You were dressed in commoner's clothes, a big change from your usual royal attire. The plain, desaturated colours helped you blend in amongst the many people in the tavern. It wasn't the cheap kind, you're not sure you knew how to navigate those, but it was enough that nobody batted an eye at you.
You were sitting in the very corner of the place with a few empty glasses on the table in front of you. You normally didn't drink this much, and they (your adviser, your personal knight, and... well, everyone else) tried persuading you out of it, but they laid off once they saw your tired eyes, devoid of anything but grief. They could let you off just this once. Grief is very hard to deal with, after all, and everyone grieves in different ways. Maybe this was yours, they thought.
You were sleepy, and bordering drunk. You held your alcohol well, but tonight you had too much in your system. Exactly what you needed, after dealing with the loss of your parents. A distraction. You weren't sure the alcohol was enough, but you didn't need to worry about that. Not when somebody suddenly took the seat in front of you, making you lift your head from your arms, resting on the table.
A vaguely familiar face was smiling at you, sharp yet kind eyes gazing at you far too affectionately for a stranger. Ah, you know him, you think. He's from the one of the rich families whose parents your own were close to. You never bothered trying to get close to them and their only son, who was a couple years older than you, but you knew they were nice if your parents had nothing bad to say about them. They weren't nobles, though they were well off. A family of merchants, if you remember correctly.
"Florent Monet, if my memory serves me right," you murmured, uncaring if your words were slurring together. Now that you got a better look at him, he was very beautiful, even in this dull light; freckles scattered across his tanned skin, perfectly pink lips, expressive dark eyes, and a long blue earring adorning his right ear. His long black hair cascaded down his shoulders, as he runs a finger through it, as if to show 'yes, that's me'.
"What a surprise seeing you here, Your Majesty," he said, with a gentle smile on his face, and perhaps a hint of sympathy in his eyes if you bothered looking closer. "But I suppose grief is kind to no one. I'm truly sorry for your loss, I can't begin to imagine how it feels."
You let out a heavy sigh, as if you were suddenly reminded why you were here in the first place. You take another swig.
"No, I suppose not," you hadn't meant to be snappy, but it's not like you were in the right mind. Florent had both his parents, and they were thriving so no, he can't know how you feel. Immediately after though, you catch yourself, reminding yourself that he was a family friend, "Sorry, I didn't mean to..."
His eyes met yours; they were understanding... and kind.
He waved you off, "No, do not apologize. I know you're not feeling like yourself right now, so I understand," Florent's voice was peaceful, but with a teasing undertone that you suspect is always present.
You sent him a gentle, grateful smile, but you didn't notice the way his eyes widened ever so slightly. You didn't notice the way he subtly licked his lips. And you certainly didn't notice the way his heart sped up at the sight of your smile. He's been wanting to get close to you all these years, and now was his chance. You were so close yet so far; you were always within vicinity, yet the second he reaches out... he misses you by a hair, his fingertips chasing the ghost of you. After years of gazing at you longingly, desperately needing your attention (which was always elsewhere, the child of the Emperor was always busy), he finally had his opening.
"Thank you, really. I feel... bad that you had to catch me in this state, but it— it can't be helped," you tripped over your words as you find a way to avoid mentioning your reason for your grief.
Florent takes your right hand in his— his touch so soft and gentle. You can't help but tighten your grip slightly, desperate for any kind of comfort. He seemed to sense that, as he carefully cups your cheek in his free hand.
He's warm, you thought, and kind.
You catch yourself leaning into his touch, as his warmth was just so inviting. Your eyelids feel heavier, but you're not sleepy anymore. You hear your heart racing, and you hope he can't feel it too. Why, you wondered, why is it so fast?
Oh, he's getting closer to you. Your noses were only a hair's width apart, and you can feel him breathe in.. and breathe out shallowly. You don't want to push him away.
"If you'd let me help you, Your Majesty, I will. I'll give you a distraction, if that's what you need," his words were breathy and quiet, and if you were more sober you would probably notice an ulterior motive. But you weren't, and you were hungry for comfort, affection, whatever it may be. "Just allow me, and I will give all of myself to you."
You lean in, slowly shutting your eyes until your lips meet his. His lips were soft, just like his touch. And suddenly you needed more; more of him, more of his lips, more of his words. Tonight, Florent was all you could see— all you could feel.
You brought him back to your room, and anyone could take a guess what happened there. The knowing looks your staff shared didn't go unnoticed, but you didn't have it in you to care nor tell them off. After all, all your attention was on Florent. From his honey voice to his melodious moans, all you could hear was him.
If you were more sober, you would have seen the sheer emotion that clouded his eyes; it could have been something akin to love. Something worse or better than love, it didn't matter, for you've found what you were looking for tonight: a distraction. And if he played his cards right, he would be your distraction tonight, and forever.
you've now met: Florent Monet, your devoted concubine.
holding hands when walking to and from class, usually a meetup then a split with the difference in majors. he wears one of his jackets that you love to steal, not nearly thick enough for new york weather but for now it works. you make a comment about him needing to get a puffer jacket soon and he sighs, thinking about the expense, until he looks over at you, smiles, and suggests making it a gift exchange sort of thing. because even though you'll still end up spending the money, at least it goes to each other.
spending so much time in the library studying together. or your favorite little study spots that you find around campus or the city when the stuffiness of the library becomes too overwhelming. trying new coffee orders each time, because ethan needs to get away from the energy drinks and he found himself sipping your sweet drinks more often than not so you just convince him to start trying some with you. he always picks them up, while you pick up the snacks, and you two meet and exchange. playlists are exchanged, too, usually a bit of a mystery element to it so you both can look up when a delightfully unexpected song starts playing, a grin on your lips to replace the frown previously directed to the difficult material.
movie nights are a given. cuddled up in one of your dorm rooms, tucked in the corner of the twin XL bed that has more blankets and pillows on it than it usually does. sharing popcorn that almost burned, and candy bars from the vending machine downstairs while you argue over what movie to watch (either a 'halloween' rewatch, or watching a newer indie film). and after the horror elements of the autumnal based films have mushed your brains up, you watch a disney channel original, usually 'halloweentown', until you fall asleep. these days are especially better when it's raining, and it usually becomes a group element sort of thing then, overnights spent at the carpenter-bailey residence while sharing a couple of pizzas and a few beers courtesy of sam.
outfits that accidentally match, mostly because you have a habit of stealing ethan's clothes and he has a habit of stealing your style. earth tones, sneakers, scarfs when it gets colder, new jackets, and a cup of hot chocolate or an insanely sweet coffee. kisses taste like the sweets of the season, makeouts taste like the treats, hugs are cold then warm, and silences are appreciated more than ever as a time to let your brains rest from all of the cramming.
notes: female reader. spoilers if you have not seen scream vi yet. interpret this as you want, may make a part 2.
She swore to herself that she couldn’t get caught up in the anarchy that came with Ghostface and his allies again. She thought that after the first time, she would learn her lesson, but the eyes of death bored straight through her soul, gripping onto the knife her sister had bought her.
“C’mon princess, I’d like to see how far you get with that blade.” Her lover taunted, pointing a knife of his own at her as a careful invitation to come over.
“Fuck you.” She muttered, thinking of making the next move as she made her way over to him.
He chuckled, a small grin on his face as she raised the blade ever so slightly to rest above his collarbone, “You and I both know it’ll only ever be a dream.”
“For which one of us?” She pressed the blade enough to break the skin slightly, a small amount of blood showing, causing her breath to hitch. “You were the one who stabbed my sister.”
how could he kill you when you look at him with stars in your eyes? when you look at him like he hung the moon for you? of course, if he could do that, he would. he'd do anything for you.
you've given him a taste of what love feels like, and he wants more. if he kills you, he'll never get that. he'll never get a lifetime of loving gazes, genuine praise, and such sweet kisses. he wants to grow old with you, and lay next to you every night. he wants to wake up to your voice, and make you breakfast as you tell him about your strange dream last night.
no, he decided, he could never let his family touch you. he could never let you find out, either. ethan has finally met his own special person, and he won't let anything ruin that for him. not even ghostface.
but he'll cross that bridge when he gets there. for now, he wants to wallow in your love until he drowns— fall into you, and hope he never gets back up.
ethan landry is that one lovesick boy who mindlessly tails you around campus with your books piled in those stupid, muscular arms he has no business having while you walk ahead of him and talk his ear off. you could be telling him about the extensive history of plumbing and he’d just hum and nod along because he’s preoccupied with enjoying the moment and admiring you. and when you turn around, expecting an answer to the question you literally just asked him, he’ll immediately avert his eyes before you have a chance to notice that he’d been staring. his eyebrows will raise because he truly has no idea what you just said and he’ll stumble over the beginning of his sentence before saying something like “yeah, i agree. i—yeah, i agree with you.”
he’s so SLFMFKSK he’ll also hold onto the strap of your bag or the handle at the top of your backpack so he won’t get separated from you in crowds, regardless of how tall or short you may be.
he’s also the type to occasionally be seen carrying two backpacks—yours on his chest and his own on his back. but sometimes he forgets about yours and gets embarrassed when he leans in to kiss you and the backpack knocks you backward before your lips can connect.
You had expected this. Really. I mean, it would only be right for one person to die if it meant the lives of everyone else! Thus it would only make sense for a hero to sacrifice that one person, even if it was his lover. He couldn't be selfish, no. He had to place priority on everyone else. After all, that was the way of the hero.
Besides, there was a saying that a hero would sacrifice you for the rest of the world. You should've known better.
Yet you couldn't help but wish he would forget about his title of a hero just for a second.
You know how much being a hero was to him, you really do! Why else would you patiently wait for him to come home everyday to patch up his wounds? Why would you encourage him whenever he felt like a shitty hero? Why would you do what you did if you didn't understand? You loved him wholeheartedly, even if he didn't reciprocate it much.
However, it felt like you had made a mistake by choosing him as your lover. You should've left him when you had the chance. Caring more about the lives of civilians, he had stood you up on multiple occasions just for the sake of justice. You get it, you do! He's a hero, he's meant to help others. You can't be selfish and get mad at him when he's doing his job and not wasting time on a date with you! You tried to be accomodating. Tried to be understanding.
But he was still your lover.
He should've at least tried to make an effort. Not everything was meant to be about saving others when your relationship was on the verge of breaking. Yet you had never once gotten mad at him for his lack of attention and love, for you loved him with all your heart.
You tried to be delusional, that he would at least treasure you enough to not give you away to anyone else. If he didn't spend much time with you, so what? At least he wouldn't give you away! I mean, he did say that he would never allow anyone else to have you. He would at least honour that promise, right?
Wrong. He gave you up only after a minute of pondering. Oh... Your poor heart. Your poor, poor heart... You couldn't fathom what he had did, not in the slightest. Maybe it was a mistake? A slip of his tongue? You looked at him for comfort only to realise that he had meant what he had said. His guilty and crestfallen look was more than enough to tell you he had truly meant it. That he meant to gave you away.
You were absolutely heartbroken, devastated at the revelation. Clawing at his chest, screaming at him to take back his words, yet to no avail as he avoided your gaze. You felt more than betrayed by him.
You tried to understand his thoughts, his point of view. It was a rational decision. The world known villain had just threatened to blow up the country if he didn't hand his lover over. It was the right decision. But you just wished he had done anything to fight against the villain's demand. He was a hero after all and you were a civilian! He was supposed to protect you!
So why did he give you up so easily?
That, you could not understand. So all you could do was beg for him to reconsider. To hear him tell you that it was just a joke and that he would beat up the villain. Just like what he used to do. But nothing came from him. Only the quiet silence of someone who had already made up their mind.
"Well I guess I'll be taking you now darling~"
The villain suddenly chimed in as he tried to pull you away from the hero. His cold fingers gently tracing your bare shoulders sent shivers up your spine. You shook your head, still clinging onto your beloved hero's shirt as you wept and screamed at him to do something.
But nothing came.
"Please-?! Don't give me away! Don't you love me?!"
"I do... I really do love you."
"Then why are you giving me away so easily?! Is... Is this country more important than me?!"
No response.
You wept harder as you hit his chest, screaming at him to try and protect you against the villain who was amused at the sight before him. He retracted his cold hands from your shoulders, instead putting them in his pants pockets as he hummed softly.
"I'm sorry."
You breath hitched as your lover softly pried your hands off his shirt. His shaky hands gently holding yours as his lower lip trembled. You could only stare in shock and hurt as he slowly handed looked up at the villain in shame.
You wanted to laugh, you really did. But all you could muster was soft weeping as the villain gently cradled you in his embrace. You wanted to push him away, to curse at him and run back to the arms of your lover. But was it all worth it? The hero had already showed no intention of resisting the villain's demand.
You stared up at the villain with teary eyes, flinching at his touch as he stroked your face tenderly. Yet you couldn't help but lean into his oddly comforting touch that soothed you.
"What a shitty lover he is. Hah! Don't worry baby, I'll never do something like that to you~"
He cooed, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world. This... You had never seen such a look from the hero. Even when he claimed to love you, that you were the only person in his heart.
Your heart skipped a beat, face turning slightly red as the villain them scooped you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style.
This was nice... It made you feel wanted, feel loved. Something that the hero you loved could never give you. Maybe you should just give in already. At least you knew he would never give you up.
For there was a saying that a villain would sacrifice the world for you.
first series!!! woooo!!! this will be an eventual ethan landry x reader but will start with scream 5 because i wanted to set up the reader as part of everything from the beginning — i hope you dont get too bored agkngjsk
masterlist | requests are open!
pairing: eventual ethan landry x reader
warnings: mentions of substance abuse/alcoholism, brief mentions of violence.
[one.] [two.]
You were eight years old when your parents give you the Talk.
They sat you down with grim looks and tense statures that made your small fingers fiddle with your shirt.
Your eyes dulled in fear and the nerves in your body could barely be contained; the feeling that you did something to cause this, to upset your parents was unshakable and your eyes watered before they even began.
Your parents exchanged a glance and then your mother's voice spoke — the quietest you'd ever heard her — and the small world you lived in began spinning out of control.
When you were twelve years old, your family picked up and moved from the suffocating city of Woodsboro to New York City. The attempt to run away failed and within months you were back.
There was no one to miss you when you left and no one to celebrate your return. The city was small but your circle was smaller, the change in you after that day when you were eight changing your friendships, too. The house and the white picket fence could not hide the innate differences between you and every other child in Woodsboro and while many tried to look past them, you could not. A piece of you died that day, innocence about the world gone with it.
When you were thirteen, your father come home — to the trailer you now lived in — drunk out of his mind.
And you spoke to him, asking him the questions he always danced around with avoidant eyes and clammy hands as he changed the topic. Maybe it was awful, but you were a fresh teenager who had to google how to take care of a drunk person at four in the morning.
It was that day you found out you were an accident and the weight of the truth never left you. It was a truth that only solidified your beliefs created over the years as you watched the love in your parents' marriage fizzle out.
Their relationship had been built on a shared, life-altering experience, broken down, and built up again on the same premise. And then, they were held together by something much bigger than that; you. But you were a mistake your parents never meant to make and were either too afraid or not afraid enough to take back. Their worries had eased over the years and they no longer lived shrouded in fear. Your existence defied the odds and your parents put their faith in the low chance of your birth meaning something; a sign to begin something new with the lives they had been graciously given.
Though, as you got older, the looks of love and adoration towards each other slowly became ones of resentment and anger. Your mother dreamed of more and your father, no matter how hard he tried, could not give it to her. But the raised voices and the arguments could not be hidden from you and wordless blame sat on your shoulders each time; you could tell by the look in their eyes they were only together because of you.
So when your parents had decided to divorce, you were relieved. Maybe they would finally search for their own happiness and the burden of preventing it would be lifted from your shoulders.
You had reached a year back in Woodsboro and your mother was desperate to see you. Thus began the arrangements for you to fly out to New York each summer — which worked until the summer you were fifteen, when your mother became so busy she rarely saw you. Your trips became shorter and shorter until you did not see your mother at all and spent your days travelling into the city.
High school began with stares and whispers beginning the first day. People talked and rumors floated as you entered the school that produced the original killers and a few of their successors. The comments grew worse as you neared the age of the killers, but none were ever made to your face. People knew who your parents were and those who didn't care learned to.
However, your progression through high school didn't come without a looming fear of danger. It was one you would never admit to your parents, who, that day, prepared you on what to do in the case of a Ghostface attack as if it were a commonplace emergency like fires or break ins. You’d reassure them that the attacks were over; yet you engraved their advice in your memory, the hint of paranoia taking over.
Time passed by and with the changing of the seasons came the start of senior year. The color of the world changed you along with it. Dull colors of dead leaves sparked a childish joy in you, bright smiles and increased energy making your dad suspicious and teasing. Something had changed, not caused by any particular event. The wilting of old leaves promised a fresh start for you and your father; you were sure of it.
Perhaps the last year of high school made you care-free, encouraging you to step out of your shell and make your life worth living for once. Maybe you'd finally realized that being alive was a gift, the jar of your aunt's ashes and the scars littering your father's body a constant reminder.
There was a skip in your step on the way to school and an aura surrounding you, warm and inviting even to strangers.
And then, the light went out.
Your father had his issues and his way of dealing with them. You would never understand the former, so you never questioned the latter — but September was always a hard month. Your father had his episodes but he always pulled himself together for you. But now, alcohol was used as a crutch and any optimism you had for your future disappeared as the bottles of liquor drained. The nights he'd come home drunk became more and more often, leaving you to take care of him each time. And though he had good days and bad ones, he never hurt you. He never raised his voice or got angry.
You found him one night, coffee table flipped over in the small space the two of you shared, laying in a puddle of his own vomit. He was sobbing so hard he'd woken you up. He was muttering something over and over, choked out so roughly you could barely understand him.
"I'm sorry."
His tone haunted you, bringing goosebumps to the surface of your skin and tears to your eyes. Yet you cleaned the mess your father sat in and guided him to bed as he reached unconsciousness, pressing a shaky kiss to his forehead. The two of you never spoke of the incident and you weren't sure if he didn't remember or if he didn't want to remember.
But that night pulled you out of your daydreams; you had no choice but to grow up from any childish fantasies you once thought you could live in.
「 … 」
The Woodsboro High halls were filled with hushed whispers and disapproving looks from teachers that made your skin crawl. The tension in the air made your heart beat a little quicker, waiting for the right words to float by you.
The moment came in your psychology class when an empty desk and lack of response during attendance made the room mutter, half in excitement and half in pity.
"Didn't you hear? Tara's in the hospital. She got stabbed, like, a million times."
You froze. Your stomach churned unfavorably at the poorly whispered words and an alarm in your head went off. There was no confirmation, but there was speculation; Woodsboro seemed to be due for another Ghostface attack. But it didn't make sense. All the previous Ghostface killers were mainly tied through blood relations and as far as you knew, all family members of the previous killers were dead. But the fans... they would always have fans.
You didn't know Tara personally but you knew her circle of friends because it was impossible not to. As you left school with the announcement that classes would be canceled trailing behind you, you couldn't help but stop and stare at the table where Tara's friends sat. If it was Ghostface again, it had to be one of them.
You came home that day expecting information from your dad. If your suspicions were correct, he had to let you know. Despite his retirement, he had been Sheriff. He had been attacked by Ghostface. Four times. If anyone in this town knew the truth, it should've been him.
An empty fridge save for condiments greeted you, forcing you to eat instant noodles for the fifth time that week. You headed straight to the couch with a groan. Silence engulfed you for hours, leaving you alone with nothing but your thoughts. They were suffocating.
The mere idea of the return of Ghostface left you haunted, sitting there with an empty ache in your chest. Your mind traced every possibility of what could follow, a shudder passing through your body as your imagination wandered. Your hands rubbed shakily against your thighs as you tried to grasp back onto reality, pulling yourself out of outcomes you couldn't predict. But with a nod of your head came a silent decision; you would stay by your father's side, no matter what.
The sky behind you darkened, orange hues turning black through the small gap between the blinds. Sleep helped you pass the time. Next to you, your phone buzzed in an attempt to notify you of an incoming call, vibrating until it fell off the edge of the coffee table. It wasn’t enough to wake you; you remained uninterrupted until your eyes blinked open at the sound of the door of your home squeaking open. Your father was home, you realized groggily. Too late — your father had gotten a call and left once more, before you could break the haze of your sleep.
It wasn't until later, once you had rubbed the tiredness out of your eyes, that you realized what the voice over the phone told him.
The stabbing of Tara Carpenter did not strike you as a coincidence. Your dad knew it wasn't a coincidence; but he didn't want to admit it, so he got a drink and pretended it wasn't happening.
You waited on the couch as the hours of the night crept on, the hint of a headache threatening to take over if you didn't get proper rest soon. You slipped in and out of unconsciousness with your body in an uncomfortable position. With a developing stiffness in your neck and a far-fetched dream contained in your mind, Dewey Riley entered your home with a grim look and a developing bruise decorating his face.
nerdy yan makes me sooo unhinged because i feel like you could do anything to him and he would probably like it… not that he could stop you, either? i imagine him being really scrawny tbh.
i just wanna ride this guys dick until he’s tryna push me off. i wanna give this man head until he’s tuggin at my hair and crying. i wanna have this guy call me mommy. i want this man to show up at my doorsteps threatening me with whatever fucked up video he had secretly filming in the background to give him whatever he wants. then i wanna fuck the life outta him.
to see you five days a week leaves him content, but to have your attention on him? within lewd context? it’s like he’s discovered a whole new world he hadn’t thought possible, and he wasn’t sure on what to do but nevertheless he was honoured. like a geeky boy who had just transported into his favourite comic book. he could never have guessed that you would want him like this. he had led himself to believe seeing you around school was enough, but the more you gave him, the more he craved. every pleasure you gifted him, it sent him to highs to the point that his body would experience withdrawals if he wouldn’t see you within the next few days. though it had him feeling anxious when you did take the lead. was he enough? between whimpers of pleasure and crying from overstimulation, he would pay attention to your reactions as you rode his cock, he wanted to see you smile, he wanted to see you cry out in pleasure, he wanted to see you mewl with ecstasy— he wanted to know if he was enough for you.
now he wouldn’t threaten you, but he will begin to crave more of you, though he’s far too shy to ever take charge. so he reserves himself to just being within close proximity, fumbling his words and fidgeting constantly, hoping you would notice his aching cock when you glanced at him, praying you would grab his arms and drag him away, begging to hear you demand him call you mummy as you slam your hips against him to the point he can’t tell where your body starts and where his ends.
Virgin!Suna is a horny mess. Whenever he sees you he gets a hard-on and has to run to the bathroom to jerk off and imagine that you are there between his legs, sucking his balls and cumming later on your face.
Virgin!Suna fantasizes about you in every possible way. You're always on his mind, whether it's on his face or on his cock. He often wonders what your cum would taste like, and the mere thought of it makes him get hard again and go get some toilet paper to jerk off again.
Virgin!Suna will come up behind you at the party and rub his cock against your ass like a fucking dog in heat. He'll whisper in your ear the wonderful things he could do to you if you were at home. Meanwhile, you'd be slumped over his shoulder, struggling with the heat and the shiver his dirty words send down your spine.
"I bet if you let me taste that little pussy, you'd end up on your knees in front of me begging for more, don´t you? What do you think about it?"
Virgin!Suna would despair and take it out on you for not fucking him that night in the cruelest way. A picture of his red cock, with cum all over his belly would ignite your desire and leave you horny for hours.
"Look at what you've done to me…. So miserable and proud that you won't help a poor virgin to milk his cock…. I hope it's a lesson for you next time, I don't let just anyone play with me."
— yan oc concept : yan ! soldier x gender-neutral ! commander ! reader —
TW: SUGGESTIVE, EXPLICIT MENTIONS OF STALKING, YANDERE THEMES, which includes: unhealthy devotion, obsession, borderline worship.. implications of shitty writing done late at night because i have nothing else to do on a regular old saturday, lotsa profanity because i literally type like that
a/n: yeah. so i wanted to write a damn near worshipper mf. i sent all these concepts to my homie on discord, n they were like “THIS IS TUMBLR WORTHY” (this was also their favorite out of all the ideas for writing i had so like i hope this is cash money) i dont think i have much other shit to do aside from study psychology or something interesting or whatever but thats bORING i wanna write people gettin on their knees for ya ykwim??? fyi when i say chest it doesn’t always have to mean an afab person’s chest lmao,, just so yall know everybody has a chest mfs whether there are boobs or not. this darling little soldier does not fuckin’ discriminate!!!!!! yippee!!!!
—————
so like, let’s get this straight: THIS SON OF A BITCH LOVES YOU MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF. they are wholly yours, but you’ll never be theirs in return. ya know why?? bc their stubborn ass thinks they’re lower than you, as you’re their superior.. therefore you should just own them by now <3
when they see you on the battlefield, they’re always so enamored.. as if your beauty distracts them from the fact that this is literally a life-or-death predicament.
nah cause like they always look for opportunities to be with you & to love you because all they wanna do is be a hardworking, obedient lil soldier to you. more specifically, your favorite little soldier.
they always worship you as though you were a deity amongst mortals.
they have a diary completely devoted to you. all they write about is you, your perfection, your beauty, the gorgeous shine in your eyes, from all that is romantic to the most erotic, sinful thoughts that run through their head about you: every curve and lack thereof, how much they crave for you to fuck them like a doll, your subservient doll, until they cry. they want tears to stream down their face so that you could see the sheer amount of love they have for you in those watery, half-lidded eyes. their bawling tells you that they would submit, no matter how much you hurt them. they're in their most vulnerable for you, because they deserve to become your toy.. nothing more. but, as a sinner, they're aware that they'll never get what they want.
obsession.. is an understatement. they're smitten, head-over-heels, down on their knees for you... and one day, one day they'll be on their knees between your pretty, perfect legs.
they watch you day and night, even in your private moments. they want to see you when you’re vulnerable, when they get to witness their god’s breathtaking body, without any garments to obscure your glory.
even when you're all alone, putting in no effort to please anyone, you're so gorgeous. your insecurities just make them love you more. they want to kiss those insecurities away, to tell you that you, the love of their life and their god, will never have any imperfections.
they wish they could be more intimate, even though they’re aware that seeing you during times they shouldn’t is technically meant to be enough.
it’s just.. they don’t just want to witness you. they may love you more than everything, but they still wish to indulge. they’re still greedy. they want to touch you when you are bare, they want to let their hands wander as they worship you face-to-face. they want your lips to touch theirs, once and for all. and they will end up in such a predicament someday.. your loyal servant, sinning right where you can see them. they know they aren’t worthy, but they yearn for you nevertheless.
they don’t just want you. they don’t just crave for every bit of you. they need you, all of you, they need your body & mind, they need your touch, your affection.. everything. they know damn well that they’re below you, as a simple follower, but please.. please just let them enjoy you just this once.. and they’ll do everything you desire. spoil them a little once in a while, won’t you?..
anyways have a scenario of them cuddling with you when war isnt threatening everybody :) enjoy the content because like fluff is important in this world mwah mwah bye
—————
they nuzzle into your chest, arms wrapped around your waist. the rays of the rising sun dimly gleam through the curtains, and all you two have been doing was cuddle, cuddle, cuddle. but are you complaining? absolutely not! your pretty warrior is so adorable when they cling to you as they let sleepy mutters slip from their lips. words of reverence, obsession, and utter devotion. they can’t help it, don’t you understand? they just love you oh, so much.. and they have to let you know. otherwise, how would you ever believe their loyalty to you?
“you’re so perfect, everything about you, everything’s so.. flawless.. i love you, you.. only you.. i love, love, love you, more than you could ever know.. i.. love.. you..”
they mumble in-between soft kisses as they worship you and your body, which was handcrafted by divine hands. you're so pretty that it's genuinely painful for them.. and they're definitely going to show you that. their shaky hands wander, teardrops falling onto your holy garments and their lowly, sinful flesh.. and when you reciprocate even a mere sliver of the affection that they've given you, they break. their trembling, pathetic body goes limp under your touch, leaning into the love that you blessed them with, even if they're shuddering with watery eyes.
all this ever did was remind them of how incapable they are of living without you.
as soon as your soft hands graze against their hair, they're on the verge of collapsing just from how good you make them feel. your arm on their waist sends them to heaven, your divine abode.. they are definitely willing to die for you right now, as long as you hold them before their heart ceases to beat. hold their hand as you two cuddle, and they're already straight up melting from your godly fingers. oh.. how they wish those very fingers could wander further than their mere hands. how would it feel if your touch was between their legs? how much euphoria would they go through if you held onto their bare thighs, driving them to tears? they need that, they lust after such fantasies more than you could ever know. their thoughts are taunting them as they become tainted with the desires of a sinner.
their gaze.. when they look up at you, there are reminders of their limerence, their infatuation. you're just recalling just how smitten they are, when they stare with a quivering lip and tears threatening to fall. unbeknownst to this darling soldier of yours, they aren't the only ones with unholy thoughts.
you just have to wait until one of you decides to act on it. 'patience is a virtue', you both would like to believe, as you bask in eachother's warmth for the morning.
—————
im sorry this was short im like having a bad case of writers block or whatevrr u call it..
when you find out about kaiser's unorthodox morning routine, you instantly regret having him as your roommate
one peaceful morning.
all you're asking for is one peaceful morning.
the muffled sound of house music reverberates from the bathroom and you stalk over with heavy footsteps, still rubbing the drowsiness from your eyes. your neighbor's most recent complaint about noise coming from your apartment resurfaces in your mind and though you've told your stubborn roommate to keep it down before, kaiser was never one to listen.
"kaiser?" you rap at the bathroom door, raising your voice a little so he could hear you above the loud noise. "kaiser, keep the music down. it's only 5 in the morn—OH MY GOD.”
the door wasn't locked. heck, it turns out it wasn't even properly closed because all it took was your fist touching the hardwood surface for it to freely swing open.
and nothing in the world could have ever prepared you for the sight you were about to witness—because in the very split second of shock that left you standing stock-still, all you see is kaiser standing in front of the mirror, both hands firm on either side of his hips, butt naked.
as soon as you recover from the initial shock, you recoil back into the hall, clawing at your face and genuinely considering gauging your eyes out. "what the fuck are you doing?! ever heard of locking the door?!"
what makes matters even worse—a talent that comes so naturally for a troublemaker like kaiser—is that your shameless roommate is completely unperturbed by your intrusion.
"can i help you?" he asks, having the audacity to sound slightly peeved that you've interrupted whatever he was doing in there.
"th-the neighbor—the, um, the music! can you— ugh, can you put on some fucking clothes first?" your speaking to him with your palm still shielding your eyes and when he doesn't say anything, you make the mistake of peeking through your fingers, which grants you an unpleasant view of kaiser's ass cheeks as he turns around to shut the music off.
"what was that?"
judging by how clearer his voice sounds now, you assume he's already facing you again—and you do not want to make the same mistake twice. "have some decency and put on some clothes first, you pervert."
"what? never seen a nude man before?" to your absolute horror, you can feel kaiser inching towards you by the sound of his voice growing near.
"kaiser," you say through gritted teeth, "i swear to god, keep this up and i'm kicking you out in an hour."
“aw, darling. don’t be—”
“don’t test me, kaiser! the lease is under my name so i'm more than entitled to evict you from here. i can pack all your things under a—scratch that, i'll throw all your junk out the window so i hope you're good at catching—"
"alright, alright," kaiser clicks his tongue. "sheesh, so uptight all the time."
you pace down the hall for a moment to give him plenty of space to put something on, and as soon as you hear footsteps padding behind you, you hold a forefinger up to tell him to stop before you turn on your heel.
"are you wearing something?" only now do you realize you can never be too careful.
"ya."
"okay."
when you do turn around, you're still somewhat startled by the fact that he's only chosen to wrap a towel around his waist, very loosely at that too.
as you try to recall why you approached him in the first place, you find it almost impossible to further the conversation for two stupid reasons: 1) the looseness of his towel is keeping you in constant fear that it's going to drop to the floor any second now; 2) you're only now realizing that just his bare upper body has... a lot on display.
your eyes follow the way his hand brushes the longer strands of his hair over his shoulders, how the natural blonde blends into a shade of blue that almost matches the color of his tattoo. you've seen the vines and roses before, whenever he walks around in just a muscle tee, but you didn't know one of the leaves dip into his chest.
his toned bare chest is one thing, his chiseled abdomen another, but your gaze continues to roam down the length of his torso until you reach his navel and notice the loose towel is giving you a view of his v-lines that dip into—
"can you give me a heads-up next time, darling?" he smirks.
"w-what?" you stutter, finally feeling heat spread from your cheeks to your ears.
"i need to know how long you're gonna take to ogle over my god-like body, or you could just take a picture, it'll last longer. better yet, i've got a good one, i can send it to you—"
“i don’t want your fucking nudes, oh my god. you know what? i've been way too lenient considering all the bullshit you put me through. we need to set some house rules."
he shrugs. "fine with me, i guess. dunno why you're getting so worked up when you're being blessed with the sight of my—"
"kaiser, shut up. please, just shut. up."
he throws his hands up into the air in surrender before crossing them over his chest and leaning one shoulder against the wall. "anyway, what did you need? you interrupted my precious morning routine that i gotta start over now."
his morning routine includes staring at himself butt naked in the mirror at the ungodly hours of dawn? you truly rue the day you made the dumbest decision to let him live with you.
"music. no loud music before 8 a.m., for the love of god." you pinch the bridge of your noise, before muttering to yourself, "first it was your late night trysts and now this."
"sure, yeah, but are you okay with listening to me talk to myself, then? i play the music so you won't have to hear me."
"yeah, it's fine. whatever." the apartment walls are more soundproof than the walls within your unit, but as long as kaiser didn't cause any more trouble with the neighbors, you could put up with it.
"cool. is that all?"
"lock the fucking door."
"yeah, yeah, as you wish, your highness," he says, waving his hand as he makes his way back into the bathroom. you wait for a moment to hear the lock click in place.
thank god.
as you return to your room, completely bewildered by the sheer madness you have to deal with so early in the morning, you pause at the sound of kaiser's muffled voice.
i am michael kaiser. i am god's chosen emperor. i am the best fucking striker in the world. i am leagues better than isagi yoichi. i am michael kaiser. i am—
the very first thing you're going to do that day is invest in some good quality earplugs.
us big spooning ryuu??? that giant?? im in love with that im in love with him hes just a silly guy i want to smooch him
ryuunosuke yamamoto ★ profile
Honestly, it's a big thing for Ryuu where he just really likes it when you hug him from behind! Especially when you're smaller than him! He likes feeling your arms wrapped around him, unable to even meet in the middle, and your cute face smooshed against his back. He feels very safe and and cared for! He likes it when you rub your nose against him too! It makes his heart beat rapidly in his chest!
Ryuu would also very much like it if you'd smooch him! Don't worry, he'll bend down for you! But you have to close your eyes before you smooch him! No, it's not because his face is all blotchy and red and he doesn't want you to see him flustered and embarrassed! Don't look! He said close your eyes!
