#he really has a face that was made for drawing

[tender-rosiey]

“OUR LOVE SHALL LIVE, AND LATER LIFE RENEW”

— domestic family moments with gojo, geto, nanami, toji and sukuna (f!reader)

a/n: i was on vacation my babes; my apologies </3 hope you yall enjoy this

GOJO SATORU:

it is no secret that your husband thrives off physical affection, so it surprises no one when he is latched onto you like a koala to a tree, especially at home.

the past couple of days were filled with more missions than gojo would’ve preferred, so to make up for lost time, he spent the entirety of last night cuddling you.

that cuddling session continued to the morning, and satoru couldn’t have been happier.

you, fast asleep and looking oh so pretty, and him, happily burying his face in your chest: the perfect combo.

your husband, however, failed to remember that there is somebody else who would fight day and night for your affection.

that someone comes in the shape of his grumpy little son who is currently standing at the door with a stance that is supposed to be intimidating.

the little boy pouts and is about to yell when satoru—reluctantly—detaches himself from you and stares at him.

“what do you want, s/n?”

your son makes his way to the bed and climbs it up with much struggle, but it doesn’t matter to him since he is satisfied he is finally face to face with his dad.

he crosses his arms and huffs, “I want to cuddle with mom.”

satoru quirks an eyebrow, and his fingers slowly card through your hair. your husband replies with a smirk, “well, I want to cuddle with her too. I miss her!”

“dad, don’t be mean!” your son argues, “you had her yesterday!”

satoru shrugs and lies back down, and you cuddle into his side.

he can’t help himself as he presses a kiss to your head first then looks at s/n, pleadingly, “but I was working a lot this past week; can’t you let me have her just a bit more?”

your son ponders a bit, before settling on a solution that should satisfy both ends. satoru has been away for quite the while lately.

so, s/n simply throws himself on satoru’s chest, making the older man groan. the boy buries his face into his dad’s chest and guides his hand into his hair.

satoru smiles, hand immediately getting to work, patting his son’s head. he sighs blissfully, “you really are my son.”

s/n nods slowly, and he starts drifting off to sleep. satoru is thankful that he closed the curtains yesterday and that he is granted another chance to sleep in with you and his son.

s/n murmurs a soft, “love you, dada.”

it makes satoru’s heart nearly burst as he looks at his son. he immediately replies softly, “I love you too, buddy.”

s/n slowly replies, “you better,” before falling asleep. your husband gently pulls you closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

satoru whispers a soft, “thank you.”

he starts rubbing your shoulder comfortingly and leaning his head more towards your own. it is a few moments that pass before he asks, “also babe, are you seriously still asleep?”

“no, I am awake, you silly buffon; you two have never heard of inside voices.”

GETO SUGURU:

the slow creak of the door signals to everybody in the house the arrival of suguru, long before his voice does. little hurried steps rush down the stairs as your husband takes off his shoes.

he looks up with a smile and chirps, “I am home!”

“daddy!” your two girls squeal as they tackle their dad in a big hug. he quickly hugs them back and picks them both up.

they each press a kiss to his cheek, and he returns them tenfold causing them to squeal yet again.

he finally relents before asking them, as he gently twirls around, “how are my pretty girls doing?”

the little girls look at each other then smirk. they both yank out the papers they kept hidden in their pockets before saying simultaneously, “we made drawings!”

suguru face noticeably lights up, and he coos, “these are so pretty! are those supposed to be us?”

the girls nod excitedly, and they each start explaining the details of their own respective drawings.

he listens to both of them intently then asks, “you made sure to make mommy extra pretty, so it can actually look like her, right?”

“yes yes!”

“mommy is the prettiest!”

“I gave her flowers!”

“daddy, daddy, I gave her flowers and a dress!”

your husband laughs lightly, “well, that’s good; both of your drawings are amazing,” he looks around.

with a confused tilt of his head, he looks down at his girls, “speaking of which, where is your mama?”

the girls yell out, “follow us!” then sprint towards where they last saw you, the living room. he quickly makes his way towards you, and he feels his heart soar when he finally sees you.

you see him in the corner of your eye, and as you turn to greet him, your girls throw themselves at you and squeal, “we missed you!”

“you girls just saw me 5 minutes ago!” you chuckle but, nonetheless, hug them back and pepper their faces with kisses.

you hear your husband huff before he picks up the girls by their shirts making them scream and thrash about.

“daddy, put us down!”

“mama, help!”

he throws them both on the fluffy beanbag and pulls you into a hug, “how’s my favorite girl?”

you giggle as he presses soft kisses across your face. his arms wrap around your waist and he squeezes you a little.

you hug him back and gently pat his back, “are you playing favorites, suguru?”

“very much so.”

you hear gasps from your dramatic girls, and you see each one of them arming herself.

your husband purposely ignores them and buries his face into the crook of your neck. you mumble to him, “you are going to get jumped.”

“I know.”

your eyes flit to the girls then to your husband again, “they seem really angry.”

“I know, but at least I am hugging you.”

you quirk an eyebrow, “you okay dying as long as I am hugging you?”

“that’s like the best way to die, love.”

your girls let out a battle cry.

“daddy, you meanie!”

“suffer!”

NANAMI KENTO:

your husband groans, and his hand rises to see what the weight on his chest is. his hand finds a head and a bed of hair that he is all too familiar with.

he slowly opens his eyes and sees your dear daughter laying soundly asleep on him.

a small smile appears on his face, and he lets out a small sigh of both content and relief. he turns his head slightly towards the nightstand and reaches for the alarm.

it reads eleven in the morning, which kento deems the proper time to finally wake up.

so, he looks back at d/n then at you. he remembers how hard you’ve been working the past few days and decides that leaving you to rest a bit more today.

he also decides to prepare breakfast for you but not without his little helper. he pats her head gently and tries to wake her up, “d/n.”

she doesn’t respond, so he calls out again, “d/n.”

she groans and buries her face deeper into his chest. he lets out a small chuckle then rubs her back and says, “come on; we have to make breakfast for mom.”

“but I am tired,” she argues, voice muffled.

“well, mama is tired too, so we need to be nice and make her breakfast. don’t you think so?”

she groans, “yes, but…”

“d/n?” he urges.

the little girl huffs and pushes herself up and looks her dad directly in the eyes—albeit her eyes are squinty and barely open.

it makes him think that she is going to huff then get up to wash her face, but she simply pushes herself off him so she can land in your embrace.

your arms wrap instinctively around her, and she immediately nuzzles into your chest. he stares at the two of you for a bit, rather dumb-founded. then his expression turns into one of fondness.

he turns his entire body towards you.

he is finally face to face with you, and he puts his arm around you to pull you closer. he hears his daughter’s whines and complains about how he is crushing her, but he only smiles.

he looks down at her and hums, “there is plenty of space on the other side of the bed, if you don’t like laying between us.”

she quickly backtracks, “no, no, no; I will stay.”

he nods before looking at you again. he presses a kiss to your forehead and feels his body relax. he murmurs, “just five more minutes, and nothing more.”

your daughter pouts, “not even ten?”

“not even ten,” he says, kissing her cheek, “but I will make it up to you by making pancakes; what do you think?”

she nods happily and mumbles, “we will make the best breakfast.”

“yeah,” he murmurs, joining you in your slumber.

you end up waking up before him but can’t escape your husband’s solid grip. you even look down to see your little angel—maybe—giggling and squealing, happy that you’re finally awake.

of course, it wakes up your husband. but oh well.

TOJI FUSHIGURO:

“stop being a brat and get me the flour.”

“stop being rude first then I will get it for you.”

“what part of what I said was rude, you—”

that’s how it has been for the past hour. toji and megumi had decided to put their differences aside to surprise you with something: breakfast in bed.

it’s quite simple.

they were supposed to make some sausages, eggs, pancakes, and everything they could find really. they wanted to make it a five-star breakfast.

despite their constant bickering, they managed to finish everything, save for the pancakes. it was finally getting closer to the—usual—time of you waking up, so toji was on edge.

he wanted to at least do this correctly.

he thinks of it as a little something to start repaying you for everything you gave him—which he thinks is impossible to actually repay but oh well.

he moves around the kitchen rather clumsily, partially because of his size and partially because of his absence in the kitchen, for good reason, though, megumi would argue.

“dad, the sausages are burnt.”

“shut up.”

“mom likes her eggs a little bit runny.”

“I know.”

with furrowed eyebrows, toji finally gets to mixing the batter. he hears megumi call out, “dad.”

he is a little irked, to be honest, but he responds anyway, “what do you want now?”

“is…”

toji immediately notes the shift in his son’s tone, causing him to give megumi his full attention.

the little boy fidgets with his shirt a little before speaking up, “is there a chance that mom would disappear?”

your husband looks down at the still batter in the bowl. he sighs. it’s a question that he thinks about, at least every week. this haven that he managed to be a part of, is it really permanent?

he has been unlucky all his life, and things are going way too well nowadays. is that the universe’s way of preparing him for the biggest scar of his life?

taking you away?

he closes his eyes for a brief moment, and he finds his hand resting on the top of his son’s head. the little boy’s eyes widen, and he looks up at his dad.

toji frowns slightly and looks away, gently ruffling megumi’s hair and finally saying, “no…I will make sure of that.”

toji locks eyes with megumi, and the two can tell that it’s a silent promise. the boy blushes a little red, embarrassed at the unusual display of affection by his father.

his father grumbles and goes back to making the pancakes.

“my oh my, never thought I would be lucky enough to see you in a kitchen apron,” you tease from the doorway.

megumi instantly runs to the door at the sound of your voice. your son hugs you tightly, mumbling a small, “good morning.”

“you ruined the surprise,” your husband complains as you walk towards him.

you press a kiss to his cheek, which he immediately reciprocates, “I am already plenty surprised.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

a giggle leaves your lips as your daughter carefully climbs her father and perches herself on his shoulders. it is amazing how much sukuna lets you and your daughter get away with.

some would argue that your husband has, overall, mellowed down, but then they would get sliced down instantly.

he is still the big, feared king of curses, and people cower in his presence now more than ever, but those—uraume and the servants—who see him with you two can see the difference, even if it is slight.

that can be evident right now considering your husband who is deliberately ignoring your little girl’s antics.

your girl takes it as the okay to what she is doing, so she continues her quiet laughter as she gently starts placing flowers from the basket on his hair.

feeling the movement, your husband groans then looks at you, “what is that brat doing?”

she spreads the flowers out a bit, so they can fill his hair, meanwhile your husband’s annoyance rises.

the assortment of flowers that she placed actually matches well with his hair, and you feel the need to commend her, “you’re doing amazing, d/n!”

she grins as you sit in front of your husband. you look at your little artist doing her thing then smile, “she is making you pretty.”

he scrunches his nose, “by putting flowers on me? I ought to teach her a lesson.”

one of his hands reach for her, and he grabs her by the back of her shirt. she starts squealing and kicking, “daddy, I was almost done!”

he dangles her in front of his face and frowns, “who gave you permission to put that stuff on my hair? who do you think you’re dealing with?”

her face softens, and she mumbles softly, “you’re my dad…”

you coo at her but are quickly silenced when sukuna pulls you to him and nestles you in his lap. he keeps glaring at your daughter—who is trying her best not to cry because he said that it’s for the weak—then he sighs.

he lets go of her, and she screams, flailing her arms around. however, she safely falls in your arms. she whimpers slightly and buries her face in your shoulder.

your husband looks down at her small form in your arms and slowly raises his hand and puts it on her head.

“good on you for not crying,” he lightly ruffles her hair, and your daughter slowly looks up at him, wide-eyed.

he grumbles and looks away, “don’t look at me like that.”

“you love me!” she squeals, and he simply grunts in return.

she quickly gets off your lap and goes to run around the garden. your little girl starts screaming about how her dad praised her, and you feel a grin slowly rise on your face.

but, you suddenly feel your husband’s head lower down and his lips brush against your ears slightly.

you can even hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “looks like you want another one.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will make my cousins jump you

[faithshouseofchaos]

some dark ex! mafia! lando ????

“Hello sweetheart” — dark!ex!mafia!Lando Norris x reader

Warnings— Lando is stalker-ish,mentions of a gun, Lando is obsessed with the reader

Word count -2k

You had been looking over your shoulder since the day you left your ex, Lando. When you first met him, he was the sweetest guy you’d ever dated. He made you feel special, like the only girl in the world, the only one for him. Oh, how right you were.

Your nails tapped against the glass of the counter in the pawnshop, drawing the attention of the shopkeeper. He was quick to notice which gun you were gesturing towards.

"Now, what would a young thing like yourself be doing with a gun like this?" he asked, pulling out the Taurus 380 ACP revolver. It was small enough to be easily concealed and go unnoticed.

“Call me paranoid and desperate,” you responded, unamused and ready to get out of the dingy pawn shop.

“That’s a dangerous combination. Who has got you this paranoid and desperate enough to buy a gun?” he asked, setting the revolver on the counter before grabbing a box of bullets.. The man’s eyes take in your appearance. You had dark purple bags under your eyes from not being able to sleep. He also noticed how you jumped at the smallest noises with wide eyes and how exhausted you sounded.

“Nobody I want to see again in this lifetime,” you replied.

“That’s understandable. I feel the same way about my ex-wife, she's a real piece of work suing me for everything I own” the man said, chuckling at his joke.

As you waited for him to finish bagging up the gun and the bullets, you felt a chill run down your spine. Maybe you were paranoid, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle and jingle of the bells on the shop’s front door had you jumping in your skin.

When the guy handed you the bag, he gave you a concerned look.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You tried to brush it off with a laugh and a quick “I’m fine,” but even you could hear the shakiness in your voice.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk you to your car?” the guy asked, obviously not believing you.

You hesitated for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe you were just being paranoid.

“Yeah… Yeah, that might not be a bad idea.”

The guy nodded in understanding, stepping out from behind the counter and walking towards the door.

“Let’s get you to your car. You seem on edge,” he said, holding the door open for you.

As you stepped out into the twilight, the shadows seemed to stretch and bend, making your skin crawl. You kept glancing around, trying to see if anyone was following you.

The guy hovered nearby, noticing your nervousness. “You’re shaking like a leaf,” he remarked. “You okay you look really pale like you're going to be sick any second now?”

You forced what you hoped was a believable smile. “Yeah… Fine. Just a little jumpy, that’s all.”

The guy raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t press the issue. He simply stood there, waiting for you to unlock your car. Eventually, you managed to get the key in the lock and opened the door. As you climbed into the driver’s seat, your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it pounding in your ears.

The guy gave you a small wave. “You sure you’re going to be alright on your own?” he asked, concern etched on his face. “Yeah, I’ll be careful. Thanks again,” you said, the words barely more than a whisper. As the guy walked back towards the pawn shop, you closed your door and sat there for a moment, trying to collect yourself.

Lando sat in his office, his expression dark and brooding. He was surrounded by the trappings of wealth - the expensive furniture, the art on the walls, the panoramic view of the city. But none of it brought him any joy. Not without you. He needed you. He wanted you.

The phone rang on his desk, interrupting his brooding. He picked it up, listening intently as the man spoke.

“She’s on her way home Boss”

“Good,” Lando replied as he hung up the phone, his mind already planning his next move. He stood up, straightening his tie and adjusting his jacket. He looked like the epitome of a wealthy businessman, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye.

He walked out of his office, giving his staff a quick order to hold his calls. He didn’t want anything interfering with his plans for you. Lando got into his car, the engine roaring to life as he pressed the gas pedal. He navigated through the city streets, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only - you.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the anticipation building with every mile that brought him closer to you. He could almost taste victory. As Lando drove, his mind began to play out scenarios of what he would do when he saw you again. He could imagine the fear in your eyes, the shock on your face as he showed up unannounced. He could picture the way you would tremble in his presence, the way you would try to run, but he would never let you escape. Not this time. Not again he wouldn’t let that happen a second time.

He could feel his heart rate increasing as he got closer to your place. The thrill of the hunt was exhilarating. He knew you would try to fight him, screaming, punching,slapping and kicking you weren’t good at it. Fighting, but he also knew how to control you. He had done it before, he would do it again.

As he finally arrived outside your place, he parked his car and got out, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of you. He saw your car parked out front and a smile crept across his face. You were already home. He walked up to the front door, his footsteps silent and stealthy. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small lock pick, easily unlocking the door in seconds.

He stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. He was inside your home, and you were his prey.

Lando looked around the place, noting the lack of security cameras and alarm system. He chuckled softly to himself. As if those things could keep him from what he wanted.

He took a deep breath, taking in the familiar scent of your perfume. It was intoxicating, bringing back memories that made his heart ache.

Lando could hear the shower running. A sly smile played at the corners of Lando's mouth. You were vulnerable, naked, and exposed in the shower. It would be so easy to take advantage of the situation.

As he inched toward the master bedroom where he could hear the steady rush of the shower pulled him in like a magnet. He toyed with the idea of barging in and seizing you, but that would have been too predictable. Instead, he pivoted on his heel and retreated to the living room, taking a seat in the dimly lit corner. Nestled in the chair, Lando blended into the shadows, becoming virtually invisible. This was more fun. He bided his time with the patience of a predator on the prowl. He could still hear the shower running, and the knowledge that you were just on the other side of that door, naked and defenseless, made his pulse quicken. He sat there, patient and still, waiting for you to come out.

He knew it was only a matter of time before you finished your shower and emerged from the bedroom.

The anticipation was a delicious torment, each passing moment bringing him closer to what he desired most.

Once dressed you walked out of your bedroom to get some food. The revolver fits easily into the pocket of your sweatpants. It brought some comfort to ease your mind but it wasn’t enough. Every creak of the floorboards made you jumpy,every time you heard one of your neighbors slam the car door it made your anxiety skyrocket. It wasn’t fair that you had to live in fear every day for months because of him. Because of Lando. The thought of him showing up back in your life had you very cautious about every phone call,text and knock at your door. You didn’t go out anymore with friends or family you couldn’t not with the thought that one of Lando’s lackeys might see and tell him where you were. Deep down inside you knew he had someone watching you; it was naive to think otherwise.

As you walked into the kitchen, Lando's eyes followed you, his gaze like a hawk watching its prey. He could see the faint outline of the revolver in your pocket,it wasn’t that hard to not notice it after all he was trained to notice these things since he was a kid. The revolver had a little weight not much but enough to cause your sweatpants to sag on one side and it made him smile. You were trying to protect yourself, but it was useless against him.

He watched you move around the kitchen, his eyes tracing every curve and contour of your body. He knew every inch of you like the back of his hand. Lando was tired and growing very impatient. How can someone be so paranoid and so unaware of their surroundings?

Lando, who was sitting in the shadows,grew tired of watching and waiting leaning over as he pulled on the chain of the lamp, light to reveal him from the darkness. His intense gaze was upon you. His expression sent a shiver of fear down your spine, freezing you in place at the sound of the lamp clicking on. you couldn’t move or run away even if you wanted to not with this paralyzing fear that hit you.

"Hello, sweetheart, did You think this is over?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery.

His gaze traveled over your body, taking in every detail you were wearing white socks with gray sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. Your hair was still wet and looked like you were going to cry any second now and you couldn’t stop shaking with fear. He smiled and pointed to the revolver in your pocket "Trying to protect yourself, are you?" He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How cute although it won’t help you.”

He stood up slowly, his movements graceful and catlike. He walked towards you, closing the distance between you with each step.

"That little toy won't save you, you know," he said, nodding towards the revolver in your pocket. "You're still mine. You'll always be mine."

He was now standing directly in front of you, his body mere inches away from yours. He reached out and stroked your cheek, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, his touch possessive and intimate.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, visibly shaking your hand slowly inching closer inside your pocket all you needed was an opening. Lando chuckled softly, his eyes flickering with amusement. "What do you think I'm doing here, my love? I came to remind you who you belong to." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You can try to run, you can try to hide, but I'll always find you. You're mine, and I'm never letting you go."

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His body was pressed against yours, his touch possessive and unyielding.

“You won’t be needing this,” Lando says, snatching the revolver out of your pocket and placing it on the table. Your heart sank when he took away the only thing that seemed to ease your mind.

"Do you remember what we used to be like, sweetheart?" He whispered, his lips brushing against your skin. "We were so good together. So perfect. I don't understand why you thought you could leave me."

“Because you’re psychotic Lando now let go of me,” you said trying to push him away from you. Lando's grip on you tightened, his expression hardening as you tried to push him away. "Tsk tsk tsk," he scolded, his voice filled with false sweetness. "Is that any way to speak to your lover?"

"You forget, my beautiful, I'm the one in control here. You don't get to tell me what to do, you don’t get to make orders around here like I do." He tilted your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. "You belong to me, darling," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Whether you like it or not, you're mine. And I won't let you leave me again."

He paused for a moment, his gaze running over your face. "You thought you could get away from me, didn't you? That you could start a new life, pretend like I never existed. How foolish." He tightened his grip on your chin, his fingers digging into your skin. He chuckled softly, his lips curving into a mocking smile. "But I know you better than anyone. I know your every weakness, your every fear. I know how to make you shiver. I know how to make your heart race."

His fingers trailed down your neck, tracing the pulse point at your throat. "Your heart is beating so fast right now," he whispered. "I can feel it. You're scared of me, aren't you?"

"Good. You should be scared of me. You should be terrified of what I’m capable of. I'm not going to let you go. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you with me."

His eyes darkened with possessive anger. "You're mine," he repeated, his voice dropping down to a growl. "You're mine to protect, mine to love, mine to control. No one else is ever going to have you. Do you understand me?"

He released your chin, his fingers moving to your hair, tangling in the strands and pulling tight. He pulled your head back, forcing your face up towards him. "Answer me," he demanded, his face mere inches from yours. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your head spinning with terror. His grip on your hair was painful, but you didn’t dare try to resist him. You knew what he was capable of. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand."

A satisfied smile spread across Lando’s face as he heard you speak. "Good," he purred, his grip on your hair loosening slightly. "I knew you would see reason eventually, sweetheart. You’re smarter than you look."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "But let me make one thing clear," he said, his voice dripping with menace. "If you ever try to leave me again, I won’t be so forgiving next time. You’ll regret it for the rest of your miserable life. Do I make myself clear?"

“Yes Lando, you made yourself clear I understand”

Lando smirked, clearly pleased with your response. "Good girl," he crooned, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. "That’s what I wanted to hear."

.

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[nothorses]

You've made a lot of really great posts about transmasc experiences and struggles, and they really resonate with me! So I guess I want to in complete earnest ask: why the push for 'transandrophobia' when anti-transmasculinity as a term has been around for longer and faces little friction by comparison? I don't really *dislike* transandrophobia, but its meaning gets muddied everywhere from different directions, while ATM is pretty direct and succinct I feel. It's very clear that it's about TRANSmasculine oppression. I'm not against having a dedicated term at all, but the content of our struggles gets lost in the weeds of attaching kind of understandably divisive terms like misandry and androphobia in an attempt to mirror a phenomenon very specifically about misogyny; it seems more trouble than it's worth considering ATM is right there

I'll be honest, this ask is confusing to me for a few reasons.

When I started talking about transandrophobia around the summer of 2020, the conversations I was encountering were very much, like, a handful of people across Twitter and Tumblr (literally, a handfull!). I picked up "transandrophobia" because it was one of two words I saw in use, and the other- "transmisandry"- felt much less clear and much more contentious. It seemed super obvious to me that people would draw a line from "men's rights activists" trying to push this idea that "misandry", as a systemic oppression of men by women, to "transmisandry", and assume some ill intent where there was none. It's confusing!

"Transandrophobia" was the better of two options being floated at the time, at least in any conversation I saw. "Anti-transmasculinity" was not really a term I'd been made aware of, if anyone at all was talking about it at the time.

I have seen people pick up "anti-transmasculinity" more recently (maybe in the last year?), and this is definitely the first I've seen someone shorten it to "ATM". The people I've seen use that term have been mostly people who seem really new to the conversation, and the vibe I've gotten has been very, like, "we're the Good Transmascs, our word isn't dirty and gross like those other Bad Transmascs everyone hates. you'll listen to us now that our word is Good and Pure, right?"

Which is like... kind of frustrating, and kind of sad, honestly. I think these people honestly believe that if they just choose the right word, all the people who've been dragging me and every other transmasc talking about these issues through the mud for the last 4 years or so will really just stop & listen. If they can just say it right, these people- who have been relentlessly harassing and spreading lies about every single transmasc who came before them for years now- will care what they have to say, and will be willing to engage with them in earnest, compassionate dialogue.

If you just find the right word, all of these people will care about your hurt, your pain, and the suffering of your community.

It kind of breaks my heart. It's an incredibly hopeful, kind, loving way to view the world. It's compassion and patience and forgiveness that these folks are not being given, but that they so badly want to offer to others.

And at the same time, it sucks to be the Bad Transmasc. It sucks to have fought so hard for so long, and for the people I've been fighting for all this time to turn around and say, "you're gross, and dirty, and evil, and everything you've done is a mistake." It sucks to see the people I've been fighting for agree with the people I've been fighting against, and shove me under the bus in an effort to appeal to the people running me over with it. Knowing that the bus is going to aim for them once it's done with me just makes it sadder, yknow?

@saint-speaks wasn't the first person to ever speak the word "transandrophobia", but he is the one who coined and popularized it in its current form. And then he was dragged through the mud so hard and so brutally that some people think I coined it, just because when I defended him (too little and too late, imo) I withstood the mud-dragging better than he did (and gee, I wonder white.)

And now people take for granted that everything everyone said about hymn to justify that frankly fucking evil harassment campaign was true, actually, and we should abandon the word he coined and find one with purer origins.

If you honestly think "anti-transmasculinity" is just a more practical word, that's fine. I don't care what word we use. But they're going to cover it in mud, too. They're going to cover every one of you in mud.

Will you keep fighting for "ATM" once they make it the new dirty, gross, bad, evil word? Will you keep fighting when they drag you and everyone else through the mud for using it? Or will you agree with them, make up a new word, and never look back?

Please don't let us drown in the mud. We've been fighting for you, and we want to fight with you. Please.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

the great war - astarion

a/n: i finished baldurs gate 3 last night for the first time and i just. i couldn't stop thinking about the fact that this is a game where all you do is fight and kill people and spend months thinking you'll die. and no one mentions the fact that those things woudl give you ptsd. so here's what i came up with! warnings: cursing, smut, angst, nightmares, ptsd, crying, MASSIVE spoilers for baldurs gate 3. like explicit details about the ending. general content warning for mature themes and such word count: 2.2.k summary: the four things you tell your companions you've been up to when they ask at reunions. pairing: astarion x gn!reader now playing: the great war - taylor swift "that was the night i nearly lost you/i really thought i'd lost you/we can plant a memory garden/say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair/there's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair/and we will never go back"

Painting

He asks you to teach him to paint on a cold, rainy day. He’s spent hours watching you meticulously replicate various memories and scenes you want to be forever permanent. You paint your old friends.

You paint Gale and Tara curled up on one of the chairs in the Elfsong Tavern.

You paint Astarion with a goblet in his hand, wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

You paint Karlach and Shadowheart laughing by the fire.

You paint Astarion in the early morning, his arm draped over his eyes as he rests.

You paint Wyll and Lae’zel sparring as Scratch watches, running around them like an excited toddler.

You paint Astarion sitting by the river, his feet submerged in the water. You remember how peaceful he looked.

But now, he stares at the canvas in front of him with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” You ask gently as you work.

“You’re so good at this,” He whines, “It’s infuriating.” You can’t help yourself. You lean over and gently kiss his cheek. The pale elf’s ears grow red.

“It’s all about practice and time, love.” You remind. “Besides, I also draw a lot. That helps.” You confess. Astarion looks at you curiously.

“I’ve never seen any of your drawings. Not recently, I suppose.” He recalls scattered parchment across your tent, but he couldn’t recall seeing you draw in the past few months. Your heart skips a beat.

You’ve revealed yourself.

You rest the paintbrush and the pallet down, before going to your bedroom. You come back and hand him a sketchbook. He sits down on one of your chairs before taking it, beginning to flip through it.

The pages are full of so many things.

His heart aches just looking at it.

The first few pages are normal. You’ve drawn Astarion, your companions, Scratch..

And then, he starts to see the dragon you fought on top of the Netherbrain. Right beneath it, Arabella grins back to him.

The amulet of Bhaal sits in one corner, and Halsin widdling sits in the other.

This pattern goes on and on, back and forth. A horrible thing is followed by the warmest memory you can reach in that moment.

Unconsciously, Astarion’s arm wraps around your waist and pulls you closer. He goes through the book, and as the horrors you’ve drawn become worse, he notices that a familiar face he now recognizes as himself fills the pages.

He closes the book and puts it to the side. Then, he glances up to you. He pulls you closer, so you’re standing between his legs. You admire him for a long time but neither of you say much. You just admire each other as you quietly ponder everything that you’ve been through

2. Fucking

When you aren’t painting, you’re fucking—You cannot help yourself, and at this point, it’s sort of embarrassing.

You and your darling Astarion live in a roomy but peaceful house where no one can just stumble upon you, they must be looking. You have a small sunroom for your paintings, even an alchemy lab, and of course, Astarion spends most of his time in the study he has made himself.

But that doesn’t stop the pair of you from trying to fuck to death.

Astarion bakes you various delicious treats, and then lays you down on the table to enjoy his own treat—His tongue laps up the sweet nectar that he has found himself genuinely craving you, as if your cum was a lifesaving elixir.

And of course, while he works in his study, your mouth warms his cock, teasing it—When you get too cheeky, he pulls your hair with his fingers, telling you to behave.

One particular night, his teeth graze your neck as he thrusts into you, gripping your hands as he listens to the euphoric moans leaving your lips. He thinks he can probably spend the rest of eternity chasing those moans.

“Astarion,” You breath out, squeezing his hand, and he just lets out a breathy chuckle.

“I know, darling, just wait a few more minutes for me..” he says softly, “Just really feel everything I’m giving you,” He says. His voice is not unkind, and he is focused on giving you what you want.

You fought a Netherbrain for Gods sake, you can at least take a few minutes to enjoy the feeling of your spouse fucking you.

As your moans become whinier, and Astarion feels himself about to cum too, so he bites the shell of your ear, a quiet sign to let yourself go.

And you do—In the midst of a chorus of moans and pants, you take a second to recognize the fact that you’re alive. The two of you are breathing and you’re not mindflayers, and you’re in love. You never thought the feeling of your lover’s cum dripping out of you would be damn near inspirational.

He stays on top of you for a few minutes, and you can tell he’s feeling the same things you are. But eventually he rolls off of you and rests comfortably on his stomach. Your hand comes over to his back, starting to trace those scars.

Those scars that haunt him.

You cannot help the next words that leave your lips.

“Do you ever regret not becoming the Ascendant?” You ask quietly. His eyes study yours. He answers with another question—

“Do you ever regret not taking control of the Netherbrain?” he asks.

Your answer is simple. Unspoken. Obvious.

You just smile gently to him and lean in, kissing his head.

3. Late Night Tea

Astarion doesn’t sleep. Not because he doesn’t want to, but that’s how elves work. But he doesn’t mind laying next to you as you sleep and he meditates.

But mostly, you never sleep through the night.

Sometimes it’s something small.

Raphael’s laughter haunting you. The snake that threatened Arabella in the grove. The sewers of Baldurs Gate.

Other times, it’s intense. It’s vivid and leaves you sobbing and panicked.

Orin with a knife to Gale’s throat. Gortash experimenting on Karlach. The Emporer sucking Wyll’s soul from his head, or sometimes you’re just stuck in the Astral Prism, unable to get out.

Tonight, You’re in Cazzador’s dungeon. You’re standing in the middle of the circle where he attempted to preform the ascension ritual—But this time it’s different. Your companions are levitating, suspended in red magic. When you look behind you, Astarion is there. He’s shirtless, suspended midair.

Your heart drops.

You run over to him, as fast as your feet will take you, but you are halted just a few feet from him, crashing into an invisible barrier keeping you from your spouse. You cannot reach any of your companions, but their faces are all twisted into the same look—A melted, tense look of pain and terror.

You look back to the center of the room and.. You see your dream vistor. The façade the Emperor put on to try and trick you. They hold Cazzador’s staff, and their eyes glow deep red. You charge at the dream visitor, your hands clawing for the face before—

You wake up, sobbing and breathless. You have to take a moment to realize that it is over, that you’re not in that dungeon deep beneath Cazzador’s estate, and instead, are in bed, lying with Astarion.

You sit up, and when you glance over to him, he’s awake, looking at you with this worried expression. It makes him look younger than you’ve ever known him.

“Astarion—” You start, the words getting caught in your throat.

His hand comes over to your cheek, cupping it gently.

“Shh.. Just breath.” He requests gently, wiping your tears gently. His other hand finds yours. “Come along,” He says softly, tugging on your hand, pulling you along to the kitchen. The sun will rise soon. But Astarion leaves the windows open, sensing it will help ground you.

He starts to boil water for tea, as you sit at the table, staring out the window. Your hands wipe away your tears. Astarion brings two cups of tea to the table and sits next to you.

“Thank you.” You say gently, and he smiles gently to you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shake your head. Then you ask—

“Do you ever get nightmares?”

Astarion tilts his head, admiring you for a few moments as he debates his answer.

“Yes.” He takes a sip of his tea.

“Why don’t you ever wake me up when you have them? You always seem to help me, why not wake me up?”

Astarion slides off the chair and kneels by your side. He kisses your hand gently, looking up to you with those gorgeous red eyes.

“When I wake up and realize that Cazzador is dead, that it was just a rather dull nightmare.. When I remember that you’re safe and by my side, I’m okay.” He says gently. “As long as I can realize you’re safe, I can calm down.”

You kiss him deeply, and you never want to let him go.

4. Growing Back Together

It takes a long time to find all the pieces of yourself that has been scattered throughout Faerun due to the parasite. It takes a long time for Astarion to unlearn two hundred years of abuse and torment.

The two of you become less frail as you grow comfortable. Your stomachs are full of warm soup and bread and rich wines, and as you lose that familiar and constant hunger, your brain begins to clean up, as if it’s repairing itself, mending the walls and putting pictures back together.

You and Astarion spend your time trying to grow together. He teaches you how to play cards, and you accuse him of cheating every single time. You know he is. He won’t ever admit it to you.

You face the inevitability that Astarion will outlive you. That you will grow old and sickly, and Astarion will be left all alone. He will outlive not only you, but your comapnions, too. It will be just him and Withers one day.

And at first, you try to convince him to move on after you die. You tell him that he will have the opportunity to see this wild future, a future that no one can possibly predict. You tell him that he might be able to fall in love with other people, and that he can live this phenomenal life in your name.

But he argues back. He tells you he has no desire for people to forget the battles you fought, that he has no need to hear the very real adventures he went on become a fairytale, a legend that no one truly believes.

He has no need to outlive his friends, loved ones, or even future children you might have with him.

“There’s no desire to live a life without you. You are what makes my life worth living.”

And that is what convinces you. You agree that when you’re old and wrinkly, and you are near the end, Astarion will hold you as the sun rises. That way, the pair of you will die together. There will never be a day the two of you know without each other.

But for the time being, you spend long nights in front of the fire, talking about anything and everything.

One night, Astarion slips a gold band onto your finger and asks you to solidify the legend of the Vampire Astarion and the Savior of Baldurs Gate, in front of your friends, in front of the Gods, and to each other.

How could you say no?

But the two of you, being who you are.. You cannot just rent a venue, buy a few fancy outfits, get a cake, and have a party. There needs to be a special twist on it.

So when Withers sends out invitations for the five year anniversary of your defeat of the Netherbrain (after six months and then a year), you and Astarion look at each other, and realize what must happen.

To declare your love for each other in the place where your love started, it’s the perfect fairytale ending the two of you deserve.

Withers agrees to turn his celebration into a makeshift wedding, happy to indulge you in your mortal celebrations, especially because he knows things you do not know.

So, in that pretty clearing in the forest that he lead you to when you thought you might be illithid by morning, you marry him. You marry him and never look back, do not think twice, and you dive headfirst into it.

When you get back to your house, you spend days buried between silk sheets.

Dirty tea cups sit on the table.

An old game of cards lays abandoned on the desk of his study.

A painting of your wedding hangs on the wall.

The Pale Elf gets his happy ending.

You can hear your own thoughts, there is no tadpole invading them.

And neither of you have flinched in years.

[memento-rory]

angsty schlattxf!reader where he has BIG feelings for her but she’s in a happy relationship? i don’t think there’s enough schlatt angst

also can i be 🐠 anon if it’s not already taken? :)

oh the YEARNING!!!!! couldn’t decide if i wanted to go w/some rando for medium angst or ted for Maximum Angst…… guess what i did :) (also yes you can. welcome to the anon club and thank you for being here!)

schlatt has been into you since the moment he laid eyes on you. it’s like you were made up in some factory just for him — able to keep up with his banter, loving the same music he does, challenging him on things he was 100% certain about, so caring and thoughtful, always there to lend a hand or an ear should he need it… and the fuckin’ bitch of it all is that ted got to you first.

he tries to ignore the way his stomach flips as ted moves your hair from your face, the pang in his chest when ted draws a laugh from you, the way his skin heats up to an uncomfortable degree when ted kisses you.

it’s not fuckin’ fair.

ted’s a real stand up guy, and schlatt has always thought this, but sometimes he wishes ted was a shittier guy. not shitty enough to really hurt you — he’d never want anything or anyone to hurt you — but just shitty enough to be a mediocre boyfriend, to make you see that you’d be much happier with him.

it gets to the point where every time ted brings you up, schlatt falls silent, trying his damndest to tune him out so it doesn’t hurt so goddamn bad. ted always notices, schlatt knows he does, but neither of them ever say anything about it. they just move on.

you accompany ted to a small gathering of sorts, and when he leaves your side to go do some networking, you find schlatt, because of course you do. he’s one of your closest friends, always a safe haven in a sea of people you don’t know very well.

but it feels different this time. you’ve caught on to the way he clams up every time your name is mentioned, and when you sit down next to him and he stiffens, it confirms your worst fears.

he hates you. something has changed and he hates you.

“schlatt,” you murmur, unsure if he’ll be able to hear you over the other people in the room, but you can’t bring yourself to be any louder, “are we okay? do you hate me all of a sudden?”

schlatt looks right at your face for what feels like the first time in forever, his stoic expression melting into something much softer at your words.

“we’re okay, toots. don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“you don’t hate me?”

“‘course not.”

but he wishes he did.

[ghoulsbounty]

Hi hi! I hope you're doing good!!

I have a fic request for all of Walton Goggins characters you write for from your request guidelines as a mini snapshot of each of them. (Length completely up to you)

I was watching The Shield...specifically S5 E3 - Jailbait @ 38:53 👀 where Shane (Walton) is enjoying a sexy time and the way he said "I'm gonna cum" has been swimming in my mind since lmaoo.

How would each of his characters dirty talk and tell their partner they're gonna orgasm (creampie preferably) ? 🥵🥵

Thank you so much for the amazing fics. I'm so happy to read each and every word you've written 🥹

Dirty Talk Headcanon

Summary: Things they say to you when they're about to cum.

Characters: Lee Russell, Wade Felton, Baby Billy Freeman, Boyd Crowder and Cooper Howard/The Ghoul.

Warnings: smut (18+), swearing, creampie, unprotected sex, rough sex, porn without plot, dirty talk, praise kink, cum eating, oral, degradation, control, pet names, multiple orgasms, light dumbification, mirror sex, light nipple play, light sub/dom, possessiveness, cumflation, squirting, slight corruption kink, humiliation, wet & messy, fingering, one small mention of a cheek (face) slap.

Word Count: approx 1k per character

A/N: I enjoyed writing this far too much! I wrote headcanons for dirty talk as a whole (hope that's okay) including orgasms + creampie 🥵Thank you for sending my first headcanon for all the Walton characters I currently write for! I'd love to do more (hint, hint)

Lee Russell - inside or outside the bedroom, he likes to degrade and insult you. will sprinkle in the odd pet name or backhanded praise. his neediness shows when he's about to cum. his favourite thing is the taste of you both together. 

"Didn't I tell you I'd get my hands on you, one way or another?" Lee growled into your ear, his breath hot and ragged. He shoved you further into the rough brick wall of the supply closet, the cold, unforgiving surface scraping painfully against your cheek. Each thrust was forceful, driving you deeper into the corner. Your body responded involuntarily, your cunt clenching tightly around him. The wet, lewd sounds of your bodies colliding echoed through the confined space, mingling with your panting breaths and his guttural moans.

"You slut," he spat, his voice dripping with contempt as he leaned back to gaze at the intimate junction of your bodies. "You're making such a fuckin' mess on my dick. You really have no shame, huh?" His eyes darkened with lust and a twisted sense of satisfaction. Your moans filled the air as his fingers circled your stretched and filled hole, collecting the slick juices there. Without warning, he brought his glistening fingers to your lips and pushed two digits inside, swirling them around your tongue. "Taste good, baby?" he taunted, his gaze never leaving yours, revelling in your submission.

He seized your chin between his wet fingers, pinching slightly as he brought your mouth to his, tasting you deeply. His tongue explored with a hunger that made you shiver. Drawing back, he savoured your essence on his lips, groaning in satisfaction. "Fuckin' delicious, my favourite taste," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He gave your cheek a light smack, the sound sharp in the confined space, before planting both hands flat against the wall on either side of your head, caging you in. "But it'll be even better with both of us," he promised, his breath warm and heavy on your skin.

He pounded into you with relentless force, hissing into your ear as you tightened around him. "So hungry for me, aren't you?" he growled, his voice a dangerous rumble. His hips snapped with a brutal, unyielding rhythm, each thrust more powerful than the last. A whine escaped his throat when you ground back against him, matching his fast pace with your own desperate movements.

"You can act as angelic as you want out there," he continued, his tone dripping with a mix of lust and dominance, "but with me, you're just begging to be filled, aren't you?" His words sent a shiver down your spine, the truth in them igniting a fire within you. He dropped his hands from the wall and gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he drove into you with unwavering intensity.

You felt yourself nearing the edge once more at his unfaltering pace. The combination of his relentless rhythm and the intoxicating dominance in his voice pushed you closer and closer to the brink. You could feel his breath hot against your ear, his teeth grazing your skin as he leaned in closer.

"Admit it," he demanded, his voice a seductive command. "Admit how much you love this, how much you need me."

When you did, he smiled smugly, his lips curling with sadistic satisfaction. One hand snaked down to your front, fingers dancing teasingly along your mound before circling your throbbing clit. You rutted against his thick digit, desperately seeking the friction. His grin widened against the skin of your shoulder, feeling your muscles quake beneath his touch.

"Let me have it," he murmured, the words sounding almost like a request but carrying the weight of direction. As you reached the peak of your climax, your body gushed around his shaft, your orgasm fierce and overwhelming. He continued to fuck you through it, his thrusts unrelenting, driving you deeper into ecstasy.

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, whispering against your skin, "Always cum so hard for me, don't you? You filthy whore. Fuck, I love it." His words sent another wave of pleasure crashing through you, your body responding to the combination of his rough thrusts, degrading praise and soft kisses.

Your ass clapped loudly against his thighs as he slammed your limp body back onto his cock, his grip now firm on your hip. His hips stuttered, breath catching in his throat before he thrust into you one final time. White spurts of hot cum painted your walls and spilled from you, a primal groan escaping his lips. "F-fuck, that's it, take everything I'm giving you. Look at this greedy fuckin' cunt," he cursed under his breath, mesmerized by the sight of your mixed fluids dripping down his length.

When he had emptied himself completely inside you, he dropped to his knees, spreading your cheeks apart with his fingers. He dived between your messy folds, licking and sucking at the creamy mixture. His moans vibrated against you as he cleaned you thoroughly, his tongue delving into every crevice, savouring the taste of your combined releases.

Your body trembled, the profound sensation of his mouth working you over, driving you wild. You couldn't help but grind against his face, your movements becoming more desperate as he brought you closer to another peak. His fingers dug into your skin, holding you firmly in place as he continued his relentless assault with his tongue.

The pleasure was overwhelming, building rapidly until you tipped over the edge into another intense orgasm. Your body convulsed, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips as waves of ecstasy crashed through you. He didn't stop, his tongue continuing to lap at you, drawing out every last shudder and twitch of your release.

When you finally came down from the high, your body felt utterly spent and sated. He rose to his feet, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and pride as he looked down at you. "Good girl," he murmured, brushing a tender kiss against your forehead. "Now get out."

Wade Felton - more of a sweet talker than a dirty talker. gives lots of praise, and likes reassurance that he's doing things right. sounds desperate when he cums.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," Wade sighed against your neck, his breath warm and heavy as he pressed tender kisses along your skin. Each thrust was slow and deliberate, his movements drawing out every ounce of pleasure. Your thighs were hooked into the crooks of his arms, giving him leverage to push them higher, allowing him to bury his length even deeper inside you.

Your whimpers filled the room, the sound mingling with the soft slap of skin against skin. Your body trembled beneath him, responding to his careful, intoxicating rhythm. His touch was both gentle and strong, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as he moved within you.

"You're taking me so well," he murmured, his voice a low, sensual growl. "Stretching so pretty on my cock. Do you feel good, baby?" His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of lust and tenderness, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race.

Every movement was deliberate, each thrust designed to heighten your bliss and deepen the connection between you. The room was filled with the scent of your mingled arousal, the air thick with the heat of your passion. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake, his breath hot against your skin.

"Tell me how good it feels," he whispered, his voice vibrating through you. His eyes never left yours, his expression one of adoration and desire. The rhythm of his hips was steady and unyielding, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

When you told him, he smiled against you, his lips brushing your ear. "I love hearing that," he said softly, his pace quickening slightly as he felt you tighten around him. "You have no idea how much."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, amplifying the sensations you felt deep within your core. His thrusts became more insistent, each one driving deeper and harder, pushing you closer to the edge. His hands roamed your body, caressing your skin with in a blend of tenderness and desperation.

"I need you," he groaned, his hips snapping with increasing urgency. "I need you so much. You make me feel so damn good."

Your body responded to his every word and touch, your muscles clenching around him as the pressure built. His name escaped your lips in a desperate plea, your hands clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer.

You keen under his praise, your walls clenching in response, and his eyes brightened at the sensation of you tightening around him. "Fuck, what did I do to deserve you?" he murmured, a grin spreading across his face as he looked down at you with admiration. When you giggled, his eyes widened, and his hips stuttered as he groaned at the feel of you vibrating around him. Both the sound and feel of your laughter seemed to ignite something within him.

His hips picked up their pace, rutting into you with renewed strength. You trembled around him, your moans filling the space, each one spurring him on. Your hands grasped his forearm for purchase, feeling the strength and solidity of his muscles as he drove into you. The rhythm of his thrusts grew more fervent, each movement fuelled by a mix of passion and desire.

"God, you feel amazing," he groaned, his voice rough with need. The way your body responded to him, the way you took him so well, drove him wild. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same vigor as his hips moved against yours.

Your moans were muffled by the kiss, your body arching into his as he continued to thrust into you with relentless precision. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, building toward an inevitable crescendo. The connection between you was electric, each touch and sound amplifying the other's desire.

His forearm, solid and reassuring, flexed under your grasp, the muscles taut as he pressed your thigh almost flat to the mattress. His other hand gripped the headboard above you, knuckles white with the force of his hold. "You're incredible," he breathed against your lips, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "I can't get enough of you."

"Come for me, darlin'," he begged, his voice a low growl, pace becoming almost frantic. "I need to feel you."

The urgency in his tone, combined with the overwhelming sensations coursing through you, pushed you to the brink. With a final, powerful thrust, you came undone around him, your body convulsing and leaving you breathless. His eyes dropped to your hungry cunt as you creamed around him. The sight of the thick white ring of your release coating his shaft had him pulsing inside you, the visual driving him to the brink. His breath hitched, and his hips stuttered as he struggled to maintain his rhythm.

"Shit, I'm..." he groaned, his voice breaking with the effort. His thrusts became erratic, each one sending shockwaves through your body. The sensation of your walls milking him was too much, and with a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you with a force that made you cry out. "I'm cumming," he panted desperately. "I'm cumming, baby, oh fuck."

Hot spurts of thick cum filled you, his body shuddering with each release. He held you close, his forehead pressed against yours as he rode out the waves of pleasure. The passion of the moment left both of you breathless and his hands gently caressed your skin, grounding both of you as the aftershocks of your climax slowly faded away.

Baby Billy - heavily into praise and encouragement, but with a filthy mouth. the star of his own show - tell him how he makes you feel and pander to that ego. doesn't like to waste a drop.

"That's it, you ride that dick now," he said, his arms stretched along the back of the couch, eyes locked on you as you bounced above him. Your fingers dug into the shoulders of his expensive suit, desperate for purchase as your pace became increasingly sloppy. The familiar surge of heat spread through your body, signalling the approach of your climax.

Your movements became frantic, grinding down on the thick length that filled you completely. The feeling was overwhelming, and you cried out his name, your voice a sweet blend of desperation and ecstasy. As the waves of your orgasm rolled through you, you threw your head back, lost in the intensity of the moment. His hands gripped your hips, helping you ride out the last tremors of your release, his gaze filled with pride and lust as he watched you fall apart above him.

A sly grin tugged at his lips, at the feel of your cunt trying to milk him. "That's my girl," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched you soak his lap. "Baby Billy made you feel good on his ol' dick, huh? Go on, you can tell me."

You nodded, eyes glazed and mouth agape as you dropped into the crook of his shoulder. He kissed along your jawline, sending shivers down your spine as your cunt spasmed around him. "That's what I thought, always making you feel good," he murmured, his voice filled with gratification. He secured your arms around his neck, his grip on the flesh of your hips tightening. "Hold on now," he instructed, his tone low and commanding.

With a firm grip, he began to move again, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one making you gasp as he fucked up into you. You whined against him, your body trembling under his control. He lifted you off his length only to slam you back down to meet him at a relentless pace, his surprising strength and rhythm driving you wild.

Your cries grew louder when he encased one of your nipples in his mouth, his hot tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before sucking hard. The feeling was electric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your fingers tangled in his grey strands, pulling slightly as you sought any anchor in the storm of sensation. He didn't scold you for messing up his perfect style, too engrossed in the act of devouring you with his mouth and body.

The room was filled with the sounds of your shared bliss: his low grunts, your high-pitched moans, the wet slap of your bodies coming together. Each thrust, each suck, each flick of his tongue brought you closer to the edge, your body arching and straining against him as you spiralled toward another orgasm.

His mouth left your nipple with a pop, and he drew you back to look at him with a grin. "You giving me another one? Baby Billy got you all worked up, huh?" He teased, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and desire.

His hands roamed your body, caressing and squeezing as he admired the way you trembled above him. The connection between you was electric, every touch and glance charged with passion. He resumed his deep, powerful thrusts, each one hitting just the right spot to send a thrill coursing through you.

"Making me feel good, now," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Ain't nothin' better than this right here." His words spurred you on, driving you to move faster, to ride him harder. You could feel the tension building again, a tight coil of pleasure ready to snap.

"Come on, angel, I know you've got it in you," he urged, his hands gripping your hips to help guide your movements. The combination of his thrusts and his words pushed you over the edge, and with a cry of ecstasy, you came again, your body clenching and spasming around him.

"That's it," he praised, his voice a low growl as his hips began to stutter. "Oh, here it is," he said, chest heaving as he threw his head back. "I'm cumming, angel, here I cum," he cried, his release following yours as he buried himself deep inside you. He groaned with satisfaction, the sound primal and raw, as he painted your walls with ropes of hot white cum.

The ferocity of his climax made his entire body tense, his grip on your hips tightening as he emptied himself inside you. Each pulse of his release sent shivers down his spine as he stayed buried deep within you, savouring the feeling of your bodies entwined and the warmth spreading between you.

"That's it, sweet girl," he cooed into your ear, his voice shifting from the earlier growl to a tender murmur. The contrast made your heart flutter, the softness of his tone wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You collapsed against him, your body spent and trembling, every muscle relaxed in the aftermath of your intense release.

He pushed you back gently, pulling out with a hiss. "Let Baby Billy see it now," he instructed, and you whined as your cunt gaped, clenching around nothing. His cum leaked out of you, dripping down your thigh and making a mess of his dick. He watched intently, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

Taking two fingers, he ran them up your thigh, collecting the dripping cum before stuffing them back into your cunt to the hilt. "There you go, angel," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he watched your body react to his touch. His fingers moved inside you with a practiced rhythm, ensuring none of his cum was wasted. "Don't waste a precious drop."

Your body trembled, overwhelmed by the sensation of his fingers filling you again. The rawness of his actions left you breathless. He looked up at you, his grin wide. "That's my good girl," he praised, his other hand caressing your thigh. "You take it all so well."

Boyd Crowder - praise, praise, praise! worships the ground you walk on. possessive (will take out the entirety of harlan county for you.) likes to watch you both together.

"Open your eyes," Boyd whispered, his breath hot on your ear. "I want you to see yourself. Just about the best damn thing I ever laid my eyes on," he cooed, his fingers gripping your thighs harder to urge you. When your eyes fluttered open, your breath caught in your throat.

You saw yourself, spread open and exposed on his lap, your back pressed against his chest as his hands held you open and his cock stuffed you full. The chair he sat on creaked under your combined weight as he adjusted himself, slipping further into you until his balls were pressed snugly against your ass. The sight was intoxicating, your bodies joined so intimately, every inch of him buried inside you.

Your gaze caught his over your shoulder in the rustic, floor-length mirror, and he gave a wicked grin. The reflection showed everything—the way his strong, tattooed arms enveloped you, the way your bodies moved together. His eyes were dark with desire, and the possessive gleam in them made your pulse quicken.

"Look how perfect you are," he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through to your core. His hands shifted, one moving to play with your clit while the other kept a firm hold on your thigh, keeping you spread open. The combination of his touch and the sight of your intertwined bodies in the mirror sent waves of desire crashing over you.

"Feel that?" he asked, his tone both teasing and reverent as he pressed deeper, eliciting a moan from you. "That's all me, filling you up, making you mine." His hips began to move again, the rhythm slow and deliberate, each thrust designed to draw out your pleasure and make you feel every inch of him.

The sounds of your shared delight, the creaking of the chair, and the wet, rhythmic slaps of your bodies echoed in the room, creating a symphony of passion. As your eyes met his in the mirror once more, you saw the reflection of two people completely lost in each other, bound by the rawness of the moment.

You placed one hand over his, guiding his movements on your clit, while the other snaked around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. He groaned, turning his head to press a hot kiss just below your ear. "Do you like seeing us, baby? Watching yourself come undone on my cock?" He whispered, his voice deep and husky. "Fuck, I love it," he groaned, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips.

The sensation of his fingers on your clit, combined with the sight of your bodies in the mirror, sent heat burning through you. Your grip tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as his lips trailed along your neck. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin, each thrust driving you both closer to the edge.

"You look so perfect like this," he murmured against your skin, his voice laced with both admiration and need. "Damn, I love being inside of you." His hips moved with a deliberate rhythm, each thrust deep and powerful, making you feel every inch of him. The chair creaked beneath you, adding to the symphony of sounds that filled the room.

Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, your bliss heightened by the mirror's reflection. His eyes never left yours, the connection between you deepening with every shared glance and touch. "I want you to remember this," he said, his voice a mix of command and desire. "Remember how good we are together. Don't you forget it."

As your climax approached, the pressure of his fingers on your clit and the relentless thrusts of his hips became almost too much to bear. Your breath hitched, your body trembling with the anticipation of release. "Cum for me, baby," he urged, his voice a growl in your ear. "Watch yourself cum all over me." With a final, powerful thrust, he sent you spiralling over the edge. Your body convulsed in his arms, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips as watched yourself fall apart around him.

The feel of you clenching down on him had Boyd panting, and seconds later he was whimpering against your neck. "Damn, I'm close," he said, his voice breaking with desperation as he rutted up into you. The raw need in his voice made your heart race. "You make me feel so good, baby," he continued, his words a mix of admiration and urgency.

Eyes still fixed on the mirror, your head fell back against his shoulder, your body going limp as you surrendered completely to him. Both his hands now gripped your thighs with bruising ferocity, holding you in place as he drove into you with a relentless rhythm. Each thrust was accompanied by the sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet, lewd noises filling the room and burning your cheeks.

"Fuck," he groaned, the word drawn out and guttural. His breath was hot against your ear, his chest heaving with effort. "Damn, baby," he cried, his voice strained and desperate. The feel of his cock swelling inside you, the frantic pace of his hips, and the way his entire body seemed to shudder with impending release all combined to push you further into bliss.

He buried himself deep inside you with a final, powerful thrust, his body convulsing as he came. "Fuck, I'm cumming," he cried out, his voice breaking. You felt the hot spurts of his release filling you, mixing with your own arousal.

As he rode out his orgasm, his hands moved to caress your body, fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. He held you close, his forehead resting against the side of your head, both of you trembling from the intensity of the experience. Your eyes met in the mirror, both of you sharing a satisfied smile as he remained buried inside your swollen cunt, keeping his seed there.

The connection between you was palpable, a silent understanding passing between you as you basked in the afterglow. The mirror reflected your entwined bodies, the evidence of your shared passion glistening on your skin. He nuzzled into your neck, pressing soft kisses there, his breath warm and comforting.

"Look at us," he murmured, his voice soft and full of wonder. "So perfect together." His fingers continued to trace lazy patterns along your hips and thighs, each touch grounding you further in the moment.

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul - very possessive. teasing/light degradation. praises you for a job well done. his clothes stay on. loves to fill you until he's spilling out.

"You want another one?" he laughed teasingly, looking down at your fucked-out eyes as you trembled beneath him. "I don't think you have it in you, but you're so desperate," he taunted, his own eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and raw desire.

Cooper's gaze trailed to your cunt where he continued to fuck his load into you, white cum drooling from you as he filled you again and again. The sight of his cum spilling out and mixing with your own juices only seemed to spur him on. He revelled in the intense pleasure of filling you to the brim, knowing that he was overwhelming your senses, his cock and his load too much for you to contain. His thrusts remained deep and relentless, each one pushing more of his seed inside you.

"You’re so greedy for it, aren’t you?" he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Taking everything I give you." His words shot through to your core, your body trembling and on the edge once more despite your exhaustion. His hands gripped your hips painfully, holding you in place as he drove into you with unwavering ferocity.

His teasing laughter filled the shelter. "Look at you," he said, awe and possession in his voice. "You're a mess. You should be ashamed, letting a man like me do this to you." As he continued to move inside you, the heat built again, your body responding eagerly to his every touch and thrust, ready to give him yet another orgasm.

The lewd sounds of your sloppy pussy echoed through the room as he pounded into you, his grunts and moans joining in as you contracted around him. His hand reached down to your clit, pressing a gloved finger hard against the swollen bud. The rough texture sent shockwaves of ecstasy through you.

Your eyes widened, hips rutting against his own in desperate response. The harsh fabric of his clothed body rubbed against your naked skin, the friction intensifying the heat between you. The sensation was a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, pushing you over the edge as your orgasm tore through you.

Your body convulsed, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips as ecstasy overtook you. The spasms of your cunt squeezing around his dick made him groan loudly, his thrusts becoming even more erratic as he chased his own release. He didn't let up on your clit, the relentless pressure driving you wild.

"Atta girl," he cooed, his voice a gravelly whisper. "Let it all out." Your cries filled the air, your body arching against him as waves of satisfaction crashed over you and he watched as your pussy gaped and gushed around him once more. A primal look flickered in his eyes, and a crooked smile spread across his handsome face as he buried himself deeper inside you. "Gonna keep you full," he promised, his voice a low, possessive growl.

Cooper's thrusts became slow and deliberate, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your overstimulated body. His hand pressed against your lower abdomen, feeling the slight bulge where he was buried deep inside you. "You take me so well," he murmured, pride and desire burning in his eyes. "A real vision," he sighed, pushing further into you.

He wanted to leave no doubt that you belonged to him, that he could push you to the brink and bring you back again and again. The feeling of being so completely filled, so utterly claimed, sent waves of ecstasy through you.

"Doing good, sweetheart," he said, his voice softening slightly as he leaned in to kiss you. The contrast between his tender words and his rough actions made the moment even more intoxicating. "Gonna keep you full and satisfied," he whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours as he worked himself towards his release.

His hand tightened on your hips, ensuring you took every inch of him as he continued to thrust with unrelenting fervour. Your tits bounced with each movement, your mouth hanging open in sheer ecstasy. The sight of your body responding to him, of your cunt clenching and dripping around his dick, drove him to push harder, deeper.

"You gonna take it?" he panted, his thrusts becoming desperate. You nodded, whimpering as you bit down on your lip. "Fuck, take it. Take my cum," he moaned, his voice thick with lust.

His cock pulsed inside you, releasing hot spurts against your walls. The sensation was staggering, the warmth spreading through you as it overflowed, mixing with his previous load and your juices. You felt overstimulated and full, and you watched Cooper as he gazed at the slight bloat of your stomach, his eyes filled with primal satisfaction at the sight of you so thoroughly filled with his cock and seed.

His hand moved to rest on your belly, gently pressing down as if to emphasize the fullness. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice a heady blend of awe and possessiveness. "So full of me."

The combined fluids soaked both of you as they trickled out, creating a slick, messy connection between you. His hands caressed your hips, fingers trailing along your skin, smearing the wetness as he admired the aftermath of you together.

He steadied himself above you, his breaths ragged and uneven. The heat of his body pressed against yours, a thin layer of sweat glistening over your skin. His eyes remained locked on yours, filled with pride.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice softening as he leaned down to kiss you gently. "Completely mine." His hands roamed your body, soothing and comforting as you both came down from the high. 

[anghraine]

I've been trying to peer pressure my bff into watching Much Ado About Nothing with me (my fave Shakespeare comedy), and he wanted to have everything in our house set up first etc etc. But he agreed to watch it yesterday and we had a lot of fun absolutely cackling at, well, almost everything.

I do think it's one of the most purely funny Shakespeare plays that are still really good, especially when performed/directed well. We were watching the Joss Whedon version—yes, I know, but I bought it back when it came out and it's still my favorite—and Nathan Fillion's Dogberry is an utter delight, and honestly there are a bunch of script and directorial choices that make it my favorite.

I particularly like Amy Acker's Beatrice: she can be charmingly witty, vulnerable and hurt, sweet and supportive, an adorable dweeb, and ferocious and hard as nails. The way her face changes in the grand romantic scene with Benedick is fantastic—there's this moment where you just see her features harden before she says "Kill Claudio" that I love. I also really loved how often she's visually framed with Hero in the later part of the story: sometimes literally holding her but often visually paired with her in a way that highlights her priorities.

Benedick is pretty good in this version, as well—not as impressive as Acker or Fillion, I'd say, but I like how Benedick initially seems to be a rather callous asshole only for him to be gradually revealed as the most profoundly decent man in the play—not that the competition is steep, but still—especially with regard to women, and how he's, well, also an adorable dweeb until it really matters, at which point he turns deadly serious. And I really like their dynamic once the story gets rolling.

I also love that it doesn't back away from how shitty Claudio is while keeping to the text of the play. He and Don Pedro seem the gentler, sweeter, more romantic characters early on, but the text itself becomes an indictment of them (and Leonato!). My best friend, who hasn't read this/seen another version of it in years, was just like "She's not wrong!" when Beatrice told Benedick to kill Claudio, and shouted "STAB HIM!!!" when Benedick confronts him :D

I really like the performance of Leonato, as well—the way this thus-far affectionate, mild seeming patriarch becomes the most proximate threat to Hero (it really feels like he might snap her neck at any moment) and only seems able to conceive of Hero as a potential victim when told so by other men is terrifying. And Hero herself has a sweetness and dignity but also charm that I enjoy in a character who can be a bit limp in performance.

I do prefer Keanu's Don John though, for peak unpopular opinions.

Of course, I was also reminded of my Pride and Prejudice is to Much Ado as Clueless is to Emma theory, haha. The Much Ado elements are thoroughly overhauled, rearranged, and modernized in plenty of ways, but I think P&P still draws a lot of raw material from it. And I think it's interesting to look at not just Elizabeth and Darcy as Beatrice and Benedick(/Don Pedro, since Darcy combines elements of both), but things like how Austen works to recuperate Claudio in Bingley (not altogether successfully IMO honestly, but a valiant effort that works well enough) and displaces the worst elements of his character onto Wickham. It's not the only influence but it's very striking.

(This is not an original observation, lol; the first time the comparison was made in print afaik was in a March 1813 review of P&P, which had only been published a few weeks earlier at the end of January.)

[dilvei]

THE PERFECT KIND OF MURDER... ( y! emperor x m! assassin reader )

yandere! emperor x male! assassin reader

warnings:

attempted murder

attempted poisoning

mentions of torture

some dubcon tumble & kissing in the sheets ey

this definitely could've gone to a much, much darker route but instead it turned out kind of cute(?). i once had a similar idea to this one but as like a longer fic but i don't have the time for that so eat this instead y'all 🌈🌈

requested by @n4muqr

✾ | much is unknown of the current reigning emperor, dimitri, and what little is known about him is all rather rudimentary, really—merely the common knowledge shared and repeated by most already.

✾ | for instance, it is often said by the masses that dimitri is akin to a sleeping lion. a calm and quiet presence... until a single misstep is made in his presence, prompting his unbridled fury. the emperor does not merely desire perfection, he demands it with an almost relentless, crazed fervor. the emperor will not— cannot simply stand by when something in his vicinity does not reach that impeccable state.

✾ | another topic, oftenly brought up, is his cruelty. the amount of enemies dimitri has amassed on his path to the throne is not few, and those who remain are, well, tortured and tormented inside the cold dungeons for as long as they draw breath.

✾ | but none of those rumors are the ones that pique your interest in the emperor. no. what fascinates you about dimitri is the fact that he has yet to marry, and has remained so for several years of his reign, much to the utter bewilderment of his own people and his own court.

✾ | and the reason for it is so ridiculous that, the first time you heard it, you nearly topple over from laughter. the emperor is unmarried not because he is unattractive or ugly—the opposite really, if the rumors are to be believed—but because he deems that there is no one perfect enough yet to stand by his side. ridiculous, really. but what is an emperor if he is not arrogant?

✾ | still, the fact that there is no direct heir to the throne due to this is utterly hilarious to you. even more comical is the moment when, one day, you are given the task to assassinate said emperor.

✾ | you hold no loyalty for powerful men like dimitri, especially when they are reputed to be arrogant fools. and yet, curiosity stirs within you as to who issued such an order, for you are certain that you are not the only one sent to assassinate dimitri. his little brother perhaps? he is, after all, next in line to the throne.

✾ | a day after you receive the task, you simply... wait, and you remain waiting even as news of failed assassination attempts after another reaches your ears. not one assassin has succeeded, and it baffles you, really; it is either due to the emperor's extreme luck or, perhaps, his perfectionism has extended to other aspects of his life—namely, the protection that surrounds him.

✾ | so, you plan. disguising one's self to infiltrate the palace would take too long, and the likelihood of success is slim, especially given dimitri’s vigilant eye monitoring everyone’s movements. in the end, only one course of action comes to mind.

✾ | in the dead of night, you silently scale the towering walls of the palace—walls too high for most, surely, but easily surmountable for someone like you. with a mask covering the lower half of your face and more daggers than one should be permitted to carry, you ascend with ease.

✾ | landing on the balcony with barely a sound, you smile as you successfully arrive at the chambers of the arrogant emperor dimitri.

✾ | lock picking the door inside is awfully easy, and as you step into the bedroom that is almost suffocating with its golden splendor, you finally see him. you see the emperor.

✾ | dimitri is in bed, unguarded, with eyes closed and lips parted, so breathtaking to behold that, for a moment, you forget you are here to kill him, to murder him.

✾ | as you edge closer to his still body, you observe the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each soft breath. how his golden eyelashes flutter as the cold night air sweeps in from the open balcony window. it seems almost a waste to kill such beauty.

✾ | and just as you brandish your cold dagger to his neck, your other hand ready to silence his dying cries, dimitri's eyes shoot wide open, an icy gaze staring directly into you.

✾ | despite only just waking, the emperor is fast, sharp and alert, and in a blink, dimitri has already swiftly caught both your wrists with his hands in a vice-like grip, rendering you motionless as you both stare into each other’s eyes in tense silence.

"You shouldn’t be up at such an hour, Your Majesty,” you slowly quip with narrowed eyes, breaking the silence between you as you struggle to free your hands from Dimitri’s grip. Your efforts are futile; his hold on you tightens further.

No doubt, that bruises will soon bloom like dark flowers on your skin, assuming, that is, Dimitri ever lets go of his grip.

With an almost empty sharpness in his gaze, Dimitri inches his face closer to yours, his expression thin as he responds, “And you, should not wander as you wish in your emperor’s chambers. Wherever did you learn your manners, stranger?”

"Well, certainly not around here, Your Majesty.” You let out a sharp laugh before kneeing him in the stomach. But, to your surprise, you flinch instead of the emperor. It feels as though... you just kneed a solid rock.

At your failed attempt, Dimitri merely raises a brow and sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. “I must admit, this is a first. No assassin thus far has attempted to climb my palace walls only to knee me in the stomach. I must say, you do make a memorable first impression.”

"I'm flattered, Your Majesty," you say with a faux smile as you continue to struggle against his grip. Another sigh escapes the Emperor's lips.

Suddenly, perhaps finally finding himself tired of your antics, Dimitri pulls you towards him with a firm grip, effortlessly throwing you onto his bed, pinning you under him with only a hand as though you weigh nothing.

Well now, this is bad.

Dimitri hovers above you, his warm breath caressing your neck, his gaze piercing you with a cold, steely silence. Then— he rips off your mask, revealing your complete face, twisted with frustration; Dimitri's eyes seem to gleam as he notices it.

"Must you really rip it off?"

"It obscured my view of your face, oh assassin. Your mask was a hindrance to us both," he answers, voice as smooth as velvet. With his free hand, and an empty gaze that all but screams danger, Dimitri’s fingertips softly caress your face before slowly, but surely, descending to your neck. You gulp.

Before he can act in a way you do not desire—specifically, choking you lifeless beneath him—you lean forward, rising to press your lips against his in desperation.

Not for his mercy, no—heavens, no. Your lips are coated in poison, a venom strong enough to probably lull a lion into instant slumber, and soon, will render Dimitri paralyzed as well.

Unsurprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly—because you’ve seen it, seen the hint of desire brimming inside his eyes, a flicker that escapes the mask the Emperor puts on—Dimitri kisses you back. And if your swift brush of lips could ever be labeled as a kiss, then what Dimitri unleashed upon you could only be deemed a ravage.

He wastes no time slipping his tongue past your lips, savoring and exploring your mouth as one might indulge in a delectable, forbidden fruit. Despite your efforts, you find yourself drawn into his passion, grappling beneath him as he intensifies the kiss with each passing moment, as though melding your bodies together.

There is no room to breathe, and your head reels from the lack of air.

A bruising grip is placed on your waist as Dimitri somehow deepens the kiss further, his tongue exploring every inch of you, and as you attempt to pull away, he presses forward, biting your lip almost as a form of punishment.

A low whine escapes your throat, seemingly satisfying Dimitri as he hums softly into your mouth. Then, finally, ever so finally, he ends the kiss, leaving you gasping for air.

Tears well in your eyes as you gaze up at him, a half-smirk playing on his lips while he hovers above you, still gripping both your wrists firmly in his single hand, still unaffected by the poison after how much time has passed. How... is this be possible? Is Dimitri perhaps immune to such poison?

As realization washes over you, the half-smirk on Dimitri’s face transforms into a full one. "The poison on your lips is sweet, oh assassin," he whispers, "but in my opinion, the kiss is far, far sweeter."

"You...!"

As you prepare to kick the Emperor in his groin out of extreme frustration, he releases his grip on you, rising from the bed before straightening his attire. "You have passed, my assassin. And henceforth, you will serve me, and me alone," he announces, voice ringing clear inside your head.

You blink, letting his words sink in before narrowing your eyes at Dimitri, who is now sitting languidly on one of his many comfortable chairs in the room. “Just what are you talking about?” His words make little sense, and you feel an undying urge to hurl the nearest object right at his face.

"Who do you think orchestrated the countless assassinations on my dear self, oh assassin of mine? I seek only the finest, and while I knew no one could truly ever succeed in killing me, thus far, your attempt has been the closest."

You push yourself off the bed, striding towards him with your fists clenched. "This is all beyond ridiculous. Do you have any idea how many of us were tasked to end your life?"

"I do."

You cross your arms with a sigh. "So, what now? Is my task over?" The room is far too cold now after you have tasted the warmth that is your Emperor, and your job is clearly over, now that you have, somehow, been forcefully given a new one instead.

Dimitri responds, "You are to be my assassin. I will point the way, and you will obediently follow, with no questions asked. To kill whomever I send you to kill, to dispose of their bodies with no witnesses in sight, and to return to me when I have need of you. Is that clear?"

You roll your eyes at his arrogant tone but then nod obligingly upon seeing the slightest hint of anger in his expression. "Yes, yes. Is there anything else you require of me, Your Majesty? If not, I will be taking my leave now."

"Remain still,” he commands, and a distant part of you screams in frustration as your body effortlessly complies. He approaches you slowly, offering a small smile before placing your mask back over your face.

"When we are alone, just the two of us, I expect you to address me by my given name, my assassin.” He pauses then, lifting your chin with a finger. You tense.

"And...?" you ask back, your voice shaky.

The Emperor’s gaze flickers towards your lips, concealed beneath the mask, as he issues his last command. “That last method of yours. I forbid you from employing it on anyone else,” he muses, tightening his grip on your chin, almost painfully so.

“Your lips are reserved solely for mine.”

[inu-jiru]

Jazz's "Apology Tour" ramble

Episode was trash, let's go.

First off, the whole "Fuck Blitzo" party is so stupid to me, like you're telling me this 30-something year old man had intimate relationships with ALL these demons and HE was the sole thing that ruined ALL of them?

And how did Verosika even find out about Stolas? Like I know Ozzie's happened, but how'd she hear about their "breakup" (they weren't together but whatever, show)?

Why the FUCK does Verosika care about Stolas being an uwu sad victim of mean old Blitzo aside from everyone being written to want to huff Stolas' sad boi farts?

Why is no one trying to kill Stolas like in Loo Loo Land, like suddenly we're just cool with the oppressive racist now (who am I kidding, the rank system doesn't exist anymore unless the "meanie supremacist" characters bring it up I guess)?

Don't think I'm trying to be "Blitzo's#1Bitch69" or anything, but Season 2 is just so gross in how they've written him. Either he's the big bully meanie for hating his abuser, or they've had him commit the most out of pocket atrocities (like possibly SAing Stolas since he was technically drunk or the circus incident or the shit he pulled with Verosika because what the fuck kinda trauma makes you steal someone credit card for horse riding lessons???) that they just gloss over because fuck having Blitzo actually progress normally or Stolas taking actual responsibility for his own actions, let's just speed through everything so it's back to Stolitz City, don't think about the implications. I just can't stand itttt, I still like and pity Blitz to an extent but his writing is killing meeee

Stolas, stop whimpering about being wanted YOU HAVE A KID WHO HAS STILL NOT APPEARED SINCE SEEING STARS WHERE IS SHE?

Am I really hearing that people are hating the dude flirting with Stolas like come on yall STOLITZ IS NOT OFFICIAL YET CHILL

I've honestly started skipping through episodes, like I can't fucking listen to "WAHHHHH BLITZO I WANT YOU TO WANT ME" for the millionth time, I wish this episode could've just been Blitzo and Verosika facing their issues or something I just don't wanna see this owl loser act like a victim anymoreeee

Man really said "when have I ever been condescending?" SEASON ONE???? How about every time you grab his face and call him out of his name and watch him be shot at while demanding he come over one a month? Oh, but when Blitz starts doing it back it's "Oh I'm uncomfortable ooOoOoo stop it Blitz hnnghhh I don't like it :C :C :C", like whatever man.

The Striker comment was dumb and wrong but that's because Stolas is dumb and wrong

Honestly I feel like I'm repeating the same points I and others have made in the past so all imma say is, I hope Octavia and Stella are enjoying their off-screen and better written adventures together. I'm gonna draw some AU stuff now to give my eyes something better to look at.

OH I forgot to talk about Verosika, uh, she was there? I honestly think she should just get over herself at this point, idk when she and Blitz broke up but what the fuck is it about this clown that she was so enamored over where she's this hurt? I can get being mad about her credit card and Blitz being a lazy partner but if that's the case, I fail to see how they got to a point where she got his name tatted on her arm. Idk it's weird

The Mayweather shit or whatever her name is was pointless and made no sense, like "I want you to kill this woman who made me attempt to kill her and myself but now we're dating" like? Hey Vivzie if yall can callback to that why can't yall call back to Stolas being a creep huh?

EDIT: They really made that fuckass "it's hell" excuse canon, huh? Like, it doesn't even make sense in the context of Blitz saying that, like people say "it's hell" because Biblically speaking, it's where those who truly oppose God in order to live a life of wickedness go as just punishment. Blitz the equivalent of a regular guy in Hell unlike the Hazbin characters, he shouldn't understand that there's a better alternative to Hell because he's not human and never had any opportunity to learn about Heaven or God (unless it's just in their DNA or something idk who knows with this show)

[theotherbuckley]

This is payback for the 40 something sentences btw

👧🏼👧🏼👧🏼👧🏼👧🏼👧🏼👧🏼👧🏼👧🏼👧🏼🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁🚁😘😘😘😘

I brought this upon myself.... i have many regrets.

👧🏼 - dad!buck teacher!tommy (bucktommy)

“Daddy’s coming?” Bella asks, looking up at Buck with the biggest puppy eyes.  “Not today, baby, you’re at big school now!” He replies, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Come on! I’ll show you where your class is,” Christopher says enthusiastically, offering up a simple wave to Carla before he starts walking towards the classrooms, looking back towards Bella when he realises she’s not following. “Daddy has to come,” she begs, grasping on to Buck’s leg and holding on for dear life.  Buck honestly didn’t expect Bella to cry when he went to leave — frankly, he thought he’d be the one crying, watching his girl all grown up. Bella was never really the shy kid, always happy to meet new people and do new things. She could talk to strangers for hours about the most outlandish things. The other week they were at the zoo with the Diaz’s and Bella had walked up to the zookeeper, asking 100 different questions about sea otters which had become Bella’s latest hyperfixation for about a week. Buck had watched her talking away, smiling fondly. He had turned to Eddie shaking his head saying he didn’t know where she got it from to wish Eddie gave him a very pointed look and said, “Seriously?” So apparently ADHD is hereditary.  Point is, he didn’t really plan on Bella clinging to him the way she was now, and he didn’t know what to do. He’d do anything for his daughter, and watching her look up at him as she clung to his pant leg, made his heart break. He was helpless to do anything but walk up to her classroom with her.  They followed Christopher into the school, taking twists and turns that had Buck worrying how he was going to get out of this maze when he left. Chris finally stopped at the door of a class that had a bright pink number 5 cut out stuck to the door.  “Are we absolutely sure this is room five?” Buck joked upon seeing the sign. Bella looked up at him, hand still gripped tightly to Buck’s and said, “Yeah, Daddy, see! Number five!” she said, pointing to the door. They’d been practising number’s recently, Bella already surpassing Buck’s mental arithmetic ability by being able to add 5 and 7 — Buck still had to use his fingers. She definitely inherited her mother’s ability for math.  A second bell rang loudly in the hall, causing Bella to jump slightly in his hold. He squeezes her hand gently a few times to comfort her before looking towards Chris who still needed to get to his room. “See you later, Bella!” Christopher says, turning to walk down the hall towards his own class. “Come on, Bellie,” Buck said, guiding Bella into the class. There were about 10 other children sat at desks in the class, a few still with their parents which made Buck feel better about coming into the room with his daughter — not that he would leave anyway, not until he knew his daughter was happy. Noticing some cubby holes at the back of the class, Buck ushered Bella towards them to put her bag down.  Distracted by getting Bella into the desk that had her name on it, and getting her settled, Buck never stopped to look at the front of the class towards the teacher. When Bella had finally let go of his had, now apparently forgetting his existence and chatting very enthusiastically to a boy sat beside her, Buck looked up to see Bella’s teacher drawing in big letters on the whiteboard.  Buck has no idea how he missed him walking in because the man was huge. Buck thought his arms were huge as a firefighter but holy shit… apparently being a teacher makes you built like a fucking tank. The man was writing in curly letters on the board, spelling out “Mr. Kinard”. Once he’d finished he turned to face the room. Buck instantly noticed his deep blue eyes and the cleft of his chin that painted a very lovely picture for him to look at. The man caught his eye for a moment and smiled, the corners of his eyes and nose scrunching with smile lines that Buck felt completely normal about.  Buck had to clamp his mouth shut when he realised that he’d been staring, slack jawed at the objectively very handsome teacher.

🚁 - helicopter crash s8 (bucktommy)

The siren blares loudly above his head, some suburban house fire or something. Buck only half registers it, still stuck staring at the screen in front of him. He’s distantly aware of Eddie calling for him but he just can’t right now. He can’t. Captain Gerrard moves in front of the TV, forcing Buck to snap out of his gaze. “Get a fucking move on, Buckley,” he practically spits. Buck moves mechanically, forcing himself out of his chair and following his captain down towards the fire engines.  “Can I— Can I be man behind this time?” Buck says, his voice sounding small to his own ears.  “No,” Gerrard replies simply, not even turning to look back at him.  Johnson had been the man behind all day, apparently in punishment for failing to adequately wash the fire engine. Buck knew that the real reason was because Gerrard caught his boyfriend dropping him off in the morning.  “Please,” Buck says again, hating the way his voice breaks in the middle. He can’t focus right now — he’d be useless as a firefighter at the scene. It would be safer for everyone if he stayed back. Please— “Get in the truck,” Gerrard shouts at him. 

😘 - pet names 10+1 (bucktommy)

Buck swallows. “What-whatever do you mean, sweetums?” Buck says, before wincing immediately. “Okay, okay,” Buck relents, “I’m trying out pet names. And they’re not going great, especially not sweetums.” Buck cringes again. “But, I will come up with a good one. Just you wait.” Tommy’s expression turns fond as he stares at Buck with the cutest look Buck thinks a man could possibly make. “Baby, you don’t have to give me a pet name. Tommy’s fine,” Tommy says sincerely. “Besides,” Tommy says, lips quirking up at the edges. “I kinda like hearing you moan my name.” Buck trips through the door.

[caryelwesmeow]

Can you please explain to me in every detail what it was like to stand in front of this man? Like....how did you do it I would just die

Okay so I was super super anxious about meeting him because i knew I'd collapse in front of him!! I was so anxious I actually vomited beforehand I was that anxious!

I was 5th in line to meet him and was there over an hour before he was to arrive which made me even more anxious. I was starting to get dizzy loads and heart racing and then he appeared and I lost it I couldn't breathe???

So it got to my turn to go in his autograph booth and my legs could no longer function so I actually stumbled up to his table at the sight of him and had to grip onto the table very tight to be able to stand otherwise I'd have been on the floor! OMG HIS EYES AND SMILE!! Believe me I DIED!! I was super transfixed on his face I remember my face just being 😲 I could barely talk my mind was just gone total mush, I stumbled out that I was really anxious (he said 'Don't worry I'm here I've got you!) and then I stumbled out my words for the rest of the talks we had, I could barely say anything at all.

We talked about mental health as I said he was helping me and my fiancée Vanessa, she sadly couldn't be there so he wanted to hear about her, we had drawn him some drawings for his birthday so we spoke about those he loved them!! Vanessa had wrote him a note about him helping her and he was so appreciative and full of love, he told me to tell her that he passed on all his love and hopes to see her soon, he congratulated us on our engagement and wished us God bless. After seeing his birthday drawings and card he got a bit teary and asked me for a hug. His hugs are super soft and warm, he's so squishy!! 🥺♥️ I totally melted!! We had a pic taken on my phone, we said bye he did a cute little wave at me and as soon as I left his autograph booth I CRIED AND CRIED!! I COLLAPSED ON THE FLOOR!!

Then I had a professional photo taken with him an hour after and he still remembered my name and said again how lovely it was to meet me and that was it! I THINK OF IT DAILY I HAVE NOT RECOVERED AT ALL!! Next time I go see him whenever that maybe I will not be as in control as this time, next time I will be jumping on him, the self control has gone!!

Hope this is helps!!

[gvfgal]

*New* 10. Threes a Crowd

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

Strictly 18+.

A/n: I sure hope you guys are ready cause shit is about to get crazzyyyyyy 😉. I also wanna take the time so say thank you so much to all who read and interact with my stories! All the reactions and the praises and the sweet comments in my asks and messages really keep me going with this whole writing thing! I love you guys 🩷. As always, please read at your own discretion as this story has a lot of dark themes, but also enjoy the ride!

Content Warnings: vomiting (Emetophobia triggers), mentions of pregnancy (some negative elements attached to it, heavy angst… may be missing a few but I think I touched the big ones.

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

Jake wasn’t beside you the next morning, but that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the wave of nausea that hit you the moment your eyes opened. Sitting upright only made it worse. Clutching a hand over your mouth, you scurried into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before vomiting violently.

You heaved until your stomach ached, your body convulsing with each retch. When you finally finished, you collapsed back on your heels with a shuddering sigh. Tilting your head back, you fought to keep tears at bay. Part of it was the sting of throwing up, but the real reason for the tears forming in your eyes was the gnawing suspicion of what this sudden sickness most likely meant.

The suspicion had been there, lingering in the back of your mind. You were about a week late. As much as you knew it to be true, you refused to believe it without solid proof. The reality was too grim, and you were determined to delay facing it for as long as possible.

Gathering your composure, you flushed the toilet and went to the sink to wash your hands and face. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, noticing the pallor of your skin and the worry etched across your features. After brushing your teeth thoroughly, you avoided mouthwash, fearing it might trigger another wave of nausea.

Once you felt physically better, you reentered the bedroom and picked up your phone, dialing Angela’s number. It was still early, and the phone rang several times before her groggy voice answered.

“Hey, Ange,” you said, trying to conceal the tremor in your voice, “can you come over? I need your help.”

There was a pause on the other end, then Angela’s voice softened with concern. “Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, the gravity of your situation pressing down on you. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “Just… please hurry.”

Hanging up, you sat on the edge of the bed, your mind racing. The minutes dragged by as you waited for Angela, each second amplifying your anxiety. You knew you had to face the truth, but the fear of what it would mean for your future—and for Jake—was unsettling.

The Barbarians stood around their usual meeting spot, waiting for Alejandro to arrive. They had agreed that the money would be delivered to him in three separate drop-offs, ensuring that if anything went wrong, not all of the money would be lost.

Jake was anxious. If Alejandro wasn’t pleased with how things were going, all the blame would fall on him, as it was his idea.

Ace sensed Jake’s unease but knew better than to draw attention to it. He had unwavering faith in Jake and his plan. If things went awry due to Alejandro’s dissatisfaction, he would back Jake to the end. This silent understanding allowed Jake to remain calm.

As always, thirty minutes past the planned meeting time, three black Escalades pulled up. Alejandro leapt out of the middle one as soon as its engine idled.

Two of his men walked past the group to the truck where Nicky stood. Nicky lifted the back of the truck, and the men retrieved several bags of cash before stepping aside to begin counting.

Jake felt the weight of Alejandro’s scrutinizing gaze as he stared down Jake and the rest of the Barbarians while his men counted the money.

After a stretch of silence, one of the men looked at his boss and gave a thumbs up. “Looks like it’s all here.”

Alejandro’s expression shifted to one of delight, and he let out a loud cackle. He strode over to Jake and shook his hand roughly. “You know, I knew when the Barbarian Prince had a plan, I wouldn’t be disappointed.”

Nicky rolled his eyes in disgust. He couldn’t understand why Jake was getting so much credit when he and his boys were the ones handling the money. Without him, Jake’s plan wouldn’t be succeeding.

Jake shook Alejandro’s hand, ignoring Nicky’s disapproving glare burning into his back. “I told you that you could count on us,” he said, concealing the nerves still coursing through his veins.

“I knew I could count on you,” Alejandro emphasized, his hazel eyes piercing into Jake’s, still not releasing his grip.

His men began moving the bags into their cars, giving Ace a sense of relief. With the first sum of money in Alejandro’s possession, they were one step closer to being done with this ordeal.

“But,” Alejandro lifted a finger, “I don’t want to celebrate too soon. You still have two more drops to prove that putting my faith in you and this club wasn’t a big waste of my time.”

Jake nodded. “I understand.”

Alejandro smiled again, patting Jake on the cheek. “I knew you would.”

He turned to Ace with a sly grin. “You’ve got a good one here, Acey boy. An excellent choice for your new club President, don’t you agree?”

Ace glanced at Jake, then quickly at Nicky, knowing he wouldn’t like the sound of that. “I guess he’s a pretty good choice,” he chuckled. “But it’ll be up to the guys to vote.”

Alejandro, clearly in an instigating mood, looked back at Nicky’s dissatisfied face. “I bet that will be an interesting ordeal. Am I allowed to cast a vote of my own?”

He laughed before anyone could answer, patting Ace on the arm. “Kidding, of course. I trust your men know what’s best for them. At least, I hope they do.”

With the cars now loaded up, Alejandro turned to make his exit. “Keep up the good work, Barbarian Prince. I’ll see you next time around.”

As Alejandro and his men drove off, the tension lingered. Jake knew the road ahead was fraught with challenges, but with Ace’s silent support and the stakes so high, failure was not an option.

You held your head in your hands as you sat on the toilet lid, overwhelmed. Angela sat across from you on the bathroom counter, the four positive pregnancy tests lined up beside her, taunting and mocking you.

It had been quiet for several minutes, Angela watching you process the reality laid out before you.

“What am I gonna do, Ange?” you finally sobbed, covering your face to stifle your cries. “I never planned on staying here this long. I never planned on this happening. I was just trying to save up enough money to get away, and now…” you paused to regain your composure, “I can’t just leave. Not like this. I just…”

Words failed you, and you continued to cry. This was the last situation you thought you’d find yourself in when you traveled to Genoa. It complicated things beyond measure, and you weren’t even sure where to start.

Both possible outcomes were terrifying.

Angela crossed over to you and rubbed a soothing hand down your back. She knew how desperately you wanted to leave, but this was a sticky situation.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” she sighed, trying her best to comfort you. “That’s a decision you have to make on your own. But can I tell you what I think you should do?”

You looked up at her with a sniffle, your face pale from crying so hard.

“You need to tell Jake. You need someone other than me to help support you and figure out what you want to do. Whatever choice you make, I’m sure he’ll support you.”

You shook your head. “What if he’s mad? Im sure this is just as much an inconvenience for him as it is for me.”

Angela offered a sympathetic smile. “Or, it could be the one thing both of you need. You’ll never know unless you talk to him.”

You seriously doubted that would be the case, but you knew you couldn’t keep something like this from Jake. Maybe if you got his perspective, you’d find some clarity on your next steps.

Angela comforted you while you cried for several more minutes until your tears finally ceased. She agreed to take your shift at the Tavern that evening, giving you time to work things out with yourself.

“Are you going to be alright?” she asked worriedly, standing at the front door of the trailer, hesitant to leave you alone so soon.

You shrugged, feeling detached from reality. “I’ve been alright so far. I’ll be alright now.”

Angela pulled you into a tight hug before descending the staircase. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” you assured her, “thanks.”

You shut the door behind her and let out a heavy sigh. Entering the kitchen, you checked the time on the stove. Jake would be home in a few hours. If you were going to have this conversation with him, it would be better to do it over food.

Determined to make the most of the time you had, you started preparing dinner. As you chopped vegetables and set water to boil, your mind raced with possible scenarios of how Jake might react. You hoped for understanding but prepared yourself for disappointment.

Time did nothing to calm you. Each passing minute only heightened your anxiety, and you almost ruined dinner three separate times. You went back and forth on whether you even wanted to tell Jake the news, playing out different scenarios in your head. You could delay no longer, you heard the front door open, and dread surged through you. You couldn’t even look at Jake, pretending the pot you were stirring required your full attention.

A smile spread across his face at the aroma of a home-cooked meal greeted him.

“You know, Cherry, you’re starting to spoil me,” he joked, plopping down on the couch. “Coming home to home-cooked meals every day—I’m gonna start getting used to this.”

He waited for your usual sly remark, but when you didn’t even glance at him, he got up and walked into the kitchen to see what was wrong.

“Cherry? Everything alright?”

You froze, your back still to him, your hands beginning to tremble as you struggled to keep your composure.

“Cherry?” His voice was more worried now.

Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes revealing the depth of your concern.

“Jake, I’m pregnant.”

Jake’s expression shifted from worry to shock. His mouth fell open slightly, and his eyes widened. You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow.

“What?”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before retreating to the bedroom. When you returned with the pregnancy test in hand, Jake was still rooted to the spot.

Handing it to him, you watched as he stared down at the two pink lines, trying to decipher his thoughts from his expressionless face.

Finally, he looked back up at you, seeing the tears you were trying to hold back.

He wished he could say something, but he knew nothing would come out right under the pressure he felt.

Jake turned, tossed the pregnancy test on the counter, and fled toward the front door, not even bothering to grab his helmet.

“Jake—” you called after him.

He flung the door open, stormed down the stairs, and brought his bike to life.

You stood in the doorway as he backed out of the driveway, then sped out of the trailer park.

The roar of his engine faded into the distance, leaving you in the thick silence of an uncertain future.

Jake rode around the isolated desert for hours. Though the landscape around him was peaceful, the turmoil inside him was a completely different story. The setting sun cast long shadows over the sand, but all he could see was the image of the positive pregnancy test, the two pink lines searing into his mind like a brand. Your face, pale and filled with worry, haunted him.

As he sped through the barren terrain, the wind whipped around him, doing little to cool the feverish thoughts that raced through his head. How could this have happened? He thought about the nights spent with you, the careless passion, the moments where everything seemed to fall away except for the two of you. Now, those moments had led to something neither of you had planned for, something that changed everything.

Fear gripped him. He had no idea how to be a father, no idea how to provide the stability a child needed. His own upbringing had been anything but stable, and the thought of repeating that cycle terrified him. Could he even be the kind of man who could handle this responsibility? Or was he destined to fail, like he always feared deep down?

He recalled the look in your eyes, the mixture of hope and fear. You had been so vulnerable, and he had fled. You didn’t deserve to be left standing there, alone and scared. He knew he had to face this, face you, but the weight of it all felt crushing.

Then there was the club. The Barbarians were his family, and regardless of how he felt about it, they were a big part of his life, but the idea of raising a child within that lifestyle was daunting. He couldn’t imagine bringing up a kid surrounded by the violence and uncertainty that came with being part of the club. What if he had a son? Would he want to follow in his father’s footsteps as Jake had, getting drawn into the same dangerous world? And what if things got ugly somewhere down the line? The thought of putting you and the child at risk because of his affiliations filled him with dread. He couldn’t bear the idea of his child living in fear, or worse, being harmed because of the choices he had made. The prospect of needing to shield his family from the darker parts of his life weighed heavily on him, adding another layer to his already overwhelming concerns.

Amid all these worries, the one that gnawed at him the most was how you were coping. He imagined you back at the trailer, trying to hold yourself together, and his heart ached. You had looked so scared, so fragile, and he had walked out. The thought of you feeling abandoned, dealing with this monumental change alone, made him feel like the lowest kind of coward.

A deeper fear, one he hadn’t dared to acknowledge, surfaced. What if you didn’t even want to keep the baby? The thought bruised him more than he expected. It hurt to think you might not see a future with this child, with him, but he also understood. This wasn’t the life you had planned. He couldn’t blame you if you decided this was too much, too soon. The uncertainty of it all weighed heavily on him, but he knew he had to be ready to support you, whatever decision you made.

As he rode further into the desert, the vast emptiness around him mirrored the confusion within. The stars began to emerge, one by one, in the twilight sky, each one a distant reminder of the unknown future ahead. He needed to figure this out, needed to find a way to be there for you and the baby. But how?

The questions swirled in his mind, each one without an answer. He rode harder, faster, as if he could outrun the reality of what lay ahead. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t. He had to go back, face the consequences, and figure out how to move forward.

Finally, he pulled to a stop atop a small hill, looking out over the desert expanse. The engine’s rumble faded, leaving him in a silence as vast as the horizon. In that stillness, he allowed himself a moment to breathe, to let the enormity of the situation settle over him.

He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t know if he could be the man you needed, the father your child deserved. But he knew if that’s what you wanted, then he had to try. For you, for the baby, and for himself.

With a deep breath, he turned his bike around and started the long ride back. Back to you, back to the future he never saw coming but now had to face head-on.

It was the early hours of the next morning when Jake found his way back. When he saw you standing on the porch, anticipating his arrival, the guilt he had been wrestling with surged anew.

He dismounted his bike and approached you cautiously, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The anger in your eyes pierced him, and he didn’t dare say a word, fully aware of his wrongdoing.

Unable to hold back any longer, you reached out and shoved him in the chest. He stumbled back slightly, but you weren’t satisfied. You shoved him again, harder, and again. Tears spilled down your face as your shoves turned into closed fists pounding against his chest. Jake stood still, allowing you to vent your fury, knowing he deserved every blow.

“Why did you leave?” you cried, continuing to strike him. “Why would you do that?”

He took hold of your wrists firmly, making you stop and look at him. “I’m sorry. I panicked, and I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking, baby.”

Your bottom lip quivered. You wanted so badly to berate him more, but all you needed in that moment was his comfort. You collapsed into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, letting you know he didn’t plan on letting go.

Jake couldn’t fathom why this was such a difficult thing for you to face. You wanted to tell him that your distress had nothing to do with him and everything to do with your own inner grievances. Had you met Jake under different circumstances, this pregnancy might have been the most joyous thing that ever happened to you. And who knew, it still might turn out that way. But right now, you couldn’t see past the fear that consumed you.

However, you didn’t need to voice any of this to Jake. His next words provided the reassurance you desperately needed.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” he soothed, running a hand over the back of your head. “You’re okay, I’m okay. We’re going to figure this out. I promise.”

The two of you stood on the porch until the sun began to show it’s first light, casting a soft glow over Cactus Creek. Jake finally pulled away slightly so he could look you in the eyes. You appeared more beautiful to him than ever before, with the promise of new life growing inside you.

“Let’s go to bed,” he suggested gently.

You nodded, wiping the last remnants of tears from your face. “Okay.”

Taglist: @scoreofinfantryvines @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @slut4lando @hollyco @wetkleenex-gvf @earthgrlsreasy @edgingthedarkness

[branmer]

yes i understand why people love columbo so much

[ihatebrainstorm]

[Medicine]

"The Caduceus. Commonly mixed up with the Rod of Asclepius."

Guys I think it'd be really funny if Pharma and Ratchet had the same voice

[maretriarch]

Just in time for 4/13 here's the second line of my r63 dolls, this time CREEPover themed with bonus accessories! in an ideal world they would come in adorable recuperacoon shaped packaging. and probably a sopor slime making kit because kids love slime. which one are YOU picking up from your local Goreget today?

[clovenhoofedjester]

stars when you shine, you know how i feel

a close-up of his mug, unblasted by colors and lighting and stuff. it was surprisingly difficult to color his fur in a way i liked