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kamotecue · 5 months

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overthinking thoughts ・❥・g. reiten

pairing: guro reiten x fem!reader

summary: what happens when your lover of almost three years gets a bit insecure about certain things? just something fluff, and it's rewritten. canadian!reader, fleming!reader

you gave the crowd a small smirk, as the cheering had gotten a bit louder. you were simply strumming your electric guitar, playing the last song on the set list, but you gave a cheeky smile at your sister who stood beside her teammates, and your girlfriend. your lover's eyes have never left you, in fact she watched you with a proud grin, as you sang your heart out for the last song.

when the song had ended, you were absolutely breathless as part of your layered hair had covered your eyes, quickly moving them--you had bid goodbye to the crowd as you headed backstage, alex (the drummer) your childhood best friend and quinn (the bassist) a mutual friend you had met in college had followed right behind you.

"excited to see the missus?" the irish had teased, as you chuckled at her words. but she was correct, you are excited to see her again--the months on tour had been restless, and since london was the final stop, you had decided to stay at your sister's place. despite being twins, jessie was still your older sister by a few minutes. but you were the taller one, so it was easy to tease your older sister.

"is it that obvious?" you asked, chuckling as you felt a bit shy at their teasing. maybe it was the way you kept talking about the norwegian, despite being miles apart. the bracelet she had made was currently worn around your left wrist, it's what caught the attention of your fans, but rather than answering them, you'd given them a shy smile as you greeted them before engaging in a small conversation.

"anyone can spot from a mile away that you're hopelessly in love with her." alex teased, his eyes leaving yours as he caught a glimpse of who was the surprise visitors. you felt someone snake their arms around your waist as they pulled you closer, a contented hum had escaped your lips as you turned around--guro gave you a soft yet wide smile, as you gave her a peck on her cheek. regardless of the fame you currently have, you were never one for public affection.

your relationship was the definition of lovers in private, and best friends in public. you had befriended a few chelsea players the moment your sister had signed for them, back in 2020, jessie wanted you to come with as she signed the contract for moral support, she'd say. but you were alright with it, that was how you met guro after all. it was during a chelsea game, you had spent a month in london writing and coming up with lyrics for the album, a confused look was seen on your face throughout the game.

when the game had ended, you were waiting for jessie near the barrier, scrolling through your phone not noticing how she came up to you. it took you a while to notice really, and when you did--you were the shyest person she ever met. jessie had seperated you from the norwegian as she noticed from afar that the two of you were talking, guro was surprised but then your noticable freckles had given it away.

"guro, you don't need to bring y/n to my place. i'm sure she'd like to stay with you." jessie teased as you gave her a shrug, a small chuckle escaped guro's mouth as she hummed.

"i didn't plan on it, fleming." guro said, as jessie raised her eyebrows before shaking her head at the two of you. the two of you bid goodbye, hopping into the backseat of one of the given cars. each bandmate was assigned a car and a driver, but you would share if you were headed together to an event, or etc. it didn't take awhile to settle yourself in your girlfriend's apartment, you wore her pajamas as you used your towel to dry your damped hair.

the norwegian was looking out the balcony window, her eyes were set on the couples walking through the streets, her jaw was a bit clenched--there was something obviously bothering her. you called out, not receving a reply the first three times as you shuffled around the apartment, joining guro on the balcony.

"are you alright, love?" you softly asked, knowing that there was something that was occupying her mind. but she had kept quiet, as you patiently waited.

"i just hate how i can't have you in public, or the other people who would get close to you." guro had commented, as you gave her a soft smile, she's jealous but you understood that--you want to be public about your relationship as well. but you're afraid of the backlash that she might get, rather than being worried about what would happen to you, you're more worried on what would happen to her.

"du vet at de ikke er deg, jeg har bare øynene mine på deg, guro. [you do know that they're not you, i only have my eyes on you, guro.]" her eyes widened as you fluently spoke in her native language, a soft smile appeared on her face, as tears filled her eyes. you had been practicing and learning her language despite your busy schedule.

"jeg føler bare at det er vanskelig å elske meg, jeg er opptatt med karrieren min, og jeg har kanskje ikke tid til deg. [i just feel like it's hard to love me, i'm busy with my career and i may not have time for you.]" you chuckled at her behavior, it's true she'll be more busy as time passes by, but so will you--so a part of you understood her, it may not be the training and games. but it was the constant tours, the vocal training, the busy fanmeets and you were too busy keeping up with your appearance.

"du tar ikke feil, kjærlighet. alle er vanskelige å elske, men husker du da jeg sa at du burde velge din karriere før meg? [you aren't wrong, love. everyone is hard to love, but remember when i said that you should choose your career before me?]" when you first started dating, you made the norwegian promise that you wouldn't be her first prority, that you'd be her fourth or fifth. herself must come first before all, then her family and friends, her career and lastly, you.

"selvfølgelig gjør jeg det. så hvorfor blir du? [of course, i do. then why do you stay?]" guro asked, as you hummed at her words. you gave her a soft smile, before pulling her closer into you, snaking your arm around her--just like she did awhile ago.

"fordi jeg heller vil lære deg enn å miste deg. jeg vil heller gjøre en innsats enn å ikke prøve i det hele tatt, kjærlighet. [because i'd rather learn you than lose you. i'd rather make an effort than not try at all, love.]" a small hum was heard, as she placed a soft kiss on your forehead, it was a gesture that she loves doing.

"jeg elsker deg. [i love you.]" "jeg elsker deg også. [i love you too.]"

｡˚ ✧ ┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧｡˚ ✧ ┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

you know the drill, an instapost.

liked by _jessflem, niamhcharles17, alexstewart, sierrahill, and 3,620,762 others.

tagged greiten.

_jessflem: i guess the cat is out of the bag, well done little sister!

↪ y/nfleming: thanks, big sis.

niamhcharles17: never thought the hard-launch would happen.

↪ y/nfleming: a well known saying, always expect the unexpected, niamhy charles! ;)

greiten: my pretty girl.

comments disabled.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #norwnt x reader #guro reiten #guro reiten x reader #guro reiten imagine

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maxsimagination · 5 months

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𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀𝘆, 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀𝘆 - 𝗴.𝗿𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗻

warnings: jealous guro

----

it was game day, chelsea against tottenham. we had spent couple of weeks in portugal, training and preparing for the pre season, before returning home to stamford bridge. emma had released the starting eleven players yesterday and me and guro were both listed, along with sam and millie.

i was nervous to say the least, it was pre game jitters that took over. but magda gave her captain's speech in an attempt to hype us all up. we all ran out onto the pitch afterwards, took a knee, then the whistle blew. we were off.

the first half was anticlimactic, really. both sides scored a goal, leaving the score 1-1. after half time we were back out there, and pulling more tricks than ever. sam made a miraculous goal from 15 metres away, celebrating with her signature backflip. then tottenham equaled the score with a header that flew past our zecira.

but it came down to the 85th minute when guro passed me the ball from across the field and i took a powerful kick for the ball to fly straight between their goalies' legs and into the net.

we finished the game after 5 minutes of injury time, and the score was 3-2 for chelsea. we all ran together and cheered, and i found guro, running up to her and jumping into a hug. she spun me around before placing me back down on the field.

after we'd all taken a victory lap around the pitch, we all traipsed back to the changing rooms and celebrated even more, jumping around and singing.

when we finally made it back to our hotel, guro followed me to my room, telling me to get changed into 'dinner clothes' because she was taking me out. i was baffled and she wouldn't tell me where we were going, only that it was a restaurant somewhere.

so i picked my clothes and got dressed, before she came to get me again. we drove around for a bit before she parked in front of a building, fairy lights hung around the entrance. it was a nice place, and the setting was perfect.

guro led me in, and spoke to the hostess who led us to a table and told us a waitress would be here soon. it didn't take that long before another woman came by, i assumed she was our waitress. we had looked through the menu, and told her what we wanted before she left again with a short nod and a smile thrown in my direction.

when i turned back to look at guro, she didn't look too happy. "hva er galt, kjærlighet?" (what is wrong, love?) i spoke in guro's mother tongue, i had learnt norwegian for her. she looked up at me, more relaxed than before.

"servitøren, hun så på deg." (the waitress, she was staring at you.) she looks at me slightly sheepishly, and i giggle at her words. "du har ingenting å bekymre deg for. i am with you, not her." (you have nothing to worry about.) i spoke the last bit in english, just as our drinks came over. "the food will be over shortly."

the waitress brushed her hand against mine as she placed the glasses down, and a less-than-subtle smirk was directed towards me too. i pulled my hand away immediately and grasped onto guro's in an attempt to both make her feel better and make myself feel better.

"i see what you mean." guro hums in response, holding onto my hand just as tight. eventually the food comes too, the waitress bearing it in her arms. she placed it down in front of us before asking, "is there anything else i can get you? maybe my number?" she looked directly at me, her hand hovering near my shoulder.

i pulled back i little and shook my head, then guro went into protective girlfriend mode, as i liked to call it. "she has a girlfriend." her thick norwegian accent made it sound more aggressive and the woman looked over at her. her face paled at the sight of my angry partner and she backed right off.

i smiled at the sight, protective guro was my favourite. "det var heit." (that was hot.) she grinned up at me when i spoke, blush tinting her cheeks.

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #guro reiten #guro reiten x reader #guro reiten imagine

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minniepetals · 1 year

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cry me a river | the pawns

— summary: when pawns are used well, they are the soul of the chess. you might as well take advantage of what you’re given

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 6.4k

— warnings: none

— PART 22 / previous post / masterpost

“Why did she call you buttercup?”

“Buttercups reminded her of me,” you answer Yoongi as take your steps into Bangtan’s manor for the first time in weeks. “Bright and yellow, pretty little thing.” You pause. “And a weed in her path.”

“She was never on your list?”

“Nari had always been insignificant,” you say with arms crossing over your chest, wanting to leave it at that.

But Yoongi isn’t satisfied with the short answer. “You never told me how the two of you got involved.”

“What can I say,” you shrug, “the Vipers were our ally so inevitably, we met. I caught her attention with my face and she grew intrigued and envious.” He told you his history so you might as well entertain him with yours. Just a little though. Only a little. “I’m sure you know it better than I, your little sister—”

“She’s not my sister.” He’s quick to cut you off, stern and firm. Yoongi isn’t someone who cares too much about the things that leave people’s lips. He lets them yap off as much as they’d like, so when he does ever speak up on things, you know just how serious he is.

So you nod, sending him a tight smile. “Right, right. That little celery,” you correct yourself, “she can get a bit crazy when she doesn’t get something she likes, or when the attention is shifted away from her.”

“She’s never had her attention shifted away in the times I lived in that manor,” Yoongi says and you give him a blank look.

Small little Yoongi, probably just the same as you who never received attention and love and was just seen as nothing more than an heir who was meant to fulfill his role. On the other hand, you never saw your father loving another, or even having the ability to love at all. There’s a bit of comfort knowing your father was incapable of feeling, so he had no one to show it to and you had no one to grow envious of, even though it did take you a while to get smart about understanding him. Yoongi on the other hand had to grow up seeing his father show his affection to someone else.

He got out quicker than you though, and fled the scene before things could go downhill.

You came to a realization too late. It was your body that had to force you to “wake up.”

“So imagine what it was like when that moment finally came to her.” Up the stairs and to the right. It’s a bit funny you’re getting used to navigating through this manor like it’s your own. Once upon a time, it was yours. “The spotlight switching from her to me gave her quite the scare.”

Yoongi opens the door to Namjoon’s office and you walk in casually.

“I met her before I met you,” you say and he gives a moment of pause before following you right in when you take your designated seat, the same seat you’ve always taken whenever you walk into this room.

Namjoon’s already sitting across from you, taking a sip of coffee from his cup with Seokjin stood to his side as his second in command. Yoongi takes his position on his leader’s other side while Mingyu stays to your right.

“Do you know Alexander Larsen?” You start without hesitation, leaning back into your seat and trying to make yourself comfortable.

In truth, you will never get comfortable.

“Alexander Larsen?” Seokjin raises a brow at your question. “You don’t mean from the Norwegian mafia, do you? You’re not talking about the Kingsmen, are you?”

“So you do know of him.” You cross a leg over the other, feeling satisfied.

“You want to go after an old man?”

“It’s not the grandpa I want to go after, it’s his son.”

“Karl Larsen?” He shares a brief glance with Namjoon, expression marked with hesitation. “That’s a bit…”

You ignore his trailing comment to continue your point toward Namjoon. “I’d like to get close to gramps and I know you have connections to do so.”

“He’s a don, Y/N. A Godfather. A Norwegian Godfather,” he stresses. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.” Right from your proposal, he’s already denying his offer to help but you’re not about to back down.

“You told me I could use you as my pawn,” you remind him of the contract the two of you made a few weeks ago. “You aren’t supposed to ask me questions and force me back on my plans just because a certain man I want to go after happens to have a Godfather as his father. If I get close to Alexander, my plot against his son would be much easier.”

“It isn’t easy getting close to Alexander,” you hear a different voice coming in through the door but you don’t have to look to know that it’s Hoseok. “Going after a Godfather is the equivalent of signing off your death certificate.”

“Not to mention Alexander is linked to the Italian mafia and you know how dangerous they are.” You roll your eyes when Jimin follows along.

It feels like being scolded all over again.

“Why’re you leaving the scope of Korea?” Taehyung asks.

“Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?”

“I said no questions,” you point directly at Jungkook who in turn ignores it by looking away, and return to the boss who sits at the center of them all. “If you’re scared, you can just say that.”

Namjoon frowns at your words, shaking his head subtly. “I can get anyone for you, Y/N, but I don’t want you messing around with foreign mafiosos.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re trying to walk into a battlefield.”

“The whole world has been a battlefield, Namjoon, and just because this particular boss is tougher than other soldiers out there doesn’t mean it’s enough to have me back down. I’m not backing down. I want Karl Larsen dead.”

“It’s dangerous territory.” Still, he denies you the help.

You let out a frustrated grunt. “That’s what you said the last time I proposed leaving Korea.”

“Yeah, and remind me what happened last time?”

Hwang Leehyun.

A living nightmare.

You cross your arms across your chest when he hits you with that, their eyes piercing without any hints of backing down and you suddenly have this urge to punch someone in the face. It feels like being in the eyes of your father all over again, being told you cannot do this or that, that you must do that and this. Like a child who does not, who can not, make her own decisions without the permission from her parents.

“Why do you even care whether I make it out okay or not?” So you snap with a click of your tongue, anger fueling. “This is my mission and my plot against the person I want dead.” You turn to Hoseok. “I’ve already told you I don’t care what happens to me down this path I’m walking on. If life decides it’s done with me, then so be it.”

If I die, I die, you told him once and Hoseok, frustrated in his own sense, turns to your right hand man instead of facing you.

“Aren’t you going to stop her?”

When all eyes fall on him, Mingyu has to take a moment to spare you a glance. You, who shoots a glare at Hoseok for even thinking of looking to him rather than addressing you. And knowing just how you feel, your commander answers in a calm tone.

“Whatever the boss wants, I provide and clear the path to let her get through. It is not my duty to stop her, therefore I hold no protest.”

Hm. Good answer.

“Just what are you feeding your Reapers?” When Hoseok turns back to you, you send him a cheeky grin.

“Loyalty. They’ll always take my side no matter what wrongs I’ve committed.” You look at the rest of them. “You should know about that.” And a bit of awkwardness they clearly don’t enjoy too well walks in, but you decide to ignore the effect those words had on them. “Mingyu knows his place and he knows what his title entails. It’s not his job to stop me. He’s here to clear the path for me and back me up, all the while doing what he can to get me back on my feet if things start going downhill and provide protection.” You give a little pause before adding. “You should learn from him.”

“The last time we let you do what you wanted, you ended up hurt.”

You frown at Seokjin when he says that, eyes avoiding his because you know just what he’s trying to imply. That moment of weakness you had turning to him. Why did you make that mistake?

You were just desperate to find a safe haven after what Leehyun did.

“The only thing with Karl is that he’ll get out my angry side, that’s all,” you say, resting back into the seat you’re in. “The situation won’t be the same. He wasn’t a creep, just some asshole psychopath who should have minded his own business.”

You and your stubborn streak. Namjoon knows you don’t have it in you to let your plans fall to a pause just because someone declines the help you’re seeking for. So he lets out a sigh, fingers pressing into his temples. “Like Hoseok said, getting a Godfather involved in your plans is the equivalent of choosing death.”

It doesn’t matter what sort of thing Karl has done to you to earn your anger. He’s still a son of a powerful man.

“I know,” still you say with acknowledgment, unwilling to back down. “But there will always be risks when it comes to going after people, and in this case, I’m walking a fine line between life and death, but as long as I can prove my worth and show Alexander that I’m a better pawn than his son, I have a higher chance returning here safe and sound. And besides,” you intertwine your fingers into one another and have your hands sit on your lap, “when it comes down to it, you’re all great at getting out of a sticky situation. If worse comes to worst, I’m sure I can rely on my pawn’s protection. You’re not trying to go back on your words again, now are you, Kim Namjoon?”

A promise is a promise.

A vow is a vow.

The Reapers have learned to master it and have proven again and again that their pledge to you is something that is unshakable.

Namjoon asked you to collapse into him. They vowed to never let you fall.

And yet here you are now, a shattered mess of glass.

It looks like your choice of words gets to him because Namjoon’s shifting in his seat, uncomfortable, but he has no reason to say no to you now, not after you’ve brought the contract he wrote back into his face. And the past that left you scarred.

“.....I know someone who might be able to get you in contact with Alexander,” he finally says, “but it will be up to you to figure out how to get him on your side.”

The corner of your lips curls upward. “That’s all I need.”

And before the conversation can move on, Mingyu bends down to your side, whispering something into your ear. “They need you at The Academy.”

You give him a nod and uncross your legs to begin standing again. “Let’s pick up this conversation another time, yeah? You should prepare for my absence for at least a month or more. It won’t be easy getting close to a Godfather, after all.”

And with that, you walk off with Mingyu tailing along, leaving the seven of them still unsure about all of this.

“Sunoo refuses to sleep, my lady. I used to wake up to him trashing in his sleep and having to force him to wake up and ask him what was wrong but he never tells me anything. Now, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I just see Sunoo on his bed, wide awake. The teachers and I have tried to help but…nothing’s helping him.”

Jungho stands with his head lowered as he fiddles around with his fingers, those little shoulders of his trembling slightly, and when you look at the headmaster for confirmation, she simply nods.

“So you asked the headmaster to call for me, yes?” The little boy nods at your question. “And why is that, Jungho? Why do you believe I can be of help?”

“I-I don’t know, my lady,” he answers truthfully, “but…Sunoo is my best friend and…and I want to help him get better so I thought…I thought that you would have a higher chance at helping than I.”

“You believe that I, someone who doesn’t know him quite as nearly as you do, who has spent years growing up with him, can be of better assistance?”

Jungho nods again. “Because..”

“Because?”

“When he did sleep…Sunoo used to call for your name.”

A droplet falls onto the floor where his feet stands, then another is quick to follow along, but Jungho keeps his head buried against his chest so that all you can see is the back of his hair. So you give Mingyu a look and he nods in return, turning to the child with a hand on his shoulder to lead him away while you head for the dorm the two of them have been assigned to.

Sunoo sits with a blank stare when you enter the room and shut the door behind you. Under the little boy’s eyes are dark bags that shouldn’t be there. He looks worse than the last time you saw him, a little daintier, not quite as skinny as he used to be when he worked under Ying but he might as well be getting back to that stage.

To that little child who was all skin and bones, his clothes too baggy for him when he’d look up at you determined and unwilling to give up hope.

He’s grown since then, putting on some meat, cheeks less hollowed, and a little more life in his physique, but that little spark of hope he had in him is dim. He hasn’t even realized you’ve walked in and Sunoo is someone who’s been taught to stay on high alert due to the fear instilled in him.

You’ve been trying to heal these children but just what are you doing if he’s still like this?

“Sunoo.”

When you call his name, he looks up with a slow reaction, though his eyes widen at the sight of you as expected. “My lady?” His voice is small and when he goes to shuffle from his bed to reach the floor, his legs give in underneath him when he tries to get to you.

You grab ahold of him before he can hurt his knees, picking him up effortlessly and setting him back onto the bed. He sits there with wide eyes searching for something, little fingers gripping onto the sleeve of your shirt a little too tight it turns white.

There is fear in his eyes, you realize.

The fear you never got to see when he hid them in that room the two of you were in because he wanted to be brave, because he wanted to uphold the promise he gave unto you.

A child shouldn’t have gone through that.

“When was the last time you’d eaten?” You ask him, knowing that asking him if he’s eaten at all is dumb because it’s clear he hasn’t eaten in a while. You take the hands that balled onto you, placing them onto one another in his lap but knowing not to let it go. It probably gives him comfort knowing he can physically touch you.

“I…” His voice shakes so he’s quick to shut himself up with his teeth biting onto his lower lip. It quivers so he lowers his head and you give him the privacy by standing from the floor to sit beside him on the bed instead.

He keeps himself as silent as he can, and you watch the way he struggles, the way those little shoulders tremble in the way Jungho had and the way you remember the rest of them did when you rescued them that night.

Hiding. Hiding.

All for you.

You feel some sort of hatred boiling within you because you know that all this hiding is for you and you hate yourself for doing this to them.

“Do you know something, Sunoo?” You let one hand remain holding his while the other reaches behind to rub along his back. “There is nothing in this world that will make me hate you for crying.”

He remains quiet but there’s a little jostle in his body when you say that. As if he’s surprised, as if he can’t believe you’d just said that.

“Do you believe crying is a sign of weakness?” You ask him and he gives you a small, honest nod. “Why do you believe that, Sunoo?”

“Because you hate it.”

Of course the reason comes back down to you. You’ve instilled something in them your father instilled in you. That crying is weak, that loving is dumb, that emotions must never be revealed to another because no one will care for you if you fail at these three tasks.

You’re becoming your father.

You want to punch the wall, kick something, anything, shoot a bullet into someone’s head, bring out a knife, and stab it into something. Anything.

But you know not to, not before a child, so rather than wanting to take out your anger onto something, you let yourself seek peace in the child.

You cup Sunoo’s face and force him to turn your way so that he cannot hide, so that you can allow yourself to see the tears that splash onto those eyes of his, and when they fall out from the corners of his eyes and you see the way he watches with surprise and redness in his pupils and on his cheeks and nose and lips, you press your forehead against his, forcing him to stop running away.

“There is nothing in this world that will make me hate you for crying,” you repeat your words to him once again because it’s hard. It’s hard trying to find any other words to comfort him because you’re bad at it, because you don’t know how to do it without giving a part of yourself to him. “You are seven, Sunoo. You are supposed to cry when something hurts you.”

“...” You see the way his lips quiver rapidly before he allows more tears to form along his waterline and inevitably fall.

“Do not bite your lips, you will hurt yourself.” He tries to remain silent but you refuse to let him, swiping a finger to let him loosen up, and with your permission, Sunoo cries as a child should.

He voices his frustrations, lets out the screams he’s been holding in, and cries as loud as he can while you hold him in your arms, covering his head into your chest so that he can still feel your presence and know that you aren’t going anywhere. That you’re accepting him. That he doesn’t need to hide from you.

Have you ever cried like this?

So loud and broken?

You did once. So many times. So many years ago.

When you were scared and frightened. When you had Mister Butler there to hold onto you when you needed to let the tears out.

“Do not bite your lips, you will bleed.”

He was the one who taught you that it was okay to let it all out when you cried, that it was okay to be loud, that you didn’t have to fear anyone hearing you.

It feels like a distant dream more than anything, however, because ever since the first few days of being sent to the White Room after Mister Butler died, you had let the fear return to haunt you once again. The fear of being loud. Succumbing to the silence.

Fearing the noise.

“You were gone, my lady.” Sunoo’s voice allows you to return to reality. “You were..you were dead, my lady.”

“...Was I?”

“I dreamt it,” his voice croaks. “She killed you.” So those were the nightmares that feared him into refusing to sleep when he needed it. He dreamt of your death, of him being unable to get you out of that situation.

You admit if it weren’t for Yoongi, Nari would have most definitely snapped and actually ended you right then and there. Yoongi saved your life and lost an eye as a result.

“I’m right here, Sunoo. I’m still alive.” You make sure he knows when you squeeze over his body a little tighter.

Sunoo leans in closer, nuzzling into your embrace.

“I-I know but…but the sun will set again and you’ll leave and…and what if that gentleman hadn’t been there with us? You would have…you could have…”

A sun setting.

The darkness.

The dreaded darkness.

You know just how Sunoo feels because you still fear the darkness. You still hate it when the sun sets because it means absolute darkness until the sun decides to rise again hours later. Hours that feel like days and weeks and months and years. Hours that seem to tick like the seconds are running a year too late. Hours that have you staring straight at the ticking clock, begging it to go faster and faster but it never seems to go as you ask.

That’s why all the clocks in the manor have been either destroyed or thrown away.

Living with your father still alive, you were unable to do things your way but ever since his death, you’ve reorganized lots and lots of things to accommodate your wants and needs.

The clocks are all gone.

“Do you want to come to Norway with me?”

Sunoo looks up suddenly at the suggestion, his brows furrowed with disbelief and for a second you want to take it back because you know it’s a bad idea. You’re there to kill someone after all, to exact your revenge, and having Sunoo in that environment won’t be good.

But this child needs you and he needs the light.

“Northern Norway is a country where the sun does not set during summertime, so you do not have to fear for the darkness.” Once upon a time, you spoke of a wish to visit the Land of the Midnight Sun. Norway. It’s funny the way things are piecing together, funny how no matter how much you want to run away from your past, it always seems to catch up to you. “Jungho will come as well, so you do not have to be alone and so he does not have to sleep here by himself.”

“And the others?” He always thinks of the others. Sunoo is a big brother to all the kids and he keeps strong for them so you know he must be worrying about them feeling left out but this is a foreign country you’re visiting to exact revenge. The less kids, the better.

“They will have to stay. Norway will be dangerous, Sunoo,” you tell him half the truth, not wanting to be too transparent but knowing that letting him believe this will be nothing but a vacation and letting him stay naive will not be good for him.

Kids have to know. The more aware they are, the better prepared they will be.

“But maybe in the future, I can allow for field trips in The Academy.”

“Really?” He sounds a bit brighter at the thought.

“Only if I can get stronger,” you tell him. “Though that may or may not happen and if it does, it will be in the far future.”

“Why do you say that, my lady?”

You wipe the tears from his face when he appears to be calming down. “Because there are still a lot of people who underestimate me or see me as a threat and wish to do something about it.”

“Like that lady?”

“Like that lady.” You take the tissue box from his nightstand to hand it to him and watch as he goes on to blow his nose. “So until people learn not to mess around with me, until my name alone brings fear to them, you’ll have to wait to be allowed to do whatever you want.”

“..Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want.” You press a hand to his head, smoothing his hair down. “You won’t have to confine yourself in this school anymore. All of you will be allowed to go anywhere you want, whenever you want. No one will be able to mess with you and you won’t have to fear for your safety. Though that comes with learning how to properly defend yourselves. You will do that for me, won’t you?”

Sunoo is quick to nod happily. “I’ll learn to protect myself and I’ll learn to protect my brothers and sisters. And you too, my lady.”

“That’s right. So until then, be a little more patient, alright?”

“You…please tell me you’re joking. You’re bringing children to Norway?” It’s comical the way Seokjin runs his hand down his face as he tries to fathom what you’ve just told him. He looks more stressed than he’s ever been before. “Namjoon’s not going to agree to that.”

“Why does Namjoon’s opinion matter?”

“You never mentioned bringing children to the mission was going to be part of the plan!”

“They aren’t. I’ll just need an extremely safe house where it’ll be hard for anyone to locate to ensure their safety.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh and you want to laugh a little because despite the fact that Seokjin appears to always look calm and collected, he tends to lose his cool easily. He doesn’t get upset but he stresses a good amount. “Why’re you bringing them along in the place?” He asks and you look away.

“I’m not obligated to tell you.”

He grows more agitated. “Don’t tell me you’re going to exploit them into helping you with getting close to Alexander?”

“You think I’m that shallow?” You give him a deadpan expression. “They’re not in any part of the plan. Just think of it as them leaving for a field trip.”

He rests a hand on his temples, takes a moment to breathe as he takes a small lap around a small invisible circle before speaking again. Level headed. “Field trip. Right. As if you aren’t going out there signing your life away to Alexander Larsen!”

Not so level-headed.

He’s losing his cool and you grin at how he tries so hard to keep calm but eventually gives in. “If you’re that worried, why don’t you tag along? Come before the rest of you come when it’s time to take action.”

“I can’t,” Seokjin grunts as he runs a hand through his hair. “Hoseok and Jungkook are already assigned to go with you and I have to stay by Namjoon’s side. He’s a wreck without me.”

“Of course he is.”

He glares your way before continuing. “He’s not going to allow you to take the kids.”

“Come on, Kim Seokjin. You’re the Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon’s right hand man, the only one who can get through to him when his stubborn ass refuses to let anyone talk him down from his decisions.” You give him a small poke on his arm, teasing a bit, and Seokjin takes note of the way you feel a little comfortable touching him even in the slightest bit. “I’m sure you can cool him down once he receives news that I’m bringing Sunoo and Jungho along.”

“Cool him down?” Not even convince him to agree but to cool him down. Meaning you aren’t backing from your decision, and Seokjin close his eyes as he takes in another deep breath, praying to God to allow him to keep his patience because he knows he’s stuck dealing with two stubborn people where one does whatever she wants and the other is easy to rile up when the right buttons are pushed.

And you know just the right buttons to push.

“Good luck buddy, I’ll see you when I see you.” With that, you salute him a goodbye and walk off with a grin plastered on your face.

“Y/N?”

The man Namjoon sets you up to meet in Norway is tall in the figure, with blonde hair combed neatly back, and a black suit to match with piercing green eyes that you’re sure to have probably earned many women in his life to swoon.

He’s quite a looker; handsome and tall and carries an aura of authority.

“Asher Larsen.” You say his name in perfect English and extend a hand out to shake it just briefly.

He takes a seat across from you, brows a bit furrowed, jaws set tight. “I can get you in to meet my grandfather but whatever it is you wish to do is none of my business. That will be the farthest I will do for you.”

“Of course. That’s all I need.”

Asher Larsen, grandson of Alexander Larsen, Karl’s nephew, and an intelligent man amongst the Kingsmen. You aren’t sure what Namjoon’s told him about you or the mission in general but he seems like the type who’ll only care about something that he’s actually interested in. And clearly, whatever you’re doing here, he has no intention of getting involved. He’s probably witnessed a few similar scenes before so he can probably guess what it is you’re after, which makes your job a lot easier.

In London, Taehyung was assigned to stay with you during the majority of your plot. Norway, as Seokjin said, Hoseok and Jungkook are here by your side, but unlike London, you won’t have someone here on your side to give you much aid in the way you had Hyunjin.

Asher is only here to be a bridge. Nothing more, nothing less.

He takes you to a private party that night where you walk in by his side as his guest, and for some odd reason, things already begin to spiral as a commotion is heard not long after your arrival.

“Do you often have your security breached like this?” You turn to Asher who gives you a quizzical expression.

“You mean this wasn’t you?”

“To try and grab your grandfather’s attention?” You laugh a little. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? If it was me behind this, it’d only want him to make an enemy out of me, and that’s not what I’m after.”

No one’s by your side tonight, it’s a private party after all, and though you’re sure your Reapers, along with Hoseok and Jungkook, aren’t too far away for you to leave and make an escape before something goes wrong, somehow you don’t feel the need to run away even when the chandelier from the ceiling falls and shatters glass all over the floor.

“How interesting,” is what you utter when the bright lights of the party fall dim and all that’s left is the light of the dawn sky from above the small, circular glass ceiling.

“Do you care one bit about your safety?” Asher questions you when he sees every other guest making an escape while you remain standing where you’ve been the whole time. He doesn’t look like he’s in a state of panic, and you guess he’s probably used to these things. Who wouldn’t be when you’re born into this business?

“Of course I do, but—”

“You should leave before something goes wrong.” He takes your wrist and pushes you towards the emergency exit, but you just can’t seem to run.

“Asher.” You look around, eyes sharp and quick. “Where’s your grandfather?”

Asher looks exasperated with you. “When things like this happen, my grandfather’s the first to escape. Now—”

“Something’s odd.”

“What’s odd?”

“The party started an hour before we arrived, right? So why was it that the second we walked in, they decided to stop it then? Why when you arrived?” You look towards the entrance door that’s now closed and blocked off, the chandelier that fell at the center of the grand room, just a few feet away from where the two of you were standing.

Luckily no one seems to be on the verge of death and there are people helping some guests leave from a side door, but besides that, there doesn’t seem to be any present physical threat in this room. One might believe they’re not here because Alexander isn’t here but still, you feel an odd sense of something.

You turn back to Asher just as he’s trying to calculate what you just said. “Tell me, Asher, are you someone your grandfather favors?”

“My grandfather doesn’t have favorites.”

“But you are intelligent and a great asset to the Kingsmen.” Just as you said that, you catch sight of a man who had been pretending to help an injured man point a gun towards Asher, who has his back turned to him, and in seconds, you’re rushing to Asher, take hold of the gun he held on the back of his belt, and pierce a bullet straight into the man’s forehead.

Asher turns around, stunned, and you take another man out on the second story of this room.

“You don’t have an extra gun or something, do you? Because we were told not to bring guns to this party.” You flash him an awkward grin but the man only shakes his head.

Well. At least you’re prepared.

Throwing him back his gun, to which he easily catches to eliminate more men, you take your two hairpins that had been holding your hair up this whole time, and use it as your weapon, stabbing along the masked men who have been bold enough to operate on this mission tonight.

Asher and you are an unstoppable force, it’s almost a bit thrilling having the chance to get back into action and overpowering the enemies as if they were simple ants pestering and getting in your way. You forgot how fun this can be after being held up in bed for almost two months, unable to move properly.

Something catches your attention when a lady dressed in a black and white suit stumbles onto her feet with something in her hand, a puppy, and just behind her a long pillar lies, on the verge of tipping over.

No longer watching Asher’s back, you rush over to the scene to pick the running puppy into your arm and grab the woman with your other hand, successfully rescuing them just as the huge cement falls and crashes onto the floor, alerting everyone’s attention.

You simply stare at the dog in your arm. “Behave, will you? Don’t run into danger, that pretty lady was only trying to help.”

It barks and you feel guns pointed straight at you.

The room falls silent, nothing is heard, and you can’t put a finger on why it is that you’re now the target and they’re ignoring Asher.

Is it the puppy? Is the puppy’s life far more valuable than Asher’s?

“Y/N!” You hear Asher’s call and keeping a firm grip on the puppy, rush to dodge the bullets that fly your way with Asher’s help in shooting down a few of them.

Your body twists and turns, flipping and jumping, doing all it can so that the bullets can only breeze past your skin and not pierce through it, all the while you use your hairpin to stab nearby opponents down with a dog in your hand.

The last of them die against the piercing of your hairpin against their neck, and while you feel eyes on you from the people who were hidden away to hide from the fight, you retrieve the two silver accessories from the enemy’s bodies, wiping their blood on the cloth of your dress, before fixing them back easily into your hair.

The dog licks your face unexpectedly, jerking you from it, and you fall completely silent and stunned at what it had just done.

“Boy, what are you doing to me? You can’t just lick someone like that, even if that is in your nature,” you say, face contoured with disgust as you bring him into your hands and extend your arms out so that he’s unable to continue licking you.

He barks with complaint, and there’s a small snicker that you hear from across the room.

When you turn to look, you’re greeted unexpectedly by the very man you came to meet tonight, standing beside Asher with a few guards next to him.

The little dog twists out of your hand and jumps back onto the floor, rushing over to Alexander who easily picks him up.

Ah. So it was his dog. Now it makes sense why the enemies were after me. The dog’s special to him.

“Are you not used to that?” The old man asks when you pat your hand down onto your dress. His English has a bit of an accent, not too distinct, but he’s not as fluent as Asher is.

“Suddenly getting licked in the face? No sir, I have not.”

“He likes you.” The men beside him move to take the enemies away at Alexander’s head signal, and you watch the way the old man pets the little puppy on the head. “Kiwi doesn’t like just anyone.” Kiwi. “They say dogs are better at judging people than humans.”

What are you supposed to say to that? “...Do they now?”

“Come.”

He turns, with the dog in hand, and you blink.

“Huh?”

But he ignores you to give an order to the lady you reduced under the pillar. “Have a room ready for the lady and send people to tend to her.”

“Pardon me sir, but I can take care of myself. I have a place nearby—”

“My place is closer,” he says, and with that, he’s walking off without letting you have another word in, leaving you to simply stand there with a dumbfounded expression.

When you look at Asher who’s still here, he sends you a shrug, along with a small, amused smile curling along his lips. He looks impressed and he probably is, because you’ve just gotten your chance at speaking to Alexander Larsen without approaching him first.

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hephaestiions · 2 months

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author reclist: wolfpants

over the last few months, i've been devouring @wolfpants' works. ever since reading pages of you in two days, their rendering of harry, draco and a vast array of incredibly compelling side characters have irrevocably hooked me.

wolf is an author in enthralling motion. their fics often feature places, temporalities and contexts far removed from where canon holds & leaves us, while simultaneously being tenderly familiar, like coming home. wolf's sense of & grasp over setting leaves me breathless and dumbstruck. their different spatialities inform & infuse character in admirable ways, at various levels of craft, enjoyment and inspiration. this fandom knows and loves the draco and harry they give us, but we delight in discovering new dimensions & aspects of these characters. it's always done brilliantly believably, especially in the framework of the worlds they construct— a breath of fresh air in a forest where the trees still know your name.

wolf's works also demonstrate, sometimes explicitly, sometimes implicitly, a really significant political sensibility. most of their fics are set against backdrops tight with political tension bleeding into the characters' circumstances and interpersonal dynamics. whether through a spectrality haunting the narrative or the crucial central diegetic thread, wolf's works are layered, interrogating and collapsing delineations among private, public and political, between history and contemporaneity and between narrative and commentary.

in the interests of length & theme of this list, i've specifically selected some fics that, for me, showcase wolf's mastery & playfulness with setting, understood as deviations in place, time and universe. the broader recommendation is, of course, to check out everything wolf has ever written!

nightcall (E, 1k) ft. a long distance phone call

On a top secret Unspeakable misson, Harry calls Draco from a remote phone booth on the Isle of Skye.

a stunning portrait of desire, longing and familiarity that uses distance as a device to intensify every element. it's unbelievable how much character & context 1k words of (mostly) smut can pack in. the slivers of backstory demand your investment, inform the dynamic in crucial ways and set up some delicious stakes and tension. and some absolutely fantastic dirty talk. see also: @getawayfox's gorgeous art for this fic!

long haul (E, 8.6k) ft. plane rides, mile high club, nyc

The last person Harry expects to run into on a long haul flight to New York City is Draco Malfoy.

the way wolf writes movement— between places, between people— strokes its way up your spine, warms you, walks with you. draco and harry, buoyed in the air, let preconceived notions fall away, to be replaced by startlingly rapid and exquisite intimacy. the liminal settings, specifically, allow mature, open-minded, desirous characterisation & some of the most glorious, soft, tender sex to fall into like a warm bed.

look for me in the sun (M, 8.7k) ft. americana, roadtrip/on-the-run vibes

Harry and Draco are on the run in America after a mysterious string of werewolf-like attacks in the Muggle community causes the Ministry to impose new and harsh anti-werewolf legislation.

atmospheric writing dialled up to eleven, like the smell of ozone in the air before a thunderstorm. the sense of limbo— transience, out of place and time, the complication of home— that afflicts the circumstances of draco & harry here is heart-wrenching. a taut rumination on otherness in a variety of ways, rendered through some of the most tense and subtle writing i've encountered.

under giant mountains (E, 33.7k) ft. norwegian dragon reserves & rampant escapist tendencies

Harry doesn't know where he's going. Everyone else has their life paths figured out; he doesn't even know where his map is. Who'd have thought Draco Malfoy bathing in a Norwegian forest would be the guidepost Harry needed?

opens with harry, stuck in the same place for far too long, and draco, avoiding fixity like the plague. this fic looks at both stagnation and escapism as iterations of each other & treats them with the gentlest empathy. the norwegian dragon reserve setting, whose visuality wolf's writing captures beautifully, becomes the canvas to explore both. desire, here, was simultaneously so evident from the outset and took its time to build— longing tinged every interaction & payoff, in the form of a sequence of some of the most emotionally fraught sex scenes i've ever read, was that much sweeter.

romp and circumstance (E, 35k) ft. a historical au set in the 1800s, regency era england

Since the war, Harry Potter has gone from Saviour to Scoundrel—not that he’s complaining. With a schedule full of gorgeous men, alcohol, and late nights, why would he want to change? Enter Draco Malfoy: beautiful, sharp, and completely untouchable. When Draco comes to Harry with a proposition to help him attract an engagement, Harry’s up for it—after all, how hard can it be not falling for his former nemesis? Very hard, apparently.

the very first wolf fic i read, in a brief little fandom interlude back in 2022. i remember thinking, then, what an author, i'm really missing out these days. one of my favourite post-war harry characterisations— raucous, promiscuous, messy and at heart, a hopeless romantic. also one of my favourite draco characterisations— pristine, a little uptight, cool and distant and untouchable, except what he really wants is to be unbuttoned, messed up. the transforming sentiments of their relationship were so compelling, the build of harry's feelings was perfectly achey and tender and this draco was a complex, nuanced, frightfully sexy version that i just couldn't turn away from.

pages of you (E, 101k) ft. a 1980s non-magical au

Summer, 1980. Harry is floating between university and becoming a Real Certified Adult. He's not ready. He really isn't. In a desperate attempt to have the Best Last Summer ever, he takes a casual job at his godfather's bookshop in London, starts an illicit pen pal affair with a wordy posh boy that he's catching feelings for, all while dealing with the son of Sirius's business rival, one Draco Malfoy, insufferable know-it-all extraordinaire.

gosh, what a fic. sensitive and sprawling, this work brings the spatialities of london, sirius and remus' queer comfort of a bookshop and harry's room at the residence halls to pulsing, colourful, splendid life. i can still close my eyes and imagine the spaces this fic occurs in, how important they are to the push and pull, ups and downs of the dynamic between harry and draco. a coming-of-age/sexual awakening & exploration story, summer romance and queer political fiction rolled into one, this is a fic that's hard to summarise and easy to obsess over. perfect characterisations, writing that burrows into your soul and a plot that unfolds with the slow and steady depth of gentle lake.

and lastly, a fic that's on my tbr:

terrible people (E, 52.7k) ft. cruises, beach holidays and more of @getawayfox's masterpieces

What happens when Harry and Draco end up on the same Muggle gay cruise? They certainly didn't plan for it to happen (but their friends might have). They're stuck with each other for a week, they might as well make the most of it, right?

in conclusion: vivid, descriptive, immersive storytelling from an author who understands the intricacies of different narrative elements and leverages them masterfully. can't wait to read the works i haven't, and for everything wolf writes in the future!

#wolfpants #drarry rec list #geets recs #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #drarry recs #draco malfoy #harry james potter #hpdm fanfic #hpdm #draco x harry

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cabinseventheaterchick · 3 months

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I now run a Riordanverse roleplay Tumblr Community! Everyone is welcome!

Kat if she had a Wikipedia page (her lore summarized)

Portrait done by the incredibly talented @apollos-coolest-child

Oh, hi! Didn’t see you see there. I’m Kat Carter!

Okay, lemme think… I’m fifteen, daughter of Apollo currently at Camp Half-Blood with my homies <3

When I’m not at camp, NYC is my home base. You can probably find me in Apollo cabin: practicing monologues/songs, scrolling Tumblr for fellow demigods, trying not to pine over Ellis Wakefield, running from his insane brother (Sherman Yang), or making mug brownies.

he gets his own category:

@ellis--wakefield — my boyfriend <333

he’s really cute and he’s great at capture the flag and he’s nice to the newbies and damn he’s just idk how to even describe him ‘cause words cannot

Former… um… let’s just say people I used to know:

@lukemessedup — Good boss, bad business

@lieutenant-of-kronos — I regret letting him convince me to join up but he’s a nice guy.

@alabaster-c-t — Yep. You read that right. Bro is apparently not dead, nor has ever been.

@the-song-of-the-moon — We’re starting an ex-Titan Army therapy group together :3

Uncle Kronos (links to the Wayback Machine of the first version) — Literally cannot believe I wrote this. Uncle Kronos was a good person. I think I’ll always miss him, but I’m glad he found peace. Here’s to you, Uncle K.

@existence-is-pain-ahhhhhhhh — need I say more? He’s awesome. Case closed.

@the-better-castellan — new addition to the List Of People Who Aren’t Dead After All! They’re cool trust me

@peyton-is-cool — I missed him loads. Thank the gods he’s safe—he’s been in Texas? I guess?

Totally irresponsible pseudo-father to half of CHB (he does actually care about campers but he’s got a reputation to uphold):

@dionysus-god-of-all-things-wine

My fellow campers, love y’all:

@thanatoss-favorite-demigod — best murder road trip buddy a gal could ask for

@thehadescabincounsler — I’ve adopted them into Apollo cabin. They’re now officially an honorary child of the Sun Dude.

@thatonebitheaterkid — my sibling. too many pets (affectionate)

@that-dam-daughter-of-poseidon — my absolute bestie <3

@poseidons-favourite-daughter — training together ⚔️! She’s so sweet and a year rounder so I won’t be alone come fall

@yes-im-a-daughter-of-hades — she just got back from Tartarus, so you know what that means!… binge watching everything pop culture. Phineas and Ferb say what?

@lady-ariadne-of-milan — my coolest big sister. Be nice, she’s been trapped as a flower since, like, the Renaissance.

@bill-son-of-boreas — Ayyy! My Norwegian bestie!

@internal-bloodshed — I’m like ninety percent sure he wants me dead. If I step a toe out of line and hurt Ellis, my body will apparently never be found.

@the-better-stoll-brother — If anyone messes with him one more time I’m throwing hands.

Shoot me an ask, camp can get kinda boring!

(Psst. My general tag is #kat carter on the case, and my lore tag is #from the archives of kat carter)

(Extra psst. Do you want more Kat Carter content without actually having to roleplay? Send me an ask by picking something from my tag #ask game!)

#percy jackson #percy jackson oc #pjo oc #rp blog #roleplay blog #alabaster c torrington #ellis wakefield #cabin 7 #kat carter on the case #from the desk of kat carter #ask game

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svu-ncis-criminalminds · 7 months

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Learning To Trust Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Words: 1386

Series Summary: Things with your boss were becoming complicated, but they became even more complicated when an Unsub sought you out and began targeting you. Can a relationship that hasn't even officially begun survive this?

“I…” You started, “I have good news.” You whispered, not looking away from the man’s face. The room remained quiet around you, “I know our list of victims.”

“But?” Emily pressed, seeing the panic and fear in your eyes. You looked away from the man and to her, swallowing thickly.

“It’s the same list of suspects.”

The room was silent, at least, you thought it had to have been, because the only thing you could really hear was the pounding of your own heart and the blood rushing through your veins. There was a squeeze once more on your shoulder - Aaron - and you became more aware of your current surroundings. Of your team, of the uniformed officers looking on. You stepped away from Hotch and he allowed you the dignity of releasing you.

“What do you mean,” Rossi stepped forward, into your line of sight, looking at you seriously. Rossi and you butted heads the most out of anyone else on the team. He was hard on you - there was no doubt of that. You also disagreed, frequently, on a lot of things. What evidence is relevant, profiles, reasons behind actions, the moral behind actions. But mostly books - he had some pretentious haughtiness when it came to authorhood. However, despite that, and often because of that, he was the best person to bounce ideas off of.

But this situation didn’t require the bouncing of ideas. You knew what this was now - and you felt foolish for missing it.

“I mean,” You started, trying to ignore the burning gazes of the rest of the room. You glanced to your left, spotting a rookie with a camera, who had paused and was now eavesdropping on the group. Rossi followed your eyes, catching on.

“Are you done with the camera?” He asked, striding over to the man, who couldn’t have been 25.

“I-Yes, I mean-” Rossi took the camera from him and was met with no resistance as he guided the younger man from the room. He threw the other local officers a quick look and they afforded them their privacy. Once your team was left alone in the room, the corpse of an old friend, from a lifetime ago, laying feet away, Rossi turned back to you.

“When,” You started before trying again, “I mean I-” How do you explain this in words? So many years, so much. Watered down into bits of information that your team can chop up even smaller - tearing their teeth into each morale you give them. They waited. “When I was 16 I got a scholarship for a university.” You finally decided, the best place to start was the beginning.

“To the MF Norwegian School of Theology, Religion and Society.” Your companions remained quiet, allowing you to struggle your way through the tale. You were grateful for the lack of interruptions, you weren’t sure you would have gotten it out with them. “After 9/11 happened the Norwegian Intelligence Service started to come into the universities for recruitment. I wasn’t a citizen but-” You trailed off again, “I am good at what I do.” No one could deny that of you. You understood people, on a deeper level. More so sometimes then your coworkers could - as in the end most of the time they could only ever really view it within the lens they had crafted. However, you, even with some of the most putrid of suspects, allowed yourself to bask in humanity. You must have been silent for longer than you meant to, your eyes floated back towards the body only for your view to be obstructed by Hotch, moving between you.

“I worked on a top secret team for my first few years out of school.” You finally said. Your colleagues knew you had worked aboard before coming back to the US and eventually to your unit. But not in detail. Come to think of it, most of them probably wouldn’t have even been able to tell you the country you worked from.

“Mostly internationally. Intelligence gathering. Sometimes domestic, depending on where the targets moved. The United States isn’t the only country that turned to fear mongering during that time.” Your voice was shaking slightly as you continued, feeling entirely too exposed. You pointed to the man behind Aaron. “Paul Clausen” Finally, the name left your lips and it burned like bile on the way out. “We went to school together… he joined the NIS with me.” Your eyes were glassy and your gaze far from the room surrounding you. “Paul. Ana. Jakob. Hugo. Lizbeth. Annete. Henry. Gal. Elise. Iver. Christopher. And Ronny.” Ronny’s face passed before your eyes momentarily and you shuddered before adding, “And me.”

“Thirteen people.” Reid supplied.

“Thirteen roses.” Emily added on.

“Thirteen suspects.” Rossi signed.

“Twelve.” Hotch looked at him pointedly, eyes briefly glancing towards you. You appreciated the backup but you knew what he meant.

“Eleven,” Morgan corrected once more, motioning to Paul’s corpse. It was harsh but true. Though, it would have never been Paul.

“Ten.” You corrected quietly, drawing back in the attention of the room. “Ronny, he passed long ago.”

“What makes you think the victim pool must also be the suspect pool?” Reid asked. That was harder to sum up in a few sentences.

“They are the only people who would know killing Paul would mean anything to me,” You simply supplied, and Reid nodded, stapling his fingers beneath his chin as he fell back into deep thought. You avoided Hotch’s gaze but you could feel the weight of his eyes on you regardless. Once again silence filled the room, each person on their own journey of thought, but most winding up at the same place.

“So we make a list of their names and track them down.” Reid offered, you laughed, it was a jarring sound in contrast to the silent stretch before.

“Goodluck.” Bitterness dripped from the comment, though you didn’t mean for it to. “Some of those are aliases. We didn’t always share our real names. And even when we did? They could have stopped using those years ago.” It was the unfortunate truth.

“Why don’t we get back to the office.” Hotchner finally decided, speaking for the first time. His voice was tighter than usual, but only so. You finally took a small breath and allowed yourself to look at the man who was still blocking you from the horror beyond. He offered a half smile, the corner of his lips barely turning, and you tried your best to return it.

You entered the conference room and walked immediately to one of the sparse boards, picking up an eraser. You cleared the board before grabbing a pen and writing out a list of eleven names, leaving space to add more information to the 11 names. You were determined now more so than ever, to figure out who was doing this, who thought it was okay to drag your past up and out into the open like this.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked, catching the attention of Emily and Hotch who were waiting for you to finish, questions burning on their tongues.

“Hm?”

“Why is your name up there?” He asked, and that got the attention of Rossi and Morgan. JJ and Garcia came into the room, completing your little family. You wanted to scream. But the facts were the facts, and it was too late to put pandora back into her box. It was time to address the elephant in the room.

“Because. This is a group of highly intelligent, highly skilled, and frankly, highly dangerous people.” You addressed the room as a whole, putting the cap back on your pen with a ‘pop’. “And they’re also people I have not seen in close to a decade. We’re going to have to profile each and every one of them then,” You gestured around you,” And now,” you let your arms drop down to your sides, feeling naked you immediately crossed them in front of you offering your audience a rueful smile, “And unfortunately, I’m not naive. I know this is about me, for whatever reason, so. We will profile me too. At least me then.” Rossi was the first to acknowledge the statement, nodding and walking past Hotch to stand beside you.

“So who do we begin with?”

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #cm reader #cm x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner #hotchner x reader #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you

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widowsofchaos · 4 months

Note

could you please do prompt 168 with carol x fem reader? if you’re comfortable writing that of course:)

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐭

synopsis: Trying to find peace at your job’s gala, but a familiar haunting shadow finds you once more.

pairing: dark!Carol Danvers x brown!fem!reader

ao3 // modern au // 5k words.

warnings: dubious wlw smut (forced stimulation, vaginal fingering), stockholm syndrome, toxic established relationship, domestic violence, mention of childhood abuse.

a/n: Carol’s outfit reference. title is a reference to the song, Mary by Alex G. requested 168. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” from this dialogue prompt list. dog metaphors, because I must write pain. Channeled my inner amy dunne for Carol. I’m sorry that I’m just finishing this 2 years later, but I hope whoever requested this, I hope you see this! <3

“She became the parent, the lover, the friend you’ve always craved for—- and yet, here you are,”

The truth can sting, just the sharp tip of a knife, flickering at the raw flesh. Poking and prodding till there’s small plots of ichor forming.

“——broken…” Her index finger arched, halting her words, still a vivid memory, “…. but not beyond repair.”

A scoff escapes.

“What is love without hate, I guess.” Unconsciously it spewed from your lips, the vowels felt like acidic vomit. A pregnant silence arose.

That all knowing head tilt, with those observant eyes—- always earned uncomfortable tension within you.

“Love isn’t meant to be confused with hate.”

The cigarette burns slow between your clenched fingers, nursing three fingers deep. Brown liquor swishes against the carved rocks glass, its clear silver grooves twinkles under the gala’s vermilion hues.

Fragments of words compulsively knock against the walls of your brain; as you mull at the gala’s open bar. A scorned woman who just wants peace, and quiet. Lingering stains of hurt that can last a lifetime settles to silence for once in a long time.

Showered an ugly duckling with affections, and built the pillars of security. Growing up in a childhood filled with anxiety and fear of attachments, lingering stains of abuse from the very beings who birthed you into this world.

She cleaned you, bandaged the scars, and assured you that she was the only one who adored you—- persisted that she was the only one who would.

Now, fighting violently in the legal battlefield of divorce, these past weeks have been mentally exhausting —- all whilst handling the burdening responsibilities of your profession.

Your very mind and hands helped craft this sophisticated gallery.

Your boss, Mr. Laufeyson, opened a new exhibit in the National art museum—- Norse history, one of his niche fixations. A man birthed on Norwegian soil, but raised in the monarchal land of England.

An established man who often seeks to explore the rich culture of his ancestors with much sophisticated adoration, and esteem. The Norse exhibit is now the largest section of the institution, with vast collections of rare artifacts protected behind hard stainless glass.

He breathed down your neck for long weeks, you had the task of restoring each piece that had been brought in, nearly breaking your damn back from all the hovering.

A gala bustling with a sea of middle-class folk, and self-proclaimed aristocrats of New York. You sought solace at the open bar, smoking a stogie—- and slipping into the whiskey.

It wasn’t a preferred choice, but it helps give a quick kick to your nerves. Seeking solitude away from pressures to gallant with faux professionalism, and an particular noisy friend, who should be presenting the Norse gods section.

Earlier, she was pestering with a thousand questions flying by the mouth —- if you ever gave thought to rekindling with Carol.

Dissociating into a mindless static, flickering at your clear square nails, as your cigarette burns slowly. At first, the mention of this exhibit with your boss months ago sent you into a frenzy of joy, but now—- it’s a dreadful experience.

All you long for is to start your weekend, to cuddle with your daug—-

“What an incredible scent you have—-”

Oh God, no.

“—- is that Histoires de Parfums, 1969?”

Fuck.

“I haven’t been around that perfume in a long time.”

It’s as if she can smell you a mile away.

A sensual, purring voice whispers near you. A shadowing silhouette eclipses the shimmering ceiling lights from your peripheral vision.

Your lips wrinkle, restraining the foreboding tears of frustration. Tightly nodding, swallowing a sob. Your breathing becomes heavier.

A hum, “It really smells wonderful.” With precision, the shadow sits onto the empty seat beside you.

“Thank you.” A forced smile curls at your mouth.

“With that scent, I’m surprised you’re not being hounded by the men here tonight.” A subtle wordplay, are you looking for anyone tonight?

As if your mind has forgotten all the bad, and reminisces on the good, all the fun, all the beauty that once blossomed.

“It’s not men I'm looking for.” You whisper, snuffing the cigarette into a provided ash-tray. A creamy hand strokes your knuckles, and your skin shivers under your blouse.

A jolt to your groin, and your breath hitches. All she can do is just touch you, and it’s as if you can get on your knees, and forgive her for everything.

“Why?”

You can see that pearly grin, from the corner of your eye, teasing and twisting.

“They’re too easy to hunt?”

You exhale a chuckle, eyes still trained onto the glistening counter.

“They bore me.”

“So—” Her voice lulls as a moan, “—- see anyone worthwhile?” Her fingers curl around your glass, twirling it by the rim. Your lipstick stain faces her direction, and bold as always, she lifts for a sip. Connecting the lip stain to hers, her eyes never leave yours.

It’s not tacky, nor forceful. How she moves is as if it is her nature.

Your eyes gaze over your shoulder, taking a full look. Finally, to drink in the force of nature that is your estranged wife—- Carol.

Her blonde tresses cascade on her shoulders, milky breasts on display. A pristine, black dress, that cuts and splits at the chest hem, polished nails, and clean skin. Her dress halts near her knees.

“Well, I have my eye on a blonde tonight.” You say timidly. Tenderly, your eyes glance fleetingly, a quick trace over Carol’s bodice, nearly losing your composure.

A pregnant pause.

That pretty pink mouth stretches smugly, as if the cat that got the cream. The hooks caught the flesh.

“You like blondes.”

Her tone lingers as an open question, guising the truth.

“Just one in particular.”

Sinking now, the hooks are tugging.

“Really?” Carol leans, her eyes hooded. “Which one?” Pretending to scan her eyes across the ocean of people.

But your eyes remain fixated on her. As if you were a lost puppy, just gazing at its human. Lucidly, influcating between the spaces of yearning, and guilt.

How at ease Carol is, as if nothing was wrong. The charming woman, the woman you thought she was. The woman she wanted you to think she was.

“The one in the black dress.” You say softly, and defeated brown eyes.

Carol’s eyes gaze back at you from the corner of her oculus, downcasting with a mirth, humming a chuckle. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” She shakes her head, an enticing warning.

A dangerous but delicious fruit hanging at your reach. She wants you to take the bait, urging you to—- to get you back in her grasp, and if she does, she won’t let you go.

This game, a cat and mouse play, is all too familiar. Playing as strangers, attracted together by lust, and curiosities—- the type of curiosity to feel the other’s flesh, subtle carnality. Act out, with playful words, pretend to be different people.

It slowly suffocates you, a twang in your chest, a reminder that this isn’t normal.

She isn’t normal.

Carol can be an array of personalities, she can be the doting wife, the whore in bed, the mother—- she can be the bitch with a violent mouth. Different faces for different folk, no one knows her true self, and she’s good at it —- real good.

So, when you tried to seek help from friends, they couldn’t believe it, nor did they want to. You’re not surprised that Carol snuck into the gala—- your co-worker, Maria, who you thought was a true friend —- the matchmaker from hell, let her in, unknowingly allowing the terror onto you.

But, that’s no surprise. Maria has been Carol’s right hand since their days in the Air Force.

None of your friends believe you—- and, it’s hurtful to admit, you’re too scared to speak about all the hurt Carol made you endure over the years.

Barely spoke of the discomfort Carol used against you, and all your shared friends thought you misinterpreted. All saying that Carol is just head-strong, and that you two are perfect together.

Carol feeds the fire with a ‘She’s just going through a tough time.’

Boundaries aren’t respected, everyone trying to push you back together, inviting Carol in social events —- to the point where you didn’t go out anymore, and just drowned in work.

“I like challenges.” Carol softly leans in, her breath fans the bare skin of your shoulder, “All the more fun when I win.” Her voice drops low, to a wispy whisper.

Her body heat engulfs you, and your eyes droop with haziness for a slick second. You can’t—- not again. No matter how intoxicating she can be, how delicious, it’s not worth your peace.

You’re too drunk for this.

“This cat is too tired to entertain.”

“Who said you were the cat?” Carol’s brow arches, halting you in your step. Carol’s infliction hardens, from the corner of your oculus, you can see the clench of her jawline. That pretty mouth morphed into a restrained frown, the same one you see before a punishment.

An offense has been made.

“I didn’t realize the roles were switched.”

The mask slips.

It’s always her way, her rules. Because no matter how clever, how coy the mouse can be, the cat always wins.

“You’re getting brave on me?” Carol asks.

And now the mask has been dropped.

“I think it’s best I leave.” You quickly collect yourself, a bit wobbly from the alcohol. Leaning against the counter to regain your composure, trying to stand upright.

Not this time. You won’t fall for her charm.

Carol sucks her teeth, “You’re seriously going to leave? Aren’t you tired of this childish bullshit?” Crossing her arms against her chest, lips wrinkling into a scowl. Carol talks as if scolding a child.

Your body twists in a haste, “My bullshit?” Your teeth are gritting harshly, hissing. Angry eyes pierce over the hill of your shoulder, fingernails digging into the leather of your purse; if not the leather, her eyes preferrable.

But this is a place of work, no matter how elegant the night is, you will scream if you have to—- just to escape her. You click your tongue, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I mean I’m usually amused by your brattiness,” Carol laughs sarcastically. “But, now it’s gotten too far.” Her fingertips graze your arm, toying with you, soft and playful—— her fingers grasp your arm in a clutch, earning a whine.

Her eyes are hooded, nearly tugging you downwards. A whine bubbles at the pit of your throat, too terrified to even move.

“You have to come back home.” Carol says, a strain to be sweet, but it’s as if a monster tries to be human. “I miss you.” She purrs, but her eyes … are cold, and agitated.

You remain silent, closing your eyes shut, gliding down in your seat. “Carol… have you signed the divorce papers, yet?” Your eyes stay glued to the sticky counter.

Carol chuckles, “You’re going to try to talk business to me, and you can’t even look me in the eye?” Her baby pink polished nails thump against the bar, thump thump thump.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“And neither do I.” She sips her drink, smirking into the cup, “But it seems my wife likes to play games.” So light, so sarcastic, chastising you as if this was a running joke on your end.

“Carol, for fucks sake.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “You made me go crazy.” You bite on those words, full teeth. Fingers curling into makeshift claws, vowels spilling as acidic vomit.

“Controlled me, like I was your puppet.” Your fingers curl and slither in gesture. “Manipulated me against the world, against our friends.” Your mouth opened again, the words weighing heavy against your mouth, but a hum interrupted.

“Look up at me when you talk.” Carol says, your eyes peer up through your lashes, owlishly. “If you’re going to lie, you might as well make it convincing.” She licks her lips, tasting the remnants of her liquor.

“I —- I—” you can’t find the words to even respond. You stare at her incredulously, she will never admit to it. Even now, she has you questioning your own sanity, if it was even worth fighting against her.

It’s not worth screaming about it. Not anymore.

“I have to go.” Swiftly, you stand up, with a bated breath.

“That’s how you talk to the mother of your child?”

Stiffening, as the hairs that align a cat’s spine, “Don’t you dare!” Your index finger pointing, shouting in a hush. “Stop using Kamala against me—” your voice wavers, throat nearly choking a sob, “You did enough of that in court.” Big brown eyes sheening wet, the last nerve shot.

Trying to maintain a level of calm, eyes fluttering back and forth around, seeing if anyone has witnessed your outburst.

“I don’t even have to do that,” Carol’s open palm gestures to your rigid stance, “she can see perfectly fine how erratic you’ve been.” Carol hisses, making your nose scrunch up.

Kamala adores — idolizes— Carol. So memorized by her strong, willful mother, since she was a waddling baby.

You haven’t dared utter a bad word about Carol in-front of Kamala, fearing to shatter the fragile bubble you curated as a shield for her. You wouldn’t let her witness the court meetings, especially the negotiations of joint custody.

By every fiber of your being, you’ve tried to make this separation as discreet as possible—- but Carol has been a devil, bulldozing those efforts. To make you appear as the bad parent.

You can’t stand her lawyer, Carol hired one who hails from Hell’s Kitchen—- fitting since he’s a thorn upon your rib. Subtlety bringing up your mental health, questioning your abilities as a mother —- no doubt, Carol was chewing his ear off about your past.

All Kamala knows is that her mothers are splitting up, with foreign lawyers, and that she now has to split weekends—- those pained brown eyes, her puffed cheeks, it kills you deeply—- all the guilt weighs on you, it feels as if you’re to blame for all the problems.

“You’ve taken so much from me, Carol.” You lean in, kneeling at her eye level. “My dignity, my peace— shit— even my sanity.” Your body anxiously fidgeting, breath quickening.

“But I will not, let you take my child away from me.” Your fingers dive into your purse, fumbling with irate, snagging the last cash you had—- with the finality of this conversation, slamming the money onto the marble countertop.

You carried Kamala, incubated inside you for nine months, fed her from your breast—- you will not lose her, not over your cold dead body.

“Goodnight, Carol.”

Sharply, you turn on your heel, leaving Carol without turning back. Walking with a gait, faking confidence, but truly at your core, a gnawing sense of uneasiness.

The corridor stretches as a miniature maze, the more you descend out of the gala, the less crowded it is. Turning left and right, trying to find the exit.

The ambiance is of grainy gray, the tinted blurred windows are foggy with the night’s shadows.

The echoes of clicking heels are faint, your mind doesn’t register, as your own feet and mind are stuck on auto-pilot.

“There she goes again,” an agitated voice snags your attention, brows furrowing, “always acting like the little victim.”

Not granted the chance to realize, in a flash, just as quick as you turned your head, rough hands grab you by the curve of your shoulders, throttling you against the chilled wall pavement.

Earning a hiss, and a gasp, stinging pain births and stretches along the muscles of your spine. Quickly, your fingers fruitlessly try to claw at Carol’s, but all it does is make her more enraged.

Carol thrashes you once more against the wall, and another for good measure; airy gasps of pain escapes you, tears beading at your lashes. That militant discipline seeps from her pores, it’s not a stranger to you, the rough edges of her touch is a familiar bruise.

“It may have worked with the rest of the world,” Carol barks in your face, nose to nose, “but it’s not going to work with me.”

Sniffling, your chin wobbles, trying to restrain a sob that burns your throat raw.

Carol hums, that tut of a sympathetic mother, “Look at us.” Her thumbs rubbing your shoulders, pressing on the blooming bruises. “I don’t like it when we fight.

Eerily, she influcates from predator to savior, “You always get erratic, and you know it upsets me.” Leaning in, her pink lips press a kiss on a falling tear.

“Where’s my special girl?” Carol whispers. Fear is beating inside of you, buzzing as tv static. Staring at Carol through your hooded lids, terrified, and confused.

Carol purrs, awaiting for an answer.

“I’m here.” Barely a murmur, you speak softly.

Carol thrives off of her aggression. But it’s not the traditional masculinity that some women possess in their personalities. She feels it’s the only gift her father ever gave her.

“It’s very cute that you try to fight me.” Carol mocks, her knuckles stroke your cheek. Carol hums, her eyes tracing over every facial feature.

“Let me see if she missed me.”

A string of no no no slip from you meekly.

One of Carol’s hands graze over your shoulder, twirling her fingers into your hair—- gripping between her fingers tightly. To then cup the nape of your neck, her thumb pressing slightly over your pulse point.

As she has you pinned by the scruff, her other hand flows down your cavlices, to your clothed breast—- she snags the collar to expose skin.

Groping a handful of your tit, she mutters still so soft, traveling down the path of your navel—- with a quick precision, Carol snatches your groin; more like clawing.

A sharp gasp escapes you, and all she does is laugh.

A quick glance at the end of the hallway, praying that nobody turns the corner. Carol snickers. “Afraid someone will catch us?” You exhale a huff, nose flaring.

“I remember you used to be quite adventurous.”

“That’s when I was young and stupid.”

Her eyes narrow, pinching your vagina in her hand even tighter. With her knee, she wedges her thigh between your shaky legs, spreading you more open.

Slithering her hand through the stitched fabric, her knuckles stroking your sensitive skin. Your breathing becomes heavier, and all she does is smirk.

Moving your panties to the side, Carol’s makes herself home to your body. Ashamed to feel yourself grow wet, and Carol moans.

“It seems she missed me.”

All unbridled frustration hits the hilt, you cry in a stretched whine, thrashing in her hold. In need to escape, you wanted to go home, away from her.

All these weeks of trying to flee from her, do the right thing to gain custody, to live a good life, give your daughter stability —- all of it goes down the drain by her simple touch.

Beating on her arms with fists, slapping and trying to knee her in a weak spot. Carol’s eyes darken—- as if she’s bored of the insolence.

Carol pushes her weight onto you, pinning to the wall. And her fingers don’t cease on her assault.

“I hate you.” You choke on a wail, your head tilting up as a child.

“I’ve saved you.” An expert circular motion of her fingertips, sending a jolt to your bundle of nerves.

“Who else can say that?” Carol leans in, her head tilting, as her lips meet your cheek.

Softly, she kisses you, caressing and grazing against the skin of your cheek.

“I took care of you, and you just want to leave?” Carol’s pink tongue slithers between her lips, licking and nibbling. Boldly, her fingers dove between your folds, playing with your wetness.

“You wanted a savior, baby, I’m it.” The bridge of Carol’s nose traces yours, humming at the wet sensation of your tears. “You were nothing before me—-” another finger plunging inside you, “—- and you will be nothing after me.”

“I — I — would rather be alone.” You say with a stammer, lips wet with tears. Mouth curling into a brave scowl, regaining some bravery, “I’ll be fine.”

Carol’s face leans a little back, tilting her head mockingly. “When I say nothing after me, I mean it—-” Carol’s teeth bare as fangs, “you’ll be buried six feet deep, before I let you go.” Her fingers grip the nape of your neck, tugging you in.

“No one can ever have you.” She whispers.

Your eyes are owlish, you don’t doubt her…. her time in the boot camp was extensive, you felt her trained strength many times—- she loves like a knife. Many bruises healed over the years.

Not brutal beatings, but very handsy.

A glimmer of fear suffocates you, your body keels as a leashed dog.

Her fingers slither against your peach fuzz, slipping between your mound, toying with your wetness. Splitting your velvety folds apart, Carol vulgarly strokes you with her fingers sloppily, staining the hem of your panties.

Carol grinds herself onto your thigh, you can feel a wet spot pooling at her silk panties. Your fingers are digging into her forearms. A rough dance of humping and grinding, both reaching for a high.

Your wet walls can’t help but suck her inside, clenching tight. Fiercely plunging in and out—— it’s been some time. Since the last time, you were touched. It’s bordering on painful, a bit tight.

You did entertain another for a while. A woman you met at a bar. Short dark chestnut hair, a soft posh english accent, a bold yet cheeky mouth. She said her name was G’iah, you never met anyone with such a name.

Despite the attraction, the idea of offering yourself physically was too overwhelming. But, the emotional energy was wonderful. It was a breath of fresh air.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to love another.

Skin screaming for touch, yet your heart is trying to fight back. The flesh only reminisces the good, but all the hurtful memories are chained to your mind.

Carol’s mouth ajar, hovering over the meat of your cheek. Your face scrunches, eyes tight, a whine boils at your throat. She breathes a chuckle. She always finds amusement in your misery.

Carol loves to play God—- the Old Testament God. In the carnal sense, and in spite. Worship her, and only need her, obey every command, but commit a sin—- and she shall see to it, that her pettiness will rule over your life.

Her fingers spread, your slick connects to her fingertips, flickering the gossamer thin threads between her expert fingers, diving into you.

Her teeth grazes your cheek, her warm breath cascading against your mouth. Torn between closing your thighs to stop her, or thrust your hips into her hand.

Carol’s tongue slips out, and kitten licks your parted lips. Her pink tongue licks your canines, inhaling your breath. Sweet scent of liquor coats your tongue, Carol suckles into her mouth, moaning at the taste.

A lewd pop comes from Carol pulling back on your tongue, as her fingers curl harsher. Bordering on pain, the pleasure is electric. Pulsing through you, as her thumb toys with your swollen clit.

Her moans are animalistic, you can feel her pussy splitting, a sensation of silk and waxed bare skin. Her clit is grinding fully onto your thigh. It feels so damn good.

A part of you wants her to cum on you. To use you.

Carol’s face tilts away from yours. Her brown eyes swirl with malice, narrowing for a split moment. A smile stretches.

“Kamala would be so hurt to lose her mommy—” Carol’s words earn a mean eye from you, but all she does is laugh humorlessly. “How could you abandon our child?”

Like a stab to your heart, Carol just twists the edge deeper. Her fingers still deep inside you, clenching in need for her to finish— to get you right at the precipice.

“I would never leave Kamala,” you speak with a strain, a rough slice at your throat. “I love her.” Bordering on pleading, your eyes water-sunk.

“Then why do you make her cry?”

“What?”

“Every night she asks why her mom isn’t home,” Carol leans more of her weight on your belly. Her fingers fucking you harshly, hitting that sweet spot so perfectly. Your juices are now soaking down her hand.

“She cries till she falls asleep. She thinks you hate her.”

Torn between rutting your hips into her palm, grinding and fucking her fingers as if it was one of Carol’s toys —- and the need for space, to free yourself from these clutches.

Salty tears fall to your wrinkling lips, shaking from silent tears.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Carol says, her voice smooth and affectionate. Her lips pouted, “We can be together again.” Her shiny blonde hair kisses her lashes, in the grainy city lights, she looks innocent.

“Don’t you want to be a family again?”

She pushes her fingers further, slowly playing with your clit— and then stops, edging you. She can feel your spongy walls nearly spasming. Carol knows how to play the strings of your flesh.

Damn her.

“I do.” Your voice gurgles in a sob.

You know she’s tricking you… and you enjoy it.

In some deep seeded—- an absolutely fucked —- part of you, relishes in it. Because it’s all you know. But, it’s that glimmer of tenderness, the kisses, and honeyed words that pulls you back in.

Back to mutilate yourself on her knife over and over again. And isn't that what love is? Carol would say, time and time again, after the dust settles from her fits of rage.

Wet squelching floods your ears, echoing throughout the empty hallway. Your hand trails to her waist, gripping her dress, roughly grazing the smooth skin of her waist.

Legs entangled, and Carol’s thrusts are getting faster, sloppy. Her moans are getting high-pitched, away from primal and more girlish.

You cling to her, in this moment, you just need to feel anything. And you know she needed it too.

A burst of euphoria, hanging onto each other, as if both would fall apart. Carol felt it, how you spasmed on her fingers. Clenching so tight, trapping her hand for a moment.

Bated breaths dance against each other, hair flying by the breeze of huffing. Yours are gasps of relief.

In a desperate plea, you reach for a kiss, but Carol pulls away.

“I hope you learned something …” Carol hisses, her fingers stroking between your slippery folds, agitating your over-stimulated clit. The meat of your thigh quivers, tailbone pinching as you try to mesh into the wall, far from her.

Carol takes her fingers out, leaving behind an empty feeling—- like a void. Without blinking, Carol unabashedly suckles on her two fingers, tasting you.

“I hope you make the right decision.” Carol whispers against her tips. Pulling her warm weight off of your bodice, a chill sweeps against the tepid sense of your belly.

Carol hums for a moment with a stony face. She tugs on the collar of your dress, the top of your bosom exposed —- it was a stiff gesture.

Without a word, Carol posed her spine, and walked away, a snide side-eye.

Leaving you behind with an ache between your thighs, love bites across your chest, and fresh bruises. Left behind in the chilled hallway, and in wrinkled attire —- as if you were a used whore.

Your head falls, crying into your chest. Your fingers pulling your dress down, your inner thighs tender. Your fingertips touch the wet spot Carol left behind near your knee.

A pause.

It’s wrong, but you crave her taste. Suckling your fingertips into the cave of your mouth.

You can still smell her fragrance lingering—- and yet, you crave it, hoping it clung to your dress.

Timid footfalls carry you through the high-end residential hallway. Bated breath, and in wrinkled clothes, you lift and loosely drop your luggage in your grip. Pacing back and forth, trying to salvage any scrap of courage to knock.

Your head is bowing down, chin to chest. A stop in-front of the door. The reasoning motivating your surrender blurs—- is it for Kamala only, or is it also that a loyal dog who always forgives?

A silent white flag has been waived.

A lonely dog always comes back.

Dull steps creep closer, syncing with the beat of your heart. One unlock, and another follows. Defeat seeps from your pores, a bone-rattling warning siren echoing in the rush of your ears.

The door knob slowly twists, as if she’s mocking you. But not a second more, the door creaks open. Green eyes blink back with mirth, and a smile.

No words are needed.

Carol hums, stroking your hair, fingers gliding down the terrain of your neck, guiding you inside by the nape of your neck.

Awaiting on the bed is a silk nightie, and skincare, curated by Carol’s choice. Pristine, wrinkled-free silk. Not one flaw in sight.

She knew you would come back. A cocky woman, and yet she’s never wrong. A stir of irate coils in your belly, but it’s snuffed before it can disrupt.

In the dark, you tip-toe down the hall. Elated and relieved, it felt like a century crept by, but it was only a week of separation.

Weekends weren’t enough. You needed to see her everyday.

Brown fingers slowly grasp at the knob, twisting open. The white walls are adorned by the flash of a night light that glows small stars glimmering against the ceiling.

A room of action figures, anime, music posters and a wall dedicated to her drawings. That familiar scent that never really went away, that baby smell that clung to her as an infant.

Kneeling into her bed, curling under the blanket. Legs curling underneath you, knees bent, as you caress Kamala’s scalp, furling her hair behind the shell of her ear. Your brown fingers melt into the onyx shine of her tresses.

Her sleepy cheeks puffed, she looks like a sleeping cherub. Silently, tears cascade against the hill of your nose, staining the pillow sheet.

For months, you’ve tried to conjure ideas on how to run away from this life with Kamala, but all your ideas end up in the possible reality of being arrested with charges of kidnapping, and never seeing your daughter again.

The truth of the matter is -— you will crawl skin bare in the deepest parts of hell just for her. Suffering silently in these marital ruins, for the sake of being able to raise your only child, is what you will do.

You don’t know what you want with Carol —- you don’t have anything else to offer as a wife, besides submitting your entire being as a sacrificial offering.

It’s all she ever wanted. Wholesome love is seen as a defect in Carol’s eyes, a trait taught to her by her father. Control over everything is what brings her peace. And being cared for is what brings you solace.

The only person in the world Carol doesn’t unleash her wrath upon, who she adores entirely, is Kamala. Never once has Carol raised her voice, nor her hand at Kamala.

It’s disturbing, to see Carol be so genuine in her affections.

But, you’re ever so grateful. Despite being a masochist, under all the rubble harboring in your cavity— is a little girl suffocating for tenderness. For anything, just for someone to hold her.

Carol is a peculiar creature, and yet she has driven you to the brink of madness over the last stretched months, because she can’t bear to lose you —-- that has to mean something, right?

But as you lay here, wallowing in the dead silence, staring at Kamala slumbering —-a thought came to you; a lingering fear. Paranoia gnawing at you, chewing away bit by bit.

You wouldn’t want Kamala to suffer like this one day.

#widowsofchaos wrote this #carol danvers x reader #dark Carol Danvers x reader #carol danvers x female reader #dub non con #dark elements #lesbian Carol Danvers

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itspronouncedtessa · 10 months

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The "English or continental" debate is problematic and ultimately detrimental to the community.

Every time I see one of these "are you one or the other" posts, polls, tweets (Xcreets?), blogs, vlogs, whatevers, I get so annoyed. Undies fully twisted.

So indulge me and let's get into this.

First things first:

This is not an attack on pickers or throwers specifically. Any knitting style is valid. If the end result is even, non-twisted stitches that you enjoyed putting together, you're doing it right.

That said, I have 3 major gripes with the concept of "English vs continental" knitting:

1. The terminology. The terms "English" and "continental" were coined during WWII, as continental is actually German and the English were (rightly, at the time) uncomfortable doing anything the German way, or admitting that that way could be more efficient.

As we're about 80 years removed from the war, it might be time to accept that neither is objectively better and that German isn't a dirty word. We can, and should, use English and German, or throwing and picking respectively.

2. It's exclusionary to new knitters. The whole picking vs throwing discussion has made it so that new knitters don't know there are other options. If you're new to knitting, you get the impression that these are the only two options and if you can't do either, you can't knit.

Not to mention that the overwhelming majority of patterns and instructional videos are written or made exclusively for English or German methods. Which means if you want or need to use a different style, you need the additional step and skill of translating the pattern to fit your method. This requires a certain level of understanding of the underlying techniques that new knitters don't have. (Which is why I prefer charts, but that's a whole different rant.)

3. It's exclusionary to experienced knitters who don't pick or throw. The term continental for specifically German knitting dismisses all the other non-German European styles.

An incomplete list:

Eastern, or Russian, where you purl clockwise instead of counterclockwise, mounting the stitch backwards and knitting through the back loop on the right side. Creates the same stitch, but can be so much smoother to execute. Also very useful if you're doing rows of YO, ssk, as it eliminates the need to reorient the stitches before knitting them together.

Norwegian, where you purl without the need to bring the yarn fully forward. This is hard to describe in words, so I highly recommend googling for a video on Norwegian purls. It's a game changer for rib or seed stitch.

Portuguese, where you tension the yarn at the front of the work, looping it over your neck or through a pin. My personal preferred main method. Super helpful for those of us who lack finger strength to comfortably tension at the back. Makes purling a breeze.

Irish or lever knitting. Done with straight needles and (mostly) one-handed. Extremely helpful for people with disabilities. Also one of the fastest methods. You should check out videos on this, the speed is magical.

Flicking (not exactly regional), which is right handed but instead of throwing, you move the right needle to grab the yarn. Also difficult to explain, so check out some videos on this, too. Its a very quick method with minimal wrist movement. If you have the finger strength for tensioning it's worth practicing this, as it's so quick.

All of these are valid techniques, most of them are from continental Europe, none of them are included in the question "English or continental?".

And all of the above doesn't even get into the non-western, non-English, non-European styles there must be around the world, that I can't find through Google, because the English speaking world only uses the above mentioned methods.

Also, knitters that use other methods than picking or throwing are wildly underrepresented in the community, giving the knitting scene a culturally very white, western European image. Knitting could be a far more inclusive hobby if we'd embrace all styles.

In short, we need to change the question to "tell me about your technique" and learn from each other. Combining multiple methods (I use 3 or 4 interchangeably, depending on the pattern) can increase efficiency and enjoyment. And if you're struggling in any way, there might be a technique out there that better suits your needs. Asking about English vs continental isn't going to provide that information.

So tell me about your technique, especially if you use or know of any knitting methods that aren't western or European, I would LOVE to hear about that. Let's share and celebrate all the ways we knit.

#knitting #English or continental #rant #Knitting techniques

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julianalvarez9 · 1 year

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acting on it / martin ødegaard

author's note: been avoiding writing smut for this man for ages. i started this back when arsenal played liverpool so it's been A WHILE. not proofread bc i just needed to get it out quick. needless to say this isn't real, don't know the real reason why they took him out so yeah, fiction :)

warnings: smut with plot. badly translated norwegian pet names (?, kinda hair pulling, kinda choking, kinda public sex (they could get walked in anytime) ¿?

wc: 2k words

summary: suggesting to take martin out of the game to avoid any serious injury backfires when he blames you for being subbed off.

"why did you tell him to take me out?".

you knew this talk would be coming, but still, the loud thud when the norwegian shut the door a bit too hard startled you. the draw was rough for everyone at arsenal, and at some point, felt almost like a loss. the players got into the dressing room with their heads hung low after clapping for the fans, and apart from some encouraging pats on the back, you didn’t really get to talk to anyone in particular.

you saw how angry martin had left the pitch when arteta decided to take him off, but he hadn’t said anything: of course he hadn’t. he was a good captain, and he wouldn’t ever question the gaffer’s decisions. at least, not publicly.

but under the anger, he knew it was a good decision: he wasn’t asking for the ball and leading his team like he used to do at every game. like he was supposed to. he knew his performance was below average, but he refused to attribute it to the minor discomfort he had during the week. he was fine during warm ups and the entire first half. he couldn’t afford to get injured now, at this point.

being seated during the last ten minutes of the match was the worst thing for him. seeing how the win slipped through their fingers felt like a knife being turned on his stomach. and even if martin knew they still had the top position secured, the lead they had against city was cut short, and they hoped it wouldn’t be something they turned to regret at the end of the line.

martin was observant, not only off the pitch, but during games, too. he frequently saw the bench, awaiting for instructions offered by the manager or movement in the sidelines, signaling some players being subbed in. when he saw you, the team’s physio, talking to arteta, he knew he would be the player to be taken off.

“you were only meant to play 60 minutes, martin. you played 80,” you reasoned. before the game, you had been consulted how many minutes was the norwegian able to play, without risking an injury. knowing martin, you were sure that he wouldn't appreciate being subbed off if there was still a match being played, but you were aware that mikel was considering the bigger picture -there were still games that needed to be won, and it would be immensely more difficult if they were without the norwegian on the pitch. you understood arteta's worries about his key player being sidelined for way too long if he were to make the matters worse.

he wasn't happy with your response, but he didn't say anything else: he stayed in the way of the door, impeding the way out, whether intentionally or not, trapping you in the room with him. the frown is still visible on his features, glooming his usual prince charming looks for something darker, almost malicious. you think that he's maybe transported back to the game, reliving again and again what went wrong, and you try to ease his worries. "not everything is your fault, you know? you have to take care of yourself first”.

he scoffed. "i'm the captain. everything is my fault".

at this point, you've grown tired. all you want to do is finish packing your things, and get home as fast as possible. but the presence of the norwegian is stopping you from completing the checklist you have in hand. "what do you want me to do, ødegaard? i’m doing my job, which is to keep you all healthy," you say, while finishing to check the last thing you had on the list, assuring that you aren't forgetting anything. you throw the little notepad to the desk, while sitting on the empty space, as martin watches your every movement like a hunter keeping track of his prey. "you can't play 90 minutes every three days: you need to rest, or you'll get a serious injury. if you have any problems with it, talk to arteta”.

you're mirroring the frown he had for the last five minutes, and martin can't stop thinking about how cute you look while trying to act mad at him. "quit the attitude. i'm supposed to be mad, not you".

now it's your turn to scoff. "you are making me mad by trying to take your frustrations on me, like i'm in the wrong for doing my fucking job".

"if you think this is me taking my frustrations on you-” his blue eyes turn almost dark gray, and martin takes big, rushed steps towards your figure, making his wider frame tower over yours. he lifts his hand, brushing a string of hair that had fallen from your makeshift ponytail behind your ear, and his hand rest softly on the side of your neck, with his palm surely covering half of your skin.

he looks for hesitation in your eyes, something that would tell him to back off, but he can't find any. instead, your breath is ragged, and you're trying really hard to keep eye contact with him while trying not to visibly shut your legs in a way that lets you ease some of the tension. "this would be me taking my frustrations on you," he corrects, now his thumb resting across your neck, restricting your airflow but just slightly.

you're not sure if you feel dizzy because this is what you wanted all along, ever since you've crossed paths with the norwegian, or due to how intoxicating you find his touch: either way, you gasp for air, and it has martin smiling wickedly, in a form you haven't really seen before. "oh, does my pretty girl like being choked?".

the whine you emit is, surely, pathetic, but it fires something inside of him. his grab on your neck is a bit rougher after hearing the sweetest sound he had only dreamed of hearing, but it’s not enough to worry you about the possible marks he could be leaving. still, you can feel it, just as you can feel the desk behind you that would not really leave you any space to escape, if you wanted to. but you don't want to, although you probably should remember where you're at, that you're working and he's a player.

the smallest glimpse of reality comes back to your senses when you hear a sort of commotion outside, and you're cut back from his spell, just barely. "martin, we-".

he hears the hesitation in your voice, and is quick to lure you back in, his kisses leaving a wet trail under his way. "i know we can't. and i know we don't have enough time. but i need this, i need you. will you let me?. the way he's whispering in your ear makes your skin flourish in goosebumps, joined by how he's nudging at your neck, while smelling your perfume, driving you mad. he realizes when the smallest whimper leaves your lips and is proud of his doing, showing by the way it oozes out of his mouth when he whispers "that's my good girl".

your hands are quick to find their way under his shirt, having the chance to feel the toned abs you've never dared to look at before while trying to keep up with the feverish kisses shared between you two. the second his mouth trails down to your collarbone, you slip a playful "eager, aren't we?" when you realize his hard on pressed against your leg. "could say the same about you," he bites back, after his leg graces your center and you're eager to rub yourself against it.

you two don’t even get to take your clothes fully before he slides into you. his right hand is covering your mouth, helping you in silencing the moans that seem impossible to contain, while he isn’t much better at keeping quiet. especially, when your hands are pulling on his blonde hair, driving him crazy. you’re coming undone under him, and martin can’t help but groan at the sight of you, a wreck for him, while taking him so well.

through his grunts, he can barely manage to warm "not gonna last long if you keep on squeezing me like that, kjaere," but it’s to no use, given that you’re still clenching on him tightly, your warm walls swallowing his length fully as he snaps his hips in and out of you in a relentless pace. the desk underneath you shakes with force, given that you’re perched against it while trying to stay on your feet.

it’s not long before your whole body is shaking under his frame, as his left hand lifts your leg up, now hugging him by his waist in an attempt to bring him impossibly closer. you let out another moan that gets muffled by the hand he still has over your mouth, and you’re grateful for it, because in your hazy mind filled with pleasure, you can’t mute your sounds as your orgasm approaches.

“where?” he asks, looking deep into your eyes to ensure you won’t be too loud, before freeing your lips to speak. your voice comes out hoarse when you reply where you want him to cum. “i-inside, please-”.

the norwegian has to crush his mouth to yours in a bruising, hard kiss, before his sounds are the ones that alert the outside world of what's happening in your little workspace. his bruising pace fails when he's on the edge, and a soft moan that slips out of you and directly onto his ear makes him lose it. he's deep into you, coating your insides which provoques your own frenzy to disinvolve.

everything gets too much for you, and you’re not sure you can wrap your mind around your surroundings, but martin keeps you afloat, holding your figure flush against him. "hey, you're okay, i'm here," he reassures, his soft touch grazing your cheek in a loving way when he sees your eyes glaze over. it's purely because of the mind shattering orgasm you just experienced, but he cares, wants to know you're okay. the gesture is intimate, certainly feels almost more intimate than the moment you've just shared, and once you reassure him that you're okay, he kisses the crown of your hair before proceeding to dress himself properly.

"you like the armband, right? i'm bringing it next time," martin shows his million dollar smile before picking his shirt from the floor, and puts it again in a quick motion, smothering the creases in hopes that no one that sees him leaving your office could figure out what went down between you two.

"already thinking about the next time, ødegaard?".

the door knock startles you both, and breaks the atmosphere previously held in the four walls. his hair is a bit messy after you pulled endlessly from the locks not even five minutes ago, but he makes a quick move to tame it, passing his long fingers through his gold strands and setting it in place, exactly how he likes it, before you open the door to find just the one person that you didn’t want to see.

"oh, i knew you'd still be here," arteta calls upon seeing you, still in the secluded area you work in. he doesn't find it weird that you remain here, knowing that you’re the first one to arrive and the last one to leave, just like he is. instead, his eyes furrow when he sees better into your eyes, still a bit glassy.

"martin, did you make her cry?".

his hands are in his pockets, trying to hide off the tent still present in his joggings. it doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to gather a believable enough excuse, and you’re kinda impressed about it, figuring that he might have thought about this more than you thought. "she was upset about the game" he explained, lips pursed without giving out much emotion, quite like how you saw him answer the interviews he did post-match. "told her to not worry too much. we'll win next time,” martin smiled, turning his stare to you now. “for you, right?".

#martin ødegaard x reader #martin ødegaard x you #martin ødegaard imagine #martin odegaard x you #martin odegaard x reader #martin odegaard imagine #football imagine #football x you #football smut #football x reader

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melanie-the-artful · 6 months

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Genshin Character Names' Meanings

Hello there! So, I remember I once saw a post about meanings of some characters' names in another fandom, and while some of those names probably were given to those characters just because they fit, some of them certainly were chosen for their meaning, and well, it was just interesting to read! And yeah, here I am, in today's series of "I have freaking nothing else to do" I brought you a list of meanings for Genshin characters' names (today only Travelers and Mondstadt).

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Aether | Comes from the highest air layer - where the gods live, and from the god who embodies it in Greek mythology; Also not sure whether it's connected, but fun fact: in Latin "Iter" means «Journey»

Lumine | Literally «Light» in Latin

Kong (Chinese Aether) | «Heavenly», «Air» or «Sky» - Chinese Name

Ying (Chinese Lumine) | Literally «Glimmer», «Twinkling» or «Light» in Chinese and a Chinese Name

Sora (Japanese Aether) | Literally «Sky» in Japanese and a Japanese Name

Hotaru (Japanese Lumine) | Literally «Firefly» in Japanese and a Japanese Name

Paimon | Comes from King Paimon, the 9th of Goetia Demons

Amber | Well, in her case it obviously references her eyes that carry that color, and it is also similar to the word «ember», which underlines her being a Pyro wielder; Also «Fierce» as an originally Arabic or Celtic Name

Kaeya | «Monsoon Flower» - Sanskrit Name

Lisa | «God's Promise» - German Name

Jean | «God is Gracious» - Originally French Name

Barbara | Although in our world it is believed to come from barbarians, in context of Genshin she might've been named so after Barbatos, the Archon rulling over her nation. It also makes sense considering how her father also serves at the church; Also «Foreign», «Strange» as an originally Greek Name

Diluc | Comes from «diluculum» - Latin for «Dawn»

Noelle | «Christmas» - Originally French Name

Klee | Literally «Clover» in German

Albedo | Term for the fraction of sunlight that is diffusely reflected by a body; also a Latinicized alchemical term meaning «Whiteness» and «Purification»

Sucrose | A chemical element, also known as C₁₂H₂₂O₁₁, or just sugar

Mona | «Solitary», «Adviser» or «Wish» - German Name

Fischl | Considering German grammatics, literally means «Little Fish»

Amy | «Beloved», «Dearly Loved» - German Name

Bennett | «Blessed» - Originally French and Latin Name

Rosaria | «Rosary» or «Wreath of Roses» - Derives from originally Latin Name Rosarius/Rosarium

Diona | «Goddess» or «From the Sacred Spring» - German Name

Eula | Could be based on the german word for owl Eule or the German Name Ulla which means «Will»

Mika | «Who is like God» - German Name

Venti | Sounds similar to the word «windy», also literally «Winds» in Italian

Barbatos | Comes from Duke Barbatos, the 8th of Goetia Demons

Crepus | Comes from «crepusculum» - Latin for «Dusk»

Seamus | «Supplanter» - Originally Irish Name

Frederica | «Peaceful Ruler» - German Name

Alice | «Noble» or «Exalted» - Originally German Name

Rhinedottir | Originally Rhine was a name for someone who lived by the Rhine river in German, yet the word itself originates from the word 'renos', which means «Flowing Water» or «Raging Flow»; meanwhile "dottir" is «Daughter» in Icelandic

Barbeloth | May derive from the Gnostic aeon Barbēlō, a supreme, androgynous entity in Gnosticism known as God's first thought, being his "feminine aspect" and the Mother-Father of the aeons

Nicole | «Victory of the People» - Originally French Name

Varka | Likely based on the Old Persian 𐎺𐎼𐎣 (varka), meaning «Wolf»

Decarabian | Comes from Marquis Decarabia, the 69th of Goetia Demons

Dvalin | Comes from a dwarf in Old Norse tales, meaning «The Dormant One» or «The One Slumbering» (akin to the Danish and Norwegian "dvale" and Swedish "dvala", meaning «Sleep, «Unconscious Condition» or «Hibernation»).

Durin | Overally associated with a dwarf named Durin, who is also from Norse tales, though some say it is of Latin origin and means «Firm», «Enduring»

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Yeah, here it is! I know, I basically made a compilation of things you can find yourself in Google, buuuuuut in case you were too lazy or not curious enough to do so, I did so in your stead! And I have to admit that those are not names of my homeland, and I may not know all their variations or significance, yet I'm still interested, and I'll be happy if you're willling to correct me. And maybe I will even dig in deeper into the topic next time!

So, see you!

Edited: Yeah, I added a few more meaningful characters and Travelers' names on other languages + a few other tiny additions. I think now it seems a little more complete. Next up is Liyue!

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qsmp-a1-updates · 10 months

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A1 Name List

Here is a collection of all the names that A1 has been given! If you have more, or better explanations for the origin of the names, please let me know in comments, tags, or messages and I will add them.

爱力 / Ai / Ai Li / Aili (Chinese name for "Love" and "Strength")

Aaron / Ivan (Unsure of exact origin, possibly Hebrew? Both semi-common English names that have similar pronunciations to A1)

A-A-Ron (Vaguely USA origin)

Icarus (Greek mythology, a child with wings who flew too close to the sun)

ícaro (Brazilian spelling of Icarus)

Afon (Welsh origin, means "River")

Angharad (Welsh origin, means "Much loved")

Aive (Unsure origin)

Cris (Unsure origin)

Aine (Irish origin, means "Happiness")

Steak Sauce (A1 is a brand of steak sauce)

Anahí (Brazilian origin, someone who was turned into a flower after being burned to death by her enslavers)

Airam (Hispanic origin, means "Freedom")

Aimé / Aimée (French origin, male / female versions, means "Loved" or "Beloved")

Lilypad / Starlight (English words)

An (Vietnamese origin, means "Safe and secure")

Ben Adams / Keith (British/Norwegian origin, two members of a band)

Hope Name List

Memories / Memory (English word, Cellbit's original name for them)

Hope (English word, the name Cellbit's chat gave them)

Myo (Short for Myosotis, or "Forget-me-nots," a type of flower)

Desdemona (Greek origin, means "ill-fated)

#qsmp #egg a1 #a1 adoption project #a1 headcanons #updates account talking #not a task

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justjams2003 · 2 months

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Sweet Savegary- 10

Sorry for the long wait everyone🙈

Paring: Dark!Thor Odinson x Slave!Reader

Summary: All your life, Thor's blue eyes have haunted you. You believed you outran him, but now all your hopes come tumbling down.

Warnings: Death of loved ones, violence, nightmares, non-con, p in v, degradation. If you noticed it, strippers, technically (but like exotic dancers) Body shaming, stealing, stabbing, mentions of angels and Valhalla, lightning strikes. Talk about slavery and fluff. Google Translate Norwegian. Tell me if I missed any.

Word count: 2k+, Unedited

1st Divider by: @firefly-graphics

2nd Divider by: @cafekitsune

Tag list: @torossosebs @steverogersistheguy @thehighladyofasgard @notyourtypicalrose @presidentlokis-hornyhelmet @lovelyselfshipper @groovy-lady

~Masterlist~

Part 9~Part 11 (Coming soon)

“Where are you taking me?” Your feet drag across the floor, your body knows this is wrong but your mind is fuzzy. Your ears are ringing with the evil giggles of the dancing woman. Their sinister grins form into that of a cheshire cat. It makes you cold all over. They’re pulling you in all sort of directions. They tug on your clothes, stripping you one item at a time.

“I want her necklace.” “I want her cloak.” “I want her dress.” Stealing everything Thor has given you and your body is too limp to fight. “No, no,” You whimper, shaking your head and reaching out to take back what they steal from you. But you’re too weak. Your hand just falls to your side as you slump back against the closest wall.

You feel their hands roam all over you. “She’s so well fed...” You hear someone mutter. “I wish my thighs were soft like hers.” “We’re all just skin and bone.” “I hear those savages like their woman on the heavier side.” Their words swirl around in your head like whiplash. They pull sharply on your nipple and them praise your body. Pinch your thigh and wish they had it.

“You did so good...so good...” A new voice, a man, the king, not your king. A cold sting drags from your breast down to your naval. Icy and sharp, must be a knife. You gasp when suddenly frosty water drowns your airways. Only to be pulled back to breathe again. Adrenaline swims through you, forcing your vision to clear up.

The English King’s cruel glare makes you itch all over. Your hair stands on edge, naked and vulnerable in front of him. “Tell me, whore, what’s his secret?” Your brows furrow together and you struggle against whatever has been put in your system. “I don’t know-” He groans, “Come on now, don’t make this difficult. How do I break him?”

Again, your eyes droop and your legs feel like sticks. “What? No, no.” You shake your head. Break him? You don’t want to break him. He provides for you. Without him you’d be on the streets. He’s shown you new worlds, you owe him everything. “Come on, don’t tell you you’re defending him! He’s killed thousands of my men without even having to call out an army He doesn’t care about you and he’ll kill you as soon as you stop satisfying his cock.”

You shake your head, “No, you’re wrong.” "If I wanted to kill you, I would not be making love to you." Thor’s voice echos through your mind. That one night so many moons ago. He wouldn’t kill you, he’s never hurt you enough to leave long-lasting damage. He vowed to make you queen, he wouldn’t just kill off his queen. It’s all in discipline, in the name of love. To spare you from men like this English King.

The English King scoffs and grabs you by the throat. Forcing your droopy eyes to peer deep into his. They’re filled with hate. Thor doesn’t have hate. Only guilt and anger that comes and goes. No hate. “Don’t tell me you love that bastard!” You sit in his lap, he braids your hair. He wraps is arms around you, warms you and you calm his nightmares. Each of you give and each of you take and he’s only ever left bruises of possession. Is that not love? What do you know about love?

The English King’s hand tightens around your throat. The drugs mix with the lack of oxygen and suddenly everything feels so light. “You do!” Metal stings in your gut. Right on the edge of making love with your guts. “Pathetic!” Blood pools around the tip of the blade. To kill or to use? To cause Thor more pain or to use her and take over his kingdom?

But you...you special one are worth so much more than his kingdom...

Death is dipped in gold. And so peaceful. There is no pain and looking down, your blood isn’t crimson. It’s glittering and looks so appetizing. Your fingers smear into the gore, but it’s not vile. You want more. It feels so nice and warm against your cold drained skin. And it’s not sticky and not fluid either. Thick, dripping gold.

Angels seem to be singing your name. But, none of this makes sense. You should be in Valhalla. There are no angels where the Vikings go to die. This must be some other place in the great realms of the tree of life. This is the place that your king had showed you, when he spoke the words in the language that feels so close to home and at the same time unknown.

“Du kan ikke dra ennå. Du kan ikke komme hjem. Du må fullføre oppgaven din.” Who is that? Who whisper to you? You don’t understand. You don’t understand the language. But it sounds so familiar to the words your master speak to you. You wish he would speak to you. Tell you what you’re missing. Tell you why he won’t let go of you. Let you go. Let you go home. Where is home? He took it. He’s taken your home. He has it. He is home.

“Don’t fall for their lies!” What? The pretty gilt loses it’s sparkle. Turning a sour yellow and falls further into hideousness. And ugly finite red, never ending pour from the gash in your stomach. “That’s it! Come back to me. Please, please, little dove, look at me.” A bloody hand engulfs your cheek and now it’s an pulchritudinous blue. Thunder cracks through the sky and it hides the sound of people begging for their life from you.

“Du ga henne nettopp til meg! Jeg skal brenne ned Asgard hvis du tar henne nå. Du fryktet meg før, og du vil frykte mitt ord nå.” Who is he talking to? “Du lærer ikke leksjonen din, sønn.” And why can I hear a reply? “Ikke skjenn ut meg mens livet hennes glipper!” Why is he crying? “Min underkastelse kan du ha, men du vil ikke ta henne fra meg.” I’m so tired. “Vær forsiktig med ordene du sier.”

“What did you do?!” A loud boom wakes you along with a crack of lightning. The darkness now dark pink and the throbbing in your body is so much worse than you remember. “You know what they will ask of you now.” Are they talking to you? “You’ve traded her life for billions!” A growl, no, they aren’t talking to you. “They sent her here to play with you and you fell for it.” A loud smack and then crumbling interrupts the heavy raining, why are your eyelids so weighty?

“Don’t you think I know that?! This was not part of the plan, she was never part of the plan!” What plan? Slowly your eyes flutter open, but you shut them just as quickly. In fear that they might see you wake. “You were suppose to pull the wool over their eyes. Make them believe that you’re growing soft. Not actually become weak!” You try again, this time more slowly opening your eyes.

Thor stands leaning on the balcony. His bare back to you, his long blonde hair hangs with shame. The Warriors look to be scolding him. Never did you think you’d see the day of that happening. You didn’t think that anyone could ever hold any power over the mountain of a man. Thick storm clouds colour the sky behind them. “It was too soon. I need more time.”

“We’ve been here over three thousand years. How much more time do you need? Now would’ve been the time to act!” Thor glares over the balcony, down at the New Asgardian people going about their day. He shakes his head. “These mortals will never be ready. We placed far too much hope in their hands. Your best warriors don’t even come close to grazing me.”

You try to get up, to hear more of what they’re saying, but the pain snaps through you and a groan escapes you. Another snap of lightning. All four of their eyes find your own. It’s like predators in the dark. Glowing flames from afar. Thor glares at the warriors, cutting the conversation and their comments short. When they leave the room, Thor’s eyes settle on you.

“Lay back down and don’t move.” His voice is stern, he crosses his arms over his bare chest and just leans against the balcony. You follow his instructions, except you hold out your hand for him to take. Your feel so cold without his body heat always near you. But he does not move, his jaw locks and his eyes don’t move from your stretched out hand.

You can see he's fighting battles in his mind. Why won’t he come closer? He saved you but does not want you? He sighs, his hand rubs his face and then combs through his tangled hair. “You make me weak.” The words hit like the dagger that almost killed you. To hear him admit something like that could have you beheaded. “No.” The word slips from your mouth.

His brows furrow and he snarls. “No?” He asks, almost in shock. “No! You... you cannot be weak! If you are weak then there is no hope for me.” It looks as if you’re talking to him a foreign language. “You are talking nonsense, girl.” He gruffs and shakes his head. “I know what I'm saying. If you are weak then everyone else is strong and I’ll end up back in the hands of people who’d rather learn the name of a pig than my own.”

“You were almost killed! Just because I let my guard down! In the-” he stops and sighs as if stopping his tongue from acting to quick. “Three thousand years?” His eyes go wide and his face goes pale. “How much did you hear?” His jaw locks and his fists crack the stone of the balcony.

My mouth hangs open and I begin to panic. “Answer me!” He yells out, his voice booms inside of you. Lightning strikes the ground behind him. “Fucking hell.” He mutters to himself. Is the lightning scaring him as much as it scares you? Your heart shakes. “I- Everything.” He sighs and again rubs his face. “Another fucking problem.” It hurts to be seen as a problem, something to deal with.

“What were you talking about? Please, talk to me.” You can’t talk like this, laying down. Again you try to get up but wince. Fuck does it hurt. “What the fuck did I say? Can’t you follow orders just once?” He snaps at you, as if that isn’t all you’ve been doing...This is the most he’s talked to you at a time. His heavy boots shake the floor as he stomps over to you.

He sits down next to you, his heavy hand pushes you back down against the soft pillows. Then his hands shove the blankets to the side and begins lifting your dress. You grab his hands. “Please, Thor, I am in pain, I’ll make it up later, I, I promise-” He just growls at you and continues lifting your dress.

You see the huge gash on your stomach. Nowhere near as long or gruesome as the one on his chest, but still unsightly for a lady. His brows knit together, examining the stitches. “Your wound needs to be cleaned.” He mumbles, standing up to get some supplies from the bathroom. This is different, he seems almost more human now. Acknowledging your pain and not using you.

The alcohol burns your stomach and you hiss pulling back. Thor’s huge hand clasps around your hip to keep you in place. “How long was I asleep?” You ask, watching those giant hands of his trying to be gentle. He’s clumsy, not used to dealing with a task so small. “Three days you were between life and death. I cursed the English healers for knowing nothing and as soon as you were stable we made quick work back to New Asgard.”

He explains, it’s so strange to hear him speak so much to you. “Thor, who was that voice? Who was it that you cursed over my dying breath?” His jaw locks tight again. “You were dying, you were seeing things.” You scoff and insist. “I’m not! I know what I saw. It was as you showed me, on the boat. Seeing without looking. Like you said!”

His hand goes up to grab your cheeks between his hand. Your jaw hurts under his force. “If I said that you were seeing things, then it is so. You are not to question me. Know your place. I have no patience or control left.” He commands, his eyes stern and you know if you push it anymore you could end up hurting yourself.

He stands up, rinsing out the towel he had used to clean your wound. And when he’s done he opens the door, ready to leave. “You are not to leave this room under any circumstances. You do not open the door to anyone but me. Not even the Warriors.” He commands, and the door slams in your face before you can argue.

If you want to be on (or off) the taglist, just ask!

#thor x you #thor x reader #dark!thor x reader #dark!thor smut #dark!thor #thor smut #thor x reader smut #dark!thor x reader smut #king!thor x slave!reader #thor #king!thor #thor odinson #thor fanfiction #sweet savegary #sweet savegary justjamie2003

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wosowrites · 1 year

Text

Us Always ( Guro Reiten x Reader )

warnings: none

a/n: i know this isn’t the most family oriented but i really tried 😭 hopefully it’s okay. based off this request:

prompt: cute family moments w guro

April 17 2021

By this time, you had known Guro for seven years, and you were madly in love with the norwegian, and she, with you. You were both 25, having been born only a day apart. Today was your four year anniversary. It had taken you guys a very long amount of time to start dating. You had known each other by playing for Norway, but you were in denial about your sexuality for a while, and so was Guro. You had told people you were best friends, but best friends hearts don’t start beating like crazy when they lie their head down on their 'friends' lap.

You had planned a whole thing for your anniversary. You had asked Sam Kerr, Erin Cuthbert and Millie Bright to distract your girlfriend for a few hours, from 4:00 pm to 6:00 pm, so that you could set up your appartement. Now you really weren’t into the lovey dovey things. You would get her flowers and chocolates and jewelry to express your love for her, you wouldn’t use words. Acts of service were your love language. And so, when Guro left, you told her you would be out till 6:30 because you had a meeting with Nike, your sponsor.

Guro didn’t think you were neglecting your anniversary, she had made you a nice breakfast in the morning and you guys had cuddled in bed for an hour, just being happy you were with each other. So, she didn’t argue when the girls asked her to hang out, although she did wish you were there.

Your plan for their night together was a really big throwback. You would be building a blanket fort, and ordering her her favorite food. Why? The night you and Guro had first kissed, you were babysitting Guro’s niece, who had insisted on building a blanket fort. Except turns out that she got tired halfway through and fell asleep. So you and Guro had brought her to bed, and then you decided to keep on building the fort. You had drifted to sleep together under a ceiling of blankets, and when you woke up at 2:00 in the morning, Guro was awake and looking at you. And you kissed her. The rest- as corny as it is- was history.

You got to work quickly, starting by cleaning the living room. You then built the fort. You were pretty handy, and very skilled in the art of entertaining children because both your older siblings were married and had children. And your go too was always forts. You used blankets, pillows, and put fairy lights in it.

After that was set up, you took a quick picture of it and then went on your phone. You had ordered food to come at 6:15, and it was all your favorite things. There was saag paneer with rice, onion bajii, pizza and sushi. It was going to be a feast. All you had to do is make a baked Alaska. Her favorite desert. It was simple, just ice cream coated with graham crackers and whipped cream. So you would put it in the oven 20 minutes before it was time to eat the desert. It was now 5:30, the fort had taken a while, so you turned on the TV and went on netflix, selecting a horror movie you both knew you would barely be watching. Then, you went to your shared bedroom and put on her favorite outfit of yours. Which consisted of nike pros and a baggy but not long grey hoodie of hers, she loved seeing you in her clothes, and she was an ass girl, and the nike pro’s did you justice. You slipped your glasses on and then heard the door open. You walked out into the main area, seeing Guro starting at the fort. She turned to look at you, a wide smile on her face. "Baby… what did you do?" Guro said, laughing and putting down her bag to come jump in your arms.

You both made a point of speaking english when you could because your english wasn’t great.

You caught her in your arms and spun her around. "I recreated the scenes of our first kiss. I love you. So much. And i’m so lucky to be with you." You told her, all while her legs were around your waist. She kissed you again on the lips before peppering your face with them. She then jumped down and took off her shoes. "I’m gonna go change, and then we eat?" She said. "Food should be here in 5." You smiled at her. While she changed, you leaned on the counter and decided to post something on instagram.

@y/n.y/l/n

All these years with you and I will never get used to your risky hikes. But I’ll keep on loving you, always. Four years down, forever to go.

Alle disse årene med deg og jeg vil aldri venne meg til dine risikable fotturer. Men jeg vil fortsette å elske deg, alltid. Fire år ned, for alltid igjen.

You put your phone down as Guro walked out the bedroom, wearing a similar outfit as you. Just then, the doorbell rang. "Go sit down. I have a movie ready."

The rest of the night was perfect, it was everything, and it was all you needed, her.

March 30 2023

You all knew you could not let Lyon score. That ball could not go in the back of Ann Kat’s net. If only knowing it couldn’t end up back there was enough. It wasn’t.

When Lyon scored, you knew it wasn’t over. As the attacking midfielder, you knew you had to create an opportunity for the team. But then it went into extra time, and Lyon scored again. You thought you were going to die.

Your girlfriend got subbed off, you couldn’t even recall for who, but she was on the bench, and she was mad.

And then, things seemed to turn around. You ran into the box and passed the ball to Lauren who received it perfectly, until you saw a foot stick in front of Lauren’s, sending her tumbling to the ground. You threw your hands up in the air as Lyon cleared it, all of Chelsea was going insane, the Lyon players were trying to defend their team, both benches were on their feet and the Chelsea fans at Stamford Bridge were screaming in rage. Time moved in slow motion, you looked over to Jessie Fleming with a mix of fear and hope in your heart. She looked at you the same way. And then, it seemed as though everything fast forwarded and the ref was pointing at the penalty spot, and Sophie Ingle was handing you the ball. "Can you do this?" She said to you. "Yes. Yeah I can do this." You answered, grabbing it and placing it on the spot. You didn’t want to look back at the bench, if you saw your Guro, you would be too concentrated on not letting her down to score the perfect penalty. You fiddled with the ball a bit before finding the perfect position for it to rest in. You backed up and breathed heavily. You knew how to do this. You had this.

And then the whistle blew, and your foot hit the ball, and the keeper went right and the ball went top left and you were screaming and running to the bench where Emma Hayes had just turned around and was screaming and jumping with Erin Cuthbert. You jumped into Guro’s arms, shaking so hard and screaming out of joy. You were level, and this quarter final was going to penalties.

Your brother and your sister were in the stand with their kids, all of them wearing your name on their back, except for one of the kids, who loved Guro more than she loved you, you couldn’t even bring yourself to mind because the sight of your girlfriends name on your niece’s back was the most wonderful thing ever.

Jess Carter took the first penalty. Score.

Lyon. Score.

Sam Kerr. Score.

Lyon. Score.

Jessie Fleming. Score.

Lyon. Miss.

Lauren James. Miss.

Lyon. Score.

It was your turn. You couldn’t miss. And you didn’t. You sunk it in with ease and pumped your fist in the air, running to Jessie and Niahm, hugging Magda and Joanna.

And then Ann Kat worked magic, and Chelsea was through.

The whole team ran to Ann Kat and dog piled on top of her, but you made sure to run to Guro who was running off the bench and onto the pitch. You jumped into her arms, hugging her head to your chest and holding her tightly. "MY GIRL! MY GIRL!" Guro yelled, smiling up at you and then hugging your upper body again as you rested your cheek on her head. Guro put you down and then you both ran to the rest of the group, hand in hand. You and Ann Kat hugged, the team spraying water on the both of you. "Ice cold!" She said to you, smiling. "Right back at you Keep!" You smiled.

The celebrations were amazing, but you were quick to find your siblings. You hugged your sister tightly and then your brother. They all praised you, making you blush from the attention. You focused on the five kids there, hugging the and smiling. You picked up the youngest, a seven month old girl and walked on the pitch with her, taking her to your teammates.

"Gee!" Guro said, happy to see the baby. Georgia reached out for Guro who took her gladly, smiling at her mini Chelsea jersey. You took the opportunity to go sign a few things as Guro held your niece, she was getting much attention from Niahm and Jessie. When you got back, you took her back to her mother and swapped her for your five year nephew, JJ, who was incredibly social and wanted to say hi to everyone. You soon got called over for a quick post match interview. "You want to come, JJ? You wanna be on TV with auntie?" You asked him. "Yeah!" He said happily. You quickly asked your sister, who’s son it was and she agreed to it. Then, you picked him up and brought him to the cameras.

"Hi!" The reporter said, passing you a headset. "Hi, nice to see you again." You answered, recognizing her from other games. "Same to you, same to you. Who’s this?" She asked, looking at the boy in your arms. "I’m JJ." He said, the camera now rolling. "Well hello, JJ. The woman said. She then turned to you. "Well, I’m sure you guys are ecstatic to have made it through. How do you feel about your performance as a team?" She asked. "Um, not good enough. We were extremely lucky to have had that clip in the box. I know a lot of people will say the game was stolen from Lyon, they were the better side but we kept our calm and I think that showed. I’m very proud of this team and I’m just happy not to have missed." You said, smiling. "Yeah, a very special penalty that was. So now there are two english teams in the semi finals. How do you feel about maybe having to play Arsenal again?" The woman asked you.

You knew what was coming the second she said that. The thing is, Guro had had a lot of fun teaching three year old JJ to say "London is blue!" every time the word Arsenal was brought up. She thought it was hilarious. So that’s what happened.

"LONDON IS BLUE!" He yelled, his squeaky little voice making you jump. The reporters and you were quiet for a second before you all burst out laughing. "I’m so sorry, my girlfriend taught him that I promise. Anyways uh, yeah no we’re just going to concentrate on the Barca game, Arsenal is not our issue right now." You told her.

You talked for a couple more minutes and then you wrapped it up. You handed JJ back to his parents and rushed into the tunnel where Guro was waiting for you away from the cameras. "Can I kiss you now?" She asked. "Please. And don’t stop."

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #chelsea fcw #arsenal fcw #jessie fleming #guro reiten #ann katrin berger

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