#all i can think about is how i might die soon

[jingerpi]

[do not use this as justification for sexist bigotry, this is a personal thought relating to the investigation of ideas and not a statement meant to be derisive towards feminist theories.]

disclaimer out of the way, I've been thinking about transmisogyny a lot lately and it's really interesting to consider the nuances of. I think a lot of the objections to transfeminist theory simply come from sexism, but there is one point of potential critique that I think warrants further inquiry. to get at this we have to first clarify something else though.

the distinction of tme/tma might sound like an issue to a lot of transmisogynists, but most of their objections die away as soon as you clarify it's not "never ever experiences transmisogyny" and is perhaps more accurately "trans misogyny exemptable" as this gets at the reality of trans women facing transmisogyny regardless of what we do, there is no way out, we are the intended targets. other people face transmisogyny as a sort of warning, a clarifying statement that "if you are transfeminine we will Other you" and they're able to exempt themselves from this in most situations by clarifying "I am not a trans woman" regardless of the particular form that takes.

not everyone is able to exempt themselves from all gender related bigotry though. you cannot, for example, make this distinction (of not being transfem) to escape intersexism, which is why many intersex repeatedly experience gender based oppression and cannot opt out of it. this is oppression is fundamentally not an result of transmisogyny, it is a result of intersexism.

with that clarification out of the way, I think there is an understandable critique regards the simplification that

"men have power over women" <- correct, easily verifiable, almost everybody agrees. "Black men have power of Black women" <- still correct and non controversial (at least in feminist spaces). then you go to "trans men have power over trans women" and everybody freaks out, yeah? like people start to object to this understanding suddenly, even though we've only changed 1 thing, which we've changed before and nobody found issue with it in those other areas. many of these objections come transmisogyny, but I don't think it actually tells the whole story to write all of this off as transmisogyny.

I think why we run into an issue with this understanding (again, critique, not refutation) is that trans people's gender is often, perhaps even usually in flux. the statement "men have power over women" is trivially true, and is a statement on gender and misogyny. this comparison can be brought to trans men and trans women, but it's not without nuance, as the most basic information we can get from this is applied to gender, something which is often actively shifting for trans people.

the reason is don't see this as some kind of disproof of transmisogyny or something should be clear though, for two reasons (aside from the obvious statement towards trends rather than specific instances)

1. transmisogyny is fundamentally not the same thing as misogyny at large, and

2. though trans-gender is often shifting, we can use the prior distinction of exemptable and intended targets to largely do away with this problem.

despite the framework of misogyny not applying 1-1 onto trans people (many who identify as trans men have 'correctly' experienced misogyny), we can still see how it is useful to look at the intersection of misogyny and transphobia. While yes, trans men often experience both of these things, it is often not simultaneously like it is for trans women. As trans women transition our closeness to womanhood tends to increase so as our experiences of transphobia increase, so too do our experiences of misogyny- where as the opposite goes for trans men. it's not that one can't be sexist and transphobic to a trans man, they're not transmisogyny exempt in some metaphysical sense, but rather that for trans women our transness and our womanhood have a positive correlation, our transness and our womanhood are inseparable, we cannot denounce one by leaning on the other.

on the contrary, while trans men will still face transphobia and sexism which denies the validity of their transness and treats them with misogyny, as they transition their relationship begins to more closely match that of men, because of course they are men, this leads to them being able to escape transmisogyny not by being part of some magically 100% transmisogyny excluded class, but because they have the ability to meaningfully denounce trans feminity, to put down womanhood and to become "one of the guys", it's conditional, yes, but often the conditions are not to "pass" in the traditional sense but rather to express views aligning with the patriarchy and derision of feminity, i.e, misogyny.

I think we can see this in the popular responses to tme/tma discourse within the trans community: many trans men correctly recognize what is happening and stand in solidarity, transmisogyny is a genuine problem and it makes sense to talk about the intersection between misogyny and transphobia, trans men even experience both at times, so it is a good idea to stand against. Then, some men begin to talk about their experiences with denial of who they are and the misogyny that can come with that. This too is rather sensible, though it doesn't somehow counteract or disprove transmisogyny generally, it can be studied and acknowledge much in the same way we understand cis men are tested with transmisogyny to enforce what others call "toxic masculinity", despite them not being transfeminine. Then we have a third and wildly popular group, who appropriate the struggles of the second group, where co-option occurs by men who buy into or express sexist ideas for the sake of more fully exempting themselves from transmisogyny. Along with this, instead of recognizing the basis for transmisogyny as intersecting gender based oppression, because doing so would show their fleeting relationship to it, they redefine it as being intersection of two metaphysical identities generally, and thus "transandrophobia" is born, posed as being on an equal to transmisogyny, after all, they're both born from intersecting identities are they not?

of course, we know Androphobia is not something which actually exists, nor is Misandry - these arent axis' of oppression, and they largely know this too, but their goal is to obfuscate the ways in which marginalized men still benefit from their manhood. it takes what I think can be a rather genuine expression that trans men experience both transphobia and misogyny, and instead of grappling with the ways they can societally put down others to gain exemption from transmisogyny, the way their relationship to it is transient, they instead cling to it and invent new terms or fall on old bigoted talking points to justify doing so. "transandrophobia" yes, but also "sex based oppression" and "male/female socialization" these terms and rhetoric are regularly used against transfeminists by these trans men who have exempted themselves from transmisogyny, who have sided with patriarchy over their trans sisters, instead allying with the general terf movement at large and often implicitly misgendering themselves in the process.

and just to be clear, not exempting yourself doesn't mean you will experience the brunt of transmisogyny or to the same degree trans women do - you may be called slurs by bigots, may be harassed in given instances, or sometimes worse, but the systemic forces of transmisogyny go far deeper than negative interactions with individuals, and these transmisogynistic forces are again, aimed specifically at trans women. While I want to recognize the ways in which transmisogyny permeates all of society, do not see this and mistake it for support for the idea that everyone experiences it equally and their relationship is only changed by putting down transfemininity, it is and always has been about targeting transfemininity, the reason I clarify exemptable is due to society's constant enforcing of transmisogynistic ideas on everyone, even if the worst persecution is specifically and intentionally reserved for trans women

Lastly I want to say that these ideas are still developing and my understanding of them will likely change with time and discussion. I dont think these ideas are particularly new, they seem to underpin a lot of discussion on these topics, but this is my attempt to bring them from an implicit unspoken agreement into a more firmly expressed position. Doing so is necessarily going to expose flaws and I see that as a good thing, as doing so is required to elevate understanding of these theories to a higher level. Some of these flaws will be with my expression and understanding, and I will work to correct those, but some will likely be with the ideass themselves and it will take time for them to develop. Please read in good faith, thank you.

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Twenty Six: Detox SS: 4 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 3.4K (total) Content Warnings: Detox, Hayun is cruel, mentions of wanting to die, Minho being a saint Previous Next Masterlist

Minho knocks firmly on Hayun’s bedroom door, his grip tight on the heavy duffel bag slung over his shoulder. When she looks up, her eyes narrow as she takes in the sight of him standing there, bag in hand.

“What the hell is that?” she asks, suspicion creeping into her tone.

He steps inside without asking permission, dropping the duffel bag to the floor with a solid thud. “This,” he says, unzipping it and revealing the contents, “is everything you’re gonna need to detox.” Inside are water bottles, electrolyte packets, instant soups, a heating pad, blankets, some random vitamins, and a small bottle of lavender essential oil.

Hayun’s face shifts from confusion to unease. “Detox? What are you talking about?��

Minho’s gaze is unwavering, his expression a mix of determination and empathy. “The others? They’re happy enough pretending it’s not happening. But I’m done pretending, Hayun. I’m tired of the cold showers, of carrying you home barely conscious. So, yeah, we’re detoxing you. Here. Now.”

She gapes at him, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “Minho, that’s not something you can just decide for me.”

He nods, folding his arms as he steps closer. “I know it’s going to be hell. Restlessness, body aches, tremors, nausea, vomiting, insomnia. All of it. But I’ve read up on it, and this bag has everything we might need.”

She stares at him, her grip tightening on the edge of the bed, her face a mixture of shock and anger. “You… you planned all this?”

“Yeah,” he replies, his tone steady, his gaze softened only by the tenderness in his voice. “Jisung, Jeongin, and Felix are staying at my place until I give them the all-clear. It’s just us. You and me, until you’re through this.”

Her eyes dart to the bag, her pulse pounding as she processes his words. The reality of it sinks in slowly. “Minho,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, “I don’t think I can do this.”

He crouches down in front of her, meeting her at eye level, his hands resting gently on her knees. “Look at me, princess,” he says, voice low and warm, and she reluctantly meets his gaze. “You can do this. You’re stronger than you think. And I’m not leaving. You’ll be cursing my name soon enough, but I’ll still be right here. No matter what.”

Her throat tightens as she looks at him, his steady, unwavering presence somehow as comforting as it is infuriating. She shakes her head slightly, feeling the wave of doubt wash over her. “Why?” she chokes out, her voice trembling. “Why are you doing this?”

He gives a small, sad smile, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. “Because I care about you, Hayun. I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself. Not when I know you can beat this. There’s so much more for you on the other side.”

Her resolve falters, her chest aching with the weight of his words, the genuine concern in his eyes. She bites her lip, glancing back at the bag of supplies as if it’s some monster she’s not ready to face.

“Hayun,” he says, gently tilting her chin up to meet his gaze again. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll be right here with you.”

She lets out a shaky sigh, her defenses crumbling. "But I don’t even know how to get through a single day sober,” she admits, barely above a whisper. “I don’t remember how to be that person anymore.”

Minho’s hands move to hold hers, his grip firm and reassuring. “One hour at a time. If that’s too much, then one minute. We’ll go at your pace.” He pauses, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “And when you need someone to scream at, I’ll be that person. When you need someone to cry with, I’m here. And when you need someone to keep you from walking out that door, I’ll do that too.”

She swallows hard, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. “What if I can’t do it? What if I just fail?”

He shakes his head, a fierce determination in his eyes. “Failing isn’t an option. And you won’t be doing this alone.”

Hayun lets his words sink in, the fear mingling with a spark of something unfamiliar. Hope. Tentatively, she nods, still gripping his hand as if he’s her lifeline.

“Alright,” she whispers, barely trusting her own voice. “Let’s do this.”

Minho smiles, a small, relieved smile that softens his expression. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a water bottle, twisting the cap off and handing it to her. “First step,” he says, watching her with careful eyes. “Stay hydrated.”

She takes the bottle, her hand trembling slightly as she brings it to her lips. The cool water is refreshing, grounding, a reminder that she’s still here, still in control. Even if it’s just for this one moment.

Minho settles himself on the floor beside her bed, folding his legs and resting an arm on his knee. “This is going to be rough,” he says quietly, a slight smirk on his face, “but if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

A weak, but genuine smile pulls at her lips. For the first time in a long time, she feels the smallest glimmer of strength. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

He chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Glad you’re finally catching on.”

Three days in, and Hayun’s world has reduced itself to the confines of her bed, the walls seeming to close in with every passing hour. Her skin feels like it’s covered in needles, each inch of her body an exposed, burning nerve. Sleep is a mirage, always out of reach, her mind too alert to rest but too exhausted to stay conscious. Every breath is a struggle, every beat of her heart an ache.

Minho is always there, steady and unwavering. Every time she wakes, it’s his face she sees, his hand on her back, his voice a constant anchor in the storm. Even when she glares at him with bloodshot eyes, her venomous words roll off him like water.

“God, you’re pathetic,” she snarls, though the bite in her voice is softened by her own exhaustion. “You’re not some ‘knight in shining armor,’ you know that, right? You don’t have to pretend.”

Minho’s expression barely shifts as he dips the cloth in cool water again, pressing it gently to her forehead. “Maybe,” he says in a calm voice, “but you’re stuck with it, so get used to it.”

With a burst of strength, she pushes his hand away, her voice shaking with both anger and vulnerability. “I hate you. I don’t want your help, Minho. You think I asked for this? For you?”

Minho hums softly, as if her words are nothing more than background noise, his hand steady as he dabs her forehead again. “That’s the withdrawal talking,” he says quietly, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You don’t hate me. You actually like me enough to go on that aquarium date with me, remember?”

Her glare sharpens, the anger giving her a brief surge of energy. “That was before you decided to trap me here and torture me. What’s next, Minho? Gonna chain me to the bed?”

He raises an eyebrow, his tone steady. “No need. You’re staying put on your own, despite all the yelling. Because you're too weak to move”

“Fuck you,” she hisses, turning her face away.

He just sighs, holding a spoonful of soup in front of her mouth. “Eat, princess,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. She glares at him but is too weak to fight, reluctantly opening her mouth. Each spoonful feels like an intrusion, but she’s too tired to refuse.

“You’re so smug,” she mutters between bites, each word loaded with resentment. “You’re just enjoying watching me suffer, aren’t you?”

“Trust me, there’s nothing enjoyable about watching someone go through this.” His gaze softens for a moment, and he holds out another spoonful. “I just want you to come out on the other side.”

She scoffs, looking away, the bitterness flaring in her again. “I don’t need your pity, Minho. I’m not some broken girl who needs saving.”

He sets the spoon down for a moment, turning to meet her gaze head-on. “Hayun,” he says softly but firmly, “I don’t pity you. Not even a little. And I know you’re strong enough to get through this, with or without me. But I’m here because I want to be.”

Her throat tightens, and she turns her face away, refusing to let his words hit their mark. “You’re wasting your time,” she mutters, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Maybe,” he says with a shrug, his voice light but unwavering. “But I’d rather waste my time here than let you go through this alone.”

She’s quiet after that, and he takes the opportunity to feed her another spoonful. Her stomach twists, her body rejecting the food, but she forces herself to swallow, her own stubbornness flaring. She won’t give him the satisfaction of her surrender, not yet.

As the night drags on, her body becomes a battleground. Every nerve feels electrified, and the waves of nausea roll over her with brutal force. She doubles over, gripping the bucket tightly, her body convulsing as she heaves, the pain wracking her from head to toe. Minho is there, steady as ever, holding her hair back and rubbing slow circles on her back. She tries to push him away, her voice little more than a broken whisper.

“I hate you,” she mutters, her voice shaking, barely audible over the sound of her own retching. Tears sting at the edges of her eyes, a bitter mix of pain and frustration.

“I know, princess,” he murmurs, his voice gentle, his hand never leaving her back. “I know.”

The words linger in the air, a strange balm to the anger and pain twisting within her. She wants to throw something, to scream, to do anything to make him leave, but deep down, a small, fragile part of her clings to his presence, to the comfort he offers without question, without judgment.

As the hours wear on, Hayun drifts in and out of a feverish haze, her mind clouded by half-formed dreams and fragments of memory. Through it all, Minho is there, his voice breaking through the fog, a constant, unbreakable thread that keeps her grounded. He speaks softly, stories she only half-hears, about his childhood, about random memories, even anecdotes about their friends that bring the faintest flicker of a smile to her lips.

In one brief moment of lucidity, she looks at him, her vision blurred but focused enough to see the worry etched in his expression. “Why?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you still here?”

Minho doesn’t hesitate, his hand brushing lightly over her hair. “Because you’re here, and that’s enough,” he says, his voice soft, unwavering. “I don’t leave people I care about to suffer alone.”

The answer silences her, the weight of it settling over her like a blanket, both comforting and terrifying in its honesty.

The next day dawns, grey and quiet, filtering weakly through the blinds of Hayun’s room, casting soft shadows over the two of them. She’s lying with her head in Minho’s lap, the only position that brings her any comfort as she shivers through another relentless wave of withdrawal. Her whole body aches as though she’s been pulled apart and pieced back together too tightly. Tremors ripple through her limbs, weaker than the days before but still constant enough to keep her tethered to the pain.

Minho’s hand moves gently through her hair, combing it back from her clammy forehead. He’s holding an old, battered copy of Wuthering Heights in his other hand, reading aloud in a low, soothing voice, his tone gentle but engaging. It’s a little frayed at the edges, the pages yellowed and filled with notes scribbled in the margins, evidence of the countless times he’s read it before.

“‘Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same,’” he reads, his voice dipping into a soft murmur. He pauses, glancing down to check her expression. The line hangs heavy in the air, echoing through the silence, a gentle balm to her frayed nerves.

Hayun’s eyes flutter closed, her lashes wet from the silent tears that have slipped down her cheeks, leaving faint tracks across her skin. She listens to his voice, letting it fill the silence, each word grounding her, helping her cling to something beyond the searing pain in her muscles, beyond the desperate ache in her bones. She doesn’t say anything, but her fingers curl into his hoodie, holding on to him like he’s her lifeline.

Minho’s gaze softens, and he closes the book gently after finishing the chapter. “That’s it for now, princess.”

A faint nod is all she can manage in response, but her eyes linger on him, a spark of gratitude flickering in her gaze despite the exhaustion clouding it. The quiet stretches between them, a soft, tentative peace settling over the room.

He adjusts his hold on her, his thumb brushing the last trace of tears from her cheek. His fingers continue to weave through her hair, untangling the tension that has gathered there. After a while, he speaks, his tone gentle but firm. “Hayun, once you’re through this, things are going to be different. I’m not letting this slip under the radar again.”

She looks up at him, her gaze wary, but he holds her steady, his fingers tracing comforting circles over her shoulder.

“Every day, someone, probably Jisung or me, will be checking in. And yeah, we’re searching your room morning and night,” he continues, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “If you get cravings, if it feels like too much, you come to us. To any of us. I don’t care who, even Changbin if he’s around.” His gaze sharpens with quiet determination. “But you don’t go through it alone. No more hiding.”

Hayun swallows, her throat thick as his words sink in. She nods, a flicker of relief breaking through the haze of exhaustion. “Okay,” she whispers, her voice cracked but sincere. “I- I’ll try. I promise.”

Minho nods, satisfied. “Good.” His expression softens, and a small smile tugs at his lips. “You’ve already done the hardest part, you know? So, what’s a little more at this point?” His fingers graze lightly over her hair, brushing a loose strand behind her ear. “And I’ll be here, no matter how tough it gets. Even when you’re a pain in my ass.”

A weak laugh escapes her, dry but real, a sound she didn’t think she could still make. It’s small, but it’s there, and Minho’s smile widens, his relief mirrored in the warmth of his gaze. He shifts, settling against the headboard as he keeps her close, his thumb brushing in soothing strokes over her shoulder.

They sit there, wrapped in the fragile silence, the steady hum of Florence and the Machine drifting softly from the speaker. The music fills the room, an ethereal, almost haunting melody that lingers in the quiet like a gentle balm over the tension.

After a long pause, Hayun finally speaks, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve this,” she says, her tone raw, vulnerable. “I don’t deserve you, Minho. Not after all the things I’ve done.”

He just chuckles, shaking his head as he looks down at her. “Too bad,” he murmurs, his voice soft but resolute. “Because you’re stuck with me, princess.” He leans down, his voice dipping to a playful whisper, his tone warm. “And trust me, I didn’t put you through all those cold showers for nothing.”

The faintest smile tugs at her lips, and she lets out a shaky breath, the smallest hint of hope flickering in her eyes as she looks up at him. She presses closer, letting herself lean into his warmth, allowing herself to rest, even if only for a moment.

Two weeks after the worst of Hayun’s withdrawal, Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin finally step back into the house, looking relieved yet hesitant as they shut the door behind them. They barely make it past the entryway before they spot Hayun lying on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket.

Without wasting a second, all three rush toward her and pile on top, squeezing her in a tight hug, practically smothering her with their weight and laughter.

“Ugh, guys, what the hell?” Hayun mumbles, groaning but smiling as they trap her under the blanket.

Jisung’s voice rings out over the chaos, “I have news! I fucked Hyunjin!”

Hayun, her voice muffled by the layers of arms and legs, murmurs a dry, “Hallelujah.”

From the kitchen, where he’s busy stirring a pot of jjajangmyeon, Minho calls out, “Don’t mind her, she’s been exhausted recently. But welcome back, guys.”

The three don’t seem to notice; they’re too busy talking over one another, bombarding Hayun with updates and stories.

“Okay, but Hyunjin’s cooking skills are as bad as they say,” Jisung says, his voice filled with horror. “I thought he was going to burn down Minho’s kitchen.”

Felix laughs, ruffling Hayun’s hair as she groans again in mock annoyance. “And Chan? Dude is, like, obsessed with organizing everything. If you leave one sock out of place, boom, it’s a whole lecture.”

Hayun chuckles, her voice soft. “I missed you guys,” she says, reaching out to squeeze Felix’s arm.

While the others keep chatting, Jeongin slips away from the group and heads into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. He leans against the counter, watching Minho as he stirs the sauce for the jajangmyeon.

After a beat of silence, Jeongin clears his throat. “So, how bad was it really? I mean, you texted us updates and all, but-”

Minho exhales, pausing for a moment before resuming his stirring. “Honestly?” He glances over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “It was brutal, man. Those two wouldn’t have handled it. That’s why I sent you all to my place.” He stops to collect his thoughts, choosing his words carefully. “There were a few days where she was-” He trails off, jaw clenched. “Where she begged to die. It’s- Withdrawal’s no joke, Innie.”

Jeongin’s face falls, his eyes widening as he processes the reality of what Minho is saying. “Shit… I can’t imagine.” He looks down, fiddling with his hands. “You really… put yourself through that for her?”

Minho shrugs, focusing on the pot. “Someone had to. She deserves to come out of this. Deserves more than what she’s been through.”

Jeongin studies him for a moment, then, in a rare moment of perceptiveness, asks, “Do you love her?”

Minho’s eyes widen, taken off guard. “Huh?” He lets out a small, awkward laugh, stirring the pot to avoid looking Jeongin in the eyes. “What the fuck kind of a question is that?”

“It’s just us here,” Jeongin says, crossing his arms and smirking. “You don’t do what you did if you don’t love someone. And you, Minho, don’t go through the hell of getting her off oxy and keeping her steady unless she’s more than just ‘important’ to you.”

Minho sighs, relenting with a small smile as he keeps stirring. “Yeah. I do.”

Jeongin’s smirk grows into a genuine grin. “So when are you gonna ask her out?”

Minho rolls his eyes but can’t hide the way his face softens. “I’m not rushing it. I want to take her on a few more dates first, make sure she’s really okay.” He shrugs, focusing back on the food. “When the time’s right.”

Jeongin nods, respect clear in his gaze. “Take your time. She’s lucky to have someone like you, hyung.”

“Lucky?” Minho laughs. “After the cold showers and all the nagging, I think she’d disagree.”

Jeongin grins, patting him on the back. “Nah, she knows she's found something good with you”

From the living room, Felix’s voice rings out, calling, “Yah! Minho! Stop hoarding the food! We’re starving over here!”

Minho shakes his head, chuckling as he prepares to plate the food. "Coming, you whiners." As he finishes, he glances one last time at Jeongin. There’s a quiet understanding between them, one that doesn’t need words, and Jeongin gives him a small nod before heading back to the living room.

Minho smiles to himself, carrying the plates out. He sets them down on the coffee table, and as the others dig in, he glances at Hayun, catching her eye and giving her a quick, warm smile. She returns it, a look that says more than words ever could, and he knows, in that moment, that whatever comes next, he’s right where he’s meant to be.

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[skeletboi]

Super short update because my life is a mess.

But here is part 24 of the Intridimensional Au!

First /// Previous /// Next

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“Impressive as ever.” Ford said as he looked at the robot arm on the work bench.

“Thanks, Stanford.” Fiddleford replied quietly.

Ford watched Fiddleford place his good hand over the arm then glanced up at Fiddleford's face and frowned.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Lots a’ things are, I reckon.” Fiddleford said with a humorless huff of laughter. “Ya know when I went back home fer Christmas and fergot ta get Emma-May a present?”

“I recall, yes.” Ford responded, his frown deepening.

“She was already purdy darn mad at me before that. I wore baggy sweaters ta try and hide the metal cast on my arm so she wouldn't go worryin’ ‘bout it, but Tate ain't dumb and heard the hum of the components. He asked me about it, ‘cuz he's at that age where they ask a million questions, and I told him it was a metal cast. ‘Course he's an imaginative kid so he immediately started calling it a robit arm. He ran ta Emma-May ta tell her, and I thought she was ‘bout to murder me on the spot.” Fiddleford paused and picked up the arm. “He'd love this, but Emma-May would hate it.”

“I love it, if that makes you feel any better.” Ford said, placing a hand on Fiddleford's back.

“It does.” Fiddleford said with another quiet laugh. “But I can't stop thinkin’ about that. Emma-May knew how I felt ‘bout you in college, and we got in a purdy big fight ‘bout it before I came ta Gravity Falls. I love Emma-May, but our parents both loved the idea of us bein’ together more than we did. I think maybe we were more like best friends than spouses, but I promised her I'd be back ‘cause, above all else, we jus’ wanted Tate ta have a normal childhood.” Fiddleford set the arm back down and choked on a laugh that sounded suspiciously more like a sob. “‘Spose I'll jus’ hafta live with the fact that he won't. I don’ know if he'll ‘member me at all.”

“Fidds…” Ford said softly, unsure of what else to say with his own guilt and regret tearing at his chest.

“If I knew it was gonna turn out this way I prolly woulda jus’ said screw it and kissed ya as soon as ya opened the door to yer damn creepy cabin in the woods.”

Ford cracked a smile at that, but Fiddleford still looked a thousand miles away as he stared down at the arm.

“You would have stopped me.” Ford said after a moment.

Fiddleford glanced over at him in question.

“You say you would have kissed me right then, but I know you, and, if you had known this was the outcome, you would have left.” Ford clarified.

“Maybe.” Fiddleford responded thoughtfully, “But maybe not. Maybe I’m too scared in every timeline.”

“Fuck that.” Stan said, coming up behind them and dropping the last box at their feet. “I saw your face when Ford mentioned fighting back against Bill. That wasn't fear. That was determination.”

Fiddleford smiled sadly over his shoulder at Stanley.

“I thought you'd grow out of being so cheesy.” Ford deadpanned.

“Nope!” Stan replied with a smile. “But if you two are done being nauseating, we have some boxes to go through. I found a box of brown meat! It says it expires in 1993, but who the fuck knows what year it is in this dimension. My plan is to eat it now, ask questions later!”

“I believe you meant ‘die of food poisoning later’.” Ford noted.

“Or die of starvation! Might as well eat mystery food and die the fun way!” Stan laughed.

“Dysentery don't sound fun.” Fiddleford replied.

“Whatever, nerds.” Stan said, motioning to the boxes. “Just grab what you want so we can get on with life. I found a shot gun, too. You're welcome.”

Fiddleford laughed but did as he was told and put aside his arm project to start rummaging through the boxes.

___________________________________________

Sorry non-Fiddauthor fans. I needed Fiddauthor.

I originally wasn't going to write this bit in, but I wanted to give some context to the guilt they're both still feeling and the relationship between Emma-May and Fidds. Emma-May is bi in this universe, but prefers woman. Is that a cop-out to make myself feel better about how much Fidds hurt her? Yes, yes it is. But I am doing it anyway because I do what I fucking want.

I have another art piece nearly done, so I'll probably post it tomorrow. For now, enjoy. Or whatever.

[munch-mumbles]

vent in tags againnn

[steakout-05]

headcanons i have about Craig the scientist :)

as are most of the characters i have headcanons for, Craig is on the autism spectrum. he has a flat effect to his voice and facial expressions, doesn't really get most social cues, doesn't know how to react to others in pain the "right" way, misunderstands metaphors and speaks in quite a direct manner because it makes the most sense to his brain. he's quite a literal thinker. he also tends to hyperfixate so hard on a task that he forgets his basic needs and hygene, and thus has quite an unkempt look underneath that hazmat suit of his (which i will get into later!). Barry often ends up needing to get Craig something to eat because of how long he hyperfixates on something.

Craig sometimes doesn't exactly pay attention to his tone of voice, so sometimes he can say something that, to him, sounds completely normal, but because of his tone, can end up sounding really ominous to other people by accident ("We know who you are, Barry.")

Craig has traumatic cataract in his left eye (or wherever the fuck craig's visor crack is supposed to be in canon lol) from the explosion in 'Level 2' and is half blind in that eye. his eye has a very clouded look as a result of the injury. he's also got a huge scar there too that required some pretty gnarly stitches later, and his skin is almost completely numb around that area.

Craig also never really had the best eyesight before the injury, so he's always wearing these big ol' nerdy glasses underneath his helmet. and yes, they are tacked together with a band-aid lol

Craig is one of the few scientists who is not a clone of Peter Simpkins, the late friend of both Professor Brains and (in my headcanon'd canon) Craig. i like to think that Craig and Simpkins knew each other when they were first recruited by Legitimate Research and was pretty close to both him and Brains, and since Simpkins died, Brains has kind of taken more of a liking towards Craig (mostly out of loneliness and needing someone to help around at the lab, but he has a genuine fondness for him under his demanding and angry exterior).

There's a bit of a fan theory that Craig is the same guy as the scientist in the 'Robot Bird' rock opera, which i like to believe is the case. i mean, he's got the same monotone voice as Craig, it's gotta be him. i hope this does end up becoming canon because i think it'd make for an interesting conflict between Barry and Craig!!

Craig may or may not be related to Lab Lady.

Craig's counterpart in the mirror universe is named Kayla.

Craig is demiromantic and is questioning his sexuality (he thinks he might be bi or pan), though he definitely knows he loves Barry <3

Craig has an unhealthy habit of wiping his embarrassing memories, like, a lot. he wipes memories of awkward accidents in the lab, particularly painful failures, and most importantly, the memories of losing literally all his stuff and his career to Barry, which is why he doesn't immediately recognise him in the shorts. Craig has a lot of trouble recounting stories from the past because of this memory-wiping and felt a sense of emptiness, which getting hit in the head certainly didn't help with, so he tried inventing that apple in the Multiverse Madness event to get some of them back. it was pure dumb luck that Barry didn't end up witnessing what happened to Craig in the 'Robot Bird' opera and both are completely unaware of the disastrous can of worms that could have opened. bro's gonna end up like wallflower blush if he doesn't keep that memory erasing under control

and finally...

under his helmet, Craig has messy dirty-blonde hair, a rounded face that has a few stray facial hairs he forgot to shave, a long scar down the left side of his face, hazel coloured eyes and pale skin. this design is inspired by the designs made by @dexterno-artz and @schnabel53 respectively :D

this is a sketch of my finalised(ish) craig design!!! i've shown earlier versions of this guy in a couple of older posts but i haven't really revised his design much until now. i kinda had the idea of him looking like a stereotypical nerd and then made him messier. i might tone the amount of hair he has down a tiny bit but also i really like the nerdy bird's nest thing he has goin on :) i like to think he literally hasn't brushed his hair in several weeks and it's just become a bird's nest from nights of staying up doing science stuff

how i feel about barry tbh. he's literally so dumb i love him

(also apologies for the photos being kinda blurry and me forgetting to turn off the filter. again. in my defence it looks really nice and orange on my phone)

sometimes i like drawing him saying stuff from the shorts to get a feel of how he'd look when talking and make sure he looks juuuust nerdy enough for me to go "yep that's craig". also his big,g, handns,s,

drew this as a quick side profile sketch to get a general idea of how i want to draw him from this angle. he's talking to barry offscreen and falling in love with him <3

stupid little comic with a stupid little interaction that would definitely happen between these stupid little guys <3 barry being a little asshole every now and then is very entertaining to me. i need to see him antagonising craig and starting an old couple bickering argument with craig, that would heal me i think

i think i'll post more of this design in the future, i really quite like it a lot :)

[lavenderyoonji]

okay just coming back here to sadpost because i’m needing to rant about feelings

[miami2k17]

ive had i think about it all the time on repeat since last night its sooo real

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Not me hitting tag limit kjhggfggjk.

Congrats on 3k!! You deserve it sooo much💌

If you have the time (and only if you have the time!) I would like to request a sort of a short bullet point fic. Or more so just your thoughts on the following: moving in with seventeen. Who is the one that labels every box? Who will live out of moving boxes for the next year. And yeah, just overall the vibes of new beginnings and promises😶‍🌫️

Pls only do write something if any of this inspires anything, if not pls don't feel burdened to write anyway!

I love your writing, so once again: congrats on the succes💗

seungcheol thinks it's one huge adventure. yes, he will be the person lifting the stupidly heavy boxes at the store. yes, he will make it a competition to build furniture as fast as possible (and race to take it all apart when you discover the desk legs are all different lengths because someone thought he could figure it out without the manual). even among the graveyard of boxes and bubble wrap and those huge styrofoam slabs he keeps chasing you with, seungcheol is happiest to lay with you on your bare, naked mattress (because he forgot to order sheets). he's planning what pictures of the two of you he wants to put on the walls. this is the first time he's owned a welcome mat and he's not even mad about it. it's all yours, together, and there's no bigger adventure than that.

his walk-in closet. bowls the perfect size for a portion of ramen, plus an egg. the lego taj mahal with two pieces missing that he insists will turn up sometime. these are some of the things jeonghan's not sure he can bring to your new apartment. it's not that he doesn't want to move in with you--he just doesn't know if he can. hell, you kissed him for the first time on the tiny futon in his living room, and he just learned it's too small for your new place. it's not until he watches you, later that day, play jenga with the toiletries on his bathroom counter because there's never been enough space for the two of you, that he realizes maybe it isn't such a bad thing to try something new. he imagines leaning you against a new sink, with that carrara marble you've been talking about, and he might even say he's looking forward to it.

you don't think there's a day you haven't seen joshua on zillow. look at my pinterest board, he'd say, and you wouldn't have it in you to ask how the hell you're affording that couch or if you really need a salt lamp that badly. you've lost count of the times your thursday nights consisted of a: your favorite chinese takeout and b: watching celebrity architectural digest videos. but joshua can't help it--to him, there's really nothing that would make him happier than waking up next to you in a bed you picked together. now if it was a midcentury modern canopy bed? even better. he can't wait to use his fancy little espresso machine to make your morning latte and grab your coat from the rack you got from that shop in LA before he kisses you before you head off to work. but they're all just things (pretty, shiny ones, albeit)--more ways he can show you the love you deserve.

junhui loves a good open house. early on in your relationship, you would dress to the nines before pretending to shop for a mansion you could never afford. junhui would comment on the door handles and the crown molding like he was a property brother, and then you'd finish the night off making out in the mcdonald's drive-thru. things are a little different now that you actually can afford a home. what if you end up not liking it? will you get tired of the wallpaper? will the closet be big enough? but surprisingly, none of this seems to matter when you walk into the house. (what's on your mind? you ask him. n-nothing, he says.) but he's really thinking about feeding you in that kitchen and spending the morning looking out those bay windows. how beautiful you'll look greeting him from that front door. needless to say, he's sold.

you find soonyoung hiding in the kitchen at your housewarming party. just an hour earlier, he was dumping cans of sparkling water in the jungle juice to make it more "adult" (as if it would erase the fact that an entire bottle of everclear had already disappeared into the mix). the hour before that, he was cleaning like a madman despite there not being much to clean yet. he held the duster the wrong way and you think he got more windex on the ceiling than on the windows. darling, what's wrong? you ask. his little, drunken hands wrap around yours so he can bring them to his cheeks. i just realized this is all ours. like, all of it, he wails, teary, and you realize he is far too many drinks down. it's only after you've sent him to bed with a water and a kiss that you really think about what he said. the hardwood floors, the duvet, the misshapen tiger plushie on the couch, him--all ours.

wonwoo is not an easy person to live with. the first three things he unpacked were, in order, his table, his first monitor, then his second monitor. then he ruined your perfectly curated aesthetic with his neon red keyboard and a gaming chair that would make any interior designer cry. the final straw is when wonwoo manages to kill the one and only houseplant you have, the single thing holding your home decor together. but he's trying, he really is. he's bought a silly little throw blanket for your couch (aren't the tassels fun? he says, wiggling the fabric between his hands). his ugly lamp has been replaced by a strange glowing cat light and there's a sticker on his computer tower. he buys a succulent and you have a little naming ceremony in your kitchen. and it lives, against all odds!

jihoon doesn't know the difference between a chaise and a sectional. cherry and mahogany look the same to him. and god forbid you ask him to choose between terrazzo and subway tile because he really thinks both of them look good and, no, he's not just saying that to make your life harder. jihoon isn't good at the hgtv stuff, but he's happy to move all the boxes. it's only when he's unpacking said boxes that he finally gets it. (the vase that came with the first bouquet of flowers he bought you. the record player you got him for your first anniversary, now fingerprinted, well-loved. matching valentine's day teddy bears, worn and baby pink.) you're standing on a stool stacked on top of another stool trying to hang a poster, and this is what home looks like.

seokmin wants to live in the ikea showrooms. you can't blame him--sometimes, when there's nothing better to do, you'll spend your afternoon in a bedroom that's not yours. seokmin will try on the lumpy blazer from the closet, and you'll beckon him to your sprawling king size bed, the one sat next to the painted on windows and floating shelves. honey, come to dinner, you'd say. he'll peek over your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle, and you open the lid to a big, steaming pot of nothing. micke or lagkapten? you ask, completely unseriously. but he's thinking about it, really thinking about it. in his mind, he's building a home together, silly furniture piece by piece, counting down to the days when you really can agonize over plants and how many drawers you want in a desk.

when you got the keys to your new place, mingyu insisted you eat jajangmyeon to commemorate move-in day. unfortunately, he failed to account for the series of delays that led to you having absolutely no furniture to move in on said move-in day. but mingyu is nothing if not a man with a plan, so he runs to the store and buys the cheapest assortment of kitchen tools and ingredients for the world's most unlikely dinner. we really don't have to do this, you laugh, the backs of your legs cold on the kitchen counter. but i want to, he insists, holding out a spoon for you to taste. we have to christen the apartment. you eventually do christen it the right way (involving: lots of tongue, even more laughter), but you might prefer, just a tiny bit, the night you sat on the empty kitchen floor and fed mingyu out of a pan.

minghao has rearranged the living room four times now. every time you walk in, it feels like you've entered someone else's house. it doesn't look right, he says, hands on his hips like his life depended on it. you don't know how to tell him they all look right, every single version. in the first version, all cardboard furniture and plastic wrap, you gave up on deciphering the wifi setup and built a fort instead. the second involved an ottoman in the walkway, which you almost immediately stubbed your toe on (and laughed so hard you cried). in the third, the couch faced away from the adjoining room, and you accidentally spooked minghao so badly he almost broke his knitting needles. but it's all perfect, every iteration, because you're doing it together--a hypothesis he's more willing to believe when you shut him up with a kiss.

don't look now, but seungkwan is buying another doodad at your local sunday swap meet. it's a small painted figurine of a bear in a nightcap, which he simply points to and says that's me. you don't have it in you to mention the fact that you're currently unpacking his seemingly never-ending assortment of doodads and you couldn't possibly know where one more would go. it's only when you're getting ready for bed that you catch the little bear in the glow of the alarm clock light. there's already a turtle with a hat in the medicine cabinet (jeju, last summer). on top of the fridge, a woodcarving that says EAT. (tj maxx, 2 years ago. it still makes you laugh). even though you just moved, all these little seungkwan-isms make home a little more home.

you wouldn't call vernon a planner. his version of housewarming is watching you play the sims. but real life doesn't have nearly as much poolside drama or five story houses--just packing peanuts and 50 page appliance manuals. aren't boxes just drawers? vernon asked you one day. no, but that's how it always starts. two weeks after move-in, vernon cooks you breakfast with a pan procured from a cardboard box. by three weeks, you know the exact box everything is in. (you still haven't been able to find vernon's avril lavigne let go album, though.) it's only when you're eating dinner on top of the box that your dining table is in when you say, vernon, baby, i think we need to actually move in. he takes one look at you, who's wearing mismatched socks and his boxers because your shorts are underneath the tv box, and his smile nearly splits his cheeks. yeah, i think so too.

if you had asked chan what his dream house looked like, he would say it had a wraparound porch, a white picket fence, and a pool. your new apartment has none of those things. the length of your bedroom is a little more than one and a half times the length of his body and he's not even that tall. if he looks out the window he can see right into his neighbor's apartment (three cats and no bitches. almost like he's living next to wonwoo). and his feet stick out of the tub. but he's learning how to live in small spaces. he likes the squeeze of your bathroom, how you have to sit on the counter if you want to both brush your teeth together. he likes the bump of your elbows when you wash the dishes together. most of all, he likes falling asleep with you slotted to his side--even in your tiny bed, he wouldn't mind having you a little closer.

[maxverstappendefender]

ain't no love in oklahoma // op81 smau

description: twisters actress!reader x op81 but lando is convinced oscar is lying (from request)

a/n: sorry for being completely inactive. life happened and it didn't happen in a good way! i have a huge exam coming up soon so i will most likely still be inactive besides maybe a few short things here and there. anyways first oscar fic so enjoy! all pics found on pinterest, i don't own any

a/n pt2: might do something fun for each day in october but im not sure what so send me some ideas. also might do some more headcannons/blurbs soon here!

requests: closed but feel free to send me some messages since i love talking to you guys

masterlist

liked by oscarpiastri, glenpowell, and 2,927,641 others

youruser: go see twisters!! if you don’t, you suck and you better hope you don’t get stuck in a tornado because there’s useful information in our movie

tagged: glenpowell

view all comments

oscarpiastri: proud of you!!

↳ youruser: 🧡

glenpowell: caption is so real of you

user1: doesn’t yn have a boyfriend? why is she so close to glen?

↳ user2: yes but probably because there’s limited space. yn isn’t like that

↳ oscarpiastri: exactly what user2 said

landonorris: cute!

↳ user3: what are you doing here??

↳ user4: lando in the comments?

user5: such a good movie

user6: yn + glen = power duo

liked by youruser, landonorris, and 3,951,750 others

oscarpiastri: proud boyfriend award goes to me 🏆 thx for all the bts selfies

tagged: youruser, glenpowell

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landonorris: i just laughed out loud

landonorris: “boyfriend” lmaooo

↳ user7: i cant tell if he’s joking or serious

user8: cutest couple ever

glenpowell: aww so glad you remembered the time you took me to the aquarium, what a romantic!

↳ youruser: get your own boyfriend capybara

↳ user9: yn CLOCKED him

// lando’s phone//

//

liked by mclaren, oscarpiastri, and 4,027,835 others

landonorris: POLE BABYYYY!!! everyone ignore my teammates instagram posts, i have told him to stop. i think he took a hit to the head or something

view all comments

oscarpiastri: do you want to go to the farm or not?

↳ landonorris: you already said i could go so no take backs

↳ user10: lando is going to yn's farm??

↳ user11: LANDO'S MEETING YN?!

↳ user12: oh i know he's going to fangirl so hard

user13: get me someone who looks at me the way oscar looks at lando

↳ user14: are we sure that they aren't the ones dating?

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 3,017,426 others

youruser: back home finally! pic 1: yeehaw. pic 2: my cat cora had her babies!!! pic 3: dinner date :)

tagged: oscarpiastri

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user15: CORA HAD HER KITTIES

↳ youruser: i am officially a grandma. i feel the gray hairs coming in now

user16: oscar and yn are endgame

oscarpiastri: the best company

↳ landonorris: STOP, idk how you got her in on this joke either

↳ user16: i can't tell if lando knows they are actually dating and is joking or if he truly does not believe oscar

user17: boyfriend is back on the feed!

↳ user18: farmer yn is back on the feed!

glenpowell: miss you lady

↳ youruser: you miss my animals more

↳ glenpowell: and what about it.

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, and 4,209,384 others

landonorris: OMG HE WASN'T LYING i got to feed so many animals, got to channel my inner cowboy, AND get drunk with the yn? i can die a happy man

tagged: youruser

view all comments

oscarpiastri: believe me now?

↳ landonorris: never doubted you

↳ user19: lando seriously didn't believe oscar lol

↳ user20: i fully thought he was joking the entire time

user21: how hard did you fangirl to meet yn, lando?

↳ landonorris: surprised i didn't pass out honestly. i facetimed GLEN POWELL

youruser: so glad you had a fun time!!

liked by youruser, landonorris, and 3,298,361 others

oscarpiastri: everyone clear that this is my girlfriend?

tagged: youruser

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user22: sassy oscar

↳ user23: channeling his inner lando

landonorris: yes sir 🫡

↳ oscarpiastri: stop being weird ?

youruser: MY MANNNNN

↳ user24: oh she's in deep

user25: there is one thing oscar doesn't play about in life: yn

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 4,208,763 others

youruser: didn't even know there was confusion that this was my boyfriend lol

tagged: oscarpiastri

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landonorris: how was i meant to know?!

↳ user26: literally how everyone else knew, instagram.

glenpowell: yn stop posting pics of me and my boyfriend and acting like he's yours

↳ youruser: i dont like this joke.

↳ oscarpiastri: bromance or whatever

↳ user27: they're in a throuple

↳ youruser: ew

↳ glenpowell: disgusting

↳ oscarpiastri: huhhh

user28: couple goals forever and ever

user29: if they don't get married... love isn't real

[werecreature-addicted]

Have you ever written about an amnesiac werewolf? Like the reader finds a poor lost soul in the forest and takes them in, unknowingly dooming herself to becoming a breeding pet when the moon strikes and his instincts take over? He doesn't know what's come over him. He really doesn't. :'(

TW: car accidents. dubcon. do i know anything about hospitals? no. shhh. enjoy the werewolf porn.

You've grown quite attached to John Doe. He came in three days ago, he'd been "found" naked wandering a forest road at night and gotten cleaned out by a driver in a pickup truck. The driver said he thought he hit a dog or a deer that had wandered onto the road and was horrified to see a man there instead lying bloody on the asphalt.

Despite how bad John Doe looked when he was wheeled into your clinic, he'd been recovering quite nicely. He was even conscious now although he didn't seem to remember anything from before the accident. That coupled with the fact that he was found naked in the woods, it was proving difficult to contact any friends or family who might be able to give a concrete identity.

You weren't too worried though. It was a small community, and you were sure someone who knew him would turn up eventually. As for you, this was a slow time of year for a humble trauma center doctor, you were able to spend lots of time with your favorite amnesiac. It was a little miraculous really how well he was recovering everything but his memory. If you didn't know any better you'd say it was supernatural.

You found yourself spending more and more time with your John Doe, he was sweet and funny, Not to mention he was very attractive, even bloody and bruised. Although the budding warmth you felt for him was tainted slightly both by the fact that he was your patient and the nagging worry in the back of your head that this wasn't the real him. This could all be a false personality that he would lose once he got his memories back.

You'd already started toying with a daydream where once recovered John Doe would still come by to visit you. You shake your head and try to dispel those fantasies from your mind. You mentally chided yourself, you weren't a teenager with a crush you should be handling yourself more professionally than this. Still, your heart raced when he smiled at you.

In the end, it wasn't a friend or family member who revealed who John Doe really was, but it was the summer rain. You were just about to leave for the night when you started getting phone calls. A bad storm was coming in and soon it wouldn't be safe to drive on the largely dirt roads in this town, no one would be coming up to fill in the night shift. You could make it home safe if you left now. But that would mean abandoning your patient and you couldn't do that. So instead you just sighed and hunkered down preparing to wait out the storm inside the hospital.

John Doe was more than happy to have your company- he liked you better than any of the overnight team anyway, and over the past day he'd begun to feel strange. Not in pain just energized in a usual way. there was a tingling sensation just below his skin, he felt hungry but not for food. He couldn't really put a name to the strange pressure in his body, he only knew that it was growing and it made him want to keep you close.

You were in the break room when it happened. You were trying to figure something out for dinner which was hard with only vending machine options available when lightning strikes and the lights die. you hesitate, waiting for backup generators but only the red EXIT lights stay on, casting an eerie red glow to the room. You were just starting to pull open cabinets looking for a flashlight when you heard a loud crash and what sounded like an animal growl. Your heart stops and before you can think you're running toward the sound relying on muscle memory to navigate the darkened halls.

You freeze seeing the hulking form of a wolf over the tipped-over bed of John Doe. How the hell did a wolf get in here? And alone. Even panicked you know something isn't right. Wolves don't come this close to humans, they don't attack humans and they never ever do it alone. Then the wolf looks at you and stands on its hind legs and you realize it's not a wolf but a monster.

Your hands tremble, you should run- call the sheriff- search the lost and found for a gun and shoot the damn thing. But you can't bring yourself to run. The creature in front of you is awe-inspiring despite your fear, you're curious. Then the monster moves and the interest vanishes. Again your body moves before your brain can think you turn and run. You don't look behind as you run but you can hear the beast howl and the solid thud thud thud as it chases after you.

It's a small emergency room, you know there's nowhere to hide unless the werewolf can read and respect "staff only" signs. You feel a large clawed hand wrap around your waist your legs are still kicking trying to run as you're lifted in the air by the monster.

"You took such good care of me...now let me take care of you, sweet mate," the werewolf growls in your ear, turning you to face him, forcing you to look at his hulking monstrous form. You struggle futilely in his grasp he's strong and you can see his muscles bulge under his dark black fur. Lightning strikes again illuminating his sharp white teeth and his bright hungry eyes.

It takes you a moment to catch up to the fact that 1. The werewolf had spoken and 2. That he had promised to "take care of you". Before you can catch your breath let alone ask what that meant he's shoving you down onto the cold linoleum floor, shredding your pants with one clawed hand and the other he presses down hard on your back in between your shoulder blades keeping you pinned to the floor. You can feel his warm breath on your exposed skin as he huffs your scent. you can't see him but you know he's drooling. The attention makes you tremble, and then he pushes his thick rough tongue against your body and you moan. His tongue is thick and wet against your trembling cunt. He can't keep his hands to himself, his clawed hand wraps around your breast squeezing as he pulls you back against his hungry lapping mouth.

You can't keep your moans to yourself. The little cries of pleasure slip from your mouth only making the beast more aggressive as he eats you out. Eventually, you give up trying to even hold back the sounds or pretend that you aren't enjoying the ravishment.

It doesn't take much longer for you to cum, he doesn't pull away when you reach your peak. He pushes his tongue deep inside of you savoring the flavor of your cum and the fact that he had successfully pulled an orgasm from you just like he'd promised. His tail wags as he cleans you up, then you start getting wet again and he's not cleaning you up as much as he is eating you out again. His cock hangs heavy between his legs too big and thick for his erection to lift so it just throbs with need and drips thick beads of precum onto the clean floor.

He can't quite decide what he needs more, to jerk himself off or to keep both his hands on you. Eventually, his own ache can't be ignored and he starts to jerk himself off. it doesn't take long for him to cum the sweet flood of your cum just drives him insane. his knot swells pitifully as his semen splatters against your legs and ass dripping down to your pussy. two of his clawed fingers scoop up some of his spilled seed and push it inside of you.

"Next time I cum tonight it's going to be inside of you." It sounds like a threat, you can't wait.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]

You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.

CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.

FIRST PART (can be read separately) AO3

— Why your wife left you, again? 

You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad. 

You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good. 

— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi? 

He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous. 

He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there. 

— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know. 

— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger. 

— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage. 

— You’re too young to stop believing in it. 

— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir. 

— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja? König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him. If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him. 

— Could you two please stop fucking each other? 

— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.

— This is my house too!

— Not on the documents, it’s not. — You can’t just throw me away, dad! — Your new stepmom needs her space. 

König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig. König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement. 

— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age! — And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her. — She is my girlfriend! — Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option. You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time. 

Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge. 

König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention. 

If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention. 

His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something. 

— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son. 

He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing. 

König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .

He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends. 

But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are. — I don’t think we should be…

— He left. Won’t bother us anymore. 

— I’m not in the mood right now. 

— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy. — You’re a pervert. Like Paul. 

— He takes on after his father, ja?

It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other. 

König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did. 

You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts. 

— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.

— I assume after…af..ter your wife. 

You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both. — Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you. 

— I’m not dumb! 

— Nein, you’re not. Just silly. 

— You just call me a different type of dumb. 

— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter. 

König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this. 

He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street. 

— I want to take you to the Summer house next week. 

You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one. — What if I have plans, sir? 

It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him. 

He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good. 

— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer. 

— I wanted to study. 

You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him. — You can study at our house. 

— You mean you and your ex’s house. 

He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again. 

You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again. 

— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying. 

— I want a nice job. Without…distractions. 

He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s. 

— Why you need a job? 

— Not everyone are retired military. I need money. 

— You have me. 

— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir. 

— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.

König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost. 

You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone. 

König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later. 

Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then… — What do you think about getting married in August?

Maybe, you do know why his wife left him. 

[fagutt]

i am sane and normal and goign to smoke after this post to become even more sane and even more normal

[yzzart]

I KNOW, MY EYES ALREADY LOVE YOU ── KENJI SATO

── summary: What could be Kenji Sato's certainty and weakness?

── content warnings: F!reader, 18+, nsfw, morning sex, unprotected, riding, playing w/ nipples, dirty talk, praise, petnames, kenji being a fucking tease, explicit words, explicit content.

── word count: 1.798!

Kenji did not know, or did he understand, some certainties about his life, and, perhaps, it could sound like imprudence, the purest act of negligence he had the opportunity to tolerate; in fact, it was obvious. — He believed in this line of consciousness, attempted reasoning.

He declared that he made mistakes, countless mistakes, and, currently, he still thinks about the hypothesis that he could make them to this day; even though he wanted to, and tried, as much as possible, not to reveal what he believed to the cameras, journalists and specific people around him. — Sato wouldn't stand it, he knew that.

However, resonating with a merciless and sweet irony, seeming such a surprising incongruity, Kenji was, he knew, certain about one thing in his existence, something that he would not dare lie, deceive himself or dissemble; he imagined he might die if he did that. — His chest burned, sharply, just thinking about it.

You were one of Sato's weaknesses; in his view, the only one. — At the same time, it was his strength; knowing that, you can destabilize him, with ease and incomplexity, conceiving a change in his concentration and everything around, just by directing your eyes against his would be able to be seen as ridiculous and playing a vulnerable side and stealing his attention was peculiar. — Something incredibly curious.

But in Sato's eyes, it was a form, way of how to worship you; being able to feel a passion, intensely, disoriented and burning in his heart. — Admitting something so angelic and serene. — Not hiding the fact that you were his refuge, a place where he felt safe and loved and knew that it would protect him at all costs in his life; experiencing being worthy of you.

And every morning, every second and minute of it, at dawn next to you, with his body entwined with yours, Kenji thought about it.

"A kiss for your thoughts?" — A sleepy, so sweet voice exclaims in the boy's ears, spontaneously bringing a cunning smile to his lips; Kenji loved your humor, even during the early morning. — "What do you think?" — Even with the huge cuts in the windows, showing weak and soft bands of light, you refused to open your eyes at that moment, yawning.

"That's a very good proposal, should i accept it?" — He asked, looking down at your leg, which was in the region of his hips, and felt, deliciously, you pressing yourself against him; Sato's smile grew even wider due to the fact that you only had the blanket stuck to your bodies. — "Good morning to you too, kitten."

He considered some sleepy, boring mumbles and grunts that came out of your mouth as a response, and found it adorable; bringing his lips to your forehead, kissing it, while stroking your hair. — Taking care of his girl with delicacy and gentleness. — And more melodic hums were made by you.

You couldn't stop that familiar and delightful tingling between your legs, and soon you was clumsily rubbing yourself against Kenji's hips, — who didn't fail to find your morning boner fascinating and hungry — without a hint of shame.

"I see someone…" — A sensual laugh vibrated in your temple. — "…woke up very well." — He added, feeling a lump in his throat, unable to contain his shaky breath. — "No?" — Your hand snaked over Kenji's athletic chest, a line of coldness crossed his skin, caused by the ring you had on your finger; your engagement ring.

Not knowing how to resist, and never could, your movements, the painful, throbbing sensation began to burn, sharply, Kenji's dick, showing the large bulge developed in the blanket; he was already starting to feel needier than usual, wanting to fit his face into your neck and dive into your pussy.

Just thinking about being inside you makes Sato's breathing become a panting mess, not wanting or admitting to waste another second.

"I always wake up right next to you, Kenji." — You replied, lifting your head, directing your lips to the eldest's shoulder, trailing kisses across his skin; showing affection. — "Always." — The little kisses went up to his collarbone, your warm hands remained on his chest.

During the small movement between the sheets, caused by you, part of your boobs were exposed and shivering as they hit Kenji's skin; he didn't wait and anxiously felt the beak of one of them, squeezing it with a certain and frank force. — Drawing a sigh from you and making the player bite his lip, like prey. — The damn man liked doing that.

Sato was, indisputably, diabolical, the most arrogant and delighting provocation to ever stand before you.

“Come here, come.” — He asked in a whisper, cunning and with eyes clouded with desire, looking at every point of your face and eyes, running his tongue over his lips, leaving them wet and, faintly, shiny; waiting to be responded to, which didn't take long. — "Pretty girl."

Yours lips, eagerly, came together in a sinful, appetizing and wet kiss; Kenji's sharp tongue rubbed and caressed your, wanting to taste your mouth, as if it were the first time. — Sometimes causing a shock of contact between your teeth and his, nothing could stop you. — Moans, coming from you, delighting in his mouth, were muffled and made Sato smile bewildered.

Kenji felt, even so apprehensive and focused on your mouth, his body being touched, covered by your hands, and, lightly, your nails scraped his skin, desperate to touch him. — He couldn't help but find it cute and naive the way your hand moved to the back of his neck, shocking your bodies even more. — Feeling himself throbbing more and more.

You would be the death of Kenji Sato. — That was another certainty that covered his mind.

Moaning during the mediocre fraction of a second in which your lips disconnected, feeling an emptiness, you came across thin and fragile strands of spit slowly breaking and you vibrated when you heard Sato's smug laugh; his eyes surrounded your mouth, wanting it again. — He smiled, forming a pretentious and ambitious expression as he brought his thumb to your chin, holding it.

"Ride me like a good girl," — Sato clicks his tongue, incoherent. — "my good girl." — Aa words, referring with a hint of possessiveness and premise, made your pussy throb with exultation. — "Please, huh?" — Your lover pouted, almost sounding mocking but not hiding the need he burned for you.

He didn't need to say it twice, he knew there would be no need, even though he saw some clouds of pleasure, leaving you completely at the mercy of the excitement, leaving you beautiful head. — And, also, it wasn't long before your legs were around Kenji's hips, grabbing them with the limited strength you had; abandoning the silky, white sheet somewhere on the mattress.

Settling down, adjusting his posture on the soft, padded pillow, hoping for a good view, Kenji couldn't help but adore the image before his eyes; you were deliciously mounted on him and comfortable on his lap, in your honored place and feeling deified. — It seemed like an inexplicable, surreal and reprehensible scene, it could be the taste of the paradise they prophesied. — No, you were Sato's own, true and only paradise.

Your body surrendered to him, precise movements, with a moderate, almost weak strength and still clouded with sleep, against the young prodigy's hips, feeling his entire length sink, preciously, into your sticky and hot walls; never getting used to the way you was filled by Kenji, — and, wanting, dirty, at no point to get used to it. — leaving you more stimulated. — When you felt him completely, your lips opened, moaning harmoniously and delightfully, attracting panting sighs in the name of your lover.

And, with your boobs, delicious and juicy boobs, exposed, wide open, which, according to your movements, swayed and shivered in front of Kenji, wanting to devour them with desire and modesty. — And not tolerating losing the delicious vision, he preferred to remain where he was; but, he didn't hesitate in sliding his hand towards one of them and squeezing it, now, tightly.

"Ken..ji." — You moaned, whimpered, moving your hand towards his, which held your nipple, unbearably, sensitive with his calloused fingers. — "Fuck-k!" — You sobbed, threatening to release tears from feeling all that pleasurable pressure in your system; and, feeling the lack of sustenance, with the other hand, you moved across Kenji's chest. — "Ken, Kenji..."

"Is it good, my love?" — He says, removing his hand from your boob and repositioning it on your waist, guiding your movements, noticing your almost exhausted rhythm, poor thing. — "Fucking good, huh?" — He growled when he noticed a sudden tightness in his cock; your pussy choked and sucked him, divinely, well. — "O-oh, look what we have here." — He laughed, digging his short nails into your flesh.

The sharp, thin lamentations and melodic moans vociferated in Sato's ears sounded like masterful music, stirring him with every descent and ascent that you made in his lap; also mentioning the wet, filthy melody that your pussy made while swallowing his cock. — Such a greedy, hungry, desperate little thing for every inch of him.

"Keep it up, kitten." — He swore, quickly guiding your hips and showed a satisfied and happy smile when he saw that you responded to his orders, winking shamelessly in your direction. — "I love filling this pussy, fuck…" — He breathed deeply, shaking with another grip on his dick. — "with my cum in the morning." — Listening to Kenji's filthy words was a sin.

It was blasphemous, unacceptable to be able to tolerate, endure, for so long, all that excitement, — all that infernal provocation coming from your man — and adequately endure the stings that reached, perfectly, your sensitive and delicate spot, which only Kenji knew how to reach. — And he took advantage of that.

With incandescent, burning pleasure replacing all sensations, reactions of your body, finally, that nervous, tingling thread, trapped in your stomach, breaks free; accompanied by a tearful and disoriented scream, crying out for Sato, coming out of your mouth. — Cumming on his cock, having some spasms around it, you feel weak, about to become weak. — Like a pathetic little doll.

"Baby." — Hot, delicious jets of sperm painted your inner walls, taking him to the limit, as always; cumming inside you, Kenji filled you, leaving you satisfied, sated and fulfilled. — Having the impression that, still sitting on his lap, you was leaking yours mixed releases, causing an appetizing mess. — "Holy shit." — Ken moaned softly, smiling bewildered and drunk for you.

Tilting your head to the side, merely acting in a naive and harmless way, still with a look of tiredness and exhaustion, a thin and innocent smile tugged at the corner of your lips; making you even more adorable, captivating.

"Good morning to you too, Ken."

Yeah, in fact, you were Kenji Sato's main weakness.

[ienvieu]

physically feeling the jealousy invading my every senses

[avocad1s]

The Gnosis Can Wait

Requested By: No one. Original work.

CW: 5.0 spoilers below this line!!! 5.0 spoilers below this line! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

Summary: After his battle with Mavuika, Capitano was left injured. He retreats wanting to replan his strategy when he runs into you, the Creator, who had just descended to Teyvat.

Note: So how are you all liking Natlan? As of right now I think it’s okay only because I want to return to Fontaine 😞

Capitano wasn’t used to the taste of defeat.

As number one in the Fatui harbingers and the strongest amongst them no doubt, he is used to winning every match he partakes in. Or for his opponents to concede before the battle even begins.

Yet he doesn’t take it to heart, he knows the outcomes of every battle can differ in many different ways and he isn’t arrogant about his strength.

Mavuika was a God after all. Even though his power rivals hers, he knew he would have to best her with a foolproof strategy and it seemed barging in wasn’t the right one. She was a worthy opponent.

Capitano returns to his camp, the pain in his chest still burning from the small wound Mavuika left on him. He can wait, once his wound heals then he will strike her again, only this time he won’t miss. At least he has an ally in his pocket keeping him up to date on all the politics within Natlan.

“My lord,” Capitano’s right hand, Rezanov begins while bowing. “We found footprints nearby. We believe someone might stumble into camp soon…”

Capitano lets out a sigh underneath his mask, “how many people?”

“We believe only one, there’s only one track of footprints.”

Only one person? Nothing really to worry about. Unless this person is returning to tell the Archon his location.

“Find them and bring them here.” He orders and Rezanov nods and quickly takes off.

———

Okay… don’t freak out. Don’t freak out…

You just woke up in Genshin Impact.

You remember waiting impatiently by your PC for the newest update to the game, but you must’ve fallen asleep while waiting. Now you were dreaming about the it? Jeez, even in your own dreams you thought about the game. You really needed to touch grass. (lol jk jk luv you all)

You were dreaming about Natlan… a nation that you haven’t even played yet. You couldn’t have had a dream about your favorite nation? Or meeting all your favorite characters?

But everything felt so real. Even after watching the trailer and the leaks you’ve seen online, there’s no way you could know such detail about the nation. Maybe it was just your mind filling in the gaps…

“Stop right there!”

You turn around and your blood runs immediately cold. It was two fatui skirmishers and one fatui agent. You don’t even know the amount of times you’ve killed these enemies for their drops or just for the fun of it.

So this is how you die… at least this is better than falling into the claws of Childe, who you’d beat up anytime you built a new character.

“Our lord the Captain will deal with you, come with us with no fight.”

Scratch that. This was much, much worse…

“Wait… isn’t that…?” One of them whispered.

They put down their weapons, looks of remorse on their faces.

“Your Grace… please for give our imprudence we had no idea it was you…” Rezanov. “Please come with us, the Captain would be delighted to see you.”

Right… you’ve read fanfics like this before. Believing you’re their Creator… you wonder if your blood was gold. Perhaps you could check later. For now, you were going to follow them, it’s not like Capitano has appeared in the game you can get a first time look at him.

You follow the trio deeper into the forest, a small fireplace in the distance, you could only assume the Captain would be there.

“My lord, we found who was trailing around camp. Their Grace has decided to bless us with their presence on Teyvat once more.”

Capitano turns around and say nothing for what felt like forever. Even with the helmet, you knew he was staring intently at you.

“Your Grace.” He finally says, his voice much softer than you ever expected. “I am honored to be in your presence.”

He approached, towering over you.

“You three. Fetch Their Grace some food—“ he looks down at you once more. “And a change of clothes.”

You feel embarrassment creep up your neck. What’s wrong with your pajamas? Could he tell they weren’t from this word?

He holds out his hand, and you take it being able to feel the warmth underneath the glove. This dream was much realer than you thought…

Capitano leads you to his large tent holding the flaps open so you could enter. “We weren’t expecting your arrival so I apologize for the lack of preparations…”

You shake your head, “everything is fine.” Not like you’d be here forever…

“You can have my tent You Grace, I will camp outside.” He adds.

You furrow your eyebrows, “this tent is big enough for two people, can’t we just share it?”

Capitano doesn’t say nothing for a moment, you fear you’ve might’ve offended him with your offer but it was the complete opposite. Capitano felt as if he was on top of the world, to share a camp with the Creator? To be able to protect you? To see your sleeping face…

He feels his cheeks grow crimson and he is eternally grateful for his helmet. “Of course, if that’s what you wish Your Grace…”

The flaps to the tent open and Rezanov enters the tent. “My lord, we've received word that the Pyro Archon has lost much of her power.”

“Although your injury complicates things, this is most certainly the opportune time to seize the Gnosis...”

Capitano was slightly irritated with his subordinate’s unwarranted entry but he wouldn’t do anything yet, not while you were right in front of him.

“The Gnosis can wait, we have more important matters…” he replies, his focus never leaving you.

© avocad1s 2024

Note: Capitano was the highlight of Natlan for me. Sorry but i’m a Fatui Harbinger glazer 😞 why’d they make them so fine? It’s not fair… Now here’s to hoping my man is playable, saving all my primos for him so he better not disappoint.

Edit: I know Mavuika isn’t a God but I’m thinking Capitano wouldn’t know that since she’s the only one of the Seven that isn’t a one which is where I went with this fic

[bunnylovesani]

An Arrangement

Summary: You’re a princess taken from your home planet and forced to marry Darth Vader. Turns out life on the Death Star isn’t as bad as everyone makes out. Based on the prompt shared with @luminoustarlight !

Content warnings: p in v sex, degradation, sub dynamics, begging, some violence, slow burn smut

WC: 9.3k

You stare out the grand palatial window in the coronation room, passively observing the flames swallowing the city of your home planet Onderon. Unintelligible screams flood the background, soon mercilessly silenced by the thuds and cracks of brusquely operated laser guns. 

So this is how you were to meet your end: powerless at the mercy of the imperial army. You’d been trained for such a scenario before and you always carried a vial of poison in the event of capture; you’d rather die than be made to serve the Empire’s twisted interests.

“Princess, you need to take cover, follow my men into the vault below!” Your faithful attendant, Silas called out in panic.

“No, Silas. I will not cower in the basement waiting for them to breach our walls. I will remain here and eagerly await them.” 

“But Your Grace-!”

“Enough.” You bark back. “It’s over. You have been discharged from duty, run while you still can. Thank you for all your years of service, I pray that our paths might cross again in another life.” You turn from him, tears flowing down your stiffeningly cold cheeks.

“May the Maker keep and protect you, Princess. You are our only hope.” He replies solemnly, before fleeing through the stony back passage of the palace.

You chuckle mirthlessly at the futility of his words and reach into your bosom where the corset of your gown has a sewn-in compartment. You extract the compact glass ampule of viper venom, so toxic that one drop is enough to send you into an eternal sleep, and fiddle with the intricate bottle for a few moments. With a heavy sigh, you tuck it under your sleeve; you decided you wanted to gaze into the eyes of your captors before you bid farewell to life. 

With a resounding crash, the barricaded gate before you falls and the imperial army- donning armour plastered in dust and foreign blood- swarm into the great hall of the palace. You force the knot in your throat down with a gulp and turn on your heel to face the brutes responsible for the massacre of your people. 

“Ah Princess, excellent. We thought you’d be grovelling underground with your father but you’ve just made our job a whole lot easier.” A masked figure that you presume is the Commander of the battalion addresses you. “Grab her. But keep her alive, she’s got a special purpose to fulfil.” 

Hearing the ominous plans they have in store for you, you rush to reach for the poison in your sleeve but are hindered by the stampede of soldiers hurtling at you, slapping the vial out of your hand and shattering it all over the nitid marble floor. 

‘Ah, ah, ah. Don’t even think about it.” The unnaturally deep voice of the commander booms. “You’ve been specially requested at the behest of the Emperor.” Dread consumes you as you’re roughly cuffed and dragged out of the safety of your childhood home. The soldiers marching comes to a sudden halt and you’re made to turn around and stare at the palace, a deadly silence hanging in the air. 

“Burn it.” 

Triggered by the commander’s words, a roaring blaze fulminates, the building being crushed in an instant by the force of the explosion. All you can see is the reflection of smouldering flickers through the thick veil of tears filling your eyes. 

The commander smugly trudges over to you, sharply inhaling. “Ah, there’s nothing better than the smell of a coward’s smouldering corpse.” He hisses, words dripping with venom. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Your heart burned at the injustice, at the innocent civilians decimated- but you couldn’t fool yourself into pretending that scorn extended to your dearly departed father. 

Refusing to reply to his provocation with anything other than an expectorated glob of spit aimed at his helmet, he takes the barrel of his gun and pummels it with brute force against your temple. You’re instantly rendered unconscious and your limp body is packed into the nearest starfighter, chained up and ready to make the journey from Onderon to the Death Star.  

The first thing you do as you’re rudely awoken is cradle your aching head- a wave of nausea overtaking you and the electric pain behind your eyes knocking the air out of your lungs. 

“Rise ’n shine, Onderon whore.” One of the soldiers grabbing you by the elbow spat and you stumbled to your feet like a newborn foal. After being dragged through a fortified steel tunnel, you were harshly thrown to the floor in a cold control room before two cloaked men, one of whom wore black combat boots- no doubt robust and heavy enough to crack open a skull. The light in the battle station glowed painfully bright and you lifted your head as best you could to observe the squabbling figures through squinted eyes.

“Here she is, my young Lord. I think she’ll do nicely, yes?” The ominously raspy voice croaked and you knew at once it was none other than Emperor Sheev Palpatine.

“She’s shivering.” The monotonous voice of the other cloaked figure stated callously and only then did you notice how your body was trembling- whether it was from the cold or the fear, you weren’t sure. 

“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to warm her up on your wedding night.” He cackles wickedly but is met with silence from the man opposite him. The last thing you remember before it all went black was the light reflecting off of the quiet man’s helmet, and wondering what might be lurking underneath. 

“Tskk poor thing, look at this cut on your head.” You flutter your eyes open to see a woman in a billowed white cloak tutting and fussing over you. “Good morning, princess.”

“Who are you?” You scowl, trying to get up and immediately being knocked back down by the overwhelming pain.

“Whoa, easy now! Nice ’n slow.” The woman puts her arm around your waist and helps you to sit up. “I’m Sabe, a royal handmaiden. Your handmaiden, to be exact.”

“Where am I?” You croak, uncertain you wanted to know.

“You’re on the Death Star, ma’am.” 

Bile rises in your throat at the realisation that none of it was a dream- your recollection of the last 24 hours starts flooding in and your chest seizes in panic. The fire, the cloaked men, the people in the vault. 

“You’re all right, just breathe. No harm is going to come to you. He’s made sure of that.” Sabe spouts and your head snaps at her.

“He?”

“Oh yes, Lord Vader gave orders for your protection. Under penalty of death. If you ask me, he just needs a woman’s touch to soften him up and he’d finally succeed in shaking that leech of an emperor off. Suppose that’s where you come in!”

“Me?” You screech, wondering when you’d say something not in the form of a question.  

“Oh, you poor thing, you don’t know…the Emperor is arranging a wedding between his young protegee and a princess from a seized planet. The princess being you, if that’s not clear.” She continued chattering incessantly. 

“Yes, I got that.” You snap. “And when is this supposed union meant to be taking place?”

“Tonight.” 

You choose to remain quiet, rather than parroting back her last word in the form of yet another question. 

After your handmaiden assists in bathing and dressing you in clean robes, you still can’t seem to escape the dull throbbing of the headache that permeates every cell of your body, leaving you in persistent agony. You beg Sabe to find something to help, knowing that you yourself weren’t allowed to leave the confines of the east wing. Stepping out onto the enclosed observatory space by your chambers, you stare out into the stars surrounding the vessel. You wished you could break beyond the thick glass enclave and just glide away, joining the stars and freeing yourself from the pain. 

“Who hurt you?” A raspy voice questions and you turn around to the sight of Lord Vader, enveloped in his armour and mask. 

“Uh, whoever the commander of the battalion was.” You reply, startled.

“He will be dealt with. Now come here.” He reaches his gloved hand out, signalling for you to grab it. With a great deal of uncertainty, you approached him, timidly giving him your hand. He takes it into his palm and holds it firmly to his chest. As if some force had siphoned the contusions and swelling out of you, you felt your agony slowly subside- until there was nothing at all in its wake. 

“H-how did you do that?” You took a step back from him, holding your fingers up to your temple in disbelief. You’d heard of force healing before but assumed it was either a myth or a nearly lost practice only wielded by the most masterly of Jedi.

“Go back to your chambers and rest. You have a long ordeal ahead of you.” He leaves your question unanswered and marches out of the observatory as quickly as he entered it. 

You’re compelled to follow his commands so you retreat to your chambers, forcing yourself to drink the healing tea Sabe concocted after having decided it was easier than explaining the bizarre experience you’d had. That was the dark Sith Lord that struck terror into the hearts of everyone who faced him? Ruthless, soulless, devoid of all human compassion- and channelling force healing to ease your headache? You spent all afternoon writhing in confusion, all the way up until a neatly packaged box was left on the doorstep of your assigned room. Upon closer inspection, the box contained an intricate white lace dress, paired with a beaded, scallop hemmed headpiece. A wedding outfit.

Standing at the forefront of the cold metallic arena, you twiddled with the sleeves on your dress- the material itching terribly and making your skin crawl. In a way, you were glad to have something occupy your mind beyond the impending prospect of marrying a Sith brute. You wondered why he wore that clunky helmet- is he so hideously deformed he has to hide behind it lest people faint at the sight? 

A frightened-looking man you can only assume is the officiator of this sham of a wedding is escorted through the heavily guarded gates and takes his place before you, not daring to make eye contact. Your body fills with dread at the familiar sound of heavy boots dragging along the steel plates of the floor. He doesn’t spare you a passing glance for even a moment, despite your stubborn resolution to face him for the entirety of the ceremony- you wanted to look deep into the supposedly merciless eyes of your new husband. There aren’t any vows, there’s no exchange of rings, no kiss to celebrate the union- just some legal jargon and a couple of witnesses. Although you can’t see him, you can feel Palpatine’s snake eyes burning into you, no doubt observing from another room to ensure his mysterious plan came to fruition. 

“Follow me.” A stormtrooper orders you and begins to head back in the direction of your chambers. Confused, you allow him to escort you out of the hall as you see a cloaked figure approach Lord Vader out of the corner of your eye. You just about hear the Emperor’s gravelly voice hiss out the word “consummate” before the doors shut behind you and you’re carried away to the bedroom. For some reason, the thought of sex hadn’t crossed your mind- you assumed villains like him had interests that surpassed such blunt mortal affairs - but now standing in front of your 4-poster bed, waiting for the sound of his heavy footsteps again, reality sunk in. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat and lay on the bed, removing the first layer of your dress and remaining in a white negligee. “Just lie back and think of Onderon.” You thought.

Your whole body tensed as you observed him enter your joint chambers, completely walking past you and going to the connecting bathroom, door left ajar. 

“I’m ready, Lord Vader.” You stiffly announce, hoping to get it over with as soon as possible. 

Hearing your words, he peers out of the doorway and although you can’t see his face, his body language seems perplexed. 

“What are you doing?” He remarks accusingly. 

“I-I’m…waiting for you to consummate our marriage. Like Palpatine wishes.” He scoffs at your comment- laughs even- and goes back into the bathroom. 

“I will do nothing of the sort.” You hear him say.

Sitting up on the bed and dragging the covers over your exposed body, you’re bewildered. 

“Oh, c-can Sith Lords not…?” You stutter, searching for an explanation.

“I assure you I’m perfectly capable.” He snaps back. “I just have no desire for the task.” 

Although relief floods your body, you feel slightly offended at the presumption that lovemaking with you should be a task. 

Just then, you hear a steamy hissing sound, followed by a loud thud. The figure emerges, back facing you without his layers of armour- donning a simple black shirt and black trousers. He wanders over to the window at the far end of the room, staring out into space. 

“I’m sorry about your father.” He grunts after a while and you finally hear his voice- free from robotic static, with no menacing growl - just him, and it sounds beautiful.

“Don’t be.” You say sincerely, fixated on the back of his head. You notice he has dark blonde curls, gathering in tufts at the nape of his neck. “Come on, turn around.” You think, bracing yourself for what you might find. 

“Alright, if you insist.” He remarks and you scowl in confusion- you didn’t say that out loud, did you? 

He pivots round to face you and you feel as though someone has knocked the air from your lungs: he glares at you with mesmerising cobalt-blue eyes, embellished by abundantly thick lashes and even thicker eyebrows sitting atop his handsomely chiselled face. His cheekbones stand at attention, enhanced by his sculpted jawline, which works in perfect harmony with the rest of his body- even his collarbones are perfect. He’s full of sprightly vigour, he’s young even. You are floored and contemplate how anyone could hide such a face away in that clunky helmet.

“Not what you were expecting, huh?” He speaks, sensing the utter shock his appearance has inflicted on you. 

“You…you’re-” You stutter.

“Not hideously deformed?”

“-beautiful.” 

He raises his bushy eyebrows disapprovingly and you scold yourself for being so forthright. He may be devilishly handsome, but that doesn’t mean you can swoon over him. He’s a monster, remember? Sure, he has the most seductive pair of lips you’d ever seen on a man - all plump and the perfect shade of pink- and sure, he’s sparked a desire within you that you don’t think you’d ever felt before but…where were you going with this? 

“I’m going to sleep in the adjoining room, you can take my chambers.” You’re snapped out of your dreamy haze by his velvety voice as he begins to walk away.

“Wait! Y-you don’t have to, I’m sure the bed is uncomfortable over there.” 

“No, it’s perfectly fine.” He continues marching away. 

“Wait! The bed here is more than big enough for the both of us, we wouldn’t even touch.” You stumble over your words, melting under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

“Do you want me to sleep with you, Princess?” His movement comes to a halt and you’re rendered speechless. “Because that really would be something. Captured and brutalised after all that you hold dear is set alight, forced to marry a servant of evil- and then you request his company in your bed? That would be deranged. You’re not deranged now, are you Princess?”  

Your mouth goes dry at the snarky way in which he’s talking to you- you admit it sounds mad out loud but the situation is more complicated than he thinks. 

“N-no.” You mutter, barely above a whisper. 

“Good, I wouldn’t want to find out I’ve married damaged goods.” He remarks impertinently. “I’m retiring for the evening- and I am not to be disturbed.” With that, he slams the door between you shut and you slide down your headboard, consumed by embarrassment, shame, desire. His dastardly good looks have really thrown a spanner into the works. 

You barely managed to get any sleep that night, much like every night the week following the wedding. Your dreams were plagued by visions- of your father, of your captors, of your husband. Before your seizure, you already knew your future would hold a forced marriage; although an even less desirable one. Your father had plans to marry you off to your cousin, a brainless specimen by the name of Fester who was too dim-witted to even realise he was being used as a pawn in the family’s bloodline feud.

Despite your many attempts to plead and beg your way out of this union, your father dismissed you entirely- even going so far as to sanction you to the confines of your stuffy quarters, striking you remorselessly when you defied his orders. 

You’d spent a lifetime dreamily peering out of your windows, waiting to be liberated by a saviour that never came- at least not in the way you thought. 

Lord Vader was never present, aside from a very brief juncture in the evenings, when he would pass through your chambers on the way to his bedroom. You tried to make conversation but he either stared at you with dead, unamused eyes or flat-out ignored you. Asking him what he did during his working hours was not one of the things you tried to speak about- much preferring to stay in ignorant bliss- and he was more than happy to not be at the receiving end of your questions for once. 

Growing increasingly tired of questioning your purpose on this wretched behemoth of a ship, you took the liberty of posting yourself outside his bedroom that night, waiting to block his exit until he at least acknowledged your existence. You’re ashamed to admit that you selected your nightwear especially for him- tonight choosing to wear the thinnest of slip dresses in the pathetic hopes that he might be drawn in by your pert chest. 

As is routine, you hear the doors to your chambers swing open and are greeted with the welcome sight of the young Lord, who strides over to you intimidatingly. Removing his helmet and towering before you, you gulp at not just the height difference- but the sheer broadness of his shoulders compared to your slender ones. 

“Move.” He states, glaring at you unaffectedly. 

“No. I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.” You stubbornly huff and you think you spot a glint of amusement in his eyes. 

“You don’t give the orders around here, Princess.” He asserts as he lifts you up by the waist with ease and drops you out of his way like you were a meagre traffic obstruction. You’re filled with disbelief as he enters his room, shutting the door in your face. “At least he didn’t slam it tonight.” You ponder.

Slouching down the door defeatedly, you pout as you hear him undress, desperately in need of an explanation. 

“Please.” You plead pitiably, not expecting him to hear you. 

You almost fall to the floor as your backrest swings open, and you lift your head to see him, sighing above you. 

“What is it?”

“I-I just wanna know some things.” You mutter, cradling your knees on the floor. 

“Then talk.” He taps his foot impatiently. 

“Well uh- for starters, why am I here?” You rise from the floor to face him. “Why did Palpatine want you to marry me?”

“He wants me to sire a son- to ensure his plans can be carried out should I be otherwise indisposed.” He looks away coldly. 

“I don’t understa-“

“Palpatine will live into his 200s. I am only human. If I am killed, he wants another apprentice to bend to his will, one just as strong with the force.” 

“So why haven’t you attempted to do any siring yet?” He looks at you with a look of intense shock, disgust even. Of all the things he’s said, you take issue with his lack of action in the bedroom. 

“I refuse to participate in this charade. He’ll see that you’re barren after a while- and we’ll dispose of you accordingly.” 

“But I’m not barren.” You interject, dismissing the latter part of his sentence. 

“It would be in your best interests to pretend you are.” You’re beguiled by his smooth voice and find yourself yearning to hear it all night. “I’ve brought someone to keep you company, hopefully with them in attendance you’ll be less inclined to seek my attention.” 

“Another handmaiden? Ah, spare me- the current one is more than irritating enough on her own.” You shudder at the thought of 2 Sabes, prattling in your ear all day. 

“No, I’ve ordered for the capture of your former attendant. I believe you were quite fond of him- Silas, is it?” 

Your heart seizes, he’s alive? More importantly, he’s being brought to you? You stare at the scowling face of your husband, who looks afraid you might try to do something overly affectionate. 

“A purely self-indulgent measure. To prevent any future ambushes like the one tonight.” He backtracks, attempting to impose some distance but you disregard it entirely. “If that’s not enough to keep you occupied, you can also have access to my private library - Silas will be waiting for you there tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, my Lord,” You whisper, throwing caution to the wind and wrapping your arms against his waist, face snugly pressed into his firm chest. You feel him tense up at the intrusion, but he relaxes ever so slightly with an exhale, hovering his arms above your own- careful not to let them touch lest he give you the impression he’s embracing you back. 

“Call me Anakin.” He mumbles softly. 

You wake up the next day, your chest feeling lighter than it has in years. Bounding out of bed, you instil deep confusion in Sabe, who enters your room with fresh clothes. 

“Having a good morning?” She asks.

“I think actually, yes. Yes, I am.” You reply resolutely, allowing her to dress you without your usual complaints as she tightens your corset. 

“Might this have anything to do with Lord Vader?” She raises an eyebrow, consumed with curiosity. 

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I see that my new life might not be so bad after all. I believe I have someone waiting for me, you’re dismissed for now, Sabe.” You waltz out of your chambers to the library that Anakin mentioned you were granted entrance to. 

You enter the room and stare in wonder at the rows upon rows of polished shelves, furnished with all kinds of large, leather-bound books. Among the volumes of publications is a tall, spindly man- standing with his back turned. 

“Silas!” You cry out and dart towards him, colliding against him in a tight embrace. 

“Princess! Let me look at you, are you hurt?” He grabs your face, inspecting it for any cuts or bruises. 

“No, no I’m perfectly fine!” You smile. 

“How could you possibly be fine? I heard about the wedding- it’s a scandal, it’s a disgrace! The intergalactic senate will hear about this- I promise I will get you out!“

“Silas, it’s okay, I’m being treated well here.” Your reply sends him into a stunned silence. 

“You’ve been married to a Sith Lord. A princess of the purest blood made to intermingle with the lap dog of the Emperor. I don’t even want to think about what you’ve been forced to do here to survive.” He shudders.

“I haven’t been made to do anything. And Anakin really isn’t that bad once you get to know him a little.”

“Anakin?” Silas almost breaks out in hives at what he’s hearing. 

“Yeah, that’s his real name. And oh, Silas, he’s so handsome!” You clamber on, reading the titles off a nearby bookshelf and digging for something that might take your fancy.

“I don’t believe this. One week under captivity and you’ve been brainwashed already.” He takes his head into his hands.

“I haven’t been brainwashed.” You chuckle. “Anakin is the one who brought you here. Just for me. And he lets me have the nicest quarters on the ship- and I’m allowed private access to the whole library!” You gush.

“So he’s built you a very pleasant cage. Fantastic. Just because your prison has a nice interior doesn’t make it your home.”

“Well, it’s no less of a prison than Onderon was. At least in this one, my marriage isn’t incestuous.” Silas’s eyes widen beyond measure at the boldness of your statement and he takes a seat before he collapses. 

“He used the force to heal me when I was in pain.” 

“And what caused you to be hurt in the first place?” He snaps back accusingly.

“Silas, listen to me.” You kneel beside him, taking his hand into your own. “I’ve spent too many years worrying about the fate of my future, cursing the Maker for how little control I had over my own destiny. No more. I can only take life as it comes in small waves- I have relinquished control. This is my new home now.”

With a heavy sigh, Silas nods- looking away as if unable to process your revelation. 

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.” You say, mischievous twinkle in your eye.

The remainder of the day is spent flicking through various books, amassing a pile of them in your bedroom so high that you could barely see Sabe’s head poking through when she entered.

“Um, m’lady? If you won’t be requiring anything else for the night, can I retire? Silas and I were thinking of wandering down to the observatory by my quarters…”

“Of course, Sabe, enjoy.” You chuckle as she meekly smiles and exits your room. You knew they’d hit it off, one perennial chatterbox with another. Flicking through the last page of the first edition volume of The Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise, you hummed discontentedly. “What a terrible ending.” You thought as you inspected the piles on your floor for the second volume. You suspect you must’ve left it in the library when you were packing your books onto the trolley so you wrap a thin robe around yourself and march down the hall. You notice the lights already burning as you enter the library cautiously, peering your head through to see Anakin, sitting on an armchair and reading something out of a thick, metal-encased manual. 

“What’s your book about?” You query as you approach him slowly.

“It’s a story about a very naughty princess who loves to go looking for trouble.” He sneers, lip curling up into the shadow of a smile. 

“No, it’s not!” You titter as you pry over the bind, seeing various starfighter diagrams and mechanical cross-sections. 

“What do you want now?” He shuts the book promptly.

“I just came to collect something I left behind.” You reply innocently. 

“I trust you’re enjoying my collection, then.” He looks up at you for the first time and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of his dreamy eyes.

“Oh yes, it’s very impressive. I didn’t think Sith Lords read so much.”

“They don’t.” He gets up from his chair, sauntering over to a nearby shelf and picking out a specific book. “Try this, I think you’ll like it.” He throws the book in your direction and you catch it; observing the cover, you speculate it’s some kind of historical tale about a lost civilisation. 

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to read it.” You tuck it under your arm. “Are you retiring for the night yet?” 

“Yes, I’ll leave the library to you.” He gets up to leave but you stand in front of him. 

“I was only here to get something, escort me back?” You ask and he looks you up and down before making a low grunting sound, something you can only assume is a sign of acceptance. He heads out the door and you follow, trailing behind him like a lost puppy. 

“I never got to thank you.” You say as you enter your chambers, seizing the short moment you have to converse before he disappears into his bedroom. 

“What could you possibly have to thank me for?” He rolls his eyes.

“For rescuing me.” You reach out to touch him by the arm but back down, courage failing you. 

“You’ve lost your mind.” 

“No, really. My circumstances back home were…less than ideal.” You stare down at your feet.

“I admit I find it peculiar that you don’t seem to be in mourning.” He notes, more intrigue in his tone than you’re used to.

“Would you be in mourning over a man who oppressed and rebuked you at every turn?”

“I see. I suppose that explains your…unorthodox behaviour.” For the very first time, he takes a seat on the chaise lounge by your bed- does he actually want to have this conversation with you?

“I guess you could say that. After he locked me up in the palace and forced me to accept my cousin’s betrothal, I abandoned all hope for the future and resigned myself to perpetual misery. And then you came along.” He squints his eyes, looking almost frustrated with your positivity.

“Are you sure you understand the situation you’ve found yourself in? You’re aware you’ve been abducted- forced to spend every day locked up here, never to see your planet or familiars again? Forced to play wife to me?” He gawks incredulously.

“You’re not as bad as you make out.” You smile at him. “And you’re certainly very easy on the eyes.” You look for changes in his demeanour but it remains unaffected. “Would you have preferred it if I was terrified and unwilling to go near you?” 

“Terrified? Of course not, the thought of it sickened me. Unwilling to go near me? I’m not sure I’d mind.” He states and you wonder if that was his way of making a joke. “I regret that you’ve been ensnared into this. I wish it could’ve been different.” 

“I don’t.” You pluck up the courage to sit beside him, placing your hand on his leg. “I can see there’s goodness within you. It’s almost tangible in the way you treat me.” 

“Clearly I’ve given you the wrong impression.” He mutters gruffly, visibly uncomfortable. “And you can stop wearing those little dresses around me. All you’re going to succeed in doing is get frostbite.” He pushes your hand off him.

“Do you find me that repulsive?” You question sharply, tired of being made to feel undesirable. “I’ve been told my looks rival that of some of the fairest Princesses in the galaxy. Is a man like yourself so completely cold to the affections of women?”

“I fail to see how that is relevant.” He dismisses.

“It’s relevant because I’m tired of my bed being cold. You chose to marry me, now act like a husband!” 

“What choice? I had no choice!” He shouts back and your blood runs cold when he stands towering over you.

“That makes two of us. But I fail to see what good can come from sulking about it.” You lower your tone.

“You’re that desperate, huh?” He sneers condescendingly.

“So what if I am?” You throw caution to the wind, fully aware of the way you’re debasing yourself right now; after the breadcrumbs of affection he’d been giving you, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fine.” He says, making his way over to the bed, ripping off his shirt. 

“W-what are you doing?” You murmur as he undresses and positions himself in the middle of your stately bed. 

“I’m ready, Princess.” He mocks, parroting what you’d said to him on your wedding night. “You wanted to fuck me, right? Well here I am. At your royal disposal.” 

“N-not like this.” You mutter, trying not to stare at his firm pecs or chiselled abdomen. 

“What’s the matter? You’ve been prancing around in those little dresses all week, practically begging me to give you a scrap of my attention and now I’m in our marital bed, you’re too scared?” 

“I’m not scared, I just don’t want to feel like I’m forcing myself on you.” You mutter quietly, drained of all confidence. 

“You’re worried about all the wrong things. Palpatine told me to brutalise you to within an inch of your life, you know that? To take all my anger out on you and make you pay for the sins of your family. And you’re worried about whether you’re taking advantage of me. I fear I have been too soft. You seem to forget who you’re speaking to.” 

“But you didn’t.” You sniffle.

“What?”

“But you didn’t do those things. You’re a good man, Anakin.” Your voice softens and you climb up the bed to join him, allowing your gaze to linger on the small line of blonde curling hair starting from his belly button, travelling down to what lay underneath his underwear. 

“No. I haven’t quite lost all my humanity.” He breathes heavily, seemingly noticing your staring. 

“Let me show you my appreciation.” You bit your lip and bravely met his intense gaze. He doesn’t respond, the only noticeable reaction being his eyes wandering down to your breasts, thin material doing little to conceal your pert nipples. 

“Do you wish to see me?” You ask, fingers toying with the straps as he huffs slightly, acting as though this were beneath him- but still remaining silent. You shrug the material off, revealing your round, perky breasts to him. You think you can see something twitching in his boxers but you can’t be sure. 

“Can I?” You ask, gesturing to sit on his lap but he remains speechless. “Please, my Lord, I need to hear you-“ 

“Yes.” 

A grin spreads across your face as you mount him, completely bare. Putting your hands on his chest, you move your hips a little to feel him. Not that you were expecting any less for a man of his stature, but you felt yourself getting soaked at his formidable size; he was surely 8 inches, and just as satisfyingly thick. Your eyes fall to his pretty face and you’re overcome with the urge to kiss him all over. Reaching down to plant small kisses over his temple and cheeks, you feel him stiffen even more. 

“What are you doing?” He grumbles.

“Shut up and kiss me.” You pant as you capture his lips in a soft kiss, brushing them against each other. You can feel him almost fighting the urge to hold you so you take the initiative and grab him by the jaw, kissing him deeply and passionately. You think you hear a moan slip out of his mouth but when you pull away, he’s still got the same cold expression on his beautiful face- brows slightly furrowed and lips pursed in disaffection. 

“If you’re waiting for me to make a move, it’s not going to happen.” He sighs, looking fatigued. A quiet rage simmers within you. You’ve had suitors lining up at the palace gates since you were a teenager and now this glorified servant is behaving as though he is the prize. You craved the chance to teach him not to underestimate you, to make him see you were special. “On another occasion, perhaps.” You thought. Tonight, you just wanted to make him writhe beneath you. 

“If you’re going to be making snarky comments all evening, I’m going to stuff my panties in your mouth to silence you.” 

“What panties? You didn’t wear any.” He grins and your chest sets alight. However brief it was, it’s the first time you’ve seen a genuine smile. His teeth were pearly and straight, and his smile broad enough to reach across his whole face in a bright, radiant flash. You felt like your day had gotten better just by being witness to it. 

“Why do you always do that?” He breaks your trance.

“Huh, do what?”

“Disassociate. You stare right through me when you do it.” 

“M’sorry. I can’t help it.” You feel a fierce shyness overcome you. 

“You find me that handsome?”

“Yes.” You whisper. You have no idea why you’re admitting to it. 

“Is that why you don’t mind being married to me?” He continues and you’re confused by the volume of questions coming your way- it’s more than he’s talked to you all week.

“Partly.” He smirks a little at the ego boost and places his hands on the back of his neck, arm muscles flexing as they’re extended. You trail a line from the centre of his chest down to his abdomen with the tip of your index finger, stopping as you reach the band of his boxers. You look up at him and he raises an eyebrow at you, almost daring you to go further. Toying with the band for a little while, you steel yourself and pull them down in one prompt motion. You have to hold in a wince as you take it in- in all its thick, veiny glory. With a shuddery breath, you savour the view before you: his strong, toned arms trailed down to his athletic torso, v-line achingly defined and sloping down to his large, pink-tipped member. “Even his dick is pretty.” You mentally cursed. His smirking, confident simper never faltered, not feeling a fragment of insecurity for even a moment. 

Knowing you weren’t going to get any warming up from him, you lifted your hips and angled yourself up, tip kissing your entrance. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly sunk down on him, lowering yourself gradually until your bare skin brushed against the curls around the base of his cock. He shuts his eyes for a moment and exhales lightly, pretty lips forming into a small o shape. You try to subdue the overwhelming feeling of being filled so deeply, not wanting to stroke his ego even more than you already have. You begin to move, riding him very slowly and focusing on his chest as it rises and falls, eyes watering at the sensation of being stretched out. Worrying that he’s going to question why you’re going so slow, you begin to speed up even though it aches. 

“Slow down.” He speaks softly. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“As if you care.” You huff.

“Don’t get on my bad side, Princess.” He shoots you a deadly glance and you slow back down, knowing better than to disobey him. It takes you a good while to accommodate to his size, oo’s and aa’s escaping your mouth every time you straighten up and sink down on his cock a little too deeply- but after the adjustment period, you start to ride him confidently. Your tits bounce with a hypnotising jiggle as you smack the flesh of your ass against his thighs, wetness drenching you both. Noticing how his arms lay by his side, you grab him by the wrist and lay them on your hips. He grips onto them slightly for a moment, but quickly releases and lets them fall back down to his sides. You whine a little, starved of affection. You were bouncing on his cock yet you still felt like you weren’t close.

“Please?” You moan. 

“You wanted this, not me. I said I’m not participating, didn’t I?” His voice rings out, completely unaffected while you were a panting mess.

“Don’t pretend like you’re not- ah- enjoying it. F-feels good, doesn’t it?” You stutter, feeling his tip prodding that spongy spot within you that threatens to be your undoing. 

“It’s fine.” He replies, still refusing to engage in any meaningful way.

“Oh come on, Anakin! Give me something.” You feel like you’re one snarky comment away from resorting to begging. 

“I’ve given you my cock. What more do you want out of me?” 

“I want you to talk to me, I want you to touch me. To be present!” 

“And I want for my wife to not be such a whore.” Your mouth gapes open at his harsh words, but you continue bouncing, getting too close to stop now. “I mean seriously, you’re being held hostage and all you can think about is getting fucked? There’s nothing in that little brain of yours other than visions of me fucking you, is there? I’ve seen them.”

You moan at his degrading words- if you weren’t so cock drunk, you might be ashamed of the way you’re allowing him to speak to you. 

“Oh my God, are you gonna cum from me talking down to you? Does me calling you a stupid whore get you off?” He rambles and you can’t stop yourself from turning into a whimpering mess, moans spilling out at every turn and unintelligible groans flooding the room as you bounce on his cock.

He reaches up towards you and you think he might be pulling you in for a kiss but instead, he hooks his fingers into the corners of your mouth, stretching it out. You babble out disjointed syllables, too overwhelmed to establish a rhythm that isn’t completely sloppy.

“The fuck are you even saying right now?” He laughs and oh god, there’s that smile again- if his cock wasn’t enough, now his grin is making your legs feel like jelly.

“What are these dumb little sounds you’re spluttering out? You sound like an idiot.” The lewd squelching noises increase in intensity as you fall apart on top of him in a sudden climax- pleasure hitting you like a truck and nearly knocking you out. You pant on top of him, trying to catch your breath with your head resting on his chest. He clears his throat after a minute and you shuffle off him, laying your head on the nearby pillow instead. 

“Wow. That was…did you not cum?” It occurs to you that you’d just used him for your own pleasure.

“Of course not.” He gruffly responds, legs still spread and cock exposed, glistening with your arousal. “I have self control.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask and he turns to face you.

“You’re like a bitch in heat. It’s not very princess-like of you.” 

“Well, I’m not a princess anymore. I’m a Sith Lord’s wife.” You counter.

“Wives don’t ride like that.” You know he didn’t mean it as a compliment but you chose to take it as one anyway. 

“Aren’t you going to cover up?” You point at his exposed body while you clutch the crisp white sheets around yourself.

“Why should I?” He snaps back and you’re taken aback by his show of confidence. And you certainly weren’t complaining.

“Yeah, I bet you aren’t.”

“Okay, you’ve got to stop doing that! It’s unnatural.” You complain.

“I don’t ordinarily pay such close attention to these things but your mind is so dirty.” 

“Oh yeah? What have I been thinking about in the last couple minutes then?”

“You’ve been wondering how I’m both a shower and a grower, how you’ve never been so wet before - oh, and how you want to fuck me again.” Your cheeks redden at his painfully accurate observations- and you feel his vulgarity plant a renewed desire within you. 

“Really, you want another round? Fine. Hop on.” He sighs, tapping his thigh. You stare at him affectionately with a smile as if to say “really?” and you clamber over him again. You only have to press your dripping body against him once and he quickly hardens again, tip oozing with precum. You waste no time impaling yourself, pussy swallowing him greedily- slightly sore but still stretched out enough to take him with ease. 

“Anakin, please.” You mumble, reaching for his hands- needing to feel them on your skin. 

“What do you want?” He replies breathily. 

“Please, touch me.” You slide up and down his shaft, body racked with delirious pleasure. “Pleasepleaseplease - please Anakin!” He scoffs smilingly at how you’ve been reduced to a needy mess before he’s even put an ounce of effort in. “Do you want me to beg? I’ll get on my knees and beg- please, touch me just a little, please Ani-“

“Alright, alright, enough!” He stops you and you wince at his harsh tone, wishing that just for once, he’d be gentle with you. 

“I’m sorry, it’s okay. I’m right here.” He reaches out and wraps his hands around your dainty waist, right arm gradually trailing up your body. His knuckles brush against your cheek tenderly before he wraps his strong hand around your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. You squeak in shock at the unexpected affection as your breasts press against his chest, one hand squishing your soft flesh and the other wrapped up in your hair. 

“Mmm, Ani.” You hum, your deepest craving finally quelled.

“No one’s called me that in a really long time.” He mumbles into the kiss, sliding both hands down to your ass cheeks and gripping them firmly. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks as he slides you on and off him, commanding your movements with his strong grasp. 

“Oh God yes, fuck Ani- ah.” You gasped as he began lifting his hips and fucking his cock into you, fingernails digging into your hips. “‘m not gonna last much longer if you keep go -oh, just like th- aah.” 

“You don’t need to.” He whines, finally allowing himself to utter his own sweet sounds. 

“Nuh uh, I-I want you to cum with me.” You whimper in his ear as you wrap your arms around his neck. Cradling you, he wraps one arm around your back and rests his other hand on the back of your head while drilling you with such vigour you almost black out. 

“Shh, baby, shh- ’s okay.” He moans and your walls flutter at the heavenly sound. Try as you may, you can’t stop the drool that streams out of your mouth, fucked so dumb that you’re losing control over your senses. 

“You’re close, can feel you gripping me.” He sputters, barely audible over the sound of your squeals. “You want the whole ship to hear you, huh?”

“I want them all to know who I belong to.” You manage to get out clearly, trying to get a handle on your faculties. Rising up from being tucked into his neck, you start bouncing on him with the excitement of a little bunny, so desperate to bring him to his release. You look down at him, eyes screwed shut, gnawing on his bottom lip and you feel how furiously his eager cock throbs inside you.

“Want you to fill me up.” You warble, dropping your hands to lay on either side of his face, soft locks brushing against your wrists. “I wanna be yours.” You stare into his eyes, which have just fluttered open, eyebrows knitted close together.

“You’re already mine.” He whispers, grabbing you by the waist and turning you over in one swift motion, your back hitting the plumpness of the bed. Before you can take a breath, he slams into you again and your back arches from the overstimulation. 

Hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you deeper into him, he roughly pounds against you, cock gliding into your sensitive core. You try to focus yourself, gnawing on your lip and mentally repeating: “You can’t cum this quickly again.”

“Oh yes, you can.” He asserts mischievously, speeding up his sloppy strokes until your eyes roll to the back of your head. You grip the sheets around you, trying desperately to hold on for just a few seconds longer.

“Don’t you dare.” He growls, slapping against you roughly. Beads of sweat trickle down his defined pecs, down to the creamy mess where your bodies meet. With one final gloopy thrust, you scream out his name and collapse entirely, body convulsing with pleasure as he moans at the sight, burying his face into your thigh. 

“Goddamn…” You hear him mutter as he continues using your body like a toy, dragging you onto him in a way that you don’t even notice in your cock drunk stupor. You hear a glorious groan escape his lips as he pulls out, painting your body with his creamy white cum. 

“Why’d you pull out?” You whine, completely spent and feeling woefully empty now that your bodies weren’t connected anymore. 

“You know why.” He exhales as his head hits the pillow beside you. “I refuse to let a child come into this.” You huff a little but feel too exhausted to argue.

Shuffling over, you test his boundaries by leaning your head against his shoulder. When he noticeably stiffens and backs away a little, you sit up hastily to face him. 

“Really, Anakin? You’re still not comfortable around me?” 

“I’m as comfortable as I need to be.” He murmurs and you let out a fussy whine. 

“I’ve just given myself to you entirely and you can’t even hold me after? Please, Ani, you’re making me feel really-“

“Fine! If it’ll get you to be quiet.” He pulls you in swiftly, his strong arm wrapped around you protectively and you let out a satisfied hum while he shakes his head- no doubt wondering how he got stuck with such a petulant child.

The days that followed were full of you waltzing around the ship, lost in your daydreams. Anakin had been dispatched to a different system for a mission and much to your displeasure, wouldn’t return for several days yet; you never knew exactly how long his journeys would last, you only knew they were doubtlessly too long. You missed him dearly - and if the way he hugged you back before he left was any indication- you were growing on him too. 

After enthusiastically getting through the book Anakin recommended, he told you that he’d left a stack out by his desk in the library- a personally hand-picked selection that he believed you’d enjoy. Your heart fluttered at the thought and you felt yourself keenly gliding over to it. You reminisced fondly about the way his soft hair felt when it brushed through your hands, how his dreamy eyes made you weak at the knees- how he had the prettiest cock you’d ever seen. You didn’t realise it was possible for someone to be so perfect- so what if he had an unsavoury pastime? It was a flaw you were willing to overlook if it meant you got to wake up next to that face. 

Entering the library, you hum a chirpy song and float over to the desk where you find a neat pile of books in varying colours and sizes. Just as you were about to pick the first one out of the stack, Silas rushes in- scruffy and disorganised, looking over his shoulder.

“Princess! Princess, you must hurry. They’re here- they’re finally here.” He sputters, grabbing onto your wrist like a madman and leading you out. 

“Slow down! What’s going on?” You question, wondering why you were running along with him. 

“Oh but we must be quick, the stormtroopers can only be held off for so long! Sabe is leading the distraction-“

“What are you talking about?” 

“Word finally reached them, they’re finally here!”

“Who? Who’s here?” You shout back, brain spinning in confusion.

“The Senate has sent an army - a rescue team for you!” Silas stares at you with crazed eyes, sweating with anxiety. “We can finally go home!” 

“W-what?” You stutter, allowing him to lead you out to the docking bay where you can see a battleship undoubtedly belonging to the Galactic Republic- suspended midair awaiting boarding.

“Wait, wait, no.” You backtrack but the grip Silas has around your wrist is too strong to easily break from. 

“You don’t mean to tell me you wish to stay here with that brute?” He glances back at you, face painted with disgust as he pushes on for the last few metres left until you reach the ship. “He doesn’t care about you.”

“That’s not true!” You shout, propellers buzzing over you with a furious intensity. 

“Is that so? Then why isn’t he putting up a fight right now?” He gestures behind you and you turn around to where the observatory window is. There he is, standing behind the glass, looking at you calmly. 

“Do you see? He doesn’t even care enough to stop you!” Silas digs his fingernails into your wrist as you reach the ship, doors unloading with a steamy hiss. “Get in!” He yells, pushing you forward with all his might. 

He’s letting you go. He’s letting you leave.

“No!” You fight back, striking Silas across the face and sprinting out of his reach as soon as his grasp on you loosens.

“You idiot! Stay here and rot with those Sith devils!” He curses, clambering up the stairs and smacking the handle, signalling for them to shut. Tears course roughly down your face as you stand back and see the ship ascending before darting off into the distance in a beaming flash. Turning around, you run as fast as your feet will carry you, scrambling up to the observatory to the man you’d just abandoned life as you knew it for.

Throwing the doors open, you see him: mouth parted, eyebrows raised and a singular tear rolling down his cheekbone. You jump into his arms, colliding and entangling yourself with him.

“Why did you do that, huh?!” He grabs your face with both hands, kissing you desperately. “Why would you do something so stupid?” You break out into a sob as he mumbles against your lips. “I would’ve let you go, you could’ve left.”

“I know, that’s why I stayed.” You wrap your hands around his own, still in a firm grip around your face. “I love you, Ani.” You gaze up at him with such adoration he feels his cold heart bursting. 

“I love you too.” 

As soon as the words leave his beautiful lips, you leap to kiss them- trying desperately to memorise every detail and every sensation that belonged to this moment. 

“I-I thought you would’ve surely left if you could.” He murmurs, struggling to break away from your lips. “Thought you were jus’ making the most out of a bad situation.” 

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You say sincerely, hoping he could feel the love you have for him pouring out of you. 

“I don’t believe my eyes.” A dreaded raspy voice resonates across the room. “The Princess has fallen in love with my apprentice. And he seems to love her back? Now this is just precious.” Anakin stands in front of you protectively, pushing you back. 

“She will prove to be useful in the future.” The Emperor hisses, glaring at you with an empty hunger in his eyes. “Now that she has demonstrated her loyalty.”

“It’s the last show of loyalty you’ll ever see.” Anakin spits as he draws his lightsaber from the left belt hook on his robes and strikes Palpatine, beheading him in one swift motion before he can even register what’s struck him. 

“He always taught me that even the most powerful of enemies can be defeated-“ He turns to face you, retracting his glowing lightsaber. “with the element of surprise.” 

A twisted grin creeps up on your face as he swoops you up like a true bride- lifting you with a firm hold and carrying you out of the room while you wrap your arms around his neck, planting kisses all over.

“I think it’s high time me and my wife got some privacy, don’t you think?” He gestures at the incoming stormtroopers, who confusedly back away after spotting Palpatine’s decapitated body. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

You giggle as he carries you to your chambers, throwing you onto the bed and peering out of the large doors one last time before shutting them with a loud clamber- ah, free from disturbance at last.

@erinkeifer @crazy4men @mortalheartache @arzua10