#also I know the brand looks like its on the wrong side but its because I took these pics through a mirror lol

[caimdrakengard]

a Clive makeup test I did recently!

#caim talks #FFXVI #clive rosfield #final fantasy xvi #FF16 #final fantasy 16 #final fantasy #cosplay #a few friends said I looked like him so I wanted to see their vision in full by doing this makeup test! #also I know the brand looks like its on the wrong side but its because I took these pics through a mirror lol

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo (Prologue)

Summary: You’re a brand new zookeeper at The Halfling Zoo- a place where half-animals live in captivity. Your job is simple- feed them and study them. Your main worry is that one of the more dangerous halflings might kill you. 

Unfortunately, that may become the least of your worries.

WARNINGS: none for now

Note: This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui except I decided to take it a step further and include all the dorms. I know that a lot of these animals don’t fit them perfectly, but I did the best I could. I left out Ortho because he has no age and he looks really young so… no.

All characters are aged up, since there will be mature themes in future parts.

Also, I can’t promise I’ll finish this. I suck at finishing stories.

Chapter One here

—----------------------

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Crowley.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Ms. (Y/n)!”

You smiled up at your new boss, taking in his eccentric appearance- everything from his crow feather-lined cape, to his sparkling suit, to his top hat, and to the black bird mask that covered half his face. 

That name suits him.

“Now, you’re mainly a researcher, but you will also be assisting with some of the general chores, such as feeding the animals,” Mr. Crowley explained what you already knew.

“That’s alright,” you said, smiling brightly, “That will allow me to observe even more of their behaviors.”

You were fresh out of college and ready to face The Halfling Zoo. There was plenty of debate whether it was okay to treat half-humans as animals and keep them in a zoo, but it was convenient for you. You didn’t have to travel the world to attempt to study animals from afar through a camera lens.

“You will be supervising the lion and hyena exhibit, the wolf exhibit, the panther and tiger exhibit, the bird exhibits, the reptile house, and the aquarium,” Mr. Crowley explained.

“Wait, did you mean to say the lions and hyenas are together? And the panthers and tigers? Or did I misunderstand?” you asked, confused.

“They are bonded groups, so it would be wrong to separate them,” Crowley explained, “Halflings don’t always act like their animal counterparts.”

You nodded, cursing yourself internally. You had learned that on your first day at college! How could I be so stupid to forget about the bonds different Halfling species make?

“Follow me,” Mr. Crowley’s voice broke through your thoughts, “I’ll show you around.”

The two of you left the cramped office in the main staff building and headed out onto the guests’ paths. You could see a few families walking by- less than usual, since it was nearing closing time. It felt as though the sky was growing darker by the minute as the sun made its way down the horizon, beautiful orange and pink clouds lighting its path.

You almost immediately arrived at the lion and hyena exhibit. It was a huge enclosure, the terrain so detailed that you felt as though you had stepped straight into an African savannah. In fact, you could even feel the heat emanating from the ground itself.

“We keep it as hot as their home naturally is,” Mr. Crowley explained, reading your thoughts, “They’re happy here- it’s home with no need to hunt to survive.”

You nodded, but inside you wondered if that was really true or not. Were they really happier in a giant cage on display for humans than they were in Africa? You couldn’t imagine feeling that way.

Mr. Crowley pointed out a big rock where a pride of lions had gathered, “On top of that rock is the top dog- er, cat, I mean. The king of the jungle.”

Upon closer inspection, and a lot more eye strain, you could make out a figure lying on the top of the large rock. It was a Lion Halfling, with tan skin and thick, dark mane of brown hair that fell to his shoulders, except for the braids in front of his face, which were even longer. You could just make out the lion’s ears on top of his head and the lion’s tail draped over the rock’s side.

“And those are the hyenas,” Mr. Crowley supplied, pointing to the edge of the enclosure, “They’re used to aggressive females, so the males might be a little jumpy around you.”

You remembered reading about that in school, but it was amazing to see all the Halflings in person. You couldn’t help but feel excited to study them up close. Imagine if you made a big discovery that no one else had ever discovered about Halflings! After all, there were a lot of unknowns about them.

“Onto the wolf exhibit!” Mr. Crowley said in a sing-song voice.

The enclosure was right across the way from the lions and hyenas, but it had a completely different feel. The air was cooler when you walked up to the giant forest. Through the trees, it was difficult to actually see any wolf halflings. You thought you saw a flash of white, but it was too quick to tell.

“Yes, well, this exhibit is pretty quiet during the day,” the zoo director said awkwardly, “They’ll be out tonight, howling at the moon and whatnot.”

“Wolves don’t actually howl at the moon,” you helpfully supplied, “They howl to communicate with other wolves.”

Mr. Crowley stared at you for a moment and you wondered if you had annoyed him, until he grinned widely, “Such a knowledgeable new researcher!”

You smiled at the compliment, a little embarrassed as the two of you headed for the panther and tiger exhibit. You were surprised to see it alive with Halflings, all of them staring back at the two of you with narrowed eyes.

“There’s two black panthers,” Mr. Crowley pointed them out, “and two albino tigers. The four of them are as thick as thieves.”

You cautiously waved at them, but they merely turned away and disappeared into the jungle enclosure. You wondered if they were somehow curious to see you, or if they always did this to guests.

“Next, the bird exhibits!” Mr. Crowley led the way to the aviary. He pointed out Halflings left and right in the closely-packed enclosures, “A parrot, three albino peacocks, two flamingos, an owl, and a raven. You’ll get to know them well, since they’re mostly all very friendly. Except the peacocks are a little cocky.”

You giggled a little and waved to all the birds. It was a futile effort, because, save for the owl halfling, they were all fast asleep. The owl halfling stayed on his perch, wings tucked around his body, his bespectacled face scrutinizing you. Not in a rude way, just sort of deciding what you were.

You followed Mr. Crowley into a heated building with a glass wall on one side. You peered through the glass wall and immediately spotted the Boa Constrictor Halfling lying against the wall. Human until the torso, which then winded into a snake tail.

“Don’t be fooled!” Mr. Crowley said, “There is more than one snake in that exhibit. See if you can spot it.”

You looked at every angle, struggling to spot anything different. Then, a part of the sand moved and two gray eyes glared back at you.

“A Viper Halfling, right?” you said in awe, “Aren’t those venomous?”

“Ah, yes, well,” Mr. Crowley stuttered a little, “Don’t get bitten.”

You stared at him for a moment before it sunk in. All of these animals, except the birds, were extremely dangerous! And you were going to go into their enclosures to study and feed them? Were you insane?

You pushed down the panic and took a deep breath. This is what you signed up for. You probably already waived all your rights away anyway. You hadn’t looked at the fine print of your contracts, of course.

You noticed another tank on the other side of the room and walked up to it. You couldn’t see anything inside this one, but Mr. Crowley was quick to explain, “There’s a salamander in this one. A beautiful electric blue, but extremely shy.”

You peered inside, trying to catch a glance of blue, but you couldn’t see a thing.

“Lastly, the aquarium,” Mr. Crowley clapped his hands together, as though to bring you back to reality. 

The aquarium was a huge glass tank where visitors could go down the stairs and see inside. The two of you walked by it, and saw very little signs of life. 

“You’ll probably see the eel twins a bit. They’re a little shy at first, but Floyd is pretty playful. The octopus, on the other hand, rarely leaves his cave. He’ll venture out to eat, but that’s about it. We should have made that damn thing see-through, but it’s too late now.”

You were glad it was a normal cave, and not transparent like the glass. The Octopus Halfling probably felt safe inside it. It wouldn’t be fair to rob him of that simple pleasure.

“That’s the end of your tour, young lady,” Mr. Crowley said cheerfully, “You start bright and early tomorrow, have a long lunch break, then leave late at night. Are you sure you’re ready to do this?”

He looked down at you with a hint of nervousness, as though he expected you to say “no”. But you were determined and excited to explore what your classes had trained you for. Real life application.

“I’m ready!”

Note: So, some of the animals are obvious, but I’m wondering what you all think the others are?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland

[theoutcastrogue]

That said, the D&D 3.5 Paladin was bad. It was badly designed, it had bad rules, and in conjunction with the other notoriously bad rule, alignment, it could cause havoc.

Now personally, I never had ANY problems with it in my tabletop games. I played paladins and loved it, and I loved it when other people played paladins, and it was great. But that's because, collectively as a group, we took ONE look at that terrible rule where the paladin's code of conduct prevents them from associating with Evil characters or "someone who consistently offends her moral code", and immediately went, "that's stupid, we ain't doing that, it would ruin the game".

We also didn't love the concept of alignment as a cosmic force, and didn't care for Usually Evil Goblins and Always Evil anything. And when a class's signature ability fully depends on whether creatures are capital E Evil, well that affects storytelling, doesn't it? But we all saw it the same way, and we were happily able to change it without any disagreements. In the end we had a Paladin… similar to 5e now that I think of it: completely ignore the Code's association clause, tailor the Code to personal stance or a specific Order, Detect only fiends and undead and the like, Smite anything you want, Fall only if you really fuck up, and never presume that just because you haven't Fallen yet everything you've ever done is justified and correct and anyone who disagrees with you is objectively wrong.

Basically, there were 2 options in 3.5. You either houseruled and/or handwaved things, and in matters of alignment interpretations erred on the side of "what makes the game go",

OR, you played with Rules As Written, and filled the forums with questions like "should the paladin fall?" (one such thread per week, conservatively), "we got into a fight over the Paladin, what to do?", "is it Evil to pick pockets? because we have a Paladin in the party", "the Assassin uses poison, shouldn't that offend my moral code?", and shit like that. Just... pointless strife, all the time. Again, never happened to me, but I was appalled to read about it, over and over and over.

People got intense with 3.5 Paladins (both pro and against) because it was BADLY DESIGNED and had BAD RULES. Its mechanics forced narrative choices on the entire table, and the only way to make it frictionless was having a party where no one wishes to explore a character's bad side ever, no one does things that aren't bad but WotC branded Evil™ in this or that splatbook, and everyone magically agrees all the time on "what is right and what is wrong" and "what is Lawful and what is Chaotic", which is simply impossible. The most subjective thing in the world (ethics!) was presented as an objective cosmic force, and how you interpreted it would determine how much damage the Paladin deals in combat, and whether the Paladin could keep associating with the party, and if the Paladin is still a Paladin. And all that in a game, let's not forget, whose basic, fundamental premise is "kill things and take their stuff". I'm sorry, this is tremendously stupid. It's the WORST design.

I know that for some people it worked as written, and good for them, but for the many many people it didn't work, well it's obvious why.

#how to rogue #d&d #3.5 #paladin #crunch #fluff #alignment #trs

[shadowlali]

ranch owner alejandro pining after the town pastor's daughter. she sneaks him out during a little soiree in celebration for alejandro's return after herding his cattle up north for sale. so ale being the gentleman that he is, refuses at first but brings her to his ranch anyway. they go into the homestead and they *CAR CRASH NOISES*

pastor's daughter

COD AU - Rancher!Alejandro Vargas x pastor's daughter!reader

[18+] wc: ~ 2.8k masterlist part two

warnings: NSFW, some proofreading, no use of Y/N nor too many details on reader’s appearance (reader can be picked up by Alejandro and he’s taller than her), POV swapping (hopefully easier to follow than my last work), pet names (mami, niña, traviesa), mutual pining, fingering, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex a/n: not sure if anyone has noticed but i am obsessed with writing the scent of the COD men. i had to look up the definition of homestead and i think its a farmhouse/ranch house? sorry if i got that wrong nonnie <3.  tejana is a style of cowboy hats. traviesa means naughty (feminine). niña means girl/little girl but can also be used in romantic settings. niña traviesa means naughty girl

This was a bad idea. The church only wants to show their gratitude, but his collar feels tight and his pants even tighter. You walk around the patio in a dress that just about reaches the tops of your knees. Your soft thighs peek from underneath and it takes all of Alejandro’s strength to stay away. He can only watch from afar as you talk amongst the parishioners like a perfect little host. 

This particular soiree is due to his recent and ongoing donations to the church after another successful sale of cattle up north. Alejandro tries to lie to himself, that he does this because he's a good, God-fearing man. That it has absolutely nothing to do with how after each donation, you hug him and press your warm body to his. It has nothing to do with how you kiss his cheek bordering the corner of his mouth and whisper your thanks in his ear. 

Alejandro isn’t stupid; lustful, but not stupid. He can see the mischievous smiles you send his way, the lingering looks. While he might be tempted, God knows he is, you being the pastor’s daughter stops him every time. All hell would break loose if anyone in town found out the wealthy rancher was messing around with the pastor’s daughter. Alejandro can wonder what you look like beneath the pretty dresses and pink bows, but he won’t allow himself to touch.

“Alejandro,” the town’s pastor says as he places a hand on Alejandro’s shoulder, “gracias de nuevo. That money is going to help us so much.” [Thank you again]

He blinks as he faces your father, quickly focusing his attention on the conversation. “Of course, it was the least I could do.” Alejandro wonders if the pastor can read his mind, if his face shows any guilt or surprise. 

“This church will look brand new by the end of the year and so many children will have new school books,” the pastor continues. 

“Alejandro, always so generous,” you say while drifting over to your dad’s side. 

“He really is, God will repay with much more,” the pastor says while saying a prayer. “I have to go speak to the other guests,” your father turns to you,”why don’t you show him the Sunday school classroom?”

“I can do that,” you respond while linking your arm through Alejandro’s. 

His body stills at the touch of your hand but he lets you lead him into the church. The double doors are open and light streams in from the setting sun, illuminating Alejandro’s tan skin. He looks like a man, strong muscles from working outside everyday and big hands that can easily pick you up. The heat from his body roams over your skin, your nipples becoming sensitive and wetness pooling in your panties. Definitely not the reaction you should be having while in church. 

You’ve wanted Alejandro from the moment you met him. He’s different from the younger guys in the congregation, more confident and self assured with a voice that holds so much authority. It's no surprise that the other single women at church try to flirt with Alejandro and get his attention, yet you know his eyes follow only you. 

Being the pastor’s daughter means every aspect of your life is carefully monitored by your parents. From the clothes you wear to the way you talk, everything must be perfect. And it is, to an extent. You play the character well and no one suspects it's a facade. Beneath the bible verses imprinted on your brain and the modest dresses that cover your body is a deep ache. Something that you hope Alejandro can fill. 

His voice is soft and low, ”te ves hermosa.” [You look beautiful] 

You smile, even though Alejandro tries his best to keep you at arms length, sometimes he can’t help but give compliments or lingering looks. Now standing in the middle of the church, you take in the black cowboy boots, dark jeans, and white short sleeved button up. Each article of clothing fits his arms and strong thighs perfectly. He clears his throat and takes off his tejana to run a hand through his thick hair, red blooming on his neck. 

“Thank you, you look nice too. Although, a little tired right?” You respond. 

He hums in response,” Yeah, a little. Lots of work.” 

You slowly mold your front to his, uncaring that the doors are wide open and anyone can walk in. You place your hands on his chest and run one up to caress the soft hair on his head right underneath his hat. Alejandro grabs your waist but doesn’t push you away. His eyes flick between your lips and back up to your eyes

“Your body must be so sore,” you voice just above a whisper. 

He breaks eye contact to stare up at the ceiling, breathing deep. “What are you doing, traviesa?”

You continue, ”Wouldn’t it be nice for someone to massage all the pain away from your body?” 

A small groan vibrates in his chest when you place a light kiss on his jaw. Alejandro closes his eyes and grips you tighter but doesn’t respond. 

“My dad brought out the good wine. Soon no one will care or remember where we went–” 

“This is a bad idea.” 

“If you take me back to your ranch I can show you how much of a good idea this is.”

As he opens his mouth, you hear voices approaching the doors. He gently pushes you off of him and you think he’s going to walk away but instead he grabs your hand and leads you out the other exit. You both manage to exit the building without being noticed by anyone else. He walks quickly to his truck and unlocks the doors with the keys from his pocket. Alejandro swings open the passenger door and motions for you to get in. Before he closes the door, he glances back at the church for a few moments. 

“Alejandro?” 

He turns back to you and closes the passenger door. He walks around the truck and jumps in the driver’s side. His ranch isn’t far, only about a 10 minute drive. You can’t exactly read his thoughts. He holds your hand in his much bigger one, but his eyes stay on the road and he doesn’t say anything else. You decide to stay quiet too. The drive is soon over and Alejandro parks the truck in front of his ranch.

“This is a bad–” 

You roll your eyes,” So you keep saying. Then what are we doing here, Alejandro?” 

He finally turns to look at you, his eyes sweeping the entirety of your face. He nods once and yanks you over to him, your tummy pressed against the center console and his hand cradling your skull. Finally, Alejandro’s lips meet yours. Despite how desperately he grabbed you, the kiss is soft. It’s nothing like you were expecting. His lips are plump and his trimmed beard tickles your sensitive skin. 

You kick off your shoes and unbuckle the seatbelt, breaking the kiss to climb over the center console. Alejandro groans once you land in his lap and he unbuckles his seat belt as well. You fuse your mouths again, this time more overcome with need.

His cologne isn’t strong, but you can smell cedarwood mixed with his sweat. You breathe deeper, loving his scent. Alejandro wraps his hands around your lower back and pulls your hips in closer. Your dress slides up and you land right on his hard length. Whimpers leave your mouth as you gently rock into his lap. 

With your hands on his neck you can feel the rapid pulse of his heart under your thumb. You keep grinding your clit against the rough material of his jeans, most likely soaking them. Alejandro presses his tongue to your bottom lip and you open your mouth, pressing your tongue to his.

It’s entirely wet and sloppy and desperate but this kiss is exactly what you need. He moves a hand to grip your jaw and begins to nip a path down to your neck. 

“Mami,” he drags out the word, "I've wanted this for so long.” Alejandro’s licks and presses small kisses on your neck. 

“All you had to do was ask,” you moan. 

“Lets go inside, yeah?” 

You nod quickly and move off his lap to press against the center console. He opens the door and gets out, a wet spot present on his jeans from where you grinded down. You begin to reach for your shoes but he grips your thighs and you get the message.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and link your legs around his lower back. Alejandro is strong, carrying you with no issue. You kiss and run your nose over his neck wanting to be as close to him as possible. Without dropping you, he unlocks the front door. 

“We’ll go up to my room–” 

“No,” you whine, ”I want you now.”

He kicks the door closed and walks fast at your words until he reaches the living room. You unlink your legs to move to the couch but he stops you, spinning you around and making you bend over the armrest.

Your face lands in one of the pillows as he flips up your dress and yanks down your panties in one fluid movement. Alejandro touches and pinches the soft skin on your ass before landing a quick slap. 

He watches the recoil and does it a few more times, slap, slap, slap, loving the moans that fall from your mouth. He kicks open your legs and watches your pussy open like a flower. It glistens with your arousal, swollen and pretty.

Alejandro watches your hands grip the pillow the moment he sinks a finger into your warm entrance and places another hand on your lower back to hold you down. 

“Qué niña tan traviesa,” he says as his finger curves inside of you,” if only your parents could see you now.” [What a naughty girl] 

He plunges another finger inside, twisting and moving them faster. “Hermosa, and perfect,” he bites out, ”just needed someone to ruin her, yeah?” 

You bite the pillow, tears pricking the corner of your eyes with each plunge of his fingers. You manage to stutter out a yes, oh God, yes before you’re back to drooling on the pillow. You can hear him laugh behind you and press himself closer. You don’t have much room to move with Alejandro’s hand pressing on your lower back. 

Your swollen clit begs for just a little attention. A few swipes with his big fingers and you’ll come instantly. You were already close in the truck, and you can hear the obscene squelches of your pussy and his fingers.

Before you ask, he drops to his knees behind you. His fingers keep moving and you feel the gentle touch of his tongue on your clit. You jump at the sensation, attempting to grind back on his tongue but his hand stops you. 

“Stay still or I’ll stop.” 

You listen to him. He moves his hand from your lower back to grip your ass cheek then flicks his tongue on your clit. The arousal drips from your little hole down to your clit, giving him a taste of your sweetness.

Alejandro decides to be selfish, moving his tongue up to gather more of your taste, knowing you're close from the pulse and flutter of your walls on his fingers. He can hear you begging above him, por favor, por favor, por favor. 

Alejandro moves back to your little button and flicks his tongue repeatedly. You tighten around his fingers and your body begins to shake. You let out a scream into the pillow as you feel warm shocks spread from your core.

He doesn’t stop you while you grind back on his face, pussy swollen and overstimulated from his tongue and beard. He lets up once you move your hips forward and reach a hand down to push him away. 

Alejandro stands back up, wiping his face with his clean hand. He unbuckles his belt and drags down his zipper, releasing the tension on his dick. He grips himself with the hand still covered in your arousal and pumps his length.

He presses the tip right at your entrance and pushes in a tiny bit. You try to rock back into him but once again he stops you with a hand on your back. You lift up your head with a whine. 

“Alejandro, please.” 

“Please what, niña?” 

You groan, frustration burning in your chest. 

“Come on, traviesa,” he mocks, ”what do you want?” 

He keeps rocking into you, the tip breaching your entrance but not quite pushing in. 

“Please fuck me! Please, please –”

Alejandro thrusts in with one swift movement, sinking all the way into you. You bite on the pillow and groan deep within your chest. He stills, hands gripping your hips. Your walls pulse around his length to adjust to his size and he lands another slap to your ass. 

“No te muevas, no te muevas, ¡no!” He repeats through gritted teeth. [Don’t move, don’t move, don’t!]

You can’t help it, you flutter around him and rock back. He lets out a pained breath and slowly slides out before roughly thrusting back in. Alejandro claims every inch of your pussy with each deep thrust. He starts slow and once he’s found a good rhythm, begins snapping his hips faster. You’re delirious and stretched to your limit, screams muffled by the pillow. 

“Niña tan perfecta, ruined by me. What would everyone in Las Almas think if they saw you? If they knew how wet you were for me, hmm?” [Perfect girl]

You jerk back and squeeze around him. 

“Mierda – you’d, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Alejandro continues. 

You’re too cockdrunk to respond and can only manage to whine his name over and over. The longing looks, teasing, desire burning in your stomach every time you saw Alejandro; it all led to this moment.

This beautiful moment where his cock fills and marks you from the inside. You can feel the mess you're making, slick covering your inner thighs and his base. 

Alejandro feels the heat claw in his lower stomach. He won’t last much longer plunging into your wet pussy. 

“I, I need you close, hermosa,” he says as he reaches a hand to rub your clit. 

He gathers your mess with two fingers and brings it up to your button. Already too overstimulated to think, you unravel underneath him. Drool comes out of your mouth as it opens in a silent scream. You quiver and shake around him while he plunges into you. 

Alejandro’s vision flashes white and suddenly he’s spilling thick cum in your little hole. Each snap of his hips is hard and rough until he empties himself completely. He pulls out slightly to see the mess he made inside of you.

With the small amount of energy left in his body, Alejandro stands you up, takes a few steps and lands with a thud on the couch, never once slipping out of you. 

Your back presses against his front and your thighs are spread on either side of his legs. No words are said in the next moments, only the sound of heaving breaths heard through the living room. His hands move to caress your thighs and you lean your head on his shoulder. 

“Okay?” Alejandro asks. 

You turn and press a kiss to his jaw, ”Amazing.”

He lets you rest for a few more minutes before he ushers you into the bathroom. With a washcloth he wipes the tears and sweat from your face. He cleans up the slick and come that drips out and then makes you sit on the counter while he changes his jeans for a clean pair. You don’t notice him pocket your tiny panties. 

“We need to get back,” he says as he places a soft kiss on your forehead. 

You have a happy smile on your face as you begin to feel the ache in your core. You’re going to need a long soak in the tub once you get home. 

“Let’s go,” you say. 

Alejandro carries you bridal style back to the truck and you put your shoes back on. Soon, your back at the church, cars still in the parking lot. After checking your reflection one last time in the mirror, Alejandro leads you back in. 

“Where have you two been?” Your father asks as you and Alejandro walk back out to the patio. 

He’s sitting on one of the chairs with your mother and a few other parishioners. You can see a few bottles of wine now empty and cups spread across the table. 

“We were –,” Alejandro begins. 

“I was showing Alejandro some of my favorite bible quotes in your office. I guess time just... got away from us.” 

“Que dulce, mi niña,” your mother replies. [How sweet, my girl]

A few others happily agree, not suspecting a single thing. 

“Que dulce,” Alejandro says as his hand rubs your lower back. 

#alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x female reader #alejandro vargas smut #cod x reader #cod mw2 x female reader #alejandro vargas #cod mw2 smut #shadowlali

[coolprettyleo]

obsessed with your ex? - juraj slafkovsky ☆

wc: 650+

tw: toxicity? obsessive. mention of sex. stalking?

juraj slafkovsky x reader

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

it was four in the morning and you couldn't sleep. your thoughts were running wild as the six foot three man was laying sound asleep next to you. you were staying over his place tonight and what was supposed to be an easy going night turned into a nightmare; for you at least.

you had opened your instagram to find that jurajs ex had followed you, and commented on her recent instagram post, how you slayed the photo dump you posted on your recent trip to Milan.

I mean his ex didn't mean to get in your brain. you had finally met the girl, about a couple weeks ago at a brand dinner seeing as you were both models. you had been professional with her. but since you guys had many mutual friends the ex seemed to be trying to befriend her.

oh my god I wonder if she was friends with jurajs friends? did she know arber like you know him?

was she good in bed?

does he still think about her?

was she easy going?

every controlling?

well traveled?

well read?

all these thoughts made you want to scream into your pillow and die. something you couldn't do because you were at your boy friends house, sleeping in his bed on a side that was now 'your side' but you knew it was once hers.

when you met the ex about two nights ago you had to act like you didn't know every little thing about her, when you did. you knew everything about her, from her star sign to her fucking blood type.

you felt insane. you were honestly borderline of psycho. you were so obsessed with jurajs ex and everything about her was making you so upset.

you were pulled out of your thoughts when you felt the boy next to you move.

"why are you still awake" jury asked seeing her stare up into the ceiling. he moved to wrap his arms around her and pull her in, trying to to comfort his girlfriend.

what were you supposed to say to him? I'm up thinking about your ex? that im fucking obsessed with her? he would think I was her freaking best friend with how much I would want to talk about her and ask him.

and it wasn't like there wasn't anything I could complain about too, anyways. she was an angel, who was perfect. my friends would even tell me she talked so nicely about me. she was the life of every party and had these perfect hips with the most perfect lips. god you sounded like you were in love with her.

he had once told you that she hated flying so she would take melatonin when they would go visit his family with him back home, and you've never forgotten that detail about her.

"y/n" jurajs voice rasped again.

"what did you call me?" y/n exclaimed sitting up moving away from him. she could of swear he said HER name.

"your name?" juraj said slowly, beyond confused. he loved you so much and the last thing he would of thought was wrong with his girlfriend in the middle of the night, was that you couldn't stop thinking about his ex. he doesn't even speak to her anymore and he loves you with his whole heart.

you looked at him, studying his face for any lie. he wasn't. you felt so obsessed and you knew it was crazy upon repair, but you couldn't help it for some reason.

"alright what's wrong. did I do something" he says sitting up and turning on the nightstand lamp.

you felt horrible. he looked exhausted and he needed his sleep, he had games coming up and he had practice in about five hours.

"no-" you sighed looking at his soft eyes urging you to go on.

"-its just" you stumbled upon how to word your next choice of words.

"you can tell me" he said rubbing your back and kissing your shoulder.

"im obsessed with your ex"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

omg this is my first non au right and also like no oc character. if its cringe lmk! I like feedback. also this is based of an edit I saw on tiktok!! goodnight loves!!

#nhl imagines #nhl imagine #juraj slafkovsky #hockey fic #hockey imagine #juraj slafkovsky x reader #montreal canadiens x reader #juraj slafkovsky smut #arber xhekaj

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Dark!Bruce Wayne

Pairing: Dark Bruce Wayne x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

WARNING: Toxic/Abusive Relationship; Manipulation.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

Bruce loves to throw lavish parties dedicated to you - his beloved girlfriend. He literally takes any occasion to celebrate and always loves to put you at the center of attention. You deserve everyone to know how amazing and gorgeous you are. 

Trust me when I say that you’ll never stay more than a month in Gotham as Bruce loves taking you (and his private plane) to all the properties and mansions he owns all over the world. Traveling will never be an issue for him, constantly exploring the world and staying at the most luxurious hotels and resorts with you by his side. 

Shopping sprees are frequent. Bruce loves to spoil you with the best that money can buy so you don’t have to worry about it. If you look twice at something, Bruce won’t hesitate in swiping his credit card for you. 

There are times when he can get a bit extravagant like the time where you wanted to visit this clothing boutique near its closing time so Bruce, like any diligent boyfriend would do, bought the entire store for you. Now there’s no curfew for you to leave the store, right? 

And because he (or Alfred) can’t always drive you everywhere, he gifted you a brand new BMW - with a professional driver included- so this way, you’ll be able to go wherever you want (we’ll talk about this later).

Bruce is so in love with you that, although he keeps with his party boy lifestyle, he’ll want you by his side at every opportunity. On every social event, you’re dressed with the most expensive dresses, the finest jewelry, the most flawless make-up. 

But as much as Bruce loves to flash his money around, he doesn’t want you to love him only for it. You need to love him for his personality.

So, please, make sure you’re with him for the right reasons otherwise you’ll be stuck with a very obsessive man and his money won’t make it better. 

 Now, talking about the real content here: 

Bruce views you like a fragile baby. You need a strong man like him to protect you, to take the decisions for you. All you need to do is stay home (or at his mansion, to be more accurate) and be a good girl for him. He’ll take care of all the rest, don't worry your delicate head with working or trying to find a job cause you won’t need that. 

As much as he takes you to parties, it’s always non-alcoholic drinks for you. You’re not allowed to drink booze at parties and that’s final. If you’re alone with him, that’s fine.

But in a public place where anyone could try to take advantage of your drunk self, not a chance. Bruce won’t allow it. 

Dressing up to go out is also when Bruce’s possessive side awakens so don’t bother picking the short dresses and tops with cleavages cause that’s not gonna roll with Bruce.

There’s no way in hell you’ll ever be leaving the mansion without Bruce assessing your chosen outfit and you gotta make sure that you’re dressed up quite modestly. Your body and its secrets are reserved for Bruce and that’s the way he wants to keep it. 

If you thought that being with Bruce would be a full and wild party life, then you’re wrong. Partying alone with your friends, only at his club (the one he bought in Gotham S4) and even like that, his security guards will be keeping a tight eye on you - the boss’s girlfriend.

Not to mention that Bruce will be checking in with you every fifteen minutes (much to your friend’s consternation) and you better answer his calls back, otherwise Bruce will show up at the club to make sure you’re safe and sound. 

Speaking of going out, you have a curfew. Gotham at night is dangerous and Bruce can get quite protective, so it’s not long after you start dating him that he implements a curfew - for your own safety, of course.

And also, you have to ask for his permission to hang out with your friends and answer a million questions about who they are, their full names, what they do in life, their addresses and phone numbers, all of that. Something he’s so relentless in that you just give up on trying. 

Going out means keeping a special tracking app in your phone. One that Bruce had especially custom-made for you and it doesn’t allow you to remove or fake your location. No tricks will work on fooling that specific app. Bruce really doesn’t take any chances with you, does he?

To make it worse, leaving the mansion is something you can only do with him or Alfred. He only trusts Alfred to take you outside, knowing he’s more than capable of protecting. And if Alfred is not available, then he’ll reluctantly allow some intensely trained bodyguards to accompany you. 

So basically, you’ll get to be treated like a princess, but at the same time you’ll be just a prisoner of Bruce’s love. 

--------

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #dark bruce wayne #dark!fic #dark bruce wayne x reader #dark!bruce wayne #dark!bruce wayne x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader #dark dc #bruce wayne x reader #tw: yandere #yandere x reader #yandere dc #tw: toxic relationships #tw: manipulation

[reve-writes]

—why are you at the wake? [2]; leon kennedy.

ʚ leon kennedy x reader | resident evil | 2,4k words. ʚ chapter one. | he wishes he can hate you, but when push comes to shove, he can't help but come to your aid anyway. ʚ non-canon timeline, loosely based on leon's mission to save ashley but most of the details are made-up; injuries; violence; profanity; reader is morally grey (?); suicidal ideation. ʚ a/n long notes from me at the end if you want to read through it.

“We can rest up here. Wait for evac.”

Leon closes the door behind Ashley after she enters. The room is not too big—enough to have space for himself, but also small enough for him to keep an eye on the President's daughter. There are windows for quick escape, covered by grimy curtains that shield them from view, just in case any infected villagers wander this far out.

“Are we safe, Leon?”

The blond girl is shivering. The two of them are drenched from head-to-toe. The rain outside doesn't look like it's letting up anytime soon, too. They're alive. A little cold, but alive. That's all that matters to Leon for now.

“Yeah. We're fine.”

A beat barely passes after he finishes reassuring her when the door swings open with a hard thud. Ashley lets out a startled shriek. Leon has his handgun ready and aimed at the figure stumbling inside. He curses under his breath, already standing to shield Ashley from the doorway.

You slump forward to the floor, the door closes behind you with a quiet click. Breathing heavily, you look up, thinking that you've stepped one foot into death's door. Maybe you've chosen the wrong house. Maybe you've stumbled into a hostile and they're ready to hack you down with an axe.

You blink the rainwater out of your eyes. It doesn't take longer than a second for you to recognise him.

Your posture loosens, shoulders slumping as you heave against the door. Your pistol clatters from your hand, freeing it to push against the blooming red wound on your side.

“Hey,” you stutter out, breathing still very laboured, but you try to sound casual, as if you're not potentially bleeding out to death on some filthy hardwood floor. “Just—give me a second. I'll get out of your hair.”

“Who are you?”

You don't recognise the girl. You assume she's his mission.

“It's okay,” Leon answers for you. His gun is returned to its holster. “We know each other.”

Know is an understatement. You know each other, yes, but also so much more than that. You know the brand of shampoo he has in his bathroom. He knows how you like to take your beverage. You cut the bread crust from his toast for breakfast. He lets you take the olives from his dish because you love them. You haven't eaten an olive in years because it reminds you of him.

“Co-worker?” the girl asks.

“Was.”

Past tense.

“Hi.” You wave meekly towards the girl and tell her your name. She tells you to call her Ashley. You dart your eyes to Leon. Even though he's silent, you can sense the anticipation in his pose, as if he's expecting you to just go and shoot Ashley the way you did to Tracy.

Sighing, you kick your pistol towards him. It skids surprisingly smoothly over the floor, landing just beside his boots. “Calm down, Leon. I don't intend to kill her.”

He stares at the pistol for a second, recognising the carving along its grip. Your initials. He remembers being the one who scratched them into the wooden material. His glare returns to you.

You're a walking contradiction. You left him back then, bid him farewell so coldly without much of an explanation. There was so much blood. The blood of the one he was supposed to protect—the two of you were supposed to protect. He didn't understand until he was told that your loyalty had defected.

He still doesn't understand why you changed your mind as easy as turning the palms of your hand. Doesn't understand why you abandoned him. It frustrates him. That frustration bears fruits of anger. The anger burns with so much hatred for you.

He realises that he, too, is a walking contradiction. He hates you for what you've done. He hates you for what you didn't do. The hatred grows everyday, but it grows along with the longing to see you again. It tries and fails to grow over all the love he has for you. All the love he doesn't know where to put now.

“Do you have a death wish?” Leon sneers. “I told you to stay away. You can't help yourself, can you? Always so stubborn.”

Ashley looks taken aback by the hostility. For all the time she's known him, he has been nothing but kind. A reassuring presence.

“If I had known you were in here,” you hissed. “I wouldn't have entered. Believe me, I'm not purposely trying to seek out the person who wants me dead.”

You inhale, tightening your jacket around you. “I'll take my leave.”

“That's what's best for the both of us.”

You push yourself off the ground, despite the tremble in your legs. A surge of light-headedness wash over you and you fall, barely catching yourself with your hands. Leon doesn't even think before he surges towards you, already placing a hand on your shoulders. His eyebrows knit together.

“Fuck,” you curse, swallowing hard. Your face is blanched. You clench your eyes shut in an attempt to recenter yourself.

“What's wrong?” His voice is gentle. His eyes scan over you to analyse the situation. “Dammit, ___. What's wrong?”

“Fine,” you breathe out, biting your lip. “Nothing's wrong.”

“Something is clearly fucking wrong,” he mutters, tugging on your jacket, noticing the unmistakable slick red of blood. “Jesus, ___. What happened?”

You lean back against the door, letting him tug the jacket off of you. You huff out a laugh. “You used to ask before taking my clothes off.”

He doesn't laugh. Not even a snicker. “What happened? — Ashley, can you find any medical supplies?”

Ashley immediately starts moving around the room, pulling out drawers haphazardly.

“Come on, it was funny.”

He says your name with a heavy emphasis. “I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong.”

“You don't want to help me, Leon,” you sigh out. “I killed Tracy, remember?”

This is pathetic. You've accepted your death way before it happens. Maybe, years ago, you would be more willing to put up a fight, struggle like hell for just one more day. But you're tired. So fucking exhausted of the missions and the guilt slowly eats you alive.

Leon pushes up your shirt slightly, trying to locate the source of the wound. He's so angry at you for giving up that his hands shake. He's biting down on his teeth so hard his jaw is starting to hurt. You can't die. He won't let you, even when you're so willing to walk yourself to your grave. He won't let that happen. He can't.

What will he do with all this hatred then? All this love?

His hand is smeared with your blood when he places them under your chin, turning your face towards him.

“Tell me what happened right now.” His eyes frantically search your face. “Or — or I'll never forgive you. Not if you die right here, right now. I won't ever forgive you.”

His voice shakes. He's making a demand but it comes out as a desperate plea instead. Ashley kneels beside you, setting down a tin box cramped with medicines and first-aid supplies.

You let out a scoff. “You of all people know I deserve to die right here, right now.”

“Stop wasting time, ___.” He's begging now. Panic sinks into his bones as all the colour drains drom your face. “Let me — You have to let me save you. I can't—”

His vision blurs. He takes a deep breath and blink the pooling tears away. “Please.”

Stop. You want to yell at him. If anyone should be pleading for anything, it was you. With your heart in your throat, you whisper, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he clears his throat. “Okay, what's the damage?”

“Knife,” you wheeze out. “A cut, I think, on my side. There — Stop looking at me like that. It's not as bad as it looks. I've just been bleeding out for a while, trying to get away.”

He's capable. It's not a handful of times he's ever had to patch himself or you up from various injuries. His hand works swiftly, disinfecting and suturing the laceration, ignoring your little quips and sounds of protest. He keeps his focus, even when everything feels so unsteady around him.

It's not until your wound is dressed in bandages and the bleeding ceases that he lets out a relieved sigh. The tension in his shoulders melts away.

“You really do have a death wish.”

One corner of your lips quirks up. “You have no idea.”

“Don't die, ____. Let me hate you in peace. You owe me at least this much.”

“You can still do that when I'm six feet under.”

“I can't do that, so” —his jaw tenses— “don't die.”

You only hum in response.

“I mean it.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “I'll try not to.”

He moves around the room, gathering blankets and cushions to bring towards where you're seated. He's unsure if he can move you without reopening your wound and he doesn't want to risk it. Not when you've lost so much blood. The silence stretches long, accompanied by the constant pitter-patter of the rain splattering on the roof over your head.

“Where's Ashley?”

“Other room,” Leon replies. “She looked like she was going to throw up.”

“Understandable.”

It's silent againt. He props a pillow behind you and spreads a blanket over you. You scrunch your nose.

“Smells like shit.”

“Half the smell is your fault.”

You roll your eyes, trying to focus in the earthy soaked-dirt scent the rain brings instead of the metallic tang left behind or the stench of the old blanket covering you.

“Thank you, Leon.”

“Why did you do it?”

He blurts the question out as you're expressing your gratitude. The room is quiet enough that you still catch his question. His gaze falters, moving to scan over the wall to your right instead of directly looking at you.

“Does it matter?” You ask, tasting bitterness on your tongue. “The reason doesn't change the fact that I still did it.”

“That's the thing.” Leon walks over to where your gun lies on the floor to pick it up. “It doesn't seem like you want to do it. Hell, if there's one damn thing I know, it's that you cared for her. So, help me understand this. Why did you do it?”

His thumb traces over the wooden grip, turning the pistol over in his hand as he walks up to you. He stops at the ridges of your initials, turning to look at you questioningly.

You gulp. “It's — It's the same one.”

The same one he gave you all those years ago. The same one that got you out of Raccoon City. The same one you kept using mission after mission since then.

“This is what I mean.” Leon sets the pistol down by you, taking his place to sit next to you, facing you. “If it didn't matter to you, you wouldn't have kept this.”

Your throat feels dry.

“I keep running it over in my head, trying to pick out what's real and what's fake,” he admits, grabbing your hand in his. His calloused fingers rub over your hand, “and I can't. Everything feels real.”

Because it is real. Can you tell him, though? You don't want to put that on him—the burden of someone's life.

“From Raccoon City. Then, everything that we were after that up until—” He lets it hang in the air. Your ultimate betrayal. “You can't tell me everything was a fucking act and expect me to believe it.”

You want to reach out, desperate to smooth the creases on his forehead, brush your thumb over the plump of his lips. He's so close—the closest he's ever been in the past five years.

He's not stupid. You know he's not. He knows none of this adds up. You were with him for over a year since your faithful meeting in Raccoon City. You were recruited by the government together. You survived together. You even—

It was never official, but you had something. He had told you he loved you and you had said it back.

Then, you left. You said you were working for someone else. Always had the whole time. It didn't make sense.

“They made me choose.”

Your answer comes after a long silence. Too long that Leon has already given up and gotten lost in his own head. He's not sure if he's hearing you correctly, not sure if you've even spoken in the first place. He blinks, searching your eyes.

You clear your throat. “Either they kill you or i kill her.”

“What are they going to do? Huh?” He scoffs. “I would've been able to—”

“That's not a risk I wanted to take,” you retort. “You're capable, yes, but you can't expect me to gamble on your life.”

“You shouldn't have made that choice for me,” he snaps, swallowing harshly. “She died because you were a coward.”

“Yes.”

“Her death is on me, too.”

“I pulled the trigger.” You're reliving it now and it does nothing but worsen your headache. “It's on me.”

There's no taking it back now. You'll have to tell him the whole truth and so you did. How your employer 'recruited' you as you were escorting Tracy Miller, how they threatened your life, and when it didn't work, they threatened his instead. You've been stuck working with them since. Being labelled a traitor by the government. It's not ss if you have much of a choice.

You're blinking away tears as you close out your explanation. “They sent me here to investigate whatever's happening here. I didn't know you were here until I landed. If I'd known—”

His attentiveness spurs you on as you're stringing sentence after sentence together frantically, spilling out everything that has gone unsaid the past five years.

“Do you regret it?” He asks after a beat of silence passes.

“Every single day, but I would make the same choice again.”

He sighs. “We were a team, you know. Maybe we could have done something if you had talked to me.”

You bite your lip. “I'm sorry.”

“I know you are.” He tilts your chin up towards him. “Just don't ever do that again. Don't put my life above anyone else's.”

You pull back, turning away from his gaze. “I'll try.”

He grabs your hand. “It's okay. It'll be okay. Let's just — leave this all behind, yeah?”

Your eyes widen, some of the weight on your shoulders suddenly sloughing off. “What are you saying?”

“We should go. Somewhere Asia, maybe? Disappear from this mess,” he says it with too much certainty. It sounds easier than it actually is. “Leave this all to rot. It'll just be us.”

“Can we?”

He nods resolutely.

[ ]

i'm the first to admit there are so many plotholes in this fic and the timeline is confusing, but basically: raccoon city incident > one year into government recruitment is when reader's forcefully recruited & ordered to kill tracy > for 5 years after that. reader works for the same people who recruited them still. > six years since raccoon city, reader crosses path with leon (who's trying to save ashley graham). reader met leon during raccoon city incident and they were inseparable ever since, becoming lovers. also obviously sherry isn't really a part of this bc leon joined the secret agent to protect her. the ending won't work if she exists. ive been sitting on this for a couple of days because i don't know how to properly end fics?? i imagine reader and leon packing things up (after getting ashley home) for a rural town far far away from all the resident evil chaos, living their best domestic life, trying to heal themselves from their past. i realise i shouldve planned this better because having the reader murder someone is SUPER HARD to justify when writing this part. i wrote myself into a corner. i kept thinking that there's no way in hell reader would get forgiveness??? the titles for the two part are taken from taylor swift's my tears ricochet. it's an angsty song about betrayal. that's it from me. thank you for reading!

#leon kennedy x reader #—ki writes 🍯

[i-am-baechu]

♬ Summary: Y/N loves watching Jungkook work but Jungkook loves it even more when she wears Calvin Klein to support him 

♬ Pairing: Established relationship; Jungkook x reader 

♬ Rating:  Explicit (18+) 

♬Genre: Established relationship, comedy, fluff, and smut

♬ Warnings: Smut and fluff (lol) 

♬ Part of, ‘ His Fan Girl

Author Note: Happy birthday to Jungkook! 

Y/N knew that Jungkook was going to make Calvin Klein bigger with his visuals and confidence. She never understood the fixation on brands until she saw Jungkook model in the brand. It’s so weird to say she has the fattest crush on her boyfriend but she does. She didn’t even own a pair of Calvin Klein jeans, she likes her leggings (and well, Jungkook did too). 

“Baby!” 

She looked up from her phone in the living room to see Jungkook running to her with a wide grin. She tilted her head at him and gave him a smile, “Yes?” 

“I got it!”

“Got what?”

“I’m the next model for Calvin Klein!” 

Her smile grew wider and she tossed her phone onto the couch to run into his arms, “Congrats! I’m so happy for you babe. I knew how much this meant to you.” 

“You know what that means?” 

“What?”

“I get to see you in Calvin Klein. You know they have these bras-”

“Stop!” 

That same day, Jungkook filled her closet with the brand. She tried to argue with him but Jungkook never listened to anyone once his mind was set. She only wore the undergarments because jeans were uncomfortable and Jungkook let it slide (...this time. He just wanted to see how her ass looked in the denim). She couldn’t visit him on his first photoshoot because she had a big meeting at her work. She sent him flowers and cards to congratulate him. Something that made Jungkook feel shy. 

This time it's different. She made sure all her meetings were done and she was so excited to see Jungkook pose or do whatever he had to do. They sat in the car as he held her hand and her head rested on his shoulder. He turned towards her and smiled. He placed a kiss on the top of her head making her look up, “Thank you for coming.”

“I always want to support you. I’m also excited.” 

He glanced down at her legs and smirked, “I’m just excited that you're wearing the jeans.” 

She rolled her eyes and looked away, “I-I wasn’t going to wear leggings...especially when the brand didn’t make it.”

“I still like your ass in leggings but you in jeans, that’s something else.” 

“Jungkook, we’re in the car. Can you not talk about that!?” 

“I’m just telling the truth. You know lying is bad.” 

She let out a small laugh and gently slapped his thigh, “Shut up...I don’t want anyone to hear you.” 

He leaned down until his hot breath touched her ear, “You have to admit it's kinda hot and dangerous...getting caught.” 

“I’m not doing this right now.” 

He pouted at her and wrapped his arm around her neck, “You're no fun.” 

“I don’t want to traumatize someone.” 

“It’s not traumatizing if its beautiful lovemaking-”

“Jungkook!” 

The car stopped and she sighed to herself. Happy that she can leave the awkward atmosphere that Jungkook created (the poor driver) and excited to see her boyfriend work. Jungkook was the first to get out and she followed him. He held her hand tight as she looked around with a confused look. They were in a parking garage and she didn’t understand why. She didn’t really look at magazines about fashion but the one thing she knew was that they usually do out-of-the-box things for their pictures. She’d seen the pictures of Harry Styles, she knew that much. 

They continued to walk until they stopped. Jungkook started talking to the photographer as Y/N was in her own world with her headphones. Jungkook glanced down and smiled to himself when he heard her singing Attaboy. Even though the lyrics were wrong, it was cute. He poked her side and took out a headphone to look at him with her full attention, “I’m going to change. You can sit over there okay.” 

“Okay, I can’t wait.” 

He kissed her forehead and she waved goodbye. She sat in the chair listening to music and texting Mae about random things. It wasn’t until she looked up that she felt her world crashing down. The outfit(?) that he was wearing was making her mouth drop. Her boyfriend, the man that she loved with her whole heart, was standing in front of her and she couldn’t do anything. What was this feeling?

Jungkook did a little spin and did jazz hands towards her, “You like it?” 

“Like it...Yeah, I do.” 

He raised his eyebrow and looked down at his outfit, “That doesn’t sound convincing...you don’t like it?” 

“I would like it off.”

“What?”

She shook her head and gave him a smile with a flushed face, “I said I like it. It looks really good.” 

“You know, I would love to see you in this outfit.”

“Why so my tummy can hang out?” 

He rolled his eyes and leaned down to flick her forehead, “Yay, shut up. I love everything about you. Don’t talk about yourself like that.” 

“Jungkook, are you ready!?” 

He turned towards the director and gave him a thumbs up, “Coming!” He glanced back at her and gave her a quick wink, “Cheer for me, babe.”

She nodded her head, “Always will.” 

He ran towards the director and she closed her eyes, “What was that? Don’t say those things out loud. What is wrong with you?” She rubbed her forehead and watched him do some spins. She bit her lip and shook her head, “It's going to be a long day...” 

She was right, it was a long day. Jungkook didn’t notice the looks that she sent him during his shoot nor did he notice the way she clenched her thighs. She tried her best to distract herself with Irene's fancams but nothing was working. She kept seeing her boyfriend look hot and it was just for an ad.

Jungkook was stretching and his eyes landed on Y/N. Her face was flushed and he noticed her clenching her phone with a strong grip. He raised his eyebrow and made his way to her. She was so distracted with trying to keep her mind away from Jungkook that she didn’t even notice him walking up to her. 

“Babe, are you okay?” 

She looked up to see Jungkook tilting her head in concern but her eyes went down to his abs. She wanted to slap herself, why was she acting like a pervert? This wasn’t like her. She nodded her head and rubbed her neck in a nervous manner, “I’m just hot.” 

“Oh, I can take a break and we can go somewhere cooler.” 

“Th-That would be great.” 

He gave her his bunny smile and walked away. She let out a deep sigh and she could’ve sworn she saw the devil on her shoulder giving her a thumbs up but she ignored it. Jungkook held her hand and headed towards an empty office in the building. It was on the lower but he just saw it as it was cooler for Y/N. Y/N saw it as if no one was going to be around them. 

He opened the door and frowned, It wasn’t the best setting but it was cold here. He glanced over his shoulder and gave her a smile, “It looks like they put all the props in here. The director told me he had a couch in mind for the shoot but disregarded it. It has to be in here. Hold onto me tight, okay?”

“Ok-Okay.” 

The two made their way through the props and Jungkook smiled when he saw the white couch. He sat on the couch with Y/N on his lap. He hugged her waist tight and kissed her shoulder, “Thank you for being here. I know it's taking a long time.” 

She shook her head and turned around to hug him back with her face in his chest, “I love watching you work. You're so passionate about everything you do.” 

He smiled at this and kissed the side of her head, “Thank you, baby.” She kissed his bare chest and he raised his eyebrow at this but didn’t say anything. He cuddled into her more, not realizing that she didn’t want that right now. She pulled away and Jungkook looked at her with a worried look, “Are you okay?”

She didn’t say anything and took off her shirt showing off the gray bra that he came to love. She tilted her head at him and nodded her head, “I want you.”

He sat there and the words didn’t process right away. He looked at her with a confused look and titled his head, “Huh?” 

She rolled her eyes and took off her bra in a quick motion, “Jungkook, please...I’m really desperate right now.” 

“Holy shit. This isn’t like you, Y/N.” 

She removed her pants in record speed and Jungkook just sat there with a dumbfounded look. What the hell is happening? Where is his shy girlfriend who barely showed affection without getting embarrassed? 

He went to take off his jacket but Y/N shook her head, “Keep it on.” 

“Holy shit, are you topping me?” 

“Sh-Shut up.” She unzipped his jeans and smiled to herself, “I mean...it seems like you like it.”

“I-I fucking love it.” 

She pushed aside her underwear and lined his dick up, “Th-This won’t happen often. Remember that.” 

“I-I-”

He didn’t even have a chance to finish his sentence because she pushed his tip into her. He closed his eyes at the sudden feeling and threw his head back at the feeling. Jungkook has fucked Y/N so many times but Y/N has never fucked Jungkook. If that makes sense, it doesn’t matter right now. Jungkook is ignoring his thoughts at this moment.  

She let out a moan and leaned forward placing kisses on his chest. She started to move up and down as he let out a groan at the feeling. She pulled the tie he was wearing to place a kiss on his lips making his eyes widen at the action. His eyes closed as Y/N continued to go up and down at a steady pace. She pulled away and kissed his neck, “I-I’m going to buy you more ties.” 

“Sh-Shit, please do.” 

He leaned forward sucking at her collarbone and she ground her hips at a certain angle that made her let out a small scream, “Jung-Jungkook, I-I’m going to come.”

“Go for it, baby.” 

She didn’t need to be told twice because she closed her eyes and threw her head back. She came all around him and leaned forward placing a kiss on his neck. Before he could even think about cleaning her up. She jumped off of his dick and went down on her knees. She kissed the tip and he threw his head back, “Y-Y/N, what are you doing?” 

“You know what I’m doing.” 

She gave his tip light kisses and then she started to suck lightly, “F-Fuck. Y-Y/N, you don’t have to-”

“I started, I’m going to finish it.” 

She started kissing the length and she looked up at Jungkook with those big eyes that he loves. Jungkook was still in a state of shock but he was rolling with it. She started to go up and down his length with her hand pumping him. Y/N didn’t really suck him off all that much but this was something he’s going to remember, “Y/N, I-I’m going to come. Move.” 

She shook her head and took her lips off of his dick. She opened her mouth as she continued to pump him. Oh, how Jungkook wished he had a camera for this moment because this felt like a dream. He threw his head back with the deepest groan, “Y-Y/N!” 

After a few minutes, he looked back down at her with a hazed-out look. The only thing he saw was her licking her lips. She saw the stare and gave him a small smile, “Attaboy...” 

He let out a small chuckle and shook his head, “There’s my awkward girlfriend. Don’t ever say that after giving me head.” 

“Ok-Okay.” 

One week later

Jungkook was in their bedroom looking through the movies with Bam next to him. It all changed when Y/N came running in with wide eyes. He got up slowly and gave her a worried look, “Are you okay?” 

“I just started my period...”

He raised his eyebrow and let out a small laugh, “Is that why you were so horny?” 

“Do-Don’t ever talk about that! It never happened!”

“Tell that to my dreams. My girlfriend is a pervert.” 

“Stop!!!” 

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts jungkook #bts namjoon #bts seokjin #bts taehyung #bts jimin #bts yoongi #bts x reader #bts hosoek #Bts #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #his fan girl #bts social media au

[sissylittlefeather]

Told you I'd come back to my OG series eventually...

A/N: this one goes after Always, Honey and before I Missed You. I still don't have it in me to write the really sad stuff about him leaving and coming back from the army. I'll get there. For now enjoy this fluffy, smutty little romance.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, risky sex lol

As an aside, I did research for this one (you should see my search history) and this is how the internet suggested to do this... so if I had them do it wrong, blame the internet lol I have no personal experience with this one.

Because...

"Somebody get y/n!!! Elvis Presley is on the phone for her!"

You hear Debbie's voice call down the hallway. There's a phone downstairs and someone has sent up word that there's a call for you. Obviously, all of the girls are in a tizzy once they find out who is calling you.

"Elvis Presley? Really?"

"How do you know him?!"

"Is it really him?!"

You try to make your way through the throng of girls that has gathered in the hallway. You've been seeing Elvis for a few months now, but no one really knows about it, except Margie, your roommate. Finally, you make it to the stairs and run down to the lobby and the front desk.

"Someone said there was a call for me?" You ask breathlessly.

"You y/n?"

"Yes."

"Here you go." They hand you the receiver.

"Hello? Elvis?"

"Hey, honey!" His warm southern drawl touches you, even through the phone.

"Hey! What's going on?"

"Meet me at the corner of 4th and Walnut in thirty minutes. I'll pick you up." You agree because even if you had things going on, seeing him is worth cancelling plans, but you don't have anything to do anyway. It's also way too late at night, but you're not worried about being out past curfew if he's involved.

A half hour later, you're standing at the correct corner, waiting for him in a baby blue and white pinstriped dress and cardigan. You're starting to get nervous that he isn't coming when you hear something loud making its way down the street. That's when you see him, perched on top of a brand new, shiny black motorcycle. He pulls up next to you and cuts the engine off.

"You wanna go for a ride, baby?" You've never ridden a motorcycle before, but he looks so delicious in his black pants, white shirt open to the middle of his chest and black hat. There's no way you can say no to him.

"Yes, please." You nod feverishly. Seeing him like this makes you want to ride more than a motorcycle, but you'll settle for the bike. For now.

"Come on, honey." You climb onto the back of the motorcycle and wrap your arms around his waist, tucking your skirt up under yourself tightly.

You ride for a while around town before he heads down a road that you know will take you away from civilization. He starts to move a little faster and you slide closer to him, pressing your body up against his back. You don't think anything of it until he hits a bump. You gasp and try to adjust your grip. In doing so, your hand slides a little further down than you intended and you accidentally grab between his legs. When you do, you're shocked to discover he's sporting a pretty prominent erection.

You feel him tense up and your mouth drops open a little. You move your hand away from him quickly, but it's too late. All he can do is laugh. You squeeze him tighter, purposefully pressing your breasts up against him this time. He gets the hint and takes a side road off of the highway. Eventually, the road leads to an empty clearing that looks out over the city. He pulls up and stops the motorcycle, putting out the center stand.

"So, do you like the bike, baby?" He looks over his shoulder, trying to gauge your reaction. Between the vibration of the motor and what you felt between his legs, your panties are soaked. You answer him breathlessly as he leans back against you.

"Yes..." then you bite his earlobe and move your hands back down to his hardness. You start to move your hand on him, rubbing him through his pants. He lays his head back and moans softly.

"C'mere." He reaches back and pulls you around to straddle him on the bike. Running his hands up under your skirt, he leans in and kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth playfully.

He starts to pull your panties down and realizes that he won't be able to get them off in your current position. To solve the problem, he rips them at the seam on each side and yanks them out from under you, tossing them to the side. He brings his hands back to your center and slides two fingers into your wetness.

"Oh, honey, you do like the bike." You moan into his mouth as he moves his fingers in and out of you. You reach down and unbutton his pants, freeing the erection he's had since you first grabbed him. Using your hand, you pump him up and down, sliding his foreskin back and forth. Now, it's his turn to moan and you continue to touch each other like this for a while. Eventually, you slide toward him and let him push into you and fill you up while you straddle him.

"Ohhh fuck, Elvis." You cry out as you grind your hips against his, pushing him deeper and deeper with every thrust. He smiles at the way you always cuss when he's inside you. Your arms are around his neck and you kiss him fully on the mouth. After a good bit of time in this position, he gently pushes your hips back off of him.

"I wanna try somethin'." He whispers in your ear. "Turn around." You obey instructions and stand up, turn around and get back on the bike, with your hands on the handlebars. He hikes your skirt up over you until your whole bottom half is exposed. He sits you back down on top of him, pushing into you deeply. Then, he kicks the motorcycle on. The vibration of the motor is right on your clit and you cry out in pleasure. He stands up a little bit, holding onto your hips and fucking you steadily from behind.

"Oh fucking shit!" You scream as you come hard on top of him. He keeps thrusting, pushing into you from behind over and over. You can tell his climax is coming from the way he pounds into you repeatedly.

"Yeah, baby. Just like that." He says it barely louder than a whisper. You whimper as he keeps fucking you, the bike still running and vibrating against you.

Finally, he slams into you and cries out.

"Yes! Fuck! Y/n yes!" You feel his warmth fill you up and you come again with him, tumbling into your orgasm wildly. After a few seconds, he turns the bike off and leans you back against him, kissing your neck.

"That is, without question, the hottest thing I've ever done." He whispers in your ear.

"Me too." You answer softly. He squeezes your hips one last time before you stand up off of him and the motorcycle, throwing your leg back over to stand up next to him. Your legs are shaking though and he has to steady you with his hands on your hips.

"My panties are ruined. And I'm not sure I can ride back right now." You laugh as your legs continue to shake.

"Here, come with me." He gets off of the bike and leads you to a soft patch of grass. He lays down and gestures for you to lay down with him.

"Let's just be here together for a while and look at the stars." As you lay on the cool grass together, he takes your hand and holds it on his chest.

"Y/n, I've never felt this way about anyone before."

"I think that's because I just fucked you on your motorcycle." You laugh and look over at him. He looks back at you, but his face is serious.

"No, really. I feel things for you that I never thought I would feel." You can't take your eyes away from his, wondering what he might say next.

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

Your heart skips several beats. You've known you loved him for a while now, since the show where he ended up in the back of a cop car, but you never dreamed he would say it or even feel it too.

"No. I know I'm in love with you." You still can't answer him as he looks at you with those piercing blue eyes.

"And not because we just made love on my motorcycle. Because I can't stop thinking about the way your hair falls in your eyes or how you laugh at everything that I say, even when no one else knows I'm being funny. Because you're the first thing on my mind when I wake up and the last thing before I go to sleep. Because it feels like I might suffocate when I can't be with you. Because you're smart and sweet and you have a fire in you that no one could ever put out. Because my heart only feels whole when I'm with you. I love you, y/n. I'm in love with you." He finishes his sentence and watches you nervously as you take in everything that he's saying. He kisses your fingers and you can feel his hand trembling.

"I love you too, Elvis." You want to say more but he rolls over and kisses you before you can. You lay there for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, before you realize that the sun will be coming up soon.

"We need to head back." You say reluctantly. He kisses you two or three more times before he groans and rolls over to stand up. You take the hand he offers you and walk back to the motorcycle. He climbs on and then helps you get situated behind him. The bike rumbles as he turns it on and begins the journey back to campus, so you can try to sneak into your dorm.

When you get there, the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon. He parks the bike and gets off, throwing his arm around you.

"Can I stay with you?"

"Margie is there."

"I don't care. I just want to keep holding you." You take his hand and lead him up to your dorm room. By the time you lay down in bed, the sun is making its presence known. He doesn't seem to be worried about it though as he wraps himself around you in your bed and falls into a deep sleep.

When Margie sees the two of you snuggled together asleep, she shrugs her shoulders and grabs her toothbrush. There's something kind of undeniable about the two of you and she's not one to mess with anyone's happiness. You must've had a long night. She lets you sleep together and sneaks out of the room.

When the door closes, Elvis wakes up a little bit, throws his arm over you protectively, and goes back to sleep. Not a thing in the world could move him from his happy place beside you in your bed...

******

Taglist:

@itlover8000 @deniseinmn @elvisalltheway101 @ccab @hernameisnoellex3 @ashtag6887 @arabellapresley @littlehoneyposts @dkayfixates @elvisxsposts @joshuntildawn13 @msamarican @returntopresley @mrsbutler99 @blog777e @cattcb @delulubutidontcare

I'm sorry if I tag you and you don't want to be tagged! But I'd hate to not tag you if you want to be... you see where I'm coming from... 🫶🏽

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presely smut #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fic #elvis presley smut

[kallie-den]

Warhound

Sartha Thrace, ace mech pilot, is always so confused. She's a rebel, so why is she fighting on the wrong side? She's a free woman, so why is she wearing a muzzle? She's a hero, so why do her comrades treat her like a rabid dog? Sartha Thrace is so fortunate that her beloved Handler is always there to help her understand

This is a little different from my usual work. An experiment in style and tone, although it is still definitely mind control smut! Be warned, though. The tone is dark and it features some things like betrayal and gunplay that some readers might take exception to

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I  write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

—

Nothing makes Sartha Thrace feel good the way being saddled up in the cockpit of a huge mech suit does.

She usually likes to say it’s because of all the good you can do with that kind of power, because it’s a good line for pro-rebellion propaganda, but the truth is that it’s far more immediate than that. The joy comes from a million different things. The way the seat beneath her thrums as the machine kicks into life. The scent of machine oil and burnt steel as the reactor spools up. The way everything in the world shakes when her almighty machine, as big as a skyscraper, takes just one single step. The joy isn’t in her head. It’s in her blood. Her guts.

It’s fucking perfect.

All in all, it makes Sartha feel like she’s not just a person anymore. A person is just meat, however much of a hero they are. In the cockpit, she’s a sixty-foot-tall titan ready to crush the world under her heel. There’s nothing like the power trip, and it helps take her mind off some of the anxieties that like to eat at her.

Ancyor is the name of her beast. They know it everywhere, because Sartha is, after all, a hero. Just a name, no class, no model number. Not much point now. Ancyor isn’t like anything else after all the cannibalism Sartha’s had to do to keep her running. Everything’s been replaced twice. Most of it, three times or more. So now Ancyor is one hell of an ugly mongrel, but that hasn’t done anything to keep it off the rebel recruitment posters. They like using its face almost as much as they do Sartha’s.

It’s what you get for being a hero. Hell, for being the hero. She’s the big hero of the rebellion.

They’re just coming up on the battlezone now. Sartha trusts her instruments but she trusts her eyes even more, so she takes a moment to peer out of Ancyor’s grubby little viewports, even though it’s hard with her muzzle in the way. She can see her comrades’ battle line unfolding on either side of her, and it doesn’t make her happy. None of the other mechs look anything like Ancyor.

They’re all brand new and freshly-painted, and way too sleek for their own good. The kinds of machines that have just rolled off an Imperial production line. Fresh tech given to fresh meat that doesn’t even know how to use it properly. Something about it unsettles Sartha. She has too many ghostly little memories of fighting on the other side, against machines like that. Being with them doesn’t feel right.

Memories of someone else’s life. That’s what Handler always calls them when she tells Sartha not to dwell on them. Sartha does her best to listen, because Handler is always right. Handler is wonderful.

Sartha raises a hand and touches her muzzle as she thinks about that.

Everyone’s in position, comes the voice over the radio. Snooty. Elitist. An officer.

Copy, comes the reply. We’re ready.

Can we send the dog in first? someone asks. A bunch of sniggers follow that one.

Negative, says the officer. We stick to the plan. Commencing bombardment.

A few moments later, the ground starts rumbling and the whole sky lights up red and white. Sartha doesn’t look. She knows better than to stare at the fireworks. This isn’t her first battle. She’s a hero, and she knows what she needs to do. The little drip of adrenaline the blasts prompt helps her focus.

“Here we go, Ancyor,” she murmurs to no one.

When she opens up the throttle, Ancyor responds as always, with an ugly purr. The beast surges forwards. Sartha wants to be right on the heels of the bombardment. That’s what she does best. She gets stuck in with blade and chain, wherever it’s getting good and messy.

That makes her a really big target, obviously, and sure enough, the enemy is already replying to the artillery in kind. Beams and missiles start to fly past Ancyor as it sprints. Well, not all of them. Some of them hit home, and Sartha feels the impact in her own body. It does nothing but put a crazy grin on her face, behind the muzzle’s metal cage. She feels her mech clunk underneath her as redundant systems slam into place wherever the damage isn’t so superficial.

It’ll take more than that to put her beast down.

But since she isn’t actually crazy the way people say, Sartha shelters behind a ruin, ready for the tense dance of sprinting from cover to cover as she advances. As she does, she sees her comm system lighting up. It’s the enemy, yelling at her across a broad comm band.

Obviously Sartha knows she should ignore it, but there’s never been a good pilot who didn’t know how to trash talk. She isn’t enough of a professional to not reach over and flick a few switches so she can listen in.

At first the transmissions are too loud, and so messy they almost sound like interference. It’s not, it’s just too many damn people yelling at once. As usual, the sight of Ancyor loping into combat was getting a nice healthy response. After a moment, Sartha manages to pick out a few things here and there:

Traitor.

How could you do this to us?

Why?

What the fuck is wrong with you, Thrace?

What did they do to you?

Somehow, some of that makes it through the adrenaline and Sartha stops grinning. It’s not the words exactly. It’s the emotion. There’s this one woman in particular she can pick out, howling into her radio. It’s not familiar, it’s no one she knows, but there’s something in her voice. A depth; a ragged, throatfucked anguish that only comes from something real.

From real betrayal.

Sartha risks taking a hand off the joystick to adjust her muzzle, trying to make it less uncomfortable.

At the same time, she tries to convince herself it’s all bullshit. She tries to remind herself where she is, and what she’s fighting for, but that’s hard because she doesn’t know. All that stuff - the briefings before the mission, for example - is just a haze. It’s fog. It’s nothing. It’s like she wasn’t even there. So what the fuck is this battle?

Another look through the viewport. The whole place is already buried under inches of dust and napalm, but Sartha still can’t quite shake the feeling that she knows this city. It feels like maybe, in one of those other lives she sometimes remembers, this was a place she wanted to defend.

There’s something wrong with her, she thinks. It’s the only way to explain why she keeps flinching whenever she sees one of those sleek, black, fresh Imperial mechs punch out of the dust-fog. Stupid, stupid. They’re on her side. She needs to get that straight.

Sartha is keeping Ancyor moving, but that’s just instinct, and instinct isn’t half as good when you’re not paying fucking attention. And she can’t stop paying attention to that howling voice on the comms.

What did they do to you, Thrace? Was it money? What the fuck did they do to you?

What did they do to her? Sartha doesn’t quite know, although she knows for sure it wasn’t money. She remembers something, maybe, unless it’s just one of those other people’s lives. A room. A room that makes her scared shitless. And pain. From electric shocks, she thinks. And lights - lights shined into her head so bright she thought they would punch all the way out the other side. And most of all, words that never ever ever ever stopped whispering.

Fuck. Shit. She’s breaking down now, like a raw rookie. Only Sartha’s not a rookie, she’s a hero, only maybe she’s not even that if she’s a traitor like the voice on the radio says. She needs to get her head on straight. She needs to figure out where she is and what this battle is. She needs to get this freakish fucking muzzle off her head. She needs-

Click.

The radio goes silent and Sartha goes dead still. She knows Ancyor better than she knows her own soul. She knows every little noise it ever makes, and this one is very special. It’s an override for the comm system, activating a direct line to one special person in particular. Sartha’s breast swells with hope and bile in the instant before she hears her voice.

Can you hear me, Sartha? Handler says.

“Yes,” Sartha replies at once, because she would never keep Handler waiting. She’s already pulling herself together. She can’t break down like this. Not with Handler here.

It seemed like you were getting confused, Handler says. So here I am.

Hearing that almost feels bad because it’s almost a reproach, but Sartha feels good instead because she’s just happy to listen to Handler talking. Handler’s voice is love.

I’m going to take care of that for you, Handler warns. Ready?

“Yes,” Sartha says. She’s never quite ready for what’s coming, but she’s cringingly grateful for it anyway because in a few moments all the things she was worrying about won’t matter.

Hound, Handler says in a special voice. Off The Leash.

It’s not quite instant, and so Sartha gets a single moment to experience her own psyche cracking like an egg. It feels, more than anything, like clarity. She gets it now, as she falls away from herself. Sartha Thrace isn’t a real person anymore. Sartha Thrace is gone, they just kept the shape of her, like a papier-mâché mask keeping the imprint of someone’s face.

They needed her body, because it’s recognizable. They needed her piloting skills, because she’s the best. Everything else, they scooped out, except for whatever they needed to keep to make a nice little convenient shell for the thing that’s inside her now. The thing that’s coming out, now that she’s Off The Leash.

Sartha Thrace goes away, and Hound wakes up.

Hound whoops and growls, making Handler laugh approvingly over the radio, and guns Ancyor’s throttle so viciously hard the mech starts to scream underneath her. Hound doesn’t care. Hound doesn’t care about anything. She’s right where she belongs - in her colossal metal body, muzzle strapped to her face, beloved Handler in her ear.

And in front of her, there are targets.

Hound makes Ancyor lunge out of cover and surge towards the nearest thing she sees that doesn’t look like one of her sleek, black packmates, and then start tearing it to shreds. The way Ancyor jerks and whines in protest as it really rips into an enemy mech turns Hound’s growl into a wolf-scream of pure, untainted glee that lasts until the broken, bleeding thing under Ancyor’s blades finally stops moving.

Then, Hound lopes off into the rebel city in her mech, looking for more things to kill.

***

Sartha Thrace doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time Ancyor heaves back into its berth in the hangar. She only knows it’s after the battle, and mostly she knows there was a battle because Ancyor is beaten to hell and she’s covered in scars and her own matted blood.

It hurts, but in a good way, like how exercise hurts. The core of that good feeling is the vague sense that she has done a good job today. She fought hard, and they won.

Handler will be proud of her.

Despite how exhausted Sartha is, that knowledge puts a spring in her step as she dismounts from Ancyor’s cockpit onto one of the huge piers that line the hangar in rows. The hangar is a vast, cavernous space, too big to feel real, so big it’ll make your eyes hurt if you stare at the ceiling or the far wall. It’s steadily filling up as more and more of Sartha’s comrades make it back.

Not as many as there had been when they left, but that’s always how it is. Sartha knows how to make herself cold to it.

She gets a lot of hard, bad looks from the other pilots as they dismount. Some even spit. Sartha doesn’t let it trouble her. She isn’t really one of them, she knows. They’re all Imperial to a T: neat, black uniforms, cropped hair, stiff hats and straight backs. Sartha wears grubby old military khakis instead, with more than a few personal touches, and her mid-length blonde hair is messy in a deliberate, handsome way. And there’s the muzzle, of course. She doesn’t look like one of them. She looks like one of the people on the other side.

Sartha could probably figure out the other, less superficial reasons she wasn’t really one of them if she put her mind to it, but she didn’t, because Handler had told her not to. Handler always knows best.

Maybe something happened in the battle, and that’s why they’re so mad. Sartha doesn’t really remember, past the beginning. It’s all fog. She doesn’t worry about that. Another thing Handler has told her not to worry about. Sometimes it feels like her whole life has been consumed by fog, but she never worries thanks to Handler. That’s one of Handler’s many gifts to her, and in exchange Sartha needs to be very very good. She delights in being good. She won’t remove her muzzle without permission, even now, as it rubs uncomfortably into her face.

And there! Sartha catches sight of Her coming down the pier, as if in response to the hero pilot’s yearning.

Handler.

She’s magnificent. Beautiful, yes, but in a special way, more like a goddess than a person. Everyone else knows She’s special too. The other pilots, the ones who’d been spitting at Sartha, move out of the way and salute at Her passing. A special uniform marks Her rank. It’s more ceremonial than practical: tight-fitting leathers and high boots, with a sleek cap to crown Her platinum hair and a heavy, black coat to make Her silhouette all the more imposing.

Sartha senses that the other pilots are a little bit afraid of Her, but she isn’t. She could never be afraid of Handler.

“Sartha,” Handler says, in a voice that makes Sartha shiver every time. “Congratulations. You did well.”

Every single muscle in Sartha’s body goes stiff at the praise. Her head starts spinning giddily and a nervous, twitchy grin comes to her face. This is a sacred moment. But it’s too good to be true. It’s too much.

“I got… confused,” Sartha replies in a crestfallen tone. She can’t disagree with Handler, obviously, but nor can she be dishonest. She needs to volunteer these things.

“That’s true,” Handler conceded. “But you made it back on track. That’s what counts. It was a very confusing place for you. You did well.”

Sartha gasps and shudders. Butterflies in her stomach. The praise is all the sweeter now that she’s unburdened herself. She feels the ecstasy of purification.

“T-thank you,” she blurts out nervously, stupidly.

Talking to Handler always does this to her. Sartha has as many notches on her bedpost as any other ace but with Handler she’s fourteen again, a tongue-tied virgin struggling to think of a good enough line to get one of the older, prettier girls to take her to prom. She has to grab her left arm with her right hand to stop it shaking too much. But the anxiety is more than balanced out by elation. She can’t be anything but happy when Handler is here.

A thin smile comes to Handler’s face. On anyone else it might have seemed cruel, but Sartha knows that Handler is beyond petty things like cruelty. “You’re a very good hound.”

That phrase is like a magic spell. It lets Sartha relax into the praise. She giggles, and the grin on her face becomes broad and innocent. She’s a good hound for Handler. It’s perfect. It makes whatever she was worrying about earlier when she was confused feel utterly remote and small. Nothing matters when she’s a good hound for Handler. It’s the only important thing in the entire world, and her whole body knows it.

Sartha’s brain throbs endorphins into her bloodstream at a dangerous rate. She’s seeing stars and shivering rapturously. She’s blushing and dripping between her legs; turned on like hell even though this pleasure is so much more than just sex. Being a hound is better than being just a hero ever was.

She’s a good hound for Handler.

“And you know what that means,” Handler adds, smiling still. “Don’t you?”

Sartha dares to nod. She has her hopes, but it would be blasphemous to get her hopes up.

“Good hounds get rewards,” Handler tells her, and reaches out to pet her head.

This is special and it makes Sartha stop thinking altogether. Handler’s touch on her head is infinitely familiar, and more reassuring than anything. Her thoughts turn into bubbles that pop as Handler messes her hair affectionately. Sartha doesn’t try to collect herself, she just grins her stupid grin and stretches her back to try and push her head against Handler’s fingers. The lack of self-discipline is an indulgence, but one that she’s allowed from time to time.

“There we go!” Handler coos. “You deserve this. Don’t you?”

“Yesyesyes,” Sartha blurts out, all in a rush. “Thankyouthankyou.”

She could cry. She’s never been happier.

Handler gives her the blessing of letting her enjoy this for a few long moments before She says: “I think there’s another thing you deserve too. You deserve a treat. Hound deserves a treat.”

Sartha nods, drunk on eagerness. A treat is something different. Something specific. She always gets a treat after a mission, unless she’s been very, very bad.

“Sit,” Handler commands.

At once Sartha is on her knees. It doesn’t take thought. She sees that some of the other pilots are gathering round, and some of them are laughing at her. Sartha doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about anyone else when she’s with Handler. Those other pilots just don’t understand how special She is.

Handler leans in and looms over her, and says in that special voice of Hers: “Hound. Off The Leash.”

Sartha Thrace goes away, and Hound wakes up.

It’s a very different Hound from the one that wakes in the thick of battle. Hound doesn’t growl - she can’t, not at Handler - she just makes her eyes big and looks up at her owner. Handler’s smile widens.

“Very good,” She purrs at Hound’s display of patience. Handler pointedly sets one foot forward, resting Her big, heavy, leather boot on its heel. She waits a few moments, allowing Hound’s need to build. “OK. Go.”

Hound throws herself forward and wraps her entire body around Handler’s leg. She pushes her thighs apart as wide as she can, all the better to start grinding her cunt against Handler’s boot.

Immediately, Hound lets out a desperate whine of pleasure so loud it echoes around the hangar instead of being swallowed up. Her mind goes blank. The few thoughts Hound is permitted to have vanish. Touching Handler this way makes her unbelievably sensitive. The sensation is earth-shattering even though the heavy material of her clothes is in the way. What this represents is more important than how it actually feels.

Safety. Purpose. Reward.

This is Hound’s safe place. Perhaps the only place she feels truly safe, and that’s because this is where she’s meant to be. There’s no doubt. No uncertainty. Not with Handler. Hound does what she’s told and she gets her treat. It’s so blissfully simple.

If being good for Handler is the only thing that matters, she doesn’t need to think about anything else. And this is how she knows she’s been good for Handler.

“Good girl,” Handler says, looking down at her. Handler sounds so very amused, and Hound is just pleased to be the one amusing her.

She puts her face as close to Handler as she possibly can. Her muzzle is in the way so she has to turn her head and rub it desperately against her owner’s hips. She’s desperate for Handler’s scent; that scent of leather and polish and dark perfume is infinitely comforting and pleasurable. As it fills her nose, she starts humping more slowly and deliberately, pressing hard so that she can feel every one of the taut laces of Handler’s boot rubbing against her cunt.

Hound’s whimpers start to fill out into panting, breathless moans. The exertion is almost too much for her. She was already exhausted from combat. But she won’t stop. She’d never give up her treat, not for anything.

The crowd around Handler and Hound is growing as more and more Imperial pilots gather to watch the strange ritual. Despite their lurid curiosity, they keep a respectful distance; Handler commands a great deal of fearful respect. Most of them are laughing or leering or making cruel, obscene comments to one another. Hound barely notices, and doesn’t care at all. They don’t matter. Only Handler matters.

She does care, though, when one of the pilots breaks the circle and approaches. A woman. The laughter dies away, replaced by hushed pleas for their comrade to retreat back into line. She doesn’t. Hound flashes her a look, teeth bared, although her treat is too all-consuming for her to expend anything more than a stray thought on anything but rubbing her cunt all over Handler’s leg.

The woman returns Hound’s look with a hateful glare. “How can you let that… thing do that to you?” she demands of Handler.

Handler stares at her. She doesn’t flinch, which is impressive. Handler remains relaxed, amused. “What do you mean?”

“She’s a fucking rebel!” the woman spits. She steps forward again. “An enemy.”

“Not anymore,” Handler replies calmly. “What’s your name, pilot?”

“Sergeant Meetra Kotys,” she answers. “Sir,” she adds, a beat later than she should.

“You needn’t be afraid, Sergeant Kotys,” Handler tells her. “I personally oversaw Thrace’s reconditioning. Our domestication procedures are extremely thorough. There is no risk of reversion to adverse behavior.”

Hound hears but doesn’t listen. It’s not her place to listen. It’s her place to rut against Handler’s boot like the dumb animal she knows she is.

“I’m not afraid!” Sergeant Kotys spits. “I’m fucking disgusted. That woman took down half my wing at Hebros Ridge last year. Six people in the ground. Because of her.” The pilot’s eyes are uneven. Wild. “She deserves worse than this.”

Handler takes her time composing a reply. She pushes her foot forward, pressing her boot against Hound’s cunt. Hound moans, unfathomably grateful for this gift. She keeps humping, the rhythmic, bucking motion of her hips growing steadily more and more desperate.

“The Hound and her mech are a significant asset to the Imperial forces,” Handler says eventually. Her voice is icier now. More menacing. “That is all you should need to know, Sergeant. I’m pleased you value the lives of your fellow pilots. You might consider how many more of them might have been lost today without Hound here.”

Sergeant Kotys bristles at that. With a woman like Handler, there’s an implied threat lurking behind her every word, but the pilot is too aggrieved to care.

“But,” Handler adds, pausing for long enough to emphasize her charity. “Perhaps it will help you to think of it like this: my little warhound here is not Sartha Thrace. She is not the Sartha Thrace who killed your comrades. Whatever you want to do to her, it won’t be revenge. She is not Sartha Thrace. I have made her something else. Understand?”

Sergeant Kotys’s eyes flit uncertainly between Handler and Hound as she struggles to wrap her head around that; to reconcile her anger with it. In the end, she shakes her head.

“No,” she snarls. “No. That’s her. That’s fucking her. Seen that face a hundred times on the posters. That’s her fucking face. What about her hair, huh? And her clothes? If she’s something else, why does she look the same way she always did?”

“Ego totems.” Handler’s calm was impenetrable. “A few personal touches, nothing more. A little continuity and familiarity helps to maintain a sustainable, pliable outer persona.”

Sergeant Kotys just laughs thickly. “Fuck whatever that means.”

She takes another step forward. This is too close for Hound; she rouses herself a little from her stupid rut and begins to growl protectively at the sergeant from behind her muzzle. She only stops and returns to humping when Handler rests Her hand on Hound’s head.

“How can you just touch her like that?” Sergeant Kotys demands. She is furious beyond reason. Furious enough to risk the pilot’s wings she wore so proudly on her collar. “It makes me sick. Every time we’re told to drag her out into combat I feel like I’m gonna throw up in my damn cockpit.”

Hound isn’t paying attention again. The sounds of her rubbing herself on Handler’s leg are turning increasingly wet. Her cunt is soaked, and the dark stain on the front of her pants is starting to drip.

“Feel like I’m gonna get shot in the back every time I’m not looking her way.” The corner of Sergeant Kotys’s mouth keeps twitching down. “We all do. How do you know she’s not just playing you, huh? How do we know she’s not gonna just… just snap out of it, or something?”

Handler’s lip turns upwards. “Does she look to you like she’s going to snap out of it? See for yourself.”

Sergeant Kotys looks at Hound - really looks at her. She looks at the expression of dumb, grateful lust on her face. At the metal cage strapped firmly over her mouth. At the vacancy in her eyes, and the vulgar, bestial enthusiasm in her hips. She stares for way too long.

“Fuck…” she breathes. Her cheeks are red. “I can’t believe this. This is wrong. This is the woman who… I should really just…”

She reaches to her side and draws her pistol from its holster.

A few brave members of the crowd of pilots start to reach forwards, especially when Sergeant Kotys points her gun straight at Hound. Handler seems to know something they don’t, though. She flashes them a look, and they freeze. All eyes are on the sergeant.

She moves slow and shuddery. Like Hound, she’s not uninjured. There’s a mean cut on her forehead and a couple of bruises on her cheek. She looks exhausted too, but her hand is steady when she puts the barrel of her gun right against Hound’s forehead.

Hound barely even notices. To her, it’s nothing more than a little shock of cold as she feels the metal touch her skin. A mere distraction from what actually matters. She’s in heat. Handler is right here with her. She just needs to do what she’s supposed to do. She needs to enjoy her treat.

“God,” Sergeant Kotys grunts. She sounds almost disgusted, and almost something else. “What the fuck is wrong with her?”

The tip of her gun travels down the side of Hound’s face. The sergeant uses it like an extension of her own hand, dragging it heavily, callously across Hound’s skin until she’s prodding it into her cheek. The pitch of Hound’s moaning changes for a moment, but only for a moment.

“What about this, huh?” Sergeant Kotys nods to Handler as she jabs the tip of her gun hard into the side of Hound’s muzzle. Hound whimpers. “What’s this for?”

“That’s for your benefit, sergeant,” Handler replies. There’s a slight smirk on her face. “It helps our people understand her new place.”

“That’s fucking twisted.”

The expression on Sergeant Kotys’s face is so mixed it’s impossible to read. She hasn’t taken her eyes off Hound in minutes. She’s transfixed, and she barely seems aware of what she’s doing as she starts pushing harder with her gun, steadily dislodging Hound’s muzzle from where it’s supposed to be.

Even in heat, Hound can’t fail to notice this. A sudden burst of anxiety claims her. She doesn’t know what this means, so she looks pleadingly up at Handler.

“Wait.” This is the first true order Handler has given. Her voice is crisp and expectant and makes even Sergeant Kotys pause and look. Handler holds her gaze for a long moment. “She is an asset,” She reiterates firmly. “Do not damage her.”

Sergeant Kotys nods. A moment later, Handler nods too. Both Hound and the sergeant see the nod for what it is.

Permission.

The barrel of Sergeant Kotys’s gun is even more insistent now as it presses against the side of Hound’s muzzle. She’s pressing hard enough to move the metal cage out of place. Hound lets out an uncertain little whine. Her muzzle is tight enough that it hurts as it’s pushed across her skin, but more importantly, this is unfamiliar. But she doesn’t try to stop the sergeant, and she doesn’t stop steadily bucking her hips as she continues to hump Handler’s leg.

Handler gave permission.

Eventually the muzzle comes away from Hound’s face. The strap that attaches it to Hound’s head is still fastened, but it turns sideways and awkwardly hangs against her cheek. It’s a welcome relief, but the crushing pressure of the tight muzzle is almost immediately replaced by the cold of Sergeant Kotys’s handgun. She angles it slightly, wedging the very tip between Hound’s lips and using it to pry them apart.

Hound whimpers. The sergeant isn’t gentle. She butts the gun against Hound’s teeth and folds her lips up against her face. Hound can’t help but drool; she was already drooling a little from the sheer, gratifying pleasure of Handler’s boot against her cunt short-circuiting her devastated brain, but now trickles of saliva are dangling down her face and coating the gun’s barrel.

Sergeant Kotys’s expression twists.

She keeps going. She takes her time exploring, watching Hound’s face twitch whenever she moves the gun like this or like that. Everyone is watching her, as she goes ten times further than any of the other pilots would have dared. They’re not laughing now, they’re just staring, mesmerized by what’s happening.

The sergeant looks mesmerized too. She looks like she can’t stop.

Her pushing and prodding starts to turn more deliberate. Hound is panting from pleasure, and Sergeant Kotys takes advantage to push her gun deeper, forcing Hound’s teeth apart and ramming the hard, cold, metal barrel into her mouth. It slips in deep enough to make Hound choke on the unfamiliar object.

But after that, she starts sucking.

It’s what Sergeant Kotys wants. Hound can tell from the way she moves the gun back and forth, thrusting it, fucking Hound’s face. Hound doesn’t care about the sergeant at all, but she cares about Handler more than anything, and she knows Handler wants this. That alone is enough to fill her with giddy, heady enthusiasm and make her bob her head as she laps pleasingly at the gun barrel despite the acrid taste of burnt metal and oil.

“Fuck,” Sergeant Kotys breathes as she looks down at her.

There’s something in the sergeant’s eyes. Something bright, something growing. She keeps pumping faster with her gun, daring Hound to match her pace. She’s wearing the expression of a girl who's just figuring out that breaking toys is simply a special, better way of playing with them. Her nostrils flare with each breath, and the way her chest rises and falls beneath her uniform is sinful. There are a hundred ways to read what’s going on in her face, but one thing is very obvious to every single person watching.

She is enjoying this.

Hound is enjoying it too. She enjoys everything Handler wants her to do, no matter what, but after grinding her needy cunt into Handler’s boot for so long, her head is full of endorphins that make her stupid and transform anything into pleasure. And beyond that, a part of her simply loves the attention; a simple, brute, canine part of her they hammered into her head to make her more workable.

So, she has to try as hard as she can to be a very very good hound, and that means sucking off Sergeant Kotys’s gun with the rapturous adoration she’d usually reserve for Handler Herself. She doesn’t have to pay attention to the way her hips are moving, that’s automatic, so can lavish all her attention on the stiff rod of the gun’s barrel, lapping at it, drooling on it, taking it as deep as she can into her throat.

It’s still difficult. Hound is delirious on everything now - the pain, the exhaustion, the attention - and she’s trembling desperately as an orgasm builds inside her. It’s messy. Her drool and spittle form a messy stain down the front of her top almost as bad as the one on her pants, and Sergeant Kotys’s gun has been completely defiled with hanging loops of sticky, trembling saliva. Hound’s moaning is back, so bestial and lewd and breathy it makes all the watching pilots blush.

She’s close. Close to finishing her treat.

Then she hears a loud click as Sergeant Kotys flicks off the safety.

The click provokes a shudder from everyone, and Hound is no different. She glances up and sees that Sergeant Kotys’s eyes are as wide as ever. She looks capable of anything. Despite how fucked out of her skull she is, that click reminds Hound of what the object in her mouth is.

It’s a gun, a killing thing, just like her.

That thought is as exciting as it is terrible. The danger makes Hound freeze in her tracks, but only for a moment, because then her body screams at her and reminds her that, no, she can’t stop, not now, Handler didn’t say she could stop, and besides, she’s too fucking close, she can’t take it.

So she starts humping again, moans low and breathy and pitiful, and somehow it feels better than ever. It’s lightning against her cunt. Despite how insanely dangerous it is, Hound can’t help jostling the gun. She can’t remember if Sergeant Kotys’s finger is on the trigger and it’s too late to check because all she can see is white.

All Hound can do is fuck herself stupid and choke herself on the barrel and prepare for the thunderous oblivion that’s coming. Her hips have hit the point of agony but she’s rutting faster than ever, and so is the sergeant, turning Hound’s throat into another cunt with her pistol. The long piece of steel, now dripping wet and body-warm, chokes Hound’s moans, but she doesn’t care how uncomfortable it is. She just wants to explode. She wants the end. Every part of her is desperate for it, even the parts that used to be Sartha Thrace.

When it finally hits her, Hound howls around the gun at the hangar ceiling before finally, blissfully, she can let herself go slack and slump against Handler’s body.

This is as close as she gets to heaven. It’s sacred. It’s her treat. The privilege of getting to touch Handler like that outweighs anything, any potential humiliation, not that Hound cares about things like humiliation. It’s the ultimate affirmation, smothering all doubts as the indelibly-conditioned link between obedience and reward gets another notch deeper.

This is her. This is Hound. This is her purpose.

Unusually, no one is looking at Hound right now. They’re all looking at Sergeant Kotys.

She looks like she’s just cum too, even though she has not touched herself. A few moments later, her face turns, and she looks utterly consumed with disgust and shame. Then the disgust recedes and she fills with calm, but it’s a calm that glows from within and makes her fellow pilots nervous. Sergeant Kotys takes her time as she kneels down and cleans her gun on a dry portion of Hound’s soiled clothing. Then she stands, turns to Handler, and salutes.

“Thank you, sir,” she says crisply. “I think I understand now.”

Handler’s smile widens. She’s pleased with the lesson, and pleased with Hound as she starts to rouse herself from her post-orgasmic stupor and see to the task of licking clean Handler’s boots. “And what do you understand?”

“That this thing isn’t Sartha Thrace, sir,” Sergeant Kotys replies. “There’s no way Sartha Thrace would have ever let me do that.” She relaxes a little and the calm expression slips from her face, replaced with a smirk that is a mirror to Handler’s own. “We broke her.”

She’s still pushing it by speaking to someone as senior as Handler this way, but she senses - correctly - that she can get away with it. The two of them share something now. An appetite, perhaps. An understanding that her fellow pilots have yet to partake in.

“That’s right,” Handler says. “Now, sergeant, please report to my office tomorrow. We need to discuss your conduct today.”

It isn’t a threat. It’s an opportunity. Sergeant Kotys salutes again as she is dismissed. “Yes, sir!”

Handler turns next to her charge. “Up, Hound.”

Hound is so exhausted and stupefied by her orgasm that it takes her a moment to register what’s being asked of her but inevitably, she obeys. With some reluctance, she hauls herself to her feet. Handler’s boots aren’t clean yet. It’s a task that mustn’t be left half-finished.

“You can finish that later, in your kennel,” Hander instructs. She always knows what’s going on inside Hound’s head. “Now, here.”

She reaches past Hound and properly unfastens her muzzle, only so she can fix it back in place and tie it tight. The way she does it is strict, but not even slightly cruel. She makes sure not to pinch Hound’s skin or knot her hair. There’s something gentle, even loving about the way she attaches the muzzle - which the crowd of watching pilots obviously finds extremely creepy.

“There,” Handler says, once she’s finished. And then, in her special voice: “On The Leash.”

Hound submerges instantly, but it takes a long while for Sartha to truly wake up, leaving their body to sway emptily for a moment before Sartha finds her footing. Once she does, just smiles. Handler is here. All is well. Being able to bask in Her presence washes away any lingering confusion, and the aftershocks of pleasure in her own body simply add to her mood.

She doesn’t question them. She has no need. She’s with Handler.

“Come along, Sartha,” Handler says, turning away. “I need to debrief you.”

Sartha nods and trots after her so she can stand at her place, at Handler’s heel. The debriefing is important, she knows. She never remembers her debriefings, but she knows she needs them to stay good. The two of them walk across the hangar deck to the elevator, Handler’s boots clacking loudly against the metal floor. Before they leave Sartha turns back to look.

All her fellow pilots are watching her. Some of them are smiling. Some of them are laughing. Some of their faces are filled with awe. Sartha isn’t surprised by the way they’re staring. She’s used to it. It’s only natural.

She’s a hero, after all.

—

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#story #Warhound

[xirex]

JULIA ✮ RELATIONSHIPS ?!

! CHAN . . . CHANLIA / 2LETTE

her contact name : juju 🩷

his contact name : channie 🤍

her father omg. the moment he saw 10-year-old julia in a training room was the moment he knew he had to protect her. julia had just come from australia at that time and having chan, someone who could understand exactly how she was struggling as a foreigner, really helped her in the long run. chan would always be with the girl, to the point where he was helping her get ready for school in the morning and even pick her up in the afternoon. julia relies on chan a lot for a variety of things; whether it be helping her create a song to taste-testing her food to make sure it's perfect. chan can basically read the girl like an open book. he can tell when she isn't feeling well or when she's really excited to do something, even before she can at times. don't get me wrong, julia does mess with chan a lot, but behind those teasing words and smirk, she knows she has someone who will always care for her, at her highest of highs and lowest of lows.

viral moments : julia feeling sick during a tour stop & chan giving her one GLANCE and immediately rushing over and asking if she's alright // chan moving over to let julia pick something out in a game first // chan sitting next to her while they were eating on a vlive & when she was talking, randomly patting her head

'2lette' came from fans. more of an inside joke; chan's shaving brand is gillette and julia says she'd use that brand if she ever had to

? LEE KNOW . . . JUHO / PABOZ

her contact name : child ☝

his contact name : lee knows nothing 🤓

she was so scared of him when they first met. like he just. looked scary. she got to know him a lot better over the time they spent preparing for debut and they became extremely close. julia looks up to him a lot, and similar to chan, she's like his daughter. they bond over their skill in dance— it was what brought them together in the first place. she also trusts his judgement; whenever julia feels like she needs guidance or another opinion on something she'll go to minho and ask for his perspective. he's the one who can talk her into doing things and it literally always works; usually whenever she's sick he and chan team up to get her to lay down. lee know is like julia's mother and chan's the father !!! he does spend a lot of time teasing her though. over her height, her saying something funnily, her tripping, etc. everything she does is funny to him ? but its okay, it's all in love ofc !!

viral moments : in skz code 08, julia holding onto minho the entire time they were on the mission (poor minho .. two scaredy cats at his side) // julia being frustrated over not wanting to do something, minho stopping her to try and persuade her & julia immediately agreeing after // minho saving a take-out box of food he didn't like knowing julia would probably eat it

'paboz' came from the members in an early skz code ep

! CHANGBIN . . . BINLIA / SYOTDARIZ

her contact name : lee money

his contact name : gym rat 🌵

MY SUNSHINE AND SUNSHINE PROTECTOR DUO I CANNOT. whenever she's running around playing with one of the boys or just by herself he'll be like standing in the back with the most proud smile ever. they enjoy teasing each other, and will take up any opportunity possible to; at restaurants, during filming, etc. when changbin's on "watch the maknaes" duty and sees julia about to do something he's run towards her, pull her away, smack her head, and then go back to what he was doing before.. it's happened on camera too many times. he also helps julia during song recording because she tends to mess up or misread certain korean bits. her #1 fanboy !! whenever she has an idea for a song he'll just sit and listen attentively and even help her tweak the lyrics. changbin tries his best to understand julia's struggle as the only girl and just wants the best for her in the long run

viral moments : julia on a vlive gushing over how much changbin's helped her improve her korean over the years // changbin being so patient with julia while trying to teach her how to do something // binlia seeing each other for the first time after months and hugging so tightly

syotdari / 숏다리 = short legs, they're the shortest two in the group

? HYUNJIN . . . JUJIN / BATTERIES

her contact name : llama?

his contact name : samsamsam 😯

two human batteries that never die out. julia highly influences hyunjin into doing silly shit, like pranking the members, teasing them, just causing chaos anywhere and everywhere.. it's a little crazy. they're both extroverts when together, minho and chan see them fooling around in their nightmares i swear. back to the calmer side; they love to draw and paint together. julia has a lot of the paintings they've made together hung up in her room. hyunjin was the one to talk her through panic attacks (and still is!!) when they were frequent and that was one of the only times they would actually be quiet together. whenever julia feels like she needs to take a break or just have time to breathe while on stage, hyunjin would immediately be at her side making sure she's alright. hyunjin's probably the one who talks her into doing things that she probably shouldn't be doing in newer places. they also go live together so often, and half of those lives are just filled with them dancing or teasing each other.

viral moments : on a tour stop, hyunjin running around with julia on his back // yet another tour video, julia stepping off to the side breathing heavily & hyunjin immediately going over and passing her a water bottle // on a v-live hyunjin & julia painting together, julia showing hyunjin her canvas and him cooing and saying it looks great

'batteries' comes from the two being known as human batteries when together.

! HAN . . . LIASUNG / NINIZ

her contact name : 땅콩 [ peanut ]

his contact name : my hannie 🤍

you thought jujin was bad? these two are worse. they'll take any possible opportunity to argue with each other. most times it's just to mess with the older members, but they do enjoy teasing each other. in fact, you can usually tell something's up with one or the other when they go more than an hour without saying some kind of belittling comment to eo. however, despite all of this, they're insanely close. whenever another one of the hyungs isn't there to help, they'll usually go to eo during panic attacks. they also share the same fear of heights; when skz has to do something that's relatively high up, liasung will be clinging to eo for dear life. they're like the twins of skz—both the fans and the boys themselves call the pair that. they're always together; on stage, at the dorms, even in variety shows or random vlogs. so many random 1 am bubble updates from them going on late-night walks or convenience store runs.

viral moments : them teasing eo and then 5 seconds later going "i love you~ every second // liasung absolutely dominating in a game of bowling on a show // during a fansign, julia stealing han's hat and after trying to get it back a bunch of times, he just lets her have it

'niniz' came out of nowhere. a member used it to refer to the pair and it just stuck.

? FELIX . . . LIXIA / SUNSHINEZ

her contact name : tiny lee 🌟

his contact name : bokkie 🌞

MY SUNSHINE BABIESSS !!!! the two that will make you smile the moment you see them together. they love eo so much it's just so fluffy and sweet. felix is another member you'll always see julia with because they love to be around each other. julia even admitted she spends more time in jeongin's / felix's rooms because they're so comfortable with eo. julia and felix always talk in english to each other out of habit; when they met, they immediately started to converse in english rather than korean. julia's the person who influences felix to take up his interests, like baking for example! julia also has a lot of matching items with felix, whether it be clothes, jewelry, even phone charms or cases. they both just have so much love to give and it's so evident in the way they treat each other and the members. these two have so many concert / fansign videos of them just hugging or playing with eo; felix likes to let julia play around as much as possible since she's been a trainee since she was a kid and didn't really have a childhood.

viral moments : felix and julia going into a haunted house together and not coming out for another 45 minutes // julia facetiming felix in the middle of his live // felix posting a video on bubble of julia just sitting on their counter eating leftover cookie dough mix

'sunshinez' comes from them being known as the sunshine duo.

! SEUNGMIN . . . JUMIN / STYLISTS

her contact name : tiger 🐯

his contact name : minnie mouse

julia see julia do with seungmin istg. so many clips of him randomly doing something and julia immediately copying him. he's like a little devil on her shoulder. seungmin's fooling around? oh, julia's probably with him. they're always teaming up to tease the members at any given chance, basically chan & minho's worst nightmare. seungmin knows how to get under her skin, and vice versa. they enjoy styling the members together and have been appointed at the two stylists of skz. two people who enjoy showing their affection through big small actions rather than words, which is why they're so close. seungmin's helped her perfect her vocal abilities over the years, and when she got moved to vocalracha, he was the most excited because they'd get to work together more often. when julia falls asleep backstage, she's usually laying on seungmin's shoulder or seungmin's going over and laying a blanket on her or fixing her hair / posture.

viral moments : in the xmas skz code, seungmin randomly flying a paper airplane and julia doing the same soon after // seungmin uploading pics of julia sleeping on him while he's just doing a peace sign // seungmin & julia being on a team tgt and not being able to finish their mission bcz they spent the entire time messing around

'stylists' comes from the two being known as skz's stylists

? I.N . . . INLIA / TWIN FLAMES

her contact name : nyangie 🐱

his contact name : INNIEEEEEEEEE 🩵

MY POOKIES HELLO. the twin flames of skz. julia's like jeongin's little sister please. they've been close ever since the survival show, like their friendship is natural. julia spends so much time with jeongin, more than any other member. they're extremely clingy with each other, like two little kids. they show their love for each other by being clingy & constantly playing around with eo. constant stealing from eo; jeongin could have a sweatshirt one day and the next, it'll be gone & vice versa. they're each other's hype person!! julia enjoys cheering him on in an annoying voice just to mess with him. no doubt the closest duo of stray kids, literally nothing could come between them. another member she has a lot of matching items with. the main reason julia spends a lot of time with him / in his room is because they're always assigned to be together anyway; hotel roommates, game partners, even being sent away by the members to go fetch something from the shops. if one's smiling and laughing, the other is too. jeongin always serves her first, and even hand feeds her food if she asks him. also!! they're so attentive to each other. never a moment were they aren't listening to eo so well and lovingly I CANT.

viral moments : mt skz code, they were in the pool and just started to try and drown eo ?? (affectionate) // in a fansign, jeongin received two animal headbands, so he reached over to put one on julia's head // julia and jeongin in the background of a member's vlog trying to fight ?? hug ?? they were doing something.

'twin flames' comes from them being known as the twin flames / platonic soulmates of skz.

xia's message . . . this took .. so long .. taglist . . . open!

#xi ; julia #skz 9th member #9th member of skz #skz #stray kids female member #9th member of stray kids #stray kids 9th member #kpop imagines #kpop female oc #kpop added member #kpop addition #kpop oc #fictional idol oc #fictional idol addition #fictional kpop community #fake idol oc #fake idol community #fake kpop idol #idol!oc #idol oc #idol!au

[bonny-kookoo]

But Ninny, just imagine lock me up mc going into preheat and defective Yoongi gets all protective over her 🥺 anon was onto something with that heat ask honestly 😮‍💨 jk jk….unless 👀

You're antsy again, right when he'd thought he'd gotten you comfortable enough so you wouldn't try and escape anymore.

But your little outdoor adventures aren't of the usual kind either- you definitely stay in close proximity to his home, never even reach the streets, always rather roaming the rooftops, and he can see on his little GPS tracker on his laptop that you're somewhat pacing around.

Something's off, and he needs to know what.

When he reaches the rooftops, it's a little windy. Not too chilly, but a nice fresh wind blows, sun setting- and there you are, rolling on your back in the bright golden sun. "You're getting your clothes dirty." He comments, and your tail snaps up at his words, as you roll again to sit on your knees now, some dead leaves caught in your hair- but one flick of your ear and its gone with the wind, while you look at him like you're conflicted.

"I wanna sleep here tonight." You tell him, and his brows lower in confusion.

He's keeping his distance- both because he's not sure if you'll try and jump because down the line it wouldn't surprise him considering your rather... spontaneous nature, and also because your body language screams at him to stay away.

"Its gonna be cold." He tries to reason. "Why'd you wanna sleep outside?" He wants to know, and you become nervous at that, moving your legs around a little to adjust the position in which you're sitting-

And that's when the wind turns a but, making him catch your scent.

Oh.

"Yeah well- you know.." you stammer, nervous. "Even if- you know, you pick up stuff for me, it'll take almost an entire day to, you know, make me not stink anymore.." you mumble more or less, not looking at him.

"You don't stink, idiot." He clicks his tongue, before sighing. This isn't something he'd planned ahead for. "I can still go downtown and pick some shit up if you tell me what you typically take, and I promise my hands stay to myself at night." He tells you.

"Hm yeah cause it's easy for you.." You say almost disappointed.

"What do you mean?" He wants to know, and you turn around at that, your back facing him as you hug your legs.

"Nothin'." You huff stubbornly. "Go get me some Feline Help, or ChangeWay, I don't care which you choose." You mumble almost incoherently into your knees, drawing something in the dirt on the ground with a stick.

"Both of those are-" he argues instantly, well aware that both brands will leave you with heavy side effects, but now you snap your head around, hissing at him.

"Just go! Leave me!" You yell at him, and he forgives your behavior for once because it's not really in your control right now. Preheat can be extremely stressful to hybrids especially when you're used to being on medication for it usually.

Though he has a feeling there's got to be a reason you're especially on edge with him. You should be the exact opposite- so why do you seem to absolutely despise his presence right now?

"Can I leave you here without having to run after you to God knows where after I come back?" He asks, and you glare at him actually angry this time.

"I'm not stupid, Detective Min." You make sure to pronounce his job title and name especially as you talk. "I'm a walking bullseye target for anyone other than you." You huff, and he squints his eyes at that.

"I see." He suddenly says, relaxing. "I get it now."

"Oh my GOD just go and get my drugs, leave!" You yell now, throwing a small rock at him- though you only prove his point, because you clearly intentionally miss him by a lot, no intention to hurt him despite your bitter tone.

"Dont worry, I'll get them." He says, not walking closer, but taking off his jacket before he throws it at you. "But you're wrong, just so you know." He has the audacity to smirk, especially when you grow wide eyed and surprised, entire world view shifted as he gives you an answer to a question you didn't even ask, while he walks back down the metal stairs to his apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts and his scent around you.

He's absolutely not interested in you-

Or so you thought, it seems.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

-> Series Masterlist

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #min yoongi imagines #yoongi imagine #hybrid imagine #yoongi imagines #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi imagine

[90sbee]

The patrol is over

Leon S. Kennedy x Ashley Graham

2k words. Also on ao3

As Leon and Ashley await for the helicopter to take them to safety, Leon is slowly spiralling, full of concern still. It is then that a ghost from his past decides to visit him.

What can I say, I had this idea already and then I saw Leshley Week... It was like the perfect excuse to write and post this one. Also this fic is quite silly but, hey, I love writing Leon's pov. Also @lightning-hawke is a sweetheart and she made sure that this was readable. Everybody please thank you to this brave soldier who had to face my 3am delusional writing.

Content: All Leon's pov, angsty and sad but also. Cathartic. Ash is asleep the whole time cos baby needed a nap after all that. Spooning, protective!Leon.

Warnings: Hallucinations, anxiety. Mention of guns, knives, zombies. Sleep deprivation. And I think that's it? Yeah, this is actually SFW, for once, haha.

It’s been three hours. Maybe four. Perhaps five.

Leon can’t sleep. He has tried it, though, but his body is still running on adrenaline and anxiety and he doubts that he will actually get some rest today.

Whatever. He has had it worse.

Ashley is passed out on the bed, curled up into herself, softly snoring. Leon blinks, trying to keep his eyes open. Even if his body is exhausted, his mind is still rushing through all the different scenarios in which this could still go wrong, heart rattling inside his chest.

What if Luis was wrong? What if the Plagas is still inside them? What if he ends up falling asleep, body going slump on this old chair and when he wakes up, he has hurt her?

God. Such idea gives him goosebumps, and he sits even farther from the bed.

What if instead, it is her? What if Ashley opens her eyes and tries to attack him?

Leon eyes the knife on the nightstand, the guns on the floor.

He knows he wouldn’t use any weapon against her, anyway. But if she hurt anyone, he’d be responsible.

God. Fuck responsibilities and guilt. It would’ve meant he had failed.

His blood runs cold then.

A failure. Assigned on what was, probably, the most important mission in his life. The president’s daughter involved, and what was supposed to be one of the top agents in the country, ruining everything. Returning a shadow of a woman, a timebomb.

Leon hides his face in his hands for a while, trying to catch his breath.

He knows he is spiralling.

He has to keep some faith: faith in Ashley, faith in Luis.

In himself, even if he is not used to it.

He looks at her, pursing his lips.

She breathes so calmly. Expression soft, features finally having some well-deserved rest. She is so gorgeous too. A soul too kind for him. He feels guilty for refusing to accept her proposal, though he is aware that being her bodyguard would have never actually been possible.

He blushes slightly, knowing that she at least wanted his company for a little longer. Maybe he is not so useless after all. She had also asked him to hold her to sleep, but he had simply shaken his head. “You’ll be fine, I promise. You’ll probably have a better rest taking up the whole bed”.

He sighs, crossing his arms. Leon is not sure how long it will take until the helicopter arrives. He hopes it is soon, because his head hurts and he feels hungry but he can’t leave her side and he definitely doesn’t trust the police officers next door.

No, scratch that.

He wishes the helicopter never arrives.

Because that means it is all over.

His gaze softens as he looks at her, feeling his heart pulling at its strings. For a moment, he considers it. A life with her. Visiting her at the White House. Maybe indeed fighting to accept the bodyguard position, his hand on her back as he keeps her safe once more, the sound of her laugh. The idea of getting acquainted with her shampoo brand, learning her favourite colour, kissing her forehead.

He is spiralling again, but this time in a more dangerous direction. Leon cracks his knuckles, yawning.

There is no point into wasting time thinking of all this. He can’t afford to lose footing in reality. And the reality is forcing him to remember that only a few hours they had both been fighting a Plagas, and he can’t be completely sure that the coast is clear. The mission isn’t over until she is back home, until they both reach American ground.

His foot starts hitting the floor quickly, as his headache gets even worse. He has to keep himself awake, he can’t lose focus.

At any given point Ashley could wake up and look at him with those soft doe eyes and ask anything, anything from him and, god, he’d give her the world, but first… But first he has to make sure that they’re both safe.

She’s make him feel like a worthy prince.

He can’t lose the princess for being careless.

He feels thirsty but he doesn’t even want to move his eyes away from her. His heart picks up when he thinks her chest stops moving up and down, but he realises it is his mind playing tricks on him as she sighs again.

Fuck. He is really losing his shit. He’s been trained for this crap. He barely sleeps anyway.

He curses in a whisper and looks down, grabs the water bottle next to his foot and sits down again.

That’s when he notices there is someone else in the room.

How? How would that be possible? There is no fucking way. It takes him just a second to fucking comprehend what is going on, but in an instant he has his knife on his fist, standing up as he approaches the figure, ready to attack the stranger.

The knife doesn’t hit anything.

Leon stills his movements then, realising that he recognises the face in front of him: the dirty-bloodied uniform, the stupid toothy smile, the look of hope in his eyes.

It’s him. The ghost of his younger version, the one from Raccoon City, stands before him.

“Fuck off,” Leon groans. He knows now that he is hallucinating. “Go away,” he pleads, in a growl, sitting down once more. His fucking head feels like about to explode.

“Buddy, I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” answers the more excitedly voice.

Leon considers replying, but he doesn’t want to wake Ashley up. The poor thing has already gone through too much, the least she needs at the moment is the man that is supposed to keep her safe having a full-on discussion with himself.

Fucking insane. He hides his face in his hands.

It’s not the first time it’s happened, that’s for sure. He’s gone through it all: hallucinations for being sleep-deprived, sleep paralysis after the most excruciating missions.

Most of the times it’s not even monsters, or zombies. Most times it’s people he knew: Annette, Ada a couple of times too. Last time it was Marvin, his body bloody and his eyes white as he swears he could hear his cries of pain still.

He wonders if maybe Luis will join as well, sometime, another painful reminder of his failures.

But himself? This was new.

“What the fuck do you want?” he mumbles. It Is stupid, Leon knows that. But perhaps by talking to this ghost of himself he could get rid of it faster, make sure he can go back to guard Ashley.

“Heh, I think it is obvious what you want,” the high-pitched voice replies. Leon looks up a moment, seeing the rookie sitting on the floor next to the bed, pointing at Ashley.

“Very funny,” Leon groans.

“What? Are you gonna deny it? I’m literally you.”

“Just, shut up.”

Surprisingly, that works. When Leon looks up once more, the figure isn’t there. He yawns, rubbing his temple. Maybe he is gone, for real. Maybe his mind will stop playing tricks on him now. He resumes his watch, his whole attention directed towards Ashley.

He is not even sure what time it is now, but he hopes it won’t be too long. At this point, he is being more of a nuisance than an actual help, a real protection for her. He knows he will have to sleep soon.

Not yet, though. Not fucking yet. He has to fucking hold on, try to keep it together.

“Hey, maybe you should get some actual sleep,” the voice suddenly interrupts him, now coming from next to him.

Leon almost stumbles from his chair, heart racing.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he half-shouts, and immediately purses his lips, embarrassed.

The rookie, the fucking rookie, sitting down next to him.

“Sorry, just trying to help,” he mumbles.

Leon shakes his head. He doesn’t want to say anything else. He is sure he almost woke Ashley up. He decides to acknowledge this presence, since it is becoming quite clear that it is not leaving for now.

“What do you want? Don’t fucking say Ashley, I swear to God,” he whispers, ashamed.

“Well, you’re the one that should know that. Your brain is literally hallucinating me at this point.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I can’t sleep yet,” he replies, crossing his arm as he stands up, trying to walk around the room a little, forcing his body not to pass out.

“You look incredibly nervous, dude,” his younger version chuckles, seemingly amused.

“I’m not.”

“Why are you walking around, then?”

“Well, someone has to make sure the president’s daughter doesn’t die on my watch. I’d say that’s some pretty big responsibility,” his heart is about to get out of his chest, and he is sweating.

The headache is now deeper, more annoying.

“She is safe now, Jesus Christ. Give yourself some credit, man.”

“She is not,” Leon suddenly replies.

“She is. Don’t you trust Luis? Do you think he would have lied to you?”

That does stop him in his tracks. Perhaps the rookie has a point. Leon nods, slowly. In the darkness of the room, he looks at his arms. The veins are normal still. He hasn’t had any weird visions since they got the Plagas expelled.

Well, except for the unpleasant vision that his own mind conjures. Maybe even more annoying than Lord Saddler’s ones.

He doesn’t acknowledge the rookie, though, but he comes back to sit on the chair.

“How many hours has it been now?” this ghost insists.

“I dunno.”

“You do know.”

God. He didn’t remember his younger voice being that annoying. Leon inhales, trying to calm himself down.

“Five hours,” he replies after a moment.

“If any of you were still infected, don’t you think the Plagas would have acted up by now? Also, Lord Saddled is dead now. There is no one controlling the Plagas now. All the Ganado died, remember?”

Leon hates that the little kid is right.

“I guess that’s true,” Leon admits.

The rookie laughs.

“She is fine. You don’t need to keep watching over her like a creep. I mean, not that we are being creepy…”

Leon interrupts himself: “Just go to the point, man”.

The rookie looks up at him, glittering eyes full of hope and a gentle small on his face.

“Look, I thought I was the rookie here, but you’re being a whole amateur now,” he stands up, in silence. “The patrol is over, rookie”.

Leon looks at himself. That shadow of himself, too full of hope and of light. He blinks, still processing the rookie’s words… His own words, echoing from and inside his head.

The patrol is over.

Fuck.

He slumps on the chair, eyes welling up with tears. For a moment, he lets himself cry in silence, under the soft sound of Ashley’s breathing. He breaks down a little, feels pity for himself, as well as relief. He dries off his tears with his palm, trying not to be too much of a mess in case she wakes up. He should be strong still. He needs to be.

By now, the headache is unbearable and his eyes hurt, a combination of exhaustion and the tears. But he knows it’s true: they’re both safe. He saved her. Ashley is safe. And even if he can’t have her, if this story ends in a few hours, he can still breathe without regrets. He can even make sure that their last memories together are something pleasant, something nice and comforting.

Leon tries to calm his breathing. He looks up, still curious as to whether the old presence is still there, but not anymore.

No more ghosts in the room. Just Ashley and him now.

With heavy steps he moves towards the bed, dizzy by now. He lies down on the bed and allows himself to breathe against Ashley’s shoulder, timidly holding her from behind. He grips her body close to his, knowing this is the only and last time he’ll have this chance. And even if she is half-asleep, Ashley sighs, content on her sleep, as Leon closes his eyes, finally allowing himself to rest.

The patrol is over and so is their story. But for a while, they can still lie close together, in the dark. Both finally safe, at last.

My brain actually wanted to be mean and make it Marvin instead of Rookie Leon but you know what. I don't need to break my heart like that SO much. Let Leon be angry at himself, it's fun, lol.

#leshleyweek2023 #leshley #eagleone #leon kennedy x ashley graham #leon x ashley #dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/vase-of-lilies #i know this will do bad but i don't care i just like them :3 i want to write for pretty much every leon ship there is tbh hehe #leon kennedy fanfiction #leon kennedy angst #mine #writer bee #meli <3

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Wait, is it true the writers said Marinette and Gabriel are meant to represent individual creative spirit versus corporate greed?

Taken from the writer's commentary on the final two episodes

In the next scene, we can see Marinette taking the miraculous that have been standardised and industrialised by Gabriel and putting them back in shape. The writers specify that this is a parabole about craftsmanship vs industrial production. The miraculous will now be adapted to every person, but we can’t see what they look like just yet! In this new world, the powers are all shared, among people who they trust and know will work for the common good. They joke that the "Avengers" shot at the end with all the heroes is something they’d been dreaming of.

There's also that bit from her confrontation with Gabriel where he randomly acts like he's The God of Fashion (taken from S5E20):

Gabriel: I don't think you understand, child, so let me put things differently. Life is like fashion. You think you have a choice, but all you have is the illusion of choice. And I decide what choices are given to you. Marinette: You're wrong! (Shows Gabriel her sketchbook.) Fashion is about listening to people, it's about understanding who they are, what excites them and creating the clothes that will help them express their inner world. Help them connect with others and make their dreams come true. Gabriel:(Laughs and takes her sketchbook, then browses its pages.) No, that's not fashion. That's making dresses for your dolls. Fashion is a product, a marketing strategy, an industry that relies on uninterrupted trend renewal that forces you to either throw away everything you have and buy more or, worse, to be out of fashion. Thanks to the clothes I create, the celebrities who wear them, the advertisements I design and the Alliance rings that broadcast them, I create an idyllic vision. A perfection that everyone aspires to achieve, while keeping it just out of their grasp. You finally understand the difference, don't you? You listen to people's desires and create what they want. Somehow, people make you. Whereas I create people's desires. They buy what I decide to buy. They think what I want them to think. I'm the one who makes people. You think you love Adrien, but you're just under the spell of this world I've created. A world where Adrien is the star, shining high above. A world where you're just part of the crowd below looking up at him. (Shuts the sketchbook.) That is why nothing can ever happen between you two.

So, yeah, this is apparently supposed to be them talking about some kind of central theme of individual creators vs mass production? The problem is that it basically comes out of nowhere. If the writers really wanted to have this be some sort of message, then they needed to establish this a lot sooner because Marinette has had no issues with his fashion company nor has anyone else.

An example of a way to do this would be to have Marinette win the hat competition in season one, Adrien models it in season two, and then give us a series of episodes where Marinette gets to learn about the production process for her hat. She gets to see it mass produced and then gets to learn how fast fashion works and, by the end, she's no longer a fan of the fashion industry even though she still loves fashion. It would be a much better environmental message then the nonsense we've been given, too.

But the show didn't give us anything like that. We've never seen a single Gabriel brand product save for the stuff Adrien wears and the alliance rings, which are phones more than fashion accessories, so it makes sense that they'd have a uniform look. Even if phones were made to order, you wouldn't see much variety in the base product save for color. The customization on a phone is the background and the alliance lets you customize your "background" (aka your Adrien, Lila, or Kagami) as we saw in Jubilation when Socqueline was showing off her alliance.

Side note: I realized that Jubilation takes place before I started writing mini episode reviews, so I wanted to make a quick note of how creepy it is that you can customize your alliance avatar given who the avatars are. Gabriel and Tomoe seriously took their 14-year-olds and told people of all ages to treat them like dolls, which is extra creepy given how many fans Adrien has. That has some messed up in-universe implications that make me shudder. What were the writers thinking?

#ml writing salt #ml writing critical #ml season 5 salt

[stromuprisahat]

i saw your evgeniy post and i totally agree that it wouldnt work out the same at all if genya was male, maybe he would work directly for the king but either way im willing to bet the fandom wouldnt be victimising him to that extent and the character probably would be allowed to stay morally grey instead of being forced to be "good".

as per your comments too: they probably gave ivan a love interest for "representation points" but if the show character was played more accurately to the book and looked more like book ivan people would probably ship him with the darkling a lot more and talk about him having unrequited love or whatever which is fine but certainly cheapens the characters motives.

also i dont think alina would have got on with genya if she was in a red kefta from the start as its like she saw genya in livery as "on the same level as her" as a servant and outsider, its my firm belief that if genya was introduced to alina as corporalki to start with her prejudice would kick in and she wouldnt trust her at all as she seems more prejudice against corporalki than any of the other orders (aside from the darkling)

(What if Genya were Evgeniy)

I don't think the King would require services of Tailor. The Queen remains the obvious choice for that, although there would be issues.

Regarding narrative-treatment... well, my guess is he wouldn't live long. Just look at Ivan- he wasn't easily brainwashed character, so he had to die to prop up brand new Good Guy™. Zhenya wouldn't be re-written into one-dimensional victim, because it would be easier to simply kill him off (preferably in a way emphasizing he picked the wrong side).

Fandom would simply ignore him, because he's a man in Aleksander's service. His backstory, missing sexual abuse "orchestrated" by the Darkling would also lose its appeal to antis. Loss of loved ones or torture just doesn't have the ring to it, when aimed at a man. Hell, if we'd make the King "fond" of teen boys, or came up with another molester, Evgeniy's story would include different variables. Women are easier to woobify, but then again, it could be "fixed" by making the boy gay, or better- headcanon gay. Everyone knows that makes you easier to exploit, so we can pretend lack of agency equals unfavourable circumstances etc. etc.

Since we know almost nothing about book!Ivan's personal life, I didn't mind his and Fedyor's romantic relationship, quite contrary- both actors used their minimal screentime to introduce the best romance in season 1 (in both, if I'm honest).

Ivan's in danger of simplification of his motivations no matter the looks. While book Ivan's described as good-looking, in show he's already canonically MLM. Both can work as a good enough reason to turn his loyalty into unrequired crush. Why delve into anything more complicated, if your view requires demonisation of the Darkling?

Absolutely agree on Genya's position and Alina's "friendship". Alina has been distrustful of other Grisha since the beginning. Sure, her belief she's a fraud played a part, but that would apply to Genya in red too. Grisha without colour didn't fit in. Useless Sun Summoner wouldn't either, once her incompetence becomes widely-known. Alina doesn't exactly believe in selfless unconditional friendship. Hell, she takes and takes from Genya, while offering little, with Malyen she assumes the opposite position.

#reply #Grishaverse #grishanalyticritical #Genya Safin #Ivan Kaminsky #Alina Starkov #What if/AU/... #The Darkling #Heartrender Husbands #self centred and paranoid #antis #anti Malina

[firstofficerwiggles]

Grogu's Teacher, Part 6

Part 5 | Masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Rating: T

Word Count: ~2900

Warnings: hand-to-hand combat, insults

Author’s note: Hello all! I’m finally back with more of this fic. I was not expecting to take so much time off between chapters, but my life has been very busy and I am in the middle of writing a book for work so that has meant less time for fic writing. After this season of the Mandalorian, the idea of Mand’alor Din is more of an AU than before, but we press on because this is the story I want to tell. Also, of course, we never know what the future holds for Din and his darling son.

“My heart is not a prize to be won,” Din’s voice is gruff with certainty.

“Oh you are wrong there, cyare,” she says mimicking your voice nastily, “Today is the day that any woman may challenge your intended for your hand. Now that you’ve announced your cyar’ika as your official consort, I am free to challenge her as per the laws of this celebration.”

She looks over at you, “So if this social-climbing trollop wants to secure her place at your side, she’ll have to fight me for the privilege!” Bo-Katan’s voice rings out across the ballroom.

Din moves the Darksaber into an attack position and steps in front of you, shielding you with his body. You clutch Grogu tighter to your chest as you feel your blood run cold.

“If she will not fight as is our tradition, she will be branded a hut’uunn, no one will respect her," Bo-Katan declares. 

You swear you can hear a pin drop in the grand ballroom after Bo delivers her biting insult to you. You swallow hard, feeling a rush of emotions: anger, distress, and sheer surprise at her audacity. Still though, your desire to stand up for yourself and your own pride won’t let you back down from her challenge. Carefully, you place Grogu in a nearby chair and then move out from behind Din to face Bo-Katan. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Lady Kryze,” you reply, “I have great respect for Mandalorian tradition, and while I might not come from a royal family such as yours, I am equally a Mandalorian.” You tip your helmet up, “You may call me all the nasty names you like, but those who know me know the truth.”

“Such a pretty speech,” Bo-Katan mocks you, even going so far as to clap her hands sarcastically, “It’s fitting for a little decoration meant to liven up the Mand’alor’s arm, but we all know that the throne needs the support of a strong riduur, one who doesn’t just teach our traditions but who practices them too. So unless you're going to accept my challenge of combat, you’ll stay the scared weakling you are.”

You stand perfectly still, and then nod your head once and in a clear calm voice you announce, “I accept.”

Din immediately tugs at your arm, turning you back towards him, “No, cyar’ika, this is not the time nor the place for combat, you don’t need to fight her. I’ll protect you.” His voice sounds deeper than normal and you can feel his concern for you.

“I know you always will, cyare, but I need to do this,” you drop your voice so only he can hear you, “Even if I lose, I have to know that I tried, I want to show everyone that I’m willing to fight for you, that you mean that much to me.” 

“I know that and if it were me, I would fight for you too,” Din whispers to you, his helmet dropping down to touch yours in a Keldabe kiss. 

As a warrior, he knows he needs to let you fight your own battles, but as the man who loves you, everything in him is urging him to hold you close and keep you far from harm. He sighs, there is no right choice here, but he needs to make the one that shows his respect for you. Stepping back, his shoulders are set and his movements are deliberate. He reaches down and takes a vibroblade from its sheath and places it in your palm. In a voice that carries across the hall, he tells you with reverence,

“You honor me by being willing to compete, but know that you already have my heart, now and forever.”

“And you have mine,” you reply softly, your voice sounding calmer as knowing you have his support grounds you. You raise your chin and project your voice louder, “Thank you, cyare, I will do my best to bring honor to you and my clan.”

You hear a small shuffle of feet and realize there are others gathering by your side. Your cousin, Saka, reaches out to place a hand on your pauldron,

“You already honor our clan with your spirit and your dedication to the Way,” he says, his words are punctuated by the bow he gives you as he places his fist over his heart. His wife and their sons also bow to you, adding to their familial show of support.

“Your training will serve you well,” the Armorer has come over too, “Remember all that I have taught you and you will succeed in showing everyone that you have a warrior’s heart.”

“This is all so touching, but are we going to fight or just stand around sharing platitudes all evening?” Bo-Katan snarks at you.

You ignite your glowing shield and take the attack stance the Armorer has taught you, “Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur (Today is a good day for someone else to die),” you state the Mando’a saying clearly.

“Bold words from such an untrained warrior,” Bo-Katan snorts. 

She makes her first move which you manage to evade. You keep your feet moving as you’ve been instructed, deliberately but not too quickly or you will tire yourself out too soon.

“You shouldn’t make assumptions that I am untrained,” you reply calmly.

You continue to take the position of defense, and manage to outmaneuver her next attempts to land a blow. 

You hear Din mutter, “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You bring your attention back to Bo-Katan. Din’s words bolster you and you try your own move to strike her with his blade. She avoids it though, turning on her heel and then setting up to attack you again. This time you are not fast enough and she connects with your armor, causing a loud clang and startling you with its ferocity. You’re not hurt though, but it does shake your confidence. You try a few more attack moves of your own, but you fail to connect. She manages to connect again though, a hit with her vambrace against yours. This time you feel a sting of pain, but you shrug it off and break away from her.

“Look at you, playing dress up in your shiny new armor,” Bo-Katan’s sneer can be heard even through her modulator, “You know, Miss Consort, just because you put on the armor doesn’t make you worthy of it.”

She rushes forward attempting to land a blow with her vibroblade, however this time you easily deflect it, dodging the way the Armorer has instructed you.

“I am worthy of my armor, and, unlike you, I understand that there are many ways to be a Mandalorian,” you respond to her clearly, your voice projecting calm even though you are a tangle of emotions right now. 

You take a deep breath, and then deliver your own verbal blow to her, “My armor may be new, but at least it isn’t stained with the blood of my people, or that of my sister.”

“You bitch,” Bo-Katan roars at your comment. She barrels towards you, her anger making her movements sloppy and predictable.

With Bo-Katan off-kilter, you land your first strike with the vibroblade, your aim better than hers as you manage to slice through her flight suit just between her pauldron and vambrace. You can see a thin line of blood on her arm. She screams,

“You’ll pay for that!”

You watch as she steels her shoulders and resets her feet. There’s a determination in her that you don’t like. She attacks you again, faster this time and more sure-footed and it’s overwhelming. You do your best, fighting as hard as you can. You kick at her, try blocking with your shield, and stab at her again with Din’s vibroblade. You manage to hold her off for a bit but she keeps coming at you and your blows aren’t doing enough damage to her. But then, her fist connects hard with your wrist and she knocks the blade from your hand. It startles you and you lose your concentration just long enough for her to sweep your feet. At the last minute you grab onto her arm and you both crash down in a startling bang of armor against the ballroom floor.

Bo-Katan lands heavily on top of you, and while you try to shove her off, she maintains control and forcibly pushes you harder into the ground.

“You should have stayed in your place, teacher,” she taunts you, as she brings her vibroblade up to your neck in the soft space between your armor and your helmet. 

You gasp, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” she asks, mockingly. She pushes the blade in closer to you and for a moment you think she might actually harm you.

Suddenly her arm is yanked backward by some unseen force and the blade is ripped from her fist. It flies up and across the room, to land in Grogu’s small outstretched hand. 

You breathe a sigh of true relief, “Way to go, buddy!”

You turn your head and realize that Din is right there, having run to your side the moment he felt you were in real danger. He lifts Bo-Katan off you and shoves her aside, and then reaches down to help you to your feet. His arm goes around your shoulders protectively,

“This fight is over,” he declares.

“You can’t deny that I won!” she shouts at him.

“I’m not denying that,” Din replies, his voice deadly calm, “But I am stopping this before you take it too far.”

“It’s not my fault she couldn’t put up a better fight, but she should have known that I am the superior warrior,” Bo-Katan states smugly.

Your shoulders sag a touch at that, and despite feeling that you did your best, the feeling of loss permeates your body. 

“I had to try,” you say, your voice is just above a whisper, “I did the honorable thing.”

“Yes, you did, cyar’ika,” Din tells you, his arm hugging you to his body.

You hear the sound of little feet, pattering across the floor to you. It’s Grogu, a welcome distraction, toddling his way over to you and Din, and waving Bo-Katan’s vibroblade like his own small sword. 

“Patu!” he announces with a flourish of the blade.

“Oh buddy, let’s be careful with that,” you say, picking him up and reaching for the knife.

“He can keep it,” Din states, his voice full of pride, “He earned it.” 

You notice your cousins have moved closer too. The younger ones nod along with Din’s comment and it makes you smile in spite of yourself. Seeing that they’re still here, coming up to you even after your defeat is a comforting sight.

“You have brought honor to our family with your determination to fight and your willingness to accept a challenge. We are all proud to have you as a member of our clan,” Saka states, “And this clever little foundling too. The way he magically yanked that blade from Lady Kryze’s hand was most impressive.” 

He reaches out a hand to pat Grogu on the head and you hear the little one coo happily in response and reach out to him to be held. Saka takes the baby and presents him with a scabbard for the vibroblade. 

“For you, little warrior,” Saka states.

“Grogu knows how to protect the ones he loves,” Din remarks, “As do I.” He leans down then to give you a Keldabe kiss, but just before his helmet can make contact with yours, a tsk-ing sound interrupts.

“Uh-uh, there will be none of that now,” Bo-Katan admonishes with a wag of her finger, “Mand’alor Djarin, not only did I show everyone that I’m the better warrior, I have also claimed you for my own.”

She sidles over to Din, holding her hand out, “Come and take the hand of your future bride.”

With reluctance, Din steps away from you, and turns to face Bo-Katan fully. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and your throat feels tight. You had not thought through what losing to Bo-Katan truly meant. You watch as the space between you and your love grows larger and your heart aches. Tradition is profoundly important to Mandalore and you know that Din comes from a sect that believes in upholding the old ways. 

Din stands proud, he brings himself up to his full height and with his arms planted on his hips, he seems to be larger. He speaks to Bo-Katan but loudly so that everyone in this great hall can hear him clearly. 

“You can only claim the Mand’alor,” he says, “But that is no longer me.”

He unclasps the Darksaber from his belt, and tosses it at Bo-Katan’s feet. 

“Traditions have their place and they honor those who have come before us. But traditions should not continue at the expense of the people who have to live with them. I will not remain the Mand’alor if it means giving up the one that I love, and I certainly will not accept Bo-Katan Kryze as my riduur.”

He turns and walks back to you, taking your hands in his, “I love you, cyar’ika, you are my choice.”

“I love you too, Din,” you reply, your voice cracking with emotion, “All I want is to be with you, but I don’t want to make you give up so much.”

“It isn’t worth it, ner kar’ta,” he tells you, “Without you, I don’t want it. It means nothing.”

“Such a sickening scene,” Bo-Katan mutters, “The role of Mand’alor was wasted on you, Djarin. I, on the other hand, know exactly what our people need. A true royal.” 

She leans down to scoop up the saber, igniting it and waving it above her head with a victory whoop. She turns towards the crowd, awaiting cheers. But she is met with silence.

You look across the crowd to see many clenched fists and people standing rigidly as they watch Lady Kryze try to celebrate. A low muttering begins to sweep through the room, sounding like the dull rumbling of thunder. You catch bits of comments here and there.

“She doesn’t deserve the Darksaber!”

“Her challenge was unfair!”

“Kryze is a mean-spirited bully!”

“Mand’alor Djarin is still the true leader!”

“Someone should slap her!”

“I want to slap her!”

“Disgraceful! She dishonors the true Mand’alor!”

“Djarin is the best for us!”

“Djarin has done so much!”

You begin to hear Din’s name more and more as it echoes through the crowd. Others begin to say it too and soon it grows into a chant. You even hear a few shouts of your own name in the mix. Din acknowledges the crowd with a nod, but says nothing.

Instead it is the Armorer who takes action, she walks purposefully to Bo-Katan,

“The people have spoken, Lady Kryze. No special weapon, even a sword as rare as that one, can withstand the will of our people.” 

Bo-Katan looks around at the people cheering for Din and for you, she hears the jeers and threats being made against her, and her shoulders sag in defeat. Without a word she turns off the Darksaber and drops it into the Armorer’s outstretched hand. She looks towards Din and you one more time, and then slowly walks away, navigating her way through the throng of people.

“Mand’alor, I believe you may have dropped this,” the Armorer says to Din, holding the powerful sword out to him.

Din looks at you, and tilts his head. You know his question without him having to say it.

“It’s your choice to make, Din, but whatever you choose, I’ll be here by your side,” you reassure him, giving his hand a squeeze.

He nods and takes the saber from the Armorer. A loud, joyful cheer goes up from the crowd. The noise is deafening and you’re impressed by the dedication everyone has for Din and his leadership. It fills you with pride for him. 

Din raises his hand to silence the crowd, and when relative calm has settled once again, he addresses them,

“I am honored by your faith in me, I will do all that I can to serve you for the better of all Mandalorians.”

He places his fist over his heart and bows his head to them. You watch as people in the ballroom drop to their knees and return the salute to him. It humbles you to see everyone’s loyalty and you’re about to drop to your knees too, when Din pulls you to him. He takes you in his arms and touches his helmet to yours. 

“I’m honored by you too, cyar’ika. You fought for me and showed me more loyalty than a hundred warriors on their knees.” Din’s voice is gruff and low.

“I tried my best to fight and honor you, but I lost,” you tell him, honestly.

Din chuckles, “Did you, cyar’ika?”

Grogu coos loudly at that in apparent agreement. He waves his hand at you and makes the brrr sound he’s become so fond of lately. 

You look at the happy baby in the arms of your cousin, surrounded by the rest of your new family. Then you turn back to his father whose hand reaches out to hold yours again. 

“You know, you’re right, Din, it wasn’t a loss,” you say, “In fact, I think I may have won it all.”

Note: I hope you enjoyed this! I have one more epilogue chapter planned for you!

Mando’a: 

cyare = beloved

cyar’ika = sweetheart

Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur = Today is a good day for someone else to die

ner kar’ta = my heart (my love)

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