#i count myself an adherent

[camdenleisurepirates]

I'm very much in agreement with her suggestions here. Yes, this is a shrine for the cult of Sts Crowley and Aziraphale, so let's treat it with the reverence it deserves. Don't deface it to the point where park maintenance is forced to remove it. Be mindful that there are also non-fandom visitors to the park. In short, be good citizens - those are in short supply in some quarters these days, we need all the good examples we can get.

(PS - I like to think the *original* bench has been smuggled off to Scotland or somewhere, to participate in the filming. Or maybe it lives in Michael or David's back garden).

The GO bench in St James Park has been replaced with a different one

Very sorry to report that the sanded down bench they returned at the original spot in St James Park is actually NOT the OG fandom one.

There are some very prominent features the OG bench had. Most importantly, the shape of the back of the bench, the armrest shape, and the height of the bench itself:

OG bench (pic taken last year):

The new bench, unfortunately, has a different back shape (the tops of the left and right wooden planks at the back):

I did some ineffable detective work in St James Park this weekend of 25th January (with the help of @0xlilith and @fuckyeahgoodomens and @fuzzywhispersbear) and examined all the benches in the near vicinity and subsequently all the benches in the park, in case they just moved it to a different spot. They did not.

I now have a special photo folder in my phone featuring some of the possible candidate benches in St James Park, because that's what you do if you are a GO fan on a trip to London.

All the potential candidate benches that fit the shape criteria didn't meet the "recently cleaned" criterion or the "at least a bit visible carving scars in the right places" criterion.

(A very useful graphics made by @fuckyeahgoodomens)

It is, of course, possible that I am wrong and the bench is there somewhere and has been cleaned so well that not even the carving scars are visible. I just recorded all the Clues as I collected them and this is the logical conclusion:

I think it is realistic to consider that the OG bench was damaged beyond salvation and as such, was removed permanently. I feel like maybe some of the carvings were too deep and beyond repair. I might be wrong, they just might be rotating the benches and our bench is just sitting somewhere in storage, waiting for being cleaned and returned. (It is probably not in different park because all benches have a SJP at the back and I think they make sure to not mix them up).

I, personally, am actually fine with fans writing on the bench. It is within my personal limits of what is OK. But some of the fandom love was maybe too vigorous. And as a whole, I think that this shows us that we might try to treat the new bench with a bit more respect. By refraining from carving in it with a knife. By using plain pencils to write our little notes so that they don't destroy the bench, are easily cleaned and are not visible to regular visitors of the park, only for people who know what they are looking for. Use it as a scavenger hunt place (my personal favourite) to leave little trinkets and gifts for other fans (but hide them well so that they don't visually disturb regular visitors).

I am not openly promoting vandalism here. I am just being realistic and I seriously have nothing but love for the people who left their permanent mark on the bench. (And I would HATE for this post to be used for hating on these fans. Pls don't.) I believe we can find a sweet spot of showing our love for the bois and not damaging the bench beyond salvation.

And I think the management of St James Park is showing us that they are just doing their job and they don't hate us (hopefully).

Why? Because the heart padlock of Aziraphale and Crowley is still there. Someone even added another padlock and a little fly! And these things didn't disappear. I think this hopefully demonstrates that fandom activities in moderation are allowed.

The bench is a symbol of fandom love and as such, I don't think it can be lost. It is what we make it. There is a new lovely bench at the spot and it attracts GO fans just like the previous one did. And while I know many people (including me) will grieve the piece of fandom history that might have been lost, I think that this is an opportunity for a fresh start.

We'll be OK. This place still feels loved.

[luvo27]

i have thought a LOT about how i like to write cass in my fics so here's one of the thoughts:

one thing that i do on purpose when writing from cass's pov is not use the babs or steph nicknames in the narration and this is something that i thought about because if i'm writing in steph's pov, i'll use the steph nickname from time to time but i don't use it for cass. i love love love love the scott puckett batgirl run, and one thing that really makes it unique to me is the lack of cass's narration and yes this is because she doesn't know english for a bit but even afterwards it's still fairly minimal, and there's very much the question of like, how on earth do you translate this very visual character into a written medium? the idea is like, trying to distance the narrator's voice from cass's voice. it's fun in a sense of like, i cant draw and use art to show how cass's thoughts work and how she connects things in her mind, but i can get the narrator to describe her thoughts even if in words not her own so cass might call stephanie by the nickname steph, but the narrator wouldn't, and all of the narration is like a second hand translation of what's actually happening in cass's head and sometimes it's more connected to cass's voice and sometimes it's less connected and i don't know if this is making any sense at all. basically if i were ever going to write a cass comic i think i'd write the narration in 3rd person most of the time

[jmtorres]

in a variant of useless arguments that unfortunately i can't just use the block button on, i am reliving a wtfry from like five years ago because i'm trying to sort through my medical history and figure out if i have any further lurking disasters and i'm currently stuck on

me: i am trying to eat healthier so i want to add more fruits and vegetables to my diet

nutritionist: no don't eat more fruits! that's too much sugar! sugar is bad for you!

like really we're not talking about processed foods or added sugars, this person straight up told me there was too much sugar in raw, fresh fruit

[simplygojo]

Your Brother's Best Friend ⸺ Gojo

author's note ⸺ Hi all! I apologize for being offline for the holidday season, wanted to spend lots of time iwth my fam and give myself a big mental break from the online world haha..so I hope you guys enjoy this draft I have, someone requested this like bak on october but I can't find the request so if it was you LMK <3 pairing ⸺ Satoru Gojo x reader concept ⸺ You are Nanami's younger sister, because of that, the insufferably annoying and constantly present-Satoru Gojo-has always been a constant in your life. content ⸺ just some coming of age fluff, childhood crush, soulmates fr, don't forget gojo is insufferable, ur a bit insufferable too but ily, lmk if anyone wants a prt2, mt fuji reference bc I'm planning a Japan trip rn, reader uses female pronouns

materlist || request guidelines || commissions

Satoru Gojo had always found himself intrigued by you. Being Nanami’s younger sister—only by a year, but a fact Gojo never let go—meant you were often around during their shared days at Jujutsu High. 

It had been impossible not to notice you, with your sharp wit and the way you matched Nanami’s sternness with a warmth and energy he seemed to lack.

Back then, Gojo’s fascination with you manifested in childish antics: hiding your books just to watch you search for them in exasperation, ruffling your hair as he towered over you with a cocky grin, and smirking when you called him an idiot. 

He relished every moment he could pull your attention from your studies or your brother, craving the fiery glint in your eyes when you were annoyed with him. 

Unlike the rest of the people in Gojo’s life, you weren’t part of Jujutsu society.

You couldn’t see curses, didn’t wield cursed energy, and, for the most part, seemed blissfully unaware of the world that surrounded your brother and his friends as you pursued your studies. 

Nanami had always insisted on keeping you far from it, which was just another thing Gojo couldn’t help but admire. 

You were grounded in a way the rest of them weren’t, so wonderfully normal amidst their chaos.

And you had this way of looking at him—not like the strongest sorcerer, not like the next great hope of Jujutsu society—but just like a guy who annoyed the hell out of you.

At first, it felt harmless. You were Nanami’s younger sister. Off-limits. Untouchable. The unspoken one Nanami had pulled from the very beginning. 

“Don’t even think about it, Gojo,” he’d once joked, though the steel in his voice had been unmistakable. That line, so clearly drawn by your older brother, was one Gojo thought he could respect.

However…Gojo wasn’t exactly known for adhering to rules, and over time, what started as a playful crush transformed into something far more real.

—

Gojo had really noticed the shift in how he saw you one lazy afternoon when you were both a little older, himself a second-year and Nanami now in first year. 

You’d stopped by Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu High to drop off lunch for Nanami, a routine occurrence Gojo had witnessed more times than he could count.

And yet, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, that day felt… different.

He spotted you from across the courtyard, standing near the steps with a neatly folded paper bag in hand. The sun hit you just right, its golden rays catching in your hair and making it shimmer. 

Gojo found himself frozen mid-step, watching as you leaned toward Nanami, laughing at something he’d said.

He felt his chest tighten, his usual cocky grin faltering as something entirely unfamiliar bubbled up inside him.

He’d seen you countless times before—bickering with Nanami, reading quietly under a tree, rolling your eyes when he teased you. But this was the first time he’d truly seen you, and it shook him more than he cared to admit.

Gojo brushed it off with his usual bravado. It’s nothing, he told himself. Just a fluke. A trick of the light. I’m Satoru freakin’ Gojo. I don’t get fazed by stuff like..like girls.

But the image of you standing there, radiant and laughing, stuck with him.

Later that day, Nanami caught him staring off into space, absently twirling a pen between his fingers.

“You’ve got that dumb look on your face again,” Nanami deadpanned, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence of the common room.

Gojo blinked, jolting out of his thoughts. “Huh? Dumb? I don’t do dumb looks,” he shot back, feigning nonchalance as he leaned back in his chair.

Nanami raised a brow, unimpressed. “Right…” He said, but didn’t press forward.

Gojo leaned back further in his chair, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to his dilemma. 

He’d never tell Nanami the truth—that he’d been so distracted by you. 

Because even though he’d brushed it off earlier, Satoru Gojo knew better. That moment in the courtyard wasn’t nothing. It was the beginning of a realization he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

—

By the time you and Gojo were in your late teens you had both become insufferable in your own ways. 

You–who was constantly studying and reading and cramming your head full of anything instead of living your life. And Gojo–whose ego was the size of Mt. Fuji and spoke 100 kilometres an hour. 

This specific night, Nanami had reluctantly invited Gojo over for dinner at your family’s house after the persistent pestering of his taller, louder classmate. 

Gojo, being Gojo, had made himself right at home, lounging on your family’s couch as if he owned the place. Your parents were out for the evening, and Nanami had resigned himself to the kitchen, grumbling about Gojo’s ability to eat an ungodly amount of food.

Dinner wasn’t ready yet, which left you and Gojo alone in the dining room as Nanami busied himself in the kitchen, muttering under his breath about Gojo’s bottomless appetite.

You’d been sitting at the dining table, flipping through a thick textbook, completely ignoring Gojo’s antics. Or at least, you had been, until Gojo sauntered over, leaned against the back of your chair, tipping it slightly, forcing you to glance up.

“You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that,” he teased, his signature smirk firmly in place.

“Do you ever not talk?” You replied, exasperation lacing your tone as you tilted your head to glare up at him.

“Rarely,” he shot back, before letting the chair fall back into place and taking a seat beside you at the table. “You’re really gonna spend the whole evening buried in those books?” He drawled, his voice a mix of amusement and boredom.

You didn’t bother looking up. “Not everyone has the luxury of being naturally insufferable and talented like you, Gojo.”

“Aw, you think I’m talented?” His grin was audible in his voice.

You finally lifted your gaze, levelling him with the flattest look you could muster. “Not what I said.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his chin propped up on one hand. The orange sunlight streaming through the window caught in his hair, making it gleam like spun silver. “Come on, y/n, live a little. You’re always so serious.”

“Not everyone can afford to ‘live a little,’” you muttered, your tone softer than before.

Gojo’s grin faltered, just for a heartbeat, before returning with renewed mischief. “Then it’s my civic duty to help you loosen up.”

Before you could stop him, he reached across the table and flicked the corner of your notebook. It slid a few inches down the table out of your reach, the pages fluttering slightly.

“Gojo,” you snapped, sitting up straighter.

“What?” His innocent tone was as fake as the wide-eyed look he gave you. “I’m just trying to help.”

You leaned over to grab the notebook, but Gojo was quicker. He snatched it up and held it above his head, just out of reach.

“Satoru,” you hissed, standing now, your chair scraping loudly against the floor.

He smirked, leaning back in his chair as he dangled the notebook higher. “What’s the magic word?”

“I’m not playing this game with you.”

You stepped closer, your hand reaching for the notebook, but Gojo shifted at the last second. In one smooth motion, he stood, towering over you with that infuriating smirk still plastered across his face.

“Wow, so short,” he teased, looking down at you with mock pity.

“I hate you,” you said, glaring up at him.

“Liar,” he shot back, his grin widening.

The room felt smaller now, the air warmer. You tried not to notice how close he was, how his presence seemed to fill every corner of the space.

“Just give it back,” you said, your voice quieter this time.

Gojo tilted his head, considering your request, but made no move to comply. 

Instead, he bent down slightly, just enough that your faces were almost level. His free hand braced against the edge of the table beside you, caging you in without even touching you.

“You really want it?” He asked, his tone low, teasing.

The words made your pulse quicken, though you’d never admit it. You reached for the notebook again, but he didn’t budge, his grin softening into something more unreadable.

And then you noticed it—his breath, warm and feather-light against your cheek. You were close enough to feel his breath.

The realization hit you all at once. Your skin burned where his breath lingered, and the heat crawled upward, spreading across your face and down your neck.

“Gojo,” you said, but it came out quieter than you intended, almost a whisper.

“What?” He murmured, his voice matching your softness now.

You didn’t answer, your mind too preoccupied with the way his gaze lingered on you, no longer playful but intense, searching.

His grin returned, but it was softer this time, almost shy. “You’re blushing, y/n,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your gaze darting away as if the floor could save you from the warmth blooming across your face. 

“No, I’m not,” you mumbled, despite the obvious pink hue radiating from your cheeks.

Gojo chuckled, a low, quiet sound that only made your blush deepen. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

You felt your heart do a little flip and you spun around, turning your back to him and crossing your arms over your chest.

“No I’m not–You–” You said shortly, trying to make yourself seem more annoyed than flustered.

“What?” He drawled, his tone all lazy amusement. 

“I’m just making an observation.” His grin was practically audible as he tilted his head. “I mean, look at you. Bright red. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something? Or is it just me?”

You spun around so fast you almost knocked into him, your hands flying up to shove at his chest, but he barely budged. “You’re such a—”

“Careful now,” he interrupted, catching your wrists with ease. His grip was light but firm, his thumbs brushing over your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Wouldn’t want you to say something you can’t take back.”

Your glare faltered under his steady gaze, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking away. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are,” he shot back smoothly, a smirk curling his lips. “It’s almost like you enjoy my company.”

“Well I don’t,” you snapped. “I’m not the one who invited you for dinner Gojo.” 

Gojo’s smirk widened, but he finally released your wrists, stepping back just enough to give you space—though not nearly enough to escape the heat of his presence.

“Hm, ya’know–you’re right,” he spoke slowly, his tone dripping with mock innocence as he turned toward the kitchen, hands sliding casually into his pockets. “I’ll try not to charm ya too much during dinner.”

You stood frozen, your cheeks still blazing and your heart racing as his footsteps faded. With a frustrated huff, you followed, vowing silently not to let him get under your skin again.

—

By the time you were in your early twenties, you had quietly come to terms with your crush on Satoru Gojo.

It wasn’t hard to pinpoint why you liked him. Gojo had been a constant presence in your life since your young teenage years, and despite his insufferable arrogance and larger-than-life personality, there was a charm about him you couldn’t deny. 

He teased you relentlessly, always flashing that blinding smile that made your heart skip a beat.

But it wasn’t just the teasing or the jokes. It was the way he treated you differently, always going out of his way to check on you, lingering just a little longer than necessary whenever you were around.

Still, you convinced yourself it didn’t mean anything. Gojo was like that with everyone—or so you told yourself…It was safer that way.

That afternoon, you sat across from Utahime at your favourite coffee shop in the neighbourhood near the office you worked at, absently stirring your drink as she rattled on about her recent frustrations at work.

You tried to focus—nodding at all the right times, but your mind kept drifting.

“Are you even listening to me?” Utahime asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Of course I am,” you lied, forcing a smile.

“Uh-huh.” She sipped her coffee, then leaned back with a sigh. “You’ve been spacey lately. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, heat creeping up your neck. “Just tired, I guess.”

She gave you a skeptical look but didn’t press further.

The bell above the café door chimed, and you glanced up instinctively—only to immediately wish you hadn’t.

There he was.

Gojo Satoru strolled in like he owned the place, his sunglasses pushed up into his snow-white hair and his hands stuffed casually into his coat pockets. He scanned the room, and the moment his eyes landed on you, his face lit up with a grin that sent your heart racing.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, sinking lower in your seat.

Utahime’s gaze flicked between you and Gojo, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, this should be fun.”

“Don’t you start,” you warned.

Before she could respond, Gojo was already making his way toward your table, exuding his usual overconfidence.

“Ladies,” he greeted, pulling out the chair next to you without waiting for an invitation. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Gojo,” Utahime said dryly, her tone laced with disdain that only seemed to amuse him.

“Utahime,” he replied, his grin widening.

He turned his attention to you, his expression softening slightly. “And you. Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I could say the same to you,” you shot back, doing your best to sound indifferent despite the way your pulse quickened under his gaze.

“Touché,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But I’d argue that seeing you is much more important than work.”

Utahime snorted, and you felt your cheeks heat up. “Does that line actually work on people?” Utahime asked, sounding as unimpressed as ever.

Gojo shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Guess it depends on the person.”

The conversation moved on—or rather, Utahime and Gojo bickered while you quietly sipped your drink, pretending not to notice the way Gojo kept stealing glances at you.

Then, out of nowhere, he said it.

“So,” Gojo began, his tone deceptively casual as he put one hand on the back of your chair, causing it to tilt back a bit, “what are you doing tonight?”

You froze, your mind racing as your eyes left their place on your coffee and found his. “Why?”

“Because I want to take you out,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Dinner. Just the two of us.”

Your jaw nearly hit the table. Surely, you’d misheard him.

Utahime, on the other hand, choked on her coffee.

“Excuse me?” You managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You heard me,” Gojo said, his grin softening into something almost... hopeful. “What do you say?”

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. You’d spent years convincing yourself that Gojo didn’t see you that way—that his teasing was just his personality, nothing more. But now, staring into those piercing blue eyes, you couldn’t ignore the sincerity in his expression.

Before you could answer, Utahime broke the silence. “Oh my god,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“What?” You asked, still reeling.

“I can’t do this…this has been obvious to everyone but you,” she said, looking at you like you’d grown a second head. 

“He’s been obsessed with you for years, and you’re just now realizing it?”

Your face turned scarlet as you stammered, “That’s—that’s not true.”

Gojo, to his credit, looked thoroughly amused. “See? I knew I liked you for a reason, Utahime. It is totally 100% true.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” she said, waving him off before standing up and leaving some cash beside her empty mug. “I’m leaving before this gets any worse. Good luck, Gojo—you’ll need it.”

“Thanks,” he called after her, clearly enjoying himself.

Once Utahime was gone, you turned back to Gojo, your mind still spinning. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked, his tone unusually serious.

You searched his face for any sign of mischief, but there was none. Just that same unwavering confidence and something else—something softer, almost vulnerable.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “One dinner.”

Gojo’s grin returned full force, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t joking.

[letsgoletsgetit08]

ruined

warnings/tags: MDNI!, dubious consent, degradation, praise, corruption, home invasion, unprotected sex (no glove no love, folks!), pet names, name calling, spanking, punishment, ruined orgasm

pairing: stalker!dom!yeosang x f!reader

summary: Kang Yeosang has had his eyes on you for a month now. He decides it's time for you to meet.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: Heyyyyy so this is... something!

Someone (not naming names) requested this and you know what, this is our lord and savior Meg Thee Stallion's internet, I don't have to explain myself.

Kang Yeosang is a stalker and reader doesn't hate it.

If borderline non-con/degradation bother you, turn around and read something else. Thanks! Also, as always, the characters in this story are purely fictional and do not represent the people they are based upon. This is just for fun. I don't think Yeosang is truly a stalker.

ao3 link: ruined

ruined

Yeosang was starting to get annoyed. You were running late. He was nothing if not patient. A quiet man, mild mannered and gentle, at least as far as anyone knew from what he shared of his personality. However, everyone had their limits. It wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, sure. But he had chosen you partially because of your strict adherence to your schedule. In the month of getting to know you, he had only had to deal with you being late twice. Both of which were accounted for by well-known delays in the public transport system, and the other a thunderstorm. 

The memory of how cute you looked, mascara running down your face, damp hair clinging to your cheeks, stamping your feet outside your door in your loose, high-neck dress and tights - he had to resist palming his length through his trousers. That was another reason he had chosen you. He never saw you bring home sexual partners, nor friends. And you were always dressed so modestly. It had surprised him the first time he watched you finger yourself from his position outside your window. Someone so pure, so otherwise untouched and innocent, doing something so deliciously human. 

It drove him crazy. In his mind, you were still a virgin, even if he knew you to be in your mid-twenties and it was highly unlikely. 

After you had left the next morning, he had jiggled your window like he had learned to do weeks ago, unlatching it and allowing himself inside, his daily routine at that point, greeting your cat as was his habit, before searching through your laundry for the pair of lacy pink underwear which you had been wearing the night before during your scandalous activities. He had taken his shoes off and crawled on top of your comforter, bringing your panties up to his nose for a long, luxuriating, deep sniff. Your scent had gone straight to his already throbbing cock. He had grabbed the pillow you slept on, moving it down by his hips before rolling on top of it, stuffing your underwear into his mouth, and humped the pillow until he came in his pants. Your cat had judged him from the corner of the room. He had gotten up, put your bed back like he had found it, reveling in the idea that his scent would be on it when you went to sleep that night, but you would never know. Corrupting you already, and you would be none the wiser. 

He had pocketed your underwear before making his way back outside. 

This time, it was time for you to meet him. He had been planning it all week, and you dared to be late. It’s okay, though. He would teach you not to be tardy ever again, and you would thank him for it. 

He glanced at his watch once again, a force of habit at that point. Twelve minutes late. Twelve was a good number. Thirteen would be even better. And he got his wish, because as the clock striked 6:15pm, there you were, in a rush, lip stuck out in a pout, tears streaking down your face, clearly having had a bad day at work. Yeosang rounded the corner exactly when he knew you would be there, coffee cups in hand, thankfully still warm enough to be believable. 

“Ah, God!” He exclaimed as he bumped into you, coffee pouring down his front. 

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry.” You sobbed, “I can’t do anything right today. Are you okay? Let me buy you another coffee.” 

“No, no, it’s fine, I promise. I just… nevermind. It’s okay.” He fixed you with his big, soulful eyes.

“No, what is it? I swear I don’t mind buying you more coffee.” You offered, wiping your eyes, trying to become composed. 

“It’s not that, I just really like this sweater. It’s stupid.” He blushed, his pink skin shining against his creamy white sweater, “I just live nearly half an hour away, was on my way to my mom’s to help her out. And I just don’t want this to stain is all.” 

“Oh, well…” You studied him. He was strikingly handsome, round cheekbones, jaw cut from marble, wavy black hair tucked under a light pink beret, adorable smile, and a soothing deep voice with a slight lisp. Plus, he said he was going to help his mom. You hardly could imagine him posing a threat. “Why don’t you just come inside and let me wash it real quick. I have a big t-shirt you can wear in the meantime. And I can make you coffee to-go.” 

“Oh, no, I could never intrude-” Yeosang started. 

“No, please.” You started walking up the steps to your door, “Let me do one thing right today at the very least.”

Yeosang pretended to consider it, “Well, I guess if you insist…”

“I do.” You assured him

“Thank you. I’m Yeosang, by the way.” He extended his hand - well-manicured fingernails on long, lithe fingers - grasping yours lightly as he shook it. The first touch of your soft, pale, flawless skin sent lightning bolts up his spine. 

“I’m y/n.” You smiled at him before letting go of his hand and letting both of you inside your townhouse. 

Yeosang had to remind himself he wasn’t supposed to know his way around, following you hesitantly, breath hitching as your cat wound its way through his legs as he stood in the doorway to your bedroom, watching you rustle through your drawer for a t-shirt big enough to fit him. He wasn’t large per se but you could tell he was well-muscled underneath his sweater. 

“Oh, that’s so funny,” You commented, watching your cat greet him like he knew him, “He usually doesn’t like strangers.” You handed him the t-shirt of your choice.

“Ah, cats just always like me.” He explained. 

“Well, Haku is a great judge of character.” You smiled, watching Yeosang kneel to pet your cat behind his ears, right where he liked it most. 

Yeosang rose to his feet, “I’ll just change in…-”

“Oh!” You stammered, “Um, yeah, the bathroom is over here. Sorry, I forgot you’ve never been here.”

Yeosang couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at how wrong you were as he followed you to your bathroom. 

He left the door open a crack as he changed and you couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of his glorious form as he changed into your shirt, your feet suddenly glued to the floor, unable to tear your eyes away. Abs like a bar of white chocolate, sinewy muscle packed tight under velvety smooth skin. A pretty birthmark by his eye that you noticed only when he was pulling his head out of his sweater. You could have watched him for hours. 

He emerged, breaking your trance, “Fuck, sorry, I wasn’t staring, I promise.”

He laughed, a melodic baritone, “It’s okay. I worked hard for my body, it’s nice to know someone besides me appreciates it.”

You felt heat creep up your neck, “So you don’t have… anyone else?”

He smiled, cocking an eyebrow at you inquisitively, “I don’t.”

“I. Um. I don’t either.” You admitted, though you didn’t know why. He was hot and he was just half naked in your bathroom and you hadn’t had any action in around two years since your breakup. 

He looked you up and down, a pleased smile crossing his face, “Hm. I’ll keep that in mind.”

You led him to the kitchen where you left him to go treat his sweater and throw it in the washing machine before returning to warm up your espresso machine. 

He stood up as soon as you were pulling the first shot, “Sorry, gotta take this call.” He said quickly as he left the room and went into the hallway. 

You could faintly hear his voice, “You’re already over there?” Pause. “Oh, okay. Are you sure?” Pause. “Well I can still come over if-” Pause. “Okay, that works. Tell her I’ll see her Thursday then.” Pause. “Okay.” Pause. “Alright. Love you, too. Tell mom I love her as well. Bye!”

He walked back into the kitchen, pocketing his phone. 

You turned to him, “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s all good.” He smiled at you reassuringly, “My sister got her days mixed up, she’s already over at my mom’s. I’ll just go on Thursday for her instead. Sorry, I guess this means all of this was for no reason.”

“No.” You smiled, handing him his coffee, “I think I met you for a reason, Yeosang.” 

It wasn’t every day an attractive man - with character references from a mom and sister - stumbled into your apartment. You might as well try to make the most of it. 

The sweetest smile spread across his face, “Really? I was just thinking the same thing.” If only you knew. 

You walked back over to the espresso machine, “I guess I’ll just make the second coffee for myself, since it will be a minute before your sweater is done, can I offer you anything to eat or-” 

Crack.

The coffee mug in your hand fell to the ground, shattering into several pieces. Yeosang was there in a flash, “Oh, no! Here.” He knelt down, picking up each piece gingerly before placing them on the countertop beside the espresso machine, “No small pieces. You should be able to glue it easily.”

The two of you were standing sinfully close together. He reached up slowly, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear, holding his breath, worried it might be the wrong move.

“Yeosang-” You whispered, leaning in close. 

“You’re very beautiful.” He whispered back, thumb trailing over your cheekbone, “I don’t want to be too forward but-”

“Please kiss me.” You all but whimpered. 

He obeyed, much to your relief, his lips achingly soft on yours as they explored you, his hand finding your waist, pulling you in close. You could feel him grow hard as the kiss intensified, due to how tightly your bodies were pressed together. He was half tempted to take you right there in the kitchen, but he refrained. 

You moaned as his tongue found its way inside your mouth, exploring every inch inside of it. You wanted him. 

“Yeosang, please.” You broke off just enough to beg.

“Please what, angel?” He whispered in your ear as his lips made their way across your jawline.

“I want you.” You whined. You gasped as his hands grabbed your ass under your dress, kneading the plush flesh there before bending further down to grasp the backside of your thighs, hoisting you around his waist. 

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He mumbled into your skin as he carried you to your bedroom, placing you carefully onto your bed. 

“It’s just…” You swallowed, “It’s been a while, okay?” You admitted, feeling exposed. 

“That’s okay, little lamb.” Yeosang consoled as he began stripping his clothes before reaching for your tights and underwear, removing them in one go, “It’s been a while for me, too. Almost like this is both of our first times again, hm?”

A little odd, but the sentiment went straight to your core at the thought of it, “Yes, fuck. All for you.” 

He stroked his considerable length as he situated himself between your legs, kissing up your thighs, “All for me.”

You started reaching for the back zipper of your dress but he stopped you, looking at the Peter Pan collar buttoned all the way to your throat, “No, you look so pretty in it. Leave it on for me.”

Before you could respond, he was diving between your legs, tongue expertly teasing your drenched core, sucking and kissing everywhere except your clit, making you grip the sheets in anticipation. He laughed straight into your folds, the vibrations of it sending shockwaves through you, “Oh, sweetheart. You’re going to have to learn to be patient.”

You whined but accepted your fate, back arching off the bed as his tongue fucked your soaking wet hole, his nose barely skimming your throbbing clit, just enough to make your hips buck, seeking friction. Even with the lack of stimulation where you wanted it, you were soon reaching your release, “Fuck, Sangie-” You gasped in shock as he pulled away at the last second.

“I told you to be patient.” Something dark flashed across his eyes. He cupped your throbbing pussy, holding it in his hand like he owned it. You were a little ashamed as your core clenched pathetically around nothing at the sight and sensation of it. 

“Sorry.” You apologized, “I can be good, I promise.” 

“I’ll make sure of it.” He asserted before surprising you by plunging two fingers deep inside, fucking you with them at an urgent pace, quickly working you back up to the edge.

“You have to tell me when you’re about to come, okay darling?”

“Okay, yes sir.” You whimpered. He was relentless. Your core ached for more, pulsing around him before you knew you were nearly there again, “I’m close.” You whined. 

He pulled his fingers out, bringing them to your mouth. You sucked them clean obediently, resisting the urge to bite them in frustration as they probed the back of your throat and taunted your tongue. 

“Such a good little slut.” He praised you, “Here I was thinking you were so innocent, but you’re dirty, aren’t you?”

“Hmmph.” You tried to speak around his fingers. He removed them from your mouth with a slick pop, allowing you to speak, “Yes, sir. I want you so bad.” You begged. 

He laughed errantly at you, trailing his fingers down your dress slowly before finally circling your angrily pulsing clit, “I’m sorry, honey. But you were late today and I have to teach you a lesson.”

He moved his fingers down your dripping cunt, gliding some of your essence up to use as lubrication. 

“I was-” You were startled at his words, “What do you mean, ‘late?’ How did you-”

“Christ, you really are a slut, aren’t you? I felt how you clenched at that. You like that I’ve been watching you.” He smiled, the dark glint returning to his eyes, his fingers pushing inside of you once more. 

“You’ve been- what?” You couldn’t lie. You were getting wetter as the realization hit you and as his fingers beckoned inside of you, hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. 

“Watching you, yes. You were right. We were supposed to meet, because I planned it. I’ve been waiting to ruin my gorgeous little lamb for a month now. It was finally time. And you were thirteen minutes late.”

“A month?” You started to panic now, trying to sit up, but he was on you faster than you could react, pinning your arms down above your head, moving them to one hand.

You squirmed under his grip and he slapped the inside of your thigh, “Stop acting like you don’t fucking like it.” He gripped himself in his hand and lined his large cock up with your drenched entrance. 

Shame coursed over you as he pressed slowly inside. He was right. You were more turned on than you ever had been before.

“Fuck, Yeosang, it’s not gonna fit, please-” You begged as you realized how full you felt, how stretched out you were and he was only three quarters of the way inside, despite how wet you were for him. 

“It’s going to fit, angel.” He growled as he snapped his hips, forcing you to take the rest of him in one go.

“Yeosang!” You called out, half in pain, half in pleasure. 

“Hush,” He instructed, reaching into the pocket of his pants he had discarded next to himself on the bed and pulled out a pair of underwear that you thought you had lost a week or so ago, stuffing it inside your mouth. The smell of him hit your nose, mixed with your own and you realized you recognized his scent. From your bedding. 

A tear escaped your eye as he slammed into you mercilessly. You didn’t know if it was from fear or pleasure, but what you did know was that all of this was hotter than your wildest dreams. Maybe Yeosang wasn’t the only mentally unstable one in the room. It occurred to you, he would probably like it if you struggled. Or at the very least, it would get a reaction from him. And there was nothing you craved more in that moment than this stranger - this imposter’s attention. 

You pulled against his grip, trying to scoot away from him as your orgasm built once more, moaning and crying out in vain, voice muffled with your own stolen underwear. 

“What’s that, angel?” He mocked you, “About to come again?” He waited for you to nod “Aw, too bad.” He pulled out once more, flipping you over and pulling your hips up in the air, hand patting your upper back gently as if to indicate you should keep it pinned to the bed. 

He had one hand holding your hips, the other rubbed your bare ass cheek softly, “Three ruined orgasms and ten lashes should do it, don’t you agree?” 

You tried to move out of his grip, resulting in him reaching down to pin your arm behind your back, “We’ve been over this, princess. You’re not going anywhere.”

Smack.

He reached down and removed the makeshift gag from your mouth, “Count for me like a good little slut. I know ten is a high number for someone as brainless as you. I mean really, what kind of idiotic prey animal lets a predator right into her home just so he can fuck her pretty brains out?”

Another sharp slap, “That was a question.”

“I don’t know!” You sobbed, “I don’t know, I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

“Aw, no, sweetheart. You’re perfect.” Another slap. “Now how many was that?”

“Three.” You choked out. 

He let go of your wrist, trusting you wouldn’t move again, swiping your slit to gather some of your arousal, circling the tight ring of muscle right above your aching cunt. “Good girl.”

He pressed one finger inside. Your pussy clenched at the sensation. 

Another slap. 

“Four.”

“Relax for me or this won’t be pleasant for you, little lamb.” Yeosang instructed as he readied his second finger at your entrance. 

“Yes, sir.” You replied, concentrating hard on relaxing as you felt his digit begin to slip in. 

Smack.

“Five.”

He spit onto your hole, adding more lubrication as he began thrusting his fingers. 

Smack. Smack.

Both ass cheeks stung but you felt your slick dripping out of you onto the bed. 

“Seven.”

He scissored his fingers before adding a third. 

Smack.

“Eight.” You gasped at how full you felt. 

Pressure at your drenched core had your hips canting back towards the man behind you. 

Smack.

“Nine.”

He pressed inside, “Mmh, this sweet, tight little cunt takes me so well now that I’ve trained it.”

Smack.

“Ten!” You sobbed as he began thrusting again, this time painstakingly slowly. 

“What a good little whore. There may just be hope for you after all.”

You wouldn’t last long, your walls were already fluttering around him spastically. 

“Sangie, gonna come.” You managed, voice weak. 

His hips snapped harder, “You can come when I do. Gonna fill you up so full.”

“No, please, I’m not on birth control-”

“Oh, hush, I know very well you keep emergency contraceptives in your bathroom cabinet.” He growled as he gripped your hip almost painfully hard, fingers thrusting in time with his cock. 

“Please, Yeosang, no-” You protested, despite the fact that you very much wanted nothing more than for him to fill you with his seed. 

His hips stuttered at your outcry, one final buck before he was spilling deep inside you. That was all you needed to finish as well, clenching hard around his fingers and twitching cock. 

“There we go, I knew you could wait.” 

He worked you through your orgasm before pulling out, collecting all that had leaked out of you onto his clean hand, flipping you back over before depositing your mixed excretions onto your tongue. 

“So obedient now, aren’t you? All it took was me to put you in your place, hm?” 

You swallowed, “Yes, Yeosang. Thank you for training me.”

“Mmh.” He laid down behind you, pulling your ass to his front so you could feel how fast he was recovering, “Wait to thank me until I’ve corrupted both of your pretty little holes.”

And you did thank him afterwards, insides painted with his cum, feeling sated and content as he cleaned you gingerly with a damp towel - one he had gotten from where he knew you kept them in your hall closet. 

He kissed you on your forehead after he got dressed, “You know you’ll be ruined for anyone else from here on out, right, angel?”

You nodded sleepily. 

“Mmh, that’s what I thought. I’ll see you again soon.” He called as he left through his typical exit of your bedroom window, a new pair of stolen underwear - the ones you had been wearing that day - stuffed in his pocket. 

It really was always the quiet ones you had to look out for.

[cosmerelists]

Stormlight Characters, if you were going to be trapped on a deserted island and could only bring one object with you, what would it be?

Shallan: My drawing pad!

Shallan: I'll figure out escape later--but I don't want to be left unable to draw what I observe of the flora and fauna!

Kaladin: A really, really big gemstone. Maybe one of those perfect ones. Don't want to run out of Stormlight trying to fly over the ocean.

Adolin: Just one object?

Adolin: ...

Adolin: But all my other swords will get jealous!

Shallan: It doesn't have to be a sword.

Kaladin: Probably should not be a sword.

Adolin: Oh no, it's gonna be.

Jasnah: Captain Stormblessed has it correct.

Jasnah: I can escape from that place via Shadesmar.

Jasnah: But I will need Stormlight for that--so a gemstone is the correct play.

Renarin: I think I'll bring a boat!

Renarin: What? I don't think Stormlight would help me that much...

Teft: Might be good for me to be stuck on an island for a while.

Teft: Don't need much. Maybe I'll bring a towel to lie on or something.

Wit: Eh, if I end up there, I'm sure they'll be a reason.

Wit: I think I'll bring my flute.

Wit: You can fill a lot of hours with a flute.

Lift: Does a feast count as a single object?

Wyndle: T-That hardly adheres to the spirit of the question!

Lift: It's just a single word. I think it counts.

Dalinar: Am I allowed to name a person?

Dalinar: I would like Navani by my side.

Navani: That's so sweet!

Navani: I'm bringing my flying ship.

Dalinar: I respect that.

Dieno: Just...an island? Like a regular desert island?

Dieno: Boring!

Dieno: I guess I'll bring handcuffs for myself or something. At least make it a LITTLE fun.

Szeth: I would bring Nightblood.

Szeth: I would not expect him to help much in that situation, but he was entrusted to me.

Adolin: See?? The sword thing isn't just me!

Kaladin: Yes, thank the Almighty that the Assassin in White agrees with you...

Adolin: Yeah!

Adolin: Wait.

[kingkat12]

dressing room (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, semi-public sex, fingering, foul language, quickie, slight voyeurism, piv sex, and roman is a bit of an ass LMAO

summary: shopping with Roman can be hard (pun intended)

word count: 2,968

"No, I don't like that either,"

At this point, those words were starting to feel like nails against a chalkboard. I clenched my teeth together, not wanting to let out the string of curses that befell my mind. Shopping with Roman was absolute hell— I had told him not to come, but he insisted; "How are you going to go without my card, anyway?"

Seething, I gave the shop assistant a look as I turned on my heel, walking back into the changing room. Why didn't he like anything? Ever? It was making me grow more and more insecure by the minute, and I hated it. I hated that he had to come. I hated that I was dependant on him to buy nice stuff for myself. 

Without even asking, Roman suddenly stuck his hand into my dressing room, handing me a dress. "Try this on," he said, voice rather harsh.

Still not saying a word, I accepted it, fussing with the dressing room curtain as I grew further annoyed. I took another glance at the dress; I couldn't deny it was nice. It was short, black— a classic fuck-me dress. Of course he wanted me to wear this. Rolling my eyes, I changed into the dress, mumbling several curse-words under my breath as I zipped it up.

Walking out of the dressing room, I felt my heart beat hard in my chest. I wasn't ready for another rejection from Roman. I stepped in the middle of the fitting-area, checking myself out in the big mirror on the wall in front of me— I liked this one. My nervous gaze flickered over to Roman in the mirror, watching his attention move from his phone and to me from where he had sat himself down in a comfortable chair. 

Roman shifted, grounding his long legs on the floor, leaning forward to get a good look. "Turn around,"

Adhering to his orders, I did as told, doing my best to not look too angry with him. 

Roman's eyes scanned me thoroughly as he hummed, thinking. "I like it. We'll take this one,"

Letting out a sigh of relief, I couldn't believe he finally liked something. It irked me that he didn't ask what I felt about it, but I let it slide. I didn't want to provoke him in any way, especially not now.

However, Roman could read my face like no other. He always had the ability to know exactly what I was feeling— it's just that he didn't give a damn most of the time. "What?" he said, brows drawing together as his mood worsened. "Why do you look like that?"

"Like what?" It was the first thing I had said in about an hour.

"Displeased," Roman kicked back into the chair, his green eyes narrowing as he looked at me. "What is it?"

"It's nothing—"

"What is it about the ten thousand dollar dress that I'm about to buy you that displeases you?" His eyes were truly drilling into me now. 

I clenched my jaw, hoping to keep my mouth shut. I didn't want to do this in front of the workers in this shop, I didn't want to do this in public. "I'm just tired, Roman, could we just—"

"Tired of what? Shopping?" With a displeased huff, he shook his head in denial. "Talk to me about being tired when you start doing more than sitting around all day."

I let out a short gasp, feeling more than offended. Not wanting to cause a commotion, I lowered my voice before I spoke; "Roman, I'm in college. What I do when I'm 'sitting around all day', is studying!"

Roman snorted, rolling his eyes; "Do you want the dress or not?"

Enraged, I let in a big heave of air. Drilling my gaze into his, seeing the patronizing shimmer in the green of his eyes, pushed me over the edge. "No!" I sneered, balling my fists. "I don't want it! I didn't even want to come here, let alone have you come with me, but you never listen! Selfish fucking!—" I caught the eyes of one of the saleswomen, and it made me realize that I was making the scene I told myself I wouldn't make. Not daring to look at Roman, I stormed back into the dressing room, angrily closing the curtains.

With angry tears pressing up against my eyes, I struggled to open the zipper as my vision blurred. I hated this. I hated every minute, every second of this. Out of sight from everyone, I let a small tear run down my cheek, feeling beyond frustrated with both Roman and the zipper.

However, as the curtains drew apart and I felt his presence behind me, my breath hitched as I quickly wiped away the tear. "Get out—"

"Shut up," Roman stepped forward, swatting my hands away from the zipper, taking matters into his own hands. He opened it with ease and proceeded to watch me sniffle as I took off the dress. "What's your problem?" he said, voice low.

Feeling defeated, I let out a shaky sigh as I arranged the dress back on the hanger, not really caring that I was in my underwear and a pair of high heels in front of him. It's not like he hadn't seen me like this before. "I don't think you're allowed in here," I mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

Letting out a short, low groan, Roman rolled his eyes, clearly fed up. "I don't get why you're upset," he said, leaning against the wall as he watched me like a hawk. "I basically give you an unlimited budget to shop at fucking Dior, and you're sulking. Sulking!" 

Finally turning to him, I let him see how glossy my eyes were from the tears I was holding back. "I just wanted a day to make myself feel better, Roman," I said, keeping my voice down, fighting the rush of water coming to my eyes. "To look at myself and not hate what I see because of what I've become for you!"

Roman's eyes narrowed as his chest rose high with every breath he took. Stepping away from the wall, he took a few damning steps towards me, towering over me in intimidation. "You can't even imagine how many girls there are out there that would give up everything to be in your position," he said with a low growl. "Why can't you just be grateful?"

"Grateful for what?" I snapped back, feeling my frustration rise. "To be treated like some trophy you parade around town? Just a prop you bring around to social events? It's you who should be grateful I haven't left your sorry ass!"

Clearly growing further agitated, Roman's eye twitched. "No one's holding you back, sweetheart. You're free to leave,"

Taken aback, I stared back at him with a hollow feeling in my chest. Why were his words so venomous? Did I really mean that little to him, after all this time? My face fell a little, clearly caught off guard. He had never been so... welcoming of that idea. Feeling more tears well up in my eyes, I continued to stare at him in disbelief. 

And something about the look of defeat on my face seemed to satisfy Roman. Something deep, something dark inside of him. With a victorious smirk, he leaned down, tilting my chin up to make sure I wouldn't look away as he came closer. I could feel his hot breath against my skin as he spoke softly; "You can be a brat and complain all you want, but after I'm done with you here, I'm going to go pay for that dress while you fix yourself up. You're wearing it to the gala tonight. Got it?" 

Not knowing what else to say, feeling everything all at once, I mumbled; "It's too short for a gala,"

"All the better," Roman whispered, a flaming shimmer in his green eyes. He snaked one arm around my waist, tracing the bare skin of my back as he slowly pulled me even closer. "What do you say about a little peace-offering?"

Oh no. I knew what that meant. "I'm still mad at you,"

"Sure, stay mad," Roman leaned down, his plush lips now pressed against my neck in a hot, wet kiss. "Be mad at me all you want darling, take it out on me." 

Confused, I shivered as he kissed down my neck. This was quite a turn of events. "Roman, not here—"

"Yes, here," Gently biting down on my shoulder, hoping to get a reaction, he pulled me flush against him. Feeling my breath hitch once more, I put my hands on his broad shoulders, ready to push him away at any second. This was highly inappropriate, and I was suddenly hyper-aware of how little I was wearing compared to him, all dressed up in his usual suit.

"You need to stop fighting this," Roman murmured, moving from my neck to kiss the shell of my ear, making me shiver once more. "Stop fighting the life I want to give you. Don't you think I know what's best for you?"

Having him whisper in my ear like this was making my brain short-circuit, no matter the circumstances. I batted away my tears, sort of frozen to my spot. 

"You need to let me take care of you," he whispered, his hands now travelling down to my hips. "Let me buy you that stupidly expensive dress. Let me parade you around. It makes me feel good, don't you see? Don't you want to make me feel good?" With those last words, one of his hands slipped between my legs, ghosting over my underwear with one finger. 

I shivered— oh God. "Roman, I—"

"Don't you?" It didn't take long before he dipped his hand into my underwear, slowly rubbing my clit as I squirmed, hips bucking against his hand. My mind was far gone at this point; "I do,"

"Yeah?" Roman let me grind against his hand (for once), pulling away to find my eyes. "That's my girl."

Feeling my breath hitch against his lips, I felt a familiar warmth spread across my chest. "Roman—"

"See what I can do when you just listen?" He gently traced my entrance with his finger, a smirk forming on his lips at the sound of my wetness. "I can be very, very nice, you see." Roman dipped his finger into me with ease, making me part my lips at the sensation. My eyes were wide open now, still shocked that this was happening. I did my best to hold back a slight tremble as he curled his finger inside of me, knowing just how to touch me as always.

My heart was racing; was anyone taking notice of this outside the dressing room? I hoped not. But all thoughts of clarity flew out the window when I felt his thumb back on my clit, still pumping his middle finger into me. "Roman," I echoed— was it a moan?

"I will dress you as I please, and fuck you as I please," he whispered against my lips, denying me a kiss. "Because what pleases me, pleases you. Correct?"

Fuck, he was trying to re-wire my brain, wasn't he? At some point, I knew I would give in. Was this the moment? I didn't really know what to say, staring up at him with round eyes of disbelief. 

But my whole belief-system came crashing down when he added a second finger, making my hands clutch the fabric of his suit, losing myself more and more. 

"Use that pretty mouth of yours," he said, looking into my eyes with a looming darkness. "Say it or I'll stuff it."

Fuck no. "You're being mean,"

"Mean?" Roman feigned innocence, batting his long lashes at me with a twinge of a chuckle. "I'm being really fucking nice. Let me show you." He pulled his fingers out of me, which made my breath hitch— I felt surprisingly empty now. Grabbing my hips, he turned me around, making me face the wall as he hooked his fingers around my panties. "Mean," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as he dragged down my underwear, now reaching for the zipper of his pants. "When am I ever mean?"

I huffed— always? 

"Compared to many others, I'm a saint," Roman continued, almost as though he was convincing himself more than me. "Here I am, trying to please my girl... Mean, my ass." 

I was about to clap back at this point, until I felt the head of his dick rubbing against my entrance, making me lean my head against the wall in defeat and anticipation. 

This was seemingly not allowed— I let out a tiny squeak as Roman wrapped his hand around my neck, pulling me flush against him away from the wall. With his thumb, he forced my chin in the direction of the mirror in the dressing room. "Watch," he growled, holding me in place as I squirmed.

My breath hitched as he entered me, the sight of it making the whole thing even more lewd. I did my best to not let my eyes roll back, not wanting to show too much too early. Usually, I'd close my eyes, fight him somehow, refuse to watch— but this time, I just gave in. 

I watched as Roman buried his face in the crook of my neck, feeling his hot breath against my skin, letting out a sigh of relief at the feeling of being inside me again. "Fuck," he whispered, bucking into me slowly.

Letting my lips part at the sensation, feeling how big he was inside me, I did my best to fight against the instinctual shut-down of my brain. It was always a stretch, every damn time, which left me with slight remnants of tears in my eyes— but he knew this. I clawed a little at the hand he had around me, hissing slightly, not wanting to make too much noise, but he didn't need the reminder to take it slow with me. Despite our fights, despite the tension, Roman never hurt me. 

And the burning sensation didn't last long, anyways. It never did. I felt myself push down against him, meeting his hips, and that was all Roman needed to know before letting his instincts take control.

My heart sped up with his thrusts, giving in to a slight quiver as I let him fuck me, eyes still glued on the mirror even when he let go of my throat. "You're so wet, God," Roman kissed up my neck, panting slightly against my skin. "Feels so nice and tight..."

I shivered, giving into a smile as I felt him throb inside me. "What pleases you, pleases me," 

Roman chuckled slightly against my neck, his brown hair which was usually styled and proper now kissing his forehead; "Yeah? You like being fucked like this, hm?" 

I couldn't even lie. "Yeah... A-Aah—"

Quickly clasping a hand over my mouth, Roman made sure I kept my volume down. "Careful," he whispered, hips continuously meeting mine. "You close or something?"

I shook my head, letting out a muffled moan against his hand. This was getting too good. It made me almost want to cry again, just by the sheer feeling of him moving in and out of me at this pace. Was it maybe a little thrilling that we could be caught at any moment?

However, I should've known Roman would do this next; "Let's fix that, then," With his free hand, he reached down to rub my clit, making me cry out against his palm. 

Fuck, fuck— This was too much. My hands were now almost clawing at the wall, a familiar feeling pooling between my legs, which slowly traveled up my spine and up into the tips of my fingers.

"You know you love me," Roman whispered, leaning down to kiss the shell of my ear, making me shiver. "And you know I love you and your wet, little pussy... All mine, hm?"

I nodded against his hand, feeling my body quivering beneath his touch— the hand he had on my clit only made everything feel a thousand times stronger. 

"No matter what, you'll always be mine," Roman whispered into my ear, voice dripping with pride, pleasure and victory. "All mine... Fuck—"

If he hadn't had a hand over my mouth, I'd have agreed— rather loudly, in fact. But I didn't have the time for words, feeling my orgasm come crashing down on me, letting out a muffled, broken moan against his palm, feeling him fuck me through my high. 

As I clamped down on him with my orgasm, I felt him spill into me as well, thrusts growing more erratic as he bit down on my shoulder to muffle any possible sounds; it had me thinking it was definitely going to leave a mark.

I let out a defeated sigh as he pulled out of me, doing my best to not fall limp to the ground. Once again, he had somehow managed to completely fuck my brains out, leaving me a shivering mess. I slowly turned to Roman, trying to catch my breath; "Do you think they heard?"

Roman smirked, fixing his belt. "Definitely,"

Horrified, I felt my face flush, the consequences of our actions dawning on me. I did my best not to wobble on my high heels, letting out another sigh; "We're not doing that again,"

Looking down at me with a cocky smirk, he shook his head before leaning down to kiss my forehead. "We so are," Roman reached for the dress that was hanging next to me on the wall, holding it out in front of him to look at it once more. "You looked ravishing in this, by the way. Can't wait to watch my cum drip out of you in this dress all night." 

With a look of pure shock and horror on my face, I watched him leave the dressing room with a smug smile, wondering how on earth I had allowed this to happen— again.

[psycheetamore]

Punish me (part 1 of 3) – learning how to succumb to Feyd-Rautha’s process of redemption

Summary: you, a young Fremen woman, have not adhered to tradition. As punishment, your tribe sends you off to seek penance with Arrakis governor Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Since his rulership started, he has been all too happy to take the role to help redeem Fremen, as it has allowed him to create a symbiosis with the local population (and also sooth his own urges). Not really knowing what to expect, but having heard some stories relayed, you decide to follow through, in the hope of being accepted by your tribe again. But the process of redemption does not go as anticipated, not being kept as a mere slave for manual work. The na-Baron has taken interest in you, and decides to see how far he can push you, break you and rebuild you to his own corrupted liking through manipulation and deprivation. Split in 3 chapters as it got too long.

Notes: I was listening to my favourite song Bestrafe Mich from Rammstein on repeat, and thought to myself ‘I need to write this story’. The content was inspired by the ‘transformative process’ of Winston Smith of 1984, the will to live from Jigsaw and the lyrics of Kerosine (please treat this as a tag/trigger warning).

Tags for this chapter – additional tags in chapters 2 and 3: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha is his own trigger warning, manipulative Feyd, talkative Feyd, dominant Feyd, physically imposing Feyd, humiliating Feyd, oral demanding Feyd (as a tool of near-daily conditioning), nutritious black cum giving/weaponizing cum Feyd, food depriving Feyd, attention depriving Feyd, drugging Feyd, dubcon/noncon Feyd, no beta we die like duke leto. The author may actually start to have regrets looking at the tags (and the tags will get worse in the 2nd chapter)– I trust I do not need to add ‘dead dove don’t eat’ with all these tags. Tbh, this is absolute fey foul filth no-one should read

Word count: 5.3k

+++

You were disposed off at the steps to the palace of Carthag, used by Harkonnen rulership. You had two options: go back to the desert, where you would need to fend for yourself for the rest of your short life, or redeem yourself by entering this building where he ruled.

Your stubbornness had brought you here. Consequences not unknown, and willingly accepted, you had decided not to slay your fellow Fremen warrior after an altercation. Tradition dictated you should have. It was a way to plenish the subterrain water storages to make Arrakis green one day. By not fulfilling your task, you robbed your people from their future. You opened the door to unnecessary fights taunting hierarchy and tradition. You forced a fellow fighter to a life in shame rather than to die in honour. Still, at this moment you did not feel regret. Not yet.

Confident you made the right decision, you needed to follow through on the aftermath and went in. How bad could it be, what the imposed governor of this planet had to offer you? Already familiar and comfortable with hardship, the worst he could do was put you at work as a slave. Work in the spice refinement factories. You have heard stories of other Fremen having undergone his treatment, coming back salvaged and redeemed. They were not taken care of that badly, with regular food, shelter and even good access to water for Fremen standards. You knew not everybody returned, some choosing to stay in the employ of the na-Baron.

Your life would never be the same again.

Stepping into the fort, you were immediately surrounded by guards. It was still not an event that occurred every day: a Fremen partisan walking into the lion’s den.

After you were frisked and deprived from your weapons, you followed their path into the belly of the building: the throne room.

In this spacious room, filled with stone materials and beige colours, sitting at the top of imposing stairs leading to a throne, the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen governed over Arrakis.

As you were pushed down with a sudden blow against the back of your knees, falling on all fours, he purred: “what brings you here, young woman?”

A deep, smoky voice. You hardly had a chance to look at him, as your head was pushed down by a guard shouting at you to avert your eyes. A voice, resonating from deep within what sounded like a powerful body, that was your first impression of him.

You gulped, followed by a blow against your shoulder from the guard for not answering quickly enough.

“Sir, I am here to repent” you answered.

Another blow on your ribs followed. “You will address the na-Baron with his correct title” the guard screamed at you.

“You are here to repent? Why?” he asked.

“I failed to follow traditions. I did not kill when required.” You reach for breath, long enough to justify a kick against your ribs. “Lord na-Baron” was what hastily left your voice.

“Hmm. Ancient, outdated traditions. But girl, if you need to kill, you need to kill” he said smoothly. He clearly enjoyed himself. “Do you want to be here?”

“Yes sir. Lord na-Baron” your answer replied, being somewhat startled by the question.

“I will offer you one chance to leave before your repentance commences. I will allow you to leave, now, with the clothes on your back and one day worth of water. You will receive your weapons and I will not hunt you down. Not before the day ends in any case. But you only get this offer now. Now, and, after your penance ends, if you survive.”

You briefly looked up, to see a pale smiling man with a tilted head. He was observing you. Looking at your reactions. Trying to read you. Trying to understand you.

“You see. You are not the first, nor the last being sent here to atone. You would not be the first to leave, nor the last, within minutes after having set foot in my house. However, you can only achieve forgiveness from your tribe through me. I am willing to offer this, which is reserved for the strongest.”

Perhaps ten seconds past. Ten long seconds. Ten long seconds during which you were gazing into his eyes, as he was gazing into yours. Mesmerised. Something in the whole situation, in addition to your choice to seek forgiveness, triggered a masochistic interest in you.

The smile slowly left his face, as sternness entered. “I did not allow you to look up. Guard.” This invited the guard to place his knee on your back, put all his weight on your frame, causing you to fall on your belly, barely allowing you to prevent your face from hitting the stone floor.

“I see you have made your decision. Guards” he instructed, as he waived his hand to have you taken away.

Another guard joined. With both of them clamping an arm under your armpit you were dragged away.

You did not know it yet, but this was the last time in a period of three standard-months that you would see any other living person than Feyd-Rautha.

+++

As if going through a light-barren maze, you finally reached your destination. Being carried through several adjacent rooms which were fitted out opulently, with carvings of the sacred worms on the walls, you were thrown into one of the few rooms that neighboured what appeared to be a place for night rest. The click of the lock was your cue to stand up and start exploring. Even if you had submitted yourself to servitude, you would not end up a reactive victim.

Getting up on your feet, you explored your new home. It was decorated scarcely, with a small bed, a table and a chair, and an adjacent small bathroom holding only a pit to the ground covered by a box with an opening, a pipe through which sand could be taken for cleaning purposes and a pile of rags. In total perhaps 15 or 20 square meters. There was one small window, looking out on training grounds.

The table held a few bits of food, in the form of dried meats and fruits, and a small container of water. As if your presence was expected.

Hours passed.

The night fell.

You could not catch sleep, the uncertainty being unnerving.

While the moons were at their highest peak, you decided to look outside. Think about you comrades and how they were doing. Whether they were gazing at the same stars as you.

Movement caught your eye. Several stories below you, you heard fighting. It appeared to be the na-Baron in close combat with another person, but you could only ever so often catch a glimpse of your host. After the young lord was worked to the ground, it appeared the other person extended their hand to help him up. A training, not a fight. They continued till dawn.

+++

As the star had hit its highest point, you were still to encounter any other person. You had succumbed to hunger and eaten half of what was provided.

+++

Before dusk you had submitted to sleep. Still unclear on what was to come, but no longer able to fight your fatigue.

+++

In the middle of the night, you woke up. Strange sounds were coming through the door. Panting. Gasping. Growling. Flesh hitting flesh. Signs of copulation. Screeches of pain. The sounds of hands and whips forcefully hitting bodily mass.

Suddenly you heard someone plead. A woman. Begging for mercy. Naming the person for whom the supplication was attended, the na-Baron.  A simple answer followed: “no”, spoken by him, “you have lost the right for redemption”. Succeeded by a blunt sound, as if a body hit the ground.

A few minutes later a door opened, and something entered the room next to yours. He spoke: “fresh meat my darlings.”

For what seemed an eternity sloppy sounds and animalistic growls creeped through the door to hit your ears. However, you tried to block the sounds of what appeared to be feasting, you failed.

It had you frozen in your bed, not making any sound or any movement, until hours had gone by in silence and you felt safe enough to get up.

That night you decided you would do everything to live. The gruelling end that you had heard taking place would not befall you.

+++

Another day passed, food and water depleted, physical drain setting in.

The evening started to set in, as the lock turned. Your visitor would find you in the comfort of your bed, where you had laid your tired body, not being quick enough to get up on your feet.

It was the owner of this very building that came in, carrying a basket and a second chair. Solemnly he walked to the table, where he placed the basket, as you sat hurdled up, protecting your legs with your arms, making yourself small. The chair was put near the other chair, at an angle of 90 degrees.

“Come here” he said, as he started to remove the items from the basket. He did not make any attempts to close the door.

Recalling how tardiness was treated just a few days earlier, bruises on your body being proof of that, you stood up immediately and approached with cautious steps. On the table food was displayed, plates, cups to hold drinks, cutlery. He drew one of the chairs out, to invite you to take a seat.

As he pushed you seated towards the table, he settled himself as well, and started to divide the food over the two plates between both of you.

“Do you know why you are sent here?” he asked.

You looked at him, as he pushed one of the plates towards you. “Eat”. Your eyes scanned him quickly, followed by your hand moving to gather some much-needed replenishment. “After you answer my question” he said with a smirk.

Itching with hunger, you quickly explained what had happened. Your answer ended with: “it could never be as bad as living with knowing I robbed children from their parent over an irrelevant discussion that got out of hand.”

He chuckled and nodded towards the plate, allowing you to dig in.

“I will explain why I am here, now, in this very room, Fremen women. It is all about symbiosis.”

You looked up at him, questioningly, while continuing to chew.

“Symbiosis. A cooperative relationship between me and the Fremen. I do not know whether it existed when my brother was still here. If I were Fremen, I would in any case not trust him enough for it” he grinned. “I also don’t know whether it existed before him, or when the Richese were in charge. When I was holding court, on an ordinary day, the first Fremen was sent to me. I first thought it was a trap. But as I continued to torture him, I started to be convinced it was true. It makes sense, for the superstitious people you are. I had thought about it, and decided to honour the request. It is an easy task for me, and ever since, the raids on my spice production have gone down. We have reached an equilibrium.”

“Sir…”

His face started to display his menacing side.

“Lord Harkonnen…”

“Better.”

“My lord Harkonnen, if I may ask? What happened to the man?”

“Aah. Muriz. I will never forget his name” he said, his pupils dilating as he stared in the distance.

With energy starting to fuel your blood and limbs, you started to have room to be more observant. The man in front of you was wearing clothing made of a thin, flowy and black fabric, covering his entire body. A wide shirt that was tucked into high wasted trousers, that seemed to be tied together by a broad belt of the same material also holding two daggers. The broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist were accentuated. Through the tailoring of the shirt, that was tied together at the waist with hidden buttons, it gave the impression that he was even broader than he was. He had left his shirt partially unbuttoned, showing the harsh curves from his sculpted body. You had heard the stories before. What a brute his brother was, how sophisticated the man in front of you was. In intellect, in political acumen, and also in his physical state. The legs of the pants were wide, while consisting of overlaying parts - they could be mistaken for a skirt. His feet were adorned with simple indoor-shoes.

This was an outfit to relax in, despite the weapons, while still presenting himself in a thought-through manner. Quite an attractive manner, showcasing him in all his manliness, you thought. As your eyes glanced over his body, you could not help but think what he was hiding under his robes. How he looked when not covered. Whether his entire body was so pale. Whether his body was as stern and deliberate as he was in words. What you would find. Thoughts quite foreign to you. Perhaps the result on the sudden influx of fuel.

“Muriz. He was a strong man. I subjected him to quite something. I thought about what to do with him. Destroy him for pleasure, keep him for entertainment – he turned out to be a funny guy, or send him back. I decided to do the latter. I felt he had redeemed himself for the crimes he had committed. Well, in my eyes again not crimes, but silly altercations. You people know no fun. You are way too sacred about life. I allowed him to strengthen in our sickbay before sending him off. Clearly did the right thing, because ever since I have had a steady flow of guests.”

He chuckled as he thought about Muriz. Fear wrapped your mind as you started to understand the gravity of the situation. You tried to shift your focus from the thoughts that were crossing through your head: “I have never heard of Muriz. He must have been of another sietch.” His eyes flared up, easily triggered to be filled with anger. “My lord Harkonnen.”

“That is right. You will address me always with my title.” He chuckled again. “Unless I am fucking you. In such case you may also address me by my given name.”

These words got you startled. The abruptness of this comment, understated it was, yet if felt like he was inside your brain. You were still swallowing food when that happened, causing you to breath some into your lunges. A simple cough was not enough to get it out of you, but you did not want to let yourself go in front of this man. With airflow being restricted, you quickly stood up while glancing up to him with a guilty look on your eyes, and retreated to the bathroom. There you started to cough violently. But it didn’t come out. You fell to your hands and knees, as your back arched more relentlessly.

Steady arms grabbed around your midriff, easily picking you up from the floor and drawing your back against his chest while digging their way into your belly with repeated force. A few tugs were needed to have your body expel the food that would have allowed you a fairly pain-free way out of the ordeal that was to come. You would not be given such exit. You needed to deserve redemption.

Gasping for breath, he did not leave you to fall back on the ground. He supported you. Continued to hold you against him. You felt the hardness of his chest, the hardness of his abdomen, the hardness of his groin. Once that awareness hit you, you turned around and tried to get away from him. Pushing against his front, trying to find enough room to push your knee in between the both of you, but he was not having that. As if he did not register your efforts, he spoke: “such a greedy little girl. Hmm, what else would you be greedy for? What else would you be able to choke on?” he said, as he pushed hairs that covered your face to be fitted behind your ears.

A menacing look was on his face. He tilted his face and uncovered the true blackness of his teeth through a wide smile. You wanted to get away, but every time you pushed, you somehow managed to touch his warm skin, with his manhood being pushed against you harder and harder. Your breathing increased, as you wanted to avert his gaze. It was mesmerizing. One of his hands found its way towards your neck, forcing you to present it for him feast on.

For a moment the thought of compliance fell over you.

But you could not. Not with him, not here.

He must have felt your internal battle, as he picked you up with one arm and placed you on the counter in this little bathroom. His hips forcing their way in between your legs, he did what he was set to do; feast on your neck. As he lapsed his tongue, he growled: “I can taste your fear.” A moan followed. “It is precious.” He licked all across your neck, forcing you to succumb to hidden desires that had found their way up and throw your head back, exposing yourself in all your vulnerability. “You are reacting well. Better than I had anticipated. Better than the others. I had planned to take more time with these first steps. But you are adopting so good, we might as well speed up.”

“No, please” you pleaded, “don’t”, as his words had snapped you out of your debilitation.

His hand found your neck, pressing with intense strength. “What… did… I… tell… you?” he spoke, extremely slow.

Gasping for air you spit out: “lord, lord Harkonnen.”

“How much punishment and threats do you need to learn such a simple thing?” he huffed in your ear. “It seems your body responds better to what I require than your brain. Let’s see whether your mouth is more part of your body or your brain” as he let you go and took a step back.

“On your knees” his smoky voice said.

It was an order. Not a request, not a proposal. Knowing you should not keep him waiting, you anxiously got of the counter and took the position required. You did not dare to look up.

“Do I need to explain every step to you? I thought you were smarter than this” he said, with discontent in his voice. As if he meant it. As if he was genuinely disappointed. 

Before you had looked up high enough to see his eyes, yours were caught staring straight at his length. Within seconds he had uncovered himself, allowing it to spring free in all its awe. You would not have much time to gasp at its unprecedented size, its terrifying girth or its pearl colour, as he had used the opening you had involuntarily created between your lips to be able to gasp to push himself in.

You tried to temper his speed and depth by pushing against his groin, which only enticed him to go deeper.

“I will show you how you can find hidden treasures of liquid inside yourself” he moaned, as he thrashed himself repeatedly in your mouth, finding the depths of your throat. “A valuable lesson for a Fremen.”

Saliva came rising up from your throat. You wanted to swallow it, but were prevented by his cock. The same cock that was preventing you from breathing.

Just in time to save you from passing out, he removed himself sufficiently for you to recuperate.

Never did he leave you entirely though. Through the entire ordeal he filled your mouth.

“You see how much your body wants me? Wet, your mouth is so wet. I will show you another place that is wet”, as he removed himself for the first time. He kneeled in front of you, pushed his hand into your pants, into your underwear and digged straight into you. A pang of pain shot through you, causing you to release a scream.

His fingers did not leave you though, as they started to twirl around: “so wet, yet so tight. I believe I am the first to explore you. But you see, your body adapts so quickly, it is such a good student” as he finally removed his fingers with a curl. He knew what he was doing. He knew the placed he would touch inside your walls with that small little motion. He knew he was alternating pain with pleasure.

He played with the viscous liquid between his fingers in front of your eyes. “Do you see this? Your pussy is filled with it. It is preparing to have me. It wants to have me. It wants to have my cock, my sperm, my offspring. Isn’t it beautiful?”

You closed your eyes, but he was not having that. Feyd-Rautha slapped you in the face as he ordered: “answer me when I am talking to you.”

With big terrified eyes you responded: “yes, lord Harkonnen.”

“Good” as he stood up and presented himself again. “Where were we?”

Fearful of his response, you opened your mouth again to welcome this powerful man. He grabbed the back of your head and started to thrust again.

Before long he had found depths in your throat so deep that you could not even choke.

But he would not give you the grace of coming in the back of your throat. No, this man withdrew, keeping just the tip of his cock in your mouth, as he came. Every drop spilled on your tongue, filling you with his precious black liquid.

You looked up and just knew spitting it out would be a death sentence. It would have already be reason for significant backlash in your sietch, spilling liquids, but this man would be insulted to his deepest core.

So you swallowed this gift. Together with all the saliva you had produced. Liquid, even some calories and vitamins. Nothing went to waste. He did not require you to share, he benevolently gave you everything.

As he held your head in his hands, he looked down on you and seemed pleased: “I will reward your progress with lessons. Should you ever leave the warmth of my embrace, you will go back a more mature and studied person.”

He helped you to your feet and guided you back to your room.

After you joined him at the table, you wanted to take a sip from the cup in front of you. “No” he said with a dark voice. “You will taste me for the hours to come. You will learn to love it, if you don’t already do. To crave it. One of the lessons I will teach that will aid your survival.”

You could not help but wonder what the benefit was of learning something like that. How this would make you into a more mature person. How this would make you fit into your Fremen society better. But you knew better than to waste precious liquids.

“Now, eat. Replenish. You do not know when the next meal will come” he chuckled.

As you continued eating, scared for any sudden eruptions, you listened to what he had to say.

“It is all about symbiosis as I said. It helps to create stability on this planet. You wanted to salvage the parent, the children. How do you believe they now feel?”

Having switched to tiny bits of food, it was easy to swallow what was left and answer: “my lord, I would believe they feel relief. Relief that they are still together. That the children can be taken care of.”

“Hmm. How do you think your fellow warriors look upon them?”

“Lord Harkonnen, I would believe they would have otherwise pitied them. In absence of which they would feel they have gotten out with a lot of luck.”

“Considering that argumentation, why are you not hailed in by the Fremen as a benevolent saviour, but rather thrown at my mercy?”

“My lord…” you now understood what you had done, your heart dropping to your feet, all pangs of hunger suddenly disappearing. You dropped your face onto your hands and could not help but start to shiver. Crying had been something you had learned not to show, as it caused a loss of precious water. This had been your alternative.

“It is interesting how all Fremen show this emotion in a different way. None of you seem to cry. Not initially. And this is what you do. How quaint” he commented.

You did not know what to do with that comment. You decided to just keep to the position you had chosen, and silently weep in your hands.

“We as rulers need to be strict on our people. It is the only way to prevent anarchy. I rule with an iron hand on Giedi Prime, and I rule with equal sternness on this planet. Strong people require strong leadership” he explained. “Look at me” while removing one of your hands and forcing your face up. “I am disappointed you failed to see this. You failed to see the reasons behind your own traditions” he said in a humiliating way with a tilted head.

He must have seen your shame grow, your feelings of guilt, as his look started to soften. This evening had been very successful for him, starting to break you down. He stood up with a smile exposing some of his black teeth again and walked to the door, leaving the chair, the food and the drinks he had brought.

But he did not leave without a last word.

Looking at you, at the table and at you again, he said: “I know you will not abuse my trust by drinking anything before dawn.” You nodded, and he left.

Upon his departure you felt you had said a lot and your feelings had been soaring through your body. Perhaps too much. You had never been so loosed-lipped, nor full of spirit.

It was only after his departure that you noticed he had not eaten anything on his own plate. The thought rushed through your head whether you should try to throw up. On second thought you decided against it. You were already at his will. Either you would die through whatever he had contemplated for you, or you would die from hunger. But if he had not intended for you to die, throwing up could entice him to show his wrath. You came to the conclusion, for the sanity of your own mind, that he had left that food for you to eat at a later moment.

Deep inside of you, you knew that the food had been laced with something to bring you to open yourself up to him, mentally and physically. And you would continue to do so, if you wanted to survive, needing the food in front of you for that very purpose.

+++

Another day past. At the end of the day, you had consumed everything he had brought, somehow trusting he would bring you more despite the hunger that had started to set in.

And he did.

As night started to fall, the door was opened again, and the young lord stepped in. You flew up from your chair to greet him. “Good evening lord na-Baron.”

“Very good. You are learning” he complimented. “But you are not there yet entirely. The next time I enter that door, I expect you to already be kneeling.” A rush of blood flew through your body, unasked for filling your nether regions with energy. “I apologise, lord Harkonnen” as you dropped yourself to the ground.

“Very good” he repeated. “You are not a quick learner, but you may get there. I can work with that for the time being.”

He walked to the table, placed his basket on the table and went to stand in front of you. “I have decided that from now on, every time that you want to eat, you first need to drink” as he fiddled with his trousers and presented his cock, already fully erect and menacing.

You knew what to do, as you opened your mouth and drew him in.

Famished as you were, you started sucking him as hard as your mouth would allow you to.

“Hungry girl, aren’t you? Hungry for my cock, for my black nutritious semen. I have started to condition you just fine. You should be grateful for my teachings. This is what will keep you alive.” He moaned as he grabbed your head and said: “let me help you, little Fremen student.”

Continuing to moan he released himself in your throat this time. After a couple of seconds, he moved himself to the beginning of your mouth. “Suck me dry, you should not let any drop go to waste” he suggested. A suggestion you followed. If you knew drops were left, he would not even need to ask you to collect these; you would have done so out of sheer will and need. For the first time, you touched him, held him, to pull his folds back and salvage any last bit of what he had to offer to you.

Before long he started to get hard again. You thought he wanted you to repeat, causing you to guide him deeper in. It happened automatically, you did not even think about it. But, that was not what he had planned as he removed himself from you: “you have earned your right for food. Eat. It is still warm.”

Again, the basket contained to sets of plates and cutlery. Now you were tasked to split the food. Again, he did not eat or drink anything. Again, you were not allowed to drink. Again, a conversation ensued. A conversation about your history, your upbringing.

A conversation that turned into discussing your fears, trauma’s. No-one, apart from your mother, had ever learned about your fear of water. A near-death experience when you fell in one of the wells as a toddler, had been kept buried deep inside. but here you were spilling it in great detail to your host, who seemed pleased to learn of it. Within Fremen society you had managed to avoid large bodies of water since, by referring to tradition and the fear of wasting any drop.

As he left for the night, he stood still in the door again, looking at the drinks on the table and at you again. Wanting to receive his praise again, you stated: “I will salvage your taste until dawn, my lord Harkonnen.” With a confirming nod he left and locked the door.

+++

During the day, you saw Feyd-Rautha train on the grounds again. And it felt as if it was a present given to you, for your compliance and increased understanding. For hours you looked at him, mesmerized.

+++

That night he did not visit you.

You could not catch sleep as your mind started to go in overdrive on what you should have done differently.

+++

Another day past. Another day without food, water or attention. A day laced with guilt, and fear.

+++

This night, he called on you again. Upon hearing the lock being turned, your heart jumped. You knew what you needed to do, not wanting to risk anything to be left alone for more than a day again. Hurling out of bed, on your knees, ready to receive him.

+++

[Link to chapter 2 / 3 and 3 /3 to follow - Punish Me (part 2 of 3): Feyd-Rautha’s lessons for virgins & Punish me (part 3 of 3): the story on how you became one of Feyd-Rautha’s concubines]

@kasagia - a tag as requested

[thedamselzelda]

Two Hearts Torn

Featuring: Fyodor Dostoevsky & Dazai Osamu

Summary: Broken, beaten, battered, and bruised. What keeps a heart from beating as one? For two, it's torn between losses and consequences of years past. However, in this twisted game, only calculated moves will stitch these hearts back together.

word count: 7.7k+, fem!reader, HOTD!reader, nsfw (oral sex m! receiving, unprotected sex, quick moment of domestic abuse [possessive Fyodor, very unhealthy relationship]), reader referred to with other names (no use of y/n), Russian words used (general meanings at the end), reader dissociates.

Author Chat: After an overwhelming poll, I have written another part of this story (tbh, I was a little too happy for it to win)! This part isn't as dark as I originally wrote it, as I couldn't bring myself to slander Fyodor too much. What can I say, the man is my #3 (behind my b-day buddy Chuya and my #1 Dazai ofc).

I also feel the need to mention before this part that this is an installment apart of the Beast AU. Yes, reader is married to Fyodor, however, the story is primarily a Dazai x reader story.

Hope you guys enjoy!

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

You stared at your reflection in the ornate vanity mirror, the face looking back at you feeling strangely unfamiliar. With delicate movements, you began to remove the bobby pins from your hair, allowing each strand to cascade onto your shoulders. Your eyes, a striking violet, searched your own gaze in the mirror, desperately grasping for clarity amidst the whirlwind of memories from the night. A weary sigh escaped your lips as you closed your eyes and rested your head in your hands, succumbing to the flood of memories about him. The lingering effect he had on you was both frustrating and thrilling, a contradiction that left you feeling dizzy.

There was no doubt in your mind about the reason for his visit - he came solely to see you. The realization sent a shiver down your spine. Yet, his unexpected question about what it would take for you to leave the House of the Dead, to abandon your husband, had caught you completely off guard, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

You extended your arm forward, observing the glistening ring on your finger. The alexandrite stone caught the dim light of your boudoir, its colors shifting mesmerizingly from a deep emerald to a rich purple as you turned your hand. Regret washed over you like a cold wave, seeping into your bones as you contemplated your choice of gem. The stone, his birthstone, now felt like a silent betrayal, a constant reminder of the man you couldn't forget, couldn't refrain from loving despite everything. Disgust rose in your throat, bitter and biting, as you berated yourself for not choosing a simple, neutral diamond instead. The realization that your heart had once again acted without your conscious consent left you feeling raw and exposed.

Your mind drifted to the circumstances of your marriage to Fyodor. The decision felt rushed, almost impulsive in hindsight. It served no real purpose for either of you beyond Fyodor's antiquated notion of propriety. His timid words echoed in your memory, tinged with an air of pious restraint:

"I could not lay with you unless we were wed..."

You rolled your eyes at the thought, irritation prickling beneath your skin like tiny needles. Initially, aligning yourself with Fyodor had been a calculated move, a way to strike back at Dazai and the unfair hand of cards you had been dealt in life. But over time, it had evolved into something more complex, a relationship built on stolen moments - chaste kisses on hands and lips, always restrained by his devout adherence to religious principles. His unwavering commitment to God frustrated you; for what cruel deity would curse you with such an ability?

The irony of your situation wasn't lost on you. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined yourself married, not even to Dazai. Life within the Mafia, and now in the House of the Dead, seemed incompatible with such conventional milestones. You had been content in your life with Dazai, before his gradual descent into whatever labyrinthine plans now consumed him.

Now, you found yourself in a precarious position. Isolated, you focused your efforts on seizing The Book from Dazai, the key to Fyodor's grand plan of overwriting this hellish reality. The weight of this mission hung heavy on your shoulders, a constant reminder of the complex web of loyalties, desires, and regrets that now defined your existence.

A soft click of your bedroom door stole you from your thoughts, your eyes shifting in the mirror to the figure entering your room. Fyodor's reflection appeared behind you, his rich purple eyes tired, as if he had paused his work to come and deal with you.

"Oh, moya lyubov', I wasn't expecting you." The lie slipped easily from your lips, even as you knew he would see through it. You had expected him, especially after how easily Nikolai had caught on to the change in your demeanor. Damn Nikolai...

"Moya zhena, I hear you've had quite the exciting day." His voice was smooth, yet laced with an undercurrent of something you couldn't quite place.

You made no indication of moving from your position as you looked up at Fyodor in the mirror. His weary smile was laced with fondness, yet you could detect icy undertones beneath the surface. He drifted over to you, his movements graceful despite his apparent exhaustion. His hands, cool and slender, came to rest upon your shoulders as he leaned down to place a kiss upon your undone hair.

His warm breath caressed your scalp, his lips parting as if on the verge of speech. Before he could utter a word, you smoothly began recounting your evening, carefully omitting any mention of Dazai's appearance.

"It was so tedious," you sighed, reaching for your makeup remover. "And now I'll have to get the carpet replaced." You dabbed at your face, the cool liquid erasing the traces of the night. Fyodor merely hummed in response, his intense gaze following your every movement.

"I suppose I'll have to search for a new group to take on the Port Mafia," you continued, your tone deliberately casual. "Maybe I should seek help from that Detective Agency. Perhaps they would work for the right price."

"No," Fyodor interjected sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. You turned; shock evident on your features. He had never disagreed with your suggestions before, always supporting your efforts to obtain The Book.

His knuckles grazed your cheek, sending an involuntary chill down your spine. His lips curled into a malicious smile, violet eyes glittering dangerously in the dim light.

"Moy dorogoy, you've never been a terrible liar," he purred, his voice silky smooth yet laced with venom. "However, the secrets you keep have always been so apparent."

Your eyes narrowed as you searched the storm brewing before you. Suddenly, his hand wrapped around your throat, swift and firm, forcing you to your feet. The pressure increased, making each breath a struggle.

His face hovered mere millimeters from yours, his breath fanning over your lips. "You forget yourself, moya zhena. You belong to me. I know every move you make here, malen'kaya mysh'."

A desperate squeak escaped you as you gasped for air, your fingers clawing at his hand. "I know, please," you managed to choke out.

"He was here tonight," Fyodor hissed, his eyes blazing. "And I hear you two did more than just talk."

He released you abruptly, causing you to stumble back. You massaged your throat, gulping in fresh air. After regaining your composure, a smirk played on your lips. "All this because I danced with him?"

In a fluid motion, the back of his hand struck across your face, swinging back up to grasp the back of your head firmly. His voice dropped to a menacing whisper, "He is still in love with you. From how you feign the mere mention of him, I would suspect that you, moya lyubyashchaya zhena, also still love him."

A pain sparked upon your lips as you smirked, a breathy laugh escaping as you slipped into Russian, "Budto. It's as you suggested; I have initiated another plan by indulging him in a dance is all."

His eyes softened slightly, his grip on your scalp loosening. "Speak."

"He wants me to come back, to rejoin the Mafia," you explained, the words flowing effortlessly. "We can use that. Let me slip back into his good graces. He's bound to eventually have me up in his office. There, I can do what none of those assassins could, and take The Book for ourselves."

His anger was quickly replaced at your obedience, a soft smile reappearing. "Chudesnyy, moya lyubov'. I believe that is a great plan."

His eyes darted to your lips, urging you to quickly grasp the collar of his white buttoned shirt and pulled him into a kiss. His eyes fluttered closed as he kissed you lightly. You could feel him reveling in your compliance. His hand drifted from the nape of your neck, down to your waist, pulling you flush to him. His lips danced among yours, fervently melting.

Your fingers deftly toyed with the hem of his pants, coaxing a chuckle from your lover’s lips. He hummed as your body pressed against his, your hands slipping past the cloth to grasp his hardened cock. You smile at his breathy moan by your mere touch, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"What you do to me, ty lisitsa." His eyes trailed you as you dipped down to your knees. His fingers combed into your hair, pulling every last strand from your face. Your eyes panned to his as you pulled his pants down slightly to free his hardened, leaky member. One hand rested upon his hip, the other supporting him as your tongue slips out, barely brushing against his tip, tasting the salty cream from his slit. He hissed, rocking himself forward slightly to you. You hum, releasing his gaze, closing your eyes as you opened your mouth to fully take him in.

"Ugn, so beautiful, moya lyubov'." His praises reach your ears; his lips uttering your name, like a thankful prayer to his God above.

His tip reaches the back of your throat, and your eyes squeeze together to feign from gagging. You draw back slightly, barely parting your lips to allow your tongue to trail behind. Your hand pumping in your lips wake, applying gentle pressure. 

He gathered your hair into one hand, using the freedom to brush a dripping tear from your cheek. "Takaya khoroshaya devochka."

Your lips close around his cock once more, dipping yourself to push your nose flush with his hips. You suppress a gag once more as your throat spasms against his length. 

"I must have you, moya lyubov'," his voice shaky, nearly causing you to laugh at his submissive behavior. You don’t release him just yet, however, gently sucking as you bob upon him. His knees slightly buckle at your defiance, earning a tug of your hair, pulling you from him.

He pulls you to stand by your hair, a slight burn forming from the aggressive pull. He releases you, grasping at the vanity seat to shove it out of the way. You were next on his brief redecorating of your room. Grasping you firmly by your hips, eagerly pulling at the skirt of your formfitting dress and forcing it up to your waist. His hands roughly grip onto you before pushing you into the vanity. 

You’re lifted by Fyodor to sit upon the cold surface, legs slotting open as he aggressively grasps your face to kiss you once more, as if it was his last dying breath. His member plays at your clothed cunt, slightly dripping from your arousal. His hand leaves your face, his fingers tugging at the cloth to pull it aside, aligning himself. He pulls at your waist once more, fixing the angle to allow himself to slide between your plush walls.

“Fuck!” You sharply exhale, your eyes slotting closed. Instinctively, you lurched forward to grasp onto him, and to rest your chin upon his shoulder. Your hands rested upon his nape and back, holding onto him as his hands gripped yours in a way that would leave bruises behind. His lips grazed your neck, leaving behind a trail of kisses and soft bites. 

Your eyes slowly opened as his thrusts grew sloppier, evident of his impending release within you. Across from you, you saw your reflection in the closet mirror, allowing you to observe the explicit moment before you. However, your mind saw and heard different; the black hair entangled within your hands was brown and curly, the muffled, breathy moans against your neck were replaced with lowly grunts and words of praise, and the suit of the man before you became stained black. 

You wanted to utter his name as you felt your release, like a call out to him to stay far away from the danger you would inflict upon him. Yet, you stifled the moan by biting your lip as you felt a warmth fill you to your core.

Fyodor sighed contently, releasing you from his harsh grip. He pulled his softening cock from your cunt, his seed dripping from you. He stepped to the side, observing his appearance within the mirror as he begins to fix himself before leaving you.    

“I will get started on that plan tomorrow, moy dorogoy.” You utter as you slide from the vanity.

“Ochen' khorosho,” were his parting words to you as he began to leave for the door. You slip your dress back down, not worrying about the state of it. You notice as you look up that he is awaiting your attention before amending his last words. “See you in my next life, moy angel smerti.”

You give out a plain breathy laugh, “Till true death do us part, moya lyubov'.”

The pulsing energy of weekend nights had faded, replaced by the more subdued atmosphere of a weekday evening at The Midnight's Caress. Yet, even on these quieter nights, the club maintained a steady flow of patrons - a mix of devoted regulars and wide-eyed tourists drawn to its allure. Tonight, however, held special significance. A special visitor had arrived, someone who held a place in your heart from the days before Dazai's induction into the Port Mafia.

You made your entrance with practiced grace, descending from the second-floor terrace. Your presence commanded attention, drawing admiring glances from across the dimly lit space. Ignoring the adoration, your gaze remained fixed on your destination - the sleek bar opposite the sunken dance floor and stage.

A solitary figure occupied one of the barstools. Even from a distance, you recognized the familiar shock of unkempt auburn hair and the well-worn light brown overcoat. As you approached, you watched him raise an ornate crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid to his lips.

"And here I thought," you began, your voice carrying a hint of amusement as rich chocolate eyes met yours, “that you avoided lurking around Mafia territory at all costs, mister detective”

A warm smile spread across the man's face as he spoke your name, his tone tinged with fondness. “Well, if it's to see an old friend, I'm willing to take my chances.”

You feigned offense, placing your hands on your hips in mock indignation. “Sakunosuke Oda, did you just call me old?”

His head fell into a gentle shake, accompanied by a soft laugh that seemed to momentarily erase the tension from his features. You joined in his laughter, sliding onto the barstool next to him. While maintaining a careful distance, you positioned yourself to face outward, keeping a vigilant eye on the space between you and the stage.

Glancing sideways, you studied Oda's familiar profile, your gaze lingering on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. A mischievous glint sparked in your eye as you asked, your voice a playful whisper, "Did you pay for that?"

Oda's eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of amusement passing through them before he looked back down at the tumbler. His voice was steady, tinged with a hint of pride. "Of course."

You sighed, rolling your eyes in exaggerated exasperation. Leaning across the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you beckoned the blonde bartender with a subtle, elegant gesture. "Reimburse him," you commanded, your tone leaving no room for argument, the words crisp and authoritative in the dimly lit space.

"No, you don't have to do that," Oda protested, a faint blush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

Your response was swift and sharp, cutting through the ambient noise of the club. "He does if he would like to keep his job." The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play in this world you both inhabited, albeit from different sides. You softened your tone slightly, adding, "My friends do not need to worry about such things here."

A teasing glint returned to Oda's eyes as he accepted his reimbursement. "Oh, you have friends now?" he quipped, his voice warm with familiarity."Oda!" You laughed, the sound genuine and unguarded. "I almost do want to make you pay now."

"That was the goal," he replied, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. He stuffed the money into his pants pocket before grasping his glass once more.

The bartender materialized behind you, placing an identical tumbler filled with amber liquid onto the bar. You gave the glass a cursory glance before turning your attention back to the club.

Oda's voice drew you back from your reverie, curiosity evident in his warm tone. "So, how is it, being a club owner?"

"Boring," you replied dryly, a hint of amusement in your eyes. "How is it, being a detective?"

"Anything but boring. I'm always doing something, it feels like," Oda responded, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

You nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. Memories of your shared past flickered through your mind, a reminder of the complex relationship that bound you both.

Oda's voice softened as he continued, "We just recently recruited this boy."A breathy chuckle escaped your lips. "So, you've taken in another orphan. I swear, are you raising an army over there?"

Oda's rich laughter echoed within the glass at his lips, the sound warm and comforting. "It does seem like that, doesn't it?" He paused, his expression growing more serious. "I worry about this boy. I picked him up on the riverbank, and he attempted to attack me."

You listened intently, grateful for the chance to lend an ear to your friend's concerns. The ambient noise of the club faded into the background as you focused on Oda's words.

"I don't know what it is about this boy," Oda continued, his brow furrowing slightly. "He's in search of his sister... harbors the unruliest plans for this man that he describes as 'the man in black.'"

Your eyes widened slightly, and you turned to meet Oda's intrigued gaze. "This boy," you began cautiously, "does he have black hair? Two little tufts of white on the ends?"

Oda gave a hesitant nod, his hand now outstretched to offer you your glass. You accepted it carefully, the cool crystal a stark contrast to the warmth of realization spreading through you.

"Be careful of that boy. I remember his name clearly. Akutagawa Ryūnosuke." Your voice lowered, heavy with the weight of memory. You looked down at your glass, tapping your fingers along its surface rhythmically. "I was there when the Port Mafia found him, shortly before I left for Italy. There were plans to recruit him. However, it was determined... that he was unfit to join us."

Your eyes rose to meet Oda's, his face a careful mask hiding his thoughts. "There is a beast inside of that boy, Oda. I pray that you teach and guide him, to learn to tame it."

You paused, bringing the crystal glass to your lips for a sip. As the whiskey touched your tongue, your eyes widened in surprise. You pulled the glass back, glancing towards the shelves behind the bar. Your gaze settled on a familiar bottle, its amber contents glowing softly in the low light. You eyed it with a mixture of suspicion and resigned amusement. That snake, you thought, recognizing Dazai's handiwork in the choice of spirits.

Shaking your head slightly, you made a mental note to address that matter later. Your voice grew heavy with warning as you continued, "Or that beast will one day consume him. I've seen it near happen to the boy they did take in."

Oda's brow furrowed in concern. "I can agree; I share those thoughts exactly. Do you, by chance, know what happened to his sister?"

You gave a curt shake of your head, the movement causing the dim lights to dance across your features. "I know that the Port Mafia took her, however, I don't know what became of her."

Oda finished off the rest of the whiskey in his glass, the ice clinking softly as he set it before the bartender for a refill. "I see," he murmured, his voice tinged with disappointment.

A moment of contemplative silence fell between you, the ambient noise of the club fading into the background. You could feel Oda's gaze studying your face as you surveyed the array of guests for the evening, your eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease.

"So, what happened with that?" Oda's question broke the silence, his hand gesturing towards his own lip and the side of his face.

"Oh," you replied, feigning ignorance about your appearance. You had attempted to cover the cut on your lip and the small bruise that had formed across your cheekbone from the night before. "Just an unruly guest. Unfortunate, and obviously for him, he didn't make it."

Oda hummed, a note of skepticism in his tone. It was clear he didn't fully believe the story you had fabricated. You huffed as you finished the rest of your glass, the warm liquid burning a path down your throat. Turning to him, you shifted the conversation once more. "What about your book? When will I be able to read the first draft?"

A soft smile graced Oda's features as he looked back down into his glass, swirling the amber liquid absently. "I've been having horrible writer's block. I know what I want to say, it's just getting it to paper that's the problem."

"Well," you gave a breathy chuckle, rising from your seat with fluid grace. His eyes met yours, a shared understanding passing between you. You both knew these encounters were rare and precious, a stark contrast to your shared youth. "You know where I'll be, ready to receive and critique. But to love it all the same."

"For the long wait, how about I dedicate it to you?" Oda offered, a hint of warmth in his voice.

You gave a warm smile, placing your hands upon your chest in dramatic adoration. The gesture was playful, but the emotion behind it was genuine. "Awe, Oda. You do care!"

Oda's head dipped down once more, his shoulders shaking with muffled laughter. You took a deep breath, the familiar ache of longing settling in your chest. More than anything, you wished you could embrace him, to feel the comfort of his brotherly affection that had been so freely given in your childhood. You knew deep down that he wished the same; on several occasions, he had forgotten the limitations of your ability, only to be reminded by Flawless.

"I have business I have to attend to, but you may stay as long as you like," you said, your voice softening with regret at having to cut the reunion short. You tapped the polished bar top twice, a silent signal to your bartender. He understood immediately, preparing your glass as well as a secondary pour of the whiskey you had been drinking.

Grasping the two crystal tumblers, the amber liquid catching the low light, you gave a final look to your dear friend. Your eyes lingered on his face, committing every detail to memory. "See you around, Odasaku," you said, the nickname slipping out unexpectedly.

Oda's eyebrows raised slightly, a quizzical look crossing his features at the unfamiliar moniker. You found yourself equally surprised, giving him a small shrug in response. The corner of his mouth tugged upward into a warm smile, and he raised his glass in a silent toast as you began to walk away.

Your heels clicked softly on the polished floor as you made your way back toward the staircase leading to your office. The weight of the glasses in your hands was a tangible reminder of the responsibilities waiting for you, pulling you away from this brief moment of connection. As you ascended the stairs, you could feel Oda's gaze following you, a bittersweet mixture of fondness and longing that mirrored your own emotions.

Dazai's keen eyes followed your figure as you made your way back up to your office. His gaze then darted to Oda, who was nodding to the bartender, offering thanks and sliding money across the polished bar top. A wry smile found its way onto Dazai's face as he admired Oda's persistence in compensating the man. He felt a familiar twinge of jealousy watching you two interact from afar, reminded of the bond you and Oda shared which transcended any version of yourselves.

Turning away from the window, Dazai met your gaze as you entered the office. The soft click of the door closing behind you seemed to punctuate the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"Thank you, Dimitri," you called out, your eyes never leaving Dazai's. He could tell by the set of your jaw that he was in trouble, especially noting the two crystal tumblers in your hands. You raised an eyebrow questioningly, holding up the glasses. "We've only reconnected for one night, and you decided to take it upon yourself to amend my liquor choices?"

Dazai suppressed a small laugh, gratefully accepting the offered glass. The crystal was cool against his fingers. "I only had Chūya go up to the bar and request a drink. When the bartender replied that you don't supply this brand, I had it ordered and shipped to you immediately."

He watched you roll your eyes, unamused but continuing to listen before objecting. The light from the desk lamp cast dramatic shadows across your face, emphasizing the slight furrow of your brow.

"What can I say? Something just told me I'd be back here sooner than expected, so I made a few liberties—"

"Liberties?" You scoffed, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone. You glided past him, the subtle scent of your perfume lingering in the air. Settling back into your chair, you continued, "You quite literally had my bartender stock something without my knowledge, most likely due to knowing it was the Port Mafia Boss's favorite."

Dazai savored the rich, smoky flavor of the whiskey as he took a long sip, a contented sigh escaping his lips. He gracefully lowered himself into one of the chairs facing your desk, his keen eyes noting how they seemed slightly out of place in the otherwise meticulously arranged office. During your absence, he had seized the opportunity to explore the room, his observant gaze catching details that others might overlook.

A rug, he deduced, had once adorned the space before your desk. Now, a faint square of fresh wood flooring, spanning no more than six feet, stood in stark contrast to the worn, darker planks surrounding it. At the center of this cleaned area, Dazai's sharp eyes detected a slightly darker outline. His mind, ever quick to analyze, immediately recognized the telltale signs of a bloodstain that had been hastily, if not entirely successfully, concealed. The discovery sent a small thrill through him.

"You enjoy the drink, too, don't lie. I saw you down there drinking it with Odasaku," Dazai said, his voice carrying a hint of familiarity he hadn't intended.

You gave Dazai a puzzled look, your brow furrowing slightly as you processed his words. He realized his slip immediately, watching as a flicker of confusion passed across your features. The usually composed demeanor he wore like armor had cracked, revealing an experience he hadn't been granted in this life.

"My apologies," he quickly corrected himself, his voice regaining its usual smooth rhythm. The words flowed like silk, masking his momentary lapse. "I had only heard you call him that a few times before you left. You always spoke fondly of the man who defected."

He observed intently as you silently began to question yourself, your hand reaching back to scratch your head in recollection of more than four years ago. The gesture was subtle, but to Dazai's keen eye, it spoke volumes about your inner turmoil. However, much to his relief, you quickly moved past the topic without dwelling on it further.

You set your drink down upon the polished surface of your desk, the crystal making a soft 'clink' against the wood. Clearing your throat, a confident smirk coated your peach-stained lips, the color a striking contrast against your skin in the warm light of the office.

"Besides the topic of my apparently new inventory," you said, emphasizing the word with a hint of playful accusation, "did you want to continue your losing game?"

Dazai chuckled, the sound low and rich. He leaned forward, the leather of the chair creaking slightly under his shifting weight. "I think you've forgotten, but I was winning."

A light laugh escaped you, the sound filling the room with a momentary lightness. "I had your queen for the taking. Without it, what even is the game?"

Dazai hummed thoughtfully, his mind racing through possibilities far beyond the chessboard. In his mind's eye, he saw not just chess pieces, but the intricate dance of allegiances and betrayals that defined their world. Indeed, his queen was cornered - both in the game and in life - but Dazai was nothing if not a master strategist. Just as you had been hasty to claim victory, he knew exactly how to turn the tides. His plan wasn't just to save a piece on a board, but to reclaim the Queen before him that he had lost to Fyodor's trickery.

His lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. This game was far from over, and Dazai intended to win back what was rightfully his, piece by carefully manipulated piece. The anticipation built within him, not just for his next move in chess, but for the grand strategy that would bring you back to his side, away from Fyodor's influence.

Dazai's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Ah, but you've overlooked something crucial," he said, his voice smooth and confident. “It's my turn, remember? And with just one move, I'll not only save my queen but put you in a rather precarious position."

He set his glass down and leaned forward, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the desk as if recreating the chessboard. "My knight to F6. It simultaneously blocks your attack on my queen and threatens your bishop. Now, you're faced with a dilemma – do you capture my knight and leave your bishop vulnerable, or do you retreat and lose your advantage?"

A sly smile played on his lips as he continued, "In chess, as in life, it's not just about the pieces you have, but how you use them. Sometimes, a seeming disadvantage can be turned into a powerful opportunity with the right strategy."

His eyes met yours, the intensity in them suggesting he might be talking about more than just the game. "So, shall we continue? I'm quite curious to see how you'll respond to this... unexpected development."

You leaned back in your chair, a mixture of amusement and respect flickering across your features. A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you shook your head slightly, your eyes meeting Dazai's intense gaze.

"Well played, Dazai," you conceded, your voice carrying a note of admiration. "I should have known better than to underestimate you. Your knight to F6 is indeed a clever move."

You paused, your fingers drumming thoughtfully on the armrest as you visualized the board in your mind. After a moment, a sly smile crept onto your face. "However, you're not the only one with tricks up their sleeve. I'll move my rook to E4. It puts pressure on your knight and maintains the threat to your queen. Plus, it opens up a potential attack on your king's flank."

Leaning forward, you picked up your glass, and place it against your plump bottom lip. "In chess, as in our line of work, it's all about adapting to the unexpected, isn't it? One must always be prepared to shift strategies at a moment's notice."

You took a sip of the whiskey, savoring its rich flavor before continuing, "So, Dazai, what’s your move?"

Dazai's eyes narrowed slightly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he considered your move. "Interesting," he murmured, taking a thoughtful sip. “In that case, I'll move my bishop to D3, threatening your rook while maintaining defense of my queen.”

The game continued, each of you calling out moves, the imaginary board shifting in your minds with every declaration. The office fell into a rhythm of quiet contemplation broken by decisive statements, the clink of ice in glasses punctuating each turn.

"Knight to C6," you said, your voice steady.

"Pawn to A4," Dazai responded smoothly.

As the imaginary pieces dwindled, the tension in the room grew. Finally, after what felt like hours compressed into minutes, you both fell silent, a mutual realization dawning.

"Well," you said, a mix of frustration and admiration in your voice, "it seems we've reached an impasse."

Dazai nodded, his expression mirroring yours. "Indeed. By my count, we each have a king, a rook, and two pawns left. Neither of us can make a legal move without putting our king in check."

"Stalemate," you both said in unison, then shared a quiet laugh at the synchronicity. As your laughter died down, Dazai couldn’t help but admire you. While it seemed much had changed about you within the last four or so years, you were still sharp, quick on your feet, and though your encounter before last with one another within the confines of his penthouse was heated, it was as though it never happened.

Dazai raised his glass in a toast. "To a game well played. It's not often I encounter an opponent who can match me move for move. I’ve missed doing this with you."

You clinked your glass against his. "Likewise, Dazai. This was fun."

Dazai's intense gaze bore into your violet eyes, searching once again for a shred of the girl that once loved him. He knew you had to still harbor something, given your willingness to allow him into your office just one night after reconnecting, although you had resisted at first. A heavy sigh escaped your lips amid the charged silence, your eyes darting down to his lips. He mirrored the action, his tongue unconsciously brushing across his top lip.

In the days of your shared youth, the victor of these mental chess matches would be granted one request, no limits ever set. Trust and honesty were once pivotal, sacred even. But after touching The Book, everything changed.

Dazai watched intently as you shifted in your plush leather chair, leaning forward to examine the documents he had laid before you earlier. Your slender fingers opened the tan folder, eyes scanning its contents. Nervous anticipation built within him as he awaited your reaction.

A scoff broke the silence. It was somewhat expected.

"You want to buy The Midnight's Caress?" You looked up, an exaggerated eye roll accompanying your words.

"You're already paying us to leave you and your business be. I thought it would make more sense to annex your club since you already serve many mafiosos," Dazai explained, his voice smooth and persuasive.

Your eyes returned to the proposition. Dazai had been uncharacteristically considerate; you would remain owner, permitted to run the club as you saw fit, retaining eighty percent ownership.

"Ninety," you countered, your gaze drifting up from the paper. With practiced ease, you opened a drawer within your ornate desk, fingers grasping for a sleek box of cigarettes. The soft scrape of the box opening filled the quiet room as you extracted a single cigarette. The flick of your lighter cast a brief, warm glow across your features as you lit it. You inhaled deeply, the ember glowing bright orange in the dim office. Exhaling a plume of smoke, you placed the cigarette delicately between your index and middle fingers before uttering your next argument. "Giving you twenty percent would be grossly over what I already give you, which I've already been quite generous with."

Dazai raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Given the club's popularity and the financial records he'd meticulously reviewed, he'd calculated that twenty percent ownership would be a small sacrifice. Yet, he'd anticipated some resistance from you.

You held the box out to him, one cigarette poking out invitingly. He leaned forward, long fingers grasping the rolled tobacco. Rising smoothly, he placed the cigarette between his lips. Leaning over your desk, he pressed his unlit cigarette to yours. His eyes, intense and searching, locked with yours as he contemplated his counter.

"Giving twenty percent would include more than just protection, Bella," Dazai remarked, his voice low and smooth as he relaxed back into the chair.

You laced your fingers together, resting your elbows on the polished desk. Your eyes fluttered, the lit cigarette dangling slightly between your lips. "How much are you assuming I'm already giving for this protection?"

“I calculated that it was around twenty percent now.”

A laugh escaped your occupied lips, followed by a click of your tongue. "Twenty? Oh, moye temnoye zhelaniye, I give you way less than that."

Dazai jerked his head back in surprise, questions flooding his mind. How much did you actually give of your earnings? The only logical explanation was the records he had did not contain unreported earnings. Additionally, when did you learn to speak Russian? He had no idea what the phrase meant, but curiosity burned within him.

He watched, transfixed, as you rose from your seat with fluid grace. The soft rustle of your clothing seemed amplified in the hushed office; his senses hyper-aware of your every movement. He tracked your progress as you rounded the desk, his heart rate quickening with each step you took towards him.

When you perched upon the edge of the desk directly in front of him, Dazai felt a rush of heat betray him, crawling up his cheeks in a flush he couldn't quite control. He found himself looking up at you through his eyelashes, acutely aware of the power dynamic shift. The dim light of the office played across your features, casting shadows that accentuated the curves and angles of your face. Dazai's breath caught in his throat as he drank in the sight of you, commanding and alluring in equal measure.

He watched, mesmerized, as you took another leisurely puff from your cigarette. The ember glowed bright for a moment, illuminating your face in a warm, fleeting light that seared itself into his memory. With practiced ease, you blew the smoke out above you, creating a swirling haze that danced in the air between you. The sharp scent of tobacco mingled with your personal fragrance, an intoxicating mixture that seemed to cloud his senses.

As Dazai gazed up at you, he found himself making a silent vow. He would let you have anything you wanted - any percentage, any terms. All that mattered was that you allowed him to remain in your presence, to bask in the captivating aura you exuded.

"I give ten percent of my yearly earnings to you now, Dazai. You're basically asking I near triple that in my eyes, as it's not only money; it's ownership." Your voice carried a hint of steel beneath its smoothness, a reminder of the strength that had always drawn Dazai to you.

Dazai stood to meet your gaze, his movement fluid and deliberate. Your eyes darted from his visible eye down to his lips again as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Seventeen then.” The words hung in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension.

"You're good at a lot of things, Osamu, negotiating is apparently not one of them." You leaned further in, your breath warm against his skin.

He took a moment, relishing the closeness that you'd allowed once again. However, his keen eye caught sight of a cut upon your bottom lip and faint evidence of a bruise upon your cheekbone, which you had evidently tried to cover, which wasn't there the night before. He saw your eyes widen slightly, likely realizing he'd noticed the wounds marring your features. Before he could question you, you spoke again.

"I own the entire property as of right now. I even live upstairs." You took the cigarette from your mouth, gesturing with your fingers toward the area outside the office. Osamu recalled the elevator he'd noticed across from your office doors. That explained its presence. "You might as well buy the whole building, since it seems you're trying to buy me back into the mafia."

Osamu passively heard you, however, he couldn’t bring himself to reply to you just yet. His mind wouldn’t move past the subtle signs of abuse on your face. The cut on your lip, the faint bruise on your cheekbone - they weren't there last night. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, a mixture of worry and rage threatening to overwhelm him.

He reached out instinctively, his hand hovering near your face but not quite touching. He remembered how you used to flinch in worry of touching others, but you remained still, even slightly leaning toward his touch.

Finally, his voice whispered your name out, softer than he intended, "This isn't about buying you back into anything. Do you really think I'd try to manipulate you into a life you chose to leave?"

He watched your eyes, those stormy violet orbs that had once looked at him with such trust and affection. Now they seemed guarded, wary. It pained him more than he cared to admit.

"I respect your decisions," he continued, "even if I don't always agree with them. But those marks on your face, cara mia… they weren't there last night."

Osamu felt his hand clench at his side, anger surging through him at the thought of Fyodor laying a hand on you. He fought to keep his voice steady. "This isn't about ownership or percentages. It's about keeping you safe from a man who clearly doesn't value you the way he should. The way you deserve."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging within him. He needed you to understand, to see beyond the business proposition to the genuine concern that drove his actions. Fyodor, in this life and every other, was not a man to be trusted, let alone be married to.

"I won’t ask you again to come back to the mafia. All I'm asking, is for you to let me protect you. Because right now, your independence is coming at a cost that's far too high."

Osamu’s unbandaged eye searched yours, silently pleading. He saw a flicker of something - vulnerability, perhaps - behind your carefully constructed walls. It gave him hope.

"Let me help you," he said softly. "Please."

In that moment, looking into your eyes, Osamu realized just how much he still cared for you; it was overwhelming. The thought of you in pain, of Fyodor hurting you, was unbearable. He knew he'd do whatever it took to keep you safe, even if it meant putting himself, his plans, in danger. Because despite everything that had happened, you were still one of the most important people in his world.

Osamu watched as your eyes widened slightly at his words, a mix of emotions flickering across your face. For a moment, your carefully constructed facade seemed to waver, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability he once knew so well.

His breath caught as you reached up, your fingers gently brushing against his hand that hovered near your face. The touch was electric, sending a shiver through him. Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper when you spoke.

"Osamu... it's not that simple."

He held his breath, hoping for more, but you seemed to steel yourself before continuing. "I appreciate your concern, truly. But my life, my choices... they're complicated. More than you know."

Osamu felt a pang in his chest as you slid off the desk, putting a small distance between you. The internal struggle playing out in your eyes was painfully clear to him.

"Ten percent, if you buy the entire building," you said suddenly, your voice regaining its businesslike tone. "That's my final offer. And I maintain full operational control."

The abrupt shift back to business threw him for a moment, but he quickly recovered. He recognized your deflection for what it was - a shield, a way to avoid the deeper conversation you both knew you needed to have.

"Agreed," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "But this conversation isn't over. I won't stand by and watch you get hurt, no matter how complicated things are."

You nodded, a small, sad smile playing on your lips. "I know you won't. That's what makes you... you."

As you moved to return to your seat, Osamu caught the briefest flash of something in your eyes. Was it longing? Regret? Or perhaps something more calculating? He couldn't be sure, and it frustrated him. There was a time when he could read you like an open book, but now... now parts of you were a mystery to him.

Watching you settle back into your chair, Osamu began to feel a sharp pang of guilt. He knew he was being selfish, pursuing you when his time in this world was limited. The weight of his secrets - the truth about the Book and his inevitable fate - pressed heavily upon him. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to tell you, it would cost too much. Instead, he made a silent vow to protect you from Fyodor and his plans, and, if possible, win back your trust and affection, even if it was only for a brief moment in time. 

As he gazed at you across the desk, Osamu felt a familiar warmth in his chest, accompanied by a sharp ache. Despite everything, despite the years and the pain and the complications, you were still one of the most important people in his world. And he would do whatever it took to keep you safe, even if it meant putting himself, his plans, in danger.

"With that matter settled," you said, a smile reappearing on your face as you extinguished your cigarette. "Would you like to try another game of chess? I'd understand if you say no, as assuredly going to win this time."

A rich laugh escaped through Osamu’s lips. "I'd like to see you try," he responded, his eyes gleaming with challenge and amusement.

The game was on, and Osamu intended to win.

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

Author Chat: This part took a lot out of me. Again, I had intended it to be much darker, as I see so many write Fyodor as this sweet, quiet man who's tenderly loving his s/o, but I was like "but what if...?" So, that's partly where the inspiration came from, because let's be honest, that man is dark and twisted (you know the looks like a cinnamon roll, will actually kill you).

If you liked, feel free to like and reblog <3 ~DamzelZelda

Song Inspos: Rule #34- Fish in a Birdcage Watch- billie eilish

Russian Word "Dictionary" (Curtesy of [unreliable] Google translate):

moya lyubov': "my love"

moya zhena: "my wife"

moy dorogoy: "my dear"

malen'kaya mysh': "little mouse"

lyubyashchaya: "loving"

budto: "as if"

chudesnyy: "marvelous"

ty lisitsa: "you vixen"

Takaya khoroshaya devochka: "such a good girl"

Ochen' khorosho: "very well"

moy angel smerti: "my angel of death"

moye temnoye zhelaniye: "my dark desire"

[thepeacefulgarden]

The numbers on the scale do not define me, and they have nothing to say about my worth as a human being. Neither do my dress or pants size, my measurements, my labs, or my BMI.

My body is not a moral failing.

I don't owe anyone thinness.

I don't owe anyone adherence to current beauty standards.

Health is complex, and it's not a moral obligation to myself or to anyone else.

Food is more than just fuel.

I am allowed to have treats.

I don't have to count calories or macros.

Exercise is not a punishment for the food I have eaten or am about to eat.

I am allowed to have snacks.

Food isn't good or bad, it just is.

I am allowed to have fats and carbs.

All bodies, including mine, are worthy, because they hold human beings.

I am allowed to have rolls, cellulite, stretch marks, etc.

My body does not define me.

I am allowed to love my body just as it is, right here and now.

I don't have to diet.

I am unfollowing "thinspo" and "fitspo" accounts on social media. Today. Right now.

I am allowed to eat any foods I want.

I am allowed to eat as much as I want.

I am allowed to eat any time I want, day or night.

I listen to my body and trust myself.

I am enough, and I am worthy, right here and now, just as I am.

[gougarfem]

so many of the trans community's arguments fall apart when questioned but nobody is willing to sit down and follow through a conversation about it. for example, i can't count the number of times i've been told i need to educate myself and talk to trans people and then i won't be such a hateful terf. when i say to these people, i am educated, i came out as trans ten years ago, i'm on testosterone, i live the same reality as a transgender man - i still don't believe you can change your biology, and i still think men and women are socialised differently and gender is a patriarchal construct, and changing your gender only serves to reinforce that construct - what now? now that you understand i'm like you, i'm not hateful, i just don't share your beliefs, do my opinions hold some validity? invariably i get blocked, told that i must be lying about my own dysphoria, or branded some flavour of -phobic. if the trans community wants to be taken seriously they need to address their collective fear of being questioned or divulging from the acceptable narrative. they need to be able to have conversations where the other person uses 'incorrect' language or questions something that should be a god-given truth (ie. trans women are women) without shutting that person down or deflecting with accusations of hatred and transphobia. i am yet to find a single trans person willing to sit down and talk to me and defend their own views in a reasonable manner - instead, i get accused of things they assume radical feminists do and believe (wanting trans people dead, hating gnc women, upholding racist beauty standards), receive personal attacks on myself and often my disability and ethnicity, or most commonly just get blocked. i believe anyone is entitled to hold any opinion, but when you're demanding everyone else adhere to that opinion you need to be able to defend it, be open to criticism and be able to explain exactly why you believe what you do without using roundabout logic. do better.

[random-fandoms-fanfics]

KOBD Sparkling

I think I put myself into a creative burnout and it took about two years to get out of it and back into writing. To anyone who reads this, take care of yourself and never overdo something even if you love it cause it's much easier to prevent burnout than getting out of it

I made this because I watched Transformers One (go watch it if you haven't it's really good and I want that sequel) and was sent back into the Transformers fixation I had as a kid. I loved Transformers Prime and have been rewatching it so I focused on that one for this

Cybertronian Body Parts

Work count: 1417

---

It was known that Knockout and Breakdown had a more than friendly relationship, often spending hours alone together just letting their sparks dance. So it wasn’t a surprise when Breakdown started to become less enthusiastic about moving, consumed increasingly larger quantities of energon each day and stating his spark was burning. It only took one look at his spark for Knockout to notice the tiny one circling around it, speeding around as fast as it could, “looks like we got a racer here, I may need to start racing again,” Knockout’s servo reached into Breakdown’s spark cavity and scooped the tiny spark out. Holding his servo up the two bots watched as the spark began racing around Knockout’s digits, and when Knockout spread his digits apart it weaved in between them “aren’t you a little show off, wonder if you’ll be as strong as you are fast,”

Everyday Breakdown got a check up, even if they were recovering from a monumental failure or were in the middle of a mission, the little spark was taken out and admired by it’s sire and carrier, after that Knockout would record the spark’s growth as it fed off their carrier’s spark and most of the energon he consumed. The mad medic obsessed with the sparkling adhering to the median growth curve, he was it’s sire, what type of bot would he be if he didn’t ensure his little sparkling was growing at the perfect rate.

During one of their regular check ups, they found it started to feed off of Breakdown’s metal body as it was moulding liquid metal around it to create it’s first shell. After that day it’s hunger only grew, taking more and more metal to fuel it’s rapid growth, and in the hopes of satiating the ravenous hunger of the growing sparkling, Breakdown began scarfing down tons of metal, ignoring the looks from the other Decepticons.

---

One day while tracking a stray energon signal, (in reality searching for more abandoned metal he could pass to the sparkling) Breakdown found himself face to face with his wrecker rival in the middle of an abandoned city. The sparkling in his chest was nearly done growing and he had plenty of padding protecting it, letting off some steam wouldn’t hurt. And he was right, it a quick and easy fight, Bulkhead was extra irritable where the mere mention of Miko got him charging and punching without giving any thought to putting up his guard, allowing Breakdown a clear shot to his head, and before he could get in another blow, electricity coerced through him overloading his entire system and forcing him to shut off.

Even though the surge of electricity knocked Breakdown out, the flow of electricity caused something remarkable to happen within his chassis, the little sparkling devoured the electricity and it jumpstarted the sparkling’s spark, causing it to whirr to life. Their little malleable cylindrical form began to take on a simple humanoid shape, at first their head, arms and legs were defined from their body, then the end of their legs flattened out into bulkley pedes and thick digits stretched out, sharpening into dull points. As the little bot stretched out it’s optics opened, putting them face to face with the light of their carrier’s spark, but before they could enjoy the spark’s warmth, it was interrupted by the scrapping of metal and their little sanctuary shaking so violently it tossed them out of the pull of the spark, their malleable body slamming against the back of Breakdown’s spark chamber.

As Breakdown lay there, watching the humans trying to cut through his armour, he could feel the sparkling moving around, using their tiny claws to search for an exit that he refused to give them. MECH was desperately trying to get through his armour so they could learn about cybertronian biology, if they found a squishy sparkling it would be an immediate death sentence. So Breakdown held his armour tighter and fought even harder against his restraints to keep this secret, and he would’ve kept it, if it wasn’t for the loud screeching and banging that suddenly emanated from inside his chassis. Everything stopped, it seemed that even the machinery was in shock of the screeching coming from inside Breakdown, the most concerning part was the anxiety and sense of fear the screeching caused, “sounds like someone’s hiding more than just technological advancements,”

“If you even scratch them, I will ensure you will never have a moment of peace again,” Silas couldn’t help the smirk growing on his face, he got two pieces of tech for the price of one with one of them seeming even more special, “cut straight to the heart, let’s see what’s so important,” the machines started back up, moving to focus on getting through his chest plate until there was another interruption in the form of clanging metal, this silenced them once again, it even hushed the sparkling. And before MECH knew it, their base was broken into by Bulkhead, knocking down humans as he followed the train tracks to Breakdown.

When he saw Bulkhead he thought this was his last moment, and he didn’t know what would be better, using the remainder of his spark to let the Autobots find his sparkling, or keeping them hidden in the hopes the Decepticons would get to him before MECH came back to tear him open. But he didn’t need to think about that now as Bulkhead just removed his restraints, “wh-what are you doing,” Breakdown was meet with a hand being held out to him, “getting you outta here, yeah I don’t believe it either,” Bulkhead lifted Breakdown up to his feet, the blue bot immediately shutting his open chest plate closed and holding a protective servo over it, “can you walk?”

“I, I think so,” alarms and red lights that filled the tunnels caught the attention of Bulkhead and Breakdown, “can you run,”

“Never run when you could fight,”

“Just keep that thing pointed away from me alright,” with Bulkhead in the lead, the two charged down the tunnel, and the little sparkling was tossed around, their little body squishing and flatting as it was thrown into the walls of Breakdown’s chamber and it only got worse as the two massive bots engaged in battle with MECH, the battle between MECH and bots nearly squished them back into their original marshmallow like form, but thankfully after one last big crash the little sparkling found a way out of it's torment in the form of a small opening. They were able to press their body through the hole, sliding out and onto the ground, where they found themself between two massive bots tanking multiple rounds of gunfire as they slammed their hammers against the cars that sped around them.

It was too loud, it was too bright and the shaking didn’t stop, why did they have the urge to be outside if it was only worse outside. They ran from the action, but because they were taking their first steps they tripped over multiple times but none of the humans seemed to notice, ignoring the robot that stood just a foot shorter than most of them and focusing on the two robots that stood around twenty feet above them. Somehow they successfully dodged the cars that sped around them, running into a nearby building for safety, squeezing themself against a wall and into a ball they covered their audio receptors, just wanting the peace and quiet they should’ve been given for their first few hours of life, wanting to be back in the spark chamber and once again feel the warmth and love their carrier has been giving them for weeks.

Soon after they found their safety the battle ended, giving the sparkling the quiet they desired, removed their servos from their audio receptors, they heard gentle voices, with one standing out against them all, it was proud and kind, and it somehow felt safe. Uncurling themself they peeked out through the door and found themself in awe at the giant bots that stood before them, scanning the group they found their optics drawn to a bot who had a long spike on the top of her head, the shape felt familiar, like something they have seen for their entire life and deep within their spark they felt the desperate to grab onto it. The sparkling remained hidden, just watching the bots until a blue and green portal appeared behind the group, it’s glow mesmerising the tiny sparkling, and that's when the little bot, that was fresh to this new and dangerous world, had it's first thought that wasn't motivated by fear.

Should I touch the glowing thing.

[olderthannetfic]

People on fandomsecrets are really mad this week about other people reviewing fanfiction on goodreads and I don't want to litigate whether people should or shouldn't use that website in that manner right now, because the thing I'm actually wound up about is:

when someone asks why, they say "BECAUSE FANFIC ISN'T BOOKS!!!1!1!" as though this is supposed to explain everything, and when asked to elaborate they basically just find ways to say "fanfic, by virtue of being fanfic, is not a book, which is a different thing from fanfic, by virtue of books being books which are not fanfic" in more and more words without adding any coherent information.

Fanfic is a type of story. Books is a type of physical object. In the digital age there are now lots of professional ~official~ works of literature which have never once been published in a physical form. The comparison is meaningless to begin with and also doesn't answer the question.

Is this just a way of ignoring the goodreads thing entirely so they can stealth complain about the Wattpad thing where people used to that site call all stories "books"? Is that what's going on here?

--

Sighhh.

I know some people think Goodreads is for Real Books™, but a hell of a lot of what's on there is trashy romance novels. I myself am an author... of indie selfpub m/m mystery novels that are overtly fandom-adjacent in that BL way. Like most people in that space, I'm mainly focused on ebooks. Why are these things not fic? Well, because we sell them for money and we don't call them fic and because we've done a successful find and replace on the character names.

I think people have trouble articulating why fic is not books because they're used to thinking in terms of content, and they know perfectly well that Goodreads is full of content that might as well be from a fic.

But no, I don't think this is an anti-Wattpad thing at all.

What they're trying and failing to articulate is that fic is not a book by virtue of its author not intending it as one.

Fic authors, or at least ones adhering to a certain kind of AO3 culture, mean their work to be a not-for-profit gift for their fandom community. They often have a horror of it escaping containment to reach the eyeballs of outsiders.

Now, frankly, with the multitude of Goodreads users reviewing original omegaverse mpreg romance novels, I'm not sure that the site actually counts as outsiders, but that's how the people going "Fic is not books!" feel. It's a violation to bring fic there just like it's gross when a talk show host digs up some horny fan art to show to actors so they can have a good laugh at fandom's expense.

[xiexiecaptain]

The biggest thing I've learned to help manage my ADHD in regards to getting things done is to Follow Those Impulses

(I'm not saying this will work for or is even a good strategy for everyone, but in my own situation it's helped me.)

I'm like allergic to consistency in schedule and cannot enforce one on myself so all it leads to is self-loathing and failure. Trust me, I've been attempting to will-power, shame-fuel my way through it since I was a preteen (I'm currently almost 30.) It does not work for me.

Obviously medication can give me a huge leg up on stuff. But beyond a certain point my brain is simply not wired for long-term sustained consistency.

As in many of my issues, I've found that working with myself gets better results than fighting myself.

When I follow those sudden impulses of interest and motivation, I get things done.

To the outside, I look absolutely haphazard. I'll pause a show I'm watching mid-sentence, stand up, and go empty the dishwasher because my mood/brain/chemicals *ping*ed that it was suddenly do-able and not a huge overwhelming task. Or I'll be putting away laundry and that *ping* will go off and I'll spend three hours re-organizing my closet.

To a neurotypical, this looks like distracted and disorganized behavior.

To me, it's following the way my brain naturally works in order to accomplish tasks.

My ADHD manifests in that I experience very small and unsustainable windows of motivation and interest. So when I feel that window crack open, doing the Thing right then (when the situation enables me to) can mean the Thing actually happens. Even if it's not the thing I'm "supposed" to be doing.

With a neurotypical in that situation, they might be putting away clothes and think: "Oh, I should organize my closet. I have time this weekend, I'll do it then," finish putting away their clothes, and then organize the closet when they had free time that weekend.

I used to try to do things that way too. Because it was how I was taught that "responsible, real people" did it, and had "finish one thing before you start another" drilled into my head. But I'm literally not wired to work that way. And I've been working on undoing that internalized ableism of believing one way of doing things is better and I need to change to adhere to it. I don't and shouldn't be expected to to my own detriment.

For me with the closet example, the weekend would come and I would spend 5 hours screaming at myself to stop working on whatever did have my interest in order to go organize the closet. Sometimes I might ended up doing it. More often, I would not be able get myself to do it even after all that. I would just sit there, yelling at myself, hating myself despite my brain literally not having the chemicals to initiate the activity (let alone follow through) and nothing would get done. Not even the thing I wanted to focus on instead.

The only thing I did accomplish was hating myself for not being able to do "simple" things like other people (read: neurotypicals.)

This is basically how I spent the majority of my schooling; doing simple tasks felt like running in sand. And I internalized all the messages that told me it was my own fault I couldn't run as fast and in as straight a line as those running on pavement.

The past few years, I've been trying to follow impulses more. And its honestly been really helpful.

I get more done even if it isn't a "consistent" amount or I can't always count on having a specific thing done by a certain date.

But the big thing is that I spend less time hating myself for not doing what I "should" be and more time actually doing things when I have the motivation for them. More shit happens, I'm undoing some of that self-loathing.

tl;dr: My advice for fellow adult ADHD-ers is:

Try to learn what your natural rhythms are and, where possible, try leaning into them. Without judgement, try working with your natural tendencies rather than battling them at every moment. See how it feels, see what you accomplish (and not just in the capitalistic "productivity" way--spending 3 hours hyperfocusing on researching the history of wheat germ counts!) See how your brain and body feel.

Your brain is wired different, let yourself operate different.

[loversatthegreatdivide]

Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 8

Masterlist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstances keep them apart? A/N: I'm going to be real with you guys--this chapter was just for me. It's disgusting, cheesy, romantic nonsense and I absolutely love it. I hope you do too. :)

Writing an amateur poet's love letter was so ridiculous and fun, but I also may have f'ed myself up a little bit. Save me pathetic, handsome, unabashedly romantic gentleman who respects me as a human being with deep thoughts and valued feelings but also compares my eyes to flaked amber in the sunlight and treats me gently like a beautiful flower laid softly on the shrine of a solitary goddess...you're my only hope.

My dearest Beatrice,

These nights we have spent apart have been perhaps the longest of my life.

I had not realized just how completely you had made yourself at home in my heart until you were no longer here with me. I look to the space you have carved in my soul, and I find it empty. You have gone, and taken a piece of me with you.

At night I sit in the windowsill searching the streets below, desperate to see any sign of you waiting there for me. I pray for just a glimpse of your shrouded form, bathed in the silver light of the moon. As I wait, I know I would have forever been happy to be your Leander, swimming across the sea each night, guided by your light.

I have found my days as listless as my nights, waiting to hear any mention of your name. I dread what news time may bring, yet cannot stop myself from wishing the hours to pass as minutes. Time may yet be my enemy, but it still remains the one bridge that leads me to you.

I hope you are well my darling. I see an image of you sat alone with your worries, and it haunts my every thought. I hope to find some relief in the knowledge that my family will be with you soon, even if I cannot be. I hope your brief time with them will bring some measure of comfort to you, as they have comforted me.

When my mother and sisters return, I pray they bring good news. But know that no matter what, my feelings will not waiver. I am willing to stand steadfast against any tide we may yet face, so long as it is your wish to stand alongside me.

I worry now that perhaps my lack of interest in the movements of the aristocracy may have translated poorly. You must know that my distaste for their grandstanding, their rigid adherence to proprietary, and their many pointless rules means nothing in the face of my feelings for you. So now I shall be clear, so that there can be no misunderstandings between us.

I love you Beatrice. I will love you for as long as you will have me, and then one hundred lifetimes more.

Yours eternally,

Benedict

---

Beatrice sat in her nightdress, curled up in the armchair nearest the windows of her room. She clutched Benedict's letter close to her chest as she gazed out across the moonlit garden. It looked so similar to the place where she and Benedict had first met. It was not so long ago, yet it felt like a lifetime had past since then.

She turned her attention back to the letter. In the dim candlelight it was difficult to make out his flourished words, but that hardly mattered. Beatrice had read it so many times already that she could all but recite it word for word. She ran her fingers over the last line, smiling as she thought of the man that had written it.

I love you.

She wrapped her arms around her legs, pressing her forehead io her knees as she blushed. She could hardly contain the emotions that threatened to burst forth from her chest. Even having read it dozens of times, she could hardly believe it was real. And so she read it once more, then again, only to make sure she was not dreaming.

The feelings between them had always been clear. She did not need words to know Benedict cared for her. But to have it articulated so beautifully? To have him decalre it so boldly? That was a different thing entirely. Perhaps it was best then that it was written and not spoken. If she had heard it first from his lips, she surely would have perished in an instant--her heart too overcome with feeling to possibly be contained.

Her letter expressed her worries and her desires. Now she almost felt foolish thinking of the words she had written, having believed his choice rushed. And perhaps, regretted. Still, they needed to be said all the same, and now she could rest soundly knowing she had not in some way entrapped him in a life he did not want.

She prayed they would be allowed to see each other soon, but resolved herself to do whatever she must if she was not. She would see him again, no matter what.

She sighed, taking one last look out into the night before readying herself for bed.

As she laid in the dark, Benedict's letter tucked safely under her pilllow, she smiled to herself. She drifted off to sleep, knowing she would have sweet dreams.

---

My Dearest Benedict,

I hope this letter finds you in comfort and good health.

I have wished desperately to visit you these past nights. I have longed to be near you, to see your face and to hear your voice. The thought of never seeing you again forever stalks my every days and nights.

We spoke so little about my deception before we were forced to part. I know you have assured me all is well, but even so I must beg your forgiveness just once more. It was a crime committed completely for my own selfish desires, and I made you my unwitting accomplice.

And while I cannot in good conscious condone my actions, nor can I condemn them. For if I had been honest from the start, I believe we would never have been able to grow to know each other so well. For that time we spent free of society's eyes and expectations, I will apologize, I will accept the consequences, but I will never regret.

I know you must be worried for what is to come. The truth of it is I do not know myself. There are many possibilities, all reliant on many choices made by many people who care very little for the hearts involved. Ultimately, it comes down to this: Will I be permitted to see you again and if so, will you wish to see me?

I have not forgotten what you said as we danced. That you were willing to openly pursue me in spite of my title and any trouble that may follow. I was glad to hear you say so, gladder still for you to show your resolve and declare your intentions to all with every dance we shared. But I ever worry I have put you in a difficult situation, where you made a choice in the heat and haste of a moment, and now feel you must continue to honor your word and protect my feelings.

It is the knowing you care for me, but yet surely not wanting the burdens that I will place upon you, that haunts me so. That you may one day wake to a feeling of resentment towards me for your confinement, and wish in vain for release. I know you to be a free soul my dearest, and you do not belong shakled to a crown. And so I wish to be clear that I would never disparage you, even if it should be that you choose to place your freedom first.

But if this is to be the time I lay bare all my truths, I shall do so in full and know for certain I have said all I wished to. Then, regardless of what outcome the future holds, I can live contented by the knowledge that I have spoken every wish that lives in my heart.

I love you, Benedict. I have loved you since the night we met, and I will continue loving you every night and every day that follows for the rest of our lives and beyond. Whatever choice is made, regardless of who makes it, know that my feelings for you will never change.

And while it is so that I would never blame you for chosing to live your life a free man, the truth is I desperately ache for you to instead choose to spend it locked away with me. Together in a prison made for two, with no direction or purpose other than to be forever by each other's side.

I find I am only filled with such selfish thoughts when I am with you, and so it is with such selfishness that I reveal my deepest wish. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you, my love, forever and always until the day we die.

Yours always,

Beatrice

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Benedict sat on the windowsill, reading over the letter held tightly in his hands.

While in his own letter he had chosen to make his feelings know beyond all doubt, he had not expected Beatrice would do the same. It is not that he questioned her love for him, but even so it made it no less of a shock to see it written so bodly in her own hand.

Benedict had of course been certain she shared his feelings, but Beatiece was by nature more reserved than others. Certainly more than he had ever been. Her feelings had never been uncertain, but even when they were alone it was clear that she held herself back.

Not that he minded, of course. He found her shyness enduring, and never considered her in any way insincere. Quite the opposite; he truly thought her to be the most genuine person he had ever met.

So it was not a surprise that Beatrice felt she had to be so forthcoming with her concerns for him.

That she had been so worried for him in spite of her own feelings was an unwelcome revelation. Benedict had never wanted her to feel pain over any aspect of their relationship. And that she knew his choice, but still wished to convey he was not bound by to it made his heart ache. He felt it all the more when he considered that she did so in direct opposition to her own feelings, all for his sake.

But then she had followed it all with such a bold declaration of her love. Whatever pain he held was lessened considerably by her uncharacteristicly assertive words. Despite her feelings of guilt for her actions and the weight she believed she had placed upon him, she still chose to make her wishes known.

Beatrice loved him, and she had made it clear she wanted his love in return.

Benedict was soothed then in the knowledge that she had received his letter. Whatever worry she had about his choice were surely dispelled the moment she read it. There could now be no doubt between them that they both desired the same thing.

He only hoped this separation would end soon, so that he might show her the depths of his resolve.

He loved her, and she loved him. Regardless of what choice was made by others, he had already made his decision.

Benedict smiled as he folded the letter gently, sliding it back into the safety of its envelope. He prayed, as always, that tomorrow would be the day he received the news he so desperately longed to hear. But if he must continue waiting for a word that he could see her again, he would do so safe in the knowledge that Beatrice now knew his true feelings. And that wherever she was, she was waiting for him too.

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Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @asterizee @g4ns3y @bubblegumcat229 @mhmoony @mmmunson @iamcailin08 @mads198-9

[wouldgaysexfixthem]

i don’t post ALL requests

only a fraction get posted

but i do what i can. here are some general guidelines to increase ur likelihood of getting ur pairing posted

latest updates in orange

REQUEST GUIDELINES

please don’t flood me with like 10 requests in a row, my inbox fills rly fast so u should b nice and let other ppl have a chance if u submitted a few already

ur pairing has to have interacted enough that there are actual photos of them together on the internet. this is a low bar but i physically cant do the poll if there’s no photos

while it’s a fun idea, i can’t do individual character requests bc my inbox will literally explode and die. so pairings of 2 or more only

i probably won’t do real life people UNLESS they are dead or they have joked about the gay rumours (ie maffleck) OR if i think its really funny and i want to make an exception (i am in charge)

no animated pairings under 18, no live action pairings with actors under 18

a few of you have submitted m/f pairings, and while i do respect ur grind, i probably won’t post those unless, again, i think it’s funny and i want to

i am a full time working adult and so i can’t heavily research the dynamic of every single request, so if you really do think i’ve posted a very troubling pairing then message me. but the point of the blog is toxic/troubled pairings, so these characters usually do bad things. and i am a horror fan so u rly gotta convince me

no book pairings (but if someone wants to make a version of this blog for book pairings u have my blessing. not that u need my blessing u can literally do whatever u want)

IF I DIDNT POST YOUR REQUEST IT COULD BE BECAUSE

ur pairing does not adhere to those guidelines ^

ur pairing honestly did not need fixing (i know this is ambiguous but try to understand the niche of the blog ok pookie)

ur pairing was from a fandom with a LOT of requests, so i’m spreading them out (yj, dr who, btvs, iwtv, star trek polls)

u submitted your pairing when i wasn’t taking requests

u weren’t specific enough and i had no idea what u were talking about

there are literally no photos of ur pairing on the internet (fan art doesn’t count)

your pairing was so deeply concerning to me that i couldnt bring myself to post it (rare)

twas a bit too niche and i have a family to feed with tumblr notes

it got lost, idk

this is my blog and i do what i want

if you really think a pairing deserves to be on this blog and it only doesnt follow the guidelines on a technicality (like alien ages being different from human ages), then u can submit the pairing but u must plead your case.

ok bye love u