#yulia Lyuricheva x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shmowder · 4 months

Note

Hi, could I request anything Yulia Lyuricheva x reader fluff, please? I've only played P2 if that makes a difference ♡

Hell yeah! I'll base this off P2 Yulia mostly in this case. Honestly she deserves so much love.

Yulia x reader fluffy headcanons

[Fluff, Romance, hurt/Comfort, gn reader]

"A smart person crosses the stream where it's shallowest. But I'm not smart."

Yulia senses fate, or at least she attempts to. The strings of destiny aren't that different from chalked numbers on a board, find the common factors, and fill in the unknown variables.

The rules of probability are absurdly simple, an impossible event equates to zero, a certain event is one, therefore the sum of all probabilities for all possible events is equal to one.

That's why she foresaw your importance in her life upon the first time she's laid eyes on you.

She didn't know why yet, but as she inhaled the burning smoke deep into her lungs to smother the sound of turning gears in her brain, she felt all the possible factors shift in her world.

Not one to swim against the current, she picked her cane as she got up from the chair to walk across the room to you.

The introduction was brief, and her hand grasped yours loosely in a handshake before the grip grew more stable.

Oh.

She understands now why you were presented an anomaly.

Your hand fit perfectly into hers, your touch standing out amongst all of her other senses.

The outside world would quiet down as you spoke.

The fates have decided for her to fall in love that day. Apparently, her turn has finally arrived.

And who was she to resist the turning spindle of fate's thread?

The roads of the town, makings of her own design, seemed to lead her to cross paths with you throughout out the next couple weeks.

The conversations were politely short, but as days progresses, each word exchanged between you two started being weighted with implications of affectionate.

This slow dance was agonising to her.

Yulia wanted to progress things faster, to rush the flow of water so she may arrive at the foreseen destination sooner than later.

Her smoking increased during that period, her restlessness spiking as she spent various nights pacing around the bookshelves in the trammel.

Never one to think with her heart, she failed to grasp on anything but skeptical rationality to act as her aid in these trying times.

Did you not feel the same? Did you not sense the way her posture improved around you? The lingering of her eyes upon your own, lips and neck?

What about the tremble of her fingers? The way her lips pronounce your name with care and precision, not rushing a single letter nor skimming on any of the vowels.

It's easy to predict the future as a bystander when it came to other people, but it was much harder to see the forest for the trees when you were the rat running lost through these seemingly convoluted wooden mazes.

Without her usual deduction to relay on, Yulia felt at her wits end as she wrote you a letter, pouring out the contents of her brain on the off-white pages.

From rushed handwriting and smuged ink, to dents where the metalic tip of the fountain pen was pressed too hard against the fragile paper.

From incomprehensible paranoid theories on why you weren't receptive to outright helpless confessions of yearning for you, of sleepless nights under the cruel apathetic empty vacuum of space above.

She sends it before she changes her mind. If you were meant to leave, you would've done it eventually. Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong, Murphy's law.

So she might as well show you the inner workings of her cursed mind early on.

As she leaves the letter in the mailbox to be delivered, her chest feels stuffed with cotton, her arms ragdoll against her side, her heart aches.

The inevitable sunrise arrives to proclaim the start of a new day.

Yulia is leaning against the wall that faces the front door to the trammel. Her coat was thrown on the clothes hanger, and the ribbon on her grey cardigan is untied.

The ticking of the wooden clock nearby is getting on her nerves. She considers the logistics of getting away with throwing it in a dumpster bin outside before setting the whole thing ablaze.

...Too unlikely, the Saburovs live a mere bridge away, and Alexander might not let arson slide.

A faint sound of footsteps brings her out of drifting through the abyss of her mind, just behind the door.

Someone's rummaging through their bag, the sound of papers being flipped.

Envelopes to be precise, the mailman no doubt.

Yulia moves closer, catching the letter sliding through the opening in the door before it hits the ground.

Your name is at the top in the sender's box.

And at the bottom, hers is addressed.

Hesitation sinks in the bottom of her stomach before she closes her eyes and forces her hands to move. Opening the letter carefully, unfolding the paper inside.

She takes a deep breath, the fresh air stings her lungs.

The second she opens her eyes, she immediately scans the page whole. Searching through the polite sentences for any hint of rejection, skimming through the pleasantries part to get to the main topic.

Numbers are shifting again, the strings of fate are being stretched thin. Roads are deconstructed and new connections are built.

The letter falls from her hand.

All she can hear is the loud contrasting and release of her heart against her ribcage.

You return her feelings.

It was foretold. She reminds herself, it was written.

But that does nothing to quell the waves of relief washing over her, the adrenaline swimming through her blood fizzling out into ambrosia making her stumble forward as she picks up the letter, head light and filled with stars.

She immediately goes for her hanged coat, picking her cane and walking out the door with little care to the unkept hairstyle she woke up with this morning.

Going straight to your house.

For all the roads in the town will take her there.

That day marks the start of your flourshing relationship.

It's not perfect. It has its ups and downs. Through thick and thin, the two of you make it work.

Yulia picks up her old hobby of playing the cello more and more with you around, enjoying an audience of one as you sit nearby and indulge in a book or a craft.

Romantic words aren't her forte, but physical affectionate is what she can't get enough of.

Cuddling on a warm, lazy afternoon, laying her head on your lap, intertwining your fingers together outside while drinking in the pub or getting lunch.

Especially enjoys buring her face against your neck, the feathery press of her lips against your pulse point. The way her hand rests against your thigh.

Her ideas of dates are usually things she would've enjoyed doing alone and wants to share them with you.

Surprisingly, she prefers having you do the planning and making the chocies when it comes to date nights.

She is fascinated by your mind, why you do the things you do, why do you like the things you like.

You offer her a peak into your world each time you indulge her and prepare for the date or keep a conversation going yourself.

Yulia is very content in observing you being yourself. It's one of her highest forms of entertainment.

Another way she shows love is how she always repairs something in your house whenever you have her over.

Or well, whenever she invites herself over unannounced because she was feeling lonely but wants plausible deniability of having a heart.

Fixing that wobbling chair that's giving you trouble, installing the new faucet for the sink you've been putting off.

Even sewing the holes in your favourite clothes in her spare time.

Of course, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, which is why she lays on your lap afterwards, expecting compliments, praise, and for you to play with her hair.

Your hands are her favourite part of you. The way she can hold them, kiss your knuckles and press her cheek against the palm.

The way your fingers move through the strands of her hair eases the pain of her migraines. Yulia usually isolates herself in a room in those days, even something as simple as sunlight feels like razors rattling inside her skull. The slightest sound painful on her aching mind.

She is the most difficult to deal with on those days, where the abyss starts whispering back to her on how doom is inevitable.

All things will end, so what's the point of trying? Everything and everyone is finite.

Even the love you two share.

Be patient with her. That's all she asks of you.

Her nerves can't take much more cruelty.

And you are. Waiting for your beloved each time with open arms for her to fall into. Gently reassuring her that you do return her feelings, that the love will still be worth it even if it turns sour in the future.

That she is worth trying for. Fighting fate for. The world will have to rip her out of the safety of your arms for you to give her up.

And Yulia believes you. having blind faith in someone else's words for the first time in her life.

The two of you would go to bed afterwards, where her body slots perfectly behind yours. Cuddling you close to her chest, arms wrapping around you to keep you close.

Her breathing slows down, her world isn't going to end just yet.

Yulia finds her respite amidst the veins of your heart, curling on herself inside them and shutting the door. Proclaiming the delicate organ for her own, careful to mend, and repair every broken shattered part as you hold her whole in the safety of your chest.

"I'm not crying, my eyes are just watering."

#♧Yulia #yulia lyuricheva #Yulia lyuricheva x reader #pathologic #pathologic x reader #x reader #♧fluff #♧hurt/comfort #♧romance #gn reader

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shmowder · 3 months

Note

It was such a treat to read your Yulia hcs!! Earlier you'd made a post wondering what your writing feels like to others. Sometimes I'd liken it to bubble gum - like a big gumball I just want to bite into and chew for a long time (don't worry, it's a magical gumball that doesn't lose its flavor).

The Yulia hcs were like a pastry with powdered sugar and cream (no doubt this is influenced by you mentioning the pastry at the beginning) - something delicate. Like snow falling in a snow globe and like a warm hug at the same time. Lovely ♡ I appreciate that you always take care to mention her leg as well.

I love both kinds of food!!!!! Thank you for taking the time to write my requests :) <3

Ooh, ships! I haven't ventured very far into any Patho ships tbh! I know the big one is Daniil x Artemy ofc. I'm really hoping that the Marble Nest and P1 will help me connect with Daniil more. And I do enjoy Artemy x Aglaya.

What I meant was more along the lines of what personality traits in a reader would make them a good match for those characters? Uhh I cannot phrase this to save my life. In your Victor x reader fluff, you said that a stubborn confident reader would do well with him, so something like that!

But you basically answered my question anyway ^^ "Someone who can stand her enough to live together" for Yulia lmfao. Your description of Peter and Yulia is killing me. This too is #girlrotting.

I'm interested to see how Yulia x Eva plays out in P1 or if it's just mentioned in passing. Somebody on reddit described Eva as "a dreamer without a dream" - I barely know her but that seems to match up with what you're saying and I LOVE that phrase.

I see both of your Bad Grief visions and I've actually seen some vaguely shippy Victor x Grief art before.

I'm not too invested in any ships. If you want to know something terrible... I've briefly entertained the idea of Big Vlad x Artemy........ if he didn't always call Artemy "my boy" and if other characters weren't frequently accusing Artemy of being like, owned by him or whatever, then I wouldn't be like this..... it's the guard dog trope. Obviously this would have to be in an alternate universe where Artemy's dialogue choices didn't strongly imply he's not on board 😆 Well, there's my cursed opinion of the day.

🐿️ anon

Oh! I'm sorry, i must have misunderstood your request then.

Here is what I think the "ideal" Reader for each character would be:

Katerina Saburova

Someone who would never lose faith in her no matter how dire her state becomes. To see her value hidden beneath the role she failed to play, the responsibility she failed to fullfill and the Misteress she couldn't amount to.

To understand her pain, take it from her shoulder and carry it before her collarbones crack. Wipe her tears and tell her it will be okay, allow her the small relief of medicine and never judge her because her cruel harsh mind already does that.

She knows she is a mess, she knows her addiction to morphine is wrong. Moments of lucidity sneak up on her from time to time, the guilt suffocating and the shame like razors dragging down her throat.

She is aware of what the town people whisper behind her back, of her ruined reputation. Don't become one of them too, please, more than anything she needs a friend right now.

Someone to love her unconditionally, but also someone to take the difficult steps her in stead. To hold her and comfort her as withdrawal set her nerves on fire and her nails dig into her skin.

To make her forget about this damned town or her barren womb, grant her a moment of genuine peace, a facade of normalcy. Take her outside, let her remember the smell of fresh air, pluck stray dandelions to gently tuck between her hairstrands, keep her warm in your arms as the chilly autumn winds breeze by.

Remind her how life was before all of this madness, who she was. Katerina can't even recall her own hobbies or interests, she is lost and only she can save herself.

So at least be there for her, show her that there is more to life. Be gentle, never cruel. Be patient and never judgmental. Be loving and never afraid.

Yulia Lyuricheva

As pathetic as it might sound, Yulia just wants one soul who will stand her enough to spend time together, to live in the same house and share bread and a bed.

She is often quiet around other people, she learned to be. She had to. Being too much was her curse for this lifetime, apparently. Ever since she was young, she quickly understood how saying the wrong things would tremble down the fragile foundation every relationship is built on.

Yulia likes most people, believe it or not. How can she not when everyone is so interesting and unique? Every single person is the accumulative of all the choices and paths they picked during their lifetime. A coin toss of fate during every decision, red strings weaving into a whole person, scouplting their personality out of clay from their history and experiences.

Most humans are interesting and rather adorable. She enjoys observing them, making notes, and connecting the dots. Appreciating the work of art, mathematics' creation.

Each of them like naive children in a playground, pretending to know what they're doing as they wear their adult clothes and go to their adult jobs. Pretending there is some inherent meaning in it all, as if life isn't one big joke, and a rather tactless one at that.

Yulia couldn't fool herself like them. She couldn't play make-believe. She ran by facts and hard evidence, numbers never lied and the grim reality was that humanity's whole existence is just one big coincidence. A blep in the universe, a speck of dust amidst the galaxies and stars.

People didn't like being reminded of those facts, that every birthday is simply one inch deeper into the grave.

Damn her cursed tongue and restless mind.

Therefore she watered herself down, remained content with being an observer. Never causing harm or annoying others, mild mannered and keeping to herself. Isolating, suffocating, forced to be the only victim subjected to the dark corners of her mind.

When the abyss started to whisper to her back, Yulia turned to smoking.

She wants someone who would want her, all of her. The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. Someone to admire her brilliant mind while remaining strong in the face of her occasion episodes of apathy. Someone who will understand or at least sympathise why she hasn't cleaned her room in weeks, why old coffee mugs are rotting on the table, why she barely opens the windows in her home.

Why she simply cannot bother to exist on some days, dissociating as she blankly stares out the window, or at a wall or an equation drawn on the chalk board.

Why the clocks in her residence require frequent repairs, courtesy to being smashed against the wall in a swift motion when their ticking starts making her ears bleed.

Could someone even stand her when she cannot stand her own self on most days? Could someone love her as she is? Or is she really irredeemable, cursed since birth.

She may seem smart, but she is prone to rather stupid impulsive decisions from time to time. Indulging life risking experiments out of curiosity because she might as well go down in her own style rather than wait for time ungratefully reap her soul.

Someone who will get her out of bed on the days where the idea of chewing food seems too exhausting.

Yulia doesn't want someone who will gift her meaning and a purpose on a silver plate, rather she'd like for you to kindly hold the candle and shine the light so she may find her way herself. It's been years, and she's gotten used to living in the dark.

Be sympathetic but not overindulgent. Be forgiving and not vindictive. Be her shoulder to lean on but still let her walk on her own two legs. Steady her steps but do not lead her or attempt to diverge her path.

Peter Stamatin

He might make it seem like he needs a muse, that a shiny new thing is what will get him out of this rut.

But it won't, all the nymphs of the forest will look dull after one night, all the gems will lose its shine after one touch.

What he needs, is to wake up.

To stop mourning things immediately after their birth, to not borrow grief from tomorrow and keep reliving it each day.

What he needs is the mundane, the human animal basic requirements. To remember he is a mammal deep down, he isn't a concept nor an abstract collection of ideas, he isn't a ghost watching people pass by, he is flesh and blood.

Someone who will bring him back down from his journey up in the clouds, who will steal him back from the stars, from all the gaint things bigger than life itself that he got accustomed to befriending and haveing one sided conversations with.

He cuts his own thoughts before he finishes them because he lost interest, he stops mid sentences because he grew bored of the words coming out of his own mouth.

He will complain and throw tantrums, but you must prevail his trails and stand your ground. He will dramatise things and get mad, he will cry and break down, he will act as if you're plucking his heart out of his chest and crushing it in your hand.

You must prevail.

Remind him that he will survive. Sure, he can get mad, but he must stay alive. Peter needs an intervention, someone brave enough to risk upsetting the crowned prince of humanity's best of the best and tell him it's bedtime.

To drag him away from the blank canvas he has been staring at for hours, to hold him accountable for skipping meals or rotting in bed for weeks without going outside.

Someone to reteach him the basic maintenances task of being alive, the ones he neglected and gradually forgot as he couldn't bother to remember he too own a human body that requires care. That his brain is an organ that requires fuel and breaks as much as it is visions-plagued maze.

Take him with you to bathe, gently lather shampoo in his hair as he stiffly sits in the lukewarm water while watching the yellow rubber duck float by. Guide his fingers when it comes time to apply conditioner and let him remember how the texture of his own hair feels like, watch him rediscover how nice it is to let water wash his worries away.

Peter needs the simple pleasures in life, his soul requires a soft served ice cream cone, a cheap candy from a corner store, a hummed melody you made up while hanging your clothes to dry.

The mundane, the ugly, the eggs with burnt edges. Food that is merely food and nothing else, drinks that are simply drinks rather than magical twyrine mixtures that let him hear whispers he will never be able to decipher or understand.

Be firm but never controlling. Be a teacher but never condescending. Be a human, most of all, a real human being to show him that he is too.

Bad Grief

Grief can't decide if he wants someone to see the good in him or if that would cause more harm than good. He has a role to play and he's very good at it.

It is a necessary evil. The gangs will exist with or without him, it's better that he leads them and makes sure they never cross the line than someone else who might not be trusted.

A cause surprisingly more noble than anyone would ever expect of him. This life has fallen directly into his hands, every road led him down his path as if it was custom made for his measurements alone. It was always suspicious, how well things fell into place, how convenient fate was at times.

Does he need someone to see the good in him? peak behind the curtains and view him at his most barest forms? Not really. He is content with playing this role for eternity, a glorified shopkeeper, he can keep the jig up for many years to come.

But is it what he wants? is that what he really wants from life? to surrender to fate and simply take it laying down? He pushes these swarming thoughts away, as if they won't return at dawn.

You didn't fear him, either someone with a death wish, a brave fool or an apathetic idiot.

But he felt weird under your gaze, as if your eyes could see through him, through the facade. You never reacted to his empty threats or intimidation attempts, neither did you acknowledge the fact he is a criminal much. You weren't here to challenge him or take his throne, neither were you here for a favour or to obtain something illegal.

...you were merely here for him? To what... chat?

He did think you were a fool for a while, he won't lie. ulterior motives or not, you were walking into a den of criminals each morning just to what? Talk to him about the weather and how cold autumn is?

You weren't part of the script, clearly an unfated encounter that you deliberately went out of your way to have with him each day.

Until one day, he noticed the lack of any ticking sounds as you approched him. Your usual pocket clock seemed still in place from the chain dangling from your pocket, which could only mean one thing.

"Hand it over dollface."

And you did, as if you anticipated this request.

He fixed it for you, fingers moving by sheer muscle memory alone, a skill he thought he had long forgotten.

Bad Grief wants someone who isn't afraid to be free, who comprehends the role he has to play, who doesn't condemn things they do not understand.

Someone who isn't trying to save him or make him change from this life of crime, but also someone who is brave enough to walk by his side on the streets, to hold his hand in public, to not bend to the whims of the public's opinion.

The air is really chilly, would you like his jacket? ....don't ever call him a gentleman again, he just doesn't want you to freeze to death, that's all.

Grief would love someone who walks their own path, someone who will make the first step for him because deep down he is frozen by fear, too cautious for his own good. Too aware of what's at risk, of what could happen.

Of how much he could endanger you just by knowing your name, just by people seeing you at his side. You do realise what you're sacrificing? the opportunities which will never be presented to you just because you decided to be with someone like him? It's your funeral.

But he really is touched, that someone will see him worth all of that. Bad Grief had to ensure he remains useful to people all his life, that the townfolks need him more than they hate, that he is a necessary foundation that could never be uprooted without the entire structure collapsing.

Even the authorities know that, the Saburov understand his usefulness in keeping the criminal structure plates at bay, how he sets the rules and decides where to draw the line. A mutual beneficial relationship built of begrudging respect and fear.

He needs you to understand that he must. He digged his own grave, he was lead here on a leash by life. It was this or death. Don't look at him with distant, don't let fear cloud your judgements.

Be brave, never afraid. Be direct and always sincere. Be smart and clever but never cautious or cowardly. Be moral but never vendective.

Most important of all, the ideal reader would be different to each character based on what they value most. Someone like Aglaya values personal freedom above all and would fall for an independent Reader with their own convictions rather than blindly follow the herd. Someone authentic and brave.

While someone like Alexander Saburov would rather be that person for the reader. Preferring that you're more dependent on him and believe in his notions and principles, having faith in his justice and righteousness. To rely on him to tell you what's right and what's wrong. It's important to only indulge within limit and never stray too far from the path of what's wrong and right.

On the other extreme, Andrey also values freedom but it is his own freedom he cares most about. Your freedom shouldn't challenge his too much nor ask him to change his ways, if you love him then you must love him for who he is because he doesn't plan on changing for anyone. Morals are treated as another cage that suppresses his freedom rather than human decency.

My own writing tastes like a gumball to you- I know you meant it as a good thing but ouch. Does my writing really seem childish and overwhelmingly sugary? Ah-

It's not a bad thing, it's just not what I was aiming for either. At least you seem to enjoy it so yeah. I hoped my style would seem more... poetic to you? Sincere?

I'm grateful regardless. I liked the pastry comparison in Yulia's story, however. It fits the vibe I was aiming for.

I hope your day is amazing, do please take care of yourself.

#♧🐿 anon #♧character study #♧comfort #♧fluff #♧angst #♧Grief #♧katerina #♧Peter #♧Yulia #♧x reader #pathologic x reader #Yulia Lyuricheva x reader #peter stamatin x reader #Katerina Saburova x reader #bad Grief x reader #x reader #fluff #angst

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shmowder · 2 months

Note

Could I please request a second part to the "What their kiss feels like" drabbles? With Yulia, Aglaya, Katerina, + Victor if you can forgive me for breaking the unspoken girls-only rule (that I just made up in my head)

🐿️ anon

Don't worry, Vicky is basically one of the girls, so it's fine to include him as a little treat. Hell, I'll throw in his oomfie Sasha as well.

What their kiss feels like

[fluff, kissing, romance, GN Reader]

Aglaya Lilich

Her lips are cold, bare and soft like cotton. They press against yours with reassured confidence, slotting perfectly in place. Ghosting her lips over yours for a stretched out second, observing you squirming in anticipation. Just as you're about to speak, she fully closes her mouth against yours, swallowing your words and relishing in the look of surprise on your face. The flat of her palm resting against your chest, as if toying with the strings of your heart. She tastes of nothing, strangely.

She kisses you as if it was her one purpose in life, as if this one simple act was all that this universe was created for. More sensual than you'd ever expect from the fearsome inquisitor, it's tantalising and calm, soothing yet blunt. A faint smile adorns her lips in the aftermath, Aglaya seems content with her life for a moment.

Yulia Lyuricheva

Her lips are dry more often than not. She tends to forget to occasionally drink water and other menial tasks alike. Sometimes, you taste bitter coffee at the tip of her tongue, othertimes it's the sour aftermath taste of a cigarette smoke. It takes coaxing to get her to fully melt into a kiss, let her guard down, snuff out the cigarette and replace it with your lips against hers. And then it takes even more effort to get her to let go when all she wants is to overdose on your taste.

She kisses you as if it's her one solace from despair, lethargic in her slow movement, slowly regaining her vigour through each peck and kiss. Kissing her is the only way to get her to shut up when nothing kind seems to come out of her mouth that day.

Katerina Saburova

Erratic and hungry, greedly chasing after your lips whenever you pull away for air, your lungs burning inside your chest as her blown wide pupils meet your eyes, silently pleading for you to give her just a little bit more. The taste of her lipstick is... exactly how you'd expect makeup to taste like, leaving stains and marks alongside your lips and smearing around the corners of your mouth. Her arms fully wrap around your shoulders, taking a hold of your nape and guiding you towards her. You're pressed impossible close that her perfume latches onto you for hours to come afterwards, a lavender fragrance following in your trail.

She kisses you as if she's only been kissed once before and spent the rest of her life chasing after that high, attempt after attempt to replicate that feeling, starved for affection and devotion.

Victor Kain

His lips are relatively soft, well taken care of. There's a subtle taste of mint that becomes more prominent the deeper the kiss goes. Was it his morning toothpaste or one of the chocolate mint candies he kept in a bowl on his desk for guests? His hands immediately find your waist, simply holding you there, thumbs moving back and forth on your sides. You almost get the impression he'd rather do this sitting down, to get you comfortable on his lap so he may prolong this act of intimacy to his heart's content.

He kisses you with gentleness, it's almost suffocating how delicately he treats you. Measured movement preventing him from crossing the line of "barely enough" Keeping you aching and seeking more. Never quite satisfying your appetite as he pulls away before you could have your fill, only to start the process all over again.

Alexander Saburov

His lips are thin, chapped almost, and pressed tightly closed more often than not. the after shave stubble surrounding his mouth scratches your skin in a good way, slightly ticklish. He apologetically changes his position in an attempt to get you more comfortable. His posture is straight, stiff shoulders loosening as he melts into your kiss as the tips of his fingers glide down your back. Sometimes, he tastes like honey, just like how sweet he likes his morning tea.

He kisses you in moderation, with abstinence in mind. As if you're the world's greatest temptation, his very own personal tormentor. The river of styx, he must resist drinking from least everything else he deems important might vanish from his memory.

#♧🐿 anon #x reader #pathologic x reader #♧x reader #♧Alexander #♧Victor #♧Yulia #♧Katerina #♧Aglaya #Alexander Saburov x reader #Victor kain x reader #Aglaya Lilich x reader #Katerina Saburova x reader #Yulia Lyuricheva x reader #♧fluff

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shmowder · 3 months

Note

Humbly requesting Yulia x reader nsfw headcanons when you've got time, please <3

🐿️ anon

Yulia Smut Headcanons

[Smut, Fluff, Disability Accommodation, Gentle Top Yulia, Strap, Slow burn]

[Yulia Lyuricheva x Gender Neutral Reader]

Her lips are bittersweet, a hint of lemon, the aftermath of a cigarette.

She is generous with her affection, indulging her whims to shower you with kisses whenever the mood strikes.

Life is too short for Yulia to deny herself this simple pleasure.

The subtle smile on her lips whenever your knees touch while sitting together.

The way you tuck any stray hair strands back into place behind her ear.

The small touches she's delighted by.

Observing you eating the pastry she bought fresh from the bakery this morning, reaching over to wipe the white cream from the corner of your lips.

Licking the whipped e cream off of her thumb.

Offering you a graceful smile afterwards.

Toying with the strings of your tender heart.

Where and when are trivial matters to her when it comes public affection.

Yet every sensual word and less than innocent touch still hold an air of decorum to them.

Only Yulia can make an airy brush of her lips against your neck seem like an appropriate thing to do during a Town Hall meeting.

Or maybe she enjoys seeing your flustered reaction, the way you try to suppress it to not grant her the satisfaction.

Turning your head away from her, unintentionally exposing even more of your neck.

Tempting her in broad daylight.

If Yulia wasn't a better person, she would've taken it as an invitation.

How fortunate for her that she isn't better.

A second peck against your sensitive skin, just above the previous one.

You take a deep breath, She feels your throat expand against her lips.

Brushing her nose against it, moving upwards until she teases the sensitive skin under your earlobe with a third kiss.

That's when you remember the fact you have hands which can be used to cover your neck with.

Looking like the cat that swallowed a canary, Yulia simply leans back into her original seat.

Pure satisfaction painted across her face.

A little teasing every now and then is more her forte.

However, she prefers privacy and an actual bed for anything more.

Her leg doesn't allow her much flexibility for anything else.

As much as wants to pull you into her lap, have you squirm and paw against her shirt as she brings you to the brink of euphoria, She knows it's an extremely bad idea to put any weight on her injuried leg.

And you have to be the one to remind her of that after Yulia empties a glass or three of liquid courage.

Insisting it's fine, she doesn't care, nothing matters really least of all her leg so please come sit on her lap. Don't be so cruel to deny your lover this.

But you must stay firm and look out for her wellbeing when her more impulsive habits peak through. Ideas that are clearly bad, yet she is keen on entertaining.

It doesn't take much convincing to coax her into your shared bed instead, helping her lay down, bringing her a glass of water.

Yulia's blinking at you slowly, a glossiness in her wet eyes. Staring at the glass in her hands, tilting it to the side to watch the water sway.

Such a little thing, such a small gesture.

So why is she so moved by it?

You hold her as she sobers up, run your hand up and down her back, drawing circles with your fingers.

Let her cling to your body like you're her comfort, solace and haven.

Drifting in aimlessly in a dark ocean, you're the anchor pulling her back to the shore whenever the waves sway her too far.

Her hands slide under your shirt, feeling your chest.

Silently pleading with her eyes to take off your clothes, to grant her mercy and let her feel your body against her own.

Of course you oblige, you wouldn't want to break her heart for a second time in one night.

Helping her with her own clothes afterwards.

Not falling into the honey trap, she lays out for you each time you try and unbutton her shirt, trying to rush you into doing it faster to join her in bed.

Coaxing you into her lap again, relentless in her pursuit.

You reach a middle ground by keeping your pressure off of her lap, carrying your weight by your knees on each side of her leg as you climb on top of her on the bed.

She's still over the moon at this notion, feeling every inch of your skin with her hands. As if she was tracing invisible lines, mapping your body whole, memorising its texture.

Overindulging in your lips, moving her mouth to your neck and chest. Leaving a trail of hickies behind.

Nothing majore, she never wishes to cause you pain even the delicious thrilling kind. She does the absolute bare minimum in order to mark your skin, just a proof of her being affecting your own.

Yulia enjoys using her hands to bring you pleasure, nimble fingers easily playing you like an instrument.

Making you moan for her, sing and whimper her name.

She's not very vocal in bed. Rather, her voice takes a deeper more raspy tone.

Feigning ignorance when you subtly ask for more, attempting to grind faster into her hand or whine louder for her to take notice.

Asking you to use your words, you'll have to forgive her rather slow mind.

Oh, she perfectly understood you the first time. She just wanted to stretch out the moment more.

Yulia especially enjoys it when you're confess how good she's making you feel.

When you swallow your pride and become forward with your requests.

It's ten times more delicious when you start off as shy and embarrassed, having her work you open until you're pliant and obedient to her every request.

Rewarding you with an innocent peck on the cheek afterwards.

Yulia isn't big on being penetrated herself. Fingers are more than enough for her.

Better get, she can easily get her pleasure from simply grinding against you. She is more of a giver than taker and would rather remain attentive to you in bed than the other way around.

But if you suggest that you'd enjoy it if she used a strap, she'd be delightfully surprised.

They're perfect for her, to be able to watch a part of her going inside you. Filling you up inch by inch as the pleasure overwhelm you.

The way the base slightly rubs against her clit with every thrust, the mild amount of pleasure is perfectly what she's looking for.

She gets to focus on you, on unravelling you in her grasp as you move your hips up and down, fucking yourself against her.

Grasping your hips in her hands, gently squeezing them and letting go, repeating the soothing motion to get you to relax.

Pushing more of herself inside you, completely entranced by the view of you underneath her.

How mesmerising you looked, how Yulia wished she could stay here forever.

Freeze this moment of time to relive it for eternity.

You make her feel alive.

Rocking her hips back and forth, setting the slow pace.

A pillow underneath her leg protecting it from the pressure of her own body.

But Yulia is nothing if not prone to prolonging things, getting lost in the moment and stretching it out for as long as possible.

The wince of discomfort escaping her lips doesn't slip by you, her leg was growing numb from this position and can't handle more.

You cup her face with your hands, getting her eyes to meet yours. Flushed face and hazey eyes, her hair is a mess as sweat glistens on her forehead.

You tell her to lay back, rest and let herself be taken care of.

The discomfort might have been going on for a while because Yulia doesn't argue with your suggestion.

A sigh of relief follows as she turns to lay on her back, stretching her leg and feeling the blood rush back to it.

Watching you climb on top of her, carefully positioning your legs on both sides of her hips.

She had the same look in her eyes when you handed her the glass of water.

Oh how wonderful it is to be loved.

You took her strap in your hand, making a show of rubbing it. Knowing how much it would amuse her even if she couldn't feel it

Raising your hips and slowly sinking into it, feeling Yulia's hand move to grasp your thighs. Slowly guiding you downwards with care.

Yulia looked at you as if you've hung the stars in the night sky as you moved up and down, still letting her feel in control and set the pace.

Her ograsm was building up, it was a miracle she lasted this long and didn't immediately finish the first time she slid herself into your warm body.

Refusing to close her eyes, her lips pressed tightly shut as she watched you move. Every part of your body bouncing up and down, soley for her eyes to feast upon, her lover.

The thread snapped as you grinded down against her strap, making the base press harder into her clit.

You really wanted to set her nerves on fire didn't you?

The waves of pure bliss rippling through her body, a sweetness heavy on her tongue, sliding down smoothly down her throat.

Breathless and freshly out of climax.

You leaned forward, cradling her face in your hand.

She leaned into your touch, turning her head to press a kiss onto the inside of your plam.

Never could she comprehend just how touch starved she was before meeting you.

Yulia still insisted on keeping going, she wasn't satisfied until you are.

What kind of lover would she be if her lover is still needy and unfulfilled by the end.

Sitting up to lean her back against the bed headboard, Yulia hungrily pulls you into another kiss.

Swallowing your moans as her hands move your hips to a faster pace, tilting her thrusts and angling it just right to brush against that rough patch of skin inside you.

grinding into your insides, enjoying the feeling of your arms wrapping around her neck.

Your fingers weaving into her head, never quite pulling but more stabilising yourself by holding it.

With her attentive nature and gentle touches, it doesn't take long to have your thighs shaking as you find your release amidst the soft pleasures.

Yulia holds you through your orgasm, feeling your cum pooling onto her lap.

Telling you how divine you look, how euphoria suits you.

What an addicting sight this is, how someone lesser than her might just get lost in it and ask for more and more.

How unfortunate that she isn't lesser.

The two of you move to the bathtub afterwards, soaking in the warmth and letting the water wash your innocent sins of lust away.

Yulia argues if it's really sinful then how come it tasted so sweet.

She treats this more as a relaxing opportunity than an actual shower, only bothering to rinse her hair with water.

Afterwards it's off to bed with fresh new sheets. Yuilia piles the old ones on the floor, saying she is too exhausted to throw them in the laundry basket, might do it tomorrow... if she remembers.

A light atmosphere, the sound of the rustling sheets as both of you get cosy underneath.

One final goodnight kiss, Yulia's serene smile before closing her eyes.

You've noticed how frequent these smiles were becoming these days after being a scarce delicacy for a long time.

How even in her sleep, her hand still find yours to intertwine your fingers together.

#♧Yulia #♧smut #♧x reader #Yulia Lyuricheva x reader #pathologic x reader #x reader #gn reader #♧🐿 anon

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