#I mean the more and more I look into it. the more it makes sense

[ivanttakethis]

Do you think Mizi had a higher intimacy rating with Ivan (75%) than with Till (30%) at least in part because of their conversation in the True Face comic?

Like, Ivan is nice to her and they talk and hang out sometimes, which I’m sure is on par with other students, but unlike other male students (sorry to put you in this group Till), he doesn’t “like” Mizi that way.

He doesn’t want anything from her. He doesn’t even want to watch her from a distance like some sort of goddess (so sorry again, Till).

There’s no ulterior motive for him to be friendly to her.

Maybe Mizi could sense that?

She could be friends with Ivan without having to worry about him taking the things she said or did the “wrong way.”

He wouldn’t misinterpret her taking a nap on him or asking for a piggyback ride as something romantic.

She was comfortable around Ivan.

Maybe Mizi even felt like she could trust him? Or at least not have her guard up.

Now that’s not to say that she distrusted Till or thought he would act like the blond guy did, however—

I can see why she would feel less fond of Till versus Ivan.

And the fact that the first thing he said when she asked why he liked her was because she was pretty made things worse.

Till didn’t like Mizi because of her personality.

He liked her because she was pretty.

Shallow. Surface level.

He built up this fantasy of her in his head and that’s what he loved.

Not her.

Just like all of the other boys “circling around her all the time.”

This is my favorite panel in the comic, because it says so much about what Mizi’s thinking without her having to say a word.

The dull look in her eye.

“I see. You’re just like all of the others.”

An invisible string between them is severed.

Mizi is the only one who notices.

This conversation also recontexualizes a lot of other art we’ve seen of Mizi and Till interacting.

She’s not oblivious to his blushing or how he stumbles over his words when talking to her. She knows what it means and is purposefully ignoring all of that because he’s her friend and she wants him to stay that way. Nothing more.

This is the second time Mizi is shown telling Till directly and in no uncertain terms that she likes/loves Sua, and I can imagine the fact that he doesn’t seem to take the hint would make her keep some distance.

It’s her way of protecting herself.

She doesn’t want him to be angry.

Saying no could be dangerous.

The last time she rejected someone it ended in violence.

(Again, not saying Till would do this, but Mizi doesn’t know that for sure.)

She has to be kind and sweet.

She has to let him down gently.

She has to say no in a roundabout way.

She has to tread lightly. Watch her words. Her physical contact. Even how long she looks at a boy so they don’t get the wrong idea.

And if they do, it’s her fault.

Whether or not Mizi knows Ivan is gay doesn’t really matter either.

It’s about the security of knowing you can just be yourself around someone.

It’s about feeling safe.

Safe enough to take a nap, even.

[tojisteddy]

Hi girl love your work and can you do a story when Simon overstimulates her with a toy in car love you girl

Middle of Nowhere | cw: 18+ mdni, daddy kink (kinda icky), overstim, use of toy, fingering, squirting, degradation, dumbification, meanie!simon, public sex (?) (it’s in a car so)

“Come on kitten, look so pretty, won’t you give me a show?”

You should’ve said ‘no’ right then and there.

Simon did an oil change to your car and decided he wanted to test it out, go for a quick drive with you just to make sure it was running smooth. You should’ve just hopped in there, but you took twentyfive five minutes getting ready.

Getting ready for what exactly? To sit in the car?

Well, yes!

Just a little make up, your glasses, change from out of the oversized shirt to a pair of jeans and a grey top that showed off your midsection, curls framing your face. Cute, really cute— bewitching even. You’d come down the steps all casual and ready to go and then leaned his head up to look at the ceiling with a sigh.

Simon could’ve eaten you right then and there, said fuck the drive, and bent your pretty ass over the couch, ate your pussy till you got the floor damp with a your sweet juices.

He chose, instead, to play a little game with you.

Gave a nod of his head in approval of your outfit, have you twirl to see your plump ass. Asked you with a ghost of a smirk on his lips, to give him a show, draw you in to his trap like he always did. You stupidly said yes, which led you to have a little toy in your cunt, your pretty long lashes fluttering shut while you gripped onto the door and Simons arm, and little mewls of ‘ahh’s and ‘ooh’s leaving your pretty lips.

“Pa, hngh- please.”

“Please, please, please, she says. Please what? We’re just going for a little ride, right? You’re a big girl. So sit still ‘nd there won’t be any issues.” He hummed.

Bastard.

He knew good and well the car bumping around like it did along with the vibrator had you mind in a whirlwind, and then he slowly kept hicked the volume up from 2 to 4.

“F-fuck!” You hiccup, an orgasm washing over you like a wave, your eyes blinking, trying to stay open.

Simon looks over at you, more than amused as you withered, but it’s not enough. He wants to see your head spin, ache and cry to cum. He turns it down to one, lets you settle in the feeling that turns it up to three. His knuckles brushes your cheek which makes you jolt, other hand on the wheel. You pout, panting, squirming in your seat for any kind of relief. But it’s not enough.

“I wanna cum, please Si.”

Simon’s hand goes to your neck, caressing your nose with his thumb making you shiver, your nipples hardening. He chuckles darkly, “You that impatient you can’t wait? I taught you better than that.”

“I- but- I-” And he turns it back down again, you can feel the tears pricking at your eyes. You grip onto his free arm, letting his large calloused hand fall in between your thighs. Humping at it like a damn animal.

“Awww,” he croons, Brown eyes meeting yours for a split second, the car changing from lane to lane— “Bein desperate little bitch, huh baby? That’s not good, is it?”

“I-I’ll be good Daddy. Promise! I- I wanna be-“ you don’t even know what words are falling from your lips, anything to get that release that’s been held back from you. Simon’s greedy girl. Your pulsing clit is begging for attention, slick drenching the lips and underwear confining your cunt.

“Oooh, look doll” The older man nods to the front view mirror, and you follow his eyes, “it’s the police, you think they’re gonna pull us over?”

Your eyes widen, the police car right behind you, you can’t even make out the person driving, your eyes are blurry, senses skewed, “No-“

“No you don’t think so?” He asks obliviously, as if he doesn’t know what you mean. 

“No, anngh- I don’t- don’t want them to see me- hah- i don’t wanna g-get in trouble!”

But it’s enough to make Simon’s eyes smile, turning the volume up to the max, making you sob in pleasure. Shoving his arm away as you try to hide yourself in the car door. You try your best to hold it, but it makes you worse, legs tingling and you thrash in your seat, tears leaving your eyes. It’s too much.

He laughs, “Thought ya said ya wanted to cum?”

“Pa I can’t- really can’t! They’ll see!” You cry through a moan. The blonde ignores your cries, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping his hands inside.

He soothes you, you don’t know it but the police cars passed at the last exit. His large fingers brush over your soaked folds of your panties a couple times, flicking your poor swollen clit, “Come on baby girl, be good and cum.”

Your mouth slightly agape, head falling against the headrest as tight pink walls spasm over nothing.

“Fuck baby,” he groans as your prettily release, taking his hand and sucking the two fingers you got wet and taking them out with a ‘pop’

Simon, that 6’4 demon, takes you chin in his fingers and tickling it before turning your face to look at him. Your eyes are low, you’re delerious, aching for his words— a good fucking kitty, aren’t you? He smirks, “rub your little clit, yeah? Show me you want it. We’re almost home. Maybe Dad’ll give you a reward.”

“Daddy the seat.” You mumble, the car swerves just a bit from something you can’t even register, but it makes that vibrator press into your soaking walls more, making you whimper.

He scuffs, grabbing your hand and shoving your manicured fingers in your pants. “Rub it kitty.”

It was never a question to begin with, the vibrator is still on high. That orgasm never truly went away, your fingers move your clit in a circular motion, the sloshing of your juices and creaminess hit the walls of the car, dampening your fingers so much they start to prune.

You choke on a sob, “Feels so good Daddy, mmmh- it’s always so- so gooood.”

Simon eyes light up, you ditzy bitch. Aren’t even worried about if cars see you now, to worried about your pretty pussy. He loves the way your eyes squeeze shut, plump lips fall open and your whole body shakes— “Make a mess then kitten. Be a messy girl.”

a chant of dad, daddy, dad falls off your lips when you fall apart again, your leg kicking out as water comes out of your pussy and soaks through underwear.

It’s a mess for sure, that’s definitely staining your jeans and the seats.

Simon takes you hand out, the car parking in your drive through. He turns the vibrator off and sucks your wet fingers clean. Kissing on them and rubbing them.

“Such a good girl f’me luvie. Gave me a good show.”

a/n: made this icky sorry. I love it. It was fun writing this. Sorry it took so long. Lmk what you bubs think.

most recent masterlist more meanie!simon

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @nightfwn @mims900 @lillybunni

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

💀 Making Your Villain Make Sense (Without Making Them Right™)

("because if I see one more war criminal with a sad diary entry get a redemption arc, I’m gonna throw my laptop.")

Here’s the thing: your villain doesn’t need to be redeemable. But they do need to make sense.

And I mean sense beyond "they’re evil and they monologue about it." Or “they have a tragic past, so now they do murder <3.” Or “they were right all along, the hero just couldn’t see it 🥺.”

Let’s fix that.

─────── ✦ ───────

🧠 STEP ONE: BUILD A LOGIC SYSTEM THAT ISN’T OURS Your villain shouldn’t just be wrong, they should have their own internal system that works for them. Morally flawed? Absolutely. But coherent.

Ask yourself:

What do they value more than anything? (Power? Order? Loyalty? Vengeance?)

What do they believe about the world, and how did they get there?

What fear drives them? What future do they think they’re trying to prevent?

The villain doesn’t need to know they’re wrong. But you should.

Make their logic airtight. even if it’s awful. Give them cause and effect.

─────── ✦ ───────

👿 STEP TWO: STOP GIVING THEM THE BETTER IDEOLOGY Listen. I love a “morally gray” moment as much as anyone. But if your villain is making all the good points and the hero’s just like “no because that’s mean,” your arc is upside down.

If your villain is critiquing injustice, oppression, or inequality, make sure their methods are the problem, not their entire worldview.

✖︎ WRONG: Villain: “The ruling class is corrupt.” Hero: “That’s not nice.”

✔︎ RIGHT: Villain: “The ruling class is corrupt, so I’m burning the city and everyone in it.” Hero: “So you’re just… committing genocide now?”

Your villain can touch a real issue. Just don’t let them be the only one talking about it, or solving it with horror movie logic.

─────── ✦ ───────

🔪 STEP THREE: GIVE THEM POWER THAT COSTS THEM The best villains lose things too. They’re not just untouchable horror dolls in sexy coats. They make bad choices and pay for them. That’s where the drama lives.

Examples:

They isolate themselves.

They sacrifice people they love.

They get what they want, and it destroys them.

They know they’re the monster, and choose it anyway.

If your villain can kill a dozen people and feel nothing, that’s not scary. That’s boring. Let them bleed. Let them regret it. Let them double down anyway.

─────── ✦ ───────

🧱 STEP FOUR: MAKE THEM PART OF THE WORLD, NOT OUTSIDE IT Villains shouldn’t feel like they were patched in from another genre. They should be part of the world’s logic, culture, class system, history. They should reflect something about the setting.

Villains that slap:

The advisor who upheld the regime until they decided they deserved to rule.

The noble who’s using war to reclaim stolen legacy.

The ex-hero who thinks the system can’t be saved, only reset.

The priest who truly believes the gods demand blood.

They’re not just evil, they’re a product of the same world the hero is trying to save.

─────── ✦ ───────

👁 STEP FIVE: SHOW US THEIR SELF-JUSTIFICATION You don’t need a tragic backstory™. But you do need to show us why they think they’re right. Not just with exposition, through action.

Let us watch them:

Protect someone.

Choose their goal over safety.

Justify the unjustifiable to a character who loves them.

Refuse to change, even when given a chance.

A villain who looks into the mirror and goes “Yes. I’m correct.” is 1000x scarier than one who sobs into a journal and says “I’m so broken 🥺.”

─────── ✦ ───────

🧨 BONUS ROUND: DON’T MAKE THEM A HATRED MEGAPHONE Especially if you’re writing marginalized characters: don’t let your villain become a mouthpiece for slurs, abuse, or extremism just to make them “evil enough.” That’s lazy. And harmful.

You don’t need real-world hate speech to build a dark character. You need power, consequence, and intent.

─────── ✦ ───────

TL;DR: Good villains don’t need to be right. They need to be real. Not a vibe. Not a sad boy in a trench coat. Not a trauma monologue and then a sword fight. They need logic. They need cost. They need to scare you because you get them, and still want them to lose.

Make them dangerous. Not relatable. Make them whole. Not wholesome. Make them make sense.

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // villain critic. final boss consultant. licensed chaos goblin

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[therainscene]

I didn't start shipping Byler because I picked up on a few moments of chemistry and decided they'd make a cute couple -- I started off by absolutely refusing to entertain said moments as reciprocally queer until I ran into the ridiculous homophobia on the ST subreddit and decided to review Mike's character arc out of sheer gay spite.

Let me clarify: Spite isn't what made me change my mind about Mike. Spite just made me read a few Byler analyses and rewatch the show with an open mind because I didn't want to be like those pricks who would insult and censor queer fans for... [checks notes]... thinking something gay might happen in a TV show with gay people in it. I truly wasn't expecting a queer interpretation to fit Mike's arc anywhere near as well as the default interpretation -- but by the time I'd finished my rewatch, I was reeling from how much better it fit.

Cause that's the thing: Mike's queerness is pretty obvious once you look for it. The difficulty is in giving yourself permission to look.

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

A question Bylers are often asked is "why would the show spend four seasons building up Milevn just to tear it down at the last minute for some unrealistic woke ship? Mike literally said he loves El!" And yeah, Mike's grand love confession at the end of S4 certainly seems like a triumphant pay-off to all that build-up... but I have a few questions of my own.

Firstly: why establish in no uncertain terms that feeling loved is the key to unlocking El's fullest potential against Vecna--

--only to undermine the power of Mike's longed-for confession by having it only be good enough to delay Vecna instead of defeat him? Yes, it's the penultimate season -- so why did Milevn's pay-off happen here instead of S5 where it could properly shine?

Secondly: why couldn't Milevn fix their relationship by themselves? Even if you believe that El commissioned the painting (she didn't) and that the feelings Will describes are truly hers (they aren't), it was still Will who had to perform this romantic gesture on her behalf, and it broke his heart to do so. Why hand this important work off to a third party? Why weave queer tragedy into the build-up towards a heterosexual pay-off that's supposed to feel triumphantly romantic?

Speaking of which: why undermine the intimacy of this scene by having Will hover behind Mike's shoulder the whole time? Couldn't they have asked Noah to take a few steps to the left for the sake of a better shot? Couldn't they have waited until after Milevn's big romantic moment to remind us for the millionth fucking time how sad Will is about it?

In my opinion, this scene and its four seasons of build-up make much more sense if you read them as three entwined character arcs about the trials of growing up in a suffocatingly heteronormative era: the gay kid who doesn't think he's entitled to a happy ending; the abused girl who thinks shallow romance with the first boy who's nice to her will make her feel normal; and the confused hero who hasn't figured out the solution yet.

For all the insistence that this show has to stick to "realistic" depictions of 80s queerness... it's hardly a realistic depiction of 80s straightness for Mike to score an awesome magical girlfriend, either. That's just nerdy wish-fulfillment, and common only as a trope in fiction.

So it's not unreasonable to suppose that Mike's true role in the Subverting 80s Tropes Show might be to represent the actually very realistic 80s experience of getting swept up in compulsory heterosexuality.

Think about it: Will's vulnerability to the horrors functions as a metaphor for being visibly gay in a world that despises gay people--

--whereas Mike's girlfriend quite literally has the power to protect him from monsters and homophobic bullies alike.

This doesn't mean Mike is callously using El, though. He learned the hard way in S1 that treating an innocent girl like a means to an end would only end up destroying her, and the guilt and fear of hurting her again has been weighing heavy on him ever since.

Comphet isn't about taking advantage of other people's feelings so you can pretend to be straight -- it's about deluding yourself into believing you're straight because queerness isn't an option you're allowed to consider.

Mike genuinely does love El and he genuinely does want to be an important part of her life -- so surely that means he wants to be her boyfriend, right? Twelve is perhaps a little young to know that yet... but surely there's gotta be something here that sets his feelings apart from how a friend or brother would feel?

Surely the reason he later finds himself struggling to say to her face that he loves her is because he's just an immature loser who needs to try harder to grow up and be the man this girl he adores deserves to have...?

...and certainly not because the guilt and fear of losing her just keeps piling up as the romantic instincts he thinks he's been waiting to grow into turn out to be developing at exactly the pace they're supposed to -- in the wrong direction.

That would be ridiculous. Will's his best friend. Yes, he loves him and can't bear to be without him, but that doesn't mean anything. Why can't a guy display a little unhinged devotion to his special friend without it having to mean something romantic?

Why can't he, indeed.

At his core, Mike is someone who desperately wants to be as special as the straight heroes in the nerdy media he loves. But there isn't anything inherently heroic about being some lame middle-class white nerd who's bad with girls, so he believes that the best he can do is to be a dutiful sidekick who would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat for people he perceives as more special than himself.

For all the "build-up" Mike's romance with El has enjoyed across four seasons, it's done absolutely nothing to help him grow as a character and overcome this self-worth problem.

So is it really any surprise that even after realizing El would be fine and still want to be friends with him if he told her the truth, and even after realizing just how good Will is at understanding his insecurities and reassuring him of his inherent worth--

--Mike would still sacrifice his chance at happiness for the sake of the greater good?

El was literally dying in his arms. How could queer desire possibly be as important as this girl who needed him to be a man and do his damn job so she could do hers?

I'm interpreting Mike as gay here, but I think it's important to note that this principle applies even if he's bi or straight -- Mike can be attracted to girls and still be forcing himself to stay in a relationship with a girl he's not a good romantic match for because that's just what he thinks he's supposed to do.

His sister had a similar problem: Nancy was legitimately attracted to Steve, but her infatuation with him was more about doing what cool teen girls are supposed do than about authentic connection. And because this is a horror story as much a coming-of-age story, Wheeler's conformity had horrendous consequences -- her critical-of-comphet bestie was killed by the horrors.

Which sounds familiar, doesn't it?

(Sure, Max technically didn't die -- but she still died enough for Vecna's plan to come to fruition. Which just brings us back to my first question: why couldn't the Power of Heterosexual Love prevent this? In the same season that said "forced conforming is what's killing the kids", no less?)

Will describes Vecna as an inevitability that won't stop until he's taken everyone -- which in my opinion is the same defeatist attitude demanded by comphet.

It's not that Mr. Refuses-To-Participate-In-Society's-Silly-Play symbolizes comphet itself, per se; rather, he represents the despair of feeling like you can't truly escape it. But either way, this means that the solution to defeating Vecna is the same solution to defeating comphet:

Giving yourself permission to look and see that your true self is far more valuable than whatever you think you're supposed to be.

[angrythingstarlight]

Idk why I just started imagining Malyshka watching movies about mafia / crime documentaries and being excited when the mob guy gets caught by the police and Bucky being like ???

Nah she wouldn't get excited about a mobster getting caught. That would make her worry about her own mobster potentially getting caught. Not that Bucky would let that happen.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

WC: Less than 1k

A/N: Part of my mafia series. Written on my phone and unbetad.

One night he finds you in the living room, wrapped up in a blanket, watching a reenactment of a police raid in a small coastal town. Bucky leans over the back of the couch, his chin on your head as his hands slide down your arms. "That's not right. Andrea wasn't there that night. He sent his Capo in his place. Andrea is somewhere on the Ionian conducting business on one of his yachts."

Your head slowly tilts back, eyes widening. "What?"

Bucky nods at the shackled man on the screen. "They got the wrong man. Only a handful of people know what Andrea looks like. He spends more time hiding his identity than he does on his businesses. I thought the fucker was paranoid but guess he was right. Don't tell him I said that when we meet up next month, he's already insufferable. Last thing I need is to hear him brag about this."

Your eyes can't get any wider but it feels like they're trying. You understand the words he's saying, they make sense individuality but you're trying to piece them together and failing. Because if you're hearing him correctly that means he knows the guy you spent the past hour watching.

And apparently he's not in prison like the host is claiming.

Bucky laughs under his breath and gently smoothes your raised brows back down with his thumb.

"Are you being serious?" You searches his eyes, finding a quiet amusement reflecting back at you

"I am. He's not a bad guy. Does good business. You'll like him. Don't bring up football though, you'll never get him to shut up."

You scramble for a response to that. What do you say when your mobster boyfriend casually mentions that you're going to meet the head of the Italian mafia. Oh okay. Sure that's an every day occurrence. But then again your man is the Pakhan so you guess it is an every day occurrence now. At least in his world. Which is slowly becoming your world too.

A preview for the next episode plays, rolling images of a dark eyed man flash across the screen and Bucky grins. "Shae. He's already escaped. They haven't announced it yet, they're hoping to catch him before they have to admit they lost him. Again."

Your mouth drops open, before the stunned question can spill out, Bucky leans down and brushes his lips over yours. There's a heady little thrill winding around your spine. Bucky can tell the shock is wearing off and your curiosity is taking over. So he gives you a little more.

"I'm the one who helped him. Now he owes me a favor," he murmurs between kisses. He stands, stretching his arms over his head with a groan, the bottom of his shirt rising, exposing his tattoed six pack.

"And I get access to a couple of ports in his territory," he casually tacks on. "If you're so curious about the life, you can just ask me. At least you'll get the truth instead of"—he gesture dismissively at the host—"whatever bullshit they come up with."

"And you'll tell me everything?"

Bucky gazes down at you, an indulgent smile pulling at his lips, his hands resting on your shoulders. You holds all the cards and you still doesn't know it. "Everything and more Malyshka."

[straows]

Too perfect.

—in which, Gojo doesn’t want people to know you’re dating him because it’ll fuck up his rep.

A/n: I've been absent for a while, but I think I'll have a few more works coming up soon. Remember to hit up the inbox and request- literally any prompt or any idea, because my brain juice is empty. Dw tho, bc my friend bought shrooms.

Gojo Satoru is 50% nerd and 50% dork. All wrapped up in pale, lanky guy that’s way too tall for his own good.

He wasn’t popular in the normal popular sense. No he was popular among the group of dorks he hung out with.

The kind of guys that were perpetually virgins. The kind of guys that make fun of regular popular kids, taking everyone at face value and assuming they have no problems of their own.

You were one of those popular girls. You weren’t mean. You weren’t loud and obnoxious. No, you were kind and sweet and so pretty it hurt to be around you.

You were the kind of person that had all kinds of friends. You didn’t stick with just one group. You were friends with the sports kids, the theatre kids, the band kids, the fucking chess club, hell you even befriended the goth kids that think popularity is just another form of conformism.

Everybody loved you.

And Gojo was not an exception.

From the moment he saw you walk in late to the first fucking lecture of the semester. All pretty in simple fitted longsleeve and a simple pleated skirt that went mid thigh, a jacket only zipped barely halfway keeping you warm.

“I’m so sorry!” You’d apologize to the professor, who just rolled his eyes and waved you off because it was too early and he was only a few years older than you.

(Live laugh love young professors who dgaf)

And the entire time, his eyes never left you. Gojo was sat in the back, his weird little buddies on either side of him. His glasses pushed too far up, hard messy and his sweat shirt sat awkwardly on his body.

It was like he physically couldn’t look away. Not from the way you’d laugh awkwardly and sit down at a random spot. Regardless of who was next to you, you’d say hi and talk with the neighbor.

You two couldn’t be more different.

Which made the current situation, even weirder.

“Oh fuck,” Gojo mumbled against your lips, hands pawing at your hips, large and squeezing as they slid down to your ass.

One hand cupping his jaw, the other pressed against his chest, nails digging in each time he’d grunt into the kiss.

What was supposed to be a study session, ended up with you on his lap, thighs bracketing his hips and his lips swollen from how he was kissing you.

“We- we should be s-studying—“ Gojo would pant and moan lowly each time your hips grinded against the tent he’d pitched in his pants.

“We’ve been studying, let’s take a break.” You’d murmur against his jaw, pressing kisses down to his shoulder before biting down teasingly.

It started there. And after that night, it only snowballed into a secret relationship.

You were both absolutely head over heels for each other. The first month or so, was perfect. Absolutely amazing.

Sneaking around was fun, and it gave you both an adrenaline rush— you’d kiss when nobody was looking, sneakily hold hands, run off to go hook up in some single bathroom, or hell you’d even snuck him into your dorm more times than you could count.

But it got old.

It got old quick.

“Baby, do we really have to do this whole sneaking around thing?” You whined, slipping back on your clothes.

“Yes.” Gojo didn’t waste a second to answer, his answer firm and sure.

His quick answer hard your heart aching. At first, you’d thought he’d wanted to keep it secret for you, but no.

“Come on, you’ve gotta leave before anyone sees you.” Gojo was hurrying you out the door, but the moment he’d had you out in the hallway, one of his buddies was standing right beside the door.

Blinking slow, surprised to see one of the most popular girls leaving his friends room wasn’t what he was expecting. “Gojo?”

Gojo stared down at him, like he got caught red handed. “Uhh— I was tutoring her.”

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you, I’m—“ you went to shake the guys hand but he just gave you a disgusted glare that had you blinking in surprise.

“Dude why are you even tutoring her? Isn’t it just a waste of time? Not like she’ll even retain any of it.”

Oh. That was really mean. You looked back up at Gojo, expecting him to back you up, but all he did was push you further out into the hallway.

“Yeah, probably was a waste of time.” Gojo was quick to agree with his buddy.

“…” You just stood there for a long moment. “I thought… that you liked me?” You whispered, looking at the ground and sounding so hurt and fragile it had the air knocked out of Gojo’s lungs.

“What are you babbling about? Go do your make up or some shit and get outta our flat.” The guy was waving you off and walking into Gojo’s dorm.

That was the final straw, because the dam broke and tears started to flow. You tried to speak but all that came out was a pathetic little squeak. Your throat tightened and burned, and you were embarrassed. So fucking embarrassed.

Quickly, you turned on your heel and walked down that hallway as fast as you possibly could without breaking into a sprint.

Gojo just watched. He watched with his heart in stomach as you ran off. Running a hand over his face, he groaned. He fucked up— so bad. Knowing he’d hurt you like that made him sick.

But with his friend in his dorm, he just sighed and walked back inside, hoping that his buddy couldn’t smell your perfume still on his sheets.

That night, you went back to your dorm. And cried. Cried so fucking hard that when your roommate got home she thought your dog died.

You cried. And cried. And cried. All night, and stayed cuddled up with your best friend.

And then the day after that, was silence.

Rubbing his eyes, still groggy from the literal three hours he got from sleep, Gojo sat down in his seat. His eyes automatically landing on the back of your head.

He’d tried calling you, maybe 80+ times, sent god knows how many texts. And every single one of them got left on delivered. No call was answered, and hell— he even sent an email just in case.

But all he got was radio silence.

And the entirety of the lecture, he didn’t write down a single note. Hell he didn’t even get out his fucking computer so he could even type.

His eyes were glued to the back of your head. He hardly blinked. He knew he had to talk to you after this class. He wanted to apologize and try to fix whatever he’d broken as quickly as possible.

So when that bell rang, he simply got up, and waited for you outside the door.

But when you came out, you didn’t even look at him. Eyes still a little red and swollen from crying the night before.

“Hey— wait, can we talk?” He grabbed your wrist gently, not expecting you to immediately tug it out of his grip like you did.

“No.” It was a firm, short answer.

Gojo blinked, not used to hearing you talk to him like that. “Please, I really wanna apologize about what happened last n-“

“Gojo. Leave me alone.” You shot him a glare, your bottom lip threatening to quiver as you felt that familiar tightness in your throat, that burn that meant one thing and one thing only— you wanted to cry again.

He couldn’t handle it. It physically hurt to see you like this— to see you literally repulsed by his touch.

“Please! I need to explain— and- and make it up to you—“

“I don’t want anything to do with you! You made it clear that I embarrass you. You let your asshole friend walk all over me and you literally said we studied when we’d just fucked!” You were yelling now.

It was so out of character for you, that literally the hallway stilled and even the profesor stuck his head out the door so he could watch.

“I mean— is that really all you want from me? Just to fuck and then push me out? You said you like me! A lot!” Tears ran down your cheeks and you felt humiliated.

“I do! I like you so much- and I don’t only want you for sex! God— no that isn’t what I want at all,” gojo was struggling to find the words, and all the eyes now on them didn’t make it any better.

“You didn’t want it at all? So what, was this just a point you were trying to make?” Your voice was softer, and you couldn’t have felt more hurt— hell you couldn’t have felt more used than you did now.

“No! God no, please can we just talk in private and—“

“I hate you. I hate you so much, I can’t believe I was in love with you.” You were crying now. Hands trying to wipe your eyes but the tears didn’t stop.

“You were in love with me? You love me?” Gojo’s voice was whisper now, eyes wide and breathless.

“Not anymore.” With one last glare, you pushed past him and walked down the hallway.

He didn’t move. Just stood there. Feeling a sense of loss that he couldn’t even put into words. His shoulders dropped and he just kind of stared at the spot you once stood at.

[rotagnus]

your future darling | 🩷o .｡.:*☆

some information about your future spouse!! gender-neutral although i may mention masculine/feminine energies. my first future spouse reading guyss i'm excited. i usually never did these but here we are!! i'll be as blunt and honest as possible because i can't guarantee all of us a fairy-tale ending, but i truly believe that all of us get what we deserve.

this may deal with some heavy topics, so as always, use your discernment. i may not be the tarot reader for you!!!

p1.

they really lovee thriving in environments where everything is changing. they like blending in and not being noticed but like, being the noticer. the observer. so when you first raise a brow and look at them it makes them feel a lot of things. they'll definitely be a bit scared, because there's this INTENSITY about you. this grace that you carry, this genuineness, and it'll be like a shock to their system because you're truly a very unique spirit, a very unique energy that they haven't encountered. to you, this person will literally mimic the same exact thing. meeting the person will be the start of truly living for a lot of you, and things will get so chaotic from their, but not in a bad way, y'know what i mean? they let you act like you truly are, without being guarded. many of you suffer with blocking your actual nature out from others because you don't want to break. you hate being out of control, and so you meticulously portray yourself as someone else, but when you have a moment of losing control? they're not going to judge you for laughing a certain way, or saying something. and you'll be like '...no way'. and slowly but surely, you'll start opening up, and they'll think you're the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.

for a lot of you they'll have hair darker than their skin color to a noticeable degree (ex. light skin and dark hair) or hair much brighter than their skin color (ex. dark skin and light hair). they're definitely more guarded as well, as a result of suffering heavy losses in the past due to similar things that you have experienced. this'll be a bonding moment for you, but this conversation/realization will take place months after you know each other. a slipup, because deep down, both of you don't want the image you've been showing to each other to break and show that broken inner child you both nurse, only in the darkness. but once you doooo? goddamnn you guys are gonna have a BOND. because you both know that you value each other as deeply as the other does, while your whole life, you had imbalanced energy with other people. always givers. never takers.

they are extremely talented. they know how to do things even when they're not given all of the supplies, all of the materials, and their determination is so high it can make them a bit manic at times. they do enjoy life, and they have a good sense of the material world; they may like fashion, art, anything to do with humanity and what it creates. food too! they know that life is a one-time thing, at least this specific one, and they don't shy away from experiencing all those things. neither do you, but you're still much more reserved about it, and may be more reasonable surrounding things like that. you'll love seeing them coo and fawn over a cute puppy or a cute piece of clothing, and they'll love looking at you and seeing that you're looking at them with such a soft, lovesick expression on your face. you'll have them stammering and stuttering when normally they're very sharp and put-together.

with them you'll truly be able to settle into your feminine energy. a lot of you struggle with letting loose and not always taking care of things and settling into masculine energy (which has been a safety net for you, a lot of the time) but with them life will get so much better and you're going to be able to relax, truly. after meeting this person, oddly enough, days actually do get better; not just because of THEM, perse, but it'll be because you entered a new phase of your life after learning a lesson. i think a lot of you have THREE chapters in your life, and you'll meet them very early on in the second one. they'll baby you and take such good care of you and really show you a side of people that you never knew existed. they'll hold you and they'll notice you're tense, and still massage you and kiss your temple and make sure that you're fine. a very gentle person, in general, but ESPECIALLY with you.

they're probably an extroverted introvert for most of you. they love their friends and are genuinely a kind person, but they're SOOOO sweet to their friends, so endearing. they're easily likeable so for you, to have YOU be their favorite person, will be an absolute honor. you know how to melt them. i think that something about them is in fact very attractive and a lot of people may have tiny crushes on them, but they're LOYAL to the one who bagged them (you). they'll make sure that you have a deep trust in them and they wouldn't ever break it. a lot of you will get this person because you're very grateful, and deeply glad that you have an opportunity to LIVE and grow. this is your harvest, the one that was watered with rain and trauma prior to it blossoming.

p2.

this person has a STRONGG energy. extroverted and bright. they come off as...a lot, and to some people, too much, but for you, you'll be like OMG someone who can handle me!! and what's funny is they'll see you and think the same exact thing. they're very sure of themselves and because they hate being perceived as soft and weak, they're definitely going to seem brash and insensitive at times. you, however, are very good at reading people, and you'll understand where they're coming from. they may try very fervently to push you away, but you'll be like 'i ain't leaving'. it's giving beast boy and raven omgggg. this person will try to change their physical looks to be 'accepted' more, and fit the standards that the world gave them. deep inside, they're very insecure, so whenever you give them a compliment? they might deflect it. but deep down, DEEP DOWN, they have a heart of gold. they care immensely about the fact that you looked so WITHIN them to notice things. you'll get their coffee just right, or something, and they're gonna be STARSTRUCK.

as for how they treat you, they will take great care to notice you just as much. they never allow themselves to be tender with people unless it's individual-to-individual because once again, they don't really like being perceived as someone who cares, but they'll definitely be veryyy affectionate when it's just you guys. this can throw you guys off a little bit because you'll think they don't really like you. THEY DO. they just show it in a very...odd manner. this of course doesn't mean that you deserve this, so you guys will have a LOTTT of things to talk about, but at the end of the day, i think you both will fight hard for this relationship to work. a simple argument won't scare you guys, and you both will do your best to make it not sound like a confrontation. be careful with their temper, though.

something else i'd note is that they probably know struggle. they've gone through SOMETHING, in their life; poverty, depression, prejudice, etc. they're not one to judge very easily, although, compared to the other piles, their sense of humor may be a bit more crude (this generation's men 🙄🙄) but not to an outlandish level. if it was, i know that most of you would leave them immediately, so don't really worry about it being too cruel. they're very good with kids, is what i'm hearing. very tender and that'll probably be one of the moments that makes you realize that they're not as tough as they like to say they are. i think that they'll be particularly attracted to you because you don't hold their moments of softness against them. you, in fact, love it, when they feel comfortable enough to portray a different side to you than you are used to.

night is definitely going to be significant for you guys. idk why but you two are definitely opposites; yin and yang, the sun and the moon, day and...night. many of the times you see each other, will be in dark spaces, at first. there may be separation at times, and you both will yearn for each other but both have atrociously stubborn senses of pride, but i think, once again, you guys are both deeeeeeeply in love with each other. but it'll take a while for you guys to settle down. it won't be something that happens quickly, but it will still be dense of moments and times that'll make you feel as if it's truly special. you have had your fair share of heartbreaks before, so at first, you'll look at this person and be like '...they're not different than the rest of them lmaoo but at least i can value them for less than what i did with the others' and then you truly do realize that damn, this person IS different.

they can mess it up at times by not being gentle with you, but they'll learn early on that you're a veryy prompt person and you value security instead of stupid little flicks of insecurity on their side. they'll quickly learn that with you, it's way easier to talk things out rather than act passive aggressive. they also know that you would never settle for someone less than what you deserve, so they're going to try their DAMNDEST to be it. half of you guys will end up giving 'rich auntie' vibes with this person which is so CUTEEE. dogs are important, small white ones is what i'm hearing? not sure if that can be significant for anyone. this whole fs will be a new phase, a new beginning, a 'new kind of love' (that song started to play!!)

p3.

they will definitely balance you out. i think that for a lot of you they may look tired physically, or worn out in one way or another. it is possible that they work night shifts or have a longer workday than others, or that they're busy; the gym, late at night, for example. they're good at what they do, deeply passionate. those who are in research fields pour themselves into everything they do until they have no identity outside of their passion. many are former gifted kids and oldest siblings that had to be more mature early on, which can be a double-edged sword; they have this safe warmth about them that initially attracts you to them, but when you find out why they're so empathetic, you wonder if it was really worth it. some of you will see a certain person in your future spouse; this can be good or bad, depending on who it is.

for a lot of you, at the first moment you see them, they'll be emotionally unavailable, but then, the second time you meet them, they'll be a completely different person than the first. warmer, kinder. they are most definitely seen as a hero/protector. there's something magical about them, the way they look; most will have a darker complexion/features, and will prefer to dress in monochromatic colors. everything about this person will be extremely neat, and they can be a perfectionist at times. despite this, when you truly get them to open up, they're the brightest person you know.

they don't like rough humor. this person also has a deep resentment of anyone who's mean, and they wield their heroicness as a weapon. they may be a bit odd around women specifically (if you're not one, this doesn't apply to you) due to a lack of feminine energy growing up. they have difficulties opening up, and when they see a figure that THEY can find safety in, they cling to them very tightly. they have attachment issues and hate any instability that can happen, so when plans change? expect that person to be a bit panicky, although they might try to hide this side due to understanding that it can be overwhelming for another person, as well as a defect in their usually shiny and perfect self.

they seem quiet at first, which is why a lot of you probably won't anticipate THEM being the one, out of all people. they're rather reserved, so i think that for a lot of you, there'll be a push by the universe for you to meet. a group project, an accidental conversation. you'll both be drawn to one another and feel a deep...weird connection of sorts, and ultimately, you'll have late night calls that turn into late night sleepovers that turn into living with each other. it probably won't go fast, and for a lot of you, this'll reset your nervous system as you're always rushing. it'll definitely test your patience, but in the long scheme of things, it'll ease your anxiety. this person will be your rock, your pillar.

they're going to be on the smarter side of people, so expect you becoming a listener, but this will feel deeply special, as they're the listener for most people and it'll mean the world to them, to have someone who cares about what they're rambling on and on about. you might recognize that you're something special to them because of the way they look at you; puppy-dog eyed, fidgeting with their hands, and body language nervous, but their eyes will always be on YOU.

[michellesneptune]

What makes You irresistible according to Your placements?

‼️The placements I had in mind while writing this post are Venus, Mars and Rising but it’s entirely possible for you to resonate if e. g. it’s your dominant sign/planet or Sun/Moon or if you have a lot of certain energy in your chart so please take what speaks to you <333

♈︎ Aries Mars and possibly other placements (Venus and Rising) have the most deliberate and intentional movements. They approach things with this confidence that gives the air of “I know exactly what I’m doing”. And I’m talking about the smallest things: how they grab objects, how they walk into a space with perfect posture, how effortlessly focused they seem. You keep your eyes on the prize. You’re irresistible because you never look back. Their energy is so gathered, you know? I could watch them do anything for hours.

The bodies seem almost sculpted. The arms, the collar bones… You can see it in their eyes that they’re ready to start a war, whenever. Margot Robbie has this placement and she’s literally the Barbie. The standard. There is no one feature that’s out of place. Supermodel vibes. Sharp, nothing is a coincidence. A little intimidating even. The popular one at school, the captain of the team. The face card dares you to try and compete with them. One look and they could start a fire.

♉︎ Taurus placements (Rising, Venus and Mars, possibly others) remind me of gold jewellery, dark chocolate and Dolce & Gabbana. You want to bury yourself in their skin. The scent of the body is naturally attractive. People are drawn in an almost animalistic way. Taureans approach everything in an earthy and natural manner which makes them so effortlessly lovable. The paradox here is that they don’t need any of the materialistic stuff in order to seem luxurious. They would be the luxury even in a potato sack, stripped of everything tangible. Because the secret’s in the aura. The gifts from Venus flow in their blood, like black honey, slowly.

They seem so plump, like ripe fruit. You can’t help but want to pick them, own them. They don’t even have to do anything, the sole existence is enough. Full lips, long lashes, thick (often wavy) hair, beautiful neck, soft skin. It’s like they’ve been created with the destiny of becoming the muse. They are born rich, certainly not in the monetary way — it is not something money can buy — I mean natural beauty and attributes. They radiate sensuality. Spending time with them is like eating a three course meal at an excellent restaurant, on a warm evening after 8 PM in Naples, during the middle of summer.

♊︎ Gemini placements steal your heart with a twinkle in the eyes and a mischievous smirk. Their energy is very juvenile and they often look a lot younger that they are. This makes me think of Cher (a Gemini Venus) saying she’s almost never had her heart broken. When asked why by the interviewer, her response was simply: “I’m cute😄”.

Flirtatious little devils. The hands are very attractive here… makes you… wonder… what they can… Anyways, they’re very intelligent, obviously, but it’s more about what actually matters, knowledge usable in real life, they’re utilitarian in that sense. Street-smart, if you will. They won’t try to impress you with academic skills. They simply always listen, never limited by set-in-stone beliefs about what’s fascinating. If you manage to catch their interest, they will remain attentive. And then, when you least expect it, they surprise you with how much they know your mind, how well they remember its nooks and cranks. Enough to make you laugh like no other. Enough to make you fall. Hard.

♋︎ Cancers (personal placements, also moon conjunct ascendant) are certainly NOT the crybabies of the zodiac. They’re extremely strong and I believe it’s rooted in huge emotional intelligence. They will SEEM inconspicuous but, trust me, they know exactly what they’re doing. One second you’re just talking and it’s all casual, then in one blink of an eye, you’re laying on their couch, cuddling and drinking the hot chocolate they’ve made you, while you vent about your father. If you let them take care of you, there’s no coming back, you’ll always want more. My boyfriend is a Cancer mars and he always cooks for me. I’m tied to him forever by taste buds.

As for the body, the chest area is always extraordinarily attractive. The women here may appear to have had an augmentation, even. Also, TALK ABOUT CANCER EYES. They’re usually big (or just stand out), watery and expressive. Starry-eyed. It’s like looking into a galaxy. It reminds me of a hot day at a beach when the waves glimmer in the sun. Women have something maternal about them and men make you want to have their babies. Either way, you won’t be able to resist because they are resourceful and emotionally sharp like no other which makes them irreplaceable.

♌︎ Leo people are extremely charismatic. They know how to talk the talk and they know that they’re exceptional. You’ve probably heard about the lion’s mane and it’s true: the hair is fabulous. They’re confident like Aries, but with more flair. They’re divas. Driven by ego and it’s hot. They bring stardust wherever they go. Samantha Jones from SATC!! Sassy and extravagant but still a fan-favourite. Brave and loyal, can’t help but become obsessed.

They tend to be bossy but I don’t mind following a leader who knows what they’re doing. The spotlight follows them and shines a vivid light on insecurities of others and that’s why haters are driven to take them down. Leo rules heart, it feels as though they radiate magnetic energy created from their circulation through the skin. Being around you is like being around an A-list celebrity. Unapologetic and very talented. You want what they have, even if you’re not exactly sure what that is.

♍︎ The amount of Virgo-y people I’ve had a crush on over the years… Timothée Chalamet is a Virgo rising and I remember when we were all obsessed with him. He’s a great example of how I perceive you guys. He’s calm and laid-back in a way that is a little intimidating. Makes people want to impress you and do right in front of you. You command discipline, because those are the standards you hold yourself to. You would never make a fool out of yourself, because you are composed and mindful. You tell intelligent jokes and you always look clean.

I need to emphasise the bone structure! The cheekbones!!! (Uma Thurman and Bella Hadid are also Virgo risings). It gives the face an ethereal touch, like a high-fashion model. Virgo Mars, from what I’ve noticed, have beautifully shaped bodies, especially the stomach. It’s not uncommon for them to have a perfect six-pack. They resemble a Greek statue you’d stare at in a museum. Your discipline, beauty and brains make others ready to do almost anything in exchange for your approval.

♎︎ Libras are definitely the most charming of the signs. They’re baby pink, glossy lips and Bambi eyes. They give you flirtatious looks and smiles, kind of like Gemini but more shy and feminine. They’re really subtle and will have you wondering at 3 AM whether it was romantic or just friendly. Obviously, they have a taste for stirring things up behind the scenes. They’re innocent and guilty at the same time. They’ve got no idea what they’re doing, yet they just manipulated you into falling in their trap. You turn others’ hearts into a storm and disappear. Thief of Hearts by Madonna.

They’re more cute than sexy, but being cute seems to make them sexy? I hope you know what I mean lol. They’re classically pretty. The features are balanced, nothing’s exaggerated. Nicely shaped brows, small nose, clear skin. However, there’s this sadness to them, and tranquility. Homesickness for another world in their eyes. I HATE the notion that Libras are shallow and superficial. People rarely describe them as full, actual individuals. Truth is that they’re smart, funny and make amazing partners! People fall in love with the versions of themselves that they’re with Libra, because you know exactly how to bring that best side of them!

♏︎ Scorpios are a portal to another world. You’ll recognise them by heavy, magnetic aura, impossible to go unnoticed. It basically speaks for them. They’re often quiet thus each word actually spoken out loud seems like gold. But the eyes and body language will communicate multitudes, only if you observe closely. They seem an inexhaustible source of energy. Once you taste it everything in your life re-evaluates.

Scorpio placements have the best sense in fashion! Many of them possess a closet full of high-quality designer clothes. I’ve noticed that the darkness in scorpionic natives always seeks some kind of way out. It’s either black eyes or very thick dark hair. The area around the eyes seems dimmed and shadowy. Even with light blue eyes, they could have a distinctive limbal ring. They invented being irresistible. Please just suffocate me with your darkness already.

♐︎ Sagittarius rules over exaltation and so its natives are bigger than life. They’re often tall and agile. What I find most endearing about them is the laugh — loud and confident. I’ve noticed many of them to be extremely successful academics. Most great philosophers had sag placements. They’ll open your mind first and then legs…

They’ve been everywhere — and I mean spiritually, emotionally and physically. Perpetual journey for new sensations. Will you manage to keep up with them? Hell no. But you’ll die trying. Imagine being able to clearly hear someone laughing contagiously in another room but you can never access them, never able to join them in the laughter. That’s what being with them is like. You think you know where their thoughts are, truth is they’re already fifty miles ahead. Reminds me of Robin from How I Met Your Mother changing her mind about Ted for the 9583927 time, and Ted always chasing what he cannot have. They’ve got very beautiful legs, possibly because of constant running from boredom and commitment…

♑︎ Capricorn placements remind me of the Evil Queen from Narnia (please take this as a compliment). Also, at this point I’m convinced that they CARRY the modelling industry. Naomi, Kate, Shalom all have cap placements and they will always be legends and role models. They’ve acquired success and got to the top not just because of a pretty face, but because they’re masters of carrying themselves with professionalism and class. They’ve utilised it to create an image, a brand, a high-profile career.

And so what makes you alluring is the confidence in yourself, the sharpness which very much manifests in your physical features. Your beauty dares to ask openly: what’s in it for me? You’ll accept only if the offer is good. Sleek, often tall and intimidating. You like to surround yourself with powerful people and build an aura of unavailability. You know you deserve best and you won’t ever let your natural predispositions (like beauty and business-oriented mind) go to waste. People may call you greedy but they can’t argue with stone cold LEGACY.

♒︎ Aquarius possesses the spirit of exclusivity™. They’re true rebels by blood and you will NEVER understand the shit that they’re on. They have a knack for deciding what’s in and what’s out light years ahead of the general public. You know those memes saying: I’ve actually liked this/listened to that music centuries before you? Yeah, that is Aquarius energy personified. They’re just cool. They CANNOT be copied. Ever. And when you think you’ve succeeded in pulling off their aura or style, honey, they’re on sum else already.

Zendaya is and Aquarius rising and notice how everyone just knows exactly who she is and loves her, even if they’re not into pop culture at all. You couldn’t be ordinary, even if you tried. It comes so naturally to you, expressing yourself in literally any shape or form will always result in creating something one-of-a-kind. You could feel insecure sometimes, wondering why you just can’t fit in, but that is the only way that genius works. That is the only way to stir up a revolution. People cannot resist trying to mimic your vibe.

♓︎ Pisceans resemble porcelain dolls. They also remind me of Cindy Lou from the 2000 Grinch movie. The big eyes and long lashes, dainty features, rosy cheeks. Seeing the good in everything, often to their own detriment. Their movements are slow and mesmerising. Neptune makes everything a little blurry so they look like an impressionist painting.

You guys carry real vulnerability in your eyes so it’s easy for others to spot your good soul. Sadly, people will try to take advantage of this. They project their dreams and fantasies onto you and become obsessed. Troubled, broken and hurt people see you as their refuge, their sanctum. No matter who you actually are, they believe that you can heal them, fix and understand. They want you all to themselves. You possess a compassionate aura and can easily tap into someone’s vibrations, understand their vibe and act like a chameleon. That’s why people don’t want to let you go, you’re unforgettable.

Thank you so so much for reading <33 It’s probably the last post before I go on a break from tumblr… My last words on the drama: calling out blatant ai use in our community should be the standard. Period. I’ve never told anyone to off themselves. The rest I consider to be absurd at this point.

Ad meliora tempora!

Your Michelle~

[moonstruckme]

hi mae !

not sure if i've requested this before or not, so bear with me haha. my memory is a bit fuzzy.

i struggle deeply with my mental health and have been hospitalized twice over it. things have been thankfully looking up since my second hospitalization but i still have days/moments where the world feels like it's crumbling.

just looking to see if you'd be comfortable writing poly!marauders comforting a reader who might've been recently hospitalized or has trouble adjusting to life after deciding to work on taking care of herself. (for example, getting into regular daily routine like eating/basic hygiene is so weird after ignoring it for so long !)

maybe some crying and just fluff. your poly!marauders is really so special to me and i hold it close to my heart.

no worries if you're not comfortable writing this :)

xoxo

Thank you for your request angel <3

cw: the circumstances are vague but its implied that reader has trouble taking care of herself, some insecurity around self-sufficiency and around poor hygiene

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

It’s rare for you and James to be the last out of bed. In fairness, you think he’s only here to entice you out. James has already gone and come back, with strawberries which Remus is using to make you all muffins. He’s mincing and measuring and mixing laboriously in your kitchen. Sirius loves you all more than he pretends, because he dragged himself out of bed at the thought that Remus might be lonely, and now you can hear the low sounds of their lovesick murmuring from down the hall. James took off his clothes to get back under the covers with you and seems to be sneakily trying to tickle you awake with his mouth underneath your jaw. You refuse to open your eyes. 

“You’re so awake,” says James. 

“I’m not.” 

“You’re so, so awake.” He buzzes his lips against your skin. You have to bite down on your lower lip. “And you’re laughing.” 

“I am not.” 

“You want to.” James kisses the spot before ending your torment, pressing a kiss to your lips as well. “What’re you thinking about, lovely?” 

You hum, contemplative. “I’m thinking that we need to get Remus a proper mixer.” 

“We really do.” He rests his face in your neck again. “I do like watching him stir, though. It makes his forearms look really…well, you know.” 

“That’s not a good enough reason to force labor on him,” you say, though you do know and are selfishly inclined to agree. 

“No, you’re right,” James sighs. It fans warmly over your skin. “Hey, can I ask you something without it being, like, a thing?” 

Your eyes open now, though you can’t really see him where he’s tucked beneath your chin. “Yeah,” you say cautiously. 

“It’s not a big deal. I just don’t want you to be embarrassed. It’s not embarrassing, but I don’t want you to think that I think it is, if that makes sense.” 

“Okay…” 

“I think you’re lovely, you know that, right? So, it doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not a criticism.” James is rambling now, nervously, and you’re growing nervous along with him. “I just don’t want to keep things from you, because, well, sometimes you have to ask people you love strange things, you know? But that doesn’t make them mean anything more than they really do.” 

“James,” you cut him off. You feel him stop breathing, a stillness beside your neck. “What is it?” 

“Okay, sorry.” He presses a soft kiss to your skin. “I’m just wondering, have you showered lately?” 

It takes you a second. Half of one, really, and then you’re covering your face with your hands, turning away from your boyfriend in mortification. 

“Hey, hey.” James wraps a hand around your hip, keeping you close. “Angel, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.” 

“Oh my god,” you moan into your hands. Your face feels roaring hot. “I just—I forgot. Like, I forgot I even have to.” 

“I know, lovely. It’s a lot to keep track of, yeah? It is, and that’s why I thought I’d mention it to you. Not because it’s a problem, just because I thought you might not have remembered.” 

It’s not a lot to keep track of, though. It shouldn’t be. Your boyfriends cope with it all just fine, eating and washing themselves and exercising and managing to keep tabs on you on top of all of it. You don’t understand why it seems so much harder for you than for everyone else. 

James can tell you’re about to cry. He makes a soft, doting noise, hugging you as best he can and pressing his cheek to where your hand covers your face.

“It’s okay,” he promises you. “It really is.”

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize. What do you have to be sorry for?” 

“I must smell.” 

“You don’t—” James starts to laugh, choking it off quickly. “You don’t smell. I didn’t ask you because you smell, I just asked because I realized I didn’t think I remembered you showering the last few days. You’re fine, okay, look.” 

Though you can’t see him, you’re aware of movement, and suddenly very aware that James’ face is in your armpit. It’s brief, no more than the time it takes your body to seize up in horror, and then he’s back above you. Your hands have fallen away from your face in shock. 

“Yeah,” he says definitively, “you’re good.” 

“James!” Your tone wavers between dismay and a delighted sort of fondness, which is a decent measure of the rest of you. 

“You’re fine, my love,” he says, and there’s nothing wavering about James’ earnestness. He rubs up and down your side lovingly. “It doesn’t matter. Please don’t be upset, okay?”

You’re still blinking up at him, trying to get your emotions in order, when Sirius comes trudging down the hall. He has a throw from the sitting room around his shoulders and a telling bit of strawberry muffin batter smeared on the side of his nose. 

“James, if you want orange juice, you’re going to have to squeeze it yourself, because—” He falters as he enters, taking in your wet eyes and James’ conciliating hand on your middle. “What’s wrong? What’ve you done to her?” 

The last part is said in jest—it’s usually a safe assumption that James is the last person who would upset any of you—but your boyfriend’s expression turns so terribly guilty that Sirius looks like he regrets the joke. He squeezes James’ arm as he clambers onto the bed with you two, a furrow between his brows. 

“What?” he asks again. 

You sigh and decide to make light of it. “I stink.” 

Sirius’ frown worsens at this. Then, quick as anything, he casually bends and sticks his nose in your armpit, sniffing. You feel your eyes pop. 

“No, you don’t,” he says. 

“What is with you two?”

“Why would you think that you stink?” Sirius asks. His forefinger brushes underneath your lashes, collecting the lingering moisture like he just can’t abide it. “Not that I would mind if you did, of course, but it’s an odd thing to fixate on with no evidence.” 

“I told her she doesn’t,” James says, slumping down onto your chest. He seems happy to share in the labor explaining this to you. “It’s only been a little while since she showered, but now she’s worried she’s disgusting.” 

“Why would you wonder if I’d showered if I didn’t smell?” you ask. 

“Oh.” Sirius nods, as though this now all makes sense. “Because he’s obsessed with you, obviously. We all are. You think I don’t know how many times this week James has been to the gym?” 

James’ eyebrows lift. “Now, why are you keeping track of that?” 

But you only frown, because, actually, you knew that too. But that’s not difficult to keep track of. It’s always plain when you get up in the morning and there’s a half-finished protein shake on the counter, James’ bag missing from its spot by the door. 

“Or are you trying to tell me you don’t know how far Remus is through his puzzle?” 

You shake your head. “It’s on the coffee table, I can see it.” 

“Right,” says Sirius, “but we notice those things because we love them. So James didn’t have to smell you to know you hadn’t showered. He just noticed.”

Your gaze slinks back to James, shame a worm eating away at your middle. “I’m sorry that you notice and I don’t.” 

“Sweetheart, you only forgot,” James says gently. “I don’t mind. You’re doing your best, yeah?” 

You worry your lip. It doesn’t seem like it can be your best, if everyone else manages it as their baseline. Sirius tsks and takes your hand, tugging you up and James with you. 

“You are.” He mushes a kiss to your temple as he drags you out of bed. “I can tell. We all slip up sometimes, baby, it’s fine. There’s no sense in agonizing over it. Come have breakfast.” 

The smell wafting from the kitchen is warm and sweet. Remus’ muffins are still in the oven, and he allows James to kiss him good morning only thrice before begging off and letting the James stay with his arms around his middle. 

“Are they tormenting you?” Remus murmurs, plainly amused by James’ uncharacteristic pouting.

“Yes.” James hugs Remus tighter, nuzzling his throat with entirely characteristic clinginess. “Save me from them, please.” 

“He tormented her first,” says Sirius. 

“I didn’t mean to,” James laments. 

Remus clicks his tongue, still holding James but looking to you. You shrug. “He delivered a hard truth,” you say, “but they both stuck their faces in my armpits, which was worse than anything.” 

“Oh.” Remus appears appropriately thrown by this information. “Yeah, that’s…why?” 

“Shut up, you liked it.” Sirius squeezes you meanly. “Don’t listen to her, Moony. I’d sniff your armpit, too.”  

“I’m alright,” Remus says cautiously. “I don’t really see why you would have to, either?” 

“Circumstances arise,” James mumbles into his front. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

[tipsywithintent]

ˋ°ꕥ Why Me? ꕥˋ°

°• Pairing: timeskip!Miya Atsumu × Reader

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You always knew Atsumu had a type.

You saw it back in high school - the way he’d get distracted by girls with long legs, dramatic lashes, and confident laughs that echoed through the hallway. He didn’t even hide it. If someone called him out, he’d grin and go, “What? I ain’t blind.”

You weren’t like them. Not then, not now.

Even now, years later, with you curled up on the corner of his couch in one of his oversized shirts, legs tucked under you, and hair still damp from your evening shower, the thought sometimes crept in.

You weren’t flashy. Or flirty. You didn’t walk into a room and make everyone turn their heads.

But somehow, you were the one Atsumu came home to. The one he texted when he landed in another city for a match. The one whose cold fingers he grumbled about but always held.

It didn’t make sense.

And tonight, for some reason, it hit harder than usual.

Maybe it was the girl he’d been interviewed with - a fellow athlete, bold and gorgeous, laughing too comfortably beside him. Maybe it was how well she matched the image of the girls you always thought he’d end up with.

Maybe it was just your own voice, whispering doubts you’d buried for too long.

Either way, when he came out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and a water bottle tucked under his arm, ready to join you for a late-night movie, you couldn’t stop the words from slipping out.

“Atsumu?”

He glanced down, eyebrow lifted. “Hm?”

You hesitated, staring at the pattern on the couch.

“Why… me?”

He paused, slowly setting the bowl down on the coffee table.

“What?”

You looked up at him, small, nervous. “I mean, I know what kind of girls you used to like. Or still like. Probably. I’m not… that.”

He blinked at you. Not insulted. Just confused. “That?”

You motioned vaguely. “You know. Tall. Curvy. Confident. Girls who wear heels and red lipstick and know how to flirt without trying. You’ve always liked girls like that.”

Atsumu was quiet for a second.

Then, without a word, he sat beside you - not in the usual casual way, but closer. His hand found yours. Warm. Steady.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “I noticed girls like that. That’s different.”

You frowned. “Is it?”

He turned toward you, his expression more serious than usual. “Look, I ain’t gonna lie. I did have a type. Still probably get distracted sometimes - I’m a guy with eyes.”

You flinched.

“But,” he continued, squeezing your hand, “there’s a difference between who catches your eye and who you choose.”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at him, trying not to crumble.

Atsumu leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly against yours.

“I chose you,” he murmured. “I keep choosing you.”

You blinked quickly. “Why?”

He chuckled - not because it was funny, but because the question felt so absurd to him.

“Because you’re the only one who makes me feel like I can shut up for a second,” he said, soft and honest. “Because you look at me like I’m more than a loudmouth on a court. Because you keep me grounded. You don’t care about the attention or the fan crap. You care about me.”

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t done.

“And yeah, maybe you don’t walk in and turn heads,” he said, voice gentler now, “but you don’t need to. I turn mine for you.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to cry.

Atsumu caught that too. He leaned over and kissed your cheek. “I like the way you fit against me when we sleep. I like how you always eat the last french fry, even when you say you’re full. I like that you study the people you love and notice when they’re tired even if they don’t say anything.”

You laughed quietly. “That’s very specific.”

“So are my feelings for you.”

You let yourself lean against him then, all of your weight tucked into his side, forehead buried in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I just… felt small tonight.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll just remind you again tomorrow.”

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

“From the king.” She pulls back the cloth covering, revealing four tiny kittens tumbling over each other—one black, one orange, and two with mottled gray-and-white fur. “As is tradition,” she adds.

There are worst traditions imo 🤷🏻‍♀️

Your heart plummets and while there is yet the smallest of swoops in your stomach as understanding crashes over you. The bathing, the oils, the fine undergarment, the ceremonial gift of kittens—all of it suddenly makes terrible sense. Steven doesn't mean to merely present you as his captive or concubine. He means to marry you. Today. Now.

That's one way to find out 🫣

 You meet Helga's eyes in the polished metal mirror before you. There is kindness there, but also resignation. She has seen many things in her years of service, you realize. Perhaps even other women in your position. 

Fair

"Does he... does he do this often?" you ask, your voice barely audible. “No, you are the first woman he’s ever brought back.”

That's at least something 🤷🏻‍♀️

"Eat," Helga says, pushing the platter toward you. "You'll need your strength."

Oh I'm sure she will

One of the kittens, the orange one, tumbles from the basket and pads across the floor to bat at the hem of your new gown. Despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips as you watch its playful antics. 

🥰🥰🥰

Helga's weathered hands pause in their work, her eyes meeting yours in the metal mirror. "That is for the king to say," she replies carefully. "But I have known him since he was a boy at his mother's breast. I have never seen him look at a woman the way he looked at you last night or this morning."

That has to count for something!

Your cheeks burn, remembering the intensity in Steven's gaze during your nights together. The mixture of cruelty and desire, possession and something else—something you cannot name. 

🤭🤭🤭

"The orange one seems to have chosen you," Helga observes as the kitten winds between your ankles, purring loudly. "A good omen. The goddess Freya sends her cats to women of strong spirit."

Well, that fits

You take a deep breath, straightening your shoulders. Whatever ceremony awaits, whatever life stretches before you as Steven's queen, you will face it with dignity. Not for him, but for yourself.

Yes 👏🏻

Steven extends his hand as you draw near, his expression unreadable. You hesitate, heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. To take his hand is to accept this fate, to acknowledge yourself as his queen. To refuse before his people would surely bring consequences you dare not contemplate. 

A risk I sure wouldn't be willing to take 🫣

Steven's eyes never leave your face as the old woman speaks. The intensity of his gaze makes your skin prickle with awareness. For the first time, you notice a different quality in his eyes—not just possession or lust, but something deeper, more complex. But it’s gone in an instant, quickly masked when he realizes you've noticed.

Oh is someone a little shy with his feelings 👀

As you eat, Steven leans close, his beard brushing your ear. "My people approve of you," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that only you can hear. "They see your beauty, your strength. You will make a fine queen." You swallow your bite of bread, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I know nothing of being queen to your people." A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, somehow both predatory and amused. "You will learn. I will teach you our ways, as I've already begun to teach you other things." 

And he sure is an eager teacher

"You're quiet, little bride," Steven murmurs, his hand coming to rest possessively on your thigh beneath the table. "Are your thoughts still with your village?" You tense at his touch but force yourself to remain composed before his people. "I'm merely... overwhelmed," you answer truthfully. 

Valid

You suppress a shiver at his touch. "And what of my duties as queen?" you ask, hoping to divert his attention from the intimate caress. "What will be expected of me?" Steven leans back, taking a deep draught from his ornate drinking horn before answering. "You will oversee the household, settle disputes among the women, bear my children." His eyes darken at these last words. "Strong sons to carry my bloodline." 

Why does that not come as a surprise

"We have already..." you begin, then falter, unable to speak the words aloud. "Yes," he agrees, his voice dropping to a growl that sends shivers down your spine. "But not as husband and wife." 

Devil's in the details I guess 🫣

"Are you afraid?" Steven asks, watching you over the rim of his goblet. The question catches you off guard with its directness. "Would it matter if I were?” Steven's eyes narrow slightly at your question. He sets his goblet down on the table with deliberate care, the soft clink of metal against wood echoing in the quiet room.  "Yes," he says finally, surprising you with his answer. "It would matter." 

Honestly, that comes as a surprise

You take another sip of wine to steady yourself, to buy time before responding. "And what kind of fear do you think I should have, my king?" A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "The kind that quickens your pulse and makes your hands tremble." His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in the intricate braids Helga had so carefully arranged. "The kind that heightens every sensation, makes every touch more intense."

Oh 👀

"Do you know why I chose you?" Steven asks, his voice a low rumble as he frees the last braid, allowing your hair to fall loose around your shoulders. You shake your head, not trusting your voice. "When I saw you in that wedding dress, fleeing through the forest..." His fingers trail down to trace your jawline. "Most women would have hidden, cowered. But you led others to safety. There was fire in your eyes even as my men dragged you before me." "And then," he continues, his voice dropping even lower, "when I took you to my bed that first night, you fought me in ways no one has dared in years. Not with weapons, but with the defiance in your eyes, the tension in your body even as it betrayed you with pleasure." 

He really like sher feistyness

You look away, shame burning your cheeks at the reminder of how your body had responded to his touch. His fingers grasp your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. 

🤭🫣

"Look at me when I speak to you," he commands, though his tone lacks the harshness you've come to expect. "A queen must never lower her eyes, not even to her king." "Is that what you want?" you ask. His eyes darken as he looks at you. "I want a queen who knows her place."

Oh it's a little push and pull with them

His mouth descends to your breast, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before his tongue soothes the sting. Despite your resistance, your body responds to his touch, as it has ever since the first night he claimed you. Your back arches involuntarily into his caress, and he chuckles darkly against your skin, the vibration sending shivers through you. "Your body knows the truth even when your mind rebels," he murmurs, his breath hot against your dampened skin. 

Hee body is treacherous

"Does that frighten you?" Steven asks, his eyes studying your reaction. "To know you lie with a killer?" You meet his gaze steadily. "I've always known what you are."  Something flickers in his eyes—approval, perhaps, at your honesty. His hand leaves yours to continue tracing the path of the scar, fingers trailing down his chest to the waistband of his breeches.

I think honesty will bring them closer together than anything else

 "My king," you repeat, louder this time. Something shifts between you in that moment - not submission exactly, but acknowledgment. This is your reality now, whether you chose it or not. 

Uff that's a big moment and realization

He shifts his weight, pulling out of you with a slick sound that makes your cheeks burn. Instead of rolling away, he gathers you against his chest, one muscular arm banded around your waist as if afraid you might flee. His heartbeat thunders against your back, gradually slowing to a steady rhythm. 

🤤🤤🤤

"You did well today," he murmurs, his voice rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. "My people are impressed by their new queen." You remain silent, unsure how to respond to praise for a role you never sought. Steven draws a finger beneath the line of your jaw, gently forcing your chin to look up at him.

Not an easy role, but especially if it's not by choice

"Then you will pretend, until the pretense becomes truth," he says simply. "You are no longer a village maiden, but a queen. My queen." His fingers trace idle patterns on your bare shoulder. "And queens must sometimes do what is necessary, regardless of their personal feelings." "I'll try," you whisper, the words more honest than you intended. It's not submission exactly, but acknowledgment of your reality. You cannot change what has happened, can only move forward in this strange new life. Steven's expression softens slightly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "That is all I ask."

So he basically is saying "fake it till you make it" in viking 😅🤷🏻‍♀️

There was a tradition at Vikings weddings (or maybe it was for all Nordic medieval) that the bride was given kittens, because they were symbol of goddess Freya. You know where I'm going with this ask, right? 🥺👉👈 Kittens from viking Steve? 🥺🥺🥺

Ceremonial Rituals

Characters/Pairings: Viking King Steve Rogers x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 6.7k

Content/Warnings: DARK newly established relationship - kidnapped wife; explicit smut: rough sex, unprotected vaginal intercourse, insemination; use of pet name (little wife, little bride)

Notes: Takes place within a week after So Black the Darkness Hums (Come Down from Battle would take place a month or so after this).

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Six mornings after being ripped from your home, warm water envelops your aching body as unfamiliar hands move across your skin. Two women, their faces stern and focused, scrub at your flesh with soft cloths, working suds of soap over your skin. Their touch is not unkind, but there is no warmth in their eyes when they glance at you—only a wary curiosity.

Five nights passed at sea since you were ripped from your home. 

The voyage had been mercifully brief but miserable with your unfamiliarity of the churning sea that had you retching over the side of Steven's longship while he laughed and called you his "delicate flower." The warriors had sung and drank through the journey, celebrating their successful raid while you huddled beneath furs in Steven's private quarters, your body aching from Steven's relentless claiming of your body each night. He'd taken you in every way imaginable, a few times gently, more often rough, always leaving you confused by the pleasure he forced from you despite your circumstances.

You close your eyes against the memories of those nights at sea, the taste of salt on your lips, the rhythm of the waves beneath the ship matching the rhythm of his body against yours. You had learned quickly that resistance only made him rougher, more determined to break you. When you yielded, sometimes his touch would soften, and those moments of gentleness were almost more confusing than the brutality.

Five nights at sea, and then a late arrival after dark the night before. Steven had lifted you onto a horse waiting for him and brought you nearly straight to his bedchambers where he’d fucked you, then allowed you to sleep - a genuine rest without the rocking of a ship. Then just after dawn, he’d ushered you out of bed and into the hands of these two women for bathing. 

"Keep still," the younger woman mutters as she works a comb through your tangled hair. Her strong fingers work methodically, untangling knots with practiced efficiency. You hadn’t realized you were fidgeting. 

From their actions and a few of their murmured words to each other, you gather they're preparing you for some kind of ceremony. A formal introduction to Steven's people, perhaps.

"Stand," commands the older woman, her silver-streaked hair bound in complicated braids. She helps you from the wooden tub, wrapping you in soft linen that feels like a luxury after days at sea. 

The younger woman approaches with an undergarment garment of creamy white, richly embroidered with silver threads along the neckline and sleeves. The fabric is finer than anything you've ever worn, even your wedding dress.

"Arms up," she instructs.

You comply, allowing them to slip the garment over your head. The fabric settles against your skin like water, cool and smooth. They cinch it at your waist with silken ties. 

The younger woman leaves the room, saying she’ll be back presently. 

The older woman begins working oils into your hair, the scent of lavender and something spicier filling your nostrils. Her fingers move with practiced precision, weaving small braids at your temples before gathering them back. You wonder if this is how Steven's people prepare all their captives, or if you're receiving special treatment as his tribute. 

The door creaks open on iron hinges, drawing your attention from your somber thoughts. Two women enter the chamber—one balancing a wooden platter laden with a modest breakfast of bread, cheese, and sliced apples, while the other carefully carries a small woven basket from which tiny mewling sounds emerge. 

Your curiosity momentarily overcomes your apprehension. "What is that?" you ask, gesturing toward the basket as the woman sets it near the hearth.

“From the king.” She pulls back the cloth covering, revealing four tiny kittens tumbling over each other—one black, one orange, and two with mottled gray-and-white fur. “As is tradition,” she adds.

Before you can fully process this unexpected gesture, the younger woman who had been helping you bathe returns. Your breath catches as you see the gleaming white fabric draped over her arms. It's unmistakably a wedding gown—more elaborate than the one you wore just days ago, with intricate silver embroidery matching your undergarment, and small blue stones sewn into the bodice that catch the morning light.

"The king requests you wear this," she says, her eyes watching your reaction carefully. "The ceremony begins at midmorning." 

Your heart plummets and while there is yet the smallest of swoops in your stomach as understanding crashes over you. The bathing, the oils, the fine undergarment, the ceremonial gift of kittens—all of it suddenly makes terrible sense. Steven doesn't mean to merely present you as his captive or concubine.

He means to marry you. Today. Now.

"No," you whisper, the word escaping before you can stop it.

The older woman's hands pause in your hair, her expression softening for the first time. "It will be easier if you do not fight," she murmurs, so only you can hear. "The king has chosen you. That is... rare."

You swallow hard, fighting back tears. "I was already married. In my village—" 

"That marriage no longer exists," the younger woman interrupts firmly. "King Steven has claimed you. What came before means nothing now." 

The older woman resumes braiding your hair, her fingers gentle despite her words. "My name is Helga," she offers quietly. "I have served in this household since before Steven was born. The girl is Astrid, my granddaughter." 

You meet Helga's eyes in the polished metal mirror before you. There is kindness there, but also resignation. She has seen many things in her years of service, you realize. Perhaps even other women in your position. 

"Does he... does he do this often?" you ask, your voice barely audible. 

“No, you are the first woman he’s ever brought back.”

Astrid approaches with the gown, her expression neutral. "Arms up again."

You comply mechanically, too numb to resist as the heavy fabric slides over your head. The dress settles around you, surprisingly light despite its elaborate embroidery.

"Eat," Helga says, pushing the platter toward you. "You'll need your strength."

You take a small bite of bread, though the taste of it doesn’t register in your mouth. Your stomach churns with anxiety, but you force yourself to eat, knowing Helga speaks true about needing strength.

One of the kittens, the orange one, tumbles from the basket and pads across the floor to bat at the hem of your new gown. Despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips as you watch its playful antics. 

"They are a traditional gift," Helga explains, noticing your interest. "Of course the king would send kittens for the new queen, to bring fertility and protection to the household as is customary for any new bride." 

"Queen?" The word feels foreign on your tongue, impossible. 

Astrid nods as she arranges the folds of your gown. "King Steven has no wife. He has had women, yes, but never a queen. You are to be the first." 

The implications of Astrid's words leave you reeling. Not just a captive or concubine, but a queen. Steven's queen. The thought is as terrifying as it is bewildering. 

"Why me?" you whisper, more to yourself than to the women attending you. 

Helga's weathered hands pause in their work, her eyes meeting yours in the metal mirror. "That is for the king to say," she replies carefully. "But I have known him since he was a boy at his mother's breast. I have never seen him look at a woman the way he looked at you last night or this morning."

Your cheeks burn, remembering the intensity in Steven's gaze during your nights together. The mixture of cruelty and desire, possession and something else—something you cannot name. 

The orange kitten pounces on your gown's hem again, tiny claws catching in the delicate fabric. You bend to disentangle it, grateful for the momentary distraction. The tiny creature purrs as your fingers brush its soft fur, and for a fleeting second, the simple pleasure of touching something so innocent calms your racing thoughts.

"It is time," Astrid announces, glancing toward the window where sunlight now streams fully through the leaded glass. A distant horn sounds, its deep note reverberating through the stone walls of the chamber.

Helga secures a silver circlet atop your head, nestling it among the intricate braids she's woven. "A queen must look the part," she murmurs, stepping back to assess her work. 

Your reflection in the polished metal is that of a stranger—a woman adorned like nobility, her eyes haunted with memories of another life. The white gown, with its silver embroidery and blue stones, transforms you into someone you barely recognize. Is this truly to be your fate? To be queen to the man who destroyed everything you once held dear? 

"The orange one seems to have chosen you," Helga observes as the kitten winds between your ankles, purring loudly. "A good omen. The goddess Freya sends her cats to women of strong spirit."

A knock at the door silences further conversation. Astrid opens it to reveal two warriors in gleaming armor, their expressions solemn. 

"The king awaits his bride," one announces. 

You take a deep breath, straightening your shoulders. Whatever ceremony awaits, whatever life stretches before you as Steven's queen, you will face it with dignity. Not for him, but for yourself. The tiny orange kitten mews plaintively as Helga gently returns it to the basket.

The warriors escort you through stone corridors adorned with tapestries depicting battles and hunts. Servants pause in their work to stare as you pass, their expressions ranging from curiosity to pity. 

You are taken to a clearing at the edge of the forest. There are many people assembled, but it’s the natural and wild beauty of the place that steals you breath away. There are wildflowers everywhere, and you can see snow-capped mountains in the distance, so different from the rolling hills of your homeland.

Sunlight filters through the ancient trees that encircle the clearing, dappling the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow. At its center stands an enormous oak, its massive trunk gnarled with age, branches reaching skyward like outstretched arms. Beneath it waits Steven, transformed from the brutal warrior you've known into something more regal—a king in truth, adorned in finery that complements your own. 

His tunic is deep blue, embroidered with silver that catches the light with each breath he takes. A heavy cloak drapes his broad shoulders, and atop his head sits a simple crown of polished silver. His eyes find yours immediately, and the intensity of his gaze pins you in place.

The crowd parts as you approach, their murmurs rising and falling like waves. You recognize the hard, weathered faces of Steven's warriors mingled with—those of villagers, craftspeople, and servants. Some appear curious, others wary, but all watch with rapt attention as you're led toward Steven, wondering about the foreign bride their king has brought home. 

A wizened old woman waits beside Steven, her white hair flowing loose over her shoulders, adorned with feathers and bones. Her eyes, milky with cataracts, seem to see through you rather than at you.

Steven extends his hand as you draw near, his expression unreadable. You hesitate, heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. To take his hand is to accept this fate, to acknowledge yourself as his queen. To refuse before his people would surely bring consequences you dare not contemplate. 

Your fingers tremble as you place your hand in his. His grip is firm, warm, drawing you closer until you stand beside him beneath the ancient oak. The old woman begins to speak in a language you don't understand, her voice surprisingly strong despite her age. You catch only fragments of meaning—words about bonds, strength, and the joining of two souls.

Steven's eyes never leave your face as the old woman speaks. The intensity of his gaze makes your skin prickle with awareness. For the first time, you notice a different quality in his eyes—not just possession or lust, but something deeper, more complex. But it’s gone in an instant, quickly masked when he realizes you've noticed.

The ceremony continues, the old woman producing a length of intricately woven cord. She binds your hands together—your right to Steven's left—the symbolic joining making your heart race with the finality of it. The cord is soft against your skin, dyed in shades of blue and silver that match your wedding attire. 

"This binding joins not just flesh, but fate," the old woman says, switching suddenly to the common tongue. Her accent is thick, but her words are clear enough. "What the gods have brought together, let no mortal tear asunder."

Steven's hand tightens around yours as the old woman produces a small silver knife. She pricks first his finger, then yours, pressing the wounds together so your blood mingles. The sharp sting barely registers through the haze of unreality surrounding you. 

"Blood of his blood," the crone intones. "Flesh of his flesh. Two souls bound by the ancient ways." 

The crowd murmurs their approval, the sound rising like a wave around you.

"You are mine now," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. "My queen. My bride.."

Before you can respond, Steven kisses you, a claiming, his kiss thorough, but it’s the dangerous grip of his hands at your waist that has you trembling - something none see, but you feel.

The crowd erupts in cheers and shouts as Steven's lips claim yours, the noise washing over you like a physical force. When he finally releases you, your head spins—from lack of air or the sheer enormity of what has just happened, you cannot tell. The binding cord is ceremoniously unwound from your joined hands, but the symbolism remains, invisible chains now linking you to this man, this conqueror.

"Smile, little bride," Steven murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "They expect their new queen to look pleased."

You force your lips into what you hope resembles joy, though your heart pounds with a mixture of fear and confusion. 

"Come," Steven says, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of command. "My people wish to celebrate their new queen." 

He leads you through the throng, his large hand firmly clasping yours. People bow as you pass, some reaching out to touch the hem of your gown for luck. Their faces blur together—a sea of strangers who are now your people.

The festivities are already underway, musicians beginning to play, the people laugh and sing, some raise horns of mead in celebration. A feast has been prepared, you realize, as servants begin bringing forth platters of food to tables set up at the edge of the clearing. 

Steven guides you to a table set on a raised platform, ornately carved chairs positioned at its center. The place of honor for the king and his new queen. As he seats you, his hand lingers possessively on the small of your back, a subtle reminder of your position. 

"Eat," he commands, gesturing to the array of unfamiliar foods being laid before you. "You'll need your strength for tonight's celebrations." 

The implication in his words sends a shiver down your spine. You reach for a piece of bread, if only to have something to do with your trembling hands. The food is rich and abundant – roasted meats, fresh fish, cheeses, fruits, and breads sweeter than any you've tasted before. Despite your churning emotions, your body betrays you with hunger after days of sea sickness and meager rations. 

As you eat, Steven leans close, his beard brushing your ear. "My people approve of you," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that only you can hear. "They see your beauty, your strength. You will make a fine queen."

You swallow your bite of bread, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I know nothing of being queen to your people." 

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, somehow both predatory and amused. "You will learn. I will teach you our ways, as I've already begun to teach you other things." 

Heat rises to your cheeks at his implication, memories of your nights together flashing unbidden through your mind. You look away, focusing instead on the celebration unfolding before you. Warriors drink and boast of their exploits, young women dance to the music of drums and pipes, children dart between the tables, snatching treats when their elders aren't looking.

People approach to offer congratulations and gifts—intricate jewelry, finely woven textiles, weapons of exquisite craftsmanship. You accept each with a gracious smile. It was not they who stole you from your home. 

As the celebration wears on, a strange feeling settles over you. These people—Steven's people—treat you with a deference you had not anticipated. Their eyes hold curiosity rather than malice, and some of the women offer shy smiles as they present their gifts. You realize it’s unlikely they know how you came to be here, that their king took you by force from another life.

"You're quiet, little bride," Steven murmurs, his hand coming to rest possessively on your thigh beneath the table. "Are your thoughts still with your village?" 

You tense at his touch but force yourself to remain composed before his people. "I'm merely... overwhelmed," you answer truthfully. 

Steven studies your face, his blue eyes searching. "You will learn to love it here," he says with no room for argument. "Our lands are rich, our people strong. And you..." his fingers trace a path up your thigh, "...will want for nothing as my queen."

You suppress a shiver at his touch. "And what of my duties as queen?" you ask, hoping to divert his attention from the intimate caress. "What will be expected of me?" 

Steven leans back, taking a deep draught from his ornate drinking horn before answering. "You will oversee the household, settle disputes among the women, bear my children." His eyes darken at these last words. "Strong sons to carry my bloodline." 

The thought of bearing his children sends a confusing mix of emotions through you – fear, resignation, and something else you dare not name. You take a sip of mead to hide your expression, the sweet liquid warming your throat. 

Your eyes fall on a group of children playing near the edge of the clearing. They chase each other, laughing, carefree in a way you can scarcely remember feeling. One small girl with wild blonde hair catches your eye and waves shyly.

"The feast will continue until nightfall," Steven says, following your gaze. "But we need not stay that long."

Your stomach tightens at his implication. Despite all he's already taken from you, despite the nights on his ship, the thought of the wedding night still fills you with a mixture of dread and a burning you do not wish to acknowledge.

"More mead," Steven commands a passing servant, who hurriedly fills each of your cups at the royal table. 

As twilight approaches, the celebration grows more boisterous. Warriors compete in feats of strength, their muscles glistening with sweat as they heft logs and stones to impress the crowd. Women dance with increasing abandon, skirts swirling as they weave between fires that now burn bright against the darkening sky. 

You've slowly nursed many cups of mead as pressed on you be Steven for hours, the sweet honey wine making your head swim pleasantly, dulling the edges of your fear, but as you’ve dutifully eaten throughout the day and not drunk too swiftly, you feel you still have most of your wits about you. It is something else that truly affects you - Steven’s hand has not left your thigh, occasionally venturing higher in a possessive caress that each time sends unwanted flares of heat through your body. 

"It is time," Steven declares suddenly, rising to his feet. The crowd falls silent, all eyes turning toward their king. "My bride and I thank you for your celebration, but now we must consummate our marriage." 

A raucous cheer erupts from the gathering. Several warriors pound the tables with their fists. "To the king and his bride!" someone shouts, and the crowd roars even louder. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as Steven pulls you to your feet. The crowd's cheering grows louder, more insistent, as he leads you away from the feast. Some of the men call out crude suggestions that make your cheeks burn, while women toss flower petals in your path—a strange juxtaposition of vulgarity and tradition that leaves you dizzy. 

"Must you have announced it so boldly?" you whisper, struggling to keep pace with his long strides.

Steven glances down at you, amusement playing across his features. "It is our way. The consummation is an important part of the ceremony." 

"We have already..." you begin, then falter, unable to speak the words aloud. 

"Yes," he agrees, his voice dropping to a growl that sends shivers down your spine. "But not as husband and wife." 

The walk back to the great hall feels both endless and too swift. Steven's hand remains firmly at the small of your back, guiding you through torchlit corridors. Servants bow as you pass, their eyes carefully averted. The sound of celebration fades behind you, replaced by the echo of your footsteps and the thundering of your pulse in your ears. 

You recognize the door to Steven's chambers—your chambers now, you suppose. Two guards stand at attention outside, their expressions impassive as they open the heavy oak door. Steven leads you inside, and your breath catches at the transformation of the room. During your brief glimpse this morning, it had been merely a bedchamber—impressive in size and furnishings, but ordinary. Now it glows with dozens of candles, their light dancing across walls hung with tapestries of rich blues and silvers that match your wedding attire. The massive bed has been strewn with fresh furs and linens, and scattered with petals of blue wildflowers. The air is heavy with scents of beeswax, pine, and something sweeter—perhaps meadowsweet or lavender.

The door closes behind you with a heavy thud, and you flinch at the finality of it. You are alone with him now—your captor, your king, your husband. 

Steven moves to a table that holds a flagon of wine, fruits, and honey cakes—sustenance for the long night ahead. 

His back to you, he speaks, "You performed well today, little bride.”

"Thank you," you murmur, uncertain how else to respond to his strange compliment. Your fingers trace the intricate silver embroidery at your sleeve, needing something to occupy your hands. 

Steven pours deep red wine into two goblets, the liquid catching the candlelight like blood. When he turns to face you, his expression has changed—the public face of the king replaced by something more primal, more intimate. More dangerous. 

"Come," he says, extending one of the goblets. 

You cross the room as slowly as you dare, taking the offered wine. Your fingers brush his, and even that small contact sends a jolt through your body. The wine is rich and heavy on your tongue, warming your throat as you swallow.

"Are you afraid?" Steven asks, watching you over the rim of his goblet. 

The question catches you off guard with its directness. "Would it matter if I were?”

Steven's eyes narrow slightly at your question. He sets his goblet down on the table with deliberate care, the soft clink of metal against wood echoing in the quiet room. 

"Yes," he says finally, surprising you with his answer. "It would matter." 

He steps closer, and you resist the urge to retreat. His hand rises to your face, fingers tracing your cheekbone with unexpected gentleness. 

"Fear has its purpose," he continues, his voice low. "It keeps us alive, makes us cautious. But there are different kinds of fear." His thumb brushes across your lower lip. "The fear of a warrior before battle is not the same as the fear of a child in the dark." 

You take another sip of wine to steady yourself, to buy time before responding. "And what kind of fear do you think I should have, my king?" 

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "The kind that quickens your pulse and makes your hands tremble." His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in the intricate braids Helga had so carefully arranged. "The kind that heightens every sensation, makes every touch more intense."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body, the scent of him—leather and pine and something uniquely male—filling your senses. His proximity affects you in ways you wish it didn't, your traitorous body responding to him despite everything. 

His hands move to the silver circlet atop your head, removing it with careful precision. He places it on a nearby table, the metal catching the candlelight with a soft gleam. Your heart pounds as his fingers begin to work through your elaborately braided hair, unraveling Helga's careful work with methodical patience. 

"Do you know why I chose you?" Steven asks, his voice a low rumble as he frees the last braid, allowing your hair to fall loose around your shoulders. 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice. 

"When I saw you in that wedding dress, fleeing through the forest..." His fingers trail down to trace your jawline. "Most women would have hidden, cowered. But you led others to safety. There was fire in your eyes even as my men dragged you before me."

His eyes search yours now, as though seeking that same fire. You stand perfectly still, afraid that any movement might break this strange moment of honesty between you. 

"And then," he continues, his voice dropping even lower, "when I took you to my bed that first night, you fought me in ways no one has dared in years. Not with weapons, but with the defiance in your eyes, the tension in your body even as it betrayed you with pleasure." 

You look away, shame burning your cheeks at the reminder of how your body had responded to his touch. His fingers grasp your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. 

"Look at me when I speak to you," he commands, though his tone lacks the harshness you've come to expect. "A queen must never lower her eyes, not even to her king." 

"Is that what you want?" you ask. 

His eyes darken as he looks at you. "I want a queen who knows her place."

The gentleness vanishes in an instant. Steven's hand suddenly tightens in your hair, yanking your head back with brutal force. His mouth crashes down on yours, teeth clashing, nothing like the ceremonial kiss shared before his people. This is possession, pure and raw.

"Enough talk," he growls against your lips. "You are my wife now, and I will claim what's mine."

In one swift motion, he tears at the delicate fastenings of your wedding gown, the sound of ripping fabric filling the chamber. The beautiful silver embroidery that had caught the light so elegantly now lies in tatters as he roughly yanks the garment from your body.

"Did you think marriage would soften me?" Steven snarls, shoving you backward toward the bed. "That a ceremony would change what I am?"

Your back hits the furs, and before you can recover, Steven is upon you, his massive frame pinning you down. His mouth crashes against yours in a brutal kiss that has nothing of tenderness in it. His teeth catch your lower lip, the metallic taste of blood blooming on your tongue. You gasp, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same ruthless determination he'd shown in conquering your village.

"I may have made you my queen," he growls into your mouth, "but never forget who you belong to."

His hands are everywhere, rough and demanding, leaving no part of you untouched. The thin undergarment provides little barrier to his exploration, and soon that too is torn away, leaving you naked beneath him. 

"Mine," he snarls against your throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there. "Say it." 

You remain silent, a last, desperate act of defiance. His hand finds your breast, fingers pinching your nipple with painful intensity. 

"Say it," he demands again, twisting harder. 

"Yours," you gasp, the word torn from your throat. 

A triumphant gleam lights his eyes as he releases your nipple, his hand sliding lower across your stomach. "Again," he commands. 

"I'm yours," you repeat, the words burning like poison on your tongue. Yet beneath the bitterness lies something else—something you dare not examine too closely. 

Steven's eyes flash with satisfaction. "Yes," he growls, "mine to take, mine to pleasure, mine to rule." 

His mouth descends to your breast, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before his tongue soothes the sting. Despite your resistance, your body responds to his touch, as it has ever since the first night he claimed you. Your back arches involuntarily into his caress, and he chuckles darkly against your skin, the vibration sending shivers through you.

"Your body knows the truth even when your mind rebels," he murmurs, his breath hot against your dampened skin. 

His hands push your thighs apart roughly, settling his weight between them. You can feel him hard against you, still clothed while you lie naked and vulnerable beneath him. The disparity in power is evident, but that’s not why you’re unhappy he’s still clothed - you want to feel his flesh pressed against your flesh. 

The realization startles you, this unwanted craving. Your fingers find the fastenings of his tunic and begin to work them open. Steven's eyes widen slightly at your unexpected boldness, then narrow with renewed hunger. 

"Eager, little bride?" he taunts, but allows you to continue undressing him. His tunic falls away, revealing the muscled torso you've come to know intimately during your nights at sea. The candlelight plays across his skin, highlighting scars both old and new—a map of battles won and lost. 

Your fingers trace one particularly jagged scar that runs from his shoulder across his chest. "How did you get this one?" you ask, surprising yourself with the question. 

Steven's hand covers yours, pressing it flat against the raised flesh. "A Saxon blade, three summers ago. I killed the man who gave it to me and six of his companions." 

His admission s no surprise, yet still makes your blood chill. 

His voice holds no remorse, only pride in his lethal skill. You wonder how many men have fallen to his sword, how many villages like yours have suffered under his raids. Yet here you are, naked beneath him, your body responding to his touch despite everything he's done. 

"Does that frighten you?" Steven asks, his eyes studying your reaction. "To know you lie with a killer?" 

You meet his gaze steadily. "I've always known what you are." 

Something flickers in his eyes—approval, perhaps, at your honesty. His hand leaves yours to continue tracing the path of the scar, fingers trailing down his chest to the waistband of his breeches. 

"And what am I?" he challenges, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. 

"A warrior," you answer. "A conqueror." 

“Your husband,” he says, guiding your hands to the laces of his breeches. 

"My husband," you repeat, the word still foreign on your tongue as your fingers work at the laces. The fabric parts beneath your touch, revealing him, hard and ready. 

Steven's eyes darken at your words. "Say it again," he commands, his voice rough with desire. 

"My king," you repeat, louder this time. Something shifts between you in that moment - not submission exactly, but acknowledgment. This is your reality now, whether you chose it or not. 

His hand cups your face, the touch unexpectedly gentle despite the ferocity in his eyes.

"And what does a wife owe her husband?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that resonates through your body.

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze. "Her loyalty," you answer carefully. "Her obedience."

"Yes," he agrees, his thumb tracing your lower lip. 

"And what else?”

"Her body," you whisper, the words sending an unwelcome heat through your veins.

"Good," Steven growls, his approval darkening his eyes further. "And will you give your king what he is owed?"

Your heart hammers against your ribs as you realize this is no mere question—it's a test. Not of submission, but of understanding. Of acceptance. The wine and mead from the feast swim in your head, but not enough to blur the reality of your situation. This is your life now. This man—conqueror, king, husband—is your future.

"Yes," you answer, the single word sealing your fate more surely than any marriage ceremony.

His eyes flash with triumph, but also something else. He sheds his remaining clothing with efficient movements, then looms over you once more, gloriously naked, his body radiating heat in the candlelit chamber. Your eyes travel the landscape of his form - the broad shoulders, the muscled chest tapering to narrow hips, the powerful thighs. A warrior's body, honed by battle and hardship. 

"Look your fill," he murmurs, arrogance coloring his tone. "All this belongs to you now, as you belong to me."

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers tracing patterns on your sensitive skin. Your breath catches as he moves higher, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. When he reaches the apex of your thighs, you can't help the small sound that escapes your lips.

"So wet for me already," he taunts, his fingers circling your sensitive bud with practiced precision. "Your body betrays your true feelings, little bride." 

You turn your face away, eyes squeezing shut against the building pleasure. It's not fair how easily he can manipulate your responses, how thoroughly he knows your body after a handful of nights. 

"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "I told you a queen must never lower her eyes, and certainly not when I have you like this." 

Reluctantly, you obey, meeting his intense gaze. His hands slide beneath your thighs, lifting and spreading them wider as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock teases your entrance, hot and insistent. Despite everything, your body responds to his touch, growing slick with need.

"Tell me what you want," Steven demands, his voice husky with desire.

The words stick in your throat. To voice your desire feels like the final surrender, an admission you're not sure you're ready to make. Yet your body betrays you, hips shifting restlessly, seeking the friction he denies you.

"Say it," he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "I want to hear you beg for your king's cock."

"Please," you whisper, the word barely audible.

Steven's hand grips your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but firmly enough to demonstrate his power. 

"Louder," he commands, his thumb pressing against your pulse point. "I want to hear you, wife." 

"Please," you say, your voice stronger now. "I want... I want you inside me." 

A slow, predatory smile spreads across Steven's face. "As you wish, my queen." 

With one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. Your body, already accustomed to him after the nights at sea, accepts him more easily now, though his size still stretches you to your limit. He groans in satisfaction, his hand releasing your throat to brace himself above you.

Steven sets a relentless pace, each thrust driving deeper than the last. His hands grip your hips, positioning you perfectly to take all of him. The bed creaks beneath your joined bodies, the sound mingling with your gasps and his grunts of pleasure. You find yourself clinging to his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he drives into you.

"Is this what you wanted, little bride?" he growls against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "To be fucked by your king on your wedding night?"

"Yes," you gasp, the word torn from you by a particularly deep thrust that hits something exquisite inside you. The shame you felt at your responses has begun to fade with each passing night in his possession, replaced by a hunger that frightens you with its intensity.

His rhythm never falters, each powerful thrust driving you closer to the edge. One of his hands slides between your bodies, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back arches at his touch, a cry escaping your lips. Steven's mouth crashes down on yours, swallowing the sound as his fingers work in time with his thrusts.

"Come for me, wife," he commands, his voice strained with his own approaching release. "I will have you shatter around my cock."

The command in his voice triggers something primal within you. Your body obeys before your mind can protest, pleasure crashing through you in waves that leave you gasping and trembling beneath him. Your inner walls clench around him as you peak, drawing a guttural groan from deep in his chest.

Steven groans in satisfaction, his pace becoming erratic as your inner walls clench around him. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his release filling you as he groans your name—not "little bride" or "wife," but your actual name, the sound of it on his lips strangely intimate in this moment of abandon.

For several moments, the only sound in the chamber is your mingled breathing. Steven's weight presses you into the furs, his body slick with sweat against yours. You should feel crushed, should want to push him away, but there's a strange comfort in the solid weight of him—an anchor as your life has been untethered from everything you knew before, in an ocean of unknown future. 

Though he's buried to the hilt in you, Steven's hand still clutches your hip in a bruising grip, his breathing ragged against your neck. The candlelight flickers across his sweat-slicked shoulders as he finally stirs, pressing his lips to the tender spot beneath your ear in an unexpectedly gentle gesture. 

"Mine," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. The possessive word should anger you, but instead sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine. 

He shifts his weight, pulling out of you with a slick sound that makes your cheeks burn. Instead of rolling away, he gathers you against his chest, one muscular arm banded around your waist as if afraid you might flee. His heartbeat thunders against your back, gradually slowing to a steady rhythm. 

"Your people seemed pleased with their new queen," Steven says after a long silence, his fingers absently stroking your lower back. 

"You did well today," he murmurs, his voice rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. "My people are impressed by their new queen."

You remain silent, unsure how to respond to praise for a role you never sought. Steven draws a finger beneath the line of your jaw, gently forcing your chin to look up at him.

"You will learn to love it here," he says, and though his tone is soft, there's an undercurrent of command. "This is your home now. These are your people."

"And if I don't?" you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it. 

Steven's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening at your question. For a moment, you fear you've pushed too far. Then his expression shifts, something almost like admiration flickering in his gaze.

"Then you will pretend, until the pretense becomes truth," he says simply. "You are no longer a village maiden, but a queen. My queen." His fingers trace idle patterns on your bare shoulder. "And queens must sometimes do what is necessary, regardless of their personal feelings."

You consider his words, the pragmatic truth in them. What choice do you have but to adapt to this new life? Your old one is lost to you forever.

"I'll try," you whisper, the words more honest than you intended. It's not submission exactly, but acknowledgment of your reality. You cannot change what has happened, can only move forward in this strange new life. 

Steven's expression softens slightly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "That is all I ask."

And then he presses your face up to meet his hungry lips, devouring yours again in a kiss.

And when he breaks it for a moment of air, he adds an ominous, "For now," before demanding to drink more from your mouth.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

SEQUEL: Come Down from Battle

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[hedwig221b]

Hello

I hope you're having an amazing day/evening

Thank you for all your hard work, just finished rereading Incandescent ❤️

Do you know of any fics where Sterek are mates, established or newly discovered, and they have to be apart for a while and the separation causes anxiety, unease or physical pain until they're together again?

I hope that makes sense. Have a lovely day, thank you

You're welcome! As I was finishing this rec list, I remembered that several of my other fics fit this separation trope, bc I'm such a sucker for it, so I added a few in the end 💕

yours was a good heart for me by stilinskisparkles

Stiles was right about the end of the world, and Derek needing something to remember him by just in case.

thank god your heart is too close by hoars

There's a boy, ("Fuck you, dude. I'm seventeen. Not fifteen." Stiles laughs in his memory) waiting for him back home.

Let your unfaithful weaving go by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Every night Stiles goes into the feasting hall to work on the shroud he is making for his husband, knowing that the alphas circle him like sharks until he is inevitably forced to choose one to stand as his alpha and Eli's regent. It's been four years and he doesn't know how much longer he can do this. This is based on the story of Penelope and her suitors, with Stiles in the role of Penelope, the wife of Odysseus

An Alpha's Misunderstandings by Dexterous_Sinistrous

And Derek was there, as if it was a simple twist of fate. There were so many ways Stiles wanted to forgive Derek, but then he came to his senses. He wouldn’t risk Charlotte’s safety for that hope–never again. ~*~ Stiles and Derek are parted by war and misunderstandings, only to find each other again.

A Princely Knight by Dexterous_Sinistrous

He would stand by Stiles’ side, a constant shadow of protection until his death. A life for a life, one worth much more than an orphan turned thief turned royal guard could comprehend. In truth, Derek saw the one person he would gladly give his life for, because Stiles made this world better. ~*~ Or, Stiles is a prince and Derek is his knight.

of gods & monsters by Dexterous_Sinistrous

"I’m not the best at conversation. I’ve been told I have no finesse for it.” Stiles took a step closer to Derek, pushing the billowing silk out of the way. “And what would you say if you looked at me now?” Derek looked up, startled for a moment when he realized he was now looking at Stiles’ unveiled face. He was silent for a beat, taking in Stiles’ features for the first time, convinced he would never see such beauty unveiled for him alone.

sustain by bleep0bleep

Yes, there’s another person in the lab with them, someone who’s heart is beating steadily, sounding achingly familiar somehow, their blood sweet and cloying. Stiles drops the empty bag and rushes forward, because it can’t possibly be— that scent— who he thinks it is—

all stories deserve an end by bleep0bleep

No one hardly ever comes up to this area of the forest, especially with the rumors of the “mad wizard.” Stiles encourages the rumor, because it means people leave him alone. It’s a good, solitary existence as long as Stiles pretends the aching loneliness in his heart isn’t there.

Space Pirate Samba by Wrenegade (orphan_account)

That awkward moment when your fiance comes back from the dead as a space pirate trying to rob you and your sister's ship.

you're the only north star (dear god)

"I will go to the ends of the known universe, I will dive through a fucking black hole, I will walk unarmed with my hands tied into the Nemeton if it means getting him back," Derek says lowly. "But I can't do that if I haven't slept for eight days, and I can't sleep without Stiles."

I Still Believe by IAmAVeronica

War is hell. Falling in love with enemy solider Derek Hale, secretly mating him, and then accidentally being left behind by him when the war suddenly and violently ends is a special kind of hell apparently reserved for one human omega Stiles Stilinski. But Stiles is determined to find his mate again, because Derek left more than just Stiles in a war-ravaged and werewolf-hating country - and with danger at every turn and nothing but Derek's gun and his own wits for protection, hell hath no fury like Stiles now.

Recover, Reclaim, Retain by elisera

Derek stumbles through the camp half-blind, head feeling like cotton and knees trembling, the spell on him making sure he can’t fight the warlock leading him by a chain and he can’t--, can’t even fucking smell--. “No, no, no!” a voice suddenly says next to Derek and there is a hand fisting in Derek’s shirt, jerking him to a stop. “This one’s mine.”

I love this one as well, if you don't mind destiel, and I love sterek here:

Flesh and Bone by theinspiredginger

Dean's trapped in Purgatory looking for his angel when a not so subtle kid in a red sweatshirt asks to team up. Dean takes Little Red Riding Hoodie underneath his wing as they try to escape. Or the one where Stiles bargains with a witch to get sent to purgatory to save Derek and finds Dean instead. They work together to find a way out of Purgatory as they each look for their "person".

Also I LOVE their separation period in this fic, and the reunion is so delicious and beautifully written, my heart aches so good every time, AHHH, I adore it with my entire heart:

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.” That was a bad word. Not found. Have. Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment. One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

Incandescent

"You are trying to court our alpha,” sang Lydia. “Surely you realize that he does not reciprocate.” “He doesn’t stop it.” There was no point in lying. Paige was courting Derek. She would be a fool not to. “He doesn’t care to.” Lydia arched her thin eyebrow. “Why do you think he’s still searching for his mate, hmm? Why didn’t he stop once you were here? You think you can annoy him into sleeping with you?” Lydia laughed. “He is a born wolf, darling. He will not fuck you if you are not his.”

Angel, Ignited

He was a fool to tell himself he wasn’t thinking of Derek. How could the moon not think of its sun? How, when the light of it — the sight of him — made him yearn to live? Stiles loved him before. Between their shared breath, upon their touch, after the tender words and giddy smiles, Stiles thought he knew what love was. He was a fool. This was love. This was how it felt. Annihilative. Mournful. Take all the air from his throat, he would still ask for Derek first.

Predators

He was born for this. Nature itself whispered into his ear where he should put his hands, how to twirl his tongue just right and when to bite. Stiles knew well enough that his saliva was currently working its magic on this unfortunate man, making him hungry, lustful, and insatiable. Soon, all his thoughts would be consumed by Stiles. And, just this once, Stiles would allow Derek to consume him.

The Happiest of All

"It’s every wolf’s dream. To find a perfect mate, to procreate. It’s a necessity, it’s healthy. It’s in our blood; akin to the moon in the sky, a wolf belongs to their mate. And humans don’t have the capacity to become a mate.” “But I love him,” Stiles whispered, begged. Talia stayed silent for a couple of minutes. “That’s why you should understand it’s not healthy for him to be with you,” her words were simple and clear, like a piece of glass, but sharp all the same. “He will not find true happiness with you. You’re wasting his time. Preventing him from having a future he deserves.”

Full and Void

Stiles could be meek, sure. In Derek’s arms, softened under the touch, pinned under his weight. He allowed himself to relax only in Derek’s sole presence. Stiles could also look meek. Small, scared. Let the enemies think he was hiding in his mate’s shadow. After all, no one would stop to think that the shadow could ever be dangerous.

[masterlist link]

[juliettejwnewinesa]

How about yandere whc character/s who gets an idea of impregnating reader so she won't leave by their side?(any character or more hehehehehe

1. Ahn Suho – The Quiet Fixation

Vibe: Calm on the outside, calculating on the inside.

Suho doesn’t need to yell or threaten—he just decides quietly that you belong to him. The moment he senses you're slipping away, something in him twists. Maybe you made a comment about leaving town or hinted at needing space—and that’s all it takes. He starts tracking your cycle, acts extra soft during your fertile days, and then—without asking—refuses to pull out one night.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take responsibility,” he whispers, kissing your temple. “You’ll never have to be alone again. I’ll give you everything. You just need to stay.”

He’ll watch your belly swell with a sick kind of pride. It means you're anchored. You won’t run. You can’t.

2.sieun – The Silent Spiral

Vibe: Emotionally repressed + terrifyingly obsessive.

sieun doesn’t even realize he’s crossed a line at first. He’s just so used to holding back—until he can’t anymore. When the thought of losing you lodges in his brain, it becomes an obsession. He thinks, if she’s carrying my child, she’ll never leave. It’s not about lust—it’s about possession disguised as love. He kisses you slow, almost trembling, and says:

“I need you. I need you full of me... So you’ll never belong to anyone else.”

He watches your body carefully after that, becomes more protective by the day. No one is allowed near you. Not even your friends.

3. humin – The Dangerous Sweetheart

Vibe: Sweet but dangerously deluded.

humin thinks he’s doing this out of love. He talks about “starting a family” way too early in the relationship. But when you start pulling away? He panics. He’s got that delusional, desperate smile as he wraps his arms around you and says:

“If you’re mine, you should carry my baby, right? That way you’ll stay forever. That way we’ll be together even if you hate me.”

He gaslights and lovebombs you constantly, convincing himself it’s romantic—even if he has to trap you to make you stay.

4. beakjin – The CEO Complex

Vibe: Cold, commanding, twisted sense of entitlement.

Donald wouldn’t even see it as yandere behavior. In his mind, it’s logical—you’re his, so you should bear his child. It solidifies his control and ties you to him in the most primal way. He’s calculating, timing everything down to the day, orchestrating the entire thing like a business plan.

“You belong to me, Y/N. There’s no negotiation. And once you’re carrying my heir… you’ll finally understand your place.”

Expect luxury cages and golden handcuffs. You’ll look like royalty but feel like a prisoner.

[yunamoona]

I’ve talked before about Satoru being a terrible, clumsy high school flirt, and this would be a rare instance where him and Suguru can barely relate.

Suguru’s also a bad flirt, but not in the same sense. He’s not a bad flirt— more like a baaad flirt. He has a recipe and it’s definitely not Satoru’s, but his isn’t completely right either, ykwim? At least it has a higher success rate than his though.

Before you and Suguru even started dating, it seemed like the universe’s will brought you together in any way possible, like it was meant to be.

Little do you know, the universe’s will is Suguru’s will.

It was never meant to trick you by any means. Suguru just happens to be opportunistic. Opportunistic, and just so, sooo infatuated with you. Which led to this first of his subtle, strategic advances.

“Where is it, where is it…” You muttered to yourself with a defeated sigh, throwing your hands down against your thighs as you rock off your tiptoes back onto your heels. It wasn’t above your locker, or in it, or in your bag. You’ve already scoured your homeroom and other odd places around the main building, but your umbrella seemed to have simply…vanished. You swore you remembered bringing it in today, anticipating the downpour of the afternoon that was now thundering against the roof of the overhang as you stepped outside.

“Need an umbrella?”

Just as you were mentally preparing yourself to make a break for your dorm, you’re met with the sight of a familiar benign grin and kind narrow eyes. Oh, and that crazy weird side bang. Geto, was it?

He only hums in amusement at your stilted nod and exasperated explanation of how you swear you had it earlier. His smile only widened, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes at your animated frustrations.

“How unfortunate,” Geto sympathized as he shifted his umbrella to shield over your head as well. “Come on, I’ll walk with you. I insist, it’s no trouble.”

Of course you didn’t refuse the gesture, following with a flutter in your chest as he so generously escorted you to the dorms, shoulders brushing occasionally along the way.

What a coincidence, that he happened to be there, ready to offer you his umbrella. How kind of him. At least, it seemed that way to you.

Earlier that afternoon Geto had raised a hand to his curse before making one more quick check over his shoulder to make sure you were still out of sight. Coast clear.

“Don’t swallow it. I plan to return it later.”

The blubbering grotesque jumble of round faces and swollen lips gargled and slobbered all over your half gorged umbrella, regurgitating it at his command.

And maybe clean it too, he mentally noted as he cringed at the string of curse-saliva dribbling down the handle. Not that you would ever know it was dirty, of course. He’d look like the perfect gentleman when he kindly returned your lost umbrella the next afternoon, claiming he had stumbled upon it in the lost and found whilst looking for his lost keychain.

Funny, you were sure you checked there at least three times yesterday…

But it’s no harm no foul, really. Plus he’s fairly good at covering his tracks, so you won’t find out for a good while. If the universe is in his favor, he estimates you won’t catch on until at least after your 3rd anniversary— give or take. And more likely than not, the universe is in his favor.

a/n: he a little crazy and obsessed like that ໒꒰ྀི⸝ꈍ ꈍ꒱ྀིა but it’s okay bc ngl I am too. I have stuff to add onto this but it’s 2am and I’m tired so it’ll probably be another drabble

tagging my girl @nanamisbbygirl here’s that Geto fluff ૮꒰˶ ◝ᵕ◜˶ ꒱ა🩶

[betty-fran]

#but 'ofc he's a hedonist who doesn't want to settle down' as the default assumption just became super weird after the tos marathon#and the reluctance to see anything but this kind of healthy hedonism with some secondary goals in the flirtations/seductions#esp given that while he's an aspirational figure he's... uh. i don't think presented as. let's say. a model of psychological wellness.

(via @anghraine)

I couldn't pass it by, because lately I've been thinking about why Kirk, as a character, is perceived so differently within the fandom itself, and I wanted to put it all (some of my unpopular opinions) into a more coherent text.

AOS, like most modern media, does a pretty poor job of characters' depth, but that's precisely why, I think, it forces fans to pay more attention to the psychological analysis and search for that depth on their own. They try to figure out who Kirk is and what's behind his behavior patterns, and there are many examples of really good work on portraying a trauma survivor. It's a main reason why, for a long time, even when I started watching TOS, I thought it was some kind of exclusively AOS fandom thing (not Tarsus, of course, but all this SA/DV concept). An attempt to talk about what hurts, and what is familiar to the modern viewer, but which is difficult to talk about openly, as well as an attempt to give more sense to what is happening on the screen.

But if in the context of AOS, this is more fan reading than objective reality (again, because AOS was filmed primarily as entertaining action movies, and while I really like them overall, I realize that I want to see this complexity more than it actually exists there), TOS really has this complexity. And it really talks about these things.

TOS is generally perceived very differently by people, but in fact, I was able to explain it to myself quite unexpectedly - TOS is more theater than cinema. That's why it gives this feeling of "I've never seen anything like this in cinema before," because I haven't. But I've seen it in the theater. And like any good theater, it makes you think, speaking to you between the lines, through the acting, through the light, relying entirely on the viewer's ability to perceive what they see. It's a very allegorical thing, and any of its sequels (even the original films), spin-offs, prequels, etc., can't replicate that feeling. And here lies something, which, in my opinion, exists in the way TOS is perceived in the fandom, which has been oversaturated with information for 60 years. Almost no one perceives it as an independent thing. And under the weight of an entire franchise, something of genuine significance is lost.

TOS itself provides so much material for analysis that you don't have to try to see something that isn't there; you just have to look at what's in front of you. And that's why I'm especially in-a-bad-way-surprised when Kirk is perceived as misogynistic/cruel towards women/a frivolous womanizer/man-whore/etc, when he clearly isn't. He, and we're shown this more than once, sympathizes with women in a way that none of the other male characters do. He sympathizes with them from a very feminine side. And quite obviously, in situations with strangers, he prefers women's company to men's, not because he is a womanizer as is often claimed, but because, and this is actually very noticeable, he is more comfortable with them. I saw pages from Shatner's biography where he talks about an incident from his youth when he had a near-SA experience:

What happened that night changed my attitude toward women for the rest of my life. I understood the anger and frustration that a woman feels when she says no, and means no, and the man believes she is saying yes.

And speaking specifically about his acting, it's undoubtedly felt in TOS. That's what Kirk has. He understands that feeling of being treated like an object. And in three seasons of TOS, he's been treated exactly that way more than once. We have scenes of explicit coercion (through blackmail, manipulation, deprivation of the ability to control his own consciousness/body) into physical contact/sex that can't be read any other way. We have several episodes that, if he were a woman, would be perceived as blatant sexual assault/rape. We even have a moment (I honestly only remember "Wink of an Eye", but I have a feeling there was something else like it) where he is directly told that he is only needed for reproduction. Should we perceive it differently because he's a man?

For an entertainment show, it talks too much about traumatic experiences and life after them, constantly and coherently raising topics of the limitation of autonomy/violation of personal boundaries/physical or psychological abuse, and more often than not, does so through Kirk. It's emphasized how easily he separates himself from his own desires/feelings, and allows himself to be used, to violate his own boundaries (psychological or physical) if it gives a chance of survival (for himself/another person/the ship's crew) or to achieve another goal (which actually also concerns the chance of survival). There was an interesting moment in "The Lights Of Zetar" that I find quite revealing for understanding how deeply rooted this idea of "doing to survive" is in Kirk. When one of his subordinates is taken over by alien entities that are trying to destroy the entire ship, the only option to deal with them is to let them take her completely so they can be taken out through a pressure chamber. It's dangerous physically, but it's also psychologically abusive, and it's a difficult moral choice for her to make, which Kirk tells her with cool determination but also emotional understanding:

KIRK: They'll be here very soon. They may destroy you and us as they did Memory Alpha. You are especially susceptible to their will. But we have one chance to survive. Don't resist. Let them begin to function through you. If we can control that moment, we have a chance. Will you try?

And this understanding is not so much that of a ship's captain, but rather that of a person who is very aware of what it's like to let another take over your body if it means a chance at survival. A person who is well aware of what this "don't resist" means. This violation of personal autonomy/boundaries/physical and psychological safety is undoubtedly a dangerous part of working in Starfleet. However, there is a noticeable, and I don't think unintentionally emphasized, difference in the response to similar situations between Kirk and others. This is especially pronounced in Kirk/Pike parallels, which can be seen by analyzing Pike's behavior in a similar situation in "The Menagerie". Pike, who is shown to us as a model captain and a noble man, has a fairly healthy, distinctly masculine (and not in a bad sense of the word) reaction to the situation he finds himself in. He's naturally indignant, takes steps to get out, and keeps well this internal distance between himself and Vina/Talosians. As a captain, he's willing to sacrifice his freedom/his life for the sake of the ship's crew, but this is the personal courage he has as a person, something that still remains in the realm of beautiful heroism, noble self-sacrifice. It's not Kirk's survivalism, his ability to compromise his integrity, to let someone else get too (uncomfortably) close to him, just to have a chance, the real ugly and dirty face of survival. This is the difference that is traced in these two captains, this boundary of true understanding between "I am willing to do anything to survive" and "I can do anything to survive."

This is what generally makes Pike a better role model for healthy behavior patterns, but it's also what makes Kirk a much more meaningful character to understand. He turned out to be much more of a trauma survivor than the golden boy I expected to see him as, but it rather explains to me why he touched me so much as a character. Despite everything, he remains an idealist, a utopian, a humanist. It's not that he believes in people because he thinks they are good; he believes in them even though he knows they might not be. And this, I must say, is much more difficult and requires from you true kindness and the ability to forgive.

I watched "Measure of a Man" not long ago, and while it was indeed very good, the weird, toxic, bitter relationship between Picard and his JAG ex really made me nostalgic for one of my favorite Kirk/lady of the week relationships—Kirk and Areel Shaw in "Court Martial."

Kirk himself is the one on trial in "Court Martial," and Areel is the prosecuting attorney rather than the judge. They're exes in their early 30s who broke up in the past for unknown reasons, but are still fond of each other, respectful, and retain an amicable, pleasant relationship years after their break-up. Both of them handle the strain of Areel's professional obligations with maturity and grace, but not impossibly idealized invulnerability. Areel recommends a good defense lawyer for Kirk and regrets the role the situation places them in, but she also doesn't sabotage her case against him and is good at what she does.

The thing that really makes this a favorite "Kirkmance" for me, beyond all this, is that it's very obvious that both of them still care a lot about each other and remain deeply attracted to each other. Neither of them have anything to gain by this. They're both too intelligent and sensible to consider re-kindling their old romance; it fell apart for a reason, despite the lingering affection/attraction, and for pragmatic reasons, sex isn't on the table.

But both early and late in the episode, Kirk and Areel seem to enjoy the flirtation for what it is: not calculated or desperate, not useful, not some fridge horror dub-con scenario, not a high-romance disaster waiting to happen, not even a prelude to a one-night stand, just a fun and affectionate acknowledgment that the chemistry remains strong and they still love each other in a way. There's something genuine and tender and unforced about their flirtation and mutually agreed-upon good-bye kiss that is just so conspicuously different from the tactical Kirkmances. I think it's really lovely, actually:

[max1461]

I just found out I got a postdoc in Austria that starts in like 3 months, so I need to learn german to the greatest proficiency I can ASAP. It seems from your wise and powerful Posts that you have strong opinions about what works well in language-learning. Do you have any advice?

Yes. This is what worked for me in learning Japanese; YMMV.

So, I think that language learning is mostly about volume of practice in/exposure to the language, although that practice does have to maintain a minimum level of quality to be useful (e.g. not duolingo, duolingo is useless). Here is what I would say:

Ideally, find a German class and sign up for it. You may end up outpacing the class but it will both give you a backstop and also give you access to people to practice with and a native speaking teacher to ask questions to and model your pronunciation on. If the teacher is not a native speaker, do not take that class!

Probably the class will come with a textbook. If not, or if you can't join a class or so on, get a textbook and work through it. Ideally find one with lots of exercises and do all the exercises. Use some sort of flashcard system or rote memorization for vocabulary/conjugation tables/etc. You may have to experiment to find out what works for you; what worked for me was writing out big tables of verbs and conjugating them all in order to memorize the conjugations, for instance. Don't be afraid of memorization. My Japanese classes had weekly quizzes + a few hours of homework each week night, which was mostly translation, vocabulary, and grammar exercises. I studied for the tests and quizzes by rote. It always worked. You don't have to do this as much as I did, obviously, but subject to your needs just maximize your volume of practice vis à vis grammar and vocabulary.

Don't try to make grammar "make sense". The grammar rules are what they are. Too many learners get stuck on grammar rules that don't feel logical to them. Get over this immediately. Whatever the rule is, that's the rule; remember it and use it.

Practice speaking a lot. If you can't find native speakers to speak with, speak with your classmates. Ideally find native speakers to speak with. You can look online for like, language meet-ups and stuff. The thing is that grammar rules don't always make intellectual sense but they make functional sense; once you practice them enough they start to feel natural. Vocabulary can be memorized, conjugation tables and so on can be memorized, but you have to practice the language enough that you're no longer using that conscious, memorization-based part of your brain, shit just has to come out. Practice speaking and listening as much as possible.

This helped me, but it may or may not help you: remember that, ok... grammar is presented as a bunch of rules, which implies like, limitations. "Do X and don't do Y". But this is not what grammar really is, and it is not how you should approach grammar. Grammar "rules" are in fact tools for building sentences. Without grammar, you just have a bunch of disparate vocabulary items. With grammar, you have a way to put them together into something with a more complex meaning. Do not look at grammar points as rules that you must follow, look at them as new tools you have to build even more complex sentences and express even more ideas in the language. This is a crucial mistake many people make.