#you went to an entirely different region.
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She's going to hold the fact he didn't take her Gym Challenge over his head for the rest of his life.
@bluesthebest
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Vagueposting about a pokemon rp we've been doing with a friend for like. A year. But I'm broken. He broke me. "I could never hate you. You're my best friend" you could have said ANYTHING ELSE but no today we're destroying my feelings
#We have few ocs different stories happening in different regions since yk it's been going on for an entire year#And there's like. 3 people from a villain organisation. Eden Ekuren and Liv.#Ek and Liv actually joined the organisation when they were really young and they were experimented on and stuff#They went on a mission and it ended up badly for Ekuren who got REALLY wounded. And Liv always felt he had the responsibility to help him#He felt guilty like. Liv always does feel guilty. He craves validation sm it's insane#And while the group is pretty much dead inside Liv can't stop apologizing to the others saying he doesn't want them to hate him#And Ekuren. He says 'I could never hate you. You are my best friend'#I am broken#They're best friends your honor#Please let them leave this stupid team and get therapy they all deserve it#Eden's not here since she was knocked out last fight she's resting#It's ahhhhhh oh my god#The MC of the rp are on a break now I'm ill about the villains. My god.#[.txt]
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in which: you need to make it to liyue harbour in time so you can give kazuha a piece of your mind and a response to his love letter.
cw: fluff, 1.3k words, not too sure how canon accurate this is, potentially ooc-kazuha, gn!reader from inazuma, confessions, two wholesome idiots in love
a/n: for my little sibling @sixosix, i hope you enjoy
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Liyue, out of all regions in Teyvat, is the hardest to run through.
It’s mountainous, your muscles will ache from going uphill, your ankles will be sore the next day from going too fast downhill. It’s grassy, the gravel is rough against the soles of your feet, and there is an abundance of hillichurls and samachurls waiting for you with their clubs and shields. Yet, they provide more motivation for you to outrun them, speeding right by their camps to get to Liyue Harbour in time.
Stupid Kaedehara Kazuha, when you see him, he’s in for an earful from you. Making you run from Lingju Pass all the way back to the Harbour, doesn’t he know how much you despise running for long periods of time?
A break is not plausible, especially when Beidou’s boat could leave the dock at any minute now.
When Liyue’s bustling harbour is in sight, it’s vast oceans appearing out the horizon, you feel like you can breathe. The sunlight glimmering on the ocean cheers you on, and you won’t stop until the waves are underneath your feet, the only thing separating you from them being wooden planks.
You push through crowds, too tired and determined to be polite and apologetic to shoppers you push aside. You run past Mingxing Jewelry, Wanmin Restaurant, and Master Zhang’s workshop, and don’t stop until you, yourself, are climbing onto the Crux. Crew members are shouting in protest at your sudden appearance, yelling at your unexplained entrance.
There are people trying to pull you off the boat, and you don’t really know where the strength to push off burly sailors came from, but you successfully fend off all of them, and find Beidou at the bow of the ship.
“Where is Kazuha?” You demand, decorum be screwed, nothing can stop your momentum now.
Her uncovered eye lights up in amusement, a hint of knowing behind her crimson gaze. ��Right behind you.”
Lo and behold, the beige-haired in question was right behind you. “Uh, hello?”
“I have a bone to pick with you, Kazuha!” Stomping over to him, he grabs your wrist before you have another chance to talk, dragging you away from the bow of the ship where all the crewmates were unloading their cargo. (Beidou’s thundering laughter can be heard as he’s dragging you away, at least she’s not mad at your sudden intrusion.)
He stops when the two of you are on the quarter deck and turns to look at you with panic all over his face.
“What did I do?”
From your pocket, you pull out a piece of paper like it’s an incriminating piece of evidence, one that he’s stared at for too long, so much so that he can recall every dip and curve of the dry-pressed leaves he added on for a more personal touch. It has sat on his desk for ages, seen all of his turmoils and frustrations over delivering it to you.
The paper contains a mix of poems, haikus, and different confessions Kazuha has been harbouring in his heart for the past few years, ever since the two of you left Inazuma. Your hand clutching his gloved one as the two of you hurry onto Beidou’s boat with nothing but your visions, weapons, and the clothes on your back.
He has loved you for this entire journey, and words could not surmise the depth of his feelings, let alone a measly piece of paper. Some days, it sees the sun when he dares it to, but it always ends up right back on his desk, waiting for the day that it will leave Kazuha’s possession and fall into yours.
This morning was the exact moment. He slipped it in your bag before you went on your expedition, the two of you meeting for a quiet breakfast before his eight-month long expedition, and your two-week one. He had waved you goodbye as far as he could go before leaving Liyue Harbour, even staying on the outskirts until your group left his sight.
Nothing could have prepared him for seeing you so soon, not after putting that letter in your backpack.
“You’re a coward!” You accuse immediately, poking your finger to his chest. “A lousy coward!”
He takes it, knows that he should have just braved his fears and handed it to you in person, but the idea of being rejected on the spot causes his chest to ache in unbearable ways. The samurai rather you read it, then have eight months to prepare for your inevitable rejection.
Yet, he should have known that in the face of a storm, you are the only one brave enough to fight against the waves. Nothing ever goes the way he wants when it’s with you.
“You should probably sit down, Y/n, your legs are shaking and I’ll grab you some-”
Your hands fly up to grab the sleeves of his kimono, whether to stabilise yourself, or to stop him from leaving, or both, he stays. “Kaedehara Kazuha, I like you too,” you declare. “I just ran all the way from Lingju Pass, so I have nothing flowery nor sweet to say like your letter except that you are so very mean for making me come all this way.”
With one last heaved breath, you collapse to your knees. Kazuha, being the gentleman he is, freaks out and mimics your actions, clinging onto your shoulders.
“Y/n!” He calls out, his usually level voice breaching a panicked cry. “You shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this. Stay here, I’ll go grab water water.”
Listening to the samurai, you rest against a nearby pillar, feeling the dull aches in all muscles of your legs. Archons, you’ll feel the pain tenfold tomorrow.
Kazuha returns not too long with a canteen in hand, and he twists it open before handing it to you. After a few beats of tense silence, he speaks up.
“Honestly, I don’t really have anything to say either, I wasn’t expecting to see you for another eight months, and even then, I was expecting a rejection.” He admits sheepishly, a blush blooming along his cheeks. “Maybe an apology for making you run all this way just to see me is my first course of action.”
“Accept my confession first, jerk,” you punch his shoulder lightly, smiling up at him.
“I’ll accept anything so long as it’s from you, I thought I made that clear in my letter.”
“Don’t think you can charm your way into my good graces!”
He thinks it’s adorable that you’re trying to maintain your cool mask despite your inability to look him in the eye, even if he’s hardly faring much better. The usual lyricism of his words have faded, and his quick mind can’t think of anything poetic to say, as if your confession has intercepted all the functions of his brain.
You like him back, you like him back, you like him back, and he doesn’t know what to do with that information except smile like an idiot.
“Are you still going on your expedition?” asks Kazuha. “Your group must be waiting for you.”
“I told them not to, dumped my rations and things with them and told them they could use it. I’m not running all the way back now.”
“Then, does that mean you can join us?”
“I don’t want to intrude, and I don’t know if you have enough things on board for another-”
“-I’m sure Beidou and the crew wouldn’t mind. There are always extra rations, you can have some of mine if it gets to it, and our first stop is at sunset, so we could go and grab some clothes for you to bring along!” He quickly suggests, hope shining brightly in those crimson eyes of his, as if pleading for you to say yes.
The wind blows gently through his beige strands, and the moment feels enchantingly similar to one you had read in an Inazuman poem. Then again, Kazuha always had that effect; the ability to slow time and let you see the world through a different, prettier lens, even if the consequences were completely dire.
You want to continue seeing through his lens, exactly the way you did when both of you fled Inazuma and the Vision hunt Decree. And you want to see the rest of Teyvat the way he does.
“Okay.” You agree, “I’ll come along.”
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© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.
#CUTIE KAZUHA :((#earthtooz: genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#kaedehara kazuha x reader#kazuha x reader#kazuha fluff
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I'm asking this in good faith, but this is something I'm genuinely confused about. Regarding the Holodomor, or the Soviet famine of 1930 in general, why does it matter if it was a genocide or not? At best it seems to be a natural famine exacerbated by poor decision making, and while that is far different from a genocide, I don't understand why that specification matters, because it was still made worse by Soviet intervention, unless I'm getting the facts wrong which I probably am.
It matters to the Western propagandists who were insistent for decades despite zero evidence that the famine was used to commit atrocities against the people of Ukraine. The refrain the whole time was that once the Soviet archives were made public, they'd finally have the proof they needed. The archives are eventually opened, and surprise surprise, there's not only no evidence of the deliberate withholding of grain, there's evidence of significant amounts of food aid being sent to help alleviate the famine. The myth of a Ukrainian genocide began as Nazi propaganda and was adopted as part of the "double genocide" narrative by Western reactionaries after WW2 to downplay the crimes of the Nazis and to maintain a narrative about liberal opposition to "authoritarianism", painting Western capitalists as the "free world" fighting against both fascism and communism. (Don't ask them why they stopped fighting fascism after WW2 though.)
As for the human elements of the famine, it is also part of the typical Western narrative, even among those who admit the Holodomor was not a targeted anti-Ukrainian genocide and who admit that there were environmental factors, to try and put substantial amounts of blame on the Soviet collectivization of agriculture. I am not going to lie and say collectivization went smoothly with no issues, but you cannot ignore the factors of reactionary sabotage by kulaks (including the destruction of animals and grain and the outright murder of party officials) and the effects of Western sanctions and sabotage on the economic development of the USSR.
While some have argued that there was a complete "gold blockade" on the USSR during the famine and so the Soviet Union was forced to export grain to facilitate international trade, the blockade was never enforced by all Western nations at the same time and the Soviets were still able to export gold and silver at various times throughout the 1920s. It is true, however, that gold reserves were stretched thin at the time and the Soviets simply didn't have enough gold to cover their international debts. Soviet gold mines had never been extraordinarily productive and the rest of the Soviet economy was still developing at the time, so grain was one of the few things that they expected to have in surplus. In addition, there were various other sanctions in place by 1930 that did limit who they could trade with and what they could trade with, but the export of grain was almost never restricted. The famine caught them off guard at a very bad time.
While international grain exports were restricted during the famine as grain was diverted to famine-stricken regions of the country (and grain imports were increased as well), the problems with hoarding only worsened as in the panic of the famine, kulaks sought to exploit the people and create a profitable black market on grain. A struggle against the kulaks coincided with worsening environmental effects and the spread of disease among both crops and humans.
The famine was not man-made, it was not entirely natural, and it was not the inevitable outcome of collectivization. It was a perfect storm of a variety of factors. Stalin was not some heartless monster condemning millions of Ukrainians to death for daring to defy the glorious Soviet Union. He was not some idiot who had no idea what he was doing, plunging the nation into famine out of ineptitude. He was not a stubborn maniac who refused to abandon failing economic policies even at the cost of human lives. He was a human being, one of many in charge of the Soviet Union, dealing with concurrent disasters as best as they could.
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a special day in maranello - Charles Leclerc
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Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smut Charles shows off his special black Monza suit x word count: 4880+ taglist: @game-set-canet @pitstopreality-f1 if you dont want to be tagged, or you want to be tagged, just let me know! requests are open for x-reader or ships :) EN: Went a little further than expected, but I hope you'll enjoy this"
It is the week of the Monza Grand Prix, one of the most anticipated weekends of the year, not just for the Tifosi but for the entire motorsport world.
The atmosphere is electric, with fans flocking to the region to witness Ferrari in action on home soil. But before the chaos of Monza can begin, there is an important stop to make at Maranello.
The Ferrari headquarter in Maranello is a place Charles and you have come to love. But this visit is different. This time, it isn't just about the preparations or meetings. There is something special planned, something that has been kept under wraps until now.
Charles invited you to join him for a photoshoot, something that is supposed to be "special." That's all he would say about it. No details, no hints, just that mischievous smile of his that both excites and unnerves you.
You are used to surprises with Charles, but this one has you feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation.
You arrived at Maranello in the early afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. Ferrari reserved a private room for you, a place where you could prepare for the shoot in peace.
The room is simple yet elegant, with a large window that offers a stunning view at the headquarters. Inside, there are racks of clothing, a few chairs, and a full-length mirror on one side. The gear is neatly arranged, but the most striking piece of equipment is a large, black privacy screen that stands in the corner.
Charles leads you into the room with his hand gently placed on the small of your back.
"This is it," he says with a grin. "Our little secret hideaway for the day."
You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm, but you are also burning with curiosity.
"So, what's this all about? You've been so mysterious lately."
He chuckles softly, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.
"You'll see soon enough. But first, I need to get ready."
You watch as he walks over to the privacy screen, picking up a neatly folded set of clothing on the way.
You're really not going to tell me anything, are you?" You ask, crossing your arms with a playful pout.
"Nope," he replies with a wink, disappearing behind the screen. "But don't worry, you won't be disappointed."
You take a seat in one of the chairs, your eyes glued to the screen. Even though you can't see him, you can hear everything—the rustle of fabric, the soft hum of his voice as he starts to change—it all adds to the anticipation.
"So," Charles begins, his voice light and teasing, "you're probably wondering what I'm putting on first."
"Obviously," you reply, trying to sound casual even though your heart is racing.
He chuckles again, the sound warm and inviting.
"Well, first comes the Nomex. You know, the fire-resistant underwear. It's essential for safety, but it's also surprisingly comfortable. Here, let me show you."
'He's putting on a racing suit', is the first thing that comes to your mind, making your heart race faster. You love seeing him in his red suit, but this visit means only one thing: a special suit for Monza.
And, of course, he isn't going to show you right away. Instead, he describes the feel of the fabric as he slides on the shirt and pants, his tone almost sensual as he runs his hands along his chest.
"It's soft, like a second skin," he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It fits snugly, molding to every curve. You'd be surprised how something so thin can make you feel so safe."
You swallow hard, your imagination running wild.
"I bet it looks good on you."
"You'll have to wait and see," he teases, and you can practically hear the smile in his voice.
Next, there is a pause, followed by the sound of a zipper being pulled.
"Now, the racing suit," he announces, his tone turning playful again. "This is the real deal. It's custom made, fits like a glove, and when you put it on, you know you're ready for anything."
You lean forward in your chair, straining to hear every word.
"And how does it feel?"
Charles lets out a satisfied sigh, clearly enjoying himself.
"It feels powerful. When I zip it up, it's like I'm putting on armor. It's tight, but in a good way. Every movement feels controlled, precise. It's a part of me, and when I'm in the car, there is nothing else like it."
You bite your lip, trying to maintain some sembience of composure.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Maybe a little," he admits, laughing softly. "But I'm also enjoying teasing you. It's fun seeing you squirm."
"Charles!" You exclaim, unable to hide the smile in your voice.
"All right, all right," he says, his tone turning a bit more serious. "I think it's time for the big reveal. Are you ready?"
Your heart skips a beat.
"Yes."
"Good," he replies. "I'm going to count down from five, and when I get to one, I'll step out. But I want you to promise me something."
"What's that?" you ask, intrigued.
"Promise me that whatever you see, you'll give me an honest reaction. No holding back."
You nod, even though he can't see you.
"I promise."
"Okay, here we go," he says, and you can hear the excitement in his voice.
"Five."
"Four."
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
And then he steps out from behind the screen.
Your breath catches in your throat.
He is dressed in a black racing suit, but this isn't just any suit. It is sleek, form-fitting, and accentuates every line of his body. The material shimmers slightly under the light, giving it an almost otherworldly quality. Yellow accents trace the contours of the suit, adding a bold, striking contrast that makes the entire outfit pop.
But it isn't just the suit that takes your breath away. It is the way he carries himself, the confidence in his posture, the way he stands there with a slight smirk on his lips, knowing exactly the effect he has on you.
"So," he says, his voice low and velvety, "what do you think?"
Charles strikes a pose, his body angled in a way that showcases every contour of the racing suit. The black and yellow fabric clings to him perfectly, accentuating the sleek lines of his physique. His confidence is palpable, and the way he presents himself is nothing short of magnetic.
He holds the pose for a moment, his stance strong and assertive, his chest puffs out slightly as he tilts his head to the side. The suit gleams under the studio lights, the yellow accents highlighting the definition of his muscles and the tailored fit around his waist.
Then, with a fluid, almost theatrical movement, Charles begins to spin slowly. His movements are graceful and deliberate, allowing every angle of the suit to be seen.
As he turns, the black fabric shifts and ripples, the yellow highlights catching the light and creating a stunning contrast. He spins with a kind of effortless elegance, each turn revealing a new aspect of the suit. and his physique.
The way he moves is mesmerizing.
His broad shoulders, narrow waist, and powerful legs are on full display, each turn emphasizing the perfect fit of the racing suit. His smile is confident, and his eyes sparkle with a mix of pride and playful satisfaction.
It's clear he enjoys the attention, relishing the chance to show off how well the suit complemented his body.
As he completes another spin and faces you once more, he strikes another pose, his body perfectly angled to highlight the sleek lines of the suit.
His gaze meets yours, a hint of challenge in his eyes, as if daring you not to be completely captivated.
For a moment, you can't speak.
You can only stare at him, taking in every detail.
Finally, you find your voice.
"You look.... phenomenal."
His smirk widens into a full-blown smile."
"You really think so?"
"Yes. I really do." You say, taking another look at him, all of him.
He looks absolutely stunning, almost unreal in his black and yellow racing suit. But it isn't just the suit that makes him so captivating.
His tousled hair, with that perfect, 'just out of bed' look, the slight stubble along his jawline, his soft, inviting lips, and those pretty green eyes—they all come together to create a sight that is simply irresistible.
As he walks toward you, his movements are slow and deliberate, almost like a predator closing in on his prey.
His hands roam along his suit as if he can't resist touching the fabric himself. He runs them down his arms, across his chest, over his sides, and then down his abdomen, his fingers tracing the lines of his body.
You watch, completely entranced, as he licks his lips absentmindedly, his gaze locked onto yours.
There is an electric tension in the air, a palpable pull that you can't ignore.
Your body moves on its own, your hand reaching out, fingertips grazing the fabric of the suit. The material feels incredible under your touch—smooth, almost like silk, but with a strength that is unmistakable.
Your fingers roam over his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric, and you can't help but marvel at how good it feels.
Charles smiles, clearly pleased with your reaction.
"You like it?" he asks, his voice low and intimate, making it sound more like a statement than a question.
You nod, still running your fingers over his chest, unable to tear your eyes away from him.
"I do. It feels amazing."
He grins, a flash of pride lighting up his eyes.
"It's like carbon fiber. Ferrari put a lot of thought into it."
"You can tell," you reply, your fingers still exploring the suit, tracing the yellow accents that highlight his lean physique. "It looks good on you."
Charles's smile widens, and he leans in a little closer.
"I'm glad you think so. But you know, I could get used to hearing that a bit more."
You meet his gaze, and the playful challenge in his eyes sends a thrill through you.
"Oh, really?"
"Really," he murmurs, his voice husky. "I think I deserve a few more compliments, don't you?"
You can't help but smile at his playful arrogance, but you are more than happy to indulge him.
"You look incredible, Charles. The suit fits you perfectly, and the way it shows off your body... it's almost unfair."
He hums softly in response, clearly enjoining every word.
"Go on," he encouraged, his tone teasing.
"You've got that effortlessly sexy look going on," you continue, your voice soft but sincere.
"Your hair, that stubble, those eyes... you're practically irresistible. And the way you wear this suit, like it's just an extension of you—it's like you are made for this."
Charles lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze locked onto yours, his eyes darkening slightly with desire.
"I love it when you talk like that," he admits, his voice low and rough around the edges.
You smile, feeling a surge of warmth in your chest.
"I love making you feel good."
"You do," he replies, his tone filled with a mix of affection and hunger.
He reaches up, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine.
"You always do."
For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside of the room fading away.
Charles leans in, closing the distance between you, his lips bruhsing against yours in a kiss that is both soft and intense.
The sensation of his lips, warm and inviting, sends a spark of electricity through your body, and you melt into him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders.
As the kiss deepens, his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, the fabric of his suit is cool and smooth against your skin. There is something about the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, that makes you feel like you are the only thing that matters to him in that moment.
Then you notice the distinct, alluring scent of his cologne surrounding him. It is a rich, sphisticated fragrance, subtly blending with the fresh scent of the racing suit. The aroma is warm and comforting, with hints of cedarwood and a touch of citrus that lingers in the air, creating an intoxicating combination that is uniquely Charles.
The scent envelopes you as you get closer, creating a sensory experience that is both soothing and exhilarating. It's like being wrapped in a cloud of his presence, and you feel the warmth of his body through the fabric, the scent adding another layer of intimacy to the moment.
Charles seems to notice your reaction.
His eyes soften with a mix of amusement and affection as he looks down at you.
"You like my cologne?" he asks, his voice low and slightly teasing.
You smile up at him, letting your fingers run down his chest again, savoring the feeling of the fabric and the scent that seems to blend perfectly with him.
"I do," you admit, your voice soft. "It's like an extra layer of you."
He chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your response.
Charles leans in closer, his eyes smoldering with a mix of affection and desire.
"Fuck, I'm getting so hard," he whispers, his voice carrying a hint of that familiar confidence.
You meet his gaze, a slow smile spreading across your lips.
"I can see that," you reply, your voice soft but laced with playfulness.
Your eyes begin their slow journey over him, taking in every detail once more.
The way the black racing suit hugs his body accentuates every muscle, every curve, in a way that is striking yet sensual. The suit seems almost to pulse with his energy.
His muscles are taut and defined, the fabric of his suit now straining slightly under the pressure, emphasizing the hard lines of his physique.
Charles grins, a pleased smile stretching across his lips.
"This feels so good."
You reach out slowly, your fingers grazing the surface of his suit, tracing a path along his chest, feeling the subtle shift of his muscles as you move your hand down his sides and across his abdomen.
Your touch is light but deliberate, savoring the warmth and firmness of his body.
Charles sighs contentedly, his eyes closing briefly as he enjoys the sensation of your fingers through his suit. His breath hitches slightly when your fingers trace the letters of his name along his waistline, the fabric stretching slightly as you move.
The intimacy of the moment, the way his body responded to your touch, makes your heart race.
Encouraged by his reaction, your fingers wander lower, exploring the contours of his body with newfound confidence.
You feel the tension in his muscles, the way the suit accentuates every movement. Each touch is met with a soft sigh or a subtle shift, and it is clear that he is thoroughly enjoying the attention.
Charles's hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as you continue your exploration. The sensation of his body under your fingers, the way the suit clings and shifts, creates an intoxicating mix of excitement and intimacy.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" You murmur, your fingers tracing along his hips, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath the fabric.
His eyes flutter open, his gaze locked onto yours with desire.
"Absolutely," he says softly. "It feels amazing. But it's even better because you're the one doing this."
You smile, leaning in slightly, your fingers continuing their journey.
"I'm glad I can make you feel this way."
He lets out a low, contented hum, almost a purr, his grip on your waist tightening as he revels in the closeness.
Your fingers trace a little lower, savoring the way his body responds to your touch. The suit seems almost to come alive under your fingers, amplifying every sensation, every movement.
His reaction, the way his breath hitches and his body tenses, makes you feel like you are exploring a private, cherished part of him.
"Does this feel good?" You ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.
"More than you can imagine," Charles replies, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how... good I feel right now."
Each sigh, each shift of his body, makes the moment feel even more special.
As you gently stroke his abdomen, Charles's eyes close again, his breathing deepening as he savors the sensation. He leans into your touch, his expression one of pure contentment. It is clear that this moment, this connection, is something he cherishes as much as you do.
The air between you crackles with anticipation as your hand slowly finds the zipper of his suit. His eyes dart open and follow your movements intently, every breath between you heavy with expectation.
You hesitate for just a moment, letting the tension build before you begin to slowly pull the zipper down.
As the zipper descends, the black fabric parts to reveal the Nomex underneath, hugging his body like a second skin.
The slightly damp fabric is smooth, taut, and incredibly form-fitting, showing off every muscle, every contour of his athletic physique. The red fabric contrasted sharply with his skin, making the sight even more captivating.
Charles sighs softly, the sound full of both relief and pleasure, his chest rising and falling as he exhales deeply. You can't help but marvel at the sight before you—the tight Nomex accentuating his lean muscles, the way it clings to him, leaving little to the imagination.
Your heart races as you take it all in, your fingers itching to touch him, to feel the heat of his body beneath the fabric.
However, before you can make another move, Charles slips out of the upper half of his racing suit, letting the top half fall to his waist, revealing his torso.
Through the thin Nomex, you can see every line of his chest, the muscles of his abdomen flexing slightly as he moves. The material is so thin, so close to his skin, that it is almost as if nothing is there at all. It is an invitation you can't resist.
You reach out, your fingers trembling slightly with the intensity of the moment, and place your hand on his chest.
The Nomex feels cool to the touch, but underneath, his skin is warm and firm. You feel his muscles shift under your fingertips, flexing subtly as he responds to your touch.
All of him is intoxicating—the power, the strength, all right there under your hand.
Charles lets out a low, pleased hum, clearly enjoying the way you are exploring him.
His hand slides to your waist again, pulling you closer until your bodies are almost touching. His other hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.
His lips hover just above yours, his breath warm and sweet against your mouth. He is so close that you feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, sense the way his chest expands and contracts with each inhale.
"How do I look?`" he asks, his voice a deep, husky whisper that sends shivers down your spine.
You are breathless, completely caught up in the moment, on him.
Your eyes roam over his face, his hair still tousled, his stubble giving him a rugged, irresistible edge, his green eyes dark with desire.
And his body, clad in the tight Nomex, is a sight that leaves you utterly speechless.
"Amazing," you finally manage to whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean into him, your heart racing.
That is all he needed to hear.
Charles closes the small gap between you, his lips capturing yours in an intense kiss. The moment your lips meet, it's like everything else fades away—the room, the world outside—all of it ceases to exist. There is only him, only this.
His kiss is full of passion, but there is also something gentle, something reverent about the way he holds you, as if you are the most precious thing in the world to him.
His hands on your waist tighten, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of his body through his shirt; the hard lines of his muscles press against you.
You melt into him, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, then down his chest, feeling the way his body reacts to your touch. His muscles tense firmly under your fingers, the sensation sending a rush of heat through you.
The kiss deepens, and you respond eagerly, your hands exploring every inch of him, reveling in the feel of his strong, powerful body under the thin fabric.
"Mhmm," he moans into your mouth as his hands move to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss even further.
You feel his breath quickening, matching the rapid beat of your own heart.
When you finally break apart, you are both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other's, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.
His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, a small, satisfied smile playing on his face.
"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers, his voice rough and his accent coming through more.
You smile, your heart swelling with desire.
"I think I do," you whisper back, your fingers still tracing the lines of his chest.
He opens his eyes then, looking at you with such intensity that it makes your knees weak.
That's when you feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against your waist. A shiver runs through you at the sensation, and you can't resist the urge to tease him, a playful smile curving your lips.
"Well, someone's enjoying themselves," you murmur, your voice light and teasing as you raise an eyebrow at him.
Charles chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich.
"Can you blame me?" He replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Look at what I've got in front of me."
His playful response only makes you bolder; your hands begin their slow descent down his body, fingers tracing over the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, feeling the way his breath hitches slightly as you move lower.
The closer you get to his waist, the more you can feel the tension building in him, the anticipation.
As your hands continue to roam, Charles lets out a soft, involuntary moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat.
You let your fingers dip lower, stroking him through the racing suit, feeling the heat of his arousal against your hand.
Charles bites down on his lower lip, his eyes darkening with desire as he gazes down at you. The way he looks at you, the way he responds to your touch only fuel the fire inside you.
"Careful," he murmurs, his voice strained, though still laced with that playful edge. "You're going to drive me insane."
You smile up at him, continuing to tease, enjoying every moment of his reaction.
"Isn't that the point?"
Charles let out a low, appreciative laugh, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.
His breathing quickened as he let out another low sigh.
"I'm really close," he admits, his voice strained with desire and frustration. The evidence of his arousal presses firmly against you, growing more intense as your fingers continue to stroke him through the suit.
The fabric stretches, forming a visible tent, yet the black fabric is slightly hiding it. Still, you feel the warmth of his arousal growing, and you notice the fabric growing damp with his pre-cum. His breath hitches, and his eyes plead with you, showing just how close he is to the edge.
You look up at him; your expression a mixture of playful defiance and genuine affection.
"You can't ruin the suit yet," you tease softly, though the warmth in your tone reveals just how much you are enjoying this.
Charles's eyes widen slightly with frustration, his hands gripping your waist tighter as he tries to steady himself.
"I'm just so close," he says, his voice a desperate whisper, his body trembling as he fights to hold on.
You keep your touch light and teasing, drawing out the moment as much as you can.
"Patience," you murmur, your voice a gentle caress against his ear.
"The suit's not going anywhere. And neither are we."
Charles's grip on you tightens even more, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.
"You're really driving me crazy," he whimpers, a soft groan escaping his lips as he struggles to keep his composure.
You smile at him, your fingers continuing their slow, teasing caress.
"That's the idea, I told you," you whisper, your voice full of playful affection. "But I promise, we'll have our time. Just a little longer."
The tension is almost unbearable, the heat of the moment making it clear how much you both want to give in to your desires. His eyes are dark with need, his body presses firmly against yours as he fights to maintain control.
"I'll be patient," he says finally, though his voice is thick with desire. "But only if you promise me that we'll finish this soon."
You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips."You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips.
"I promise."
With a final, lingering kiss, Charles reluctantly steps back, his arousal still evident but his composure regained.
As Charles adjusts his suit in preparation for the photoshoot, his movements are deliberate and confident; his hands glide over the fabric, smoothing it out and ensuring everything is in place.
Yet, there is a clear focus on specific areas—his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, and the prominet bulge that is still slightly damp.
With a mixture of frustration and need, his hands linger on his chest, his fingers tracing the defined muscles beneath the Nomex. He then moved to his abdomen, his touch firm and almost possessive, as if trying to regain control over his body's reaction.
His gaze drops to the growing bulge at his waistline, and he sighs, his breath catching slightly as he feels the evidence of his arousal.
"Barely held on there," he murmurs, his voice thick with both relief and frustration as he glances at you, his expression a blend of desire and amusement.
You can't help but tease him, a playful smile spreading across your lips.
"I can tell," you reply. "Looks like you're having a hard time keeping it together."
Charles's eyes sparkle with a mix of annoyance and amusement as he meets your gaze.
"You're really pushing your luck," he says, though there is an undeniable edge of affection in his tone.
"You make it so easy," you tease, reaching out to gently brush your fingers against the damp spot on his suit, feeling the warmth of his arousal through the fabric. The contact makes him shiver, his breath hitching again.
He gives a soft, almost helpless laugh, shaking his head.
"You're impossible," he says, though there is no real reproach in his voice. "But you're right. It's all your fault."
You lean in closer, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Charles's lips twitch into a reluctant smile, his eyes dark with desire once more.
With one last, lingering look, he adjusts his suit one final time, making sure everything is perfectly in place before you have to leave for the photoshoot.
His movements are more controlled now, though the lingering evidence of his earlier arousal is still apparent.
With a final glance in your direction, he reaches for his black ferrari cap on the nearby table. He flips it in his hand for a moment, as if considering something before sliding it onto his head, the bill casting a shadow over his eyes, giving him an air of confident mystery.
He turns to the mirror, his eyes roaming over his reflection. Slowly, he licks his lips, his gaze focused on the way the cap and the racing suit completed the look.
You watch him for a moment, the way he studies himself, clearly satisfied with how everything came together. Unable to resist, you smile and ask.
"Are you satisfied with what you see?"
Charles chuckles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.
"I think I am," he replies, his tone playful but with a hint if genuine appreciation for the way he looks.
He takes another moment to admire himself, running his fingers through his stubble and along his jawline, before letting his gaze linger on the way the suit fit his form, especially around the waist, before turning to dace you fully.
"You know," he adds, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, " I think I might even like it more with you standing next to me."
You blush slightly at his words, a soft laugh, escaping you as you shake your head.
"Always the charmer;" you tease, though you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at his compliment.
"Only for you," he murmurs, his eyes softening as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, the gesture tender and full of affection.
With a final look in the mirror, Charles takes a deep breath, the playful edge returning to his expression as he turns to you.
"Alright," he says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let's go show them what this suit can do."
#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fic#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 smut
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botw2 (totk rewritten) ganondorf design (+some story) post
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/021c006df6e794fbeeddfa37f6db2696/6806728889c4cfac-dc/s540x810/5665716b66729f836e14d94b869740389339e259.jpg)
Mummy version what link and zelda discover beneath hyrule castle when investigating the failing shiekah tech and discover a cave system that leads to several abandoned shiekah research/security sites and ultimately lead to a cave in which ganondorf is still sealed away by the ancient queen of hyrule; after the initial sealing (or capture rather) her descendant and the shiekah, who were rapidly advancing their tech at the time, build around it, both to keep the seal secret and safe (as the actual sealing was a short but intense battle between him and the queen that wasnt intended to happen like that, in the middle of the throne room that got broken and both ended up in the underground, the only survivor being the young princess of hyrule from that time- since all involved parties except for her died little was known as to how and why but the stories were spun regardless and ultimately the final narrative was in hyrules favor) and to use ganondorfs immense spiritual power and magical skill- eventually becoming one of the main power sources for all shiekah technology (ouch)
the chamber is all shiekah built (post sealing) and similarly secured like the monks in shrines (though visibly decaying and failing)- once disturbed the remainder of the ancient queen fused into zeldas hand (with seemingly no effect but temporary pain, perhaps she will hear voices from the past telling her not to explore any further .. still working on that) ganondorfs body falls to the ground but then springs back to life, somewhat clumsily but fiercly attacking zelda and link, the shock from being in this horrendous condition between life and death for thousands and thousands of years and suddendly being thrust back into his decayed and used up body still fresh
the mastersword is broken and links arm destroyed, both link and zelda start to flee from the crumbling cave, zelda dragging link behind her in panic (and as he is hurt)- after which link gets his shiekah tech arm (and the arm stays gone) and the world changes
mid game fight- this game is not as free in progression as botw, you can do alot when you want but some things will remain locked, the mid game fight can only happen once the 4 main regions problems have been dealt with (very different to canon totk, but that is for a different post) and the castle, which fell into the underground shortly after the intro, is made accessible (specific way how still in work) the interior is both broken castle, rooms previously blocked, and shiekah tech- since beneath the castle was a whole, giant array of tech made to secure the castle, including reserves of ancient energy specifically for the royal family and the entire mechanism behind the rising pillars filled with guardians-
at the start of the dungeon link is grabbed by malice/miasma hands and dragged into the castle, seperated from zelda and the mechanics she introduced (crafting/reparing weapons and more), theres no way out, teleports are blocked; after getting further in alone, zelda finds you again, and nothing seems out of the ordinary (unless you have a keen eye, she only uses her left arm and would walk past things she usually wouldnt) after a certain amount of progression, without warning, as soon as zelda is out of the cameras view she will attack you relentlessly, not speaking a word and with changed eye color- after fighting with her/beign chased into the main throne room, the real zelda breaks through a wall, her friends in tow (yunobo, teba+tulin, riju, sidon, which she went to to ask for help, explaining the time gap), and ganondorf drops the disguise, a fight with him (mummy version) ensues, though he is very much back to his senses
at the end of the fight he shows (or forces her to see) zelda his last memory from when he lived, the confrontation with the ancient queen to his sealing (since she doesnt know/is in denial of her families role in both all this and the sonaus (zonais) extinction (as well as the betrayal and persecution of the shiekah later on), and his beef is with her specifically, link is just her guard dog after all) (i wasnt sure to include a direct scene from the past, but this one scene is very self contained and gives alot of context while still letting most of the past be a mystery- as i want to keep it as feeling ... removed and unknown as much as possible from the world you know)
(after which he leaves the scene as zelda tries to understand what she just saw)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/be82e9c3de2651b09da4977e6f3d9bd4/6806728889c4cfac-8e/s540x810/e0f69e027f7707e40355e29f5e99744a3111ea50.jpg)
post revival Ganondorf (beginning of end fight cutscene and phase 1.) only appears at the end (excluding the possible cutscene in the mid game fight, which shows him in his time, alive, which is a different design than this that i will make for a cutscene/story post)
the end of the game is in/on the forgotten plateau (it ends were botw began :) ) perhaps it rose higher and revealed an entrance after more game progression (at least one more dungeon, master kogas, and the restorations of the master sword via deku tree dungeon and sword quest involving the dragons; how much of the past you cared to explore within caves, which ARE the underground- its in several bigger and smaller, harder to access caves, each being somewhat to very unique and reveal more context, is largely irrelevant, it mostly serves to give YOU more context and make you think)
the dungeon is within the plateau, once to the end there is a longer cutscene of zelda trying to talk with ganondorf, now in his, largely, restored form (largely as in, not exactly as he was in past, clothing difference etc), her having come to understand what her legacy is and wanting to take responsibility for it; he listens calmly and talks to her for a bit (but the tension is very high, he knows what threat he poses and his goals, zelda is visibly trying to keep it together) and for a bit it might look like she can avoid this conflict
but he makes it very clear then, that she cannot undo anything, there is no possible price she could pay, he has suffered at hyrules hands for generations, having seen the world that was his home grow into myth, see his own people forget him, and how the history was remembered, not as it was, but as they wanted it to; he is forever changed, ripped from his time and all he ever held dear (there are clues and a mention of him having had two daughters, a little boar figurine, carved from wood of trees now extinct, hangs from his belt even now)- he wasnt a perfect king, but well liked and kept his country to stay strong against hyrules schemes .. until he fell- he is not truly alive, he is in a strangers world and this world hates him, it is anger and hatred, rage against all that happend, guilt for having failed his own, feeling betrayed by them yet, even if not truly their fault as no one knew what really happened except him, but he was imprisoned, with no breath to speak nor air to scream
he does not care for this world and his only goals now are to disrupt as much as possible, be the unstoppable force that hyrules always been, be the monster they wanted him to be, do as he wants until someone stops him ...and kill zelda to end her rotten family- but even if she gave up her life willingly he wouldnt take it, she will have to fight and make her own hands dirty and she does not want to die.
your friends arrive, and the battle begins.
(rough examples of his weapons are further below; he fights with one arm only in phase 1. then reforms his missing arm with malice, borrowed from the boar appearance, though it is not usable enough to truly replace it, it acts more like beasts claw and to copy some of links abilities, like the hookshot)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1c8e33137082ae531f20f61ffba69b8e/6806728889c4cfac-7d/s540x810/c2ad28d12da49dc1393f3b2f4f0d4374756717c9.jpg)
Beast Ganon(dorf), normal appearance (phase 3)
at the end of phase 2 he knocks out your friends, changes into beast form and attacks you, zelda using her magic to shield both her and link so he cannot bite through, instead smashes them both through stone and dirt all the way to the surface of the plateau on which the fight continues, this time only link and zelda
(his movement isnt a senseless rage, but a graceful being, he moves and jumps, floats and swims through the air as the ground in an almost dragon like way, he still wields magic, not all malice, but lightning and perhaps even more too, it is still him, just a different form)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/631bb7c680e214ef30c63656e66b58f8/6806728889c4cfac-3b/s540x810/b28d0a43d4d858a4249e88fd2caee8c43804cdc1.jpg)
Beast Ganon(dorf) while charging magic (phase 3)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/6ae619b930a34970f1919922e4bc3e74/6806728889c4cfac-9c/s540x810/b1f6d49bd8098785b469db56d650657e48662a36.jpg)
Ganondorf phase 2 + Ganondorf phase 4 (slightly out of order but the boar wouldnt fit on one picture with other forms)
at the end of phase 3 (beast) it seems like you have beaten him, he is down and zelda takes charge, ready to do as she did to the dark beast she faced before (dark beast ganon in botw) but as she raises her hand a sword slash cuts off half her right hand- he is not done yet and refuses to be dealt with like that again, not by her hand again-
the final phase is a mix of all, including his appearance, this is the final struggle, to give every last drop of strength, the hole in his chest is open, malice eyes staring from within, it keeps him alive yet still-
zelda is disabled for this fight, she has been taken to safety by your friends, this fight is all on link to finish; while this is his most desperate and vengeful form, he is not senseless either, he summons his sword to attack you with as he did in phase 2, then throws it at you, quickly conducting lighting to it and while you are busy dodging lunges like in beast form (to paint the picture a little), this fight is supposed to be truly challenging.
(heres a rough example for his weapons)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/acd52e28a43873428f2e15790c2d78f0/6806728889c4cfac-3d/s540x810/62b4904b9397a7b79a38ab40d028acedbeb6fdb7.jpg)
(not fully sure of the ending scene, but there is supposed to be a short view into a timeskip in which zelda also has half a prosthetic hand made from shiekah tech)
#ganondoodles#art#zelda#tloz#ganondoodles rewrites totk#botw2#ganondorf#legend of zelda#... it was supposed to be more focused on the design and less about story#but .... i do be writing#most design notes are on the pictures i hope its readable#and the lore dump isnt too much ...........................#i am actually really really nervous about this#bc i want to do ganondorf justice but also feel like im using so many tropes that in turn its just as bad as canon totk#aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah#also it took me over an hour to write all this#i always get carried away and start describing things like its darn book nhjkdfnkjdnkfjd#anyway im gonna hide in bed now#long post#accidentally so but i dont have the heart to delete all that text#nor to spend another hour describing stuff again ..#do tell how you liked it if you made it all the way through ......... im bracing myself for criticism#like i like all i came up with but dont know if it comes across as i want or writtten badly or maybe its not good#just what I would like more ...........................
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e34f98198b56c706980d02d605d18aa0/1403f69aa9dcb8c4-91/s540x810/9084d4e82c5e1fcec665c97ec3e3bdc63d3f898e.jpg)
Top Five Models: Bio for Veronika Zemanova.
"I was born in a small city in the Bohemian region of the Czech Republic on the 14th of April, 1975. My childhood in The Czech Republic was a lot different than it would have been either in another time (for instance now, after the fall of Communism) or another place (like in the West). Although it was different, it was still wonderful, as all childhoods should be. My parents were great and I had a lot of good friends. At an early age I became very interested in biology and the visual arts. I dreamed then of becoming a biologist. In 1989, I entered my first year of gymnasium (or high school, as Americans call it). This happened to be the year that everything changed for everyone, not only in the Czech Republic, but in all of what used to be the Eastern Bloc. The first years of the new system were particularly difficult years for just about everyone. It was during this time that many beautiful Czech girls left for the West, looking for opportunities to make more money than they had a chance to earn in the Czech Republic. I was, of course, too young to leave, so I stayed and finished gymnasium."
"After gymnasium, I spent three years at a photography school. To make for money for school (which was expensive) and living expenses, I did a whole bunch of different things: I was a bartender, a saleswoman for such things as wallpaper and photographic equipment, and I started my own photo studio. The studio was just beginning to be successful when someone stole all of the very expensive equipment, some of which I had not even paid for yet. At this point I was forced to return to working for other people (I much prefer working for myself). I bought a large make-up kit and began working as an assistant to photographers and make-up artists. It was very difficult work and did not always pay that well, but I enjoyed myself and learned a lot that is useful to this day. One day, I had a big job scheduled for the next day and was preparing for it when I realized that someone had stolen my entire make-up kit! I went to the photographer in tears of frustration to tell him that I could not do the work. He suggested that I work the event as a model instead. Thus began the wonderful modeling career of Veronika Zemanova!"
"I was very surprised to find that after that first modeling job (which I hadn't believed I was pretty enough for) I was being offered all kinds of other modeling jobs all over the world. Initially all I wanted to do was to make enough money to pay off all of the equipment that had been stolen, but soon I had made enough to not only pay that back, but had enough to start an entirely new and better studio. I was working at the studio as a photographer, agent, and make-up artist while also doing modeling work for others. Soon however, the modeling became too time consuming for me to put in the necessary hours at the studio, and so I sold the studio. These first years of modeling were not easy! Remember, at first I did not speak any English at all! Being in new countries alone, finding myself in strange and even risky situations, and so forth. However, I don't want to sound as though it was only bad or difficult; I was able to travel extensively, it was exciting work, I learned English (finally!), and made many beautiful photos of which I am still proud. And good money!"
"After I had been modeling for a while, I decided to start a web-site with an Italian photographer. The idea to do this came about after seeing so many photos of myself on the web. Eventually however, I decided to disassociate myself from the site, and am no longer connected to it in any way."
"I created my own web-site and it was very successful. I believe this will be the best site of its kind and that I will really enjoy the chance to not only model, but photograph, act as an agent, and maybe even do make-up! I hope you enjoy it as much as I will enjoy creating it!"
"I always wanted keep my private life totally unknown to the public. That is what all the glamour models do. But I have decided to break the rule to reveal that I was married on November 12, 2003, in a ceremony performed on the beach of the island of Mauritius. I did it because I am in love. I have also decided to quit my glamour-modeling career. I had a choice between a career or a good relationship. I have chosen to make the man I love feeling happy and comfortable with me. This is why I have chosen to stop modeling. Do you think this is risky? But that's what love is about. You need to take risks. Please do not be sad for it and wish me luck."
Veronika's modeling career which began in ernest in 1997 would end after a 12 year run in 2009. Those years would furnish us with well over 30000 photographs and videos which will forever immortalize the beauty which was/is Veronika for this generation and those to come. Her very last professionally taken photo was shot by Scotty JX at her Ibiza property on Sept. 28, 2009.
Even the photographers who worked with Veronika were awe struck by her beauty as a few of them recount below:
Early on Veronika went to Italy and worked with such greats as Roberto Rocchi and Alberto Magliozzi. Roberto Rocchi even went on to quote in his book "Forme e Percorsi Del Corpo" that Veronika was "a wonder of nature".
J.Stephen Hicks went on to write in his Hall of Fame post about his experience with Veronika:
"Veronica Zemanova was (and is) truly one of a kind. And I was the first American photographer to shoot her. Someone from Prague (can you believe I don't remember who) sent me photos of her and I (we) immediately made it our mission to contact her, fly her to the U.S. and shoot her. We agreed by e-mail to do several days of work in our studio in L.A. and then fly her to Mexico for additional scenes. Upon arriving at LAX, Veronica was shy and honestly a bit untrusting. She'd just turned nineteen at the time and was green in every way. Veronica grew up in a little Czech town called Ceske Budejovice and her beginnings were poor and without stability. One thing was for sure, Veronica had no idea how truly beautiful she was."
"We spent the first days shooting her giving her complete direction. Seriously, dictating every move of her body from head to toe, including expressions. It was a bit like working with a perfect doll that we were animating. And honestly at that point in her evolution, not really trusting us and not really knowing her beauty and being such a newbie model, I think she wasn't having a great time. Despite knowing she was gonna get a bunch of money her modeling personality was kind of benign to be honest. She wasn't mean or bitchy, just kinda stuck in neutral. Funny thing was though, it didn't even matter. 'Cause Veronica was flat out GORGEOUS or would the word be SUBLIME or RAVISHING?"
"Lets just say she was simply STUNNING, BREATHTAKING, and MIND BLOWING"
“We shot her a ton on her first trip to the U.S. and we also took her to Mexico for some unforgettable images. She came back and shot with us several times after her first journey. The last time we shot her she was a few years older, had new boobs (crazy huh?) but best of all she'd met her husband, a man she said loved her more for who she was than what she looked like. And Veronica was beaming, warm and happy. And we were happy for her."
"There will never be another Veronica I'm certain. She was one of kind that will never be reproduced unless computer generated. I consider us oh so lucky to have experienced shooting her at the very best time in her career. Her images of beauty will live on forever".
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tainted
DAY 3: phonesex/sexting/foreplay/dystopia with choi jiung
🕸 genre/pairings: dystopia!au - lower working class, dom!jiung x upper class, sub!reader
🕸 warnings: smut nsfw (mdni) | phone sex, mutual guided masturbation, slight degradation and corruption kink (consensual), name calling, praise, forbidden relationship
🕸 word count: 2,567 words
⛧°。 ⋆༺ ☠︎︎ ༻⋆。 °⛧
“This is gonna be the last time, I swear.”
“You said that the last time we did this.”
“Well… I just can’t help myself, especially not when you look like that. C’mon, take it off for me, sweetheart.” Jiung coaxed in a seductively low register, a smirk working its way onto his pretty face. His greedy eyes were glued to his phone screen, following your every move from behind his wispy black bangs.
What can he say? He really couldn’t help himself. Phone in one hand, the other inching towards his crotch, the urge to rub himself in search of sweet, sweet relief was too strong to fight off. So he didn’t – Jiung simply gave in to the temptation, diving head first into his desire for you.
The past hour had been pure torture. Not only was he absolutely swamped at work with unrealistic deadlines, but he also had to force himself to stay awake for the weekly government broadcast at the assembly hall. Jiung didn’t understand why they made it compulsory viewing every Friday – the content was repeated every week: stay within your factions, don’t interact with outsiders and abide by the curfew. For all he cared, the drawling voice could’ve been speaking in an entirely different language and he wouldn’t even have noticed.
Not when you were the sole centre of his attention; the only thought that preoccupied his mind.
It was forbidden – whatever this thing you had going on between the two of you, anyway. Neither of you had a clue what this was. Being from different factions meant the odds were never in your favour. From birth, no, from the moment you were conceived in your mothers’ wombs, you and Jiung lived completely different lives. You were from the upper class, and he was from the working class – the lowest rung of society’s ladder; the scum of the earth. You had all the riches and gold, and always dressed in pristine whites. You were the epitome of poise and purity. Jiung was always tainted in shades of dirt, murky browns and dusty greens. Everywhere he went, he carried the earthy stench of the forest, a byproduct of spending endless days chopping wood and farming land for the government – the very government your family helped to form.
He was beneath you, metaphorically and physically. Right now, you locked yourself in an abandoned bedroom, one of the many in your father’s mansion, far away from prying eyes and curious ears. Being the daughter of a high-ranking government official came in handy, especially for raunchy phone sex escapades with the most irresistible boy you’ve ever laid eyes on.
The first time you made eye contact with Jiung was when he came to deliver wood for the fireplace in your father’s study. You felt an electric spark then – both of you did. The air was thick and heavy with tension. And let’s just say you definitely felt an unmistakable wetness pool at your nether regions from watching him lift and chop big chunks of wood like they were weightless. It made you wonder how he would manhandle you in bed too…
You threw the phone onto the four poster bed before launching yourself at the mattress, obscuring the phone camera with a view of your chest that had Jiung salivating from the other end of the line. “Do you think they’ll know?” You mused, spreading yourself out and getting comfortable.
Jiung scoffed. Of course you were stalling – you were an upper class girl with all the time in the world to enjoy life’s simplest pleasures. Him, a humble forest boy, did not have the same privileges. As they always say, time is money. And right now, while he’d love to entertain your musings, he really had to get back to work soon. The forest had to be cleared and the trees were not going to chop themselves.
Plus, he was starting to get impatient. That’s what spending one whole hour eye fucking each other across the hall did to him, he supposed – him, a mere nobody amongst the crowd, and you, standing on the assembly stage, looking down at the commoners like the charming, law-abiding bureaucrat you were raised to be. Oh, if only people knew what went on behind the (smoke)screens. “I doubt it. These phones are ancient, none of the current systems will know how to break the encryption. But we’ll never know for sure – they’re always watching, Y/N.”
You hummed in response, lips curling into a devious smile. You liked that thought. “Then let’s give them a show.”
“That’s what we always do, baby. Now hurry, I’ve waited long enough.”
“What’s the magic word, Jiung?”
Blood rushed towards his cock at the way your saccharine voice wrapped around the syllables of his name. He imagined the same lips, oh so pink and kissable, wrapping around something else of his instead. “Quick, we don’t have time! You always do this, I need to go soon.”
“Always so impatient.” You tsked in feigned disapproval, but deep down, you liked it. You liked how Jiung couldn’t get enough of you, how he needed you so desperately, like a burning desire within him that could never be satiated. Even after ending every video call with a promise to never watch each other cum ever again, he always came running back to you, begging to watch you touch yourself. To him, nothing could beat watching you get off on him and his voice.
“Your shirt, Y/N.” Jiung insisted, voice firm and hard. Almost as firm and hard as his thick cock, straining against the confines of his dirt-stained work pants.
Your pussy pulsed in response, leaking helplessly at his harsh command. After all, as the darling daughter of the most respected upper class family, you were raised to obey orders. You were always a good girl, and always eager to please. You propped the phone up against the pillow and got on your knees for Jiung, ensuring that your upper half was within the frame. With a sultry grin, you dragged your hands up your body, shivering when your fingers came into contact with your stiff nipples.
“Y/N,” He warned dangerously, but you liked playing games. His words fell on deaf ears as you kept playing with yourself, maintaining the slow pace. “Why would you even forget your bra? You like that everyone can see your nipples, huh? Is that it? Slut.”
“Yes, Jiung. I’m your slut.” You moaned, fingers pinching your buds through the thin fabric of your collared button-down. You were a good girl, but you loved bending the rules every now and then, with and for Jiung. And Jiung loved that he tainted you, the girl who embodied innocence and purity. He loved that he stained your whiteness with his dirtiness, like how he dreamed of painting your soft, supple skin with his hot cum.
Jiung cursed under his breath, and you heard him fumbling on the other end of the line. He scrambled to get his bottoms off and sighed in relief when his heavy cock was released. “Go on, what are you waiting for? Touch yourself for me.”
A dark, twisted part of you loved being spoken to in that way. The tension that built up from having to stand still in front of everyone while Jiung undressed you with his eyes got you all worked up. Now, it already felt like a release to take off your clothes and shed the persona you were forced to put on for the rest of the world. Because you knew when Jiung called you like this, you were reduced to nothing more than his girl; his slut.
So you did as you were told and spread your legs on either side of the phone. You wore a maxi skirt that went all the way to your ankles to remain modest, but you couldn’t imagine what others would say if they saw you exposing your skin, let alone flashing your wet panties to Jiung, of all people, on the other side of the call.
“Shit, you’re soaking, Y/N. So wet and we haven’t even got started…” Jiung mumbled, head spinning at the wet spot on your lacy white panties. His finger thumbed over an identical stain on his boxers, teasing himself as he spread the precum around his tip.
“It’s because you always look at me like that…” You whined, hands itching to touch your centre. But you knew better than that; you knew to wait for his instructions.
“Like what?” He smirked cockily.
“Like you want to eat me up.”
“So what if I do? Hmm?” He hummed in response. “You know I’d do anything to eat your sweet pussy, my love.”
You moaned desperately, body heating up at his choice of words. “Jiung…”
“My sweet girl… Go ahead, touch yourself over your panties.”
You obeyed, lips parting in a sigh as your fingers came in contact with your centre. You placed pressure against your hole and felt yourself clench around nothing. Oh, you would give anything and everything to have his calloused fingers inside your gummy walls instead. But alas, it would never happen.
So you settled with this instead. Having his addictive voice guide you to completion over the phone was better than not having him at all. “Push your panties aside for me, yes, that’s it. Put a finger in.” Jiung instructed. He released a breathy moan when his fingers wrapped around his length and began stroking himself.
Your middle finger slipped inside your entrance easily given how soaked you were. It was a relief – small, but a relief nonetheless. You pumped your fingers in and out, maintaining a steady pace. From the corner of your eye, you could make out Jiung’s handsome face contorting in pleasure as he stroked his cock, matching your pace.
“How does it feel? Tell me, baby.” He breathes out, always a sucker for your strained voice and soft whispers.
“Good…” You trailed off, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. “Ah, but I wish it was your fingers inside…” You whined.
Jiung grunted in reply to your whiny cries, increasing his pace. “So do I, baby. Been thinking about stuffing your tight pussy with my fingers all day. I’d get you all stretched and ready for my cock. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes!” You cried desperately.
“I know you would, my little slut. Everyone thinks you’re such a good girl, but look at you now. What do you think they’d say? Put another finger in for me, go on.”
You obliged willingly, breath hitching at the feeling of being stretched further. Jiung was hypnotised, his eager eyes glued to the phone screen to watch your walls stretch and accommodate an additional finger. He couldn’t help but imagine replacing your fingers with his throbbing length and thrusting deep inside, over and over and over again until you both reached your climaxes. He loved tainting you; loved ruining the perfect image that the world sees of you.
“Jiung…” Your soft voice pulled him out of his trance. “Wanna see you, please…”
He knew exactly what you were asking for. He lifted up his shirt and angled the phone upwards, giving you the most delectable view of his thick girth and the numerous tattoos littered on his skin. You watched, transfixed, core pulsating as he stroked his cock hurriedly, harsh pants leaving his parted lips.
“How’s the view?” Jiung questioned with a handsome smirk on his face.
You hummed in approval. “You’re so hot, Jiung.”
“Right back at you, sweetheart. One more finger, c’mon. You know you can do it.”
Your lips fell apart in choked moans when you added the third finger. It could barely fit. You felt so full.
“God, you’re taking them so well. Doing so good, baby. Are you close?”
You nodded, cheeks flushed at the wet sounds your cunt made as you pumped your fingers in and out.
“Me too. Rub your clit, yes… Good girl, just like that.”
“Jiung! Jiung, I’m close, Jiung…” Your mind was flooded with thoughts of Jiung and Jiung only, as you chanted his name repeatedly like a sacred prayer. You were so close, rubbing quickly to chase your release.
“Yes, Y/N, so good, you’re doing so well for me.” Jiung moaned, mirroring your actions. He was running his mouth and babbling at this point. “Want to cum in your tight pussy and fill you up. I’ll stuff you full of my cum, put your panties back on and make you keep it inside… The world needs to know who you belong to.”
“You, Jiung! I belong to you, only you!”
“Fuck!” He swore, not expecting you to say something like this. It was so intimate – you took him completely by surprise. It was like a switch flipped inside him. The next thing he knew, his orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks and he was cumming messily all over himself.
Watching his cum leak out in hot spurts made your walls clench tightly on your fingers. The image of him reaching his climax threw you over the edge, pleasure coursing deliciously through your veins as you reached your sweet release.
It was intense this time, more intense than any of the previous calls. Even though you weren’t in the same room, you could feel the air had shifted.
You both took a moment to compose yourself, to steady your breaths and heartbeats. But just as you were about to break the silence, you heard footsteps approaching the room.
“Damn it, I have to go.” You stared at him, panicked, yet your expression was uncertain and conflicted, like you were experiencing a whole range of emotions in a matter of seconds.
Jiung was staring so intently at you, waiting for you to say goodbye and end the call. But why did he feel so reluctant this time?
“I –” He started.
But you cut him off. “Sorry. See you, Jiung.”
You ended the call. For a few seconds, you just stared at the black screen, selfishly allowing yourself to imagine what life would be like if you could be with him in person, and not just through a phone screen.
And then you realised that today was Friday, and the maids were out looking for you to get you ready and all dolled up for dinner at the government house. Instead of returning the phone to its usual resting place under the pillow, you pocketed it for a change. You weren’t too sure why, but your gut was telling you it was the right thing to do.
You ended the call. For a long time, Jiung just stared at the black screen, selfishly allowing himself to imagine what life would be like if he could call you his, and not just through a phone screen. His lower body and tattoos were still covered in cum, and he curses into the darkness when he realises…
“I think I’m in love with you.” He whispered, his words drifting off into the endless void between the two of you.
[7:49pm] jiung: sent a photo.
[7:51pm] jiung: can’t stop thinking about you
[7:51pm] jiung: i need you so bad, please y/n…
[7:51pm] y/n: me too, i want you inside me
[7:51pm] y/n: you can use the maid’s entrance. i’ll sneak out of this dinner, meet me in 20
#jiung smut#p1harmony smut#kpop smut#piwon smut#jiung#jiung fanfic#p1harmony fanfic#p1harmony#piwon fanfic#jiung x reader#jiung fics#p1harmony x reader#choi jiung fanfic#jiung x reader smut#choi jiung#p1h jiung#p1harmony jiung#jiung imagines#p1harmony imagines#kpop fanfic#kpop fics#p1harmony fic#kpop imagines#choi jiung smut#p1h smut#p1h x reader#p1h#piwontober24#kpop writers#p1harmony writers
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Humans are weird: Steve’s Station
( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)
If you ever find yourself on the run from the more reputable institutions of the universe, you may be prevailed upon to make your way to a little known star base called “Steve’s Station” in the Cambra system.
Designated as the haven of the underworld, Steve’s Station operates outside the boundaries of all official governing bodies and interplanetary enforcement organizations. It operates as a safe haven at one point or another for every criminal, terrorist, extremist, and other shadowy group that seeks to cause unlawful conduct across the universe.
Normally a station that housed so many unsavory characters would hardly survive a day given the tenacity for grudges its patrons held. It was only through the simple governing of the stations founder, a human known only as “Steve”, that the station was able to not only operate but actively thrive as a hub of underworld activity.
Originally founded some thirty years prior, the human Steve had saved up his life savings to by a third generation mobile station. With only four docking arms and two cargo holds, the third generation stations were largely overlooked as they were the smallest of mobile stations. What did make it more desirable was the fact that it’s smaller size allowed it to make system to system jumps. Even more beneficial was that its core housings could be upgraded and replaced to increase the size of the station if one had the credits.
With the majority of civilized systems already having an overflow of star bases and stations, cutting into the market there would neigh impossible. So Steve instead set course for the Cambra system; a little known and uncharted region of space that barely shows up on star charts save for a pair of skull and bones. This did not dissuade Steve however as he was always of the opportunistic nature.
Forty jumps later and Steve was setting up shop when his first customer came in.
A battered Benaren smuggler had just barely escaped from the authorities and made a blind jump. With his engines all but destroyed from the jump he would have been left to rot had it not been for Steve’s station.
Much to the surprise of the Benaren Steve asked no questions on how the damage came about so long as he followed the station rules.
1. Pay on time.
2. Keep your feuds at the door.
3. Don’t start trouble, lest you want troubles of your own.
Within a short while the smuggler’s ship was repaired and ready to go again. The Benaren paid in full for the repairs and went on their way.
Now that may of well had been the end of Steve’s story had it not been for how connected the criminal underworld was. Not more than three weeks later another group of wayward outcasts and lowlifes stop by the station for use of its quality services.
From there the station’s reputation became wildly known as every criminal, pirate, smuggler, rogue ai and wayward warlord found their way to Steve’s Station to call it home. The wealth being generated from the constant traffic of ships and cargo allowed the station to quickly grow in size as Steve was able to purchase more parts and modules to be included.
Within the first ten years it went it nearly doubled in size, and in another five it was the size of a first 7th generation star base complete with over fifty docking ports and repair bays, sixteen cargo holds for storage, two dozen habitability compartments for stores and clubs, and a fuel depot capable of supplying an entire fleet.
The sheer volume of different factions and cultures using the station facilities would have rapidly devolved into rampant infighting and destruction were it not for the quiet hand of Steve. Patrons kept their animosity at the door unless they wanted to lose access to the safe harbor Steve’s station held. Storage and repair bays were expensive to maintain and were often prime targets for rivals within their own territories, so they were more than happy to maintain a truce while on Steve Station for their own benefit.
At least, that is what the smart ones were willing to abide by.
--------------
“Give us the access codes and this can all be over.”
The Jinari leaned down and grabbed hold of the human’s head. He lifted it up so the mauled human could see him through his one good eye as the other was well and good swollen shut from the beating his men had given him the moment prior.
Before them lay the one and only human “Steve”; founder of Steve station and currently their captive as they continued with their hostile takeover of the station. Jinari’s group had long wanted to make a name for themselves and by taking control of such a hub of underworld activity they could gain vast amounts of credits to finance their own operations.
It had been easy to breach the station’s control bridge as security was light. The guards had grown lax with the fear of Steve’s displeasure keeping many of the patron’s inline. They’d been dead in moments with the door breached not long after.
Steve had been understandably uncooperative with handing over his access codes that gave full control of the station; so Jinari’s men had proceed with some aggressive interrogation tactics to loosen him.
Steve looked up at Jinari; spitting out a glob of blood on to his shoe and grinned.
“It won’t do you any good you know.”
Jinari’s good mood quickly evaporated as he watched the human Steve begin to laugh.
“You broke the third rule,” he laughed, “you aren’t going to make it out of here alive.”
Before Jinari could ask what the human meant a loud bark of several weapons came from outside the control room followed. The rest of his crew turned their guns on the open doorway as the sound of several heavy footfalls began to draw closer.
“You’ve got one chance,” a deep rattling voice came from outside, “so I want you idiots in there to listen well.”
“Release. The. Human. Steve.” Another voice came in with thick robotic overtones.
“An jus may’be, we lets you go with your bits intact!” One more voice came with a throaty chuckle at the end.
The door to the control room was suddenly ripped open from its frame and the figures entered the room.
“That’s….you’re….” one of Jinari’s crew stammered as the first figure came into view. A towering mass of muscle and bone covered in thick black armor plating.
“Gur, leader of the Black Reavers.”
Gur grinned as his name was spoken with such fear.
Besides him stood an equally tall cybernetic body or polished metal and spikes. It was called “Cybrosis”, the rogue AI responsible for the collapse of three economic zones via hacking and alterations of monetary values.
On the opposite side of Gur stood a squat brutish Ularen decorated with skulls and bones of its victims. This unfortunate figure was Gobsnob, the assassin infamous for decapitating the Hybren prince during his own coronation then escaping with the severed head. Many believed one of the heads mounted on his armor was the prince’s head.
“Let Steve go, and we’ll let you live.” Gur spoke with a calm, collected voice.
Jinari’s eyes darted between the figures now blocking escape from the control room. There were even more waiting patiently in the outside hallway all armed to the teeth. In fear he drew his gun and pointed the muzzle at Steve’s head.
“What makes this flesh sack so special?” He shouted at the group. “It’s just one human! We don’t need him to run this place!”
“Correction.” Cybrosis remarked. “He. Is. The Only. One. Who Can. Run. This. Station.”
“WHY?!” Jianri demanded.
“He makes me laugh!” Gobsnob chuckled.
When the answer did not dissuade Jinari Gur spoke up and pointed at him.
“Deals changed. Whoever kills this stupid metal brain gets to walk free.”
Cybrosis turned to glare at Gur at the remark but said nothing. Jinari laughed and pushed the muzzle deeper against Steve’s head.
“You think my own crew would-“
The bark of an auto-blaster ran out and Jinari collapsed to the floor in a pool of blood and bone. His ribcage now cracked wide open from the blaster fire that tore into his back.
Those gathered turned to see one of Jinari’s crew holding the smoking gun before dropping it to the ground and raising their hands.
“I can go free now, yes?” they stammered.
Gur smiled and reached for something in his pocket. “Nah, I lied.”
Before any of Jinari’s crew could react Gur pulled out a thick barrel cannon from his coat and fired a slug at the thug closest to Steve. The barrel slug slammed the thug back into the wall with enough force to turn him into an art piece.
After that the station patrons who had been waiting outside stormed into the room and quickly subdued the rest of the thugs. They barely had time to get off a round before they were torn to pieces. In some cases quite literally as Gobsnob got ahold of one of them and began beating them to death with their own dismembered arm.
Gur slowly walked forward and helped Steve into the command chair at the center of the room.
“Glad you guys made it.” Steve laughed through bloody teeth. “Was starting to think you’d give me up to that nobhead.”
Gur shook his head. “They broke the rules.” He said calmly, wiping a stain of blood off his boot on Jinari’s twitching corpse. “And here you don’t last long if you break the rules.”
Steve smiled and switched on the com channel for station wide broadcast.
“Attention station,” Steve said calmly, “All possessions belonging to the former Jinari and his crew are now forfeited. Patrons may claim them as they wish for redistribution.”
A low rumble of cheers could be heard echoing down the halls as the denizens of the station began a free-for-all on the would-be takers belongings. Steve was not finished though.
“Additionally, a free month’s worth of supplies and repairs to the loveable bastards that came to my rescue.”
Even more cheers erupted from those gathered in the control room as they carried off Steve to the nearest bar for celebration.
#humans are weird#humans are insane#humans are space oddities#humans are space orcs#scifi#story#writing#original writing#niqhtlord01
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Hii! Not sure if you are doing theres(if u dont just please ignore it) kind of requests, but if you do, may I pretty please with cherry on top get some headconons of yandere Mavuika with a darling on hunger strike? (basically darling refuses to eat unless freed)
Tsm 4 reading my request! And I am so sorry if you are not taking theres kind of requests, please just ignore this if thats the case!!
This is my first time getting this kind of request but I'll try 👆
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/206e1b9fe59bc5c6cbb0b9c28723a533/90313ae1a72cbbc8-09/s540x810/76789fa3f77143b9734d85374edb6f9db480b31b.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ac58a1d7657d1289b7be7de61d6028f6/90313ae1a72cbbc8-e5/s540x810/5797f1abc5f9454ecd2ed0cb61c58c2dd05baede.jpg)
Synopsis: you're not eating till you're free
TW: Darling will be the reader since I'm not too familiar with the concept (idk if darling is reader or not so yeah), gn!reader, coercion, manipulation, drug use, mentions of people supporting mavuika's actions, yandere Mavuika, reader is a traveller (but not the traveller), bad grammar, not proofread, bad writing, english is not my first language, I do not support any of the actions I've written, mentions of hurting reader, OOC, mentions of vomiting, short
Characters: Yandere!Mavuika x gn!reader
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/206e1b9fe59bc5c6cbb0b9c28723a533/90313ae1a72cbbc8-09/s540x810/76789fa3f77143b9734d85374edb6f9db480b31b.jpg)
You missed the outside world.
The way Mondstadts air was like a calming breeze, the way Liyue had their stories, the way Inazuma was filled with the books from Yae publishing house, the way Sumeru was so casual, the way Fontaine's books were always entertaining to read.
You missed it all.
You had a plan to journey to find out about the entire world, the cultures of the different nations and their history. It was all so intriguing to you. However, out of all the regions, Nation was the most mysterious. None of the civilians from Natlan went outside their Nation, and it was all a mystery to you.
Now you knew that you should've stayed curious.
Natlan was filled with welcoming people, the culture and everything was all so unique to you. The tribal systems, the ancient names, they were all things you'd never heard of before. The fact that the Archon was human too really piqued your interest. It was much different than anything else you had ever seen before. You were drowning in these revelations, in a good way.
That's when you met the Archon.
She was welcoming, very much so. It was like you two bonded immediately. The two of you often got lost into speaking about many topics, her about Natlan and you about your journey. That often led to hours of talking, a company you enjoyed greatly.
It was then time for you to leave. Your family would start to worry about you leaving for too long anyway. But, Mavuika's words always made you stay for a bit longer, somehow.
"You still haven't learned about the specific cultures of each tribe, maybe we could talk about that. Writing letters is a hassle anyway. Just stay here for longer I promise."
So, one month turned to two, two into three and three into four. That's when you had the conscience to know that you were staying for too long. It was strange how your family wasn't giving any letters, but they must be worried either way.
The look Mavuika gave you when you told her this was nothing in the sort of pretty. However, she complied, and allowed you to leave Natlan. However, just as you were about to leave her office, you collapsed. You coughed up a bit of blood and you looked above you. Mavuika was peering down on you, her foot next to your head. Maybe that's why the smell in the room made you feel weird.
That's when you woke up in a bed, more luxurious than yours but horrifying nonetheless. You saw Mavuika entering the room, her expression unreadable. She offered you a hand, yet you slapped it away angrily. You were beyond angry, and also scared.
"Where am I Mavuika?! What did you do?!" Your eyes were starting to be filled up with tears, yet all she did was brush them away tenderly with her finger. The action felt disgusting, and you wanted nothing more than to escape. You spoke insult after insult to her, but she ended up carrying you, and as much as you wanted to just get out of her grasp, her scorching Pyro abilities on your back was enough to shut you up.
She took you to the stadium where multiple people were watching. You gulped at the sight, what was going on? Why did the people look so happy, weren't they going to help?!
She announced with joy that you were her "lover". You looked at her, horrified, trying to escspe from her grasp. The thought of it made you want to vomit, but the fact that so many people were cheering her on for getting a lover in the first place made it impossible for your screams of terror to be heard. You screeched, yelled and tried your very best but they were never heard.
You stayed for another month in Natlan, your face turning paper by the day.
Mavuika took you to the different tribes. She made you meet ancient name bearers, heroes of Natlan and such, but you want nothing to do with it. You just want to go home. You didn't want to know who were random people, you wanted to know how the hell you would get out of your situation.
Every feast, every gift, every compliment, they meant nothing. You vomited everything you ate, you threw away every gift you got and you (rudely) brushed off any compliment you could get. Mavuika gave you gifts too, but you always threw that away first.
Right now, you vomited up the food you ate again, feeling sick to your stomach. Coughing up saliva, you wiped it away with your sleeve.
"If she's going to play this game then so shall I," you muttered to yourself, determined . Really, your plan would only bring you so much pain, the pain of not eating, but you couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she sees your dead body. That salvation was the only thing you dreamed of. That's the day you put your plan into effect.
You ate nothing, you didn't want to, and for your best interest too. All the events that were celebrated were declined, and the maids that were supposed to take care of you got the same old excuse of: "I already ate," or, "I don't feel like eating." You were ecstatic, so glad everything was going the way you wanted. Sure, you were as skinny as a stick now, you were pale and all of your veins were showing, but hey, if she didn't do anything about it, it was fine. They way you would tremble, the way you constantly felt cold, the way you were like a twig ready to be blown away by the wind would all be worth it. Your inevitable death would be worth it, and you'd been dreaming of that outcome for a while by now.
"It would all be worth it."
As you pushed away the food you were offered again, you looked through your surroundings. You were bored. All the novels you'd gotten were all read through, and if it weren't for a certain Archon, you would've found your way to Snezhnaya by now.
That question answered itself quite easily.
Surprisingly enough you started to feel your eyes going shut. You mumbled incoherently, slowly falling asleep. Maybe you could pass the time by resting.
"Just a small nap.." You yawned, your mind going blank.
As you did so, Mavuika entered the room again, holding a bowl of gruel in her hands. She walked up to you and sat down at the ledge of the bed, slowly but surely feeding your unconscious figure. You would choke if she got any thing heavier, so this would have to do for now.
A few coughs went unnoticed as she finished your meal and slowly making you drink water, making sure you don't waste any drop. Your face was serene, she really hoped it would stay that way when you woke up.
"The inscence I got from Miss Emilie certainly worked well, I should thank her by letter sometime," she mumbled, looking at the hidden plate of the stuff in the corner. You were still fast asleep, oblivious to what she was doing.
"You won't be able to get rid of me so soon my dear," she talked to your sleeping self as she walked away. In response, you did a slight jerk in your sleep, almost as if you could hear what she said. But, if you knew or not didn't matter, you couldn't fight her anyway.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/206e1b9fe59bc5c6cbb0b9c28723a533/90313ae1a72cbbc8-09/s540x810/76789fa3f77143b9734d85374edb6f9db480b31b.jpg)
This is so trash but wtv
#reader insert#genshin impact#genshin x reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin x reader#yandere mavuika x reader#mavuika x reader#mavuika#yandere#gender neutral reader
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The Tension and the Terror.............a series
Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (Letha) (named, but not visually described besides hair length)
[Completed]
[ Part I ] [ Part II ] [ Part III ] [ Part IV ] [ Part V ] [ Part VI ] [ Part VII ] [ Part VIII ] [ Part IX ] [ Part X ] [ Part XI ] [ Part XII ] [ Part XIII ] [ Part XIV ] [ Part XV ]
Macrinus has plans. Layers and layers of plans. He thinks he's found his perfect instrument in the form of Letha and recruits her to his cause. She has reason enough to bring vengeance upon the twin Emperors of Rome, but once she falls under the ever-watchful gaze of Emperor Geta, her will folds. Foiling an assassination attempt, Letha becomes Geta's new fixation. Still, Macrinus's aspirations are halted for no one. Can Letha weather the wrath of Macrinus? And what would happen if Geta knew the truth of her role in this dangerous game?
Or so it might say on the blurb on the back if you picked it up off the shelf. Born of the way I couldn't stop thinking about Geta after seeing GII. Also, I'm a sucker for Denzel Washington so Macrinus is definitely around. I hope this is halfway decent, I've spent a lot of time on it. If only for myself, I suppose.
This is a series, tentatively 13 parts? 14 parts? 15 Parts. It could be longer if I can't rein myself in. Some parts are much longer than others because I didn't want to divide it up. Mostly from our character's POV, but occasionally we slip into Geta's mind. Even Macrinus's, where necessary. I try to make it as clear as possible when perspective shifts.
Letha is our character. She has an "origin" but I was careful to not specify what region she originates from. You can choose for yourself. I have gone out of my way to avoid describing her physically besides the fact that she has long hair and female body features/anatomy. If I missed something, please let me know. Hopefully she feels accessible to most. I just couldn't do the (y/n) thing for a series like this, or avoid using a name. It flows better. Thanks for understanding.
This is heavily modified from the movie. I really just pulled out the entire Acacius/Lucilla/Lucius main plot and went with the super interesting (to me) sub plot of the twin emperors and the man who wants to tear Rome down. Plus Letha, of course.
Historical inaccuracies abound, I'm sure. I did my best but for certain things I couldn't find sources that weren't paywalled peer-reviewed journals or I didn't know how to begin to look for information about. Still, I tried to keep it within reason. I apologize in advance.
I have my own read on the twins and it might be different from yours, but I hope you like it just the same. Besides enjoying the arena and wishing their enemies death, I didn't get the vibe that they were particularly violent, at least not in the five? days we see them. Well, they just deserved better. I don't know that I'm going to give them that here, but I'm gonna try.
Anyways, thanks for reading all this. Hope you like it.
(Moodboard by moi. I spent a long time on it for no real reason, I'm only using it here. It's just fun. I also have a playlist, but I don't think the songs necessarily obviously inspired anything. It's hard to relate them to Ancient Rome. But if you want to know what it was, I'd be more than happy to share it.)
#emperor geta#emperor geta x ofc#emperor geta x reader#gladiator II x reader#I really hope somebody likes this!#From the moment that man said “Persia” I knew I was a goner#It happened embarrassingly quickly
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So. What was the deal with the vampire in the graveyard versus Orlok’s Nosferatuing around?
SPOILERS INCOMING CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SCROLL AWAY
Von Franz mentions something vague about there being different rules depending on the region with the whole ‘sleep by daylight’ thing being the only consistent rule…
…except that doesn’t add up with what Thomas saw.
He followed the hunting party at night. He saw them open the coffin with the vampire still resting in it, cue the iron stake piercing him, the blood, the scream, Thomas’ startled cry—and then an immediate cut to him coming awake in the inn’s bed, now wearing a cross at his neck (which he tosses) and mud on his boots (proof of his excursion). He saw what he saw.
How did that vampire in the graveyard come to be? Was he one of Orlok’s making? Or was he never Nosferatu at all? Von Franz refers to Nosferatu exclusively as a type of undead that brings plague. That does seem to be Orlok’s gimmick, but the guy in the graveyard had no rats for company. The people Thomas encountered were out and about, hale and healthy, no fretting over plague. So what was he?
I might have misheard, but I think there was a moment as Thomas entered the inn for the first time where the woman doing an exorcism/healing rite involving garlic mentioned the word strigoi. It didn’t pop up in her subtitles, so I won’t swear to it, but it’d be interesting if Eggers went digging around in the Dracula and other vampire lit lore to fish out other variants of vampirism to play with.
But the thing is.
The thing is.
While it would be a good Easter egg hint that Thomas’ notion of hunting Orlok down and staking him in his big rat box was doomed to fail~, it would only add up if we’d gotten concrete on-film evidence that he was really mistaking one kind of vampire for another. All we have is Von Franz’ word that ‘he doubts it will work.’ Thomas, meanwhile, has seen it work and has the memory of Orlok snapping awake and actively stopping him from bringing the pickaxe down on him—if being impaled did nothing, why would Orlok bother to stop the blow?
It leaves the possibilities split down the middle.
Version A: Von Franz was right. Orlok the Nosferatu needed the Death-By-Maiden-and-Sunrise trap to be destroyed and what Thomas saw was an entirely different vampire being slain by its own methods. Potentially a vampire made by Orlok, but not a full Nosferatu plague carrier (possibly something that needs Scholomance study), or else turned by completely unrelated means. tl;dr: Thomas Staking Orlok Would Have Failed
Version B: Thomas was right. Had he been able to stake Orlok through, he might have put him down, or at least left him weak enough for them to bring on blades and fire to make sure nothing was left. Chuck the leftovers in a river for good measure. And Ellen would never have had to die.
Naturally, the latter isn’t as cinematic or thematically satisfying. It isn’t as meaty as Version A. But I can’t help picturing Thomas turning the what-ifs over and over in his head. What if he had been faster with the pickaxe? What if Von Franz hadn’t stalled them past sunset and they had found Orlok still in his box rather than Knock? What if Ellen could have been here and alive and safe if only he hadn’t been too slow, too late, too trusting?
What if…
What if both men were wrong?
Or at least failed to see the entire picture. To really wonder at the how and why of Thomas’ affliction being so different compared to every other non-Ellen victim of Orlok’s. To wonder just what Orlok intended by his drinking of Ellen as consummation by consumption. Surely he did not intend to kill her. Rather, to let her remain dead.
(The broker yet lives.)
((As a man.))
(This is no ordinary plague!)
((Plagues.))
Orlok was a cadaver who lived. The undead must first be dead. Is it not so for every form of vampire, no matter their region?
Ellen is dead. The Maiden become Death.
(He left you to the wolves yet you prevailed!)
((The wolves only came for him by daylight. When sleep ended and Thomas’ heart still beat. The work unfinished.))
Von Franz departs, head hung. Dr. Sievers will stall the formalities of the mortuary. There are dead enough to busy himself with. Let the boy grieve.
Let him think.
Of corpses that are not corpses. Death that does not stick. The sun moves between blinks as he banishes the shriveled carcass of the Count from the room, breaking and burning it.
His love is dressed anew. Clean, for she was never unclean.
(Her breast.)
((There is no bite.))
The sun sinks. Thomas holds a cold hand. Now it grips his back, their wedding bands gleaming. As she kisses his breast, he thinks perhaps it is not so terrible to be mistaken, all told.
They can be wrong together.
#I am having Thoughts#nosferatu#nosferatu 2024#ellen hutter#thomas hutter#count orlok#nosferatu spoilers#spoilers#my writing
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What sort of every day activities do you think Jinx and Caitlyn would do if they were married for a long time. Like after 15 years
oooh this is such a fun question!
post-canon, i can imagine jinx and caitlyn settled down in piltover because of caitlyn’s sense of responsibility to the city, but they are definitely the type to travel a lot. especially as they get older.
with that in mind, here’s a list of caitjinx married-life headcanons:
travel. anytime they visit a new region of runeterra, jinx’s primary interest is sight-seeing. caitlyn often worries that “sight-seeing” equates to getting into trouble (and she is usually correct), but jinx has always been naturally curious and adventurous. for someone who grew up in the fissures, fresh air and foreign landscapes are a welcome change. (though, their visit to bilgewater reminds jinx a little bit of home).
“oh my gods, cait, everything here is huge! do ya think they sell pirate hats?”
caitlyn’s primary interest, when not traveling for diplomatic reasons, is the different cuisine each region has to offer. she does plenty of research into local dishes and makes a list of ones she’d like to try. jinx takes it as a challenge to find each item on caitlyn’s list, dragging her wife from food stall to food stall until they find what they’re looking for.
ionia. caitlyn visits ionia for the first time on her 30th birthday. jinx had been planning it as a surprise for the year prior with the knowledge of caitlyn’s ionian ancestry. although jinx tends to be more spontaneous than meticulous, she made a detailed itinerary for their trip, ending with a boat ride in the lake of lighted lilies. it’s safe to say that caitlyn shed a tear or two.
souvenirs. whenever they return home from their travels, jinx comes back with a trinket or weapon, and caitlyn comes back with a practical item of clothing or an ornate decoration to add to their home. as they grow older, they dedicate an entire wall in the study to displaying their souvenirs and other fond memories.
“is this one from our wedding?” / “no, darling, that’s from when you nearly got us killed in demacia.”
clothes. jinx manages to stain, soil, and rip whatever it is she’s wearing, even on the most mundane of days. whether it be paint splotches on her shirt when she’s working on an art piece, or a tear in the leg of her pants after a particularly nasty fall, jinx’s wardrobe has seen better days. caitlyn, of course, finds it both incredibly endearing and slightly irritating, making sure to playfully chastise her wife each time she has to hand wash or sew jinx’s clothes back together. not that she really minds.
art. jinx is an artist. it’s something caitlyn greatly admires about her. she is both jinx’s number one supporter (and financier) and her muse. jinx will sit herself in front of caitlyn’s desk with an easel or a sketchpad while caitlyn works and paint/draw portrait after portrait. somehow, jinx manages to make every piece unique, stylized, and full of color regardless of the drab setting.
in a bout of self-consciousness early on in their marriage, caitlyn once asked jinx to paint a portrait of her in which she had both of her eyes. in response, jinx proceeded to crest the most breathtaking portrait of caitlyn, with one eye and without her eyepatch, serving as a reminder of the woman’s natural beauty. the love and reverence that went into each stroke of jinx’s paintbrush can be felt by anyone who views it in the main sitting room of the kiramman estate. it’s one of caitlyn’s favorite pieces.
tattoos. jinx gave herself her own blue smoke cloud tattoo at the age of 18, a testament to her artistic ability (and her left-handedness). lying in bed on their wedding night, caitlyn asked jinx to give her a tattoo. not right then, but sometime in the near future. jinx jumped at the opportunity, and after their honeymoon, had caitlyn lying on her stomach as jinx began what would soon become a tattoo of the kiramman house crest and two crossed rifles on the center of caitlyn’s back. (inspired by https://x.com/roosdrawsthings/status/1823442651720417367?s=46&t=6XyYORDs_ReW59UnMyq_-g)
guns. jinx and caitlyn, as we all know, are excellent marksmen. their aim is parallel to none besides each other, which makes for very fun competitions amongst themselves to see who’s the best sharp-shooter. they keep a tally over the years of matches won between them, and it’s always neck and neck. when caitlyn develops arthritis in her old age, her and jinx retire the friendly contests. their tally ends in a tie.
care. despite the mutual hatred and obsession that founded their initial rivalry, jinx and caitlyn’s marriage is surprisingly free of strife. they got all of the fighting and trying to kill each other out of their system in the early days of their relationship, leaving them with a playful dynamic full of banter and snark. that, and a whole lot of tenderness. jinx and caitlyn have been through hell. they are all too eager to show one another the love and affection they both crave in the wake of the cruelty they’ve endured.
jinx likes to braid caitlyn’s hair, especially whenever it gets longer. caitlyn hates the upkeep and maintenance of having long hair, but she holds off on cutting it with the knowledge of how much jinx adores it. no matter how many times jinx teaches caitlyn to braid as well, the finished product of caitlyn’s earnest attempts could be mistaken for a toddler’s handiwork. jinx tries not to laugh at her. she really does. but the frustrated frown (pout) on cailtyn’s lips breaks her resolve.
“it looks cute!” / “oh, don’t patronize me-“ / “no, no, i swear. you’re gettin’ better. you’re just overthinkin’ it.”
nightmares. it’s not uncommon for either jinx or caitlyn to suddenly awaken in the middle of the night due to a bad dream or night terror. the occurrences of them lessen as time goes on, but every once in a while, one of the two women will jolt up in bed, breathing ragged and a sheen of cold sweat on their brow.
if it’s caitlyn, she rarely cries but will allow herself to be coaxed into lying back down and held by jinx. with a few minutes of receiving soothing touches and murmured reassurances, caitlyn will decide whether or not she wants to talk about it (usually she doesn’t).
if it’s jinx, she wakes up with a scream or a sob and will quickly dissolve into tears. caitlyn will gauge if jinx is okay to be touched (usually she is) and then will draw her wife into a warm and secure embrace, protecting jinx from the horrors of her own mind. jinx typically takes a while to calm down, but then caitlyn will begin singing the french lullaby that her mother used to sing to her as a child, and suddenly, jinx can breathe easier.
“can you sing it again…?” / “of course, my love. close your eyes. just focus on my voice. nothing else.”
music. jinx’s instrument of choice is her voice, whereas caitlyn’s preferred instrument is the piano. the kiramman household has never seen a quiet day with jinx singing any chance she gets, or with caitlyn brushing up on her piano skills when she decides to tap into old interests and hobbies. (she even cracks open a french textbook from her schooling days but immediately slides it back onto the shelf at the sight of “passé composé.”)
jinx adores caitlyn’s playing of the piano just as much as caitlyn adores jinx’s singing. if jinx stumbles upon caitlyn playing a piece she recognizes, she will sit next to her wife on the bench and sing along. it’s a peaceful moment of connection in the otherwise chaotic and unpredictable lives they lead.
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Speak my language (1250 words.)
inspired by this post by @nervousbelieverstarfish
There was a girl behind M Damocles, her hands stuck awkwardly at her sides as she made herself appear small next to him. Adrien tilted his head to the side to get a proper look but the girl shuffled away. Adrien straightened and looked up at M Damocles. Why had he led this clearly frightened girl all the way to his shady spot in the school yard? M Damocles stepped aside, gesturing to the girl with a worried smile.
“This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she's a new student here.”
Marinette whispered something quiet that went ignored by M Damocles. There was a piece of pasta on her shoulder that she didn't seem to notice and a reddish stain on her black jacket that she definitely knew was there. Her entire face was pink as she watched him from behind her bangs.
He extended his hand — that was what you’re supposed to do when greeting new people? — and tried to make his smile warm. “Hi, I’m Adrien. You have pasta on your shoulder.”
Marinette blinked and M Damocles stepped in, clearing his throat.
“She’s just moved here from China. Very little French.”
Adrien retracted his hand. (He was glad she hadn’t understood him, why had he opened with ‘there’s pasta on your shoulder’? She looked mortified already, no need to kill her.)
“I know you’re only recently returning to regular schooling after your m-,” M Damocles clammed up, his voice trailing off.
“My maman died,” Adrien supplied, forcing M Damocles to look him in his eyes as he said it. He was sick of people treating him like he couldn’t bear to hear the words. Maybe it was more that they didn’t want to say it, that they didn't want to deal with the consequences if he did break with every mention of her. It was a good thing then that he’d put all that childish grief away — along with everything else that would only hurt him in the long run.
“Err- yes. That. Anyways, you’re here longer than Marinette and I read on your file you’re fluent in Chinese. You’re also in all advanced classes so you’d be the perfect fit to help Marinette get around and teach her French on the side. If you are willing to, of course.”
Adrien had half a mind to refuse M Damocles and go back to his quiet existence on the edges of the school. That was the way he liked it and nothing ever before had made him want to change that. Then he looked at Marinette and he couldn’t find it in him to refuse.
“Do you know what dialect she speaks?” Adrien asked.
“Pardon?”
“What dialect? I speak Mandarin but she could only speak Cantonese or another regional dialect I wouldn’t understand.”
M Damocles paused, his thick eyebrows weighed with confusion. It seemed the thought had never occurred to him.
“Marinette. Do - you - speak - Mandarin?” M Damocles asked her in broken French. Adrien saw something flick across her face that was different from her timid expression before. A flash of fire in her otherwise soft blue eyes. She silently nodded in response. Adrien saw it again as M Damocles turned back to Adrien to relay the answer though he’d already heard. He had to bite his lip to contain a snicker as he caught the sarcastic flick of her eyes.
“Well then, that’s all sorted. I’ll leave you to it,” M Damocles said with a note of relief in his voice, glad the translation problem was no longer his. He strode off, leaving Marinette behind. She watched him leave with a surprisingly reluctant expression, even though he’d proved utterly incompetent.
“So, you’re new here?” He asked in Mandarin. Marinette swung her head around, blue eyes wide and frightened again.
“Y-yes.”
“I’m A-.”
“Adrien Agreste. I know,” She interrupted.
“You do?”
Marinette seemed to realise what she’d done and turned bright red.
“I mean, you already said so. Earlier. I’m not the best at French but I know when someone’s introducing themselves.”
“Right…” It didn’t explain knowing his last name, he’d never given it, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the Agreste name had made it as far as China. He moved on to the side on his bench and held his hand out to offer the seat beside him. “Do you want to sit down?”
“Okay.”
She sat, bouncing her leg as she looked everywhere but at him. Had she understood him earlier with the pasta thing? He searched his head for something to say before the silence lingered too long and it became impossible to breach.
“You have pasta on your shoulder.”
Not that!
Marinette squeaked, shaking it off and then removing her jacket altogether. She groaned into her hands. Adrien scrambled desperately for something not related to pasta to ask.
“I- I noticed you have a French word in your name?”
“Oh, yeah. My Papa is French but we’ve lived in China my whole life. Never really tried to learn the language. Regretting that now.” She laughed dryly at her own expense. Adrien smiled at her when she looked up and she immediately went back to staring at the ground, furiously tapping her foot.
“Why did you move, if you don’t mind answering?”
“To go here. To learn art at this school and become a fashion designer. I applied ages ago, I didn’t think I got in. Didn’t think I would get in.” She leaned back from hunching over, her voice getting a little louder as she settled. “That's probably why I didn’t really try to learn French but now I’m here and I don’t know a word and it's going to screw everything up. I couldn’t find any of my classes and then this- this, bitch, threw her pasta all over me when I couldn’t understand her. She had a claim over the table I’d chosen, apparently. People had been warning me and I couldn’t understand them fully to realise. How am I supposed to become a famous fashion designer if I can’t even say it in French!”
Marinette clamped her mouth shut and turned to Adrien with an alarmed expression. His Mandarin wasn’t good enough to have kept up with everything but he got the gist. She was completely lost and alone.
“I’m so sorry. You don’t want to hear about that. You’re the one saddled with teaching me and now I’m dumping this all on you. You really don’t have to.”
Adrien looked across the school yard to where all the other students had gathered, talking amongst themselves. Groans about homework, whispers of gossip and cheers as one student presented a graded project. He’d never once bothered to join in. Now he was sitting with this girl who was on the outskirts like him and she couldn’t join in even if she wanted to. The voice that told him to shut everyone out could be ignored for now. She would be his exception.
His only exception.
(He didn’t know now but soon he’d make another. For a girl with fire in her soft blue eyes. He’d look into those eyes as her hand reached to save him and know he’d have to make another exception. But that would be the last one) (Until the next.)
“It’s alright. I’ll teach you French until it's better than your Mandarin. And you can help me improve my Mandarin in return. Does that sound like a deal?”
Marinette looked down at the hand he’d extended then up at him, her eyes flooding with relief. She shook his hand, grinning from ear to ear.
“Deal.”
-
OK OK OK OK. I hope you liked it, i hope it was good. Let me know or whatever. Please reblog blah blah blah and have a good day
I would write more but I have so many WIPS and I’m trying to overcome doubt in my writing so I can just write again. This is an AU to the movie’s canon but also can be applied to the show if you want. I’ve also added my own slight headcanon that Adrien was only homeschooled during the period of his mother’s sickness and ‘death’ as my interpretation of the canon given to us in the movie. Take it or leave it. So he was friends with Nino prior to everything but he’s since shut him out.
#miraculous ladybug#miraculous#ml fanfic#ml fic#adrienette#miraculous movie#miraculous awakening#adrien agreste#marinette dupain cheng#AND PEACE OUT#speak my language
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I want sugar daddy submas but a date with emmet. I feel like after a fancy lunch. They went to buy luxury furniture. And emmet asks the reader to decorate their house or room in ways that she wants it to be. And when the reader is choosing what sofa goes best in the living room (or her room) Emmett is just imaging all the kinds of things he can do with you on that sofa (and whether that sofa is good for sexy time.) when looking at all the mirror he just thinks about how he can f you in front of the mirror and see all the angle
Anon, I am so unbelievably sorry that this took so long to answer, but it has been eating at my brain for the entire time it's been sitting in my inbox and I really wanted to get it right. I hope what I finally came up was worth the wait!
Luxuries
Summery: Emmet takes you furniture shopping for the twin's summer house. Certain unspoken presumptions and misunderstandings in your relationship with the twins come to light. A little angst with a happy ending 💕
Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Emmet x Reader (GN), Implied Sugar Daddy!Ingo x Reader
Warnings: 18+ content (Minors Begone!), Sugar Daddy-esque relationship (and the consequences and implications of such), smut, dirty fantasies, personal and financial insecurities.
After a wonderful morning of trying on clothes and being spoiled to death by Ingo, Emmet meets both of you at a small diner. You’ve never even heard of this place but the atmosphere here is incredibly cozy.
The whole interior is a beautiful, solid hardwood, and each covered table is set up against a curtained window that lets in the light. The booths, far from the cheap vinyl you're used to in diners, are instead actual loveseats made with real leather. The tile floor below you is a lovely dark green, which makes the isle in between tables look like an emerald sea.
“I didn’t think you’d like a place like this. It’s very vintage.” And fancy. You think. This is like no diner you've ever been to.
“That’s because it’s been in business for nearly a century.” Ingo says as he takes the seat across from you, “We’ve been coming here since we first started at Gear Station.”
He sets a small bag under the table. It contains a wonderfully soft cardigan you'd found on a sale rack on your way out of the tailor's. Its price tag could have fed you for two weeks, but Ingo insisted on buying it for you anyway.
It's absurd to feel weird over a cardigan, you tell yourself, especially when it was the cheapest thing bought for you today. You put on a brave face at the tailor’s, mostly because there was someone else already there, but you’re really not used to having so much money to use on whatever you want.
Maybe that was it. The rest of the beautiful, beautiful clothes could be excused as a business expense, like a uniform for a job. But the cardigan, that was for you only. There was no getting around that.
Emmet's voice startles you out of your thoughts, and all of a sudden you're back in the diner.
“Yup yup! This building used to be the dining carriage on the luxury cross-regional line.” Emmet explains, sliding in next to you. His whole expression is aglow with happiness. You’ve come to understand that different smiles mean different things with him. This one shines with warmth. “They have done a lot of work to preserve and recreate as much as they can. These are even the same kind of chairs and tables they used back then!”
“I never even knew this was here…” You take a moment to marvel at the intricate wallpaper and polished wooden walls and try very hard not to think about how much has already been spent today.
“It’s a real gem, don’t you think?” Ingo’s eyes are sparkling. He looks so happy just to share this with you. “Everything here is wonderful as well. Please take a look at the menu and order whatever you’d like. It’s on us.”
~~~
If the twin’s choice of lunch surprised you, Emmet’s choice of where to take you on a date shocks you even more.
“Is this… a furniture store?”
“Mhmm!” Emmet watches your expression carefully. “I know it is unusual. But I want your help picking out some pieces for my and Ingo’s summer house. We have to host a bunch of parties this year. You’ll be spending a lot of time there with us and we want you to be comfortable.”
To his credit, Emmet doesn’t mention a thing about wanting to buy furniture for your place. He’s never been inside (truthfully, he doesn’t even know where you live), but judging from what Elesa’s told him about your lifestyle, it could probably use something nicer. And he would love to give it to you.
“But shouldn’t Ingo be here for that too?”
“Hmmmm, no. We have verrry similar tastes. And we both trust your sense of style, so he agreed to let us go together.”
“Oh. Okay then.” You still look unsure, but Emmet doesn’t seem to notice. He takes you by the hand and your heart flutters inside your chest.
“Full steam ahead!”
~~~
Calling the store massive is an understatement. Even in a city like Nimbasa, you've never seen anything like this.
It's like a labyrinth in here. Every way you turn is a new room full of a setup of furniture. Some of them are kitchens with huge sinks and granite countertops. Others are elaborate dining rooms with tables set for fifty. The ones Emmet most wants to explore are the living rooms.
Maybe this can be a good opportunity to get to know him after all. While browsing a whole wall full of chairs, you ask about his decorating style and preferences.
"Ingo and I like a modern look. It fits with our professional image, so it’s good for places we have to host in." His expression seems reserved, despite his smile.
You think back to how much they loved the old, vintage dining car, and wonder if sticking to a modern 'professional image' can be joined with what they actually like in practice.
Your eyes scan over the chairs, and you find a dark brown, almost black leather piece toward the center. It's traditional, in that the upholstery is very classic, but the lines are crisp and sharp, modern. You don't think it would look out of place in either scenario. You point it out.
"What about that one?"
Emmet brings a hand to his chin, considering, silent. You're worried you may have made a mistake until he quite suddenly turns around and marches across the room. He stops in front of a matched pair of very modern, round side tables, one black and one white, accented with marble tops and gold trim.
"A pair of those chairs with these tables could fill a nook by one of the windows." He says. "Verrry nice. An excellent combination!"
"That would be so cozy! It would be a nice place to sit and talk for a while." You say, excited that he's on board. "A rug under them all would help mark the space as its own little area.”
"Yes!" He puts a hand on your shoulder. “Let's mark these down and remember to look at rugs later. For now, couches."
~~~
There are almost as many couches in this place as there are chairs.
At one point, Emmet grabs your hand and pulls you down onto a loveseat with him to test it out. It's very comfy. Comfier still with you cuddled up under his arm.
Across from you both is a mirror on a large wall. It’s beautiful, with golden leaves and flowers surrounding the frame. In it, Emmet can see you curled into his side. He sees your reflection turn and gaze up at him. The look in your eyes is like he hung the stars. He wants you to always look at him like that.
How easy would it be, to turn his head and kiss you? His lips would fit against yours perfectly. He’s thought about it so many times already. In the dead of night. In the quiet morning. In the dull monotony of the work day. He wonders how you would react. Would you swoon against him, melt into him like he was made for you? His hand has already found its way to your waist. One quick tug, and you'd fall right into his lap - where you belong.
You'd sigh as his lips ghost their way down your neck. He'd trail kisses across your shoulders like rain. You’d gasp at the rough texture of his sideburns against your sweet, soft skin. He’d nip, maybe even bite. Ingo had gotten you those clothes in black… he’d have to mark you in other ways. In places only he could see.
Emmet thinks of his hand slipping across your neck to give a gentle squeeze. You’d shudder in his arms and your eyes would slip closed. His hand would slide down across your chest. Lower. Lower. He feels you breathe against him. The fluttering of your heartbeat. Lower. To the waist of your pants. He’d stop, rubbing his thumb against the line where clothing meets skin, until your hand wraps around his and shows him exactly what you want.
He’d look up from where he sucks dark bruises onto your shoulder. Silver eyes blown dark with lust would meet yours through the reflection. You’d watch yourself become the very image of desperation as he worked you. You would see how he took you apart piece by piece and built you back together with only his touch. The jerking of your hips against his hand. The friction driving you to a squirming mess against him. You’d be laid out before him in the mirror like a feast.
"Emmet..." Your voice is like honey to his ears. A voice on the breeze that whispers, begs for more. He’d give you anything. Everything. "Emmet..."
…
"Emmet, are you there?"
He snaps out of his trance. Just like that, the dream is gone. He's back in the furniture store with you sitting next to him.
"I am Emmet. I was lost on a train of thought. What were you saying?"
“This chair is nice, but I don’t know about the color. I wanted to know what you think.”
“I think we should get this mirror.”
“The mirror?” You look baffled, and turn to make a face at your reflection. It doesn’t really seem like his style, “Why?”
“I like the view I’m seeing in it.”
~~~
Emmet circles a huge sectional. It’s been presented with a luxurious, dark grey fabric. His hands sweep across the back and he notes that even the top is cushioned. There’s so much room, he could fuck you in a different position on it every day for a month and still have opportunities for more. The prospect has merit…
He shakes himself out of it. Any more daydreaming, and you’ll start to get worried about him. Besides, as much as he wants it to be, your relationship isn’t like that with them. Not yet.
“What about this couch?” He asks as you take a seat. You bounce as you plop down, and his fingers tighten indistinguishably on the upholstery.
Its humiliating for you to think about how this couch wouldn't even fit in your apartment. It’s lovely, really. And very nice to sit on. It's even softer than your bed! But it’s far too big for your little studio, (if you could even call a space so small a studio. You’re pretty sure Elesa's closet is bigger than your apartment).
“It’s really comfy! Will it work in your summer house?”
“It might be a little small…” He thinks aloud, coming around the side to drop next to you. Emmet leans back, putting his feet up onto the ottoman in front. “We could add a few more sections to it. It would look nice in the conversation pit. Or…”
He turns to you with a look on his face that’s clearly trying to be nonchalant.
“We could always get it for your place.”
You nearly choke. “My place?” You look away, trying to control your expression. There’s no way that would work. It couldn’t even fit it through the door. You try to keep your voice measured, throw in a small laugh, “I don’t know about that…”
“If you do not like it, there are lots of other things here. We could always find something else.”
Emmet says it like buying something like this for you is nothing. And for him, maybe it is. It occurs to you that you don’t really know much about their lives at all, or how well off they actually are. Maybe they really did go through life not even thinking about what it cost them.
Meanwhile, your funds have been so low that you haven’t even thought about replacing the ratty old futon you’ve had since college. There are a million other things that you’re more concerned about than your comfort - like fixing your car, or paying off your school debts, or how until recently, you struggled to afford just surviving from one month to another.
“Um.. maybe. Why don’t we take a look in the next room.”
Anything to get away from this couch.
~~~
Emmet’s warm smile has fallen. His lips are pursed and there’s a furrow in his brow, like how he looks when trying to come up with battle strategies. You pick at your cuticles. Silence stretches out in between you two like an impassible river. Emmet has always been quieter than his brother, but it’s never been like this before.
“You said you have a conversation pit in your summer home?” You ask, trying to kickstart the conversation again. He’d also said you’d be spending time there, so… “When will I get to visit?”
And you pray the answer is still soon.
Some tension seems to leave him as he answers, “We usually host two parties for the season. Ingo and I would love you to be there for both,”
“I’d like that!” You answer, a little too quickly. But he seems to take it well. He almost looks relieved, and that comforts you as well.
Once you’ve broken the ice, conversation flows easily between you two once more. In fact, you’re both doing really well together! Your chatter is lighthearted, sometimes even boldly teasing, and though you have to hustle to keep up with his long legs and purposeful stride, you find he keeps looking toward you, like he wants to make sure you’re still with him. It’s endearing.
Until he tries to buy you another couch. Another wave of shame crests over you – it’s so powerful that you can’t think of what to do or how to save this moment without losing it. And it was going so well, too!
“Emmet, please stop. I’m sorry, but I don’t think you should buy this.”
“What, why?” He seems baffled, like he can’t figure out what you mean, “Is the color wrong? You shouldn’t worry. We can get it redone to fit your tastes.”
“I- no. That’s not- I just wouldn’t be comfortable with it.”
“But… it’s very comfortable?” Emmet looks confused, “The cushions are plenty soft. You just said so.”
“No, no. I mean, I don’t feel comfortable with you buying something like this for me!”
"But that’s why we're here. You deserve to be comfortable."
He pauses for a moment, as if struck by something.
"Are you not comfortable? With Ingo and I buying you things?"
You pause. Today has been a lot, with Ingo taking you to such a fancy, expensive tailor and Emmet wanting to buy you all of this new furniture. It’s so much money. More than you’ve ever had to spend on your own. But truthfully, it’s nice too. To be able to look at something and not have to worry about what it cost. To just decide you can have it, no matter what it was.
And it was nice, SO nice, to have people who wanted to give it to you.
"It's been really nice. But…" You sit down on the nearest couch, eyes facing downward as you try to put together the words to express how you’re feeling without choking.
But at what cost? You’re not naive. You know that this relationship is transactional. Every debt will have to be paid eventually. Once it’s all wrung up, what will the price on your shoulders be?
You’re scared that soon the spell will be broken. The debt collector will come knocking and demand something you can’t give. What will you do then, stuck with a price you can’t bear to pay and no way to back out? It’s terrifying. Would Ingo and Emmet do that to you? You’ve known them long enough to think that they probably wouldn’t, but how can you really be sure? How can you be sure of anything?
Emmet carefully sits across from you, patiently waiting for your next words.
“I don’t know why you’re both… It’s all so much, and I don’t know what you’re expecting from me in exchange for all of this.” Your expression is worried, almost scared.
Emmet feels his veins turn to ice. He suddenly feels like how he did as a child, making a rookie mistake in a battle and finding out how quickly and badly things could backfire on him. This was the last impression he or Ingo ever wanted to give.
"We are not buying you things because we want something from you. We wanted to do this for you because we like seeing you happy. You should have nice things." Your eyes are watery. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to you. “We only want you to be happy. Is that hard to believe?”
Emmet knows now that the game is almost up. The three of you are going to have to sit down and talk about your relationship – it’s all too quickly growing out of the convenient agreement it started as and into something more. They want to give you more, but Emmet realizes that they shouldn’t have assumed you’d just accept without talking it through first. You were so much more than what you could give to them. Yet somewhere along the way he and Ingo had both failed to consider how you might make assumptions about their intentions.
And then there’s the matter of their attraction to you. Emmet likes you. Wants you. They both do. But they can’t stand the idea of you thinking they’re buying you. Love that is an obligation is not what they want. It is so much more than that for them.
“I am Emmet. And I am sorry. I should have known it was too much to offer.” He says as you wipe your eyes. “I am serious though. Neither Ingo or I would ever expect anything like that.”
“I-” You take a deep breath, “Thank you. I’m sorry too. I should have told you how I was feeling sooner.”
Emmet reaches out and takes your hand in his. This time, you don’t pull away.
“Do you think we could start our date over?” He asks. You look at him and know that if you said no right now, he would take you home and everything would still be okay. “What if we just did something fun together instead? The amusement park is still open.”
You laugh through the last of your tears. “I’d like that. Can we ride the ferris wheel?”
He rubs a thumb over your knuckles.
“That sounds perfect.”
~~~
Thanks for reading! 💕
If you liked this fic, there is now a direct sequel!
#ingo x reader#ingo#submas x reader#x reader#pokemon x reader#my writing#sugar daddy submas#emmet#emmet x reader#pokemon ingo x reader#pokemon emmet x reader#gear station after dark#willow whispers
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Rotten in Chains
Another Commission!
They asked for their OC named Ink who comes from a Hyrule that was conquered by Dark Link and left to rot. Hence the Title. :D
It's a short little ditty, but I hope you all enjoy it.
Masterlist
Ink was disoriented.
He had been running; sprinting like the Devil King himself was on his heels. There was chaos and death all around him. The beasts had all but taken over the region near Lake Hylia. The air was acrid and stale. The stench of rot and death was a permanent fixture. He hardly noticed the difference anymore. The corruption had encompassed the entire inhabited earth. There was nothing worth saving anymore. Except if you counted for those that were powerlessly enduring the passage of time and through the skin of their teeth alone, had carved out a way of life amongst the madness.
He had taken a wrong turn and came face to face with one of the creatures of the fallen. Unknown beasts born from the decay that had taken root in the soil of Hyrule.
He had turned to the shadows, hoping to lose the creature in the mist before turning around and striking with an ambush to the back of its head.
No such luck.
The ground beneath his feet vanished. His heart and stomach had all but leaped into his throat before he landed. His vision went white. It was painful. The brightness itself had nearly been enough to knock him off of his feet. At once, he felt blinded. Falling to his knees, his hands covered his face to shield the onslaught of light that penetrated the back of his skull.
Ink tried to breathe.
Once wasn’t enough. His body inhaled as if he had been a drowning man beneath the seas. He took his breath with such force that he started choking on his spit in the aftermath.
This was bad. Whatever it was about his new predicament was about to incapacitate him.
Strange still, nothing had come to attack him.
It took a while, but eventually, his eyes had adjusted to his new surroundings.
Blue.
He had only ever seen the color in the eyes of his people. It was bright and clean and all above him. To his immediate surroundings was an astonishing amount of green. He had never seen so much green in one place before. The only thing he could think of to make sense of what he was seeing was that he was in a forest, an old, borderline mythical region that he longed to see with his own eyes.
His lungs had calmed and he was able to get a better sense of what it was he was smelling to begin with.
Soil…. Not just wasted away dirt or sand, but soil. Good, clean, healthy soil.
Ink felt woozy.
The land seemed untouched by the rot. The corruption he had grown so accustomed to seeing was nowhere to be found.
He runs his hand through the greenery below him. Grass, was it? He couldn’t even recall the name, nor the last time he had seen such a plant.
Suddenly, there were voices. Many of them. Most, if not all, were male from what he could tell. They had to have come from a distant land. Each from varying regions, at least. Their accents and dialects were as foreign to him as the blue sky above his head.
Travelers? He thought as his grip tightened on his sword. He stood with a frown. Very few people traveled anymore, except for the relief bringers and himself. It was too dangerous to do so in his home.
Unwilling to let himself be caught with his pants down, he forces himself to his feet and dones his sword. Turning to the sound of the voices, he hunkers down and listens.
“I just wish that he knew where we were. That’s all. I don’t think that an unfair thing to complain about.” One of them says.
“It would be if you hadn’t been at it for the past three hours, Legend.” Says another.
A different voice speaks up next. “Well, Twilight, it wouldn’t have to be if you would let me go check out the area. I’m a good scout, you know.”
“Thank you, Wild, but last time you did that, you came back on the back of a bear.” Legend replied. “No thank you.”
“Look!” Shouted a young boy. “There’s someone over there!”
Startled, Ink turned on his heel to see three other people approach from the opposite direction. He had miscalculated. Another group of three approached him from the front while the sides were covered. An ambush? He didn’t know but he wasn’t about to let himself be surrounded.
A well-groomed man with a long blue scarf put his hands up to placate him. “Easy, soldier. We’re all friends here. Maybe you could give us some directions. We’re looking for a friend of ours.”
He’s not sure why but the way he says is suspicious. However, that’s not inherently enough evidence to act on his half-baked suspicions. He lowers his sword and raises an eyebrow, “A friend? I haven’t seen anyone today.”
They all frowned at him at once. His own accent had given him away as well, he supposed.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” The eldest spoke up. Funny. People were considered lucky if they grew to be his age, if at all.
“Who are you looking for?” Ink asked instead, willing to change the subject.
“He’s going to be dressed in all black and he has red eyes.” A man dressed in furs crosses his arms over his chest. “Hard to miss if you ask me.”
Ink’s eyes hardened at once. That sounded familiar and not in a good way. “A shadow?”
“...Yes.” The shortest one replies, mimicking the stance of the one dressed in furs. “You could call him that, sure.”
Ink looked around the group once more. Their clothing was awfully familiar now that he thought about it. “...Is his name Dark Link?”
“You know of him?” The one with a white cape said.
Taking a deep breath, Ink fought back a growl as it tore through his throat. “I’m after his head.”
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