#i had never posted this here and thought people might like it

[murderofravens]

DUSK TILL DAWN

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader.

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, inho is in his late 40s) slowburn. oral fixation. thigh riding. plot with porn. yearning. sexual tension. canon compliant. slight infantilization. no y/n used.

summary: he promised that you will make it out alive. he will make sure of it, no matter what it takes.

word count: 6.5k

PART 2: BABY I'M RIGHT HERE POSTED!

MASTERLIST

please ignore any mistakes.

as you wipe the blood from your face, the reality of your situation sets in. you never thought you'd get used to the smell of blood— much less the sight of it. or the texture. and now you're covered in it. the white of your uniform splattered with crimson, the metallic smell of it almost overwhelming. in a situation like the one you're in, you can only laugh. the mere sight of blood used to make you feel faint; make you want to throw up because you're squeamish. now you're covered in it from head to toe.

it's not yours. it's of the people they shot dead during the second game.

you barely remember how you made it out alive. the second one was all thanks to your team— thanos and nam-gyu were the closest to your age, and teaming up with them worked in your favour. your age and gender was a liability to the others, but they were kind enough to take you in. or perhaps they were thinking with their dicks. would it really matter either way?

but with the way they act, you're not sure if you want to continue being in a team with them. especially since thanos keeps trying to woo you with his poor rapping skills. they're way too loud and reckless for you, and you're scared they might get you killed. they're not willing to give up the game anytime soon, either.

then there's the first game— you're alive, because of 456. that crazy man who supposedly had played the games before. if it wasn't for him pulling you behind his back, you would've left the premises in a cardboard box. especially because you fucking sneezed as soon as the doll turned back.

since then, you've decided you don't want to play this game anymore. 456 has been desperately trying to change the other's mind— but they're greedy and insistent. you pressed the cross for his sake, and for the others, and for yourself. hell, you can live in debt, but what use is that money if you die trying? you're not that much of a hard worker. you value your life above anything else.

you walk over to their team— 456, and his two loud team members. another man is sitting there— player 001. the one who ruined your chance of going home on the first vote. he seems ordinary, but you know of him because you saw him beat the shit out of thanos. that was another reason you decided to abandon that team— you could not be seen with a bully, or a loser. as you approach him, you give him a slight nod of acknowledgement, which he returns. you turn your attention to 456, and thank him profusely for what he did for you. he's kind, you'll give him that. you like kind people.

"if you don't mind me asking—" a voice interrupts, and you look over your shoulder. it's player 001. he looks at you curiously. "how old are you?"

"old enough." you retort cheekily. he doesn't look amused as he cocks his head to the side.

"i'm curious as to why a little kid like you would compromise herself for money."

that shuts you up. you're offended, to say the least. who is he to call you a little kid? the entire team also looks on, seemingly baffled. the question makes sense. you're sure you're the youngest out of all players. and people can tell because you look it too. you don't really know how to respond, so you just look on with a frown, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"forgive me—" he lets out an awkward chuckle, "i didn't mean it the wrong way. i'm just worried."

you give him an uneasy smile, rubbing the back of your neck. the others go back to their conversations, and you shrug. he shoots a glance towards gi-hun before sitting back down and shifting slightly, as if making room for you. you take a seat beside him. there's silence before he glances at the symbol on your jacket— the cross.

"i'm sorry." he says with a small smile, looking straight ahead, "you wanted to go home but you had to continue because of me. i put a kid in danger."

"i'm not a kid," you huff softly, straightening up, "i'm twenty. but yeah, you should be sorry."

you give him a small smile to ensure he knows that the last line is lighthearted. he seems to understand and returns it.

"dont worry about it," you sigh, fiddling with the zip of your jacket, "im sure you had your reasons. just like i have mine for coming here."

"and your parents?" he asks. he's so polite, it warms your heart. polite and soft spoken. and visibly tough. probably some officer, you think, judging by his skills you preciously saw.

"that's what i need the money for." you sigh, leaning back against the bunker. "i need enough money to establish myself. continue my studies. bring my mom and my sister to come live with me. settle off my father's debts because he's a coward who decided to pass down his sins onto his daughter."

he raises his eyebrows, and you take a sharp breath. there's a moment of silence between you two— you think for a moment, and feel your eyes get slightly glassy. you're not going to cry in front of a stranger. you put on a brave face. "if i die here, my mother—"

he stares at you silently, before putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, interrupting your cursed sentence. "you'll make it out alive."

the doors open, and the staff comes in again. they reveal the number of players left, showcase the money that each person would get, and then the voting starts again.

this time, player 001 doesn't disappoint you. he goes first, and clicks on the cross. the hope it gives you eventually shatters as more and more players begin to vote in favour of continuing the game. you see 456 get increasingly agitated as he begins to make his way towards the front of the crowd. before he can speak, he's interrupted.

001's voice rings out loud and authoritative, and worried. he reprimands the voters in favour, calls them out on their selfishness.

"we'll all die if we keep playing!" he chastises the crowd urgently. "you have to survive first, or there won't be a next step—"

"there's no next step for us!" he's interrupted by player 100. a stout old man who had been at odds against 456 since the start— you remember him having 10 billion won in debt. it makes you snicker. he eggs on the crowd. "with that money, we won't be able to pay our debts. we need to play one more game, then the money will increase to 240 million. with that we can pay atleast a little of our debts! isn't that right!?"

"you're going to die trying!" you snap, making your way to the front of the crowd. you glare at player 100, at all his little supporters cheering at the back. "your greed is going to get you killed. how can you be so confident to say that you'll survive the next game? what if you die?"

"you shut up, young lady!" he hisses, mouth scrunching bitterly. "is that how you speak to your elders? your brain is too small to comprehend real life problems. we can't continue with our lives with that little money!"

"continue your lives?" a laugh bubbles out of your throat. "look at that greying head of yours, you barely have a life ahead of you! why don't you let us live ours?!"

that seems to have ticked him off, because he quite literally turns red as he takes a threatening step towards you.

"what did you just say?"

"i said—" you step forward, shooting him a challenging glare, "you're too old to be playing children's games. vote wisely and let us go home."

he lets out a snarl before trying to lunge at you, but you're pulled back as player 001 steps between the two of you. like a wall. he looks at the old man, eyes cold, his voice low. "that's enough."

since the incident with thanos, nobody has really tried anything with 001. it's obvious enough they're intimidated by him, and they don't want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. 100 doesn't either, with the way he collects himself and steps back, embarrassed. you look over 001's shoulder, make eye contact with the old man and shoot him a taunting smile. you know it's childish, but you've resented him from the start.

before the old man can say anything, player 001 drags you to the side where you can't argue with people anymore. and the voting continues.

"you can't talk to people like this," he says lowly, gaze focused on the crowd. staring at something that you can't figure out. "you never know what they might do."

you huff bitterly. you know what he means.

"i don't care. i fucking hate bullies."

"potty mouth." he chastises, but theres a smirk on his face. he's teasing. you chuckle.

"remember you need to get out of here alive." he repeats, looking at you with an intensity that is almost terrifying. "you can't do that if you keep this up."

"jeez, okay dad." you joke, rolling your eyes. your words make him smile lightly.

"thanks for having my back there." you tell him sincerely. he looks at you for a bit before nodding in acknowledgement.

the voting ends, and they announce that the games will continue tomorrow. it makes your heart drop.

that night, you feel uneasy when you try to sleep. your clothes stick to your skin, and the side of your face keeps itching. with an irritated grumble, you get off the bunker and walk over to your new friend's side. you squint your eyes before looking for 001— and when you find him, you gently shake him.

"are you sleeping?" you whisper.

he opens his eyes, wincing slightly before sitting up. his voice is hushed as he responds, "not anymore. what is it?"

you bite your lower lip nervously before reluctantly asking, "will you go to the restroom with me? i'm kinda scared to go alone."

he blinks at you, confused. you continue out of sheer desperation.

"those guards just stare weirdly with their weird little masks and it makes me nervous." you hope your voice doesn't shake as you speak. "last time one of them kept knocking on the door while i was in the washroom and it just— scared the shit out of me. and my face is itching and i really need to go. please?"

he listens patiently. for a moment you think he'd decline but he just sighs and nods, and you cheer just a little as he steps out and follows you to the door. you bang on it, loudly telling the guards that you need to go. one of them opens the sliding window, and then immediately opens the door. it makes you feel strange, because usually it takes a lot more effort to convince them. either way, you're grateful.

you know your better option would've been to take one of the girls with you, but the sad fact is you haven't had the chance to get friendly with any of the female players yet. and for some reason, player 001 makes you feel a sense of safety and security that is almost strange— you feel at ease around him.

"i'll be in the men's room," he tells you, and you nod. he shoots a glance to the guard standing outside the women's restroom before walking away. you quickly go inside, and the first thing you do is splash water on your face.

you quickly clean the blood off your skin, holding back the urge to cry. you scrub at your cheeks till you're sure you can scratch the itch away for good. your nails dig a little too deep, and a little blood oozes out of the scratches on the side of your face. you clean that too, and then try to scrub the splatters of blood off your t-shirt. it's white, and you have no soap— so the stains remain. a faint reminder. you take your time, and anticipate the knocking— but it never comes.

you look in the mirror, at your tired face and sunken eyes, before giving yourself a nod and stepping out. 001 is waiting for you outside, looking to the side. he gives you an odd look as you step out, before walking alongside you.

"are you alright?" he asks gently, concerned. kind as ever.

you look at him again, give him a nod. "thank you."

when you two reach the room, he returns the smile with one of his own.

as you make your way to the bunker, he grabs your shoulder, "why don't you start sleeping on our side?" he says quietly, "join the team. there's a bed near mine. you won't feel so scared that way."

you blink, trying to see his face in the darkness. the offer is enticing— and most of all, it warms your heart.

"really?" you ask hopefully.

"really." he says kindly.

you follow him to the bunker, and he covers the railing with his hand to avoid you getting hurt as you bend down to get into the bed. he looks at the slightly wet patches on your shirt— blinks before getting a bedsheet and putting it over you. "get some sleep. we got a game to play tomorrow."

you smile softly at him. as he turns to get into his own bed, you grab his hand. it's warm against yours— big and rough. you don't allow your mind to drift that way. it's not right. he looks at you, gaze questioning.

"thanks again," you say softly, "it means a lot to me."

he leans down a little to ruffle your hair before going back to his bed and laying down. you close your eyes and drift to sleep— unaware that he stays up, thinking.

breakfast is boring— bread and milk. you sit on the bed, scowling. player 456 is surprised as he sees you there, before you two share understanding smiles. you bow a little and he bows back before going along with his friend. 001 comes to sit by you then, munching on his own breakfast.

"i miss home," you mumble, "how am i supposed to survive on just this? it's not even chocolate milk."

001 laughs, "don't worry, you can have whatever you want once you get out of here."

"will i?"

he looks at you, raising his eyebrows. you take his silence as a cue to continue, "im scared i'll die in here."

he looks down, before shifting to be closer to you. "you made it this far, didn't you?"

you look at him, voice getting shaky. "and what if i dont make it till the end? what if i die here and my family thinks i abandoned them? i don't want to die. i haven't even lived my life yet."

his expression is hard to read. "you'll make it out of here alive," he tells you with conviction, "ill make sure of it."

your lips wobble as you stare at him, and he smiles before poking you in the nose. "finish your food. you need the energy for the next game. we'll make it out alive, then we'll try to get the voters on our side and go home. sound good?"

you snort, rolling your eyes before nodding. "sounds good."

he gives you his bread then, tells you to eat more. when you protest, he sends a warning glare your way— the one with a quirked eyebrow and a knowing gaze. you roll your eyes, and happily eat it.

you were hungry. perhaps he can tell things like that. you're just grateful.

today, you decided to be a little rebellious. when you first joined the games, you used to spend a long time in the bathrooms— analyzing, looking for a way out. during that time, you'd discovered that one of the screws in the ceiling vent was loose. you hadn't really bothered checking it before, but since it's daytime and you have some time before the next game, you decide to explore.

your hairclip works— the screws were not tightly fixed, so it unscrewed easily. you'd contemplated checking it out last night, but you didn't want to take any risks, especially since player 001 was with you. so now whatever you do, the responsibility will be yours.

when the bathroom gets empty and all the women leave, you pull it down and try climbing up. it's moments like these that you can pride yourself on your agility— work that usually required two people, you could do alone. with one leg on the flush and the other on the top of the cubicle, you climbed up, scratching the side of your arm slightly before finally getting in the vents. you groaned to yourself, and then started crawling inside. there were two ways to go— you chose the left one. you looked down, trying to understand the layout of the place where you were practically held hostage. you keep crawling, making sure not to make too much noise before finally seeing a place through the gaps that you hadn't seen before— you carefully remove the screws and pull it apart.

the place looks empty. the walls are all sorts of pink and green. you put your head down and look both ways, seeing a door at the end of the hallway. carefully, you climb down and lower yourself to the ground with a thump. your shoulder hurts a little. you stand up, and aim for the door. as soon as you begin walking, you hear footsteps. it's as if someone splashed cold water on you— you realize the grave mistake you just made. guards walk here with guns, and you made the impulsive decision to explore a dangerous place like this by yourself?

you look around, running towards the other end of the hallway. the footsteps get louder, and as you look over your shoulder, something grabs you. out of reflex, you go to scream, but a hand clamps down on your mouth, and your back collides with a hard chest.

"shh, it's me." the voice hisses. your wide eyes look up, scared, before realizing who it is.

player 001.

your chest heaves as you break out into a sweat, a tear rolling down your cheek. he keeps you in a tight hold, looking to the side, your breath dampening his hand. the footsteps suddenly become faint, as if walking away. your breaths sync together, and after a moment, he relaxes.

he takes his hand off your mouth before harshly twisting you to face him. his voice is hushed but angry, "what were you thinking?!"

"what are you doing here?" you whisper shakily at the same time.

"everyone was back in the room except you. i came to find you!" he chides, eyes hard. he shakes you slightly, "do you really plan to get killed like this? is this how you want to die? can you go one moment without being a reckless brat—"

his words make you want to cower in on yourself.

"i wanted to find a way out." you try to sound assertive, but your voice betrays you. your words come out panicked, "I wanted to help and— fuck— i got you in trouble too— you shouldn't have come looking for me! fuck— how are we gonna make it out of here?"

he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you tiredly. "the game is about to start. we'll mix in with the crowd when they leave, i doubt they'll notice."

"are you sure it'll work?" you ask. you hear a faint announcement. the game is about to start.

he looks up at the speakers, alert. he grabs you tightly and drags you away with an air of confidence. "let's go."

you don't encounter any guards on the way back. it's strange, but you figure it's because they're all preparing for the next game. player 001's plan worked, because you two mixed in with the crowd, and the guards didn't notice. one of them turned back to look at you, and you panted, staring back at him. your heart raced, but you felt the presence of 001 next to you, and you felt at ease again. the guard looked away.

"i told you to stop being reckless." he says quietly, looking at 456 and 390, before looking back at you. your legs hurt from climbing so many stairs. "what would you have done if they found you?"

you swallow the lump in your throat, staring up at him intensely, eyes glassy. he saved your life. "i guess you stopped that from happening."

he clenches his jaw, his gaze flickering up and down your face before looking away. "i won't always be there to save you."

you look away, heart dropping. "thank you, 001."

"call me young-il."

you look up at him, blinking back tears, quirking an eyebrow as you two walk. "only if you allow me to add 'sir' at the end of it."

he chuckles, eyes crinkling. he has such a nice laugh. "why's that? respect?"

you nod, giving a little bow. "respect is very important in my culture as well. so thank you for saving my life, young-il sir."

he grins a little and pats your head. you thank him again, and decide you like him enough. so you tell him your name.

he tests it on his tongue, and you quite like the way he says it.

the next game had to be the most terrifying so far.

it was called mingle, and you had to run to the rooms in groups according to the number announced. things like these were where you got scared— where you had to group with people. in dangerous situations, you know people usually only look out for two types of people— themselves, and the ones dearest to them.

you were not dear to anyone here. you really should've interacted with more people.

the platform rotates, before the number is announced. six. your eyes widen and you frantically look around, but young-il is faster. he grabs you and drags you to the room with the rest of the team. you pant as the 30 seconds pass, and then look out the window in the door to see how many people were left— quite a few. your eyes widen as the red guards move forward with their guns raised.

young-il leaps forward and covers your eyes with his hand before pulling you into himself as the gunshots ring out— you flinch and shudder at every single one, breathing sharp and your entire frame trembling violently. when there is silence and the doors open, you look up. young-il gently lets go of you, looking around. he's panting too, and you look at him with the most crushed look on your face before he meets your gaze. he can tell what you want to know— why would you do that?

"you shouldn't have to see all this." he says quietly, adjusting his jacket and putting a little distance between you too. 456 pats your shoulder and makes sure people are okay before moving out. you just look at young-il for a while, but he simply looks around, seemingly lost in thought. as if fighting a war within himself. you wish you knew how to reassure him like he did with you, but you realize you barely know anything about him.

the entire floor is painted with blood. the sight makes you want to vomit. you walk carefully, but your foot slips in someone's blood and you begin to fall over. 456 catches you. "are you alright?"

instinctively, your gaze tries to find young-il but he's standing away. his head is lowered.

"yes, thank you." you give 456 a smile, before assuming your place on the platform again.

you play a few more rounds. you're lucky enough to have someone to team with each time— young-il and 456 don't let go of you even once. but then the voice runs out again, and they announce the number 3. this time, 456 is dragged along with the old woman and her son. you look around frantically, and meet young-il's panicked gaze with your own. you begin to run towards him, but two people grab you and drag you towards one of the rooms.

thanos and nam-gyu. you shriek at them, clawing at their arms and trying to run back out. what if young-il doesn't make it? what if something bad happens?

this time, you have no one to cover your eyes or ears. thanos and nam-gyu talk shit within themselves, and you look outside the little window, flinching with every gunshot ringing out, trying to pinpoint if it's young-il's body falling to the ground. you can't help the light sob erupting from your throat, and thanos chooses the wrong moment to come bother you.

"watcha looking for, señorita?" he laughs, poking your side, "is it your old man? did he finally—"

you turn to him and punch him in the face. he falls back and groans dramatically, rubbing the blood running down his nose. nam-gyu rushes to his rescue, giggling. they're both high as a kite. the doors open, and you rush out before they can bother you further.

you look around. 456 is with the rest of the team, but you can't find young-il. frantically, you look towards the dead bodies, heart pounding against your chest and head throbbing. suddenly, there's cheers from your team, and you look up to see young-il walking over with a bright grin on his face.

you don't know what compelled you to do it. you were acting on your emotions— overwhelmed by the relief you felt on the sight of his face. before you can even stop, you're dashing towards him and crashing into his body, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

he's shocked, that much is obvious by the way he tenses slightly. but then he returns the hug, wrapping his arms around you and placing one hand on your head, gently patting. "i told you we'd make it."

you choke on a soft sob, nodding, burying your head further into his chest, as if ready to climb inside him, "i thought you—"

he shushes you softly, voice gentle as he runs a hand through your hair. you can feel his heart racing against his chest too. you wonder if it's for the same reasons as you. "i'm okay."

you wish the game ended there. but there was one more round to go. as you rotated on the platform— the moment you were dreading finally happened as young-il predicted it. the number announced was two.

you were ready to die there. things seemed to happen in slow motion— 456 took his best friend 390, 149 was dragged by her son. you didn't get the chance to see who took who next, because young-il had grabbed your hand and was dragging you towards one of the rooms. there were only fifty rooms— the first one you two got to was taken. he dragged you to another with a mere ten seconds left.

you sighed in relief as you got in, before seeing another man was already there. he was shaking in fear, and you jumped at the harshness of young-il's voice when he ordered him to get out. when the other player refused, young-il lunged at him and put him in a headlock.

your eyes widened and you stepped forward, panic stricken but he looked right at you and called your name, "close your eyes!"

you flinched. you looked at the man, then at young-il, before squeezing your eyes shut. you slid to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest as soon as you heard a 'crack' before opening your eyes.

the player was dead. young-il cracked his neck.

the timer finished at that exact moment, and young-il crawled over to you before pulling you into his chest. the gunshots rang out, and you flinched, sobbing.

young-il killed someone.

"i had to do it," he whispered against your hair, holding your head against his chest, "we both have to make it out alive. i had to do it. you know that right?"

you wanted to believe him, you really did. but in that moment, you felt scared of him for the first time.

the doors opened, and the game finished.

while you wanted to revel in your victory, the incident during mingle had rattled you to your core. the others checked up on you, especially 388 and 456. young-il maintained some distance. you could feel like he thought it's what you wanted. but you could really use his comfort. you just don't know how to talk to him again without being nervous. you force yourself to relive your previous interactions with him— he's still the same young-il who has saved you and comforted you countless times.

he did what he had to do to ensure your survival. that wasn't something you could hold against him. not when both of your lives were on the line.

the voting this time was just as challenging. you made your way to the front of the crowd, praying that they'd choose wisely this time. you need to go home.

one of the players in the old man's team showed you the finger before clicking the 'o' button. the action made your eye twitch, and you grit your teeth before straightening up to attack that guy and scratch his face off, but a hand to your chest held you back.

if looks could kill, young-il's glare could've sent that guy home in a body bag. as the votes in favour of continuing the game increased, you pushed his hand off you and addressed the crowd, "have you all lost your fucking minds?!"

their chitter chatter stopped and they looked at you. you clench your jaw, "after losing so many people out there you still want to play? what the fuck is wrong with you people? are human lives that invaluable to you?"

player 100 steps forward, insufferable as always. "don't you see how much money we're getting for each person? it could settle our debt! we can't give up after how far we've come."

"you're gonna die!" you snap, pointing at him, "you could take this money and go home and be happy instead of risking your life for something that is not assured to you! why won't you listen?! i want to go home!"

the others in favour of terminating the game start chanting with you, a string of 'i want to go home' echoing across the room.

player 100 glares, urging his own team to chant against you. he looks towards young-il, yells something along the lines of, "look after your fucking kid!" before the barell of a gun presses against the back of your head. the whole room freezes, and so do you.

"disruptions against a democratic vote will not be excused." the robotic voice calls out. for a second you think this is it. you look at young-il. if you die here, you'd prefer the man who saved your life to be the last person you see. he glares at the guard, his jaw clenching. the guard lowers the gun and steps back and you let out a breath of relief.

you immediately saunter over to him, gritting your teeth. the vote is a tie— and they announce the next voting to be held tomorrow.

456 says there's about to be a fight. the rest of the team got busy setting up a barricade— and you didn't get the chance to talk to your player. you knew his concern though, when he made sure to especially hide your side of the bed with two mattresses.

you play with the hem of your shirt as you sit in your bed by your lonesome. your food sits by you, untouched. you dont feel like eating. the weight on the bed shifts, and young-il appears into view.

"you're not eating."

you swallow the lump in your throat. "i don't feel like it."

he contemplates, eyes lowered before he looks at you again. "im sorry you had to witness that. I don't want you to be scared of me."

you want to cry. "im not." you whisper, "you.. you had to do what you had to do. to save us."

he blinks, nodding.

"back there, i thought that was it. it's over." you chuckle bitterly. "but you saved me again. you acted on impulse. i could never resent you for it."

your eyes are bloodshot as you look at him again. fat tears roll down your cheeks, and he frowns. he sighs before leaning closer, brushing the tears away. "why are you crying?"

"i wouldn't have survived this far if it wasn't for you." you whisper, voice cracking. "promise me you wouldn't abandon me. promise me you won't die."

his gaze softens. he's silent for a bit, his hand coming to rest on your knee, "i promise."

you sniffle, wiping your tears away. a small smile appears on your face, "i punched thanos."

"thanos?" he frowns, confused before raising his eyebrows in recognition, "ah, the loud kid with the purple hair?"

you nod proudly. "he said something like 'did 001 finally die?' so i punched him."

he laughs heartily— face scrunching cutely, eyes crinkling. he shakes his head fondly before ruffling your hair again. "attagirl."

it makes you blush slightly and you smile, looking down at your lap. he grabs your dinner— the roll sitting next to you and unwraps it, taking out a piece before holding it out, "eat."

you snort before leaning forward and taking a bite. he looks at you for a while with that faraway look in his eyes, before wordlessly continuing to feed you the rest. the words go unsaid. 'what are we doing? why are we so comfortable with each other?'

some sauce sticks to the corner of your mouth. he raises his hand to hold your chin, his thumb gently wiping it off. your breath hitches.

neither of you protest when his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, gaze focused on it like he's hypnotized. he's thinking, mindlessly feeling the plush texture of it.

you've always been impulsive. especially in situations where you shouldn't be. it happens so naturally— how your lips part just slightly. and maybe he's impulsive too, because his thumb slips inside, and his breath hitches as soon as your lips wrap around his thumb.

his gaze raises to meet yours— and you blink almost dazedly. his thumb presses down on your tongue, and he calls out your name in the softest voice.

"i'm too old for you." he whispers, shaking his head in disapproval.

your eyes flutter, and you lean forward, grabbing hold of his wrist. he pulls his thumb out, and you almost whine in protest. to your utter delight, he replaces it with two of his fingers, and your eyes almost roll back as you crawl forward till you're situated on his lap, mouth stuffed with his index and middle finger. you suck on them enthusiastically. they're long and thick and perfect and you don't want them out of your mouth ever again. it elicits a soft moan out of him— and if you could put that sound on repeat for the rest of your life, you'd be happy.

he pulls his fingers out and grabs the back of your head, pulling you close till your foreheads press together. you try to lean forward, to capture his lips with your own. he chuckles slightly, eyes closed, playfully rubbing his nose against yours. you whine.

"so impatient." he whispers, and then his lips are colliding with yours. it would be embarrassing if someone were to catch you two like this— more so for him than for you. thankfully, the others are busy strategizing for the night, and are not looking for either of you.

you moan softly and he bites down on your bottom lip, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. it's desperate and reckless and so full of spit— it makes you whimper into his mouth and he pulls you further into himself, as if telling you to shut up. his experience is obvious in the way he kisses, and you follow his lead. unknowingly, your hips start gently grinding against his thigh, and he lets out a soft hiss. he pulls away slightly, strings of saliva connecting your mouths. he licks it away.

"come on, sweetheart," he whispers, one hand coming down to help your hips grind against his thigh, "make yourself feel good— that's it, that's my good girl."

you moan softly, and his free hand clamps your mouth shut. he speeds his movement, clenching and unclenching the muscle of his thigh, guiding your hips to move faster against his lap. it's been so long since you've masturbated— and this is unarguably the hottest situation you've ever been in, with the hottest man you've ever seen. so you're already close. you cry out into his hand, your voice muffled. he understands what you mean and lets you move on your own speed then, pulling your head into the crook of his neck as he whispers soft words of praise into your ear.

the moment he calls you his good girl again, you cum. he muffles the sound with his hand, squeezing his eyes shut before he looks at you intensely. you collapse against him, slightly sweaty, your hands holding onto his shoulders as you cling to him. he runs his hand through your hair, breathing sharply. it's a small moment of bliss in the hell you've found yourself in.

soon, the lights go out, and dread settles in your stomach once you feel his body tensing. player 388 pulls one of the mattresses back slightly, hisses a quick "get under the bed!"

and the next game begins.

A/N: this was incredibly fun to write. i love writing him a little soft and fatherly, so deal with it. i might write a part 2 for this, if anyone wants that. this idea has been in my head for a while. i love him so, so much. this fic is my baby and i truly hope you guys like reading it as much as i liked writing it.

tags! @carolinevoight @lovers-roq @wildtigerlili @menabuser16 @deadlyobsessivfennec @watasinekoru @hanakokunzz @cowuies

[th3mrskory]

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: fem!Reader x Old Man!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,explicit language, coercion (if you squint), oral (male/female receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy style, anal play, creampie.

Summary: Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: As @coocoocachewgotscrewed so brilliantly put it, 'As the girl that takes care of everyone: SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF ME.' And that’s how this little fic came to life.

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The world had never been kind to her softness. In her youth, she'd learned early that the only way to survive was to take up space, to become a force others couldn't ignore, even if they didn't understand it. She had built walls from the ground up, stone by stone until they formed a fortress no one could breach. She had everything together—mostly. She had to. People depended on her and needed her strength to carry them through the chaos of life, so she did. She carried it all. Always.

But there were moments—quiet moments, when the world was still—when the weight of it all pressed against her chest, relentless. The loneliness in her veins. The unspoken ache buried deep within her ribs.

She never asked for help. She didn't need it. Her hands were too used to giving. And when she laughed, when she made jokes about being single—"Men want to be babied. I don't have time to raise a child."—it was easier to mask the truth. It was easier to hide the hunger that lingered beneath her words. The hunger for something she couldn't name, something too soft to fit into the life she'd built.

It was supposed to be just another day, another task, another moment in the long string of motions she went through without thought. But then she saw him—Logan, standing there with that quiet, raw strength of his. The way he didn't try to impress anyone, didn't need to, because the power in him was as much in his silence as it was in his actions. There was no pretense. No façade.

And she hated that it drew her in. 

She hated how much she wanted him—him, the one man who wouldn't cower in her presence, the one who wouldn't need her to be anything other than exactly what she was.

She noticed him more these days, more than she cared to admit. She tried to bury the thoughts, to ignore the way her heart would quicken whenever he was near, the way her body seemed to ache for something it didn't know how to name.

Logan saw it, though. He always did. The way she wore that strength-like armor. But he'd spent enough time with it to know what armor looked like—he knew what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let anyone see how heavy it was.

He didn't pity her. Hell, he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. But he saw the cracks. The storm churned behind her eyes. The way she pulled away just when things might have gotten too real, too close. 

She never let anyone in.

But he wasn't afraid of it. Not of her. Not of that ferocity.

And so, on that night, after a thousand little things had piled up until there was no room left for her to breathe, it came out.

Her words were sharp, and cutting, but they were the truth. The raw, jagged truth that she never allowed to be spoken. She was tired of pretending. Tired of holding the world together when no one saw her crumble beneath it.

"What, you think I don't need help? You think I like doing everything myself?" Her voice trembled only slightly, a crack in the fortress that she had so carefully built.

He didn't flinch. Didn't back away. He'd seen that wall before, and he didn't fear it.

He only stepped closer, his presence as solid as the ground beneath them.

"I think you're too damn stubborn to ask for it," he said, his voice low, but the understanding in it was enough to make her heart catch in her throat.

For a moment, the world paused. The storm inside her stilled, and she saw it—really saw it for the first time. He wasn't afraid of her strength. He didn't want to tear it down. He just wanted to be there, beside her, when it all became too much to bear.

He didn't need to fix her. He didn't need to save her.

He just needed to let her be.

Let her lean into him. Let her rest.

Her breath caught as she stepped toward him, her hands trembling, unsure but desperate. For once, she wasn't the one giving. For once, she could be held, could be taken care of. 

Logan's hands were steady, as they always were, but now, they weren't just offering strength. They were offering safety—something she hadn't realized she'd been searching for all along. 

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low, soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to let it out." 

The words broke something inside her. Heat prickled behind her eyes, and her chest heaved with the weight of everything she'd kept buried. 

Logan didn't move. He didn't push. He just let her cry, his hand resting firm and comforting on her back, his presence solid as the ground beneath her. 

"Y/N..." His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Gently, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears with a tenderness that made her knees weak. 

"You don't have to carry it all, bub. Let me in, just this once." 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Grounding her. And when she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the motion instinctive, something inside her gave way. 

Her eyes fell to his lips. The urge to kiss him became impossible to ignore. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, but then he paused, his gaze locking with hers. 

She couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, kissing him hard, desperate for the release, the comfort, the closeness. It was a kiss that broke everything wide open—a kiss that held the weight of everything they'd both been holding back. 

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the solid strength of his hands still cradling her face. She felt the tension in her chest unravel, replaced by a need that clawed at her, desperate and all-consuming.

Logan didn't rush. He never did. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, tracing over her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

"No walls. No fightin'. Just let me.", he murmured, his voice gravelly and sure, sending a shiver down her spine. The words hit her like a hammer, shattering the last of her defenses. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to handing over the reins, but with Logan, it felt...safe. Right.

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, the tiniest of movements, but it was enough for him.

Logan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands guiding hers up and over her head. Her fingers curled instinctively as he pinned her wrists against the wall behind her, the roughness of the surface contrasting with the gentleness of his touch.

"Just let me make you feel good," he said, his voice low and commanding. She exhaled shakily, her head tilting back as his mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin before his tongue soothed the spot. Her body arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking more, needing more.

"Logan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in the sound of his name.

He hummed against her throat, one hand still holding her wrists in place while the other traveled down her side, his fingers skimming over the curve of her hip. "That's it," he rumbled. "Let me hear you."

Each touch, each kiss, stripped away the layers she'd built to protect herself. She wasn't in control anymore—not of her body, not of her mind, not of the way she melted beneath him. And for once, she didn't care.

Logan moved with a precision that left her breathless, his hand slipping beneath her shirt, rough fingertips tracing the softness of her skin. He paused just below her ribs, his eyes flicking up to hers.

"Say it, darlin'," he coaxed. "Say you'll let me have you."

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I'm yours."

And that was all it took.

His hands, calloused and strong, gripped her thighs, hoisting her up with an ease that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as her body pressed tightly against his.

"Where's your bedroom?" he growled against her ear, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with the kind of raw command that made her knees weak, though she wasn't even standing.

"End of the hall," she whispered, the words trembling out of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe, a low hum rumbling deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise almost too rough to feel soft, and yet it sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

He moved through her place with purposeful strides, each step a reminder of the strength coiled in his body. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against her chest, the way his arms tightened around her as if he dared anything or anyone to take her from him.

When they reached her bedroom, Logan kicked the door open without hesitation, the force behind it making it swing back against the wall. The dim light from the hallway framed his silhouette—broad shoulders, wild hair, and eyes that burned as he looked down at her.

The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming, and consuming. He didn't glance around, didn't make a single remark. His focus was entirely on her as if the world beyond her didn't exist.

"On the bed," he rasped, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

Before she could even process his words, he was lowering her onto the mattress, her back meeting the cool sheets as his hands lingered, pressing her down as he needed her to stay right where she was.

"Logan—"

"Quiet." The single word was sharp and commanding, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

His eyes roved over her, dark and smoldering, drinking her in as though he was committing every inch of her to memory. One knee pressed into the mattress beside her, his weight shifting as he leaned closer, his hands bracketing her head.

"Spent your whole damn life holdin' everything together," he muttered his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "Not tonight. Tonight, you're mine."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of breath as he tilted her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not askin', darlin'." His voice dropped to a growl, sending a shudder down her spine.

Her heart thundered in her chest as his lips claimed hers again, rough and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. The sound made his grip tighten, his hands sliding down her sides slowly as if savoring the way her body responded to him.

"You don't have to be strong tonight," he murmured against her lips, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Let me carry it. Let me carry you."

Her resolve cracked beneath the weight of his words, her body trembling as her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. For once, she didn't fight. She didn't resist.

She just let go.

Logan's eyes never left hers as he straightened, standing tall above her. His hands were steady as he reached for the hem of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, and heavy, like the moment before a storm.

"Arms up," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

She obeyed without a word, raising her arms as he gripped the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sides. He pulled the shirt up slowly, dragging the material over her skin with a sensuality that made her shiver. The shirt caught for a moment, tangled in her hair, and Logan let out a low chuckle, dark and throaty.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice softer now as he freed her, his fingers lingering against her temple, brushing stray strands away from her face.

The shirt dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle, forgotten the second it left his hand. His gaze roamed over her now-bare skin, unhurried and scorching, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of her that she'd never let anyone else see.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words rough and quiet as if they weren't meant for her to hear, but they landed with the force of a confession.

Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but there was no hiding from him. He stepped closer, his hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin, calloused and warm, and she bit back a gasp as he popped the button with ease.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone low but firm.

Her eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. He was utterly focused as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Lift your hips," he murmured, his hands curling around the waistband, tugging the denim down with maddening slowness.

She shifted, doing as he asked, and he peeled the jeans away, dragging them down her legs. His fingers brushed her calves, and her ankles before the fabric joined her shirt on the floor. The air felt colder now, her skin hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch.

Logan's eyes raked over her, his expression dark and unreadable. Then he reached out, his hands gripping her ankles, his thumbs running along the delicate bone there. He tugged her toward him, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a strength that made her stomach flip.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice ragged, laced with something almost feral.

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of her bra, sliding them off her shoulders with an aching slowness. The straps fell away, his knuckles grazing her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't need this," he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her collarbone as he reached behind her, unhooking the clasp with a practiced ease.

The bra slipped from her body, and Logan let it fall without a glance, his hands already returning to her, tracing a path down her sides. His palms were warm, rough in the best way, and they left trails of fire wherever they touched.

"Every inch of you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as his hands slid lower. "Mine."

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him instinctively, surrendering completely to his touch.

Logan's hands paused at her hips, his fingers slipping under the thin elastic of her panties. His gaze flicked up to hers, holding her there with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears.

She nodded, her voice failing her, but it didn't matter. Logan saw everything he needed in her eyes.

With one smooth motion, he slid the last barrier from her body, baring her completely to him. He stood there for a moment, his gaze raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Now let me show you what it means to let go."

Logan knelt between her legs, his hands on her knees, gently parting them as he moved with calm, deliberate intent. She froze for a second, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized she hadn't shaved. Her gaze quickly flicked away, her cheeks flushing with the sudden vulnerability she felt.

But Logan noticed. He looked at her with a reassuring, almost amused smirk, his eyes flickering down her body before meeting hers again.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a thumb along her inner thigh. "I like it just like this."

Her breath hitched at his words, the tension in her body slowly melting under his touch.

He lowered himself slowly, nuzzling his face against her inner thighs, placing soft, teasing kisses along their expanse. His right hand moved to her center, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sensitive bud. His middle and ring fingers slid over her hole, collecting her wetness, and spreading it across her labia.

"She's drooling for me," he murmured as his fingers slowly began to push inside, allowing her to adjust to the stretch. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her pleasure as his fingers began to pump in and out, each movement deliberate and slow.

His fingers continued their rhythmic motion, working in tandem with his mouth. He moved his tongue over her clit, the tip flicking over the sensitive skin in a slow, teasing rhythm that made her body arch toward him. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the heat of his touch seared into her.

"Logan... please," she gasped, her voice trembling, her hips pressing closer to his face.

Logan didn't stop. His tongue flicked faster now, tracing every curve, every inch of her, his mouth drinking in her arousal. She couldn't stop herself anymore; her back arched as her body responded to him, the tension building within her like a wave. "So good," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Logan murmured against her skin, his voice rough, thick with desire. He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look up at her. "I can feel you shaking. Let go."

She shuddered under his gaze, the command in his voice stripping away the last of her resistance. Her body wanted to obey, to give herself over completely to the sensations he was creating. "I can't... I need you, Logan," she pleaded, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him back to her, wordlessly begging for more.

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips tightly as he pulled her closer to his mouth, continuing the rhythm with even more force, more hunger. Every lick, every flick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge.

He could feel the way her body tightened, the way her breath quickened. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed harder against her clit, his tongue moving with desperate speed as he drove her to the brink. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering as she reached the edge. "Logan... oh god," she cried out, completely surrendering to the pleasure.

As she caught her breath, her body still humming with the lingering sensation of his touch, a quiet yearning stirred within her. She sat up, her eyes locking onto his as she gently took his hand. Without a word, she brought his fingers to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She traced them with her tongue, sucking them clean, savoring the taste of her arousal, before pulling back just a little.

"Dirty girl…" he said, his left hand cupping her cheek.

"I could be sucking something else", she said seductively.

He looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice low, steady.

"I want to. Please."

Logan stood up slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, an unspoken challenge, and a silent invitation all at once.

She positioned herself on her knees before him. Her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic, as her hands traced the strong lines of his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and over the hard muscles of his belly.

When her fingers reached his belt, she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she unbuckled it, the leather slipping free with an audible click before it fell to the floor. Her hands moved quickly to the button of his dress pants, flicking it open, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband. Her fingers, delicate yet determined, began to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. Her gaze never left him, and the way her hands worked with such slow precision sent a wave of heat through his chest. The act was intimate, each button a whispered invitation.

Once the shirt was undone, she moved to the cuffs, gently opening them before pressing a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, the tenderness of it catching him off guard. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, the touch affectionate, reverent.

There was something magnetic about the way she undressed him—each movement slow and filled with purpose. Her eyes held a quiet hunger that mirrored his own, a silent language between them that made his pulse quicken.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. She didn't waste a moment, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs in one smooth, fluid motion, letting them drop to the floor as he stepped out of the garment.

He stood there, bare in front of her. His body was exposed, but it wasn't the nudity that left him feeling vulnerable. It was the way his body didn't respond like it once had, the slow burn of frustration creeping in.

But that did not deter her. She braced herself on all fours, the movement full of quiet confidence. Leaning in, she began licking and gently sucking at his balls, the heat of her mouth sending a shiver through him. His breath hitched as her right hand took hold of his semi-hard dick, her touch light but teasing, coaxing him to respond. The softness of her lips, the pressure of her hand, stirred something deep inside him, and he could feel himself slowly hardening.

She licked a long stripe from his balls up to his tip, her mouth hot against his skin. The sudden surge of sensation had him grunting low, his hands instinctively finding their way into her hair, fingers curling into her locks as he pulled her closer.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, his voice low and rough, as his grip tightened on her hair, pulling her in deeper, the feeling of her mouth sending waves of heat through him. "Don't stop," he muttered.

Y/N could feel him growing heavier and thick in her mouth. She released his dick with a loud pop and with both hands began pumping it.

At the sight Logan closed his eyes and let his head fall back, the hold on her hair tightening. She took him in her mouth and, hollowing her cheeks, began taking him deeper.

She gagged around him when her nose reached the grey hairs on the base and pulled back coughing, a string of saliva connecting her to his member.

Y/N looked up and smiled mischievously seeing him fully erect.

Logan pushed her onto the bed, his hands firmly pinning her wrists to the mattress as he hovered over her. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You're trouble," he finally muttered, his voice deep and rough.

She smirked, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. "You don't seem to mind," she teased, her breath hitching as his gaze darkened with hunger.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Without warning, he moved, pinning her down more securely. "No, I don't," he growled, his voice low as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

Her breath quickened as she felt the weight of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite herself, she arched up, meeting the intensity of his gaze. He was in control now, his hands steady as he guided her into place.

He took a breath, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You're going to beg for it," he whispered. His tone was rough, yet there was a subtle edge of something softer, almost possessive. "And I'll make sure you don't forget who's in charge."

She bit her lip, anticipating what he would do next.

Logan smiled darkly and kissed her again, his right hand traveling down her chest and grabbing her right breast, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He positioned himself between her legs, gripping his member at the base as he ran his tip along her sensitive center, teasing her with deliberate strokes from her clit to her entrance. Each motion made her hips twitch, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

Her moans filled the room, "Logan," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

She closed her legs around him pulling him closer. Logan laughed at her antics. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back slightly, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto her, aiding his movement.

Her moans became desperate, almost broken, her hands clutching at his forearms. "Logan," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Please… I need you."

His smirk deepened as he held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm beneath him. "I told you, you'd beg" he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembling with the words she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm yours, Logan. Please…"

One large hand moved to her throat, his palm pressing gently against her skin, holding her in place. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling her even closer. "Mine," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming.

The pressure at her throat made her head swim, a strange mix of restraint and trust that sent a bolt of heat through her. She arched into his hold, her body surrendering completely.

"You like this, don't you?" he rasped, his lips brushing against hers but not quite touching. His voice was low and commanding, but there was a glint of something softer beneath it, a promise just out of reach.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky moan, her hands clutching at his wrist. "Yes," she whispered, desperate and trembling.

His mouth curved into a wicked smirk as his hand shifted, loosening his hold just enough for her to feel the contrast. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

The words lingered in the air, heavy with intent but unspoken in full. His free hand slid down her body, fingers tracing her curves with a deliberateness that made her skin tingle.

She whimpered, her body responding to every calculated movement. "Logan..."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel," he whispered, the edge of his voice rough yet grounding. "That's all I want from you tonight."

He shifted between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her with ease as he positioned himself. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and her heart thudded in her chest, anticipation coiling tightly in her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the tip of his member pressing against her entrance. With a slow, fluid motion, he eased himself inside, feeling the resistance of her body disappearing.

Y/N threw her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to his length, "Fuck," she breathed, unable to hide the raw need in her voice.

She bit her lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of her. Logan leaned forward, his tongue sliding down the side of her neck. He then moved to her breasts, attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and sucking. He released her nipple.

"Breathe," he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding her. "I've got you."

He straightened up, his body towering over hers, and braced his hand on the headboard as he drew his hips back, the feel of his withdrawal sending a shiver through her. She barely had time to adjust before he slammed back into her.

She was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm he set. Every time he pulled out, every time he pushed back in, the pressure inside her built, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning faster, more brutal, as he pushed into her with a hunger that matched the fire in her veins. Her hips moved to meet him, desperate for more, and he responded with a growl of approval, his hands tightening on her hips to anchor her in place as his rhythm grew harder, more punishing.

"Fuck Y/N."

She smiled at him.

"You like that, don't you?" Logan's voice was rough, and dark, as he pulled back slightly, only to push in even harder.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning, the sharpness of the sensation hitting her in waves.

"That's right," Logan growled, his grip on her hips like iron as he rocked into her with force.

Her body responded without thought, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, faster as if she couldn't get enough. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with the desperate gasps coming from her lips.

Without warning, he shifted his position, his hands leaving her hips for a moment, only to slip under her and lift her body, pulling her into a new angle. She gasped, the sudden shift throwing her off balance, but Logan's grip on her was firm, and controlling, as he guided her back onto him.

Her back arched instinctively, the new position deepening their connection, and she moaned, her hands reaching for the headboard to brace herself. Logan's thrusts grew slower but deeper, more deliberate now, aimed to bring her right to the brink.

Logan's hand came down hard on her left asscheek jolting Y/N forward.

"Logan…" she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He could hear it—the desperation in her voice, the way her body was bucking against his. He watched her face, her eyes closed tight, her lips parted in a silent plea for release. He wanted to hear her, wanted to feel her break under him.

He gave one last hard, deep thrust, then paused, letting the sensation build before pulling back almost completely. She whimpered, the loss of movement driving her crazy, and before she could protest, he repositioned again, this time bending her further back, his hands now holding her shoulders down as he ran his member between her asscheeks.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at him, over her shoulder, her eyes filled with raw desire.

Logan didn't wait any longer. He positioned himself behind her, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly at first, savoring the tight, intense heat that engulfed him. The change in angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and she moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice low and full of grit as he began to move, his thrusts quick and forceful, each one pushing her further into the bed.

She gasped with each hard thrust, the pleasure taking over her senses, her body rocking in time with his. The deeper connection from this position sent waves of bliss coursing through her, and she pressed back into him, her hips meeting his with every thrust.

"Does this feel better?" Logan growled, his hands tightening on her hips, guiding her with raw intensity.

She could barely manage a breathless, "Yes, harder…"

His thrusts grew harder, faster, and relentless, pushing her toward the edge.

She couldn't hold back anymore, "Logan …I'm gonna…"

His strokes grew sloppier as he grabbed her neck, angling her face so he could kiss her.

Y/N's moans filled the room. The mixture of his hard thrusts and the slap of his balls on her ass pushed her over the edge as she began shaking.

Y/N fell forward, her face on the bed and her ass in the air. Logan didn't stop. His hands opened her asscheeks as he watched his thick, veiny member going in and out of her hole, creating a creamy ring at the base of his member.

The new angle allowed Logan to continuously hit her cervix. "Be a good girl, come on my dick."

Her hands fisted the sheets and Logan, with his thumb began circling her other hole. The new stimulation tipped Y/N over the edge as she came hard on his member.

Logan didn't stop. Didn't even slow down as he followed her, his movements like a force of nature, unyielding, as he pushed her through the waves of pleasure, every last inch of her shaking with the force of it.

Her mouth fell open as she felt him stilling and his release spilling inside of her.

"Fuck!", he said, throwing his head back.

He remained still for a moment but then pulled out when he felt his member softening. He sat on his knees admiring their joint releases dripping out of her spent hole.

"Jesus, that's a fucking sight.", his index finger reached collecting the release and pushing it back.

Y/N moaned and fell on her stomach. He removed his fingers and lay next to her.

"Did it help?", he asked playfully.

"Shut up Logan."

______________________________________________________________

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[yellinginhell]

Time travelling to Purgatory

i had a thought. what if the journey that ekko, heimerdinger and jayce had could symbolize travelling through purgatory. I'm an Italian Studies major so this will be full on Dante style.

Frst up is Heimerdinger. He goes the furthest into the past because his punishment is to see the part of the world that he failed to help. We know that Heimerdinger is one of Piltover's founders, dude's over 300 years old and he's also immortal. He takes pride in Piltover's accomplishments without magic, so he's more than reluctant to accept Hextech. Ironically, the way in which he let zaunite problems run so deep is the reason Viktor immeadiately thinks that this risky new technology he helped his new buddyboy invent is the ony way to help fellow zaunites and himself. l'm in no way calling Viktor selfless, but he couldn't have known that old men divorce cancellation would surprisingly solve the cities' problems.

Unlike Hell, Purgatory is all about time. You can earn your right to ascend to Heaven only after many years of contemplating your sins. This is exactly what happened to Heimerdinger. He's watching a new Zaun get born and clearly reminiscing on all the ways he failed the Zaun in his timeline. How he neither helped the people who lived there, nor understood them.

There's also an obvious teacher-student trope going on with Heimerdinger and his pupils. His role is not only that of a penetant sinner, but also of a mentor. In "Divine Comedy", Dante's guide through Hell is Virgil, a Roman poet to whom Dante looks up to. Virgil explains the whole hierarchy of Hell and the structure of Purgatory, but at a certain point he can't go further. As soon as they reach Earthly Paradise, which is technically still in Purgatory, Virgil announces that he cannot proceed, because it's forbidden. Virgil goes back to his softcore first level punishment in Hell for good people who weren't Christians. Dante is very distraught by that. Although Virgil clearly didn't die again, it still must have felt just like losing his beloved teacher. There's a similar scene between Ekko and Heimerdinger. He knows that he can't and shouldn't proceed further, so he sacrifices his life for his best student, which obviously saddens Ekko. Heimerdinger dies as a symbol of the old world, a world that is no more.

Jayce is also punished with time to contemplate his mistakes. His thoughts when he's looking at the fire are full of regret. He lost his way, he stopped doing what he thought was right, he let his dream become corrupted. "Divine Comedy" starts with Dante telling us that he's lost his way as well, both literally and metaphorically. It's the reason the entire plot happens.

Jayce has a nasty fall right at the beginning of his extadimensional journey. This is also a punishment of sorts. His hammer, aka the hextech weapon he swore not to make, fractures his leg in a brutal way. After that he's forced to climb up. Movement in Purgatory has the same direction. It's a mountain that you have to climb to reach Paradise. Jayce ends up reaching a Paradise of sorts. The best place in this dead world, that is. The contrast between the highest point in Piltover is stark. It's a vibrant, colorful, peaceful place, unlike the grey wasteland of metal corpse puppets below. Just like Dante, Jayce meets his long lost love in Earthly Paradise. Both Viktor and Beatrice show our heroes what to do next and help them leave Purgatory.

Might be a controversial opinion, but here goes. I don't believe Ekko felt as if he was in a good place where he could stay forever. I wholeheartedly disagree with teary posts such as "he was so strong to leave Heaven behind". How is that Heaven? It looks good enough at first sight, but imagine waking up in a world full of dead people. Sure, getting some closure is nice, but that's the only way to talk to them again. Imagine seeing your dying city thrive and knowing you would never have that in your world. I don't think Ekko was particularly strong for leaving. He could have indulged in that little fantasy for a bit, but he never lost track of what was important. It wasn't his world to live in, so he had to leave. And that is also torture.

Ekko meets his loved one in this world as well. Powder has a pendant in the form of a rose with two people's faces engraved in its petals. Vi and Ekko, two people she loves the most. Rose and love are deeply connected in Dante's work. The last cantos of "Paradise" tells us about a giant glowing rose that stands at the centre of the world. It's glorious, resplendent, beautiful, divine. I can't put into words how cathartic reading that last part is. Believe me when I say that the major part of Paradise is dedicated to describing and proving in a manner that is almost scientific how and why love is at the centre of everything. Love, quite literally, is the reason the Sun shines and the Earth exists.

Ekko loved Jinx, so he came back to her. Jayce loved Viktor, so he came back to him. Love saved the world. Just like in "Divine Comedy", this isn't an idle thing to say. It's a fact.

[rogerbarel]

I'm extremely emotional all the time about how Roger and Alfons are such easy, excellent foils for each other that only become more thematically intertwined the more you learn about them.

long post, unedited so it's probably disjointed and my observations may be totally banal OR pretentious and reaching idk, spoilers for both their routes (and a brief mention of late into Liam’s and Elbert’s) and possibly some events

They're a pair of insufferable, teasing, hedonistic, hard-drinking men with... questionable consent practices. That's how I'm gonna word that for the sake of not getting derailed. Anyway. They both couch their care for others in self-serving language (although that's not exclusive to them--Jude and Harry do it, too) and overall present themselves as selfish people. They're opposed in taste--beer vs whiskey, dogs vs cat, "refined" vs "rough" (although neither term encompasses them so well). They piss each other off but can't seem to totally detach from each other.

The contrast is immediate but gets emphasized even further in how they value their lives and whether or not they believe they can change their fates.

Alfons is resigned to tragedy and values nothing (or at least tries not to). He is ephemeral and meaningless, only temporarily holding whatever value others see in him, which really says more about them than him. It doesn't feel quite right to say that Alfons's life should neither add nor detract anything from this world--more, it's like any impact that Alfons makes needs to be easily attributable to someone else. Or maybe not? He's so quick to tell the robin to place responsibility for all their encounters on him... And a person you'll eventually forget makes a perfect scapegoat because the grudge and the pain can die with him.

Perhaps as a mirror, he aims to show you the happiest parts of yourself while letting your woes vanish in the mirror with him. And things get wonky when he finds himself with desires, wanting to reach out and mark you rather than finding amusement in just reflecting you.

(I'd like to see him paired in an event with Will and Ellis. Someone who pushes you to be the fullest "you" and someone who places your happiness above all else [or at least attempts to], who all fight with how their own desires conflict with what they otherwise want for you, and how that causes them Emotional Problems. But I'm not a Will or Ellis expert so don't ask me to elaborate on that. Hell, I'm not even an Alfons expert. I'm not an expert on anything! I make Harrison Greyglogabgalab memes and draw Roger’s giant tits!!)

Then there's Roger on his quest to best fate. He can't stop, he can't die. He has to value his life because he's the one doing all this important work! His life is what keeps it going! Nothing is hopeless--it's bleak, but never hopeless--unless he gives up. He is not going out of his way to please, he is here to get what he wants. It might align with what you want, and maybe making you happy is what'll make him happy in this moment, but he can't lose sight of his own priorities. He pisses Al off so much partly because he’s so stubbornly dedicated to finding a way to preserve Al’s personhood/history when Al has long decided to live his days as if he will ultimately be unpersoned. It doesn’t matter what Alfons says, Roger has decided that this is happening anyway. (Although tbf, if he did find a way to eliminate curses, he probably wouldn’t force Al to take it. So he’s not entirely disrespecting his agency. Neither man is 100% consistent in being other-oriented or self-oriented, which I like, because humans are the same way. And I like my characters especially selfish and messy.)

Where Alfons has to learn to figure out a life that centers him-as-person and not him-as-mirror, Roger has to decide where love/another person fits into a life and self that he thought he had very definitively shaped around himself and his pursuits. (That being said, I don't think he was particularly averse to the idea of it changing since he egged the robin on so much in her quest to prove to him that love is real. He also admits in one of his epilogues that he suppressed a desire for companionship. Iirc, it was because he felt he needed to be strong on his own, but it's been a while, so I could totally be wrong on that one.)

I think it's very cool that the hedonist's life is built around everybody else (I would not call this agape or selfless love, or even pathological people pleasing... just an absence of an idea of what to do with himself) while the doctor is always thinking about his own priorities. A little irony!

I also want to chew a little bit eventually on how they both come onto the robin at the end of other routes and how other characters receive that. Elbert specifies lategame (can’t remember which of his endings) that he doesn’t think Alfons would steal the robin away from him because Alfons is typically someone who gives others what they want, not takes what he wants. Whereas he wants her to stay several steps away from Roger at all times. He knows that Roger won’t fuck with his bodily autonomy like past doctors, but he does NAWT trust him with his girl. Idk if I’d say Roger has the least regard for other members of Crown’s wants vs his own, but he at least presents himself as Mr. Steal Yo Girl in at least Liam and Alfons’s endings (I think both blind love epilogues). I’m still deciding how sincere he was either of those times or if he had some ulterior motive. It’s not that I don’t think he could be a total dick, I’m just not totally convinced he’d fuck over Liam or Alfons that brazenly when he seems to care about them in his own “I will never say it” way. And he must have known that Liam was in earshot, that he’d hear Roger hitting on the robin and her rejecting him without hesitation/reaffirming her love for Liam… Still sitting on the stuff with Alfons because it’s possible he thinks that Alfons is too flawed to be her lover, but… idk, he’s been searching for a way to break the boy’s curse for twenty goddamn years, it feels forced for him to talk about Al so callously. Idk! I could be delusional! But it’s fishy to meeee!1

But yeah. Especially with their shared history, it's hard not to view them as a pair. They’re also a lot of fun together; they had me rooooolling in Harry’s aphrodisiac event. Try to distance yourselves from each other all you want, you are on the same! Bullshit!

I've also noticed that a couple people, myself included, seem to have really strong opposing reactions to the two of them (although Alfons has really grown on me), and I'm always curious what the reason for it is because imo they're two sides of the same coin, two peas in a sleazy pod.

Idk what to make of this, I just wanted to ramble about how the parallels between the two run deeper than surface level and how exciting I find that. I love them. Thanks for reading. Please feel free to add to any of this or refute anything I’ve said, I’m really just thinking out loud. Gotta use the ol’ brain every once in a while to make sure it still runs.

[bitethedevil]

What annoys you about fandom culture

Oh that’s a spicy question.

Had you asked me a couple of years ago, my answer would be very different from today. I was a proud member of the SuperWhoLock fandom on here as a kid (I still shudder to think about it), and that was usually what I first thought of when the word “fandom” was uttered.

I think I’ve had a pretty negative view on it for a very long time. Mostly I saw fandom culture as cringe. I later got diagnosed with autism and found out that many of the things I found awful and cringe about fandoms, was me internalizing the insecurity I had about my own hyperfixations and I was projecting that onto other people who were obsessed or passionate about certain subjects.

Now “cringe” is a term I’ve tried to kill in my own life. It has been difficult for me to be really unashamedly into something, but you’re on this blog, so you know I’ve certainly gotten somewhere with it lol. I also first and foremost would never put someone else down about their interests, no matter how borderline obsessive they might seem and how they express that obsession. Because if it happened to myself, I know how things like that would crush my enjoyment when I was younger. It’s a very “let people enjoy what they enjoy”-sort of mind set I’ve tried to develop.

Now, if there is something that annoys me, a part of it is related to the statement above: don’t yuck other people’s yum. It’s not too bad on tumblr (in my limited experience). A few negative posts might make it into the tags every now and again, but I don’t mind that too much. You’re allowed to hate the characters I love.

Any kind of media should be open for whatever interpretation the viewer/reader gets out of it. I even like reading Raphael-hate sometimes if the person has some arguments that I haven’t heard before. As you might have noticed from my humongous list of analyses posts, I like picking things apart, and I like seeing other people doing the same, even if it might be in a negative light.

What I don’t like is when it’s: “fuck this character! how can anyone like this character”. Like sure, fair, but don’t tag that specific character (I know that my examples have been pointed towards Raphael, but I know that some Raphael fans have done the same the other way around). I don’t particularly like the Emper*r, but I’ve tried my best to make sure those posts don’t end up in their tags.

These are things across characters though, but it happens within a specific fandom too. I’m not a huge fan of the posts that are like “this character would never (insert statement)”. I don’t like when a version or an opinion of a character becomes canonized through the fandom and presented as fact. This ties back to the thing about me liking to hear about multiple interpretations and that I think all of people’s personal interpretations are valid. It makes it so that media becomes set in stone and then you are unable to gain anymore from it. It ruins it. You don’t agree with a specific version of a character? Then don’t read it. Or do, and maybe gain a new perspective.

My other points would be those that are obvious: don't harass voice actors or any other real life people because you like a specific media or character. Don't be silly.

I also want to be fair and say that this is the first fandom that I have been super active in in years, and I've said again and again that I love this fanbase for how open and kind it is. I think it's the perfect fit for me tbh. I have dipped my toe in other, more popular fandoms but I have quickly found them too overwhelming, because you have to cater to very specific interests in order to even be heard if you are making content, which quickly creates a very limited eco-system and thus some of the problems above might emerge. Here there is a little bit of everything and when you type in the "raphael bg3"-tag, it isn't loaded with thousands of pages of content anymore. That makes me more curious about things I wouldn't normally be into and that broadens my horizon a bit. I like that.

(Thank you for the ask <3)

[thinkingthougths]

ngl im finding it hard to get the story going and actually come up with a decent plot and i’ve also started writing like 5 other stories that i hope one day i can post here xoxo

-Ghost x female reader

2036 words

-no warnings in this chapter

The haunting of a Ghost

Chapter 4

You called in sick the rest of the day. Just a few non significant meetings that didn’t require your presence nor had any importance in the future, just routine and what not.

From noon to late evening you kept to yourself in the barracks, thankful that your bed were at the end of the room and provided a wall instead of a neighbor bed. The coverage gave some privacy compared to the ones whose bed were placed in the middle of the room, surrounded by others with no corner to hide in.

Restlessly you attempted to sleep through the day, turning back and forth in your bed chasing an ounce of some shuteye. A nap seemed like the best way to make the hours pass by quicker, not wanting to endure the ever growing pit of shame in your stomach and the constant flashbacks of the incident with the lieutenant.

You self-sooth by tightly hugging yourself, desperate for some comfort to calm yourself. It helped a little, loosened your muscles and slowed your breathing. But sleep never came.

Glancing at the clock on your phone, it says it’s past seven in the evening. Meaning the cafeteria will most likely be devoid of any visitors, since dinner was two hours ago. You missed the meal when you opted to stay in bed and loathe yourself. Persistent growls from your empty stomach reveals how hungry you’ve become after not participating in dinner. You need to eat, and now is the best time to sneak past everyone to get to the building where the cafeteria is and buy something from the vending machines.

It was a whole ordeal mustering up the confidence to accept the chance you might stumble upon Ghost on your way there.

You’ve spent every minute since the whole fiasco happened going through all the details. Scrutinizing your actions and thoughts, judging yourself and hating that you didn’t call in sick from the beginning. Then you wouldn’t have had ended up as a train wreck and everything would have been normal and continued the way it was before.

You should have listen to your gut feeling that told you it wasn’t a good idea to enter the gym today. Should have heeded the foreboding omens.

The cafeteria was in the northern building and the path there took you right by all the recreation rooms and places where everyone would relax especially now when the work day was over for most people. Thankfully, you knew of a shortcut that wasn’t really much of a shortcut, just a different path nobody particularly used. Its path winded through several conjoined buildings, up and down few stairs, and then a small path behind the cafeteria to its back door. The buildings were mostly made up of meeting rooms and similar rooms that were only used during the day and are supposed to be empty this time of day. It’s a road you’ve hiked before, when the introvert in you were desperate for food and not in the mood for small talk with your fellow soldiers.

Dressed in simple gray sweatpants and a black fleece jacket with a T-shirt beneath, you embarked on the journey for some dinner.

A few of the women from your barrack stopped you on your way out, asking how you were feeling. They had been on the meetings you missed and noticed your lack of presence. You gave them a hasty throw-up of words about the reason why, lying that you probably just had eaten something your stomach didn’t approve but it was much better now. They swallowed your lie with ease and let you continue on your errand.

It’s nice knowing that you’re not completely invisible as you think you are sometimes and that people actually do notice if you’re missing.

The dim lights at the door give way for the moons gentle glow shine through the small window. Opening the door to the outside, the moon’s delightfully basking you in its pale light as you head for the next building.

It went smoothly to get to one place to the other. You encountered a minimal amount of people, none that knew you and thankfully left you alone. And most important of all, you didn’t run into Ghost. That was what you feared the most. Not knowing how to behave around him after what had happened. For the last couple of hours you had contemplated wether to act like the way you felt, hurt and ashamed, or if you should do the most professional thing in these circumstances; act like nothing had gone down between you, like his soft brushes against your shivering skin hadn’t culminated any raw desires deep within your innocent and tender heart.

Which might turn out to be kind of hard since you share a few friends with him, especially a certain Sergeant Kyle Garrick. Kyle was the one who showed you the ropes the day you transferred to this base, he took you under his wing and made you feel at home ridiculously fast. The amount of compassion and benevolence that man carried was unmeasurable, he always went out of his way to be there for everyone and he never let you down. Without him this place would have been unbearable your first year when no one else seemed to have taken an interest to you to become a friend. You were so goddamn grateful for Kyle, you’d take a bullet for him no questions asked.

He was also, unfortunately, a very close companion to Ghost since they came from the same taskforce, the 141. The bond they shared came from years and years of tough missions done together, some that lasted many long and torturous months. You’d never beat that, and secretly feared that if push came to shove and this whole situation with Ghost turned really bad, Kyle would pick the lieutenants side over yours.

No, you shake your head while exiting the last building, it isn’t fair to Kyle to wager which of his friends he’d choose. He’s too much of a good person to ever pick a side.

Instead, you focused on not slipping in the dewy grass behind the cafeteria. Tiptoeing carefully using the faint glow of the moon to see where you’re stepping. Some moisture from the grass makes its way through your thin sneakers, annoyingly dampening the bottoms of your socks. This is the downside of behaving like some stupid spy on a mission, opting for the outside terrain instead of the inside where proper flooring is; you get to suffer a bit.

Above the double door was a twinkling lightbulb barely covered by the metal lampshade, the bulb having a steady rhythm of being on and off. For such a large and well money supported military base you’d think they’d invest a bit more in keeping functional lights. You let out a scoff, rolling your eyes and pulling the door open. Its hinges creaks from apparent disuse and neglect, no one goes through these doors regularly. And that’s why you slow down the opening of the door, to dull the sound and keep noisy ears from being tempted to see where the shrill sound came from.

Hot air from the overhead ac blew on you, making you toasty again after being outside in the colder temperature.

The room you entered was just an antechamber that led to different hallways. The one you’re walking towards leads you straight to the where the vending machines are. Past a few other rooms designed for the soldiers and others on this base to leisure in, and by the distant reverberating sounds they are all pretty much occupied.

You were aware of this, that people would hang out here, and have already doubled up your speed to sneak by unseen.

The clamor of a group loudly laughing at something had you slow down to a normal pace. One laugh stood out to you, it was the rich voice of Kyle.

Shit. If Kyle’s there, then the rest of taskforce 141 are also probably hanging out in the rec room with him as they tend to stay together.

There was no door leading into the room, just a wide gaping entrance that gives a panoramic view of the entire space.

Anxiety tugged at your heart, an inner voice telling you keep your head straight forward and keep on walking.

But curiosity of knowing whether the lieutenant was participating in the pastime or not made you falter your step into a creeping shuffle. Just one quick peak inside before anyone can catch you spying and your curiosity will be sated, you tell yourself. The lewd action of something way too close to stalking was thrilling all the while you were chewing on the inside of your cheek in nervousness.

Standing right next to the entrance and out of sight, you gather some courage and wipe your sweaty hands on your pants.

Steadily leaning forward while holding a grip on the wall, you survey the small crowded room. Twenty people at least, occupying every seat that can be found including ledges of tables and some down on the ratty carpets.

Scanning all faces, you find the one whose voice you’d picked up earlier; Kyle. The carefreeness oozing from him as he lively holds a conversation with a man you don’t recognize while taking a swig from a beer bottle. A warm smile forms on your lips at the sight, seeing him at ease and enjoying himself after the intense mission he came from last night makes you happy.

Happiness that’s extinguished like a light when your eyes catches the sight of Ghost.

You feel sick.

He is standing in a corner, leaning up against the wall next to a girl you can’t remember ever having seen here before. She’s very pretty and it’s abundantly clear that she is heavily flirting with him. Standing close, arching her body and seductively tilting her dainty head while bearing her neck to him, like an offering. An offering that he seems to consider as he’s not outright rejecting her advances nor trying to make any moves to escape the interaction.

The view has you difficulty swallowing, mouth suddenly bone dry as your blood punishingly pounds throughout your tensed body.

Taking a step back, you blink in confusion. Why are you having such a strong reaction at seeing a woman fluttering her eyes at Ghost. You hate the man, hate his guts and everything about him. He’s a bully. You should feel relief that his attention might move on from you and to another woman that he can harass.

So, why do you want to throw up when Ghost tips just an inch closer toward her while holding her heated gaze.

Damn his balaclava that covers his face so you can’t make out if he is smirking or not, accepting her advances or not. The only things visible are his hooded eyes. The same brown eyes that once were pointed to you.

You don’t want to accept that you’re feeling rejected. As if you’ve been in some sort of situationship with him and now been thrown aside like garbage and replaced by a newer and prettier toy.

You detest Ghost. He shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this. You absolutely hate these disgusting emotions that he’s provoked. The rollercoaster of fear and humiliation, and the feelings you don’t want to admit to, the odd infatuation that’s he enchanted you with and how special you felt that someone paid you any attention. Especially, a guy like him who’s known for being stone cold unattainable and rejecting all forms of approaches.

Lost in your musings, your eyes stayed too long on Ghost and he noticed you. His fierce brown eyes flicked towards yours so fast, as if he’d know all along you’d been watching him.

You gasped, stumbling backwards in surprise.

Did he knew you were spying in him all this time?

It felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been poured on you, making your heart drop into your stomach as you fast-track it out of there not sparing a single second for him to burn you with his heated stare.

[luvnanako]

Predictable

Caitlyn x Reader (wlw, smut,)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

This fanfic is basically the jail scene but instead of Vi it's Caitlyn x f! Reader, AND it's a bit more smuttier hehe

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Intro

Oh my god guyssss!! thank you soooo soooo much for 100 likes on my last post !! I decided to make my first smut on here as a thanks, I hope you'll enjoy this one too! and don't forget - English is not my first language and any feedback is welcomed 𖹭

-------------︶ ⏝ ︶ ୨୧ ︶ ⏝ ︶----------

Piltover teetered on the edge of chaos, its golden spires shadowed by the encroaching storm of war. The tension in the air was palpable, an invisible weight pressing down on the city’s inhabitants. Enforcers darted through the streets, their hurried steps a grim symphony against the cobblestones as they armed themselves and secured their posts. Families whispered frantic goodbyes, their homes trembling under the strain of looming conflict. Below, in Zaun’s darkened depths, its people were forcibly shipped to aid in Piltover's defense—unwilling pawns in a game they’d never been allowed to play.

The world above was unraveling, but from the cold confines of your cell, it might as well have been a distant dream. The stone walls loomed around you, the air thick and suffocating. Each passing second dragged on, the muffled sounds of a city preparing for war clawing at the edges of your consciousness.

In a flash of frustration, you slammed your fist into the unyielding wall. Pain seared through your knuckles as they split, crimson streaks tracing their way down your skin. You barely noticed the sting, too consumed by the storm raging inside. A guttural groan tore from your throat, reverberating off the damp walls.

How could this have happened? How had it come to this? Your mind was a cacophony of self-recriminations, every "what if" and "if only" echoing louder than the last.

"Is this my fault?"

The words slipped from your lips in a bitter whisper, their taste as sharp as the regret that burned in your chest.

You couldn’t stop the image of her from surfacing. Jinx. Her name sent a jolt through you, equal parts anger and something far more complicated. She’d outmaneuvered you—again—and left you here, a prisoner of your own failure. The memory of her mocking grin was like a dagger twisting in your gut.

You were so lost in the whirlpool of your thoughts that you almost missed the sound of approaching footsteps. It wasn’t until a soft, familiar voice pierced the silence that your world snapped back into focus.

"Had a feeling I might find you here."

---------------------------------------------------

The words were gentle, yet laced with an edge that made your heart clench. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Her voice was as unmistakable as it was haunting. And yet, despite the magnetic pull, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. Not like this. Not when you were bloodied, broken, and drowning in shame.

“Cait, I—”

The words caught in your throat as she silently unlocked the cell. You exhaled deeply, the weight of disappointment and embarrassment pressing heavily on your chest.

“I thought… I really believed Jinx would help,”

you murmured, your voice cracking under the strain of your guilt. Closing your eyes, you let out another sigh, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

“You were right. You told me this would happen, and I was an idiot—an idiot to trust her. To think she’d actually help us…”

Caitlyn stood just outside the open door, her eyes softening as she took in your battered and defeated form. Her hands fidgeted by her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach out, to hold you and shield you from the pain you carried. Her lips parted slightly, her lower lip trembling as she tried to keep her composure.

“I chose wrong every time,”

you continued, your voice quieter now, barely above a whisper.

“And because of it… I lost everyone.”

The words felt like a confession, each syllable cutting deeper into your resolve. You instinctively raised your arms, placing them behind your neck, as though trying to physically hold yourself together. The weight of your failures hung heavily in the air between you.

Caitlyn’s boots tapped softly against the stone floor as she took slow, deliberate steps toward you. Her movements were cautious, almost hesitant, but her presence radiated a quiet strength. Stopping a few feet away, she leaned against the cold wall with a smooth motion, her posture relaxed yet purposeful.

Her arms crossed over her chest, but her gaze lingered on you—on your bruised knuckles, the faint cuts across your face, and the turmoil in your eyes. She studied you carefully, her expression shifting, her concern palpable. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, her lips curved into something between a smirk and a challenge.

“You really think I needed all the guards at the Hexgates?”

she asked, her tone light but laced with meaning.

The unexpected question broke through your haze, and your brow furrowed in confusion. Slowly, you turned your head to meet her eyes, curiosity sparking behind the exhaustion.

Right at that moment, your eyes are drawn to her outfit—the dark pants hugging her legs with effortless grace, the cropped jacket tailored perfectly to her frame, exuding both authority and an undeniable allure. Beneath it, a simple black shirt clings to her, understated but impossibly striking in the way it complements her silhouette. You’ve seen her dressed like this before—earlier today, even—but somehow, it feels entirely new.

But now, it was as if your eyes were truly open for the first time.

Her messy hair framed her face perfectly, strands falling just so, highlighting her delicate features. Her tired, stressed eyes held a depth that made it impossible to look away, and her lips... soft, inviting, and so undeniably kissable. The tension in her expression melted away, her eyebrows relaxing, and those stunning blue eyes locked onto yours. It felt like she had you under a spell.

“Sorry to say… you’ve grown a bit predictable,”

---------------------------------------------------

Caitlyn said, her voice low and teasing, a smirk curling on her lips. The words dripped like honey, her accent hitting you in a way that made something stir deep within you.

Before you could think it through, you closed the space between you, pressing your lips to hers in a swift, heated motion. Your hands instinctively cupped her jaw, your eyes fluttering shut as the kiss deepened. You've kissed her before, but never like this. There was something new, something electric, in the way her lips moved against yours. Each touch, every small shift, sent waves of emotion through you, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

You felt Caitlyn try to pull away, but you weren’t ready to let her lips go just yet. After a few attempts, she finally managed to free herself from your hold. Her cheeks glowed with a brilliant red hue, and her eyes shimmered with a mix of love and nervousness.

"While you were gone... I... I saw someone,"

she murmured softly, her gaze darting around the room as if she couldn’t bring herself to meet your eyes. It was almost as though the kiss had embarrassed her.

But her words barely registered. They passed right through you, overshadowed by the singular need to show her how much she meant to you.

"Cait... I don’t fucking care,"

you said, voice low and unwavering.

Without hesitation, you pulled her back into another kiss, your lips crashing together in a fervent embrace. A soft moan escaped you as her tongue tentatively slipped into your mouth, igniting a fire that made you press closer to her. She responded eagerly, her hands trailing down your waist and back, claiming territory with every touch as though she was taking charge of the moment.

Her sighs and soft breaths against your lips told you she was enjoying this just as much as you were. When you pulled away briefly, her tongue slipping free with a faint pop, a thread of saliva lingered between you, glistening against your lips.

Your hands found their way to her cheeks, cupping them as your eyes met hers. You couldn’t suppress a soft giggle at the flushed, slightly dazed look she gave you.

That moment of playfulness was short-lived. Before you could process it, Caitlyn shoved you against the wall, the distance between you vanishing in an instant. Her intensity caught you off guard—she was rougher than you ever imagined she’d be, but you weren’t complaining.

Without warning, she slid her knee between your legs, eliciting a desperate moan from you. The sensation made your hands wander instinctively, tracing the contours of her tall frame. Your fingers glided down her back, finally coming to rest on her butt, gripping it firmly as your lips sought hers again.

Then, just as suddenly as she had closed the gap, Caitlyn took a step back, leaving you breathless and needy, your eyes pleading for her touch to return.

She smiled widely, her tooth gap visible as her eyes locked onto yours with a playful glint. The warmth of her expression made your heart race. Then, in one swift motion, she tugged her shirt over her head, leaving your gaze fixed on her now-exposed chest. A wave of heat rushed through you as realization hit—she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Why wasn’t she wearing one? Did she take it off before coming here? For me?

Your mind raced with questions, too flustered to look away. Caitlyn chuckled softly, a melodic sound that only added fuel to the fire in your chest. She blew a loose strand of hair from her face, an effortlessly attractive gesture that had you utterly captivated.

She began to walk toward you, each step deliberate, her bare skin catching the soft light in the room. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the way she moved, her confidence magnetic, her every step hypnotic. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her lips curved into the kind of smile that sent shivers down your spine.

When she finally stood before you, close enough for her warmth to reach you, she reached out, her soft hands brushing against your shoulders as they slid the straps of your top down with an ease that made your breath hitch. You looked up into her eyes, and instead of letting her gaze wander over your now-exposed skin, her focus stayed firmly on your own eyes, seeking something—permission, perhaps, or reassurance.

Before she could say a word, you reached out, grabbing her hand and pulling her close, wrapping her arm around your waist. Without hesitation, your lips found hers, and the world around you seemed to fade. The kiss was electric, as if every moment had led to this. Her lips were soft, and the connection between you felt undeniable, natural, as though you were made for each other.

Your hands began to explore her body, fingers trailing lightly over her skin, tracing every curve and memorizing the softness beneath your touch. Her arms found their way around your neck, pulling you closer, her movements filled with both tenderness and desire. The kiss deepened, each moment more intimate than the last.

Her waist pressed against yours as she held you tightly, grounding you in the moment while igniting a fire that neither of you seemed able—or willing—to extinguish. A quiet sigh escaped your lips, and her gentle whimpers filled the space between kisses, creating a melody that only you two could hear.

Time seemed to stretch and blur, your surroundings forgotten. The connection between you was all that mattered now, a rhythm of shared breaths and mutual longing. Whatever came next, you knew it was hers to take, just as your heart already was.

Suddenly, you let out a louder moan against her lips, and you feel a smirk spreading across her face. Your eagerness takes over as you press her against the wall, seizing the lead. Her waistband clicks beneath your fumbling fingers as you attempt to unbuckle it. A blush creeps onto your cheeks when it takes you a few tries to get it right. Caitlyn chuckles softly, clearly amused by your struggle.

Finally, her long pants slide down, discarded without a second glance as your focus remains locked on her neck.

“Mmh…”

she breathes, her nails grazing your back, tugging lightly at your skin. After a few teasing nips and lingering licks that leave behind a fresh hickey, you begin a trail of soft kisses down her chest. You pause to lavish her curves with attention, gently nipping at her sensitive peaks.

A loud moan escapes Caitlyn’s lips as her hands thread into your hair, gripping tightly. Her eyes roll back, lost in the sensations you're creating. You move lower, determined to make her feel even better. She groans and looks down at you, her breaths coming in short gasps as you slowly slip your tongue into her.

She’s instantly undone. Her legs grow unsteady, her muffled moans betraying her attempts to stifle the sounds of pleasure. You work her relentlessly—twisting, nipping, swirling—her voice climbing higher with every move.

Minutes pass, and you decide to push her over the edge. Not one, but two fingers slide inside her, driving her closer to release. Caitlyn squeaks, her thighs trembling against you, grinding instinctively. It only takes a few more movements before she shatters, her body tightening and shaking as she reaches her climax.

---------------------------------------------------

Her hands clutch at your back as she comes undone, her arms wrapping around your shoulders for support. She’s breathless, her flushed face buried against you as she struggles to recover.

You lean back slightly, quickly licking your fingers clean before anything drips, while holding her wobbly frame steady.

“C-Cupcake…”

you murmur, gazing up at her with a soft smile. She looks down at you, still catching her breath, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“I told you…” you start.

“Told me what?” she breathes out, barely managing the words.

“That the Undercity was gonna eat you alive.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[ask-miike-don-lotf]

HEY GUYSSS, HERE IS SOME OC LORE/ REFERENCES!!

Okay, first off I’m gonna leave some design references

(I know I posted this before but idc, I’m posting it again)

(This one is a quick uhhh idk choir uniform thingy?? I’m leaving it here just in case)

SOME THINGS TO NOT FORGET WHILE DRAWING BRO!!:

-give him his acne and freckles 💔

-give him his tummy too

-kinda weird to explain but his hair is curly, but the bottom back part of it is straight (for some reason)

Anyways, lore/personality is gonna be down below!!

Pre island

Btw his full name is (Michael Donovan)

Mike’s story starts in Central America, his grandparents moved from England to there.

There he was happy. He had friends, he went to a private school, he was in violin lessons, etc. He was happy there.

His mom was a single mother and was raising him and his younger stepsister, his father was out of the picture. When he turned 10, Miike and his mother both moved back to England 2 years prior to book events.

There he enrolled in school. He wasn’t very social, but he still was a very talented and pretty academically good child. (Although there were some kids that picked on him, he just ignored it.)

He joined the choir and met some sort of friends there. He also plays the violin since he was 7.

He never felt that he was important there. He felt like a background character in a place full of important people.

Island

Since he was part of the choir he spent most of his time with them. He had a great admiration for that Jack. He didn’t talk to him much tho, he mostly talked to Maurice, Robert, and Simon (when simon still hung out with them.)

He doesn’t like hunting, at all. The whole process of killing a pig makes him want to vomit. The noises, the textures, everything creeped him out. He mostly tried to stay in the background.

He also liked Ralph’s group. He didn’t think what they were doing made much sense, considering he had already lost hope on returning home, but he respected their ideas.

He also admired Ralph. He knew his role was a serious manner, so he also had great respect for that.

The way he managed to become the island’s “messenger” was essentially Jack’s fault and his own people pleasing tendencies.

It all started when one day Jack and Ralph had another one of their stupid arguments. Jack refused to speak to Ralph, but they still needed to communicate. Miike volunteered to go deliver the message, and that stuck ever since. In Jack’s mind he thought Miike only hung out with Ralph’s lot because he was gathering information and plotting against them, for the benefit of the hunters.

Now for Ralph’s side, Miike managed to convince him that he didn’t like Jack at all. He told him that he was forced to be there since the choir and all. But that he would be an inside spy and work for the benefit of his group.

In reality both of these were right. He was essentially working for both at the same time, all because of an ocean full of lies he pulled out of nowhere. Honestly he’s truly neutral and prides himself on the idea of the island falling apart if they didn’t have their “trustworthy” spy/ messenger.

Personality

Michael is a smart, awkward, and complicated kid. He is constantly doing stuff to please others, although won’t think twice about refusing if he feels that might humiliate him or make him look bad. He has no problem on stepping up for himself, and when he does it’s hard to hold back.

Having a constant mentality that everyone hates him makes him not fully like everybody. This and the need he feels for having everyone like him play a part on his role on the island. When he is with Ralph he talks crap about the hunters, when he is with Jack he talks crap about Ralph’s group.

This also encourages his lying tendencies. Growing up in such strict religion before moving to England (being a Jehovah’s Witness) caused him to finally rebel in some sort of way. He honestly felt that all hope was lost the moment they got to the island, and he simply accepted it. There was no point in life anymore. Why not do whatever the hell he wants?? He can’t die, at least in a non painful way, so there’s no easy way to end the suffering.

He’s also somewhat full of himself. He really prides himself on the fact that he is a messenger on the island. Not just for the hunters, but for Ralph too. He believes it’s something important and in his mind he holds himself as high status just for his stupid little job. He can also get really obsessive or envious from time to time.

Now to make it short, he just wants to be free and be liked by people. That’s the only thing that cares about at this point. He would never be rude to anyone in their face (unless they really REALLY deserve it, otherwise he just talks crap behind their backs). Most of the time he just goes with the flow.

Quick facts

-He’s sort of a nerd. Not in the same way Piggy is, he just knows a bunch of fun facts.

-Bro is not simply chubby, he’s big boned (/ref) but speaking fr, this makes him actually pretty strong.

-He misses his home country a lot, he curses the day they moved to England.

-He doesn’t take past of any religion now. His mom is a very spiritual person, and doesn’t believe in the church and stuff.

-He’s a picky eater, mostly because of sensory issues. This is why he mostly eats meat.

-He loves anything that has to do with art

-Considering that he grew up in a Spanish speaking country and that English lessons weren’t that common back then, his English is kind of bad sometimes. It did get better when he got to England.

-He loves Godzilla

-His hair is always messy. He has curls in the top, but the bottom of it is straight.

-He has a deep respect for women since he saw how amazing and independent his mom was.

-Secretly really judgy and has an opinion about everything and everyone

-Loves to gossip (sometimes he adds a few extra details to messages just to cause drama)

-His voice has changed due to puberty for the most part, but he does still have voice cracks pretty often (before the island he considered dropping out of choir for this)

-He has two birthmarks on his neck that look like a vampire bite.

-He has a very interesting sense of humor. Sometimes he’s really funny and sometimes no one understands his jokes.

-He has a short temper, especially when someone is criticizing him.

-He can get really self conscious about his appearance (sometimes weight or acne, considering he got picked on because of that) but he pretends not to care.

-he misses his sister a lot. Kikita reminds him of her, so he sees her as a younger sibling.

also heyy @lolita-ily

Leans over car and flips hair seductively

I’ll give you my soul if you draw this idiot 🙏

[lassofics]

Bloody Nightmares

Word count: 683

Timeline: Post Season 3

Warnings: None? Trauma, maybe.

Summary: Roy/Jamie. Jamie has a nightmare.

Notes: This fic was created and is being published as a part of #Whumpuary2025 !! I used the prompt Sleep !!

Watching Jamie Tartt sleep is one of Roy’s favorite things to do.

Okay, that sounds fucking creepy. Roy quickly shakes that thought out of his head. Not in a creepy way.

It’s just that Jamie looks so fucking peaceful, so fucking adorable, so fucking effortlessly beautiful when he sleeps. He’s curled up in Roy’s arms, his head resting on Roy’s chest, his breathing soft and gentle, his hair sprawled out carelessly. He’s got fucking long eyelashes, Roy notices.

Jamie stirs slightly, as if he can somehow hear Roy’s thoughts. Roy thinks nothing of it; people stir in their sleep all the time, don’t they? His hand comes up to rest on Jamie’s back, his thumb idly stroking the base of his spine.

Another stir, and a little noise. Roy realizes he might be doing more harm than good, and he doesn’t want to wake Jamie, so he stops the rubbing and keeps his hand still on the striker’s back.

Falling in love with him had been so easy. Roy isn’t even sure how it had happened; all he knows is that he never wants to sleep in a bed without this prick ever again.

His train of thought is cut off by a sudden whimper, and Jamie suddenly curls in on himself. Roy shifts to get a better look at his face. He freezes, because Jamie no longer looks peaceful.

He’s tempted to say something, but he doesn’t want to risk Jamie waking up if nothing’s wrong. So, instead, he starts to gently card his fingers through Jamie’s hair.

He doesn’t have his hand there for more than two seconds before Jamie jerks away from his touch, as if he’s been fucking electrocuted.

Roy removes his hand immediately, not wanting to cause Jamie any more distress than he’s already in. That sharp flinch combined with the look on his face tells Roy everything he needs to know: Jamie’s having a nightmare.

Roy doesn’t want to touch him if he’s gonna freak out again, so he just shifts on the bed, hoping his movement might rouse the younger man.

“Jamie?” he murmurs quietly. Jamie doesn’t respond.

“Jamie,” he repeats, a little louder this time. He’s tempted to just grab Jamie’s shoulder and shake him awake, but he’s too worried about Jamie’s mental state to do that right now. “Jamie, it’s Roy. Wake up.”

Jamie whimpers again, a little louder this time, and hugs his knees to his chest. His eyes are still closed, his face the picture of distress. He’s trembling.

Against his instincts, Roy finally reaches out with his hand, gently grabbing Jamie’s shoulder. “Jamie. Babe. It’s okay, you’re just dreaming. Wake up. I’ve got you.”

Jamie flinches again at the touch, which breaks Roy’s heart, but he doesn’t let go this time, softly beginning to shake him. “Jamie, it’s me. Please wake up.”

After about ten more seconds of this, Jamie opens his eyes, still trembling. Roy immediately stops shaking him, letting go of his shoulder, not wanting to push anything.

“Roy?” Jamie whispers, still curled in on himself like a scared child. Roy internally curses, but keeps a calm exterior.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Roy says softly, gazing down at Jamie. “You okay?”

Jamie doesn’t say a word. Instead, he just whimpers again. Only this time, he throws an arm around Roy’s waist and curls into him, seeking comfort.

“I’ve got you.” Roy immediately pulls Jamie into his chest, cradling the back of his head tenderly with one hand. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Jamie nods, breathing shakily but clearly starting to calm down. Once Roy’s arms are around him, it doesn’t take long for him to stop shaking.

“Bloody nightmares,” Jamie eventually mumbles, sounding almost… embarrassed. He buries his face in Roy’s chest.

Roy just cards his fingers gently through Jamie’s hair. “I know. But you’re safe. Mmkay?”

Jamie relaxes instantly. They both know damn well how relaxed he gets when Roy strokes his hair like that. With a soft sigh, Jamie closes his eyes once more.

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, practically already starting to drift off again. “Safe with you.”

[dxxtruction]

"Louis acting like a pimp to Armand" And what is a pimp exactly? Quickly. And, oh so sexual trauma survivors can't engage in kink now without it being all about that? Pet names? They can't be submissive anymore? Consensually? Sexually healthy? Be serious. I'd hardly say there's much power difference between them during all this anyway, except that Louis is freer than Armand and it's been putting a strain on their relationship. Louis wants more from Armand, and less of this 'being his past' for them both, and so helping Armand with this could fix that. It's healthy to want to help your partners get out of a rough patch?

I mean, the whole exchange was very clearly set up as a "I want to help you" after such a great moment of vulnerability Louis feels just how much Armand is desperate for it. Louis called Armand so they could work out a plan together.

And the bit with the umbrella was Louis' way of asking 'are you willing to listen to me?' and Armand said yes by unfolding it. Louis goes on and explains, Armand is allowed to argue against it, but Louis makes his point. And then he gives Armand a way to make his own choice in it too. Armand's already decided 'I want you, more than anything else in the world', but Louis still asks after if he's sure of his choice, and with a name, Arun, that is the one of his fullest agency, running the point home. Honoring the situation Armand calls Louis Maitre - as a way of being like 'I'll do as you've said then'. To make this work he's going to have to give Louis some of the control, yes. But it's the first time such a role is ever established, and it was his choice to do it. So so what if they do it in a very suggestive way? They can't like doing that? I think it's them having fun.

I struggle to find how Louis is being overly domineering here when really he's giving and offering Armand the most agency he's ever had. Same with finding it manipulative. The manipulation was more earlier in the episode I think, when he was stringing him along, giving mixed signals. He's no longer toying with him like that. Louis might be pushing Armand, leading him on to make a decision, but he doesn't mean bad by it.

But back to this pimp thing. I find it frankly offensive that this is where people are going with this. I get it, but to run with it being the case is, on many levels, wrong.

Louis told us episode 1 this was the only sustainable line of work to support his family and keep their standing, at the time. It was never his choice to be doing this either but his blackness allowed no other options. He did what he did so his family could stay in that house and maintain all their same comforts. It gave him privileges most black men didn't have at the time that he wanted to maintain and even have more of. Anyway, it doesn't and had never defined him the way 'being good at running things' had. And in that case he just likes having that kind of control where he can get it, which makes sense.

The world is what placed that kind of role onto him of what he was allowed to be able to run, not himself. And on that he actually treated the sex workers he employed well and respected them enough to give them more opportunity.** He recognizes they don't have much in the way of options either.

Louis employed sex workers, yes, but he didn't subject them to abuse, (like how Armand was)*. He didn't oversee things in a way that would go against their consent (see; episode 1 again)**. Sometimes a job is just a job. And Sex work is work.

Armand's particular past with sexual abuses may strike a particular cord with Louis, given all that, but the very last thing either is thinking is that Louis' pimping Armand out here. This is merely their decision as companions, and had nothing to do with adding another line in a laundry list of selling Armands body out to people at the command of someone else. Armand rescinds some of his control to Louis' wishes, because he wants him, and he trusts him, that's all.

If you aren't allowing Armand that choice, and are doubtful it's fully his, you're putting him right back in the box of being defined by his abuses. Putting him back into that space where he isn't given any agency over what he does. (Which is exactly opposite of what the intent of this scene is for)*.

*: (edit) added for clarity.

**: (strike through) numerous people are saying I'm misremembering these points so disregard it. (Thought he was siding with Bricks, it was the other way around). (Technically one aspect of those opportunities were for getting around the law). I don't have a perfect memory, it happens. Let's not get mad about it. Doesn't change much of the point which is that Louis, now, Louis then, was always considering more about the running things and for stated purposes. So I guess I'd say he may only have respected the SWers enough sometimes for what allowed him to do that, and there are moments he certainly expressed remorse over the fact, but he has a great deal higher respect for Armand that is genuine. It's incomparable. Please read my added notes in the tags, it should address most other concerns.

[byanyan]

oughughhguh chatting w/ moon about potential muse dynamics and making myself cry as i realize that byan, for all they hated being stuck with foster families, loved having younger siblings in their lives. they LOVE being the coolest person in the world to someone who's younger than them, and honestly?? they love looking after younger kids, too.

also crying bc i'm realizing they especially loved having younger sisters, in part bc it was the perfect excuse to do & enjoy things that were considered "girly" or otherwise "too feminine" when they were less sure of & less comfortable in their gender and/or when the environment wasn't particularly accepting of an amab kid loving pink & glitter & wanting to wear skirts

[verdantglow]

Fun fact: If you make a post about how you hate a ship & how it is vastly inferior to a different ship you do like & how your main reason for hating the first ship is that the people who ship it are misogynistic for not making your ship a main focus of all their fics for their ship because your ship is canonically canon in all universes (it's not btw) & spend several paragraphs talking about how your ship is the realer one & deserves more canon validation as superior, & then not only not prevent this post from showing up in searches for the other ship, but actually put it in that ship's tag...

I don't think you get to just end the post "lol no hate tho <3" & expect it to be chill.

[dragoninahumancostume]

My favorite part of being alive is that I've never felt welcome in any space except for that one year when I thought I was a non-binary bisexual asexual girl when I was 13 :)

[deadrocks]

Fuck me, I made the mistake of writing a long post straight into the Tumblr posting window and then accidentally deleted half of it. It's been too long since I actually wrote much of anything on this platform, I've forgotten the best practices honed back in my heyday.

[cleolinda]

AITA for banning my husband and father in law from the delivery room due to their intensely stressful/creepy behavior during my pregnancy?

There’s a famous Reddit post from 2020 where a pregnant woman wrote that her husband and father-in-law were a little too comfortable with their certainty that she was absolutely going to die in childbirth just like her husband’s late mother. It was to the point where her FIL was insisting that she go ahead and put all her clothes into storage, because she was obviously going to die in the hospital and it would save them the grief of packing up her things afterwards. Like. It was WILD.

When I tell my husband [that she feels suspicious of her FIL], he calls me paranoid, but I feel like my FIL WANTS me to die; his whole life identity for the past 35 years has been “amazing single dad” (never dated or had close friends or even hobbies really), and it seems like he’s looking forward to being able to guide my husband through what he went through. At this point, I’d honestly be happy to never see my FIL again, and I certainly don’t want him in the delivery room, especially since he told me he was “putting [his] foot down” about me not being “allowed” to have an epidural…. My husband, in addition to backing his dad on everything, acts like my due date is my death date, and has completely pulled away from me.

The commenters (and me, honestly) were convinced that the husband and FIL were either going to kill her outright to fulfill this expectation, or just make decisions about her care that might conveniently let her die.

And then she never posted again.

Over the last four years, people have frequently mentioned that post, always leading to a thread of people saying, “Oh god, I still worry about that woman.” I did too. It became one of those famous unresolved posts that people always wondered about.

Until yesterday, when someone on r/BestOfRedditorUpdates dug up a 2022 update she had posted on a different account:

TLDR; I had a beautiful and healthy baby girl, and I divorced my ex-husband. I lived, obviously.

She writes that she put her foot down about having her own mother in the delivery room rather than her FIL (!), and she WOULD be getting an epidural. Her husband lost his shit. And in his outburst, he let slip--

I admittedly lost my temper, and told him that I wasn’t going to die- it wasn’t my fault his father’s trauma wormed it’s way into his head, and that he needed to fix it without taking it out on me. He yelled at me that he didn’t need therapy. That caught me a little off guard; I asked him why he went to his therapist and was given advice about my death if he felt he didn’t need it. His expression gave it away, and he caved not long after. It turns out there was no therapist. It was just his dad. During the times he was supposed to be at therapy, he was with his dad. I’m still fuming.

And that was when she got the fuck out.

I’ll wrap this up- I’ve got an adorable little toddler tugging at my leg atm. I’m alive, I’m happy, and I’ve got my baby in my arms. Life is good.

I truly never thought we'd see a resolution to this, and I feel like there's probably a good number of people who remember it, so I thought you might want to know.

ETA: Brilliantly, I put the link in at the top; here it is again for convenience.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I think the reader's response to this post is probably going to either be "That's incredibly minor" or "Holy shit YES I'M ALSO PROUD", depending on people's personal experiences with academia, but:

Today I am incredibly proud of one of my students.

In the interests of disguising identities, let's call them Ceri. Ceri is one of my third year undergrads (meaning their final year, for anyone unfamiliar with UK uni systems.) They transferred to us last year, and within two weeks I was giving them the contact info to get to Student Services and get themself screened for ADHD; they have some mental health struggles, but I clocked pretty quickly that they STRUGGLE with procrastination, and punctuality, and attending 9am lectures in particular. Naturally, as is the way of my people, it took them a further four months to remember to go to the screening. Lol. Lmao. Rofl, in fact.

But, they did it eventually! Their screening lit up like a Christmas tree at the ADHD section, and they got a free laptop and optional one week extensions and a study support worker named Claire. This has helped tremendously, and although mental health + until-then-unsupported ADHD meant their academic profile had slid sideways somewhat, with the new tools available and a couple of resits they passed the year and hit this year running.

Until, that is, the last fortnight.

Now, I take them for a Habitat Management module that has two assessments: an academic poster presentation before Christmas, and a site-specific management plan in May. Naturally this means we are at that happy point in the year for the poster presentations. I give out the briefs at the start of the year, so they've had them since October; I've also been periodically checking in with them all for weeks, to make sure they don't have any major burning questions. The poster presentation was to pick a species reintroduction project, pull the habitat feasibility study out of it, and then critique that study; Ceri chose to look at the hen harrier reintroductions proposed for the southern UK. All good.

Which brings us nicely to today! Ceri's presentation is scheduled for 2.30. At 11am-1pm, I am lecturing the first years on Biodiversity, while Ceri is learning about environmental impact assessment with a colleague I shall call Aeron. This means we are separately occupied during those same hours.

Nevertheless, Aeron messages me at about 12.

"I think Ceri needs to see you after your lecture," he writes. "They're panicking, I genuinely think they might cry. I'm worried. Are you free at 1?"

I say I am. At 1, I get lunch and sit in the common area; Ceri comes to see me. To my personal shame, imagine all of the following takes place while I stuff my face with potato.

Now: this part is going to be uncomfortably familiar to anyone who has ever tried higher education with ADHD, especially unmedicated. It certainly was for me. All I can say is, I never had the courage to take the step here that Ceri did.

"I have to confess," they said quietly, and Aeron was right, they were fighting back tears. "My mental health has been so, so bad for the last fortnight. I've left it way, way too late. I don't have anything to present."

"Nothing at all?" I asked.

"I've been researching," they said helplessly. "I found loads on the decline of the hen harrier. But it wasn't until last night that I finally found a habitat feasibility study to critique. Generally... I've been burying my head about it, and it just got later and later. I thought I should come in for Aeron's lecture, and I should at least tell you."

This part is a minor thing, right? But honestly, I remember being in the grip of that particular shame spiral. I never did manage to tell my lecturers to their faces. I just avoided. I honestly can't imagine having the courage it took them to come in and tell me this, rather than just staying home and avoiding me.

"I think..." they said hesitantly, "I know I can submit up to a week late, for a capped mark. I think I need to do that, and apply for extenuating circumstances. But then I'll have both Aeron's assignment and yours due at the same time."

Which meant they would crumble under the pressure and likely struggle to pass both; so me, being as noble and heroic as I unarguably am, stopped eating potato and said, "Let's make that plan B."

(It was good potato. I am a hero.)

So, we made plan A: I moved their timeslot to 4.30, giving them three and a half hours. The shining piece of luck in this whole thing was that this was the crunch time assignment - if it had been Aeron's, they'd have had to try and write a 3000 report in that time. But for me, all they had to write was an academic poster, and those things are light on words by design. We found them a Canva template, and then we quickly sketched out a recommended structure based on the brief: if it's habitat feasibility, look at food availability, nesting site availability, and mortality risks in the target release site. Bullet point each. Bullet point how well the study assessed each. Write a quick intro and conclusion. Take notes as you go, and present the poster itself at 4.30.

"You think I should try?" they asked doubtfully, looking like I'd just asked them to go mano-a-mano with a feral badger.

"If you run out of time, so be it," I said. "But your brain is trying to protect you from a non-existent tiger. That's why you've procrastinated - it's been horrible, and you've been shame spiralling, and your brain is trying to shield you from the negative experience; but it's the wrong type of help for this situation! So while you're sitting there working on it, hating life, every time your brain goes 'This is hopeless, I can't do it', you think right back 'Yes I can, it just sucks.' And you carry on. Good?"

"Good," they said. "I'm going to mainline coffee and hole up in the library. Enjoy your potato."

And then, of course, I had to go and watch the other students' presentations, so that was the end of me being any help at all. I spent all afternoon wondering if they were going to manage it, or if I would be getting a message at 4.25 telling me they'd failed, and would have to submit late and hope for an EC.

And Tumblrs

Tumblrs

Let me FUCKING tell you

They turned up at 4.15, fifteen minutes early, wearing a mask of grim, harrowed determination and fuelled by spite and coffee, and they pulled up that poster and started presenting and yes, okay, I'll admit their actual delivery was dramatically unpolished and yes, they forgot to include the taxanomic name for the hen harrier on the poster and yes, fine, I admit that there were more than a few awkward moments where they lost their place in their hastily scribbled notebook but LET ME FUCKING TELL YOU -

They smashed it. It was well-critiqued, it had a map, it had full citations, it had a section on the hen harrier's specific ecology and role in the ecosystem, it had notes on their specific conservation measures. They described case studies they'd read about elsewhere. They answered the questions we threw at them with competence and depth. There was analysis. All that background research they'd done came right to the fore. They were even within the time limit by 15 seconds.

You would never have known they'd produced it in three hours, from a quivering and terrified mess fighting the bodily urge to dehydrate via tear ducts. After they left, the second marker and I looked at each other and went "So that was a 2:1, right?"

I caught up with Aeron downstairs and he was beaming. Apparently Ceri had seen him on their way out, and had gone over to talk to him. Aeron said the difference between the Ceri of this morning and the Ceri of then was like two different people; in four hours, they'd gone from their voice literally breaking as they admitted the problem, ashamed and broken, to being relaxed and happy and smiling.

"I reckon I've passed," they apparently told Aeron, pleased. "Maybe even a 2:2. There's things I wish I'd had the time to do better, but I'll be happy if I passed."

They won't know until late January what they got, because we're not allowed to release marks until 20 term days after hand-in, and the Christmas holidays are about to hit. But I'm really hoping I can be there when they're released.

But mostly, I'm just... insanely proud of them. I cannot tell you how happy I am. And I know, I know, obviously this is not a practice I would want to see them do regularly, or indeed ever again, and it only worked because they were fucking lucky with the assignment format, but like... when life is just punching you in the face, and you hit a breaking point... isn't it nice? That just this once, you pull off a miracle, and it's fixed? The disaster you thought was about to ruin you is gone? To get that relief?

Anyway. Super super proud today.