#i hope you like this one anon!

[morganaseren]

Pairing for thought: Josephine and Niamh

Y'all are just determined to never let the plot bunnies inside my head rest, huh? 😂 Well, lucky for you all, I've actually thought about this pairing before, mostly because I romanced Josephine in two previous Inquisition runs, and I think she's absolutely sweet. 🥰 For those of you whom have been reading OtSttCA, you'll know that Niamh is quite diplomatic and tends to take the route of peace whenever possible, so I imagine she and Josephine would get along rather well as a couple!

Things to Know:

No Blight of Darkspawn threat, but it will take place around the same time Origins does in 9:31 Dragon.

The Circle of Magi doesn't exist, so mages live freely.

The Veil was never torn apart, so elves also live freely in addition to being rather long-lived.

Based on lore, the Montilyets were originally a naval power in Antiva until 8:31 Blessed, where they lost favor with the Du Paraquettes over the alleged matter of marriage and fidelity. Incensed, the Du Paraquettes established a contract with the House of Repose to keep the family out of Orlais, but this exile brought the once formidable family to near ruin.

For the purposes of this AU, however, we're going to say the above schism happened closer to the turn of the new Age. Instead of the claim of infidelity, the Du Paraquettes (falsely) accused the Montilyets of cheating them out of merchant goods in this verse. This leads to the Montilyets to be blacklisted by the merchant industry.

By the time Josephine is barely a teenager, her parents are still trying to restore their reputation and fortune in much the same way Josephine herself did canonically in Inquisition. The Montilyets are barely keeping afloat as is by then, for where they once held hundreds of ships in testament to their power, they now maybe only have half a dozen or so at best.

Unfortunately, their push to return to Orlais led to the House of Repose going after them as deemed necessary by their contract, and to make matters worse, the Du Paraquettes also hired Rivaini pirates to sink any ships bearing the Montilyet crest. The latter happened when the family was sailing along the Waking Sea. The voyage was meant to be a family vacation of sorts to help them forget about their woes for a bit when they were suddenly attacked.

Thankfully, they were saved when a fleet of Mac Eanraig warships happened upon them during a patrol.

The Mac Eanraig clan held a fierce reputation as notorious raiders against Orlesian ships during the Fereldan Rebellion, and with the war's aftermath, the royal family tasked them with the crucial duty of guarding the country's waters as their premier naval power. The clan's influence also grew, however, when Eleanor Mac Eanraig (the famed Sea Wolf of the war) later married Teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever. In terms of hierarchy, the Couslands are only a tier below the monarchy of Ferelden.

With that knowledge along with the realization their children were now in even greater danger with the vendetta from both the Du Paraquettes and Rivaini pirates against them, Josephine's parents beg the Mac Eanraigs to arrange a meeting with the Couslands. In doing so, they hope to have Josephine betrothed to one of Bryce and Eleanor's children. The engagement of their daughter to a member of such a respected family would serve as a deterrent for their enemies against further attacking them until Josephine's parents can at least find any legal loopholes to stop the Du Paraquettes.

The Couslands feel for the Montilyets' plight and accept the betrothal on the condition that their youngest daughter (and only unmarried child) also agrees to the arrangement.

Thus, Josephine finds herself in the unexpected and unenviable position of having to convince someone she's never even met to marry her.

There is a bit of an age difference between Niamh and Josephine. As I recall, Josephine's writer mentioned she was anywhere between 27-29 years old in Inquisition whereas Niamh would be 33 by then. Since this AU takes place in 9:31 Dragon, I'm going to average Josephine's age out to be 18 around that time while Niamh would be 23.

With that all out of the way, I'm going to leave you all with a scene of Josephine and Niamh meeting for the first time!

Note: Anything written in regular print is an actual excerpt from the WIP while anything italicized just happens to be vague thoughts I have about certain scenes I plan on writing.

---

It had been some weeks since Josephine and her siblings had settled into Castle Cousland. The Teyrn and Teyrna had been most gracious in making them feel welcome, which Josephine is grateful for. The separation from their parents is hard enough after all. Both had returned to Antiva with an escort of Mac Eanraig ships in tow to ensure their safety while they navigate through the murky waters of diplomacy in an attempt to re-establish their holdings.

Her siblings seem happy enough to explore their new surroundings. While their estate back home wasn't terribly modest, the castle exists on a scale of both storied history and magnificence that perhaps the only one that could rival it is the one owned by Ferelden's royal family. As it is, Castle Cousland is a sight to behold—appropriate for a family whose name stretches back well into the Towers Age.

Still, the fact Josephine is there at all is just another unwanted reminder of the expectations placed upon her. With perhaps the exception of her brother Laurien—the next eldest behind her—their other siblings likely couldn't understand what's at stake if she fails.

At its core, her goal is to secure a negotiation. She's studied enough in regards to administration and diplomacy (with the hopes that her knowledge would eventually come to help ease the stress that weighed so heavily upon her parents) that she's at least confident in being able to present a case to her would-be suitor.

...of course, she's yet to see the woman in question.

---

Little bit of Cousland and Mac Eanraig backstory to help make sense of things!

So Bryce and Eleanor have three children: Fergus, Saoirse (my canon Hero of Ferelden), and Niamh.

As the firstborn, Fergus will become Teyrn of Highever once Bryce retires. Given the Blight never happened, he's still happily married to Oriana, and their young son Oren aspires to be a noble warrior just like his father one day.

Saiorse is serving as an up-and-coming Commander of Ferelden's royal army. She's married to Leliana, an expatriate of Orlais, who now serves as the Spymaster of Ferelden.

Niamh, of course, is the youngest. Because of her strong familial ties to the Mac Eanraig family, she's widely-acknowledged as the named heir and successor to her Aunt Eithne, who never married or had children of her own, which means the mantle as head of the Mac Eanraig clan as well as the position of Admiral to the family's entire fleet will go to Niamh by right upon her aunt's retirement or death.

For the time being, however, Niamh's position in this verse is similar to the one she has in her Take Me Under AU, where she's the Captain of the Mac Eanraig's fleet of research vessels. Their purpose is the study and conservation of marine biology, which is well-suited to Niamh's inner scholar. 🤓

Niamh still has access to her magic in this AU, and while it's true that she's grown up and trained on warships nearly all her life like her mother before her, she reserves violence as a last resort. Of course, she's not above protecting those near and dear to her in whatever way she can, which we'll discover later. 😉

Back to the story!

---

Josephine knows the Teyrn's youngest daughter is hardly avoiding her.

The woman's duties to her extended family, however, meant she was still out at sea by the time Josephine and her siblings had first docked at Amaranthine's port and settled into Highever.

Unfortunately, each day that passes without any progress toward securing a marriage contract only seems to fill Josephine with nagging doubt over her ability to see the matter through. As a means of distraction, she busies herself with fussing over the welfare of her younger siblings, but by then, each had found their own ways of keeping themselves occupied around the castle and the teyrnir in general (under the patient supervision of the various members of the castle guard, of course). Thus, they don't necessarily need Josephine at their side at every waking moment.

Uncertain with what to do with herself one day, Josephine mindlessly meanders through the castle's sprawling gardens. Therein, she sits in the shadows beneath the base of a large tree, and in the calm serenity surrounding her, the very careful mask of controlled dignity she's been wearing until that moment finally starts to crumble. Despite her best efforts, she can't stop her tears once they start. She doesn't know how long she sits there, weeping quietly into her hands. Soon enough, however, her breath hitches with a start when she feels the touch of a cold nose and whiskers against her leg.

Briefly bunching her fingers into fists with her fright, she looks down to see what is ostensibly a small, white cloud at first glance. Confused, she gracelessly wipes the tears from her eyes to clear her vision, but when she does, she sees a little puppy sitting before her instead, who watches her with a curious tilt of a head—a sight that's made all the more adorable with his drooping ears and his soft whine of concern.

Upon closer inspection, she also discovers the pup isn't quite a uniform white. Along his back is a gradient of dark fur markings, similar to a standard mabari. A little storm cloud then, she thinks with some amusement. Josephine wagers he's part of some specialized breed. She's curious as to how he got there though, but he seems friendly enough. She giggles when he licks at her fingers when she moves to pet him, causing his little tail to wag happily.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

The voice startles her for the second time in as many minutes, and she looks up to see a woman standing just at the shadowed edge of the tree. As if in answer to her earlier question, Josephine spots a multitude of white-furred puppies milling around the woman's legs. She reasons they're litter mates of her newest companion. Two mabari warhounds also stand nearby, but their appearance there at all makes Josephine wonder if the woman is perhaps one of Highever's Kennel Masters. She certainly has the musculature of someone not unused to hard work, and Josephine finds that she has to keep herself from staring at the bare arms on display before her. It doesn't simply have to do with the defined lines on them—or at least that's what she tries to convince herself—but moreso her surprise that the other woman doesn't seem at all cold.

Granted, the weather in Southern Thedas is certainly far cooler than what Josephine is used to, especially with the onset of autumn here, but the woman seemed exceedingly comfortable in her simple outfit of a sleeveless tunic, leather trousers, and boots--all a uniform black save for the silver buckle of her belt to cinch the tunic tighter around her waist.

The limited color palette pair well with the woman's appearance though with gentle waves of hair as dark as a raven's wing along with eyes that are like liquid moonlight.

Josephine also can't help but notice her accent is similar to the one borne by the various men and women whom make up the impressive Mac Eanraig fleet in Amaranthine—a distinctive, airy inflection that doesn't quite align with the standard Fereldan lilt. Could she be the daughter of one of the former raiders?

When the woman merely tilts her head in question—the gesture reminding her of the same one the puppy did earlier—Josephine flushes with embarrassment when she realizes she still hasn't responded to the earlier question.

"Oh! Please, pay me little mind. I'm just being silly..." She looks down at her lap with a sigh. "Honestly, it's a foolish thing to cry over."

But that only leads the woman's brows to draw together in concern. "If it's driven you to tears, my lady, then I'm inclined to disagree. You needn't tell me all the details if you don't wish to, but if you'd perhaps like someone to listen to your concerns as a means of navigating your thoughts and emotions, then I would not be opposed to doing so."

The offer is a kind one, Josephine acknowledges. She bites her lip in thought while her restless fingers gently pluck at the folds of her dress.

"My family is in danger. As a means to try and protect my siblings and I from further attacks by our enemies, my parents arranged a betrothal for me to a woman I've never even met. In order for the arrangement to even work though, she would also have to agree to it, and..." Josephine pauses with a sniffle. "...and I'm terrified that she won't. No one would agree to an engagement on such limited notice!" she blurts out. "I know I was always expected to marry as the presumptive heir to my family, but I never imagined it would be this soon! There's still much so much I want to do with my life, and I know it's selfish of me to even think that, especially since going through with this would mean my brothers and sister would be safe, but if I can't convince my wife-to-be to agree to the marriage contract, then this would all have been doomed from the start! I don't want to fail them when so much rests on me successfully negotiating this!"

Josephine can feel her thoughts spiraling anxiously as her words came out in an undignified rush, but she can't help herself. A look up at her guest reveals those misty-grey eyes have gone wide with seeming realization of the situation. Josephine's embarrassed that someone has seen her fall apart like this, but she can only give a grateful, watery smile when the other woman pulls out a handkerchief for her, which she uses to delicately dab at her eyes.

"If I could politely inquire," the woman begins quietly, "would you even be happy in this arranged marriage?"

"In time, perhaps," she replies tearfully. "My parents were also an arranged pair, but they grew to love each other greatly. I can only hope the same would be true of my partner and I. Still, I cannot help but envy the Teyrn and Teyrna," she admits.

Stories of The Soldier and The Sea Wolf had been told even all the way in Antiva after all. They had both fought side by side in the war against Orlais, and in its aftermath, they had both chosen to marry each other for love rather than simply as a means to accumulate more power and influence—a concept most rare across Thedas.

"Ah, yes." The other woman seems just as familiar with the couple's history if her gentle smile is any indication. "I suppose they were rather lucky in that regard."

"Most can only hope to be so fortunate."

"Such as yourself, I imagine. It seems as if you're sacrificing a great deal in this betrothal."

But Josephine can only shake her head. "No more than what my parents have already sacrificed to keep my siblings and I safe. If I can ease their stress while also ensuring my brothers and sister will be free from harm, then I would gladly accept this engagement again and again." She absentmindedly twists the fabric of the handkerchief about between her fingers. "I just worry the Teyrn's and Teyrna's youngest daughter won't agree to it. What if she believes I'm not a worthy suitor? What if she doesn't like me?"

"Given the kindness of your heart, I have difficulty believing anyone would find you unlikable," the woman offers reasonably. She cants her head then. "But I imagine that's not all that's bothering you, is it?"

Josephine shakes her head. "No. I've never been away from Antiva like this before, and I know I have my siblings here with me, but it's just..." She hiccups before continuing on shakily. "...I'm still very far away from home, and I don't even know anyone here."

As if in reaction to her distress, the pup from earlier whines before doing his best to climb atop her lap to offer comfort. He's still rather uncoordinated, however, and a slip of a back paw immediately leads him to tumbling off it with startled yelp. Josephine can't help but giggle at the sight, but before she can offer to help the friendly little mabari up again, a shadow edges closer. She looks up just in time to see the other woman has quietly closed the distance between them to take a knee in the dirt beside her. Slim fingers wrap around the pup to lift him up, and Josephine has to bite her lip to keep from further laughing as his paws paddle madly in the air, as if attempting to swim his way toward her.

"My lady, I admit I don't have an answer to all of your immediate concerns," she begins, "but if it pleases you, perhaps you'd be interested in having this pup and I as your first friends here in Highever?"

In spite of herself, Josephine finds herself immediately taken in by the warm smile directed her way. Giggles fall effortlessly from her lips when the woman moves the puppy closer toward her—albeit slow enough that Josephine can move herself away if she desires it— allowing him to lick away the remainder of her tears.

As she stares into silver-colored eyes, she can't help but think, Why couldn't it be you I fell for?

---

Of course, there's a hilarious moment when Josephine realizes just who Niamh is when the woman in question sits across the table from her that evening at dinner, especially when she's properly introduced by her parents.

In comparison to her earlier outfit (Niamh had just arrived home from a long voyage and hadn't had a chance to change yet), she's wearing garments more fitting of her station as a Teyrn's daughter.

She looks utterly gorgeous, and there's a moment where Josephine wants to die from embarrassment because she somehow didn't make the connection earlier to Niamh's identity. Of course, her mortification only grows when her seven-year old sister (I'm making up ages for Josephine's siblings at this point) Yvette loudly points it out.

"Josephine, why is your face so red? Are you sick? You look like papa when he drinks too much of the juice at parties."

And then the rest of Josephine's siblings have a little fun at her expense by also teasing her.

Niamh takes the reunion in stride though, effortlessly drawing Josephine and her siblings into conversation throughout dinner, which ends with her asking if Josephine would like to join her for a stroll out to a pond in the garden.

Josephine agrees eagerly.

---

As mentioned earlier, Niamh wasn't at Highever when Josephine and her siblings first arrived weeks earlier. She was out at sea to document the migratory pattern of an endangered marine species. She was actually brainstorming ideas with the Commanders of her research vessels about how to best restore the habitat the creatures had once thrived in when she received a messenger raven from her parents, detailing the plight of the Montilyets, which also required her to return home as soon as possible.

Admittedly, it wasn't the best situation to discover herself in.

Given how busy Niamh is with her usual duties to both sides of her family, she hadn't really given much thought about marriage. She was still thinking about it by the time she arrived at her family's castle, and as a means to further contemplate her choices, she takes a stroll through the garden, offering to the castle's Kennel Master to walk the latest litter of mabari pups about as well.

It's there that she originally finds Josephine, and as she reveals her dilemma, Niamh quickly realizes this is the same woman she's to be potentially betrothed to. Their conversation together quickly cements Niamh's decision about the matter though.

Thus, she agrees to the arranged marriage that same evening, much to Josephine's relief. 😄

While Niamh was admittedly hesitant about the idea, the fact that they both seem to care deeply about their respective families sealed the deal for her. She wasn't sure if she'd do anything differently were she in Josephine's position. That, and she could tell that Josephine's genuinely a wonderful woman.

---

When she and Josephine later begin to draft together the contract, Niamh makes it exceedingly lax on her part.

She offers no set marriage date, so the engagement could very well be a years-long one without any real intention of a marriage ever happening. She also has no issue if Josephine chooses to take another lover during their engagement—a fact that scandalizes Josephine when it's brought up.

Niamh, of course, remembers Josephine mentioning how much she still wants to do in life. As such, Niamh's very determined to have Josephine lead as normal a life as possible without much intervention on her part. Although she agreed to the betrothal as a means to help Josephine's family, Niamh always wants her to have a choice, especially in regards to anything she feels most passionate about. Niamh wants her to have the freedom to choose whatever her heart desires even if it means they would eventually break off their engagement, especially if the Montilyets ever successfully restore their name and trading status.

As with any engagement, however, that does require them to spend time together.

Josephine hasn't grown up on a ship quite like Niamh and her family have. That opportunity was long lost to her thanks to the Du Paraquettes' claims against her family before she was even born. She's always held a great love of the water though, and I think Niamh would recognize that easily. As such, she constantly invites Josephine aboard her ship whenever she has to make research trips around Southern Thedas or even beyond it.

Niamh even makes a point of inviting Josephine's siblings along as well to share in the experience. While some would assume it to be an easy way of further ensuring their eventual marriage by earning the affections of her brothers and sister, Josephine realizes that Niamh also wants to make them feel just as welcome.

Yvette, the youngest of all Josephine's siblings, is practically Niamh's shadow, following her about with wide-eyed wonder, completely in awe over the woman who is both a respected Captain as well as an avid scholar and explorer.

Niamh comes to greatly enjoy the company of the Montilyets—Josephine especially. 😏

For Josephine, she finds within Niamh both a friend and a fine partner—someone who can match wits against her with utter charm and aplomb. She's delighted to discover the other woman is also unbelievably sweet.

There are times where Niamh's duties require her to be away from Josephine. Still, Niamh finds various ways to indicate to Josephine she's constantly thinking about her.

Josephine can't stop the way her heart flutters whenever she receives little trinkets by messenger raven from Niamh. They're never anything terribly expensive: a pressed flower, a sketch of something interesting she'd found and wished she could share in person with her, a polished rock that happened to remind Niamh of the color of Josephine's eyes, etc.

It becomes quite evident to everyone else around them that they're both catching feelings for one another. They're both just too nervous to admit it. 🤣

---

Of course, there's brief trouble when rumors run ever rampant in Antiva regarding the Montilyet family. The latest one claims Josephine's parents essentially sold her off in a loveless marriage to a Fereldan sea warlord.

Lord Otranto of Antiva takes exception to this, and in a misguided attempt to save Josephine, his men kidnap her while she and Niamh are visiting Gwaren. Josephine had been strolling through some of the trading stalls while Niamh was busy discussing business matters with Anora. That's likely the only reason Otranto's men are able to get away with it.

Needless to say, Niamh is not the least bit happy when she finds out what happened...

She commandeers one of her aunt's fastest ships to Antiva, and what follows in her wake is a storm the likes the country has never seen before—testament to Niamh's fury and concern over Josephine's well-being.

Her actual confrontation with Otranto is similar to how the duel went down in Inquisition if you romanced Josephine.

---

Despite just debarking an impressive warship, Niamh wanders alone into the courtyard, where both Otranto and a crowd of curious people are waiting.

"Your reputation as the Storm Wolf is as true as they say," Ontranto remarks cautiously before lifting his chin defiantly. "How like a warlord to make their entrance in such violent fashion before a duel has been decided."

"'Violent?'" Niamh parrots almost playfully, but her smile is more a baring of teeth than an actual gesture of amusement. "I had no idea you found a bit of rain to be such a bother. Very well then."

With a simple snap of her fingers, the downpour suddenly stops although the clouds above them are still an ominous grey—a clear indication of Niamh's current mood. Deciding the courtyard was as good a place as any to hold a duel, she sends a small wave of fire—barely ankle-height—across the cobblestones between her and Ontrato with a flick of her wrist, drying the rain that had left them so slick earlier.

"Impressive," he admits grudgingly, "but how do I know you won't resort to using your magic again in this duel?"

"Then feel free to decide the weapons for us," Niamh remarks easily. "I'm a mage, yes, but I am as familiar with just about weapon that can be fought with upon the open seas. In addition to having two formidable warriors as my older siblings, I've also trained with the most seasoned raiders of the past Age across various warships. If that is not assurance enough for you, then let it go on record for all the criers present here that I am a woman of honor." For anyone present, there's little mistaking the absolute chill behind her wintry gaze as she regards her opponent. "And unlike you, I didn't have to steal Lady Montilyet like a thief in the night to earn her affections."

The words cause a rush of murmurs to travel across the ever-growing crowd. In emphasis of her disdain of the man before her, Niamh simply raises the staff she's been holding before slamming it back down with enough force that the staff blade embeds itself clean through the cobblestone as easily as a knife through parchment paper. She leaves it behind her without hesitation as she walks forward, and given how Otranto believes her to be such a violent warlord, Niamh has no qualms about perhaps using her bare hands to fight if the man insists on stalling their duel and keeping her from finding Josephine.

"Now kindly arm yourself, Lord Otranto, so that all of Antiva may see how outmatched you truly are..."

---

I will eventually do a proper fight scene, but let's just say it ends how everyone expects it to. 😂

At the climax, Niamh crosses blades with Otranto before using the strength behind her rapier to push him off. The man presses forward once more, but given she's used to sparring with great sword users like her sister, Niamh places enough power behind a one-handed downswing toward Otranto, who tries to block it, that she manages to snap his blade in half.

Weapon still in hand, Niamh approaches to interrogate him regarding Josephine's whereabouts. Before that even happens, however, Josephine makes her appearance in the courtyard, having successfully escaped the safehouse Otranto's men had been hiding her in.

Josephine begs them both to stop, and although the victor of the duel is already decided, Niamh immediately tosses her rapier away, surprising Otranto.

"You would have forfeited that easily had Lady Montilyet arrived earlier?"

"While it's true that I can bring the heavens and seas to heel beneath my power, I also understand the freedom of surrender to one who is most deserving of it."

And Josephine's heart is pounding in her ears when she recognizes the implication behind Niamh's words. "'Deserving of it?' Do you mean...?"

And that smile never fails to send her heart fluttering as Niamh kneels before her. "Of course. Is it truly such a surprise that I would more than willingly bend the knee to you, Mo Mhuirnín?"

(Note: Mo Mhuirnín is an Irish term of endearment that is phonetically pronounced "Muh Voor-neen" and means "My Beloved.")

So, by this point, Otranto realizes everything he and the rest of Antiva had been told regarding Josephine's relationship with Niamh had been one huge lie by the Du Paraquettes. He's profusely apologetic about the entire thing, but Niamh just graciously waves it off, still riding high on the fact that Josephine returns her love.

The Montilyets do eventually get their name and trading status restored in both Antiva and Orlais after proving the Du Paraquettes had been spreading slander about them from the very beginning. The process of rebuilding will take years if not decades, but Niamh and Josephine are determined to make it work.

Niamh and Josephine are also eventually married with weddings taking place in both Ferelden and Antiva with their respective ceremonials customs involved.

So, yes, I can indeed imagine this pairing to be a very good one. 😉

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[technically-human]

Payneland² 

[srapsodia]

Heard you're still looking for nekoma prompts 👀👀 I would absolutely love 24 with Lev and literally anyone else sharing an umbrella (or like multiple folks, the more chaotic the better, please and thank you 🙏🏽)

24: sharing an umbrella

some kitty cats in the rain! 🐈

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

Hey hey hey may 31th anon! How's 2024 going? ☆ヾ(*´▽｀)ﾉ This year I have for you a leaked Sherlock season 5 image. Thinking of you!! And everyone!!

[myokk]

clumsy

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

summary: sebastian is clumsy

cw: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, two really stubborn idiots in love to be exact, sir cadogan guest appearance, anne and imelda are the gremlin best friends every girl needs, smut (18+ ONLY), oral (f. recieving)

a/n: or: two stubborn brats make things more difficult than they have to be. I've been working on this for a MONTH more or less, ever since I drew the sketch that inspired it🫶 (I'm the world's slowest writer)

The first time Sebastian Sallow interacted with her after the fateful events of their fifth year, he fell for her.

Quite literally.

Maybe fell on her is more aptly put - Sebastian Sallow is not one to mince his words or say what he doesn't mean, after all. But, in the years to come, he always insists that he fell in love in that moment.

It was inexplicable. One moment, he was walking around, perfectly content with his loveless, boring life, and the next, his every waking moment was painful. Nobody had ever told Sebastian that being in love would physically pain or consume him so.

It all started like this: one moment, he's walking (well, striding) to Crossed Wands. Fine, he's running. Running late already, for the first meet-up of his last year. But - he isn't to blame for being late. He needed to check on something in the library - during his Transfiguration lesson, he had a hunch about something Professor Weasley had said in passing, and of course he had to go and check to see if he was right before he could even think about besting Leander in the inaugural duel of the Crossed Wands season but now, with how late he is - how many minutes ago had it started? - oh, Merlin, it's already been ten whole minutes and what if they've started without him (not that he can blame them) and -

Sebastian is abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when he collides with a strange obstruction in his way. He was just checking his father's old pocket watch, had only looked away for a split second and he could have sworn that, unless he was mistaken (which he never is), there wasn't a statue in the middle of the suspension bridge. And yet, he has run headfirst into something or someone, and now they are both flying through the air, books whirling around them in a flurry of pages and Sebastian unconsciously puts his arms out to grab her before they hit the ground and now he's holding her tight against him and they land with a loud, ungraceful thud, but at least she's not hurt.

Sebastian shakes his head to clear it after the impact that - miraculously - doesn't seem to have been as bad as it could have been, all things considered, and -

He freezes.

What has he done?

He's pressed up against the most impossibly lovely person he has ever seen quite possibly in his life, holding her tightly in his arms as she glares up at him in indignation, a faint flush spreading across her cheeks, making her face glow. Is this what the muggles mean when they say that they were struck by Cupid's arrow? Her hands scrabble uselessly at his chest as she tries to extricate herself from his grip. It's useless. Sebastian is completely frozen in place as he stares down at her, and he can feel his own face heating up at his inability to get off her. What's wrong with him?

"Sebastian," she repeats, and this time her voice registers in his brain. He realizes she has been talking to him this whole time, and as he stares at her face without comprehending - he couldn't have a coherent thought right now even if he wanted to - he sees her eyes dart quickly down, looking at where their bodies meet before she brings them back to his face, a deeper blush coming over her. "You -"

Oh, Merlin. It's her. He blinks and it's like the fog has cleared from his mind - almost, but-not-quite - and he realizes who he has unceremoniously crashed to the ground with him. The spines of the textbooks they are lying on top of dig into the arm that's pinned under her body and his other hand...he realizes (to his almost-horror) that to any students or professors walking by, it would seem as if they were caught up in quite the scandalous extra-curricular activity because his other hand is actively caressing her breast. Well, that's how it would look to any passerby, anyways.

Because there is no way he would be caught dead in such a compromising position with her.

The two of them haven't spoken since the events of their fifth year - the Year-That-Shall-Not-Be-Remembered-or-Acknowledged - and he had been perfectly content with his plan to continue this strange sort of ignoring that they had played all last year. Both of them pretending that they hadn't become impossibly close after only knowing each other for a few months - a closeness that he had gone and ruined by not knowing when to quit. All he had known to do back then was push push push because why couldn't she see things the way he had? The betrayal he had felt when she had gone behind his back to find her own way to cure his sister, and that one stupid word uttered in the heat of the moment, had caused an irreparable rift in their relationship and he would not allow himself to think about how much he missed her. Still misses her.

Just like he will not think about the fact that she is pressed beneath him in a compromising position, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she glares up at him in indignation. He continues to stare at her. Maybe his mouth is agape. She's stopped trying to get out of his grip and is resting her hands on his chest, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to push him off of her.

"Sebastian. Your hand," she repeats. "You're -"

Finally his idiot brain decides to wake up and Sebastian realizes with horror just how aroused he is at the moment and how did he never see her like this before? He gets up in a flash, pushing her back against the pile of books they're lying on top of, wondering if he can subtly adjust his robes without her realizing and then he makes the very grave mistake of looking down at her and she's still very much red-faced, propping herself up by her elbows and she looks so disheveled and lovely lying on top of the pile of books.

His idiot brain has now woken up completely, and how is it possible for one hormonal, eighteen-year-old wizard to be so embarrassed? He knocked her to the ground, pushed her further back in the books in his desperate attempt to get away from her, and now all he can think about is how to hide his arousal. Shameful, really. Sebastian quickly crouches down to help her pick up all of the books but she shoves him away and glares at him with an annoyance that he's never seen before.

"I can do it myself, thank you very much," she says with a huff, gathering everything they spilled up into her arms. She grabs the book Sebastian is holding out of his hands and he inhales sharply at the touch of her fingers grazing his.

Did someone - Garreth, maybe - spike his pumpkin juice with Amortentia during lunch? It's the only explanation he can think of as he stares blankly down at her. How else would he find her so beautiful, so breathtaking, when the last time they had interacted, Ominis and Anne had had to act as intermediaries for the two of them?

"Well," she says finally, slinging her school bag over her shoulder once all of her books have been unceremoniously shoved inside of it, "it's been...nice seeing you again, Sallow. I hope you had a good summer holiday."

And with that, she quickly turns and walks away in the direction she had been coming from, leaving a very confused Sebastian behind. He watches her as she walks away and her long, swishing braid is the last thing he sees before the door closes behind her at the far end of the bridge.

Eventually, he gathers his wits and wanders away.

He does not go to the first Crossed Wands meeting that afternoon after all.

She has not had a full-night's sleep since he somehow cursed her mind and her thoughts a week ago, and she can feel herself slowly slipping into insanity. A curse is the only answer that makes sense, the only thing that gives a conceivable answer to all the wicked dreams she has been having since that moment, dreams that cause her to wake up sweaty and breathless and needing him in the middle of the night in a way she has never felt before. She has been an absolute mess, a disastrous version of her normally quite put-together self, and she is not happy about it.

He's sitting next to her now - they were partnered up by the evil Professor Onai in their first NEWT Divination class of the year - and she's holding herself rigidly, arms tight across her chest, in an attempt to not accidentally touch him. Lately, every single time they make fleeting eye contact across the table during breakfast, or when they pass each other in the hallways, a shiver runs down her spine at the unfamiliar look in his eyes and she has to avert her eyes before it's too much.

Divination has never been a favorite subject of hers - too impermeable for her tastes. She is only taking it at the NEWT level because, during her career counseling with Professor Ronen at the end of her fifth year, he had said that if she wanted to be an Unspeakable she couldn't just work with logic (a preposterous thought, but as a sixteen-year-old she hadn't seen any recourse in arguing with the Ministry's requirements). She supposedly needs to get comfortable with the intangible as well. It doesn't mean she has to enjoy it, though: she doesn't, and never will. The Divination classroom is dark and stuffy, tucked away in one of the highest towers of the castle, and the nauseating smell of incense always coats her nasal cavities long after the class has finished. She finds her thoughts getting muddled in the haze of candle smoke and swirling orbs on the shelves around her - magic somehow always feels thicker up here - and the presence of a certain someone whose knees keep brushing hers under the tiny table they're sharing, a certain someone who has - improbably, inconceivably, impossibly - hit a growth spurt that summer and now towers over her and had encompassed her completely when he knocked her to the ground, isn't helping her concentration at -

"This week, we are going to review everything we learned together last year," Professor Onai says, after the class had rearranged itself based on her instructions. Sebastian shoots a look at her as she shakes her head in an attempt to clear it and sits up straighter. She hopes that Onai's lecture will help her concentrate and clear her mind a bit. If she has something to focus on, to try and think of and remember, it will be better than him. Anything would be better than Sebastian. Onai gives an appraising look to each table before continuing her speech. "As your NEWTs are at the end of the year, we need to make sure you are as prepared as possible. Open your books to page two-hundred and thirty. Today we're going to review the art of palmistry. I should hope that you do not need the aid of your textbook to help interpret the lines in your partner's palm but in the case that you do -"

She chances a glance at Sebastian before getting out her copy of Divining the Undivinable from her bag and wishes she hadn't. He looks uncomfortably big sitting on the tiny tea chair across from her, barely any hints of the boy who had completely swept her away two years ago visible on the sharper planes of his face. When had he - had they - grown up?

Sebastian Sallow was - is - charming, and that had been her downfall. She had successfully avoided his charms the year before, and she wasn't going to let that happen this year, no matter how much her body rebelled against her mind and resolve. Because, as she reminds herself, Sebastian Sallow is also manipulative, and cold-hearted, and selfish.

"Well," she says archly, opening her book. She will not look at him. "I suppose I am still quite ignorant of the practice of Divination, so do forgive me if I have to double-check my readings in the textbook."

He says her name as she opens the book, and she ignores him. He says her name again. She continues to ignore him. He grabs the book from her hands and puts it the correct way for her. She was looking at it upside-down. Her cheeks heat up and she continues flipping through the pages, as if nothing has happened. She finds page two-hundred and thirty. She pretends to be interested in what she sees.

(Divination is unfortunately not interesting.)

Oh, fine.

"Do you want to start, or should I?"

These are the first words she has voluntarily spoken to him - not including the events of last week, which do not count as they were most decidedly not voluntary - since he called her ignorant a year and a half ago. He somehow looks surprised to see that she has addressed him, and for some reason this fills her with rage and a strange sort of confidence. Why shouldn't she be able to talk to him?

"Here," she says, putting her hand out towards him, palm up, ignoring the strange fluttering feeling in her chest when he gently grabs it with one of his. Sebastian looks up at her, waiting for her to continue speaking, and were she not looking at him so intently she would have easily missed the bob of his throat as he swallows nervously. "Show me how it's done."

Her breath catches in her throat at the small, mischievous smirk he shoots to her before he bends over her hand and gently starts tracing the lines on her palm with the fingers of the hand that's not holding hers in place. His touch is feather-light and somehow soft, despite the roughness of his fingers as they drag over her palm. Every nerve in her body seems to have moved to wherever he touches and all of the bravado and anger she had just felt is quickly melting away. When she finally finds her voice, she hates how soft and breathy it sounds. She can't look away from the sight of his larger hands caressing hers.

"Well? What do you see? Do you remember the different lines? Because I -"

She falters. The murmurs of their classmates blend together in the background and the dim lights of the candles...the hazy, thick atmosphere and his proximity and the barely there touches of his rough fingertips on her sensitive palm are altogether too overwhelming and she needs to get out of there. She's supposed to be angry with him. Furious, even. Holding this grudge has been the only way she has been able to have any sort of power over him this past year, and yet...all she can think about at the moment are the sinful dreams she's been having lately where he presses her against a wall, desperately kissing her lips, her neck - even she knows that there has to be more to it - but what?

Sebastian blinks as she snatches her hand away like it's been burned and - oh, Merlin - she shoves the textbook back into her schoolbag and almost knocks the candle on the table over and wouldn't it be awful if she had started a fire? But she can't think about any of that now in her haste to just get out of the claustrophobic Divination tower.

Vaguely, she can hear Professor Onai asking her if everything is fine and she's not sure but she thinks she mumbles something about needing to go to the Hospital Wing - that's a good enough excuse to leave, isn't it? - but then she hears his voice, deep and cutting through the fog in her mind -

"Don't worry, I'll take her and make sure she gets there fine." A muffled response from their professor and then his voice, just as clear as before. "No, I don't know what happened..."

She hears him calling her name as she flees down the spiral staircase, almost tripping over her feet in her rush to get away from him, but he catches up quickly, reaching out to grab her arm in an attempt to slow her down. She stops running immediately - she supposes her traitorous body wants to see what he has to say, or maybe it just wants to bask in his intoxicating proximity. He crowds her space, and she sees that unfamiliar look in his eyes again. So very different from the cold disdain she had seen the last time she had been this close to him, during the argument that had ended their friendship.

"Let go of me," she whispers, but there's no conviction in her voice as she gazes into his deep, brown eyes. He can tell she doesn't mean it and doesn't make any move to listen to her. Why can't she hold on to the rage? A muggle quote about anger floats through her mind: Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. What a sweet poison her anger at Sebastian had been, while it lasted. She tries telling herself that he must still feel the same as the evening he had called her ignorant (ignoring the small voice in her head that reminded her of the letters of apology he had sent (that she had burned without reading), the times he had tried to get Anne or Ominis involved and apologize for him) - because why couldn't he just tell her himself? Maybe she had shut down any and all attempts he had made to repair the rift that he had caused in the first place, but she had been right to be so angry with him.

But oh, Merlin, he's getting closer to her, and she can now clearly see the freckles dusting his cheeks and nose and forehead and then before she knows it, his hand is sliding up her arm, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches and then he's caressing her jaw with his rough thumb and he pauses. Her eyelids flutter closed as her head tilts towards him - she couldn't stop herself even if she wanted to (what does she want?). She can feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips and she has the improbable, ridiculous thought - how is he remembering to breathe? - before he speaks. His lips brush against hers with every soft word and a deep shiver runs through her body.

"I," she hears him say, his voice so, so low, "haven't been able to think since last week."

That's all she needs to hear, the brush of his bottom lip against hers all she needs to feel, to push her into closing what minuscule distance there is between them and then his lips are on hers and it's better than anything she's been imagining. His mouth is soft against hers, insistent, and her hands go up to grip the collar of his plaid jacket to make sure he doesn't go away or disappear on her.

She knows she's behaving wantonly, snogging Sebastian Sallow in the middle of the hallway where anyone could come across them, but third period has only just started and besides, she has had a week of restless nights being tortured by thoughts of him. A week of a few hours of sleep found here and there. Just one kiss should be enough to help her get over these strange feelings, right? She only feels like this because having him lie on top of her after he crashed into her - that satisfying weight of him - the friction of his thumb brushing against her nipple - had made her realize just how stupid she had been, holding this grudge against him for -

She whimpers in protest but it quickly turns into a moan as his mouth moves away from hers and down to her neck. He pulls at her tight collar desperately - she hears some seams ripping - to give him better access to it, and she finds herself arching her back and pushing her body closer to his as he nuzzles her neck with his nose before giving it open, sloppy kisses. When he hears her, he moves back to kissing her, greedily capturing every breathy moan that comes out of her mouth, but the noises coming from him are matching hers, and at the sound she feels an unfamiliar clenching deep in her stomach. Her fingers come up to his hair, going through the silky curls over and over - how are they as soft as his lips? - and he slowly pushes her back until she's sandwiched between his warm body and the cold stone of the wall behind her.

He lets out a low, frantic growl as a hand goes to grip the back of her head, holding her in place as he slants his mouth over hers. He tastes like cinnamon and...like something forbidden. What has gotten into her? She hates him, and yet...

They have abandoned any pretense of propriety - had they ever even been trying? - by this point. His tongue swipes across her lips and then she is completely lost to him, to every sensation of his mouth, and tongue, on hers. His large hands - the wicked hands that had been caressing her palm and had caused this whole mess in the first place - have moved to her waist and are pulling her even closer to him. When he pulls away briefly, she whines in protest, opening her eyes to glare at him. The sight of him, flushed and breathless, his eyes wide and pupils dilated - must match her own appearance because she sees the same hunger she feels in his eyes. She has never seen Sebastian Sallow so disheveled, but she finds she quite likes it and tugs on his curls with a whine. He obliges eagerly, bringing his mouth back to hers.

She's pressed as tightly against him as she can possibly be, and yet it still isn't enough. Her back arches once again, trying to find something, and then he slots one of his knees between her legs. She moans at the friction caused by his movements, can feel an unfamiliar slickness forming at the juncture between her legs, and this seems to spur him on further as his kisses get more desperate and sloppy. She moves against his leg, trying to relieve some of her discomfort, gasping into his mouth, when -

They freeze. Even if they are fully, completely, absorbed by...whatever this is, they can't ignore the strange, metallic clanking sound coming from their left. Sebastian pulls his head back from her slowly, reluctantly, breathing heavily, and looks over to see what the noise is. She wants to, but all of a sudden the horrifying reality of what they've been doing sinks in and oh god what if the noise is a person? Someone who has now seen her in what might possibly be the most mortifying moment of her life - desperately snogging Sebastian Sallow - and she finds she can't look over. She tucks her head into his neck to hide her face as she listens.

"I demand that you get away from her at once, you knave! Cease your attack!"

The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but she's certain that it doesn't belong to any of her classmates. He almost sounds...medieval, but -

"I made haste when I heard sounds of distress coming from down the hallway," the voice continues, "and it appears I have arrived not a moment too soon!"

She brings her head away from Sebastian's shoulder but still refuses to look over at whoever is speaking, instead choosing to stare at Sebastian's face. He's still deliciously flushed from their snogging, still breathing heavily, but now he looks terribly confused. His brows are furrowed, mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with a response to the outrage currently being directed at him.

The unknown man is continuing his diatribe, almost not even stopping to breathe as he gets more and more worked up, and she hears some more clanking as he reaches a particularly exciting moment in his rant. Sebastian looks increasingly confused, but still shields her with his body, not moving away from her at all despite the accusations.

Her curiosity gets the better of her and she peeks over to see who it is.

The man who has been reprimanding Sebastian so boldly is none other than Sir Cadogan. Although she's never interacted with him directly, she often hears him yelling at his pony as she passes his portrait on her way to Divination. The knight is standing between two witches having tea, who are glaring at him quite angrily as he gesticulates wildly - every movement of his sword comes dangerously close to their display of cakes and sandwiches and it looks like he has already broken some plates. His armor is ill-fitting and loose on him, which explains the terrible noise.

"You rascally knave! I assure you that you do not want to find out what will happen to you if you do not unhand the fair maiden."

He brandishes his sword again, and the woman closest to him quickly snatches her tea cup away to save it from being broken as well. "Come now, Sir Cadogan," she says, exasperated. "Can't you see that these two are in love?"

The other woman joins her protests, nodding vigorously. "Yes, exactly that. Leave them be!"

"Nonsense," he exclaims. "I too have succumbed to my baser instincts on occasion and I can assure you that this is decidedly not what is occurring."

As Sir Cadogan continues to alternate between lecturing her and Sebastian, and directing his two attention to the ladies who are defending them, she looks back to the boy in question. Sebastian is looking down at her, a bemused smile on his lips and she feels a twinge in her chest. His face is still so close to hers that if she wants to, they could be snogging again with barely any effort and her eyes briefly flicker down to his tempting mouth before going back to his eyes, but...

What had gotten into her? What is she doing?

He had somehow managed to manipulate her again, because there is no way that this situation could have happened otherwise. All of a sudden, the anger she's been feeling for the past year and a half - that had left for a brief, blissful moment - surges again, and she pushes Sebastian away from her with as much force as she can muster. She almost feels bad as the happiness in his face turns to confusion, then frustration as he realizes she's getting away from him.

"Stay away from me," she hisses, picking up her discarded schoolbag from its spot on the ground. As she stalks down the hall, she can hear Sir Cadogan cheering on her bravery over the ringing in her ears.

She has a lot of thinking to do.

Sebastian Sallow's List of Priorities (in no particular order):

Figure out what the hell I'm going to do when I graduate;

Figure out how the hell I'm going to finish this bloody Charms essay before tomorrow; and

Figure out what the hell is going on between us

Sebastian sits in an undisturbed corner of the library - nobody ever comes to this table because it's tucked away between shelves of incredibly dense magical theory books - and is twirling his quill in his fingers, watching the ink splatter on the list he spent his precious time writing instead of the Charms essay he should be working on. He's far away from the first-years who like to congregate by the windows and watch the leaves fall softly to the ground rather than study for their classes. He's made especially sure that he is far, far away from her.

It's not his choice, mind you, but he needs to be a gentleman about these things. If she needs some time and space to figure out that she's as crazy for him as he is her, fine. But even Sebastian Sallow's patience runs thin, and he's not sure how much longer he can give her to come to her senses before he snaps and takes matters into his own hands. If things were up to him, the two of them would be sitting far too close together now in this secluded corner, and maybe he would need to put a hand over her mouth to ensure her complete silence as he runs a hand up her thigh.

Now that he knows what delicious sounds can come out of her mouth - sounds that he caused - he's been having a hard time concentrating on, well, anything. Sebastian surreptitiously glances across the library to where she's sitting and studying with his sister and Imelda. Ever since the events after their Divination class, Sir Cadogan has taken it upon himself to follow Sebastian around the halls of the castle, tripping through frames and disrupting their inhabitants as he lectures Sebastian on love. The tea party women had managed to convince the knight that he had disrupted an amorous exchange, and Sebastian fervently wishes they hadn't.

The whole school is abuzz with rumors about who it could be. Nobody has even come close so far with their guesses, but Anne and Imelda are having too much fun teasing him about it. Somehow, she has managed to avoid suspicion - he wonders how this is even possible, since she's never been able to hide what she's thinking. He makes eye contact with her - has she been staring at him this whole time? - and she flushes before looking over to Imelda, who's laughing too loudly at something Anne's just said. Sebastian can't tear his eyes away from her profile, his eyes following the curve of her eyebrow, the slight upturn of her lips as she smiles at her friends, her eyes as they dart back to him, her cheeks as she turns an even darker shade of red as she realizes he's still watching her. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and rests her chin on her hand as she tries to look absorbed in what Anne is saying to her.

Sebastian wonders if she's thought about him as much as he's thought about her. Judging by how she had snogged him back, he's positive that she feels the same way, but then he remembers how she had looked at him before she fled, and he's not so sure. He sighs as he looks back to his list, bringing his quill back to the third item and ripping the paper as he crosses it out again. His mind has been going in circles since that moment and he doesn't know what to think. He slowly puts everything into his schoolbag before heading out of the library for yet another freezing cold shower that hopefully tempers his now-permanent state of arousal whenever she's around.

He doesn't notice her eyes following him as he walks out of the library.

He doesn't hear her hurried excuse to Anne and Imelda as she shoves her things into her bag and rushes to follow him.

He doesn't hear her light footsteps as she gets closer to him.

When she puts a hand out to touch his arm as he waits for the moving staircase to stop, with a soft, "Sebastian" accompanying it, he nearly jumps out of his skin. He was so absorbed with thoughts of her, that to see her standing at his side, closer than she had been since they kissed was almost his snapping point.

"Can we talk?" she asks, looking almost embarrassed as she avoids his eyes. She instead looks determinedly at his collar. He thinks she probably notices that he swallows nervously before acquiescing, but she says nothing as she turns and starts hurrying away from him without waiting to see if he follows her.

She must know that he would follow her anywhere at this point.

They weave through hallways - Sebastian vaguely wonders where exactly they're going - before reaching a little alcove, hidden by a suit of armor. She looks around before pulling him into it. It's almost curfew and the halls are never that busy when the weather is as beautiful as it has been these days - the end of September seems to be clinging on to the summer for as long as possible.

Her lips are on his before he can even ask her what she needed to talk with him about, hungry and desperate. Sebastian is too stunned to pull away - not that he would actually want to. Her arms wrap around his neck, keeping Sebastian close, slender fingers sliding through his hair.

"What," she says breathlessly between kisses - almost not even moving her mouth away from his enough to be able to enunciate properly, "are you doing to me? I haven't been able to think for the last month."

Sebastian smiles into her mouth, wondering if she knows that she's repeating the very thing he told her two weeks ago. Maybe she has been thinking of him all this time - he almost hopes that she's been suffering as much as he has. Instead of responding, he moves a hand to cup her jaw, deepening the kiss. His other hand moves to her waist, gripping it tightly, pulling her flush against his body and she gasps into his mouth. He slowly moves her closer to the window alcove behind them, snogging her senseless the whole time. She moans into his mouth which just spurs him on further - her skirt rides up to her hips as Sebastian trails a hand up her stockinged thigh and they both gasp when his hand reaches skin. Her skin is so, so soft and her breathing gets faster as he continues to caress her inner thigh, closer to the bend between her thigh and her center. Sebastian wonders if she's ever been touched there before by someone else and jealousy flares up inside of him at the thought.

In one swift move, he scoops her up and places her so that she's sitting on the window-ledge, the dusky light of the sunset illuminating her from behind and making her wispy flyaway hairs a golden halo around her. Sebastian's breath catches in his throat - has he ever seen anything so beautiful as her in that moment? - she's staring up at him, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her breathing shallow and anticipation in her eyes. "You're," he starts saying and his throat goes dry. He brings a hand up to tuck the errant lock of hair - the one she had tucked earlier in the library - behind her ear and she leans her head into his touch, closing her eyes briefly before looking up at him again with wide eyes. "You're perfect."

She smiles faintly and pulls his head back down towards hers and now she's brushing her lips against his, teasing him, before it's too much and he grips the back of her head, holding her in place as he crushes his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. Her knees are on either side of his waist, and she desperately grinds her core against his throbbing erection and they both groan at the friction. Sebastian moves his hands down to her thighs again as he kisses her, slowly caressing his way up and pushing her skirt up further until it's completely bunched around her waist. She gasps into his mouth at his first tentative touch after he pushes aside her undergarments. Sebastian swipes a finger up her slit, through the slick that coats it, and then he starts circling her clit with slow, even strokes. She shivers against him - at his touch - clinging tightly to his shoulders and gasping into his mouth as he continues.

Every little noise coming out of her mouth, feeling how wet she is, how the slickness keeps growing growing growing makes Sebastian hungry for more - it isn't enough -

Slowly - so slowly - he wants to savor this moment - he lowers himself until he's kneeling between her legs and he looks up at her. Her face is deliciously flushed, all swollen lips and hair in a wild cloud around her face and all she can do is stare down at him. Her chest is heaving and she tries to close her legs - hide what is exposed to him - but he holds her thighs firmly in place on either side of his head. He turns his head and kisses her inner thigh, maintaining eye contact as he swipes his tongue across where he's just kissed, moving closer towards her slick center.

"Oh," she breathes, not-quite-a-word, not-quite-a-gasp, when his mouth reaches her center and hovers over it, lips slowly teasing her the way she had just teased him. Sebastian tentatively runs his tongue up her slit; the loud moan she lets out when he reaches her clit makes him stay there, applying light and not-so-light pressure in equal measure.

Her hands are scrabbling at his hair, digging into his scalp, ruining his earlier attempts to make it look presentable, hopefully attractive, for her these days. She's pushing his head deeper into the space between her legs, starting to rock herself slightly on his mouth, and Sebastian is happy to oblige. He eagerly laps up her slit, and the obscene wet noises as he continues combined with her whimpers and barely-spoken profanities "oh-yes-fuck-yes-there-please-" are making him hard beyond belief. He's straining against his trousers, begging to be let free. Without moving his face from her, he unbuttons his trousers and starts palming himself, using the slickness weeping out of the tip as lubrication.

She's abandoned all control at this point, grinding herself into his face as he laps her up, and it's driving him wild - knowing that he's doing this to her - causing her to be so undone. Normally she's so poised and aloof, never letting any real emotion flicker across her face, so to see her so desperate and needy and wanting him so -

Sebastian's gasping into her, tongue deep inside of her, "ohmygod" he hears her whisper, her hips driving into his face when she shudders and goes still, pulsing around the tongue that's deep inside of it. He slows down, smiling as he continues to run his tongue up her slit until she's responsive again. He kisses her inner thigh and hears her moan before getting up, caressing a finger down her love-struck face and leaning his head down to kiss her deeply. With his other hand he's still touching himself - the thought that she can taste herself on his tongue driving him crazy - and he starts rubbing its blunt head against her swollen clit. She takes it out of his hand- he groans at the feeling of her soft hands (the hands he had held a week ago in Divination and pictured doing this exact thing) tentatively caressing his length before she begins to slide it up and down her slit, coating it in her wetness.

Sebastian has surrendered all control to her - resting his hands on either side of her hips on the windowsill, tucking his head into the crook of her neck and thrusting with her movements as he loses himself in the sensation of sliding through her slick folds. He can feel his release building building building, and when he finally comes, all over her perfect, pink center, it feels like a finally.

Sebastian feels so, so heavy as he pulls his head away from her shoulder, as if he could fall into a blissful sleep right there, in the little window alcove where they've hidden themselves away. The sun has now set completely and they're in shadow as they stare at each other, the sound of their ragged breathing filling the tiny space.

"Sebastian, I..."

She's staring at him with an unfathomable expression on her face, still holding him in her hand, her other hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They look down and he feels his face heat up even more at the mess he's made - he quickly pulls out his wand and cleans her up, before looking back at her, giving her a wry smile as he buttons up his pants and helps her off the ledge. "What did you want to talk to me about, again?"

She gives a slight shake of her head and looks away, but she can't hide the small smile that's growing on her face just like she can't help her eyes that keep wandering over to his. He knows the growing smile on his face matches hers - did that really just happen? She reaches over to lace her fingers through his as they walk around the suit of armor. "I - it's not important."

"Come on," he says, not being able to resist the opportunity to tease her - he's somehow managed to break through the barriers she's set up around her, and he's not about to let the opportunity slide. "Surely that's not what you had in mind when you..."

Sebastian trails off as he sees the expression in her face turn to one of horror - he didn't think his teasing was that bad, was it? - but she's also pulling her hand out of his like she's been burned and -

He follows her gaze, to where it's fixed at the end of the hallway and he knows that once again his face mimics hers. He will never live this down.

Standing at the end of the hallway and looking like two cats who've just found a huge dish of milk, are his sister and Imelda.

Misery.

Complete and utter misery are what she's feeling, if she has to put it into words, which she does. Writing things down always helps her out, helps her organize her thoughts into some sort of order. Except...this time around, it's not really helping. She can't seem to make any sense of her feelings for Sebastian.

She looks over the muddled mess of words she's written down - stream of consciousness, incomprehensible babble - and sighs. She's been dreaming of falling in love since she was a young girl - Jane Austen will do that to you - and can't believe that now that she's had her opportunity, it has to go and be with Sebastian Sallow. Because it has to be love, hasn't it?

There can be no other explanation for the painful way her stomach twists itself up whenever she catches a glimpse of him these days, the way he's consuming her every thought - even when she's dreaming she can't escape him. She can't get the sight of his tousled curls between her legs, his mischievous, warm brown eyes looking up at her as she had the most mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm of her life - none of the times she's touched herself have ever come close to the sensations he managed to evoke.

Every time she's walking through the hallways between classes and hears his loud voice as he jokes with Garreth, or Ominis, about quidditch or Merlin-knows-what her eyes snap to his face as if he were the sun, and she a sunflower searching for its warmth. And he is most decidedly not the sun. He has the tendency to snort when he laughs, and he laughs too much, especially at his own jokes. Sometimes he talks while he eats. He always twirls his quill between his long fingers in the most annoying way, splattering ink onto any parchment unfortunate to be caught underneath. But he also...

He also always goes out of his way to prepare Ominis's Potions ingredients (why Ominis decided to take and was accepted into NEWT level is a mystery to everyone), occasionally stops to play a round of gobstones with Zenobia when he has the time. Sebastian can often be found in his favorite armchair in the Slytherin common room, resting his face on his hand as he idly flips through the pages of some book, looking altogether too handsome as he does so. And when he stretches and yawns at the end of every Arithmancy lesson - like he is now - his shirt lifts up a bit and she can see a tan sliver of his stomach and -

Snapping in front of her: she blinks and looks over: when she sees it's Imelda her face immediately turns beet red and she grabs the paper she's been doodling on and rips it to shreds as fast as she can.

"Are you fantasizing about a certain annoying someone?" Imelda asks with a wicked grin, dramatically looking over her shoulder at the certain someone in question. He's still stretching, blinking sleepily; when he notices the two girls watching him he flushes deeply. Her stomach twinges again at the sight of him noticing her - has he thought about her since that moment as much as she has? What would she do if he had? Or...if he hadn't? - and she focuses instead on the paper she is currently destroying.

"Imelda," she hisses, glaring at her best friend, "stop."

Imelda does not stop.

Imelda doesn't stop during their walk to Herbology, and she does not stop as they set up their planting stations, and she most certainly does not stop as they mutter charms over their plants.

Ever since she experienced the most wonderful moment in her whole life, followed by the most mortifying, Anne and Imelda have not stopped pestering her about it. They've finally solved the 'Sir Cadogan Puzzle' - I knew it was you all along, claims Anne - but if they truly knew what had happened between her and Sebastian, she's afraid the two of them would simply combust. She loves them dearly, but they never know when to stop, and they've been pushing and poking and prodding her for more information the whole week. She has managed to remain tight-lipped and, she hopes, mysterious about the whole thing, but she's getting tired of the teasing.

"Really," Anne says, wiping her forehead and leaving a trail of dirt behind, "if you would only talk to him, I would stop bothering you. Promise."

"Yes," chimes in Imelda, on her other side, wrestling the leaves of her own plant into submission. "You know, after we saw the two of you holding hands and looking at each other with stars in your eyes, I'm really starting to doubt that you hate him as much as you claim."

"Were the two of you snogging in secret all of last year too? Because, I'm starting to get annoyed thinking of all the times I had to talk to my brother for you because of your stubborn pride."

Does she still hate him? She certainly thinks she should, but then her thoughts get terribly confusing as she continues to think about him, and she realizes all of her old hatred has long since faded. Anne has forgiven her brother, Ominis has forgiven him, and all that remains is her.

They should talk, but she doesn't know what to say.

She's afraid that maybe the man she's been inventing in her mind this past month is simply a figment of her imagination - a fictitious being created by an accumulation of stolen glances when he doesn't know she's watching, someone who all of their classmates seem to like, someone who is very different from the fifteen-year-old boy she had that terrible argument with all that time ago. Maybe he doesn't actually exist.

She would be crushed if he's hiding the fact that he still holds on to that desperate darkness that had driven him to save Anne by any means necessary.

And so she keeps her space. She watches him from afar, feeling the hatred slowly melt off of her, falling more in love every day, but too cowardly to make the next move.

Anne and Imelda continue bantering on either side of her, not noticing - or, more likely, not caring - that she isn't participating.

Sebastian's hands are sweating. He wipes them on the inside of his robes as he glances at the girl next to him. She's holding herself rigidly, but she did this to herself, sitting next to him at dinner as she had.

Well, sitting next to him hadn't been completely her idea if he's being honest. He'd been having dinner with Anne, and the two of them were dying of laughter as she recounted seeing Duncan Hobhouse get tormented by Peeves earlier that day. One moment, Anne had been demonstrating what she had seen using her potatoes and green beans as props, and the next, a particularly evil grin had lit up her face as she pushed her plate away with gusto and jumped to her feet, calling her over.

"It would be such a shame for these potatoes to go to waste, seeing as I have a very important meeting to attend," Anne had said, after pushing her friend into the very tight space at Sebastian's side. "Never mind the mess, I can assure you I didn't actually eat the food..."

And with that, Anne had flounced away, Imelda on her arm, the two girls cackling to each other as they snuck wicked glances over their shoulders at the couple.

A couple who is now steadfastly avoiding each other and trying their hardest not to even brush elbows. Sebastian is altogether too aware of her presence, has been for the better part of a month, and his patience is dangerously close to snapping. He keeps getting maddeningly close to finally getting her to open up to him - had actually achieved it for a few blissful moments - just to have it be taken away again. It's almost embarrassing how many times he's thought about their encounter. She had been everything he'd been dreaming about and more - soft, responsive, just as desperate as him - so why has she been avoiding him so thoroughly?

Yes, he's caught her staring at him more times than he can count, with that same unfathomable expression she had before, almost dreamy - wistful - could it be love? But he knows that it's preposterous, wishful thinking on his part. If it were love - if she felt the same crazy, tumultuous emotions that he was feeling constantly - she wouldn't be so cold towards him. Even if she was staring at him more than ever before.

He doesn't notice as she slips a folded paper into the book sitting next to his plate, but he does notice that she sits next to him for barely five minutes, not even touching the food that Anne has so graciously left her, before she gets up and slips away without so much as speaking a single word to him, or even looking in his direction at all.

Sebastian's sitting in a nearly empty common room after curfew, flipping through his book as he normally does this time of day, when she sees him pause.

Although she's been waiting for this moment, watching him from the corner she's tucked herself away in, she feels ready to pass out from nerves. Her heart's ready to burst out of her chest as she watches him curiously pick up the letter she slipped in his book earlier, brow furrowed. She wrings her hands nervously as she watches him read the letter and flip over the page to see if there's more, and then he goes back to read it again from the beginning.

She wasn't expecting him to read it a second time, let alone a third time, still with an inscrutable expression on his face. Maybe she should have positioned herself closer so she could see every emotion flickering through his face as he reads - she's too far away to see anything and she curses her lack of foresight. If she moves now, he'll see her, and she doesn't even know what she was thinking when she wrote the letter, when she managed to convince Anne to help her get close to Sebastian earlier that night during supper, when she moved herself to sit in this corner just so she could watch him find and read the -

"Hello."

She nearly jumps out of her skin with a muffled shriek at the sound of his voice so close to her. Why does she feel almost guilty when she looks up at him? She's so, so afraid.

Emotions have never come easily to her. Showing them is something she's not sure will ever come naturally - Anne and Imelda can laugh and shout without a care in the world, but she always holds herself back. Hides a small part of herself away, that only she knows about. Baring herself completely to Sebastian in the letter she feverishly wrote the day before was like ripping out a part of her soul and giving it to him to keep. Once the words were written down, there was no way to take them back, not that she wants to.

But what if he rejects her?

Her eyes get hot and tears cloud her vision as she stares up at him, still wringing her hands together over and over, feeling like she's positively going to burst with the force of the emotions roiling around inside of her. Why did she think this would be a good idea?

Now he's kneeling in front of her, holding her hands in his bigger, rougher ones - reminiscent of that fateful day so long ago in Divination when he had flustered her so - and a thumb is gently wiping away the big, fat tears she didn't even realize were rolling down her cheeks and she lifts her face from watching their intertwined hands and gazes tremulously into his eyes.

They are so, so gentle and warm and full of love, but the emotions are still too much for her and she can't stop crying for some unfathomable reason, so the kiss they share is wet and lovely and full of incredulous laughter.

"I love you too," he whispers between kisses, over and over again, until the words almost lose meaning - but these words could never lose their meaning when they come from him.

  In the years to come, they always bicker about who was the first to say it. Sebastian says that writing doesn't count - that his words are the ones that decide who is the victor in this small argument - but she always just smiles at his insistence, knowing that he's kept her letter tucked inside whatever book he's reading since it first fell onto his lap.

[heilos]

I keep getting multiple messages in a row about "When's the next Mystery Skulls video coming out" Can you please not? I've already answered this before and we have an open and unlocked patreon with monthly updates that get posted here as well.

[hotshotsxyz]

Perhaps some Buddie “I didn’t know where else to go” if you so wish? Love your writing!!

(buddie) (975 words) (edit: now featuring eddie pov!)

cw: vague description of a very bad car accident

Buck is exhausted and aching and, at this exact moment, extremely confused.

Eddie, illuminated only by the flashing blue and red of the police car idling in his driveway, looks wrecked. The phone pressed to his ear slides through his fingers and clatters to the ground.

“Buck,” he says, only it sounds less like his name and more like a sob.

He launches himself forward and wraps Buck in a hug so tight it hurts. He presses his hand to the back of Buck’s head and buries his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. A shaky exhale ghosts across his skin.

“Eddie,” Buck says, tentatively returning the hug, “what—what’s wrong?”

A choked sob wracks his body.

“Eddie,” Buck repeats, alarmed. “What is it? Is Chris—“

“No,” Eddie gasps, “no, it’s—“ Another sob interrupts his speech. He doesn’t let go.

“Eddie, what?” Buck asks desperately.

He pulls back, just far enough to look Buck in the eye. His cheeks are tear stained and red and Buck’s really starting to panic because he’s only ever seen him like this once and—

“I thought— you— god, Buck, I thought you were—“ He squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re here,” he says shakily.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Buck replies helplessly.

Eddie takes a few deep, shuddering breaths.  “I saw—it was on the news. They weren’t sure there were any survivors,” he whispers.

Buck’s stomach drops. “Eddie,” he says, unable to keep the devastation out of his voice.

“And then your Jeep was—“ Eddie continues haltingly. “I tried to call you.”

“I lost my phone,” Buck breathes. “I—I’m sorry.”

“God, Buck, you don’t need to—fuck.” Eddie lets go of him and drags his fingers through the tear tracks on his cheeks. “You’re here,” he says, something like wonder coloring his tone, “that’s everything.”

All at once, the exhaustion that’s settled into his bones threatens to bowl him over. “Can we—“ He gestures to the still open door.

“Yeah, of course, I—“ Eddie takes another breath and grabs Buck’s wrist.

Buck scoops Eddie’s phone up off the stoop and allows himself to be pulled into the living room.

“Was it as bad as it looked?” Eddie asks quietly once they��ve settled on the couch.

“Worse, probably,” Buck admits.

Black tags had outnumbered the green three to one. He’d’ve been one, probably, if his Jeep hadn’t gotten pinned between a Prius and the guard wall. The several minutes it took him to shatter his windshield and clamber out were the only thing between him and the tanker when it exploded.

By the time the 136 arrived, there wasn’t much left to save.

Eddie takes Buck’s face in his hands and tips forward until their foreheads touch. “Thank you,” he breathes.

“I got lucky,” Buck replies. So fucking lucky.

“Thank you for coming here,” Eddie clarifies.

“Where else?” Buck asks.

Eddie tenses. “Shit,” he says. “Your sister.”

For a moment, he doesn’t understand, but then Eddie’s scrambling for his phone and it hits him like a ton of bricks. She must think—

The call connects before the first ring finishes.

“Eddie,” Maddie gasps down the line, “is—“

“It’s me,” Buck says quickly. “I’m fine, Maddie, I’m okay.”

“Oh thank god,” Maddie says. Her voice cracks, and with it, Buck’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says. A tear slips down his cheek.

“Evan,” Maddie says, and yeah, that just about covers it.

“We need to call Bobby too,” Eddie says, a little mechanically.

“Of course,” Maddie says. “Thank you,” she continues in a rush. “Thank you both.”

The call ends and Buck takes a shaky breath. “You all saw it?” he asks.

Eddie shakes his head minutely. “No, just— just me.” He stares down as his white-knuckled hands. “When I couldn’t get ahold of you, I…” Eddie trails off.

On instinct, Buck takes one of his hands. “I’m okay,” he says quietly.

“Let me—after we call Bobby?” Eddie asks.

Buck nods. “You can make sure,” he whispers.

With shaking hands, Eddie navigates to Bobby’s contact and taps call.

“Bobby,” Buck says as soon as it connects.

“Kid,” Bobby answers with palpable relief.

“I’m okay,” Buck continues. “I’m with Eddie,” he adds unnecessarily.

“That’s— thank God,” he says emphatically. “Athena!” He calls out, a little muffled.

Buck swallows harshly. “I’m sorry I scared everyone,” he says.

“You’re okay,” Bobby says firmly. “That’s all that matters.”

Eddie meets Buck’s eye and gives him a slow nod.

“Okay,” Buck says. “Okay.”

He talks to Bobby and Athena for another few minutes while Eddie grabs his first aid kit from the bathroom. It takes him a little longer than it should, and when he comes back, his eyes are a little more red and swollen.

They end the call and Buck lets himself be manipulated into a better position for Eddie to check him out. His eyes slip shut as Eddie methodically checks his vitals.

“Shirt,” Eddie says quietly after a few minutes, pressing his palm gently to the center of Buck’s chest.

Buck dutifully sheds his jacket and pulls the t-shirt over his head. As soon as it’s off, Eddie sucks in a sharp breath.

“That bad?” Buck asks.

Eddie reaches out and trails a gentle finger along the already purpling bruise that stretches diagonally across his torso. He shakes his head.

“It could be a lot worse,” he murmurs. His expression shifts minutely, and he swallows.

Buck catches his hand and presses it to his chest, right over his heart. “I’m okay,” he says. “I’m alive.”

Eddie closes his eyes and brings his other hand to Buck’s cheek. “I don’t want to say it like this,” he says.

“Eddie,” Buck replies. He aches.

“But…” he continues. “Stay?”

“Always,” Buck breathes.

Eddie pulls him into another tight hug. His shoulders shake.

[shouyuus]

Vi! who has never given bottoming much thought—you see, she just doesn’t get the appeal really—until she meets you; someone she feels so completely safe and sound with, someone she’d trust with her life and now all of a sudden she’s jolting awake from feverish ‘nightmares’ where you loom over her, half cruel half kind smirk plastered across your face, as you languidly thrust into her, murmuring praises and she feels so warm and hot and overwhelmingly full and—

(+++ she’d be such a bashful bottom initially!! blushing and cursing and groaning and biting her knuckles raw to keep the whines from spilling out, hiding her face in her forearm or your shoulder etc etc) 

send me vi thirsts and i'll give u my hand in marriage

tw: strap usage (vi receiving!)

woof okay like. as much as i stan top!vi (bc rawrrr), i am, at the core, a switch!vi truther. so like, absolutely she would, once she's comfortable enough w someone, bc the concept of surrender is just so foreign to her, but ppl who have been the one constantly Doing the Thing their whole lives, i feel like always crave that kind of surrender, right. so it would take a good few months, but as the trust grows, she'd let her mind wander down that alley more and more, each time pulling back cause a part of her still recoils at the thought of giving up that much control.

still, the night that it happens, her dream starting off in a familiar place -- in your arms, your lips like cinders to the parchment of her skin, but then you're pushing her back, and there's a heat coiling within her (it's been there for weeks but she's never known how to define it, never really leaned in close enough to hear it's name). and the ache between her legs is so familiar, and yet so strange at the same time bc it's not her first time, she knows the wanting for that fullness -- your fingers, your mouth, your tongue (sweet gods you're tongue) but it's nothing like this, right, the feeling of wanting to be stretched out. to feel --

her hips jerk, her mouth falls open, there's a whine twisting its way up her throat and her eyes are squeezing shut, bc why are you looking at her like that, like she's perfect but that you couldn't wait to take her apart. you snap your hips and she keens, biting down on her bottom lip so hard she thinks she tastes blood.

"fuck vi -- so good for me --"

"please -- n-ngh --! pleasepleaseplease --"

"vi?"

"a-ah --!"

"vi! are you okay? hey -- wake up!"

"h-huh?"

she jerks up, her heart a wild clatter of thunder in her chest, her skin flushed, her eyes unfocused till she sees you, hovering above her like in her dream, but unlike her dream, there's no delicate smirk on your lips, only a sincere, mounting worry creasing your forehead as you cup her cheek.

"are you okay? you were moaning in your sleep --" you say, eyes flickering over her face, taking in the dark flush in her cheeks and the uneven pace of her breaths.

vi swallows, a fresh wave of heat cresting up her stomach into her chest as she feels herself clench over nothing, the phantom fullness of the dream receding even as she scrambles to find something to say.

"sorry -- shit -- uh -- it was uh --"

"it was just a dream," you soothe, convinced that she'd had a nightmare and not --

she hisses out a long breath as you lean up to kiss her cheek, her hand coming up to catch yours, her grip strong as it always is, but something about it makes you pause.

"vi? is... everything okay?"

she takes a few deep breaths, leaning back against the pile of pillows. it's only then that she realizes what time it is -- the late afternoon sun slanting orange into the bedroom. right, she'd come into the bedroom for a power nap, and you said you were going to join her in just a few minutes.

she sighs, nodding.

"yeah. everything -- everything's great, cupcake. c'mere." she drags you into bed with her, pulling you into her chest. you settle there after a few seconds of shuffling limbs, pressing your ear to her heart.

"was it a bad dream?"

vi laughs, blinking hard as she tries to rid her vision of the afterimages of you, fucking her open on a strap, gently tugging away her hands as she'd tried to hide her noises.

"uh... no. i mean. it was just --" she swallows, "different."

you look up, your bright eyes curious as she sucks in another breath, blushing.

"but it wasn't a nightmare?"

vi licks her lips, her mouth suddenly very dry.

"uhm... no. not really exactly."

"well, you wanna tell me about it?"

vi bites her lips, swallowing down the kneejerk urge to reject the idea completely. she steadies her breathing and closes her eyes. if there's anything she knows in this life, it's that you'd never laugh at her, never do anything you thought might hurt her.

that you love her, unconditionally. in a way that she's still sometimes unused to being loved. but she's learning. so she figures it can't hurt, and she opens her mouth.

"yeah actually --" she takes a deep breath, "it was a dream about you."

[iliothermia]

I'm really struggling with communication right now, so I'm gonna be a bit distant for a bit. I really appreciate the patience n kindness 💗

[mammoth-clangen]

Ok so technically Summit won but i have no self control so u get Steppe Prowl as well, bc she has already has a ref from her debut >:3

Ice Fangs have both a given name and a surname, which are passed from mother to daughter and father to son (trans individuals can decide which parent they prefer to take after, or which children are given theirs, ie: Summit took his father's) This will be explained in comic too but it's not a spoiler so i have decided you are allowed to know as part of the teaser cx

Important: No, these two having refs does not mean they will inherently be joining the Kindred! As you can imagine that would cause quite a stir XD

Enjoy this meme i made months ago while drawing Moon 6 X'D

[caelanglang]

chuuya will go insane seeing dazai cry? zamn would pay to see that lmaoo

hi, i kinda went insane thinking and drawing about this one.

a continuation of the drunk fem!dazai post !

mini bonus:

update: now with extra here ~

[nobleriver]

TWD: The Ones Who Live - Finale Opening Scene + Blurred/Faraway

Requested by Anonymous

[pia55tri]

“I just moved to my new Monaco apartment, but the removal company refused to carry my mattress upstairs, you live in my building, can you help me?”

thank you, anon, for sending this prompt in and all the other prompts 🫶

It’s just the universe laughing at him, really, that he’s gone and knocked on the neighbour’s door and it opens to Carlos Sainz Jr.’s perfect fucking face. In Monaco.

Oscar doesn’t even know why he’s so surprised. It was Lando who recommended this building to him, a little away from the more busy centre of the little-big city of Monaco. He said he needed it to be subtle, he needed a little bit of air. And Lando, who thrives in the bustle and chaos of the metro, immediately went, Ah! I know the place for you, mate. Check it out? Oscar did and it was perfect. And of course, he should have known that the place was exactly to his standards and needs because Lando heard about it from Carlos, who Lando has always liked saying is very similar to Oscar in all the ways that matter but that Oscar refuses to acknowledge.

“Oscar,” Carlos says with a pleasant inflection that mollifies the brief spike in Oscar’s heart rate. “What a happy surprise. Are you living here, now?”

And Oscar just looks at him with wide eyes. Oscar is still in his crumpled airport clothes and smelling of the sun and desperate for a nap. Carlos is — His hair is a mess about his head. His cheeks are covered with scruff darker than Oscar is used to seeing. And he’s shirtless, flushed lines all over his skin like he was just in bed. And. He looks like he smells like… fresh sheets or pancakes. Luxury cologne.

“Erm. Yeah. Yes. I just moved in today, actually. Actually, I knocked because,” he cringes, “because I needed someone’s help and you were the neighbour…” And, really! He should be grateful his neighbour just so happened to be someone who actually spoke the one language he could speak  and not one of the many languages he didn’t. “The moving company left my mattress downstairs and I was thinking of getting maintenance to help bring it up, but they’re all busy right now. I just. I need help.”

(Somewhere in the city, Lando Norris is laughing at him.)

Carlos patiently listens throughout his long, winding plea, and then, finally, nods, and says, “Sure. Let me just put a shirt on.”

“Right,” Oscar says.

Carlos doesn’t even bother closing his door, so Oscar stands there and tries not to watch his muscles moving as he tugs on a shirt that pulls tight around his unfortunately well-shaped biceps.

“Stairs?” he asks.

They’re not anywhere near the ground floor. So, of course, Oscar can’t turn down a challenge like that, and he says, dumbly, “Sure.”

That is how Oscar finds himself not staring at Carlos’s broad shoulders as they make their winding way down too many flights of stairs.

Oscar doesn’t even know what they talk about as they go. All he can think about is how warm it is in the stairwell, and how it makes Carlos’s lilting accent bounce around and settle into the folds of his brains. It must be the jetlag. Or the Monégasque heat. Or the insanity his sisters have always sworn he had.

When they get to the lobby, his mattress is exactly where the moving company had left it, laid mortifyingly out in the open. Thankfully, it is the middle of the day and no other residents are walking about the place to bear witness to this entire thing. Together, they haul the mattress to where it miraculously fits inside the elevator and pick up a rather lovely conversation that Oscar isn’t used to having outside a long plane-ride or at one of someone or other’s parties. What he is used to is ignoring how Carlos’s biceps bulge every time he moves or how his plush lips fall open when he breathes.

When they manoeuvre the mattress around his, actually rather sparse, furniture and onto his bedframe, Oscar is so relieved and grateful that he doesn’t even blush about his underwear lying on the floor of his room.

“Thank you,” he says, kicking a pair of Calvin Kleins behind himself. He tries for a smile. “Really appreciate it, mate.”

“It’s nothing,” Carlos shrugs.

“No, it’s really not,” he insists, leading them to the kitchen. “Actually, do you want to stay for lunch? It’s really the least I could do.”

Carlos raises his brow. “So polite?”

Oscar is about to say something smart when he abruptly shuts his mouth and spins back around from the empty fridge to face Carlos. “I. Erm.”

Carlos looks amused, eyes crinkling at the corners. Oscar can feel the heat radiating off himself.

Carlos laughs easily. “I’ll pick a place and you pay, okay?”

And Oscar nods, calm and cool. “Sure.” He can do that. It’s absolutely normal.

“I’ll drive.”

Oscar keeps nodding. “Erm. Cool.” Very cool. A ride in Carlos’s Ferrari. Nice. Cool. Chill.

But then, Carlos winks and says, “It’s a date.”

And Oscar, helpless, charmed, does not swoon. Instead, he says, “Yeah.”

[xxplastic-cubexx]

liking your art and opening your blog to see that you also made my other 90000 favorite pieces of charles and erik. oh my god you are out here in the mines and you are creating PURE GOLD BRO? OLD MAN YAOI FOREVER THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE

HEHE always at the scene of the crime.... thank you so much my friend !!!!!!! i'm so glad to be the creator of some works you enjoy and i look forward to creating more in the future for you to love !!

if i may .... provide a small preview of what i have prepared for later today as a thank you...

i hope you enjoy it once it's finished :]]] !!

[grimesgirll]

heyy could you write Negan smut, with them both fighting for dominance while they fuck, taunting each other; Maybe because they known each other before the apocalypse so she isn’t as intimidated by Negan like the rest.

you have to be the hottest thing he’s seen in quite sometime.

negan, simon, and dwight had heard the gunshots from your shotgun and stumbled upon you; all alone, fending off a few dozen walkers.

simon had insisted that they leave and not risk their safety for “some broad”, and negan was on board until he realized that wasn’t just any broad - it was you.

the three cut through the horde of walkers at negan's insistence. braving bloated corpses and trudging over the trampled isn't a simple feat - even with guns. minutes pass until you're finally face to face. half dazed, you did a double take once your eyes suddenly met the disgraced gym teacher's.

then you hit the ground.

when you woke up, mr. smith was there. you were shocked to see him and even more surprised to learn that he was the leader of an up and coming survival group.

“what about your wife?” you’d asked. “mrs. smith is really cool.”

made slightly dramatic by age, the pained twist of the former faculty's face has you regretting your question.

mrs. smith was really cool.

mr. smith had once been too. kind as well. negan is looks cool, and you can't deny that there's a cult of personality that can't be beat with him. not kind though.

no, you'd learned your first week that the gym teacher who had once teased you about college partying on the playground was now a certified psychopath. as a teaching assistant and faculty shadow at the school, you'd befriended negan easily. the two of you pulled off witty banter as you dropped the kids off for gym, even accepting invitations to join the day's activity.

mr. smith was no more and negan's now burning faces off. you'd seen that. just like you'd seen the floggings, the beatings, the spankings, and even the wall. waking up one day to see the nurse you'd grown fond of outside wandering as a walker was enough for you to tweak.

“what did she do?”

negan looks up from a map of northern virginia to grin at you. “hey, doll! what’s goin’ on?” he kicks his feet up on the desk. “don’t see much of you around here.”

“yeah, because i can barely get by your goons.”

he shrugs. “seems like you got up here just fine.”

you’d sideskirted fat joey when he left his post to top off his dr. pepper. it was easy enough to walk your way to negan’s office to confront him.

“why is the woman who trained me walking around the front yard as a zombie?” you question, not breaking eye contact with the smirking leader. “what could she have done to deserve that?” you let out an exasperated breath, reigning it in with another deep umhals before asking, “don’t you think that’s fucking extreme?”

if negan softens, you really can’t tell. all that comes from the man is a laugh. “you mean the nurse who was planning on robbin’ us all blind and hightailing it with nearly all of our narcotics?”

you don’t even have the care to gawk at him. “could she not have been rehabilitated?”

he scoffs at you. “once an addict, always an addict.”

a sudden wave of dread comes over you, and for a moment you think it may be your lunch coming back up but one look at your former fellow faculty member and you know it’s purely disgust.

“she was my friend!”

“you’ll make more!”

“she was my only friend here,” the words croak out of your mouth.

negan just chews on his lip and shrugs. “sorry, honey, you’ll just have to start bein’ friendlier then.” a smirk spreads across his leather-like, aged face. “might have to drop the whole resting bitch face.”

you’re fuming. the column of rage growing from your belly pangs with no place to go. “for you freaks?”

your outburst has fat joey huffing and puffing his way through the threshold of the door.

“everything, okay, boss?” the grunt looks from your red face to his relaxed leader. “sorry bout’ her. she shouldn’t be up here.”

negan waves a hand. “don’t worry about it, joey. i can handle her.”

joey nods when a “handle me?” is flying from your mouth and negan just shoots him a cheeky grin.

“let me walk you back down there, doll.” negan insists.

when he rises from his desk, you realize how he towers over you, something you’d never clocked despite how often you two had been in close quarters back at school. you’re glaring up to meet his dark eyes - the ones that glint in the light like he hadn’t subjected a young woman to the most gruesome death - not including her life after death.

“this way, you,” negan is shepherding you with a hand on your back and all you can do is grumble as you pass his lazy goon.

once the two of you are in the hallway, you slap his hand off of him. “don’t touch me,” you sneer.

he chuckles. “whatever you wish, princess, just stop interrupting me from my important shit with your emotional shit, ‘kay?”

you shake your head. “what would mrs. smith think of all this? surely you don’t think you’re in the right. your wife would’ve hated this.”

negan gestures to the empty, desolate stairwell the two of you are descending. “she look like she’s here?”

“doesn’t matter. what happened to your morals?” you spit, stopping in your tracks to turn and face the taller man, standing on a higher step so that you’re both at eye level. “you were a school teacher.”

“yeah, and you would’ve been dead if we hadn’t brought you in.”

“so i should be happy with the freak show you’re putting on here?”

the expressive leader throws his arms out to motion to the compound. “look around, it’s bread and circuses!” he says simply. “you work, you get a bed, and a safe place to live.” a devious expression overtakes his countenance. “and a show!”

“i hate it here.” you declare nastily.

he snorts. “you hate not being in control, and all the safe little assurances we had before. things are different now.”

“no,” you counter, face coming closer to his. “you’re different now.”

“gotta be to survive nowadays, darlin’, now hurry it up. you need to get back to stitchin’ up my men so they can go out and bring you back ravioli, morphine, soap, toilet paper, all that shit you’re bitchin’ about having.”

“you’re a psycho,” you huff at him as he ushers you down the stairs, another level, and the familiar way towards the infirmary.

“you’re just not adjusted yet. just stick to changing bedpans and we won’t have a problem,” negan instructs with a hand on your back again.

you brush him off once you two have entered the sterile, white infirmary where doctor carson is talking quietly with one of negan’s goons.

“what’s goin’ on here, doc?” negan questions, startling the two.

negan’s man is pale - and sweating buckets. the doctor stands from his bedside to face negan.

“hello, negan, we were just finishing up.”

“finishing up what?”

the pit in your stomach grows when you notice the sickly man on the bed scurrying to fold the fabric of his shirt back over his stomach. the doctor has a pokerface but you didn’t need them to answer to know what was going on.

“what’s goin’ on, dan? feelin’ alright?” negan doesn’t give the doctor a chance to answer before he’s next to his commissioned scavenger, towering over him now.

dan nods. “feelin’ fine. just scraped up and tired as hell after gettin’ back from carolina.”

“i bet!” that loud voice booms throughout the room. “mighty long trip that was. thanks again, man.” the clap to dan’s back from his leader almost has him buckling. “but you don’t look so good, bud. got something to tell me?”

“negan-,” the doctor starts but he’s quickly silenced by a simple raise of the leader’s hand.

“nope, doc. i wanna hear it from dan here.”

the man’s nervous eyes flicker from doctor carson and to you. you want to crumple where you stand. though his eyes are pleading, there’s nothing you can do. only manage your growing disgust as you watch negan reach for his sidearm.

then negan does something that surprises you, he leans down to embrace the man in a hug.

“thank you, it was just a long trip.” dan’s bumbling, but negan shushes him.

“don’t worry bout’ it, dan.”

that’s when the bullet departs the chamber and implants itself in dan’s brain.

the man who’d just been alive slumps down and falls onto the newly bloodied bedsheets. the white wall behind him is sprayed with brains and chrome. the salt and pepper haired leader stands from the bed and yawns, stretching as if he wasn’t leaving a mess of blood and trauma for you and the doctor to clean up and process.

“back to work. keep an eye on her, doc.”

“negan, you sick fuck.”

this time, negan’s holding his council and heatedly harping on gregory.

the man lets out an exasperated breath. “who the fuck wasn’t watching the door?”

his legion of doom is bewildered to see the sullen nurse standing in the doorway. dwight’s apathetic as always, but is the first to offer to escort you out while simon’s telling gregory to “shut the fuck up” and laura’s looking at you as if no one could be more annoying as to drag this meeting on.

“joey!”

one shout and you hear heavy footsteps thudding down the hall. breathing raggedly, the guard wraps himself around the doorway and drops his sandwich at the sight of you.

“so sorry, boss. she really sneaks in!”

the older man just shakes his head. “don’t let it happen again or gregory gets it.”

laughter erupts from the room. everyone at the table is dropping their dauntless demeanor as if on cue. the only one not laughing is gregory of course.

“negan, listen-,”

“ah!” negan interrupts him, straining against his leather jacket when he turns his body towards him. “you shut it! i hate having my shit interrupted, and i hate having supply drops interrupted far more than meetings.” he directs his attention from the man from hilltop back to you. “why don’t you just take a seat, honey? we’ll be done soon.”

you shake your head. “i’m not trying to stay here any longer than i have to. i need this sorted out now.”

“if you wanna talk, doll, you’ll have to wait your turn. i’m talking to gregory right now.”

“i don’t even want to talk to you.”

he exhales flippantly. “then why are you here? interrupting my important meeting.”

“i came for my shotgun.”

negan chuckles, crossing his arms. “you think you’re gettin’ that thing back? after the mood you’ve been stirring up here?”

you do your best to ignore the way he’s laughing and dismissing you or how he’s manspreading all over the chair he’s parked in.

“i need my stuff now. i’m leaving tonight.”

it’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room. you can see negan’s jaw tighten in real time, and the room stiffens. waiting for a reaction is half the angst but you don’t have time for it. don’t even want to defend your decision, especially in front of everyone here.

“out!”

chair legs scrape against the ground as some of negan’s senior partners in psychopathy begin to egress.

gregory is just looking flabbergasted. “but we had a meeting?”

“everyone, out. now!”

all it takes is a “negan doesn’t like to repeat himself” and dwight is shuffling gregory out of the room, simon taking up the rear.

“see you soon, hun’,” he taunts to you.

you don’t have enough time to process his words because he’s shutting the door behind you and probably mentally rescheduling this meeting. you could care less.

“enough, negan smith.” he blinks at the full name callout. “i want my stuff and i’ll be out of your hair. you won’t have to worry about me.”

negan’s off his feet again and sitting on top of the table now. he points to the chair next to the head. “sit.”

“i don’t want to sit.” you insist. “i already told you, i don’t want to talk, i want to go.”

“yeah, well we’re gonna talk first, so sit your ass down.”

you don’t want to spend anymore time in this nutjob factory than you have to but you want your shotgun back. so you walk across the room and you stand at the chair.

“what do you have to say to me?” you inquire.

“god, look at you!”

you roll your eyes.

“a few weeks after getting your life saved, getting your needs taken care of and you’re ready to go back to that?”

“i don’t want to be at your constant mercy.” you say plainly. “not that you can really call it mercy.”

with every retort from him being a laugh, your patience is growing thin. he snickers upon seeing your frown. “so, you want to take your chances out there instead of taking a little time to let me help figure out your problem?”

you throw up your hands. “figure out my problem? i came to you to help figure out my problem and you said to just deal with it. to ‘adjust’. well, i can’t. i can’t live like this. it’s not humane.”

“yeah, and it’s humane out there?”

“better than bitching in here.”

“well, i think i can help with that. won’t be getting your shotgun back.”

“oh, so you can’t help at all?” you snap.

he whistles. “never said that.” his eyes drop from your gaze down your torso to your thighs. he pats the table next to him. “come sit on the table.”

“no. i want to go. now.”

“alright then.”

“negan!”

you exclaim when he scootches off the table to scoop you up by your legs and middle and plop you down.

“let doctor negan see if he can help.”

“what are you-,”

“ah! look at that.”

“ah!”

the sudden sensation of a finger against your denim covered cunt has your face flushing and red. “been touched there in a while, honey?”

“just give me my shotgun,” you breathe, desperately trying with your eye contact to communicate that things aren’t going the way you expected.

“let me give you some reprieve, clear your head, and then we can see if you still want your shotgun.”

you shake your head as he starts pulling down your pants. “you think your wife would be okay with this?”

“she here?”

you curse yourself for giving him such an easy answer. you curse yourself for not doing anything other than pouting and wiggling once he’s at your waistband. you curse the little wet spot soaked though your underwear even more.

“god, i knew confrontation would get you wet.”

“so you planned this?”

the older man shakes his head, taking another moment to fully lock eyes with you, even as he towers over you on the table. “no, i’m thinking that we both walked into this.”

maybe you shouldn’t have walked in, you ponder as negan walks your undies down your thighs with his fingers and walks them right back to your dripping center. the hair you have down there is already slick, a damp curtain pried open by negan’s thick fingers.

“shit,” you rasp when a finger braves the pool of anticipation that’s only growing and delves further against your inner walls.

“want me stop there?” the fucker’s finger stills inside of you and the other dancing just above your clit comes to a halt.

you don’t respond, just lock eyes with negan and try to catch your breath. “that’s not fair,” you point out in a voice just above a whisper. “can’t stop now.”

“or can i?”

you shake your head. “don’t.”

maybe clearing the tension that’s been building like a twentieth century skyscraper inside of you will sort you out. or you could just say fuck it. the world’s ended anyways.

negan surely fucks a finger stationed inside of you back and forth. twisting and testing the waters before adding another. the extra finger curls inside you deliciously while he utilizes another to play around your clit.

the attention he’s paying to your once undisturbed nether regions is enough to have you creaking and moaning like an old door hinge and hinging forward into negan. he’s quick to let you fall forward into his arms. the sudden acceptance is all he needs to speed up.

“i know that feels good, honey.”

“mhmm,” you murmur into his shoulder.

there’s a spot inside of you that he’s massaging just right and another on your exterior; an x doesn’t need to mark the spot for him to rile up your clit. slow, lazy circles have you grinding against him on the table. how can you bemoan him when he’s about to pull the perfect release from you?

you know that because your breath is picking up again and you’re blubbering into his sturdy shoulder. those motions are telltale. mrs. smith’s memory hasn’t kept this man celibate.

the widower has his hand on your back again and the hand beneath you has its own task. the task at hand is executed with more skill than any boy you’d ever fooled around with in college or anyone who came after - not that there were many given how things had gone. you’d like to think that if shit hadn’t hit the fan, you would’ve settled down with someone like mr. smith but younger. this would have to do.

“clenchin’ so tight just around my fingers, baby. you always had the hots for me?”

you shake your head no truthfully. “this is the hots?”

“you feel hot down there baby, and my are you hot.” he lands the compliment with a kiss. you lean in, letting his tongue slip into your mouth because you’re too occupied with the build up brewing inside of you.

one glance down between you two and you see his fingers pumping. your heart rate jumps when you see the addition of another and now you’re being stretched out on his fingers on this table.

“god, you’re gorgeous. what a sweet little thing to have fallen into my lap.”

you curl further into his lap, legs now around him and his fingers knuckle deep inside of you. all he has to do is curl his fingers and you’re yowling. “mhm, they’re deep.” you say, brain just observing.

“too deep?”

“no.”

thus, they plunge further. until the extra finger on the outside is stirring up more than your slick and heat courses through you. you shudder against negan but that doesn’t stop his routine. the shape of his fingers change inside of you and you’re bucking against him to feel each one.

“fuck, i’m gonna come,” you don’t want to say it out loud but you do anyways.

“on my fingers?” negan sniggers. “you poor thing. c’mon now, i know it must’ve been a while.” he presses the pad of his thumb against your clit. “just let go, honey, it’ll help.”

and it does.

letting your lizard brain take the lead is all you need for your mind to go blank. if even for a second, it releases the anxiety and the anger that’d consumed you. you pulse and clamp down around his digits until suddenly he’s not moving at all but you’re rotating your hips against him.

riding out such a feeling, you blink the tears out of your eyes and do a double take once you notice negan removing his fingers and starting on his belt.

“what’re you doing?” you question, pussy still pulsing with a mind of its own.

“if you thought that helped you relax, this will put you to sleep. no more sleeping pills for you, darlin’.”

“how did you know about that?”

“doctor carson doesn’t keep secrets from me. he didn’t need to tell me you weren’t adjusting well either.” negan states matter-of-factly, then dropping his blue plaid boxers.

you’re not sure how you’re going to adjust to the sight you’re met with. the cock in front of you is larger than any you’ve ever seen before. if negan’s fingers had you losing it, this thing will ruin you.

“i don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you admit when his hands land on your hips.

the distance between your needy bare entrance and his thick dick is only inches now. you shudder at the longing that’s whipping you and your thoughts around. you moan when he slides his hard, veiny cock against your entrance, slapping it against you once for good measure.

“nope, you’re tougher than you think.”

you meet his eyes again as if to question him. sure, he feels good against you but this is next level. better than fiction but what would happen after you both got your orgasms out of the way?

there’s no time for you to speculate because his lips are on yours again and you feel him lining himself up against you. “you want me to fuck all those fears out of your head, honey? you wanna feel good?”

how can you say no to that?

one nod of your head and his tip is teasing you. it takes you telling him, “please, put it in. i want it,” and then he’s plunging inside.

your face scrunches as a little burn becomes prominent from his size, but he kisses the lines away from your face. your temple, your nose, your lips, your cheek, he’s kissing you, saying, “good girl. you’re doing fantastic.”

you just eat up the praise and look down to see your pussy devouring him whole. the first two or three inches were a struggle just from lack of use but your lack of pleasure - the near sexual deprivation you’d experienced since shit hit the fan - overcomes it, and is pleasantly fulfilled.

in and out of you, negan works his hips and you can’t be happier. could a man you’d branded a psycho just minutes before be so adept at addressing your pleasure?

seems like it.

“god, you fuck well for a gym teacher.”

negan won’t let the snide comment slide so he wraps up his tour of purple rain against your collarbone to simper at you. “yeah, and for a frigid bitch, this pussy is hot and ready.”

“maybe i’m one of those dumb girls who’s attracted to psychos and serial killers?” you ponder playfully and wrap your arms negan’s neck to pull him in closer.

“oh, i’m gonna fuck you dumb, honey, don’t worry.” and with a roll of his hips, you have no reason to worry he won’t live up to his words.

you whine when he suddenly rams into you. his girth juts along your tight, inner walls. you meet his gaze again and just looking at his smug face has you tightening around him.

“god, baby, did you just fuckin’ squeeze me?”

“can you adjust?”

he grunts. “can you?”

you don’t have time to ask what you could possibly have to adapt to next because negan’s turning you into your stomach onto the table, tossing his leather jacket down for you to bury your face into. his absence from between your thighs brings on another whine but one moment of motion and now you feel him flush against your back, filling you to the brink with his cock.

“yeah, bet that brain can’t even think about an escape plan with that dumb little pussy stuffed so full. you gonna’ be able to walk tomorrow, honey?” he asks you tenderly as if he’s not on the verge of taking out your cervix.

“ne-negan! sto-,”

“-stop what?” he gyrates his hips nice and slow into you, dragging on the sensitive insides of your poor, overstimulated little cunt. “stop fucking you? because the way your pussy is clampin’ down, i don’t even know how i’m backing out of here baby.”

“don’t!” you beg.

“what?” he leans down to take your chin in his hands and see the angsty, pleasure induced tear starting to roll down your cheek. “god, you even look pretty when you cry. fuckin’ face like that.”

hips are stammering and negan’s words burn straight through to your core. he moans like a motherfucker when he feels the squeeze of your clingy little core on him. haywire all of this had gone, and now your climax is taking you over the edge.

“negan, don’t stop. don’t stop. don’t be an asshole,” you’re pleading.

he’s back to spearing you on his cock, leveraging your hips and throwing his head back. “don’t think i could, baby. not with a pussy this fucking fantastic.”

the praise is what does you in for the second time. any thought of undead nurses or public floggings leaves your brain and all you’re left with is the molten hot pleasure exploding inside of you. negan’s hand drifts down to your clit to have you absolutely crushing his cock.

“god, doll, you’re fuckin’ tight. so fuckin’ hot when you come like that. gonna have me doing a fuckin’ one and done for now.”

the huskiness of his voice and the twitch of him against your walls only eggs you on. your eyes are shut tight but you he’s all you can imagine. head on top of his jacket, you breathe in his scent, musky with a hint of the same cologne he wore back at school, and you’re creaming around him.

“fuck, doll!”

and he’s shooting his cream inside of you. the warmth fills you up and you no longer have the energy to move. any gyration of your hips has halted. a few more thrusts and he’s in the same boat. he collapses atop you for just a moment before pulling out and padding towards the table against the wall laden with napkins and refreshments that were supposed to be for the meeting.

you don’t turn your head but you can hear him grabbing some paper towels off the roll and clutching some other things.

“just gonna wipe between your legs,” he instructs and you let him.

your forehead against the table and those pretty eyes squeezed shut has negan rethinking a thing or two. suddenly he’s regretting not fucking you like the sweet thing you are. you deserved better than a table - at least his soft, king sized mattress if not a cloud.

once he finishes, he pats your back and nudges you up where he’s waiting with a water bottle - already open with the cap off. you accept with no issue and gulp the mini-sized bottle down easily.

“listen, why don’t you have dinner with the girls and i tonight? i’m not gonna give you your shotgun back just yet, but might change your mind about some things.”