#military cadence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pin-k-ink · 4 months

Note

Yandere kurapika with a heavy heavy breeding kink. He’s absolutely obsessed with the idea of you being pregnant 👀👀👀

progeny // kurapika kurta

tw ⇢ dub-con, obsessive behavior, imprisonment/isolation, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mention of lactation, implied murder, drugging, handjob, grinding

wc ⇢ 7.3k

It had been six excruciatingly long years since the Kurta massacre. Six years of chasing empty leads, of doors slamming shut in Kurapika's face whenever he got close to the Phantom Troupe. His crimson eyes, once a source of pride amongst his people, now mocked him daily - glaring reminders of his failure to attain vengeance.

So when the encrypted message arrived with a potential location on a Kurta survivor, Kurapika could scarcely allow himself to feel hope. Too many times it had been cruelly dangled in front of him, only to dissolve into agonizing disappointment. He pored over the intelligence again and again, his hands shaking. This had to be legitimate. It simply had to.

Four sleepless nights later, Kurapika found himself on the first available airship to Yorknew City. His leg jittered anxiously the entire way, his mind cycling through every possible scenario. A trap from the Troupe? A sick game? Or could the near-impossible be real? When the ship finally touched down, Kurapika moved like a man possessed, following the coded coordinates to a dilapidated apartment complex.

His trembling hand barely registered the flimsy doorbell as he rang. Seconds ticked by like torturous eternities. Then, after what felt like a small age, the door creaked open to reveal...you. Kurapika's knees very nearly buckled at the sight of those telltale scarlet irises. Tears stung his eyes as he choked out a wavering, "You're one of my people."

That first night, he simply sat in reverent silence, studying the sacred eyes of his kinsman that he'd been deprived of for far too long. You seemed equally transfixed, if not deeply uncertain of this severe stranger's intentions. When you attempted to ask him to leave, Kurapika answered with a resolute headshake.

"I cannot do that. It's too dangerous to leave you here." His voice was thick with the weight of trauma, but carried a steely undercurrent of determination. "I'm getting you somewhere safe, where no harm can befall you."

True to his word, Kurapika immediately went about securing a transport ship to whisk you away from potential threats. You didn't have a choice. He had failed his clan once before through negligence - he would not repeat that grave mistake. This time, he would smother any flicker of danger towards the Kurta with extreme prejudice before it could even spark.

The following weeks were a fortified blur as Kurapika installed you in a veritable military bunker tucked high in the treacherous mountain ranges. He pulled every resource at his disposal to ensure your isolation and safety was absolute. Each day, he would rise before dawn to pursue his hunt for the Phantom Troupe, searching for that agonizingly elusive trail of vengeance. But like clockwork, he returned to the safehouse every evening, his frayed nerves only calmed by the sight of your scarlet eyes.

At first, Kurapika tried to keep things professional, nodding stoically whenever you greeted him. But the more time passed, the more you became his sole remaining attachment to a people he had lost. He drank in your every word, no matter how innocuous, wanting to ingrain the cadence of his kin on his psyche again. Your existence, your pure perseverance despite all odds, stoked something primal within him.

Eventually, Kurapika began staying later and later into the night, reluctant to abandon your presence, irrationally fearful something terrible may occur the moment he left your side. He started simpling...hovering. Watching you for long, unblinking stretches despite your visible discomfort. His fixation had been ignited, and it burned brighter with each passing day.

It was on one particularly humid summer evening when the stifling mountain air had you gasping for respite. You moved to crack open one of the safehouse's windows, hoping to coax in even the faintest whispers of a cool breeze.

The moment your fingers pulled against the latch, the electronic lock released a sad, mechanical whir of protest. You froze, realizing in that instant that the safety restrictions were not mere automated security protocols. They were under the total control of your increasingly overbearing guardian.

Slowly, you turned to find Kurapika shooting you a pointed look from the wingback chair across the room. His sharp jawline was locked, lips pressed into a severe line as he clutched the access fob in a white-knuckled grip.

"I wouldn't advise that," he said at last, his tone carrying curt reproach. "It's for your own safety to keep the windows secured at all times."

You opened your mouth to protest the blatant removal of your autonomy, but Kurapika silenced you with a mere arch of his brow. Heat prickled in your cheeks, flustered by his sheer audacity, his utter dismissal of your objections before you could even voice them. Who was he to declare what you could and couldn't do?

But as quickly as that spark of defiance flickered, it extinguished under the knowing weight of Kurapika's stare. He knew better than you, had spilled more blood and peered deeper into the abyss of human monstrosity. If he deemed something a risk, no matter how small, you didn't dare challenge it. Your very life rested on his prudence and protection.

So you bit back the fleeting urge to assert your independence. Instead, you gave a meek nod of surrender and retreated from the window with one last, regretful glance at the impenetrable night sky beyond the sealed glass panes. Your world had become startlingly small under Kurapika's wing.

He watched you like a lion scrutinizing its cornered prey until you sank back into the shelter of your designated space. Only once you had compliantly resumed your spot did that intense scrutiny finally ease, his body unsettlingly loose and calm again.

"There's fresh fruit in the kitchen if you need refreshment," Kurapika offered, as if making peace after the unspoken admonishment. "Let me know if you require anything else for your comfort."

You murmured a soft thanks, careful to not meet his pewter gaze for too long. The complex bundles of emotion they sparked - shame, defiance, loneliness, begrudging gratitude - were still too tumultuous to comfortably untangle.

With a slight dip of his chin, Kurapika turned his attentions back towards the scattered intelligence reports sprawled before him. But you could have sworn you caught the faintest wisp of a self-satisfied smirk playing across his lips as he resumed his nightly obsessive planning.

The message was clear: no matter how insular and temporary you hoped this arrangement was, he had no intentions of loosening his ruthlessly overprotective stranglehold. Not now, not ever. For in Kurapika's mind, he had already failed his clan once before.

He would not fail their legacy again, even if it meant eclipsing your every last freedom under his total, unwavering control. Your life belonged to him now.

What had begun as a flicker of protectiveness had been steadily stoked into an all-consuming obsession. And there would be no putting out that raging fire.

The next few days passed in their now familiar routine of forced complacency. Kurapika would depart each morning on his futile hunt for the Phantom Troupe's latest trail, leaving you confined to pacing the reinforced walls like a caged animal. You attempted to resist the itch of restlessness, but it clawed at your insides, making you increasingly reckless.

It was on one particularly moonless night when Kurapika was delayed by an anonymous tip that you decided to seize your fleeting window. You waited until the security monitors confirmed him still blocks away before punching in the override codes and disabling the safehouse's locks. You didn't have a plan or destination in mind - you simply needed to feel the sweet embrace of open air again, to remind yourself of the unfettered freedom you had lost.

The sleepy mountain town seemed almost haunted in the inky blackness as you strode its deserted streets. The crisp night wind caressed your face, and you reveled in the simple pleasure of being anything other than a prisoner in your own refuge. Eventually, your aimless wandering drew you towards the soft amber glow and faint music wafting from the local tavern.

A hand came to rest on the rickety oak door, then stopped as you wavered. Kurapika could return any moment now. But the fleeting indulgence of a cold pint and casual conversation with strangers was too tantalizing to resist any longer. Steeling your nerves, you pulled the door open and strode inside.

The raucous sound of drunken laughter and the thick fog of smoke immediately assaulted your senses. You wound through the crowd to the dingy bar, squeezing between bodies until you could flag down the bleary-eyed bartender. He poured you a tall glass of the darkest stout on tap without a second glance at your rumpled, out-of-place appearance.

As you nursed the first few sips, savoring the bitter familiarity, a rough voice lilted from behind you.

"Well aren't you a little ways from home?"

You turned to find a smarmy looking stranger waggling his brows lecherously. His breath reeked of stale beer and desperation.

"Just looking to unwind is all," you replied curtly, turning back towards your drink.

His calloused hand suddenly snaked out, gripping your forearm with surprising strength as he leaned in too close. "Well then how 'bout I buy the next round and we can 'unwind' together, sweetheart?"

You wrenched your arm away with a disgusted glare, preparing to hurl a blistering retort. But even as the first word formed on your lips, an eerie wave of dizziness crashed over you, blurring your vision. The tavern seemed to tilt precariously as you swayed on the barstool.

No...it couldn't be. That first drink. You made the mistake of leaving it unattended. As the horrible realization dawned on you, your faculties began to rapidly abandon ship.

"There's a good girl," the leering stranger's voice slurred as if underwater. "Just relax and enjoy the party favors."

You tried desperately to cry out, to raise even a tremor of alarm, but your voice failed you. The room pitched and spun until merciful darkness finally swallowed you whole.

The crisp slap of cool night air was like a bucket of ice water shocking you back to semiconsciousness. Your eyelids fluttered open to find yourself being half-carried, half-dragged down a dank alleyway by that stranger. The cloudy haze in your brain screamed at you to fight, to thrash and flee, but your body responded with only feeble murmurs.

Suddenly, a dark silhouette stepped out from the shadows up ahead, swiftly blocking your captor's path. The figure prowled closer, the dim streetlight glinting off a shock of brilliant blond hair.

Even in your drugged stupor, you immediately recognized the menacing aura radiating off of Kurapika. He had found you. Your heart should have leapt with relief, but your addled mind could only focus on the pure, unadulterated fury etched across his features.

"Let her go." His tone was low, practically subterranean with its seething intensity. "Now."

The stranger paused, seemingly taken aback by Kurapika's threatening presence despite outnumbering him. His grip on your arm only tightened stubbornly.

"This doesn't involve you, kid. I'd beat it while you still—"

He never got to finish that thought. Kurapika's knuckles connected with the man's nose with a wet crunch before anyone could blink. As he collapsed in a heap, clutching his bleeding face, Kurapika moved with terrifying fluidity.

A haze of fists and chains and guttural screams engulfed the cramped alley. You flinched with each tormented wail, hunched against the damp brick wall as your assailant's bones shattered piece by piece. The copper stench of blood flooded the air in thick, viscous clouds.

When it was finally over, the sickening sound of the stranger's gurgling breaths were barely audible above the drumming of your pulse thundering in your ears. Kurapika stood over him, chest heaving from exertion as he slowly retracted his bloody knuckles and Nen chains back into waiting.

Only then did his gaze fall upon your fragile, crumpled form. The molten rage simmering behind his eyes extinguished instantly, transposing into something akin to lucid fear. In a single deft motion, he scooped you up and cradled you against his chest.

"It's alright...you're safe now," Kurapika murmured, his voice dripping with the type of tender worry one reserves for a gravely injured child.

You opened your mouth to respond but only a pathetic whimper escaped your dry lips. Horror at your near miss quickly gave way to the warm comfort of Kurapika's secure embrace. Your eyelids grew impossibly heavy as you nuzzled against the soft linen of his blazer. Even as the world faded to black again, you felt utterly, inviolably safe within the confines of his sinewy arms...his obsessive protectiveness.

When you finally came to again, it was in the dimly lit familiarity of the safehouse's living quarters. Kurapika sat vigilantly on the edge of the mattress, his eyes two orbs of hollow, sleepless torment.

As you stirred, he immediately went into a flurry of doting. Cool rags were pressed to your clammy forehead. Chilled teas and electrolyte waters hovered against your lips, Kurapika tipping them carefully to soothe your sandpaper throat. His touch was insistently gentle, but you could sense the roiling tempest churning beneath that zen exterior.

In your addled state, you kept up a litany of small whining sounds and petulant fidgets. Kurapika bore each one with inexhaustible patience and care, stroking your hairline languidly as you grumbled childish complaints about your headache or an itch that needed scratching.

Even as the last vestiges of the toxin worked its way out of your system over the next several hours, you never felt fear or vulnerability - only the profound relief of being tended to so meticulously under Kurapika's hawkish devotion.

Several times, his gaze seemed to unconsciously drift down to your parted, pouting lips as you whined insistently. You thought you caught his throat bobbing ever so subtly, as if waging an internal war with some primal desire. But the moment never transversed, and he remained ever the devoted, if tightly-wound caretaker through the hazy night.

It wasn't until the first rays of dawn filtered in through the slitted windows that you drifted into a deep, restorative slumber. And in those last, fleeting moments of consciousness, you realized with dawning horror how completely and utterly co-dependent on Kurapika's obsessive protection you had allowed yourself to become.

In the aftermath of the nearly tragic incident, there would be no venturing outside again...not without him. Not ever. The fire of his obsession had been stoked into a conflagration - one he wholeheartedly welcomed if it meant never going through such terror again.

You had been rescued from the depths of pitiful frailty, only to become irrevocably entangled in the dark, singular orbit of Kurapika's unhinging fixation on you. And from that point on, fleeing its gravitational pull would be inconceivable.

In the days following your terrifying brush with tragedy, Kurapika became an utterly inescapable presence in every waking moment. Where there was once at least a semblance of periodic solitude as he attended to his Phantom Troupe hunt, now there was only the soft footfalls of his eternal proximity.

He lingered in the periphery like a silent, hollow-eyed sentinel as you tentatively went about your daily routines. If you retreated to the bathroom to bathe, Kurapika wordlessly trailed just beyond the cracked door - near enough to instantly intervene at any prospective threat, far enough to preserve a facade of privacy. You found yourself instinctively avoiding the mirror, unable to meet the shame of your own reflection exposed under his vigilant leer.

At night when you crawled between the sheets, Kurapika took up an immovable post in the wingback chair at your bedside. You lost track of how many dawns you awoke to find him stock-still in that exact position, eyes open but untainted by even the slightest hint of slumber. His piercing stare studied your sleeping form with the rapt diligence of a memorial statue guarding a crypt.

You stopped attempting to dissuade him from these nightly vigils. The few feeble protests you voiced only caused his jaw to hinge tighter, a muscle throbbing with mute ferocity. He would not be deterred or negotiated with - this was the price to pay for the grave lapse that nearly severed you from his obsessive care.

If you shuffled into the kitchen to prepare meals, Kurapika's shadow would materialize just behind your periphery. You quickly learned to suppress any instinctual startles at his sudden appearances, lest you mistakenly provoke his haunted man's nerves. He never spoke or impeded your chores, but the mere imposition of his intense presence transformed even the most banal acts into ordeals of hyper self-consciousness.

Some evenings as dusk cloaked the mountain safehouse, you would chance hopeful glances out across the perimeter's reinforced windows. Vast forests of pine and spruce swayed in hypnotic tandem with the coastal breezes sweeping up from the sapphire horizon. Your gaze traced every contour of the landscape beyond that glass barrier - drunkenly drinking in the beauty and vast freedoms you had once taken for granted.

Without fail, Kurapika would seem to materialize at your side during these morose ritualistic dances. Not an inch separated your arms as you stood wordlessly, noting how his chest would slowly rise and fall in mirror-sync to your own. His quicksilver irises carefully studied the longing etched across your features, probing for any fragile cracks that may signal another reckless bid for escapism simmering beneath the surface.

You soon discovered it was easier to not meet his needful, imploring stare on those evenings. To instead lose yourself in the melancholy meditation of what lay on the other side of that glass partition - the lush, unfolding world of oxygen and wilderness and infinite possibilities now forever sealed away from your grasp by this compound's fortifications. The reckless abandon that landed you in such peril in the first place.

Even during the sporadic moments you managed to steal for idle time - curling up with a borrowed novel or simply staring vacantly at the safehouse's sterile walls - Kurapika's presence would pervade your space like a congealing, inescapable vapor. You became aware of every infinitesimal motion in your peripheral field, each aborted gesture from him laden with fierce meaning and scrutiny.

He would simply materialize in your blind spots, folding that lithe frame into the nearest chair or loveseat until his entire posture radiated a single, silent statement: I'm here. I will always be here to watch over you from this point onward.

And you lacked the will to protest this gradual dissolution of personal boundaries. Not when the memory of that squalid alleyway still haunted your subconscious with visions of shadowy hands groping, of Kurapika's knuckles shattering bone in retribution. You were in his custody now, for better or for worse.

Even as the weeks blurred indistinguishably together, Kurapika seemed to only swell with more unquenchable determination. Daily you witnessed his demeanor oscillate from the gruff stoicism of a jaded warrior, to the endearingly focused worry of an overly-fretful parent, then finally the predatory ruthlessness of a beast safeguarding its sickly litter from any prospective encroachment.

There was a possessive ferocity igniting behind those slate irises anew each time his gaze passed over you. As if merely looking upon your face, your chest inhaling each breath, was an involuntary ritual - the only reassurance that could momentarily dull the roaring anxiety in his psyche.

So Kurapika kept vigil, and you stopped attempting to politely deflect his obsession. Better to accept this isolated existence under his ever-watchful protectionism than risk another lapse that may invite that same violence and horror down upon you both. At least here, within these confining walls, remained the unshakable constant of his presence...his dominion over your absolute safety.

The weeks crystallized into cold months, Kurapika's fixation only intensifying like a caged flame feasting on its own limited oxygen supply. Until eventually, you struggled to remember what life could have possibly looked like before this arrangement - before his utterly uncompromising ownership of your personal inviolability became the sole, inescapable pillar of reality itself.

You mustered up what little courage remained and approached Kurapika one evening as he pored over the dwindling stack of intelligence reports.

"Kurapika...I need to get out of here, even if just for a little while," you said, trying to keep your tone measured. "Taking a walk through the village, feeling the sun on my face. Please, I'm going stir-crazy cooped up."

His pewter gaze slowly lifted, boring into you with an inscrutable intensity. You braced yourself for the immediate dismissal, the curt rebuff that your pleas for a shred of freedom were selfish folly in the face of your security.

Instead, Kurapika simply gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"Very well. But I will accompany you. My presence is non-negotiable for your safety."

Your heart leapt at his acquiescence, yet you knew better than to voice any objections to his stipulations. That, too, was non-negotiable when it came to Kurapika's obsession.

The next morning, you ventured out with Kurapika at your side, his eyes sharply scanning every alleyway and passerby like a starving falcon scrutinizing the underbrush. You tried not to let his overdone protectiveness dampen your elation at breathing fresh mountain air and ambling aimlessly without the barriers of steel and concrete constraining you.

At one point, you stopped to admire a young mother cradling her newborn along the village square's central fountain. The infant was swaddled snugly in a pale yellow blanket, their tiny face completely ensconced in peaceful slumber. You couldn't help the wistful pang that tugged at your heart watching the scene.

"Would you like to hold them?" the mother offered warmly after catching your enamored glances.

You looked to Kurapika, almost reflexively seeking his permitting nod as if he were your warden. To your surprise, he simply watched in pensive silence as you gingerly supported the bundle's head and brought the sleeping babe into your embrace.

A serene calm washed over you as the newborn's warmth and weight settled against your chest. Your body seemed to instinctively know all the coddling motions - the gentle swaying, the soft shushes, the protective tuck of the blanket over their tiny frame. For a fleeting moment, everything from the outside world evaporated - the threats, the walls imprisoning you, even Kurapika's hawkish presence. There was only the simple perfection of cradling new life, so pure and unblemished by the world's cruelties.

All too soon, the spell was broken as the mother reached to take her child back. You surrendered them with one last, regretful look into their peaceful slumbering features. As you turned back towards the path, you caught an indecipherable look swimming behind Kurapika's silvery irises. Was that...yearning?

The walk continued in loaded silence until you reached the safehouse again. Ever vigilant, Kurapika checked and triple-checked all security parameters were active before allowing you both back inside. He then insisted on giving you a full body inspection, tutting over any prospective scratches or bruises you may have sustained.

Night fell, and you began your usual bedtime routine of winding down with a book on the living room's plush sofa. Right on cue, Kurapika appeared to take up his self-appointed post in the chair alongside you.

Rather than lapsing into his typical reserved observation, he seemed...restless this evening. You caught his gaze flicking over your face and abdomen several times, his stare carrying an uncharacteristic intensity more akin to hunger than mere study. Finally, just as you were about to question his odd distraction, Kurapika leaned forward in his seat.

"You looked quite natural with that baby earlier," he stated in a low, ruminative tone. "I could envision you as a tender, nurturing mother. The image....suited you."

You felt your cheeks flush hotly despite yourself, ears straining to detect even the faintest undercurrents of impropriety in his demeanor. Just what was he implying?

When you finally found your voice to respond, Kurapika cut you off by rising abruptly to his feet.

"Get some rest. That's enough activity for one day."

With that, he swept towards the bedroom, leaving you to simply blink owlishly in his wake. You worried your lower lip, unable to voice the nagging feeling that his comments carried some suggestive subtext your mind simply couldn't piece together.

For now, it seemed Kurapika's ever-watchful protectionism had evolved to encompass...other considerations. Ones that, given his increasingly mercurial obsession over you, prompted entirely new uncertainties to send your heart murmuring apprehensively against your ribcage.

In the days following Kurapika's unsettling comments about motherhood, an inscrutable new energy seemed to permeate his already intense obsession over you.

His customary silent vigils persisted as always - the motionless sentrylike presence shadowing your every action, the sleepless nights spent unblinkingly patrolling your bedside like a fanatical bodyguard. But there was also something... else underlying those mercurial silver irises whenever they washed over your form.

Kurapika's gaze had shifted from the typical hyper-focused studying for dangers into outright lingering. You began noticing his line of sight would unapologetically rake up and down the curves and lines of your body whenever you moved about the safehouse. As if he were committing to memory every last dip and swell, documenting it alongside the myriad threat assessments constantly churning through his mind.

His comments, once clipped and strictly pertaining to your security, started carrying strange insistences that left you disquieted.

"You have such a patient, calming presence," he remarked one afternoon while you lounged with a book. "The kids would love you."

You shot him a bewildered look over the rattling chains of innuendo in his tone, but Kurapika simply arched an expectant brow as if awaiting your acquiescence.

Another evening, you bent to retrieve a dropped utensil from the kitchen floor only to straighten and find his towering presence hunched mere inches away, studying you with unrestrained focus.

"Carrying a child would suit your figure," he stated in a detached, clinical murmur. Before you could even formulate a flustered response, Kurapika simply turned and strode off to catalogue more intelligence reports.

The most overt advancement came one evening as you diligently prepared dinner, muscles burning from chopping and stirring the hearty stew. You were so engrossed in your motions that you failed to notice Kurapika materializing behind you until his sinewy arms snaked insistingly around your midsection.

A startled gasp seized your lungs as his palms came to rest possessively over your abdomen, his firm chest pressing flush against your arched back. For a dizzying moment, you were overwhelmed by the masculine heat and musk of him surrounding you so utterly and inescapably.

"Don't linger over the preparations," Kurapika's lilting voice reverberated against the nape of your neck. You shivered despite yourself as his warm breath danced across your skin. "I'm...starving this evening."

His hips unconsciously canted forward ever so subtly, enough to insinuate himself deeper into the negative space behind you. The unmistakable prominence of his semi erect cock nestled with shameless insistence against the supple curves of your ass through the thin linen of his trousers.

Just as your befuddled mind scrambled for any coherent reply, Kurapika abruptly extricated himself and strode off with the same unruffled collectedness as always. As if he hadn't just allowed the most salacious depths of his obsession over your body to rupture, however briefly, to the surface.

You stood rooted in place, blood pounding deafeningly in your ears as a dozen frantic impulses warred within you. Outrage, indignation, fear, reluctant curiosity... and horrifyingly, something darker and more primal still that responded with undeniable want to the memories of Kurapika's powerful, unapologetic dominion over your personal space.

When you finally managed to recompose yourself and carry the pot of stew to the dining table, Kurapika was waiting with his customary inscrutable expression. No hint of the previous violation lingered in his pewter irises - only that same boundless, soul-deep need to protect and provide that had morphed into such zealous, all-consuming obsession.

As you picked warily at your bowl, hyper-aware of his eyes drinking in your every move, you knew there would be no acknowledgement or discussion of the incident. He had simply exercised another disquieting assertion of ownership over your body and intimate personal freedoms. Just as he had with everything else in the vise of his self-appointed guardianship.

With a smoldering pit of unease taking root in your core, you realized this new dimension to Kurapika's fixation was only beginning. What fresh transgressions would his possessive appetites attempt to justify through the warped lenses of security and obsession?

Only time would tell what depraved lines he may be willing to cross... all in the name of protecting the last remaining embers of his beloved Kurta legacy.

Over the following days, Kurapika's comments about you having children took a disturbingly frank turn. Gone were the veiled observations about motherhood - replaced by straightforward statements that left no room for interpretation.

"Feels like you'd make a good mom," he mentioned offhandedly one evening as you cleaned up after dinner. His eyes shamelessly raked over your body. "Got the hips for it, that's for sure."

You froze, heat prickling your cheeks at his brazen appraisal. Before you could formulate a flustered response, Kurapika simply continued.

"We should think about making that happen sometime. You know, for the clan's sake." He gave a nonchalant shrug, as if discussing something as mundane as laundry plans.

Your mouth opened and closed, utterly stunned by his audacious suggestion. But Kurapika didn't linger or acknowledge your discomfort. With a final weighted look, he turned and strode from the kitchen, leaving you rattled to your core.

The inappropriate remarks only escalated from there. Kurapika seemed to grab any available opportunity to leisurely speculate about you bearing his child in graphic detail.

"Pregnancy's gonna do amazing things for those breasts," he mused one morning while you brushed your hair. You could feel the heated trail of his stare lingering on your chest in the mirror's reflection.

You very nearly dropped the hairbrush, whipping around to gape at him in disbelief. Kurapika simply held your flustered glare, his expression infuriatingly impassive.

"What? Just being honest here," he stated with a casual shrug of his broad shoulders. "Don't act so scandalized. This is a big damn deal for preserving our people."

His dismissive indifference towards your obvious mortification only fanned the flames of your humiliation. You wanted to shriek at him, to demand he stop vocalizing such disturbingly personal thoughts. But Kurapika's piercing stare maintained its unwavering intensity, extinguishing any momentary flicker of outrage before it could take root.

You knew better than to protest his obsession. Raising objections now would only make his intentions that much more overt...and quite possibly hostile. The thought chilled you to your core.

So you suffered in whip-tailed silence as Kurapika's indelicate comments plagued nearly every interaction. No activity, no matter how innocuous, seemed off-limits for him to unsubtly speculate about you becoming his breeding mate in graphic vernacular. And with each new remark, you saw the feral glint smoldering brighter and brighter behind his slate irises.

It was only a matter of time before he outright admitted the depraved depths of his fixation upon you. You dreaded that inevitability, but decided playing meek and obedient remained the wisest strategy for self-preservation. At least until you could formulate an escape plan from under his obsessive watch.

You did your best to hide any discomfort at Kurapika's increasingly frank comments about you having his children. Outward protests only seemed to egg him on with even more graphic remarks. So you kept up a facade of calm obedience, hoping it might discourage him from acting on his unhealthy fixation.

But Kurapika wasn't so easily deterred. His obsession had morphed into an all-consuming hunger that chipped away at his restraint day by day. You saw the signs - his jaw clenching, fists balling up as he inwardly battled those urges. Sometimes you'd catch him staring at you with undisguised longing, his gaze hungrily tracing your curves.

It all came to a head one autumn night as you pretended to read, keenly aware of Kurapika's presence lingering nearby. The tension was suffocating, his pent-up intensity rolling off him in waves. Several times you felt him move closer, only to sense him forcibly checking himself. Finally, you decided to try excusing yourself to the bedroom.

The moment you stood up, Kurapika pounced with startling speed. In one fluid motion, he gripped your shoulders and shoved you back into the armchair, caging you in as he straddled your hips. His lithe body was coiled like a panther pinning its prey.

"Enough games," he growled, his voice low and gritty with want. "No more pretending."

You gazed up at him wide-eyed, taken aback by the naked hunger etched across his chiseled features. This wasn't the restrained Kurapika - this side of him was feral, unrestrained. Arousal and obsession burned in his dilated pupils.

He leaned in close, the hard planes of his body hovering over yours as his hot breath fanned your flushed cheeks. You could feel the thrum of his hammering heart against your own chest.

"You know how obsessed I am with continuing our legacy," Kurapika rasped with grit-toothed intensity. "I'll do whatever it takes."

One calloused hand fisted in your hair, wrenching your head back as he asserted his dominance. You instinctively froze, trembling at his overwhelming presence and display of power. Kurapika drank in your fear and captivation with a ruthless gleam.

"Don't fight it," he warned in a husky timbre. "By morning, you'll be pregnant with my kid whether you like it or not."

A shudder rippled through you at the grim finality of his words. Yet some primal part of your psyche still couldn't help responding to the masterful undercurrents of his seduction, your body warming despite your trepidation.

Kurapika's eyes narrowed, sensing that fractional flicker of reluctant arousal. With taunting slowness, he closed the gap until his lips hovered a hairsbreadth from yours. His tone took on a dangerous, velveteen purr.

"That's it...just accept what's going to happen," he murmured, the barest brush of his mouth against yours. "Don't fight my obsession growing inside you."

Then with a predator's swift strike, Kurapika's mouth crashed into yours with smothering, impatient desire. He hungrily devoured your gasp of surprise, his fervent onslaught of lush dominance overwhelming your senses.

His mouth moved hungrily against yours, hands roaming over your body as if mapping every curve. Kurapika broke the heated kiss for air, eyes glazed with undisguised longing.

"Do you have any idea how gorgeous you'd look pregnant?" he murmured with awestruck reverence.

One of his hands drifted down to splay possessively across your lower abdomen. Kurapika's gaze followed, drinking in the feminine plane as if he could somehow envision it swelling with new life.

"Carrying my child..." he continued in a hushed, wondrous tone. "Your body nurturing the next generation of our people."

He leaned in to trail feverish kisses along the slender column of your neck, causing you to shiver.

"It's all I've been able to think about," Kurapika rasped against your skin. "Just imagining how radiantly fertile you'd look, swollen with my baby..."

His hand stroked tantalizingly over your abdomen again as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, inhaling your natural scent like an intoxicating elixir.

"I want that so damn badly," he admitted in a throaty rasp thick with yearning. "To see you heavy and glowing with our future growing inside."

Kurapika's kisses wandered across your jawline until his smoldering gaze locked onto yours again, pupils blown wide with naked obsession.

"Say you want it too," Kurapika pleaded, thumb tracing maddening circles low on your belly. "Tell me you'll let me put a baby in this luscious body..."

He drank in every microexpression flickering across your features with rapt focus, hanging on your every reaction. Kurapika leaned in closer until you were sharing the same heated breaths.

"Can't you just picture how incredible you'd look?" he murmured, voice strained with longing. "Tits getting heavy and full, that stomach finally swelling outward with our child growing inside..."

One of his hands cupped your breast almost reverently, like weighing the promise of its future maternal fullness. Kurapika's thumb brushed over your peaked nipple, drawing a soft gasp from you.

"Fuck...you'd be so unbelievably sexy carrying my baby," he groaned, utterly transfixed. "A goddess - all ripe, fertile curves and that beautiful glow mothers-to-be get."

He nuzzled his scruffy cheek against yours, peppering your jaw with open-mouthed kisses until you squirmed beneath him. Kurapika's palm stroked insistently over your abdomen again, as if willing his fantasies into reality through sheer habit.

"I can see it so clearly, feel how soft you'd be..." His voice dipped into a gravelly timbre. "Just imagine me waking you up with a nice, hard fuck every morning. How many times would I have to breed you before it finally took?"

A jolt of arousal coursed through you, your cunt clenching at his crude, possessive words. You bit back a whimper as Kurapika's hand snaked down between your thighs. His fingers expertly sought the sensitive nub of your clit, coaxing it with languid strokes.

"Maybe I'd just stay buried inside you all night," he growled, grinding his stiffening cock into your hip. "Keep that pussy nice and filled up with my cum, see if that does the trick..."

Your eyelids fluttered shut as Kurapika continued stroking your sensitive folds, his other hand kneading your breast. You felt utterly lost in the haze of his carnal need, swept away by his possessive lust.

"Fuck, that's the sexiest thought," he rasped, grinding his bulge against you. "Imagining you all stuffed and swollen with my kid, knowing I'd bred you..."

Kurapika's lips sought yours, tongue slipping inside to explore and claim. You whimpered into his kiss, helpless to the overwhelming desire coursing through your veins. He finally broke the kiss, his eyes smoldering with naked want.

He didn’t say anything, just studied your features intently as he slowly unzipped his fly. Kurapika's hand disappeared beneath his trousers, pulling his rock-hard length free. He gave himself a few languid pumps, hissing softly at the contact.

You stared, transfixed. His cock was just as you imagined - thick and veiny, pulsing with a hungry need to plant his seed.

"Go on...feel it," he ordered gruffly.

Your hand reached out on instinct, fingertips ghosting tentatively over the engorged flesh. Kurapika let out a hiss, his hips bucking into your touch. You felt a thrill at his response, a surge of feminine satisfaction.

He pressed his cock firmly into your palm, forcing you to curl your fingers around the warm girth. You stroked him experimentally, relishing the velvety-smooth skin stretched tight over his pulsating hardness. Kurapika let out a guttural moan, eyes fluttering shut as his head lolled back in pleasure.

"Get a good look, honey ," he purred. "This is what's gonna put a baby inside you."

His hands reached out to grasp your hips, yanking you down on the armchair until you were splayed before him. Your dress rode up to your waist, exposing your slick-drenched cunt to his ravenous gaze.

Kurapika's cock bobbed excitedly at the sight, already drooling an obscene amount of pre-cum. He gripped your hips, dragging you flush against him. The swollen head nudged your soaked slit, smearing its sticky promise against your heat.

"Gonna make you a mommy tonight," he breathed, eyes glazed with lust. "My sexy little wife, full and round with my kid."

With that, he plunged inside your cunt in one rough, impatient thrust. You cried out as his thick cock stretched you impossibly full. It was a delicious, overwhelming ache, like your body was being molded and shaped to his whims.

Kurapika set a punishing pace, fucking you with relentless intensity. He was like a man possessed, driven by a singular purpose. His hands dug into your hips, nails scoring your skin.

You clutched desperately at his broad shoulders, fingers raking his skin. You were completely overwhelmed by the sensation of him dominating your body, filling you up over and over again with his need.

Kurapika's face was contorted with lust, eyes screwed shut as he pounded into you. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat-slick chest heaving with exertion. You could feel the raw urgency in his movements, the desperate need to spill his seed deep inside.

Your fingers threaded through his silken hair, gripping the roots as you held his fevered gaze. Kurapika's eyes widened, pupils blown wide with arousal at the display of submission. He gave a guttural groan, his pace faltering as he struggled to stave off his imminent release.

"So fucking sexy," he growled, teeth gritted as he fought to hold himself back. He pistoned into you harder, deeper. His thumb reached down to furiously circle your swollen clit. "Come on, honey. Let me hear you scream..."

You arched into him, the friction of his thumb on your sensitive nub and cock pistoning into your cunt pushing you towards the edge. Kurapika's hips slammed into yours with bruising force, his thrusts becoming more erratic as his orgasm neared.

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, body tensing with anticipation. His hand gripped your thigh, hiking it higher for deeper penetration. That last bit of delicious pressure was all you needed to send you careening over the edge.

Your walls clenched around him, milking his throbbing cock. You came with a strangled cry, body spasming as you squirted onto his cock. Kurapika gave a ragged gasp, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release.

With one final, primal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. You felt the warmth of his seed flooding your womb, painting your inner walls with his virility. Thick, creamy spurts of cum filled you to the brim, his cock pulsing and twitching as he emptied every last drop.

Kurapika's hips rolled languidly into yours, prolonging the aftershocks of his climax. You clung to him, legs trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. Your bodies were entwined, sweat-slick skin pressed flush against each other.

As the haze of lust ebbed away, Kurapika's gaze softened, taking on an adoring warmth. He caressed your cheek, his voice thick with emotion.

"I hope I got you pregnant," Kurapika murmured, voice hushed with naked longing. He leaned down to trail openmouthed kisses along the column of your neck.

"Can you imagine?" he rasped against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Your belly swelling with our child, my obsession made flesh and blood?"

He nuzzled the crook of your neck, inhaling your mingled scents with an almost spiritual reverence. When Kurapika pulled back to meet your gaze again, his eyes were alight with feverish yearning.

"I'm going to dote on you relentlessly," he vowed in a low rasp. "Worship every curve, every new glow you get from carrying my baby."

His palm stroked over your lower abdomen, fingertips committing every plane and whisper of definition to memory.

"You'll let me, won't you?" Kurapika's tone edged towards pleading. "Let me obsess over you morning, noon, and night while you nurture our offspring?"

He dipped down to trail reverent, openmouthed kisses along the valley between your breasts.

"These are going to swell up so full and ripe..." he muttered thickly, voice muffled against your fevered skin. "I can't wait to taste how sweet your milk will be."

Kurapika's smoldering gaze met yours again, pupils blown wide with naked obsession. His hand splayed possessively over your abdomen once more, relishing the possibility of it bearing new life.

"Just stay right here with me and make my fantasy a reality," he rasped, the barest hint of a plea entering his gravelly timbre. "Let me put a baby in you and finally satisfy this all-consuming obsession."

His thumb stroked over the hint of your hipbone, gaze following the motion with rapturous focus.

"I'll take care of you both..." Kurapika vowed, voice dropping to a rugged murmur. "Mind, body, and spirit - you'll want for nothing beyond my total devotion."

With that, he sealed his promise with a searing, breathtaking kiss that made his singular obsession for impregnating you resoundingly clear.

#hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader smut #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter smut #hxh #hxh x reader smut #hxh smut #hxh x reader #hxh kurapika #kurapika #kurapika kurta #kurapika x reader #kurapika smut #kurapika x reader smut

1K notes · View notes

unfair-water-plane · 4 months

Text

So one thing that has always made me chuckle in ME2 is the fact that Kal’Reegar is a marine in a Quarian suit. And he fits in with Shepard easily, the same attitude and headspace and cadence (for mShep at least). And I’m sitting here at work and the thought just hit me.

What if that’s because he is a marine in a Quarian suit?

Hear me out. Kal is older than Tali, or at least gives off those vibes, and so he would have been on his pilgrimage a while ago. Like maybe right after first contact. And here are these brand new people who came out of nowhere and had apparently enough fire power and attitude to give the Turians a very brief pause. The whole galaxy wants to know more. And humanity has no idea who is out there, but surely they can’t all be like the creepy bird people?

Cue one very curious Quarian in Shanxi, just as curious an out humanity as humanity is about everything. Meeting with early alliance brass, giving them information common palace to any kid with an extranet feed but wholly new to humanity. He explains that the Quarian don’t have ground forces because they don’t have a ground, and is honest about the geth, and is like ‘so how did you make the Turian Hierarchy freak out?’

And somehow ends up observing basic training, and falls in love with it. To the point where he actively asks to go through marine boot camp in Hanshan, and is just earnest and endearing enough to be allowed. So he goes through it, puts in the work and the blood and sweat and tears and makes the kinds of friends that you sort of have on the Flotilla, but everyone also knows you are all going to separate ships eventually and getting attached is hard.

But the humans will pack bond with a robot vacuum without issue, and when they meet a Quarian who wants to learn and thinks it’s amazing that they stood up to the biggest military in the galaxy running on old fashioned rocketry and spite? The marines adopt him as one of their own. They are brothers, something most single child Quarians have no experience with, and Kal gives it back in spades. He talks like them, fights like them, jokes and learns and is like them.

And when it is over and they graduate, it’s hard to turn down the offer to stay. But humanity respects the loyalty to his people that takes him back to the fleet, and it almost brings him to tears when his graduating class passes a cap for his passage back to the fleet in more comfort than sitting on a box in a volus cargo ship.

It actually brings him to tears when his drill instructor informs him that while it might not be in great shape, Arcturus has authorized them to gift Kal’Reegar with a battered but space worthy corsair and an official greeting from the Systems Alliance to the Migrant Fleet.

The SSV Jarhead is perhaps the best gift anyone is his age range can give to a future captain, though his practical military experience is a gift to the whole fleet. It catapults him through the Quarian military, from for soldier to instructor to commander, and somewhere he hopes that his brothers and sisters are as proud of them as he is of every transmission that makes it back to him.

On Haestrom, that training keeps him alive long enough to watch his squad die, and that cuts like nothing else. But he can’t stop, because the principle is still depending on him, and until his suit gives out he has to fight to her.

But then the voice cuts through the chatter of his own mind, and he *knows it*. Knows the cadence and the phrasing, knows how a human mouth forms the phrases that he has spent years trying to teach. Commander Shepard might not be a marine, but they are a human combat specialist and the fraternity is there.

Maybe it’s just three more people who are going to die for this fools errand, but somehow Kal doesn’t think so. There are two bone deep beliefs that he will carry it’s him to either the home world or the afterlife, and it has always felt appropriate to him that they rhyme. That they sound similar, when he breathes them into the air.

Keelah Salai. Semper Fi.

#quarians #migrant fleet #mass effect #commander shepard #headcanon #Kal’Reegar #haestrom #I have feelings about humans and other races bonding in the early days

170 notes · View notes

tenderleavesbob · 3 months

Text

“I was raised by a tree,” Mask said. The others scoffed and told Mask to stop joking, but Link knew it had to be true. Mask was like Proxi. Mask didn’t lie. Not knowingly. Not deliberately.

“I don’t have parents,” Mask said, and Link knew that was true, too. Mask didn’t seem to understand what parents were.

“I’m okay on my own,” Mask said, and Link knew that was bullshit. The only time Mask could lie to Link was when he lied to himself.

Before the war, before the attack by Volga, before Link realized how many fantastic stories his grandma told him were actually true, Link had few expectations in life. He joined the military because they offered food and a safe place to sleep. He discovered that he liked it and decided it was something he could not only do but make a life out of doing. He never expected to gain any real rank or be recognized. Even as the other soldiers talked about their dreams about a wedding and a spouse and children with their eyes and eyes, Link couldn’t imagine anything like that for himself. His path seemed clear enough. Live by the sword, die by the sword, fight well enough for a good grave.

The moment Link saw Mask and Tune, his plans changed.

“I don’t need tucked in,” Mask complained as Link smoothed the blanket over him.

Not a lie. Mask didn’t need it. It didn’t change the fact that he liked it and wanted it. It didn’t change how he relaxed under the blanket and settled under Link’s hands.

“Maybe I need it,” Link retorted. Not a lie. “I like knowing you’re in one piece at the end of the day.”

While Mask stuck his tongue out at him, Link turned to Tune on his cot. Tune wasn’t like Mask. He could lie and merrily did, often with dramatic flair. Link tried to keep him away from Ravio as much as he could, with limited success. Tune didn’t have parents, either, and admitted that he couldn’t really remember them. He did have a loving grandmother, though, and a little sister he adored. He didn’t fuss when Link smoothed the blankets over him. He even tilted toward Link with a hopeful smile, and Link laughed when he kissed his forehead.

“What I need,” Tune declared with a bright grin, “is a bedtime story. We haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“You had one last night!” Link ruffled Tune’s hair and walked back to his small desk. Mask was on the way with a pout he didn’t have mere moments before.

Mask didn’t need kisses, he claimed, and it was technically true. It didn’t stop Link from pausing long enough to kiss his forehead. He watched the tension drain from Mask’s small shoulders before continuing to his desk.

“Last night was a while ago,” Tune argued. “Hours ago, even! C’mon. A small story?”

Mask had also made it clear, multiple times, that he didn’t need stories. Link thought that was another instance where he lied to himself and to Link. Everyone needed stories, after all. Even as the stories of past heroes threatened to break Link, the stories with happy endings kept him moving forward day after day.

“Well, what story would you like?” Link asked. He shuffled through some letters on his desk, lit by a small lamp. Darkness had fallen hours ago. “About a Zora princess?”

“No!” Mask snapped, so quickly that both Link and Tune stared at him.

Link coughed and went back to his papers. His hands paused on a rough draft of a letter. The final draft was better. Sincere and apologetic without his own selfish grief pouring through. Link quietly crumpled it. “All right then. Hmmm. What about an ancient knight? One who flew in the skies?”

Something he once believed no more than a fantastic story, woven beautifully by his grandmother and painted by odd dreams. Now...

Mask mused on it, and Link and Tune waited for him to decide. Tune was happy with anything. Link thought he just liked oral stories. The cadence of them, the feeling of the words uniting everyone.

There was a letter from Linkle. Link brushed his fingers over it. He received it yesterday but hadn’t had a chance to respond yet. She laughed at him and teased him. Whoever would have believed that Link would be the first one from their group to have children? her letter read.

Certainly not Link. That hole had always been inside of him, but Link thought it was small, mostly filled in by duty and his fellow soldiers. After Cia? After the Triforce appeared on his hand? After the sudden rise in rank and the terror of the weight on his shoulders and after old friends began drifting away, looking at him like they had never seen him before? That hole had seemed endless, threatening to swallow him.

Yet Tune and Mask had patched it so easily.

“All right,” Mask decided at last. “That’ll do.”

Tune didn’t need Link. Link knew that. Link took him into his care and protected him as much as he could from the horrors of war and ensured that he always had a safe harbor in this storm, but despite being young, Tune was steady. Tune was able to take what he needed and offered his own care in return. When this war was over, home waited for Tune with warm, loving arms.

“That’ll do,” Tune repeated with relish. Mask eyed him suspiciously, but Link noted he didn’t move from the warm cocoon of his blankets. He rarely did after Link tucked him in.

Link prayed to all of the Goddesses he knew that Mask had someone waiting for him in his era. Mask swore he didn’t need anyone, but Link recognized the shadows in Mask’s eyes. He knew what that awful, gnawing darkness felt like.

He hoped that being with Link alleviated some of that darkness for Mask like being with Mask did for Link.

“That’ll do,” LInk parroted with a grin. He turned away from Linkle’s letter. It could wait until after storytime. “Maybe years ago, before there was a Hyrule…”

#lu warriors #tl scribbles #lu mask #lu tune #hw link #lu discord write a thon

119 notes · View notes

afewfantasies · 4 months

Text

🏔️The Retreat 🏔️- Chapter V

Summary: Through the promptings of others Lorena and Gale are both forced to confront their personal feelings for each other, while acknowledging the potential for romance & their future.

Pairing: Gale Cleven x Lorena (black fem oc)

Warnings: None

Tropes: Slow Burn, opposites attract, forbidden love

Word Count: 2K

PART V - Major

Gale had never witnessed a winter prep like this before. Lorena had a strange way of making everything feel like a party with all her personality and ideas to make the mundane fun. There were wood splitting competitions among the boys and stacking competitions. There was no quarrelling as Lorena and Rose were in charge of the harvest and for the first time they were ahead of the schedule in September. A freak frost would have very few consequences on their way of life. Lorena’s sister's visit seemed to do wonders for her well being and in the weeks since her departure there’d already been two letters. Gale kept Felicia’s words close to his chest. He found himself admiring Lorena more and more. Admitting the way her eye’s light when she smiles, the cadence of her laugh, her sense of humour and glamorous nature. He found himself indulging her stories and whims more too. If Felicia thought there was a possibility of happiness between them, then Gale thought there could be a possibility that Lorena could see him the same way all the others did.

“What are you moping about Gale, us soldiers not moving efficiently enough for the Major?” Lorena asks, coming in with a basket of apples to be sliced and hung to dry. Gale smiles at her teasing.

“Wasn’t moping, I just resent there’s nothing to complain about. It’s not good for my reputation” Gale admits. Lorena lights up before laughing a touch. Gale had been opening up to her, it was a wonderful thing. Absolutely wonderful that he was finding his way out of his shell, and beginning to trust her like she trusted him.

“I’ll make a mess of something, you can be sure of it so keep some complaints in your reserves Major” Lorena mocks. He’d inherited the nickname not as a form of respect but admonishment. His small margin for error and serious precision had garnered him the nickname from Lorena. She didn’t understand what surviving a Montana winter was like, what preparation was required to ensure comfort and survival but Gale did. He’d survived the prison camps with next to nothing in terms of food and clothing, and would never endure anything like it again.

“I don’t think you understand how the chain of command works,” Gale says, taking far more than he should. His heart had never let him be too harsh with Lorena. From the moment she appeared in the lodge he had a soft spot for her and that would never change.

“I’m just being a pest, I don’t need a court martial for insubordination” Lorena winks filling the sink with water, it only proves her knowledge of the chain of command. She’d learned a thing or two about the military structure during the 101st’s reunion a few months ago.

“Food is important, it’s always better to have too much of it stored just in case we get snowed in, or the trains get snowed out and provisions stop making their way here. Or we have a long winter” Gale explains.

“When’s the last time anyone can really get in or out?” Lorena asks.

“Depends on the year but after November you’re stuck until around March” Gale explains truthfully. Hesitation washes over Lorena as she does a quick calculation. It would be five months away from her family, five months without consistent communication with them. She’d been silently weighing her options since Felicia’s departure. The heartache of her ex had settled into a bearable wound. As much as she wanted to see them she didn’t want to be forced to remain in a town that felt too muddled by a complicated past and a would be increasingly frustrating present. Lorena didn’t know if she could ever truly be okay with the sight of the man she once loved more than anything happy with someone else. It was the defining reason she had yet to return home, and somehow that bit of self preservation felt cheap. Especially around the likes of Rose and Gale who faced insurmountable challenges head on. A war hero who survived with his sanity intact, and a window making her own way in the wilderness.

The sound of the water stops and Lorena looks up to see Gale has stopped the sink from overflowing. The playfulness is gone from his expression and has been replaced by concern. In a perfect world Lorena could have it all. Her family, friends and home, along with Gale, Rose and the others. Allowing her a moment to herself Gale places the apples into the water where they bob to the surface.

“What is it?” He asks finally.

“My parents miss me a lot, this will be my first Christmas away from them” Lorena confesses.

Her words are just that and Gale can’t help but wonder if there wasn’t another reason for her hesitation. The indication that she missed her ex, that he was one of the reasons she wanted to return. Felicia had been right about his feelings for Lorena, perhaps the older sister was also correct about her sister’s inevitable willingness to take the scoundrel who betrayed her back.

“You can get back home in the spring, it’ll be safer to travel to and from. Felicia can come back with you” he offers now that a world without her under his roof has become inconceivable to him. Lorena scoffs knowing full well that it wouldn’t just be Felicia, it would be her brother and mother as well. Reaching into the basin Lorena begins scrubbing the skin of the apples in preparation for their preservation. Gale stands by her side instead of returning to his task of unloading the hay with the others. His eyes wash over her as stands carrying more than she should emotionally. To Gale there were too many positive qualities to the woman that she should have no insecurities. Feeling the weight of his gaze, Lorena meets him. Something about his blue eyes always seemed to ground her, settle her restlessness and put her at ease. It had been so since the very first time she saw him.

“Gale, we need you - there’s another delivery to be signed for” one of the guys yells from outside.

Gale, we need you. Lorena smiles at the truth of the statement.

“I’m coming!” he shouts, turning back to the door before looking back at Lorena. So it would be a fight after all.

“Whenever you decide to leave I’ll make the trip with you, and if you don’t want to go back your family is welcome here” Gale says with the same commitment to his people that he’d had in the war. It brings a genuine smile to Lorena’s face. The thought of Gale waking through her hometown where he’d stick out like a black swan.

“Maybe you could spend a winter with me sometime and enjoy all the perks of city living.” She suggests making him smile. As long as Lorena saw her future intertwined with his, Gale could be at ease.

“Definitely, I’ll probably be in late. Have dinner with Rose” He says far more comfortable with stepping out now. Even if it was only a few feet away Lorena’s melancholy weighed him down more than anything else. Lorena’s smile had made it into his dreams and into his heart. It was the only way he wanted to see her now.

…

Rose and Lorena sit on the porch swing watching the boys finish up loading the last few bales of hay for the day. Rose had prepared a hearty dinner that would surely put them to sleep after providing them with adequate nourishment.

“You’re good for him,” the older woman says.

“Huh?” Lorena questions.

“You’re good for him,” Rose repeats, looking directly at Gale. “He was so angry last year - this entire experience was a nightmare. He hasn’t been angry in months and now he’s finally starting to settle” she says.

“Benefit of time” Lorena says.

“Not just time Lorena, you” Rose says.

“Well, I’m glad I can help,” Lorena responds, making Rose smile.

“Life’s too short to deny yourself the good because of those who’ve mistreated you. We’re all on borrowed time, don’t squander it. You’re young and beautiful and deserve to be loved.”

“Rose? Are you feverish, have you been smoking wild herbs?” Lorena asks, appalled by the older woman's frankness.

“I see the way he looks at you, I’m around. Gale doesn’t make a decision without considering your opinion of comfort. He’s too good a man for most and you’re too good a woman for most. Aside from the obvious facts there’s chemistry there that can’t be denied. Just think about the kind of love he’s capable of Lorena. If he’s been kind, generous and fair with you when you were a stranger.” Rose says hitting Lorena with sobering truths. Looking away from the boys Lorena turns to face Rose who nods with all knowing eyes.

“Gale’s a good man, his heart is set on that gorgeous starlet fiancé that ran away” Lorena sighs knowing intimately.

“He deserves far better than a woman that left him, the man he is and ignored what he was going through.” Rose says and it’s a point Lorena can agree on. “And so do you. I can’t imagine the amount of stupid on that ex-husband of yours. A lady like you being overlooked after staying and being loyal even to this day. Darling you’ve done enough for him. It’s time for you to live for you.” Rose suggests.

Looking at Rose it’s clear as day she’s full of wisdom, she’d always had an omniscient quality to her. Lorena’s silence is only further confirmation of the complicated web of feelings between Gale and herself. Reggie had courted her differently; with large declarations and ostentatious presentations of his affections. Reggie was loud in his love and it was all Lorena had come to know. Gale loved his corners, the quiet and operating in the peripheries if his expertise and leadership were not required.

“So you think I should do what my Ma says and remarry?” Lorena asks, looking into wise eyes.

“I think every woman deserves a taste of the best life has to offer them. You haven’t had it yet and you owe yourself that experience. Someone who cares so much they start digging out an extra cellar in August to prepare enough provisions so that the live-in princess is comfortable” Rose winks before heading into her home.

Lorena sits at a loss for words. Gale stands across the field leading the men in the loading of the barn. Lorena had thought him handsome from day one but she hadn’t thought she was even a contender for his affections, her head hadn’t been in that space when she first arrived. She was nursing her wounds. There was no longing for passion. Only longing for the heartache to cease. And it had. When and where Lorena didn’t know. She could place it. Sometime during the summer after many good days and full weeks. Among the smiles and laughter she’d found peace and Gale had been there every step of the way. Every breakfast, every supper, every night. Every morning he waited to hear movement before getting his day started, and every night he walked across the hall to look in on her before going to bed himself. There’d never been any room or reason for her to think it was something more than otherworldly courtesy. But perhaps with Gale love was the little things, the subtleties, the small kindnesses that add up over time, the careful consideration that makes life easier. The quiet consistency and loyalty that makes you feel a little invincible.

Authors Note: Thanks for reading 💖 I've been in the worst funk lately but the social media algorithm gods have been force feeding so much Austin that my creativity was "re-sparked". Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know how you feel in the comments and re-blogs. The next part is coming and its 🍵 😉

#austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x black reader #black authors #masters of the air #masterlist #major buck cleven x oc #major buck cleven #major gale

70 notes · View notes

agentmarvel · 3 months

Note

Hiiii! Could I please request 🖤 for Keegan with “marriage of convenience!” Thank you!!! <3

i had a lot of fun with this one! thank you for sending one, nonnie!🖤

keegan russ x fem!reader

cw: obsessive!keegan

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

Hesh doesn’t ask favors lightly, so when he asked Keegan for a solid, he was happy to oblige. He didn’t get much in terms of specifics from the elder Walker brother, just that a really sweet thing needed some help, and Kee was the man for the job.

Marriage wasn’t quite what he had in mind when he agreed. He understood that you needed insurance, but there had to be a better way to find it. It’s quite a commitment, even if it’s hollow, and his conspicuous absences would definitely be glaring. You know nothing about him and vice versa. Would you hinder him from getting his dick wet under the guise of emotional trauma from infidelity? The military would rule in your favor in a divorce, especially if you weren’t fucking someone else. Would you whine and nag about the length of his mission? Would he bitch and moan about the way you decorate or your cooking when he’s home? There are too many variables. Enough that he almost considers turning Hesh down.

But then he met you, and all those thoughts went out the window.

Keegan isn’t one for love at first sight, but the second you walk into that coffee shop, he’s hooked on you. He takes his time memorizing every detail of your gorgeous face, each curve of your body in that pretty dress, the cadence of your voice, the sound of your cute giggles. Your little habits don’t go unnoticed; the way you cover your mouth when you eat, the way your nose scrunches when you’re talking about something that you think is gross (Keegan notes that you don’t like tomatoes, that precious little scrunch deepening as your mouth turns downward in disgust).

You seem to be equally taken with him, listening with rapt attention as he answers all your questions. When he walks you back to your car, you loop your hand through his arm. He must look startled, because you immediately retract and apologize. No, no, that’s not what he meant! He was just surprised that you felt the same. To comfort you, he casually slips an arm around your waist, settling on your hip to pull you closer.

It all goes quickly. Within a week, he finds himself at the courthouse, signing a marriage license with his free hand tucked into yours. Days later, he’s in the base admin office, adding you as his next of kin and beneficiary and adding you to his insurance policy. Over the weekend, he moves you into his off-base home. All standard to make the marriage look real, he tells you, no one will question it.

No one will question if your marriage is real because it is. No longer is this simply “doing Hesh a favor”. No, you’re his wife now. You’re his. His to hold, to kiss, to absolutely ruin, to love. And Keegan does love you. Everything about you. You’ll warm up to it pretty soon. While you’re still a little skittish about how real this has become overnight, hiding from his affection and trying to remind him this isn't real, he knows you’ll come around. Before long, he’ll be coming home to your bright smile, smothering him in kisses. You’ll be begging him for a baby when he fucks you stupid after not getting to touch you for weeks or months at a time to keep you company while he’s away. He can’t wait to come home to your big, round belly, swollen with his child, bouncing a chubby little baby on your hip while you prepare for another. You’ll be such a good wife and mother; you just have to come around to the idea.

pick your prompt here!💌

#keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #keegan p russ x reader #keegan p russ x you #cod x reader #cod x you #jj writes #unblock my brain prompts

60 notes · View notes

zangtangimpersonator · 4 days

Text

this was just an excuse to post the terrible suno results of the prompt "gangster rap call and response chant cadence men shouting beatboxing snare monotone" because i thought it was extremely funny. the bit at the 2:40 mark where it tries to get even moodier is glorious. i was really trying to get a military training cadence going but wow that didn't happen

#fat ai men

42 notes · View notes

just-here-with-my-thoughts · 3 months

Text

"Forget I asked"

@summer-of-bad-batch week 3 alt prompt

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Crosshair, Hunter Set after the finale when everyone is living happily (?) on Pabu. Technically Part 1 of the Beach Days & Hair Braiding series. Word Count: ~1875 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Crosshair tells Hunter he wants to join the Resistance

“Your regrets will go wherever you are, Cross. You have to find a way to live with them.”

“I am. The Empire is still out there, Hunter. If I can help keep them at bay… If I can keep them away from you and Omega, that I can live with.”

Crosshair stared at the bed, the covers and sheets stripped, the end of the mattress adorned with the small collection of his belongings.

It wasn’t much. But then, clones had never had much in the way of personal possessions. Most of their ‘belongings’ were military issue gear, able to be recalled and replaced with the supply whims of the GAR.

What was there now was his. Really his. Clothes that had been gifted to him by the people of Pabu, even if he had balked at the charity. A pebble with dark veins spidering across it which Wrecker had found on the beach and brought back because ‘it has the same tattoo as you’. A beat-up datapad which Phee had sourced for him, and to which he had downloaded all the data from the recorder on Tech’s goggles – not that he had accessed the files since.

He was wearing the bracelets Omega had woven for him, dyed leather and coloured thread standing out against a grey-white fabric wrap bound round his left wrist.

That had been Mayday’s.

It felt like stealing to take the strip of bandaging from Mayday’s empty helmet when they had returned to the outpost on Barton IV, and he had kept it hidden for many months whilst guilt gnawed at him. When he had been ready he had taken it out and simply run it though his hands, remembering.

Recently the pain of those memories had instead faded to a bittersweet ache, and he had added the length of fabric to the bracelet stack Omega had made. When the rip-tide of his regrets threatened to drag him under, he pinched his thumb and forefinger to the material and rubbed softly, grounding himself with the rasp of the rough fabric.

His fingers left a grubby mark, but he didn't wash it. That would mean taking it off, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

He found himself worrying the knot of fabric now, right hand trembling slightly as he forced his breathing into the calm cadence Omega had taught him and gathered his thoughts for this next step.

Omega knew he was leaving. She’d worked it out – she was smart like that. She’d spotted the tell-tale signs of his inability to settle to life on Pabu, and had confronted him about it in that special oblique way she had that spared him any feelings of judgement.

“So when are you leaving?”

“Huh?”

“When are you leaving?” She kept her head down, gaze focused on tying yet another colourful string bracelet round his wrist. “That’s what you’re planning on, isn’t it.”

It wasn’t a question. She knew he was already decided.

He flexed his right hand, then crossed it to his left to adjust the new bracelet. He pinched Omega’s hand affectionately, touch lingering on the soft web of flesh between her thumb and finger.

“Don’t tell the others,” he said, voice low, not meeting her eyes. “I don’t know how they’ll take it.”

“They’ll be happy for you,” Omega said, but he could hear the sadness in her voice. “If this is really what you want.”

He shuddered an inhale. “We’ll see.”

It hadn’t stopped him feeling like he’d failed somehow. Pabu was a paradise, and he should have been happy. Instead he was anxious, restless, unable to adjust to the slow pace of life. It only made it harder to see how enthusiastically his brothers threw themselves into the island community, ready to put down roots for the rest of their lives whilst he was still tumbling like a wind-blown briar.

Wrecker had understood. His broad, honest face was a map of his emotions, and he had been unable to hide his disappointment – but he had understood all the same.

“Gonna miss you,” was the first thing he had said after the lapse of quiet when Crosshair first told him. Then, “But you can always come back, right? If you change your mind.”

Crosshair nodded noncommittally. He was fairly certain he wasn’t going to change his mind, but if it made Wrecker feel better, he could let him have that.

“Echo and I will still be in touch,” he reassured his brother. “It’ll be… better than last time.”

Better than last time they were separated. He didn’t need to say it.

Wrecker picked him up in a huge bear-hug, and for once he didn’t complain too hard.

“Promise me you’ll stay safe out there, vod.”

“Sure, Wrecker. I promise.”

That left Hunter.

And he had no idea how he would react. So he had put it telling him, and put it off and put it off, and now Echo was arriving to collect him today and this was his last chance to corner Hunter, alone, to break the news of his departure mere hours before he went.

An irregular patter vibrated against his thigh and he clenched his right hand to stop it trembling, hissing in a displeased inhale. Time to get this over with.

“Hunter.” He raised his voice so that the rasping edge of his call would reach through the small house. “Could you help me pack?”

He returned his attention to the pile of items at the end of the bed, and waited.

It wasn’t long before Hunter wandered into his room, sipping caf from a chipped mug. “Sure,” he said by way of greeting, taking in the neatly piled items. “Looks like you’re nearly done already. Where you going? Camping trip to the far side of the island again?”

Hunter knew Crosshair would retreat to solitary trips for a day or two at a time, when the pressure of socialising with the island populace got too much. Crosshair kept his gaze carefully on the mug in Hunter’s hand, so he didn’t have to meet his eyes.

“Bit further than that,” he confessed, voice dropping to a near-whisper. His volume didn’t really matter – he could scream it for all the difference it made, Hunter’s enhanced senses meant he would hear either way.

“Off to explore the atolls?”

“No.”

He jumped at the soft brush of Hunter’s hand against his elbow and turned to him, guilt twisting his gut as his brother squeezed his upper arm with a supportive smile.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Hunter said, his gruff voice low and reassuring. “I’ll see you when you get back in a few days. What do you need help packing?”

Crosshair raised his arm to clasp Hunter’s in return, taking a half-step closer and tilting his head to rest their foreheads together. He closed his eyes against the confused look on Hunter’s face, lips pressed thin in a grimace.

There was no way Hunter wouldn’t feel the trembling of his right hand where it held his elbow.

“Can you get my armour for me?”

Hunter didn’t pull away, but Crosshair felt the tense of his muscles under his fingertips.

“What do you need your armour for, Cross?” said Hunter slowly, his tone measured. There was a creeping note of dread in his words.

Crosshair tightened his grip imperceptibly, willing his brother to understand.

“I’m going with Echo.”

For a long moment they simply stood, foreheads pressed together, tense and unmoving. Hunter’s breath shuddered unevenly into the space between them.

“Not you’re not,” he whispered eventually, voice low and forceful. “You can’t.”

Reluctantly Crosshair pulled back, straightening to eke out his height advantage as he dropped their arms.

“I can,” he refuted, keeping his face carefully neutral, “and I am.” Then he softened his gaze, looking pleadingly at Hunter. “Help me pack?”

Hunter’s expression fractured, shock and grief breaking through his usual reserved mask.

“When are you going?”

Crosshair swallowed and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Today.”

With a wounded exhale Hunter sat down sharply, the edge of the bed sagging under his sudden drop.

Crosshair shifted restlessly, not meeting his gaze. "I... I have to keep moving,” he ventured, struggling to voice the explanation into the tense space between them. “I've tried staying still. If I do, everything will catch up to me..."

He trailed off, and neither of them needed him to finish the unspoken sentence. They both knew about his nightmares. Maker knew Hunter had held him through enough of them.

“It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” Hunter surged to his feet, pressing into Crosshair’s space once more. “You’re just going to… to leave? Without telling us, without telling Wrecker and Omega so we have the chance to…”

His words dropped away as he saw the guilt in Crosshair’s expression, and he shuddered in a deep breath.

“You already told them.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m the last one to know.”

“…Yeah.”

Hunter shoved him, hard, anger flashing in his eyes.

“And you thought you’d tell me… by asking me to help you pack?”

Crosshair grit his teeth and pushed Hunter away, turning to scoop up the single armful of belongings from the end of the bed, everything he owned in the world.

“Forget I asked,” he said bitterly. “I thought you’d be happy for me. I’m moving forwards.”

“You’re running away.”

“So what if I am?” Crosshair raised his voice in frustration, volume increasing as their argument escalated. “It’s better than staying here, waiting for it to consume me!”

“Your regrets will go wherever you are, Cross,” said Hunter, but he kept his voice low, and Crosshair felt a lick of frustration that Hunter wasn’t matching his anger any more. “You have to find a way to live with them.”

“I am. By helping Echo. The Empire is still out there, Hunter. If I can help keep them at bay…”

His voice wavered with uncertainty, and he forced his gaze up to meet Hunter’s eyes at last.

“If I can keep them away from you and Omega, that I can live with.”

Hunter’s arms folded defensively across his chest, and he tried and failed to wrestle his expression back to neutral. It was like now his mask had slipped, he couldn’t shove down the heartbreak that leached through.

Crosshair mirrored his position, the bundle of clothes and his datapad clutched to his chest.

A chasm of space yawned between them, a mere few feet wide, impossible to cross.

"I want you to stay.”

Hunter's voice ached with so much more than he was saying.

"I want you to stay,” he repeated, and now he gave a shaky, resigned sigh. “But I'm not going to stop you leaving if that's what you want to do."

Crosshair released the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, the sound punching out of him in a relieved gasp.

“Yeah. It is,” he said softly, willing Hunter to believe him.

Hunter nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the floor.

He stepped forwards, and Crosshair flinched, but Hunter’s hand came gently to the back of his neck as he pulled their foreheads together once more.

“I’ll miss you, Cross. You can always come back, whenever. No questions asked.”

Crosshair squeezed his eyes closed, unable to answer beyond a nod. He leaned into the gentle pressure of their embrace, arms still wrapped tightly round his meagre belongings.

Hunter’s sigh gusted against his skin, warm and sorrowful.

“I’ll get your armour.”

Aand another prompt ticked off from my @sweetspicybingo card! Hot Drink to Bad News

#summerofbadbatch2024 #week3 #forget i asked #the bad batch #tbb fanfic #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #beach days timeline

47 notes · View notes