#but still. they are so tender and repressed

[player042]

HEARTBEAT | kang dae-ho.

pairing: kang dae-ho (player 388) x reader

summary: during the third game you reunite with dae-ho who is everything but thrilled to have his pregnant girlfriend surrounded by death. requested here.

warning: pregnant!reader, established relationship, hot baby daddy dae-ho 😫 angsty and emotional, mention of financial struggles, survival themes, please enjoy ♥️

word count: 2.8k

The door slammed shut behind you, the loud clank of the mechanism sealing you and Dae-ho inside the small, dimly lit room just as the timer hit zero. For a moment, the air felt charged, thick with all the words left unspoken. You stood frozen near the wall, your hands instinctively cradling your belly, while Dae-ho's tall frame loomed near the door. His jaw was clenched tight as you heard gunshots and screaming coming from the other side of the door, his eyes were fixated on the floor as if forcing himself to maintain composure.

Neither of you had so much as exchanged a meaningful glance in front of the others, too scared of what even a flicker of familiarity might invite in this place where alliances were fragile, and vulnerability was a target. But here, in this room, with no one else watching...

"Dae-ho," you breathed, the sound of his name cracking the tension like a dam breaking.

His head snapped up, and within seconds, he crossed the distance between you, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you fiercely, desperately. It wasn't soft or tender, it was raw, like he'd been holding his breath for days and could finally exhale. His lips moved against yours as if trying to drink in everything he'd been forced to repress since seeing you again.

"You're here," he murmured against your lips, his voice trembling as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His hands slid to your shoulders, down your arms, as though reassuring himself that you were real. "God, you're really here."

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as the weight of his words hit you. "I didn't want you to know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"That's obvious," he said bitterly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His gaze softened, his worry bleeding through the anger. "You shouldn't be here. What the hell were you thinking? You're pregnant. And you joined this… this hell?"

Tears stung your eyes as you turned your head away, breaking his gaze. "What choice did I have?" you said, your voice cracking. "We're drowning in debt, Dae-ho. The baby needs a future. What else was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to rely on me," he snapped, his hands dropping to his sides, his frustration spilling over. "I would've-" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair as he paced the small room. "I would've done something. Anything. But you just- You didn't even tell me. You just left me out of this."

"I didn't want to drag you down," you said, your voice trembling. "You've already done so much for us, Dae-ho. I couldn't-"

"Don't," he interrupted, his voice low but sharp. "Don't give me that. You didn't drag me down. You're the one thing in my life that kept me sane." He stopped pacing and turned back to you, his gaze piercing. "And now you're here, risking not just your life but our child's. Do you have any idea what it felt like seeing you out there? Pretending I didn't know you? Pretending I didn't care?"

"I didn't want to need you," you confessed, "Because needing you… it scared me. It still does."

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he looked away, his hands balled to fists before he relaxed them again. "You can need me, damn it," he said softly, his voice low but fierce. "You think I don't need you just as much?"

You pressed a hand to your stomach, the guilt and fear twisting inside you, whispering,"If they know we're connected, they could-"

"I don't care what they do to me," he cut in quickly, his voice rising. "You should've thought about what it would do to me if something happens to you. If something happens to our baby."

The silence that followed was heavy, the air between you thick with regrets. Finally, Dae-ho took a deep breath and stepped closer, his hands finding your shoulders again. His voice softened, though the edge of desperation still lingered. "We'll figure this out, okay? We'll keep our distance in front of the others, but I need you to promise me something."

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. "What?"

"You don't take unnecessary risks," he said firmly. "You stick to the safest options. You stay out of the way whenever you can. And if there's even a hint of danger, you let me handle it. Got it?"

You hesitated, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "I'll try," you said finally, knowing it was the best promise you could give.

He exhaled, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "That's not good enough," he murmured. "But it'll have to do."

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, holding onto each other as the reality of your situation loomed over you. His arms wrapped around you gently, one hand resting protectively over your belly.

"I'll get you out of here," he said softly, his voice full of conviction. "You and the baby. I swear it."

Dae-ho held you close for a moment longer before stepping back, his hands still lingering around your waist. His gaze softened, though the worry didn't leave his eyes.

"You should stick to Jun-hee," he said, his voice firm but kind.

You blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"She's part of my team and she's pregnant too," he explained. "If you two stick together, it'll make it easier for me to keep an eye on you. I know I can't be obvious about us, but at least this way, I'll know you're not alone. And I can look out for both of you without drawing attention."

You opened your mouth to argue, but something about the way he looked at you, pleading, almost desperate, made you pause. "You're really planning to take care of two pregnant women in a place like this?"

He huffed a humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just… what I do. I can't not try to help. You know that about me."

"That's not an excuse," you said back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "You're acting like this is all on me, but what about you? Why are you even here, Dae-ho? You didn't exactly tell me you were planning on joining these games either!"

His expression faltered, guilt flashing across his face. "I was trying to protect you," he admitted quietly. "I didn't want you to know. I thought I could-"

"Could what?" you interrupted, "Fix everything? Take on the world by yourself? You think that's what I wanted? You think I wouldn't have tried to stop you if I knew?"

"I didn't want you to stop me," his shoulders slumped, "I thought if I could win… I could pay off everything. For both of us. For the baby. I didn't want you to worry about anything anymore."

You stared at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice, but the frustration didn't subside entirely. "So you thought it was okay to risk your life without telling me but not okay if I want to do the same? That's not protecting me, Dae-ho. That's keeping me in the dark."

"I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But when I saw you here…" He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "I didn't know whether to be furious or terrified. And now we're both in this mess."

The silence stretched between you, heavy and tense. Finally, you sighed, the fight draining out of you. "As you said, we're in this together now," you said, your voice quieter. "Whether we like it or not."

He nodded, his eyes locking with yours. "And as I said, I'll make sure you make it out of here," he said firmly. "You and the baby. No matter what."

"And what about you?" you asked, your voice trembling. "What happens to you, Dae-ho?"

"That doesn't matter," he said without hesitation. "What matters is that you survive."

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, and you shook your head. "I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself for me. Not again."

"We'll figure it out," he assured softly, reaching out to take your hand. "One game at a time. But for now, promise me you'll stick with Jun-hee. Please."

You hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Finally, you nodded. "Fine. But promise me something too."

"Anything," he said without missing a beat.

"You don't do anything reckless," you said, your voice firm. "No heroics, no self-sacrificing. If we're getting out of here, we're doing it together."

His lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes remained serious. "Deal."

For the first time since joining these games and for the first time for a very long time, you felt a flicker of hope, fragile, but real. Whatever came next, at least you weren't alone.

Dae-ho let out a shaky breath, and before you could say another word, he sank to his knees in front of you. The sudden movement caught you off guard, but it wasn't until his arms wrapped gently around your waist that your breath hitched. He rested his forehead lightly against your stomach, his large hands cradling your sides with the utmost care, as though you might break.

"Dae-ho," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

He didn't respond immediately, just stayed there, holding you as if you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world. After a moment, he tilted his head slightly, his cheek pressing against your belly. His warm breath fanned through the fabric of your shirt, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, tender, almost reverent.

"I can't believe it," he murmured, his gaze softening as it dropped to your stomach. He placed a hand there, his palm warm and loving. "There's a piece of us right here." You couldn't help but smile.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again, the words almost a prayer.

"Hey, little one," he murmured, his words directed at the life growing inside you. "It's me… your dad."

Your hands moved instinctively, threading through his hair. The soft strands slipped between your fingers, grounding you in this surreal moment. Dae-ho closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into it like a man starved for comfort.

"You probably can't hear me yet, but…," he continued, his voice trembling slightly, "I need you to be strong, okay? Just like your mom. And I promise,  I'm going to do everything I can to keep you two safe. You're my whole world now, you know that? Both of you."

A lump formed in your throat as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You hadn't expected this, this unfiltered love pouring from him. It made the weight of your circumstances feel both heavier and lighter at the same time.

"I bet you're going to be just like her," he said with a small chuckle, his hand gently rubbing your side. "Strong, smart, way too stubborn for your own good."

You let out a teary laugh, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Hey, don't encourage that."

He tilted his head back slightly, looking up at you with a crooked grin that melted your heart. "Can't help it. It's in the genes."

His gaze softened as he looked back at your stomach, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the fabric of your shirt, his lips lingering for a long moment. The action was so tender, so full of love, that it nearly brought you to your knees as well. He rested his forehead there again, his arms tightening around you.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "For everything. For not being there when you needed me. For making you feel like you had to do this alone."

"Dae-ho," you whispered, your own voice cracking as you cupped his face, guiding him to look up at you. "You're with us. That's all that matters."

He swallowed hard, nodding as his hands slid down to hold yours. "I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. I'll fight through hell if I have to. I'll keep you safe, no matter what it takes."

The tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over, and you knelt down with him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed your forehead against his. 

"We'll survive this," he repeated softly, his breath warm against your temple. "And when we get out… we'll make a real life together. The three of us."

You hesitated, your heart hammering as you realized it was the moment to tell him. "Four," you said softly, your hand covering his where it rested protectively over your stomach.

His body stiffened slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Four?" His voice was cautious, almost as if he were afraid to hope.

You nodded, your throat tightening as emotion swelled. "Before I came here, I had a doctor's appointment, and… we're having twins, Dae-ho."

The silence that followed was deafening, his stillness unnerving. For a moment, you worried you'd broken him, but then he slightly leaned back on his knees, his eyes wide and glassy as they searched yours.

"Twins?" he repeated, the word barely audible. His hand shifted, trembling slightly as it moved to cradle your stomach. He said nothing for a while, just staring at you as if trying to comprehend what you'd just revealed. His lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping as his thumb traced over the fabric covering your belly.

"Twins," he repeated again, this time with a mix of wonder and disbelief. "We're having twins?"

A small smile tugged at your lips, despite the tears streaming down your face. "Yes. I wasn't sure how to tell you… or when. But yeah. Two little ones."

His head dropped, forehead again pressing gently against your stomach as he let out a quiet, shaky laugh. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. "Two," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know whether to cry or laugh."

Your fingers softly tucked a strand of hair away from his beautiful face, "You can do both," you said gently, "I did."

He tilted his head up to look at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes took your breath away. His lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn't quite hide the tears slipping down his cheeks. "Twins," he said again, shaking his head slightly. "I didn't even know how I was going to handle one. Now there are two of them. Two little… us."

The way he said it, so in awe, so full of wonder, made your chest ache. "I wasn't planning on telling you here," you admitted, "Not in this nightmare. But I couldn't… I couldn't keep it to myself anymore."

"I'm glad you didn't," he said, his voice steadying. He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you didn't even realize had fallen. "No matter what happens in this hellhole, no matter how dark it gets, knowing they're waiting for us? It's everything."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Dae-ho, we can't let this place take us."

"It won't," he said firmly, his jaw tightening. "I won't let it. We'll make it. I'll make damn sure of it."

His hands slipped back down to your waist, his fingers splaying over your belly as though he could somehow shield the life growing inside you from the horrors outside. "Two little heartbeats," he murmured, his voice softening. "Do you know what that means?"

You tilted your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "What?"

"It means we're going to need twice the strength," his gaze locked with yours, "But it also means we've got twice the reason to fight. Twice the reason to win."

You leaned forward, your noses almost touching, your hands covering his on your stomach. "We'll do it together," you assured quietly. "The four of us."

"The four of us," he echoed, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so tender it left you breathless. "You're stuck with me now. Forever."

You let out another teary laugh, the sound mingling with his soft chuckle. "I've been stuck with you for years, Dae-ho. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

For a moment, the world outside that room, the horrors of the games, didn't exist. It was just two lovers holding onto each other and the heartwarming hope bound on a fragile string of the future that was worth fighting for. You allowed yourselves to feel it, this unwavering love, this promising hope that had been buried beneath the fear. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind you both why you were fighting, to survive, to protect, and to make it out of this nightmare as a family.

And whatever came next, you knew you wouldn't face it alone.

[yunmeng-jiang]

I know we all wish Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were having beautiful loving sex for 13+ years, but unfortunately JGY refuses to be like his father in any way so he would never cheat on his wife, and LXC would never let himself be a homewrecker. Very tragic circumstances

[redpearlearring]

I'm rewatching Bloody Romance. I'm obsessed with this show. I'm suffering. Why am I doing this to myself.

[yandere-daydreams]

file #3: the foot fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!nanami kento x reader (jjk)

length: 2.1k.

warning: non/con, fem!reader, oral sex (f. receiving), foot jobs, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of kidnapping, unbalanced power dynamics, and cannot mention it enough: feet.

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up here.

Which was to say, you weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up in this position, not this physical location – the small kitchen of Nanami’s up-until-recently neglected apartment, back pressed against the rounded edge of a pristine marble countertop and hands clasped so tightly in front of you that your knuckles were beginning to turn white. That, you could explain in fifteen words or less: Psychotic Ex-Boyfriend Kidnaps Overly Trusting Partner To Roleplay Repressed Domestic Fantasies, with further elaboration possible if you ever got the chance to talk to anyone who wasn’t currently holding you hostage. That, as much as you hated it, was normal. You knew why you were here.

It was much less normal to have Nanami on one knee in front of you, head bowed and one of your feet sitting in the palm of his hand. You hadn’t decided whether it was good abnormal or bad abnormal, yet, but still – not normal.

It must’ve been a rough day. He always looked tired when he got home, but tonight, he seemed exhausted – blond hair in a state of styled disarray, tie gone and shirt already partially unbuttoned, the circles under his eyes just a shade darker than they had been that morning. There was a cut on his cheek, too, and a tear along the wrist of his sleeve. Usually, he would’ve tried to get you to fuss over the damage, to trade privileges like a few minutes of T.V. and the latest news about your friends and family and not being handcuffed to his bed whenever he couldn’t watch you himself for sex and domestic labor and the faux-reciprocation of his obsession, but you hadn’t been able to say anything, let alone do anything before he’d fallen into his current position at your feet, his cheek resting gingerly against the inside of your thigh and his pale face slightly pink. He hadn’t said anything, either. You were starting to think he never would.

Unable to find an explanation written on the back of his head, you turned your attention to yourself. You’d been thinking about what you were going to make for dinner when he got home, because cooking meant he had to trust you with something more dangerous than a plastic spoon and you couldn’t go back to not being able to hold your own toothbrush, even if that meant having to trip over yourself to play housewife with your captor. You were dressed for housework, but that didn’t mean much. Nanami picked out all of your clothes, and he liked you in soft, pastel silk gowns and cutesy, garish vintage dresses. Your current dress was far from overly provocative – the neckline above your collarbones, the skirt falling to your knees. He’d seen you in it before, too, and never had this reaction.

The only new factor was your socks, but that would’ve been ridiculous. It was a new pair – a far cry from the thigh-highs and nylon stockings he usually bought for you. The material was thick and white and cottony, only ankle-high with ribbed hems and a lace trip. He was cupping the arch of your foot, his hand slotted in the tender space between the heel and the upper sole, and the plush fabric rubbed uncomfortably against your skin as he shifted his hold ever so slightly downward. More out of reflex than anything, you jerked back, your toes curling downward as you tried to weakly pull yourself out of his hold, and as if pulled out a trance, Nanami snapped up at you, tired eyes weary and lips slightly parted. Your eyes met his, and for a second, it was all you could do to stay still, to stay quiet, to not yell or scream or thrash until finally, Nanami’s weary expression broke into a slight grin, an airy laugh trickling past his lips as his stare fell back to your foot. “They’re… cute,” he started, slowly, nuzzling his cheek gingerly against your thigh. “I knew they would be, but—” A pause, a kiss to the tender patch just above your knee. “—you always manage to surprise me.”

You managed to smile shakily. “Sorry, Kento, I didn’t mean to distract you. Why don’t you sit somewhere a little more comfortable? I can start on—”

“In a minute.” Another hand was brought up and wrapped around your ankle, just above the lace trim of your sock. His forehead settled against your thigh as he lifted your foot gently and with an almost painful sort of delicacy, pressed the sole of your foot into the bulging tent in his pants that you’d been trying so hard to ignore. You felt his lazy grin press into your skin, and something cracked open in your chest.

This time, you couldn’t stifle your immediate reaction; lurching back, your hands finding the edge of the counter as you tried to pull away from him. It took nothing for him to keep you in place, though, and even worse – the ball of your heel pressed into his shaft as you tried to get away, rolling against his cock with a little too much force and drawing a low grunt from the base of Nanami’s throat. Instantly, you regretted moving at all. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

 “Again.”

You fell silent. His head lulled forward, pressing into your thigh, and somehow, you managed to spit something out. “…I’m sorry, Kento?”

“Again, angel, please,” he muttered, his eyes falling shut. You didn’t move, but he didn’t need you to – his hips jutting forward, grinding stiltedly against the sole of your foot. Any vague illusion of wholesomeness was forgotten entirely as he fell onto his knees, unabashedly rutting against your leg with all the shame and all the pride of a stray animal, desperate for its twisted idea of affection. You made a half-hearted attempt to distract yourself, to focus on the white tiles of his kitchen (not quite dirty, but not as clean as they could be, either – you’d have to do the floors tomorrow), then the far wall (there was a layer of dust along the edge of the light switch fame – you could take care of that later on tonight), but it would’ve been impossible not to think about the wet, hot breath fanning over your thigh, the stiff cock throbbing against your foot. You thought would’ve gotten used to his—uh, his unwanted attention by now, gone numb to the feeling of his mouth on your neck and his fingers on your clit, but this was a type of fresh humiliation you weren’t familiar with, the kind of unthinkable debasement that made your face heat-up and your thought spiral down, down, down. When your paralysis persisted, Nanami grit his teeth, rocked your foot against the length of his cock without ever letting his hips stop moving – like he was trying to fuck a hole through your heel. It was a rough, jagged motion; almost clumsy, despite the fact that you’d never seen him so much as trip. It might’ve left you off-balance, if you hadn’t been holding onto the counter so tightly. You might’ve fallen, if you thought that you would be enough to make him stop.

You shut your eyes, forcing yourself to suck in a shuddering breath, but that was a mistake – showing any kind of weakness was a mistake. You felt one of his groping hands on your upper thigh, then your ass, finally finding the thin, flimsy material of your panties and pulling. There was no elegant way to strip you down, so he didn’t try to be elegant. There was a harsh tearing sound, the feeling of blunt nails scraping against unprotected skin, and then, scraps of ruined material were scattered on the floor at your feet, the skirt of your dress pushed up to your waist as he forced his face between your legs, mouth already open and tongue already lapping over your cunt.

It was a bad position; the distance too far, the angle too sharp, everything about strained and awkward and unnecessary, but Nanami didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to care. His tongue ran over the length of your slit before he latched onto your clit and sucked. Instantly, it was too much – a strangled cry tearing past your lips as you buckled into yourself, your knees nearly giving out as another reverberating moan sent pangs of something sharp and electric stabbing into your core. Against your better judgement, your hands shot from the counter to his hair, your fingers soon knotted in a mess of blonde in a futile attempt to pry him away from you. He only melted into your hostile touch, one of his hands remaining on your ankle while the other found your hip, keeping you still and pliable as his attention dipped lower, the flat of his tongue pushing broad patterns into your entrance as the bridge of his nose ground lazily against your clit. “Love you,” he mumbled, his voice little more than a throaty, ragged murmur – almost too deep to be audible and constantly interrupted by the sound of your slick on his lips, on his tongue. You wished he wouldn’t talk. You wished he wouldn’t pretend to love you. You wished he wouldn’t force you to do the same. “You’re so—so pretty, and so perfect, and—”

A guttural moan cut him off, and his attention shifted, his head lulling back just far enough to stare up at you with eyes so soft and so tender, you could almost forget he was humping your leg like a bitch in heat. You were suddenly aware of your own distraught expression – all grit teeth and misty eyes, misery and pleasure flooding through your veins in tandem. You wanted to ask him not to look at you. You needed to ask him to stop, but—

You felt a frigid ache in your left wrist – the wrist he’d kept shackled to the bedpost for the first three weeks of your kidnapping. You tried to open your mouth, but your tongue was deathly dry, your throat stuffed with cotton, the feeling not entirely unsimilar to the residue left behind by the velvet gags he used to shove in your mouth when you didn’t want to lay there and let him break you. You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything as he let out a final, primal groan – as you felt something thick and hot soak through the fabric of his dress pants and into your ridiculous, childish socks. He whined into your cunt, fingers burrowing into your waist as he dragged you that much closer to his mouth. His tongue fucked shallowly into your cunt, and a whine caught in your throat as your vision burnt white, as you came unwillingly on his tongue.

You couldn’t do it, anymore. With his hand still on your hip, his cum still searing into the sole of your foot, you collapsed. Nanami caught you before you hit the ground, and you hated him for it. You wished he’d let you crumble to the tile floor, wished he’d just watch and laugh as you curled into a ball and stayed there for the rest of the night, the rest of the week. You wished he’d—

Oh, god, you’d made yourself cry. Nanami let out a breathy chuckle as you sniffled and tried not to wail, kissing your tear-stained cheeks with a gentleness you couldn’t seem to link to the man who’d just cum to a pair of socks. “It’s alright, angel. You can let it out.” Another kiss, this one to your forehead. “Too much?”

You nodded, burying your face in his shoulder. You felt his arms wrap around you, keeping your body pressed into his chest as he pushed himself to his feet. There were a few seconds of quiet, unthinking solace before he lowered you onto your shared bed – a pair of shackles still hanging, unlocked and waiting, from the headboard. Immediately, you scrambled for the nearest pillow, burying your face in the plush material and sobbing openly. Nanami’s comfort came in the form of a wry grin, a pair of hands on your hips, turning you onto your stomach and starting on the buttons of your dress.

As he settled between your legs, his calloused fingertips skirting over your bare skin, you couldn’t help but wonder if the shackles had really been so bad.

[yandere-wishes]

˚｡✮ Yandere! Darth Vader {Anakin Skywalker} x Apprentice Reader

˚｡✮ Bad, bad news, One of us is gonna lose I'm the powder, you're the fuse, Just add some friction, You are my strange addiction

˚｡✮ We've talked about Yandere! Anakin Skywalker falling for Padawan! Reader... But what about Vader falling for his acolyte/apprentice?

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ★⋆.˚

Vader isn't nurturing.

It feels almost sacrilegious to entertain the thought.

That's why it's so troubling when the galactic empire's staff take note of a smaller morbid figure trailing after the ebony monstrosity.

I can see there being many interesting scenarios in which Vader would pick an acolyte. The most heartwrenching and particularly curious case would be if his acolyte used to also be Anakin Skywalker's Padawan.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader searching for you across the galaxy. He feels your force signature reverberating inside him, calls out to it, tries to bind and morph it. A sardonic love letter he pens with rage and perplexion. Still, you always slip away. He keeps your hunt a secret, some ancient wound that's never healed right. The swing of your saber still haunts him, your satisfied grin as you land a blow on him. The force works in mysterious ways and Vader's desperation can't fully be reasoned. He's given up everything that Anakin once had. Forgone to an almost spiritual level. But you are the one pesky thing that still lingers. He likes to think that it's because he knows your true power. That you're a threat as long as you live.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader finally, finally finding you. Mesmerized by how much you've grown. You're rugged, wild. Some strange creature wearing the skin of the girl he once loved. You don't hesitate to attack, and Vader signs it off as a blessing. He needs a reason to hurt you, to drag you back kicking and screaming. He needs an excuse to push his fury between your bones and drown you in his sorrows. He needs revenge in the worst way.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader winning because of course he does. He leaves you bruised and broken, bleeding on the soft grassy ground. Your eyes are so beautiful when they're filled with terror. Your voice melodic as you scream in agony as his saber severs your leg and arm. Vengeance, Vengeance, Vengeance. You left him, left him to face Obi-wan alone, left him to be mutilated and disfigured.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader only coming to terms with who he is, and what he is as he's watching the medical droids repair your body. He can never escape Anakin, cause that's who he still is. Anakin hasn't died just grown. He's no longer the kid with a schoolboy crush on his pupil and supernovas under his tongue. He's swallowed the burning stars, let their fires and explosions paint him in shades darker than the nights on Tatooine. He runs a cybernetic hand across your head, feeling you for the first time in forever.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader training you once more. It's been months since your capture, months of brutal and tender torture. He's ripped you apart and rearranged you so meticulously. Picking favored parts to hem and sew with a buzzing red needle and dark doctrines. Only when Vader notes the red-rimmed golden shift flicker across your eyes does he know he's truly won. Your connection to the light is nearly completely severed. Your past is left to rot on the green planet. What stares back at him from the corners of the dark, damp cell is a creature forged of hate and malice. A sith in every way.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader only ever happy when he's with you. He's finally free to train you as he pleases, to touch you as he pleases, to kiss you as he pleases. He's taken you to ice worlds to bleed kyber crystals and to Mustafar to forge your new armor. He kisses you on a battlefield littered with the corpses of dead resistance soldiers. Metal clancks against metal all wretched sinister love. You're beginning to love this new master, he's everything Anakin had repressed, he's everything you have always feared. But the thing you must realize about fickle fears is that once you fall in love with them, you begin to lose yourself.

˚｡✮ Imagine Pulling up Vader's mask and kissing the burns across his face. Your kisses are laced with such passion and hate he feels like he's drowning in lava once more. He's brutal in the way he handles you, each touch leaving a plethora of bruises, singing I love you. You like the way each training session starts with a deep all-consuming kiss and ends with him using the force to smash your head into the ground as you laugh and laugh. His force signature is different now, you like the way it slithers across your body, all fire and pain, all destruction. Love the pain that comes with him, this grisly bloody love affair that makes the stars shutter.

The staff of the galactic empire, Find the little midnight creature all too bizarre.

She trails after their commander with vicious playful skips and plays uno with their lives. She twirls around the galaxy's most feared as if she's playing hopscotch.

The staff of the galactic empire doesn't know whether to feel pity or terror...

I think about how at the beginning of being Vader, Anakin was so quick to reject who he once was. Trying desperately to kill off any semblance of Anakin. But by the time of the Original Trilogy, he's sort of come to terms with who he is and who he once was. Anakin isn't really dead he's just grown stronger now, and in a strange way, he even seems to embrace his past as a Jedi, wearing it as - a not so obvious- badge of pride.

[eyelessfaces]

apology

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: miguel hasn’t come home in weeks. he tries to make it up to you.

warnings: smut, porn with minimal plot, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, a bit of angst, we're a bit mean to miguel because we're mad at him

tags: f!reader, sub!miguel (hell yeah), we make miguel suffer (sorry bb)

word count: 1k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

Miguel hadn’t come home in weeks, and it was with a guilty pinched smile and a bouquet of flowers that he reappeared at your doorstep. 

When you first saw him, you wanted to take the flowers from his hands and slam the door right in front of his face, but you knew that he certainly had a good reason and excuse to have done what he had done. 

He didn’t tell you much about it; you figured it was more about his spiderman activities than about his work, because he rarely told you about the spider stuff, wanting to keep you as far away from it as possible. You were sometimes mad that he wouldn’t tell you anything about it, but he kept on insisting that it was for your own good, that you shouldn’t get too close to it. He had already paid the price.

He apologized, apologized and apologized about not coming back for so long. You told him that it was fine, but he knew it wasn’t, he knew that you were hurt, he saw how you wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

He didn’t need this; he didn’t need you to hate him, it might be even worse and scarier than every universe collapsing.

He owed you an apology, a real one. He didn’t know if what he had in mind could work, but he could try.

Which was why he found himself with your thighs caging his face, your hand tightly gripping his hair. He sometimes got carried away, kissing and biting at your thighs while he repeated that he was sorry, over and over again, before you tugged his hair into diving back into eating you out like it was the last time he did it.

If you repressed your moans to let him know that you were still mad, he was doing all the contrary. He deeply enjoyed this, and he wanted you to know it. If he could spend the whole night between your thighs he would, and even though his crotch ached for some friction, all that mattered to him at that moment was you and your pleasure.

He mouthed at your pussy as if he was making out with it; licking long, slow and languid stripes through your folds, gathering your slick over his tongue as if it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. 

He pulled away to kiss the inside of your thighs, and just as you were about to scold him for it, he left a kiss at your clit before gently curling the tip of his tongue around it, making a strangled moan leave your mouth. 

He smugly smiled at your reaction but quickly got back to work; he actually thought of something better, and pulled away, making you groan at the loss.

He laid down on the bed and pulled you on top of him so you could straddle his chest, and you huffed out a laugh when he started to beg you to sit on his face, pulling your hips higher up his body so you could use him as you wished.

“Use me baby, I deserve to be used”

And it was a good idea, you had to admit. You could control it all now, grinding onto his face as if he was just an object. His nails were digging into the meat of your thighs, marking crescents into your skin as he hummed against you, his broad hands then shifting to your ass so he could knead the tender flesh, pushing you even lower onto his face. You even wondered how he could breathe, but your concern quickly flew out the window when his nose rubbed against your clit. 

Your hand had unconsciously fisted onto his hair to hold him in place as you rocked yourself harder against his tongue, fucking it until you lost your mind; you pulled away and straddled his chest just as you were about to come, leaving him confused and wondering as he caught his breath, the lower half of his face drenched in your juices. 

He licked his lips clean, looking up at you with half lidded eyes, so fucking pussy drunk. He sounded so gone when he asked you why you pulled away, but he looked even more gone as you got rid of his pants and explained that you wanted to come on his cock but that he wouldn’t get to come.

He let out a small whimper when you lowered yourself onto him, his hands finding and gripping your hips in a bruising hold. 

You bounced on him at an unforgiving pace; his head was thrown back into the pillows as he let out small moans, trying to contain himself.

You leaned onto him and kissed his neck, softly biting at the warm skin before repositioning and putting your hands over his chest, his muscles softly twitching under your touch, your soft moans driving him even crazier.

You were close, you knew it, and so did he. He watched down to where you were connected and bit on his bottom lip as he guided your hips up and down, your rocking more languid as you tried to reach your peak. You felt him twitch inside of you and reminded him not to come, and he responded with a small wail as he nodded, still biting hard on his bottom lip, the poor skin almost bleeding.

You came with a silent cry, his hips snapping up into you and burying himself even deeper as he worked you through your orgasm, focusing on every muscle of his body to try not to come as you rode out your high on his lap, his own about to tip over the edge. 

He whined as you climbed off of him, his orgasm stolen away from him, just as you had promised. 

You watched with awe and a sly smirk as his body stiffened, his cock twitching desperately in front of you, his hands pawing at the bedsheets in frustration. 

You smirked proudly, putting a hand at his cheek before kissing his lips then his forehead, his eyes shutting tight.

"Look at you baby" you cooed, looking down at your hand softly stroking his thigh to tease him even more, so damn close to where he needed you. “Maybe I'm a bit less mad at you.”

—

please give me feedback if you liked this, I appreciate every single comment and they motivate me to keep going!!

masterlist | taglist | ao3

spiderman 2099 taglist: @bubuslutty @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @cocodiem @pedropascalsidechick @spxctorsslxt @roxannarichie @vicolangelo @amb3rrz @inluvvwithme @friedwings @chaotic-neon-sign @foxglove-grove @ilovemiguelohara @pandq707 @gobblegluckgluckgod @weasleybuns @midgardian-witch @daemontqrg

[missmeinyourbones]

we NEED "i'm just too soft for all of it." IWHT MEGUMI PLS IM BEGGING

I'M JUST TOO SOFT FOR ALL OF IT (m. fushiguro)

a/n: me making up medical shit LMFAO, repressed and emotionally constipated megumi, deadbeat dad t*ji, slight mentions and undertones of toxic masculinity

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Since he was four years old and still growing into his long-sleeved sweaters, Megumi has learned to heal his own wounds or almost die trying.

A routine that he now knows like the back of his hand, he'd returned from his latest mission with weeping cuts and exhaustion clear beneath his eyes, making a point to stop at the medical closet before returning to his dorm. With Shoko's workday over, he makes a mental note to visit her first thing in the morning when he wakes. 

He can make it through the night, he always does. Because Megumi is a thinker. He plans until he can't and covers all bases for when they're stolen. He gets by. 

What he didn't take into account was potentially running into you, of all people. Dormitory halls barren and almost eerie, he nearly curses himself for brushing shoulders as you turn the corner on the way back to your own room. 

Your timing has always been wrong, or maybe it's right and Megumi can't differentiate between the two. 

And now he's here, on the creaky wooden floor of the medicinal closet, with you kneeling beside him and prodding at his injuries with tender wrists. 

Never one to be good with idle hands, Megumi fidgets and tries to brush at the dried blood on his shoulder. The action has both of you hissing—him in a jolt of pain and you in reaction to his hurt. 

"Don't touch it," your voice falters to be stern, still coming out so gently. Megumi thinks about the irony of that—of how you can't even be sharp if you tried. You're too gentle, too soft to even sound hard momentarily. 

Humiliated at the mere idea of doing nothing, at needing help, he shakily exhales and returns his attention to the floor. 

When the damp cotton pad in your hand touches a bit too deep in one of his cuts, Megumi does his best to save face but can't help the grunt of breath that gets sucked into his lungs. 

Immediately, he feels you retract from his skin and coo your apologies. Carefully returning your attention to the burning wound, you do your best to soothe him. 

"Sorry, it's deeper than it looks. Almost over."

Megumi's response is quick and curt, like a cut of its own, "It's fine."

You nod hesitantly before grabbing the bottle of antiseptic and another clean cotton round. The cleaning of his wounds continues in silence, though your thoughts are louder than anything. 

His injuries vary in size. Some deeper, fresher, than others. Some looking like one-hit victims and others a repeated attack. You do your best to take note of where he's sensitive, where he's hurting the most. 

When you reach a certain scratch on his bicep, you're able to catch a glimpse of his face. Sweat beading on his forehead and damp hair sticking to his skin, Megumi bites the collar of his uniform to suppress any kind of noise (weakness) from you. 

When he slips up and lets out a guttural muffled groan, you think you might audibly whimper yourself. 

"You can yell if you want to," you try to help him in any way you can, "or squeeze my hand or—"

"I'm fine," Megumi attempts to bark again, but this time is different. It's not cold or sharp like it was last time. You can hear how it shakes against the echos of the closet, how it sounds like the burn of tears building in a sore throat.

And between the pain everywhere he still has feeling and the intimacy of you carefully caressing him, Megumi finds himself tearing up. 

"Hey," he feels you whisper, attempting to caress his jaw and prompt him to look at you, "hey, you okay?"

He can't find it in himself to answer nor lift his head, so he sniffles like a kicked child and crinkles his nose in disgust at his own pathetic actions.

Megumi is tough, one of the toughest people you know. You've seen him more beat up than this and barely break a sweat. Your head feels light at the realization that something's wrong. He shouldn't be in this much pain from the familiar burning of antiseptic he's felt a dozen times over. Maybe it's from a cursed weapon, or a technique where—

A stifled sob cuts you off.  

Like a glass cracking beneath pressure, you feel something inside you break. No longer caring about cleaning his cuts or avoiding sensitive areas, you can't stop yourself from wrapping around his hunched frame. 

Megumi's breath hitches as you hold him, feels your hair tickling his neck when you rub his back and whisper.

"I'm sorry, I know, but you're doing so good, okay? And I'm almost done—"

"Don't do that," he bites. 

Assuming he's referring to prodding at a specific wound, you flinch and loosen your grip, "Do what?"

"Talk to me like that," he snarls with a crack, "in that—voice."

He feels your head remove its weight from his shoulder slowly, "Why?"

"Because I can't—" Megumi's voice almost breaks before he whines, gritting his teeth when he whimpers, "I can't handle it."

And just like that, Megumi is four years old again. He's scraping his knee on the concrete of his front lawn, and a blurry father-shaped figure with dark hair and legs far too tall tells him to be a man. Not being old enough to use the stove without supervision, but still knowing enough to save his cries for his pillow when Tsumiki is snoring and can't overthink his tears. He thinks of Gojo—of the first time he broke down in front of him and was met with whispers of good intent and love that registered in his brain as pity. Humiliation.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels your fingertips on his wet cheeks, replacing the stinging of antiseptic with a fluttering and velvety touch. 

Between sniffled strings of apologies and a few hiccups of words that don't quite make sense, you piece together that Megumi isn't crying because he's in pain. He's crying because he can, because you're helping him in a way he never asked for, let alone known. 

"I've never...been allowed to, like, feel—"

"Hey," you're soft again, as if you ever weren't. "I know," fingers delicately brush his sticky eyelashes when you remind him, "but you are now."

"Are what?"

"Allowed," you whisper against his cheek, "to feel however you want when you're around me."

And Megumi doesn't know how you do it. How you remain a light in a world that's constantly doing all it can to kick you while you're down. Maybe you're just naive, so stupidly optimistic that it'll eventually be your own demise. Maybe.

But, Megumi can't find himself to care, because he knows that for as long as he's on this earth, he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to that light of yours. 

Back to reality and rubbing at his stinging eyes, Megumi softly scoffs. "Y'know, sometimes you look at me with those stupid eyes and I don't know what happens, but I almost feel sick."

Your laughter tastes like water, "I know what you mean. But in a good way though, right?"

"Yeah," he nods, "in a good way."

When Megumi's back finally hits his mattress at an ungodly hour of the morning—something he's been dreaming of since he'd left it hours ago—he's sickeningly sore and his eyes burn with hypersensitivity. He lets himself close his eyes thinking of your hands, the ones that soaked his now scabbing wounds and wiped his watery eyes. 

Megumi plans, sure, but he never could have prepared for you. 

[writtenbymoonflower]

hi you gorgeous gorgeous ray of sunshine i hope your day is majestic and awesome <3

I come bearing a request hehe

So can i please get a poly!marauders x fem reader where she has alot of work or something to get done lately and its just sucking the absolute lights out of her (uni is beating me up help) and she os sort of just dimmed and out of it and one of them asks her if she is okay and she just breaks down and they comfort her like the sweet loving boys they are (just cuddles and fluff to save my day pls) THANK YOUU

sorry this is so late gorgeous! i hope things are better now!

cw: anxiety attack fluff, stress

924 words

Despite your best efforts, you knew that you weren’t any fun right now. It felt like you were a black hole, sucking all of the joy out of the room with no end in sight. It made you feel horrible, especially since you were surrounded with copious amounts of love and affection. Way more than you could ever hope to ask for, and for some reason, you couldn’t allow yourself to fully appreciate it. You were trying your best, but every attempt at levity didn’t feel quite right. You could see it in your boyfriends faces too, and though they were gracious enough not to comment on it, you knew they desperately wanted to. You even noticed James placating Sirius earlier when he recounted a funny story and your laugh came out awkwardly pitched. 

You were now attempting to relax, but your muscles refused to un-tense. You were laid on the couch, curled tightly into a ball with your head on Sirius’ lap and your legs pressed against Remus’ thigh, James’ laughter ringing in your ears. You resisted the urge to shift around in discomfort, hoping that the more content you appeared the less distraught you would feel. It wasn’t working very well, if the burning sensation welling in your eyes was any sign of that. You squeezed them shut in hopes it would help. You flinched as cold fingers brushed over your face unexpectedly. 

“You okay, babydoll?” Sirius’ voice was hushed and terribly gentle in the way it was when he’s feeling particularly tender. You nodded a little too aggressively to be believable. He cupped your cheek with his hand, the cool feeling of his palm over your heated face being a little too comforting. A crease appeared between your eyebrows and he made a worried cooing sound. 

“What’s going on?” James turned the TV down. You were being watched and inspected and you hated it. You covered your face as the first sob escaped before you could repress it. 

“Shit, baby.” Sirius stiffened. Remus’ large hands pulled yours away from your face. You held your breath to refrain from sobbing, your shoulders shaking. 

“What’s wrong, lovie? Are you hurt?” James sounded panicked. You hated that you were doing this to him. You shook your head. “What’s happened?” 

“I- I don’t know.” You hiccupped. Your lungs were expanding and contracting rapidly. 

“It’s okay, lovely. Can you breathe for me?” Remus pulled you off of Sirius and onto himself. Usually you would hear a slew of protests from the raven-haired boy, but he was panicked enough to stay silent. You landed face down in Remus’ lap as he rubbed between your shoulder blades. You tried to breathe deeper but when you did you just cried harder. 

“I’m fine. J- just give me a second.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing yourself or the boys. 

“It's okay, baby dove. Just let it out.” Remus said softly. You felt James rubbing your head. All the tenderness was too much and you cried harder. You knew you were wetting Remus’ pajama bottoms with tears and snot, but you were too distraught to care. Slowly, your sobs slowed into quiet sniffles and hiccups, and you wiped your wet face, much too harshly for James’ preference. 

“How’re we doing, sweet girl?” Sirius rubbed your calf tentatively. 

“Better.” You said, still choked. “Sorry about that. I don’t know why that happened.”

“Don’t apologize, dovey.” Remus helped you to sit up. “Just take a minute.” You nodded, feeling lightheaded. James passed you a glass of water with a kiss on your damp cheek. You drank it fast, handing the empty cup back. 

“Do you need anything else?” Sirius turned your face to wipe your cheeks again. 

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.” You said, feeling awkward. 

“You don’t have to thank us, baby.” James reached over Remus to grab your hand. “We just want to help, if you’ll let us.”

“I don’t know if you can.” You sighed. 

“Try us.” Sirius said, bordering on challenging. Remus reached his long arm along the back of the couch to squeeze his shoulder in a way that said ‘settle down.’

“I think we can find a way." Remus took a more gentle approach. "You can start by telling us what’s going through that head of yours.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“I think that would help.” James said, not giving you time to respond. “We don’t want to force you, but it’s only going to hurt you to keep things inside, lovie.” His eyes were soft and open behind his glasses. It made you feel like you could cry again. 

“There’s nothing huge to talk about, though.” You shrugged. “I think it’s just a bunch of little things, you know?” 

“Well then maybe,” Sirius stage-whispered as if he was spreading classified information. “You can tell us the little things when they come up, before it gets this bad. You couldn’t argue with that. 

“That might help.” You looked down at your hands. “But don’t complain when I start whining over miniscule things.” Remus raised his eyebrows at you. 

“Have you been dating the same Sirius I have?” He grinned and Sirius squawked. You giggled. 

“You’re lucky that I’m more happy about her laughing than I’m mad at that comment.” He crossed his arms and pouted. You laid back down in his lap and smiled up at him. 

“I don’t mind your complaining.” You reached up to touch his face comfortingly. He still scowled.

“At least I’ll have a bitching buddy.” He huffed. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All I Want For Christmas is You

Warnings: non/dubcon, titty fucking, nipple clamps, butt plug, allusions to abuse, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You're a good girl for Christmas.

Character: Ransom Drysdale

Day Two of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - you have to behave if you want your present.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The pinch makes you hiss as you repress the squeak in your throat. The metal bites into your breast, latched onto your tender bud. Ransom opens the other and clamps it into place and you blow out another willowy breath. 

"Now, you gonna be a good girl for me?" He steps back and puts his hands on his hips, tilting his head as he takes in your naked figure. 

"Yes, sir." You murmur as you twiddle your finger, itching to tear off the nipple clamps. 

"Hmm, just to be safe," he turns and goes to the night stand. "Bend over for me, baby, let me see the peach." 

You suppress the ripple of humiliation and turn your back to him. You put your head down and stare at your pedicure. You bend and extend your fingertips to the floor to balance yourself. 

He approaches you and slaps your ass. You expect that, he can never keep his hands to himself, yet the sting makes you gasp. He digs his nails in and growls. 

"Goddamn, almost wanna skip dinner and stay home and eat dessert," he purrs and carresses your hot flesh. He gets close to your crack and tuts, "mm, good job, baby." 

You close your eyes as another tide of shame crests. The day before you spent making sure you were perfect. From head to toe. No hair, no blemishes, nothing. Masks, wax, tweezers, lotions, balms... it's all too much yet for the Thrombey heir, there's never enough. 

The cap of the bottle clicks and a coolness dribbles down your crack. He follows the trickle with his thick finger and smears it around your puckered hole. You contract against his touch and he chuckles. 

He backs away and returns to the drawer. You listen to his footsteps, so familiar with the noise of his movement that you know exactly where he is without looking. He comes back to you, another strike across your ass. You tighten again. 

He hums and slips something hard and smooth between your cheeks. He wiggles the tip along your ring and you suck in a chestful of air. You brace yourself for the intrusion. 

"You don't loosen up, and you're going to be crying at the table," he chortles and pushes the tip into you. 

You try to ease your muscles but it only makes you tense. The clamps, the plug, the thought of sitting through the family dinner, it's all a bit much. He dip the silicon into you until you're stretched to your limit. The lube slightly soothes even as the hot pain pulses. 

You close around the stem and let out a thigh. He rubs the bejeweled end of the plug and wiggles it until you whine. He lets his fingers wander down and tickles your lips, delving between to feel the wet betrayal of your body. 

"You have to behave if you want your present," he prods your entrance, "you get me, baby girl?" 

"Yes, sir," you answer. 

He pushes as if he might go further then thinks better of it. He pulls away and drones. He turns and struts away as you open your eyes and watch his lazy steps around your legs. 

"Stand up, get dressed," he commands as he spins and flops on the bed. "My mom will kill me if I'm late again." 

🎁

"Your grandfather says your imprint is looking for new writers. Still," Linda interrogates Ransom as he curls his fingers into your hip. He keeps you close, almost like a shield as he navigates the room of his relatives. He's as tense as if they were strangers, as they are to you. "How much time have you been spending with this... girlfriend?" She eyes you up and down. "You should be focused on work." 

He digs his nails into you, through the red satin of the dress he chose for you. 

"Imprints making a profit, even if we do need some authors," Ransom argues. "You can ask grandfather about our last budget report. You know he goes on about numbers, but he's always so hung up on the names." 

"Well, you wouldn't have much to publish without writers," Linda reprimands. 

He pinches the fabric as his frustration locks up his grip. He tugs at the satin and it brushes against your chest, the clamps you try not to think of even as they bite into you. You're certain everyone's noticed the pertness made obvious by your braless states. Anther of Ransom's demands. No bra, no panties. It's like he wants you to take the attention away from him. You almost can't blame him despite your embarrassment. 

“If grandfather thinks I’m not doing my job, we both know he’ll get rid of me,” Ransom huffs. “Merry Christmas to you too, mom.” 

“I’m not trying to be mean, just realistic.” She shoots you another sharp look. “You can’t be wasting your time on woman you mean to do nothing with.” 

You bristle. You’re not one for confrontation, you think that might be why Ransom keeps you around, but you’re irked to be spoken of as if you are some lifeless doll without an ounce of free will. Maybe that is what you are. Maybe that’s what he’s made you. 

“You know nothing about my intentions,” Ransom sneers. “I’m going to find my dad.” 

“Good luck,” she scoffs. “Oh, and sweetie,” she steps closer and pulls your dress strap across your shoulder before it can fall, “it’s much too cold for satin.” 

Ransom unhooks his arm from around you and takes your hand instead. He grumbles and tugs you away from his mother as she puts her lips to her crystal glass of mulled cider. You’re all too happy to get away from her. 

“Fuck it,” he growls under his breath. 

You expect him to guide you towards the cluster of figures awash in the rustic glow of the fireplace. Instead, he sidles you through the archway to your left and past the wide-mouthed staircase. He snakes around the banister and ushers you into a door just behind. 

He lets you go with another sigh. He shuts the door and leans against it. You stand patiently, shifting your weight on the pencil thin heels. He tilts his head back as he closes his eyes. 

You know better than to break the silence. He takes a deep breath as his nostrils flare and he lets it out slowly. He sets his head straight and flicks his lashes open. His eyes creep up and down your body. He smirks. 

“Baby, you’ve been so good to me, haven’t you?” He drawls. “Look at you, so sweet for me.” 

“Yes, sir,” you push your hands behind you and clasp them tight. 

“God, you’re such a slut,” he pushes away from the door and comes close. “Look at you,” he covers your tits with his hands and kneads, causing the clamps to pinch harder. You whimper and teeter on your toes. “Walking around like this. Everyone can see you, you know? They see what’s mine and they know better than to touch it.” 

He tweaks the clamps and you whine. You pout as you look down as he trails his touch down your stomach. He steps flush to you and loops his arm around you. He pushes against the satin and forces it between your cheeks until he touches the hard jewel of the plug. 

“Fuck,” he grits as the plug twitches as you clench. “You are so fucking dirty.” 

You bring your hands to his biceps, resting them lightly on his bulging sleeves, and force a purr from your throat. You don’t like it but he does. He loves to talk to you like that even though he’s the only one. The first one. 

“Do you want your present now, baby?” He asks. 

You bat your lashes and nod. You won’t deny him anything. Just the thought inspires the vision of spit flying and eyes blazing, the angry roar of his displeasure, the fiery lash of his palm. 

“Alright, baby, you gotta get on your knees,” he says. “And beg me for it.” 

You hesitate, for a split second, and pray it isn’t long enough for him to notice. You drag your hands down his arms as you lower yourself to one knee then angle the other under you. You drop your hands to your thighs and look up at him. 

“Please, sir, may I have my present now?” You ask politely. 

“Hm, why should you get that?” He challenges. 

“Because sir, I’ve been a good girl for you,” you say. 

He grins and grips his hips, poking his tongue out devilishly. “And how have you been a good girl?” 

“Sir, my hole is plugged just like you want it and my nipples are swollen and tender for you.” 

He snickers and hums. “Fuck, but you’re a bad girl, aren’t you? You got me hard and hurting.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say. 

“Baby, you know what else makes you a bad girl?” You shake your head as he watches you with a menacing gleam. “You’re not naked for me.” 

You swiftly grab the straps of your dress and pull them down your shoulders and arms. You free your wrists and shimmy the satin down past your waist until it pools around your knees. You stare up at him, completely exposed. 

“Fuck, I love those tits,” he slither. “Baby, you can have your present,” he looks down and pushes his pelvis out. His pants tent around his arousal. “Go ahead and unwrap it.” 

You obey. You unbuckle his belt and daintily unbutton his fly. He squirms and groans as you brush the front of his pants with your hands and as you undo his zipper, he shudders. 

You roll his pants down his thighs, then his boxers. You angle his tip past the elastic and he stands rigid above, bobbing just slightly. You look at it, almost crossed-eyed. 

You don’t weight for his command. You grab onto him and pump him. He groans but leans away from you. He tisks. 

“No, no,” he says. “Push your tits together.” 

You gently cup your tits and swallow a moan at the tenderness pinpointed in your nipples. You crush them together so they bulge as he moves around. He drags a chair around and sits in front of you. He grabs your head and urges you closer. 

He beckons you with his other hand, flicking two fingers. You walk on your knees until you’re between him. He pushes his tip down then aims it up between your cleavage until he pops up above the swell of your chest. 

His swollen head hits your chin and he laughs again. He clutches your hair in his fist and forces you to bend your neck. As he thrusts again, he taps your lips. You know what he wants without him saying it.  

You open your lips and take him in. He groans and he shoves you down his length, halfway until you meet the top of your tits. He pulls you back so you pop off then rams you down again. He does it again and again. Pushing you onto his dick then drag you off just as quickly. 

As your lips part, saliva drips out and strings between your mouth and his glistening head. You puff out shallow breaths as he uses you like a toy. He curves his hand under your chin and slides to the edge of the chair. 

“Look at me, baby,” he demands. 

Your eyes flick up as he invades your mouth again. He smirks as he shoves you down then lifts you up again. The noise of your mouth sucking then popping off fills the space beneath his sultry groans. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he rasps and holds you down on him. “I’m about to fill you all up with your present, you ready?” 

He keeps your head still, pumping his hips instead. The friction between your tits and the wetness of your mouth riles him. You taste the saltiness mingling with your spit. You know, even before he grunts that he’s there. 

He spills into you, fucking through his climax as he whines in relief. You gulp him down and purr in faux delight. You don’t have to be happy, you just have to pretend enough to keep him nice. 

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart (Chapter 24) Human Alastor x Reader

CW: Angst, sexual repression, time period appropriate purity culture and laws, and a little bit of murder Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

You stood in your kitchen, at the window watching Alastor’s back as he walked through the dark backyard. The bright moonlight shone off his hair. It lit his smile as he turned and waved a final goodbye to you, taking your heart and every single good thing in your life with him. 

The night had been a dream. The memories alone left your mind reeling. Your body felt like it was still buzzing with the ghost of his hands and lips on bare skin. When you closed your eyes, you could pretend you were still there with him. 

As he disappeared into the forest behind your house, you took a deep breath and lit a lantern before extinguishing the gaslights in the kitchen. You had expected the darkness to steal away the energy running through your veins, but it did nothing of the sort. The house was silent as you took your time, checking that the doors were locked before making your way up the stairs. 

It felt like electricity was running through your body, buzzing with every step you took. You paused in the doorway of your bedroom, looking long and hard at the bed you had spent nearly every night in since the day you had wed before turning away.

Not yet. Not this soon after being with him. 

Numb legs carried you to the bathroom, where you started a bath. Being in this house again, it was slowly leaching all the light and life from you. Had it always done that? You didn’t know. 

What you knew was that Laurence wasn’t here to yell at you for staying up into the night, so there was no reason not to take a bath. The water seemed to roar as it filled the basin, drowning out your thoughts as you selected a nightgown. Feelings and thoughts swam in your head, battling for your attention as you did everything you could to avoid catching sight of your wedding ring. 

At first you grabbed the same boring slip style sleeping gown you would usually wear, but your hand lingered, hesitating over the shoulder of the dress. Laurence wasn’t here… but if you wore something pretty, maybe you could pretend Alastor was. 

Alastor. 

He never left your thoughts as you let your homely dress fall down your body. As long as you remembered him, thought of him, you could almost reach out and touch the warmth he brought with him. 

He haunted your thoughts, bright smile and soft eyes looking back at you from inside your mind as you slipped into the water. He had been true to his word; he hadn’t hurt you. Yet, the loneliness you felt now plagued you. The absence of him now stabbed you, hurt you. 

The warm water swirled around you as you san into it, soothing the still tender muscles and aches from the hands of your husband. That wasn’t enough to distract you from the way it had felt to lie against Alastor’s chest, his lips and hands on you as you reclined against the side of the tub. 

Your hand snaked down your body, under the water, as you tentatively felt yourself in a way that you never had before. Alarm bells and shame sounded through your mind, deafening everything as your fingers caressed the soft skin that until now you had largely left unexplored. 

No, it was wrong. It was wrong to touch yourself, and it was wrong to let another man touch you. Pressure built in your chest, crushing your lungs as your eyes burned. Water sloshed as you lunged forward, sitting up. Hairs yanked from your scalp as you thrust your fingers through your hair, cradling your head as you gasped for air. 

You had betrayed your marriage. You were in love with another man. If anyone had found out, you would be a divorcee, shunned by society and your own family at best, at worst... 

There was no way Laurence would look the other way, even if he had his own mistress on the side. 

Would your family take you in after you disgraced your husband, yourself, and them? Or would Laurence see to it that you were prosecuted and thrown in jail for your crimes? What would come of Alastor if anyone found out?

Usually it was women who were thrown to the wolves in the case of affairs. Society saw things clearly, assigned blame unforgivingly. It was their fault their husbands strayed from the marriage bed and it was their fault they stepped out of their marriage. 

In cases with a man such as Alastor… his delicate reputation would be in tatters. He had worked so hard to get where he was, to make himself into the man he was against all the odds. He had done everything he could to make the late mother he loved so much proud of him. You had seen firsthand how proud he was of what he had accomplished. 

Bitter tears slipped down your cheeks as you dunked under the water. Fighting the urge for air, you stayed below the surface until your lungs burned and ached as much as your heart. It didn’t feel like enough punishment for the crimes you had done. It didn’t feel like enough for what risk you had caused Alastor to take. 

You surfaced with a broken heart and a decision made, though that did nothing to stop the tears raining down into your bathwater. 

You would write Alastor a note tonight and slip it into the tree. You owed him that much, but then you wouldn’t see him again. There would be no more clandestine meetings. There would be no more sweet kisses that left you gasping. There would be no more longing in the moments of peace. 

You needed to end things. It had to stop before it drove you to insanity, before wanting him drove you insane. 

You would be loyal to your husband, regardless of if he was to you. You would see to it that your housework was done. Meals would be cooked, you’d smile and do his laundry. If you could fall in love with a stranger, surely you could learn to love your husband if you made the choice to.

Right?

Alastor stood, tucked just behind the tree, as he watched you through your kitchen window. Anger burned in him as he clinched the note in his fist, lost as to where he had gone wrong. Inside, you handed the disgusting pig you called a husband a mug of coffee. 

It should have been him. It was him you should hand coffee to, smiling so sweetly. Laurence didn’t appreciate the way you cared for the home or for him. Laurence hardly looked up at you as you put a plate of food in front of him. 

Laurence took you for granted. 

What had gone wrong? Why did you no longer want him? Where was his mistake? Where had he stepped wrong?

The muscle in Alastor’s jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. Inside, you leaned in and kissed your husband on the cheek.

What had he done wrong? 

Susan hadn’t seen you but Alastor had. He saw you take your ripped dresses to a different tailor. The shop was subpar, not nearly able to produce the quality of work Susan did. He saw you take a bus to a market further away to do your shopping. 

You were avoiding him. 

His notes went unread, stacking up in the little hole under the tree as a week passed and the summer heat pushed out the warmth of spring. Not seeing you bothered him more than an itch he could not reach to scratch. 

Too many nights he had spent in the canopy of the apple tree, watching as you tried and failed to please your husband. Alastor would sit, watching, while he cleaned the blood from his knife. 

He needed to slow down. He had taken two lives in the last week alone. If he wasn’t careful, he would get sloppy, and it was your fault. You were driving him to this. 

He needed answers and though he didn’t want to admit it; he knew where he needed to start. 

“What’s on your mind, handsome?” Mimzy passed Alastor a glass half full of amber liquid as she took a seat next to him. She watched as the muscle in his jaw jumped, telling her all she needed to know about his feelings, about the way Laurence laughed on the other end of the bar. 

“Feelings.” He spat out, downing the drink in a smoothe, quick gulp.

“Oh?” she said carefully. “What kinda feelings?” 

“You know,” Alastor’s eyes flicked to Laurence, giving a look that Mimzy was almost expecting to stop the other man’s heart in his chest before they returned to her, softer. “The little Dear I’ve been running around with?” 

“Aye, your bit of entertainment. What about her?” Mimzy knew this was a conversation she needed to play carefully, holding her cards close. Whatever this was about, if she stepped wrong, it would likely break the foundation of their friendship. “She catch feelings for you? I can’t say I blame the girl.” 

“Worse,” Alastor said, as the bartender poured him another drink. “I did.” 

“Oh, that is worse.” Mimzy watched as the second drink disappeared into his mouth in one smoothe motion. “What’s your plan?” 

“I was going to sweep her away. I’d thought she felt the same but,” 

“But what?” Mimzy rested her hand on his arm, a scandalous action on its own, but she needed him to know she was there for him. It wasn’t like the pair hadn’t been the talk of the town more than once. Everyone knew Mimzi and Alastor didn’t hold onto social norms and the gossip got old. 

He shifted, pulling out a small folded piece of paper, and handed it to her. It was clear it had been folded and unfolded a fair bit, creases growing fuzzy from the wear. Brown dots marked the surface where coffee had splashed onto it. Unfolding it, she read:

“Dearest A,” the letter started in a neat, practiced hand. “With a heavy heart, I must put this thing we’re doing to rest. I cannot continue to see you. You have my thanks for all of your kindness, for the dinners, lunches, and dances, but it cannot continue. It’s too risky and neither of us could weather such a storm as we would face if discovered. I hope that you find someone new and that she loves you as you deserve and you love her just as well.” 

“Oh my,” Mimzy wasn’t sure what to say. It was a standard breakup letter, all things considered. 

“I don’t understand.” Alastor ran his hand through his hair, ruffling the carefully brushed straight strands. They both knew the oil from his hands would tempt the hairs to curl, but he did it anyway. 

“What don’t you understand, hun?” 

“It was going so well. We’d been getting closer. I took her to mom. I even told her I loved her. I kissed her goodnight. Later that same night, she had this note waiting for me.” 

“Alastor, hon, what did you think was going to happen? Did you think you’d sweep her off her feet and you could just take her as yours in anything resembling a proper way?” 

“Why not?” Alastor snapped. 

“It’s not that easy.” Mimsy wished there had been something she could have done to save her friend from this. It wasn’t fair, and for a lad like him, it was even less fair. “Al, why do you think I’ve never got married?”

“No man can capture your heart,” Alastor parroted back the line Mimzy had said often enough. “What does that have to do with-”

“No, Alastor.” He turned to face her fully at the sound of his name. “It would be dumb of me to reject the security of marriage, even if I didn’t love the fella. But I’ve loved fellas before. Al, I don’t marry because I like running around with men too much.” 

“Then have both. Being married dosen’t stop half the men you’re running around with.” Alastor chuckled, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach that hunting had done nothing to untie. Mimzy wasn’t doing anything for it either. 

“I can’t, Al. That’s the damn point. Men can have both and the world looks the other way. If I have both, if your little dame has both, and we get caught? Our reputations are gone. The world’ll see us as trash. Hell, the world hardly sees us as more than things, anyway. You and her get caught and that pig over there? He can divorce her and have her rotting in prison with the real pigs before the end of the week. Probably have you in the slammer, too.” 

“You’re being dramatic,” The way Alastor’s jaw muscle jumped under his charming smile told Mimzy he was hearing her words more than he wanted to. 

“Al, she’s a woman. Ain’t no way the world takes mercy on her. She don’t come from money, not enough at least to buy her out of a scandal. And you’re…” 

“I know.” Alastor said, sparing Mimzy from having to say it.

“It wouldn’t smoothe over for you like it will for Laurence, if anyone decided to care about what he’s doing with that little slink on his arm. The world looks the other way for men like that. It don’t look the other way for men like you or women.”

“Mimzy.” 

“You just don’t see it because you’re a fuckin man. She’s putting what she wants aside to protect herself and your ass, too. I’m happy you’ve found someone, I am. Never thought it’d happen, but Al, you can’t have her. As long as Laurence is her husband, she’s right- better for you to move on.” 

“And if he wasn’t?” 

“That won’t happen,” Mimzy’s heart broke for her friend. “Unless a car hits him tomorrow and makes her a widow, they’re married. Till death do we part and all that shit.” 

“For her to be mine, Laurence has to die?” Alastor motioned for another drink and was quickly served. 

“Yeah. And though shit, it’s not like the Shadow Butcher is going to gut the fuck just cuz you want his wife. Look, I wish I could sit back and say ‘go get your girl’, I really wish I could, but she’s right. You need to let her go.”

“And if I don’t? If she changes her mind?” 

“I won’t judge you, if that’s what you’re asking. But if you’re really willing to put her at so much risk, is that love?” 

“Mimzy, are not all those love songs I play most nights nothing more than promises that love is worth risking it all?”

Alastor walked through the dark streets. His fingers itched and his mind floated on a cushion of rye. He had drank a bit more than he would typically on a hunting night, but the man he trailed practically landed in his lap. It would be a bloody crime to pass up this chance. 

Alastor had seen him, tall and blond, as he stepped out of the whorehouse across from Mimzy’s seedy little speakeasy. Disgusting pig of a man. His wife would be better off without him. 

Thoughts swirled in his head as he closed the distance between him and the man. The street was deserted, everyone having tucked themselves in for the night. There was no movement in curtains. Not a car moved in sight. It was silent but the man’s footfalls and Alastor’s. 

“Excuse me, Sir?” Alastor called out as he drew closer, holding out a cigarette, a look of regret and shame on his face. “Could I trouble you for a light? I seem to have misplaced my lighter and a night like this is perfect for a smoke, wouldn’t you say?” 

The man was clearly annoyed, rolling his eyes. They were blue, Alastor knew, though with the darkness of the night he couldn’t see the color at that moment. It didn’t matter. The man reached into his pocket, distracted, to pull his lighter out. 

Alastor took that moment to ram his shoulder into the man’s sternum, knocking the air from his lungs as he fell into the alleyway. Alastor followed, staying atop the man as he drove him further back, hands wrapping around his pale neck. 

“Let me go,” the man croaked out, throat straining under clenching hands. He wrapped his hands around Alastor’s, clawing at his sleeves. With a blow to the inside of Alastor’s elbow, the man broke free. 

“I’ll kill you, Laurence.” Alastor growled out, voice once again naked of any false accent as he grabbed the man’s arm, throwing him headfirst into the stone wall. He bounced off, blood spilling from the gash on his forehead, staining his blond hair red. 

“You got the wrong guy!” The man cowered and whimpered as he crawled backward, ass dragging against the ground as he tried to put distance between him and the monster attacking him. 

The man couldn’t make out the features of his attacker. As the tall, lean monster of the night advanced on him, he could only see the streetlight in the distance reflecting off a pair of glasses and a wide, manic grin full of teeth. 

Alastor leaned down, grabbing a fistful of the man’s shirt and hauled him up to his feet. He slammed his victim hard enough against the wall that his teeth clamped down on his tongue, red blood spilling down his chin. He pulled the smaller man back off the wall only to slam him against it again, enjoying the sound of his skull hitting stone. 

“Let me go.” The man pleaded, “I’m not him. Wrong guy! Not Laurence. Don’t know a Laurence! Please, I’m not-” 

Alastor’s hand wrapped around the lower half of the man’s blood slicked face. He had to squeeze to get a grip strong enough to silence the man’s sniveling, begging. Muffled screams reverberated through Alastor’s hand and panic danced in the pathetic man’s eyes. 

“You’ll never hurt her again.” Alastor seethed, plunging the knife he didn’t remember grabbing into the pathetic man’s guts. Panic had the man’s eyes wide as Alastor wrenched the knife up, ripping through muscle and organs until it hit against bone. “You’ve lost her. Lost the game. She’s mine. She will always be mine.” 

Alastor Plunged his blade into the man’s chest, blood drenched hands glittering in what little light there was in the alley. The light in the man’s eyes faded slowly as the as Alastor thrust the blade into his limp body a third time, then a fourth time. Alastor panted, adrenalin and exertion mixing to steal his breath as he let the man slide to the ground in a heap, legs folded. 

Stepping back, Alastor looked up and down the alley, finding it as deserted as he had hoped. He quickly walked to the opening of the alley, wiping bloody hands on his black pants. Glancing back, the man looked like any homeless drunk sleeping off the night. 

Alastor walked calmly down the street, hat pulled down over his head, shielding his face in the shadows. He needed to hurry back to his car and get away from here. Running his hand down his face, he tried to calm the smile on his face. 

He knew it wasn’t Laurence. He knew the prick still lived to hurt you another day. He knew that. But for a few minutes, mind afloat in a sea of rye and rage, it was Laurence. 

By god, did it feel good to gut the man like a fish, to feel his blood and innards spill over his hands. Laurence was the one thing keeping you from the man you were made to be with. Laurence was the one thing keeping you from the man you truly loved. 

He kept Alastor from the first woman he had loved since the death of his Ma. 

That alone was a crime worthy of death. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

Next?

[transbrucewayne]

F1 but it’s ultra specific ship dynamics that I need in order to enjoy the ship:

Versainz: baby’s first situationship (literally pentaltyboxbox’s art is my versainz thesis. “Ay, Max, no. I am not gay and neither are you” 🤨) teammates who weren’t supposed to like each other reluctantly becoming friends and then being intricately connected for the rest of their careers. But totally not in a gay way. Of course.

Chestappen: repressed catholic and some guy who needs dilf pussy so bad he wants to kill himself (this is deeply important to me)

Strollonso: Brat princess Lance. Heros and anti-heroes. I’m on the dark side. Tell Lance not to worry I just want to build a gap with the cars behind. You’re my fucking hero.

Carlando: Baby’s first situationship pt.2?? Lando with a massive crush, first real boyfriend Carlos….i need there to be angst. Lando fell first AND harder, etc.

Britcedes/Gewis: George fumbling all over himself trying to impress Lewis, Lewis just thinking he’s cute no matter what. It’s the coolest man alive/weird little freak he’s obsessed with pairing of my dreams. George: this is my boyfriend he’s cooler than me and also he’s cooler than all of you.

Maxiel: first love married divorced remarried pining missing something that maybe was never there will they won’t they one big game of gay chicken healing from baby’s first situationship etc etc etc (I adore them)

Dando: trying to find solace in another, longing for someone you can’t get back, subversion of expected dynamics (controversial: I fully believe Lando tops in this one). But also. They need to have one brain cell. Lando blabbing on about god knows what. Daniel sweating and popping a vein bc of how much he needs to kiss him.

Twinklaren/Landoscar: third time’s the charm, oh you’re the one I’ve been waiting for, tender glances, young love, first teammate crush syndrome

Danterri: we had something weird in the past. “Find another weed guy I can’t fuck with you…uhhhmm nothing personal I can’t fall in love right now and youre Everything I love so if I ever see you again I’ll never let go of your hand sooo yeah” (we’ve all seen that one web weaving.) Are you dating the female version of me?

Lecciardo: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED IN VEGAS. Charles needs dick from a guy with unstoppable charisma soooooo bad. Fueling each other’s impulsive sides, etc etc

Sebchal: baby’s first situationship (Charles’ version) (from the vault) I miss you so much I’m going to listen to breakup songs all night long. I still think of you every day. I named you twice in a list of drivers. You may even kiss. If it was the omegaverse Seb is so obviously an alpha.

Brocedes: if it doesn’t make me physically sick to my stomach with anguish I do not want it. I hope you die I hope we both die. Hand in unlovable hand. I still consider him my best friend in my heart. We’re not friends. Are they lovers? Worse.

Chewis (Charles/Lewis. I recognise this is also the name for Checo/Lewis. What is the Charles/Lewis name?) me and the bad bitch I pulled by being in violation of that one article section. You know the post. They suffer together. Kinship in joint pain. You’ve got a long future ahead of you. Praise kink.

Let me know if you want a part 2, if so, send ships you want!

[reidsworld]

Beautiful Tragedy | Part 2

Summary: Following your husband’s death, you are reunited with Logan after years apart.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 0.9k

Mars speaks… short but sweet. or is it?

Part 1 | Masterlist

Years had passed since Logan last saw you. The world had changed, and so had your lives, but the memory of you never left him. The way your smile could light up even his darkest moments, and how your laughter was the sweetest melody—these memories had kept him going. The knowledge that you were married to someone else had been a bitter pill to swallow, but he had respected your choices, even as it broke his heart.

When news of your husband's death reached Logan, it stirred something deep within him. Without a second thought, he decided to seek you out. He had promised you once that he would be waiting, and now it was time to fulfill that promise.

The funeral was a somber affair, attended by a select few from high society. Logan kept his distance, observing from the periphery, his heart aching at the sight of you in mourning. Despite the sadness surrounding you, he could see the subtle signs of relief. You had been trapped in that marriage, and though the circumstances were tragic, he was glad you were finally free.

Finding you afterward took time, but Logan’s determination did not waver. He knew he needed to be patient, not wanting to intrude on your grief. When he finally located you, it was a quiet evening in a small, elegant garden, the setting sun casting a golden hue over the manicured lawns where you sat alone on a bench.

You were lost in thought, barely noticing his approach until you lifted your gaze. Logan stood at a distance, framed by the soft glow of the twilight. He had not changed much—still rugged, with that same unmistakable intensity in his eyes. But his gaze was softer now, filled with the kind of tenderness that spoke of years spent waiting.

"I told you I would be waiting for you," Logan’s voice was low and resonant, carrying the weight of unspoken promises and enduring affection.

Your heart skipped a beat, and tears of relief and joy filled your eyes. You rose from the bench, each step toward him a release from years of repression. When you finally reached him, you stood close, your breaths mingling with the chill of the evening air.

"I know, but I wasn’t sure if you would come," you whispered, your voice catching as you struggled to hold back your emotions.

Logan reached out, gently cupping your face with his hands. His touch was warm and familiar, grounding you in this moment of reunion. "Of course I came. I have never stopped thinking about you."

The dam of your emotions broke, and you allowed yourself to lean into his touch, a soft sob escaping as you did.

“I learned to love him," you admitted.

He embraced you, holding you tightly as if to make up for all the lost years. The weight of the past melted away as you clung to him, finding solace in his strong arms. "I know. You did what you had to do.”

Pulling back slightly, you searched his face, needing to see the certainty in his eyes. His love was evident, unwavering, and it reassured you in a way nothing else could. "But I never truly loved him, not as I love you."

Logan’s gaze softened further, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I know."

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you rested your head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm. You had spent years hiding your true feelings, but now, with Logan, you felt safe to be entirely yourself.

The days that followed were a serene blur of shared moments and unspoken understanding. Logan remained by your side, helping you settle into a charming house on the outskirts of London, far from the bustling city. The residence was modest but filled with warmth, surrounded by trees and quietude.

Mornings were spent together on the porch, savouring the rising sun with cups of tea. Conversations flowed easily, though often the silence was just as comforting. Logan’s presence was a balm, his protective nature ever evident as he ensured your well-being. With him, you felt shielded from the world’s harsher edges.

Weeks turned into months, and you found joy in the simple routines you shared. Laughter and smiles became frequent companions, and a lightness replaced the shadows of your past. For the first time in many years, happiness felt within reach.

One evening, as you lay beside Logan in the gentle glow of your bedroom, you whispered, "I never thought I’d get another chance at this."

He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and smiled. "Neither did I. But I won’t let you go again."

Leaning in, you kissed him slowly, conveying everything words couldn’t capture. When you finally drew back, you rested your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

"I love you, Logan," you murmured, a profound peace settling over you.

"I love you too, darlin’," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you can ever know."

In that tranquil moment, with the world outside fading into the background, you knew you had found your place. Logan was your past, your present, and your future. Together, you were ready to embrace whatever life had in store.

And in the back of Logan’s mind, he knew he would outlive you and your time together would eventually come to an end. But he also knew that he would never stop loving you, and when his time came, you would be waiting for him.

Mars speaks… (again) thank you for reading, any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

Tags… @shinyshayminflower @ferakillia @aheadfullofsteverogers @yoursrosie @annagraceevanss

[cautotelic]

Chapter 4: The Fall

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Synopsis: When you get taken away from your home land and thrown into the palace of the infamous warlord, will things be as bad as they first seemed?

first tag-list!!: @trexsuit @lez-zuha @pearldaisy

A/N: don't mind me just pulling at your heart strings... again :))

I walk down the corridor, my steps echoing off the walls as I enter the training arena. All the warriors are rushing around getting weapons and putting on their battle armor. I see Ambessa donning hers. She momentarily glances up at me, expressionless before turning to one of her soldiers. Someone steps in front of me.

“What’s going on? Where is everyone going?” I ask as I try to get around her.

Wherever I move, the girl moves to get in my way. She looks at me. “I can’t tell you anything, ma’am. I’ve been ordered not to.”

“Like hell you aren’t, what's going on?” My voice raises on its own accord grabbing the attention of a few of the warriors surrounding us. 

In just a few seconds Ambessa pushes her way through the crowd, grabbing my arm and pulling me from the crowd. We stand outside in the corridor. 

I cross my arms over my chest. “What is going on?”

“We're going to battle,” she says like it’s nothing.

“With who?”

She huffs annoyed and irritated. “With your father.”

My heart sinks. Although I don’t particularly care for my father, I know a lot of bloodshed will come from this battle, innocent lives lost. “Is this because of what happened in the library last week? If you're upset with me, be upset with me. But don’t send your soldiers out to get slaughtered,” I plead.

She narrows her eyes at me. “You doubt my army?”

I sigh. “You don’t understand, they,” I say motioning to the warriors. “Are not ready for the sheer magnitude of magic that you are throwing them into. They can train with me all day and night and never know the full extent of it.”

It’s clear that my words go in one ear and out the other. She scoffs and goes to walk past me and I get in her way. “Ambessa, please.”

“I have to defend Noxus. Get out of my way,” she says harshly.

She tries to push past me again but I hold her at arm's length. “You’re going to get yourself killed and you can’t defend Noxus if you’re dead. So I urge you to reconsider,” I assert. Something in me bubbles up, something I’ve repressed for so long it aches.

She lifts her head. “I have to go,” she murmurs.

Her hand comes up and wipes a tear that I didn’t know I had shed as she cups my chin in her hand. I pull away from her touch. She opens her mouth to say something.

“General, we’re ready to depart,” one of the soldiers announces from behind me. Just as quickly as it was there, the soft, tenderness is gone from Ambessa as she steps back into her General role.

She looks down at me one last time. “Good, the faster we get there the faster we get to come home,” she says as she passes me. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was keeping. My back hits the wall behind me, I slide down as I stare at the wall across from me. Lost.

•••

“When you attack your opponent, you need to be quick and quiet. So absolutely-”

“No giggling,” the children say in unison as they sit on the training mats. 

I nod, pleased. “Exactly. Man you guys are quick learners,” I praise, my hands resting on my staff. 

One of the younger children of the group comes to me and tugs at my pant leg. I pick her up and rest her on my hip. “What do you need, miss ma’am?” I ask with a warm smile.

The little girl giggles and points at my hands. “Do the thing,” she whispers. Her whispering isn’t that good and the rest of the children hear what she says and join in, urging me to use my magic.

With the little girl still in my arms I kneel down on the mats. “Fine, fine,” I chuckle. I flick my hand and a newt appears on the mats in front of the children. A series of ‘awe’s’ comes from them as the newt rolls over and jumps around, even at times jumping into the children's laps. Seeing the children enjoy the power I was gifted and not be afraid of me, heals something in me, an old wound not forgotten. 

Someone clears their throat by the door of the small training area, Mana. “Ma’am, it’s time to go,” she informs with a sorry smile.

I get up from the floor and the children look at me sadly. “Now you guys don’t get into too much trouble, alright? I’ll see you all on Wednesday next week.” They all get up and give me a big hug before Mana and I walk out of the small building.

Stepping outside I shiver before donning my coat as Mana and I walk back to the palace. “Ma’am that is the 3rd time this week that I’ve found you at the children's training center,” she notes worriedly.

It’s been nearly a month since Ambessa and her forces left for battle and I’m worried to say the least. For the first week or so nobody would tell me anything other than ‘they’re alive’ and now I don’t even get that. 

I turn to Mana. “It helps distract me. I feel… useful.”

She only smiles. On our way back to the palace we stop and buy some fresh fruit and a light snack. 

I help Mana prepare dinner and we eat together in the kitchen. Once I’m done eating I head off to bed.

•••

A loud bell startles me from my sleep. Getting up I make my way out of my room and into the hallway. I follow the noise of rushing footsteps and loud voices to the training arena. The doors leading outside are wide open as soldiers rush in from the cold. They settle down on the mats and await medical treatment from the physicians on standby. 

My eyes flutter across the room going from one person to the next unknowingly looking for someone. My heart starts to pound as my search comes up empty. I see Rictus being helped in by another soldier and that’s confirmation enough.

If he's alive, she's alive. He wouldn’t let her die.

I’m pushed out of the area by the physicians telling me that I can’t be in there right now. Right before the doors of the arena close I look one more time.

The walk back to my room is filled with dread.

Did she really go out there and get herself killed? I hope she is alive so I can kill her myself.

I slip into my room and close the door before turning around and freezing. 

Ambessa stands in my room silent as she quietly takes me in from head to toe. “Hi,” she says softly as if talking to a wild dog, waiting for me to bite.

I look at her, really look at her. Her eyes are soft but her body is battered. A small cut is seen on her cheekbone and by the way she’s holding her side, she has a big injury.

“Why didn’t you go to the physicians to get patched up?” I ask, my voice wavering slightly.

She looks down at herself. “It’s nothing. I wanted to come see you.” She makes a move to come near me and I step back. “You're angry.”

I don’t reply to her comment. “And you're filthy, take a shower,” I say as I go to my bedside table, not sparing her a glance.

I hear her sigh before hearing heavy footsteps and the bathroom door close shut. Exiting the room I walk the short distance to her bedroom and get her some clothes to dress into before heading back. When I walk in she’s still in the shower so I open the door to the bathroom and place the clothes on the counter.

I rummaged under the sink for the first aid kit I’d taken from the medical wing, back from when I didn’t trust anyone here. As I place it on the counter the water to the shower shuts off. Without looking I hand Ambessa something to cover her chest, underwear, and cover shorts. Without complaint she gets dressed.

“When you’re done sit down on the edge of the tub,” I say as I finish gathering all the supplies I need.

With a deep breath I stand up and turn to walk towards her, her eyes follow me. When I come to stand in front of her I sigh and look her over. There’s not many injuries but it’s enough to be concerned. I shake my head and get started.

Slowly and attentively I work on patching her stomach up, removing any dirt and scrap metal. Ambessa doesn’t make a sound, the only way I know she’s in some kind of pain is her stomach tensing and relaxing. I’m focused as I work.

Once her stomach is bandaged I begin working on the smaller cuts that litter her arms and legs before moving to the one on her face. I inspect the cut, turning her head from side to side, my thumb absentmindedly rubbing over her other cheek. I pull away and get the iodine to clean it up.

“Say something,” she mutters. I ignore her and move to put the solution on her wound and she grabs my hand. I shut my eyes and take a breath before looking down at her.

“What exactly do you want me to say, General?” I spit out bitterly.

My tone clearly surprises her and she looks at me sternly. “Watch your tone.”

I scoff out a laugh. “Watch my tone? No, how about you watch yours, you…” I stop myself from continuing, not wanting to say anything I’ll regret. Ripping my hand from her grip I finish patching up her cheek before turning to put my stuff away. 

I feel her eyes burning into my back but I don’t spare her a glance. I wash my hands scrubbing more than I should and I don’t notice my hands going raw, beginning to burn until much larger hands come from behind me and pull my hands away from each other.

I huff, hanging my head as I feel Ambessa’s sturdy frame behind me. “You could have died,” I mutter as I remove myself from her, walking into my room. She follows behind going to sit on my bed.

“But I’m here now, alive and well,” she admits nonchalantly.

I look at her in disbelief and shake my head. “You call that big gash on your side ‘alive and well’?”

Her eyes trace my face, taking in every detail. “Come here,” she says.

“No, you can’t just brush that kind of thing off like that you could have-“

“Stop being stubborn and come over here. Now,” she orders, her voice growing stern.

I stare at her for a second, challenging her. She clicks her tongue and tilts her head towards me, her eyebrow quirked up. “Don’t make me come over there and get you, child.”

I roll my tongue on the inside of my cheek, huffing before walking over to her. I stop a little bit away from her and she grumbles something under her breath before hooking her finger into the waistband of my pants and pulling me to stand between her legs. I cross my arms as she looks up at me, her hand moves to my waist, her thumb rubbing small circles into the exposed skin.

I don’t look at her as she speaks but she moves to try to find my gaze. She takes my hand, grasping it in hers as she guides my hand to her body. Placing my hand on her chest she holds it there with her own. I feel her heart beating, strong and unmoving, undoubtedly her. 

She gently turns my face to look at her. “See? I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere…”

My facade drops for a split second as I let myself feel what I’ve been bottling up for months before I come to my senses. I pull my hand away from her. “You should get some rest,” I say quietly as I walk into the bathroom to retrieve her clothes. 

When I come back I hand the clothes to Ambessa and she takes them before setting them on the bed beside her. I huff and run my hand down my face. “Put the clothes on.”

She sighs. “I won’t apologize for leaving, it needed to be done and has been a long time coming.”

I huff a laugh and look down at the floor. “And you say I’m the stubborn one…” I mutter under my breath. I walk towards the door opening it. “Get some rest,” I finalize quietly before slipping out of my room, leaving Ambessa.

[feinv]

can i kindly req for a arthur morgan x hyperfem reader.... pov he is just so so so in live with her...

arthur morgan x hyperfem!reader.

a/n. introducing my other hyperfixation on this blog. hope this won’t flop. if you don’t wanna see this you can block these tags! hope you like this dolly <3

arthur morgan is a romantic.

spending the majority of his life being without a significant other, he kept repressing all those emotions. and repressing just made them stronger.

but lucky for him he has you!

he doesn’t understand why a sweet thing like you would even look at his direction. but you did. and he wasn’t a fool to let you go after that. he absolutely gives you princess treatment. will do like. literally anything just to see you smile.

arthur loves taking you to beautiful places he encountered while riding around. seeing your eyes sparkle and that pretty smile you flush him is enough for him to die a happy man right there next to you.

he is absolutely feral at how adorable you look. like all the time. we all know 1800s underwears were like just a plain white fabric. but you still managed to stitch them up in a certain way and add a few small bows to make them look cuter! he is honestly so amazed that nothing ever stops you from doing your girly things, and he is always there to tell you that you did a good job and it looks perfect <3

he loves showing you off, especially when he knows he has the pleasure of calling you his. he will do any dirty job and hard labor just to get money and buy you anything you want.

he knows it's hard feeling beautiful when you have limited resources in a camp. so he would buy you whatever clothes you want, whatever jewelry and accessories you look at for more than five seconds when he takes you to a town. (he might even steal some really expensive ones and tell you he traded for those)

of course he would think you look gorgeous even if your entire face was covered in dirt and mud. but it matters to him that you feel happy and confident in yourself. and it's his mission to fulfill that goal for as long as he alive.

every time he would bring back a little something that reminded him of you — a book, a small painting, perfumes that smell just like you, and everything else in between.

he would help you with chores however he can just to ease some of your work and have more alone time together. the boys would tease him for being "a housewife," but he wouldn't give a shit. he might as well do every single of your chores if it meant he would have you all to himself in the confines of his tent.

showers you in compliments. all day 24/7. he knows the words will eventually fail him because he physically cannot tell u how infatuated he is with you and how flawless you are to him. but he will try either way.

“you are so beautiful, darlin'. my pretty girl,” while his fingers gently tuck hair away from your face, his thumb soothing your soft skin. and you would blush and avert his gaze because like :< but he would simply pepper feather light kisses all over your face before connecting your lips in such a tender kiss you would forget that’s a 6 feet tall ripped cowboy.

his side bag and some of his clothes in general would have small hearts or bows engraved in them with pink thread. every time he looks at them he gets reminded there is someone waiting for him to come back. and his heart just swells at that thought.

would also sneak you away from the camp to a pretty field where the two of you could just stargaze together or lay on the grass for hours. you would ramble about your day while he sketches you, your sweet voice literally making him float in the clouds.

arthur morgan loves being around you, being with you. you don't even have to be doing anything together, he just loves having you near him, close and safe :3

©️feinv, 2024.

[frmulcahy]

Listening to an episode of the @antiquesfreaks podcast where they cover the costuming in The Terror and here are some amazing moments:

"But Ken, are you the only one of us that put themselves through reading the book?" "I did. Because John Bridgens was trapped inside and I had to get him out and if I read the book good enough, perhaps I could save him"

"If you don't tell these men what to wear, they're gonna look like straight up hoochies."

"As we see in the later episodes of The Terror and discipline does break down and Dundy just starts showing up to command meetings with his suspenders out! Slattern that he is!!!

"Victorian Navy: one to one analog to working at present day Target."

"I heard they flog you at Target."

"I was press ganged into working at Target."

"It's Victorian times. Everyone's wicked fucking repressed and they're about to get wicked un-repressed whether they like it or not, and they're going to show that through their clothing."

"a blur of muttonchops"

"I pre-gamed the show for 5 years with gifsets on tumblr to makes sure I would be able to tell at least the major speaking roles apart, and I still could not tell Little and Jopson apart until I figured out they had different eye colors."

"And now I'm Pilkington SpottingTM as a hobby"

calling JFJ a "fashionable boy" with his "nippies out" because he doesn't button up his coat all the way like Franklin and Crozier

The two regular hosts repeatedly comparing themselves to a delinquent class that their guest is stuck substitute teaching

"I think my character would be hitting a fat doobie right about now"

Discussing Jared Harris being obsessed with his own costuming details like all the mending on Crozier's clothes

Jopson's first appearance - "he's normal and they're normal and everyone's having a normal time here on this completely routine expedition." "It's so normal. Do you ever fall in love with your boss???" "It couldn't have been more erotic if they had just had gay sex."

Stanley and McDonald's button grouping on their uniforms to denote rank

THEY TALK ABOUT THE ICONIC JFJ GANSEEEYYY

Also Irving's Sanquhar scarf :')

"the red sweater of tenderness" sobbing screaming throwing up

"I think The Terror would have been improved if all of the marines had Boston accents for no reason"

Also marines vs normal sailors

comparing sailor's clothes to fast fashion because it's not very tailored lmaooo

The canvas overcoats being period inaccurate but still neat because they're referencing later polar expeditions like what we see on the guys in the Shackleton expedition etc

They talk about irl Goodsir's letter about clothes and the many many shirts!

Nive having to wear a cooling vest under her costume since it was real caribou fur and her coat being patched with sail cloth later.

They go into Yup'ik masks which is super cool! As well as have a conversation about the ethics of visuals/information/knowledge about indigenous artwork being shared with folks outside of those communities.

Repeated! Dan! Simmons! Roasting! As! They! Should!!!!!

Reapted! Nive! Nielsen! Praising! As! They! Should!!!!!!!!

Sophia's "oceanic color theme"

"They let the dresses have colors. The dresses have colors. The dresses have bright beautiful colors, and it's great."

"They had invented aniline dyes and they were about to make it everybody's problem!"

Lady Jane in more solids vs Sophia in more patterns

"'A woman could never possibly understand polar exploration' meanwhil Silna's up there doing it better than all of them."

Clowning on how other period pieces never use bonnets and always fuck up in the hair and makeup department

"I found Harry Goodsir's fursuit btw"

"On a scale of Calypso's Birthday to Fitzjames's Carnivale, how's your impromptu nautical drag ball going?"

"It's actually exactly like The Purge." "It's like a little Victorian maritime Purge."

"As far as metaphor and literary analysis and whatever, scurvy understood the fucking assignment."

"I punched in Scorbutic Nostalgia so that I could remember to read about it later." "I have some literature for you if you want." "Yeah fantastic! I love disease"

"CGI bear expensive"

"This episode comes with a heavy caveat of 'go to Terror Camp'" amazing.

THE DRESSTM

Tozer's Hotspur costume and Dundy's Henry VI costume and their relevance

"This is the last we see of Party!Dundy"

(About Little) "Every day he gets emails :("

Bridgler and Apollo/Hyacinthus stuff fuuuuuccckk

"Hodgepodge, my boy"

"Oompa loompa doompity dacticals, don't indulge your morals over your practicals"

"Rip Hickey you would've loved Joker"

Not a silly quote but just a really fantastic one: "That is what the best historical designers do, is they find these nuggets of information that allow them to tell a story with authenticity, both in a way that is historical but authentic to the characters as well." EXAAAACCCTTTLLLYYYYYY

"Whomst among us has not Joplarped to get through the workday?"

[vaguely-concerned]

okay. listen. a Concept. garashir roughhousing (gone (psycho)sexual) and at one point bashir wakes up from the high of finally getting to express all his repressed aggression in a safe space with someone who not only accepts that in him but can match him and is actively Into It, especially when he stops holding back some of his lil gmo twink strength, to be horrified like 'oh my GOD garak your nose is bleeding hang on I'll get a napkin or something I'm so sorry holy shit' and garak's lying there woozy with lust gazing up at him with wide betrayed eyes like 'no wait don't go you haven't even stabbed me yet :'('

(obviously this is mostly a shitpost, but I'm just saying I think they could provide a certain kind of space for each other that way. julian gets to have a place to live out all the rougher, less socially acceptable sides he usually has to downplay and push away to seem as non-threatening as (augmented) humanly possible with someone who loves him and who appreciates getting the entire spectrum of julian bashir, from the most obnoxiously annoying and needy to the unsettlingly coldly ruthless and back. and garak gets to have the shit beaten out of him in as medically safe and infinitely loving way as possible and/or finds he can still use his bloodied hands and take care of someone with them. this to me is the definition of what one might call a win/win situation. like don't get me wrong they would be having a lot of embarrassingly tender yearning gently-stroking-your-hair-and-holding-your-hand sex too. but. also this. which I think is also very tender, just in a different way. do you feel me.)