#send help i won't survive this :3

[boorrger]

WE'RE GETTING THE fight📢📢📢📣📣📣❗❗❗

OKAY OKAY HERE☝🏼 HEAR ME OUT. THEY'RE TRYING TO LOCATE JINX, THEY FIND HER AND VI IS THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN REACH HER. THAT'S WHY SHE'S ALONE HERE

this will break us. we won't survive guys 😔🌷

SHE DIDN'T GIVE UP TO HER THIS IS A LIE. SHE'S IN DENIAL 😭😭😭😭 HELPMEJSHS

[xyzcan]

This shit is based off of this, like so heavily based off i'd say it's the same but... Nahh I just like the idea so creds to this guy ig: @saikowatermelons

yandere x reader

- warnings: cannibalism, noncon, blowjob, yandere, degradation too, tied up, imprisoned reader, unhealthy power dynamic (prince n slave), honestly I get too horny writing smut scenes that I lose the supposed 'emotional' shit I'm supposed to add lmao... But HEJSKSKSKSK @tnsophiaayaonly would you notice this if I add scara in the tags? :3 pretty pls.

- And I keep on writing as if I was in Google docs because my doc's automatically turns asterisks into these italics or bold thingies... BRO the asterisks won't stop!!

And my grammar sucks, sorri English just ain't my first language </3

--- xyzcan writes.

He was born adored.

From the moment he first cried in the cradle, the kingdom wept with joy. The stars were said to shimmer brighter the night he was born. Poets wrote about the gleam in his eyes like it was a divine prophecy. His smile? That became the religion of fools and worshippers.

He was their prince.

And fuck, they loved him for it.

His every word was echoed with cheers. His footsteps blessed roads. His existence—untouchable, godlike, holy.

But they never knew him.

Behind that charming grin and bright laughter was nothing but a hollow pit of disinterest. All that devotion? Boring. All that praise? Noise. Meaningless, pathetic noise.

He played the part. Of course he did. Wore the crown like it was forged for him alone, smiled like he gave a shit, patted peasants’ heads and waved from balconies like he cared.

But it was all fucking empty.

The only thing that stirred him was the idea of power. Not just rule. Not just control. But something deeper—domination of the soul. He wanted to crack someone open. Strip them bare. And not because they bowed to him. Because they resisted him.

He waited for something real.

And then you showed up.

You were a smudge. A stain. A girl born from the ashes of a family of thieves—lowborn scum, the kind the court only mentioned to make examples out of. Your parents were enslaved, publicly punished, humiliated for crimes they did commit. And you...

You were the one that slipped away.

You didn’t scream for help. You didn’t beg for mercy. You ran like an animal. You stole scraps to survive. You learned to hide in shadows, to trust no one, to look at royalty with rage in your eyes instead of reverence.

You were filth.

You were perfect.

The moment he heard your name from a guard’s lips—dirty, snarled, covered in blood and accused of murder—he didn’t give a damn. Just another rat to execute. He signed the parchment for your death without even looking at it.

And yet…

He didn’t send the order through.

Why? He didn’t fucking know. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was that single glimpse he caught of you—cuffed, dragged through the halls, blood drying on your temple, snarling like a goddamn beast—and something inside him shifted.

He let you rot.

One month. Two. Six. A year.

The dungeon devoured you.

And still, you didn’t scream.

You glared.

And that’s when he knew.

He couldn't kill you. Not yet.

Because you were the first thing that made him feel anything in years.

The air in the dungeon is thick. Wet. Rank with mold, blood, and rotting bodies that no one bothered to bury. It clings to your skin like oil. Every breath is a curse.

You’ve been down here for so long you’ve forgotten what sunlight feels like. Your bones feel like glass, your skin like paper. Every chain clamped around your wrist and ankle itches like fire. But it’s the silence that eats you alive.

Until he shows up.

The prince.

Cloaked in white and gold, untouched by filth. His boots click softly against the stones, clean even in this pit. He stands in front of your cell like he’s gazing at a painting, not a person.

You lift your head slowly.

He sees the bruise on your jaw. The cuts on your lips. The way your collarbones poke out like blades. And still, somehow, your glare burns hotter than the torches behind him.

You’re not broken yet.

And that makes his pulse quicken.

“Ah,” he says, smiling with that same radiant grin he shows the masses. “Still alive. Still angry. That’s good.”

You narrow your eyes. Your throat is too dry to speak, but if you could, you’d scream every curse you know.

He kneels. Close enough to touch. “You haven’t asked why I’m here,” he murmurs, studying your face.

You say nothing. He likes the silence too much.

“Would you believe me if I said I missed you?” he teases, tilting his head. “That I’ve thought of you every night for a year?”

You shudder. The chains clink with your twitch.

“...Fuck you,” you rasp, barely audible.

His grin widens.

There it is.

“I’ve kept you down here for so long,” he says, voice like silk and acid. “Because I wanted to see what you’d become. I thought you’d break. Thought you’d beg. But no… you’re still you.”

His hand reaches into his coat. He pulls something out. Wrapped in soft, royal cloth.

You stiffen.

He unfolds it slowly.

And your stomach drops.

It’s a hand.

Small. Pale. Fingers curled in a permanent twitch of agony. Dried blood coats the wrist.

You gag, bile rising instantly. The smell hits you next—rotten, metallic, thick enough to make your eyes sting.

“Hungry?” he asks softly.

You look up at him like he’s the fucking devil.

He chuckles. “Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that. You’ve been starving for days. I know. I hear your stomach. I see the way you tremble.”

You shake your head.

“No?” he says, blinking innocently. “But you said you were hungry…”

Then—too fast—he lunges.

Grabs your face.

Fingers crush your jaw open with brute force. You fight, kick, scream hoarsely, but he doesn’t care. He presses the bloody hand against your mouth. Flesh touches your lips.

You sob, wrenching away, but the chains bite into your skin and hold you in place.

“You don’t get to choose,” he snarls suddenly, voice cracking with something savage. “You don’t get to say no. You belong to me now.”

Tears streak down your face as he smears blood across your lips, forcing the taste into your mouth. You choke, body lurching with nausea.

You vomit.

He watches.

He smiles.

“I knew it’d be fun,” he whispers. “I knew you’d fight. Scream. Cry. I knew you’d make me feel.”

He leans in, lips brushing your temple as you sob uncontrollably.

“I’m going to make you mine,” he breathes. “Not like the others. Not like those pathetic worms out there who beg for my attention. You are different. And I’m going to ruin you piece by piece until you scream my name like a prayer.”

And somehow… that’s the most terrifying part.

Because he means it.

He’s not here to kill you.

He’s here to keep you.

To twist you into something broken and beautiful, just for him.

And the worst part?

He’s already started.

“I’m hungry,” you croak, voice shredded and trembling—but your eyes don’t waver. “But not for that… you sick fuck.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

His smile twitches—just for a second. Not the polished grin he offers the crowd. No. This one’s twitchy. Unstable. Wrong. Something flickers behind his eyes, like a fuse catching flame.

Oh?

Even now—after all the rot, all the starvation, all the fucking hell—you still dare to look at him like that? You still dare to bare your teeth at a prince like you’re some rabid animal? His cheeks burn. His breath shudders out of him.

And he laughs.

It’s a soft, breathy thing at first, almost confused. Then it grows—full-bodied and unhinged, echoing off the stone walls like mockery.

“You’re unreal,” he whispers, leaning in. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now? Filthy. Shaking. Barely breathing. And still, you throw insults like you’ve got power here. Like you matter.”

You glare harder, bloodshot eyes narrowing. “You don’t fucking scare me.”

That’s not entirely true. But you’ll be damned if you give him the pleasure of knowing just how much.

His gaze drops for a second—just a heartbeat. But it’s enough.

You follow it.

And your blood runs cold.

There, beneath the soft fall of his pristine white coat, straining against velvet trousers, is the undeniable outline of his arousal.

You freeze.

He doesn’t.

In fact, his smile grows sharper. His voice drops into something darker, lower

“…See? You noticed,” he says softly, almost sweet. “I was wondering when you’d see what you do to me.”

Your stomach twists, bile threatening again. You want to scream. To disappear. To rip your skin off just to feel clean again. But all you can do is stare at the living nightmare in front of you.

This isn’t a prince.

This isn’t a savior.

This is a monster in silk and gold, who people kneel for with tears in their eyes, who children dream of meeting, who the entire fucking kingdom worships.

But here, in the damp belly of the palace, you know the truth.

He’s just a sick fuck.

He steps closer, slowly—like you’re prey.

He watches your reaction like it’s a performance crafted just for him—each flinch, every twitch of your lip or narrowing of your eyes only fans the flames licking hungrily beneath his skin. His smirk deepens, eyes gleaming with something predatory. He lives for this—the way you still bite back, even now, even after everything. It’s like watching a candle trying to burn in a storm, defiant and stupidly beautiful.

He pulls his hand away from your mouth, slowly, like he’s savoring the moment. Blood streaks your lips, trailing down your chin in thin, red rivers. You cough, gagging as the taste of iron clings to the back of your throat. His eyes follow the path of that blood like it’s art.

Then he pressed it.

That disgusting, throbbing bulge in his pants.

And he notices you cringing.

His smirk twists. Grows darker. Hungrier.

He steps closer, the heat of him suffocating, invading your space like a fog you can’t escape. His voice drops into a gravelly whisper, thick with amusement and filth.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I am a monster."

Before you can spit another insult, his hand shoots forward and fists in your hair.

You cry out, your scalp screaming as he yanks your head back with brutal force. The cold wall behind you offers no mercy as you’re pinned in place by his hold. Pain lances down your neck, tears springing unbidden in your eyes—but still, you glare.

He leans in, and you can see it—really see it. That perfect princely mask is gone. His expression is feral now. Lust, yes—but something else too. Something ancient and terrifying. Something that sees you not as a person, but as a possession. A toy. A fucking plaything to break and remake as he pleases.

“You’re so full of fire,” he whispers, breath hot against your cheek. “So fucking brave. It’s adorable.”

His grip tightens in your hair, drawing a hiss from your throat.

“I wonder how long it’ll take to turn that fire into begging."

You don’t answer.

So he grabs your jaw, fingers digging into the bone until it aches, until your mouth is forced open like some grotesque puppet.

“Look at you,” he breathes, almost in awe. “Fucking gorgeous, even now.”

You try to twist away, but his grip only gets tighter. It hurts. It really fucking hurts. The sting mixes with exhaustion, fear, rage—and yet your eyes burn with hatred.

“Do it,” you rasp. “Whatever you want. I won’t break for you.”

He pauses—just a heartbeat—and then lets out a low, shaky laugh.

“Oh, you will,” he says. “That’s the best part.”

He unbuckles his belt with a metallic clink, his movements deliberate and cruel, as if prolonging that humiliating tension. He pulls out his length—already hard and veined—holding it in front of your face.

"Open that smart mouth of yours," he commands softly, his voice dripping with mocking kindness.

You hesitate, your eyes filled with hatred and disgust. This was so fucking humiliating. He chuckles raspily, the sound sending a shivers down your spine.

He wraps his hand around his length, giving it a slow stroke. "Or should I just shove it down your throat?" He threatens, his thumb brushing against his tip.

Without warning, he slaps his cock against your lips, forcing them open. "Suck," he orders raspily. He grips your hair tighter, using it to guide your head down onto his shaft.

You gag as he forces himself into your mouth, filling it completely, you feel his tip burning in your mouth.

He starts fucking your mouth roughly, letting strings of groans and moans escapes his lips, groaning like it's some divine prayer. Your lips stretch wide around his thick girth as he pushes deeper, hitting the back of your throat. It burns, but the humiliation burns even further.

You try to breathe through your nose, but he doesn't give you time to adjust, when has he ever?

His hips move in a brutal pace, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth with wet, slurping sounds. He watches his cock disappear into your mouth over and over again, his pleasure building rapidly.

He never expects to feel this good with a criminal of all people.

He pulls your head forward harder each time he thrusts in, making you gag and drool around him. Your saliva coats his length, adding wetness to each stroke.

"Look at you," he rasps, watching as your lips stretch obscenely around him, "Such a pretty mouth for such nasty things." His cock glides smoothly now, thanks to your saliva. He pushes deep enough to make you gag again, holding your head there for a moment.

"Take it."

His pace becomes even more brutal, using your mouth like a prostitute, like the fucking slut of a criminal you are. He can feel his release approaching and he wants to use you for it.

He reaches down and grabs your hair harder, pulling your head back to look at him as he starts fucking your mouth even harder. "I'm gonna cum,"

"And you're gonna swallow every fucking drop." He growls with feral intensity, pushing his entire length down your throat. Your eyes water and your nose runs as you gag loudly around his thick base, fuck. He starts fucking your throat, forcing his dick down your throat over and over again, he could feel your teeth scraping against the base of his shaft, as if threatening to bite him.

He honestly just gets off to it more.

He grunts deeply, his hips moving faster and more erratically as he nears climax. The wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth become obscene and loud in the quiet dungeon. Saliva drips down onto both cheeks making them glisten obscenely under harsh light.

"You're so disgusting taking my whole fucking dick down your throat," he groans, his voice filled with disgust and arousal, he considered slapping you, treat you like the criminal you are.

Would that make you beg and submit?

"You look like a fucking mess, all choked and slobbery." He pulls out for a moment, just to slap his wet, throbbing dick against your face.

"Open up, you stupid whore," he hisses, grabbing your jaw and forcing your mouth open. "Look at this fucking mess," he says, showing you the wet, saliva-covered length of his dick. "You're gonna swallow it all, you dirty slut."

"Gods, you're like a cheap whore," He mutters, pushing back inside your mouth, making you feel every vein with your tongue. "Do all criminals suck off cock this good, or is just you? Do you even have dignity? Do whores like you have pride?" He laughs darkly, hitting the back of your throat again.

"I'm gonna cum soon, baby. I'm gonna cum down your fucking throat and you're gonna swallow every fucking drop like a good little slut." He starts fucking your mouth faster and harder, his balls slapping against your chin. "Swallow it all..."

You feel tears go down your face. This was not only humiliating, but you were just forced to feed on fucking human flesh. And still—even now? You're still getting said human flesh down your throat, it's just a different kind.

"Right there," he moans loudly, gripping your hair tighter, throwing his head back, he can feel his release coming like some high-drugged up guy. "Right fucking there!" He holds your head still as he thrusts deep into your throat one last time and explodes. His cock pulses violently inside your mouth filling it with ropes of his cum.

Your knees ache against the cold stone floor, and your throat feels raw, violated. Your body is still trembling—not from exhaustion, but from the aftershocks of him.

And then… he touches your cheek. So softly. So fucking softly.

“Good girl,” he coos, as if his voice hadn’t just torn through your soul minutes ago.

You flinch, and that only makes his smile widen—like he finds it endearing. His thumb brushes a tear from your cheek like some twisted parody of affection.

“Gods, you took that like such a good little toy,” he murmurs, his tone warm now. Worshipful, almost. Sickeningly proud.

You stare up at him, blankly at first. Numb. Dissociated. But then the heat rises—behind your eyes, in your throat, in your chest. Shame, rage, horror. Your stomach twists, like it might turn itself inside out.

“Such a pretty little whore,” he adds, stroking your face with a lover’s touch.

You can’t breathe.

It’s not just what he did.

It’s that he thinks you should be grateful for it. That he's comforting you—as if he cared. That he expects you to smile, to nod, to collapse into his arms like some ruined little doll who finally accepts her place.

And the worst part?

Your body doesn't scream. Your body doesn’t fight. It just sits there—tired, used, broken in silence.

You feel your sense of self crumbling, piece by piece. Your thoughts are screaming, but they’re trapped beneath a glass surface. He doesn’t hear them. He doesn’t want to hear them. He’s already rewritten your story in his head—and in his version, you're his.

His to use. His to break. His to “praise."

Your vision swims. You want to throw up. You want to claw your skin off. You want to scream that you are not this, you are not his, you are not some thing—

But your voice is gone. Swallowed by everything he took.

And he kneels down beside you, whispering, “See? That wasn’t so bad… You’re mine now, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

His voice is gentle. His hand is warm.

And all you can do… is sit there, soaked in grief and fury, tasting the rot of helplessness on your tongue.

Although the hopelessness you felt, that feeling of violation itching on your skin, that salty taste of his release remains on your mouth... Even after all of that, he can still see— feel. Feel that you're still you. Human. Fiery and so so you.

And it makes him grin.

“I thought you were different,” he murmurs, the edges of his voice soft as silk—a lie wrapped in luxury—as he drags a gloved finger down the rusted chains keeping you bound.

It felt like a lie to you, but to him? It's the utmost truth. He can still see it. The thing that made you so fucking special.

Each metallic scrape feels like it’s splitting your nerves open, like it’s scoring his presence deeper into your already-battered psyche.

“And look at that…” he breathes, tilting his head with childlike awe. “I was right. You’re delicious when you’re angry. I want to bottle that rage. Smear it on my skin. Drink it. Bathe in it. Let it soak into my fucking bones.”

You recoil instinctively, your chains clinking with pathetic defiance.

“You’re disgusting,” you hiss, you finally found your voice and it cuts through the hopelessness you felt, the words tearing out of you, raw and ragged. “You’re not human.”

That stops him. Not like a wound—but like a revelation. He blinks once. Slowly.

Then he kneels again. Just like before.

But this time… he’s closer.

Close enough to smell the iron on your breath. Close enough that his warmth seeps into your cold skin like poison. His gloved fingers trail up to the shackles around your wrists, curling around the chains—not to release you, of course, but just to feel them. To remind you they’re still there.

His breath ghosts against your lips, too intimate for words like “prisoner” to make any fucking sense anymore.

“No,” he murmurs, so quiet it could be mistaken for reverence. “I’m not.”

His eyes gleam—not like jewels, but like something wet and feral crawling out of a pit.

“And neither are you. Not anymore.”

You freeze. Not from fear. Not from pain.

From the truth in his voice.

“Do you think the world up there will ever take you back after this?” he whispers, his tone almost tender. “Do you think they’ll see anything but filth when they look at you? You’ve been marked, sweetheart. Tainted. Owned.”

Your heart is hammering now. Not from the threats. But from the quiet realization that—deep, deep down—you believe him. Some cracked little voice inside you is already grieving the life you’ll never get back.

You shake your head, biting down hard on the sob rising in your throat.

“I’d rather fucking die.”

He smiles.

But not with mockery. Not with sadism. It’s softer. Like you just confessed your love instead of your refusal. His hand brushes your face like you’re precious porcelain he intends to shatter slowly.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he says, voice low and warm, like a lullaby sung in hell.

“You will. But only when I say so."

That’s when you realize the real horror.

It’s not the pain. It’s not even the loss.

It’s the waiting. The knowing. The cruel, slow corrosion of being kept alive not for salvation—but for his entertainment. For his need. For him.

And there is no escape. Only the illusion of time.

Only him…

...and the unbearable, suffocating fact that no one is coming for you.

[dovesndecay]

however the results of the election go, i'll still be a disabled biracial queer with limited income living in Florida, with too many damn bills, and that's not likely to change anytime soon.

it's a new month, i've got a grand in bills, and significantly less than that in funds available. if you can, if you're willing, there are a few ways you can help:

check out my patreon! (someday I won't have to make these posts!)

buy my photography

send something off a wishlist (home needs; work needs)

and only if you can, direct donations:

Paypal: mireyahkwolfe@outlook.com Cashapp: $dovesndecay Venmo: dovesndecay

and if you got this far, thank you so much <3 i survive because of you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

As I wind down the pines 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, grief, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Left alone after the death of your grandparents, you must survive the remote backwoods.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The sun peeks through the fluttering leaves, shadows rippling overhead. You shiver against the large oak knees bent, arms around your legs, woozy with the ache of your stomach. Those acorns only made you feel sick.

You need more than nuts and half-grown mushrooms. The trap you set didn't get you anything but a toad and you're second-guessing not boiling it up in a stew. You rub your eyes and let your head fall into your hands. The forest floor shifts. You can't stay out here much longer.

It takes a while to find your strength. You press your palms to the rough bark and slowly scale up to your feet. You sway and drag your feet through the twigs and soil. You stumble into a white birch.

You trail your fingers up and peel a strip off. You yank it and tumble into the dirt. Your fingers are raw from the effort. You can boil the bark and make a stew. Your grandmother would gather the same bark but used it more as seasoning or to bulk out a heartier mix.

You work at stripping away more bark. It won't be much but it's something. You tuck it into the loose pocket of your grandfather's jacket. He has no use of it anymore. You shouldn't need it out in the sun but you can't stop shivering.

You plod down the slant of the forest floor and stop. This is the wrong way. You blink and turn. You've never been lost in these woods before. You grew up here, you know it like you know your reflection, but you're lost. You close your eyes as you try to chase away the pulsing behind them.

Another deep breath. You think you know that elm. Right around to the east is the shell of Chester's mill. Your grandfather told you about the old man that once owned it. He called him a curmudgeon with too much to say.

There's the old fence post but it's no longer crooked or lonely. There are new slats hammered in next to it, secured with cross bars. You slip and dig your heels in. The old mill is not what you remember. The hanging door is back in place and the gate has been replaced with a stronger one. The shed shows signs of repairs in its mismatched boards and the mill house is surrounded in scaffolding.

The house looks best of all. The cracked windows are replaced and there's a lone chair on the porch, reinforced so it no longer dips. Someone's moved in but no one ever comes all the way up here. They only leave, in a coffin or otherwise. 

Change. Things aren't like they were. They won't be. They can't. 

There's a scent on the air that draws you. One you should have filling your nose in the mornings and simmering from the oven at night. The fresh, delectable waft of a tomato vine.

There isn't thought in your head as you advance across the long strands of glass. There is only the clenching in your stomach and the slickness on your tongue. You see no life as you approach. You stop at the gate and wait. 

The windows shine in sunlight but curtains within keep the haze without. You search through the fog of hunger for a threat. There's only a squirrel skittering along the top of the fence, likely on a mission for its own harvest.

You slip your hands between the high slats and feel around. You flip the inner latch and the hinges give. You ease the door inward and shuffle through. You leave it open without catch.

You sniff the air and follow your nose. The lush plateau of soil and greenery delight your vision and your starving stomach. You want to fall upon it and devour every leaf and seed.

Sense flickers and guilt boils in your guts. The work that went into all this and you look to plunder. That same work that did not bear much from your own dirt.

It doesn't matter. You can't hold yourself back. You need more than dry bark and boiled water. You will take only a little. They won't notice with all they have. Two tomatoes, a bright orange pepper, and a single potato.

You use the large pockets of the oversized jacket to store it all and retreat. You stop at the gate, waiting to be caught out, waiting for the holler or worse, the gun shot. Nothing. Just the sunlight and the scent of the garden.

You shut the gate and head for the trees. It's a far way home but the promise of a flavourful stew keep your feet moving. And after...

You'll have to figure that out.

🌳

The old house stands between two broad oaks, the roots extending into the foundation. The once white stained wood is chipped and splintered. Your grandmother's old basket planters are dried out and barren. Your grandfather's bench still stands but without anyone to sit on it.

You climb the steps, the rain spout creaking, the windows groaning. You try not to see the empty garden. The wilting leaves and the churned soil. First the rains flooded out the soil, then the sun dried it to dust, and the little that sprouted fed the family of rabbits who cared little for the bristles of your broom.

Calamity. Tragedy. You planted too early. You had that feeling, your grandfather's voice in your head, but you did not trust it. After the winter blew over the shed and smashed the years of preserves, you were too eager to have something. Anything.

Desperation is the eight deadly sin. Your grandparents always said. Patience, though, is the best of all the virtues.

The door clatters behind you. You get your pot and bring it to the stove. It's the old sort from more than a century ago. You open the little door and add a small log to the ash and remnants of the last burn.

Your hands shake as you light the fire. The flames do not come easy and your fingers are sore with the effort. You shut the door and leave the stove to warm as you unpack your wares...

Stolen goods. You take out a knife chop up half the pepper and one tomato, then half the potato. The rest You'll store in the cellar where the shelves have rotted away. They will keep at least a few days.

You put water onto boil. You add the veggies and use the mortar and pestle to crush up some of the birch. You season it and put a lid on.

As it steams around the brim, you sit on the drooping sofa and lean back into the cushions. You're so tired you're weak yet all you seem to do is sleep and look for food. You're in no short supply of the former.

🌳

The stew holds you over for a week. Maybe longer. The days are hard to track in the smear of anxiety and lingering hunger. You only eat a little, never gorging, never satisfied. 

Nuts. Half the shells you find have been emptied by squirrels and chipmunks. You choke down a handful of earthworms only to spew it up just as painfully. A dead bird tempts you but the diseased stench keeps you from that mistake. 

You chew on the birch and some leaves of mint. You stop at the river and put your feet in. It only makes you shiver more. It's summer. You shouldn't be shivering. Oh well. You just need to eat. That's all you can think about.

You trod on, stopping to gather what you can. If you can't get more, even just squirrel meat, you won't have the energy to walk so long. Once that happens...

Your grandparents would be disappointed. They taught you better. You did fine last year, the first without both of them, but this year is not last year.

As searing as the hunger is the loneliness. You miss them both terribly. They were your people. The only ones that ever looked after you. They taught you well because they wanted to take care of you always and you squandered it.

You crash down your rear in the dirt. You sit in the shade of the pines and stare at the mill house. You shouldn't. You really shouldn't. Once was more than too much.

Your head spins and you try to steady your vision as you grip the sides of your skull. Are you going insane? It sure feels like it.

You stand before you know what you're doing. The trek through the treeline and across the clearing isn't very far at all. It can't be. You're right there at the gate.

You feel along the slat like before, reaching, reaching, reaching. You flick the lock and swing inside. No one's there but you forgot to even check.

You walk cautiously over the grass to the plot of vegetables, even riper than the last time you came. The tomatoes are so big some have fallen off the vine. Carrots!

Not yours! Remember. What are you doing here?

The juice of the tomato floods your mouth as the answer drifts away. You don't care. You're starving. On your knees in the dirt, gnawing like a ravenous rodent.

You devour the tomato and reach for another. A knife flies into the red skin and splits the fruit in half, seeds and guts exploding onto you. You recoil and cry out. 

You wipe your face and look at the man at the end of the plot. His expression is as friendly as the knife that nearly sliced you. You blink and your lip trembles. You're pathetic. You're no better than the gluttonous squirrels.

"I'm... sorry. I... I... I..." you choke.

He comes forward. You stare as you take in all of him. Tall, broad, startlingly so from your vantage on the ground. 

His blue eyes bore into you as the muscles of his right exposed arm bulge. His other shoulder is blunted and his shirt pinned over it. His dark hair is past his shoulders, drawn back in by a tie as a few strands slip free. His beard is dense across his gritting jaw.

You wilt and accept your fate. It's quicker this way. He stops in front of you and bends to retrieve the knife. You watch him grip it and wait for him to aim the tip at you. He wipes it on his pant leg and slides it into his belt. 

He stands straight, towering over you as his hand goes to his hip. 

"That's two today." He says. "Plus two before, a potato, and a pepper."

You bat your lashes at him and sway. You gulp. You shake your head and show your hands.

"I'm hungry..." you croak. "I'm so hungry."

"You're a thief," he snarls. "You're gonna pay me back."

"I don't... I got nothing, mister. I'm sorry. Please," you shrink down and cover your face.

"You got two hands and a brain." He growls. "So get up and get to work."

You look up above your fingertips. The sun limns the man's silhouette like an otherwordly wraith. You snivel and nod. You have no other choice, not unless you want to see his knife again.

You plant your feet and slowly straighten your legs. You rock as he turns on his heel and marches off. You stare after him confused. Do you follow?

You stay as you are and peek down at the mangled tomato. You're hungry enough to pick it out of the dirt. You're kept from that as the man reappears with a round apple basket in hand.

You stagger back as he approaches. He shoves it at you and grows. "Fill that up. Don't eat them."

"Um..." you hug the basket as you gape at him.

"That'll even us out." He taps the top of the basket and you nearly topple.

"Yes, mister." You agree to keep him at bay. To hope he doesn't hurt you.

You back away and turn to the tomato vines. You bend first to gather the fruits off the ground. Your head feels heavy as you plunk down the basket. Your stomach mulches the quickly absconded tomato and adds to the sudden wave.

Your head pulses and silver stars speckle in your vision. You shake your head and set your feet. Dizziness swirls in your head and you lock your knees to stay up. Before you know it, the world is black and the world is only a memory.

[loganficsonly]

an independent woman

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 4: holding back ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

worst!logan x fem!reader, 4.3k

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes, mentions of alcoholism and AA

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+ MDNI!!!, wade winston wilson means mature language and breaking the fourth wall, denial is a river, pride and prejudice (2005) spoilers, logan is touch-starved and in so deep, unresolved sexual tension, shower sex?, oral sex?, male masturbation

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this took me SO LONG TO WRITE in between my busyness. last chapter before i go on vacation, so there won't be updates for a while but please send me your thoughts. and prayers. lol i'm so excited to write more. if you enjoy my work, reblogs and replies are a source of motivation for me <3

Attention has always felt a bit uncomfortable to you.

Not every gaze means well. Even the ones that specifically do can come off as scrutiny. Concentrated. Close. Seeking signals that say you’re doing less than alright. Which is not good—either because you actually hate making people worry, or because it makes you feel inadequate.

Maybe both.

But as you grew up, you learned how to manage that fear of being perceived. Well, sort of. You didn’t learn because nobody taught you how, more of a series of stumbling steps as adulthood burgeoned upon you. 

Moving to New York helped. The city is so full of people, each with their own origins and dreams and places they need to go to before rush hour hits. The hustle and bustle quickly becomes a source of comfort for you. Blending into the crowd means safety.

Hardly anyone has the time to pay attention. Both are precious currencies in the busy lives of modern people.

Which is why getting attention is a little unusual.

For example, your team at work is nominated for a couple of pretty prestigious industry awards. Though the winners are only going to be unveiled in a week or so, the office is already abuzz with energy.

Conversations and questions naturally gravitate towards you and your colleagues who worked on the same project: How do you feel? You think you’ll get a silver, at least? You guys really delivered with that one. It gets a little demanding to repeat the same responses for different people.

This, you can manage. You didn’t get nominated for your own merit, the entire team put their backs into it. Also, work’s work. Once you’re off the clock, you’re in the clear.  

But when you get home, there’s a different kind of attention you’re not sure how to handle.

Your roommate Logan is observant. You’ve known this since before you moved in together. Maybe it’s past trauma, maybe it’s just occupational hazard. Either way, his alertness lets him be prepared. Eyes always sharp.

On the receiving end of that gaze is you. But with you, it’s never unkind.

Like the time you started assembling the bookshelf without him and he got a little upset. Not for long, though, because he immediately jumped into the chaotic circle of wooden boards and flathead screws that formed in the living room, sitting next to you as he helped you figure out the wordless instruction sheet that came with the furniture. 

He was right, of course. Working with two people was faster, more efficient. The manual even says so. A figure of a person frowning as they stare into the mess of parts, a big ‘X’ covering it. Next to it, the same person with a friend, the two of them smiling. 

Better together.

Or the time when you came back home with a little globe lamp to adorn said bookshelf. He smiled softly… or was it the amber light’s fault that he looked so tender? You smiled back, more confused than anything.

“What?”

He shook his head in response, hesitating. “You’re like those… birds.”

“Birds?”

“Buildin’ a nest. Bringin’ home stuff.” 

He points to the lamp as well as the various other bits and bobs you’ve indeed gathered to decorate the place.

You hoped that the lamp’s glow diffused the heat that certainly gathered in your cheeks. 

And then there was your first time feeling unwell since moving in. The memory is fresh in your mind, having happened only last week. You were bound to break. A human body could only take so many overtime hours until it crumbled. 

The day you finally decided that going to work was impossible, he wasn’t home—already gone for a TVA mission with Wade—but his handwriting on the whiteboard was there with you. The first time he wrote something in the month you’ve lived together. 

Soup in the fridge. Get well soon. 

His handwriting is slightly slanted. Cursive but not completely, with a beautiful capital ‘G’. Simple, quick, free. 

How he knew you were sick is still beyond you. Maybe you just came home looking particularly haggard the night before.

In any case, his soup was delicious. While eating it, you wondered if cooking was a demanded skill given his two century’s worth of life experience. The image of him tending a pot on the stove made you smile. 

You thanked him when you found him already home in the late afternoon.

The first thing he did was touch your forehead. The second thing he did was frown. 

“Getting feverish, sweetheart.”

Your body shivers and heats up simultaneously at the contact. 

“I’m fine. Took some meds.”

“Go take a nap,” he said, walking further into the apartment. “I’ll make dinner.”

You watched his broad back disappear into his room. It wasn’t the fever that made you blush.

Attention used to mean you’re being watched.With Logan, it feels like being seen.

“So, have you slept with him yet?”

You almost choke on your chicken sandwich.

“What?”

Wade sits across you, smiling innocently as if the words that came out of his mouth were something as normal as ‘how was your weekend’, but you know better. There’s that look in his eyes again.

“You heard me, honeybee. Your roommate is a DILF superhero with abs you can wash clothes on, piercing eyes, and an exquisite chair for a face. Have you. Slept with him. Yet?”

He says that last part real slow like you can’t speak English. You can feel eyes from the other tables begin to look over at yours.

“Is this really why you asked me out for lunch, Wade?”

The quaint café is not very crowded, seeing as most of the customers are office workers who tend to grab their food and go. Still, there are people occupying the seats around you, and if Wade’s appearance didn’t already attract some furtive glances, his beautiful string of words sure did. 

It was a pleasant surprise when he texted to congratulate you for the nomination—Logan mentioned it to him, apparently—and even more delightful when he asked you out for lunch. “To celebrate,” he said, “it’ll be fun,” he said.

You look at him pointedly, chewing on your food. He puts on a face of mock offense, hand on chest.

“No no no, I’m just making conversation. Can’t blame me for checking up on you, can I?”

“You know ‘have not’ implies a ‘yet’ at the end, right? Also, the answer is no.”

He grins, before it drops completely, as if he found the notion incredulous.

“Thought I was gonna be Marvel Aunty Sima,” he grits. “Why??? Is it because he’s a slob? I never had problems with cleanliness while he was around. Granted my standards are questionable—”

“Logan’s a decent roommate,” you cut him off, before a frown rests on your lips. That was a heavy undersell. “Actually, he’s great. I’m very lucky to have him.” 

“Is it the trauma, then? He does need two plane tickets for all that check-in baggage.”

“He’s trying his best, Wade,” you offer softly. You don’t say anything about Logan’s AA meetings—not when he clearly said he’d tell Wade after the first coin.

Your friend leans in, fingers laced together, plate of pasta forgotten.

“You must be a special kind of woman to be immune to his charms,” he says, tone light, sarcasm unmistakable.

Who says I am? you think. Maybe a little too loudly, because Wade is already smirking at you like he acquired telepathic abilities.

“You are immune, aren’t you?”

Saying ‘yes’ wouldn’t just be a blatant lie, it would be cruel. Who in God’s green earth can say they are entirely unaffected by one Logan Howlett? Certainly not you. Sighing, you lean against the back of the chair.

“Look,” you begin, “he’s hot.”

“Fuck yeah he is. Why’d you think I let him stay at mine for so long? Have you seen him shirtless yet?”

You let out a chuckle. Wade knows just what to say to make you relax.

“Actually, I haven’t.”

His eyes widen, lips in an ‘O’ of disbelief.

“Girl.”

Shaking your head, you shrug. “What? Not like I can ask him to take it off.”

The look on his face says ‘you could’.

“I can't wait for your ACs to break down in the peak of summer.” 

“Mean.”

“You’re really not gonna make a move on him, honeybee? Do you actually not like him?” he presses, taking a big forkful of his food.

You grow quiet.

Of course you like him. But you like him a little bit too much to be considered platonic, given the nature of the one dream you had of him a few days ago.

It’s been hard to keep your gaze chaste since—maybe it never has been. Hard to look at the way his fingers hold onto a cup and not think about what they did to you in your fantasies. Hard to not cling onto every brush his body makes against yours when maneuvering the tight kitchen.

Impossible to forget the way his phantom weight felt when he was in your bed. 

When your eyes blink back to the present, Wade is looking at you. None of the usual impishness, only a placid awareness of your rushing thoughts. 

“I do like him, it’s just—” 

It’s just… what? 

The answer is within you, buried under the weight of life.

Cultivate your garden, they say, and love will come. That’s what you became. A resourceful classmate. A reliable colleague. Someone they can count on, someone that can help.

You’re a garden, but nobody ever comes to visit when the flowers aren’t in bloom.

Logan is special. Yes, it took time for you to get so comfortable with him, but never expected to grow fonder of him with each passing day. You might even call him a good friend now.

He’s nothing like you, except when you suddenly recognize parts of you in him. You’re both guarded, a pair of stray cats trying to figure out each other’s territory, circling in unbreaking stares. Waiting for the swipe of a claw or a loving headbutt.

But the tighter the circle, the more your fears are amplified.

Warning fears. A sounding alarm. The fear that, at this distance, he can see you more than he already has. Pan past the neatly trimmed hedgerows and zoom into what’s inside. The wilted parts of you, all crushed leaves and bare trees, the flower garden nothing but a bait-and-switch. 

If he sees just how much you need him, more than he could ever need you, he’ll leave.

Wade calls your name gently.

Your eyes snap to his, broken out of your spiral.

“It’s just—not like that, you know,” your murmur is hidden behind your glass, “we’re friends. He’s… a really good friend.”

For the amount of acts you keep up around some people, you’d think it’d get easier to lie to the ones who know you. It doesn’t.

Lying to yourself also never seems to work. Because when Logan sunk his fingers into you, even if in a dream, it certainly didn’t feel friendly.

Wade doesn’t push. He maintains a neutral expression as he quips back with too much nonchalance.

“If you say so.”

You feel a little naked.

Logan didn’t know his hands could feel hunger.

Not until recently. 

He’s started counting the weeks now. Fifth week of moving in with you. Your work finally let up, a glimpse of mercy since your team got that industry award nomination, you told him. The two of you decided to celebrate with a movie night while you had the free time. Your turn for the show-and-tell.

You’re biting back a smile as you tell him what you love about Pride and Prejudice, your movie of choice. The noise of corn kernels popping against a glass lid staccatoed below your voice. You talk about the chemistry, the wit, the soundtrack that sweeps you off your feet.

He looks at you, trying to mask the look in his eyes as amusement and not unbridled affection. You stumble over words, hand covering your lips.

It hides a grin. He wants to pull it away, wants to see it so bad.

“Sorry, I just love them so much,” you conclude.

“Stop apologizin’ and get the damn remote,” he smirks.

The two of you settle down on the couch next to each other, a bowl of popcorn between your bodies as usual. While the screen comes alive, he finds his attention split between the actual film and your reaction, glancing at you every now and then to gauge them.

Call him a multitasker—he’s watching you and the movie at the same time.

You’re already emoting a lot more. Biting back a smile, face buried slightly into a cushion. A wistful expression takes over your exterior. It’s clear that you’re not going to touch that popcorn bowl for the entire runtime.

He finds it outstandingly adorable.

The film establishes itself well in the opening act. He almost feels nostalgic. Reassured.

Perhaps it’s the setting: some two centuries ago, just around the time he was born. It makes age-old memories surface with a bubble and pop. Was life like that when he was a child, before the claws? He only remembers fragments that are too small to paint a picture.

Perhaps it’s from the knowledge that the two protagonists, though curt with each other for now, will fall in love in the end. The inevitability of it.

Perhaps your fondness for this movie has made him fond of it too, even before watching it in full. 

“Oh no,” you murmur, “it’s the hand scene.”

His eyebrows furrow. You sounded like you just announced the coming of a storm.

He catches that on-screen, split-second touch. Mr. Darcy’s hand grasps Lizzy’s. He flexes it as they part as if his fingers burned with feelings.

Logan shifts to look at you. You’ve recoiled your legs, curling your knees up to your chest. Face almost entirely pressed onto the cushion, hair cascading onto your cheeks. Despite the low light and mess of colors bleeding from the TV, he dare says that you’re blushing.

Your eyes meet his. Then you let out an unrestrained giggle, before shaking it off, righting yourself up to shift your attention back to the movie, remnants of a smile on your face. 

Something unlocks in Logan at that moment.

Whatever Mr. Darcy just went through, he knows. Understands the reality of it within the very blood that pumps undyingly in his veins.

His hands are hungry, too. Starvation carved deep in each palm line, trapped with nowhere to go. 

Insatiable unless it touches that certain someone.

His own hands are now clammy, clenching on his jeans, the result of a pile of hoarded yearnings. It makes itself known so suddenly, awakening when it recognizes itself on the screen. 

Because his nerves ignited when you glanced at him earlier. For a brief moment, he thought he was going to cup your cheeks in his palms and ask if he could kiss you.

The movie continues while his urges take hold. He’s never sensed your body feeling so alive. Your heart beats faster as the final scene plays, its rhythm enticing his own to respond in time.

“No! No. You may only call me ‘Mrs. Darcy’... when you are completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.”

“Then how are you this evening, Mrs. Darcy?” 

They kiss. His jaw clenches. He peeks at you again.

You’re glued to the screen, eyes a little hazy, lips parted. Lost in the romance of it all. The television turns black for the credits. 

He realizes then, that he wishes so badly to do the same things this movie does to you. To be the reason you smile and laugh freely. To bundle you in such happiness that you’d never want to go anywhere, content to be in his arms. 

To be the source of the flush on your cheeks as you finally put down the pillow, revealing the entirety of your face. You stare at him.

“I’m gonna go get some water,” you whisper, slowly making your way to the kitchen.

He follows. Hangs around the island with you, watching as you pour yourself a glass. 

“Did you like it?” you ask.

“Yeah.” He sees your eyes light up with eagerness.

“What’s your favorite part?”

His eyes lock onto yours, aware of the swelter of warmth surging from his gaze. He does nothing to stop it.

“Everything.”

It’s week six and he’s being tortured.

If someone were to peer into his life from a looking glass, one would probably comment on how disastrous it is that the gods picked him as their favorite soldier to put to their tragic tests.

The counter-argument, however, stands. It’s entirely possible that he was specifically made to endure such cosmic cruelties. No one else would survive. His body breaks, but it mends itself back.

But his hardened heart and eroded soul don’t enjoy the same privileges. They only started recovering when he allowed them to—and that was merely months ago, after learning to let people in. After Wade crash-landed into his life, after Cassandra and the Time Ripper, after everything. 

He’s endured actual torture. Became who he is through it, adamantium skeletons and all.

This form of torture is different.

It’s a Friday night. The two of you are home, but you won’t be for long. You told him you have to go for the award event tonight, and it happens to be a proper event. The kind that involves dressing up and getting subtly drunk.

He hears you call his name from inside your bedroom, sounding a little hesitant. Seconds later, he’s already standing in front of your room when you peek out, your face the only thing visible from the slightly ajar door. You look a little worried.

“This is kind of embarrassing but I need help.” 

Logan’s eyebrow cocks at the slight thrill in his gut from how you’re freely admitting that you require assistance. A big improvement compared to the first two weeks of you living together. 

The feeling is replaced by concern—he can’t help but be bothered at the thought of you being bothered.

You look at him, still hiding.

“I’ve been struggling with this zip for the past five minutes. Could you get it up?”

He senses trouble.

“Sure.” 

“Please be honest if it doesn’t fit,” you reply jokingly, turning your back toward him and letting the door fall open.

There it is. Your back, smooth and naked, framed by the undone parts of the dress. There is no bra band to interrupt your skin. The base of the zipper is not so low that he can see the beginnings of your hips, but he sees the outline of it, and somehow that’s worse. His hand clenches, seeing the dip of your lower back that he so badly wants to touch.

And your smell—already so sweet as you are, made captivating with a spritz of floral fragrance. It hits like a drug, dizzying.

You make the view even more breathtaking by sweeping your hair away from the zipper’s path, revealing your neck to him. That’s it. That’s where he wants to bury his face and breathe you in. God, you’d be so fucking soft—

His mind flies to a thousand places at once. Not a single one of them is appropriate. 

He grips the zipper pull, using his other hand to tug the fabric of your dress tight before drawing it smoothly up its remaining track. It lands snugly near your nape.

Eyes are still on you when you turn around to look at him, hands smoothing down the dress.

“Thank you. How do I look?”

There’s a pin-drop silence as he drinks you in, pupils dilating.

Green-brown gaze turns molten in its path from your face down your body, watching the way your outfit sits on your skin. The fabric almost looks like liquid metal, it beckons to be touched. It shines in a color that makes you look perfectly radiant.

Blood rushes south at how the cut betrays your curves, hugging your waist and hips before stopping just above your knees. A far cry from your everyday loose t-shirts and pajama pants. In this little number, he sees the shape of you so clearly.

His jaw is slack as he forces his stare back up, registering your face. Sparkles on your ears. Light make-up. Lips colored in a way that only accentuates their shape—that exquisite shape.

He wants to ravish you.

Decency demands he can’t, and he is in agony.

“Logan?” you call softly, confused at his prolonged stillness. It’s been a while since you wore this dress—does it not fit anymore? Or is it the make-up that’s weird?

“Is it that bad?”    

“No, god no,” he rasps, shaking his head.

When your eyes catch his, the expression on his face spells unspoken mystification.

You blink, taken aback. The color in his irises are almost gone, swallowed by the black of his pupils, and the way he’s staring down at you from his height—

“Just… couldn’t find the words. You look gorgeous, sweetheart.” 

The sincerity stitched in each word renders you speechless in turn. He examines your face as if he weren’t allowed to touch you, drinking in details with his eyes. You’ve seen people look at paintings that way.

The same way you look at him when he’s not watching. 

“Thank y—”

A timer goes off, violently rupturing the moment. You jump, reaching for your phone to silence it. The clock shows a time that’s past what you planned.

“Shit, gonna be late,” you murmur, swiping your shoulder bag. “Thank you so much, Logan. I’ll see you later.”

You don’t know what came over you, but you reach to peck his cheek before rushing out the door.

The moment the thought entered his mind, he knew he could no longer run.

Logan tried to fight it, he really did. In the minutes after you left, he struggled, control fraying at the seams.

A part of him is embarrassed, because he can’t remember the last time he felt this way. Not mere animalistic desire—those he experienced plenty in the past—but as profound as a crack in the ground, threatening to open a chasm with a whirlpool at its pit.

Something infinitely deeper, bigger than himself.

Because that’s what he feels around you. Whether he likes it or not—whether you like him or not—the earth is going to swallow him whole and ruin him anyway.

He shouldn’t, mustn’t think of you in the ways he’s tempted to. He doesn’t even deserve to touch you. The voices in his head whispers familiar indignities, slicing his own heart open. 

But the lingering scent of your sweet perfume and the sight of your naked back drowns them out to almost nothing. He finds himself losing a battle against something else that isn’t his insecurities, a more powerful force that he’s not accustomed to fighting. 

Need.

Fuck, he can see you in that dress like a tattoo behind his eyelids. You looked so good, he might have applauded himself for not immediately taking you against your bedroom door. 

Feet pace toward the shower. Can’t take anymore.

Clothes are haphazardly discarded on floor tiles as cold as the water streaming down his bare skin. It doesn’t work in the slightest. Doesn’t steady his haphazard heartbeat, doesn’t kill the heat rising to his skin.

He switches the water to warm.

The groan he releases is strained, echoing inside the bathroom. His hand drifting low is the cause, fingers curling around his already aching length. 

He pictures your hand instead.

Smaller than his. Softer. That, and your voice whispering sultry promises while you stand in front of him, pumping his cock. A vision in all its meanings—how tantalizing you look while you exist in his mind’s eye.

Scenes flash out of his control as he tugs harder at himself. Soft flesh pressed tight against his hard lines. The intoxicating smell of you. Perfect mouth on his in a deep kiss, the shape of your cupid’s bow still fresh in his memory. All those times you smiled at him. Parted lips invite him to fall further into bliss. They felt so soft against his cheek earlier. Would feel even better around him…

He thinks of you between his legs, right here in the shower, skin and hair slick as you take him in your pretty mouth.

“F-Fuck—”

The image forces a moan out of him. His movements manifest urgency. 

One steadying hand braces on the wall before him while he conjures up filthier phantasms. His hand digging into your hair—deeper. You’d moan at how big he is, the way he’d hit the back of your throat, drool dripping down your chin. He’d pull you away, too impatient to come in your mouth, instead bringing you up against the wall before lining himself up and—

He swears he hears you in his ears, shuddered breaths puffing against his shoulder as you bury your face there. He’d press you against the wall, willing you to stop hiding and look straight at him. You’d feel so fucking good. He pictures you mouthing that to him, voice broken. Shivers at the thought of your heat. Tight and wet, clinging onto him the way your hands do on his back as he thrusts.

He speeds up. It doesn’t take long until he murmurs your name, over and over in a forbidden crescendo, until he tenses past the crest with a tortured groan. Hazy eyes watch as white hot spend slips down the drain, his long-suffered restraint disappearing just the same.

A sober realization takes over. The dam holding him back is bursting.

He prays it doesn’t ruin what little he has of you.

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @britttzy267 @tezooks @ddwnghead @dear-detested @duckyyyx @hits-different-cause-its-you @mrfitzdarcyslover @snowlycanroc

next chapter

[starfall-dream]

Yandere Baldur's Gate x Isekai Reader Concept

I wanted to expand on my concept in hopes that people would be more interested in it. This won't get into every single character I want to write for, in fact this will pretty broad, so please feel free to ask me to expand on any ideas I didn't get into concept.

Also, for this concept, I'm including default (whitedragon, storm Sorcery) Durge, who is the Tav in my concept. I'll be using they/them pronouns for them and reader.

This mainly goes over act one, and if people are interested, I'll explore more of act 2 and 3, so please tell me what you think.

Again please send in any ideas or things you want me to expand on.

---

You didn't remember how you arrived here, nor do you know how the tadpole entered your head, but there was no use lamenting your situation now. All you did remember was going to sleep one night, your head banging in your head, but that wasn't unusual. When you awoke, you weren't on your bed, but instead on a beach, sand covering your body. 

It was lonely, being in this strange new world. From the moment you woke up on that beach, you knew you didn't belong, and you could feel every essence of your being rejecting the notion that you should be here. But despite that, you remained, mountains of responsibility placed upon you from the moment you realized where you were. Your companions, if you could even call them that, were cordial at best. You could tell that most of them didn't believe your story, thought you were crazy, spouting nonsense of other worlds. Some were nice, namely the wizard Gale and the more welcoming and kind Wyll, though you knew that their kindness was due to need rather than genuine feelings. 

The others were distrustful of you, but as their companion they had no other choice but to follow you. Astarion was the worst, at best his words were just petty teasing, while at worst he made you feel useless. You knew nothing, had very little survival skills, couldn't find your way around any weapons, in his words "hopeless." You tried your best to get along with him and your other companions, but it was often for not. 

The only companion you really found yourself close to was Tav, the more leader-like of the group. The best way to describe them is spacey, staring off into the world, often alone with their thoughts. It was difficult getting used to them at first, you've never seen someone like them before, but they were the only ones to accept you in the beginning. They taught you how to survive in this world, helping alongside Wyll in teaching you how to fight, at least with a sword. It made you feel at least a bit more prepared for your journey ahead, and you didn't have to listen to Astarion's judgmental words any more. 

While Tav was more of the leader, you were always more inclined to help people. You liked the Tieflings, especially the curious children, so it didn't take much to convince you into helping them. It felt...nice, having people's hope, helping people, though you didn't truly know what it entailed. Having to protect your companions, keep them away from the danger that seemed oh so attracted to them, it was a lot of work. Part of you wondered if helping the grove, saving these people, if it would prove your worth to your companions, and for some, it did. Shadowheart was appreciative of the work you put in, though she seemed unable to express it. 

In fact, you felt as though you were growing closer to your companions, at least partially. Gale would show off his magic, he loved it. After finding Karlach and learning more about Wyll, he seemed very obsessed with making sure you knew how to protect yourself. It was easy to befriend Halsin, he was so nice and understanding, as well as understanding as he could be. You even started to help the other companions with their personal issues as their trust in you started to get better. You caught Astarion mending some of your clothes one night, you think Lae'zel complimented you fighting style once, but you really couldn't tell, and Karlach was always encouraging. It felt nice, even if it was all very small acts of kindness. 

Though, throughout your journey, you found yourself worried over Tav. They were always more inclined towards violence, they were intimidating, quiet, but they were a friend to you, and so when they confided in you about their violent urges, something they strived to overcome, you vowed to help them. You could tell your words meant a lot to them, and as they promised to protect you on your journey, despite what path they take, the choice of words slightly worries you, but you trust them, and you were happy to have a friend. 

Meeting Halsin was a breath of fresh air, he seemed to genuinely notice the work you were putting in, offering to help you with your tadpole problem and travel with you on your journey. Your companions seemed to like the fact that a confident healer was finally amongst the party, and for once, after saving the grove and helping the Tieflings, you felt at peace. During their celebratory party, you spend most of your time alone, occasionally being checked up on by the animal companions you've found along the way. Zevlor offered you a drink, and in a tipsy daze, you confided in him about your worries and fears, you talked for hours and it was nice and Zevlor seems sympathetic, even claiming to miss you while they were traveling, and made you promise to find him in Baldur's Gate. 

You promised him, and as the Tieflings left, you found a small amount of dread sinking in. Your companions were still wary of you, and now you were traveling into a more dangerous land. You wondered if it would always be this way, but you knew you would have to keep brave, even if you knew you would never belong despite all your efforts. All you could hope for was hope for change, and keep a strong facade for your companions and yourself.

---

A/n: Again, I wasn't able to go into characters like Zevlor or Raphael as much as I wanted to, so please feel free to send in any ideas or headcanons you have about them or any other characters, I'd love to here them :)

[lheslie]

Married life with Gun

This man would make sure you had a house, health insurance, EVERYTHING THAT YOU NEED, PERIOD.

If he's going to settle down with you, imagine living in the countryside where there's peace and quiet while he farms crops, that's his ideal life.

Except for the fact that he still is the head of the Yamazaki Clan on the sidelines.

So yes, Imagine a Mansion in the countryside filled with Yakuzas inside and outside, guarding you and ensuring your safety.

He would dismiss them a lot when you're with him, he doesn't want you involved in the Clan's business.

You have a no-killing inside-the-house policy or even outside the garden, so they'd have to bring their enemies like 2-3 kilometers away from the house before killing them.

You're surprised Gun agreed to that; he also doesn't want any mess inside his perfect home, doesn't he?

He also follows you wherever you go to protect you from his enemies, and if you are not present otherwise, he'd appoint some of his men to guard you.

He'd want a child with you, of course, preferably a male, a successor to the Clan; make sure he won't turn into a masochist like Gun, please.

He would cherish the child without knowing it at first glance; he doesn't know how to love the child as it took time for him to trust and bond with you, so it'll be the same with your child; you'll have to teach him how to bond with your baby.

The best father, though, doesn't know what to do or say, he goes with the flow with you and gives the shittiest father's advice when it comes to practical problem.

He'll be present at every parent-teacher meeting, awards, graduation, birthday party, and many more.

But he will give you THE BEST advice when you're in the middle of a fight.

He would watch on the sidelines; he wouldn't step in and help your kid because he'll need to learn; that's what Gun said.

But he'll step in when it's VERY much needed; that's how he loves; he teaches you perseverance and survival skills and gives you a reality check.

Although you don't want Gun to teach your child like this, inevitably, he isn't going to end up in the middle of a fight, considering he is Gun's son Heir to the Yamazaki Clan.

So if you want a kid, it's your choice from Gun's perspective; he'll understand and support your decision, but remember there are consequences to your actions.

And if you don't have a kid with Gun, he'll probably appoint the family with the strongest head, that's loyal to him as Heir to the Clan.

Attending Clan meetings is optional; I mean, Gun's the head; disobeying is a death sentence.

Watch out for the cunning heads in the Clan, though. They'll try and take the opportunity to send their children to seduce Gun himself into taking Consorts for child rearing or additional status in the Clan.

Being soft isn't an option here; Gun knows that, so you'll have to be strong in your own right to protect yourself as well; that's why Gun loves strong women who can.

Because he can't handle damsels in distress while he's fighting off enemies alone, he needs someone who can match his level and energy to an extent; it doesn't have to be strong to kill; he just needs them to survive and understand him as who he is.

He doesn't want any weakness, just strength, and more strength, and it'll also have to come from you.

And, of course, all of that aside, he still spoils you with luxury items imported from different countries.

Vacation to different countries is a normal activity that is held once a week or 3 times a month.

If you like flowers, expect a beautiful garden inside your mansion that is delicately handled by experts.

If you like eating delicacies, there's a Michelin chef in the kitchen; beware about commenting on their food; Gun might cut the Chef's hands if it isn't up to your liking.

If you like clothes, he'd have a personal designer that caters your clothing to your style.

If you like jewelry, he'll have them handcrafted immediately.

He has the money, and he can't even bring that to his grave, so why not spend it while he can?

What else makes him happy when he sees you smiling at the gift he has given you?

All the bloodshed from extorting money was all worth it to see your smile in front of him.

Yes, most of your belongings came from other people's suffering, blood, sweat, and tears.

You better enjoy it or it will all be for naught if you didn't.

Because that's how Gun shows his love and affection, the only way he knows how.

He is very possessive as well when it comes to you, making him feel all types of weird feeling inside his chest, he gets jealous when you talk to other people, but he tries to be better and tolerates it.

He definitely got into a fight once because someone was looking maliciously at you.

He also bought you the biggest ring after that, making sure people can see that you were already his and his alone.

He enjoys holding your hands, he doesn't talk about it, but he loves it when you embrace him with your warmth and love.

He can't explain it, but he wants more.

[xxmayxx05]

I won't let go, if you don't let go

pairing: Eric x Fem! reader

Contents: blood, weird aliens, Fluff (involves a cute man with puppy eyes). 18+ in the next chapter!

a/n: Hi everyone! I hope you like my first Eric imagine! Joseph Quinn did such an amazing job as Eric. If you haven't watched A quiet place day one, I highly recommend it. I am going to make this a small series, and I want to make more Eric content. So please please send requests. Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. - May<3

Day 5

Closing your eyes, you sighed softly and stood infront of the window of your apartment. You were still trying to process and understand what day happened just five days ago. It was a regular day for you, you were coming back from Law school. You were in the subway to go back to your apartment after a very stressful day. All you wanted was to go back home to your apartment, cry your eyes out, order some take out and drink your favorite wine. 

You never would of guessed that the world was practically going to end. At your last stop, you were about to step off the train when you heard screaming all around. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach when you felt the floor shake hard, and the sounds of bombs deathened your ears. Not knowing what to do, you stood there frightened. Out of nowhere you saw, what seemed to be a monster. The monster was killing people, with every victim, the walls were splattered with blood all around and people were running around. 

“Y/N!” you heard some scream out your name and felt someone wrap their arms around your waist. 

The unknown person pulled you back into the train and threw you both onto the ground. Finally getting out of your frightened daze, you had realized that it was Eric. He was one of your classmates in law school, the british man had worked with you in one project last semester. Both of you would meet up after school, would go to each others places to work on the project. You had grown really fond of being with Eric in such a short amount of time and it scared you because you would feel butterflies in your stomach when you would see him. It sounded unbelievable but you had a crush on Eric but always tried to push it aside so you could focus on law school. 

“Love!, look at me. Look at me please” Eric begged quietly as he softly caressed your cheek. The train started being flooded with water and very quickly. He helped you get up slowly as he looked around to see if the unknown creature was around, but it had gone all the way down of the subway. Eric could only think was about getting you out of your state of shock. All you did was blink and look at him. You started breathing heavily as you started gain more consciousness of what your just had seen. 

“E-eric” you cried softly and realized that what had just happened. 

“You have to be quiet” he whispered as he quickly covered your mouth and nodded his head. The water had now risen up to his waist. “We need to find the way out quickly and quietly” he said and gave you a small smile when you had nodded your head and tried to calm your breathing. 

“Follow me” you whispered and grabbed his hand. You were thankful that this was your stop and you knew your way around the subway. Finally being able to calm yourself down, you carefully stepped out of the train and gasped softly when you saw the amount of bodies that were floating in the water. 

“We have to keep going Y/n” he whispered in your ear as the water had risen mid stomach. Eric felt you begin to softly cry at the sight of the floating bodies. He was scared at the sight as well but he needed to survive and you as well. “Please, the water is rising” he plead in a hushed tone. 

Making yourself knock out of the shock, you practically began to flutter kick in the water softly. The water was rising faster but it didn’t stop you from almost getting to the entrance.

“Take a deep breath and swim y/n” Eric breathed heavily. The water had risen up all the way to his neck now, and he had his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you upfloat. 

“Please don’t let go” you cried softly, thinking that this could be the end of you both. He shook his head immediately. 

“I won’t, if you won’t” he said and panicked softly as the water had risen up to his chin. “Now” he said and took a deep breath. 

After taking your final deep breath, you saw at the semi dark water. You and Eric had your hands intertwined tightly. Looking around in a panic you saw light. Swimming close to the light, you tried touching the floor but you recognized that there were steps. You swam practically half up the steps with Eric. Finally getting close to the surface you, gasped for air when you were out of the water. Immediate relief filled your chest when you were gasping for air and realized that you were alive. Turning around, you immediately wrapped your arms around Eric and hugged him. 

“It’s a-alright love, we are a-alright” he said quietly and still trying to catch up on his breathing. Eric was about to slip into a state of shock himself, he was about to die down there in the subway. His soft cries took over, feeling too over whelmed about everything that was going on around him. All he wanted was to have a regular day at law school, hoping that he could grow the courage to talk to you in the hallway but he would retreat everytime. Now he was here in what seemed to be the end of the world in his eyes, all he wanted to do is hide and try to survive with you. 

“We h-have to go” you whispered and caressed Eric’s cheek. He had began to worry you as his eyes were wide opened and his body shook in fear. “Eric please” you begged silently and made him look at you. “Look at me” you whispered and smiled softly when started blinking rapidly. 

“Good job” you reassured him and kept caressing his cheek. “My apartment is down the block, we have to be quick and careful” you said quietly and looked around. The streets were quiet, cars flipped and wrecked, some building were on fire. Relief came over you when you didn’t see any of the scary creatures. “We have to go now” you whispered and intertwined your fingers with Eric’s. 

Both of you had walked carefully and quietly down the block. His grip tightened, scared that he was going to loose you at any second. Walking up the steps of your building, you caught your breath that you didn’t know you were holding in. You lead Eric up to the sixth floor and walked to your door. Crouching down, you looked underneath the door mat. Feeling relief that your apartment key was there, you always kept it there for any type of emergency. Grabbing it, you unlocked your door carefully and opened the door. Trying to open the door softly, you both walked in and you locked the door behind. 

—-

Sighing softly you kept looking out the window and smiled softly when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You felt comfort with the thunderstorm that had just started and knowing that you weren’t alone and had Eric. Both of you were afraid to step outside after what you guys witnessed, all you both did was cuddle in your bed, try to draw, play tic tac toe, and finding out that Eric was a very good magician. 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly and wrapped both of his arms around your waist. Eric knew that you were still trying to get yourself out of the state of shock, he was also trying to do the same but he knew that it was going to stay with you both for a very long time. 

“Yes” you whispered and leaned your head back on his chest and closed your eyes. Being with Eric made your anxiety and nerves calm down. Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, you were falling more and more for him. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked and hugged you. Leaning his chin on top of your head, he loved how you both became so close with each other. He didn’t feel embarrassed, that he would follow you around the apartment like a lost puppy because he was afraid that with a blink of an eye you would be gone. 

“We need to leave soon, Eric” you said and turned around. Looking up your eyes teared up at the feeling of fear began to rise. “We only have food for two more days and then it’s gone. We have to get to those boats” you said, crying softly. “I don’t want to loose you” you admitted and gasped softly when Eric immediately kissed you.

Eric couldn’t help himself anymore and kissed you. He was happy that you felt this way towards him, he was afraid that he was going to loose you too. Eric knew that he had to man up and get you both to those boats. Mostly you, he had to get you to safety but he promised himself that he was going to protect you until the very end. 

Feeling relief that you kissed him back with as much passion made him feeling butterflies in his stomach. Loving how your soft hand caressed his cheek and your other arm wrapped around his neck. Leaning back softly and leaning his forehead against yours. 

“You aren’t going to loose me, I promise you that” he said with a small smile. “In two days, we will head to the boats first thing in the morning. Once we get to safety, it’s just you and me” he reassured you and pecked your lips. “I’m not letting you go if you don’t let me go” he said. 

“I won’t” you promised and pecked his lips. Gasping softly when he picked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“I want you” he said and searched your eyes for permission. 

“I’m all yours” you smiled softly and kissed him. Giggling softly when he began walking to your bed, he was going to worship your body. The way that he had wished to do since he met you the first time in class. 

[wlwsoccerfics]

We always have eachother(AlessiaRussoXEllaTooneXBronzeReader)

Warnings: mental health struggles, Breakup, Asthma

Summary: it's always the three of you. whatever happens you always protect one another.

It was the first day of national camp. you arrived together with Alessia, which made sense. You were best friends and Arsenal teammates after all. She told you a joke which made you laugh. "Having fun without me, i See!" Ella said as she jumped right in your way. The two of you laugh and you pull her in for a hug. "Barely!" You told her. "We missed you!" Alessia answered. "That was the right answer, losers!" Ella replied. You and Alessia couldn't help but laugh.

The two would be rooming together while you were rooming with Beth. Which you didn't mind at all. You two were good friends after all. Altough you are a bit surprised that you are not sharing a room with your older sister Lucy. "Baby Bronze!" You hear someone yell, turning around you saw that it was Beth. "Meado! Hey. Looks like we are roommates!" You tell her, and hug her. She hugged you back. "I know! Great News! But please have your little Girl group meeting somewhere else! In the room these two weirdos share!" She pointed at Ella & Lessi, grinning softly. Of course she was only joking. "Hey!" They both yell out at the same time, which made you giggle. "Promise! But those weirdos are my best friends! And i am a weirdo as well! Normal is boring!" You told her. Placing an arm around both of your best friends. "They are my Lifeline!" You said. "We can't survive without eachother! Alessia answered. "Everyone knows, kiddo! And i agree! Normal is indeed boring!" Beth replied.

You went to put your stuff in your room while Less & Toone did the same and you promised to meet up in an hour in the gaming room to hang out with the rest of the team. Beth already went there so it was just you in there. You were about to put away your sneakers when you got a Text Message from your girlfriend:

Hey y/n,

I am breaking up with you.

Have been seeing someone new.

You are free to do whatever now.

So am i.

Bye.

You stare at the heartless message of your now ex girlfriend. When you tried to call her you found out that she had blocked you. Tears were forming in your eyes. You really thought she was the one and even had brought a ring cause after Camp you wanted to propose to her. 3 years down the drain. You texted Less & Ella right away. Sending am SOS in your group Chat cause you could feel a Panic Attack coming. Or possibly an Asthma attack. All you knew was that you struggled with your breathing. Your chest hurt, every single breath you took felt like you just ran a marathon.

Your two best Friends were alarmed and dropped everything as soon as they saw your text. running to your room. Pushing the door open to find you sitting on the floor, leaned against the bed. Holding your chest, your breathing was more like a wheezing sound now. "Y/n!" Ella yelled out. "Where is your inhaler?!" Alessia asked, the Panic in her voice was evident, cause she knew what your Asthma attacks looked like. Both of them did cause they have witnessed a few of those. "Can't find." You somehow managed to get out. "I have one in my Backpack!" Ella replied and went to grab it from the room she shared with Lessi. Alessia tried to help you. Making sure you don't freak out even further and that you were sitting up as straight as possible cause anything else could make breathing even harder for you. "It all will be okay, y/n! I promise! I won't let anything happen to you." She said softly. You were quite thankful for your best friends. They are your platonic soulmates that's for sure. Ella came back running in. Kneeling down in front of you, placing the inhaler in your mouth, pushing down on it while you sucked in some air, thankfully the inhaler was working cause If that wouldn't have worked anymore you would have had to go to the hospital, which probably was your least favorite place on earth.

Alessia and Ella helped you to sit down on the bed a few minutes later because you still were quite weak on your knees after the asthma attack. "Good thing you have one of my inhalers for emergencies in your bags or that would have been a hospital trip!"you tell Ella. "I am glad you don't have to go to the hospital. We both know how much you hate them!" Ella replied. "Yeah and we can't really blame you for that! But y/n? What caused this Asthma attack?" Alessia wanted to know. You looked down and started biting down on your bottom lip. Trying to keep the tears in. Handing your two best friends your phone to show them the text from your ex. They read them while you tear up again. Alessia pulling you close and into a hug. Running a hand over your back gently. The two knew about your plan of proposing and how much you Love your now ex. You were hurt right now and they could feel your pain. "She doesn't deserve you!" Ella answered. "You are the best girlfriend anyone could ask for and it's her loss because she won't ever find someone as funny, cool and pretty as you! Not to mention your talent! You are one of the best football players of this generation!" Lessi told you. "hell yes to what Lessi said!" Ella stated. "You two really are the best." You answered.

You laid inbetween your two best friends. They were holding you, you were sleeping. Beth walked in with Lucy though cause they wondered why the three of you were missing out on team hangout in the gaming room. Both Beth and Lucy could tell that something had happened. Because of you sleeping in the middle of the day and your best friends being awake. Cause you did nap together sometimes. But usually you would all be asleep. The Situation right now obviously was them being protective of you. "Hey, what's wrong with Y/n?" Your older sister asked, she was quite concerned. "She had an Asthma attack." Lessi told her. "Oh my god, why didn't you tell me?" Lucy wanted to know. "We handled things. She is resting now!" Ella answered. "Thanks for helping her. Next time please let me know though?" Lucy stated. Alessia nodded her head in agreement ."What caused this asthma attack?" Beth was curious, wanting to make sure to keep whatever trigger it was away from you. "She needs to tell the two of you on her own!" Toone explained.

You did tell people the story about what was going on and explained everything to them, including the planned proposal. Before you told the whole Team you had a private talk with Lucy & Beth about it.

The next few weeks have been good for you. Everyone helped to cheer you up. Your biggest supporters have been your two best Friends. Like always...well and a certain blonde, tattoo loving FC Bayern Munich player. Georgia was really putting in the work to make you feel better. She got you flowers, went on walks with you, partnered with you during drills.

[nothingspecialjustaloserlesbian]

Could we please have some Cait headcanons ?🙏🏾

─ .✦ caitlyn headcanons

(good thing i already have a caitlyn hc in my drafts)

warning:: mentions of weapons, a little suggestive theme, !!might be occ!!, if you don't like the warning don't continue reading

a/n:: turned out okay (had to redo ts 4 times bc it won't save)

her first weapon is a revolver and when she turned 15 her parents gifted her a sniper and her mom trained her how to use one

a switch cuz i said so

in the modern world, Caitlyn fashion taste is old money(so surprising) or either casual wear

gets really flustered when you flirt with her out of the blue

her accent is a mix of both british and scottish

once, Vi teased Caitlyn for pronouncing something wrong

i feel like would much rather use her fingers then a strap, but owns a 9 inch strap, basically the color of her skin

has trinkets in her room ones that are from her childhood to adulthood

i can definitely see her as someone who listens to podcast, crime podcast, therapy podcast, or just a simple podcast where it's all talks without any direction

after she listens to crime podcast, she will try and resolve it, "tracing" the suspect's act, the crime scene, who was last seen near or with the victim, ect

studies criminology and became the best detective in piltover

has a baby girl named "Star"and of course the father is Vi (THE HEXSTRAP GOT CAITLYN PREGNANT TRUSTTTT)

has a collection of eye patch but wears the navy blue one and on some days she wears black

Caitlyn x Vi x reader is real

eventually told Vi that Jinx survive the explosion

when their daughter turned 3 years old, Caitlyn tracked Jinx down with the help of other talented detective scattered around the world just to send her an invitation for Star's birthday

their daughter has Caitlyn's looks but Vi's personality, once stared in disbelief how much both Vi and their daughter was so much alike

⋆˙⟡ — that's all

[iamnot-crazy]

A Pirates Choice Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Story Summary: Shortly after leaving Wano the heart pirates run into an easy group of pirates but Law notices you falling behind. You now have to face your captain with the truth of what happened in Wano.

Chapter Summary: After the fight with Black Beard Law struggles with his guilt and grief while the reader and the crew navigates being held in another prison.

A/N: We are back in the world of A Pirates Choice I found I had this written alright but just needed some edits so here it is. I haven't quite thought out how I want the next chapter to go so feel free to send me ideas.

Trafalgar Law x f!reader

TW: This story contains mentions of sexual assault, unwanted pregnancy, and loss.

Law sat at the edge of a cliff, looking off at the sea and its taunting waves. The wind whipped his coat around him as fingers rubbed the worn rope of Kikoku’s hilt. The bags beneath his eyes were deep, the faint spark of hope that was growing since Dressrosa had extinguished, replaced by a hollow void.

From the small hut behind him, Bepo watched, his large paws wringing together. This was the third island they had traveled to while in hiding. Bepo had to take the lead role in their planning while Law retreated into his grief

“Captain?” Bepo called, his voice a hesitant rumble.

Law's head shifted, a brief, sharp glare, before returning to the restless waves. "What, Bepo?”

The bear rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he approached. “I brought food.”

“I’m not hungry,” Law grumbled.

Bepo placed the plate on the ground beside him. "Captain, you've barely eaten. Please." His large, pleading eyes, usually an irresistible force, met with Law's vacant stare.

Law scoffed, his gaze fixed on the turbulent sea. "Why bother?”

Bepo's brow furrowed, his voice laced with a frustrated sadness. "They could have survived," he mumbled, the words a raw, painful truth.

Law's head snapped around, his eyes blazing. "Excuse me?"

Bepo met his gaze, his own eyes filled with a determined anger. "You are disrespecting their strength by thinking they all died. Especially Y/N!"

Law's eyes squeezed shut, a flinch at the sound of her name. He looked away, the pain a physical ache.

Bepo leaned closer in anger. "Y/N is the strongest person I know; she could have survived, but you are disrespecting her by thinking she didn’t!"

"You don't think I know that!" Law shouted, rising to his feet, his voice raw. "Of course she could of survived” Bepo looked up in confustion. Law sighed as He sank back down, his body heavy with grief. "But her daughter didn’t," he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. “She couldn’t of.”

Bepo's eyes widened. "Daughter?" His mind raced, piecing together the past month. "Y/N was pregnant?" Law nodded, his head bowed in sorrow.

"Was it yours?" Bepo questioned in shock.

Law shook his head, his grip tightening on Kikoku. "It was a guard from Wano," he growled, the words thick with a bitter edge.

"What?" Bepo's voice was a hushed whisper.

"In the Wano prison. The guard, he..." Law trailed off, the memory a sharp, agonizing sting.

"I... I didn't know," Bepo stammered, his mind reeling.

"She didn't want anyone to know. She was afraid the crew would see her as weak."

"We would never!" Bepo protested, his voice filled with hurt. "How could I let that happen?" He grabbed his head in frustration.

"It wasn't your fault," Law said, his voice low. "You can't blame yourself. It won't help anything, and it just takes away from what happened to her."

Law’s breath hitched. He looked away. "She didn't know it was a girl." His eyes began to water. "I was going to tell her when we made it to Dressrosa." Bepo reached over to hug his brother in comfort. "She was afraid if it was a boy, it would look like that guard."

Bepo’s eyebrows pinched in thought. "Is that why we were on track for Dressrosa?"

Law nodded, pushing out of the hug. "She thought it would be the best place to raise her child away from the pirate life. And I figured she would do good for the kingdom. I had a lot of hope for her."

Bepo looked down in thought. "You were going to join her?" he stated in realization.

Law’s eyes widened. He had not admitted his desire to join you to anyone. "Not right away. I’d still wanted to find out more about the Will of D, but I think after that, a part of me wanted to settle down with her."

A few days later, Bepo’s hands trembled as he stared at the photos delivered by an unknown bird. Law emerged from the hut, his eyes drawn to Bepo’s distress.

"Bepo, what do you have there?" Law asked, his voice sharp.

Bepo instinctively hid the photos, his eyes wide with fear. Law’s frown deepened. "Give it to me," he ordered, his voice laced with ice.

Bepo reluctantly handed over the photos. Law’s heart sinks as the color drains from his face.

The photos showed you, chained and bloodied, your eyes vacant, your body bearing the marks of brutal treatment. The hoodie he last saw you in was torn, revealing the lower curve of your stomach, confirming the loss of your child.

Law’s emotions twisted into a spiral. A part of him was relieved to see you clearly alive. Another part of him was furious to see you in such a state, and the last part of him was furious that he had put you in such a situation again.

A letter, stained with a dark, viscous substance, lay beneath the photos. He unfolded it, recognizing your handwriting, the ink clearly blood.

‘Law, I am writing this under the distress of Blackbeard. However, I am convinced he cannot read or write. He is currently telling me to write my pleas for rescue, but I insist you don’t.

The crew is here as well. We can survive together.

Unfortunately, Hakugan, Clione, and Jean Bart did not survive the Polar Tang explosion.

But the rest of the crew is alive and well.

Blackbeard has given me coordinates for you to meet us, but I insist that you don’t. He may include photos that will scare you, but I’m fine. Your survival and the preservation of your Devil Fruit are of utmost importance. Do not come.

35°39′31″N, 139°44′44″E.

Y/N.’

Law crumpled up the letter in his hand and held it close to his face in thought.

Law crumpled the letter, his knuckles white. "Captain?" Bepo asked, his voice trembling. "What are we going to do?"

Your eyelids fluttered open, the harsh glare of a single, flickering lantern stabbing into your eyes. You flinched, a wave of nausea washing over you, and raised a trembling hand to shield your face. A chorus of voices, distorted and echoing, announced, "She's up!" The sound vibrated through your skull, a painful thrumming that made you groan.

You struggled to sit up, your body protesting with every movement. Your head swam, and a dull ache pulsed behind your eyes. Hands, warm and reassuring, steadied you. You looked up, your vision blurry, to see Shachi's worried face hovering above you. You were lying on the cold, damp stone floor, your head resting in his lap. Ikkaku and Penguin held your shoulders, their expressions a mix of relief and concern.

"Shachi? Ikkaku? Penguin? Where are we? What happened?" You pressed a hand to your throbbing temple, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of your memory. "LAW!" You shouted, the name tearing from your throat, a raw, desperate plea. You tried to rise, but your legs buckled, and Ikkaku and Penguin gently lowered you back down.

Your gaze fell to your abdomen, the torn fabric of Law’s hoodie revealing the brutal truth. You raised a shaky hand, the phantom weight of your lost child a crushing burden. Your fingers traced the jagged cuts, the skin cold and scarred. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. You winced, pulling your hand away, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth.

"They're dead… my child…" Your voice cracked, a broken whisper. "I killed them. I failed Law… I… I…" You hiccuped, wet coughs wracking your body, and leaned into Ikkaku, sobbing.

Ikkaku's own tears threatened to spill as she held you close, her hand stroking your hair. "Shhh," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, unable to find the words to comfort you.

Exhaustion claimed you, and you slipped into unconsciousness, leaving Ikkaku to face the bewildered stares of the crew. She sighed, gently lowering your head back into her lap, and continued to stroke your hair, a silent vigil.

"Did she say 'child'?" Penguin asked, his voice barely a whisper. All eyes turned to Shachi.

Shachi's eyes widened. Ikkaku shook her head. "You haven't hooked up in a year." Shachi sighed in relief, earning an eye roll from Ikkaku.

"If it wasn't Shachi, was it… the captain's?" Penguin questioned, and a murmur rippled through the crew.

"They have been spending a lot of time together," Shachi commented, his brow furrowed in thought. The crew erupted in a flurry of questions and theories.

"Stop it!" Ikkaku snapped, her voice sharp. "It wasn't Law's or anyone you know!"

The crew fell silent, their eyes fixed on Ikkaku.

She sighed, her gaze softening as she looked down at your tear-streaked face. "It was a guard at the Wano prison."

The crew exchanged shocked glances, waiting for her to continue.

"She was protecting the other women… and…" Ikkaku swallowed a sob. "She didn't want to get rid of it, and the captain was going to take her to Dressrosa."

A wave of sorrow washed over the crew. They looked around the cold, damp cell, their hearts aching for you. A silent pact formed: Never again.

When you finally awoke, Ikkaku's arms were wrapped tightly around you, her breathing deep and even. You carefully disentangled yourself and found half the crew asleep, the others standing guard. Penguin shuffled over, helping you gently lay Ikkaku down.

"What happened?" you asked, your voice hoarse.

Penguin lowered his head. "Blackbeard…. The Polar Tang was destroyed, killing those aboard.” He swallowed hard at the memory, and you looked around, noting the missing crew members. “The rest of us woke up in here.”

"Law?" you questioned, your heart pounding.

"We think he and Bepo escaped. That’s why Blackbeard brought us here, to lure him back."

You nodded, taking in the battered forms of your crew. You licked your dry, cracked lips and walked to the cell bars. The air was thick with the stench of mildew and fear. Across the way, a figure stirred in another cell.

The woman seemed to be asleep, and you looked over at Penguin for answers as he approached."Pudding, One of Big Mom's daughters. Straw Hat was supposed to marry her.”

You nodded. “Has she been any help?”

Penguin shook his head. “She just taunts us.”

You turned around, looking to find only 16 of the 19 crew members of the Heart Pirates remained, excluding Law and Bepo. You took a deep breath to avoid crying again and turned to Penguin. “What is the status of everyone?”

"Minor injuries, cuts. We bandaged everyone. You were the only one… your injuries were grim. You were in a coma for three days. Blackbeard was insistent we stabilize you."

"He was?"

"He thinks you're the reason he didn't leave us on the island."

You sighed, looking over your crew. "Then we'll prove him wrong."

Penguin frowned, but nodded. "With you here, I think he will be proven right." He mumbled to himself.

The next morning, Blackbeard's booming laughter echoed through the hold as he banged a metal cup against the cell bars. Shachi and Penguin immediately stepped in front of you, the rest of the crew forming a protective wall. Ikkaku's grip tightened on your arm.

Ikkaku grabbed your shoulder to ensure you would stay behind the wall and close to her.

Blackbeard laughed, a guttural sound that echoed through the cold, damp cell. "I see you are finally awake." His eyes, dark and predatory, scanned the crew, then locked onto yours. "Good."

"Her condition is not your concern!" Shachi shouted, crossing his arms and shifting himself defiantly in front of Blackbeard's gaze.

Blackbeard scoffed, "I am just glad to see her awake." He pressed his face closer to the bars, his gaze pierced through the crew, locking onto yours.. "I'll need you awake for what I have planned."

Your eyes glared at the man, a mask of defiance hiding the flicker of fear within. The man laughed at your expression before turning to leave.

Your eyes glared at the man, a mask of defiance hiding the flicker of fear within. The man laughed at your expression before turning to leave.

Your glare stood strong, not letting any fears through, which could not be said the same for Ikkaku, who gripped your arm tighter, her knuckles white. You patted her arm in assurance. "Thank you all," you spoke, looking up at your crew members, their faces a wall of determination.

"We promise we won't let anyone touch you here," Shachi stated, his voice ringing with conviction.

A laugh, sharp and mocking, cut through the air. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep." You looked over to see Pudding, her three eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. Shachi rolled his eyes, ignoring her along with the rest of the crew. "You can't think your small action will actually keep him away from her." She laughed again, a high-pitched, unsettling sound.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Shachi finally snapped, turning towards her.

She laughed, "We are all here for a reason, and hers is that she will lure your captain. And from what I've heard from your quite loud group, I'll say he is right."

You scowled and opened your mouth to retort, but Shachi spoke first, "Good! When the captain comes, he'll defeat Blackbeard just like she defeated your mom!"

Pudding flinched, a flicker of anger crossing her face, but she quickly regained her composure. "Just don't make promises you can't keep. Blackbeard found a weakness for your captain, and he will use it. Your little protective wall just proved him right."

Shachi scowled, but this time you silenced him, grabbing his arm. "Our captain is not foolish. Even if you are right, our captain will come in with a level head because he knows this crew is strong. And I promise that," you spat, before turning back to the crew, walking away from Pudding.

"Believe what you want," she scoffed, turning her head away.

Blackbeard returned the next day, a predatory smirk twisting his lips as he saw you sitting proudly in the center of the cell, surrounded by your crew. The moment the door creaked open, the crew jumped to their feet, forming their protective wall.

Blackbeard laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "This again? Do you really think a wall will keep me from her?" The crew stood straighter, their faces grim, but remained silent.

"The child was not Law's," you stated coldly, your voice echoing in the cell.

Blackbeard was taken aback, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, as if he had hoped the child was Law's. But he quickly shook his head. "That doesn't matter. I saw his desperation for you. His child or not, you will still make him weak."

Your glare intensified. "My captain will not make that mistake again and will destroy you."

"But he will when he sees what I have done to you while he was away again." Black shadows writhed, tendrils of darkness reaching out like grasping hands, their coldness seeping into the stone floor, creeping from beneath him and into the cell. "I heard about what happened in Wano… the way they…" he trailed off with a dark chuckle, "Let's see how desperate he would be to prevent that from happening again." Fear, cold and sharp, pierced you as the void stretched up your legs, the feeling of its coldness like a hand grabbing your soul.

Ikkaku and Shachi grabbed onto you, pulling you away from the encroaching darkness, but it was too strong, pulling you inexorably closer to the cell bars. You fought to stay in their arms, your nails scraping against their rough skin, leaving shallow, useless marks, but Blackbeard's Devil Fruit was too powerful. You were yanked through the group, your throat suddenly gripped in his hand.

The crew broke into a chaotic panic, shouting and lunging at the bars, their faces contorted with horror and rage, but Blackbeard pushed them back, slamming the heavy door shut with a deafening clang. He dangled you by his side, your feet kicking uselessly, your fingers clawing at his hand, as he left the prison. The last thing you saw was Ikkaku's face, a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.

Pudding sighed, "I warned you."

A/N: hey if you wanna read more of my work check out my MasterList

[rottenpumpkin13]

Genesis gets lost in the woods after a tough mission. Radio's broken, there's no food, no water. It's just him, his sword and his brain. Does he wait for Shinra's rescue team to locate him? Does he manage to steal a radio from Wutai troopers? Or does he find his way back to the base on his own?

Genesis is a notorious gossip, so of course he knows exactly how to wring signal out of a PHS in a dead zone. The man once got reception in a mako reactor just to call Angeal and complain about the mako color. He grew up climbing trees in an apple orchard, so wilderness survival is second nature. No food? No problem. No water? He's drinking dew off a leaf like a fae prince. He scrambles up a tree and finally gets enough bars to make a call.

Automated Voice: "Welcome to Shinra Communications Routing Services. If you are calling from a Sector, press its number on the keypad. If you are calling from a mysterious location, press 9."

*Genesis angrily presses 9*

Automated Voice: "To report a mission update, press 1. To request emergency support, press 2. For all other inquiries, press 3."

*Genesis smashes 3*

Automated Voice: "Please state your command chain. If you are under Director Heidegger, press 1. If you are under Director Lazard, press 2. If you are under—"

Genesis: Oh for Minerva's sake.

*Genesis presses 2*

Automated Voice: "Please hold."

🎵 hold music plays the Stamp theme song 🎵

Genesis: <3

Automated Voice: "If you wish to reach Director Lazard, press 1. If you wish to reach Sephiroth, press 2. If you wish to reach Commander Hewley, press 3. If you—"

*Genesis groans and presses 2 because Sephiroth won't lecture him for an hour like Angeal*

Sephiroth: What.

Genesis: I'm stuck in the woods surrounded by enemy scouts and no reinforcements. Send help.

Sephiroth: Are you sure this isn't a metaphor for your current mental state?

Genesis: DO I SOUND LIKE A METAPHOR, SEPHIROTH?

Sephiroth: A loud one, yes.

Genesis: I will die out here.

Sephiroth: We all die, eventually.

*Sephiroth hangs up*

Genesis:

[thesensteawitch]

The High Priestess Wants You To Know This

(Pile 1→ Pile 2→ Pile 3)

Hello beautiful souls!

This is a collective reading so take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

If you wish to book a reading with me then checkout my:

Rate Card • Booking Form

Ps: You can also DM me in case of any queries. 🌈💛

Sending you love and light ✨🕯️

*******

Here is your reading!

Pile 1

Tarot Cards- Temperance, Two of Cups, Six of Wands, King of Swords, Nine of Swords, The Emperor.

The High Priestess wants you to know that people around you see your efforts and are grateful for your generosity. But what you skip to notice is that you do so much mental and physical work that you forget to relax. You are very patient with the results of your work, but your feminine side needs to be activated now. You can activate it by resting and eating well. Try slow dancing or yoga. Sagittarius, Libra, Cancer, and Leo can be significant. If you're a feminine reading this, then the high priestess wants you to know that you've been very patient when it comes to finding the one. You've never had a masculine support, due to which you sometimes overexert yourself by tapping too much into your masculinity. But I do hear that God is your masculine. While shuffling the deck, I saw in my third eye, “Luck is on your side”—New Moon in Sagittarius, and guess what? The exact card flipped out of the deck! What are the odds? You're divinely protected. Balance will be restored in any situation where masculines have hurt you or you couldn't rely on them. You'll receive the love of your life; just avoid falling into the trap of past people/manipulators. Remember your lessons because the high priestess is warning you that someone from the past may show up again or old wounds of masculinity may come up again. It's going to be a test, so make sure you act according to the lessons you've been made to learn. If you doubt yourself or are afraid that maybe you're the one who is wrong, then that's not true. I see stubborn, too-logical, and aggressive masculine energy around you. I do feel that you have even adopted these qualities or have absorbed these energies unknowingly as you were only focused on surviving. You can let that go now. You've come a long way. Please remember your strength. You're stronger and wiser than you give yourself credit for. This is the last battle with your survival self. Thank it for how it has supported you till now, but don't let it win. You don't need to worry about a thing, so just stay calm. You'll win in LOVE. You'll have that one person who gets you like no one. You've been wronged, so stop giving people the benefit of the doubt. You deserve someone who sees your soul, not someone who falls for superficiality. You've been around people who were full of themselves, and that is why their energies kept lingering around you, forcing you to think about THEM! You may have felt guilty or pressured or doubt your own actions. You may even have ended up gaslighting yourself. I really don't like this energy around you. The High Priestess wants you to consciously focus on yourself and bring your energy back to yourself. Your focus should only be on you. That's all. That's it.

Pile 2

Tarot Cards- Death, Two of Wands, Two of Pentacles, King of Cups, Four of Swords

The High Priestess wants you to know that you cannot avoid the change that is meant to happen. You can delay it but cannot deny it. You still think you've another option or another way while you're on the boat to a different reality. You cannot keep asking the questions regarding a closed door. It won't open. Accept where you are. Just let go of the past. You cannot go back for one last look. Wake up and deal with your emotions. For a while you do not need to do so much. Just take care of your inner world. You may be having weird dreams lately. Your dreams are pointing towards the new reality you're meant to enter. It's a way of your brain to help you release the past. You may even be having dreams about someone who has a lot to say to you, but they cannot decide or make a move. This person may also be confused. Someone here needs to step out of their comfort zone, and the comfort zone is avoiding making the necessary decision. You may be moving back and forth wondering what to do and what not to do. Just don't do what you've been doing all along. Maybe you need to take action toward someone or something, but you're so afraid to take it that now that thing/person is appearing in your dream. Some of you may be afraid to follow your purpose, as it may be the first time you're being given a chance to do what you want to do or what you feel called to do. But the wounds are stopping you or making you guess. The cards ask you to focus on healing yourself and prepare yourself for your purpose/calling. What you've left behind may have been good for a while, but for your further journey, it couldn't assist you. Accept the truth; accept the reality. Don't keep reopening the closed doors; don't make the same choices every day wishing your reality to change.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards- 6 of Cups, 10 of Cups, 7 of Swords, 4 of Cups, The High Priestess

Someone's waiting for you and your message. There's an age gap here, and they are manifesting you consciously or unconsciously. The High Priestess is being very clear about what's happening behind the scenes. Someone's sabotaged their friendship/connection with you. Someone may even drunk text you. What? Someone thinks about you a lot and the way they lied to you or behaved as if they didn't care. The truth is you overwhelm someone. They don't know how to behave in front of you. This can be a past life connection. This can be a secret admirer. They have a lot to say to you. This person can have strong earth sign placements. If there's anything missing in their life, then it's you. I also see that money matters to them a lot, and they are also very stubborn. You have multiple admirers! I feel divine is protecting you from someone so that you can meet the person you're meant to be with. Communication will come your way while you're working or doing your own thing. You and your future person are going to be on the same frequency. You'll be a perfect match. Okay, this stubborn person may even think that you're not receiving enough compared to the efforts you put into your work. This person is very materialistic, and they think they are the king, but in reality they are a page (naive). There's something very mysterious about this person. This stubborn person has never shown you their true side and their goals or about their financial situation. I confirmed with the cards who you're meant to be with, so you're not supposed to give this stubborn person a chance because there's manipulation or sabotage here. What you offer isn't enough for them, and they are always going to see you from their distorted lens. It's another person that the universe wants you to meet and be with. You'll meet them soon. If you were drawn to pile 1, then do check it out (I feel a connection). The stubborn person has made you cry oceans! You're about to receive whatever you expected this stubborn person to be for you or give you. You'll be receiving more than you have asked for because of how kind you've been to the old person. I also heard that the stubborn person's kindness was also calculated. I don't know; this person needs to do some healing. They may even be taking tarot readings on your connection. You, on the other hand, can look forward to a new journey in love and life. The cards are sooo clear in the end! They say it's time to release negativity, and nothing will come of this situation (no matter how much you try to make it work with the stubborn one). At the bottom it says, “A new romantic cycle begins!” Yayyy!

[jeonscatalyst]

Back 3 days and already had several viral hit tweets with over 20k or more for full on lies about Jk by this trash fandom who won't protect him from that cult who keeps targeting him. Edits using JK reaction to what should they do next for dieting, being spread all over SM taken out of context saying he was daydreaming about Tae's body and being reacted to by content creators helping spread it and now lies TK left the concert together in the same car with zero proof. Just lies and their own narrative. A car with one person clearly and another's name being screamed, but its TK. WHY? Because they said so and 20k other people said what they hell, we'll believe ya, even tho we can't see who is the car & everyone said different members, but sure. Its them. Going home together to their mansion where they live together. With a viral post saying protect TK from the intruder who broke into THEIR home. Pray for Tae's safety, even tho he doesn't live there & went home right away after discharge and started up a live from HIS home and posted pics in front of HIS mirror that gives them flashbacks and sends chills down their spine cause they knew who took pics with Tae in front of it. Making Jk's break in about TK is a new low. It's atrocious. We need to do better reporting about spreading misinformation since Jk's solos wont. Tag X & X support directly and call them out on top of reporting. Otherwise JK is never gonna have peace since his fans are useless & don't care its his reputation being harmed.

Hey anon,

Ah, this is one thing I definitely didn’t miss…the cult and their constant stream of nonsense.

But you know what I’ve realized? For so many Taekookers, Taekook is a form of escapism. The version of their relationship that exists in their minds becomes a safe haven….a fantasy they retreat into to avoid the more difficult parts of their own lives. There’s a deep yearning for an ideal love, a perfect bond, and that’s why so many of them resort to fabricating things. They’re so desperate for these imagined scenarios to be true that they either ignore the responsibility of verifying anything or choose to fully invest in the lie, convinced that if they believe it hard enough, it might somehow become reality.

Taekook is an easy ship, anon. It doesn’t require much effort. Tae and Jungkook have an adorable bond already, one that is playful, fun and lighthearted, so even the smallest interaction can spark a wildfire of theories. People latch onto these moments not necessarily because they hold weight, but because the idea of Taekook is comforting. It gives them something to hold onto something to escape into. Thing is though, real romantic relationships especially under these circumstances aren’t that easy.

The cult wants to believe they went home together, so they mass-like posts that say they did. They want to believe Jungkook was thinking about Taehyung’s body on that Live, so they hype up posts that make that claim. That’s how the cult was born and that’s how it survives. On desire, not truth.

Jungkook solos don’t usually react unless someone so much as mentions Jimin being seen within ten blocks of him. Then it’s chaos. Jungkook’s friendships with the other five members don’t bother them, because those dynamics are easy to understand and categorize. But his bond with Jimin? That one unsettles them. They can’t explain it. They don’t get it. And that scares them.

I get that it’s exhausting to keep seeing things like that, but at the end of the day, there’s comfort in knowing that no matter what people believe, post, or theorize online, it doesn’t alter the reality of their actual lives. People can lie to themselves, craft fantasies, or cling to whatever narrative helps them sleep at night….and they will. But ultimately, if those delusions aren’t touching or shaping the real lives of the people involved, then there’s a certain peace in that. Let them believe what they need to. The truth doesn’t need defending when it simply is.

[vixen7243]

Wrong Chat: 2

Johnny X AFAB!Reader | TF141 X AFAB!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

MDNI !!!

You watched as Johnny and the guys huddled by the door, well except for Kyle, you weren't sure if he knew of what was happening, had you really sent that video to the chat? Tugging the blanket up to your chin slightly you couldn't help the blush that covered your cheeks when you noticed that Simon wasn't even participating in the talk that was happening between your boyfriend and John. Grabbing your phone to try and distract yourself, you stopped the video that you had started and deleted it, curiously you opened the chat and sure enough, it was right there and so was the responses from the guys, squeezing your eyes shut you covered your face, it wasn't completely your fault, Johnny was just so damn impatient and wanted you to keep sending them all to him right away. "Bonnie," Looking up, you watched as Johnny walked around the bed, resting his hand on your knee sitting by you, he had thrown on a pair of his boxers but his erection was still noticeable, even to you. Looking up to him you notice a lingering hesitancy, "how would you feel bout the lads havin a little taste of ye?"

You felt like a fish out of water, gaping at him jaw hung open slightly as you quickly looked to the door when hearing the front door slam shut and rapid foot steps coming up the stairs before Kyle slouched at the door frame, "You rat bastards. I see thankfully nothing started yet." You tuned them out as small bantered lifted the air between Simon and Kyle, you looked back at Johnny, you two had more than once thrown in a random partner in your sex lives, sometimes he encourage a one night fling with someone he would set up for you on tinder, only if you recorded it and sent it to him, and the talk of even letting his closest mates maybe having a shot with you was a constant reoccurring conversation. That's all it was though, conversation before he taunted you with filthy details of how they would use you and then the both of you screwing like bunnies all the way to your bed, Johnny loved overstimulating himself and you till the both of you were pussydrunk/cockdrunk.

Nervous though of how the teams bond would survive after sharing one of the teams girlfriend, the non promising flirting clearing meaning more if you said you didn't mind. You knew they were all very close, brothers in arms, friends, family, would everything really be okay if they were openly intimate with the same girl, seeing such vulnerable sides to each other? Nibbling on your lip, you wondered if Johnny would be fine with you after, you only had one night stands with men you never, ever saw again, those men never coming up to thought in either your or Johnny's mind. This would be so different though, Johnny would be seeing them all the time, you as well, would he be able to properly handle that? "Are YOU sure you're okay with them, 'having a taste'?" The bickering silenced at your inquiry, "You're not just fine with this because they showed up? This won't bother you later down the road? You work with them, you're all so close. We've made small talk every now and then of... you know... them maybe joining in, but I never thought that those could actually be holding any real weight with you. Did they?"

Johnny squeezed your knee, smiling softly at you, pulling you into his arms, kissing the top of your head, "Oh bonnie, I will be completely fine with this, we had talked about it a lot before, on my end, I did think that we were on the same page of them, that is my fault, probably too light hearted on it before fogging your mind up on my dick, eh?" Pulling back from him you playfully smacked his arm.

"Johnny." Chuckling with him you met him half way in a soft kiss, "So you're really, truly, 100% okay with..." Looking over to the others who were attentively listening and inched closer at your glance, "sharing?"

Taking the blanket from your hands, he slowly started pulling it down and away from your body, shuffling towards the bed you looked to the men, Johnny pulling your ankle to the side, your sopping cunny presented to them. Gasping at the cool air hitting your folds, your eyes followed as fingers nimbly undid buttons, zippers and belts, "You just sit back and relax eh bonnie, we'll move and handle your every need." Sighing, you looked up to Kyle who snuck around Simon and reached your side, guiding your face closer kissing you deeply, tasting you and groaning when you pushed closer with him. Feeling another pair of hands on your legs and hips, you tried to open your eyes and look, but Kyle was insistent on not breaking the kiss as his hand slid into your hair holding you still. You gasping into the kiss as you felt someone's calloused fingers rubbed into your clit, roughly toying with it making your hips attempt to rut against the fingers, only to be stopped by another pair of hands pushing your hips into the bed. Huffing, you pulled back gasping for air as you shot your eyes down and watched as John pushed your other knee down before pinching your clit and giving a short twist, crying slightly you jolted, grunting when Simon leaned into you and bite your nipple.

So lost and overwhelmed with all the stimulation to your body you looked over to Johnny, he was holding his cock back in his hand leaning in to suck at your neck, looking back at Kyle you helped him fish out his dick, licking your lips at the length, "Pretty." Looking up at him when he chuckled you realize you had said that out loud, giving him a few strokes before you shifted to move closer opening your mouth, he met you the rest of the way, groaning when your wet tongue slid over the slit of his cockhead. Sucking him into your mouth, you gave a few bobs of your head, using your hand to pump what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

"Impatient as ever huh, Gaz?" John said as he leaned down, pushing Simon's hands from your hips, shifting you forward slightly, Kyle's cock slipping a little further down your throat making you gag, "Sorry darling, need little more space." Whimpering around Kyle's dick you bucked forward when you felt John's lips against your clit, his fingers sliding down to your dripping slit, pushing the remaining bit of Johnny's spunk right back into your clenching hole. You reached out your other hand, before it was guided to a fat cock, your nimble fingers barely grazing each other as you wrapped them around the shaft, feeling the big hand around yours, you started pumping the appendage. Shifting your eyes slight from the movement behind you on the bed you saw as Johnny removed your hand from Kyle and sat up on his knees, your hand making quick work back on his shaft. Letting you get your pace, Johnny bunched up your hair in his fist pushing you a little further down onto Kyle, a gargled whimper getting stuck in your throat at the action. "Shit, keep that up MacTavish, she's sucking my damn fingers in deeper." Clenching again around John's fingers you felt tears prickling your eyes as Johnny listened and made you move fast.

Choking slightly you tried your best to keep your hands moving, faltering making Simon keep his hold on your hand tight as he helped you drag up and down his thick shaft. Blinking, tears started slipping down your cheeks when Kyle's grunt continued to get louder, his hips making quick deep thrusts against Johnny's guided movements. Gargling you started shifting, hips moving against John's assault on you cunny, you felt close to cumming but darted your eyes to Johnny who let you momentarily abandon his cock, your hand darting up to Kyle's hip, tugging on his pants before both his hands grabbed either side of your head, also grasping Johnny's hand, shoving his dick deep into your throat, his shaven pelvic pushed to your nose, all air halted. You could feel his cum shooting down your throat, forced to try and swallow it down or continue to choke around him as he stayed still, head thrown back, eyes rolled back, his groans filling the room.

As soon as his hands and Johnny's left your head, you pulled back, strings of his cum and your spit connecting your lips to his twitching dick, coughing and gasping you whined turning your head down to look at John, "Stop, no, I'm goin to..." Stopping when Johnny pulled your hand back from pushing John's head away, you rutted your hips into John's face cumming against him, still struggling to regain control of your breathing, your hand around Simon's shaft tighten and pushed down making him grunt.

Once John had licked up your essence, dutifully also sucking up Johnny's cum from your cunt, he gently used his palm to rub fully against your mound. "Damn good job darling." Sniffling you leaned back, Johnny moving a pillow under your head, kissing your temple as John removed his shirt and tugging his pants off before climbing back between your legs, his beard was wet as he leaned into you kissing you, you could taste yourself and Johnny on his tongue, he'd eaten you out while filled with another man's cum like it was nothing and the thought that since it was so easy he probably would even mind sucking from the source to get a taste. Wondering if he was enjoying that he could too also taste Kyle on your tongue you combed your fingers up through his beard to his scalp, moaning when you could feel his tip nudging your entrance. "Sexy little minx, you ready?"

Nodding your head you bent your legs shifting them a little more for him, you arched into him moaning when he slowly started pushing into you, completely overstimulated and spent as soon as he was fully into you to the hilt of his dick, you cried into his mouth cumming already. Twitching beneath him, you sniffled as he leaned up looking down at you, the look in his eyes full of humor and fondness, "Sweat heart, cumming already like that, fuck, almost had me cumming in these tight walls." Pushing the hair stuck to your forehead back he rested on his forearms rolling his hips into you, "You'll let me fill up this poor little cunt won't you?"

Wrapping your weak arms around his shoulders you nodded your head, taking slow thrusts at first, John built you back up, grunting each time your gummy walls squished around him, your cum and still some left over spend from Johnny that was buried deep in your frothing around the base of his cock. He was slowly loosing himself as he hooked your knees up to his chest bending you into a mating press, "I'm going to fuck my cum right into your womb darling, making you right and full of me." Moaning you grabbed his shoulders pulling him down, drooling at the thought that you could very well get pregnant from tonight, Johnny had such a big breeding kink that he had you addicted to the thought of being round and carrying his baby you agreed to stop taking your birth control. You never worried about not being married yet, with how much the two of you love each other you guys knew that it would happen eventually whether you've had kids yet or not. Of course, when you would have one night stands your were more than persistent to make sure they wore a condom and that you took a plan B pill just incase, but the mere thought that John could be possibly responsible for breeding you like a whore in front of your boyfriend made you gush around him again, "You love that huh? Fucking a baby right into this pretty cunt, you won't even put up a fight huh? You would raise it like we had been together for years huh?"

God, yes, yes you would, Johnny even groaned to the left of you, knowing he was agreeing you rode out your orgasm while John's hips lost their rhythm his cock pushing right into your cervix, twitching as his cum filling every crevasse in you. The both of you, held still, John letting his balls drain into you, slotting your fingers up into his beard, dazed you gently pulled him down to you, the kiss a slow burning heat, tongues more gently gliding over each other, lips barely parted as you guys shifted deepening the kiss, the world tuned out as you two soaked in the other. Having collected your self's, John slowly pulled back, and the look in his eyes made your walls reflutter around his softening shaft, pulling out of you he gave you another quick soft kiss. Your legs lowered to the bed, dazed and pliant, you waited for Simon to reach down to you, he started shifting you, he had turned you around and laid you down on your stomach.

As rough as his hands looked, they were gentle as he handled you, pulling your hips up before folding a pillow and pushing it under them, you felt his finger nails, blunt, drag from your arched ass, down and up your spine, goosebumps following the trail, "I'm not much one for being too gentle lovie, I'll hold back starting off for you, but I will use this filthy cunt till you've drained everything I have for you." His voice made your walls flutter around nothing, his harsh promise of possibly absolutely ruining your pussy more than it already was had you drooling and nodding at the promise fisting the bed sheet in your hands. Feeling his rough hands spread your legs, he shifted in between your legs, shoving his pants down half way down his thighs, you could feel the metal bit of his belt dig into your thigh when he start easing himself inside, John's cum a natural lubricant for his girthy fat cock, pushing your face into the pillow you grunted, whining at the stretch, feeling as either hand grabbed the pillow you were gripping, a sharp thrust forward buried him the rest of the way into you, the air in your lungs feeling like it had been punched right out of you. Simon grunted as he held still a moment, giving you as much time as his body would allow before drawing back half way and then shoving back in, lifting your head slightly sucking in air you moaned. Pulling back again, this time the tip of his weighty cock sitting at your entrance, before he yet again ploughed right back in a sob falling from your lips, pushing back into him, at that, Simon followed up onto his harsh promise and fell into a harsh pace, no doubt bruising your walls. Feeling raw under him you couldn't do anything more then feel like jelly under him taking each each thrust.

After 3 more numbing orgasms around his dick, Simon fisted your hair yanking your head up from the pillow, tears sliding down your cheeks, mixing with the drool that was coming from your mouth, your whines and moans forced into the room, body shaking from the blows Simon was pushing into your cunny. "All fucked out, come on, little more love." As sweet dripped from his forehead onto your hot back, you felt as his hand slapped down across your ass cheek, "Say my name love, come on, Simon, say it." An incoherent sound sputtered from your mouth, stuttering, trying again you cried as another smack landed on the other cheek, "Simon, say it." You really were trying, but you just couldn't get your brain to work, the last orgasm had you squirting around him, soaking his pants and the bed sheets under you, absolutely ruining them. "Say it lovie."

Huffing out, feeling his grip tighten in your head smacking down hard, a clean hand print reddening on your cheek, sobbing out, you stuttered, "S-s-s-Si..." Grunting as he shift your hips more, your back arching painfully as he tugged your head back, the thrusts more rough somehow.

"Louder."

"S-S-S-SS-SIMON!!!"

"AGAIN"

Crying out you felt his hips faltering, his cock twitching, he was close, "SIMON!!" His hips slamming against your ass, holding as his cum shot right into your cervix, you squirted, a painful orgasm shooting through your body as you screamed out, crying as he rotated his hips, his balls sliding against your aching clit. You went weightless, eyes shutting, shallow breathing under him, you had officially passed out. Lowering your head into the pillow, Simon carefully laid your body into the drenched pillow and sheets, huffing as he littered your back, shoulders, neck and cheek with soft kisses.

"Jesus Ghost, that was some of the hottest shit I'd seen." Gaz said, his limp, pumped cock resting in his hand, his cum dripping down onto the bed, the other men fisting themselves, unable to hold out to the show.

"Pick her up yeah?" Johnny asked as he went into the hall opening the closest grabbing a spare bed sheet, blanket and a few towels. Walking back in, he handed the towels to Kyle, "Clean her up will ye." John had already removed the soaked bed sheet, also throwing the pillow you soaked into the hamper with the sheet before assisting Johnny spreading out the new sheet, tucking the corners. Johnny laid out the pillows, helping Simon lay you into the middle, Kyle coming back with a couple damp towels, laying the dry ones at the foot of the bed, each one taking a towel to carefully drag along each limb and between your thighs before taking the dry towels to wipe your damp body down.

"Right." John was gruff as Johnny started getting situated beside you, an arm tugging you into him spooning you.

The lads started making to getting dressed about to leave till Johnny looked at them bewildered, "Where are the lot of ye goin?"

Shocked they looked to each other before Kyle spoke, "Well, home, give ya'll space?"

Johnny looked confused, "For what? Ye think she'll be happy to wake up an the lot of ye just left after getting a good rump in?" Shrugging his shoulders he shift into you, "Alri, if that so suites you guys, thought ye would at least want to stay after that."

Little taken aback, Kyle restriped his pants and laid on the other side of you, wrapping you up, an arm slightly over Johnny's ribs. John and Simon glanced at each other, pushing their clothes off, before also going to the bed and climbing in, flicking the lights off. John slid in behind Kyle, big arms going over his waist to grip yours, Simon doing the same behind Johnny, his hand snaking up cupping your breast comfortably. Snuggly tucked in under the blanket you all rested holding each other.

Part 3

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Viola 😍😘 Part of me wonders if I'll do more parts to this, I slightly feel like there could be potential for little drabbles of before, you know, when Johnny had you sending him videos of you riding other guys, ruining them, then him showing you exactly who you belong to😵‍💫. Or the after bits or the lads truly and properly confessing controversial feelings for you?🤔 IDK?!?!?😉 Anyways, hope ya'll enjoyed.💕

[legal-poppy]

how to study in (and survive) law school, from a 2L who almost failed both 1L semesters

you may be asking, "why would i want study advice from someone who clearly doesn't know how to study?" but that's the point- i'm a first-gen law student. aside from my siblings, nobody in my extended family has even been in grad school since the late 90s. i didn't know how to study last year, and definitely didn't know how to study for law school classes and exams. i ended my 1L year with 3 Cs and was placed in a remedial course last semester for the bottom 25% of students. i worked, changed, and tried different study methods throughout the semester, to figure out what works best for me and the classes i was taking. and it showed--i got an A and 3 Bs and my GPA jumped from a 2.5 to almost 2.8.

#1- do not try to do anything else during class. no social media, no reading, no shopping, no games. seriously. pay attention to your prof, your classmates, and what you did and didn't understand correctly from the reading. make corrections, note additional questions, read and re-read the book and your notes to make sure you can follow along with any questions or hypos.

#2- nothing is optional. do all of the extra readings, practice problems, and hypos. go to your prof for feedback on what you did well, what you didn't understand or apply correctly, and what you can do to write a better answer next time.

#3- go to your prof's office hours or ask questions after class. in high school and college i was told to never bug a teacher outside of class and never, ever go to their office hours. but law profs love when students ask questions and seek help. it doesn't have to be some profound theoretical question- my business law prof learned my name just from asking her about stories and problems my family had with businesses/services recently. my evidence prof learned my name because i kept asking her evidentiary questions about crime shows i was watching. in addition to the typical questions about a subject i was confused on or misunderstood, those fun questions helped me better understand and apply both the law and practical effect of the law to questions on the exam.

#4- start your outlines early and ask your prof for feedback. this was my biggest problem last year because i was paralyzed just figuring out how to format and organize my outlines. instead of going for pretty or aesthetic or perfectly detailed, just start writing. make a mess, write everywhere, scribble and erase and tape things together if you have to. it will still help you relearn and cement your understanding of those subjects. ask your prof if they would prefer to email your outline to look over ahead of time or just pop in for their office hours, and ask them if you got anything wrong, if you're too focused on the wrong details, or if there's anything you won't need to know for the exam. they won't judge if your outline is a mess, it just shows that you're trying and really want to get better.

when i studied for my evidence exam (my A last semester), i had so much trouble with my word doc that a week before the exam i just took my reading notes, my class notes, and my casebook, and spent days filling out an entire whiteboard with every bit of info on a rule. i ended up with 14 photos of that whiteboard completely covered with rules, advisory opinions, cases, and hypos. rather than wasting more time to type all of that up and send it to my prof, i sent her those photos. she knew i was struggling to stay organized on my traditional outline and saw how much better i was able to conceptualize the whole class without touching microsoft. i apologized for my horrible handwriting but all she did was send back notes on every single photo- what i had wrong, what i didn't need to know, and what i needed more detail/clarity on. no judgment for the incorrect parts or my handwriting or that i used a whiteboard, because it worked!

#5- revise your notes after every class. i didn't literally have time right after class, but every day when i went home i tried to revise my notes before i forgot what happened in class. i wasn't successful every single day and often spent a few hours on the weekend rewatching lectures and trying to remember details, but it was more effective than waiting until november to even start revising and outlining.

#6- don't follow the crowd. a lot of "gunners" and people with superiority complexes will tell you to follow their perfect notetaking format, study method, class structure, or reading style. and it might work great for them (or they're probably lying about how amazingly smart they are to look better than everyone else and make you feel worse about yourself), but they're very clearly a different person than you are because i hope you aren't trying to subtly wage psychological warfare on your stressed classmates. if you need a place to start, try to utilize those resources, but you can and should make adjustments if it isn't working for you. take a different class, join a different study group, use a different study supplement, do whatever is most helpful for you, and ignore anyone who suggests you're going to fail if you don't follow their instructions.

#7- don't listen to the noise. there's always someone with their superiority complex and intro-level psychology class and jedi mind tricks or whatever. they want to brag about how smart they are, what amazing grades they got, how easy the exam was that everyone else cried during, and that they got the best internship opportunity because of all of that. odds are, they're (1) lying and (2) exaggerating. they're probably struggling and stressing and crying just as much as you. or they're just not self-aware. you're never going to escape them too, unfortunately. but don't fall for their trap. don't study with them, don't sit by them, don't ask them for help unless you have exhausted every other person and resource in the building, take everything they say with a grain of salt and throw it over your shoulder to keep the demons away.

the other noise to avoid is the worriers who want to vent to everyone about how stressed, stupid, worried they are about the class or exam. and this isn't to say that you can't vent to your friends about it--that's your safety blanket people who will feel your stress and try to help you manage it. but if you see that person that you barely know and don't really talk to and they want to randomly start venting like that, take a step back. leave if you can, and if not, try to keep your head. don't stress because they're stressing, don't start second-guessing yourself, and don't share your own feelings of stress with them because they just want to see how miserable other people are so they can feel like they're doing better than you. if you're one of those people that everyone wants to vent to, do not do that for every person or repeat offenders who only seem to talk to you about their stress. take them to the dean, academic support staff, or on-campus counseling staff if they really need someone to talk to and help them. it's not your job to mother-duck your classmates so don't let them distract you from what you're there to do.

i had a classmate who caused drama with anyone who so much as looked at him the wrong way. accused people of cheating, violating the honor code, sleeping around for study help and good grades, or just being generally stupid. he wanted to seem so much smarter and better than those people (out of the 2 people i know who suffered his bullying, one was because she took too long to respond to his text and the other asked him too many questions about materials from a class). he just wouldn't shut up about how he was going to do way better than them and they were going to fail and drop out because they have no other career opportunities (pretty accurate paraphrase too). but to nobody's surprise, he ended that semester with a D, C and 2 Bs. no judgment to him for his grades because clearly i'm not much better, but very much judging for his attitude. people like him caused me to lose 20 lbs and half of my hair between April-September 2024 because i was so stressed about what he would think if he knew my grades or saw me in our remedial course, which he took in an earlier semester but also referred to as "the stupid class" full of students who couldn't care less about their futures. don't be like me, don't listen to anybody's judgment--focus on yourself and doing the best you can.

#8-the moment you start to feel anxious or panicked or spiraling down the drain, shut it down. talk to your professor, advisor, academic support center, dean of students, school counseling center, or even a friend--anyone that you know has your best interest at heart and will do what they can to help you. tell them that you're overwhelmed and stuck on something. law school staff, especially professors, do not judge students who reach this point. i almost cried in a prof's office because i was so worried about our mock court debate with actual lawyers and judges serving as our judges. my prof didn't judge or scold me for being so emotional at law school, she asked me why i was so worried and told me something she hadn't told the whole class: none of our mock judges actually knew anything about our assignment or the case law. they had no idea if we were misstating something or even found the right cases, they were only judging our presentation and advocacy. another professor, took me off of the cold-call list for an entire unit when i told her i was having a hard time reading the cases and didn't think i would be able to answer questions in class about them because of the personal experience i had with that topic. if you don't think a prof will listen to you or it's something more serious like accommodations or certain behaviors, you can talk to higher-ups like the dean/student services office/accommodations office for better help. those resources exist to help, so use them and don't feel bad for doing so.

#9- seek opportunities even if you don't meet the requirements. i got an interview with a federal office as a 1L, with my mediocre grades, because i applied. i didn't think they would be interested in me because i have no lawyer family members and am not the smartest candidate at our school, but i was one of 10 (TEN!!) 1L interviewees and ultimately got that (paid) internship last summer. they never even asked about my grades, but i did use it during my interview to show how hard i was working to do better and actually put in the work to do that. ignore the firms that say they only want the top 50% or 30% and apply if that's what you're interested in. if they don't want you because you don't have the grades they want, it's a sign that they're also not going to be accommodating when the bar exam comes, and you maybe didn't pass the first time, and they decide to fire you rather than hire you as a first-year associate after 6 more months of studying for the next bar date.

#10- take breaks every day and every week. personally, i take 30 minutes after back-to-back classes before i start studying, i stop studying at 6pm on the weekends unless i have a serious deadline, and i try to go out at least once a month with a non-lawyer friend to touch grass with the regular world and bring myself back into perspective. having law-school goggles on all the time throws everything out of whack. mountains and molehills and all of that. talk to regular people, let them slap you back into shape to see the whole puzzle of what lies beyond law school. and don't forget that you are more than your brain. go outside, take a walk, do some yoga, meditate, pet your goldfish. cry if you feel it and stress if it's stressful, but it's not the end of the world--no matter what happens.

good luck on the new semester, whether you've already been back for a while or are starting soon. be proud of yourself no matter what your grades look like when you get them. pause, evaluate, and set a plan to do better this semester.