#the good knight without fear

[noughticalcrossings]

Family

Sir Brunor le Noir is a young knight nicknamed La Cote Mal Taile by Sir Kay after his arrival in his murdered father's mangled armour and surcoat at King Arthur's court. He should not be confused with his father, also named Brunor the Black but better known as The Good Knight Without Fear. His elder brother is always Sir Dinadan, a cynical knight, and sometimes Sir Daniel, a scurrilous knight.

[radiance1]

Danny: So whatcha got there?

Fright Knight: Looks down.

Fright Knight: A pile of photos?

Danny: No. The child. THE CHILD!

Tim: He's my new caretaker.

Fright Knight: Nodding

Danny:

Pariah Dark: Calmly walks into house

Danny:

Billy: Waves

Danny: Father what the fuck-

Pariah Dark: He looked hungry, and without a guardian.

Danny: Holy shit they kidnapped two kids.

[maxiwaxipads]

Romarriche - “Your company is one of a kind… I would never lie to you. I would never say a half-truth or be quiet.” “What is it in your mind, Merold?” “Hearing your voice, complaint or not—it is music to me either way.” Merold - “If there is one constant in this world… Let it be you.” “You’re the cruelest and the kindest thing that happened to me.” “…If only you continued to look at me like that.” Romarriche - “…Merold?” Merold - “But~ It’s only a minor case of bad-mood-itis.” “So Romarriche, spoil me with a spar, will you?” Romarriche - “Merold.” Romarriche - “Look at me.” Merold - “…” Romarriche - “Is something… Wrong?” Merold - “Instead of a spar…” “I might want to lie down on your lap after all.”

[arpicityandneed]

The King's Man

18+ f!reader. King!Bucky. Head Knight!Steve. dirty talk. bi!Bucky. bi!Steve. sequel to You, Me, and the King. Sir kink. switch!Steve. switch!Bucky.

You'd received word from your maid that the King and his Knight were waiting for you in the King's chambers but still, you didn't expect to walk in on this when you passed the royal guard on the way in.

Steve was fucking your husbands throat like he'd done so countless of times before. His sword was resting on the table and he was shirtless, his creamy flushed skin on display as he threw his head back- and expression of rapt pleasure on his handsome features as he found his release. James' lashes were wet as he swallowed every drop, but he was looking up at his Steven with such adoration you almost wanted to be jealous.

Only when the door clicked behind you did Steve acknowledge you. James finally let Steve's shaft go, nuzzling the vee of his hip and catching his breath.

"I won a wager." Steve explained with a grin, "He thought I wouldn't be able to wait until the physician's officially declared the pregnancy."

"But you did.. so this was your reward?" You murmured, your mouth dry and your cunt throbbing. Your heart pounded in your chest realizing you'd finally have them both the way you wanted for months now. What was once a strange kingdom full of enemies was made bearable by the love you'd found in your two men.

"No, the reward was you. I'm just helping him last long enough to thoroughly enjoy his reward." Your husband's voice was hoarse, but as he stood you saw just how much he'd enjoyed being used by Steve. His breeches did little to hide the large bulge of his arousal.

"Come here my sweet," Steve held his hand out for you, and you took it shyly but stepped into his space without fear. "I'll take good care of you, I promise." He murmured as he lifted your hand to his lips kissing your knuckles gently.

"I know." And you did, you trusted him with your life, and to finally be able to see him in all his glory was a treat in and of itself. His cock was thick even when soft and his body was covered in scars and marks of battle that made him all the more attractive to you.

James came to stand behind you, trapping you between them as he kissed your shoulder. You shivered remembering vividly how wide they'd been stretched over Steve's cock.

"My wife." James worked at untying the laces of your dress, Steve's possessive gaze keeping you locked in place.

When the dress fell down your body James sighed at your beauty before stepping back. That’s when you noticed the chair placed in direct viewing of the bed. A shiver went down your spine as you realized your King would be watching everything.

“Pants off James, I want to see you too.” Steve commanded with an ease that made your knees buckle, and your King obeyed with a pretty flush on his cheeks. You wanted to devour him and the new shyness you saw in his eyes.

“He’s so pretty..” the words slipped out before you could help it and Steve laughed, warm and rich. Your husband however didn’t say a word. He looked to Steve instead for guidance.

“James, what do you say?” Steve wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer, his naked body all hard lines and raw strength that made you melt against him.

“Thank you, love. You two—you’re beautiful together.” His voice was hushed and awed.

“Sit.” Steve murmured as he trailed his lips over your neck, his blue eyes clashing with James’ grey ones. When James obeyed, sitting with his thighs spread showing off just how eager he was, Steve smiled against your skin. “Good boy.”  James’ cock was leaking and flushed an angry red. But he made no move to touch himself without Steve’s permission.

“Now, I think I’ve waited long enough for this.” Steve led you to the bed and urged you to lay down, drinking in the sight of you bared for him with hungry eyes. “Let’s see if you’re ready for me, my queen.” Steve’s hand trailed up your thigh slow and possessive and you squeaked. Instantly he stopped and returned his gaze to yours.

“Just—just, y/n.” You mumbled shyly as you reached out to cup his jaw, not wanting to be anything but his lover in this moment.

“Y/n then.” Steve’s voice was thick with emotion as he kissed your palm. His hand resumed its path until he could cup your sex, his fingers growing slick as he played with your clit and fed one thick finger into you. You moaned softly and spread your thighs wider, eager and aching for your Knight.

“Not quite, think you need to give me one orgasm first.” Steve mused to himself as he lowered his mouth, hovering over where you needed him most. “Missed tasting you.”

“You spent two hours with her sitting on your face yesterday.” James snorted, unable to help himself as Steve glared at his King over his shoulder.

“Let’s say no cumming for a day since you want to be smart mouthed.” Steve smiled as James immediately flushed bright red and mumbled,

“Sorry, Sir.”

You whined for attention, squirming under Steve’s hold. “Shh, love. I’ve got you. I shouldn’t make you wait anymore should I?” Steve murmured gently with a crooked smile before latching onto your clit with single minded focus.

His fingers made a come hither motion, practiced and easy as he worked your body. It took everything you had not to scream—he always touched you just right.

“Jesus, James, she still tastes like you.” James made a strangled sound but wisely kept quiet, stretching you further and pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

All it took was one hard suck and you were flying, a million pieces of stardust as he groaned into your folds. You soaked his chin and fingers shamelessly. By the time you were back to the land of the living he was over you, gliding his cock through your slick folds and lubing up his shaft in your juices. Just tasting you was enough to make his cock hard as steel once more.

“You’re going to scream for me, and I don’t give a fuck who hears. Do you understand?” Steve was usually a gentle man, soft spoken with you and always so considerate. But the Steve on top of you was a barely contained animal. Wild eyed with a will strong enough to subdue even your King.

“Yes, Sir.” You knew it was the right answer when his pupils dilated, and he lined up his cock against your entrance that clenched around nothing—aching more than anything to be filled.

“That’s a good girl.” He kissed you as he pushed in, inch by inch. Steve’s shaft was thicker than your husbands and you cried out your legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him deeper into you.

Greedy, that’s how Steve’s cock made you feel as it split you open.

“Fuck, James, you shouldn’t have let me have her.” Steve growled, his girth safely tucked inside your gummy walls so deep he could feel his cock when he pressed his hand into the softness of your belly. “I’m never going to get enough of her.” You were whimpering at every word. Just a prize to be passed back and forth between the only two men worthy of you, the thought made you clench down on Steve’s cock even tighter.

“You can speak, James.” Steve’s smug voice, his cock throbbing inside you as the leaking tip pressed a loving wet kiss to your cervix, it was all too much and he’d barely started moving yet.

“Can—" you’d never heard your husband’s voice so wrecked. “Can I come closer, Sir? I want to see.”

“You may. Hold her hand like a good little husband.” Steve ordered and within a few seconds you felt a warm hand slip into yours, James’ gaze heavy as a touch as he stared where you and Steve were joined.

“She’s barely able to take you.” Why did he sound so pleased? Why wasn’t Steve fucking you yet?

“Shh, pretty thing. I got you.” Steve cooed at you, cupping your breast in one hand and pinching your nipple lightly—groaning when it made your pussy flutter around his cock hungrily. “Just making sure there’s no pain.”

“None, promise, promise, just please!” You begged shamelessly, having waiting as long as he had to feel him.

“Please what?” That’s when you realized the game, he wanted you to say it. Scream your intentions like you had with your husband.

“I want you to fuck me!” You cried, tears gathering on your lashes in frustration.

“Not your husband?” Steve taunted as he gave your breast a squeeze.

You shook your head frantically, your bottom lip jutting out as you looked up at Steve. “Want you now,” you admitted honestly. James’ hands tightened in yours but he didn’t need to say a word as his cock leaked. “Waited, I was good, so good, want your cock Sir, please.”

“Good girl, my good girl.” Steve groaned and started fucking you slow and filthy, rolling his hips and staying mostly buried inside you as his fat cock hit every pleasurable spot with ease.

“You’re doing so good sweetheart, taking his cock isn’t easy.” You moaned at your husbands words, realizing exactly what he’d meant. He’d taken Steve’s cock before. But you couldn’t focus on anything other than Steve’s controlled thrusts. You knew he was holding back but it was already so much, your pussy gushing on his cock and making each thrust a little easier.

“More!” You begged, barely able to keep your eyes open as you tightened your legs around his waist. Steve grinned, feral and sharp.

“As you wish.”

Then all coherent thought was lost, Steve starting to fuck you in earnest until he was splitting you in two ruthlessly. James never let go of your hand and you were drowning in the pleasure you were given.

Steve’s cock squelched through your juices, your arousal coating his heavy balls as he fucked you hard and deep. He was a hurricane and all you could do was hold on for the ride. You free arm was thrown around his neck holding him close as you screamed out,

“Sir! Please, please, more!” You couldn’t stop yourself. Every thrust of his cock was melting your brain, and James’ encouraging words in your ear was only fanning the flames.

“You can take it can’t you my love? So good for us, you’ll have his baby next won’t you? I want to see it, our children playing together. Just gotta do what you did for me. Take all his cum right in your pretty little pussy again and again.” James was rambling, aching to touch his cock but too obedient to disobey Steve’s order not to cum.

“Fuck,” Steve was lost in your pussy. Couldn’t look away from your pussy sucking him in, like you couldn’t wait to milk him for his load.

“Want his babies, need it!” You squealed as Steve shifted the angle of his hips, hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars. If you’d been coherent you’d be able to see the toothy grin on Steve’s face.

“That’s it, make all your prettiest noises for me y/n. Feel so fucking tight love,” Steve groaned as he got close, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust aching to fill you up. His thumb found your clit with practiced ease and with quick tight circles you were thrown off the edge without warning.

“’m not pulling out. You’re gonna take what I give you, when I want to give it.” It wasn’t a question and yet you nodded immediately, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you squirted, your arousal splashing out of you—Steve fucking you through your orgasm without mercy.

Only when he started to cum did he slow down, grinding in every spurt of seed into your pussy like he could force your body to accept his seed into your womb.

“Beautiful.” James murmured as he kissed your forehead, squeezing your hand and checking over your face. You were drifting—so safe and full of light you felt like you were floating.

Steve had to gently pry your legs off his waist before he could slowly separate himself from you, his copious amount of cum leaking out of your gaping hole in a lewd display that made Steve wish he had the stamina to fuck you again immediately.

“She’s still feeling it,” James murmured above your head as he looked to Steve, and if you strained you could focus on Steve’s reply.

“That’s alright, let her rest.” Steve whispered back, his thick fingers spreading your pussy lips wide so he could stare directly at your hole as it gushed and twitched.

But then he turned to his friend and grinned.

“Would you like sloppy seconds, my King?”

[oceantornadoo]

a most pleasant marriage (john price x f!reader, minor simon x john x reader)

medieval arranged marriage au, SMUT, reader is a virgin, i did no research i fear, 4k wc

The emerald grass below your window, stories high and nearly minuscule, sways as you wait. And wait. And wait.

He was supposed to come two days ago. Your new husband, a foreigner, promised to you by your father in exchange for help to gain his own lands back. Greed begets greed, and while your maids help you change for your nightgown to a favorite dress of light blue, your stomach churns at the thought of the kind of man who would make such a promise. Your father has refused to educate you in any sort of war strategy, but you’re wily enough to know that promises can easily be broken. That the sagging stone buildings of your kingdom, small and unimportant to bigger ones that stomp on it like a bug, are no prize to be won. Why would your future husband want to help such a land when he could just as easily take it?

And so you wait outside of the arched slits of your stone window, your stitching in your lap as you halfheartedly nod to the chattering gossip of your ladies. After tea later in the day, sugar and butter heavy in your stomach, you nearly doze to their droning in your chair.

The clattering of horses wakes you right up.

A band of knights on horses, dressed in the black and white colors of your husband’s household, climb the winding hill that leads to your castle. You drop your stitching on a side table and gather your skirts, nearly running down the hall as your ladies follow you gleefully, taking another way about to the entrance hall. Worn stone and fiery sconces pass you in a blur as you skip down curved staircases, apprehension flooding your veins. What if he’s cruel? What if he breaks his promise to your father? What if-

A wall of muscle cuts off your next step, and thought, as you ram right into someone. You can tell it’s a man by the scent of musk and sweat, heady in the center of his torso. Your face hits stretched fabric as pain floods your nose. Strong hands grip your waist, a place no man’s ever touched, and stop your momentum from causing further destruction. Your hands, heavy from the stylish long sleeves that widen at your wrist, grip at stern shoulders as you steady yourself and your rapid breathing.

“I apologize, good sir. It was not my intent to run into you, I merely did not see where I was going. My deepest apologies.” You remove your hands to gingerly touch your nose, effectively blocking your view of him as you try to ensure no permanent damage was done. Remembering yourself, you step back until his hands leave your waist, coldness seeping in after. A terrible position to be caught in, especially with your husband’s men and potentially your husband himself in this very castle.

“Not to worry. I should hope I’m able to withstand an act of violence from a princess after my years of warfare.” Satisfied your nose is not broken, you remove your hands from your face slowly. A man stands before you, seemingly unruffled from your run in. Strong legs, horseman’s legs, build into a wide torso, the kind made for an armored chest plate with shoulders broad enough to bear it. He wears black and white and the insinuation of it sends a shiver down your spine. At last, you take in his face. His eyes are less kind than you thought they’d be based on his voice, the dark blue of a cruel river stream, fast enough to drown a child. He wears a beard in an unusual shape, one you’ve never seen on any man. His hair, brown as an oak tree, is thick enough to run your fingers through.

The thought is traitorous.

“If you call that an act of violence, you must not give accidents any berth to be what they are. Just accidents, that is.” The words escape without thinking, your hands flying to your mouth to stop the onslaught of thoughts spilling from your mouth like a waterfall. It’s then that you notice other things about the stranger. The quality of the fabric he wears, noticing that the black is actually a deep indigo, a rare color you’ve only heard of from whispers in court. Metal chains of gold encircle his neck, showcasing his wealth through lapis and rubies. Such a man must be rich beyond your wildest dreams, and certainly beyond your father. Your heart drops at the realization.

“You knew I was a princess.” You murmur before he can acknowledge your earlier sentence. “Yes.” He takes a step further, no honorific in his words. Any man who’d have the gall to not acknowledge your title must have a reason to. Realistically, he might be able to tell your status based on the jewels that adorn you, but something bigger itches at your brain like a hound pawing at a closed door. “How?” You whisper, eyes trained on his shoes. Something drops on the floor, and only when your trembling fingers touch your skin do you realize your nose is bleeding.

“Your father showed me your portrait before I agreed to the marriage agreement.” His feet, clothed in indigo as well, come into your field of vision as he steps into your space. A callused hand raises your chin up, his thumb swiping at the blood under your nose. He removes his hand almost immediately, his thumb slick with your red blood nearing his mouth. You watch as his pink tongue swipes at the blood, then track as he wipes the rest on the white of his tunic. A claiming, a forbearance of what’s to come.

“King John.” You curtsy as another drop of blood falls, staining the fabric of your sky-like gown. Out of the corner of your eye, the king grins.

“A pleasure to meet you, Princess.”

-

You officially meet a few hours later. It seems that King John didn’t mention your illicit meeting to your father, and after staunching the bleeding of your nose and changing into another gown, you didn’t either. The gown is a deep blue color, and you couldn’t help but think of King John’s eyes when you picked it. You plead a headache as to why you return early, and your ladies are eager to fill the silence with gossip of the men King John brought with him. One who wore the mask of a human skull, a Scotsman, and another who made so many flirtatious overtures half of the women fainted. All you can think of are warm hands on your waist, gripping you like a God-given right. Though, you suppose it is.

When you make your entrance into the throne room, it’s surprisingly empty. No courtesans, though your kingdom has few already. Instead, King John converses with your father at his throne, towering over the man by pure stature. You curtsy and scurry further when your father calls your name, already confused at the unusual silence of the room.

“King John, may I present my eldest daughter. I trust she is to your liking?” There is no warmth in his tone, just the promise of retribution sparkling in your father’s eyes, the same color as your own. You turn to King John and curtsy again, keeping your eyes lowered as you stand demurely afterwards. “Your Grace,” you murmur. He’s silent, eyes burning into you as he appraises you. He hums, a low sound that goes straight to your core. You hope he noticed the color of your gown.

“She is. Her portrait does not compare.” Your cheeks warm as you keep your gaze lowered, years of etiquette classes holding back your reaction. Father grunts, clearly not wanting to spend more time than necessary praising you when they could be discussing how to win your lands back. “Yes, Your Grace. As we discussed, the ceremony and exchange of dowry will take place tomorrow.” Your heart thunders, blood rushing in your ears. You knew it was coming, of course, having packed most of your things and done dress fittings as your mother planned the wedding itself. Hearing the confirmation out loud is a different beast. This is your new life.

You hope he will be kind.

They converse about the dowry but do not dismiss you, leaving you to stay frozen in place as they discuss how many gold coins and jewels you are worth. Finally, you are dismissed with a reminder of the welcome feast tonight.

-

If this is the feast before the wedding, you fear for the antics of the one after. King John’s men, a horde of knights with almost no holy men to be found, are rambunctious as they drink your wine coffers dry. You sit at the seat of honor tonight, usually only reserved for your brother, the heir. King John sits on the other side of your father, mainly conversing with the man in the skull mask as you pick at your meal. Your father is reddened by drink, a young maid who is not your mother seated in his lap as he raves about his last conquest years ago. Your ladies titter beside you, your other sibling and mother having been sent off to bed an hour ago.

“Daughter!” You jolt as your father slaps the table to get your attention. “Yes, Father?” You answer meekly. “Practice serving your husband. His cup should never be empty.” He plucks a flagon of wine out of a passing maid’s hands and shoves it towards you. You rise and take it from him, hands shaking as you uncork it. When you round his chair, his gaze back on the woman on his lap, King John’s men stare. And stare. One of them with eyes like lightning nudged the handsome one beside him, whispering something that makes them both laugh. The skull-faced one, sitting closest to King John, is silent, his eyes dark as a demon’s.

You wrench your gaze away from them to land on your future husband’s. His cheeks are pinked from wine and he sits with his legs spread, wide enough to fit a barrel of ale between them. “Go’on.” You pour, your full focus on the jeweled cup as you feel his full focus on you. When the glass is nearly full, you place down the flagon and stand uncomfortably, waiting to be dismissed.

He does not dismiss you.

Those same hands from this afternoon grab your waist again, pulling you harshly into his lap. You make an unladylike squeal, immediately looking over your shoulder to see if your father noticed. Thankfully, he’s gone, probably off with that poor maid. “Your Grave, I don’t think this is appropriate.” You plead, hands gripping the fabric of your skirts so hard they might rip. He shifts you so you sit on one of his thighs, your feet in the space between them while the side of your ass is practically on his…

“You’ll be my wife in the mornin’. And I’d slay anyone makin’ fuss.” You gasp at his sternness, turning to see the truth of his words written on his face. One hand cups the front of your thigh, searing like a cow’s brand, while the other steadies your hip, keeping you in place. “You would, Your Grace?” You ask, eyes wide. He nods, straightening a bit so you fall further into him. Your hand reaches out to brace his chest, your fingers tangling in gold chains, and you keep it there, drunk on the power beneath you. Your father has never made any claims in your name, content to push any duties of propriety onto your mother.

“Call me John,” he implores. He nods his head to the skullfaced man who’s been watching your exchange, no turning in his chair to give you a sense of privacy. “Sir Simon, my right hand. Garrick and MacTavish are off somewhere in the crowd, his seconds.” You nod in your best imitation of a curtsy while affixed to your future husband’s lap. Beneath your thigh, you feel something harden. You freeze as the warmth in your core. John makes no comment, pressing circles into the velvet of your dress above your hip.

“They call you the Ghost, Sir Simon.” It seems wine has loosened your tongue as well. Thankfully, he grunts in a way you think might be a chuckle. “They do, sweetheart. He scare you?” John murmurs, his words losing any royal tone. Nervously, you nod minutely. John chuckles, shaking you awake like a bath gone cold. “He’s not the one you need to be scared of. C’mere.” He scoops your skirts and legs over his other thigh, closing his own to make an overwhelming lap of strength with tree trunk thighs. John grips your chin, a memory of this afternoon, and turns you this way and that. Sir Simon leans forward, close enough that his legs brush your own. “Pretty.” Sir Simon concludes, leaning back out of your face as his chair creaks. “Agreed. And plenty to handle.” He squeezes your thigh for emphasis. You clamp them shut, afraid he’ll take you right there on the table if you give him any leeway. It’s a complicated mix of fear and something you can’t quite name, close to the anticipation of a new dress but all encompassing. Below your stomach, butterflies flutter in places reserved for your husband. For John.

“Go to bed, princess. I’ll see you in the morn’.”

-

The morning disappears like lemon cakes on a spring morning. The formality of the religious ceremony carved itself into your bones, the same way your father carves your name on the decree of your marriage. Then it’s a parade through the town square, sitting in an open carriage and waving to the crowd as John holds your hand. The sun is sweltering, but you don’t know if that’s from the layers of white fabric you wear or John’s insistence on being next to you at all times. Then it’s back to the castle, the exchange of the dowry getting packed into the carts John’s men brought.

It all leads up to the feast.

This time, you are directly next to John at the place of honor. So many toasts are made you start to lose your voice, placating it with hot broth from the kitchens. Hours later, the crowd drunk on its own congratulations, your father stands with his goblet in his hand. “It is time.” He announces ominously. You lose John’s grip as your father guides you down into the crowd.

Hands, everywhere. Men of all ages lift you above their heads and tear your clothes off at the same time, making their way to your Royal Chamber for the night. All you can do is close your eyes as the smell of fermented wine rolls off their tongues, greedy hands grabbing what they can as they get you up the stairs. Thankfully, it’s harder for them to be coordinated, abandoning the struggle against white fabric as they bring you to the chamber door.

John arrives just after you, a gaggle of women behind him. He’s not as undressed as you, with only a tear in his tunic. You frown and he senses it, his eyes immediately turning stormy. “Out.” John orders. The women leave, but the stupider men stay. One lord speaks up, a slimy gleam to his face. “I beg your pardon, but we need to watch the consummation, Your Grace.” You almost retch at the thought of them watching you be intimate with a man you barely know. “Out.” John says again, fire in his voice like a dragon. They take the hint and fumble their way down the stairs. You gasp in air, breathing out a sigh of relief.

“Wife.” He greets you, appraising your torn state of dress. Your skirts are ruined, turned into strips of fabric. The lengthy sleeves have turned into scraps, exposing the top of your chest, but nothing more. With every breath, you can feel the dress start to rip even more. “Husband,” you reply breathily.

He opens the door for you. The fireplace quietly warms the room, but there’s no light other than that, making everything past the bed hard to see. You start fidgeting as you walk in front of him, taking a seat on the bed as you fiddle with your hands. “We need witnesses for the consummation. If I’m not with child right away, they’ll say it’s my fault or annul it or say you’re-�� He stops you with a thumb to your cheek, the rest of his fingers squeezing the side of your neck. “Look in the corner.” You squint, scanning the room for whatever he’s looking for. Suddenly, you hear a masculine grunt from the darkest corner of the room. When you whip your head towards it, you catch graphite eyes and the silhouette of a warrior.

“Sir Simon.” He tilts his head in acknowledgment, almost like he’s bored with his role. Your palms sweat and you rub your thighs together to stave off the strange feeling in your stomach. “Don’t look at him, wife. Look at me.” You follow John’s orders immediately, locking onto his intense gaze. “What have you been told of this?” Your cheeks warm, remembering the short lesson from your religious teacher and an even shorter one from your mother.

“I shall lay down and let my husband use my body to complete our marital duties.” John sits down beside you with a grunt. Instead of responding, he runs a finger down the length of your exposed shoulder. You shiver involuntarily. He leans forward, and you stiffen as he kisses your shoulder. The last time you received a kiss was years ago, after a harrowing fever where your mother sat next to your bedside for a fortnight. “Is this…part of the marital duties?” You ask, voice trembling as he makes his way to the side of your neck he previously held. “Yes.” John murmurs into the hollow of your throat. He licks at the skin there and you jump, almost hitting your jaw against his head.

“Steady now.” Simon’s voice is raspy, like a dry paintbrush against blank canvas. You follow his orders immediately, willing yourself to calm down as John comes off the bed and in front of you.

And then, he kneels.

A King kneels before you, his rough hands dragging your tattered skirts up your legs, revealing parts of your skin that have never seen the sun. You freeze as he makes his way to your thighs, the skirt sitting around your waist. Your underskirts are made for using the chamber pot easily, so there’s no fabric around your cunt. John groans again, close enough that you can feel his breath cool the wetness beneath you. “Y’know what that is, princess?” He murmurs, spreading your thighs with ease. You shake your head, confused at the butterflies in your core. “Slick. Wetness. Arousal for your husband and his second, hm?” It seems rhetorical, so you stay silent as his fingers near your cunt. He kisses your inner thigh and you immediately snap your thighs shut. John looks up at you, violence in his eyes. “Stay open.” You try to, forcing your thighs open as he nears again. One large hand steadies your right thigh as his other strokes the slick between your thighs. When his fingers get close, your thighs snap shut again of their own will.

“Simon.” He appears in an instant, stony eyes peering down like he’s reading a text. “Hold her other leg open.” A scarred hand clamps down on your left thigh, wrenching you open almost to the point of discomfort. This time, John rubs his fingers at the slick between your folds and all you can do is sit there and take it. His thumb dips into your hole, and the intrusion is frightening, but he’s gone before you can even notice. He moves it up a little and there.

A loud moan escapes your lips, a sound you’ve never heard before. You clamp your hands to your mouth in embarrassment, remembering your mother’s lessons about staying quiet. “There she is.” John murmurs, seemingly uncaring of your break of expectations. He rubs again and again, then changes the angle so the heel of his hand rubs while he teases the entrance of your hole. Your breaths are heaving and Simon’s hand is hot on your thigh, sure to leave marks tomorrow. The top of your dress, already crumbling, breaks under the weight of your panting just as John presses his palm hard. Your nipples scrape against the dress fabric as your tits escape from the confines of your dress while Simon squeezes the soft skin of your thigh. It’s a funny feeling, a little like peeing, as you release into John’s hold, whining as he holds his palm steady.

“What just- I don’t know- did I do something wrong?” You pant as both men look at you with sparkles in their eyes. “It’s called an orgasm, princess. A release. Necessary for your marital duties. You’re being perfect.” Your heart calms at his praise, and it’s only when you nod do you realize your tits are bouncing of their own accord. John stands, ripping your bodice before you can even think to process. Simon tugs the fabric out from under you as John pushes you back, scanning you like a hunter after a deer. “Hands on your tits, wife.” You follow his instructions, laying your hands confusingly across your chest. John opens your thighs with both hands this time, his mouth wet against your curls. Simon leans over you and you realize this whole time, he’s removed the skull mask with only a black handkerchief covering the bottom half of his face. Those same scarred hands cover your own, showing you how to squeeze your nipples until you understand on your own.

The movements send sparks down your spine, making your hips buck against John’s face. He doesn’t complain, sucking hard at your cunt as you squirm. Simon's stare is as intense as a full moon on a clear night, making you feel like the center of the room. Even as a princess, you've never gotten such attention without it feeling transactional. There is no pain like how your maids whispered, just sheer pleasure, better than any honey cake or sweet wine stolen from the kitchens. Lightning sparks down your body, and the pressure of John holding you down while Simon knows your body better than your own. Your cunt is sopping, the sheets under you wet from your slick as you convulse when John adds a finger inside you. You gasp at the sensation, one becoming two quickly as he finds no resistance. He crooks them towards himself, like he's telling his pretty wife to come here. You come again just like that, thrashing into Simon's hands until you melt like a spring snow into the bed.

John strips off his clothing harshly, revealing a masculine figure you've only seen in carvings or glimpses from the men practicing at their swords in the yard. Hair all over, bearish in appearance, but you're learned enough now to not close your thighs. "C'mere," he orders, and you scramble forward, losing the warmth of Simon's hands. He guides your soft hands to his cock, letting you explore it with questioning touches. It's heavy in your hands, velvety but hard as stone. He grunts when you do an exploratory tug, and you drop your hands, afraid you did something wrong.

"This may be quick, wife. I'll rectify it in the morn'." You nod, brows furrowed as you were told it was always quick, no matter what. John climbs out of you as Simon steps back, but you can see his own silhouette of his cock through his trousers, backlit from the fireplace. John lays his weight on you, his forearms bracketing your head, and you sigh at the comforting feel of him. There's no fear anymore, your senses pliable from two orgasms. He nudges open your legs and you feel an intrusion of where he was before, but it's smoother than you thought it would be as he slides in. "John." You moan, mouth open as fullness grows inside. "So sweet, princess." He murmurs into your ear, pushing further until the hilt. You whine, squirming until Simon presses a gigantic hand on your stomach, keeping you in place as John finds his bearings.

He thrusts once and your breath hitches, your arms wrapping around his muscular shoulders as you sink your claws into his back. John tucks his face into the crook of your neck, and it feels like so much more than duty as he finds a pace. Simon's hand stays there, and your stomach feels fuller than the biggest feast. John's thumb finds your cunt and you start squealing at the overwhelming feeling. "John, I'm- cannot again I-," and he just chuckles, thrusting over and over. You share the same breath, your eyes finding Simon's at every other moment. If this is marriage, you think, it is nowhere near a prison. It's the rough hair of John scraping against your torso, his sweat gliding against yours. That spark builds again, not as bright as before but still powerful, and you clench again when he hits a specific spot. John, slippery with sweat and panting murmurs, follows after, warmth flooding between your thighs as he slows.

"I apologize, I cannot last as long as I used to." John confesses, still inside you as Simon takes his hand back. Your head is cloudy and sugar sweet with no room for reason. Your hands are still on his shoulders, and on instinct you move one to slide into his thick head of hair. "Nothing to apologize for, husband. It was pleasant." Simon chuckles, and you wonder if you've done something wrong. “Pleasant, she says.” John says to Simon, letting you gasp as he slips out of you, his cock leaving a trail of white on your thighs. You tighten your grip against John’s scalp as you watch Simon return to his seat, practically unaffected despite his arousal.

“Did I please you, husband?”

“Yes, wife. This shall be a pleasant marriage. Now rest.” And you do, John trapping you with his body and Simon trapping you with his eyes.

[okwonyo]

I NEED YOU ★ 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗋

𝟏𝟓𝟕𝟏𝒾──── enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff 𓂋 kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡

𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 ◜ ᴗ ◝𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦

HEESEUNG

he does not wanting to sleep without you. therefore, when he wakes up in the morning with your side of the bed being cold, he doesn’t like it at all. before getting out of bed, he groans, “why does she do that to me?”

heeseung could be slightly annoyed at you for disturbing his sleep—yes, not sleeping next to him is disturbing his sleep—but he loves you too much to think about it for longer than a mere second. and his heart is too fond of you, to not break a smile when he sees you in the bathroom.

“oh, hey hee,” you chuckle at his sleepy face. with your toothbrush in your mouth, your words are mumbled softly. he hums, walking closer to you, “did i wake you up?” you ask, watching him scratch his eye. he doesn’t answer, you continue, “it wasn’t my atten—”

your sentence is cut short by his arms wrapping around your waist and your feet not touching the floor anymore. “heeseung!” for someone so sleepy, he seems to effortlessly walk you to your bedroom, “i can’t go back to sleep, i have a lot to do and–!”

your words die in your throat when your back hits the mattress. his entire body is over yours in a blink of time; putting up a fight is absolutely no use.

JAY

luckily for you, your boyfriend is the epitome of chivalry. he is the only man on earth that you can call a gentleman without fearing to be ridiculous or ashamed in the future. he treats you good, with such care that it leaves you in awe most of the time.

jay is the type of man who will walk by the roadside when you walk side to side, who will put his hand on your lower back to guide you through a crowd, who will offer you his arm to hold when you walk.

and when you have heels, like tonight— he is by your side all the time. he is dotting you like crazy, acting as if you were no touch porcelain doll that could break at the slightest breeze.

he is all over you during the entire night, even as you walk back him. “are you okay?” his tone is kind and caring, “do your feet hurt?” he doesn’t know why he is asking; he will do whatever he wants anyway.

your hands clench on his shoulders, your laugh resonates in the entire street as he lifts you up. you feel like a princess being saved by her knight in shining armor or a bride on her way to her honeymoon. bridal style. yes, that’s just your boyfriend coded.

JAKE

ever since he got himself into a relationship, jake’s obsession for couples trends that circulate all over tiktok has grown dangerously wider. obviously, as his girlfriend, you are the victim of whatever new video he wants to duplicate.

from the couple matching pictures to the tiktok dances, you have seen and done all— just for the sake of making him happy. at this point, his entire account is just videos of the two of you while the last video you posted of him was three months ago.

“do you trust me?” he laughs, seeing how you step backward everytime he gets closer to you. honestly, your boyfriend is a very muscular guy, who can lift you up with his index finger without thinking much of it— but do you trust him that much?

you don’t answer just yet. with a smile on your face, you tell yourself that if jake thinks he can be standing with you sitting on his shoulders without falling apart, then he can; “i do.”

you set yourself in front of jake, his hands wrap around your waist when the camera goes on. he holds onto you strongly and in a swift motion, lifts you all the way off the floor to make you sit prettily on his shoulder. he doesn’t fall or even flinch. you want to kiss him.

SUNGHOON

he has only gotten more and more muscular as the time passed by. his arms, hai shoulders, his back has gotten bigger. his abs and muscles have gotten more obvious. let’s say that his daily appointment at the gym does pay off.

he is strong and muscular— he never fails to remind you every time he can, every passing day. sunghoon doesn’t let a second pass without showing you how buff he is; by flexing his arm ‘absentmindedly’, lifting heavy stuff that no one asked him to lift, picking you off the the floor.

the latter is one of his most annoying, hot and usual habit. he manhandles you, almost throws you around (with care), holds you in the air without any reason if it’s not that he can do it.

he loves to lower himself out of the blue, for no particular reason and hug your legs. you always yelp, because what, while putting your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as he gets up.

“let your strong future husband take you to the kitchen, darling,” he says, his pretty eyes looking up at you. he doesn’t go far, from this angle all his features are so pretty. his strong arms around you makes you feel dizzy. your mouths connect before he can start walking.

SUNOO

“welcome home, honey,” is the first thing he hears when he comes back home. you greet with, as every other day, by a sweet smile after opening the door for him. he is always in awe for a few seconds, unable to move or say anything— star struck by you.

he missed you today, extremely so, all day long. he has been dreaming about this moment since he left the house early in the morning. he giggles fondly. he steps into the apartment with all the weight leaving his shoulders.

“hi, baby,” he whispers back with the door shutting behind him. his fingers tuck your hair behind each one of your ears, he gives your nose a gentle peck to which you giggle.

sunoo decides that he deserves to get what he has been craving for, that he deserves to take his girl in his arms for a long time. his arms welcome you in his comforting warmth. “i missed you so much, darling.”

you let him jail you in his embrace. “…and where are you taking me?” you tilt your head to the side whereupon he lifts you off the floor. he holds you gently as he answers, “to our bed.”

JUNGWON

he admires you sleeping for a while. kneeled in front of the couch. he didn’t turn on the leaving room’s light, never wishing to get you out of your precious slumber. however, the hall’s light reflects gently on your sleeping face— melting his heart.

he is so fond of you. not only because you told him you would wait for him to come home to get to bed, but because you did—because, although you fell asleep on the couch, you didn’t get under the bed’s soft cover without your boyfriend by your side.

jungwon’s hand reaches your hair without him realizing. he twirls one of your hair strands around his index finger before patting your head like the sweetheart he is, “you are so pretty,” he murmurs, aware you are not going to hear him.

he thinks about waking you up; with kisses or by poking your cheek, his mind wavers between those two options before he decides that you look too peaceful to disturb you in your precious sleep. his arms are strong enough to carry you to bed, he knows it.

for a moment, he is scared that you will wake up when you budge in his arms. it’s just to bury your face in the crook of his warm neck, mumbling his name and an apology he shushes sweetly. he tucks you under the cover with care, the slip right next to you.

RIKI

it only took you a few weeks to noticed that if you ask him to do something, he would do it without a second thought. it can really be the silliest thing ever, the most useless demand or the most annoying mission— your wish is his command.

sometimes you are not strong enough to control yourself from teasing him a little bit. you try to see if he is ever going to snap, to refuse with a flat and firm ‘no’. funnily enough, his devotion to you doesn’t know an end.

“hey,” you stop in your tracks, stopping riki as well due to your hand wrapped by his. he look back at you with a confused look on his face, waiting for you to tell him what you want to. “can you give me a piggyback ride?”

it almost makes you laugh when you realize that he is already holding your purse and all your shopping bags in his free hand. he seems very much aware of it too, and for a split second you think that he is going to get angry at you.

he only sighs, thought. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbles, lowering himself. his broad back faces you, he waits for you to hop on him. who ever are you to refuse? if your boyfriend is sweet enough to carry you in his back all the way home, you can only let him do it.

분지 ܃ revamp of this work i made a while ago for my chérie @chrrific mwah 💌

© 𝖮𝖪𝖶𝖮𝖭𝖸𝖮 ୨୧ 𝟐𝐎𝟐𝟓 ── taglist open

[himasgod]

Hi hi, i saw that requests are open so can i ask for Diasomnia reacting to reader being a dragon rider like the Targaryens please? Reader’s dragon is also super aggressive to anyone that isn’t her rider.

DIASOMNIA X READER

Where you are a dragon rider

Malleus literally blinks twice when he sees you flying in on a dragon just as big or even bigger than him.

I mean… how come he wasn't warned there was another powerful dragon in the region?!

He stands there, arms crossed, watching you land, your cape flapping and the dragon breathing fire as a warning.

"Interesting creature…"

…and you can't tell if he means you or the dragon.

He tries. He really does. He approaches you with all his fae princely elegance, but the dragon immediately blows smoke out of its nostrils.

"Don't worry. I'm used to being feared… though they don't usually bare their fangs so quickly."

A little offended, but even more intrigued

He's fascinated that you can control such a temperamental creature. He looks at you with respect and mild infatuation.

"Could it be that you can control this dragon too…?" he says, pointing at himself with a smile 💀💀

He's amused when the dragon roars at him if he tries to get too close to you.

"Are you that jealous, old friend? Can't you see I just want to talk to your rider?"

The best part is when you stroke his arm, easing the tension, and Malleus gives the dragon a triumphant look as if to say, "She's touching me, and you can't help it."

He's not bothered that the dragon doesn't want him around. In fact, he takes it as a romantic challenge.

"In time, he'll accept it… just as I've accepted that my heart burns when I see you."

10/10 rizzler Malleus.

Sebek watches you descend from the sky with that imperial air, wrapped in fire, ash, and the wind blowing… and the first thing he thinks is:

“A WARRIOR WORTHY OF SERVING MY LORD MALLEUS!”

Seriously he's so impressed he's speechless for a few seconds.

Which, considering it's Sebek, is quite a feat.

The way you control that enormous beast with a single command, the way the dragon turns its head to follow your every step… it's terrifying, majestic, and wonderful for his sense of honor and discipline.

A flash of flame two feet away from him. Your dragon barks a warning that leaves him paralyzed, his hair standing on end and his pride trembling.

BUT… then he tries to get closer. Like a good bodyguard knight, he wants to make sure you're not a threat to Mal. He takes one step. Another. And then…

“U-UNACCEPTABLE!! HOW DARE THIS CREATURE THREATEN A FAITHFUL SERVANT OF MALLEUS-SAMA!?”

It takes him weeks to stop yelling at the dragon.

But he keeps trying. With his chest puffed out, he tries every diplomatic method he knows to get close without getting charred.

He speaks to it as if it were a troop:

“Listen to me, scaly creature! I seek no harm to your rider! I am here to protect her in the name of honor!”

He fails. Mostly.

The dragon hates him, especially because he screams so much and has such intense energy.

Still, Sebek respects you greatly. He says only someone with an unbreakable will and a soul forged in fire could tame such a beast. He even starts training harder to “be worthy of a dragon rider.”

Sometimes he gets jealous of the dragon tho.

“Why can that creature always be by her side and I can't?! It's not fair, damn it, it can't even speak like a decent knight!”

Over time, Sebek begins to see the dragon not just as an obstacle, but as a symbol of your power. And while he'll never bow his head to the creature, he will accept that it's part of your honor, your life, and your heart.

Silver sees you fly for the first time when he wakes up to the sound of wings. He looks up, half asleep… and gasps.

It's like seeing a dream. A colossal creature soaring through the sky with fire behind it, and you riding it like a goddess of war.

When you land and walk with that serene air, while your dragon protects your back like a jealous guardian, Silver feels something inside him…

as if he's recognized your soul before. As if he's already dreamed of you.

"You're like the legends my father told me when I was a child…"

He tries to get closer. With calm steps, without raising his voice, with soft eyes.

But your dragon doesn't allow it. He steps between you two, growls… and immediately throws a flame at the ground a few steps from Silver.

The funny thing is that Silver doesn't get angry. He just bows his head and apologizes, respectfully.

"I understand… you're looking out for her. And that's okay."

Of course, every time he sees you, your dragon watches him as if evaluating him. Silver stays still, let it smell him, doesn't defend himself. He's willing to slowly earn your trust.

In fact, there's a precious moment when Silver accidentally falls asleep near you, and your dragon… doesn't attack him.

He lets him be. He watches him, even shades him with one of his wings.

When you wake up and see that, you realize your dragon has silently accepted it.

If there's ever a battle, Silver is ready to fight by your side. He won't ride your dragon, because he respects the sacred bond you have, but he will walk in your shadow, sword in hand, confident that you and your creature are the closest he's ever come to the fantasy he dreamed of as a child.

Lilia sees the dragon snarling, breathing fire into the air, and you sitting on its back as if you were on your throne. And his first reaction is,

"How cute! Look at those sharp little teeth! And that temper! I love it! He does look like Malleus when he was still in his shell, baby boy~"

The dragon blows a flame at him, and Lilia… laughs.

“Ohhh, you sure know how to give a warm welcome! You're so polite!”

Unlike the others, he doesn't get offended or frustrated. he treats it like a game.

Sometimes he even brings the dragon fresh meat as an offering, though she only drops it from a safe distance.

“Now, now, don't be so cold. I promise I won't eat your rider… unless she wants it.”

Please tell me I didn't just write that.

But seriously, deep down, Lilia admires you greatly. Your bravery, your connection with a wild creature, your strength and grace… he finds it all fascinating. And yes, sometimes he casts flirtatious glances at you from afar while your dragon jealously watches

"Do I also have to win over your guardian to win you over, my dear?"

[mariasont]

My Boss Won't Be Happy About This - A.H

a/n: back to bimbo brain rot!!!! inspired by the first season that one episode (you know the one) where hotch is all macho man with elle in jamaica

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you’re wrongfully arrested and hotch is not happy about it

warnings: creepy officer, inaccuracies of how law enforcement works, hotch being sexy

wc: 1.3k

"Listen I'm not the type of girl to tell someone how to do their job, but I just don't think you're doing it right."

You were speaking to an empty room, or at least, you were speaking to the mirror in front of you. It's the kind of mirror you had seen in countless interrogation scenes, the kind you usually image Hotch standing behind. You let your gaze linger, wondering if eyes are studying you from the other side, listening to your monologue.

"Well, that, and I also just don't think it's very nice." Your brand spanking new heels were tapping against the dirty floor. 

You weren't happy about that. You weren't happy about any of this. Your feet ache, but the fear of the germs lurking on the floor paralyzes any thoughts of relief by removing your shoes.

"And hey, shouldn't I get a phone call? That's a rule, I think," you mumble, lips turning downward in an unusual frown. It seems like the right time for it. "My boss is not going to take this well. I mean, he's got this look, you know? The kind that makes you want to apologize for things you didn't even do."

You conjured up his daunting expression and released a jittery laugh, all while striving to disregard the biting cold blasting from the AC vent, which seemed determine to freeze you into place. 

You were seriously out of your element, not just in surroundings but in dress--so form-fitting it left very little to the imagination. It seemed to be a good idea for a date. That was before you realized said date would be a complete disaster. Now, it felt like a trap. It had been a spectacle for a man unworthy of the effort, and as you sat in this rigid chair, you found yourself tugging at the hem every other moment, a futile attempt to preserve some semblance of modesty.

"So, when he hears about this little error... Well, let's just say I wouldn't want to be in your shoes." Six hours had passed in this dreary space, and you could feel your sanity fraying at the edges. You muttered, half to yourself, "Not that they're as cute as mine, but you get the point."

The door hinge's creak made you sit bolt upright, a silent supplication for Hotch's rescue echoing through your mind. But today, it seemed, the gods were indifferent. The officer who had arrested you stepped in.

"Having fun talking to yourself?"

You flashed your sweetest smile. "Oh, tons! But I'd have much more fun if you'd uncuff me."

He said nothing, folding his arms over his chest as he dragged his gaze up and down your body in a way that made your skin prickle in discomfort. You attempted to dispel the creeping dread, but it stubbornly lingered.

You did what you could to cover up, despite the awkward angle of your arms. "Listen, this is all just a big mistake. I work for the FBI," you insisted, though it was clear the officer's attention was fixated on your tits rather than your words. "Well, I mean, I'm an assistant for the unit chief of the BAU unit. You've heard of Aaron Hotchner, haven't you?"

The officer's mouth closed without a word, as the door was thrust open yet again, and this time, your heart leapt in recognition. Your knight in shining armor with a lethal expression.

His eyes instantly zeroed in on the officer with a look that could curdle blood, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that you weren't the object of his anger. He approached you wordlessly, his every motion precise and determined.

He carefully shed his jacket, a gesture he seldom made, and draped it across your shoulders. The fleeting caress of his hand against your skin was enough to make you lean into his touch. You let out a breath that you had been unconsciously holding back. 

You watched as Hotch turned, his voice a low, steady force, his words carefully chosen and tinged with an unsettling peace. "Officer," he began, the title spoken almost as warning. "I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding. This woman is not only an esteemed member of the FBI, but she is also under my direct supervision."

He stepped closer, encroaching on the officer's personal space. You watched, almost in slow motion, as the officer's expression morphed into one of sheer terror, his earlier confidence dissolving like sugar in hot tea.

"Six hours," he continued, his voice never rising yet somehow it took up all the space in the confined room. "Six hours of unwarranted detention, without due process. I expect her immediate release. And make no mistake, this lapse in judgment will have its ramifications."

The officer was mute, his fingers clumsily unlocking the handcuffs, his movements hurried, his hands trembling. A twinge of pity flickered within you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the memory of considering the table as a makeshift blanket.

The moment the metal clicked open; you wasted no time. You flung your arms around Hotch, the pent relief and biting chill of the past few hours pouring out of you. You were desperate for warmth, specifically his warmth.

He stiffened, caught off guard by your actions. You feel the anger radiating through him, practically pulsing through his skin. As you clung to him, you felt the draft on your legs as your dress slid up, and without missing a beat Hotch's hand discreetly adjusted the fabric, all while keeping his eyes locked on the officer, a silent warning in his gaze.

Once he was certain you were decently covered, he allowed himself to draw him into his arms. One arm secured around your waist, the other weaving through your hair. You were cold. It renewed another tide of rage through his bloodstream.

With the officer's departure, the room's oppressive atmosphere lightened a touch, leaving you still latched onto your boss.

"Oh, sir, you wouldn't believe it," you started, his hands tracing up your spine and sparking a trail of goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chill. "They kept asking me about a heist, as if I'd know anything about that! And then they show me this picture, and I mean, sure, she had my hair, but that's about it."

You rambled on, and he let you, the absurdity of the situation pouring out in a stream of consciousness. Hotch's hold on you tightened. You could sense the coiled tension in him, a tempest of anger held a bay.

"And the room, it was so cold! I mean, I'm sure you can tell. My teeth were chattering, and all I could think of was how I'd rather be filing your paperwork or listening to Reid's factoids about the quantum mechanics of coffee beans."

You felt Hotch's breath on your hair as he let out a sigh. 

"I'm just glad you're here now," you whispered, finally allowing yourself to relax in his embrace.

Hotch gave a curt nod, his jaw set. He was itching to confront the officer, to unleash a tirade not meant for your ears. But he was well aware of how much you needed him right now, and that trumped everything in his book.

Hotch took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "This isn't just incompetence; it's negligence. I will have this place reevaluated for its standards, or lack thereof."

You took a step back, hands still resting on his arms, and he maintained his grip on your waist. "I bet this is the last time you'll let me go on a date without a full background check on the guy, huh, sir?"

Hotch's hold on your waist firmed just a fraction. "Maybe it's the last time I let you go on a date, period."

He was only half-joking.

"Not even with you?" You tilted your head to meet his gaze, drawing his jacket closer around you.

Hotch just simply gives you that look, the one that says a thousand words without a sound. He's telling you to tread lightly.

"Alright, I'll be good," you giggle, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Can you take me home now, please?"

He nods, "Yeah, let's get you home."

And then he leads you out, thinking to himself that the next person to take you out will be him, but that's for him to know and you to find out later.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[redeemingvillains]

𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓸 𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓵𝓮 ♡

⟶ 𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓈

⋆ ☾⋆ cold comfort

summary: mattheo has one rule: any girl can share his bed (and there's been plenty) but none can stay the night. when the unexpected happens, and you're begging to be the first, you find out why he had the rule in the first place.

⋆ ☾⋆ riddle's girl

summary: mattheo has...feelings about you wearing his quidditch jersey.

⋆ ☾⋆ the playlist

summary: enzo overhears something about you he shouldn't have and when he tells his friends, all hell breaks loose. ⋆ ☾⋆ veritaserum

summary: when mattheo drinks veritaserum on a bet, he's confident he doesn't have anything to hide… until you show up.

⋆ ☾⋆ obliviate

summary: when voldemort finds out about you and mattheo, he devises the perfect way to keep you apart.

⋆ ☾⋆ the black lake

summary: mattheo is hogwarts' triwizard tournament champion, and he's proven that he can crush the competition. but when the stakes are raised, and you're involved, nothing will get in his way.

⋆ ☾⋆ the new girl (pt.1)

summary: despite their best and most ardent efforts, each of the slytherin boys gets rejected by you, and can't figure out why, not knowing that one of them holds a secret that explains it all.

⋆ ☾⋆ the new girl (pt.2)

summary: you come to find that keeping your situationship with mattheo a secret is harder than you anticipated.

⋆ ☾⋆ tea leaves on christmas eve

summary: you and mattheo agree to have your tea leaves read as a joke, not expecting the surprising message they'd reveal.

⋆ ☾⋆ the apothecary's rebel

summary: hogwarts’ bad boy can’t seem to find a way to stay out of the infirmary where you’re working to become a healer, but as the stakes get higher, you struggle to understand if you’re simply a means to an end, or something much more.

⋆ ☾⋆ of magic and mayhem

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter. ˋ°•*⁀➷ epilogue

⋆ ☾⋆ three words eight letters

summary: you confessed your feelings to mattheo months ago, and his unwillingness to do the same might be the very thing that breaks you apart for good.

⋆ ☾⋆ ps i love you

summary: mattheo plans an unexpected valentine's day surprise for you

⋆ ☾⋆ dove

summary: fed up with the way the slytherin boys create chaos without consequence, someone seeks to bring them down a notch by going after the one thing their strongest loves most: you.

⋆ ☾⋆ fears & fantasies

summary - mattheo is your brother's best friend and your biggest crush so surely when he offers you comfort it's purely platonic...right?

⟶ 𝒶𝓊𝓈

the joker!mattheo

knight!mattheo --- the knight's oath (prologue) --- the knight's favor (pt. 1) --- the knight's war (pt. 2) - coming soon! --- the knight's reprisal & epilogue (pt. 3) - coming soon!

⟶ 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈

afternoon nap

sending mattheo innocent pics over winter break

how mattheo uses his magic around you

⟶ 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈

mattheo wears a gold chain...

how mattheo would love you in every love language

overprotective & possessive boyfriend!mattheo

how mattheo drives

the type of music mattheo listens to

© redeemingvillains please do not copy, plagiarize, or repost my work

[teaboot]

Sometimes at work it's not my place to tell people the things I want to say, and I find I often go home at the end of the rougher days to stand blankly in my shower and tell myself over and over what I wish I could pass on.

This accomplishes very little, and mostly just gives me a tension headache, but through it all I think I've narrowed myself down to a few solid things I'd like to tell people the most.

You can't change people. Not permanently, not for anythig. You can support them, encourage them, love them, give them tools and opportunities and resources, but you can't make them change. They can change themselves if they want to, but they have to want to, and they have to want it for themselves, because they're the only one that's certain to be with them forever.

For better or worse, you make your own choices, and blaming bad choices on others doesn't only work to absolve you of responsibility- it also robs you of control. Because if you say you only did something because I did something, then you arent only shifting blame- you're admitting that you cannot control yourself, that you cannot truly make choices for yourself, that other people can control you- and as long as you truly beleive that, you'll keep facing the same problems over and over. You'll keep letting others dictate your choices, because you'll beleive that they can, and you'll never be free.

White knights on horseback are from fairytales. Nobody can help you if ou're not willing to help yourself. To try, to put the dirty work in, to belive you're worth that effort- Act as though nobody is coming to save you. From a struggle, from pain, from bad relationships, from yourself. And when you do save yourself, because you will, because failure here isn't an option if you want to survive, you'll never find another dragon that can keep you prisoner.

Don't say anything to anyone that you wouldn't want them remembering forever.

Doing the right thing in bad circumstances is hard. It's the hardest thing. But if you make the choice to do that hard thing anyways, despite your fear, you'll go on the rest of your like knowing that you're the sort of person who did something.

The present only seems the hardest because the past I over and the future hasn't happened.

There's so much joy ahead of you, the kind you can't possibly understand until you see it yourself.

The responsibility of consequences is often disguised as the power of permission. "I won't do this if you help me", "I'll work on my anger if you do this for me", "I promised you I'd quit, but can I have just one?". The unspoken question is, "Can it be your fault if this goes badly?"

You cant make someone love you the way you need to be loved. Someone can love you very much and still be bad for you, even if you love them very much in return. Two people can love each other very, very much, and try their very best, and still be wrong for each other.

Sometimes being near to someone changes you, even in good ways, and the people you become don't fit together as well as the people you were.

Caring takes work. Even if it's real. Especially if it's real. And the most important gestures aren't the grand, poetic, songs-and-flowers-and-tears moments; they're getting out of bed even though you don't want to. Paying attention to things you don't enjoy. Scrubbing pans, or opening a window, saying "thank-you", or helping carry groceries into the house. The small things fill the big things- without the small, boring, mediocre things, big things feel hollow.

Thrre is honour and dignity in humble work.

If you are a cruel and spiteful person, then you will find every place you visit to be full of the same cruel, spiteful people. This is not because the world is as cruel as you, but because everywhere you are, you will be disliked. This is the curse that comes with being persistently cruel and spiteful.

If you are a kind and ppsitive person, you will repeatedly encounter kind and positive people, because as they grow familiar with you, they will be happier to have you near. This is the reward of being a kind and positive person.

When splitting paths with loved ones, briefly or forever, aim for your last words to always be "I love you".

[jimilter]

the ferrari guy | jjk.

You hire an assistant – and Jeon Jungkook loses his mind. Is that irrational of him? Not when the guy you’ve chosen flirts like a hooker, looks like a runway model and dresses like he’s Giorgio Armani himself. 

pairing: jungkook x reader rating: pg-15 genre: humor | fluff | chaebol!au | fwb!au | ceo!jungkook warnings: swearing + implied sex + jealousy + insecurity + a certain loml charming everyone’s pants off <3 word count: 3 k note:  helloooo fam! i am alive and still writing apparently lmao. jimilter is still a safe space, a wonderful escape from real life and i have no plans of quitting this in near or far future (: no comments on the occasional disappearances tho bec real life has been hectic af! anyways, enjoy this humorous lil drabble from jk's pov (set between part 3 & 4) while i work on the massive angst in part 5! <3

— masterlist | feedback!

↝ the damsel & her knight ⁘ 01 02 03 [3.5] 04 05

On Thursday evening, while leaving work, Jeon Jungkook finds a flashy, bright red Ferrari convertible blocking his car in the parking lot of his office. An office in a building his father owns. 

Needless to say, he is beyond mad.

"Who the heck even drives a Ferrari in our company?" he barks into the phone, scowling when his secretary gives an exasperated sigh.

"President ma'am interviewed some people today, sir. Maybe it's one of the candidate's cars?" 

"What kind of a douchy person comes to a job interview in a convertible?" Jungkook is still scowling at the vermillion vehicle when his brain catches up with the rest of the information Haeri imparted. His mouth dropping open, he raises his free hand up in front of his face, as if to stop time. "Hold on – did you say President ma'am?"

"Uh, yes, si—"

"She interviewed people? Why? What for?" he cuts his secretary off, frowning.

"She is hiring an assistant, sir."

"Wha—why does she need an assistant?"

Haeri is quiet for a while. Then she clears her throat. "I would suggest you to not ask her this, sir."

Jungkook sighs. Haeri is always so straightforward with him. Sometimes a bit too straightforward. But she’s always guiding him around making stupid decisions, and maybe that is why he's had her in his office for nearly two years now. The longest he’s had a secretary ever since he joined the company as the CEO. 

There’s also the fact that Haeri actually has a boyfriend and is immune to all of Jungkook’s charm… Not that he’s actually tried them on her, per se. He’s been otherwise occupied in that department for a while. Very happily and proudly so. 

Clearing his throat, "Yeah, sorry," he grumbles to the girl, turning around to eye the offensive car again. "I'm texting you the license plate number, will you make an announcement on Prez's floor?"

"Sir, I—"

"Good. Thanks, Haeri, you're a gem!"

Even as a security guard comes and removes the obstructing vehicle within minutes and Jungkook is free to leave, his mind doesn’t feel settled. At all. He isn’t sure what it is that irks him about you hiring an assistant, but it is something for sure. Maybe he fears you’d pay him even lesser attention at work than the scant amount you do now. Maybe he thinks you won’t need his help with the integrated Firewall-VPN project anymore. Maybe he… Well, he isn't sure.

But something about this just usettles him. Which is what has him texting you close to midnight, casually dropping his question without offending you with a ‘why’ just like Haeri instructed him to.

↪ hey prez ↪ heard you’re hiring an assistant?

Your reply comes exactly ninety-four seconds later. Yes, he counts.

You heard that in the middle of the night?

He bites his lip, rubbing his reddening cheeks against the cold cotton of his pillow in embarrassment, but doesn’t lose hope because you’re still typing.

I have actually already had the interviews today The guy joins tomorrow You wanna drop by with a welcome gift basket? :)

His glare stays fixed on the little, taunting smile for a long while, before it moves to the word ‘guy’ in your text. You’ve hired a guy assistant.

Jungkook wonders if the bile suddenly roiling in his stomach has any correlation with the explicit images his brain suddenly conjures up of you and a faceless male making out in your office.

God, he’s going insane.

The next morning, Jungkook is barging into Yoongi's office with a frown. "Prez hired an assistant."

Min Yoongi very slowly looks up from his computer screen, gaze wary. "Good morning to you too, Jeon. I’m doing well, thanks for asking.”

Jungkook ignores the man’s sarcasm and instead drops into one of the couches placed on one side of his office, groaning. “It’s a guy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Head whipping up faster than the blink of an eye, Jungkook gapes at your Creative Director. “You have heard?”

Yoongi gives him a tired look. “My office is on the same floor as hers, Jeon. I have more than just heard.”

“Have you seen the guy?” he quickly rushes out, wide eyes boring into Yoongi’s disinterested ones.

“Met him. Kid’s jovial and efficient. She’s gonna love him.”

What? Jungkook stalks up to Yoongi’s table with a scowl. “Kid?”

“Oh, he’s probably older than you.”

“Jovial?”

“Yeah, always got a smile on his face; not a word out of his mouth without giggles.”

Giggles? Jungkook's pinky finger twitches in irritation because giggling is supposed to be his thing. How dare you.

“And he's really freaking efficient too, man." Yoongi continues when Jungkook has stayed quiet for too long. "He's got a typing speed of 96 wpm, can speak five languages, is capable of charming every guest with a grin and some sweet words—oh! And he’s quick on his feet! Delivered five coffees on two different floors with the steam still coming out of the cups.” Yoongi has a fond, dreamy look on his face, and if it wasn’t for the wedding band on his finger, Jungkook would have assumed the guy has fallen in love with your new assistant.

Which doesn’t sit well with Jungkook at all. Teeth gritted and fists clenched, he gazes out of the glass doors of Yoongi’s office to yours. 

You aren’t in, yet. Should he pay your oh-so-wonderful assistant a visit before you are?

You’d surely have his head if you catch him threatening the dude – not that he plans on it; he just feels like he might – but it’s a risk he is very much willing to take.

And so, over Yoongi’s protests, Jungkook marches out of the guy’s office and, crossing the long corridor, lands at yours.

There’s an additional table placed perpendicular to yours within the glass cabin and Jungkook wishes he had laser vision so he could incinerate the damn thing in its place. He looks around the office for the guy of the hour, grunting at the small trinkets he finds adorning the new table.

Who keeps a freaking potted plant on a desk? What if it fell off and died?

Jungkook doubts this guy is as efficient as Yoongi talked about him being. He chokes in the middle of the accompanying scoff, though, because his eyes suddenly locate, well, keys.

Sleek, black, no bigger than a matchbox, with a silver, galloping horse engraved on the obviously custom made leather surface. Keys to a Ferrari. What are the odds?

“Ma’am, you’re in earl—oh…”

Jungkook twists on heels at the voice, coming face to face with a guy that honestly doesn’t look much older than him despite what Yoongi said. His eyes are wide and lips rounded, brown hair brushed off his forehead to display the perfect arch to his thick eyebrows. He wears a – Jungkook hates to admit – gorgeously tailored dark brown suit that Jungkook knows to be Armani because he just made the same purchase a week back.

The guy, simply put, doesn't look assistant-material at all. He could be on Vogue's cover with those plump lips and shapely eyes of his. Or perhaps pose for swimsuit commercials with that bubble butt. Or walk the ramp for Armani, Patek Philippe or Chanel, given the brands Jungkook can spot on him.

But he isn't in any of those places – he is here, in your office, as your assistant.

“Good morning, sir!” he suddenly exclaims, and here’s the jollity Yoongi talked about. “You must be Mr. Jeon, the CEO?”

Jungkook gives him a jilted nod, hating the flawless mannerism the guy displays and the accompanying subconscious twitch his lips give in response, and inches back towards the door. “Um, yeah… I was just leaving…”

Your assistant’s smile falls and a concerned look overtakes his face. “But you just got here?”

And something about the innocent pout with which he looks at Jungkook has him rooted to the place. In wonder? Confusion? Shock?

Awe?

He can't freaking tell.

“I can get you some coffee, if you’d like? Everyone’s been telling me I brew a killer espresso!” He flashes a proud smile while Jungkook just helplessly gapes. “I can also get you some snacks? Sandwiches? Cookies? Ooh, would you like some pastries? Our office canteen has some amazing Danishes, would you like one? Ah, your forehead is all misty. Here!”

Before Jungkook can react, the guy is in his face with a tissue, dabbing the sweat away from Jungkook’s arched eyebrows. His smile is blinding, dear God, Jungkook cannot articulate a single word out of the storming confusion in his head. Since when do men have such pouty lips? 

When he steps back, he immediately gestures to a couch. “Make yourself comfortable, sir! May I lower the temperature? You still haven’t said what you need.”

Finally, finally able to collect his thoughts, Jungkook releases a long exhale. 

Who the actual fuck is this guy? A witch? A siren?

Jungkook needs to get out of here and he needs to talk to you.

“Uh, no, thank you, none of that. I, um, I’m good.” Quickly flashing the guy a tight lipped smile, Jungkook slips out of the doors. “I came to see Prez, but she's obviously not here, so… I’ll – I'llcome back later. Good day.”

Even as Jungkook immediately storms out of the office and rushes to the elevators to hurry back to his own floor, your assistant calls out a very happy sounding, “You have the best day, sir!”

Well-mannered, fashionable, charming in a very alarming way. Dude literally had him gaping for a whole minute with his head pretty damn empty. Jungkook's head is never empty.

This guy is so weird and… dangerous. Where did you find him?

And, in fact, why did he come here?

The guy's obviously rich, given all the brands he wears like second skin, so why the heck does he want to work as your assistant? In the same office as you?

Jungkook roughly swallows as the images he conjured last night make a return to his head – this time, with your assistant’s regrettably very handsome face on the previously faceless guy you were making out with. 

He wants to punch a wall.

What he does, instead, is shoot off a text to his secretary, telling her he isn’t feeling well and is going back home. And then another one to you, asking you to pay him a visit tonight. And possibly stay the night because he bought some extra alcohol.

He hasn’t, but the first stop he makes after leaving the office will be to pick up some expensive red wine.

Everytime Jungkook pulls out of you, spent and sweaty and satisfied, after the deed is done, he is left in disbelief. Every single time. Is this really happening? Are you really sleeping with him? Do you actually feel attracted to his body?

He is smart enough to not delude himself into thinking there's more to it, but it doesn't matter because whatever there is between you both is enough to astound him every time the two of you have sex.

Right now, as you sit with your back to him, pulling on his t-shirt over your bare frame – Jungkook's mind is caught onto something a little different than his usual daze of disbelief, though.

And even though he’s risking it by questioning the ‘why’ despite his secretary’s warnings, Jungkook can’t help it when he brings it up. "So… Hiring an assistant. Why so suddenly?"

You hum and give a noncommittal shrug. "I can't be in the office all the time. It's high time I hired one, don’t you think?"

Jungkook doesn’t think so. But he’d definitely be dead meat if he said it out loud. “Sure… What tasks will you give him?”

That earns him a confused look from you over your shoulder. “Do you wanna tell me something, Jeon?”

Wide-eyed, he gapes at you. “What?”

“Did something happen with Haeri? Is that why—”

“Oh, no,” he exhales, beyond relieved, then shakes his head with a smile when you continue to eye him suspiciously. “I just… Well. I’m always making Haeri pick up after me as if she’s a babysitter and not an office worker, you know? So I thought I could use some tips from you…”

You nod at that, turning back around to pull on your panties, and Jungkook breathes easier. He has sold his lie and you’ve bought it. “That’s actually thoughtful and mature of you. Where was this maturity when you had me running after you, though?” you grumble with a playful glare, and he just laughs. 

“It is because of all of that that I’ve finally learnt to be mature, Prez.”

Straightening after having covered your lower half, you inch back on the bed and rest your back against the headboard. “Well. To be fair, he has been running around for tiny errands for the two days he’s been here, so I can’t really lecture you, right now,” you admit. “But I wanted someone in the office for the meetings-season that is about to arrive as we near the launch, you know? Both you and I will be busy with the project. Poor Yoongi will need all the help he can get.”

Jungkook frowns. “Why doesn’t Yoongi hire an assistant then?”

You snort at that and gesture to the bottle of wine on the nightstand. “Why’re you pressed about it? You said you need tips, right?”

“Ah, yes, of course. I just want some tips.” Quickly catching his slip, Jungkook pours you a glass and settles next to you, bare, with the covers thrown across his lap for modesty. “So… will he be accompanying you to meetings, then? Or fill in for you while you’re busy with other stuff?”

“Well, initially he will shadow me for a week or so. And then when I get busy overseeing the launch event and coordinating with the Lims and other investors, he can switch between locations around the city to ensure everything is in order because Yoongi can’t be doing everything, you know?” You take a sip from your glass of wine and shrug a shoulder. “He’s our Creative Director, he needs to hold the fort while everyone runs around like headless chickens.”

Jungkook sips at his wine and musters a thin smile. Because yes, it definitely makes sense why you needed to hire an assistant. Speaking of, Yoongi probably needs one as well. 

Damn, when he used to work as a Software Analyst at a different company, he had no idea the executives of a company had so much to do. It always looks like an easy life looking in from the outside. But as CEO, he has come to learn that if someone in a higher up position makes a mistake, they initiate a dominoes’ fall all the way down.

“You met him, didn’t you?”

His surprised eyes fly to yours at the question. You’re looking at him with a smirk, and Jungkook’s heart gives a thump at how sexy you look. Your question, though, throws him off. "I… How did you—”

You roll your eyes. “He told me you came in to see me and then left. I checked in with Haeri and she said you weren’t feeling well.”

Wow. They both snitched on him. Just great.

And now you're looking at him with barely contained laughter as if you know how jealous he feels. Who is he kidding, of course you know how jealous he feels. You always know this kind of stuff, ugh.

“Don’t be getting insecure, Jeon, my assistant will remain only an assistant.”

He doesn’t know why you say that, but he appreciates it all the same. The twinkle in your eyes expresses playful adoration and the way it makes his heart race kinda scares him.

But then you lean in with an exaggerated kissy face to press a wet smooch on his mouth. When you pull away, he looks at you with a slight pout on his lips. You tilt your head to the side with a squint.

"What?"

"It's… Why did you pick the Ferrari guy?" Jungkook sounds a little whiny, but he can't help it.

You look at him over the rim of your glass, eyebrows nearing your hairline, amusement spilling from your gaze. "Uh, what's wrong with the Ferrari guy?"

"Nothing, of course, that's not what I meant," he tries to amend with a chuckle, but given the way you narrow your eyes at him before putting your glass away to cross your arms, you probably don't buy it. So he speaks on. "It's just that he doesn't look like an assistant, you know?"

"I… don’t actually. What does an assistant look like?"

Are you being purposely difficult or is Jungkook being completely weird? He's not exactly sure how to explain it better, but he's definitely sure that any other way would have been better than what comes out of his mouth next. "I mean, a bit… less… flirty, I guess?"

"What? What the hell did he do to you?"

He groans at your excited expressions. "Dude had me gaping at him for fifteen minutes while he talked about God knows what, because I couldn't focus on his words! I don't even like men like that!"

You give a loud snort and then break into loud peals of laughter. "Well, Jungkook, maybe you do! Maybe you just haven't had your awakening yet!"

"Not funny," he grunts, even as a humored smile slips on to his face at your loud giggles. "What did you say his name was, again?"

You raise an eyebrow. "I didn't."

He rolls his eyes. "Well, my dear Prez, what is your new assistant's name?"

"Park Jimin." Your smile turns goofy and eyes almost dreamy. "Pretty name for a pretty man. Right?"

He rolls his eyes at your suggestive wink, grumbling as he finishes his glass of wine in a large gulp.

You give a small sigh. "He's a nice guy, give him a chance. Heart of gold, or whatever they say."

Jungkook decides that he, for reasons way beyond his supposed homoerotic awakening, absolutely hates Park Jimin's guts. He's going to convince you to fire him. And soon.

© jimilter | 2024

[monstersholygrail]

Been thinking thoughts about Yandere!Knight who was the third son of a second rate noble. His family rich enough so that even he would never have to work a day in his life but not rich enough to be alluring for any respectable woman looking to marry.

He didn’t have any wild endeavors of his own. His eldest brother working closely with their father and the second eldest having a myriad of hobbies and investment opportunities he filled his time dabbling with. Leaving him alone and bored at the estate.

The emptiness of it all echoed down to his very soul. The estate just as hallow as he felt inside. He had no passions or interests. Everything he did, he did with ease. Horseback riding, fencing, and hunting, it was all a breeze. None of it excited him, got his blood pumping.

So what else was there to do besides lose himself in the booze of his local tavern? There the people cheered whenever he could chug nearly a full barrel, they bought him drinks when he won a round of darts, and when they talked to him they had actually listened. That’s what he wanted more than anything. To matter to someone.

And when he finally met you he knew you were the one person he had to matter to.

You were the favored Princess of their kingdom. While your siblings stayed up in the castle, too high and mighty to visit the commoners below, you were different. You visited the villages frequently. Talked with them, helped them, and did all you could to ensure the happiness of the people.

And when the owner of his favorite bar cut him off and kicked him out, out of the goodness of their heart despite the dismissal still cutting deep, you were right there. All gentle smiles, kind eyes, and a soft hand that reached out for his.

He can’t believe his luck when you keep his rough dirty hand clasped in your soft one. He can’t believe what’s happening as you start to walk with him down the cobblestone street, feeling the eyes of everyone’s stares.

But your eyes never leave his and his certainty wouldn’t dare to leave yours. Fear crawling up his back that if he dare look away you won’t be there when he looks back. He doesn’t even want to blink but forces himself too in order to not scare you away.

It only takes a few coaxing words from you before he’s spilling his guts about why he was in the tavern and more importantly, why he got kicked out. You listen to it all without wavering for a moment. He’s never had someone care this much for him.

You stay with him for hours, ignoring your own guards warnings that it’s getting late and you need to start heading back. But their interruption seems to give you an idea.

Somehow after hearing his whole entire sob story, you gaze up at him with the utmost confidence and ask, “Have you ever thought about being a knight?”

Yandere!Knight who had honestly never thought about it or considered it despite all his related skills to the job before you had said anything. But now finds himself leaving his entire life behind, his world behind, in order to go with you back to the castle.

He started training with the other noblemen destined for knighthood the very next day. All of them skilled but none of them nearly as skilled as him.

Especially on the many days when you just so happened to walk through the training grounds. Your eyes always finding him before staying to watch for a few hours.

He had heart rumors flying around the castle that you had been staying at the castle more recently. Everyone wondering just why that is. His name coming up time and time again.

When those curious and nosy enough to come up and ask him if he held your favor, he’d only encourage them further. Giving bits and pieces of, slightly exaggerated, information on the your attention and affection for him.

The rumors only get worse when his knighting ceremony comes, almost the entire castle sitting restlessly in the white glittering church. Him and his fellow men all waiting to be knighted. When you stand up and insist you be the one to knight him.

All falls quiet around them but you stand tall, walking up to the alter and briefly taking the Lords place who’s knighted his fellow men. You tell them that since you were the one to find them it’s only right that the honor goes to you.

Yandere!Knight falls to his knees before you, pretending that it’s not because they gave out from the swell of emotion coursing through him. But you smile at him like you know it was anyway.

The rest of the world fades away, leaving only you and him as you hand him his sword. Everything is in slow motion as you lean down, your warm breath fanning his forehead before you kiss it tenderly. The softness of your lips has his mind spinning with what they’d feel like in other places too. Then you’re tapping his shoulder with an air of finality and a wave of air comes rushing into his lungs.

He’s finally done it. He’s a Knight. Now he’s your knight. With his one wish being to protect you always.

Yandere!Knightgets posted as your personal knight. Which only ends up distancing him from the other knights who thinks the fair Princess should’ve stuck with the man previously in his current position. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not when he had you.

You stuck by him closely, returning to your daily outings into the village but now with him to protect you. He sees then just how kind and trusting you truly are.

It didn’t take long for him to then see just how the people in the village treat you in return. The way their hands claw and tug at you. How they shamelessly beg and demand things from you because they’re always met with your agreement. Zero resistance or a flicker of hesitation every time.

Again and again like a cruel cycle that neither the people nor you saw any problem with. His stomach began to churn each time they’d paw at you as if you were the last loaf of bread in the bakery and they were all starved. Something ugly, dark, and twisted was growing inside him with the passing days by your side.

Akin to a foul rot forming inside a helpless tree. Completely defenseless as the darkness quietly grew and consumed till there was nothing left but a hallow shell ready to snap.

It finally happened, ironically, at the Butchers. The man who owned the shop was running out of hunters willing to sell to him and so it left the people there will less meats available for purchase. Being the kind Princess you are, you offer up a few palace hunters to come aid him.

His jaw was already clenched as he took in the greed of the Butcher. Less palace hunters meant less for you and maintaining your health was his sole purpose in this lifetime. To hell with the people, he would not have you in need.

But then as they turn to leave, the Butcher makes one last bold request, indeed. Asking the Princess to spare not only their hunters but their bows as well, for he does not have enough for them all.

You agree and leave but he stays rooted in his spot. Staring daggers at the Butcher who looks all too pleased with himself and the new arrangement.

His vision grows hazy and he blacks out just as he lunges at the man. Unsheathing his sword so quickly the metal rings out through the room.

When he comes back to the Butcher’s blood is mixed in with that of his meats, splashes of it everywhere. His body on the floor unmoving with no sign on life. It was the first life he’s ever taken.

Just as he’s about to open his mouth to cry, shout, or beg for help, he doesn’t know, he stops short of it all as the door opens. Your tiny gasp is all he can hear. A million thoughts flooding his head at that one simple sound.

His head nearly swings off his shoulders at the force of his head swiveling toward the sound of your voice. Your horrified expression meeting his own, though their reasoning for being there very different.

All the strength he has leaves his body in one fell swoop. His legs giving out from under him, the metal of his armor crashing against the stone floor as he falls to his knees.

Tears fill his vision and spill down his cheeks. The thought of disappointing you, letting you down, threatens to unravel him. You can stop looking at the blood painting his face as he helplessly crawls over to you.

“I’m sorry, please, help me. I’m so sorry, Princess, please,” he sobs, his arms winding around your waist as he nuzzles into your soft belly.

At the sound of his voice it’s like you snap out of your thoughts. Immediately moving in to soothe and comfort him. Your hands weaving through his hair, shushing him with the calming nature of a saint.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You were only trying to protect me. But know this is not the way,” you say in a hushed voice that curls around his very being and helps in calming him down quickly. His body melting against yours.

After that day he tries to put it behind him. To forget about the memories of the kill that came flooding back the same night it happened. Trying with all his might to forget about the satisfaction he felt with every blow. To avenge you for how that putrid man was taking advantage of your kindness.

But as the same begins to happen again from more of the villagers, that same dark sensation arises within him once more. Wrapping around his neck and squeezing him so hard he chokes on it. The urge to lighten their burdens on you coming back full force.

When he finally gives in and his blade swings down to take another life of one who has done you wrong, he doesn’t black out this time. There’s no shock, tears, and most importantly, no getting caught.

The more lives he takes the easier it gets. All of them done in your name, in his desire to protect you. Even if he has to protect you from yourself, he’s willing to do anything.

Right and left more people in the village go missing. None of them to be seen again. Eventually fewer and fewer people come to ask you for your aid, all of them growing too scared to leave their homes.

But it’s not enough for even if he can stop them he can’t seem to stop you. Following you around to each home in the village and watching as you ask if there’s anything you can do. Leaving him to massage your poor feet every night that ache from all the walking.

He knows he must do something to stop you once and for all. For your sake.

Like always, rumors spread around the kingdom like wildfire. With a little help from him word of there being a violent murderer in the kingdom fills the castle in a day. In your parents worry for your safety and to ensure the protection of the kingdom’s favorite Princess, they order you to remain in your room until the killer is caught.

You fight it as much as you can but ultimately you are powerless against the decrees of the King. So day in and day out from now onward you are confined to your room with only him to watch over you and guard your door.

Ensuring no one can get in and that you cannot ever get out. You’ll stay right here forever where he can keep you all to himself, leaving all your kindness just for him.

[bye-bye-sunbird]

Thoughts on Yan-Capitano

I love the concept of a man who genuinely believes he’s doing the right thing by you. From what we’ve seen in the archon quest and the newest trailer, without diving into spoiler territory, he understands that 'ugly' things must be done for the greater good, and that especially applies to you. In his mind, he's not just protecting you—he’s shielding you from greater threats that only he can see or understand.

Yes, he acknowledges that he’s a monster, but he believes his monstrous actions are justified because they serve to keep you safe.

The tragic part is that the deeper he sinks into this role, the more he distorts this idea of protection. His devotion twists into something darker, where he limits your freedom under the guise of shielding you from danger, blind as to how he becomes the greatest threat to you.

Every boundary he crosses, every horrid and monstrous act, he justifies as necessary, clinging to the belief that without him, you'd be lost or harmed by dangers you couldn’t possibly understand. He's your devoted knight after all. Your fear and resistance are not signs that he's gone too far, but further evidence of how vulnerable you are, how gentle. And that perception of your fragility and need for protection grows exaggerated.

It’s this dangerous cycle where his protective instincts devolve into obsession, and the more monstrous he becomes, the more he believes he’s saving you.

Capitano doesn’t act out of malice, but his distorted sense of duty and love pushes him into the inevitable role of both protector and captor.

[kittyfrisk9]

IdeaDpxDc—There are better ways to meet someone.

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Dead On Main. Soul mates.

---

"Exactly... what does this ring do?" The shining ring was still attached to his finger. This wouldn't worry him if it weren't for the fact that, with each passing minute, the ring emitted more light, and that can't be good.

The cult leader refused to speak. He wouldn't even look at him, seeming particularly attentive to the material the floor was made of. Very funny that now he was scared of him when, an hour ago, he was giving a very cliché speech about how humanity was doomed because it would summon the evil of evils.

It wasn't very smart of him to perform his summoning precisely in Gotham City, home of the Dark Knight.

Red Hood was getting impatient. He placed the hand without the ring on his weapon; if words didn't work, a real threat to his life would. And this didn't really break Bruce's 'no killing' rule because the gun was only loaded with rubber bullets. However, just as he was about to advance and shoot the guy, he saw Batman grab the leader's tunic collar and lift him up.

The man, of course, screamed in fear. "Speak, what does that ring do?" No jokes. Batman's voice was deeper than usual, showing that he was upset, no, rather angry.

Or worried, but Jason could never consider that possibility. For the moment, he was only surprised, although it didn't show through his helmet.

"I-I don't know," the leader replied. Poor guy, he seemed about to cry. Batman, not content, tightened his grip even more; he wasn't willing to tolerate a lie this time.

Red Robin raised an eyebrow. "You managed to gather a bunch of magical artifacts for your summoning and you don't know what they do?"

The man looked away. "No..." The rest of the cult members also looked away. Very brave and stupid of them to all agree to lie to the bats. Jason himself wanted to mock them, but the ring kept shining. He couldn't mock when the ring kept shining and he didn't know what it meant.

From the communications, Robin could be heard. "Tt, this wouldn't be happening if Hood hadn't put on the ring." Jason suppressed a growl.

"Kid, I didn't put on the ring. This thing stuck to me the moment I touched it." It was true. In the middle of the operation to stop the ritual, Jason had pulled the ring, which at that moment was a kind of necklace by the chain that ran through it, from a member who was wearing it. The ring in his hand began to glow and suddenly teleported to his ring finger, then stopped shining. It was when everything calmed down that the ring began to release a different, but constant light.

Approximately ten minutes have passed since then, he thought as he looked at the ring, ignoring all the magical stuff; it was actually a very simple ring. Suddenly, the ring began to blink.

Oh, no. That couldn't be good.

Batman, fed up with the leader's silence and his followers, threw the man meters ahead. "Oracle, call Zatanna now, we need more information about the ring," he ordered as he approached the man who was in pain from the fall. The guy, terrified by the violent aura of the Dark Knight, tried to retreat.

Finally, Nightwing stepped between the man and the brutal beating he would receive if he didn't speak.

"It's okay, B, calm down." With his hand on his father's shoulder, Dick tried to ease the atmosphere. "I understand your concern. We are all worried about what the ring might do to Hood. But we can't let fear and anger control us. Hood is important to all of us. He is our brother, your son. We can't lose our cool now. Let's call Wonder Woman. If no one wants to talk, she can help us with the lasso of truth."

Total silence. Jason didn't know what to say; he didn't think his family would react like this over a blinking ring. That is... he doesn't know. Suddenly, the ring's light began to blink faster.

Batman, after Nightwing's words and seeing the change in the ring, understood that he couldn't waste time with someone who wouldn't talk. "You're right, thank you Nightwing." Looking at the others, he said: "We need to act quickly, we don't know the effects the ring might have on Hood. We need to take him to the cave for a thorough analysis, no discussions." The last part he said looking at Jason. "Until then, don't try to take it off or use it."

Jason scoffed, as if he would.

"Oracle, you heard, call Diana. Red Robin and I will take care of the rest of the cult. Nightwing, take Red Hood to the cave." Batman began giving orders as he reached the leader and began dragging him towards the rest of his cult. The leader, in a failed attempt, tried to resist. "Agent A, please prepare a stretcher. Understood?"

Everyone nodded.

On the other hand, the touching speech and the strange family moment of the bats seemed to soften the heart of a girl from the cult, who in a whisper said: "The ring, nothing will happen to him." Although she spoke quietly, everyone present heard her.

The leader, panicking that the information would be revealed, exclaimed: "Catrina, shut up!" However, he was struck by Batman, who was already fed up with the guy.

"What do you have to say about the ring?" he asked.

The woman hesitated to speak. "We thought of using the ring to subdue the king of the dead and make him listen to our orders..." She paused, not knowing how to continue. "There is a real legend about the ring. A long time ago, a witch wanted to know who her soulmate was, so she created the ring. This allows one to be guided to their soulmate through the red thread. I think everyone already knows what the red thread is." Nervous, she looked around. Only Nightwing nodded, and that was enough for her to continue telling. "Well, the witch's red thread connected with a prince. Unfortunately for everyone, the prince was not happy that his soulmate was a witch. So he had her killed." The girl looked at her hands; that part of the story was sad. "The witch was angry, but still wanted her soulmate to accept her, so she rewrote the ring's original purpose. It was no longer something that united you with your soulmate, but now it was something that allowed you to subdue your soulmate... uh, this." She pointed to a book that was lying in a corner. "With another spell, in fact, it can be used to subdue anyone, even a king of the dead."

With the whole story already told, Red Robin asked: "So, what is the ring doing to Red Hood?"

"It's tracking his soulmate. I... didn't get to put the other spell on it. I could only activate the ring's primary function. Your brother will be fine."

That definitely changes things. Jason swore he could hear his heart beating. A soulmate, wow. He admits he's read many romance novels and maybe once dreamed of it, but for it to actually happen, wow.

Suddenly, the ring stopped blinking. Five seconds later, everyone saw a red thread shoot out from the ring's gem. It quickly moved in one direction, went through the wall, and kept going. The process was like a fishing rod when it catches a fish.

"Does this mean it already found its soulmate?" Red Robin asked. Astonished by the red thread, he tried to touch it but his hand went through it; apparently, the thread was intangible to anyone else.

"Yes," the cultist also seemed astonished.

Jason felt a look on him, turned, it was his brother. Oh no, not that look, he knew that smile; Dick would tease him so much in the coming days. For his part, Batman sighed in relief. Well, it wasn't such an extreme danger, but it was still dangerous. "Agent A, cancel the stretcher." He never imagined this would mean a soulmate case. "Oracle, don't cancel the call to Zatanna or Wonder Woman, we need to verify the information. We'll stay here until the police arrive."

How nice it would be if everything ended like that, right? With Dick joking with Jason, Tim analyzing the thread, Barbara laughing at the turn of events, Bruce relieved and Damian surprised. However, one must remember the story.

The witch changed the ring's original purpose. Unexpectedly, the thread began to retract, as if it had caught something. It did so so quickly that Jason grabbed his hand in pain. It was then that everyone had a bad feeling. The wall the thread had previously passed through suddenly exploded, the noise and dust alerting everyone, especially when once the chaos disappeared, something horrific could be seen.

An arm. A fucking arm. Apparently freshly torn from its owner. Oh, no. What did it do to his soulmate?

...

Somewhere else in the world, somewhere in the United States, Danny gasped in pain. What the hell? What was that? Ancients! Where is his arm?

---

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Edited on 06/21/2024 - Note two: Thanks to redflagshipwriter, who continued this idea below. And to Sakuravalelp who made me laugh with the complement.

[fierysakura]

Aite let’s do this. Here’s my thoughts on the Jedi’s Attachment rule and why it exists:

Attachment and love/affection are two very different things. You can be loving and affectionate without being attached to someone.

The same way, letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It’s accepting the way things are and that death and loss are a natural part of life. You can’t fight what’s natural. It also doesn’t mean to sit back and just accept things as they are, or why would Jedi fight to protect? To change things and save people?

Love is knowing to put the many over the few. If someone you love is in danger, but there’s also a boatload of civilians, it’s going for the civilians, even if you hate them, despite wanting to save the other. ie. Letting go of your feelings. Not being attached.

So why this rule is such a big deal.

For a Jedi, being *attached* poses a much bigger problem than for the average person (looking at you Anakin Skywalker.) If a normal person can go to extremes either as a result of losing someone or wanting to protect them, think of what a Jedi, who feels things more deeply because of the Force, could do if they can’t let go.

The important thing is Jedi don’t say ‘don’t love.’ They don’t say ‘feel nothing.’ In fact you often hear Obi-wan and others say to trust feelings, instincts and refer to each other affectionately.

Anakin: You’re like a father to me.

Obi-Wan: Then why don’t you *listen.*

(Episode II. Not a reprimand for calling him father-like but asking if that’s how he feels, why doesn’t Anakin listen like a son should.)

What they *do* say is don’t get carried away in positive or negative feelings, as both can lead to impulsive actions with long term consequences. It’s a concept that follows the lines of mindfulness and just being *aware* that they have so much power, they can’t afford to be reckless. Because the damage *will* be long lasting.

They say don’t love someone so much that you’ll do anything for them. They say don’t be *possessive.* Because that’s a *very* dangerous place to go for a normal person, let alone a super powerful being who could leave *chaos* behind. Attachment is refusing to let go. Stopping someone from doing what they love because you’re scared. Love is trusting and accepting things can’t/will change even if you don’t like it, and accepting that when there’s nothing you can do without breaking your moral code.

Jedi grieve. They feel loss. They get angry. They *love.* They just don’t let those feelings overwhelm them to the point of irrationality, accepting, understanding, and releasing them because they’ll do no good in the long run. If emotion overwhelms the brain, the logical part shuts down, and we’ve all seen what force fuelled temper/grief can do.

‘Kanan and Ezra don’t follow the rule.’

On the contrary.

You see Kanan learn to let go of his grief and *attachment* which has been holding him back all this time. In doing so he becomes a Knight and Master. He loves Hera, yes, but he loves unconditionally. Not possessively. He’s fine with Hera going on dangerous missions and accepts that there will be times she’s hurt. That there’s always a possibility she might not come back and he’s gonna have to live with that. He doesn’t try to stop her. He doesn’t fall into a rage if she gets hurt. He accepts it, pain, rage, grief and all, but lets it go so he doesn’t become fearful to the point he won’t let *her* go. He accepts Hera loves the Rebellion and compromises even if he doesn’t like it. Love. Nothing wrong with that in the Jedi Order.

In contrast you have Anakin. When Padmé is in danger he will drop *everything* to go to her, including putting his men and padawan in unnecessary danger to do so. You see his jealousy when Clovis is around. His lack of faith in Padmé despite her assurances. How he won’t back down even if it scares or disturbs her. You see how he *refuses* to take any chances at all with her health to the point of breaking his moral code. This isn’t love anymore. This is attachment, possession. This is what the Jedi forbid.

You see Ezra struggle with letting Sabine go on a dangerous mission and Kanan teaching him that he has to accept the danger, that she might not come back. and how to do it. Telling him to respect her abilities, what she wants to do, and not loving her to the point of stifling her. This is what letting go is. This is what the Jedi teach.

Ezra has to learn to let go of his own grief and accept Kanan’s death. This is what love without attachment means. This is what the rule is. Feeling it. Accepting it. Then letting the emotions go so they don’t control your actions more than your mind does.

Also, anyone can leave the Jedi Order. If they don’t agree, there’s nothing forcing them to stay. Being a Jedi is a religion, a way of life. You can discuss and debate the details, but you don’t get to pick and choose what parts to follow.

You can be a force wielder without being a Jedi. The privileges the Jedi received were because of their belief and the respect that earned.

But more importantly, you can happily leave the order, and the Jedi will still welcome you to come hang out. To chill with your friends and walk about the Temple, train with others and catch up. It’s a community. You don’t suddenly lose all of that because you decided following the Jedi way wasn’t for you.

[that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction]

I need a fic where Lancelot gets hit by a curse that makes him extremely honest/completely removes his thought to speech filter.

Like, he doesn’t blurt secrets but he’s got no sense of fear for saying things he probably shouldn’t and just starts saying all the quiet parts out loud.

Merlin’s immediately worried about him. I kinda imagine it like:

Merlin: Do you think you’ll say anything about..?

Lance: your secret? No. Definitely not. It’s your secret to tell. Arthur should know how much you do for him even without it though. You should remind him you’re not obligated to do so much if he keeps taking advantage of your kindness.

Merlin: That…

Lance: I clearly mean it. It’s your choice of course. You know I love you too much to betray your trust.

(I’m a sucker for Mercelot but take that however you want)

Then when they all get back to Camelot and one of the towns people is struggling to fix a cart with a broken wheel.

Lance *goes over to help and starts berating the knights*: we’re knights. We’re supposed to help people. If you just want to beat people up, we’ve run into plenty of bandits that would probably take you.

And we all know he doesn’t like the structure of statuses and how power is distributed in Camelot so while he’s still respectful to Arthur as a king, the rest of the lords not so much. He avoids them as much as possible to avoid causing unnecessary problems but when Arthur asks if he’ll be at a council meeting, he’s gotta say no:

Lance: I don’t think that’d be a good idea.

Arthur: why not? I could use someone honest on the council.

Lance: I am honest with you. Mostly. You definitely shouldn’t ask what I think about magic until I can be tactful about my answer. But If I get a chance to be honest in the same room as Lord NoName I’m going to ask him if he doesn’t want to pay taxes because too much of his coin already goes to his mistresses and his wife will find out if he’s forced to document it.

Arthur: …

Lance: …

Arthur: … I don’t know which part to focus on first. If Lord NoName isn’t there will you attend?

Lance: he’s not the only one. Personally, I think they should hear it, but I don’t want to be callous about it. Their wives deserve better and forcing them to find out through gossip and rumours just seems unnecessarily cruel.

Arthur: I’ll call a round table meeting later.

Lance: Probably for the best. You should give Merlin a seat, he’s braver and has done more for you than anyone. I’ll see you later, sire.

I can imagine the magic thing would keep coming up too, just little comments about how he’s frustrated that he’ll be used as an example for why magic should be banned when it’s not all bad and can actually be quite amazing.

Everyone’s confused but he just asks Leon if he likes being alive because he wouldn’t be without the Druids and the cup of life.

Heaven forbid anyone says anything bad about Merlin. He never out’s Merlin’s secret as promised, but he absolutely makes sure everyone is aware how much Merlin does for people out of the goodness of his heart.

I also want him to shit on Uther at some point. About his parenting style or how he ruled Camelot, I don’t mind which.

I imagine someone mentioning how well Lance is handling the curse and “taking it like a man” and getting immediately shot down.

Noble: he’s handling it well, taking it like a man.

Lancelot: Hypocritical coming from you, Lord He-Payed-Less-Than-I-Did-Even-Though-It-was-Proportional-To-Everything-Else. (I don’t pretend to understand how a fictional court set in about 5 different historical eras is run) Actually, not complaining about a situation that sucks isn’t a manly trait at all. All of the problems we’re dealing with are because something happened and someone “took it like a man.” Tax evasion, wars, uneven distribution of wealth, *putting reports on the table for each one* The last time someone “took it like a man” we ended up with an entire people being murdered because a king fucked up, lost his wife, and didn’t want to admit fault and grieve like a sane person.

Everyone’s just silent for a moment.

Lance: … *thinks about what he said for a second*

Lance: No, I stand by that. I’ll apologise for my lack of tact, but not the content.

Meanwhile, watching in horror and barely contained glee:

Arthur: Should have let him sit this one out.

Merlin: Absolutely not. This might become the most productive council meeting we’ve had in years.

Anyway, I just want Lance being able to lean more into the unhinged side of his character sometimes.

He’s still got to fundamentally be a good person, he’s just less filtered in watching the casual stupidity of the nobles, or more honest about people not thanking servants enough (especially to the knights who seemed to forget that they were once common born too) and isn’t afraid to call people on their bullshit when necessary.

Everyone learns to appreciate it too so when the spell wears off, he’s less anxious about giving his opinions on things.

Just let Lancelot be the unfiltered chaotic good that he is.