s1! (and honestly s2!) absolutely gets amusement out of stopping situationship!pogue!reader in her tracks when she’s mouthing off, like she’s started bitching about topper squaring up to john b and rafe’ll literally get in her face and squeeze her cheeks. like “the fuck’d you say?”
but s3 he literally just has to raise an eyebrow and she’ll can it cause in her head rafe went from kook twunk to daddy real fuckin’ quick.
kook twunk to daddy i am crying😭
but yes this is so true. you mouth off to s1 rafe, bounding along next to him as you gesticulate wildly, rambling about how topper squared up to john b last night, knowing you were at a party rafe explicitly told you he did not want you going to— not like you ever listen anyway. you’re halfway through a sentence about how fuckin’ stupid topper is when a hand clamps against the scruff of your neck; your feet drag across the gravel, rafe’s bruising grip anchoring you to his chest as he spits venom at you.
“fuck did you say? you wanna repeat that, pogue?” he spits, the name undoubtedly an insult coming from his lips. his insults never quite hit the mark with you, and you brush him off, rolling your eyes as you walk a few steps ahead. but rafe doesn’t miss the way your gaze casts downward, your eyes a little glossy as you stare at your feet with a pout on your face. and it’s only then that he catches up with you, hooking an arm over your shoulders to soothe your wounded feelings. he loves the feeling of control, craves it, the way he can alter your every feeling with his reactions. no matter how far you stray, you’re under his control (barely).
you try that shit on s3 rafe, and it goes in a wildly different direction. you’re ranting about john b again, about how he beat the shit out of topper this time, your brows set high on your forehead as you ramble.
rafe silences you with virtually zero control; he fixes you with a sidelong glance, a brow quirking upward as you say something particularly bold, and you pause mid-sentence. mid-syllable, even, your mouth just… seals shut. you huff, pushing your lips out into a pout and kicking at the dirt with your arms crossed until he relents, hooking a lazy arm around your neck to smear a kiss against the crown of your head.
“gettin’ into too much trouble mouthin’ off like that, kid. gotta learn to be quiet, yeah?” his tone reeks of condescension— and even with his gentle touches, it rubs you the wrong way, your frown only deepening. he sighs. “you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”
but for all your performative defiance, he knows he has you under the thumb. you’re completely, wholeheartedly his. even without the label.
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Not pegoryu but enjoy Ryuji doing his best, as always the colouring was done by @kwoomochi my beloved partner and as always he delivered
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just want to say that considering the lack of real-life historical fiction in IFs, and the little that exists is generally confined to regency-era stories, this story is truly a breath of fresh air and i'm so happy that you're writing it <3 not to mention the fact that it's so well written and SO funny too. Sherlock is genuinely one of my favourite IF protagonists because they're just so funny to me
😖🥺😭
Anon, 🥲🥲🥲 I don’t know how you managed to pinpoint the two things I’ve been feeling self conscious about for a bit now. The historical aspect and the humour… thank you 🥺❤️
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To any suicidal followers I may have: This is a sign to not kill yourself. You are loved and the world is special because you are in it. Keep holding on.
-PLEASE REBLOG THIS YOU MAYBE ARE SAVING SOMEONES LIFE
You are special and amazing , If you need to talk or some help send me a dm and I will talk to you.
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Reblog to give those horny mutuals a kiss ❤️
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if it ever seems like I'm ignoring you pls note: i am very very tired
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