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sporadicbeans82 · 1 month

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Reader’s dad has really high standards for her like impossibly high for just a 16 year old, and she overworks herself to the point she passes out and all the girls are really concerned and she’s just like no i have to keep going i have to be better i have to be enough and then they all press her for more info and then when she eventually tells them about how she’s feeling they all comfort her and tell her playing pro soccer at that young is amazing and that she’s enough]” Barcelona Femini (mainly Alexia Putellas) or Arsenal WFC

You 100% do not need to write this just would love to see your talented writing skills give this a shot🫶

Enough || Barcelona Femení x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, toxic family relationships, lack of self care from reader, Swearing (probably?)

Word count: 4.3k words

A/N: I lied, this was next. Feel free to make more requests. I hope that this is alright, anon! I kind of strayed from the plot.

“You should have scored more, you didn’t try hard enough,” Your father’s voice was flat, the comments made offhandedly as if he were talking about what you were having for dinner. As if he weren’t stabbing you in the back with his words, the comment digging deeper and deeper and cracking your heart open. “That header was yours, you disappointed your team by letting that one go.”

Growing up, you’d always dreamed of playing professional soccer, and so your parents had supported your dreams. They drove you to each of your games and training, and helped pay for you to go to an academy. They helped you get to your national camps, made and packed nutritious food for you, and supported you in each and every way that they could.

You stuck to your dreams and overcame so many challenges to get to where you were. You’d learned from the best, had run into injuries, had laughed with friends and had lost those friends as they’d given up the dreams that all of you had had. You’d thought about giving up, too, especially when your mother had been diagnosed with cancer.

She’d fought tooth and nail to stay alive, working hard to still help you become the best player that you could. She continued to support you with your father, up until the point where she was far too weak to continue doing so. She’d gone to every single one of your games, even when she felt sick or like she didn’t have the energy, and for that you were determined to make it worth it for her. Little did you know that watching you was your mother’s greatest pride, and she would not allow her sickness to keep her from supporting you.

And so you stuck to the sport, even when your friends did not, and it had all paid off in the end. In the summer, you’d signed for Barcelona Femení, the day after your sixteenth birthday. Your mother was there for your signing, beside your father. That day, she promised you that she would watch your first game with Barcelona no matter what.

She hadn’t made it that long, dying only a few days later. You’d taken the loss hard, but it was your father who had taken it the hardest. Your father had hardened in ways that you hadn’t anticipated, becoming cruel and harsh. He seemed to have given up hope, the bags beneath his eyes dark and puffy.

He was a shell on the man that he’d once been, and it showed in the way he now treated you. After the loss of your mother, he’d drawn into himself and away from you, and you found yourself so much lonelier than you had ever been.

The team had been there for you, allowing you to take time off and letting you know that they had psychologists and people to talk to if you had needed it. It took you a week to return.

When you were finally mentally ready to move on and begin participating in training sessions, it was now your captain, Alexia Putellas, who drove you to practices.

Your father no longer attended your matches, no longer worked hard to ensure that you got all the support that you deserved. Instead, he sat at home and mourned the loss of your mother. The truth was, you were both hurting, but you had to be strong in hopes that your father would soon bounce back.

He never did.

You hadn’t told any of your teammates, but the stress of the situation was getting to you. It showed in your performance and the way you trained in all of the worst ways. You were exhausted, emotionally and also physically as you had troubles sleeping at night. You wanted a hug from your mom, wished that she was there to tell you that everything would be alright.

But she wasn’t there, which was the entire problem, and she would never be able to do that again.

And so things continued as they were for several months. The pressure grew onto you, far too much for your young shoulders to carry on their own, but you forced yourself to remain strong. You worked harder than you ever had in your life, attempting to be enough for your father and to try to make your mother proud as you’d promised her.

Foolishly, you dreamed at night that you could bring your father out of the deep pit of depression he’d fallen into. Maybe, if you tried hard enough, he’d realize that you really were good at soccer. Maybe he’d wake up and realize that you needed him still, but the truth was that a part of him had died when your mother had, and you would never be getting him back.

You’d basically forced him to come to your match, begging him for weeks on end to come to at least one. Ironically, it was the first time you were being trusted to start for your team as well. It was supposed to be a special match, commemorating everything that you and your parents had ever worked for.

You’d hoped that he would come out of his shell if he returned to a little bit of his old life. You’d been wrong, as the second you’d stepped into his car, he was throwing insults and critiques at you.

He was nothing of the man you’d grown up with, and it hurt you like no other pain you’d felt in your life. Even breaking two bones in your leg at thirteen didn’t compare to the pain in your chest, hollowed out by month after month of loneliness and pain. You felt like your heart, once full of love, had been scraped empty of any positive emotion that it had once felt, and your father held the scalpel.

You tried arduously to tune your father out, trying to focus on the positives of the match as your father drove.

You’d won the game!

“You relied on the other defenders far too much to cover for your careless mistakes.”

You’d made an amazing tackle on a player who had skirted past Ingrid Engen! It had earned you a shower of applause from the watching fans and a proud peck to your forehead from Ingrid herself!

“You were too slow, you need to be faster, like Batlle.”

Alexia had told you that she was proud of you!

“You aren’t good enough for this team, God knows why they chose you.”

You weren’t aware of the tears which fell down your cheeks, and your father ignored them. You didn’t know why he was so intent on breaking you down after years spent building you up. You missed how life was before.

You missed your mom.

As your father pulled into the driveway of your childhood home, you hopped out. Before a sob could break free of your quivering lips, you were bounding up the steps to your room and closing the door behind you. You flopped down on the bed, all of the emotions which had bubbled beneath the surface coming out in ugly, whiny gasps and cries.

Your heart burned, as if scorched. You had never felt so empty, so dark, and so lonely. You wanted someone to hold you, and you didn’t know who to turn to anymore. You cried yourself to sleep, although you only managed to get a few meager hours of sleep before you were awoken by some recurring nightmare.

-----

You barely managed to drag yourself to training, exhausted. The dark bags beneath your eyes stood out starkly against your pale skin. You were dressed in a jumper and sweatpants, both of which used to be an appropriate size but which now hung off of your tired frame.

As Alexia picked you up, she noted your exhaustion with a small frown.

“Hola, chiqui. Estás bien?” Her voice held a certain concern which was almost enough to break down your walls. You yearned so badly for a sense of comfort, and the which Alexia looked seemed to offer that.

You forced yourself to turn towards the window, not wanting to break down in front of your captain. Your father’s words from the past few months wore heavy on your mind. You were a disappointment and a burden, and you didn’t want Alexia to tell Jona that the team didn’t need you and decide to release you. You wanted to be enough, and you had promised yourself every night that you would be better, you just needed a little bit more time.

Alexia frowned harsher, nearly locking the car and forcing you to talk to her, but deciding against it. She didn’t want to push you, but she’d noticed that you weren’t okay for a while.

She’d taken note of the way you always did extra laps and repetitions of each of their workouts. She watched you participate in extra opportunities to practice penalties and how you stood behind after each training for at least an hour to do more work. She knew you were exhausting yourself, could see it in the way you could barely stand.

She didn’t understand why you pushed yourself so hard, given how good you were. She tried to give you advice, to compliment you whenever she could and saw how you absolutely beamed under any sort of praise or compliment, as though you didn’t get it enough.

Over the last few months, she’d taken on almost a mentoring role to you. You looked up to her, and she could see how you held each of your teammates in such high regard. For whatever reason, however, it just didn’t seem to stick in your mind that you were of the same caliber as each excellent athlete within the team.

As she watched you turn away from her, she realized she would need to confront you soon. It was obvious that you weren’t taking care of yourself, but she didn’t want to do it now, not when you were blocking her out as hard as you could. She would need backup, probably from the other captains of the team, and made a promise to herself that she would do it later that day.

Instead of confronting you like she yearned to do, she stayed quiet and allowed you your peace. She watched as, ever so slowly, your shoulders sagged and your body untensed. You’d fallen asleep, and Alexia turned the music down a little bit to try to make the atmosphere easy to sleep in.

Alexia noticed how the harsh lines in your face relaxed as you slept. You looked more peaceful than she’d ever seen you. She hated that she had to wake you up as the two of you arrived at the training center.

She parked as gently as she could before reaching over and gently shaking you awake. You groaned as she did so, almost turning away in such a careless, teenage way that Alexia had never seen you do. You always seemed so much more grown up than you were supposed to be, even more so than Claudia or Pina or Vicky, all of whom were older than you.

“‘M not ready yet, Mom.” You rumbled, and Alexia froze, the frown on her face deepening. She’d tried to be there for you, having lost her own parental figure in her father. She knew the pain that you felt all too well.

So not to be mistaken for the woman who you’d just lost, Alexia spoke up this time as she shook at you again.

“Despiértate, nena. We are here.” You startled awake, the barriers which had dropped as you slept appearing once more as your face tightened again, a frown set upon your face which mirrored Alexia’s.

You thanked her quietly before climbing out of the car, purposefully walking ahead of Alexia so that she couldn’t ask you any questions about your slip up.

You entered the locker room near-silently, the hood of your jumper up to cover the vast majority of your face. You ignored the looks you got from each of your teammates in favor of quickly getting dressed for training.

As you went to tie your shoes, you realized you were, yet again, crying.

You’re too emotional. Words of your fathers’. Your teammates wouldn’t like you if you showed emotion in front of them. You pushed the fabric of your sleeve against your cheeks, leaving red marks behind with how harshly you rubbed at the salty tears.

Then, to try to remain inconspicuous, you bent over to tug your shoes on to your feet. You thought you were successful, but hadn’t anticipated how much you’d struggle with your laces. Your exhaustion mixed with your lack of breakfast had caused your hands to shake.

Each time you’d try to make a loop, your quaking fingers would pull too hard or drop the lace altogether.

All of your teammates noticed your struggle, but it was Paños who stepped in. The older woman knelt down at your feet, hands wrapping around your own and holding them for just a second. Her eyes looked up into yours, noting the tear stains on your cheeks and giving you a comforting smile.

Then, she refocused on your shoes and began to tie them for you. The rest of your teammates watched on anxiously, although they continued to prepare for training and tried not to stare. The truth was, everyone could see that something was going on with you and that you weren’t okay, but they were scared to upset you by saying anything. You already seemed too tiny and isolated and they walked on eggshells around you.

Each of your teammates yearned to be there for you, but they didn’t know you well enough to know how to be there for you.

Paños finished with your shoes before standing, holding both of her hands out for you to take. She tugged you to your feet easily, one arm wrapping around you in almost a motherly manner.

The woman was usually seen joking with the younger kids, but with you she had taken a different role, like Ale.

“Listos, nena?” The goalkeeper asked you, voice soft and comforting. Like Alexia, her voice nearly caused you to break down. You felt your shoulders shake beneath the weight of Sandra’s arm and resisted the urge to turn and hug her like you would have your mother.

You wanted comfort, but your father had convinced you time and time again that you didn’t need it and that you’d be a burden if you sought it out, and so you nodded and pulled away.

You walked out onto the field and began to stretch. You kept your head down, suddenly more numb than you’d felt in months. You ignored the way your stomach clenched with hunger and the way your head had begun to ache and sting from your lack of sleep, proper nutrition, and all of your crying.

You didn’t look up, even as more of your teammates filtered out to join you. Claudia and Patri stretched next to you, trying to provide jokes for you to laugh at. They didn’t stop even as you didn’t react, continuing to try to cheer you up in the only way they knew how at the moment.

When a whistle sounded to signal the beginning of warmups, you stood instantly. Too fast, however, as your world tilted and spun around you. It reminded you of the first time you’d ever tried alcohol on your fifteenth birthday.

An arm wrapped around your waist and you regained your balance against the firm body of one of your teammates.

“You okay?” You heard someone ask. Looking up, you caught the concerned glance of Ingrid Engen, who had also taken you under her wing when you’d joined the team. You nodded, pulling away from her, too.

So many people had touched you in the past hour, more than you’d had since your mother had passed away. You almost didn’t know how to react to all the comforting touches and glances, having not received them in so long.

Ingrid watched on sadly as you walked away from her, the concern which swirled within herself increasing as she watched you wobble away. Ingrid had noticed how out of it you were, how tiny you had been in the clothes which had fit you a month ago. You were pale, more than normal, and the way you’d nearly passed out showed Ingrid that you were not fit to practice.

The Norwegian caught Alexia’s gaze from across the yard, shaking her head at the Spanish captain to try to convey that you shouldn’t be training.

Sensing that something was wrong, Alexia began to make her way over to you. As she did so, however, your legs finally seemed to cave in from underneath you.

None of your teammates would ever be able to get the image of your crumpled figure on the turf as Alexia and Ingrid both ran to you. The rest of your teammates watched on as the medics were called over.

You were turned on your back by Alexia, one of her fingers touching at your throat as they attempted to find a pulse. It was thready and uneven, but there, and Alexia wanted to cry. She cursed herself for not confronting you sooner, more worried than she remembered ever being as the medical staff pushed her back to give your crumpled form more room.

Alexia had been the one to recommend you to the team, having attended one of your matches for Spain’s U17 match. You’d played up and had still outclassed so many of your teammates, a solid wall in the backline which your teammates depended upon. She’d seen the glimmer of excitement and determination in your eyes, one that you’d lost since the passing of your mother.

She felt like this was all her fault. If she had just spoken to you sooner and had investigated what was going on with you… then, maybe, you would have been okay. She felt as though she had failed you and her responsibilities as a captain to ensure your safety.

You’d become a skeleton of the incredible human that you’d once been, and had watched all the life drain from you while being unable to do anything about it. As you were placed upon a cart to be carried off the field, however, Alexia promised that she would be there for you.

You were wasting your life away, and Alexia was determined to figure out why.

-----

You awoke in a dimly illuminated room, your throat dry and your eyes feeling like they’d been doused with sand. You groaned, attempting to lift your hand as you slowly game through to try and brush at your forehead. You felt cold and sticky all at once– you didn’t feel well at all.

Your hand was caught on something, and you attempted to bat at it only to have your hand caught by something else. As the room slowly began to swim into your vision, you caught the familiar brown eyes of your captain.

“Hola, capi.” You rasped, and Alexia’s concerned face brightened ever so slightly, a small smile gently pulling her lips upward.

“Hola, chiqui. Como estás?” Alexia inquired, her voice far gentler than you’d ever felt.

“Not very good,” You whispered honestly, feeling like shit. You were tired of fighting, tired of feeling like you weren’t enough. You were ready to be honest about how you felt, no matter if the people around you would stop loving you as your dad promised that they would. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” This voice was different, coming from your left. Slowly, your head fell sideways and you caught the glance of Ingrid. The girl looked more worried than you ever had seen her, and you felt truly terrible for worrying the older woman.

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say to that. You knew that you hadn’t been feeling very well for a long time, but you’d been too scared to mention it to anybody but your father. The man who was supposed to keep you safe had failed you in all ways possible, but you didn’t see it that way.

You felt like you weren’t enough and that it was you who had failed, and that you didn’t deserve comfort or love because of it.

Alexia sat up, the motion causing your gaze to come back to her.

“Do you want to tell me why you haven’t been taking care of yourself?” Alexia speaking English took you by surprise. You supposed that it shouldn’t have been that surprising, but you knew that the girl seemed to almost avoid speaking the language. Her voice was still low, comforting, and still worked at lowering your barriers ever more.

You had to resist the urge to throw yourself in her arms and blubber like a baby. You reminded yourself that they would remove you from the team, that they wouldn't accept you, that they would see you as weak.

However, the way Alexia held your hand, her grip comforting and sure, made you think that… maybe… your dad was wrong. Maybe they did care.

“I…” you hesitated, and felt someone put a hand on your shoulder. Glancing over, you realized that Paños was there, too. You caught her concerned gaze, the small smile on her face, and heard her tell you that it was okay.

It was then that you realized, all of the adults that you trusted most in the world, that made you feel better when you were at your worst, were there for you. They were here for you when you were lower than your lowest, and if they hadn’t left when you’d fallen on your face on the field, then they wouldn’t leave now.

That thought gave you the courage to tell the truth, and so you did.

The girls listened throughout your story. You told them how low you felt, how scared you were. You told them that you missed your mom, but so did your dad. You told them that he’d become a shell of the man he’d once been, that he’d become cruel and harsh– everything that your dad was not. The girls’ faces were stormy, but still they worked to comfort and reassure you in every way that they could.

By the end of your retelling, you were crying, but so were they.

You were utterly exhausted as a yawn broke through, revealing your exhaustion to the other girls. It was Alexia who spoke first, frowning at you.

“We are here for you, no matter what. We will fix this.” Her words were hard, but not harsh. They were a promise, one that you trusted. “Sleep, we will be here when you wake up.”

“I’m okay.” You retorted. Truthfully, you were terrified. You were scared that they would leave after trusting them with the information and words that had burdened you for months, just as your father had promised you.

Sensing your nervousness, Alexia gently slid up and onto the bed, taking her time and giving you plenty of room.

As soon as the older woman had sat herself up, careful of the IV in your hand, you moved. You buried yourself against her, an arm wrapping around her back as your face buried itself in her shoulder. Alexia, ever so carefully, wrapped her arms around you in return.

She pressed a warm, careful kiss against your forehead, and allowed you to cry into her shirt. She did not care about the way your tears wet the material, reassuring you in a spattering of both English and Spanish words. Ingrid and Sandra stepped out to give the two of you privacy, although they would be back for you. They would never leave your side, not now that they knew what you’d been going through.

Alexia continued to hold and comfort you in the ways that you’d yearned for months, her touch gentle.

That was how you fell asleep, and how you woke up hours later. Despite the amount of time you’d spent in the spare room of the training center, Alexia had stayed. She had not allowed anybody to wake you up, having come to the conclusion that she would never allow your father to speak to you ever again.

That night, she took you to her home, which she shared with her girlfriend, Olga. There, they cared for you.

Alexia made sure that you spoke to a therapist, and that you never saw your father again. She supported you in the ways that you deserved, and in the ways that you'd lacked since your mother had passed away.

Slowly but surely, Alexia saw you return to the kid that you’d once been: determined, carefree, and stronger than you’d ever been.

Freed from the confines of your father’s sorrow, you were able to soar. You rose to levels of success that you’d only ever been able to dream of, and you stayed true to your promise.

You made your mother proud.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #harper writes

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

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Day 13- Step Bro!Dazai/Reader/Step Bro!Fyodor

Notes: I think it's a little ooc, but i really couldn't decide which characters to go with so yeah.

also, uhm, that fyodor header picture has nothing to do with the actual story, i just though he looked so fucking hot with that gun(also yes, ik im using the step silbing/dad concept twice but its just so sexy to me yaknow*)(*and also, if your wondering, i actually have a wonderful relationship with my father)

Ever since you can remember the house had been cold. You didn't call it your house, even though you had lived there all your life. No, it was more akin to a creature unto itself, a perfect reflection of your childhood. You were born in this house, the only child Mother, or Cecilia as she insisted upon, didn't abort. You spent your younger years with a nanny, who cared for you the best she could. She taught you to read and write, and you excelled especially at math. But Cecilia didn't care. She never cared. And the house reflected her disinterest.

The nanny, a kind woman named Martha, had been disposed of when you turned eight. Cecilia decided you were old enough to function on your own and fired the waste of money. You spent your years after that in the library, absorbing information, reading fanciful stories with mothers who loved their daughters. You wondered why Cecilia never loved you.

When you turned ten, Cecilia brought home a man. She introduced you, and you stood like instructed, pretty and well behaved. He patted you on the head, but never spared you a glance. He was tall, blond and very, very young. Much younger than Cecilia. And he was much too enamored to care for you, Cecilia's little child. Cecilia encouraged this behavior, and although the number of people in the house had grown, you were all alone. You were always alone. But it was ok, you were used to the silence. You sat in your large playroom, and cried into your pillow, muffling your feelings in the silk. Cecilia didn't need your burdensome feelings.

The summer you turned eleven, Cecilia brought another man home. And this man was kind to you at first. He gave you candy and treated you with kindness, luring you into his trap like a spider. The first time he hit you, you had cried defiantly for Cecilia. And of course Cecilia had not come, for she would rather believe her boytoys over her own flesh and blood. Humans were cruel things, ready to hurt others at the drop of a hat. And Cecilia was the cruelest. Nothing comforted you for ounce as you cried into your comforter, as unloved as before.

The summer you turned fifteen it was clear you had inherited Cecilia's peerless beauty. You spent the rest of the summer mastering makeup and when you arrived at your private school you were instantly popular. The makeup just elevated your already peerless beauty and people, both boys and girls fell at your feet. You reveled in the popularity, the love. A different kind of love, but love all the same. The house congratulated you, but Cecilia didn't care. She never did, after all.

Your grades never fell however, you simply could not let them. If you were proud of anything, it was your intelligence. It was wholly yours, unlike your beauty, inherited from Cecilia. You hated that you were her creation, hated it with your entire very being. You loved your intelligence, however. It came from your father, you were told briefly by Cecilia, and because you had never met him it was easier to accept his qualities. The house was from your father, his money at least. A gift to Cecilia.

And the one gift he had ever gotten you was a ring, a gorgeous piece of silver and emeralds that Cecilia had taken, stoll right from your pudgy two year old hands. You had never even gotten to hold it as an adult. You didn't miss it, not really. But you hated the trait you shared with Cecilia, a sense of selfishness, and a love for jewelry.

It was on your sixteenth birthday, sitting at a table alone as you were blowing out the birthday candles, that you truly cried without the comfort of your pillows. Cecilia was out, and as you eat your cake, you soon come to realize that you had grown up too fast. You had been an adult since the moment Martha was fired and you had sat in the cold walls of your beige playroom, crying and crying for comfort, something that would never find you again. You were a shell, a puppet, a beautiful china doll empty of love. You were Cecilia. The house laughed at your plight, as you sobbed into your pillow, muffling your feelings into the comforting silk.

It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after you turned seventeen when Cecilia broke the news. You were sitting by the pool, sunbathing in your swimsuit. Cecilia simply walked in, spared you a glance, and informed you she was getting married. You felt a small shiver of surprise run up your spine. Cecilia had had many boyfriends, yes, but she never married them. This man had to be different. Or maybe it was her age, and her fading looks. You hated the spike of happiness that pillaged though your heart, you hated how feelings of hatred turned you into a spiteful shrew, just like Cecilia. Cecilia had cracked open a beer, flipping through her magazine, sparing you one last glance. “He has sons, two of them.” She had said, closing the screen door behind her.

⋆｡ °✩

“There you are, Name. You're late.” Cecilia said, giving you her usual faintly disapproving stare mixed with disgust. You still quail under it, even though it's the same one you’ve seen for years and years and years. You still fear her disapproval, even after all.

“I'm sorry Cecilia.” You say, straightening your spine. You're still in your school uniform, and the bus was late but you know better than to give excuses. Cecilia doesn't care for those. The little skirt and blazer combo is one of your favorites, and the only thing you truly love about St. Catherine's private school for young ladies. The walls of St Catherines are barren and cold, but not as cold as your own. Cecilia flips her hair, looking perfectly put together as always, although her age is beginning to show around her eyes. She hates it, you know, and you love it. You can't wait for Cecilia to wither away, her personal worst nightmare.

“Don't embarrass me, Name.” Cecilia says, her cold eyed stair rooting you to your place. “Just smile pleasantly and entertain your step brothers, alright Sweetheart?” She says. The pet name reeks of disinterest but her disinterest is preferable to her anger. For when Cecilia angers the foundations of the very house shake. You nod, and Cecilia takes that as enough. A knock sounds on the door, and any ugly expression is gone from her face as she flies for the door, opening it and hopping into the arms of the man behind it.

He’s your mothers usual type, tall and handsome, but several years older than you would have guessed. He spins her around, and they kiss. You look away. There are two boys standing behind him on the doorstep, and to your surprise they also look away from the torrid display. Their strange boys, both around the same height, but that is the only thing they share in common. They don't even really look related, but who are you to judge? Done with their display, Cecilia and her new husband step through the door, still attached at the hip. Cecilia throws you a glare, and you put on your customary smile, a smile so fake you feel like a barbie doll.

“My daughter, Name.” Cecilia almost imperceptibly grimaces at the word daughter, gesturing at you. You smile. “Hello.” You say, feeling like a fake. The man gives you a smile, gesturing at his sons, who have stepped through the door, and now stand on either side of him and Cecilia. “My sons, Fyodor and Osamu.” The one on the right smiles at you, the other one simply gives you a nod. They're so different, you’d almost think them adopted. But you can see their features in their father.

The smiling one, Osamu, has short wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He gives you a tiny wave, and you feel your smile become genuine for a second, before you catch yourself. The ones who smile are more dangerous, you had learned long ago. They lure you with kindness and hit you with force. He’s dressed in a wrinkled button down and uniform pants, his posture casual with his hands in his pockets. A matching tie hangs crooked on his neck. It's the uniform for your school, or the boys school across the street. St. Catherines school for young ladies and St. Andrews school for young men share a single campus separated by a metal fence.

The one on the left side is pale, almost sickly pale, with dark circles to match his long dark hair. It looks soft, his hair, and brushes just below his jaw. H’s eyes are dark, and they run over your face, almost as if they're checking for cracks in your composure. He’s dressed in the same uniform, but his appearance is more neat. His tie is tied correctly, and he wears a black jacket over the rest of his uniform. They are strange boys, but you are very used to strange after all.

“Name? Entertain your new brothers, Sweetheart.” Cecilia says. You wince at the nickname. You hate that nickname, you hate it so much. “Yes Cecilia.” You bite out, smile still in place. You feel empty, like a porcelain doll. A tool Cecilia can use and discard at any moment. You feel disposable. You hate it.

⋆｡ °✩

Your new brothers are kind, if a little strange. The quiet one with pretty hair, Fyodor, is a year older than you. He plays cello and dislikes Cecilia, which makes you like him a lot. Fyodor treated you with an amount of distance at first, but slowly warmed up to you when he found out you play piano. He had informed you one day, when he was helping you with homework, that his mother was a Russian supermodel. And he’s handsome, you're not really surprised. He’s kind in a quiet kind of way, less teasing than his younger brother. You also notice how he subtly moves forward, shielding you whenever Cecilia is angry. You love him for it, that protectiveness.

Osamu is younger than you by about six months, and loud. He quite clearly makes it his goal to be the loudest person in the room and you love how it annoys Cecilia every time he steals her thunder. He’s a very touchy person as well, unlike his brother. He would comfort you with jokes when he saw you were down, and could not cook for the life of him. His reaction to Cecilia was the most reactionary. He taunted her, shot smart alec remarks in her direction, or just plain ignored her. And every time he got a reaction. Cecilia’s face would flush red with anger, and she would strike out, just to be dodged with a snarky little comment. And the more angry she got, the more pleased Osamu became

And they hate each other, the brothers. At first you had thought they got along well, but then you noticed the snarky little comments they would trade back and forth, the glares behind their parents back. Everything is a constant competition, be it a board game or report cards they make it their goal to beat the other each time. And you don't really mind, the house feels warm and full of life, and you feel included. To them, life seems a game, and the people who live it merely pieces, to be moved to and fro to their pleasure. You must assume yourself a spectator, not a piece, but if you were a piece you would like to be the queen. Cecilia didn't like your new brothers, that much was obvious. But she still used them to belittle you every chance she got.

“Your brothers got all A+.” She would say, pinning you with that faintly disgusted expression she used as default. “And you got an A.” You would surrender to your room to cry in peace, away from Cecilia's proud eyes, and the prying ears of your much to perceptive brothers.

But if they shared anything, it was a sense of mystery. Because each of them never allowed you to get too close, keeping you forever just a length away. You tried not to take it personally, but you still shed a tear or two.

But for the first time in many years, you were happy. The house congratulated you, as its hallways filled with laughter to replace to silence, its rooms with color to replace the beige. Cecilia was as unpleasant as ever, but she was busy with her husband, and left you and your step brothers to their own devices. But still you feared it would all go away. That soon, they would tire of you, that they would never let you close, that Cecilia would grow tired of her husband and toss out the trash as she always did. It was a nagging fear that came back to haunt you in dreams, until you woke up in a cold sweat.

And there's an odd tension that hovers in the air, whenever you and the brothers interact. A strange tension that makes your blood sing with excitement, that leaves you on your toes with anticipation. When Osamu slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose hug of sorts. When Fyodor pulls your hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing your face, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a tension you’ve felt before, a tension you don't want to give name to, a tension that scares you. But then, you're sure it's just you, that your new brothers simply treat you as a sister, like how you should treat them. You should not desire your step brothers, Cecilia had told you the night before they moved in. But then again, Cecilia had never been a very good role model.

⋆｡ °✩

It's raining, big fat drops pattering against the roof, wind splattering the droplets against the window panes. A faint clatter can be heard from outside, as if the wind itself is crying, banging at the doors. The wind sounded lonely. It banged on the doors of the world, begging to be let into the light, much like you had when you were young. You wanted to comfort the wind, to hold her in your arms with the warmth you had never been given, but everyone knew you could not hold the wind. So you simply told her to stay strong, and let the night and rain embrace her for you.

You would always read when it rained. You remembered a book you had read long ago. It had been the one to solidify the wind as lonely, and had been oh so impressionable to your young mind. ‘Keep strong wind’ it read, ‘keep strong and soon the rain and night will hold you in their comforting embrace, will keep you warm and happy…’. You had always seen yourself in the lonely wind, and had dreamed of your rain and night to comfort you. The library had long been your only comfort, and you begged for human comfort, human warmth.(You didn't dare to hope that your step brothers could be your night and rain, because you knew god would hear you and laugh in your face. Because god loved Cecilia, not worthless you.)

Cecilia and her husband are gone, on a weekend trip to Hawaii. You were not invited, because of course not, and neither were your brothers.

The house is almost silentand with Osamu out at book club the house seems to sigh in relief, giving itself time to relax before the loudness returns.

You are curled up on the couch with a book, listening to Fyodor as he practices his Cello. It's a cozy evening, the fire crackling in the grate, the strains of the first movements of Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1 floating through the cozy atmosphere. You hear the piano part along with him unconsciously, fingers tapping your things in rhythm. You can never quite beat the musician out of you, it's embedded into your very being at this point.

Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1, the first movement is a deep piece, and slightly depressing if you're being honest. But you love the melancholy that surrounds it. It creates a certain air, allowing the instruments to tangle together beautifully almost as if the melodies are dancing together. They twist like lovers, the parts, dipping one then the other, a beautifully teasing medley of pure emotion, something you could never truly give in life. It would be nice to dance with Fyodor, he was such an elegant human being, from the way he walked to his looks. You imagined the two of you would sail across the floor of the ballroom, his gloved hand on your waist, twirling you and spinning you and only looking at you. You wanted him to gaze upon you with reverence, much like the men your mother married gazed upon her. You want to be loved.

The Cello part comes to an end, and you sit silently for a moment, hesitant to break the spell. Then Fyodor's accented voice, still slightly hushed, breaks through the atmosphere. “How was it?” He says. You love his accent, it feels all full and warm. “Good, good as always.” You say, putting a finger in your book and looking up. “You were a bit sharp on the first note of measure twenty seven.” You're reading Pride and Prejudice, again. You’ve always loved it, and have read it some many times you’ve simply lost count.

Fyodor sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his cello back into its case. “You always catch my mistakes. What would I do without you, Name.” He says with a small smile. Your heart warms at the praise, your smile threatening to break out of its confinements, all together and split your face in two. You tamp it down, putting on a face of disinterest you're not sure he believes. You always get the vague feeling that your brothers know you better than you know yourself.

You flip through the channels on tv, happy to have control of the remote. It's all the usual, sports games and real housewives and spanish game show episodes. You put on a random movie, which sounded interesting. ‘Essential object of enjoyment,’(is a title that to anyone else would scream softcore porn film, to you, still a sheltered girl of seventeen years old, it seemed as innocent as a daisy. You were not a virgin, but inexperienced and somewhat oblivious, so at odds with your calm adult attitude.) Fyodor plops himself on the couch next to you, a tedious foot away. He seemed too far away but all at once to close, the heat of his body a tease beside you. You clench your legs together, pulling in on yourself.

The film is about a young woman named Maria, who is taking a vacation on a very sketchy manor in a strange small town. It's a low budget film, with crappy acting and even crappier scares, but it's entertaining and you find yourself settling in against the couch, slowly leaning closer and closer to the warm human beside you. And soon, as Maria decides to ignore all the advice of the locals and enter the abandoned church late at night, you're so close your shoulders are almost touching, and finally, you dare to lean into him.

He lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders with an excuse none of you are listening to anyway, and pulls a small blanket over your bare legs. “You're cold aren't you?” he says, voice hushed in your ear. You shiver, with a nod. You arent that cold, but you want to be close to him, to feel his heat, his warmth. You're sure he knows this, and you let yourself feel hopeful for once, curling into his body like a pedigree cat.

And as you watch the movie, heart pounding in your throat, it dawns on you that something is very clearly wrong. The budget is too cheap, but the camera work is too advanced, the camera’s to expensive. The acting is too bad, but the actress has professionally done makeup and hair. And then, as you watch Maria get tied up by the clean masked man, it all makes too much sense. It's softcore porn. You move for the remote, fishing around for it on the couch, desperately. You're already flushing, your thighs rubbing together as you reach around for it. The idea of watching a porn film with your step brother is humiliating and embarrassing and frustratingly arousing.

“Do you need something?” Fyodor says, rubbing little soft patterns in your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You nod. “The remote, gonna switch channels.” You're already flushing, but have stopped your frantic fishing for the remote. He frowns in disappointment and you automatically tense, so used to Cecilia’s disappointed or angry stares. “Can we leave it, I'm actually enjoying it.” He says. You glance at the screen, where Maria is now being threatened by a knife. You desperately want to say no, but the people pleaser in you insist you agree. And so, you sink back into his touch, flushing.

‘Where is it? Where is it?’ The masked man is saying to Maria. The film takes a moment to focus on the actress’s bountiful chest, and you try not to writhe with embarrassment and jealousy. You bet Fyodor likes big boobs, Cecilia said all men like big boobs. Her’s are fake, but you don't feel the need to protest and get a slap.

The bad guy of the film is a man in a purple mask. He’s thin in stature, and tall, overwhelming Maria’s small frame. He reminds you distinctly of the man sitting beside you, with his face hidden like that. He has a russian accent in the film as well, just like the man beside you, and as he whispers in her ear it does stuff to you.

‘Tell me where it is or there will be consequences.’ the man in the mask says.

‘I will never tell you!’ Maria says definitely. You watch in horror as the masked man's thin fingers slip between her thighs. The camera cuts to her face of surprise. It's clear that this is where the actress’s true chops shine, as her mouth drops open in a little oh of surprise.

You feel hot, biting back a whimper as you press your thighs together, hoping that your step brother doesn't notice.

‘Your such a slut for my fingers aren't you?’ The man in the mask bends Maria over a table, the camera now showing a cut of his hands pulling her thighs apart. All you can picture in your mind is you as Maria, and the man in the mask as Fyodor. When the man in the film speaks all you can hear is Fyodor’s voice, his teasing lines, him all him all him.

And then, the other bad guy of the film appears. And honestly it should shock you out of your dirty fantasies, but the other man, this one in a teal mask, sounds very similar to your other step brother.

You can imagine yourself in Maria's place, bent over a table like that, fingers shoved up your cunt, dick keeping you silent. And most of all, pretty praises falling out of your step brother's mouths. ‘Such a pretty girl, such a smart girl, so good for us, such a slut for us—’

Fyodor’s eyes are on you, you can feel them even as you focus resolutely on the screen. He speaks near your ear, a pur, a whisper, a tease ment for seduction. “What are you imagining, darling?” He says. He speaks like he already knows, and through your haze of arousal clouding your brain you let the words escape before you can stop them.

“Fingers in my cunt.” You say, your voice a whimper. Maria on the screen begins to moan, loudly. The volume goes down on screen and you're too lust clouded to question why Fyodor had the remote.

“You want fingers in your pretty cunt baby?” Fyodor purrs in your ear, his long pale fingers teasing the edge of your uniform skirt. “You want my fingers stuffed up that tight cunt of yours? Would that feel good?” You whine, head falling back against his arm, eyes falling closed.

“Oh yes, please.” Your voice is embarrassing, all breathy and whiny. This whole situation is illogical, and if you were able to see through the haze of lust in your brain you would have backpedaled immediately. But you're horny and in love and he’s encouraging you.

His fingers caress the edge of your panties, teasing you with glances of touches, driving you crazy. You grip his arm, the one teasing your pussy and shove the hand against your drooling cunt. The man beside you bites back a groan, muffling his pleasure, but you hear it. It reassures you that he wants you too, but also drives you insane, craving sweet relief with his touch.

Fyodor’s fingers find purchase, clever musicians' hands pulling back the crotch of your panties. He chuckles as you clutch his arm, still clothed in his loose white turtleneck and jeans. “You're so wet darling, your little cunt is absolutely drooling.” he says, his accent doing things to your brain, to your pussy. Your eyes catch on the dirty picture. He drags his fingers through, collecting a fair bit of wetness and popping his fingers in his mouth. The picture is nasty. He keeps eye contact all throughout, sucking his fingers wetly, the dirty slurping sounds filling the room.

“Here darling.” He holds out his wet fingers, dripping with a mix of saliva and your own arousal. “Suck.” He says. You take them in your mouth obediently, tasting the mix of arousal and saliva. The very idea that you're tasting him, that you're tasting his very being, makes your abandoned cunt clench around nothing, the nasty slurping sounds you make only fueling the arousal perfuming the air. At some point Fyodor had turned off the porn, and now the only sounds that fill the room are from the two of you. A different kind of music than that you're used to, a symphony of debauchery.

His fingers leave your mouth with a pop, and you open your eyes. He smiles at you, all hazy eyes and spit slicked lips. “Good girl.” He says, and then shoves both fingers in your cunt. You arch off the couch at the abrupt intrusion, clenching down hard around his fingers with a scream. ‘Oh, oh god Fyodor!” You say, panting. He looks vaguely proud as he scissors you open, watching as you thrash around on his fingers, bucking desperately.

The sound of the door slamming penetrates the haze, and you grip Fyodor’s fingers, trying to stop him. He just continues to fuck you open, grining all the while.

“Man, fuck you Fyodor.” It's Osamu, looking less surprised and more annoyed. Fyodor just continues grinning as you moan on his fingers, drooling pussy on display. “I consider this a win then?” He says, smirking. Ah, another one of their competitions. You would pay more attention but your being fucked open by Fyodor’s long relentless fingers. You keen as he adds another one, gripping his arm with a nasty whine.

Osamu speaks to Fyodor, but his eyes are fixed on you. “It's not over yet, you fucker.” He says, slamming his backpack down on the floor and sauntering over to you. “Name declares the winner. Deal?” Fyodor, now rubbing a thumb on your clit nods, holding out his other hand to shake. “Deal, that sound good darling?” You nod around your moans, not truly comprehending what that means. Osamu sends you a rather scary looking grin and pounces.

They move you into a doggy position first, Fyodor replacing his fingers with his cock. You're already so close, and as you feel the large intrusion bully your walls apart you cum right there, your head falling against the couch cushions. “Oh, oh, oh god, ‘m coming!” You scream, drooling onto the couch. Fyodor grunts behind you. “You're tight.” He coos. Osamu grips your jaw, draggin you off the ouch to look at him. “So pretty too, just perfect aren't you.” His dick is already hard in his jeans, you can see the bulge as Fyodor begins to move, fucking you through the overstime. You whine in pain, the sharp pains of overstimulation mixing with the blinding pleasure they give you. Dazai chuckles.

“We’re going to fuck you do good darling.” He says, running a gentle hand through your hair. “Make you feel our love.”

⋆｡ °✩

It's when you're three orgasms deep, and you're hung over the couch backwards, a dick down your throat and cum dripping from your pussy, that you maybe start to have second thoughts. Their stamina seems endless, and they bring to the edge relentlessly, their competitive natures making them drive you to orgasm after orgasm. The world is hazy at this point, and all you feel is pleasure, all you hear is their voices, all you want is them, them them.

“Switch her around Osamu.” Fyodor says, his accent rough though the haze. You feel yourself hoisted up, and now you're folded into a mating press and Fyodor’s fat cock is bullying your walls again. Cum leaks out of all your holes, the loud squelching sound letting you know that you're thoroughly ruining Cecilia's favorite couch. You're covered in sweat, completely naked and makeup ruined, and to the boys you’ve never looked so pretty. They tell you at length, compliments showered on your exhausted form.

And as you cum yet again, clenching around Fyodor’s dick with a weak cry, you feel so loved, so appreciated, and so optimistic.

And then you bended into another position, Dazai’s dick lodged into your ass, Fyodor’s in your dripping cunt.

⋆｡ °✩

“So, which of us won anyway?” It's Dazai, and he sounds plenty exhausted. You sigh tiredly, holes dripping cum onto the carpet and exhausted. “Draw.” Is all you manage to pant out.

Fyodor beside you chuckles. “I guess we’ll have to have a rematch then.” You're exhausted, but you feel your pussy clench tiredly at the mention of that. “Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. The boys chuckle beside you, each pressing a kiss to your cheeks.

“Love you Name.” You hear them whisper in your ear. You smile as you drift off the sleep.

End Notes: I am actually a piano player, and every time I listen to classical pieces nowadays I feel really bad because I haven't been practicing lately because my piano teacher is taking a break because she had a baby.

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #dazai smut #fyodor x reader

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chronically-ghosted · 5 months

Text

stay gold, baby boy

rating: 18+ (expliiiiicit)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: almost 6K

summary: six months into your friends-with-benefits situation, you institute a new game. A gold star on the board every time Dieter is a good boy. Today, he gets bingo . . . for wearing real pants.

warnings: friends with benefits (with more feelings), oral (m receiving), dom/sub dynamics (guess who subs today!), talks of edging, hair pulling, creampie, piv sex, praise kink, my mother raised me to have better taste in men but fuck it

a/n: remember when i posted this picture? And then this one? Remember how you could hear me yelling from space? Well, @sp00kymulderr has added fuel to the fire – Dieter and stickers. I can’t explain myself except that I was horny and I wanted to take his pants off with my teeth. So I did.

✨gif credit goes to the ever incredible, talented, and enabler of my dieter fantasies @perotovar! she saw me floundering with the header and immediately was like 'hold please i can make his baby cow eyes even better'✨

🤍Masterlist

With your foot on the low table, your ass firmly planted on the middle poofy cushion of the dumpster bin couch at the back of the trailer, thumbnail nibbled between your teeth, you have to admit it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. It’s honestly such a bad look.

Not that he would ever shame you for it. In fact, he’d probably like it.

And it’s not like you waited for him here all day. You had things to do as one of the co-screenwriters on this film. You had things to do and people to see and stuff to organize – all of which had nothing to do with Dieter fucking Bravo.

Okay, so a lot of it actually had to do with him. Lots of scene rewrites, lots of notes from the studio, lots of instances where the two of you had to put your heads together and come up with a solution that made the studio happy and didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out artistically speaking.

Which had led to this.

And the past six months of whatever this is. Working together led to seeing each other (outside of work), to eating with each other, to fucking each other – with the line firmly drawn there.

Whatever you may say about Dieter, the man could compartmentalize in a way that would make Marie Kondo weep with joy. By the way he treated you on set, no one in their right mind would ever have guessed he knew what you looked like naked. Or that he knew your left nostril twitched just before you came.

The same could be said for you too. Out of boredom one morning in the grocery store, you bought a trashy magazine with his face emblazoned across the top – Dieter Bravo and His Lonely Hearts Club. You weren’t one for the gossip rags, but flipping through it, not a single one of his “club members” mentioned his raging praise kink. You bought the damn thing on the spot, giving them all a consolation prize of some sort. Sorry, ladies, guess I win. Ha. Ha.

But, at the edge of the cushion, eyes occasionally flicking between the door and the failing darkness outside, you didn’t feel much like you’d won anything.

In fact, you’d lost. Big time. When all of this had been your stupid idea in the first place.

It had been your idea (and your initiative) to buy a packet of gold star stickers. Like the kind teachers use with their first graders. Actually, exactly like the ones teachers use for their first graders. You couldn’t form words when the woman at the education supply store ringing you up asked, “oh, what grade do you teach?”. You just tossed a twenty at her and booked it, your face painfully hot for a fairly innocuous purchase.

But all of that was his fault for dropping a praise kink and a teacher kink on you all at once the night after you jokingly spanked him with a ruler in front of the director, in-front of his co-star, because he wouldn’t agree to a line change, and he had to excuse himself from the room.

A month later and he forgoes touching himself for a gold star. He agrees to your line changes without argument for a gold star. He picks you up in the morning and drives you home at night for a gold star (you could drive yourself, but there’s always that last minute thing you need to talk to him about so you do it just because it’s easier, really).

He lets you come, over and over again, and keeps nothing for himself – all for a gold star.

Someone is bound to figure it out. They have to. Six months in and you’re getting sloppy. Obvious. What the fuck would you be doing in his trailer at seven o’clock at night after a full day of shooting unless you’re fucking him?

But you, worryingly, can’t find it in you to care.

You had lost your mind, that’s what you lost. Because tonight is the night Dieter gets his final gold star. It’s his reward but you’re about to vibrate out of your skin with want.

(It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks and by the third day, an ache had settled in behind your breastbone, one that clutched your phone in your hand, and forced your eyes to the screen every minute, checking for a new text message.

He called on day five, by the way.)

Your neck snaps up when you hear voices outside of the trailer. Laughter, his.

You suddenly feel the need to flatline against the floor in case anyone might see you.

Fuck, and how are you supposed to explain yourself if the someone he is with follows him into the trailer? Too many frightfully bad scenarios and you’re rooted to the floor, unable to make a single decision.

The metal latch clinks and his trailer door swings wide open.

“Yeah, man, I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

You can hear a deep, “see ya” from the other side (maybe Daryl from craft services?) and the scrap-metal trailer squeaks, as the lock clicks shut.

Dieter scratches his cheek, surveying the trailer as if some part of him knows something is different, but his conscious mind can’t figure it out.

Until he turns. And nearly leaps out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ – what are you doing in here? Wait – I thought you left town to scope out the new location in San Diego.”

You want to answer him. You know how – open your mouth and tell him the trip’s been delayed for a few days, nothing serious, timeline bullshit – but you can’t.

It’s officially embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how turned on by Dieter Bravo you are.

Hair in all kinds of directions, skinny cloth bracelet loose around his wrist, he had pushed up the sleeves of his henley shirt, exposing the thickly drawn triangle over his forearm and the clear one near his wrist. His hand with the rings hangs by his side and something inside of you silently whines.

But what really sets you off, what really makes this embarrassing and terrible because there’s no bluffing here, no hiding your cards and folding – nothing you can do to keep spit from flooding your mouth the longer you look –

He’s wearing pants.

Black with loose belt loops. Zipper and all. A silver button sitting between his hips. Fuck. Just like you told him to. Fuck fuckfuck.

You’re briefly aware when he says your name and you have to make a physical effort to tear your eyes away from that glinting silver eye winking up at you.

Dieter’s frowning, knowing silence isn’t really your thing.

“Are you okay? Why are you –,”

As though it had called his name, his gaze drifts from your face to the table between you and him. Where his scorecard rests with four stars in the Good column, and shockingly, none in the Bad.

His mouth parts, eyes going dark, as the realization hits him like a mack truck.

“Delays,” you say suddenly, preemptively, knowing that normal people usually have some sort of preamble before tearing each other’s clothes off. You stand up a bit straighter, tilt your jaw away from him, gaze leveling him from the end of your nose. You have got to get this thing under control. “Frank ran into some scheduling issues with the boat for the lake scene so, until further notice, the trip to San Diego has been delayed.”

He blinks slowly as if he’d been struck over the back of the heat, mouth parted. He has such fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect lips –

“So you’re here?” he asks, his voice low, disbelieving.

You scoop up the scorecard and step over the table, your shoes long since gone. It’s like his vision narrows the closer you come; he is transfixed, gaze on you as if molded at the seams, as you step up to him. You tap him on the chest once with the corner of the scorecard, excitement and nerves and that ache making you tremble despite your confident appearance.

“So I’m here.”

“On the last day of the week.” Words thick, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth.

“On the last day of the week.”

“When I,” he swallows thickly, “when I should get my reward.”

God, this kind of power trip should not be making you this wet.

You lift your gaze from his chest, taking in his beautifully dumb-struck face.

“You will.” You nod. “And do you know why?”

His breath quickens, lip between his teeth, when you scratch off the final star from the package and stick it to the Good column.

“Because I was a good boy?”

You toss the scorecard behind you, it clatters onto the table, and you cup the back of his hot neck.

“Because you were a very good boy.”

He stumbles back, knees unsteady, when you kiss him. You see his eyes a split second before you close yours and hot electricity swoops down to the pit of your stomach. It would be mortifying if you just fucked him right here and now – he does deserve something extra special – but fuck – you want his whole hand inside of you.

His warm palm slides across your jaw, pulling you into him, and Dieter breathes, deep and long, inhaling as much as he can. You don’t think he realizes that he’s picked you up off the ground with his arm around your back until he opens his eyes, vision hazy and off-center.

“Go lock the door, baby.”

He nods and puts you back down. You slip off your jacket as he bolts the trailer door shut.

Dieter’s mouth drops open when he turns around and sees you on your knees.

Shit, you should have stolen some knee pads from the costume department.

“Really?”

You smile at him because he asks like a kid that just got offered a puppy for Christmas. You reach towards him and he takes your hand, unsteady on weak knees

“For as long and as much as you want.”

You palm him and Dieter groans, mouth-closed at the sensation, the hard ridge of the metal zipper not one he is entirely familiar with. At least, not like this. Beneath the warm press of your palm, you feel him thicken, harden, and you press more, digging your fingers into his thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, his mouth falls open, as his hips cant forward, desperate for the new weight of the zipper.

“And I won’t make you wait, Dieter,” you say, eyes tripping up from where your hand sits, up to the flash of exposed tummy where his pants have ridden down and his shirt slid up, into his almost surprised gaze. “You’ve been very good, wearing this for me, but I want you to learn why it’s important to wear pants with buttons.”

“I-I t-t-thought,” he tries, voice abruptly cutting off when you nuzzle the constrained bulge in his pants. He tries again, eyes slamming shut as if to stifle the sensation of your warm breath so near to where he needs you the most. “I thought i-it was so I d-din’t – didn’t look bad.”

Your face still pressed into his crotch, you briefly massage his calves, then the backs of his thighs. You cup the curve of his ass through the starchy back pockets, which is remarkably prominent now that he’s in something else than baggy sweatpants.

You shake your head, nose dragging along his hot length, against the space between his hip bone and his cock, smiling.

“Baby, you know I like how you look. I always want you to be comfortable.” You look up and meet his eyes. The remaining brown not yet wholly consumed by a blurry, heated darkness softens. Somewhere beneath the hazy, disarming feelings of lust currently filling his head like a bike tire, he’s still your Dieter. Or – well, wait – at least the Dieter you know. The Dieter you have impossibly fun times with. The Dieter who makes you laugh like no one else. The Dieter that can make you fall apart until you’re a gooey, dripping mess and he still manages to stitch you back together. The Dieter that keeps you up at night thinking he might possibly want something more. “But this is so much more fun.”

Grounding your chest against his thighs, holding yourself against him as leverage, you sink your teeth into the corner of the fabric fastening his pants together. Eyes up at him again, you tug and his cock is pushed up against your tits from the force of the pull. He rocks forward, an airy gasp escaping his mouth, and the button gives, the lip of the fabric sliding back as the silver disk slips through the hole. Now your touch is unimpeded by rough fabric when you lean forward and kiss him just below the waistband of his black boxers.

It takes you a second to realize that Dieter Bravo is wearing underwear at all and you smirk up at him.

Something about your gaze makes the tips of his ears go red, as if he had been caught being very naughty. His big hand cups from your jaw to your ear, as if trying to placate you, beg you not to be mad this close to his cock.

“You said I had to dress u-up,” he says, eyes wide and round. God, he’s trying to be so good. One week of the rating system and Dieter Bravo is a trembling mess. Despite your wildly beating heart, you smirk, your thighs shaking briefly at the sudden rush of tenderness you feel for the man in front of you. You hide your own blush by mouthing that open spot just below his tummy and above his cock, wetting the black material with your tongue. Before he can whine about it, you pull back just barely, enough to curl your fingers around both his black underwear and the pants he wore for you. Just as you begin to pull down, you nip the zipper between your teeth and slowly, slowly, rubbing your nose against him, tug the metal teeth apart. His pants open and Dieter groans loudly. He’s already so sensitive.

For a mouthy, ego-driven bastard, he really did have a magnificent cock. Flushed at the base, thickest you’d ever had inside you, and he’s leaking silvery threads from the head. The vein thickly pulsating on the side makes you wonder how he hasn’t passed out from all the blood rushing to his cock.

You lick that vein, that beating pulse, and his knees buckle. His massive hand grips your shoulder and Dieter shakes his head, his mouth wrenching open.

“Please, please — mhmm — don’t tease. I-I can’t – you haven’t – please.”

As if you would be cruel to him. You feel rather dizzy, elated on the idea that you wield this much power over him. That he trusts you with all of him. There it comes again, that arching ache in your chest.

“I’m just trying to get myself ready for you,” you confess quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Dieter swallows something large in his throat, panic receding from his eyes. His smile is small and his touch on your cheek is light.

“I know.”

And you weren’t lying. You’d never forget the sound of your jaw popping and cracking the morning after you sucked him off three times before you let him come. Dieter is shockingly big, annoyingly only when he uses it against you or makes you tell him over and over just how big he is before giving it to you. For now, you just want to remind him how very appreciative you are that he gives it to you at all.

Eyes decidedly looking away from the warmth on his face, you squeeze the backs of his thighs as you relax your jaw as much as you can. Above you hear him huff with his mouth shut as you start to take him in, your tongue wetting that soft skin on the underside of his cock. One move forward and you’ve wet him halfway, tongue massaging that vein. Another drop of your head and you’ve taken him completely.

“Fuck,” Dieter murmurs, the hand on your shoulder tightening. Your heart pounds in your chest all the harder when he takes his other hand and knots your hair with his fingers. By the twitching of his thighs beneath your palms, you know it’s taking every ounce of his restraint to not buck his hips forward. “That’s it that’s my girl you take me so fucking good you feel so fucking good.”

The thing about your mouth that is markedly different from your pussy: you can’t release your gag reflex to take more of him. But fuck, you want him to fuck the back of your throat – you just might drown before it happens.

He smells surprisingly clean as your nose inches closer and closer to his skin. With each pull, you slide your tongue down the other side, until it pokes through and licks where you haven’t reached with your mouth yet, inches from his pelvis. He shudders when you use the tip of your tongue.

“Oh my god, your mouth, baby, your mouth.” The words dribble out of his slack mouth, fingers flexing in your hair as if he can mimic pushing your head down further. You pull all the way off him, tongue catching the rim of his cock and he drops his head back against his shoulders and moans. The sound of it makes your pussy throb and you breathe out your nose to stifle your own noises. This is about him. He did good. He was a good boy the whole week.

You replace your mouth with your hand. Sufficiently wet from the way you slobbered all over his cock, you use a fist around his flushed head to smear pre-cum all the way down to the base of him. You brush his balls with your knuckles, just as you fit the tip between your lips, sucking – and Dieter bucks, hard.

“Ngh – shit! S-sorry!” His nails dig into his thighs, eyes squeezing shut as silvery threads spurt out from his cock.

Maybe you’d gone too far with the whole sticker thing and he really thought this was another test. His cheeks are burnt pink, his chest heaving and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

“Dieter,” you cry softly, gently, comfortingly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, not even when you resume stroking him. You lick the soft skin of his balls and his gasp punches the air out of his lungs, his eyes splitting open. He looks down at you, thighs trembling and you squeeze him gently. Not to edge him or punish him, but to make this last a bit longer for him. “Dieter, take your shirt off and sit down.”

He can’t move fast enough. He yanks the henley over his shoulders, the collar scraping his hair up in wild directions. He goes to sit but his thighs are shaking too much and he just sort of tumbles onto his ass. Smiling, you take your own shirt off, hoping to save this particular bra reveal for another time, but fuck, this time is as good as any. Despite his panting and squirming, his gaze rolls from your face to your tits. Emerald green with black lace, this is far too nice for a work bra and it properly communicates to him that you were going to fuck him whether or not he was going to get that final gold star. The realization is visible as it crosses his mind, bleeding hungry black in his eyes.

You take off his pants all the way, before sliding your own jeans down and to the floor. His roving gaze catches the matching panties and the noise in his throat is deep, like a smothered grunt.

“Now, I’m going to suck you off no matter what,” you say as you crawl in between his legs, before leaning back and sitting on your heels. You smooth your hands down his thighs, near his red, stark cock, but not touching. Dieter’s breathing hitches in anticipation, not sure where to put his hands or his gaze. “But I want you to answer one question for me first.”

He nods rapidly, spreading his knees further for you as if to remind you there’s other places he could be fucked.

“Why did you think I was going to punish you today?”

You’ve asked this question paraphrased a dozen times, usually when you both know the answer: he came without asking, or he came by himself, or any of the dozen reasons Dieter liked to push your buttons, only for you to break him as far as he can go. But today, there’s no sultry edge, no double meaning. Your question is sincere and it takes him a moment to understand. He swallows as his eyebrows tug down on his forehead, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“We’ve never had sex just to have sex.” He says it like a question. He settles into the floor one hand going behind his head, the linear tattoo on his forearm dark like a third eye. “Not that I’m complaining but it’s always a competition, or because we’re bored, or you wanna work out some personal shit because of the costume department. I know this is my reward, but I figured there had to be some kinda catch to it.”

You frown deeper than him. “There’s no way we haven’t had normal sex.”

Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Define normal sex.”

Now it’s your turn to go warm across the cheeks. “I mean, like . . . outside of . . . our roles. Where there aren’t roles at all. It’s just . . .”

You break off for the third time, the look in his eyes forcing you to snap your mouth shut before you say something incriminating like, just us.

Dieter shakes his head. “No, we haven’t.”

“You’re telling me in six months, that’s never happened once?” You adjust on your heels and cross your arms. “It’s not like you can remember every time we’ve had sex.”

“I do.” This, coming from him, is not a question. It’s an irrefutable statement that you don’t seem able to refute with a no you don’t. There is no room for arguing.

Driving right on through the heat of your cheeks, that ache returning, you shake your head. “Then doesn’t that get old? Having to play games every single time?”

Dieter pouts as he thinks, eyes on the roof of the trailer. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind. Not enough to want to stop fucking you.”

“So, after a week of nothing, you were totally willing to let me edge you within an inch of your life? Let me treat you badly?”

Dieter smirks and it suddenly feels like you’re the one under him. “Sure, but you like me too much to keep it going for too long. And you like watching me come.”

Your teeth grind together at this very bold accusation, your entire face blazing. Weren’t you supposed to be domming him today??

His feet slide out beside you and Dieter is the very picture of arrogance, his arm still tucked behind his head. He drums his fingers on his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, the smirk around his mouth soft, “I like you too.”

It doesn’t. Not really. Not when his words spear through you hot and hard, landing in your chest like a landmine. Fuck.

Fuck.

“Oh, so this is all for me, then?” You ignore the fact that you’ve slipped back into your role in active defiance of talking about this anymore, and crawl forward until your forearms frame his head. That teasing contentment fades from his face as he watches you, eyes following a line that only he can see from your nose, lips, chin, throat and tits. Your hair slips off your shoulder, darkening the light on his face when you straddle his waist. “But what about you? Don’t you want to come?”

He nods, slower than before, but only to keep from breaking eye contact with you. Light as feathers, Dieter trails his fingers up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, to settle into your hips. His mouth parts in anticipation, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“I do,” he says, rolling his neck as if he can see more of you this way. “I really fuckin’ do.”

“What a coincidence.” You shift down, dragging the wet patch on the emerald green underwear beneath your drooling cunt, shift until it slides across his half-hard cock and Dieter’s hands dig into your hips, a groan breaking off in the back of his throat. His eyes slip half-closed, a thick, smoky black enveloping that beautiful brown. “So do I.”

Grinding down over so slightly, you roll your hips once more – Dieter tenses, his hands easing to the tops of your thighs – before sitting back on his knees.

“Now relax, baby, you’ve earned it.”

You drop forward over his hips, open your mouth, and slurp him up between your lips.

The noise that comes out of his chest is broken, knocked loose, split down the middle. You take him all in one, down until your nose is tickled by his coarse hairs, and you swallow. He is immediately, instantly, rock hard and dribbling. You swallow again and his hands dive into your hair, knotting the strands around his fingers, the way a rider draws up the reins of his horse. He goads you down with just gentle pressure, needy and demanding all at once, and you take him, and you take him, and you take him until the blunt head prods the back of your throat and you gag, throat constricting, and Dieter’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Shit, that’s too fucking good.”

You breathe out your nose, pulling up just enough to keep him off your reflex, but instead you hollow out your cheeks and suck, tongue pressing up against him and around that hammering vein.

And here, here comes the sound you’ve wanted from him all night –

Dieter whines, high and keening, his neck straining, your skull pinching from where he pulls. Between your thighs, the emerald green is completely ruined, buffed out dark in the wet.

The vein throbs again and you nearly drop onto your elbows, not caring if you choke or drown or sputter, you want him in your mouth, you want that salty, gooey taste of him that you find you can’t seem to lick up enough. You want him inside you –

With a grunt that morphs into a groan as it rises up his chest, he tugs hard enough on your hair that the pain splits your mouth open, head tugged back enough that he slips out of you, a thread of pre-cum from your puffy lips to the tip of his blunt head.

You lied. This wasn’t entirely for him.

You can feel your lips twist into a snarl. “Dieter, what are you –,”

He kisses you with such a force, that noise in his chest is transferred to yours, a collision that sparks a causal nexus and his own desperation bleeds with your own. The kiss is messy, dizzying, spit and pre-cum smearing across swollen lips and wet tongues. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, as if he can consume you through the bowl of your skull.

Your name is something that tumbles, falls, drips from him, his mouth tilted a fraction of an inch away from yours. Eyes dark, full, a beast that howls for the moon in your eyes.

He’s going to fuck your brains out on the floor of this rickety-ass trailer.

Dieter tugs you forward, drags you onto your knees over him as he settles beneath you. Your fingers knock with his in a fight to reach your panties first, to shove them down your hips and thighs, get them to the floor.

Dieter’s flushed, pupils dark, big hands grappling against the weight of you as he pulls you onto him. You are so aroused, so sunken into the smoke of lust, you go as you are moved, his cock smearing apart your wet pussy. Dieter sits up, eyes locking onto where you’ve nearly become a single creature, and then he hesitates.

Sanity seems to ring his bell, for just a moment. Without waiting, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his spit, and you can see what he’s about to do just before he moves. You shake your head, knees aching from carrying your weight against the flat trailer floor, and sit up off him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t need it,” you mutter before licking into his mouth. He drops his head back to let you sink your tongue between his lips. Both hands wrapped around his jaw, you thumb his earring and he grunts out the side of his mouth. “I want –,”

His big hands settle and it’s like he dropped a thousand pound weight between your ribs. You drop, right onto him, his cock forcibly shoving you apart in a single thrust. Dieter barks out a moan, his hands clutching your spine, teeth going for your shoulder to muffle anything else that threatens to escape him.

You swear your nerves are on fire.

He always takes his time with you, for your benefit, and his. He can be maddening and incessant and demanding, right up until this part, the part where he could actually hurt you. Right then, he waits. Lets you come to him. Let you take as much as you want and he holds you tight.

But this, this is you taking all you want and then some.

In the split second you allow for your bodies to recognize the give and the take, the swell and the invasion, you meet his gaze.

No roles. No games. No landmines.

Exposure.

Blistering and brittle.

Safety.

You curl your toes underneath you, grip his shoulders, and slide up on an inhale. On an exhale, you thrust down and you don’t know who cries out louder.

Dieter pulls you to him, arm banded around your back, the other to balance as he leans back to meet your downward strokes with his upward thrusts. His fingers pinch the clasp of your bra and the straps slide off your shoulders, your frantic bouncing knocking those emerald cups loose.

“Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah.” He mouths at your collarbone, tonguing the sweat that blooms across your skin. Your short huffs have your chest trembling, a shudder disrupting your breath when he uses the blunt edge of his teeth against the soft curve of your breast. His nose against your skin, he turns his head and licks your nipple into his mouth. He sucks, licks, your rapid rise and fall catching your sensitive peak against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. He uses the barest hint of pressure and your back arches. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, repeating that same pattern with his tongue, while his fingers flick your hardened bud.

You think you’re going to melt, fracture and ooze into this hot pool of pleasure that hums between your legs.

“Fuck, Dieter,” your own voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high, cut short every time his hips meet yours in a harsh slap, “I can’t –,”

He rubs up against something truly devastating inside of you and immediately your legs give out. You topple into him, arms around his neck, nose pressed up against his jaw. You feel his overheated skin, a balm, a solidifying force, against your cheek. The whirling inferno in your head soothes. A drop of sweat from his hairline trails down by your eye and you lick it.

“Make me come, Dieter,” you whisper for him, of him, beg in a way that only he can hear. You nuzzle his earring and he keens. “Please – I need it – n-n-need you.”

Open-mouthed, breath hot, flush down to his chest, he slithers the hand against your back between your warm bodies and finds your clit. Drags his thumb across it as his hips pound up into you – you can’t hear what he says in your ear, the edge you’re dangling over loud and pulsing – and then there’s a softness against your throat.

The white spark between your thighs erupts and you come so hard you scream. A release. Controlled and contained brightness now spilling out everywhere, you can feel it as you soak his lap. It drips and winds down, and it drunkenly slides off you. Finally, you curl into him, a muddled tingle radiating out across your nerves.

You sink into your skin again and hear him, still whispering, still talking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come it’s okay baby I’ve got you I’ve got you I’m here – I’m gonna – g-gonna – oh, shit,”

His hips thrust up one more time before a full body shudder yanks his words and the air right out of his mouth. You melt as his cum floods your insides, the warm pulses intoxicating in the place he so forcefully claimed for his own. His shoulders curved towards you, his hand pinches the knot of your spine as if to steady himself, palm scalding against your skin. In your exhaustion, your sweaty forehead falls against his.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds mold into minutes, minutes into maybe hours then days.

Dieter’s trembling elbow finally weakens and with his arm around your back, he tips you both backwards.

His cock rubs up inside of you in a new way and your cunt clenches involuntarily. You both groan when his cum leaks out of you, squeezed out by the contraction. You shift your hips to lay fully on him, and his cock slides out, but his arm around you remains.

It remains long after your breathing settles, long after the sweat dries and your exposed skin grows cold. The longer you lay together, the more you feel he’s going to start stroking you, touching you in a way that a fuck buddy shouldn’t. But he doesn’t. He keeps you close but doesn’t move.

The feeling, the ache in your chest. It’s soothed and hastened by the beating of his heart beneath yours, your ear lying flat against his chest. It beats so loudly for you.

For some unfathomable reason, you glance up at the window. It’s dark out, the sun set and gone. For all you know, you two might be the only two people on the entire lot.

“Dieter.” His name sticks in your mouth. “Dieter, I –,”

“Five stars?”

You blink, lifting your head for the first time in ages, sweat on his skin almost suctioning your ear to his chest. He’s grinning, curls matted and damp against his forehead.

He reaches up to the table behind him and snags that stupid bingo card, along with that packet of shiny gold star stickers.

This feeling, you can contain it.

For now.

Smirking down at him, you peel off one of the bigger stars and with your thumb, you press it into the center of his forehead.

“Five stars, Dieter. Five star dick.”

His smile widens.

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alaezasmystery235 · 1 year

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↛𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ↛𝗣𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗦

꒰ ♡ ꒱ 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒹 ; 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗙𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗦𝗽𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲

rules, disclaimer and notes ☆

⋆·˚ 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 ⋆·˚ ----- This reading was made for entertainment purposes only. this is obviously a general reading so takes what resonates and leave when it doesn't, you don't need to force your energy to read this and leave such a bad comment just to say it doesn't resonates with you at all because the answer is very obvious!

⋆·˚ 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐞 ⋆·˚ ----- All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from 'pinterest' i don't own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however edits goes and belong to me only @alaezasmystery . I use the editor tools canva and kapwing for the header and divider. Extra credit to @daninixx for giving permission to use her rules and disclaimer.

⋆·˚ ༘ 🍋 ✧*

ＰＩＬＥ 1

Instantly, I'm getting strong Leo energy here . I feel that your future spouse's love language is more on the physical touch and quality time spent together . I feel that you guys are gonna be having a lot of passionate love making in the bedroom .

This is someone who treasures every moment spent with you. I feel that they may not look like the kind or really sweet talk. But they are hella romantic and gonna notice every single little things about you.

I feel that both of you love travelling and be out in the nature more. So do see them bring you out more for walks sitting by bench and bringing you out to See the stars .

You may catch sometimes staring at you more often but not in the creepy way rather than in adoring way. I feel like you're gonna think if you are truely blessed to have them . I feel like they suck at communication , but rest assured they are gonna show you.

Actions speak louder then words ... afterall 😉.

ＰＩＬＥ 2

For this pile I am getting a strong Taurus energy . I feel that your future spouse's love language is more on act of service to you . I feel that they will put you on a pedestal and be very protected over you . They're gonna be treating you like a queen or King .

At times, you'd feel like they are being very gaurded and they might hover over you and when there are other people around or sensing someone trying to get too close to you . I feel that they can be throwing a little jealous comments but it's not that they are possessive . It's cause they want you all to themselves . It's kinda cute how would they react , they are like a baby who wants your attention on them only.

They are someone who will go distance for you . I feel like that they will work together with you to build a strong Foundation . I heard " built an Empire for you because you are my queen or king " .

They would want to take things one step at a time because they believe that good thing takes time . I feel that they are gonna have this endearing gaze on you when you guys have a kid together .

ＰＩＬＥ 3

For this pile I am getting air sign and fire sings more . I feel that your future spouse's love language is more on the quality time and giving / receiving gifts .

I get this cheeky vibe from pile 3 . The way they show their love isn't how many would show. They will be acting like a child and always teasing you to get your attention but when they do get you mad they will sulk and feel sad about it .

Like Pile 2 , they are a big baby when it comes to you . I feel that on the another hand they will be working very hard on their pentacles so that they can provide for you .

Some of them may even gift you with a key that symbolises , that you hold the key to their heart . I feel that they will shower you with random gifts and flowers . I feel that your future spouse is quite the adventurer, a cheeky one I'd say ....

I feel that they will want to do crazy stuff with you like out of the blue . They see you as this light that lights up their world . I am hearing " you are my sunshine " . Just know that sometimes they didn't mean to annoy you , they were just trying to make you smile and to get your attention on them by doing something silly .

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tearskillstardust · 5 months

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what could be these genshin character's ideal type? modern au

wanderer, keqing, pantalone, lyney, cyno, raiden

[tw!!! physical features the characters might be attracted to are mentioned, please don't continue if it bothers you anyhow. everything is my opinion and i don't mean to offend anyone, anyhow.] also i randomly switch povs from their lover to you so there's that lol. credits for the headers go to the artist, they are not mine.

WANDERER

— wanderer likes people who can stand up for themselves and be assertive, even in the face of fear. a partial reason for this could be the fact that he suffered at the hands of many for not having stated his desires. he is a people pleaser and would like to learn this virtue from whomever he chooses as his partner. he also admires resilience and perseverance, people who work in the shadows or use underhanded means to achieve their ends aren't seen by him in the best light. he likes focused, ambitious and noble people who stand up for what is right, and who would stand up for him when others wrong him though he himself is fully capable of doing so.

he could be attracted to people who are just by nature. not righteous, somebody who always sticks to the right isn't the best either but somebody who knows of law and justice and knows what is the right thing to do. although he may very well want to be the dominant partner in the relationship, he would admire someone who challenges his belief without batting an eye, without knowing they just turned his belief system upside down. somebody intelligent and bright who can be the lamp to his dark, the light to his firefly. he wouldn't like a goody two shoes so someone who knows how to break rules but in a very, 'find-loopholes-in-the-law' kind of sense. someone who can handle his cynical and sarcastic nature and patiently waits for him to open up. he would

someone who dislikes attention but grabs it wherever they go nonetheless. someone who can make him feel loved and important. someone who would help him grow and heal. someone he can open up to without feeling ashamed or scared. who would embrace his dark as much as they admire his light and treat him gently.

although i'm quite sure he would only be interested in grabbing said person's attention in the start. he wouldn't approach them with an intent to change, just with the desire to be important to someone who is so admirable. but eventually, as he gets to know them more he would come to love them.

i don't want to make comments on physical beauty but all i can say is that he could like intense eyes and a serene and relaxed expression. whose face radiates peace and patience. he could be attracted to people whose face has a glow, you know when you look at someone and can't help but catch glances. not that they're angelina jolie or something but just that their face bears the radiance of someone intelligent and bright.

KEQING

— keqing is the bearer of responsibilities and expectations wherever she may go. undoubtedly, she likes it, it proves her worth. there are chances that she could have power struggles or ego problems in relationships, especially if it's someone who makes her insecure. she would be best with someone who is well respected and admired and famous but not in the same field as her. she would start seeing it as competition and end up hurting them, unintentionally. she could very well want to be the submissive partner (not in a sexual sense lmao) and take care of duties at home whereas the other partner takes care of worldly affairs. she could be the provider too, but she would find nurturing others in that sense a bit hectic because she's very attached to her career life.

someone patient and caring who would hug her when she comes back home, who can hold her hand and make her laugh when she is in a good mood and give her a shoulder to cry on when she's upset. she's a blunt person because she dislikes dishonesty in intimate relationships so someone who can handle that. she would also be irritated by a partner who expects to be placed before her career and family. who is as busy as she is but can still find time for her. she would like to make them run after her but once her affection is won, all her love floods in like a summer spring— all for her lover and one and only.

someone who aims long term. who is bold, outgoing and extroverted and can compliment her, who she can present loud and proud. someone who only has eyes for her and can wait for her; she would be embarrassed by pda so there's that, too.

PANTALONE lmao you guys.

— pantalone likes to be praised and admired for the stuff he does. of course, one won't go as far as to say someone who'd worship him, but someone who can romance him. he knows how to do it, much better than any romantic partner i'd say, but he likes seeing them put in the effort and try. as such, he wants someone who can make him a priority, or at least keep him in their top three. he needs them to be understanding of the nature of his work, how busy he can be and so someone who can adjust to that would be amazing! it'll definitely be worth it though because at the first chance he gets, he's going to make sure he gives you the whole world along with his heart at your disposal. he's very generous but it's a very give-and-take kind of thing— be passionate with him and he'll give you thrice of it. someone who is gullible, understanding, compassionate and kind but can be rough and tough when time demands it. not someone harsh though. like a camellia, someone who blooms even in winter snow.

although he'd like a submissive partner, he wouldn't want a dumb or unpopular one. as someone so famous as him, he would show you off everywhere and to everyone hence someone full of etiquette and elegance who can adjust to a very fancy life and who he would think compliments him, increases his charm.

very possessive guy, he needs his own freedom but is not willing to give you yours— it could get toxic very easily so someone who can draw a line and explain to him where he is going wrong is ideal. an ambivert who is capable and confident with others, and relaxed and smiling with him. he loves spoiling so someone who can handle that. someone with a lot of dignity or pride wouldn't sit too well with him. he loves intelligence or wittiness, especially when it's used to trick him because even though he is cunning enough to see right through it, he'll be infinitely amused by it. someone independent and down-to-earth who can show him his place when he's asking for it.

someone attractive, someone you can stare at for hours and not get bored.

LYNEY

a most extroverted and bold character, one would say. however, this boldness seems to disappear somehow when he is in front of someone who he actually is in love with. or at least that's the kind of love he desires. something that knocks the breath out of him— makes him tremble and stare in awe when they appear, a past life perhaps that connects their soul with a red string, binding them in a tango forever.

aside from this dreaminess that lyney bears about the idea of a lover, he would like someone who can make him feel comfortable, otherwise, he'll only play around and then leave. comfort is so important for him that it can make or break the bond. no matter how superficial he may seem, he wants to be able to confide in his partner entirely without them judging him or making snide remarks. he wants someone who can be lighthearted in love, but not unserious. he doesn't fall easily so he thinks long term and wants someone who can do that too. someone who is wise but doesn't preach; he desires a lover, not a teacher. very lawful people bore him since he likes breaking rules and finding loopholes so someone who can be like that.

i'm not so sure about this but he could very well take his sister's opinion into consideration when choosing a partner, so it'll be someone his sister likes too. he'll be a very fun lover and always make you laugh. one thing that could pose a problem is that he may not understand the importance of certain things or topics and take them lightly. so someone who can take the rein patiently in those matters will be admired by him. he would be very hurt if his partner said harsh words to him because he would hold their opinion in high regard, so someone who can control their anger.

he would want to be useful to them somehow so someone who'd tell him how to do so. very soft lmao but fun and lovely nonetheless. although it could take him time to find the one since he wants to keep everyone happy; someone who upsets lynette or freminet would be rejected with ease.

CYNO

i'm certain that even in a modern au, he would be in a job that requires strength or resilience of body and mind. as such, he would desire the company of someone who can take away the weight of general household work from his shoulders. it's not that he is running away from it, he would easily do it if his partner can't, but he wants to be with someone understanding enough to take the responsibility of stuff they can do from his shoulders. he really idealises the soldier returning home from war trope and would want someone nurturing and kind who would talk to him and take his pain away from him.

he's patient in romantic relations and would want someone who trusts him. he'd be very protective but in a very positive sense, he just wouldn't let harm come in your way and would support your endeavours in a very practical way. he would trust you a lot too and make sure that you're happy as long as you're with him. your peace and joy bring him euphoria. he isn't the obsessive or possessive type though, he'll trust your devotion and commitment. someone just and royal, who can deal with the law and align themselves with it. someone who can understand his duty and prepare themselves by hardening their heart. someone who can remind him of his duties when he gets carried away and who doesn't need to be babied. not that he won't do it but he doesn't want a parasite.

someone who'll keep their promises and maintain a joyful disposition. someone who'll gladly sacrifice comforts when his duty is in question and be prepared for hardships and struggles. someone who's still soft though, it'd really break his heart when he saw them sacrificing for his sake but that would be the one thing that makes tears come to his eyes, the one act that makes him want to pour his heart out for you.

RAIDEN

raiden is the archetypal villainous lover who sacrifices the world for their partner. it's not ideal, certainly not— so someone who would be flattered by such devotion. raiden loves with a lot of devotion and expects the same in return so someone who would provide her with the trust she demands. she's very generous too, and would gladly shower her lover with gifts and love and respect and expect only love in return. she wants to have someone whose presence gives her peace and calmness of mind, who can talk to her and talk practically and take all her worries away. she adores loyalty so that would be very important.

i think she would make for an excellent lover in the sense that she can be both emotional and practical, except that sometimes she gets too practical. someone who can appeal to her kinder side would be much adored. with her, there's this problem that her entire world starts revolving around you, so you have to make sure she doesn't get obsessed or carried away in love and stays practical and career-oriented too. she would love it so much when you express concern for her. she would rather be the money maker and caretaker and would want someone who can romance her and be passionate, though it's not particularly necessary either— she's quite good at romance herself though her definition of romance could be hard to understand.

someone who can respect her anger and see her side of the argument too, should the chance of one ever arise. she needs time to cool down so someone who understands that and gives her space and freedom is ideal. she doesn't like clingy people and would encourage you to step out in the world too.

selfishness does not sit well with her. a bit random but i see her as someone who focuses on her partner more than the children and they could be a bit neglected for that reason so you have to be the responsible one in that aspect.

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carrotkicks · 3 months

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i love your header sm!! i love the way that you drew young chuuya, and i can just feel the angst coming from it <3

LISTEN, listen there's a drought in the BSD fandom when it come to stormbringer lab/chuuya childhood angst and dw I'm here to deliver >:) taking one for the team to be Evil. You can trust me on that

but also also!! I personally think N is a widely underutilized character in fan content considering he is quite possibly one of the most genuinely Heinous villains in the Bungoverse. And the fact that this guy introduces himself as Chuuya's father.

Ok so there's so many layers to the N and Chuuya dynamic that fucks me up and I rant enough about it on main but if i do it here maybe people will pay attention. N probably knew Chuuya or at least the family before he took him to the lab. N is nice to Chuuya throughout all the abuse, not kind, but manipulatively nice, and we know that Chuuya vows to protect anyone who treats him well in his eyes, and isn't it so weird how Chuuya chose not to take revenge on N when Verlaine free's him, even after all the TORTURE and multiple open bleeding gunshot wounds. That line, "I'm your father" is a blatant lie but the implications of authority and control that the phrase has is a big part of their relationship, and LACK of control is a fundamental aspect of Chuuya's character and,, and...

FUCK. THEY FUCK ME UP.

Anyways i think we need to start using N more in fics and fanart and whatever. N and Chuuya's dynamic could be so stomach churning and awful. I say we should do more of that.

#human experimentation HAS to be some kind of allegory for gifted kid burnout and im a chuuya kinnie so....#oh btw.. this is salty but #i can't take any angst about Mori being the number one evilest person to either of skk and like. abusing them or whatever seriously #when Professor N *Literally Exists* .. and is an almost blank slate to be even more evil as you may enjoy #like. my bro the boss Mori does not deserve. .. MOST of the slander.#ask

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gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

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Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Most recent part

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.5K

A/N: A Gavi fic where Gavi will finally be involved. How innovative.

Also the urge to change perspectives and write "you" instead of "she" is overwhelming so I'm just going to do it. IDK why I'm giving all these disclaimers - I'm essentially talking to myself.

To say you were exhausted would be an understatement. Your failure of a date had already left you with a severe headache, and to make matters worse, the people in the apartment above you had a cabinet collapse, waking you up in the middle of the night to the sound of 80 plates crashing to the ground. Training didn't even start until 8am, meaning you technically didn't have to arrive to Camp Nou until 7:30am, when the debriefings of the day occurred. But you couldn't say no to Gavi.

Your time at Barca had started off rough to say the least. On your first day, you had been excited, dressed in the official physio team uniform, and eager to get to know all the players and staff. But when Dr. Gonzalez introduced you, the reaction was not very positive. You heard the players whisper to each other that anyone who Xavi wanted to keep off the field would be treated by you. While it hurt, you couldn't exactly blame them: who would want to be the guinea pig for the student-in-training when they had other physios available with years of experience?

For the first month, you only saw the players if you were in Dr. Gonzalez's office. Despite the constant instructions for the players to "see y/n first and only come to me with major injuries", your office was constantly empty. Everyone wanted to be seen by the best - and that was not you.

Pedri had vaguely remembered you from that night in the club, squinting at you and saying that you looked familiar. You had considered not confessing how he knew you, but in a desperate effort to have someone like you, recounted when you had met. He laughed at the memory, and yet still never came to you for any discomforts. Gavi, on the other hand, didn't remember a thing, and you were not going to remind him for one simple reason: he was kind of an ass while sober. While sweet to everyone on the pitch, he was cold and easily frustrated when things didn't go his way, and the nature of your job was telling him things he didn't want to hear. The last thing you wanted to do was make him angry, because 10/10 times the club will choose the generational talent over some student intern.

So you avoided him. You didn't make any offers to help with his muscle tightness. You didn't evaluate the way he strained himself on the field. You even refrained from looking at him in the eyes whenever you assisted Dr. Gonzalez with his physicals, because Lord knows this boy loved to throw himself around the pitch. Gavi treated you the same. In the rare occasions when he looked in your direction, he offered short nods instead of words. The only time you heard his voice was for quiet thank yous when you handed him his shirt at the end of the evaluation. You'd be lying if you said it didn't bother you. The memories of Gavi leading against you, whispering softly that he drank to quiet his thoughts, were always in the back of your mind.

However, 6 weeks into your job at Barca, his cold front had to come down. You were in your office at Camp Nou, typing up progress notes from the day before, when some banged loudly at your door. "Come in." You yelled, still engrossed in typing up your notes, when the banging was heard again. You sighed in annoyance, opening the door and finding Ferran standing before you, holding up a limp and tearful Gavi. "What the hell happened?" You said, moving aside so he could lay Gavi down on the exam bed in your office. "He went up for a header and collided with Christensen. He landed pretty hard on his left leg, and then hit his head again." You glanced over at Gavi, watching the way he grabbed his left shin and writhed in pain. You walked over to him, trying to hold his ankle still. He immediately pulled away, sitting up way too quickly for someone with a head injury. "I don't want you to touch me! Ferran, where is Dr. G?" He shouted, the color quickly draining from his face. "He's not in until noon today. I already told you." Your heart sank slightly. Of course they didn't seek you out as a first option. There was no proof that you were any good at your job. You were just the only person available.

"Gavi, you could have a concussion, so please stop yelling and just lay ba-" "Don't tell me what to do. I'm not concussed. If you were good at your job you would know that." He replied. Now you were angry. It was moments like this when you were reminded that, despite his talent, Gavi was still a teenage boy, and if that's how he wanted to act, that's how he would be treated. You walked to your desk, grabbed your trashcan, and placed it in front of the exam bed. "I am good at my job, and given that you are paler than a ghost in winter, you probably are concussed. If, no, when the need to vomit becomes too overwhelming, do it in there. You can wait for Dr. Gonzalez for the next three hours, but don't get puke on my floor." You turned back to your desk, and resumed typing reports like you had been. Ferran and Gavi both exchanged a glance. "So you aren't going to do anything?" Ferran asked hesitantly. "I'm not going to touch Gavi if he doesn't want me to. If he wants to sit and writhe in pain and make his injury worse, that's on him. You can go back to training now." You replied without even looking up from your keyboard. It would be a cold day in hell when you let an entitled 18 year old doubt your competence.

Ferran looked back at the exam bed one more time before exiting the room and heading back to training. To his credit, Gavi held out for 25 minutes, a lot longer than most other concussed athletes. But the fuel of spite died down eventually, and he was leaning over the bed to vomit in your office trash bin. You suppressed your smirk as much as humanly possible. He then lifted himself to slowly sit up, and quietly said, "Can you look at my leg now?" You glanced up from your screen. "I know you haven't been out of school so long that you have forgotten how to say 'please'." Gavi huffed in frustration. "You know what? It doesn't even hurt. I'm just gonna get up and go back to training." "Yeah, stand on that injured leg. Take a week long injury and make it worse so you miss half the season." He stopped his motions to get up. You looked over at him, and he stared at you with that look of distress he always had on his face. "Can you please take a look at my leg?" He said, disgusted by the need to plead with you. "Much better." You said as you stood to put on a clean pair of gloves.

You carefully removed his sock and guards to get a better look at his ankle. It was slightly swollen but no bruising - just a minor sprain. He could be back on the field in a week. You pressed on different areas, looking to see if there were any where he felt excess pain. As you pressed right above his ankle bone, he recoiled in pain, hissing out a sharp "fuck!" while gripping his ankle. "Can you not injure me further?" He said while looking up at you. You sighed in frustration, and chose not to respond, rather just holding out your hand to indicate that he should give his foot back. He begrudgingly accepted, and you continued to examine his foot. "Mild sprain, nothing too serious. I'm going to bandage it and put it in a brace to keep it stable for the next couple of days." He nodded at the diagnosis. You went up yo his head now, shining a flashlight in his eyes to gage how bad the head injury was. "I'll have someone take you to the hospital to confirm, but it's just a mild concussion, like I said earlier. I'll send notice to Xavi to let him know you won't be at training the rest of the week. You sho-" Gavi jumped up before you could finish, making himself nauseous in the process. "I don't need to go to the hospital. Don't send anything to Xavi. I can work through it. I should just..." He couldn't even finish the sentence because he was reaching back for the bin to throw up again.

"Gavi, what is your problem with me?" You asked in frustration. He looked up at you in surprise. "My problem?" "Yes! You're always either cold or snappy with me, and always questioning my medical judgement. I know how to do my job, otherwise I wouldn't be here. So what is it about me that is so insufferable that you feel the need to be rude to me all the time?" Gavi was caught off guard. He didn't expect for you to confront him with such an honest question. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, finally bringing some color back to his face. He laid back on the bed and signed, taking a pause before replying, "You're young." Your brows scrunched together in confusion. "You hate me because I'm young? I'll age eventually I promise." He couldn't stop the small laugh that left him at that. It was refreshing hearing Gavi laugh.

"I'm not upset that you're young. Well I am but not in that way. It's just... everybody here has so much respect for you. You're 21 years old, but no one ever questions your judgement or decisions. Dr. G is 57. He's been a physio at Barca longer than I've been alive, and he still consults you on everything. You're so young and no one treats you like it."

You were taken aback. You would have never suspected that the reason behind his anger was jealousy (or admiration?). "Gavi, I think you have some rose colored glasses on when you look at me. Maybe Dr. Gonzalez ignores my age, but everyone else doesn't. Have you ever seen any of the players walk into this office? No. They all skip me and go to my boss. I'm not really that great."

Gavi turned on his side to face you. "That's because you're kind of intimidating, not because we don't trust you." "Wow. Always great to hear." "Let me finish." Gavi huffed. "A lot of us get injured in really stupid ways. I mean really stupid. Like the time we were messing around in the locker room and Pedri slipped of a bench while performing Bad Bunny. No one wants to walk into the office of the young attractive physio and say 'hey I hurt myself being an ass'. Dr. G? Her knows we're dumb. It's just easier" You couldn't decide whether to focus on the fact that Gavi had just exposed Pedri or that he just called you attractive. You just stared at him for a moment with your mouth agape. You composed yourself and quickly started typing out a hospital request and a training excuse. "You know that they respect you too, right Gavi? Your teammates all think extremely highly of you, regardless of how old you are. And the people on the other teams don't beat you up just because you're young. They're threatened by the amount of talent that you already have, and are honestly frightened by how much you can grow in the next couple of years." You finished typing and looked back to him. "And you're kind of a dick whose always tackling people on the field." Gavi let out another laugh, this one louder and more carefree, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "But no yellows thought." "Yeah, you must be bribing the refs." "With what money? You know Barca doesn't have any." It was your turn to laugh, being caught off guard by the statement. Gavi was picked up by his hospital escort, and visited you every day that week for rehab on his bad ankle.

Since then, Gavi used you like his own personal therapist, for both his physical and mental troubles. He would ask for you specifically for everything, from minor muscle tightness to major injuries. His confidence in your abilities spread to the rest of the squad, with more of the young players coming to you for assistance. Gavi always came first. You made the mistake of giving him your personal number "for emergencies", and he used it every day. He often asked you to come in an hour early so he could get personalized treatment without having to fight off Ansu and Balde, who always seemed to be standing by your door at 8am sharp.

"You're late. It's 6:45." "Good morning to you too, Gavira." You replied, handing your coffee and bag to Gavi while you unlocked your office. "I don't know why you keep this office locked - it's not like there's anything to steal." He said as he followed you inside, placing your coffee on your desk and your bad on the shelf. He had met you here so many mornings it was muscle memory now. "Oh yes, nothing important. Only the computer with the medical records of the whole team and all their personal contact information. Maybe I should let someone put your phone number on Twitter and let everyone know you're allergic to oranges." You replied as you turned on the lights by the exam table. "Leaking my personal information is one thing, but telling the public how to kill me is a little much don't you think?" He said as he hopped on the table, feet dangling over the edge. "My Lord Gavi, it's literally mild allergy. I would be telling the public how to give you a rash. Now what did you need me for?" You said as you pulled your hair back and grabbed some gloves. "You didn't see me limping as I walked in?" "No Gavi. You're always walking like you're holding a watermelon between your thighs. It's the hallmark of a football player. Now what do you want before I ditch you to go get breakfast?" "My right thigh and hip are really tight. I need help stretching them out because they feel misaligned." You sighed. "I taught you to do this yourself so I wouldn't have to keep getting up at 5am to readjust your hips." "I know that but it doesn't work when I do it!"

You shifted Gavi so he was on his back, proceeding to lift his right leg slightly and rotate it. Gavi hissed in pain slightly, but did nothing else to stop your movements. "I can't get a full range of motion when you're in sweats. Do you have shorts you could change into?" "Not right this moment no." "Alright then just take your pants off." Gavi whipped his head around, eyes wide at the statement. "What?" "You're in boxers right? It's like being in shorts. I don't have a ton of time Gavi come on. Now is not the time to be shy." You said, grabbing him by the forearm and sitting him up, looking expectantly. "I don't think that's a good idea." He said, avoiding eye contact. "Well than you can come back after training." He weighed his options and then got off the bed, taking off his shoes while you looked at him. "Do you have to watch me strip? Usually that's a service I charge for." You hadn't even realized you had been staring until he pointed it out, spinning around quickly in your chair. You heard him shuffling while trying to calm the blush that had started to creep across your face. "I don't get what the big deal is." You said coolly, pretending you had not just been overwhelmed at the prospect of Gavi stripping. "You change in front of the guys all the time." "Correct. Guys. Other men with penises who are not shocked by mine." You suppressed the urge to make a wildly inappropriate joke. "I have seen other naked men before, Gavira. I didn't study in a nun convent." You said turning back around when the shuffling stopped.

He was back on the bed, laying in his grey hoodie and black boxers, grey crew socks still on. He had his arms crossed above his chest, staring at the ceiling. You grabbed his right leg again, and started to move his leg to loosen the tight muscle. You folded his leg upwards, placing one hand on his knee and one on his inner thigh, causing his eyes to shoot open. His breathing got heavier, but he said nothing as you focused your attention on your work. His thigh was tight and muscular under your grip, sculpted and toned from years of training. You ran your hand along the back side of it, gripping and massaging the muscle to loosen some of the tension you felt there. As you put his leg back on the bed, you couldn't help but look at the bruises and faint tan lines littered across both of his legs. They were proof of just how hard he worked - how hard Gavi always pushed himself.

You tore your gaze from his thighs to focus on realigning his hips. "Hey, can you life your hoodie a bit for me?" You requested. Gavi exposed the bottom portion of his abs, desperately hoping that you didn't notice that he was blushing. You grabbed his hips, digging your fingers into the soft flesh to grab his bones. You ran your thumbs along the very bottom of his stomach, right before it disappeared into the waistband of his boxers, and felt how tight the muscle was there. "Breathe." You instructed as you began his realignment. Gavi always groaned in pain at this process. It was not a fun experience to have your bones shifted back into place. But it was a side effect of him dribbling (or as you would say waddling) with the ball between his legs for so long. It was not odd for you to graze the bottom of his abs, but never like this. Never when he was sitting there half naked with only one layer of cotton separating himself from you. He groaned from the pain of your movements and the pain of feeling himself start to get hard when you started applying pressure to his sides. He tried to think of something sad, something painful, anything besides the fact that you were leaning over him, touching him so gently while he was in his boxers.

Thankfully, you released him with a "You're all set", and he was able to pull his shirt down to cover his half bulge. You turned back around so that he could get dressed when the door opened. "Good morning y/n. Good morning Gavi in his underwear." Pedri said as her walked into the room. "It's just so she could stretch me properly." Gavi muttered under his breath, realizing that didn't make it sound better. "Don't worry, Pedri knows, he's been in here in his boxers several times." You say while throwing away your gloves. Gavi shot a look at Pedri from his position on the floor. Pedri put his hands up in defeat. "I forget my shorts a lot. Anyways, Gavi, Mister wants to see you so we can discuss new striking tactics." "How did he know I was here?" Gavi asked, smoothing over his hoodie as he stood. "Everyone in the city of Barcelona knows that if you're not in my car in the morning, you're in y/n's office. Oh, while I'm here, could I get more resistance tape? I forgot my roll at home." You rolled your eyes at Pedri, going to get him his third roll that week alone, when your phone began to buzz with message notifications. "Damn whose blowing up your phone?" Pedri asked. Gavi put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door, pretending he didn't care about the answer. "Oh, just some guy I met at a club a while back. Actually, it was when I saw you there. Do you remember Martin?" You said as you finally found the roll of tape. "From Real Sociedad? Yeah, I remember. He carried your friend out of the club." "He messaged me last night saying he saw me when I was out yesterday, but was too shy to come say hi since I was on a date. He's been texting me ever since. I have to silence my notifications before he gets me fired." You replied easily. "Oh cool. See you later then, y/n. Thanks for the tape!" Pedri said, leaving your office with Gavi trailing close behind. Who had you been on a date with? He thought you were focused on your career. And why did this random Sociedad player have your number. His eyebrows stitched close together as he and Pedri walked to the locker room, and when he felt they were far enough from your office, Gavi smacked Pedri on the arm and asked, "When the hell did you see y/n in a club?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm really proud of myself - I worked on my application essays! And I actually started to incorporate Gavi into the story more. Excited about where it's going.

GIF credit to @gavidaily

#pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi #gavi x reader #gavi #gavi imagine #footballer imagine #fc barca #barca #pablo gavi slow burn #slow burn #gavi x you #pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavi fanfiction #gavi fic

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silversoul-goldenheart · 2 months

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(Hello, mod Loupy Mongoose here! I decided that it could be fun to try a "Pokemon IRL" blog, centered around Jamie! ^w^ Special shoutout to Moddy--They run their own Pokemon IRL blog, @riggspath, and inspired me to attempt my own. Go check it out!)

Blog Rules:

1: I'm treating this blog as if Jamie and Cody are interacting through a computer/Tumblr ("Rotomblr"?). As such, I am uncomfortable doing "face-to-face" interactions. (They will be available for that kind of thing later on ToVaJ)

More to come as I continue, lol

~~~~~~

Um. Hi. I'm Jamie Wild Rennard, a 27 year old woman. I have been told that trying a blog could help me get better socially. Not that I really care to be better socially. Pokemon have always been my friends, not people. But whatever, I'm curious. I'm not great with words and stuff, but my lovely husband Cody has agreed to help me with editing and learning the ropes, so I'm sure he'll make it pretty! (Cody here! When I get the chance, I'll get or make a header for her as well! ^-^)

Uh... What should I say? I'm not great with people. Maybe that will be different behind a screen, but It's hard to know right now.

That's all I got for now. Uh. Bye.

~~~~~~

Cody here! Jamie has reluctantly agreed to accept questions! Just respect that she might not give straight answers. She tends to keep to herself around strangers. I can answer too, but I won't answer for her in respect of her privacy, most of the time. ^^ (All answers will be run by her before posting. This is her blog, so her comfort matters most here!)

Oh, and we'll try to get to all of the questions, but I can't guarantee it. Apologies in advance to those that go unanswered! Also some of our life details are... not fun... so please understand we may be sensitive about some stuff. <3

And to keep things clear, I'll be talking in green, like you see here!

We'll keep this updated! Have a wonderful day~!

~~~~~~

MOD NOTES

-Depending on how deep into their stories I get, there may be mentions, discussions, and depictions of violence and blood in the future. Jamie's story is much more physically trying than Randy's.

TAGS -#JCart = Artworks "done" by Jamie or Cody -#JCphoto = Photos "taken" by Jamie or Cody

Modded by @loupy-mongoose

#((Note that the real mod Loupy is not actually married lol)).#((It's just Jamie.))#((I'll keep this updated as the blog goes on.))#pokemon irl

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itsgrimeytime · 9 months

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Magnolia in May (Part Seven) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: kinda anti-Lori, misunderstandings, a marriage of convenience, and mentions of loneliness.

[[A/N: girllllll, not another Magnolia in May chapter!!! Whoops. And actually tagging bestie @imaginemyfavoritefics properly this time, bc I did use the idea of Daryl as the courier. Unrelated but this gif of him clenching his jaw... girl. Thanks for reading !! ]]

You'd taken to writing letters -the gentle swish of your quill was calming the storm of your mind. Originally, you had garnered a sort of cold from the walk in the rain and had to heal -now, you'd stayed holed up of your own accord.

'Nonsense, darling,' Headmistress had said, fluffing up your pillows, '-you must heal from a broken heart like any other wound.'

It was fewer letters and more of a sort of journal -only for your eyes to see but sometimes addressed to someone other than yourself. It started simply with one occasionally to Maggie to make her smile, or Beth to tell her things you'd learned so she wouldn't have to, or to remind Father to eat a meal when he'd been so focused on a patient that he'd neglect himself. But then, Mr. Grimes started appearing at the header.

You couldn't remember the first time it had happened, days rather blurred after that day -especially since you were treated shortly after. And rest was all you'd really gotten then, it made the passage of time blurry.

But it became something you were rather dependent on.

'Mr. Grimes,' you wrote in the first of its kind, quill rather fluid at this stage.

'I met your wife, Lori. She's a wonderful woman, kind and perfectly poised. I would, in a different life, maybe be friends with her -seems the type to be good company. Was it always her?

You've got something special, a family with beautiful children. It's every man's dream, is it not? You were my dream. I find it a bit hard to believe she would leave that dream behind. For what is more powerful than one's love for their child? I suppose there were other circumstances that I shall never be aware of. I would've liked to have known why. I understand it's a rather personal thing, but I should be urged to hear something of the full story. I might deserve it.

But I suppose you deserve a full family more. Carl and Judith do. I wouldn't fit in. I would love the best for them, despite not having known Carl, he seems a bright boy. Deserves much of the best in life, I'd garner all children do.

I often wonder if I am to have children. I suppose I could ask you for advice one day, if so. But there's something in me that speaks differently. Like that path with you is gone. Maybe I should run off to the city and write away, become focused on my education. Pay for my father's living, and house my sister's 'til they're wed.

I don't think I could, with good conscience, leave Alexandria. I'm far too fond of the people the town, its where I grew up. And I suppose, to keep my father's clinic running under the family name I may marry. I'm not too sure that I'd marry for love, per say. Can you begin the fall in love more than once? Is it possible? And furthermore, although it is something I wish for, I'm not sure that I would like to bring children into a loveless marriage.

This is getting far too detailed of my own troubles, and for that I apologize.

I truly wish your family well. Even if there's no room for me.

Yours Sincerely,

Y/N Greene'

It was a positive experience, mostly. The smearing on that letter particularly wasn't of cathartic tears. Not quite a release of the emotions dying so tightly within your soul, it was rather grief. Loss of a life that you'd never have. Despite it being the one you desperately wanted.

You sighed, stashing away the paper with the other ones -the second desk drawer to the right, under the math textbook that had been gathering dust even before you were born.

Sure, it messed your hands, but you found it was a small price to be paid for secrecy.

"Y/N, dearest," your Headmistress hummed -voice pounding up the stairs, "-get dressed and meet me at the door in 10, will you?"

"Yes, Headmistress," you echoed, off to your feet and only touching up ever-so-slightly by the mirror. And in your rush, maybe you had forgotten to shut the drawer -you couldn't know now. It stayed open, and the telling corner of dustless papers under a dusty book was certainly one to ponder over.

At least for someone, it was.

You wouldn't know what had occurred until a few weeks later, as you sorted out your joint closet with Maggie. Gathering bows and ribbons, and straightening dresses, was a wonderful way to pass time -since your newest book was seeming to be tucked away in the carriage. You truly could not find it anywhere-

And then, there was a knock at the door.

Now, normally, this was of no notice -either for Maggie (who had gone on frequent outings with Mr. Rhee since the ball) or Father (ranging anywhere from an old friend to an urgent patient). But this was one to put a pause in your mind.

Maggie was, in fact, out -you remembered the shimmer of the carriage as it pulled away, and Father was rushed off for an emergency. And even further, Headmistress and Beth had gone out to a sort of gathering -some sort of tea party, you'd assumed. (They'd invited you, but you'd truly not wished to hear the gossip. Especially not now.)

You stilled, you were alone here then.

Well, you considered -making your way down the steps, -could be a sort of delivery. Ms. Elisa did frequently speak with friends out of town -often through letters. And Father always had an extra copy of cases delivered to his home -so he could think properly on an issue.

Satisfied with that, you approached the door with newfound confidence -fear that had stubbornly stuck there was unfounded. You twisted a bit of fabric in your dress, just to do something with your hands before swinging open the door.

And, it was a familiar face. Not one you had a name to, but one you knew -the courier.

"Ms. Greene," he spoke, his voice gruff and tired, much less peppy than you'd seen him before, "-I assume?"

"Yes," you answered cautiously, "-I'm the eldest Ms. Greene, why? If you're looking for Maggie-"

"No," he answered, simply, long hair moving with the motion of his head, "-Mr. Grimes requested this be given to you, the eldest."

"I can't acce-" you started but fell shut as a letter was extended to you -two letters. One a familiar sort of coffee-tinged brown -paper old and weary, you could hardly believe the quill hadn't punctured right through really. And the other, neatly folded, a pristine sort of ivory, and dark ink that somehow didn't seem to smudge at all. On the side that was exposed to you was written: Ms. Y/N Greene, in handwriting you recognized.

The one that had scribbled across the invitation so long ago-

"Who are you?" you questioned -eagerly bringing the letters close to your chest, "-And how did you get my letter? Have you been in my home-"

"Ms. Greene," he spoke -composed and calm, unmoved by your pressing questions, "-they were presented to me to mail weeks ago."

You froze, something heavy dropping in your stomach, "They? How... How many letters were you given to post?"

"A stack, no more than 10," he responded, "-the youngest Ms. Greene, opened the door for me once to deliver an invitation. The same one I 'ave been for weeks- It ain't relevant, really. She knew where I came from, and requested I bring 'em to Mr. Grimes immediately."

You paused, "An invitation?"

"More like a summonin'," he clarified, rather poised but still somewhat a bit casual, "-it's always the same request for you, the eldest, to attend to the Grimes estate."

"What?"

He paused, "It's supposed to be brought to ya, upon retrieval but... I'd guess it hasn't."

"You've-" you exhaled -a deep uncertain exhale, "-Just how long have you been delivering these?"

"Lost count."

"And-" you stuttered, a bit overwhelmed, "-and the letters, my letters they-"

"I put 'em in his hand, myself," he spoke -an ordered sort of discipline heavy in his tone with a dose of familiar twang.

"Right," you swallowed -pushing down the nerves biting up your throat at such rampant pace, he was never to see those, "-and who are you exactly?"

"Grimes estate courier," he grumbled out, a some of bitterness gathered there.

"No, no," you quirked a brow at him, "-your name? I figured as much otherwise."

He answered, rather improperly -as if he was trained in some ways and ignorant in others just slightly, "-Daryl Dixon."

"Mr. Dixon," you echoed, a sort of curiosity in your tone, "-you said he received the full stack, did he not?"

He merely nodded.

"Well, why do I only have one, then?"

The man pondered it for a second, loosely eyeing the way you held the letters like he knew what they contained (maybe he did), "I suppose he ain't done replyin' to the others."

The rest of the interaction was fairly polite, mere questions about his work -to which he complained quite vividly about the extent of it, but never shred a wrong light on Mr. Grimes. You'd gathered they were well-acquainted, even perhaps friends from youth, but you couldn't exactly pinpoint it. He didn't say anything directly, and was rather quiet around details. Well, details pertaining to Mr. Grimes, you supposed.

You'd initially wanted to search for the invitations he spoke of, but something bigger was biting you.

Your hands were quick to rush to the drawer, pulling it open -to suddenly believe it was not real. To prove that all of this was a farce, that the letters were still safely kept. But, when you opened it, you could tell.

Even still, you pushed forward holding up the book, peering underneath. It was empty, extraordinarily empty.

"No, no, no-" you urged, heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach -heavy, "-it can't be..."

Private pieces of you, of your sadness, your longing- Sent to the married man of the header.

And just back as you pushed back in your chair, the brush of tears only a breath away -your eyes caught on the letter.

It was not yours.

Yours sat just beside it, you recognized it to be the first one -all sort of crumpled and agonizingly smudged. All conflicted feelings and harsh realities buzzing under your skin. You'd written it partially under the delirium of your illness, so it was rather brash but you'd never thought you'd need to worry about it. The only thing different was how it was presented.

You remember hastily shoving it away, between book covers, under table legs, hidden in the dirt of the garden, as you tried to find a good place to stash them. You'd always been so quick to put them away, to get out the feelings and move on-

Looking at it now, though, the worn paper was smoothed out (to the best it could be) and perfectly folded. Each corner matched to another and creases were indented lightly so as to not damage the written word. It was treated as precious. Something... Something he'd rather cared for.

Something told you then to get rid of it, to throw it onto the fire when no one was looking, to stash it away, to never read it no matter the cost because you were doing the right thing and should not be swayed-

But another part of you was dreadfully curious. And dreadfully grieving the loss of a man who still lived.

It was your mail, a letter addressed to you. Wouldn't it be rather rude to not read it? If you hadn't wished the first one to be mailed, you retorted, then no.

And yet, you found yourself picking up the note with the gentlest of graces. Carefully unfolding the thick paper, slowly, timidly, like the words would jump off the page. Like they could hurt you.

You supposed they could.

Once fully opened, you didn't directly focus on the words -instead, detailing the printed bits around the top edges. It looked as though this was an official sort of paper -the same kind an invitation may be extended to. As well as a family seal printed into the bottom right corner, it seemed a little formal for the occasion but you found it didn't bother you. Not really.

Taking a deep breath, you blinked your eyes -wishing to calm your heart, even just for a moment, and started reading.

'Ms. Greene,' it started, letters crisply written in a thin but precise sort of writing. Your finger naturally went to trace over them, dotting the i's and swirling the g's.

'I must first say that it's to my understanding that these letters are rather personal to you. You weren't the one who intended to mail them, I've come to know. I know that this then, by proxy, is a large invasion of your privacy.

And I can only hope you forgive me for such a thing. Because this is my sort of last resort to reach you. I'm sure you're familiar with the invitations that have flooded your door, and although, I understand the no response for what you know, I've become quite desperate.

To be completely clear, I was nearly on my horse to your home the morning these letters arrived. To explain everything as you deserve it to be explained.

I instead am here, writing letters. I cannot tell if that's any sort of better than my original plan was but it is the decision I chose.

In terms of Lori, the situation is rather complicated. Surely, at the young age we married, she was the plan. I'd honestly not given thought to the fact that she'd ever come back. I knew her reasons, and I fully doubted I'd ever see her again. And out of respect for you, I wish for the full story to be in person.

Despite all that, I truly wished she would. I know I did. If not only to see our children, to grace me with some sort of company.

I lived a rather lonely life before you Ms. Greene. Which may seem a bit arbitrary coming from a man with a staff, but it doesn't make it any less the truth. When she left, it was quite the scandal. I never spoke a word on it, too devastated to even imagine what to say. It meant much more reclusion, even from friends I knew from youth. And then, as I'm sure you're familiar, I decided to move back to Alexandria. Atlanta only harbored negative things, and I wished for someplace more pleasant. And it was, but still despite it all, the loneliness persisted.

So this family, this full family, you speak of, it's not what Lori and I would be. It wasn't what we were when we were married. I love my children, beyond belief, but I was still lonely. And I can't imagine a full family has a lonely father.

Frankly, Ms. Greene, I was lonely until that day in the marketplace.

And on the off chance you don't understand what I mean, I ask, from the depths of my heart, don't leave Alexandria.

Yours,

Richard Grimes'

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #magnolia in may #narrative letters ??? drama

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decafdoodlez · 2 months

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What’s the current art project you’re working on? I’m just curious and your art’s beautiful you don’t have to share unless you want to, remember to eat a snack and stay hydrated 🥹

Hi there, sweet anon! 🫶✨ (thank you btw, I hope you are treating yourself well today!)

Currently, I’m actually away from home visiting my family for their spring break, so I haven’t actually been really been working on anything this week outside of my freelance work (which is the boring stuff anyway, haha). 😭

But I did draw this for my friend the other day! It’s our TPoF OCs, Marina and Felix, haha. It’s a continuation of a Valentine’s Day post I did last month with Fox and another moot’s OC. :)

He drew my header image the other day when I was feeling a bit sad, so I kind wanted to return the favor, haha. ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

But if you’re wondering about anything upcoming for unserious projects, I’ll throw some things out there about what I want to draw:

TPoF OC Marina and Fox full render drawing (thinking a nice beautiful skin-to-skin embrace, we’ll see)

Some Ren/Fox shitpost drawings (like them in a buc-ee’s tshirt or holding a what-a-burger cup, idk, hahaha)

Ren animated lip sync video (there’s a certain audio with a certain Genshin character that’ll work VERY well with him, hehe)

Ren/Fox animatic (something a bit angsty)

TPoF OC x Canon multi panel comics

Strade x Rika (YKMET OC) drawings

Rory drawings (just to get into a rhythm with him)

NSFW drawings of Rory bc I need him in ways that are unholy.

General NSFW drawings with my TPoF OC Marina and Fox bc I love them.

For my more serious stuff:

Ref sheet for Rory (OC from the unnamed VN I want to develop)

Concepts and backstory/profile for Penn and Izzy (OCs from the unnamed VN I want to develop)

Ref sheet for Rika (BTD/YKMET OC)

Scripting for the VN

Make a commission sheet

Work on making plushies (I’ve started drafting out a Fox plushie, but I’m going through a few iterations before I settle on a design.)

I’ll probably get more into a rhythm with my art when I’m home next week! I’ve kind of been a little busy this week with work and visiting family. :)

But yeah, so far that’s what I’ve got! I’m always open for suggestions though! I would love to hear what people would want to see! 🤍✨

#decaf answers #decaf rambles #tpof oc #tpof fox #tpof #oc #oc x canon #visual novel #upcoming #my art #btd #ykmet

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sugar-omi · 10 months

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Hi Naeomi!

I have a Baxter ask, but it might be a bit angst? It's all good if you are not comfortable doing it 🤗🤗

I was wondering how Baxter would react to an MC who is kind, goofy, and easygoing with her friends but not to everyone. When Baxter goes to say, "You dont have to go out with me just to be polite--" MC scoffs, "Please, I would never date a boy I didn't like just to be polite." Seeing Baxter's surprised expression, my nervous MC laughs and goes on. "But I like you, so..." Or Baxter would tell her she's too kind or nice after giving him a compliment or treating well on a date, and she would chuckle, "No, no I'm not."

MC had a hard time in school during puberty (as in mean gossip, boys brazenly checking her out and making comments, and small instances of bullying for being 'different'). That is the MC's history, and she has learned from Liz how to stand up for herself and not let anyone disrespect her--she has instilled a mean girl essence in herself with the most cutthroat comeback that has Cove recoil at her side (she has him cover his ears for this reason).

MC finishes high school with a jaded view of boys (except for Cove and Derek, her standards are high because of how kind and sweet these two are) and developed a bit of a sharp tongue when angry, something she is not proud of. And when MC meets Baxter, her crush from 5 years old, she is nervous and blushy and treats him with the utmost consideration. She worries that Baxter would see her spitting vemon one day and not like her anymore.

crying...... your mc reminds me of myself as well bc I'm also jaded n mean sometimes 😬 I will see your mc's in therapy LOL

anyway here you go anon<333 also I had fem reader in mind but I realize it's not very implied either so I hope that's OK

n i will edit the format a bit later bc I'm on my phone again 👍👍 ALSO NEW HEADER WHAT DO WE THINK it's suppose to be coves tattoo but I shrieked it bc I didn't like how bulky it was but now I feel like u can't tell it's the ocean so.... I try I try

tags: hurt/comfort, ok for fem/masc/nb readers, shy/nervous reader, mentions of bullying/harassment, headcanons at the bottom ft step 4, perhaps I'm using this to tell everyone that I think baxter finds assertiveness/"mean"!mc attractive but we won't talk abt that <3333

the first time baxter hears about the issues you had in the past, it was when your cousin laughed about how you look like a cinnamon roll but you slapped a guy hard enough his nose bled.

baxter took note of how your face scrunched up, and you looked at him to scout out how baxter reacted to the comment.

you mutter something quickly, "he deserved it. anyway..."

the mood was a little damp for a moment after that, the joke not well received because of the new addition and baxter felt bad that you had worries about how he'd take what Lee said.

after your group parted ways, and before you could retreat to your bedroom, baxter stopped you.

"forgive me if my words are unwanted, but... if you ever want to talk about anything, I'm here." his voice was soothing, but his pitiful gaze was off putting...

you did appreciate the gesture, baxter is always so considerate but you didn't want him to feel bad for you. you didn't want him to know how vulnerable you were.

when you were still in school, all the bullying had you feeling like a stray ally cat in front of a pack of dogs.

you didn't want baxter to know about the rougher side of you...

after that, baxter starts to notice your mannerisms even more.

you just nod and thank him, hugging him goodnight.

one morning, you brought him a breakfast sandwich and coffee.

"you spoil me y/n. who knew sunset bird was hiding such lovely people."

you just laugh humorlessly, no shyness or humility in it just a pained expression. "I try, glad to know I'm doing good..."

baxter smiles, trying to bring back your good mood. "you are. that must be why cove gravitates to you so much."

you laugh a bit, thinking about your clingy neighbor. "maybe, but he's the sweetest between the two of us. cove always takes care of me, more than I do him in fact.."

when he's in your living room and you're fluttering around the house with haste and fretting over every detail...

baxter doubts that, thinking about how the stories of your childhood he heard from your family and cove when you graciously invited him on the boat trip.

"no need to be humble. now, shall we eat together?"

when he first showed up, you were in a tank top and leggings, but after seating baxter and leaving him with a bottle of water you ran upstairs to get ready and came back in shorts and flowy top in your favorite color.

not that baxter minded, you were beautiful. but you were comfortable before, and it was the middle of the day, so why the sudden change of clothes?

then it was how jittery you were while making some tea, hovering over the pot and fixing baxter's cup diligently.

"y/n..." baxter decides to approach this lightly.

"yes?" you smile but it doesn't reach your eyes. you look so worried, like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"can we talk about what's going on? I don't mean to intrude, I know I'm only here for the summer.."

the reminder stings you but you listen on.

"but you're still someone dear to me, so if it's something you don't mind sharing, I'd like to know what'd bothering you. I want to help, y/n..." baxter places his hand on top of yours.

you swallow but inhale and prepare to tell him enough to paint the picture, at least.

"i.. don't want you to hate me." you hang your head. "i like you so much, baxter. I'm worried that my jaded view will make you run away..."

baxter nods, choosing his next words carefully.

he brings you into his side, holding your hand and the pressure is grounding.

"nothing like that can make me dislike you y/n. of anything, I like you even more." baxter grins at your surprised expression.

"there's nothing wrong with you for being assertive when defending yourself." baxter smiles soothingly and he decides to bring up a moment of weakness he had early in the summer.

"remember when I was a half asleep mess when we went to get drinks that day?"

you nod.

"its like that, I'm not always so prim and proper." baxter laughs, ignoring the flush of his face as he recounts the blunder. "just like I'm a mess in the mornings, you can be a bit snappy but it's all about the situation."

you grin and let out a watery laugh. "are you seriously comparing your inability to be a functioning human in the morning to me being mean when someone pisses me off?"

he grins shamelessly. although with the blush on his face, perhaps bacter feels a bit more humble than usual. "perhaps."

you laugh loudly, "you are!"

baxter grins. "it worked didn't it?"

you nod, wrapping your arms around him, allowing yourself to melt into his body as he hugs you back. "yeah.. yeah it did. thanks baxter..."

baxter loves when you stand up for yourself

seeing you snap at some douchebag hitting on you at the bar even though you said you have a boyfriend and he's right here?!

finds it hot when you're angry

always reassures you that you don't need to bring him breakfast in bed every day for the rest of his life just bc he saw you snap at some nosy Karen after she made a nasty comment about your outfit

it's a beach, what does she expect people to wear???

don't verbally or physically beat someone in front of him bc he Will kiss you

"fuck off! I'm not interested asshole!!"

baxter, heart eyes: "please kiss me, do u wanna get married?????"

#our life: beginnings & always #olba #our life baxter #baxter ward #baxter ward x reader #baxter x reader #baxter dlc #baxter ward x mc #olba baxter #baxter our life

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tarotwithdanise · 2 years

Text

YOUR SOULMATE DETAILS

༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ pac sections ✧ . ˚

1. their personality/physical appearance

2. love language

3. places/nationality

4. how they will treat you

5. how & when will you meet

6. what or how will be the first celebration with them

7. what will their love about you

- As a thank you for achieving 333 followers here's my little gift for all you. A depth reading about your soulmate. Thank you so much for keep supporting me.

༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ how to choose a pile? ✧ . ˚

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

1 - 2 - 3

rules, disclaimer and notes ☆

Just a quick disclaimer : This reading was made for entertainment purposes only. And this is obviously a general reading so takes what resonates and leave when it doesn’t, you don’t need to force your energy to read this and leave such a bad comment just to say it doesn’t resonates with you at all because the answer is very obvious! i don’t own any these pictures i collected them from pinterest so credits to the rightful owners.

Please ignore any grammatical errors on my reading since english is not my first language, thank you for understanding!

Third to the last one, if you are not an avid fan of this kind of readings and not totally 100% agree about the outcome of this pac please just ignore this post and don’t engaged anymore, this pac can contains harsh, hurtful comments about you or the other person that can trigger you if possible, so kindly read at your own risk and take how it’ll resonates.

Lastly, be happy and enjoy reading my works — feedbacks, comments, likes, reblogs and follows are really appreciated by the reader. (that’s me, lol :3)

for tips, donation, masterlist and paid readings ☆

TIPS JAR DONATION BOX

MASTERLIST PAID READING SERVICES

[ ♡ ] check out my second account @danisetarot.

SOURCE AND CREDITABLE : All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from pinterest , i don’t own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however edits goes and belong to yours truly. i use the editor tools canva and ibispaint for the header, divider and piles pictures.

PILE ONE - CAUTION YOU MIGHT FALLING IN LOVE

1. Their personality and physical traits

This is someone who has an athletic, fit and strong body. Someone who is quick when they move or when they are about to respond into something. They might also have slender body. Someone who is well dressed and elegant looking. Also, i'm getting that this person is someone who is tall and slim. They might have a square shoulder or stocky built. Someone who is sturdy. They might also love dancing, just in case they might be a dancer or yoga instructor, so there's a high chances that they are flexible too. They will have sexy and charismatic aura. People tend to perceive them as someone who is cold, emotionless and arrogant. For females pursuits, I'm getting here that they might be flat chested. Someone who is conceited and condescending. This is someone who is good at words and writing, someone who can be an author and writer too. Someone who is eloquent speaker as well and they know how to express their self clearly and powerfully to other's.

2. Their love languange

Since they're good with words, their love languange might be words of affirmation. Like for example scenario — you might be in a date sitting on a bench near beside of a fountain, they might look at you and say "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, you are the most beautiful creature that I had seen" something like that. But yeah, their words can make you blush and smile. You can feel every emotions with their words and how they speak! But there's a high tendency they can hurt you with their words as well because you know it's not always on the good side sometimes it's on the other side.

3. Places/nationality

(remember that energies might changed so take what resonates and leave when it doesn't besides tarot cannot predict the right nationality or places however you can take them as signs.)

For pile one people, I see two places here — the one is with wide land desert and the other one is near at the water such as beach or lake. For a wide group of you, I'm getting the Caribbean and for others are West-Africa. Nationalities I'm getting are European, African, American, Latino, Indian, Jewish, Arab, Chinese and Hispanic. They might be a mixed-race person.

4. How they will treat you?

This is someone who is very supportive and care about you a lot. Someone who will serve you and treat you as a majesty whereas the care and love you are rooting for. Teaching moments will be happening a lot of time and they might be bilingual person who would like to thought with the languages they knew about. They will have a strong romantic passion towards you such as kisses on the forehead, being so sweet in the public with you and respect your space. Type of person who would help you out to gain your confidence back.

5. How and when will you meet?

You will meet your soulmate when one of you is moving on from toxicity it's either event or relationship but most likely I'm getting a toxic relationship. I see a scenario here, you will meet them in any place near at water places. They can also be a water sign person. It's either this you or them crying and them the other one will offer a drink or handkerchief to the person that is crying. The person that has been crying is really heartbroken at that time. While the other one energy that is coming from here is that, you will maybe meet them in a social event, I'm getting something bad is happening here so that's why that heartbroken person decided to walked out at that specific event. They might feel insecure and uncomfortable at the same time, that's why they've gone to that event and then other person notice action and decided to follow the other person - this seems from a book story. They might even watching that heartbroken person and start looking at them since entered the room. For a very few of you, I'm getting that you already met this person and might end up marrying them.

6. How it will be like the first celebration with them?

I'm getting here, this might be a birthday party of someone in your family or a friend wedding celebration. A lot of fun will be happening for both of you here. They might participated with you to dance on the floor. I'm getting they can't stop looking and staring at you because you are beautiful on that day regardless to your gender. For the few people of this group, i'm getting this will be a very awkward moment for you because maybe you were really insecure about yourself when they think you are perfectly fine human.

7. What will their love about you

This person love how generous you are to other people,even though in a small or big generosity - they will still love the fact you enjoy giving and providing something for other's. Also, they love how you handle a problem of being well matured and professional, for them you are type of person that are very mature individual compares to all of the people in your ages and maybe because you been through to a lot of problems, a lot of ups and downs in life that makes you a strong human. If you aren't into charity or donating, you want do it in the future and might participating and volunteering to people who are in needs. This person love how big your heart is for people whom you think are weak, you are giving me a vibes of person who usually help other's without expecting anything back.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

PILE TWO - A MAGIC "LOVE" WAND

1. Their personality and physical traits

For those people who were attracted to pile one this is the sign for you to read it too. This someone who is sturdy, someone who has a well built or stocky built, for few they might even have square shape shoulders. This person like to exercise and go to gym to keep their body fit as possible, they achieving this defined body. They might even have a high sex drive. If they're woman - they will have a nice chest, their cleavage will showing also their body might be curvy. They might have a thick body hair. Furthermore, this person is huggable🫂(well I know everyone is huggable but this person prefer hugs than punches). Their hugs will makes you comfortable and safe. They frequently like to dye their hair like they tried any of all of colors but never dark colors of hair maybe because their real hair color is dark colors such as black, jet black or brown. This person has a heart-shaped face too and someone who is passionate at their work. This person makes you feel love and fulfill your empty glasses. They will make you happy when you're feeling down for real and for good.

2. Their love languange

Their love language will be gift giving and physical touch. Type of person will buy you a lot of gifts for you even though you said you don't need any of them and it's just a waste of money. As far, they want to offer to your their world because, they are totally aware that you don't experience the life they have, for example — they get what they wanted in just a snap of finger while you, you need to work hard to achieve the things you wanted to have. For physical touch, I'm seeing here that if you had a work all day long and they see you tired they would like to offer a message for you or make you a cup of coffee or juice.

3. Places/Nationality

(remember that energies might changed so take what resonates and leave when it doesn't besides tarot cannot predict the right nationality or places however you can take them as signs.)

Okay pile 2, the places or location i'm getting are more into asia, south america and oceania countries. For Asia i'm getting the east asia — china, japan, macau, korea, taiwan, mongolia and hongkong. I'm also getting portugal and australia. For nationalities I'm getting korean, filipino, japanese, american, indian, malaysian, portuguese, spanish, chinese, australian, french and dutch.

4. How they will treat you?

This person may act as someone who is possessive and kinda obsessed with you. They will be afraid that what if you will gone one day to them. They will be over protective to you. I see that this person might be into singing and maybe sing a song for you even though they aren't good at at. Also, they will going to buy you a lot of branding clothes regardless to your gender.

5. How will you meet?

You will going meet this person when you move to one place to another and casually living alone an independent life. This might be related taking a higher education like in a university or college or if not, moving to a new place because of changes to work. This person will approach you first, if I'm not mistaken they have an extrovert personality and this type of person who seems happy pill aura like they are always make funny jokes that can make you comfortable somehow. For a very few number of you, I'm getting up a teacher here - a teacher vibes, someone who will taught many things in life that you'd never learned before. With them you will gain a lot of new facts and knowledge about our Earth and Universe or even Humans.

6. How will be the first celebration with them

Hmmm, the first celebration with them is claiming your own success, this is somehow connected to school achievement. Maybe when you won on a competition contest or someone who is one of the top students in school after that you and your friends(if you don't have friends, a family can be.) will you go out, one of your friends will invite this person or you will casually meet them in the celebration place. For some, i'm getting a a literal festival or school celebration festival. You might be in a one team with them in a booth and offering to other students your products, this love story seems like more into High school or University romantic stories.

7. What will their love about you

Ohh, this person loves how good listener are you without judging other's situation. You are type of person who is above all to anything else. They love how faithful and honest you are as a lover and person, they love how you are a lost soul before finding yourself into the real meaning of life without asking the help of other people. They also love, how you are willing to fight for your rights and willing to argue with them. You are someone who is loving and emphatic for them.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

PILE THREE - HEART SHAPED BOOK CLIPS

1. Their personality and physical traits

Your person might have is more into curvy body whether they're fat or not, they do still have shape while for some, their body is slim while for few of you i'm getting petite to average type of body. They will be an edgy dresser, they have a scar and tattoo. Someone who who is giving off the energy of being a bad boy/girl vibes. They might have a fox eyes, cool or they might like styling their eyes into fox style. The hair colors i'm getting are red, brown, dark grey and black. They casually changing hair colors and likes to dye their hair this can cause a hair damage most likely a receding hairline for them and they might even have a thin hair. Someone when they walk is light-footed or very silent. Type of person who like to tease people like a lot. They can also be a fidgety, can have a olive skin to darker skin color. Someone who have a slick and mercury personality. This person is hard to get, they might be choosy when it comes dealing themselves to any romantic connection and choosing a partner, they don't want to be easy to get individual.

2. Their love languange

Their love language is act of service. This person is type of individual that will make you make a cup of tea or coffee every morning. This is someone would likely take the kids out so that their partner can relax with no responsibilities at home. For some of you who chose this pile, i'm getting quality of time, they like to celebrate the holidays with you, the relationship with them will be so much fun. You will frequently traveling around the globe. And type of person you can watch netflix with, all day long or night. You will enjoy each other's company, you will crave for them and so they are.

3. Places/Nationality

I'm getting north-america, asia and oceania again so if you drown to pile two this is a sign for you to read it. The countries I'm getting are from east asia, southwest and south east asia countries. For some i'm getting US north-east , US midwestern and US south-eastern. For nationalities i'm getting the ethnicity of someone who is a literal asian it can be you or them. Canadian, mexican, mediterranean, american, black or african american and native hawaiian.

4. How they will treat you

They will treat you like a special gem because for them you are like a reward with their exhausted life. They will be very careful with you, this person know you've been hurt in the past that's why they wanted to prove that you are a worth it as person and as a lover for them, they know that you deserve the love and care. They might even work hard just to get you or be with them because they have this feeling that you are the one for them and meant for thme, the one that they will love until their last breath.

5. How and when will you meet

You will meet them when you travel or get out from your place, the situation i'm getting here one of you might be lost at that time when you meet each othe. The scenario is when it's your first time to travel or travel alone and you don't know what to do this might help you with that problem. For some of you, this is also when one of you is finally moving on from a bad and toxic relationship or a place.

6. What or how the first celebration with them

The first celebration with them will be christmas, i'm getting here some of you are planning to move out by next year, so this might be next year and for some disregard if this is not resonates with you. This is likely happens when lot of gifts and overflowing happiness will be going. I figure out two people are happy chatting and laughing. A first kiss with them will likely to be happen with this first celebration.

7. What will love about you

Not gonna pile three, they love how blasted you are. They think you kind cute of when you do such thing like that, this kind of person who will love you truthfully even your negative traits, the one who will accept your toxicity and they know that's how people made of. They love how open-minded you are to alot of things. They love how open you are with your both good and bad sides because for them, that's proofs you are a human and they will accept all of that flaws.

Thank you so much for reading, let me know your thoughts, feedbacks as well tipping and reblogs is well appreciated !! ♡

࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚ 𝓞 ops you already reached the end. ࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚࿙‌֒࿚

song recommended : blue side by bts's j-hope.

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