#chess bishop x chess knight
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can you draw chess bishop x chess knight with rook x the guillotine please 🙏
I honestly don’t know how to draw ship art beside like the grim and Wally one
But my apologies that it’s a sketch ( and the next post )
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Cuphead 5th Anniversary!!
「adiós Casablanca」
#Cuphead#cuphead oc#cuphead dlc#the cuphead show#muguman#ms chalice#the king's leap#chess pawns#chess knight#chess bishop#chess rook#chess queen#chess king#cuphead devil#king dice#henchman#oc x canon#vocaloid songs#masa works design#animation
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a game of wizards chess on a rainy day
~∞~ i've never written for enzo before but my mutuals (love you all🫶🏼) have slowly been turning me into an enzo girlie 🤭🤭 this if for week three of @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge!!
pairing: enzo berkshire x fem!slytherin reader, platonic mattheo riddle x reader
prompt: wizards chess/"you filthy cheater, we go again!"
warning(s): none its all fluff!!!
The weekend's rainy weather brought with it a sense of serenity and peace as it swept across the Scottish highlands like a flurrying storm. The castle grounds were barren of people, everyone making the unanimous decision to avoid the heavy downpour that had steadily been building in a crescendo all week. The corridors were even emptier, avoided by those who wanted to escape the cold, only the odd person running late to a detention, or for a quick stop in the kitchens, could be seen or heard amongst the chattering painting and silently gliding ghosts.
The common rooms however, were teeming with students, from all year groups. In the Slytherin common room, you and your friends had been some of the lucky few to snag a small grouping of pleated seats, right beside a roaring fire. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that one of said friends was the feared Dark Lord's son, but either way, you were grateful that you could relax by the fire for a few hours, soaking up what little warmth the dungeons could provide in such miserable weather conditions.
Except that you feel anything but relaxed right now. You had somehow found yourself sitting across the small coffee table from Enzo, a fierce game of wizards chess playing out between the two of you. It was common knowledge, between you and your friends, that you absolutely sucked at it, but that didn't stop you from trying, and failing, to beat Enzo at his own favoured game.
You jumped back on your haunches as his bishop savagely destroyed one of your lone pawns and gaped as he jumped up and cheered at his small victory, ignoring the way students around him violently shushed him with scowling faces. Your friends, who only paid sporadic attention to the pair of you, smirked as Enzo sneakily glanced your way, to watch how your face would scrunch in barely restrained irritation.
"And he strikes again!" He says with a cheer, that has Draco glaring at him from over his Potions homework with narrowed eyes. Enzo vehemently ignores him in favour of watching the way your face shifts between a million and one emotions in a split second. "I'm like two moves away from checkmate, sweetheart. Are you sure you can handle losing, again?"
The way he's smirking at you, with mirth painting his face, those brilliantly vibrant eyes of his shining as he stares across the table at you, has a blush fighting it's way up your neck. You scowl at him, menacingly.
"No one likes a show off, Berkshire." You snap, as you move your last remaining rook to take his knight. When Mattheo and Theo snicker from behind you, you turn and rapidly send a glare worthy of one of their own that has them covering their faces to try and hide their laughter from you. Even Draco, who'd been more withdrawn lately, had let out a quiet chuckle.
Sorry love. Mattheo says to you wordlessly and you narrow your glare, solely, on him. But you're not doing a very good job at this.
"Well there's no need to laugh at my misfortune, Matt." You reply and he smirks as he watches the way Enzo looks questioningly between you and him, before he moves another one of his pieces, putting you in checkmate.
You turn towards the table again as you hear the sound of shattering porcelain, watching as your rook is destroyed by his queen, which is now somehow in line with your king piece. You search the board for somewhere you can go, and come up agonisingly empty. You gape at the smug boy across from you.
"You filthy cheater!" You accuse and Enzo sends you a smirk that could bring you to your knees at anytime of the day.
"I did no such thing, sweetheart." He says, but the mischief shining in his russett eyes makes you believe otherwise. "Maybe you should pay attention next time."
His words ignite a challenge within you and you steel yourself as the pair of you become locked into a heated staring contest. In your peripheral, you watch as your friends whisper conspicuously between each other, but you pay them no mind.
Huffing you use your wand to fix and rearrange the pieces to their original positions.
"We go again!" You say resolutely, kneeling closer to the table, as if it would somehow make your wizards chess abilities rise to the surface. But you knew that it was wishful thinking.
Ready to lose again, sweetheart? Enzo speaks to you wordlessly, and your glare intensifies at the way his voice lowers a decibel or two, making it a low rasp in your head. I promise I'll go easy on you. He's smirking to himself as he moves the first piece.
And the cycle continues for another hour, until Blaise lets out an aggrieved sigh and takes your place. You sit beside Pansy huffing as you cross your arms over your chest, casting a look of contempt at Enzo, who does a terrible job of hiding his smug face. After half an hour, their game is a close one, and Blaise only just beats Enzo with a move of pure luck.
The latter comes to sit beside you after that, the game becoming abandoned on the table, an arm reaching across the back of the sofa, hand tracing featherlight patterns against your jumper covered shoulder. He's staring at the side of your face, tracing the way your hair falls in rippling waves as you tilt your head in favour of engrossing yourself in a book instead of focusing on him.
"Still bitter that I won, sweetheart?" He murmurs, leaning in close so that his lips brush the shell of your ear.
The twitch of your lip is the only thing that gives away that you hear him, but you choose to ingore him in favour of finishing the chapter, or at least you try to.
Since Enzo had sat down, you'd read the same sentence at least five times now. He pokes your shoulder with the hand that had been previously caressing it and you turn to him, breath hitching imperceptibly when you realise just how close he is to you.
"I'm only bitter because you cheated. I could've won fair and square." You say, your lips falling into a pout that Enzo desperately wants to kiss away.
"I'm no cheater." He says with enough self assurance that you might be inclined to believe him. "You were the one who turned away from the game."
"Only because Matt distracted me!" You retort, your face moving closer to his on your own accord.
"Perhaps I should put you out of your misery and teach you how to play." He whispers. The tension building between the two of you could be severed by a knife with how palpable the charged atmosphere is.
Said knife appears in the form of Theodore's hushed voice, which sounds fed up as much as it is amused.
"For Salazar's sake, please put us all out of the fucking misery of witnessing this and kiss." It was meant to be a muttered statement between himself and your other friends, but it reaches you nonetheless, causing you to recoil from the close proximity to Enzo, covering your reddening cheeks with your hands.
Enzo doesn't bother to remove his arm from where it practically cradles you into him as he scowls at his best friend. But when you don't move away from his touch, he thanks any god he can think of that you don't shy away from him.
The rest of the afternoon is spent in content silence as you and your friends bask in the murky green glow of the lake, warmed only by the heat of the fire. But you feel heated for a whole other reason, because Enzo's arm is yet to be unwound from your shoulder as you busy yourself with burrowing into his body heat, the position cosy enough for you to settle into finishing your book, and eventually even lulling you to sleep.
Enzo stares down at you with a smile as your book falls limply into his lap. He gingerly picks it up and slides the bookmark, that you'd left on the coffee table, into place before gently putting it on the floor beside your bag. He brings your body closer to his and marvels at the way you instinctively nuzzle your face into his chest, relaxed by the steady beat of his pounding heart.
He places a barely there kiss to the crown of you head and he swears he sees the ghost of a smile gracing your pretty lips.
One day. He'd confess to you one day.
And by the twin looks that he spies on Matt and Theo's faces, that day may come sooner than either of you may think.
~∞~
A little bonus scene:
"I don't understand how the two of them are so oblivious." Pansy says quietly as she watches the way you berate Enzo with no mutinous ammunition behind your words. "They're so obviously in love with eachother."
"Well they are idiots, bella." Theo says with a laugh. "It'll take it being spelled out for them to realise it."
"We cannot meddle with their love lives." Blaise counters, although his glimmering eyes give away that he wants to do exactly that. Draco looks like he agrees.
"Oh come on, B!" Mattheo retorts, a devilish look overtaking his features. "Where's the fun in that?"
"I'll bet twenty galleons that you can't get them to admit it by the end of the month." Pansy offers with a feline smirk and Mattheo's eyes light up in challenge.
"You have yourself a bet, love. Prepared to lose?" He smirks at his friend who only winks back at him before she settles into Theo's side.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that." She says and they all turn to watch the way Enzo blatently stares at you, eternal love shining in his russett eyes. "Enzo's looks like he's about to burst with it."
#hogmarch challenge#lorenzo berkshire x reader#enzo berkshire#lorenzo berkshire#enzo berkshire x reader#mattheo riddle x reader#slytherin boys x reader#fluff#so much fluff
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Hear me out.... Steven with a praise kink 👀
You jokingly call him a good boy (because I call him my human golden retriever) and BAM. Confused boner! You take advantage of it and keep teasing him.
(Marc and Jake would never let him live it down, either)
Ijcioajfidi HELP. THIS. AHHH. I’m not sure why chess playing came into my brain. But here we are, reader likes and plays chess and is pretty good at it.
(Side note: in one typo I wrote ‘chestboard’ instead of ‘chessboard’. You just know my subconscious is thinking about Steven’s boobs.)
Good Boy
Steven Grant x F!Reader Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?
Warnings: INSTANT BONER, p in v sex, teasing, swearing, typos, rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!
Word Count: 2147
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“So, think about how you would stop me.” You said as you looked from the chessboard to Steven.
His brow was furrowed in concentration, his glasses pushed high on his nose. A few rough curls dangled over his forehead as he bit softly at his thumb in thought.
“I could move here?”
“That’s really good.” You smile. “Excellent move, because you’ve also stopped my bishop.” You point to the piece on the board.
Steven smiled. He liked chess, played against the computer occasionally. But it wasn’t much more than a way to pass the time.
However when he found out that you had won some amateur competitions when you were in school, and that you still played regularly, his excitement at the prospect of playing a game with you was so completely heart-warming that you instantly said yes.
In the first game, you’d been determined to go easy on him. Just to get a feel of Steven as a player. You’d accidentally won in less than ten minutes.
There had been a small tinge of panic, a worry that, like some of the previous partners you’d had, he would be annoyed. Instead Steven grinned, thrilled that you’d beaten him and sung your praises until you were so positively overwhelmed you had had to kiss him repeatedly to get him to stop.
This was your second game. He had asked in that delightfully enthusiastic way he had if you could play again, “if it’s not too much trouble love, and you want to of course, don’t want to be annoying, do I? No. But I’d love it if you could teach me some strategies?”
“So I’m going to move here,” you picked up your knight and moved it slowly.
Steven frowned. “But then I can take it?”
“I know.” You grinned.
He paused and looked at you, unable to stop himself from smiling at your glee and then nodded. “Okie dokie, there’s something I’m not seeing then.”
“Is there?” Your innocent tone didn’t fool him for a second.
“There definitely is.”
You chuckled, looking back to the board. “Good boy. Look, take your time, but don’t worry if you can’t find it, I’ll explain.”
There was a long pause. You frowned a little and glanced back to him. His eyes were a little wide, his cheeks dusted with pink. He was sitting stiffly now, his hand clenched into a fist with his knuckles pressed against his mouth.
“Steven?”
“Hmm.” The sound was too quick. He didn’t look up from the board.
“You okay?”
He nodded, a short sharp and very un-Steven-like movement.
You paused for a second, looking at his features carefully as you wondered if Marc or Jake had fronted suddenly. Though, why they would try to hide it from you, you weren’t sure.
On further inspection you were pretty sure that it was Steven.
“You sure you’re okay.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled and swallowed, looking through the board and not seeing it.
“Okay…” You swallowed, watched him for a moment longer before you pointed at your rook. “If you take my knight, I’m going to take your pawn with my rook and you’ll be in check. You can’t take the rook with your queen because then you’d be in check here. So you’d have to move your king like this, and then I could move my other bishop and you’d be in checkmate.”
You looked up at him, chewing your bottom lip. Had he had enough? Was he bored? Fed up of your explanations?
“Okay. Right. So I won’t do that, I’ll move here.” He spoke quickly, still not looking at you.
You nodded, watching his move. “Good, so…”
The moment ‘good’ left your mouth Steven sucked in a breath, shuddering.
A sound you very much recognised.
Oh.
You quickly thought over your previous conversion: move this piece, are you okay, take your time, good boy-
Good boy. That was it.
A small smile stretched across your lips. Steven was still staring, fixated, at the chessboard and didn’t notice. He moved his piece silently.
You waited a beat before you spoke. “That’s a great move Steven, good boy.”
He shivered straight away, his breathing hitched. He tried to cover the sound with his hand as he closed his eyes.
“What’s wrong Steven?” You teased slowly.
His eyes snapped up to yours, wide and embarrassed.
“Don’t you like being called a good boy?”
The smallest groan grumbled in his chest, his muscles tensing.
“Or, is it that you like it a little too much? Hmm? Being my good boy?”
His skin flushed with heat as he glared at you. His eyes dark.
“What?” You bit your lip as you grinned. “A good boy would answer questions when asked.”
“Please.” He whispered.
“Please what?”
“Please stop. Marc’s taking the piss.”
You frowned, the playful tease dropping from your tone. “Why’s Marc taking the piss?” You’d done kinker stuff with all of them, Steven liking being called a ‘good boy’ wasn’t really something to write home about.
Steven sighed, pouting a little as he closed his eyes and took his hand away from his mouth. “Because I’ve got a hard on.”
You bit back the giggle that wanted to spill from your chest. Something about him having to close his eyes to say it was just so perfect. “So?”
“It happened the second you said it.”
“The very second?”
“Hmm.” Steven kept his eyes closed. Interesting.
“So literally, I said it, instant boner.”
“Yep.”
You couldn’t resist one playful tease. “So, if you’re in a park and you hear some say good boy to their dog, is it bam, erection?”
Steven shifted a little as you said those two words, trying his hardest not to moan. His cock was pressing, painfully hard, against the stiff material of his jeans. “No.”
“No?”
“It’s never happened before. And now- Marc, shut the fuck up.” His voice was a little needy until it came time to address his alter.
“Marc behave.” You said kindly. “So… it’s only ever happened now?”
“Hmm.”
“When I said it?”
“Yeah.”
“What happens when I say it again?” You whispered.
Steven squirmed a little, even the thought of you saying it getting him hot under the collar. “Feels… nice. Sort of.” He pushed at his throbbing cock with the heel of his hand and opened his eyes, his head slightly drooped.
“Sort of?”
“Yeah, like… you know, he jumps to attention every time you say it.” He blinked heavily, his cheeks burning. God, you must think he was a right little freak.
“Good boy.”
He groaned, unable to stop the sound in time and looked up at you. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t nice that you were making fun of him like Marc and… oh.
Realisation dawned. You were biting your lip and smiling. You liked it. A lot.
Steven swallowed audibly.
Slowly you stood and walked around the table to stand beside him. Steven pushed out his chair a little, angling it so that he was facing you. He went to stand but you gently pressed on his shoulder. He followed your command and stayed sitting down, looking up at you with pleading eyes.
He played at his jumper sleeve nervously as you watched him. His dick hard and pulsating with need, throbbing in time to his heartbeat.
He swallowed again. “Love-”
“Good boy.”
He moaned softly, screwing his face up as his cock twitched at your words.
You bent down quickly, grabbing hold of his cheeks and kissing him deeply. Using his brief surprise to slip your tongue into his mouth and push him back against the chair.
Steven whimpered against you, his hands coming up to hold your shoulders and the back of your neck as you ravaged his mouth and robbed him of his breath.
“Good boy.” You muttered between the kisses, swallowing his hushed whimpers and soft moans. Revelling in the way he pulled you tighter, needy and desperate for anything you’d give him.
You brushed your hand against his groin, squeezing the outline of his cock.
“Fuck!” Steven hissed, clawing at your top and thrusting up into your touch. The rest of his words were lost as you kissed him hard and lightly bit his bottom lip.
You trailed your lips down to his jaw and neck, sucking at his pulse point and pushing him even further back into the seat.
His breathy moans sent a wave of heat along your spine to your core, twisted in your belly and overwhelmed every thought.
You squeezed his cock again, the heat of him radiating through your hand. “Good boy.”
The words barely left your lip before Steven answered you with an accompanying groan, his length twitching against your palm.
You moaned, so dizzily high with the sounds of his pleasure. Without thinking you undo his belt and unzip his jeans, pulling his trousers and boxers down to his calves in a hurried motion with a little help from Steven as he raises his hips. His cock springs free, needy and weeping with need.
You take him in hand, stroking him twice before pulling his jumper over his head. He whines at the loss, chasing your mouth and kissing you urgently the second the material is off and on the floor.
With your lips desperately pressed to his you pull down your own trousers and underwear, kicking one leg free and not bothering about the other as you take his length back in your hand and straddle his thighs.
Him being so worked up, so desperate for you when you hadn’t even touched him is a stronger aphrodisiac that anything you’d ever experienced.
You don’t even give him a second to react before you’re lining him up with your already soaking entrance and slowly sinking down. “Such a good boy Steven,” you breathe, your voice rising in pitch at the end as he inches deeper, his thick cock splitting you so wide.
He moans headily, pressing his face into your chest and mouthing at the tops of your breast through your top.
“Love, you’re so wet.” He bites his bottom hip, his fingers pressing against your waist hard enough to leave bruises.
You pull at the back of his hair slightly, scratching your nails along his scalp as he finally bottoms out. He pulses within you, twitching and aching and so, so close already.
“You’re my good boy, aren’t you Steven?”
He whined against you as you rocked your hips, quickly starting to lift yourself up and sink back down, setting a brutal pace as you began to bounce on his cock.
“Such a good boy letting me use you like this.”
Steven moaned, chasing your hips and thrusting deep. He was drunk on you, needed you. Every moment, every word you said sent waves of pleasure through his body and made his head spin.
Even in his intoxicated state his muscle memory kicked in, bucking up into you perfectly to make you see stars. Each spot that would break you apart memorised and stored deep within his very soul.
He fucked up into you harder, growling with his desperate need. His leg kicked out and caught against the table's edge, rocking the chessboard and knocking pieces over.
The sound just loud enough to register in his mind. “Sorry, I-“
“Doesn’t matter Steven, please,” you moaned. At this angle the head of him constantly pressed so deep, rubbing consistently over that special spot and not even giving you a chance to breathe. No pause or reprieve from the oncoming onslaught of pleasure that threatened to overtake you.
“Gonna cum, gonna cum,” you whined, your thighs shaking and thrusts growing sloppy.
Steven growled, grabbing hold of your hips and pistoning upwards, not allowing your pleasure to dip. “Please, please, please, cum on my cock, please love, please. Tell me I’m your-”
“You’re my good boy.” You came dizzyingly hard, your fingers digging into Steven’s shoulders and leaving marks.
But he didn’t care. Couldn't care as you squeezed and fluttered around him, moaning ‘good boy’, and shaking as you fell apart in ecstasy.
Steven gasped, the air catching in his throat, the pleasure so potent it was like his heart stopped. He came deep, hot and thick, his hips still thrusting to prolong your high and to fuck his spend deeper into you.
You held each other tightly as you recovered, breathing hard, sweat sticking to your skin. It was only then that you pulled off your top and bra, discarding them on the floor with the rest of your clothing.
Steven nuzzled into you, softly kissing along your collarbone as you stroked his hair.
He chuckled suddenly and you moved back every so slightly to look him in the eyes.
“What?”
He grinned, dreamy and love sick, up at you. “Marc’s changed his mind. He’d quite like you to call him ‘good boy’ too.”
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Thank you for reading!
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The REAL Azul Ashengrotto x Reader
(Reader is GN and Azul is into morons)
(Also not a serious writing and not proofread im too lazy)
Once upon a time, in a prestigious school's classroom, there were two students; Azul Ashengrotto, the dormleader of Octavinelle, and the Ramshackle Prefect. Currently, you guys were sitting in the classroom playing chess.
The room was very quiet that you could probably hear footsteps from the hallway. Although, the quietness unsettled you since that meant Azul's focus in the game was intense. Your eyes looked at the chess board with nervousness as you know that he was going to win.
When you awkwardly observed the board, the white chess pieces were still on their starting places on your side.
You didn't even start the game yet.
The reason was because...
YOU DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY CHESS.
You just happened to agree at the moment since Azul looked so confident that you wanted to prove him wrong! NOW, LOOK AT WHERE THAT TOOK YOU! Your pride is on the line and you have no idea how to play chess!
As you were sweating balls, Azul's crystal sky blue orbs that change color depending on his emotions glanced at you. You could feel his confusion as he realized you weren't starting yet.
"Prefect?" He finally spoke up from the long silence.
"Y-Yeah, what's up?"
"You're taking so long. May I ask why?" When he asked that, you froze up, thinking about what to say.
You didn't want him to think you were stupid or anything. Hey, it's hard being a magicless student in a magic school where everyone is somehow talented in many ways and you're just average! You wanted to prove that you weren't just average and boring.
"You're taking so long to answer that too?" He sounded a bit sassy as he said that before sighing, "Prefect, do you not know how to pl-"
"Of course I know how to play!" You interrupted him to save your pride.
Azul looked at you awkwardly and confused, "Err.. Okay? Start then."
A long wait happened after that. Nothing moved before Azul got fed up.
"Okay, let's just switch the board-"
"Wait!" You quickly stopped his hands from turning the board around which caught him off guard. He pulled his hands back slowly, a bit of shyness appearing on his face from that one single touch.
"Prefect, I don't understand-"
"I can play chess!" You interrupted him again.
Sure you can.
Azul thought in his head.
He waited as you looked at the board, trying to figure out what move to make. Then, you finally moved your knight.
In the wrong spot.
"Prefect, that's not where the knight goes." Azul pointed out.
"Oh, shit.." You paused before putting the knight back from it's place, "Well, I knew that."
"Did you? Hm?" Azul raised his brow at you and proceeded to point to the right spot the knight was supposed to go, "Also that piece moves here. It usually moves in an L shape you see."
"Ohh, I see." You nodded which made Azul confirm that you didn't know how to play chess.
"You see, huh?" He quickly teased you, starting to smirk.
"Okay, maybe I don't know how to play."
---
"UNO!"
"Uno?" Azul raised his brow at you again, "Prefect, this is chess."
"Oh, shit."
During the whole time, Azul was teaching you how to play chess and so far...
"Prefect, that's not.. where the pawn.. Okay."
"Prefect, why do you have cards out?"
"Prefect, wh- what happened to my bishop? How did you-"
"Prefect, how did.. huh? I'm losing?"
"Prefect? PREFECT???"
It was going great! On the board, you were winning! Azul was only left with two pawns and a king! He also had no recollection of anything that led to that moment but that doesn't matter because you're winning!
Azul's turn was up as he struggled to move his pieces from yours. He has absolutely no idea how you're beating him. He's usually not that easy to beat but.. you happened to be doing exactly that! Are you secretly very smart? Smarter than him?
That's kind of.. attractive- I MEAN WHAT?! WHAT?! WHO SAID THAT?! NOT ME! OBVIOUSLY!
Azul thought in his head. Again.
Anyways, as he was distracted by his confusion, you were clearly strategizing in your head.
Strategizing how to distract him so you can sneakily take away his pieces.
OKAY, so maybe it's cheating but.. it's not cheating if you get caught and so far you haven't by him. Yet.
It was your turn to move and you purposely bump your hand under the table to knock one of the captured pieces onto the ground. This caught Azul's attention, although he was still facing the board.
As you leaned down to pick up the fallen piece with your left hand, your right hand was trying to take one of his pawns but Azul was swift to notice and grabbed your hand. You sat up fast when you felt his grab.
A looong stare was given from him that it made you nervous and even more nervous.
"W-Why are you holding my hand?" You suddenly asked.
Azul looked at their hands together before getting flustered, his cheeks turning red while he snatched his hand away.
"M-My apologies.. ahem.." He cleared his throat and calmed down, "But.. Your hand was.. Ah.. It was grabbing my piece. Care to explain?"
"Uh.. Well, uhhh.." You were sweating while you tried to decide to make an excuse or tell the truth.
You told the truth.
"Uhm.. So.. I was like.. taking your pieces everytime you were distracted or looking away.. because.. I kinda wanted to win?" You explained to him.
Azul sighed and smiled, "You do realize it's just a game, Prefect?"
"Yeah but like.. I just.. wanted to impress you." You replied.
Honestly, that's what you wanted to do. Impress people but it wasn't just specifically him. However, the way you said it made him think it was so his face quickly turned redder than before.
"I-Impress me?" Azul felt a bit happy but also shy after you said that, "W-Well, I-.. I think you're quite interesting in your own.. way.. You don't need to impress me since I'm.. already impressed by you."
"Oh." You were surprised by his compliment.
Azul paused and stared at you because of your dry answer, "HOW DRY! Don't you have anything else to say to me?"
"I love you?"
Azul froze.
You guys got married btw
---
Omg my first writing stuff hey guys I need criticism bc I'm actually trash at grammar and stuff 😭😭
Also I don't know how to write the mc in mc/reader x Azul without them being an ass to Azul HELRPFO like I think it's funny
messing with Azul is like instinct to me 😭😭😭😭😭 I'll try my best to make an nicer mc/reader or smth
Also this is just a test on my writing skills bc I wanna make something with my twst ocs but I wanna write it since I KINDA NEED TO WORK ON IT
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A Kuroshitsuji theory about the emerald witch arc
I've never posted something like this and English isn't my main language but I just wanted to share some thoughts with other fans, so please let me know what you think about this :)
We are in the dream in chapters 93-95, and could these scenes hide clues about the future/role of certain characters???
Who are the pieces on the chessboard?
(Maybe a big foreshadowing about the most recent chapters????)
What pieces are present for each group?
Black: 1 king, 1 horse/knight, 1 rook*, 3 pawns
White: 1 queen, 1 horse/knight, 1 bishop, 1 rook*, 2 pawns
*I'm almost sure it's a rook because it's the only piece left and the other shapes wouldn't really fit.
First, let's include a bit of symbolism for each piece. (Full article: https://chessquestions.com/chess-pieces-symbolism-shape/)
After looking at the various characters that Yana linked to the pieces it was super interesting to re-read their role/symbolism and try to understand the reasons behind those placements.
Later two mirrored panels appear and they indicate that certain pieces represent certain characters.
Ok that was easy.
But what about the others?
And we know that Yana doesn't do things randomly, so what could be the reason for certain choices?
Let's see the theory little by little…
White:
▪︎ BISHOP -> Joker
▪︎ PAWN 1 -> Doll
▪︎ PAWN 2 -> ?
▪︎ ROOK -> ?
▪︎ HORSE -> ?
▪︎ QUEEN -> ?
▪︎ ?
Black:
▪︎ ROOK -> Vincent
▪︎ PAWN 1 -> Madame red
▪︎ KING -> ?
▪︎ HORSE -> ?
▪︎ PAWN 2 -> ?
▪︎ PAWN 3 -> ?
4 of them are revealed by Yana herself and two more are quite obvious: O!Ciel is the black king and Sebastian the black knight.
These two symbolisms are often used both in the first chapters and in the anime.
Furthermore, it is mentioned in the same chapter:
O!Ciel is frequently shown as the "black king" but in the chapter we can see him standing in front of the king, he covers part of it and it's as if he is the one wearing the crown.
R!Ciel is leaning on the horse when he says that Ciel is scared to look at the "proof of sin" which is a clear reference to Sebastian. Also, on the chessboard in the first picture, we find the horse close to O!Ciel.
Ok, perfect, now the hypotheses and spoilers for the latest released chapters begin.
I start with two characters who are shown in the chapter but not as chess pieces: Rachel and R!Ciel.
Rachel is not present in the second picture but is always shown next to Vincent (in this chapter too) so I think she could be the pawn seen in the first photo in the box G8.
For R!Ciel, however, the question is a little different because we actually know which piece he represents even if that piece is not shown on the board.
R!Ciel is the white king, this not only because he's O!Ciel's twin but because it's shown to us by Yana through the way he moves.
This picture is super helpful to understand where the characters are positioned and how they move.
We can see him (blue dot) standing on C3 in a scene, then he moves until he's on F2 (the X), standing in front of the black horse (G2, red dot).
I found it interesting how the way he moves is almost underlined with zooms and sparkles: first, a single step obliquely (in D2) and then another single step.
We don't actually know if the move was C3->D2->E2->F2 or C3->D2->E3->F2 but the important thing is that he moves in multiple directions but only one step at a time, and this is a main feature of the king in chess.
So what is the situation now?
White:
▪︎ BISHOP -> Joker
▪︎ PAWN 1 -> Doll
▪︎ PAWN 2 -> ?
▪︎ ROOK -> ?
▪︎ HORSE -> ?
▪︎ QUEEN -> ?
▪︎ (KING -> R!Ciel)
Black:
▪︎ ROOK -> Vincent
▪︎ PAWN 1 -> Madame red
▪︎ KING -> ? (O!Ciel)
▪︎ HORSE -> ? (Sebastian)
▪︎ PAWN 2 -> ? (Rachel?)
▪︎ PAWN 3 -> ?
I'm not actually interested in the black pieces at the moment so let's focus on the rest.
Looking at the situation that has been created with the return of the real Ciel and other characters recently, do we perhaps have some clues about the current factions???
Both R!Ciel and Doll returned as bizarre dolls, so could we consider the whites their side or at least a side that is O!Ciel's enemy?
Then we can now guess who the white horse is in my mind.
Why do I think that Undertaker is the white horse?
He has a somewhat similar role to that of Sebastian for O!Ciel, albeit distorted.
They're both the "knight" to their "kings", someone who stays by their side (white horse in B4, really close to the white king in C3) and provides support and strategy, I don't know but it just made sense to me.
What about the white queen?
OK, now it's going to get a bit crazy.
Let's look down again where the white queen and black knight are shown, and let's see what is said.
“Nothing will hurt you here” is referred to O!Ciel, so who could be a threat to him?
Sebastian, of course (in that same moment in the manga he was trying/considering eating him, his goal is to devour Ciel's soul at the end) but is also shown the white queen???
A queen who could hurt him?
Yeah so I think it represents Queen Victoria. Why?
My theory is that on the chessboard she is part of O!Ciel's enemy faction (she is not R!Ciel's ally at the moment and she wasn't involved with the blue cult arc since Undertaker despises her lol) because she could be connected with the events of the twins’ tenth birthday.
There are too many coincidences about 14 of December: Prince Albert's death, the twins’ birth, the attack. A lot of theories here on tumblr explain it really well.
And the other pieces? I don't think it's too crazy to assume that all 4 stars may be present on the board: Sirius, Vega, Canopus and Polaris.
2 of them are already there-> Sirius (both Ciel) and Canopus (Doll).
We now know that Vega is Layla, so she could be PAWN 2 or the ROOK based on her future role/importance(??)
Polaris has yet to be revealed but I believe it could be Joker who is already the white BISHOP, an important piece who is however not linked to the royal court but to a different master, who in his case is Baron Kelvin.
For my first post, it got waaay too long, so maybe I should explain in different posts all my theories on the queen's role, Polaris' identity, etc.
I hope it wasn't too chaotic 😅
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How to chess? - Spencer Reid
Playing chess with Spencer Reid. The catch is… you don’t know how the fuck to play chess.
Spencer Reid x Fem!reader
masterlist
————————
Knock Knock
The sound of my fist sound against Spencer door after I got a text from him saying ‘my house. ASAP.’ I obviously panicked thinking the worst, so now I stand in front of his door in an oversized shirt and sleeping shorts. Spencer door opens to find a wide smile boy. “Sweets!” His hand grabs mine and drags me into his home. “Look what I got.” It was a chessboard. A chessboard?
“A chessboard?” I turn to Spencer and give him the most confused look he’s probably ever received. “That’s what I needed to come over ASAP for?”
“A hand carved chessboard.” Spencer cheeses at me with his hand’s fidgeting in front of him. “Four hundred dollar-”
“Four hundred bucks!” I turn to the boy with my jaw on the floor. “They have these at Target for like 20 bucks Spencer!” He shakes his head and laughs.
“It’s black walnut and sugar maple wood.” He’s fingers tap each other as he stares at the board. “The pieces themselves are incredible. Look at them!” The boy is the happiest I have ever seen him as he grabs my hand and pulls it toward the board then pulls one of the pieces up to show me in detail.
“They are beautiful Spence.” I smile at him and he sits down on his coffee table and motions for me to sit across from him.
“Wanna play?” Spencer cheeses once again and I can’t say no. So I sit across from him and smile nervously. “You’re nervous? Why?” His face scrunches up in genuine confusion.
“I’ve never played chess Spencer.” I give the boy an ‘sorry I’m an idiot’ smile and shrug. “I’m not exactly smart enough to pay attention in this game.”
Spencer smile widens, if that’s even possible. “I’ll teach you.” He leans his head on his shoulders and it tilts as he takes in my face. Those stupid beautiful eyes dance around my features as if he’s memorising each eyelash or flaw. Not that he would ever call them that. “I’ll go easy on you, promise.”
I stick my pinky out and give him a pointed look. “Promise?” He wraps his thumb around mine and nods. “Then okay.” Spencer’s eyes practically light up, like the ambers of a fire floating into the sky. Warm and fuzzy feelings fill my stomach making my hands sweaty. “Don’t get to excited. I’m definitely not a worthy competitor of the glorious Spencer Reid.” I bow down to him while mutter ‘my lord.’
“Okay, these are pawns.” His slim finger points to the knobby looking ones. “Rook,” the castle. “bishops,” the fancier knobby one’s, “knights,” horse “king,” crown “and finally queen,” pointy crown. He smiles at me and I nod in confirmation that I understood what he said.
“The pawn can move two spaces forward if they’ve never moved. They can move diagonally capture other pieces and if they reach the opposite side of the board they can become other pieces like a queen, knight, bishop, or rook.”
“Rook can only move in straight lines.” Simple enough. “Bishops can only move diagonally and the two pieces are always placed on opposite square colors.” I nod and watch his face light up as he explains the game. “Knight can only move in ‘L’s. Like this.” He grabs the horse head and moves it over one spot and up two. “But they can move back unlike the pawns. Same with pretty much every piece.” I hum in understand and he puts the head back in its spot.
“Queens are the most powerful piece.” He picks up the queen piece but is cut off by my god awful joke.
“Girl power.” I raise my fist up and immediately after the joke is blurted out of my mouth I shake my head and throw my hand back into my lap. Spencer thought this joke was hilarious. “Sorry.”
“No, no you are totally right. Girl power.” He snorts, he can’t even try to hide his laughter. “She can move all directs. Diagonally and vertical. The king can only move any which way by one place. The whole point of the game is to corner the king in a way that makes it impossible for him to move without getting caught.”
“Checkmate?” I look at him with furrowed brows as I try to absorb all of his words.
“Yes, checkmate.” His praise lit up my body. I understood chess and Spencer was proud of me? I’m dying a happy woman. “Good job sweets.” I tried to ignore the heat building in my chest but he was just so… ugh. There’s no word in the dictionary to describe the man in front of me. He’s perfect yes, but he’s more than that too. He’s everything. Spencer makes my heart bear and slow down. He makes me hot while being as refreshing as a cold glass of water. His symmetrical smile and stupid face. “Let’s play.”
The game begins, he moves a piece and I try to counter it. Not even 7 minutes later he says “checkmate.” My jaw drops as I study the board.
“What the hell?” I look up at the boy who smiles at me. His eyes scrunch with the smile, my favorite smile of his. “I didn’t even- how did you- Spencer I thought you said you were going to go easy?” He smirks and shrugs.
“I was. You’re just bad.” I shake my head and then he offers a bet. “Loser has to do whatever the other wants.” I nod immediately. “Okay if I win you have to… write ‘Lost to Reid’ on your forehead.”
“Okay if I win, you have to kiss me.” Spencer pauses and the nods with his cheeks flushed pink. He’s only agreeing because he knows I’ll lose.
The second game begins. This one is longer at 24 minutes. “Checkmate?”
“It is checkmate, yes.” Spencer smiles at me. “You won sweets.”
“I won?” I look up at Spence confused. “I win?” Spencer nods and laughs. How did I-
“Guess I gotta pay my side of the deal.” Before I can comprehend what’s going on Spencer pushes his $400 chessboard to the side nearly knocking it off the table and leans over it. His hands grab my face and pull me up to meet him halfway over the table to kiss him. His lips are soft, softer than I had expected from him. His fingers hold my jaw as his head tilts to kiss me deeper. “Good job Sweets.”
“You let me win.” He smiles and watches my face before nodding.
“I let you win.” He kisses me again, his hands slide down toward my neck and pulls me up closer while a quiet groan in the back of his throat. “Needed to lose, I mean I won in a different area.” He smirks a stupid smug smirk that has me pouting at him.
“You fucker.” I shake my head at him. “I thought you were just gonna go easy not cheat.”
“I did go easy, so easy that I set you up for success.” He smiles at me, a stupidly beautiful smile. “Can we kiss more or do I have to lose to you again?”
“We don’t have to play to kiss.”
“Good.” Spencer’s eyes sparkle more than when he was talking about the chessboard.
“Good.”
#spencer reid#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds fic#criminal minds#chuabbachu#fluff#AbbaChu
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Kinda going off the GOT topic for the moment bc I really wanted to gush about this!
Anyone who knows me, especially on Instagram, knows I LOVE One Piece. And anyone who's talked to me about One Piece knows I'm a huge Luffy x Nami shipper
Oda just released official cover art for Chapter 1113 and omg I absolutely love this just look
LOVE THE CHESS CONCEPT IT'S SO CUTE!! Robin playing, all the little Choppers as the pawns, Zoro and Sanji as the knights, Brook and Usopp as the bishops, Franky and Jinbei as the rooks, and... of course, Nami as the queen and Luffy as the king
This is not something new for Oda. In so many official arts (drawn by him), he has portrayed Luffy and Nami with crowns on their heads, symbolizing King and Queen
In this one, Nami wears white to match Luffy and she's wearing a huge queens crown and sitting on a throne
I absolutely love seeing this in official art because it makes my lunami heart so happy ♥️🧡
#one piece#eiichiro oda#official art#one piece official art#chapter 1113#monkey d. luffy#luffy#one piece luffy#straw hat luffy#nami#cat burglar nami#luffy x nami#nami x luffy#lunami#luna#my otp
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the cadence within [il dottore x reader] — prologue.
The quickest way to a man’s heart is through their fourth and fifth ribs.
But few men would allow you to just skewer them like that, and Dottore was no exception. So you took the classic route. No, it wasn’t through his stomach; it was through sheer force of charisma alone.
However, charisma is shaped like a double edged blade. Pantalone sent you to Dottore’s lab like a flying dagger, and not until it was too late did either of you realize you’d been lodged in his chest.
co-written with noodsies, however, they’re shy and wish to stay anonymous! ♡
author's note: this fanfiction will contain mature content, including explicit sexual acts, violence, dottore himself, and similar themes.
please read at your own discretion.
“Check,” you whispered.
Queen to C6 check, in response to white’s bishop checking on F3. Your D7 pawn guarded your queen, but your bishop was stuck in B8 while his king was vulnerable on A6. His only other piece was a knight on A4.
Did he blunder?
After placing down the chess piece, you glanced back towards him, your eyes searching his face for any readable signs or expressions. There were none, save for the hint of amusement that remained eternally etched into both his features and demeanour.
You mentally sighed. Dottore was as indecipherable as ever, leaving you confused about what to do with the nagging itch that tugged at your heart. You tried to push it aside, to dig a hole and bury the feeling six feet underground where it was never to resurface again, but you found yourself unable to. Instead, you found yourself caving into that emotion, the tension thickening the very air that now felt suffocating to breathe in, each of Dottore’s answers only leaving you with more questions to ask—none of which you should’ve paid any mind to, yet you still couldn't resist, barely holding yourself back from asking the one thing you really wanted to know.
You coughed softly, clearing your throat before speaking again.
“My turn,” you tried to steady your voice and sound as confident as possible, pushing past the dryness in your mouth. “Question nineteen, are you going to continue with your plan?”
It shouldn’t even matter. If you were being rational, you wouldn’t have bothered to ask that; whether or not he planned to continue should not affect your judgement in any way. He had done enough wrong as it is, committed far more crimes than could be excused or remotely justified.
Still, you couldn’t help but succumb to your own weakness, the question leaving your lips alongside a silent prayer that you hadn’t exposed your intentions—be it the one to put an end to him, or the far worse one, the one to give up on your original task. The task you should adhere to, despite your traitorous feelings wanting to get in the way. But you were not strong enough.
Dottore’s silence permitted you to keep ruminating over the same thoughts that had ceaselessly plagued you each time you faced him, the same thoughts that had insidiously grown in intensity throughout your interactions, leaving you to realize far too late that at some point, your actions towards him became genuine.
“Perhaps,” Dottore responded at last. You fought to keep your face neutral, trying your best to mask your disappointment at his answer. As much as you had wanted to, you were unable to deny that you had indeed wanted him to say ‘no.’
As shameful as it was, you pushed for a different answer.
“You’re supposed to answer yes or no,” you stated, keeping your tone light and indifferent.
How ludicrous, you thought. Your job was to pretend to be interested in him, yet here you were, desperately trying to act like you weren’t.
“Unfortunately, Y/N, I can’t do that,” Dottore replied. “The answer is dependent on certain variables.”
“Like what?”
“That’s not a yes or no question.” His face did not betray anything, yet you could hear the smirk in his voice, evident in the satisfaction he spoke with.
“But—”
“—My turn,” Dottore interrupted, and though you wanted to protest, you had to maintain an air of calmness, leaning back in your seat as you waited for him to speak.
“Question nineteen,” Dottore drew out each syllable with emphasis, “you are planning to kill me, aren’t you?”
His sentence caused you to freeze, a chill running down each ridge of your spine as you shivered, goosebumps breaking out over the surface of your skin, your hair standing on end as you stared at him, motionless, eyes wide.
That wasn’t a yes or no question. He knew. Dottore knew.
You didn’t need to see yourself to know that blood had drained from your face. There was no need for you to say anything; even if he hadn’t already known, your expression alone would be enough to confirm that everything he just said was true.
“Go on. Why don’t you answer me?” His voice was sharp enough to cut through the pounding of your heart, the pulsating of the organ reverberating in your eardrums being the only sound to muffle the deafening silence of the room.
“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Dottore continued. Though the syllables reached you, your mind struggled to process the meaning behind them. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”
Dottore scoffed, indignant.
“I find it rather insulting that you think so lowly of me.”
“N-no,” you scrambled to find the right words. “I don’t—”
“—Is that so?” he said, cutting you off while clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. “Do you have a more plausible explanation for that gun strapped to your thigh, then?”
Your heart sank, his words the anchor that plunged it into the bottomless pit in your stomach. It felt like the life was drained from your body, rendering it an immobile marionette whose strings dangled from the tips of Dottore’s slender fingers. As if his words were coated in a paralyzing agent, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak further or move an inch. The only reminder that you were still alive was the harrowing thump of your pulse, each beat accelerating faster than the last.
How did he know?
For a split second you wondered if you’d been betrayed, but that was impossible. You had premeditated the perfect plan, meticulously memorized every step, and followed through with flawless execution.
With clandestine sleight, you acquired the perfect trump card—a gun loaded with bullets meant to destroy both visions and delusions. It was exactly what you needed to put an end to him, to put an end to this madness and absurdity. You’d be done with this once and for all. You’d have your old life back; exactly as it was before.
So how?
And what was more pressing than how, was the question of just what Dottore was planning to do with this knowledge. The urgency that question posed was unmatched by anything else, the answer pertaining to whether you would live or die.
You couldn’t help but wince, unable to conceal your expressions any longer. Dottore had seen through it all, seen through all your plans. You were dead, and you could only hope that your death would not be as unpleasant as some of the others by his hand. You knew what he was capable of, and you knew he was capable of far worse.
“I didn’t think so.” Dottore’s words were firm. Unwavering. And in those very seconds you were forced to accept the reality that you were going to die. This was the end.
“Go ahead,” Dottore said, slowly holding out his hands with both palms facing you. “Shoot me.”
What?
“I won’t stop you,” he finished his sentence. You were still gaping at him, but he was gazing back straight into your eyes, unflinching.
“Is this a joke?” you breathed, unable to comprehend what was just said to you.
“Is that your final question?” Dottore returned, his words somehow snapping you out of your daze and paralysis for a split second. You instinctively reacted by reaching to your thigh, pulling out the gun that you had prepared for this very moment and aiming it directly at him.
You tried to still the tremble of your hands as your index finger hooked onto the trigger, tensing it frozen so it wouldn’t pull.
A moment went by.
“Is that all?” Maybe you were imagining things. You had to be, but you couldn’t help but feel his eyes scan your face, searching for something.
Just what was he looking for? Could it be the same thing you sought?
“Allow me my final question, then.”
You couldn’t help but anticipate, that minuscule flame of hope, that lingering spark that refused to be snuffed out, flaring back to life.
“Sure.” Your voice was low, but you knew that he had heard you, nonetheless.
“Question...” Each second felt like it had been split up into millions, leaving you to experience time a microsecond at once. You were breathing heavily, your blood pulsating in your ears and adrenaline rushing through your veins. “...Twenty.”
“There is something stopping you, isn’t there?”
next chapter ->
any interactions are appreciated (´･ω･`)
thank you very much for supporting my work! ♡
#genshin fanfic#genshin headcanons#genshin imagines#genshin impact#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin x you#dottore#dottore x reader#il dottore#il dottore x reader#il dottore genshin#il dottore smut#pantalone#dottore genshin#dottore smut#dottore x you#fatui harbingers#fatui x reader#fatui smut#genshin impact fatui#dottore headcanons#dottore hcs#il dottore headcanons#fatui#dottore reader insert#il dottore reader insert#genshin reader insert#pantalone genshin
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I'm not sure if I can request, happy new year btw! I hope your new year goes so well, wishing you happiness.
About my request, if you are okay with it ofc I would like to request Reader who is really similar to Fyodor (Like smart, lonely and quiet most of the time etc) x Fyodor. I really wonder how Fyodor would act towards her! (You don't have to do this :), you can just share your ideas too if you don't feel like making this!!)
15 hours, 25 minutes, and 45 seconds
( ᪥ ) : i’m back y’all, i’m gone for days since i’ve been busy with studies lately. soo, another request !! i can’t mention you so i’ll reply to this one :>
characters : fyodor dostoevsky x reader
synopsis : oh, to be one of fyodor's enemies, he definitely cares about the written threats he will send you. well, fyodor's busy with writing something for his beloved enemy—Dazai, that he even threw multiple drafts to perfect his 'kanji". It goes on for exactly 15 hours, 25 minutes, and 45 seconds while not giving you anything even a spare glance. Jealous for a certain piece of paper tainted with ink, you decided to challenge him on a one-on-one chess match.
warnings : nope because i said no HAHA
Looking around the lounge, you spotted the usual workaholic short raven hair, busy nipping on his fingers—must be having a hard time writing in kanji. You took the opportunity to invite him for a friendly chess match with you, which he couldn't easily decline.
"Please do enlighten me to why I should play chess with you, myshka." Fyodor simply took his eyes off the screen and ran his calloused yet delicate fingers on your cheeks.
Living with Fyodor, two years later after the orphanage incident, is filled with intellectual arguments. Not the actual fights like shouting, harming—but rather, a battle of minds. You considered the tragedy in the orphanage as a blessing in disguise. If that didn't happen, maybe you're still being shout at by one of your so-called 'masters'.
"First of all, you're doing that usual habit of yours which sometimes bothered me, it's almost bleeding! Second, I would like to know if I am really not clever enough just like what you told me two years ago."
Putting up the pieces, Fyodor watched your hands, swiftly gliding through the pieces. He smiled in defeat, he knows to himself that he couldn't win against your lovely invitation.
"Chess, like life, demands sacrifice."
"But not all sacrifices lead to victory...Fyodor, dear." You shrugged, moving a knight to challenge Fyodor's position.
"In literature and chess, foresight is the key," He remarked, sacrificing a bishop to open an attacking path.
"Yet, in every move, there lies a story..."
In the endgame, Fyodor, with a cunning smile moved the piece and turned his attention back to you.
"Checkmate, where every move is a sentence in the narrative of defeat."
You sighed in defeat, letting Fyodor's pride to enlarge. You never won, but you can buy some time—you're not running out of ideas to throw against him, which surprisingly, amazed Fyodor.
He caressed your cheeks with his cold pale hands. His calloused hands itches your skin but you don't mind.
"You're still not clever enough, myshka..But I think, that's enough to entertain me." Fyodor stood up and placed a kiss on your forehead while softly caressing your hair. He tried to move away after the kiss but you pulled him soon after.
"Letting yourself stress over writing kanji merely for that bandaged man and not even sparing me an hour? You've spent a total of 15 hours, 25 minutes, and 45 seconds only for that letter..." You huffed and pulled out a book out of his random piles.
"Nietzsche's 'Beyond Good and Evil'...Hm, interesting choice you have there...Please do enlighten me about this book, Mister Dostoevsky." Fyodor's sharp and alluring gaze pierced your soul in somehow—a good way.
"Take my hand then, my love. I truly grieved for that 15 hours, 25 minutes, and 45 seconds I spent not to you."
"But to my next 15 hours, 25 minutes, and 45 seconds, I shall please my queen with these hands which I used to writing kanji and maybe, explore each and every part of her."
and yeahh, it took me a month to finish this one. damn school works :< but dw, it's hereee. i'm actually planning to post scaramouche x reader huhu
#bsd#bsd x reader#bsd x female reader#fyodor dostoevsky#bsd fyodor#bsd atsushi#bsd chuuya#bsd dazai#bsd ranpo#bsd sigma#bsd fluff#bsd fanfic#bsd oneshot#fyodor x reader#fyodor dostoyevsky bsd#fyodor bsd#oneshot#bungou stray dogs ranpo#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungou sd
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EXTREME DONTIS FLUFFFFFFFF I BEG IM STARVED PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻
Check Mate
Dontis x Reader
“Check,” Dontis said, moving his black queen to take one of your rooks.
You raised an eyebrow, looking at him in disbelief.
The last thing you had expected when Dontis had invited you over to play a game was him presenting you with a chess board, picking up two pawns, and hiding them behind his back to determine which color you would be playing.
Still, you could never refuse a relaxing game of chess. There was no clock to tick down, which allowed both of you to get lost in your head for as long as you needed to consider your next move.
Dontis had just spent over ten minutes coming up with that one, offering up his queen to you on a silver platter. There she stood, lonely and isolated, entirely unprotected.
You chuckled, moving your bishop to take his queen. “I suppose you got so lost in your head, you lost sight of the pieces as they are,” you said, amusement in your voice at his pout.
“I suppose,” he said, taking a sip of his tea and sighing in annoyance at his stupid mistake. His entire strategy just went up in smoke. “I did not ask before,” Dontis said, looking up at you with warmth in his eyes and the slight upturn of his lips back in place, “would you like to eat something? A snack perhaps? I bought fruits.”
“Sure,” you said, nodding towards the chessboard, “but make your move first.”
He groaned, staring intently at the disarray his pieces were in. You were decidedly more organized, and your pieces were well-secured. There was also the glaringly obvious advantage of your queen standing discreetly behind a wall of pawns while his lay beaten by the side of the board.
Clicking his tongue, he rested his head on his hands, thinking about different chains of events, trying to tip the odds back in his favor.
“Sometimes the best answers are the ones right in front of us,” you said cryptically, giving him a smile.
Dontis gazed back with a frown. “I saw your little trap. I am not taking your knight, hunter.”
“Fine,” you muttered, taking a sip of your tea and turning your head to watch the trees gently sway in the wind.
“I planted them myself,” he muttered, hesitating before touching one of his pawns.
If he moved it there, what would you do? What game were you playing? He did not want to give you an opening, but he feared it would only be a matter of time until you tightened the knot around the king’s neck and pinned him in place.
You continued gazing at the sturdy trees outside. They were massive, bigger than Dontis’ house, and absolutely breathtaking, especially now during summer, when their leaves were freshly green and appeared to shine in the sunlight.
“Sometimes I forget how old you are,” you said, watching Dontis move his rook. “Seriously?” You chuckled, stifling your laugh. “No need to get the fruit, I’ll beat you in two.”
“Two?” Dontis asked bewildered, searching the chessboard. “Impossible. You’re lying.”
“Come now,” you feigned hurt, “when have I ever lied to you? Watch” — you moved your rook, taking Dontis’ knight to do the obvious move and beat your now unprotected bishop, then took your queen out of her hiding place and moved her directly in front of his king — “Check Mate.”
He blinked, processing your moves before he sighed, accepting defeat and offering you his hand. “Well played, hunter,” he said.
“You were not so bad yourself,” you said, ducking your head at Dontis’ scoff. “With a bit of practice, I’m sure you can improve greatly.”
“Good thing I have you, then.”
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ONWARD & UPWARD
pairings: cyno x fem!reader x tighnari, tartaglia x fem!reader
summary: the last thing you were supposed to do was fall in love. now a decision must be made—one that you are not yet prepared to deal with the consequences of.
genre: antagonist!reader, fatui!reader, canon divergence, strangers to lovers to enemies (cyno & tighnari), lowkey enemies/rivals to lovers to enemies (cyno), khaenri’ahn royal!reader (diamond pupil), childhood friends to fwb (tartaglia), right person wrong time (tartaglia), un(?)requited love (tartaglia), obsessive and v lowkey yandere behavior (tartaglia).
general warnings: fem!reader, heavy themes of betrayal, angst and romance, reader’s got some mental health issues made worse by delusions, khaenri’ah lore/theories implemented + original worldbuilding (especially for khaenri’ah—based off of old nordic religion/tradition/culture) reader has a scar + partially blind in one eye.
chapter specific warnings/notes: undertones of angst (tartaglia), that should be it actually, not a warning heavy chapter. next chapter we meet tighnari eheh. reblogs for boost very much appreciated
prologue -> masterlist -> next chapter
CHAPTER ONE. BLOOD MUST HAVE BLOOD
“We are owed blood.”
You could feel Pierro’s eyes boring into your back as you stared ahead at the Severoksa Palace, encased in layer upon layer of ice--the tomb that would be Rosalyne’s eternal resting place. You couldn’t help the rage that churned your stomach, you breathed slowly--in through your nose, out through your mouth, an old tactic that Pierro had drilled into you when it had become clear your temper would be an issue.
“And what would you suggest us do? Storm Tenshukaku and take on the Shogun herself?” Pierro’s voice was dry and cold, it tested every inch of your self control.
In through your nose, out through your mouth.
“Don’t be ridiculous. That would be as if we took the life of Liyue’s Yuheng and they came for Her Majesty’s life as reparations. Blood for blood is always to be of equal value,” you told him, turning away from the window, away from the sight of Rosalyne’s crypt, to steady your gaze onto Pierro, whose visible eye was already trained on you.
“And I suppose you already have a life in mind?”
“Rosalyne was the Eighth, the one who had taken it upon her shoulders to be our sword and diplomat in foreign lands… A sort of… general in her own right.” the words tasted bitter on your tongue--the past tense unfamiliar and unwelcome.
“The Kujou Clan’s tengu,” Pierro knew who you were referring to immediately. “The Shogunate’s military general.”
You hummed in response, “Perhaps not a fair trade in power, but a fair trade in station… I believe it’ll be the best we can get.”
Pierro’s gaze drifted to the chess board. “Knight to H3,” he said, and you watched as the piece skidded across the board until it was sat on the square. “Check.”
Your lips twisted down as he backed you into the corner, “King to H1,” you replied sharply, watching as the piece slid to the spot you had spoken, the corner of the board--a deep set feeling of disappointment flooded your bones. You already knew what his next move would be, his bishop looming across the board, ready to take down your king now that his knight had put your king into position.
Pierro clicked his tongue sharply, “Bishop to B7. Checkmate.”
Your king toppled. You didn’t speak for a moment, staring heavily down at the board, wondering what you should have done differently.
“You allowed yourself to get backed into a corner again,” Pierro chided as the pieces moved themselves back into their starting position. Your eye twitched at the rather obvious comment, and you bit back the sharp retort that laid on the tip of your tongue. “You will continue to lose until you’ve learned to get yourself out of these situations.”
“I try-”
“You do not try,” Pierro interrupted you, rising to his feet and motioning for you to follow. You let out a sigh, wrapping your furs around your shoulders as you followed the older man out of the warm study and into the chilly halls of the Zima Palace. “You let yourself be pushed back hoping for a later opening that you can work with, an opening that is not necessarily guaranteed. You cannot rely on that.”
You bristled, eyeing Pierro from the corner of your left eye, “I wouldn’t do that in real battle, obviously. You know how I fight, I-”
“I am not talking about battle,” Pierro said firmly. “Her Majesty intends on sending you down to Sumeru to oversee Dottore’s research, make sure that he keeps on track. I need to know that you can be trusted to do what’s necessary, that you won’t hesitate to take action or make foolish mistakes.”
Your brows furrowed, barely stopping yourself from faltering midstep as you glanced at Pierro, processing what exactly he had said. “To oversee Dottore?” you questioned. “I don’t understand, of all the harbingers, Dottore is-”
“-of the most loyal, yes,” Pierro interrupted, to your displeasure. You frowned deeply as he turned down another hall, moon reflecting through the large windows, rattling against the bitter wind outside. “Dottore is similar to Tartaglia in a number of ways. Both are loyal to Her Majesty… to an incredible degree; but both allow themselves to get sidetracked. Tartaglia by battle and bloodshed, the prospect of a challenge, and Dottore by his research. We cannot afford that, not now.”
“Much like dogs, really,” you noted to yourself. “Loyal to its owner but prone to chasing squirrels when let loose.”
Pierro let out a huff akin to a laugh, “Don’t let them hear you make that comparison.”
“So what do you want me to do with him?” you finally asked after a moment of silence.
“Just keep an eye out. Her Majesty has sanctioned some of his research--in particular, there’s going to be a project with the Balladeer, and Dottore mentioned trying to get his hands on that test subject of his that escaped two or three years ago, apparently they have eyes on her in the Avidya Forest of Sumeru. Make sure he keeps sight of our overall goals.”
“A project with Scaramouche? Escaped test subject?” you were lost, and though you hated to admit it, you knew it wasn’t your fault that they hadn’t briefed you on any of this.
“Have Dottore explain the situation with the Balladeer when you arrive in Sumeru,” Pierro waved off the question, and you noticed how Pierro would not refer to Scaramouche by name--you wondered if he was still angry over the events at Inazuma. “I believe the test subject went by the name of Collei, a young girl with Eleazar, younger than you--Dottore was using her for the experiments on Archon Residue and had been making significant progress before she managed to escape.”
You nearly scoffed, “I hope he doesn’t expect me to play bounty hunter for him trying to hunt down the girl he lost.”
“I’m sure he will ask it of you.”
You rolled your eyes as the two of you continued down the hall toward the library, and you wondered why exactly Pierro was bringing you there—he rarely ever came to this wing of the palace.
Your shoes clicked against the stone floors of the palace, the torches on the wall the only source of heat and light, shifting in the draft and flickering in a way that cast moving shadows, making you distinctly uncomfortable.
Your head snapped to the side at a particularly quick moving shadow, and while you knew it was unreasonable—an illusion created by the flame and your impaired vision, you would have heard if someone was really there but you couldn’t help the way your heart rate spiked.
A heavy hand fell to your shoulder, there is nothing there, Pierro told you silently, and you felt hot embarrassment hitting you hard at the lapse of judgment.
Pierro did not bring any further attention to what had happened, instead pushing open the large double doors to the library to let you walk in. You stepped inside the room, letting your furs slip off as the warmth of the fireplace hit you.
You walked into the center of the room, eyes drifting around the walls of old books and scrolls before you turned on your heel to look at Pierro, who had let the door swing shut behind him with a rather loud thud. You watched carefully as he turned toward the left, walking over to a desk.
You frowned deeply as Pierro pulled out a key and unlocked one of the drawers, and you had half a mind to ask him what he was doing, but you assumed from the expression on his face that he would not take kindly to interruption.
So you waited, no matter how much your mind and body itched in anticipation.
The parchment he pulled out was old and yellowed and half-falling apart, your brows knitted together. While you did not know exactly what was in his hands, the sigil on the back of it was unmistakable--the emblem of the Eclipse Dynasty, your family.
You inhaled sharply, unconsciously taking a step forward. Pierro’s eyes finally flickered up, landing on you.
“The weight your bloodline bears is a heavy one,” there was an odd tone to his voice, a faraway look in his eyes as his gaze drifted up toward the chandelier in the middle of the room. “One too heavy for most to handle.”
A part of you wondered if he was speaking from experience… or perhaps not first-hand experience, but second--you knew Pierro did not share blood with you, but he seemed to have some sort of connection with the Eclipse Dynasty. Pierro never delved too deep into discussion about his life in Khaenri’ah prior to the Cataclysm, sometimes you would be able to pull slivers of information from between the lines when he spoke--implications that he had been a major player in the court, had direct relationships with your ancestors. His eyes were often sad as they landed on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, and you wondered if you reminded him of someone from back then.
“When you return from Sumeru, I will tell you all I know about Khaenri’ah before the Cataclysm… and during, and how the Eclipse Dynasty found themselves at the center.”
Your eyes widened, lips parting to speak but no words left your lips.
Pierro leveled a steady gaze on you. “The real war is to start soon. Sumeru will be the easy part, prove yourself there so we can begin the final preparations.”
---
“You’re leaving.”
Your gaze flicked up to the figure leaning against your doorframe--orange hair damp and matted to his forehead, eyes rather dull, Tartaglia had seen better days, that was for sure. You wondered if he had forced his way through the snowstorm just to see you before you left. His fingers were red and stiff, his cheeks flushed, he was not wearing adequately warm clothes to travel through the storm.
You sighed, placing your clothes down and walking over to the chair in the corner of your room. You picked the quilted blanket off of it and motioned for Tartaglia to come into the room. He was unusually silent as he made his way across the hardwood floor, soggy pants dripping steadily. He took a seat on the chair in front of the fireplace and you wrapped the quilt blanket around him, pressing the back of your hand against his cheek. He instinctively leaned into your touch, you pulled away.
“You are a fool, Ajax,” you murmured, returning back to the bag you were trying to pack. “Coming out here in this weather, dressed like that. What were you thinking?”
You could hear the chair grate against the ground behind you, and you turned to look over your left shoulder, catching sight of Tartaglia still sitting, knees tucked to his chest beneath the blanket as he watched you.
“I wanted to see you before you left,” he said quietly. “Is that so wrong of me?”
“It was unnecessary,” you replied, folding a thin pair of pants and top up and placing them at the top of the bag before fastening the clasp. “I’ll be back in a few weeks.”
“A few weeks is a long time,” Tartaglia pointed out, head tilted to the side as he looked up at you.
“You were gone for longer while in Liyue,” you waved off, picking up the travel bag and placing it on the dresser near the door to your room.
“And it was hellish,” Tartaglia countered, and you looked over your shoulder to study him, gaze heavy.
“It shouldn’t have been,” you said, and his gaze directed down toward the floor instantly, the light expression on his face disappearing. Guilt tugged at your chest, but only for a moment before you pushed it away. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I want to go with you,” Tartaglia admitted. “You’ve never visited any of the other nations, I-”
“Do you think I’m incapable of handling myself in a foreign land?” you asked rigidly, an unwelcome defensiveness pooling in your lower stomach, hot and uncomfortable. No one thinks you’re good enough to do it on your own.
“That’s not what I meant,” Tartaglia sighed. “I just wanted to be there with you when you experienced it all the first time. That’s all.”
The pool dissolved, your shoulders slumped. You should have known better than to think that of him--Tartaglia had always been the one that advocated for you the most when others thought you weren’t ready yet. He fought tooth and nail for you to come with him to Liyue but Pierro had shot it down.
The air was tense around the two of you, taut and uneasy. You swallowed thickly, “Well perhaps if you hadn’t unleasahed an old god onto Liyue, Her Majesty would have considered letting you leave with me,” you said lightly.
Tartaglia watched you for a moment but then his lips twisted up into a familiar crooked smile and the heavy air dissipated, “I was just trying to fulfill Her Majesty’s wishes,” he said.
“I don’t recall Her Majesty sanctioning the release of Osial?” you shot back and Tartaglia’s smile widened, eyes bright as he looked up at you.
“I thought it would be an effective way of drawing out Morax, which is what she told me to do,” Tartaglia defended. “So, in a way-”
“Was it effective?”
Tartaglia deflated, “No.”
You let out a puff of laughter, “And I assume that you wanting to… draw out Morax had nothing to do with your own desire to face an Archon?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tartaglia lied through his teeth as he stood up with a grin, folding the blanket you had placed around his shoulders and laying it back down where he had been sitting. “I would never be so arrogant as to challenge an Archon.”
“Of course not,” you drawled sarcastically, eyes flickering up as Tartaglia drew closer to you, chest mere inches from yours. You tilted your head up and Tartaglia leaned down, lips grazing yours for just a second.
“You don’t believe me?” he asked quietly.
“I know very well that your lust for battle knows no bounds,” you responded, and Tartaglia smiled, a wide, sharp smile that you had become accustomed to seeing all of those times that the two of you had trained together.
“Fair point,” he murmured before leaning down just a bit more to capture your lips in his. Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his lips sliding slowly against yours--they were still cold from the blizzard, and tasted faintly of juniper berries, a familiar taste that set any nerves you might have had at ease.
You let out a sigh against his lips, a soft hum as one of his hands cupped the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair. You knew you probably shouldn’t be doing this--and not just because you had to be up early to start your journey down to Sumeru. But you couldn’t help the way your lips instinctually moved against his—a slow dance that the two of you had mastered years ago.
Tartaglia’s free hand slid down to your waist, pressing against your lower back to pull your body flush against his. Your hands rested on his chest, lips parting for him as his tongue swiped against your bottom lip. And you knew you should push him away, stop it before it got too far again, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to, just like you never had been before.
It wasn’t fair to him, the thought laid heavy on your shoulders, almost enough to make you push him away but not enough. It wasn’t fair to either of you, you wanted to scream, but you shoved the thought away as soon as it rose to the forefront of your mind.
Fairness had nothing to do with it--you both had known what you were getting into when you had made your home with the Fatui, and you knew what that meant for… whatever this arrangement you had with him was.
Perhaps fairness did have something to do with it. You supposed you were being unfair to him, you were being selfish--you had always been selfish, ever since Pierro had brought you in and you got a taste of life with less burdens on your shoulders. Snezhnaya was cold and dark, perhaps not quite as dark as Khaenri’ah was but you had known even since you were a child that you were not a creature that thrived in the dark, even if it did cling to you like a second skin.
Tartaglia was warm, and bright--perhaps not as much as you needed, but enough to push away the oppressive air that weighed too heavy around you, even if only momentarily.
A part of you wondered if he craved the dark and the cold as much as you craved the light and the warmth.
A thick feeling settled in your chest, one of longing and perhaps something a bit warmer.
You pushed it away.
You did not love him. You were not in a relationship with him--he was not your lover and you were not his. You were two people who found warmth in an eternal winter in each other’s arms, and that was all.
There was no room for weakness in Snezhnaya and there was no place for love in the Fatui. War loomed ahead like a dark cloud, and you could not afford to have any vulnerabilities when the rain finally began to fall.
A dark feeling twisted your gut, and you pressed your palm flat against his chest, tilting your head back. Stop, you didn’t have to say it outloud for him to know what you were trying to say and you were grateful for it. The warm feeling that had spread throughout you when his lips had met yours disappeared in an instant, you ignored the hurt expression that had briefly flashed across his face before he had managed to shove it away.
“How are your siblings?” you asked quietly, and the silence that reigned around the two of you was not a comfortable one--your rejection still dense in the air, weighing on the two of you.
“They’re okay,” Tartaglia said after clearing his throat, voice rough. “Tonia sent me some pastries to give to you the next time I saw you… I forgot them back home. Anthon keeps asking when you’ll come back around, I swear that kid feels some sort of hero worship toward you.”
You snorted lightly, eyes drifting around your room to try to figure out if you had forgotten anything. “Tell him the next time I’m around, I’ll give him some more sparring tips.”
Tartaglia scowled, just as you expected. “I can’t believe he refuses to listen to me, acts as if I don’t know what I’m doing,” he muttered petulantly.
You shot him a grin. “Can you blame him for not wanting to go to the second best option?”
Tartaglia gaped, spluttering in response to your words and the reminder of his many defeats at your hand, heat visibly rising to his face, but you only laughed shaking your head.
“I need to try to sleep,” you said quietly. “Leaving early in the morning so I can make as much ground tomorrow before night falls. Want to at least get out of Snezhnaya, into Fontaine.”
And maybe you should have waited a bit to tell him that, because at once the tense atmosphere returned, the bleak expression that he had arrived wearing once again washed over his face, and you wanted to say something, give him some sort of assurance, but there wasn’t really anything for you to say.
“Can I stay the night?” Tartaglia asked, and you were sure that he hated how his voice cracked. He hated signs of weaknesses almost as much as you did. He cleared his throat again, eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he shut his eyes in embarrassment. “The storm--it’s dark, would be too dangerous to walk home in.”
Tartaglia had never been afraid of danger before, he was the person that ran headfirst into it at the first sign of a challenge, but there was a sort of pleading look swimming beneath the blue of his eyes that begged you not to call him out on the lie.
“Yeah.” you said, keeping up the illusion that the storm was the only reason for him to stay--it was easier for you to justify in your head. As if on cue, your window rattled against the bitter winds, and you could see the ice creeping up the glass. “The storm is bad.”
Tartaglia’s shoulders slumped in relief as he removed the thin jacket covering his body. You supposed that if he really were only staying because of the weather, he would be sleeping on the floor or the settee, but you knew he would not.
He’s your closest friend, you explained silently, why would you leave him in discomfort on the floor or settee?
The argument was weak, and you knew it, but you pushed the thoughts away as Tartaglia slipped beneath the covers with you, an arm hanging loose around your waist. The warmth against your back was familiar, but you tried to pretend that it wasn’t.
“Be safe down south,” Tartaglia murmured. “The rest of Teyvat… It’s not like Snezhnaya.”
You wanted to spit out a retort--that Pierro had prepared you for this, that you knew what you were doing, but you bit your tongue, never having quite heard Tartaglia speak in this sort of tone before.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re fighters,” he said, and you swallowed thickly as he rested his forehead against your shoulder blade, hair brushing your bare skin. “The people down south… they’re politicians, schemers. I was out of my league, I messed up more than Her Majesty and Pierro know. Not just the situation with Osial.”
You wondered just how much it took for him to admit that he was outmatched--Tartaglia had always been prideful and confident, raring for a challenge. He had mellowed once he had returned from Liyue, and you had assumed it was because of the failure he faced down south but you wondered if it ran deeper than that.
“It wasn’t even just the politics,” Tartaglia sighed heavily, warm breath fanning against your skin. “I lost a fight to a traveler. I had only ever lost to you before it was an… unwelcome feeling, I guess.”
“A traveler?” you questioned, though you were pretty sure you knew exactly who he was talking about--the odd blonde haired boy that Rosalyne had told you about after her time in Mondstadt… the same one that ended up getting her killed by the Raiden Shogun.
Tartaglia picked up on the underlying tone. “He’s a kid, younger than us. He’s not bad, he took care of Teucer when he escaped on that ship a few months ago… He’s just nothing I’ve seen before. Strong, a fighting style I’ve never encountered, could wield elements without a vision. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he were from another realm altogether.”
“Maybe he is,” you considered, trying to push away the spite and jealousy that ate at your mind. Wield elements without a vision, without consequence, while you had to-
Tartaglia’s voice drew you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Don’t pit yourself against unknown enemies, and be careful in Sumeru with the scholars, they’re just as bad as-”
“Ajax,” you said quietly, cutting him off. “Have some faith, Pierro has been preparing me for this for years.”
Tartaglia pressed his lips against your shoulder, a fond gesture that maybe you should have moved away from but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You felt his lips tug up into a small smile against your skin.
“I know,” he said. “I’ll always have faith in you.”
---
The snowstorm had only barely let up. The wind whipped harsh against your face, snow stinging your skin. You tugged your hood up higher, the fur shielding you from the majority of the battering.
You hesitated as you looked down the steps of the Zima Palace, wondering if you should go back in and wake Tartaglia up so you could say goodbye for real, but you decided against it. You had woken up late enough already, you had to get moving.
Just as you were about to take your first step, someone cleared their throat from behind you. You frowned as you turned around, wondering if Tartaglia had woken up or Pierro had one last thing to tell you before you left, but your eyes shot open in surprise once your gaze landed on the figure standing behind you.
“Your Majesty,” your voice was little over a breath as you went to fold over into a bow but a slender hand caught your shoulder before you could, forcing you to stand upright. Your throat spasmed as you swallowed thickly, looking up to meet the Tsaritsa’s eyes as her gaze trailed over you, an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher painting her face.
“You will do well,” she said quietly, furs hanging over her shoulders and wavy hair laying still down to her ankles, unaffected by the wind howling around the two of you. “You always have.”
Your lips parted, words on the tip of your tongue that you couldn’t push out, but even if you did, you supposed it wouldn’t have mattered because as soon as she had finished speaking, she was gone as quick as she had arrived--disappearing in a flurry of snow.
You stood there for a moment, heart beating rapidly in your chest as you tried to process what had just happened.
It had been a long time since the Tsaritsa had come to speak to you face-to-face. As the years drew on, she had become more hardened and recluse, over the past few only willing to speak to Pierro of all of the Fatui’s higher ranking members. The people say that she had lost her love for them, refusing to show her face to the smallfolk, but you knew it wasn’t true. If it was, the storms that battered the cities and towns of Snezhnaya would be a lot more deadly as she wouldn’t be wasting her time buffering them.
You weren’t sure what it was that kept her locked away when years ago she had been quite the opposite. A part of you wondered if it were fear that was beginning to creep in now that the Fatui’s plans were finally set in motion--fear that she was drawing her people into an unwinnable war against the heavens, fear that all of the destruction she had been desperate to avoid had become inevitable because of no one but herself.
You supposed it was a valid fear, the Tsartisa loved like no other, and the love she felt for all of her people had always been the strongest. But there was no reason to fear--the Fatui would seize authority from the gods and build a new world in the ashes of the old one, a world where no nation would have to fear meeting the same fate that your home had. You swore it. And it didn't matter what you had to do in order to fulfill your promise.
---
wordcount: 4.6k
reblogs & feedback greatly appreciated
-- please do not nitpick tiny mistakes or stuff like that, i'd like feedback on plot/world building/characterization & eventually character development
#genshin x reader#genshin smut#cyno x reader#cyno smut#tighnari x reader#tighnari smut#childe x reader#tartaglia x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact smut#tartaglia smut#childe smut#cyno x you#tartaglia x you#tighnari x you#childe x you
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Checkmate
Call of duty x Chess player reader
Special! Female characters: Kate Laswell and Valeria Garza
You are a Chess player, but not just any Chess player. You are one of the top 10, beating every opponent who played against you without fail and always making an appearance in the daily news and newspaper after winning every competition.
Right now, you were sitting in the living room, practicing for the incoming competition that was going to happen in just a few days. Your eyes were bored on the Chess board and pieces in front of you, analyzing and envisioning every move within the board before removing a Bishop piece with a knight, placing the Bishop piece to the side. "Do you want me to help you practice?" Your partner asked, folding their arms over their chest. Your eyes lifted up from the board as a soft smile curled over your lips. "Sure, I don't mind as I could use another sharp mind than just my own." You chuckled a bit, gesturing for your partner to take seat across from you as you positioned all the Chess pieces back to their perceptive spots.
"You know the rules?" You asked, your eyes drifting back to the board in front of you. "Yes, I know the rules obviously.." Your partner responded, playfully rolling their eyes with a small, affectionate smile. You nodded your head as you moved a pawn piece forward. "Alright, just checking..your turn." Your partner also nodded their head and moved their selected piece.
Kate Laswell:
You and Kate would sit in the living room in absolute silence as the two of you continued to compete against one another, observing and analyzing every move on the Chess board before either you or Kate moved a piece and continued on.
At first it was just a friendly competition until it shifted an intense battle between the two of you as neither of you refused to lose.
At the end, it was a draw, causing both you and Kate to laugh a bit due to how competitive you two suddenly got.
Kate may or may not have played Chess back then as a hobby and got incredibly good at it.
Valeria Garza:
You were a bit skeptical of playing with Valeria, but you didn't say anything about it as it was just a friendly competition between the two of you..or so you thought.
Right now, Valeria was gripping chucks of her hair as her eyes darted everywhere around the board, looking for a way to beat you. Unlike Valeria, you were completely calm and relaxed while patiently waiting for Valeria to make her move.
You ended up winning at the very end, despite Valeria saying that she was simply going easy on you..Complete obvious lie.
Even after winning, Valeria would insisted (more like demand) on a rematch, so you complied and accepted the rematch.. You won for the second time and Valeria insisted once again for another rematch..She lost for the third time and would continue on demanding a rematch.
#call of duty#x reader#valeria garza#kate laswell#kate laswell x reader#kate laswell x you#valeria x reader
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More Important Than You Think.
A/N: Another Benny story coming up! I adore him and I found this in my drafts, fixed it up all nice and here she is! ❤️
Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader
~~~~~
“Yes, put him through.” We heard from over the phone, “You all there? I’ll put her on.”
I smile, draping my arm over Benny’s left shoulder, resting my chin on right, all while side hugging Harry with my free arm. For how long I’ve been stand here, I’m surprised my legs ain’t give out yet.
“Hello?”
“If he goes for the knight, hit him with a king rook pawn.”
“Benny?”
“If he goes for the bishop, do the same thing, but open up your queen file.”
“How do you know?” Beth said whilst laugh, still skeptical.
“It’s in the Times. It’s 7 a.m. here, but we’ve been working on it for three hours.”
“We?” Benny hands the phone to Harry, “Hi, Beth.”
“Hi, Harry.” She said, with a soft chuckle. “Hey, what about me?” I grab the phone, and put it up to my ear. “Hey, B.”
“(Y/N)..” She said, most likely on the verge of tears.
“I’m not that good at chess, but I am good at making snacks, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing, whilst helping the boys.” I said, handing the phone off to Harry, putting a hand on Benny’s shoulder, before walking over to his kitchen area, making a little charcuterie board.
“It’s really nice to hear your voices.”
“Oh, well, hang on.” Harry holds up the phone so Matt, Mike, Hilton and Arthur yelled into the phone, telling her they’re proud of her amongst other things.
It truly almost made me want to cry as I brought, the board to the table, gently setting it near the chess board. Benny’s up in seconds, a gentle hand to my lower back. “What’s wrong? You okay?” I nod.
“Just happy you’re all doing this is all.” I said, with a bit of a sniffle.
“You’re? You are helping too. You said so yourself.” I shake my head.
“I did, but I suck at chess, I only offer snacks and emotional support.” I said, pointing to the board, I just set up on the table.
“Okay, come here.” Benny grabs my hand, bringing me into his room, before closing the door. “That? Whatever you told me out there is bullshit. That is not all you do, and is know for.”
“You’re not just that, you’re a best friend, you’re a singer, a musician..my girlfriend? You’re all that and more. Does none of those things mean anything to you?” I nod stating that, ‘it does,’ in fact mean something to me, wiping my runny nose.
“Come on.” He hugs me tight, rubbing my back, before bringing me back into the living area of his place. “You okay? You alright?” Matt and Mike asked at the same time. I smile and nod, standing behind Benny, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I’m fine.”
After listening to them, give Beth all the different combos and variations of how the match with Borgov could go, for a bit, Benny stood up at some point light himself a cigarette.
I backed up from the guys, and stood next to him. “You think this’ll work?”
“It’s gotta work, if not then all those hours looking over all of his old matches, would be for nothing.” I nod, watching him take another drag of his cigarette, watching the end of it become red as it turned to ash and fell to the floor.
I don’t know what came over me, but once Benny took it out of his mouth, I gently plucked it from out his fingers, and held in between my lips. “I thought you, said you didn’t smoke.” He said, as the smoke left his body through both his mouth and nose.
“I don’t. Curiosity, I guess.” I take a drag and almost immediately start coughing, “And that’s why smoking’s for grownups.”
He took the cigarette back, putting it in between his own lips, patting my back with his free hand, I just responded with a death glare, but he stared ahead at the group running up his phone bill.
“You’re very clingy, you know that?” He admitted.
“Well, shit. Thanks for pointing it out. I’ll be outta your hair then.” I start to leave, but Benny grabbed my arm, pulling me back into his chest.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, rook.”
“Oh, but of course. You want everyone to know, just who I got to bed with every night.”
“Damn, right.” He pulled me into a kiss, breathing into it cause the cigarette smoke he was holding in, into my mouth and out my nose.
“But if I catch you smoking again, you and I will have problems.”
Benny laughed, finishing smoking his cigarette, before putting it out, “Yes, ma’am.”
#benny watts x black!reader#benny x black!reader#benny watts#benny watts x reader#cute imagine#wattpad#x reader#fluff
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the counterpart
chapter 3 — and there’s affection to rent
rating: explicit. i’m sensing a smut chapter approaching.
word count: 2,5k
pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of y/n)
cw: 90s au. they’re still playing chess, drinking, smoking, cussing, fucking (not yet, but eventually) and doing all the things you’re not allowed to read about if you’re not old enough. this chapter is just… pure dialogue and (not so subtle anymore) sexual tension, and i finally revealed their majors (took me long enough). consider this part a teaser. yeah.
ao3 link
part 4
—
What’s the most important thing one learns in college if their major is painfully tasteless? Especially if said one is a lost girl — all ambitions, but no actual possibilities, kidneys so done with your rebellious acts of liquor consumption they might fail you much earlier than they did Bobby Fisher?*
Your professors taught you how to come up with an intriguing title. How to make sure your column is the most eye-catching on the whole page. How to journal properly, and how to not be a pussy when you’re interviewing someone hard-talk style — taught you how to bend over people and for people.
Those were petty things. Undoubtedly crucial for your education, yet still petty. They didn’t teach you how to live. They just made you sleazy and more sleep-deprived. The first trait could still be put to a good use, though.
But college? Oh, college taught you how to live. Not the beautiful concept of being a part of it, but the campus itself, specifically the dorms — your self-proclaimed, crude lectors. They showed you everything you needed to know: from friendly faces coated in thick smoke on the tiny balcony, to sweaty ones, all rolled out tongues and glassy eyes — the disgusting art of bathroom quickies.
But most importantly?
College taught you there are five types of men you have to stay away from: bishops, knights, rooks, cowards (kings) and pawns (your favorite ones to devour).
Bishops are mouthy. They’re harsh — vile, even. Greedy heartbreakers, easily irritable when something refuses to get out of their oblique, grabby path. Mediocre in bed: unnecessary rough, redundantly rude in dirty talk. Terrified of any feeling that doesn’t involve hatred or malice. Smartasses (in a bad way). Pass.
Knights are immature. They have potential — a contentious one, to be frank, yet it’s still there, slightly palpable in their endless promises and occasional gentlemanly habits. They’re deeply insecure — self-conscious, even, always underestimating their power. A good base for raising the perfect partner — if only you have the patience to spare, that is. Not as unbearable in bed as the previous category. Sometimes they cook great breakfast the morning after.
Rooks are superior. Straightforward, yet humorless; good listeners, yet awful comforters — oh that constant lack of the golden mean, the complete inability to lie. They’re reliable, but not fun to sleep with. Not fun to date either — it’s almost like these men paired for life, invariably with someone as insufferably stable as their stoic demeanor. You still liked them though; but only as a rare, handsome dainty — an audience perfectly suited for your drunken monologues.
Kings and pawns are not worthy of being elaborated on. Skittish and obedient, former ones too selfish in bed, ladder ones too pathetically down bad. Finita la commedia.
In conclusion: one should play with those pieces, yet strictly avoid committing to them — to save the tears when you make an invariable sacrifice.
That thought spun inside your head — doomed and stupidly petulant, recycling itself slowly to a flavourless overchewed gum on the convex surface of your tongue, persistently threatening to jump out of your mean mouth any second. You wondered — shamefully, with an almost shy tredipation, — how would Viktor react to this incredible wisdom of your creation, how comical — or plausible, perhaps? would he find this metaphorical conclusion to be?
But you refrained from revealing it to him just now. No, you couldn’t care less about invoking a potential little discussion — not when he’d just returned to the still equipped with a chess board desk, and certainly not when your hand was settled so perfectly into the tender grasp of his. A set of longer, paler fingers twined oh so cautiously around your wrist, securely preventing it from any occasional twitches. Tending to your wound with special gentleness — as if he was constructing a fragile weapon, a thing dangerous enough to explode all over the place if he treats it with something bolder than a ghost of a touch. So concentrated: he pressed the tiny piece of cotton to the bloody mess under what once used to be your nail; shushing you softly when you flinched, feeling the saline lance right through the weak digit.
“Stay still for me, would you?” Viktor frowned, carving an angry little stroke into the back of your palm — a firm affection just for you to giggle about. The ambience around him didn’t resemble the one libraries usually possess anymore. It was an appointment now, and you adored the way he turned the place into a makeshift clinic with just a few quickly grabbed from the pharmacy trinkets.
“For you?” you pulled a taunt — an innocent one, yet utterly unsubtle in its intentions.
“Well, I’m your doctor,” he wreaked vengeance with a playful protest, elegantly twisting your implication. A reciprocation, of sort; a playful thing returning every single one of your tortuous undertones. “It’s only natural that you listen to the professional’s recommendations.”
He wasn’t clueless anymore. He wanted to proceed. He begged to proceed, actually; grazed your forearm approbatory and dull, then dared to crawl into the sleeve of your shirt. Just the briefest presence of fingertips under the cloth — peak intimacy only a library could provide.
“But I’m not quite deceased yet, and last time I checked — you were a mortician,” — a shot back, witty and precise. Had him chuckling warmly as you raised your head, allowing the copper to meet your irises with a playful tingle.
“Believe me, I can be versatile,” Viktor assured, only giving you half a tease to work with, to unravel. Submitting his gentle touch and returning to the medical one instead, carefully pulling out a patch out of his pocket after a short session of rummaging around.
“Oh, I already figured that much,” you allowed him to lead — both literally and figuratively, careless about the way he victoriously pointed out the flush on your face — barely as crimson as the disaster he cleaned up for you, yet still pleasantly noticeable.
That boy was no usual rook, knight or bishop of yours. Needless to mention something as fearful as a pathetic king.
There was something slightly pawn-like about him though — but you didn’t hate it like you normally would. You didn’t mind a little submission. You adored it. You wanted him at your mercy. Erotically so, to be precise. As if him wrapping a patch around your swollen finger isn’t erotic enough already.
Although it wasn’t mercy that made him care for you.
It was tenderness. A thing all the five-types-one-should-avoid were not capable of on their own.
Viktor broke the silence with a strangled little cough.
“It might ruin your nail-polish,” he warned, eyes flickered between you and already tinted with a humble red spot patch.
“As if there’s any nail left to apply the polish to,” you hissed, wincing at the sharp sensation stinging that sensitive piece of skin — no doubt staining the fresh little rag even more. Viktor tried to ease your suffering with an almost friendly pat on your shoulder.
What a way to ruin the eroticism.
“A tragedy, if you ask me,” he whispered, short and sweet, with a contrite little sigh, “you messed up a perfectly nimble hand.”
“You don’t know the first thing about compliments, do you, Viktor?” you pricked back, harmless and waggish; a careless, erratic thing, — already too far gone to stop those lively amber eyes from scanning you with terrified unease: had he said something stupid? Had he failed in humoring you?
You pulled him firmly straight out of the paralysis of his distress, fingers yanked gently at his to put them — now skittish and a little tense — back into an intertwinement with yours, demanding they linger there, safe and tender.
“I’m getting there,” he budged, slowly growing less fidgety against your touch, “Forgive me, I’m yet to master the art of courting.”
“I’m fucking with you,” you reminded handily. Watched him form a theatrical little scoff, but his teeth betrayed him, leaping out in an impish smile.
“Of course you are. You journalists love to torment people,” Viktor nodded, slightly tickling the underside of your palm with a relaxed swipe of a thick-skinned thumb.
You didn’t take it personally. You didn’t fancy your major enough to get defensive.
You didn’t question how exactly he found out about it either. His answer — tanned, handsome and talkative — was most likely rotting in bed right now, still half-alive from his birthday black-out even though it’s been literal days. Besides: if Viktor were to ask how did you find out that he’s an exceptional future engineer or that he’s a winner of multiple open chess championships — you’d send him straight back to Jayce too. The source was obvious.
“You know what I’m majoring in? Did you make a dossier of my poor persona?” you chose that torment instead. At his service, you gave the man precisely what he’d requested.
A thoughtful one, a pretty disgrace at his whim.
He should’ve been more careful with his desires.
“You’re not a project of mine to keep a dossier for you,” he reproached smoothly. “Unless…” his tongue clicked in thick suspense, “you’d allow me to make one. For collecting kompromat, of course — a procedure every opponent should adhere to.”
“Kompromat?”
“Yes, kompromat,” Viktor confirmed, unaltered.
“But I’m innocent,” — a cheeky lie, blatantly obvious. Had him squeezing your hand to prevent you from sliding out of his grasp, all too tight for a man that shrinked into a handsome flustered mess at your first attempt to crawl under his pale skin. Perhaps he simply took his sweet time in comprehending that he’s allowed to be vengeful.
“A cruel woman, mercilessly flirting with her opponents to bribe them into resignation?” he deadpanned, evidently pleased with a newly established privilege of savoring your touch for however long he pleased. “What’s innocent about that?”
“I’m not trying to bribe you into resignation!” you sneered, now defensive. Pulling away to watch him sigh at the loss of you in his palm — but he didn’t chase after you. Viktor backed off, bitter and respectful, leaving you with just the aftermath of his touch and a blood-stained patch tightly wrapped around your phalanx.
“You‘re not?” he whispered, suddenly reminded of the library’s policies.
You soothed him with a nod, following the trajectory of his wandering eyes. Pushing the amused hum back into your mouth as Viktor forced his sleeve to roll up, exposing a worn down watch. Apparently also reminded that he does not, in fact, belong just to you this Friday.
“I would use more… radical methods if I aimed to bribe you into anything at all,” you laughed out a raspy sound, no doubt feasting upon the way he stirred, wrapping that food for thought with him to go.
“How reassuring,” he murmured back, brushing his upper lip in a pensive, fleeting lick, eyes darting to your still full of unfinished business board.
“You’re leaving?” you mumbled rhetorically, hating just how desperate that came out.
“I’m afraid so, yes,” Viktor mused, reluctantly grabbing the clocks he brought with him, “but I still have to show you the draw. If only we could arrange another meeting.”
“But we weren’t recording our moves,” you groaned at the silly oversight, watching him rise heavily to his lanky legs, stretching above you into a tall pretty sight. “I don’t trust my memory to that extent.”
“Well, I do,” he objected, nestling his hand into the arched hilt of his cane, preparing to leave you — lonesome and terribly lacking his calming presence — in the legendary place of your duel. Making a bitter, sad-eyed mess out of you — a devastated subject abandoned in the filled with the smell of yellow pages air.
But you weren’t exactly known for your unlimited patience. If anything, it was the other way around — you wanted him to indulge you now, to turn on those heels of his and sink back down in his squeaky chair, letting you devour his genius as fervently as you pleased — oh the price you’d pay to dive into his mind, to watch him think, and defeat, and conquer.
“How does your schedule look on Sundays?” you uttered before your restless brain got the chance to turn it into an overthinked burden. A brave one — you had your eye on him and were determined to make it abundantly clear.
And Viktor, albeit still discreet, was determined to reciprocate.
“Normally — not eventful,” he laughed, delaying his departure to spare you one more sweet glance, “but this Sunday I’m playing chess with a remarkably persistent lady. As long as she’ll have me, of course.”
He gawked at you with the repartee of a complete wiseacre, and you flinched with a giddy giggle, secretly hoping he’d emphasized that last part — or somehow specified it to prevent your mind from spiraling into all the different ways you could have him in. Oh the bitter consequences of being a smartass: sass is contagious and you poisoned him with it, dooming whatever boundaries and clarity this man had possessed before making your acquaintance.
But it also meant the world was now your oyster. And you took the opportunity by its slender, practically paper-white neck — so far only figuratively, but you wouldn’t be opposed to turning it into something gentle and tangible: if only he consented to it, of course.
“Sunday it is, then. My room, if you’re comfortable?” you suggested, pushing it half-cowardly.
“I’m not allowed in that part of the dorm,” he marveled at the bold offer, yet his response didn’t imply any objections.
“And you intend to stick to that?”
“Of course not.”
“Then it wasn’t even worth mentioning. Room 505, it’s the one on the second floor…”
“What if I get lost?”
“Say my name to any freshman-looking girl and they’ll walk you straight to my very door.”
“Do you have a reputation I should worry about?”
“Do you ever stop asking irrelevant questions?” you finally snapped, two steps away from turning a gentle neck-grip you fantasized about earlier into a cold-blooded murder in the middle of a college library. “I write essays to earn extra-cash, if you’re that curious. People around the campus know me. Now, back to more urgent matters: please, don’t show up before ten in the morning. No, scratch that — eleven is even better. I like to sleep in on Sundays.”
Viktor listened to you carefully — with the perception of a responsible server, almost ready to scribble down your every complex instruction, only lacking a salute and a devoted ‘yes, ma’am’ to complete the procedure.
“It’s been a while since I looked forward to play someone,” he’ll confess to you on his way out of the building, failing to hold that shy thing in the unreliable prison of his gritted teeth, leaning on that thin cane with the whole heavy essence of his trembling audacity. A test he dared to run only before slipping away from that wide-eyed state of yours, escorted by a row of now painfully familiar to you clacks of metal against the concrete.
And later, when that hot summer day will slowly melt into a hot summer night; when you’ll abandon the comforter of your bed to stick out of the window, half-naked and positively enraged; when you’ll smoke your third cigarette of the hour to tame the riot of aroused nerves — you’ll think about him, and about chess, and about the things chess made you want to do to him.
—
notes:
*Bobby Fisher — a grandmaster, the only American chess player to defeat soviet players at the time. Died of kidney failure at the age of 64.
tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @thehistoriangirl @queen-of-elves @vyshnevska
#viktor arcane#viktor x reader#viktor fanfic#viktor smut#no beta we die like men#viktor x reader smut#viktor x f!reader#fic writer curse#the cunterpart
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Foundling Villa- Chapter 16
Royal!Charles Leclerc x Reader. Princess Y/n is arranged to marry Prince Charles. There will be many ups and downs that the author hasn’t planned out yet, but read along to find out more! (Yes, I know that sounds super cheesy) Warnings per chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!
Tag list: @notleclerc @sunsumonner @saturnsrinqs @livster @chonkybonky @eau-rougee @champomiel @justyouraverageeverydaysimp @multifandom-loser @atlanticowe
Half of me: I’m so sorry I haven’t posted! I’ve been super busy with visiting family and prepping for a huge test! I’m so sorry!
The other half of me: I’m doing this for free and I never set a specific schedule for this, so sucks to be you if you’re mad that it’s been a while
Warnings: last chapter! kinda
ao3 link epilogue>>
It was going to be a crushing defeat. One for the history books. Folks from near and far would flock to see you in all your glory.
You moved your bishop. Prince Max puzzled over the chess board for a moment before moving a pawn.
“Are you winning, cherié?” Charles’ hands warmed your shoulder and he leaned down from behind you to press a kiss to your temple.
“Yes,” you said, at the same time Prince Max declared, “no.”
Pierre laughed loudly. “Some disagreement, I see.”
“Shush,” you hissed at your friend who was seated around a table with many of Formuline’s leaders. A large map of the continent was spread out, old, yellowed paper which was cracked at the edges.
Prince Max had shown up at the Schumacher Estate a day or two ago and you had welcomed him with open arms against the suspicion of other leaders. They hadn’t allowed Prince Max to join their meetings and had placed him on house arrest, but you tried to make him feel more at home. He had explained his predicament to you, saying how he had defied his father. He was willing to divulge Redull secrets, so long as his people didn’t get hurt, but the other rulers had yet to take him up on his offer, worrying that he was lying.
You had noticed that Charles was hesitant towards Prince Max at first, but once he saw your trust in the man, he seemed to open up more.
“How are things coming along?” Charles asked the men at the table, staying at your side, rubbing soothing circles on your arms. You stayed engrossed in your game and he smiled softly at the crease of concentration that bent your eyebrows.
King Hamilton said, “Our advantage is positioning. Redull are surrounded by our troops, with Haas and Wolff to the west, Lauren from the north, and Enza from the southeast.”
“With the few men we still have,” Charles glared in Prince Max’s direction. Prince Max simply moved a rook.
“Redull’s advantage,” King Hamilton continued, “is their size. None of us knew how big and strong their army was growing, along with Williams.” Glances were shot towards you. In this room, you and Prince Max were the enemies. Charles met their stares, daring them to challenge him. “With Enza’s shattered forces, we’re barely able to outnumber them, not including their skill and weaponry. This will not be an easy fight. Camps of our men have sprung up on the edges of Enza, but we’ll need to begin this war soon. It’ll be a taxing war, both on lives and morale. We must decide, as one, to push forward.”
“I say we go for it,” King Zak Brown of Lauren nodded, looking around for confirmation. “We don’t get anything by waiting. We can start and end this war on our own terms.”
“And what if we fail?” King Stein of Haas argued. “Our armies will be obliterated and we will be defenceless. Redull will sweep the nation.”
“I don’t want a war,” King Hamilton sighed. “But I’m not sure we can avoid it.”
Prince Max took one of your knights. You moved your queen.
“Can’t we compromise?” Charles suggested. “Redull wants land. I would gladly reward them all of Enza for the safe return of my family and the end of war.”
“Charles. No.” You looked at him sternly. “You are not forfeiting your entire kingdom. Although…” You stares down at the chessboard before excusing yourself and rushing out of the room. Charles watched you go, confused. The monarchs still stood around the table, meaninglessly debating.
A few days later, Charles was finishing up breakfast with the rest of the residents of the Schumacher Estate when there was a knock on the door. Sara rushed to open it and you flew downstairs, still in your sleep clothes. The men politely averted their gaze, but Charles simply smiled at the mess of your hair and the pillow creases on your face. Sara giggled at your state and smoothed down your hair before opening the door. Just as you expected, it was Lando.
Lando was clearly dishevelled. He had been riding for days just to deliver your letter. Thanking him profusely- Lando had been a much-needed enthusiastic constant in your life- you took the parchment he handed to you. Lando bent over, panting, his hands on his knees. Sara took him inside and gave him water.
“Cherié, what do you have there?” Charles stood and came up behind you.
“I wrote to Robert,” you explained. “Redull wants land. Williams has it. Maybe not in this generation, but when my father passes and Robert takes the throne, maybe we could work out an agreement? Robert doesn’t really want the throne. He just wants to spend time with his family. His daughter was just born. Cambria, his wife, gave birth a week ago. Robert doesn’t care about the monarchy. He cares about his family. I thought that maybe, when he assumes the throne, Williams could become a faction of Redull. Redull gets land and closer access to Enza, Enza retains its land and monarchy, and hopefully, the prospect of war would dissipate. Robert agreed and said he would step down. But I don’t know if it would actually work. My other plan would be to wait until King Verstappen dies and have Prince Max rule Redull with a kinder hand.”
Charles blinked and looked back at the rulers of Formuline. Pierre muttered something noncoherent and King Hamilton yelled out, “We are not assassinating King Verstappen!” Prince Max looked up, confused. Rolling his eyes, he started setting up a new chess game. You had won the last match and he had demanded a rematch.
“He’s not saying no…” Pierre pointed out. King Hamilton rolled his eyes.
“Y/n, those are good, well-thought out ideas,” Charles said. “I think we could work with them.” He turned back to the breakfast-eating aristocrats. “We would need to draft an official treaty that speaks of future generations and Williams’ place in the world if they rule under Redull. Would Redull take complete control? Would Prince Robert act as an ambassador doing Redull’s work? Would we wait until King Verstappen dies to put this into action? We would need to iron out the details, but I believe you’re onto something here, cherié!” Charles’ grin was wide and he took your hand in his. “It’s a start. And that’s all we need.”
“You really think it could work?” You asked. When Robert had written to you a week ago with the news of your niece, the inkling of a plan had begun to form. But you didn’t think the royals of Formuline would agree to it.
“I mean, if we iron out a few kinks, then yes.” King Hamilton thought out loud, pulling the map of the continent towards him, a waffle covered in syrup still in front of him. The leaders started murmuring and writing things down, too quickly and quietly for you to catch on.
“Good job, Y/n.” Charles pulled you into a strong hug. “I’m proud of you. Hopefully your ideas will let me see my family again.”
“Our family,” you corrected him.
Charles laughed and repeated, “Our family.”
I hate how I ended this cause I hate it when the reader just comes in and solves the entire fucking war cause that’s not what happens in real life!!!!! so I tried to show how her plan wouldn’t be the final decision in ending a continent-wide war, but don’t worry, there will be a much-better written epilogue
#Foundling Villa#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc one shot#F1#f1 fanfic#f1 one shot#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#lord perceval#monarchy#monarchy au#prince!charles leclerc x reader#prince!charles leclerc#slow burn#Pierre Gasly#michael schumacher#Max Verstappen#Jos Verstappen#lewis hamilton
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