen a high-pitched little noise as instead of your nipple, he roughly pinches at your clit instead.

The sensation of that silken fabric, sodden already with your slick, and the mean little pinch pushes you over a precipice that you didn’t realise you’d been hovering on. You cry out this time, a moan that you feel certain that everyone in the whole building must hear - but that doesn’t matter, as you spasm helplessly on Neuvillette’s cock and you give him your second orgasm of the night.

He fucks you through it, even as you feel your cunt flex and flutter around him. You feel dizzy, panting, whining - but Neuvillette’s thrusts have more purpose now, and a low groan that sounds almost inhuman comes out of him as you weakly try and push your body back at him to hurry it along.

“I’ll come when I’m ready,” he practically growls, and you whine as his teeth fasten into the meat of your shoulder so that he is utterly bent over you - the rasp of his silken clothes against you, fine fabrics and adornments. The satiny brush of his hair over your heated skin. “And you will take every drop, little one - as you agreed to do--”

You nod helplessly, and he groans - and then his cock is twitching inside of you wildly, and he’s biting at you again and huffing and groaning and the plunge of his hips seems to hit deeper inside of you with every thrust.

You had never imagined the Chief Justice like this in all of your life, but there is something animal to him now; some latent kind of primal instinct you had never realised that the kind, fatherly Monsieur Neuvillette possessed. You know now he is not as kind as you had once supposed, but it is still something else entirely to see him and feel him fuck you like a man possessed.

He snaps, his hips wildly gyrating into you, slapping against your ass so hard you fear you will bruise - and then you feel his cock jump and he comes inside of you, thick ropes of his release shooting directly into your insides and coating you, viscous and full of him.

He gives another almost animalistic growl against your skin, letting his cock judder and shoot out a few final spurts of his own seed - and then, there is a brief moment of quiet. You can hear yourself and your own shuddering breaths, your heart pounding in your ears - and then, the slick, wet noise of him pulling out of you. He catches hold of his own breath, and when he speaks again his voice is smooth and kind as ever as if nothing more has transpired here than a meeting of minds.

“Marvellous, little one. You did so terribly well. Of course,” Neuvillette murmurs against your ear, his breath a cool brush against your heated skin. There’s the faintest scent of saltwater in it; you shiver despite yourself. “You do realise that the final decision does not lie with me, do you not?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” You’re too breathless to speak, still - laid out across Monsieur Neuvillette’s desk, on display like the most wanton of creatures. You can still feel his come rolling down your thighs, spilling out of you with every pant of your breath - you were so utterly filled and claimed by him that you fancy you can feel his come inside of you even now, in thick ropes and dripping pearls.

“Well,” Neuvillette moves away, and you turn your head, cheek cold on the desk, to watch as he re-fastens the placket of his trousers, the tails of his coat swishing about him. You remain utterly debased; your clothes still in a haphazard pile to the side of his desk. You do not yet think your trembling legs could even hold you up, and you have no choice but to let Neuvillette continue to drink in the sight of you akimbo over his office furniture. “Surely you understand it is the Oratrice who will make the final decision, my dear?”

Your heart beats double time in your chest. Your breath comes out in a panicked little gasp, and you rear up before you’re quite ready for it, staggering towards him to clutch at his lapels.

“But it always sides with you,” you say to him, hating that your voice rises in pitch pathetically. “You’re always in agreement--”

“Yes,” Neuvillette agrees with a low hum, and you hate him as one of his thumbs gently comes up to caress your cheek like a lover. “It will be greatly novel for Lady Furina to witness the disagreement, I’m sure. Still - the Oratrice does have the final word, as it always has.”

“But you promised!” You don’t care about dignity now, as you feel the hot splash of tears across your cheeks. Neuvillette takes in a shuddering breath, far too reminiscent of the noise he’d made when he’d pressed himself inside of you. His thumb slides under a tear now, to catch it upon the pad; you watch in mute agonies as he lifts it to his mouth and his tongue flicks out to taste you.

“Really, my dear,” Neuvillette says, with a sigh of satisfaction. “I thought you were better educated than this; you were so very charmingly certain when you first came to see me after accosting me in public. All of those carefully laid out little plans and charts as to why your criminal brother couldn’t possibly have committed the felony that everybody knows he did--”

“But you agreed!” You’re desperate now. He hums again, and one of his arms settles around your waist, keeping you pinned against him. “You said you would find him not guilty! You said he’d be freed!”

“I said one of those things,” he corrects you - and then he sees that you’re very much hovering on the edge of hysteria, and he sighs. “You poor little creature. When I asked you if you were certain and that you’d thought everything through properly . . . you hadn’t really, had you?”

“I . . . I thought . . .” You sniffle desperately, trying to grasp onto the threads of your righteous anger as the cool sting of foresight settles over you once more. Monsieur Neuvillette is correct; he promised that he would find your brother not guilty, and you had taken it for granted that the ruling of the mighty Iudex would be enough to see your brother free.

Not a word about the Oratrice had passed his lips.

You’re shaking. It is only Monsieur Neuvillette’s arm around your waist that stops you from falling to the ground. You fear if that grounding limb left, you would drop to your knees and hug at his legs and rub your sobbing face against his knee and beg. The fact that you had . . . that you’d given yourself to him, and he must have known that he could not truly give what you were asking for . . .

“And what then?” You whisper, your throat dry. Neuvillette makes a considering noise in the back of his throat; a throaty hum. A hand gently scoops your chin up to force you to look him in the eyes.

Neuvillette’s eyes are blue-grey-violet, boring down into you. There is something ancient and terrifying that lies behind them, but as they look into your own they seem to almost flash possessive.

“I happen to know the administrator of the Fortress of Meropide,” he says, after a long moment. “Of course, I’m sure you understand that it is not the most . . . welcoming of places. Your brother’s confinement will lack creature comforts. But . . . it doesn’t have to be quite so dreary.”

Against your will, hope rises like a soft flame in your chest.

“You would do that?” You ask the Iudex. “Make sure that he’s . . . that it’s not so bad?”

“You misunderstand,” Neuvillette tells you, with a small smile. “I have fulfilled my end of our agreement now. I will find your brother not guilty. Legally, there’s nothing else that you need of me.”

“I could tell someone--” You start to say, but Neuvillette only lets out a soft little huff of laughter.

“Poor thing,” he says, “do you truly believe that anybody would take your word - the sibling of some no-good criminal, desperate to save him - over mine? You must understand that I have, as Iudex, a long history of doing only the best for Fontaine.” He lets go of your waist, and you are thankful that you manage to keep your balance even as he turns and sweeps away towards his desk. “I am also aware that I’m the subject of some . . . romantic fantasy, in the hearts of the ever-theatrical people of our homeland.” He seats himself in the great chair behind his desk, and looks back up at you with that damnable smile playing around his lips - small enough you could not call it mocking, soft enough you could argue it was an attempt at sympathy. “Why would I give that up, just to tumble some know-nothing worth-nothing young upstart in my office?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times in speechless anger, before that cool foresight settles over you once more.

Because he’s right.

Why would he? Why would anyone believe you?

“. . . How can I ask for your aid again?” You manage to grit out, through clenched teeth.

“You could fill out a form from the Palais Mermonia,” he says, rifling through the paperwork on his desk as if you have already left the room. “Talk to one of the gestionnaires about aid for those incarcerated, once your brother has officially been sentenced. The working time for a response is currently . . .” He tilts his head to the side again, as if thinking. “Ah, yes. Only a year and six months. I’m sure nothing untoward could befall your poor brother in that time--”

“Monsieur,” you step towards him imploringly. “Please--”

You remember your nakedness only when Neuvillette looks up from his desk and lets his eyes critically sweep you again. Your nipples, stiff and sore from his pinching fingers. Your thighs, wet with his release and your own slick. The bite marks from his fangs that litter your bared skin.

His eyes narrow; the face of a man taking in something that already belongs to him. A dragon considering his latest addition to the hoard.

You realise exactly what he is going to ask you for, in return for his continued aid, before he opens his mouth.

“Well,” he says, with a small smile upon his generous mouth. It is a mouth many would describe as kind; at this moment in time, you cannot think of it as anything other than dangerous. “You did such a good job of convincing me to aid you today . . . why, we could make these little meetings more regular, don’t you think?”

You swallow thickly.

The Fortress of Meropide. Under the sea, with no sunlight, for who knows how long. Who knows where he would sleep, or what he would eat, or what other comforts would be denied to him in his imprisonment?

“Yes, Monsieur,” you whisper, your throat bone dry.

“Excellent,” he smiles at you in clear dismissal. You feel . . . used. Cheated. Hollow. Utterly owned and laid claim to and conquered, your spirit deadened inside as you look at the corrupt official you had once held in such high regard. “Next week, then. Wear something prettier, please. I’m partial to blue. Now - you don’t mind, do you? I have cases to review.”

#writing #dark content cw #dub con cw #not sfw text #blackmail for ts #genshin impact posting

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writershapeholeonthedoor · 1 year ago

Text

Tattooed heart

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have tattoos everywhere and your girlfriend suffers from severe anxiety. You learned to walk around with Sharpies to help her out.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. TW for anxiety attacks.

MASTERLIST

The room was crowded to the point where you couldn’t even see the exit doors in the back.

That always made you a bit nervous, of course, but mostly because it usually meant your interview would go on forever until people were satisfied by it. Those types of venues were always endless, but it was even worse when there were so many people attending the panels. Don’t get it wrong, you love attending the coms and meeting the fans to debate the characters and movies, and just the entire MCU universe as a whole, but you were only human and, after spending so long being a part of this, you got a bit tired.

Although the interview was going on forever, you weren’t surprised by the amount of people reunited to see you guys talking. It was hard to have most of the Marvel actors in one single interview, after all, so you were already expecting people to crowd the room and want to ask everyone a million questions. The new Avengers movie was coming up, the trailer had dropped just the day prior, and people were excited to know more. You couldn’t blame them.

You had been listening to Evans give out an overly complex reply to a question someone made him for a while now when you noticed Elizabeth squirming in her chair beside you. She was sitting to your right at the large table where you all were and she had answered a few questions as well, although that was the first time you noticed that she wasn’t moving out of boredom or to adjust in her chair again. She was restless, you noticed by the way she looked down at her legs and by the way her fingers pulled at her dress as if she was trying to get rid of a crinkle that didn’t exist.

Over the years, you learned to read her.

When you first met, three years ago, you were immediately drawn to Elizabeth. At the time, she had red hair thanks to her Marvel character, she was wearing black clothes and she had a fake scar above her eyebrow since you met between takes of the new movie you were both going to be a part of. That wasn’t your first Marvel movie, neither was hers, but that was the first time you were going to share the screen. You had heard about her before, obviously, but nothing had prepared you for how it would feel to meet Elizabeth Olsen in person.

You felt attracted to her since the first day, but you weren’t brave enough to make a move, so you spent the next two months of shooting crushing on her in silence - at least to her because you sang like a canary to all of your castmates to the point where they had to make an intervention because no one could take more of your daydreaming about Elizabeth without doing anything about it. That worked, though, and you found yourself sweating like crazy just a week before the movie wrapped while you waited for Elizabeth to finish her scenes for the day.

You had been nervous for no reason, as your castmates predicted, because Elizabeth said ‘yes’ after you managed to spit out your question and you both went for your first date two days later. That night, Elizabeth admitted she wanted to ask you out since the first day too, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“I’m glad you’re more brave than I am,” she whispered shyly when you were holding hands on top of the table. “I’m too anxious to have managed to actually ask you out.”

But that had been it.

You have been inseparable ever since.

Well, besides when you were both working, of course. You hadn’t made any more movies together since your characters took different turns, but you and Elizabeth were able to move heaven and Earth to make your relationship work no matter what.

As the years went by, you learned to read Elizabeth as easily as an open book. You knew when she was stressed and needed to spend some time in her garden to relax. You knew when Elizabeth was cooking because she wanted to, when she was doing it because she had to eat and when she was stress-cooking. You knew when she liked the movie you were watching by the way she bit her lip and when she couldn’t care less about what was on the TV by the way she kept sighing. There were many little things about Elizabeth that you took notice of over the years, things that you carefully stocked in your memories because they were all details that made you love her more and more every day.

However, there was one thing you made a bigger effort to keep track of.

Her anxiety.

Elizabeth has been suffering from severe anxiety for many years now. She had talked about it in interviews and other things, but no one could understand the magnitude of her anxiety attacks unless they experienced it in person. You had been there to a fair share of them since you met, from the smaller ones where she would complain about feeling like a small weight in her chest to the bigger ones where you had to rush her to the hospital because you honestly thought she was about to have a heart attack. Since that day, you had vowed to always be attuned to the signals of her crisis so you could help Elizabeth get out of them before things got too hard for her to handle.

Elizabeth used to apologize every single time about it, about how she sometimes wouldn’t want to leave the house, how sometimes she would ask you to leave the restaurant that took you both so long to get a table at, how sometimes she needed to sit in complete silence to get herself together, but you always made sure to tell her it wasn’t her fault. Elizabeth had struggled with anxiety, panic attacks and social anxiety for many years now not because she wanted to, but because the media had chased her since she was young and she had grown in fear. That was something she struggled with and something you could help her with.

Or try your best, at the very least.

Since you knew about all of this, you easily realized Elizabeth’s anxiety was making an appearance, slipping through her very strong grip. You could see by the way her green eyes started moving around without focusing on anything, how her jaw clenched, how her breath became heavier and how her fingers kept picking at her dress. Evans was still talking and there was a microphone in front of you, not to mention how there were literally hundreds of eyes and cameras staring at you at that moment, so you couldn’t take her hands and ask her to breathe with you like you usually did.

You had to think fast, however, because Elizabeth’s anxiety escalates quickly and you wouldn’t want that to happen in a room filled with strangers since that was probably the reason why it was happening anyway. Elizabeth had gotten better at dealing with attending those events, giving interviews and talking with fans, but that didn’t mean she didn’t struggle every once in a while. It was still something that wasn’t easy for her, something that made her natural instincts ask her to run away as fast as she could.

Those long interviews made you tired, but they absolutely terrified Elizabeth. She hated the crowded room because she couldn’t spot the exit and her brain would play little tricks at her saying that, if something bad happened, there weren’t enough emergency doors to take everyone out safely. The cameras pointed at her made her overly conscious of every move she made, afraid of what people might capture to spread around. The screams and yells that the fans let go every once in a while made her ears hurt and her insides churn. It was awful.

Averting your eyes so people wouldn’t notice you had been watching her, you placed a gentle hand on her thigh under the table to offer her some comfort. That made Elizabeth jump in surprise, though, since she hadn’t been expecting it, so you quickly removed your hand and offered her a small smile in apology when she glanced at you. You felt bad about it, especially when you noticed the fear in her eyes, but you still tried to calm her down by offering her a smile.

Some of her tension washed away and her shoulders relaxed enough for you to feel safe to touch her again. When your hand touched her thigh this time around, Elizabeth was expecting it and she allowed the touch with a sigh. She threw you a thankful look before turning her head to the side to pay attention to what was being said in case anyone decided to pull her into the conversation, something you also tried to do.

Luckily - so damn luck, indeed - the interview ended just a few minutes after that. You played your part waving at the fans and offering them smiles, but you still held Elizabeth’s hand to pull her away from there as fast as you could without actually running. You were both sitting in the middle of the large table so it wasn’t an easy task. However, your eyes met Zendaya’s eyes for a moment and the girl wasted no time trying to discreetly move everyone out of the way so you could walk past with Elizabeth.

You took your girlfriend backstage and avoided everyone who tried to talk with you on the way until you found a quiet corner to sit down with her. You sat her down on top of a large technical equipment box and you jumped up to sit beside her, already shoving your hand inside your pocket to remove the three Sharpies you had taken with you that day. Green, blue and lilac were the colors you took from the case before leaving the hotel room that afternoon, and you didn’t think twice before handing them to her.

“Come on, I’m your canvas,” you told her lightly while reaching out your arm to her.

Your right arm was filled with tattoos from your shoulders to your wrist. That was something that made many casting directors frown to, but you loved it. That’s the way you find to express yourself and something you cherish. The tattoos were all blackwork, which means they didn’t have any colors added to them, and they were all different drawings that entwined between them thanks to the amazing work of your tattoo artist.

The first time Elizabeth ever drew on your skin was when you took her to the hospital that fateful day. You had seen your girlfriend looking so sad and scared lying down in a hospital bed after the doctor left saying it had been an anxiety attack that you just had to do something. You knew Elizabeth liked to use her hands to help herself calm down because she would run to her garden and spend hours there tending to the plants, putting her hands in the dirt and delicately touching every leaf. That’s why you took the pen that the doctor left behind without noticing and started to look for something she could write on, but there was nothing.

So, you just handed her the pen and told her to write something on your arm.

Elizabeth had looked at you like you were insane for even suggesting it and it took you a while to convince her to give it a try, however, it played out perfectly in the end. Elizabeth spent hours using the blue pen to color your tattoos and it did wonderful things to her anxiety. When the doctor returned, he was happy to say she was good to go and you were just glad that Elizabeth was back to her usual self asking you if you could stop somewhere to eat.

It wasn’t a perfect solution. It was temporary since it usually just calmed her down enough to keep going for a few more hours, but Elizabeth still needed to fully relax in silence, go to her garden or take a warm bath to avoid any real crisis. But that didn’t stop you from buying several Sharpies from different colors to have them around anytime she might need them. You made a habit out of walking around with them inside your pockets and Elizabeth stopped resisting using them to draw on you.

Sure, Elizabeth suggested she buy a notepad to carry with her, but you told her you didn’t mind being her personal canvas. You liked how she touched your skin gently with one hand while she used the other one to color your tattoos. You found it mesmerizing how she managed to make different details every time she drew on you. And you were just glad to be able to help her. Of course, you told Elizabeth it was okay if she preferred to have some paper to draw on, but luckily she didn’t argue against painting your arm instead.

It worked.

And that would have to do because you couldn’t take her to the hotel room you were sharing yet and it was clear that Elizabeth wasn’t feeling great.

“No,” your girlfriend said without taking the Sharpies from you. “We still have more interviews today.”

“Exactly,” you argued. “That’s fine. You know I don’t mind it.”

“People will make questions,” Elizabeth insisted, but it held no real resistance behind her words anymore. She was already taking the pens from you and you smiled happily at that.

“Let them,” was your reply.

A second later, Elizabeth took the green Sharpie to start painting one of the tattoos on the back of your arm.

When your castmates found you both, your skin was a mix of green, blue and lilac already, and Elizabeth's full attention was on the task in her hands. She didn’t look about to lose her mind anymore, her breathing was normal again, her hands weren’t shaking and her frown was purely because she was trying to keep the colors inside the line and not because she was in panic. Your friends gave you space because they didn’t want her to feel crowded again, but Holland lent you his jacket while you were all walking to the next interview to avoid questions and Elizabeth kissed your lips just before going on stage.

“You’re the best girlfriend in the world,” Elizabeth whispered against your skin.

You shrugged it off and leaned to kiss her forehead. “I love you,” you reminded her gently aware that you would climb every mountain and swim every ocean to make her happy.

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #celebrity x reader #marvel #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #fanfic #creative writing #my writing #drabble #fluff #slight angst

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worseforwords · 11 months ago

Text

Danger

(Alessia Russo x Reader)

Chapter IV of Marshmallow

Four minutes. That’s how long it took for Alessia to say something that made your head spin when you saw each other again for the first time after Paris. You were in the changing room, unable to stop yourself from eavesdropping on the conversation on the other side of the room after Beth asked Alessia about the weekend you spent together in the city of love. “Yeah, it was really romantic. It almost felt real in a way.”

Her words caused you to perk up in an instant, and you could hear big, dramatic gasps emanating from Beth, Vic, and Kyra. “No, not like that, you idiots,” she quickly added. Of course not. Of course, it wasn’t like that.

The next few weeks once again revolved around finding the right balance between you and Alessia which was tougher than it seemed at first. You consciously distanced yourself from Alessia, even though you valued the friendship and connection the two of you had built over the past two months.

About three weeks in, you started feeling like you finally had things under control. You saw each other in training, talked and laughed together, but you always kept it light and casual. Both of you mostly fell back into your usual friend groups, so avoiding her outside of football wasn’t that hard, although you had to come up with excuses a few times in the process.

You were really feeling more confident in your own defences, so when Leah begged you to finally join a team night out again, you said yes. After all, you had started to run out of reasons not to, and obviously, you couldn’t tell her the real one.

The night out at the bar with your teammates was exactly what you needed after a long week of training. As you entered the lively bar, the sounds of laughter and music welcomed you. The atmosphere was electric, and you could tell it was going to be a memorable evening.

Leah wasted no time in rounding everyone up for a round of drinks. “First round’s on me!” she exclaimed with a mischievous grin, already heading towards the bar as you followed closely behind.

Meanwhile, Beth and Viv found a cozy corner booth for all of you to sit. Katie, true to form, was already causing a scene, engaging in animated conversation with the bartender as she ordered a round of shots for the table. “Make ‘em strong, mate!” she called out, earning a chuckle from the rest of the group.

“Katie, you’re going to get us kicked out before we’ve even had a chance to sit down,” Beth teased, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Relax! I’m just trying to spice things up a bit,” Katie retorted with a wink, earning another round of laughter from the group.

As the night progressed and the drinks kept flowing, Katie’s suggestion of playing a drinking game was met with enthusiastic approval from the group. The game started innocently enough, with rounds of laughter and playful banter filling the air. Laura was the first to lose a round, and she accepted her fate with a grin, downing a shot with flair.

Next up was Vic, who groaned dramatically when she lost. “Alright, no more shots for me. Hit me with your best dare,” she declared, rolling her eyes playfully. After a brief debate the group decided she had to do a TikTok dance all by herself on the empty dance floor. Brave as she was she did so without much hesitation, before sprinting back to the booth and falling into a fit of giggles in embarrassment.

After a couple of rounds, the alcohol had clearly taken its effect, and the laughter grew louder with each passing moment. The first few rounds you were on top of your game, and admittedly also a bit lucky. Luck wasn’t on your side forever though, and as the alcohol started taking its effect on you too, you eventually found yourself making more mistakes and losing a round.

Having had plenty of alcohol by now, you too decided on doing a dare instead of a shot. As everyone started discussing what they could have you do, Katie’s voice cut through the chatter, “How about you tell us how good of a kisser Alessia is!”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you shot a startled, somewhat angry glance at Alessia, who met your gaze with an apologetic expression. You hadn’t realised anyone beyond the two of you knew about your intimate moment in Paris.

Alessia’s eyes then darted to Vic, who was busy shooting daggers across the table at Katie, who remained grinning, awaiting your response. It dawned on you how naive you had been to think such a juicy secret could remain between just the two of you in this team, but you couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed in Alessia. Though you now realised she likely saw the kiss as nothing more than a funny anecdote, and you couldn’t blame her for that. Unlike you, one sloppy kiss hadn’t left her longing for more, wanting to do it again every time you moved your lips to speak. She didn’t think about the feeling of your hands caressing the back of her neck every time she caught a whiff of your perfume, and she sure as hell didn’t imagine being trapped against a wall anytime you leaned into her before a corner. She wasn't pathetic like that. And neither were you, of course.

“I’ll take the shot instead,” you declared, tossing it back before excusing yourself and swiftly heading towards the toilet. You splashed some water on your face, and waited a while, hoping the topic of conversation would change whilst you were gone. Stepping back out after a minute, you found Alessia waiting in the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her expression apologetic as she placed a hand on your arm, indicating her sincerity. “I was stupid enough to think that would spread this quickly.”

“It’s fine, really,” you replied as you turned away, intending to rejoin the team, but Alessia’s grip on your wrist stopped you. “Wait—” she said and you turned around expectantly just as she tripped over her own feet and stumbled towards you, letting herself be caught by you.

“Oh hi,” she said, her face now mere centimetres away from yours, and the familiar smell of her breath mixed with the smell of alcohol messed with your brain. “Maybe we should… you know— practice being girlfriends again, in case your parents show up or whatever,” she suggested with a grin, prompting you to steady her on her feet. She was clearly very intoxicated, more so than you and you realised there was no use in explaining to her again that your fake relationship was over. “Let’s head back inside shall we?” You suggested, avoiding her gaze as you turned away from her once more.

“Yes! Let’s dance,” she exclaimed excitedly, following behind you. By the time you arrived, your teammates were already dancing the night away, and you quickly made your way over to Leah, distancing yourself from Alessia.

“Mate, are you okay?” Leah asked, concern evident in her voice as she observed your expression. “You look proper floored.”

“Yeah, all good,” you lied, forcing a smile. “Nothing to worry about,” you tried to reassure her. Leah remained quiet for a bit, looking you up and down then scanning your face, seemingly unconvinced. “Well, great,” she replied finally, crossing her arms. “Now why the hell didn’t you tell me the two of you kissed?”

“Oh, that,” you began, trying to sound casual. “It didn’t mean anything, okay? So just drop it, please.” The annoyance in your voice caught yourself off guard and you quickly shifted your gaze to the floor, in fear of Leah’s reaction. “Jesus, all right,” she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Didn’t mean to step on your toes, mate.”

“Sorry Lee,” you groaned with an apologetic smile, although you knew she wasn’t really mad at you. She knew you were upset but she also knew you were as stubborn as a mule when it came to being vulnerable and talking about your feelings. She rolled her eyes dramatically and said, “Yeah, whatever. Let’s just have a good time and forget about it, alright?”

You danced with Leah and some other teammates for a while before some of them headed to the bar with the promise of yet another round of drinks. Alessia seized the moment, pulling you into the centre of the lively crowd. The atmosphere was charged with energy, and Alessia, unburdened by inhibitions, twirled you around with an infectious grin.

As the music intensified, Alessia’s movements grew bolder. In the dim light and pulsating music, she closed the distance between you, her hand lingering on yours, and her body moving in sync with yours. You swallowed hard as you realised your intoxicated state inhibited you from doing anything but enjoy this moment.

At one point, the music slowed, and Alessia’s hand found its way to the small of your back, her gaze locking onto yours. She leaned in, a hint of mischief in her eyes, and you tensed, any questions you had getting stuck in your throat as you anticipated her next move.

Alessia’s lips brushed against your cheek, dangerously close to a kiss, but as you looked over her shoulder, you noticed Leah raising an eyebrow at you from where she stood across the bar. The realisation of what was happening hit you like a jolt, and you instinctively pulled back, breaking the intimate moment. A wave of conflicting emotions surged within you—temptation, confusion, and the desperate need to regain control. And you ran.

Leah caught up with you after a few minutes. “Hey! Wait, Y/N,” she called, grabbing your shoulder to slow you down from behind. “I don’t want to talk about it, Lee,” you groaned.

“Fine, don’t talk. But you’re not going home alone. I’m calling us an Uber,” she declared, and you knew there was no changing her mind. “Fine,” you sighed.

As you and Leah settled into the Uber, the ride was uncomfortably quiet. Each passing streetlight cast fleeting shadows across Leah's face, highlighting the concern etched into her features and her clenched jaw. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet her gaze, opting instead to stare out of the window as the city blurred past.

When the Uber pulled up outside Leah’s apartment, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation. Following your friend inside, you sank into the welcoming embrace of her sofa, feeling the weight of her gaze like a physical pressure.

Leah wasted no time, her voice cutting through the silence with unwavering determination. “Alright, out with it,” she demanded, her tone firm and uncompromising. “You’re not getting any sleep before you tell me what’s going on.”

At first, you scoffed at her blunt approach, your defences rising instinctively as you crossed your arms and stared at the wall. But beneath Leah’s steely exterior, you could sense the genuine concern and care in her words, and a part of you longed to unburden yourself to someone who truly understood. “I don’t know what to tell you, Lee. Nothing’s going on.” You briefly paused before quietly adding, “That’s the problem…”

“This is about Alessia,” Leah stated. Clearly, it didn’t matter how vague and distant you acted; she would always see right through you. “Y/N… that didn’t look like nothing to me.” Her voice was softer now, as she took a seat next to you.

“Well, it was,” you stated, and with a heavy sigh, you relented, the floodgates opening as you poured out anything and everything that had happened between you and Alessia in the past two months and how you felt about it. How you felt about her.

Leah listened intently, her expression softening as she absorbed your words, offering no judgment, only support. As you spoke, if only slightly, you felt a flicker of relief wash over you. And as the tears flowed freely, Leah remained by your side.

When you were done speaking, she held you as you shed a few more tears, until you felt your eyelids grow heavy. “Let’s get you to bed,” Leah softly stated as she took you to her guest bedroom.

The next morning, you woke up feeling a bit groggy but grateful for Leah’s help and care. When you entered the kitchen, she was still nowhere to be seen, so you decided to cook up a nice breakfast to thank her. You knew her kitchen like your own, as you always had to cook for her when you visited, not trusting her with it one bit. By the time Leah walked into the kitchen, you noticed her eyeing the food on the table with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“I made breakfast,” you offered with a chuckle, knowing all too well Leah’s lack of culinary skills. “Figured I’d return the favour. I can’t handle feelings without you, and you won’t have anything to eat without me.”

Leah raised an eyebrow in mock indignation. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to take cooking lessons,” she retorted, grabbing a slice of toast and taking a bite.

You both shared a laugh as you sat down to enjoy the delicious breakfast you had made. You ate in silence, and despite the weight of yesterday’s conversation still lingering in the air, there was a sense of peace and understanding between you.

Eventually, Leah broke the comfortable silence, her tone serious yet gentle. “Listen. I know there’s no way in hell you’re taking my advice on this,” she began, “but just for the record, I think you should tell her how you feel.”

You couldn’t help but shake your head, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “I can’t, Leah,” you admitted, the weight of your words heavy in the air. “She’s happy with Dan, and it wouldn’t be fair to her. Besides, I’d rather be friends than nothing at all.”

Leah sighed, her expression softening with understanding. “I get that, I really do, but you’re torturing yourself by letting things go on like this,” she said, her voice laced with concern.

Leah’s words stuck with you the rest of the day as you replayed the events of last night in your mind. She wasn’t wrong; this was torture for you.

By the end of the day, the solution seemed clear to you: avoid Alessia altogether. Confessing your feelings to her was not an option, and being around her hurt you. So, really, avoiding her was the only sensible thing to do.

The following week, you did everything in your power to make your plan work. You sat opposite to wherever she was in the changing room and in meetings, and left immediately after every training session. You stopped hanging out with teammates altogether, fearing she might join in. When Lotte mentioned she was coming over to your shared apartment, you quickly made up an excuse and left for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t easy, and frankly, it was painful when you felt her trying to reach out to you. She would attempt to start a conversation, and you would suddenly make a beeline for Leah or pretend you didn’t hear her. One time, she even sent you a photo of a new type of chocolate pretzels she had found, which you ignored. When she asked if you wanted to talk, you ignored that too, and it hurt.

Nevertheless, you knew in your heart this was the only way to keep the both of you from getting hurt, and so you persevered. That was until after two more weeks of avoidance, the inevitable finally happened.

Your alarm went off early that morning after not having had much sleep. The night before, Alessia had suddenly shown up at your apartment, stating she was there to meet Lotte. She had asked if you wanted to join them for dinner, and you made up an excuse and left. You didn’t return until much later, when the only light visible through the curtains was the little nightlight in the living room, and you knew the coast was clear. You stirred for a long time before finally falling asleep, having spotted Alessia’s coat and shoes in the hallway and knowing she was lying on the other side of the wall you were staring at.

You didn’t have training until later that day, but you decided on an early alarm so you could escape the apartment before anyone else would wake up. You quickly threw on some joggers and a sweatshirt and kept your morning talk in the mirror short and to the point. You felt a sense of confidence wash over you as you realised you’d managed to prevent yet another encounter with the person you had been avoiding for weeks.

All that confidence left your body in an instant however, when you opened your bedroom door to be met with a pair of widened blue eyes already staring at you. “Hi,” said Alessia, a shy smile on her face.

“Morning,” you said dryly, “you’re up early.” You didn’t really want a conversation with her, but at this point, small talk seemed unavoidable. “I, uh, couldn’t sleep anymore,” she replied. You brushed past her to grab your shoes and sat down on the edge of the sofa to tie the laces.

“Hey, Y/N?” She started hesitantly, causing you to look up at her, dreading whatever she was about to ask you. “Do you want some coffee? I just made some.”

“Oh, no thank you. I was just about to go for a walk actually,” you answered, avoiding her gaze by focusing on your shoelaces again. “Oh right, of course,” she said quietly. The discomfort she felt was clear in the way she moved, the tension in the room palpable. You felt your eyes starting to water as your emotions overwhelmed you. The disappointment written on Alessia’s face, the way your body tensed up with every word she said, and the fact that you still had to fight the urge to kiss her right then and there, it was all too much.

“Enjoy your walk,” she said softly as you disappeared into the hallway. You grabbed your coat and keys and finally left the house.

As you were trying your best to fight the tears now brimming your eyelids from falling down your cheeks until you had at least rounded the corner, you heard a different voice calling your name from behind you: Lotte. And she didn’t sound happy. “What are you doing?” Her tone was like a shout but her volume that of a whisper, given how early it was.

“Taking a morning stroll,” you replied quietly without turning around hoping to leave it at that. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about Less. She really wants to talk to you but you’ve been avoiding her, ignoring her. I have no idea what’s going on with you but I can tell this is hurting her, and after all she’s done for you—” she stopped abruptly when you turned around to face her and she noticed the tears now rolling down your face. You saw the hesitation in her eyes. Lotte was not an angry person. In fact, this was the angriest you had ever seen her, so you knew you had really messed up. She scanned your face for a little longer before asking, “Can you please just tell me what’s going on?”

“I— I really can’t, I’m sorry.” You felt an immense sense of guilt wash over you. These past few weeks you had hardly given it any thought how your actions were affecting others. You had decided this was the best thing to do for everyone involved, but of course Alessia did not know that and she had had no say in the matter.

“Okay,” Lotte mumbled hesitantly, “okay, but will you at least talk to her later? You can’t avoid her forever, Y/N,” she stated, and you knew she was right. You took a deep breath before accepting your fate and telling her, “Yeah, okay. You’re right.”

You opted to save the talk for after training, giving both of you some time to prepare. Lotte relayed the news to Alessia and assured to spend the night at her boyfriend’s place, granting the two of you some privacy.

You spent your morning trying to figure out how to tell her what was going on, struggling to come up with the right words. The day went by fast and training, albeit awkward and tense, also flew by. Before you knew it, you were back home, bracing for the dreaded conversation.

Alessia seemed unusually uncomfortable, fidgeting with her hands as you walked into the familiar living room in silence. “Tea?” You asked and she nodded as she got settled.

Returning with two cups of tea minutes later, you took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. You sat in silence, both of you playing with your teabags for a while, contemplating how to initiate the conversation.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice hesitant. “I, uh, have been wanting to talk about the other night, you know, at the bar” she began, her words coming out slowly and anxiously. Weeks had gone by since that night, but you had not given her a single chance to talk about it since. “I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable or crossed any boundaries.”

You waved off her apology with a small smile. “It’s fine,” you reassured her, not really wanting to think or talk about that night anymore, since you knew it was just a drunken mistake to her, and so much more than that to you. “Just... caught me off guard, is all.”

Alessia’s expression softened, like she somehow knew exactly what you meant by that. She took a deep breath before blurting out three words you had never expected to hear her say.

“Dan is gay,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “His parents are... well, they’re really homophobic.” As she spoke, you could see a mixture of pain and embarrassment etched in her features, the weight of her words heavy on her shoulders.

Your confusion must have shown on your face, prompting Alessia to continue, her words tumbling out in a rush. “And, well, my parents were like yours. They kept asking when I’m going to settle down with a boyfriend,”

As Alessia spoke, the pieces started to fall into place, and you listened intently as she unraveled the complex web of her relationship with Dan. “We were really good friends, Dan and I," she explained, “And we get along well, so we came up with this... arrangement.”

She paused, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing. “We decided to pretend to be together,” she admitted, pausing again to finally look at you. “To make everyone around us happy.”

“We just get each other so well, you know?” she added, her voice small. “And we already spent so much time together, so it wasn’t hard to pretend.”

You thought about what she said. Somehow, suddenly everything made sense but at the same time nothing did. After a moment of silence, you finally found the words to break through the heaviness in the air. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” you asked, your voice gentle yet curious.

Alessia hesitated for a moment before responding, her gaze fixed on the floor. “I was embarrassed, I guess,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “And all I wanted was to focus on my career, so this seemed like an easy way to get everyone to stay off my case too.”

She paused briefly before continuing. “I love the friendship I have with him,” she explained, a hint of sadness in her voice as she looked at you. “And I never really felt the need to be more than friends with anyone anyway, so this has just always felt like it was enough for me. Well, until—” she stopped speaking abruptly, her words trailing off into silence.

“Until what?” you pressed, your curiosity piqued by her sudden pause. But Alessia shook her head, her expression guarded. “Nothing, never mind,” she replied, avoiding your gaze.

The conversation lapsed into silence again, the unanswered question hanging between you like a heavy fog. “Okay… so why are you telling me this now?” you asked, breaking the silence once more, your voice soft.

Alessia shrugged, her eyes flickering up to meet yours. “I don’t know, I guess I felt really bad about lying to you all this time,” she confessed, her voice tinged with regret. “Since we’ve gotten so close. Not many people know. In our team, it’s just Lotte actually. I really value our friendship, Y/N.”

As you sat there, letting everything she had just confessed sink in and trying to make sense of what it all meant, you suddenly noticed how uncomfortable Alessia looked. You quickly scooted over to her side of the sofa, prompting her to look up at you.

Reaching out, you placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for telling me, Less,” you said gently, offering her a reassuring smile. “You know you have nothing to be embarrassed about, right? Especially since I did the same thing with you.”

A small laugh escaped her lips, a hint of relief flickering in her eyes. “Guess we’re both experts at this fake relationship thing, huh?” she remarked, the tension in the room easing slightly.

You chuckled softly. “Yeah, now it does make a lot of sense why you came up with the idea in the first place,” you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

Alessia smiled, the embarrassment slowly fading from her features. “Well, it seems to have worked for both of us,” she quipped, her tone lightening.

Taking a sip of her tea, Alessia seemed lost in thought for a moment before meeting your gaze once more. “Thanks, though,” she said sincerely, her eyes softening. “For understanding, and for not judging me.”

You returned her smile with a soft one of your own. “There’s nothing to judge. I think it's really nice of you to do this for Dan,” you added.

Alessia’s smile widened, a touch of warmth in her eyes. “Thanks, Y/N. Means a lot.” She paused, clearly wanting to add something else, her smile fading into a frown. “So… are we okay?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” you said genuinely. You didn’t exactly know why yet, but somehow you felt a sense of peace about the whole situation after the conversation you had just had.

“Good, I’m glad,” she said, a relieved sigh escaping her lips. “Cause I’ve missed hanging out with you. I was really glad we had become such good friends, and I was afraid I had ruined it all by not being honest.”

“You didn’t,” you reassured her. “I was just a little… confused,” you added, hoping to leave it at that.

She nodded. “Yeah, I get that. I hope this cleared some stuff up then.” She sent you a warm smile. As the conversation wound down, Alessia glanced at the clock, realising the lateness of the hour. “I should probably get going,” she said, rising from the sofa with a small sigh.

You nodded in understanding, standing up as well. “Yeah, no problem,” you replied, walking her to the door. Before she left, Alessia turned to. “Good night,” she whispered with a grateful smile on her face as she pulled you in for a warm hug.

“Good night, Less.”

#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #lionesses #lionesses x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #engwnt x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc

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krisluxxeeempress · 7 months ago

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Astrology Observations | Mars in 9th House

You may have looked at this and immediately thought Mars in the 9th house means, traveling. WRONG! Having Mars in Sagittarius 1st house would indicate someone traveling. Nevertheless, Individuals with this placement are " ABOUT THAT LIFE" in regard to what they know, believe and have experienced. Due to the Mars influence, it would be in anyone's best interest to not challenge these Individuals about their TRUTH deriving from their experiences. The 9th house governs politics, intelligence, wisdom, education, in-laws. If you are brave enough to challenge these individuals- may the Lordt be with you. They will argue with you like they're lawyers, that crucify you on the stand. They will throw the books of FATCS at you. You cannot argue with the TRUTH and those stupid enough to try, will indeed get their FEELINGS HURT, fucking around with Mars in 9th house individuals. These people will kill you will the truth and that's worse than physical reinforcement. Have you ever argued with someone, and it was clear they lost- and so, they resort to pointing out your grammar, speech, physical features- just everything that doesn't matter? Yeah, these individuals will defeat you so bad in a debate or argument that all you have left is to bring up their appearance to salvage your ego. If you are in a relationship with these individuals, make sure you HAVE YOUR PARENTS IN CHECK. . . I have observed " In-laws" love to hate on Mars 9th house individuals. This can certainly create a " PARENTS VS. SPOUSE" dynamic. It's crazy. Though I'm happy to report that the "Spouse" usually wins. There may be religious factors " affecting your love life" Doreen Virtue vibes or cultural differences as well, having this placement.

This placement has potential to be extremely problematic for the ladies. " Men" will have time and energy to argue with you. You have the power to bring out their inner sassy. Even if "Men" do not argue with you, they'll be intimidated by you all the same.

In rare circumstances, "Men", will respect you for your beauty and brains. Women, however, will be intimidated by you. Of course, there will always be those few who will challenge you- out of insecurity. However, for the most part, other women will respect some shit and leave you alone. They'll either leave you alone because they know your intellect is unmatched and or, they'll want to be your friend for the same reason.

The sign Mars is in, will determine the nature of the challenges, arguments and debates others will try to bring to these individuals' life.

Example, a Mars in Aries 9th house, will experience people who like to challenge their spiritual, religious beliefs and or academic intelligence. Whenever, a Mars in Aries 9th house individuals says something, OTHERS JUST HAVE TO SAY THE OPPOSITE. Even if they secretly agree. People refuse to agree with Mars in 9th house individuals, just because.

People just like to have intellect battles with these individuals and usually, they're always wrong. Imagine how pathetic you have to be to KNOW someone is right but decide to argue with them anyway, JUST BECAUSE your ego can't stand their right?! What a waste of TIME and ENERGY that most don't even have to TAKE IT THERE with a Mars in 9th house individual.

#mars #9th house #astrology #astrology observations #astro community #astrologer #observations #in laws

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sammyluvr · 2 months ago

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girlfriend headcanons — jo harvelle

cw : gn!reader, kissing, knife mentions, sparring mentions, general physical affection, playful insults, she's super cute, 1.6K words. requested !

summary : just gf hcs! she deserves so much more love agh!!

✶.◟ in first encounters, she can be both flirty and closed off all at once

✶.◟ but it’s not too hard to get her to soften and open up to you

✶.◟ her smiles turn from polite or sarcastic to toothy and wide, pretty and genuine

✶.◟ she’s definitely still flirty and sassy when you’re dating, but it always ends with her smiling wide, or even giving you a fully belly laugh that makes your heart skip a beat

✶.◟ she’d really appreciate someone that doesn’t pressure her to be perfectly mature at all times, but has their own way of motivating her to learn and develop as a person

✶.◟ and in that vein, she really needs someone who understands and sees all sides of her

✶.◟ even if she’s young and that can show sometimes, she’s always been highly intelligent, witty, and brave

✶.◟ she loves it so much when you really appreciate her intelligence and sarcastic humor

✶.◟ and she really enjoys a balance of goofing off together as well as having long debates or stimulating conversations

✶.◟ it’s just generally really important to her that you see her for all that she is and take the time to understand her as a complicated person, rather than just someone who can be a little reckless and emotionally irrational

✶.◟ these things aren’t completely untrue, but you understand her to be so much more than that and it makes her so much more in love with you

✶.◟ she doesn’t like if you’re too protective of her, but she does enjoy a dynamic where you’re protective of each other

✶.◟ she’s definitely quite protective of you and would never hesitate to jump into a fight in your honor or to physically protect you

✶.◟ and she does like to know that you’d do the same for her; she likes a healthy amount of protectiveness over her because she likes the security of it, as well as it’s indication of how much you care about her

✶.◟ if you’re interested, she would love to either teach you some hand to hand combat or trade tips/spare together <3

✶.◟ she thinks it’s both very fun, as well as definitely hot when one of you has the other pinned to the floor

✶.◟ honestly, whether it’s you or her pinned to the floor, it always brings a cocky, pleased smirk to her lips, as if this was her goal all along

✶.◟ besides the thrill and entertainment she gets from sparing with anyone, it probably was indeed her goal to end up in this position

✶.◟ she can get quite competitive, and it really helps the both of you improve your combat skills

✶.◟ it also means that you’re both very in tune with each other when fighting side by side, you’re always better together

✶.◟ also back to one of you having the other pinned to the floor hehe… if she’s got you trapped, she definitely leans down to kiss you

✶.◟ and if you’ve got her trapped, the smirk on her lips and look in her eyes is more likely than not enough to convince you to indulge her with a kiss, too

✶.◟ and yes, it’s very likely that it will just devolve into making out right then and there

✶.◟ she just really loves a good combination of something a little rough, like teasing or sparing or sarcasm, paired with some soft of expression of love

✶.◟ a teasing comment along with a soft smile and her hand slipping into yours

✶.◟ a dark joke followed by a kiss to your cheek

✶.◟ her flicking her favorite knife in one hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with her other and her pretty lips moving as she tells you she loves you

✶.◟ saying things like, “you’re such an idiot. i love you,” or “you’re pretty cute for a total dork,” to each other, probably with the biggest heart eyes ever

✶.◟ call her a nerd with a loving smile, i promise it’ll make her laugh and kiss you

✶.◟ and of course have to she’ll tease you back first by calling you a bigger nerd or some silly insult like

✶.◟ yeah being lovingly mean to each other is definitely one of her love languages

✶.◟ she definitely enjoys physical contact in tandem with that as mentioned

✶.◟ but she loves just straight up sweet cuddles and kisses and hand holding

✶.◟ she’s likely quite obsessed with kissing you and could never get enough

✶.◟ she will initiate a lot of physical affection, but she really likes if you do too if you’re that kind of person

✶.◟ she’s not huge on pda, but she doesn’t mind it too much honestly

✶.◟ like she doesn’t care if you’re in public, she’ll happily give you a peck on the lips, definitely will hold your hand without a second thought

✶.◟ only cares about pda if it makes you uncomfortable, then she’ll be careful and reserved about it

✶.◟ a much more thoughtful lover than some might peg her to be

✶.◟ yes, she can be very lighthearted and silly and fun about it

✶.◟ but she’s a very committed lover and isn’t the type to just fool around

✶.◟ especially considering her past experiences with love when she was younger, it’s really important to her to know that you’re committed too

✶.◟ she can be the type to fall hard and fast, but her love lasts and she can wait for you as long as you need her to

✶.◟ she’s also the type to grow a lot in a relationship; she’s always finding opportunities to learn about herself and you and become the best lover for you

✶.◟ she really likes feeling like she’s on a journey with you and that you’re safe constants for each other throughout that journey

✶.◟ she’s very honest too, calls you out on anything that she thinks you should be and expects and appreciates if you do the same!

✶.◟ not in a confrontational way, just in the sense that she’s frank and likes to be transparent with people

✶.◟ she’s not going to let either of you pretend about anything and it’s almost always beneficial because she’s keeping your relationship open and honest

✶.◟ of course, she respects your boundaries and understands you don’t have to tell her everything, but she really values honesty and clear effort

✶.◟ she just really values authenticity too so it’s really important for her to have a space with you where she can be herself freely

✶.◟ generally, she is confident, but she hasn’t always had the space to be silly, playful, sweet, and dorky

✶.◟ because in my heart of hearts jo is definitely a dork and a nerd <3

✶.◟ and she just really loves that she can be that way around you

✶.◟ and she’s like a literal puppy dog, she will so purposefully widen those big brown eyes at you to get what she wants

✶.◟ and it absolutely works every time!! how could you resist her pretty sweet face?? you can’t!

✶.◟ she also just gets really excited to spend time with you, she can be all playful and bouncy and eager like a puppy and it’s genuinely the cutest thing ever

✶.◟ yes she is a mature adult woman with a witty, sarcastic sense of humor and a set of mean fists!

✶.◟ but she is also your babygirl and you just bring out her more playful and giddy side

✶.◟ she’s always resting her head on your shoulder and playing with your fingers

✶.◟ or kissing your cheek or dragging you along to show you something

✶.◟ just imagine her falling asleep with her head in your lap as you play with her hair :,)

✶.◟ she’s a huge sucker for that, for sure <3

✶.◟ another one of her love languages is definitely knives

✶.◟ in my heart of hearts she actually is really interested not just in the knives themselves but in their history and types and even supernatural lore

✶.◟ so she tells you all about it and shows off her knife collection with such a proud smile and is so excited when you like it too

✶.◟ glares at you jokingly if you get something wrong about her knives though lol

✶.◟ she’s like “babe, i taught you about this, c’mon.”

✶.◟ and you’re the only one she shares certain knives with because she’s normally protective of them, but she lets you do anything you like

✶.◟ jo most definitely teaches you how to do tricks with knives if you’re interested

✶.◟ or is just immediately extra in love with you if you have previous knowledge/experience with knives she’s thinks it’s so hot

✶.◟ overall, she’s a very sweet lover who’s a lot of fun to have around and isn’t afraid to express her feelings to you and makes sure you know she loves you

✶.◟ always leaning into you or trying to be close to you

✶.◟ she likes to wear the shirts or jeans she knows that you like the best to tease you or get you worked up

✶.◟ and at the same times gets flustered when you compliment her excessively (but never wants you to stop)

✶.◟ you’re in for lots of laughs and cuddles and late night drinks together

✶.◟ lots of cheek kisses and her hands sneaking up your shirt, or her excited voice telling you fun facts she wouldn’t reveal to anyone else that she knows

✶.◟ basically she’s a huge sweetheart and she’s the perfect mix between playful and lighthearted and serious and committed <3

#jo harvelle x reader #spn jo harvelle #jo harvelle #supernatural jo harvelle #jo harvelle x gn!reader #jo harvellle fluff #jo harvelle blurbs #jo harvelle fic #jo harvelle fanfic #jo harvelle headcanons #supernatural #supernatural women

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the-way-astray · 4 months ago

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what is going on

let me take you back to half a week ago, when this first started.

it all starts with a simple notification. i click on it, thinking it's an innocent ask, or perhaps an anon wanting to pick a fight with me. i am a notorious keefe hater in this fandom, after all. let's see what the anons have to throw at me this time. if only that small, innocent, little me from four days ago had known. the notification was nothing short of a snake, hiding in the grass, waiting to strike.

it was alayda. she'd dared me to write something *horrified gasp* positive about keefe. she thought me, a notorious keefe hater, couldn't possibly have anything nice to say about my least favorite guy? well, i'd show her. i typed out a truly magnificent pro keefe essay, if i do say so myself. tumblr fought me the entire time, trying to delete half of it, but i persevered, and eventually posted it.

i had no idea what was coming for me. over the next few hours, i began to get truly heinous asks, questioning my commitment to my keefe hatred, and generally slandering my reputation. at the time, i'd thought this was as bad as it could get. but, oh. oh, no, no, no. as edaline ruewen said, "hindsight is a dangerous game". now i know that it could get worse than i could possibly even begin to imagine. and it did.

that same day, i got the ask. the one that changed everything. i responded in horrified horror, terrified terror, because i knew everything was about to change. and the next day, it appeared that other anons had followed in the first anon's footsteps. it was decided that me and keefe would be an enemies-to-lovers romance. our ship name was to be strieefe. an anon went to the official poll blog, @/do-you-ship-this-book-couple. i changed my ask box title to "KEEFE WOULD NOT LIKE ME" and got an anon about it. they started going to katie's ask box.

the debate ramped up. more people became aware. people, both anon and not, began to choose sides. i began offering badly drawn sketches to people who sided against this atrocious excuse for a ship. i should probably be making those instead of typing this out. whoopsie. i fought the anons that disagreed with me with a desperation akin to a rat caught in a trap, but my thrashing appeared to only attract more unhinged anons.

i then got my first anon that made a genuine attempt to explain why this horrible ship could theoretically work. they were wrong, of course, but i appreciate the effort. as i've explained countless times, the real relationship me and keefe would have if he were real would be one-sided hatred. i would hate him with a passion that can't be adequately described by the english language, and he'd be entirely unaware of my existence.

then! a miracle! an anon sent an ask to quil about strieefe, and i can only assume they wanted quil to analyze why we'd be good together. but quil, i never should've doubted quil. the response was a fantastically constructed analysis on why i was right about how i'd have one-sided rage toward keefe. but my delight dimmed significantly when i saw that fin, someone whom i'd previously trusted, had thrown his support behind this awful ship and even drawn fanart of me and keefe. i swiftly demoted him from the spot he had previously shared with max: "favorite fintanposter".

the anons got more unhinged. i began to be shipped with non-keefe main cast characters, sometimes monogamously, sometimes not. i bravely faced the assault, tearing the anons' arguments to shreds with my logical explanations as to why i would not be a good fit for any of them. this led to me posting a poll at the insistence of one anon, which is still open.

just as the waters were looking significantly less treacherous, just as it seemed i may make it to shore without drowning, a new development occurred. i got an ask from alayda, who as you may remember, is the one that started all this. this is entirely her fault. i'd expected maybe a heartfelt apology, perhaps a plea for forgiveness. but no. her ask was but an ominous warning, one i could not make sense of. i pondered the meaning as i stared at it. and then. horror upon horrors, it appeared in my inbox. i read through it in horrified horror, and my rickety little boat was once more swept out to sea.

it was a fanfic. a terribly written, horribly wattpad-ified, y/n-ish fanfic. i tore it to shreds thoroughly, taking pleasure as the scraps of the work of the one who had brought all this sorrow upon me fell in loose tatters all around me. i dusted off my hands and left it at that.

but it continued. even as i type this out, there is a part two to that horrific fanfic sitting in my inbox, which alayda is pestering me to post. there's also a part one to another anon fanfic, which is written relatively well, which arguably makes it even worse than alayda's. then there's yet another poem written about me and keefe by emelin, which also sits in my inbox, gathering dust as i attempt to piece the broken shards of my sanity back together.

all this to say, join the correct side of this debate. we have badly drawn sketches and braincells. be on the right side of history.

#i didn't talk about everything so for more details go through the tag #keefe would not like me and i don't like him #that's where i've been posting all this nonsense to #kotlc #kotlc keefe #keefe sencen #asks #friendlyneihborhoodpercussionist #mine

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recreationalfanfics · 6 months ago

Text

Cursed Love of Kamen Rider Ouja (Yandere Soulmate! Takeshi Asakura x Soulmate! Gn! Reader)

Tw. Abduction, Asakura becomes a slight yandere, self-harming (he hits his head against a wall)

Note: This is a soulmate au where once you meet your soulmate for the first time, you start to feel each other's pain. Also, watch Kamen Rider Ryuki, it is amazing and I am so deeply in love with Takashi Hagino's acting.

It had been a few days after you had been held hostage in a restaurant by infamous escapee, Asakura Takeshi. It had also been a few days before you realized that said escaped convict was your soulmate. On the day of Asakura holding hostages in the restaurant, a brave man that you found out was named Shinji Kido had punched and tackled him in order to release the little girl Asakura was using as leverage. Coincidentally, your nose began to hurt as if you had gotten punched and you also fell down to the ground. As Shinji continued to try and fend off the crazed villain, you were horrified that you could feel every punch that he left on Asakura. After the police started throwing in canisters of smoke grenades, you were quickly ushered out of the area but unaware of what happened to the three men who were fighting, Asakura included.

Since then, you’ve been at war with yourself. The police claim that Asakura Takeshi was dead but you knew differently. Your head swells painfully as if you had been banging it against a cement wall, and you grab your hair in tight fists as you try to figure out what to do with the fact that your soulmate is an incredibly dangerous and violent criminal. You’ve debated going to the police but what if they suspected you as an accomplice or an accessory to the crime? After all, it’s rather hard to believe that your soulmate just happened to be the guy who kept you hostage, and you were one of the last people to have seen him. But if you kept the secret to yourself, Asakura could end up hurting more and more people, and all it would be on you.

“GAH!” You hissed in agony, your head once more aching with pain.

You wondered what kind of dangerous situation Asakura was in now that was causing you to have this hellish migraine.

In the downtown part of the city, in an underpass no one dared to travel through at night, Asakura repeatedly hit his head against the concrete wall in annoyance and frustration. Not once growing up was he ever interested in finding his soulmate, the idea of someone who was destined for him the moment he was born pissed him off more than anything because nothing was decided for him. He was Asakura Takeshi, he did things the way he wanted to. Of course, he’d find his soulmate on the day he joined the Rider fight, now this person was nothing more than a new weakness that the other Riders could use against him, and he hated having an exposed weakness.

“Damn it! DAMN IT! DAMN IT!” He roared in between head bashes, blood starting to stain the cement. Lunging his head forward for one final slam against the cement, Asakura rested his forehead on the wall as he began to pant heavily. His shoulders raised up and down as he heaved every breath he took. Hurting and being hurt always helped him regain clarity. Licking his lips, his mind began to race about what he should do from here.

He briefly thought of killing you but that thought was dismissed as quickly as it arrived. If your soulmate dies, so do you. He knew that from the way his parents had both closed their eyes and held each other as they drew their last breath together when they realized they couldn’t escape the fire he had set.

He could leave you be, you seemed timid and scared enough to keep yourself out of trouble, and the chances of the other Riders figuring out you're his soulmate are slim. But who knows? Asakura noticed that you were feeling the same pain he was when Shinji attacked him at the restaurant, who was to say that damn do-gooder or that sleazy lawyer didn’t notice as well?

Taking you would be such a hassle, no doubt you would do everything to get away from him, and having to care for you would irritate the hell out of him. However, it seemed like the only good option for him so he could fight as ruthlessly and violently as he wanted without anyone using his soulmate to get to him. Looking around for the nearest reflective surface, Asakura spotted an abandoned and dirtied mirror leaning on the other side of the underpass and walked to it.

“Venosnaker.” He commanded. Instantly, a giant purple cobra monster appeared in the mirror, hissing dangerously as it narrowed its eyes at its contractor

“Get the others. Find my soulmate.” He ordered.

Bowing it’s head down in obdience, the purple snake monster sharply turned from the mirror to begin it’s journey as Asakura smirked after it. Only for it to fall when he realizes that he needs to get things set up for your arrival. Letting out an annoyed groan, Asakura brushed his hand through his hair and scowled.

“Damn soulmate.” He growled.

Whatever extremely painful thing Asakura was doing to himself, he had finally stopped thankfully. Laying on your stomach, you stuffed your face into your pillow and lay there. Unsure whether you wanted to cry or scream, you decided to do both.

Why did this have to happen to you? Why him of all people!?

You never paid soulmates much mind or attention, mostly just assuming that you’d find yours when the time was right, but you at least thought yours would be a relatively well-adjusted person who wasn’t public enemy number 1. The radio next to your bed began to play news reports on the death of Asakura Takeshi, causing you to groan and reach over to shut it off. You hated that his name was trending on every radio station now, it made your stomach feel sick every time he was mentioned, and it only made you fall even deeper into despair. What had you done to the universe that it paired you with the most awful man in the world?

Turning over from your pillow and laying on your back, you brought your hand up to your forehead to massage your head. Only to feel your skin raw and slightly burn at your touch. Furrowing your brows, you sat up from your bed and ran to your bathroom to inspect yourself in the mirror. At some point during your killer headache, it appeared as though Asakura had been hitting his head on something to the point that it created a rather noticeable large scrape on your head that was bleeding a little. Groaning in annoyance, you began to run the water to rinse off the area so you could treat it. Splashing the cold water on your face, you tried to pretend like the water was washing away your thoughts of him. Maybe in the morning, you’d try to find those other two men who were facing off against Asakura that day in the restaurant.

Drying your face off with a hand towel, you reached to open the medicine cabinet behind your mirror when something grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the mirror. You let out a shrill scream before grunting in pain as you were thrown onto a cold and rough floor.

Looking up in alarm, you were surrounded by strange-looking anthropomorphic creatures. They would've been rather ridiculous if they weren’t so terrifying, especially their large and dangerous-looking weapons. As one raised its hand above its head, preparing to strike you down with its giant blade, you rolled onto your stomach and used your hands to push you off the ground. Narrowly dodging the giant weapon, you began to run as if your life depended on it. Because it did.

“HELP! SOMEONE!? ANYONE! HELP ME, PLEASE!” You screamed out loud, but no one was around. Your eyes scanned your surroundings wildly, looking for any safe space or place where you could hide from the monsters chasing you. Ducking into an alleyway, you appeared to find yourself on a city street. However, the roads were completely empty and there were no other people rushing to the places they need to go like they usually do. The only things around were you and the buildings.

Oh, and the giant animal monsters that are following you.

No longer dwelling on your questions, you began to run again as you heard the sounds of the monsters following you come closer. Your chest was beginning to hurt and your throat was starting to become dry but you still pushed for your legs to keep going. Deciding to duck into a building to hide rather than staying on the open street where you were vulnerable and easy to see. Just as you were about to turn, you were cut off by a giant purple serpent that was half as large as the building itself. It slithered its way from out of nowhere and hissed, its head angled directly at you and flicking it’s giant tongue. Stopping in your tracks, you closed your eyes and yelled as you expected large fangs to pierce themselves inside of you and rip you apart. Yet, that moment never came. The snake monster hissed but never struck, it wasn’t until you heard the sounds of another human being grunting and yelling did you finally open your eyes to survey the scene.

A man in purple armor was fighting the monsters with a large sword-like weapon that looked like a snake’s rattle. The large snake’s body was coiled around yours, as if keeping you from being hurt from the battle, while the matching purple warrior laughed sadistically as it cut through the monsters pursuing you. Your mind became even more confused as you watched him fight.

Was he…enjoying himself? Your head felt dizzy with all of the unbelievable things you’ve been seeing.

When he had finally beaten the monsters, he turned his head towards you and the snake.

“Dinner time!” He yelled with sadistic glee.

Once he stood out of the way, the giant serpent monster lunged towards the pile of the dead monsters and began to devour them much like a real snake would. You couldn’t move, all you could do was simply observe and watch in utter horror. Asakura had been watching your reactions carefully from his spot and taking notice of your face. He didn’t really get the best look at it last time and while he was never easily swayed by a pretty face, you were quite attractive from where he stood. Your (e/c) eyes wide with horror and confusion, you looked slightly disheveled due to the madness you just went through, and he could see the matching scrape on your forehead that he shared. Absenmindedly touching his helmet where his own self-inflicted sore was, he soon clenched that hand into a fist as he began to walk towards you.

“You.” He called out harshly, causing you to flinch in surprise.

You cautiously stood up, you felt like a cornered mouse as you nervously gulped.

“P-Please don’t hurt me.” You pleaded, unmoving as the armored man continued to advance upon you.

You looked pathetic and helpless right now. It made that familiar feeling of irritation grow inside of Asakura as he roughly grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer to him.

“You’re starting to piss me off,” He snarled, pulling you with him. You were hesitant to follow him but his grip was strong as he continued to tug you along to follow him, “First you show up at my first fight with Kitaoka, then you end up getting yourself in trouble. As irritaiting as it will be, I’ll need to watch you so you can’t get in the way of my fighting!

You frown at his words, unsure why you had pissed him off when this was the first time you had ever met him. However, the way he spoke and the lust for fighting in his words soon pieced together and completed the puzzle of who this man was.

“Asakura!?” You screeched, trying to pull your arm away from him.

His grip only tightened but he seemed amused by your sudden defiance as he continued to tug you along after him, chuckling a little.

“Don’t act so brave after I just had to save you.” He taunted, walking towards a reflective window.

Tossing you with ease into the window, you braced yourself for broken glass to pierce your skin. Only to, once again, find yourself falling onto an uncomfortably hard and cold floor.

When you looked up, you watched as Asakura’s purple armor began to disappear as he walked through the window of that empty world into the regular one,, his dark brown eyes looked on you and a sadistic smirk tugged at the corner of his lips at the sight of your disgusted and angry expression.

“What is going on!? Why are you here!? Why am I here!?” You interrogated instantly, wanting some questions for whatever the heck you just saw. The man in the snake skin jacket to rolled his eyes in annoyance before he roughly pulled you up from the floor and onto your feet. Grabbing the collar of your shirt to pull you down so he could look down at you, he returned your bitter stare.

“Don’t start irritaiting me already.” Asakura spoke in a warning tone before letting you go. Stumbling back, you glare at him but don’t say anything. Kicking a rock out of his way as he began to pace around, you took a moment to look around at your surroundings. You appeared to be in some shabby place in the forest that Asakura was using as a hideout from what you could tell. A small fire was the only source of warm and light as Asakura continued to silently pace, his eyes still studying you.

“What’s your name?” He finally asks.

You don’t really want to tell him but you also don’t want to push him considering you were out here alone with him and the fact you saw he had a giant snake monster thing.

“(L/n). (Y/n) (L/n).” You answer back, bitterly.

“(Y/n).” He repeated, you hated the way he said your first name. While he may have been your soulmate, it was way too casual of an act for your liking, especially considering the mocking tone in his voice as he said it. Now taking steps back to you, you slowly tried to back away to put as much distance between you and the criminal as you could. “The reason you’re here, (Y/n),” He began with a sneer, “is because you’re a weakness I can’t get rid of. So I’m going to keep my eye on you.”

You blink in disbelief at his words, not making much sense of them at first, “What…what do you mean by that?”

“It means, I’m going to keep you with me whether you like it or not.” He answered bitterly, “I don’t want to have to hold back just because my soulmate is too weak to do anything by themselves.”

He truly had a way with words. A feeling of indignance overcame you as you used both your hands to shove him away from you. “I’m not staying anywhere near you! You can’t make me!” You shout in defiance. You hate the way amusment became evident in Asakura’s face.

“You don’t have a choice and if you want to be difficult-”

A loud and deafening hiss began to rang, making you look side to side before you finally located the source of the sound to the mirror you and Asakura came through not too long ago. In the mirror, you saw the giant purple serpent that had protected you. It’s yellow eyes now staring into your soul.

“I can make things difficult.” Asakura finished, a very punchable and smug smile on his face.

Anxiety began to build up in your gut as Asakura stared down at you, eager to see what your reaction would be now. You feel tears building up at the corner of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall in front of this maniac. In shame and embarrassment, you hung your head so that you weren’t looking into Asakura’s dark eyes anymore and clenched your hands into fists.

“Tch, how could someone so irrritaiting be my soulmate?” He scoffed, causing the anger in your heart to grow.

Silently, you promise yourself that you will find some way to escape Asakura. Soulmate or not, you were not going to spend the rest of your life with a monster.

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