#i was being very civil even if i don't feel like it and using lots of verbs in conjuctive mood

[dummerjan]

asdfghjklöä just wrote my upstairs neighbour a note about how their sex is very audible and to please try pay attention to the noise level this is so umcomfortable but too often I couldn't fall asleep or have woken up in the middle of the night because of the noise

[nsomniacsdream]

I have a hard time talking about American law enforcement, because I have ptsd (like a therapist told me this and everything) from my own experiences with cops and because it's so balls quaking insane.

Like, a cop in the United States can pull you over for any reason. Which is a nice way of saying no reason, because literally anything can be used after the fact as justification. A cop can say its cuz you looked at him, or didnt look at him, or it looked like you were holding something, or looked like you were driving too perfectly for it to be natural. It's insane.

There are apparently no circumstances where a cop can't just kill you. The line the courts have applied is "reasonably believed" you were a threat, but that's such a nebulous nothing limit that people get shot for reaching for their license, having their phone in their hand, you're running away with no weapon, not being able to follow conflicting commands, like anything. And cops are almost never charged, because every court is going to believe he could "reasonably believe" he was threatened. Fuck, if you give me enough time, I can make any situation seem juuuuust plausibly threatening enough to pass that bar. It's insane.

A cop can just rob you. Like tell you to give him your wallet, take all the cash out, and just walk away with it. Exactly like you would imagine getting robbed in an alley would go, except no one can help. And he doesn't even have to hide it, he just drops it in a box at the station and they put it in their bank account. It's legal. You can't prove it wasn't drug money. I can't prove any money wasn't at some point drug money. It's insane.

If a cop just walks in your front door and says "I'm here to kill you and your entire family" YOU ARE GOING TO PRISON IF YOU STOP HIM. There is no positive defense for assaulting a police officer in the United States, and doubly so if you kill him. You have effectively no defense against a homicidal cop, which happens same as any other job. Unless for some reason you have cameras all thru your house and clearly caught the audio of him saying that he's there just to kill you, you have zero chance of not going to prison, probably for life. And that's assuming you aren't killed "resisting arrest" while being taken into custody. It is a crime, in this country, for you to defend yourself under any circumstances if the person you're defending yourself from is a cop. That's insane.

You don't have civil rights if a cop says so. You have the right to have a gun, right? A lot of states have open carry. A cop can shoot you if he sees you have a gun. Doesn't matter if you have a license and everything. So you effectively don't have the right to bear arms if a cop can shoot you for exercising it. You have the right to protest. Unless a cop tells you to stop. He doesn't need a real reason to tell you to stop. And if you don't stop, you can be arrested or shot. So you don't really have the right to protest, do you? A cop cant just search your car or house, right? Unless he claims he heard something, or smelled something, neither of which can be proven. So a cop can search whatever he wants, as long as he pretends there was a "reason". So you dont have protection from unreasonable search and seizure, do you? These are no longer rights- they're things the cops allow.. for now. But legally, those rights have already been found to not actually be rights, because any random cop can decide to take that right from you, for any reason. It's insane.

These aren't like crazy things that I'm just making up, these aren't some weird twisted way I'm looking at something, these are all very real things that we all just.. ignore? Police abolitionists and the media bring these things up all the time, and the overwhelming response to it is: so what? Don't break the law and it won't matter. Blue lives matter. More police funding. Cops should have tanks. It's insane. And I always feel like im just rambling and sound insane when I say this kind of stuff because if you wrote a book and had the dystopian government doing the stuff that the police in this country do every single day, those same people who "back the blue" would line up to say stuff like "*Books government* wouldnt have a chance before us real americans stopped them" on twitter and not even get a hint of the irony.

[prettyboykatsuki]

I NEED YOU EXCITED, I DON'T WANNA FIGHT IT | Y. OKKOTSU

✵ tags ; established relationship, friends to lovers, afab +fem!reader, forward!reader, back and forth power dynamics, dry-humping, hickies / marking, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, riding. fingering, dirty talk, 18+

✵ wc ; 7.3k (good lord)

✵ a/n ; written with my beloved @princess-okkotsu in mind!! i hope i did your boy justice </3 and thank u for everything literally wouldn't have passed chem w/o you

so not used to have such little warnings on a fic. lol. title is from fire and desire by drake.

✵ synopsis ; yuta wants to do right by you which is why he's so determined to take your relationship slowly. well, he tries too, anyway.

Yuta Okkotsu is a believer of doing things the right way. 

He repeats this to himself like a mantra as he hangs out alone in your bedroom. He closes his eyes, elbows resting on the little table, face buried in his palms. Maybe it’s closer to a form of manifestation - like if he says it with enough hooplah it will mean something more than a jumble of words and syllables. 

He must clarify that he is trying to do the right thing right now. He is trying so very hard to do the right thing because Yuta Okkotsu wants to remain righteous where possible. 

It’s part of his job as a sorcerer, now well into his 20’s and more conscious of the world around him. He’s strong enough to put his money where his mouth is and experienced enough to know that trying to maintain some ethical code is part of staying alive in this business. 

And it’s not that Yuta considers himself particularly upright. His friends and colleagues often tell him that he’s a bit unhinged and hard to get a read on. His morals might not always align with greater society, but he never does something that goes against his own beliefs. A lot of which can be summarized quite easily ; anything to defend his comrades.

It really is so important for Yuta to try and be civil in these aspects. Lest he fall into something truly dark. Even he knows what he’s capable of, at least a little. 

That’s why he’s left with no choice than burying all of his thoughts of you and using every ounce of energy he has to suppress it as deep as it can go 

You know, with all the love that’s influenced his life and all of the years he’s spent  learning to be less timid - none of it seems to matter when it comes down to you and him. The logistics of a relationship and the idea of one are two very different things. When it comes to your relationship, he’s been keen in adhering to his strict timeline of milestones. First date, first hand-holding, first deep kiss. It’s a matter of honoring you - because before being boyfriend and girlfriend, you were Yuta’s comrade and companion. Before your relationship status, you're his cherished and valued person. 

So because he’s chivalrous. Because he’s romantic. Because he cares about you. 

And also because the sheer  magnitude of his desires for you perpetually leaves him in a state of distress and disarray. It’s all of the above, all at the same time. And sometimes it leaves him a little overwhelmed. 

He barely manages in his daily life but this? This is torturous. 

Being in your bedroom unprompted is destroying every ounce of self-restraint he’s built through these last three months. He’s made it through your relentless bullying without giving into his Earthly desires.

It’s just too ideal in a way, being in here. Everything feels like you. There’s pictures of your friends and family around the room. Everything has your scent. Your clothes are littered on the floor and hung over the back of your desk-chair. It’s so you and Yuta loves you and he’s not going to survive being in here despite it all.

It’s embarrassing. Yuta is not the timid teenager he once was. But for all the ways he’s good at standing his ground, his demeanor is all but worthless when it comes down to you.

You’re a few years his senior and you’ve always been a slippery character. He’s enriched by your curiosity of the world. You’re a researcher and archivist of cursed information, coming out of the Kyoto branch. You have plenty of accolades and always manage to teach him something new and come out of difficult things on top. 

Mostly, Yuta recognizes all of the good in your heart. He really thinks very highly of you.

There was an obvious passion for your work that Yuta was endeared by in the initial stages of your relationship. Plus you were easy to talk to. You’ve been a good friend to Yuta for years now, ever since you called on him to do some research on him and Rika. And, as the years passed you became closer until one night it hit him that his feelings of admiration were a little closer to something like love. 

And with big, wet tears in his eyes (and a fair bit of liquor in his system) he blubbered about his feelings for you. He isn’t sure what reaction he was expecting at the time. You were happy which was great, but there was also something so lax about it all. Yuta remembers it so vividly. The way you waltzed up to him, tucked some hair behind his ears and kissed him gingerly with all the confidence in the world. Like it mattered but it didn’t. Like nothing could be more obvious than your feelings for each other. 

“I’m pretty crazy about you too, Okkotsu-san.” 

After asking if that meant you were dating like the bumbling, lovesick fool he is - you officially began going out as a couple. And at first, it was smooth sailing. It wasn’t too different from your usual hangouts.

Eventually though, you had pointed out that it doesn’t really feel like you were dating. Suggested that maybe sleeping together would help break the ice a little. That was what started this moral dilemma. 

Being honest, it wasn’t like Yuta hadn’t considered it. What thoughts he cooked up while alone in the sanctity of his bedroom is between him and the heavens only. It was just the way you suggested it. You saying it made it all feel so real. And Yuta wasn’t sure how to deal with that. He wants to cherish you so much that he felt like he couldn’t consider your offer too lightly. 

And he told you as much, hand in yours and red-faced to which you only blew some hair out of his eyes and laughed. A simple okay, a nod, and a kiss.

Of course, if everything had been smooth sailing this would be a different thing altogether. While Yuta had declined sleeping with you too soon, you had absolutely no plans to make his life easy. He’s not sure how much of it is on purpose. Knowing you, probably a lot. You’re a smart girl, after all.

So all of your bending over and tongue kissing before going home and selfies that just border on boudoir are probably very purposeful. But he’s endured it all. He should cherish you more. He’s been determined to not give in. 

The fact he’s all but ready to blow his load over just being in your room makes him feel pathetic. And maybe he is, a little. But only for you. 

Yuta likes to think of himself as a collected individual. Really.  He knows being this worked up over something as innocuous as his girlfriends room is ridiculous. He knows he’s being ridiculous.

But he really, really wants to uphold his beliefs here. So he’s stiff, sitting with his hands clasped and holding it together just barely. 

He practically jumps out of his skin when you return to your room with a tray of refreshments. 

“Woah, Yuta. You okay?”

He turns around to look at you. A mistake, apparently. His eyes land on the sight of your bare legs before he forces himself to meet your eyes. You’re so pretty to him. Always so beautiful without any effort. 

“Huh? Yeah. Sorry, just got lost in thought.”

You put the tray down on the table in front of him before sitting on the edge of your bed - facing him. The distance between you is minimal. You reach out to pet the top of his head with the palm of your hand, scratching his jaw tenderly. Yuta feels loved by the touch. 

“You sure? Looks like you saw a ghost.”

Your genuine worry makes his spine feel like it’ll melt. He puts his hands over yours, rubbing his cheek against your palm.

“Promise I’m okay. Just—it's nothing serious.” 

“Mm. Even if it’s nothing serious, I wanna know what stuff you’re worried about, ‘kay? So tell me if you want.”

He feels unsteady but so happy. 

“Thank you, my love.”

“Yeah, of course. You wanna keep sitting on the floor or…?”

The minute you ask him, he feels the hair stand up on his neck. 

“The bed…?”

You give him a look of confusion before you break out into a knowing grin.

“Oh, I forgot. I mean to remain chaste, my liege. Just wanna cuddle a bit.”

“Are you making fun of me?” He asks, not masking the pout in his voice. 

You tilt your head to one side, leaning  back on your palms. 

“A little,” You say mischievously, shrugging “I’m used to your lifestyle of celibacy.” 

He frowns at you. “It’s not like that, I just want to—“

“I just want to cherish you because I love you and want you for more than sex yadda yadda yadda. I know. And I respect your wishes even if I think it’s silly.” You say, taking the words right out of his mouth. His frown deepens.

“It’s not silly to me.” He says, almost petulantly. At this, you grab his face in your hands which catches him off-guard. You knock your forehead against his, bent over to do it. 

“I know that too, you dummy. The point is that I’m not trying to get in your pants right now.”

He can’t help but smile, pulling away to kiss at your wrist. You giggle. 

“Well, what do you want?”

“To be wrapped up in each other like otters.”

“So romantic.”

“Right? So get up here.” 

He gives in sooner rather than later. You scoot till your back is along the wall next to your bed and Yuta wastes no more time in joining you. Your bed is crazy comfortable. Just laying it in makes him want to fall asleep almost immediately. He gets cozy  before directing his gaze to you in front of him. He feels like he’s gonna throw up and the only thing that’ll come out is his heart. You give him a look of amusement. 

“Enjoying the view?” You tease. He laughs, leaning forward to tuck his face into your neck.

“Yeah. Smells like you,” 

“So cute.” 

“Don’t know how to feel about being called cute.” He says honestly. He peers up at you and you’re giggling and he can feel his heart rate sky-rocket. You twirl a piece of his hair around your index finger. 

“You’re cute and cool and handsome. Better?” 

“Yeah. Yes.” 

“Mm,” You respond. He looks at you as your expression drifts off somewhere. He can’t take his eyes away from your face “Sorry you had to stay over.” 

“It’s fine. It’d be a shame if you didn’t get anything to look over while we were there. If you make any breakthroughs, it’d be good for Gojo-sensei.” 

“You still call him that even though you graduated so many years ago?”

He flushes slightly. 

“Force of habit. My point stands.” 

“Mhm. Thanks for being so supportive. I didn’t think it was that late, y’know? I would’ve tried to hurry if I knew,” You say thoughtfully “But I like having you over.” 

He gives you a once over as he pulls away, eyes flitting to your lips. You give him a small grin. 

“Kiss me.” 

He looks at you apologetically. 

“That’s not fair. We can’t kiss? Making out doesn’t count as intimate relations, Yuta.” 

“Okay, but it can lead to them.” 

“If it’s that serious, I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“Wait, no.” 

“Then kiss me.” 

He sighs. 

“Just kissing, okay?” 

“Okay, you monk.” 

He laughs at the comment before pressing his lips to yours tenderly. You have no such intent of leaving it that way - your hand on immediately on the nape of his neck. The softness of your tongue makes Yuta feel like there’s fizz in his head - like the water inside of him is seltzer. He thought you would at least try to give him some mercy. 

He probably shouldn’t expect that from his favorite girl. He pulls away, out of breath. A little line of saliva breaks off between you. Your grin is eye-catching, like glass in the sun. Yuta wouldn’t mind burning in the magnitude of your light. 

“Just kissing,” He emphasizes, trying to be firm. You hum, hand on his cheek. You rub your thumb on his lip tenderly, looking at him square in the eyes. He’s stronger than this, he swears. 

“We are just kissing though?” 

“Baby.” He frowns. A laugh bubbles up from your stomach and he’s so entranced by it he nearly forgets what he’s trying to convince you of. 

“Since when is making out too naughty? Teenagers do stuff like that, Yuta. We’re grown-ups.” 

“That’s the whole problem.” He says back in faux exasperation. You look like you’re going to kiss him again, but you lean into his ear instead. Your breath is warm and ticklish against his skin. 

“Yuta,” You murmur with such clear intent he feels himself break down under the weight “Can’t we have sex, hm?” 

Blood rushes down to his dick so fast he’s embarrassed. He stares at you as you pull away, a look  in your eyes that makes him want to collapse. Of course he does. He wants to have so much sex with you so often it’s starting to drive him up a wall. Is there anyone in the world other than him masochistic enough to turn down the offer? He’s doubtful to say the least. 

“I want to,” He admits. You beam and nod. Your hand slides down to squeeze his waist. He swallows thickly. 

“Yeah? Then why can’t we?” 

“I just..don’t want to rush things,” He replies with as much conviction as he possibly can. The sincerity must reach you because you soften a little “We’ve known each other for a long time. And it was already hard to get here. I just want to make sure it’s right.” 

“You’re so thoughtful,” You murmur to him, running over his hip bone with your thumb “And that makes you really sexy, you know?” 

“What if it gets all messed up?” 

“Our relationship is stronger than that, yeah. It can withstand a handjob.” 

He groans at your vulgarity before laughing. 

“I’m being serious!” 

“I know and that’s so sweet of you. But I really, really don’t think it’ll be that bad if we have sex. We might fuck like rabbits for a few days but that’s not really the end of the world.” 

He feels heat creep up his next as you nuzzle your nose against his, whispering softly. 

“And doesn’t that sound nice? Cooped up in this little room, fucking each others brains out. Just you and me.” 

He feels his dick steel against his will. He looks at you seriously, a fire in his expression. 

“You’re being unfair.”  

“Who, me? Never. I’m just telling you what I think.” 

He groans in complaint. Is this the right thing to do? He doesn’t think so. But it’s not like he doesn’t want to. He really, really wants to have sex and there’s never been such a perfect opportunity. You’re a little too good at turning him on and he’s a little too pent up to think about it more clearly. It feels like the only thing he can think about, a side-effect of this whole conundrum. There is a right way to go about this and he can’t say for certain yours isn’t the one. 

Plus the vivid picture you’ve painted of the two of you fucking in a room for hours is making his whole body burn up with lust. Fuck, the things he could do to you in all that time without it ever being enough. 

Yuta didn’t know he was aching for you so badly until he was this close to having you. 

“Baby,” He can feel how deep his voice is getting. It’s taking all of his strength to keep it in. 

“How do you want me? Tell me. You’ve been thinking about me right?”

“Always,” He confesses, staring at you without any restraint “Always thinking of you.”  

“Doing what?”

Oh. This is… 

Oh.

“I’ve never seen you naked.”

“Then you daydream about seeing me naked? How tame.” 

“It’s more than that, it’s—I want to make you feel good. You’re so good to me. And I wanna…”

You stare at him. You’re so cheeky. 

“You wanna?”

“Want you to feel good. But because of me. All because of me.”

A wave of heat passes through him. He looks at you and you look...different. You look turned on, fingers carding through his hair. Right now all Yuta can think about is how much he wants. A word with so much weight behind it he can hardly keep up. God doesn’t Yuta want you more than he’s ever wanted anything. 

The room feels like it’s hotter than it was a few seconds last. A thick tension spreads over everything like jam. Yuta is too dazed to do anything. He can only watch as you sit up. You guide him to lay on his back and climb on top of him with ease. Your thighs feel warm and soft as you straddled him, taking his hands to put them on your waist.

He slides them up underneath your shirt lightly, enough to feel the warmth of your skin on his calloused fingers. Your eyes lock as you lean forward the slightest bit, caging Yuta in with your hand next to his head. 

“So possessive,” You tease, seeing right through him like you usually do. He really is. He thought he was a little better at hiding it “Already all yours, Yuta.” 

That makes his dick twitch. You must feel it because you laugh at him about it and his hands grip even tighter. He’s gonna lose his mind, being swept up by you so easily. He’s gotten so used to forfeiting restraint. Always goes in head first because that’s how cowards have to learn to fight. But he’s forgotten how to hold back. How to suppress. 

Right now, he feels like an animal. He feels like a restless hound dog, straining against the spiked collar he’s tried to keep himself in place. What does that make you, he wonders? 

In an attempt at transparency, he looks at you and says “I want you so much.”

And your reply is about all the permission he needs. 

“Then take me,” 

Yuta heeds your words and takes. It’s easy to flip you both over from where you are. He mumbles an apology as you yelp in surprise - and he hopes you’ll forgive him for his impatience. He’s been picturing this for months now. He knows what he wants, and that’s you on your back with him on top of you - making you feel so fucking good you can’t stand it. He slots his legs between yours, hovering over you as your bodies press into each other. 

You wrap your arms around Yutas neck with ease and he leans in to kiss you passionately. Despite where you are, it’s clear you're helping set the pace. Yuta is eager to follow. It starts off slow enough but when you pull away once, you're opening your mouth enough to let him in deeper. You stick your tongue out and Yuta follows suit. Everything is so hot he feels like it’ll burn, and you taste like mint toothpaste. He likes swapping spit with you like this, the messy way the drool runs down his chin and yours like you can’t get enough for each other. 

He has no idea how long you stay like that. Just kissing is a dangerous game. The nip of your mouth and the press of your incisors in his lower lip leave him shuddering. His hard cock is pressed against your abdomen, and he can’t help himself but hump into the soft plush of your tummy. Even through the stiff material of his jeans he can feel you. 

He quivers and whimpers into your mouth but you swallow the noise with delight. Your fingers find themself at the nape of his hand reaching up, tugging at the root. You pull away to give him a chance to breathe. He sounds pathetic, he knows it, but fuck he can’t hold it in anymore. Your voice is cool and collected yet rich and heady. It feels like a salve to his raw nerves, calming to him. He closes his eyes and humps into you and everything feels like it’ll disappear. Yuta just wants to give into his base needs. He wants to be all yours as much as he wants you to be all his and everything is so tangled up in his mind. 

“That feel good, Yuta?” 

“Y-yeah. Yes. Oh, yes.” 

You giggle at him a little and Yuta looks up at you. Look at the swell of your lips and the flush and sheen on your skin. Too much, too much, too much. 

But not enough at the same time, he rubs his cock against you again, harder. 

“So pent up,” You comment smoothly and Yuta groans in agreement “Why don’t I help you a little?” 

Unsure of what you mean, he stares at you hazily. You push him off, making him stand to his knees and he watches you as your hands come to the ends of your shirt. You pull it off over your head and toss it somewhere. You have nothing on underneath. His mouth dries out almost completely. Bare skin of your shoulders and the curve of your neck and your chest so open. Your nipples are hard against the cool air, standing to attention.

Your b0dy is so much sexier than he could’ve conjured up in his head. The real thing doesn’t even compare, and the way you move as you take off the rest is so fucking mesmerizing. Yuta watches you take off your pants next -  you put your legs up to slide them off. 

There’s not a single part of you that Yuta doesn’t want to claim for himself. He traces the outline of your legs, the bend of your knee and the arch of your foot. He should worship you, after all - he was right for trying to restrain it before. If he had this in the beginning, he’s afraid of what kind of person he might become. He’s scared of it even now.

 Yuta is of course the type of man to get sick on his own devotion. He’s always been like that. That’s what the rings on his hands always mean. He wants to make himself sick on you. 

Nothing could be more intense than just watching you undress, he doesn't think. You toss your shorts somewhere, but leave your panties on. Yuta still has his clothes on. The only barrier between you now is a thin layer of cotton. There’s a damp spot on it. He can’t stop his hand from reaching out, pressing into it with his thumb as gently as he can. You gasp. His eyes go wide. 

“It’s okay,” You assure, a smile on your face “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

He hums, dumbstruck, and smooths his thumb over the seam. There’s something salacious about the boundary itself. The material that’s keeping him from just taking you. 

“C-can you leave them on..? For a bit?” He asks. You blink twice. Even if you’re confused, there’s not any judgment. Yuta really does love you. 

“Uh-huh. If you want me too,”  

You give him the floor this time, Yuta thinks. He takes his shirt off too. He doesn’t take his jeans off completely, though. Only unzips them, pushing them down past his boxers to give him some breathing room. And with that he’s back on top of you. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips but moves down towards your jaw. The little fluttery sigh that leaves you makes everything close in around him. Like it’s only you two in the entire world. He leaves them down your neck, down your collarbone and sternum. Warm open mouth kisses trying all over every inch of you. 

His hands shake as he reaches out for your chest. You chuckle and reach for him. Guide them to squeeze your tits firm, a cheeky look in your eye. He tries to take more confidence in it now. Gropes the fat between his fingers, palms over your nipples in appreciation. He’s entranced by it, pushing them together and teasing the hardened buds with the pads of his fingers.

“So pretty,” He mumbles, mostly to himself “You’re so pretty,” 

“You’re pretty too, Yuta.” 

He can feel a blush crawl up his skin. He ducks his head down to take your nipples into his mouth. You let out a soft moan of pleasure that encourages him to suck harder on one and use his fingers to tease you where his mouth can’t reach. Your sighs are shaky and you're gently losing your composure.

 He wants to shatter you completely. 

He grabs your thighs and encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist. And you do with his guidance, a well of desire about to burst within him. He adjusts until his cock is snug against your clothed cunt. A broken oh, leaves your lips and Yuta humps into you, shifting until he hits the sweet spot. Your voice sounds again, pitchy and melodic like a wind chime and that’s when Yuta knows he has it. 

He has you right where he wants you now. Bodies pressed into each other and so involved, so together. Yuta can feel you everywhere. He’s always been in sync with you but every notch is turned to ten. The shallow rise and fall of your stomach, the slightest tenseness in your spine that melt away when he gives you a little attention. He has you in his grasp but he wants to hold onto you tighter. He feels like he’s been struck by lightning, the way his nerves are revved up.

He focuses on where your lower bodies meet, tongue poked between his lips and furrow in his brow. Drives his clothed, hard cock against your cunt, catching the crown into your clit until you’re shaking underneath him. There’s something so primal about it that Yuta can’t take it. He can’t think clearly anymore, lost in the feeling of dull pleasure. If it feels so good like this, being inside you might be too much. You’re both naked mostly except for where you both need each other. So close in proximity that Yuta can hear each of your short pants. Erratic and almost thoughtlessly driven by one single thing, pleasing you. Feeling each other, all wrapped up together. There’s something romantic about the mutual desperation. 

Drawing out those moans as he sucks at your tits, making you feel how hard he is. How pent up and needy and fucking horny he is all for you. 

Just humping your soft, sweet little cunt through your panties makes Yuta want to risk everything he’s got. The push and pull of too much and  not enough at the same time.  It’s so fucking euphoric. Your fabric keeps wetter and wetter, and Yuta doesn’t know if it’s you or him - his pre-cum dribbling through his boxers. Mixing together so that there’s less friction than there should be, material all soaked through and tacky. 

He can feel your pussy pulse and tremble. Your spine goes stiff and Yuta pulls away to look at you. You’re beautiful. You’re on edge, in complete bliss and so fucking beautiful. 

“Oh, oh, Yuta - shit, like that. G-gonna, gonna,” 

He doesn’t know what overtakes him, but he babbles on pulling away. 

“Cum for me, please—fuck, baby, p-please, need it,” 

You cum the first time just like that. For Yuta, humping each other like two lovesick teenagers. All for him you get all broken. He can’t help but burn the image of you underneath in his head forever. He needs to see it all again. 

“Oh, that felt so fucking good,” The praise feels like it’s being injected into his bloodstream“You make me feel sho good,” 

The slight slur in your words and praise all together makes him too happy. He kisses you, sloppy and lovedrunk, tongues touching and teeth chattering. 

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” Yuta says with as much conviction as any one man could have. You laugh so loud it makes him smile. “I don’t wish well for anyone you dated before me.”  And you laugh again even louder. 

“You sound polite even when you’re threatening people.”  You say with nothing but affection. Yuta wants more. He wants you. Even with this quiet lull, he’s thinking about how he can get you to cum again. 

He nudges his nose to your cheek, kissing the corner of your mouth before he talks. 

“I want you to do it again,” He states, slow and steady, trying to feel out your willingness “And then I want to fuck you,”

“Wanna fuck me after you make me a mess?” You say, much more bluntly than he has. You’re not wrong “Are you a sadist after all, Yuta?”

“You look good when you’re messy. ‘s not my fault.” He replies, a little bite to his words. This delights you to the point he's proud. He does his best not to look uncool and this one time he’s succeeded. 

“Make a mess of me, Yuta,” You encourage, probably because you know he needs it. And he does “I want it.” 

“Yeah,” Comes his reply, as he pulls himself off of you “Me too,” 

The pace slows down now. The room smells of sex and Yuta can still feel the blood rushing in his ears but nothing so frantic. He lays you back, your legs undoing from behind him and resting. Yuta kisses your sternum first, a wave of emotion running through him. He puts his hands on your sides, sliding them down to meet your hips and squeezing tight. 

He kisses his down your body like it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He can feel you curl in above him - not completely. But you seem a little astonished, and he'd be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel like he accomplished something. He works his way lower slowly, rubbing small circles into your skin as often as he can. Caressing you and committing your body to memory. He wants you to feel him as much as he’s feeling you, to feel his touch. The tension in the air is strengthened by his silence. 

If he were saying anything it’d be something like this. Like can you feel it? how much i love you? or i want all of you. Things he can’t often muster up the strength to say. He’s good with his words but not good enough to communicate all of it so bluntly. Yuta is brave in areas other than love. Sometimes your adoration makes all the words clog in his throat. This is better for him, the physicality brings him peace of mind. 

He likes how you feel. Your skin is much softer when he compares it to his, feels so different and more plush and comfortable. Yuta likes taking you in his hands and kneading the skin gently enough to relax you. Lower and lower, a trail of wet marks until he’s close to your clothed cunt. He stares at the sticky material, kissing it feather light before redirecting his attention to your thighs. 

He starts again, at the bend of your knee - and works his way inward. He’s rougher now, taking time to mark up your inner thigh with precision. Yuta can’t help himself, placing kisses in the last places his teeth bit you. He does it again and again, up along one thigh and then moving to the other until you’re covered in them. 

You’re trembling with anticipation. A sense of contentment washes over Yuta as his breath fans over your cunt, so completely soaked the fabrics a different color. His tongue runs over the material, a shameless moan of pleasure leaving his mouth. You arch your back, hands reaching to take root in his hair. The sensation of tension on his scalp makes his cock twitch. It’s salty and a little bitter, the mix of his pre-cum and yours altogether. Yuta goes to do it again anyway. The mess of it gets him excited, unconsciously rubbing into the sheets underneath him. 

“O-oh, Yuta.” 

He shivers, hands planing over the tops of your thighs as he brings him down close to him. 

“Yeah, yeah baby. Just me and you,” 

A soft laugh leaves your mouth. Yuta can feel how worked up you are. You’re quiet and tense. Some part of him wants to leave you like that waiting, but the other part of him wants to give you everything you’ve ever asked for. He gives into the latter, because that’s what he wants more. Rolls the fabric off of your legs with a deep sigh, a pleased hum. He loves the way you smell, the scent of sex and arousal mixed with the fancy soaps you keep in your bathroom. Your pussy is as pretty as you are, a sheen of arousal all along your slit. Your clit peeks through, swelled from need. Yuta kisses it without thinking. 

He starts slow. Lays his tongue flat against the seam of your cunt before dragging it up. The taste of you covers his mouth, tangy and slightly sweet - Yuta can’t get enough of you. He moans in appreciation, repeating the gesture as he pulls your pussy close. His nose bumps into your sex. He peers up at you with his lashes. You’re so pretty it makes him want to please. He repeats this over and over - licking at your clit with enthusiasm. Your clit is hard and needy, throbbing against the soft, smooth muscle of his tongue as he gains a sort of rhythm. He gauges your reaction when he tries something new, adding pressure until you’re squirming underneath him. When you start growing noisier, Yuta knows he’s hit the right pace. 

And he stays like that, your pussy soaking his mouth and chin. He adjusts himself slightly, rubbing his fingers between your folds. You let out a soft oh above him, making him want to laugh. He keeps at it, his fingers sliding far enough to tease your entrance. Your hole is twitching without him having done much at all, his middle finger teasing and prodding. 

“Don’t t-tease so much,”  You pant. 

Yuta nearly blows his load listening to you talk like that. He didn’t think you could be so cute. He listens though, pushing his middle finger into you with ease. It doesn’t take too much effort. Your insides are so incredibly wet for him. Your walls are so soft and inviting, syrupy to the touch. Yuta loves feeling them. He gives you time to adjust to the new sensation, fucking in and out slow enough that the tension melts. He gets knuckle deep with his middle finger and when it doesn’t seem like you’re tense anymore - he goes and adds another. 

He does both in tandem - and there’s a period where it’s all a bunch of sensation for you. Eventually it stops being just a feeling, turns into pleasure. He curls his fingers up against you hard, rubbing the soft and spongy area and he can feel you practically lurch forward. Your spine arches, mouth dropped open in a soft ‘o’. Another feeling of pride spreads through his chest, his whole body. He wants you to let go again just like this. While he fingers your weepy cunt and with your clit in his mouth - he wants to see how far he can push. How wet you can get before he ever gets inside. 

Yuta isn’t one for competition or ego. He’s always been easy-going. But something about you being underneath him like this, moaning for him like this - makes him feel like he should put in a little more effort to prove himself. He wants to make you feel so good, wants to see your composure break down steadily. He wants you praise him for it, to fuck each other like animals in the thereafter of your second orgasm. He pushes towards that goal steadfastly, and soon enough your body catches up with him. 

Yuta can practically feel your stomach tighten. You let out a noise, a string of mismatched syllables like a warning. Yuta only hums in encouragement, keeping his pace exactly the same. Feeling it is incredible. His fingers can feel the way your walls tighten up so hard and the tremors of the aftermath. 

Your back curves in a C as you cum, hard for him and he can feel it. He can feel you cum. He can see you, see the pleasure crash into you like a tidal wave. A second. Yuta made you cum twice in a row and he’s already itching to do it a third. 

You practically pry him off as you ride the wave of your high. You sigh deeply, and Yuta licks his fingers. He waits for your adoration, pleased to receive as you pull him up for a kiss. 

“You’re so fucking good, Yuta,” You say and Yuta feels his resolve crumble. He needs to fuck you immediately “So, so good to me baby.” 

He whimpers into your mouth. “I need you.”

You laugh breathlessly, your hand reaching between your bodies to squeeze his cock. Yuta shudders and you giggle to yourself. 

“Yeah. Bet you’re feeling pent up, Yuta. How about I treat you this time? That okay?” 

“Treat me?” 

“By riding you,” You say, smiling at him. He gets chills from the offer “You want that?” 

“Oh. Oh, fuck - please. Please?” 

You smile at him. 

“Lay on your back, sweet boy.” 

Sweet boy. He swallows thickly but does as you say. Lays back and watches you climb over him a second time tonight - this time with a much more obvious intent. He can’t stop thinking about how gorgeous he finds you - no matter how many times he sees you, it’s not easy to get used to. 

You sit up on his lap, naked and beautiful, your hangs tugging down his boxers just enough to free his cock. He hisses at the sensation of air, then moans because your hand squeezed around the shaft. Yuta watches, bewitched, by how you spit into the palm of your hands and let it drip down onto his cock. You stroke until he’s covered in it, saliva making a mess of him. When he’s all wet, you scoot forward just slightly. A hand ends up on his chest as you pull your hips up. 

Guiding the tip to your hole, you sink down on Yuta finally. He can only recognize loosely that there’s no condoms to be seen but he doesn’t find it in himself to care. There’s a slight sensation of tension that quickly gives away to nothing but slick, white-hot pleasure. You feel amazing. It’s not like anything he’s ever felt in his entire life and each time you drop down another inch - he’s biting his cheek trying not to cum immediately. That’d be such a waste, even if you’ve promised to fuck like rabbits - Yuta wants to make this last long. 

You lower yourself steadily until all of him is inside. Your expression is slightly pinched, and your whole body trembles before you finally seem comfortable. You lean forward, your hand next to Yuta’s head as you look at him. 

“Cum when you feel like you need to, ‘kay?” 

Yuta just swallows. 

Before he gets a chance to adjust to the feeling, you pick your hips and slam them back down on his cock without breaking a sweat. Yuta nearly screams, his hands immediately shooting to your hips to try and slow you down. You give him a wry grin, He almost wants to plead for your mercy. 

“Want me to go slower?” 

“Please be nice.” 

You giggle but heed his request. Repeating the motion but slower as promised, you rock yourself steadily onto Yuta’s cock. The pace is controlled and smooth, a rhythmic pass of your hips over and over. Your insides feel like they’ll melt him completely, make him liquid from the inside out. You’re picturesque riding him, tits bouncing and leaned forward enough that Yuta can see the concentration on your face. He watches you find your own pleasure in it too - somewhere half-way between grinding and bouncing that makes you look so good. He feels so incredible like this. 

He moves his hands so they’re grabbing your ass and only moves with you slightly. Not enough to change the pace, but to meet you. The room is filled with the sound of skin hitting skin - a tacky smack as your bounces hard enough to hit Yutas thighs. Something about is so vulgar, but something about is so sensual. He can feel every nerve in his body standing on edge. Your hand moves gently between your bodies to tease your clit as you ride and Yuta can’t help but be impressed by your stamina. He feels so spoiled. Feels so mind-numbingly good he wants to go brain dead while you drain for everything he’s got. 

Your expression is blissed out as you hit your stride, absolutely debauched. He can feel you again, another rush of arousal. He’s getting better at telling when you’re close. Your pussy is so sloppy all for him, because of him. So messy that it’s dripping down his cock onto his balls, all over the sheets underneath you. He can feel you clench in anticipation - the sudden spasming in the build up. 

“Gonna cum again and I want you cum right after me, yeah baby? Can you do that?” 

Yuta groans. 

“Pleasepleaseplease.” Is all he can make out. You laugh, breathy. Your pace is still the same as you rub your clit. The third time you cum is less intense. It’s a shorter wave, a softer sort of orgasm that seems to ease you more than it does anything else. Even still, you clench around his cock hard - getting so much wetter than you were a minute ago. 

It’s in the tremors that Yuta finally feels in touch with himself again. He loses himself completely. Finally giving into the sensation that’s been drowning him, He feels it in his entire lower body. Every atom of him finally catching up to the high of the release. It’s so intense when he opens his mouth nothing comes out. His eyes shoot open then go back closed. The coil in his stomach loosens more slowly at first than all at once, like a car crash. When Yuta finally cums he sees nothing but white stars in his vision. He can’t scream, can’t speak - so he holds onto you tight and finishes to the sound of your gentle coaxing. Your voice is shot hoarse as you coo to him.

“That’s it baby, cum for me. That’s it, there you go.” Echoes around in his head. Cum spurts out of him, thick and hot in your walls and he doesn’t even try to pull out as he goes completely limp underneath you. 

When he opens his eyes back up again, you're both just as ragged as each other. Yuta can’t stop himself from laughing. He hugs you tight to his chest as you lay on top of him - naked bodies and tangled limbs. 

“I love you,” Yuta says blearily. You laugh. 

“I love you too, Yuta.” 

__ 

After you and Yuta manage the energy to shower, you find yourselves back in bed. It’s late when you’re finally ready to sleep, being in the same positions you were before. Only this time with new sheets. 

Yuta lets you into his arms, wrapping them around you as you nuzzle into his chest. 

“So. Was it worth breaking your rules?” 

Yuta can’t help but break out into laughter at your question. He nods his head, a flush on his expression. 

“Yeah. Yeah it was.” 

[ronanlynchdefender]

The political stances of The Raven Cycle characters are so fascinating to me. You got Blue over here who is very much a progressive activist in the making. She recognizes things like misogyny and is not afraid to call those things out even when it concerns her closest friends. Because of that, I definitely see her as the type of activist who would be in the front lines at protests whether that be at the Capitol, college campuses, at the border, or as is the case in the dreamer trilogy, tied to a tree. She is the type of person who demands change in our current system and would demand it loudly and through acts of protest or civil disobedience.

Then you have Adam who displays no strong desire to change the system and whose only desire is to rise up in that system. He wants to climb the social ladder and assimilate to those of higher social status which is partially why he envies Gansey so much in the beginning because Gansey was born into it. Adam still tries to do this in the dreamer trilogy by essentially pretending to be a Gansey-like figure while at Harvard despite hating it. Eventually, Adam gives up on trying to belong within this higher social class and "climbing the ladder" but then strangely enough becomes a fed, which means just integrating into another form of hierarchy and power structure. And I feel like a more interesting arc would've been rejecting being a part of these societal systems altogether.

Which I suppose now leads us to Ronan who is a literal anarchist. He actually rejects all societal systems and rules and it permeates every aspect of his life. But actually, I shouldn't say all because there is one societal institution which he does enjoy partaking in: religion. With the exception of his catholicism, he does not engage in any other societal institution: education, law, politics. He hates it, in fact, It is antithetical to his being which is what makes his characterization so perfect because of course a gay farmer god would hate oppressive rules and structures (except for religion). That's not even mentioning that he is a canonical ecoterrorist that cost the US government a billion dollars. But what is really interesting about his character (and where his and Blue's political stances differ) is that because he rejects these systems he has no interest or stake in changing them. He'd sooner tear down the system than try to reform it.

And then there’s Gansey who doesn't seem to engage in politics and would rather spend his days reading his little Welsh books and going on his fun adventures. Of course, he is able to do this largely because he has the privilege to not worry about politics or social class. It seems that Blue's influence changes this as they are both chaining themselves to trees in protest during the dreamer trilogy. Other than that, I don't really have a lot to say about Gansey and his politics. But I find it very interesting that Maggie has created this close-knit group of characters with such varying relationships to how they view politics and social structures. I tried to draw out a 2-axis grid to show their differences, but I don't know if it really works because I feel like Gansey kinda screws it up but nevertheless I like how they each represent different ends of a spectrum sort of.

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Wrong Turn ||

Pairing: Mountain Man Silver Fox Nomad!Steve Rogers | You. 

Trope: Neat and clean ‘civilized’ Princess-like young trophy wife X Filthy beast of a wild and scary man who only got her because he has the power. 

Description: In a desperate attempt to save your life from the wrath of the mountain people that your friends and you stumbled upon and accidentally killed on a hike gone wrong, you had to offer yourself up to their Leader to use as a ‘resource’. But little did your ‘husband’ know, you had been actively getting rid of his seed to avoid actually getting pregnant. Naturally, when he does find out, he is very unhappy… And also very determined to make sure you don't make it out of your punishment without a child, or two.

Warning(s): Dubcon, barbaric!Steve, breeding kink (gone wild), unprotected p-in-v, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, missionary, he has a wife bod kink (but it is inclusive), misogyny, smut with perhaps too much plot, fear kink, size kink, exhibitionism, possessiveness, jealousy, age gap, hair pulling, spanking, biting, allusions to painal and Steve being a teasing sicko about it but he doesn't actually penetrate, overstimulation, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, boob play, squirting, Lloyd makes an appearance with his own young bride, dacryphilia (it's me), self degradation, Stevie is a perverted old meanie, infantilization, mind break.

Disclaimer: Very loosely based off of the movie that I do not own. You don't need to know it to read this piece but do note that it takes place in a fictional setting. Minors do not interact. 

Inspo-ish: This post.

Note: For someone who was on their period, I should not have been this horny. But I need this marriage, now. Ps, though this rotted in my drafts for a long time… in honor of Chris growing out his beard again, ig.

MASTERLIST

. . .

You have no idea how long it has been since that fateful twilight when everything changed in your life, leaving you to a lifestyle you could never have even imagined for yourself.  

“Eat up, woman” but as your barbarian of a husband commands you in his rough and animalistically deep voice, you cannot help but break out of your reverie and shudder at the sight of the barely cooked meat piled high on the platter in front of the two of you. “So you can bear me healthy children” although you're the one who was made to prepare his beastly dinner -that never fails to leave you aghast when it's gorged down- as you're his wife, you cannot help but gag under your breath and feel disgust for the loaves that sit before you in the company of a tall stone carved jug that brims full of the foul smelling mead that your husband is ardently fond of. 

You muster up your best coy smile. Keeping up the appearance of a happily mated pair is important. Or people stare. And then the old man becomes unpleasant. “I had quite a lot while I was cooking, dear” your lies sting your tongue out of the fear you feel of getting caught, but the mere hope of not doing so is better than eating this. “Y- You go ahead” you slowly turn in his muscle hardened lap, that you are always to sit on, to give him a small smile but your expression almost transforms into one of horror because of how wildly your heart jumps at the sight of his stern, predator-like face. You are quick to recover though, as it is a usual occurrence. 

“You need it. You work so hard—” there is just something about his rough looks that never fails to send a chill down your spine. You have never seen anything, let alone an actual human man like him before. 

A beard as thick as the very forest his people populate and as dark as the nights can get here in the absence of lanterns due to the heavy trees, age that streaks some of his gold locks with its silver has not marred the sternness of his jaw that remains firmly set under the heavy mane of his facial hair. His shoulders seem akin to the mountains that surround his village and his piercing dark eyes the mysterious waterfall that flows some way down south from the entrance of the settlement. The frightening mass of his shoulders is so toned that if the barely noticeable wrinkles that sometimes appear under the dark of his eyebrows and next to the crow-feather like lashes that frame his eyes, he can easily be mistaken for a man in his primeful late twenties and no older. His unrelenting strength and wolfish stamina would only further serve to bear testament to the misconception. 

Your strict husband bluntly catches your shaky hand that you extend in his direction to feed him some of the meat, the force that he uses coupled with the coarseness of his skin making you jump. You bite back a yelp and whimper when you look up at his dark blue eyes from where you were watching his bearded mouth to carefully place the food in.

“I don't care” Steve does not care much for being polite -unless it is you who disregards it in your behavior-, especially when it comes to you denying or diverting his ‘care’ for you. “You eat more” you bite back the scowl that threatens to break onto your face from how he turns your hand around in your direction instead. “Wives always need to eat more. They do so much at home for husband and children” he probably feels proud of these ‘values’ that have been transmitted to him by his elders. But all they make you want to do is to crack him across the jaw for being a misogynistic and backward shithead. Especially with you. 

Your ‘husband’ believes that everyone has a role to play; a contribution to make to their people and home. That is how this archaic village of theirs has survived in these mountains hidden away from the rest of the world for so long. 

The greasy piece of a disturbing excuse of a rare steak touches your lips and you've been here long enough to know better than to argue or worse yet, fight. So you smile and lean into his arm that cases your form against his through the embrace he holds you in from behind, his fingers playing with one of the many flowered braids your attending ladies had put in your hair a bit before his arrival at ‘home’. 

“O- Of course” you reluctantly open your open and grip your flowy dressing gown for a semblance of support for your sanity, taking the smallest bite you can -which is still a lot as the man pushes nearly the whole piece into your mouth the moment you open up- as you keep your eyes trained on his to avoid looking down. Your mind always becomes more aware of the taste when you look. “Thank you, dear” you focus on swallowing it without gagging and feel your smile split in places because of how uncomfortable you are.

He probably notices it because he slightly raises one eyebrow and snorts before hugging your smaller form -that is tiny compared to his- closer and puts the rest of the piece in his own mouth. If there is one thing you have learnt in your time with him, it's that you can never fool him. Not really. No matter how well you may think you have lied or pretended, he always sees through it. 

Sometimes you suspect he even enjoys it.

Steve finally begins to eat himself, silently offering you another piece that you politely reject by shaking your head and then quickly pressing an apologetic kiss to his scruffy cheek to lighten the blow. Apparently, a wife can never be polite enough to her husband. And though the change in his expression begins with an unhappy frown, your show of ‘affection’ seems to suffice him and he relaxes in satisfaction, now looking down the long table and at his clansmen and maidens that sit enjoying their dinner, their chatter and laughter a dull roar in the large eating hall of the Leader's dwelling. You pick up the heavy jug of mead with both your hands and obediently hold it to his lips to sip from. Steve looks away from what one of his main men are saying and gulps down a mouthful, rubbing your back as a gesture for thanks before moving his hand quickly down to squeeze your ass to heighten the effect of his expression of gratitude. 

His form shakes in mirth when you yelp and blush. He knows how embarrassing you find being openly ‘affectionate’ in front of people and that is one of the reasons why he enjoys it so much besides showing off that a thing of such beauty and youth like you is all his. You rest the jug between your boobs that he has fucked and squeezed into increasing in size and use your other hand to gently finger and stroke his golden locks that he keeps pushed away from his face outside the bedroom. Though he says nothing, you feel his usually vigilant and always firm stature slowly soften and you cannot help but smile, though what he says next quickly deflates it.

“Do you feel any change in you, wife?” You know what it means and now it's you who becomes tense. He only uses that name for you when he speaks to you as a husband inquiring about your marital matters. “Has my seed attached to your womb yet? Does it grow there?” You gulp and feign shyness, moving closer to his hair and nuzzling yourself in him. “Hm?” He closes his hugging arm around you and reaches for your stomach, fingers groping your covered skin as gently as he can -which isn't much- to feel it. “Answer me” he demands when you refuse to speak. 

“I… I don't know, husband” you always promise yourself that you'll demand more rights for yourself; ask him to treat you like the other husbands treat their wives, only to fail the minute he enters your vicinity. 

“What does that mean?” His tone turns blunt and you whimper at the tightness that snaps back in place between his shoulders. 

You get it.

That was the deal, after all. 

Healthy children in exchange for your life that was required by their judicial laws for bearing false witness to your friend accidentally killing one of their people in mistaken defense. Steve had promised you before accepting you as a citizen that if you failed to fulfill your task you'd walk the darkness in the dungeons. He had shown you how it would be before declaring you a member of their tribe and the sight you had seen was something that had given you nightmares for days. 

But that did not mean you actually wanted to have your old captor's children.

You doubted it would ever be something you'd look forward to.

“I- I mean” regret shoots up your spine in the form of fear and you lose your speech to it momentarily. But then two of your main attending ladies -by that you mean Steve's top agents when it comes to you- enter the horizon of your sight and you hurriedly blubber out the first thing that comes to your mind. “I've n- never been pregnant before, s-o I d- don't know how to…” Your husband turns to look at you, his handsome features twisting into a rogue scowl but before he can scold you, one of the two ladies, Kaira, speaks in their language to Steve. 

Not everyone here can speak English and those who do speak it do so a rather odd version of it. Naturally, you don't speak their language and so they give you the full experience of an outsider when they need to discuss the business they want to keep private from you. The thought makes you want to laugh, like you'd be able to do something with whatever informations they withhold.

But it doesn't really bother you, because you don't care.

You've also learnt that ignorance is bliss here. 

Especially for someone like you.

Better to be the doe eyed trophy wife of an angel who can't tell her head from her ass.

“Is that so?” Your heart jumps when Steve chooses to speak English. That means that this definitely concerns you. You place the mead down and wrap one arm around his broad shoulders before nervously combing his thick beard with your other hand. Since you have no interest in or desire to learn their language, the only word you manage to pick up on when you focus really hard is ‘baby’ and that is solely because of the annoying amount of times it comes up for you. 

“Is not this strange?” He speaks once the women step back after finally ending the nerve wracking conversation that seems to go on forever. “Do you hear what they say about you, little one?” Fuck, you're definitely in trouble. 

He is reminding you of your place. 

You put on your best charming smile but you're painfully aware that your nervousness gives it away. You can feel it. “W- What do they say, dear?” They were such bitches. They knew how to speak English, that's why they were your attendants, but yet they chose not to. And now they were glaring at you like you weren't above them— oh no, not these thoughts again. You will never become like them! No, no! 

Steve pushes his plate away now. Your head spins from the realization. It's only half finished. Your husband never wastes his food. It is a near sin for them to do so. “They tell me the most odd things” oh just fucking tell me! You mentally scream but outwardly tilt your head to the side in confusion, your chest vibrating with the rising beats of your heart. “And now that I think about it myself…” His fingers wrap around the mead before he raises it to his lips. “I see the—”

“What did they say, Steve?” Your mouth works faster than your better sense and he pauses mid sip, dark blue eyes flickering up from the stone jug to look at you. Your face flushes a noticeable hot and your ears get sweaty from the awareness. 

Fuck. 

“They say you've been getting rid of my seed” he feels played and thus angry at the both of you. Perhaps more so towards himself than you; his silly little child-wife. How could he let a thing as tender and small as you fool him so? “... Do you?” It is obvious you are guilty. Besides, he is confident that his people would never lie to him unlike one young and beautiful girl that he had found kneeling in front of him in his court while bawling her eyes out one fateful night, fear stricken as his people surrounded him like a doe trapped. 

And of course, your expressions and reactions don't help your case, as always. “W- What? No…” Your mind becomes erratic.

“No?” He himself knows not what kind of a chance he offers you with that. But typical to your nature, you make it easy for him by refusing it.

“N- No! Of course not! W- Why would I ever do such a thing to m- my husb- hubby and my b- babies?!” Steve has to clench down his scoff. 

“You wouldn't, would you?” Your naivete never fails to amuse him.

“No! I- I don't know why they accuse me so—” you mend your speech from the archaic form that tries to leech to it everyday. “I don't know why they would accuse me of that but they must be mistaken! This is a misunderstanding!” 

He hums. “I see…” His scarred fingers begin to toy with your braids again. “So you remain devoted to me and faithful to our family, don't you?”

“Of course!” You nuzzle closer to him, your heart thundering into his chest. “I don't know why they still treat me like an outsider” you purr as you nervously stroke his hair, playing a card of your own and making an absolute fool of yourself by doing so. “I try my best… like I promised.” 

“Yes, your promise” his distant eyes -they get like that when you disappoint him and you hate the sight because it never fares well for you- travel down to your empty stomach. His gaze makes it wrench. Your fear skyrockets at the same rate as your anger. If only there was a way for you to get back at those bitches without having to give birth!

“I- It takes time sometimes, dear…” You hug his shoulders with one arm. “But it will happen. I know it…” Your other hand reaches for his fingers that rest on your abdomen now. 

“Oh?” Steve raises one dark eyebrow at you. His hair is the most fascinating combination of blonde and dark brown. “Is that what your modern day sciences say?” His people were not always like this, he had told you. They did not originate from here. Rather, some families had abandoned ‘civilization’ when it was going to hell -in his words- by killing each other for meaningless constructs such as caste, creed and color differences and migrated up here to establish a system of their own; one free from such nonsense. 

Apparently.

You take a deep breath. “Stevie—” you only call him that when you find yourself dangerously close to the dungeons.

“If that is what you believe in, wife,” he never cuts you off. Usually, that is. His age that streaks his blonde strands with its silver ones has granted him enough patience. Normally, he waits for the other person -who is most often you- to mess up themselves. But whatever the ladies have told him seems to agitate him into rebelling against his own nature today. “I'll do it your way. After all, happy wife happy life, is that not what you tell me often?” Okay, you might have said that during a particularly cocky moment in bed once. 

But the intention behind that had not been nearly whatever he is moving towards now. 

“Y- You don't have to, l- love…” You nervously giggle. “You're perfect the way you are” you run your nails that he insists you keep trimmed for hygienic -as if- and practical purposes through his silver-blonde hair.

“Oh no…” Now he pushes his food farther away. “I will indulge you, little one” he moves your other leg over his laps so now you face the people down the table with both of your legs on either sides of his, ass to his… fuck. “Time conspires against us, and so we must make haste.”

Your eyes widen and your heart leaps up in your throat. “M- My love?!” 

Steve moves your flowy gown out of his way, keeping a firm hold on one of your thighs even though he doesn't really have to. Your fear of him would never let you attempt an escape. “Yes, my stars” the name is so full of sarcasm it nearly pierces you open. “Let us leave time to its devices, and us ours” your husband is usually a very possessive and private man when it comes to you, but his ire seems to get the better of him today. You hear the buckle of his own clothes come undone. The table goes silent and heads turn in your direction once they realize what's going on. Oh no… Your stomach drops. Not in front of everyone. Not when Steve makes you so vulnerable in that condition. Not in front of these lowlifes!

“Husb—” blood bubbles hot under your cheeks as you feel him align himself against you. 

Holy shit.

You feel one of his coarse hands wrap around your throat and he pulls you closer to his mouth so he can whisper in your ear. “You will contribute, my stubborn little wife,” you whimper from the menace his words hold, your well trained cunt obediently squelching open against his thick hard tip as he lowers you on his cock with the hold he has on your thigh. “Whether you like it, or not” sometimes, deep down, you fear that the dungeons are not an option anymore. 

He keeps you in the horizons of his sight too much for them to be. 

It appears as though the sentence has changed. 

It is now Steve, or Steve.

You cry out from the strain his log-like girth puts on the narrow band of your entrance. God. You will never get used to his size regardless of how many times and ways he tames your pussy in. Yes, it does not refuse him or rip around him now as it used to in the beginning -and it did that for a long time- but the size to which his cock makes it expand is like a mini-birth. Feels like it, looks like it. Only, it feels way too good. And that's why you don't mind it—

No. You don't know what that was or meant. But you don't take responsibility for that thought!

“Oh!” The balmy velvet of your cavern grazes down the bulging veins and hard skin of the brute's cock until your petals squish against his heavy and very eager balls. Your head spins when you feel his tip tickle your cervix. It never takes his dick long to find it.  

His hands are pushing you back up almost instantly so he can slide you back down. You look anywhere but at the tens of faces in front of you, instead choosing to look at the wall on the opposite side of the table. You never thought these people were capable of being this quiet until now when your pussy makes an embarrassingly loud squelching noise as Steve tugs you back to his leaking tip and then allows gravity to suck you back down. You desperately bite your lips and try to focus on ignoring the way your insides are beginning to thrum with the excitement and stimulation; to show these brutes that you're better than them and aren't some animal of nature. But to no avail. His slimy precum mixes too well with yours, the rough skin of his hands digs into your thighs too well and the manner in which your petals rub against his cock when he lifts you yet again -now forming a momentum- before letting you slide in again is too much for you mask with nonchalance. 

Indifference has never been among your strong suits.

“Tell me, my pretty” Steve begins again, his dark eyes now finding the young and hormonal pack of unsuspecting boys who clearly do not know better. “Have you ever had a cock like mine?” He says it in their own language so the foolish miscreants see, understand and learn the fact that you’re only his. You belong to him and he will go to war for you, not that a pack of rug rats will ever be a cause of worry for him. “Has anyone ever fucked you as good as I do?” He switches back to the language you understand, roughly fumbling for your jaw before he grabs it and bounces his hips into yours at the same time. 

Your traitorous legs have begun to do what they always do; fuck yourself against him -if he hasn’t bound you, which he hasn’t- in whatever position he has you. You only realize that your breathing has become heavier when you open your mouth to answer. “Only you, my husband! Only you!” Your brain is running too fast for reason or reflection to catch up so you leave wondering why you answer him with the only words he has been able to teach you in his language to later. Your words are muffled as his fingers that grip the lower half of your face nearly slip in your mouth from the disordered urgency of the both of your actions. 

“That's right” your mouth falls open and you begin to softly pant in that animalistic way that you detest when he makes you watch yourself in a mirror while fucking you sometimes. In your defense, it is always unintentional on your part; you barely even notice it while taking his fucking. And yet, it is inevitable due to the force he does it with. “Look at you; dutifully fucking yourself up and down your husband's cock like a bitch in heat” a twinge forms in your knuckles from how your fingers hold the edges of the table to aid the gliding of your fuck hole that now slams up and down his cock in a rhythm you're all too familiar with, the smacks of your bare ass slapping against his naked abdomen making appalling noises that you're too worked up to dread over right now. “And you're a bitch in heat for me, aren't you?” His fingers move down from your jaw to your throat. “Wanting to be bred over and over again until you're so full of my children that your little belly is round and heavy to the brim, hm?” In these moments, you tell him anything and everything that he wants to hear.

Steve knows it all too well.

And he loves it.

“Yes!” Your voice disappears midway from how he squeezes your windpipe. His hips meet yours midway now, the wetness of your cunt and the force of his thrusts causing for his balls to try and push past the tight boundary of your sexual cavern. “Yes! Yes! I am! Please!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when his free hand finds your petals to play with. “Ohhh!”

“You want to be bred, don't you?” He rubs your drenched pussy lips while his hard cock pistons in and out of your sopping cunt. “Want to contribute…?” He chokes you once more and this time his fingers pinch one of your pussy lips punishingly at the same time and you cry out. “Provide your husband with a house full of heirs?” The oxygen in your mind depletes and your eyes flutter as a result, cheeks turning red and nerves becoming prominent on your glistening temples. Your horny yet defensive pussy finally relaxes around him a bit so it doesn't hurt his dick and he savours the moment by holding you by the curve between your legs and fucking into your form that gets limp by the moment to push you towards your first orgasm. 

It always gets better after that. 

For him, at least. 

You don't choke him out so much then.

“Y- Yes!” When Steve finally lets go of your throat to let you breathe, you blubber out an an answer obediently once the light returns to your eyes. Your walls stiffen around him once more. But by then he has already worked himself closer to your womb. “Yes! Yes!” It is all your mind can muster.

“Good” he makes a point of taking both of your boobs in his hands and thoroughly massaging them to show off his ownership over you. “Now ask me to breed you” the fence of heat that has formed around your loins becomes tighter when his hands that previously fondled your clothed breasts slip under your gown -for Steve is too possessive to actually expose you to the eyes of others- and he softly rubs your tense sides a couple times before his fingers form pinches around your hard nubs. 

“Please breed me!” Your voice is so loud and strained that its quality is nearly blood curdling. “Please breed me and s- stuff me full your children!” Your hands fly to grip his from over the dress as you throw your head back and slip from the edge of your anticipation, parrotting all the words he has taught you over the course of your marriage. “Oh GOD! Please!” Your back arches from the coming undone of the hot belt of expectation and scorching gratification spills from it, seeping down your legs in the form of a nearly unbearable electric feeling that transforms into a subzero energy when it reaches your toes that curl, causing them to feel as though they are freezing. “I need your b- babies so bad, hubby!” 

Steve's own ears blush from the heat that courses through them in the form of adrenaline as he snorts, some of his blonde strands coming loose from the push and tug that he plays with your cunt. “Tell them” his balls ache from the strength it takes him not to fill you up right then. “Tell everyone that you want me to fill you up with my babies” since your sensitive body tries to curl and move away from the overstimulation, the older man wraps both of his hands around your thighs to keep you going. “Say it!” And he makes you say the words that he desires in the language of your spectators that look embarrassed for the first time since you got here. 

Save for your husband's best men who look equal parts aroused and proud. 

You want to cringe and be disgusted but your sensitive pussy is being pounded too hard for you to attempt a conjuring up of any dignity. 

“Need hubby babies bad!” You cry out again from memory when Steve's thick seed begins to fill you up at last. “Oh, my God!” The feeling of his hot cum filling you up and painting every inch of your sensitive walls penetrates your already hazy mind and the warmth that steams out of the pearly liquid steams its way up to your womb, making you shudder at the feeling. Your opening tightens around him in protest of the overstimulation and it instead causes for a barrage of bitter-sweet electric sparks to explode through your abdomen in the form of a half post-climax orgasm. Your body grows tired.

But your insatiable is far from done.

“Flattering, but no” Steve pushes you against the table before standing up when he is done fucking his orgasm as deep as he can reach into you. “The father of your children will suffice” your eyebrows furrow at his words but the older man does not give you a chance to ponder over them because now he is hooking his hands under your thighs that your rapid and messy fucking has covered in both of your juices. 

“W- What?!” Your vision is hazy and your mind dazed as you incoherently tap about. “What's— oh!” You wince from how much easier it is for him to move inside your worked open and much lubricated but torturously overstimulated walls now. “Oh! Oh…” Your hands blindly feel behind you to try and get him to stop. “Oh, no! No, please!” You cry out weakly, your upper body hanging low in the opposite direction from the exhaustion. 

“No?” The older man darkly chuckles, paying no mind to your flailing. “You think you can say that to me?” One of his hands desert their post on your thighs to roughly grab at your hair. He hasn't forgotten what started all this. “You think you have the same rights as everyone else around here, wife?”

But you're scowling from the burning pain in your walls, mind hazy and unwise. “Stop! Stop!” Your puffy folds ache from how his stiff skin rubs against them as he moves in and out of you at a normal pace… for now. “It hurts, stop!” 

“That is the part and parcel of having children” your body curves outwards as he pulls you further back and closer to himself by your hair. “And is that not why you're here?” His cocky tone along with the hungry and wondering eyes of the wildlings make you angry. “What you were spared for in the first place?” A twinkle in the eye of a man pisses you off and…

“It hurts, you old bastard!” Your young blood gets the better of you and your mouth runs before sense can catch up. “Stop, stop, stop it!” Since your hair holds you closer to him you manage to land a few smacks to his rock hard arms before you try to snake your fingers under his to pry off the hand that he coils around your thigh in a weak attempt to move away. 

Steve only chuckles, clearly unfazed by your fighting as he bounces your smaller form up in the air with each thrust. “Did your mother not teach you anything, wife?” He lets go of your hair only to restrain both your arms on the small of your back. “Good girls never tell their husbands no” your body flops forward again and you've no choice but to face the long table full of people. “They lay down pretty with their legs spread and let their husbands fill them with their children and then they express their gratitude for being granted a family.” Though your mind is confused and rather disoriented from the influx of sensation, you can make out new additions to the crowd of your humiliation from the corners of your vision. 

“Ugh!” You grunt from the rapid jabs he gives to your sore pussy, his firm hold nearly searing into your wrists. “I don't wanna have your stupid blonde babies!” Steve breathlessly lets out a real laugh at that. “Let go!” 

“There” he can swear he will never tired of you breaking the little character of the obedient wife that you so naively think you have mastered only to break it when he has you all riled up like this. “Right there, easy now” his other hand leaves your lap and he pushes your head down and against the table in the most condescending manner imaginable. Steve has got you to expose yourself for the brat you are, no need for play anymore. “Now I make a bunny out of you” his dark eyes now meet with those of the boys sitting at the other end of the table and his use of their language is a silent message. The Leader knows how his wife is desired. And he doesn't appreciate it in the least. The young males all panic and look away, gulping to themselves and praying for their lives. 

You try to struggle again, your lip curling in disdain and protest as you feel him fuck his cum right up your cervix. The bitter pleasure you get from it makes your head spin and your fingers and toes flex defensively. “Ooof!” Your cheek rubs against the table and you puff out your face to express how tense you feel down there. 

“Brat” Steve shakes in silent mirth as he reaches for your ass with the hand that he was holding your face down with. “Don't you move a muscle.” You're too busy rocking over the table and being held down to try. 

“Hubby, please!” You whine when one of his veins twitch deep up your walls and your knees shiver from the sensation. “Please!” Maybe if his cock wasn't so comically huge, it would have been easier to move past the rough friction of your raw, orgasm worn skins. But it is and so you are ready to abandon the dam that begins to form in your abdomen again if it means to avoid this pain. “Owwwiee!”

“Aw” Steve cooes as he now moves to a pace that falters your vision and causes for the great table to shake with each thrust that he gives you. “So small and sore, aren't we?” The spank he lands on your unsuspecting ass right after is the stark opposite of his tone. “Maybe we shouldn't act out so much when we are so weak and pathetic, huh, wife?”

“Oooof!” One of the shyer ladies get up before she carries her young son who stood next to the group of the young ones away and the realization of the fact that your spectators are all real people who see you everyday and will continue to do after this drips down your limbs like ice cold water. Your hips cannot help but clench from the embarrassment that you dully feel in some part of your mind way far at the back. “Hubby, please!” The spanks increase with each snap of his hips and though the turmoil between your legs takes up most of your sensory powers, your cheeks now begin to noticeably sting from the pain that builds from how the swings of his hand against your poor ass increase with each thrust. 

“Please?” Steve muses like he isn't balls deep into you and fucking the literal daylights out of you like a crazed heathen. “Oh, but I thought I was a mean old bastard” of course, your pleas always only mean that you want more, according to the brute you are married to. They cannot mean anything else, apparently. “And you didn't want my stupid blonde babies” you grunt from the frustration and land a helpless fist on the table. You are in an uncomfortable tug of war between the mutilation of your sensory glands and the tall barrage of tight hot anticipation that cannot help but form in the base of your stomach again because of how hard and rough he fucks you. 

Your husband's main man, Lloyd, laughs in a comically daft voice to tease you and be the insufferable asshole that he is. “You've got yourself a feisty little pup there, Steve” he is the only one who can refer to the blonde haired man by his name. Or maybe, he doesn't care to use the honorific and his usefulness backs him up. You wouldn't be surprised if the latter really is the case. “Don't you agree, my sweet?” He side hugs his own young bride who ironically is one of the sweetest and perhaps the only nice person in this entire village and Lloyd grins down at the girl whom you now notice is blushing furiously. 

Before you can let the humiliation swallow you whole, Steve spreads your burning cheeks and chuckles at the sight he finds glistening and blinking up at him, the madenned hammering of his cock unceasing. “Look at this adorable little button of yours, darling” you are not personally familiar with any of the faces that witness you trying to pathetically crawl away when your devil of a husband begins to tickle your pucker so you realize it was actually not quite hitting you as bad as it does now when you become hyperaware of Rainie's gaze. If it weren't for how your eyes roll because of Steve's hot seed shooting deep up your cavern again and nearly searing into your very flesh this time around from the brutality of it all, you reckon you would have tried to hide. But now all you do is let out choked blubbers as your wide eyes sting from tears due to the sensory overload. “I think it's time we deflowered it, what do you think?”  

Oh, no. 

His cock is not something that you can handle in your ass without splitting all over the place!

“No answer? No?” It feels as though you are the one who is cumming and not Steve because of how good he is at wearing the mask of nonchalance. “Hm,” he roughly pulls you backwards by your hair before hooking an arm around your waist to keep you from trying to get away from how he toys with your trembling pucker. “Maybe we should let sweet Rainie decide for you, hm—?”

“OH, GOD!” You cannot help but scream over him. 

He is too much.

Steve ignores your exclamation, thrusts delayed -more jab like- but so strong that his tip spears into your cervix with each thrust, thus causing for your head to spin from how he chooses to fuck out his orgasm. “She's your friend, isn't she?” Steve's beard gently stings the sweaty and teary skin of your jaw from how his mouth presses into your ear. “Aren't you, Rainie dear?” 

Yep, you are never looking her in the eye ever again. 

“Answer him, sunshine” Lloyd eggs his wife on and you notice through your cloudy vision that he is making her palm his own bulge. You nearly cringe back into Steve's chest from the obscenity of it all. 

The girl, a new bride herself, is shy and small next to her own flesh boulder of a husband as she meekly peeks up at you through her lashes. “Y- Yes, sir. We are friends” her voice is barely audible and both your husbands chuckle. 

If it weren't from how a dull orgasm rips itself apart somewhere deep between your loins, you would have felt angry.

It is like the assholes know that you're friends, and they're having their fun with it.

No wonder they are best mates.

“Good, good” you can feel Steve's cum splattering your thighs with each brutal jab, the sound and sprays of his shaft making a mess of your juices underneath your dress ample in its audibility. “So, do you think it's time your girlfriend's dirty little button was opened up, hm?” He keeps one hand on your pucker and reaches for your boob to grope with the other.

Rainie blushes again and furiously lowers her head the moment her eyes connect with yours. Though you don't know it, her own has been deflowered not too long ago and she isn't sure what response would be favourable by you, so that and the embarrassment of the Leader questioning her for something like that about his wife when she is on amiable terms with the girl makes her choose silence for as long as allowed. And her own husband cockily leaning into her and mansplaining into her ear how it would work for you by comparing it with what he did to her pretty ass only makes her curl further. 

“Shy little thing, isn't she, my precious?” So your husband turns his unwelcome attention back to you, bending the both of your bodies forwards so he can smack your asshole with the back of his hand easier, the impact making you rock violently forward. “Maybe you should learn some manners from her, huh?” The howls you let out from getting your pucker pinched and hit is something you would rather not narrate. All you choose to disclose of that ordeal is that sobs echo in the hall, another orgasm rips out of you and you are sure your body releases more liquid than normal for an average orgasm. “Look at how polite and nice she is, hm? While all you want to do is to curse your husband and be an ungrateful little sloth” it sounds as though a newfound annoyance causes him to grit his teeth towards the end and the tip of his fingers finds recourse in seeking for itself a passage past the tight barrier of your unwilling button as a result. 

And so your mouth begins to run in the desperate way he loves. “N- No, no, no hubby! No!” You vehemently shake your head as you feel your knees start to buckle from the exhaustion. “I- I didn't mean it!” The bearded corners of his mouth pull into a deep smirk. He knows its coming, and he loves it. 

“You didn't?” How can he not when he is the one who trained you to it and taught you the words to say during. 

“No! No!” Your voice comes out child-like from your mind's succumbing to its defeat. For the day, at least. “I d- didn't!” 

Steve is a jackhammer in how he fucks his children into you and works towards giving you more. “Oh, I see” now he speaks to you like an elder speaking to a young one, like you are no older than five winters. “Then, will you tell me why you said such naughty words to your husband who does so much for you?” He knows you're small now and so he chooses his words accordingly.

After all, it is Steve's meticulous tailoring of your mind and body which brings you to act out this specific sequence. 

Nothing less, nothing more.

Just this. 

A shrew tamed into a compliant wife equipped with the mind of a babe. 

He may never admit it outright simply because it goes against his very code of life but Steve knows in his heart of hearts that it is this very push and pull you put up in your own passive little way that keeps him alert and your marriage interesting. 

Addictive.

“Is ’cause— hnnng, cause—!” He pulls both of your bodies back up with the intention of turning you to face him but he chooses not to do it just yet. He wants you, those silly boys and everyone else who suspects that his judgement grows soft because of his fancy for your youthful beauty and adorable personality, to hear it. Steve can always pull you right back down if wants. Your reins will always be in a hand's reach to him. Just because he lets you sneak in your foolish ways sometimes doesn't mean you've conquered his nature-gifted better sense.

“Because, what?” Everything in life calls for balance and so each time your misbehavior that you think you hide so well from him begins to rise above a level he deems no longer amusing, he is there to hammer it down. 

Quite literally. 

“Because I am j- just an i- impudent,” Steve grunts and moans, feeling his cock twitch from how you always mispronounce imprudent when you are in this state. He taught you that word and true to your little baby self and mind, you can never get yourself to say it right. “Little wife and I am a d- dumby—”

“Fuck…” Steve feels a drop of cold sweat trickle down his back from your little vocabulary. He feels himself pant from how hard he fucks you, his windpipe alight from the friction caused by the air he heaves in with each desperate inhale.

You are a proper trouble; something he has never had before, and he loves it.

“— D- Dumby sloth who dunno any real worries besides e- eating and b- being spoilt b- by my lovu hubbsy—” your tongue is kinetic jelly between your teeth and Steve has begun to moan from how fucked stupid you sound. “So I get shtoopid and u- ungateful” Steve cannot contain it anymore. In a fevered and desperate confusion of how to express the thunderstorm you cause in his head, he slaps your hair away, causing for some of the flowers to go flying about, and sinks his teeth into your flesh, growling so deep into your skin that you feel the vibrations cause ripples in your blood. Perhaps that is what Steve yearns to taste. “B- But husby always fixes” your head goes limp against his as he sucks your skin like a crazed animal for you lose a track of how long. Your vision and hearing bolts away from your comprehensive faculties like a bullet train and your body gets sucked into the vacuum of your husband's beastly grip. You are just a lifeless doll rocking in whichever direction and manner he pleases.

Next time your brain catches on with your reality, your body has been placed under his with your back against the table. You faintly notice when your dress begins to get wet that splashes of mead cover it due to your brutish husband's depraved madness. 

“Look at me, hey” he pats your incoherent face until your wandering gaze settles on him, teary eyes distant. “This is the face that you will see in those of your children, and children you shall have until this residence cannot contain any more” his promise echoes in your buzzing ears like the bestowing of an ultimate truth upon you by some powerful deity. “This is the face you will look up at as you spread your legs,” his tip is so swollen, raw and hot against your worn skin that you can feel it even in this state. Your features scrunch from the discomfort. “This is the face you will kiss and cherish” his fingers find your throat again and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he puts pressure on your windpipe. “And this is the face that you will look at until you breathe your last” he holds you until you are on the verge of losing consciousness, though letting go only to stifle the gasp you let out to resume your breathing with a hot sealing kiss.

Your muscles twitch and your body spasms in the position he has you in. Laxness washes over your limbs and you begin to violently shake from the dull and yet stinging quakes of sensation that bloom through your whole form. 

For some dark, twisted and depraved reason, you cum from the helplessness of your situation and it is present in Steve's amused and proud smirk that the knowledge is not lost on him. Swiping an arm around you from behind with an air of satisfaction, he collects your limp body closer to his and walks off to your chambers with your drenched sexes still connected, leaving a crowd of embarrassed, curious, satisfied as well as tamed spectators in his wake. 

You surrender yourself to him and close your eyes as your body collapses on top of his. Your mind barely works but you know one thing— fact as clear as day; you are not making it out of this without at least one child on the way. 

And there isn't a single thing you can do about it.

. . .

[erose-this-name]

humans are not the default race

In every scifi and fantasy setting with """races""", humans are the default.

If you're lucky, we're the short-lived, fast-reproducing pests that are all white Europeans for some mysterious reason, and also have disproportionate rates of being raised as undead because we can't be bothered to make zombie dwarf minis or animate a vampire gnome that has to jump up to bite a tall person's neck.

(We've got BOTH human AND elf skeleton warriors! Oh, hey, I just changed the scale, now it's a hobbit skeleton OR a giant skeleton! Such skeleton diversity! No, Khajiits can't be bone boys, a skeleton with a tail and a cat skull is just TOO SPOOKY)

I feel like a lot of people don't realize that we (Homo sapiens) have the longest running endurance of any land animal. Being able to run a marathon is not normal.

(It's because we evolved the very unusual hunting strategy of Slowly Chasing Gazelles While Throwing Sticks At Them Until The Gazelle Collapses From Exhaustion Then Casually Walking Up And Bashing Their Head In With A Rock™).

Even Neanderthals probably couldn't match our tenacity (they were considerably stronger and tougher though, but by no means dumber judging from the size of their brain cavities{which was bigger than ours actually})

(the evolutionary Neanderthal hunting strategy was probably something like Jumping Out And Stabbing A Wooly Rhinoceros With A Pointed Stick, Then Getting Punted 12 Feet Into a Tree But Getting Right Back Up And Doing It Again Until It Dies Because You Have Superhuman Bone And Muscle Density. And If You Do Break One Of Your Unbreakable Bones Your Homies Will Take Care Of You Until It Heals™

[Neanderthal skeletons are found with healed fractures surprisingly often despite said bones being much stronger and denser than ours, they just kept evolving denser bones until they couldn't even swim without sinking like a rock, but they still got broken all the time])

So given that we, Homo sapiens, actually literally used to be the "species that specializes in sheer endurance, determination, and unbreakable fucking will", I want more fantasy and scifi settings where we are that way! I think the only setting where that's even remotely the case is Undertale. We're not just the "default" intelligent species!

The only reason we're good at everything is because we can make complex tools and can learn and aren't bound by instinct. Which, by definition, all fantasy races would also be able to do. Otherwise, they'd just be considered animals. Like trolls or Redditers.

The "default" species should just be really good at making tools and quickly adapting, but kinda suck in every other category. So I guess gnomes or goblins are the default d&d race.

And Humans are certainly not the Tolkien "that one race that lives short lives and reproduces faster than everyone else and is good at farming" because:

A) we actually do already live relatively long lives for mammals of our size and also GIVING BIRTH CAN KILL US, AND IF OUR PARENTS DON'T RAISE US JUST RIGHT THAT CAN ALSO KILL US, WE ARE SPECIFICALLY VERY BAD AT REPRODUCING

B) we are in no way adapted to farming, and most of our modern health and societal issues stem from the fact that we aren't meant to farm or be civilized, but do it anyways.

We only farm because it helped us survive the ecological collapse at the end of the ice age, now we're in too deep to go back.

When the ice age ended (quite abruptly) the ecosystem couldn't provide for hunters and gathers anymore, a bunch of things were getting heat stroke, sea levels rose, hibernation and bloom cycles and reptile gender ratios were out of wack, predators died out because herbivores died out because plants weren't doing well. Decomposers like vultures and worms had a field day (Until they didn't [RIP condor population]). It would take a while for a new ecological equilibrium to emerge and for evolution to fix things.

But farming doesn't need any healthy ecosystems except for the soil and pollinators, mostly, so that still works. And farming makes more food meaning you can have more people. So now there's more people.

But that also means you can't ever go back to foraging without all those extra people dying of starvation. So, anarcho-primitivism would technically be the most deadly ideology if implemented, and therefore is not based, unfortunately. Here's hoping for an apocalypse to do that for us! (I would not survive it)

Fun Fact: those isolated tribal societies like the Sentinelese that still do hunting and gathering only spend 15-20 hours a week doing that and another 20 doing camp chores, and the rest of their time forming meaningful relationships and not being depressed.

Notice how most of what they do as "work" (hunting, fighting, hiking, berry/mushroom/etc picking, cooking, camping, arts and crafts, oral history/story telling) are things that we need to do during our limited free time as "hobbies" just so that our "work" doesn't drive us insane. Thus leaving less time for relationships, etc.

If we were actually good at farming or industry or civilization, then things like math and repetitive manual labor wouldn't be work. They'd be the most fun activities.

Sure, these foragers die young, but so did medieval peasant farmers who were even less healthy since they had much less diverse diets (a lot of carbs) and got plague more often thanks to cities and their close proximity to livestock. Our modern sedentary lifestyle is bad too.

Hobbits are suited to farming (also Entwives I guess). Hobbits are quite good at it, at the cost of not being as good at much else (besides going unnoticed and throwing for some reason), they inherently enjoy farming life quite a bit and most* aren't haunted by the sense they should be anything else, like we are. *(The Took family got that Call To Adventure 'tism)

We only think that we're not special or can't be anything other than what we currently are because we no longer have anything else to compare ourselves to. The Neanderthals and Denisovans died out tens of thousands of years ago and the fucking aliens are somewhere, presumably

We are special, only we survived.

But at the cost of becoming the species equivalent of an abandoned child raised by wolves. We fantasize about these things because we all know that we shouldn't be alone. But our perceptions of ourselves are twisted by our trauma and lack of socialization.

Personally, the realization that having lost our family was probably our fault makes that hurt so much worse.

[kedreeva]

#we spoke of this a LOT at work after that one tech was murdered and hidden in a wall

hi!👋 hello! kedreeva! i’m going to need to ask you to explain this!!!!

So back in 2009, a lab student named Annie Le was murdered at Yale university. Cameras saw her going on into a building, but not out again and it was like, the eve of her wedding (or close to? I don't remember) so clearly she had places to be and people waiting for her so they immediately started looking and the next day (or so? Anyway on the day of her wedding) they found her body in a recess in a wall, down in the areas where the research animals were kept. It turns out, a tech had killed her, but since there were cameras like EVERYWHERE, he just, I guess, left her there. Well, hid the body where it was. I don't remember how they caught him, but they did. It was a horrifying story. It still is.

And it was a huge news story among the folks at my workplace because, at the time, I was working at a different university, as an animal husbandry technician. As you can imagine this was a kind of intense time to be in that situation. They started offering, like, I'm not gonna say counseling but it was "if you need to talk we would prefer you talk to us about something wrong rather than kill anyone about it" and as techs (even if we were not even the same kind of tech, the killer was a lab tech and we were husbandry techs but I think a lot of people assumed it had been a husbandry tech since she was in an animal area), we were kind of getting the side eye from lab people for weeks afterwards. Like they thought we were gonna go "wow that's a fantastic idea, you're next!" or something, idk. And I mean like, people would freeze when you were alone in a hallway, or turn and walk the other way, or duck into the nearest room and watch you walk past, and they were all being super nice/civil to us when they did have to interact. It was very atypical behavior for lab people. Like not all of them, some of them had always been nice and weren't worried, but some of the people who had been unbelievable dicks previously were walking on eggshells. And the people who had friends in other universities reported this was happening at their jobs, too.

And instead of talking to The Man (because all the higher ups were garbage at the time), we just. talked among ourselves. It was a lot of "I may say I feel like strangling lab people sometimes when they do things that drive me up a wall but I don't MEAN it you know that right" and it also led to group discussions of what would be a theoretical *better* solution to hiding a body than what happened, with clear disdain for doing things like hiding bodies in walls, which is a terrible idea and one we would never do (looking at the people who think we might have decided this was a great idea actually).

Which consequently led to a lot of supervisors and/or managers that happened to overhear us bringing us donuts or arranging pizza for lunch in like, some kind of bid to help us feel appreciated, I guess, so that we wouldn't murder anyone, even though none of us were going to do that anyway. But also none of us were in a position to turn down free donuts or pizza or whatever.

And then after a few weeks, maybe a month or so, people just kind of forgot and moved on and things went back to normal like fifty people hadn't spent every lunch hour for weeks talking quietly among themselves about how human bodies would definitely fit into a carcass disposal barrel or that you'd have to crush hip bones and/or skulls before incineration. Hypothetically.

Like I said, it was a VERY weird time to be at my job, and every time I remember it happening feels like a fever dream. I can't even imagine what it was like at Yale.

[a-bright-comet]

Jade Shadows Thoughts

(NOTICE: I have edited this post after a few days and many lovely replies and tags giving me more insight and opinions, overall my view of this quest has gotten a lot more positive, thank you all <3) okaaayyyy I am utterly rattled rn lmao also made the mistake of looking at tumblr after doing the quest and as expected it seems to be a 50/50 of hating or loving it. so here are my personal thoughts, I am a little scared but talk seems to be civil thankfully. I can definitely agree on the sentiment that this quest needed more time, cause let's be honest the people hating this quest wouldn't be jumping to the things they're jumping to if Jade herself got more screen-time before the big drop, warframe's style has always been vague and never 100% straight-forward and I think that unfortunately hurt it a bit this time, as what they didn't show came off wrong to many people and while I sorta see why I disagree on some parts. I also feel like the quest kinda got a bit *too* hyped both by DE and the fanbase's theories, way too short, it deserved and needed to be a bit longer for it's special narrative. Jade kinda got a weird spot, both being the main focus alongside Stalker but also hardly explored. But let's be honest, most of the negativity is caused by this outside-circumstance alone. Now, what I absolutely disagree with is people insisting that DE was trying to say "bodily autonomy bad" or that Stalker didn't care about her and only the child, thing is I thought it was pretty fucking clear that she *wanted* the child in what little was shown and she was going to die no matter the outcome (thanks to the orokin to absolutely no one's surprise) and Stalker in his guilt for all she's done for him wanted to make sure that he at least kept this one promise to Her, cause She wanted it. she still had bodily autonomy in the fact She wanted this, she wanted the child no matter what. and she wanted stalker to protect her and the kid. And he did, like a true loving partner. DE has a long track record of being very autonomy-positive. A point they make time and time again is that ripping it away is *bad* and horrifying, the quest is a bittersweet tragedy, not a horror. Honestly there would be 0 issue if DE had given us a Jade-only quest before this one, I personally would've preferred it as well, she's cool as hell she deserves it. who knows maybe DE will see all of this and make prequel quests? we can only hope. I do not want to assume the worst of anyone or anything cause that's a miserable existence. Look I personally enjoyed the quest and get the feeling whoever wrote it did it out of some personal experience or sorrow, that's at least the vibe I got. It's a tragedy, but her choice was seen till the end, many women choose to still have a child despite knowing they won't make it, many also don't, that's why choice is important. and she did, she chose her child that she was having while likely forcibly infested and turned into a warframe. (also remember there are women on the team who likely looked at this.) there are some other iffy parts of the quest, (really should've been the drifter instead of the operator if they were gonna do that, but that's personal discomfort.) but overall I enjoyed it and open to explore the implications of a born-warframe-child and Stalker healing as they both grow together. These are my thoughts, and I can understand why people like or dislike this quest, but I think it's fine and just ended up in a very unfortunate spot due to outside circumstances beyond it's control. (sorry if any of this comes off as aggressive it is not my intention despite how riled I am by some folk online, I disagree with you but I do not hate you, I don't even know you.)

Her choice, His promise, Their light.

Thank you for reading my first ever text post about something I care about, not sure I'll be doing this again any time soon out of anxiety lol (Edit: and thanks to everyone responding to this post wonderfully, ya'll are great and have lessened my anxiety and have made me appreciate this quest more <3)

[bucketslutz]

Don't Be Late (Logan Howlett/Fem mutant reader)

Chapter 1

(A/N): btw this takes place in an alternate universe where the x men as a team don't really exist, but the members and mutants obviously still do. readers powers are similar to atom eve from invincible, if you haven't seen that show i highly recommend it, but if not, you don't really need to know any of that to understand readers powers, they'll be explained in more detail later on.

Summary: You've spent your entire academic career trying to hide who you really are, your goal to end up working in a small museum or archive and live the rest of your life going unnoticed. The first day of grad school you meet someone that sparks something deep inside you that you never thought existed. Your history professor, Logan, makes you feel things you've never felt from someone before. Will you keep hiding your feelings, or will you get too close and risk him knowing who you really are?

Warnings: 18+!! explicit sexual content, minors DNI!! pls!!! oral (fem recieving), logan being a munch lowk, oral on the couch, teasing, dirty talking, cursing, logan being an asshole professor, no use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3,208

You anxiously rub your forehead as you struggle to find parking on campus, circling and circling the lot. Finally, someone pulls out and you turn in aggressively, someone in front of you flips you off, probably eyeing the same spot. You’re late. Very late. You have an American Civil War class, it’s an advanced level, with a professor whose name you cannot remember for the life of you. You’ve been preoccupied this summer, and time escaped you before you got the chance to research his credentials. It’s your first day of grad school and you’re late. A long commute, a new college, and shitty parking. You hope to god the professor doesn’t care or notice when you slip in late, as you carry a specific kind of disdain for drawing attention to yourself.

You were 13 when you first noticed something was wrong, walking home alone from school when a stranger tried to pin you down and do god knows what to you, until your eyes glowed a deep fuchsia and you threw him across the alley with a strength you didn’t even know you had. Your veins began glowing the same pink color and pulsating, scaring you shitless. You ran to the woods behind your house, avoiding your family for fear of harming them. With enough practice over the years, you’ve learned to control your abilities. Your eyes only glowing occasionally when you’re especially frustrated or angry. Sometimes even when you’re…taking care of some sexual urges. While you don’t know what causes these powers, you do know the general population’s feelings about mutants enough to understand that no one can know what you are. You don’t keep boyfriends for longer than 3 months, you don’t let friends become closer than you need them to be, and you don’t tell anyone what you are. You just want a normal life.

Your forehead is slick with sweat by the time you arrive at the history building, your breath heavy and labored, not from how fast you were walking to the building, but from anxiety, which is also the source of the excessive sweat on your brow. You cannot recall this courses class size, and you damn yourself for forgetting to check; not knowing if you can slip into the large class quietly or if everyone will be able to see you come in. This isn’t undergrad where people stumble in hungover with 10 minutes left of class, this is a graduate program where people go on to become masters in their fields of study. And you’re going to look like a fool in front of everyone. You approach the door to the classroom and can see through the window that it is, in fact, a small class. Fuck. There are maybe 15 people in there total. You hold your breath as you attempt to quietly push the door open, but it fails you with a loud, obnoxious creak. Every head snaps towards you, including the teacher, and you offer a meek smile to your classmates and turn your head towards the professor to issue a brief apology. You swallow hard when your eyes land on him. his tall frame is leaning against the white board, a little scary looking with muscles that bulge against his crossed arms, peaking out from under his rolled up sleeves. You’re surprised they’re visible even through his plaid button-up. His hair is fluffy, dark, as well as his beard…or actually, you should say mutton-chops, as that would be a more accurate descriptor. He glares at you, and you swear you’ve held his gaze for hours, but realistically it’s only been no more than a few seconds.

“Sorry,” you offer timidly.

The professor nods lightly, his jaw tense, and waves you off as he continues addressing the class. You attempt to quietly maneuver to an empty seat in the back, trying your hardest to not trip over your classmate’s bags and chairs. You feel like it takes forever to get to your seat, hoping no one pays too much attention to how clumsily you scoot past the chairs and over obstacles. You try and settle as quietly as possible, unzipping your shoulder bag and retrieving a pen to take notes. He’s still going over the syllabus, thank god.

“The only homework you’ll have is an essay, every week—every Friday—you have an essay due. Then every 3 weeks you’ll have an exam,” he instructs, rather nonchalantly. “And while I don’t give a shit if you waste your money and don’t come to class,” his eyes suddenly are fixed onto you, you swallow a lump of anxiety lodged in your throat as he continues, “The school cares a helluva lot more so, if you don’t mark your name down on the attendance sheet, you forget, you’re late, or whatever the hell, you’ll be absent. I’m not going back in and fixing shit.”

Noted. He turns his gaze back to the rest of the class and continues talking about the curriculum for the rest of the semester. you try to keep your head down as you scribble notes into your notebook, trying to look busy, when in reality you want to kick yourself in the face. You left your apartment too late, you didn’t anticipate the amount of traffic on the interstate, and you conveniently forgot how terrible parking is on college campuses. You look up to see the professor checking his wristwatch with a furrowed brow, like he’s considering something.

“Alright, that’s all i’ve got today, get out,” he commands, his gravelly voice showing slight indignation.

There’s a general look of confusion around the room at his abrupt dismissal with 45 minutes left of class. As people begin to shove their belongings in bags, you quickly get the memo as you collect your notebook and pen in your hands and stand up, ready to depart from this nightmare as soon as possible. But you’re the last in your row, shoved into a corner. the line of people in front of you have their chairs pushed back to the wall as they slowly collect themselves. It takes an obnoxiously long time for you to get out from behind the the long row of desks, even longer to leave the class as everyone shoves their way past you and out the door. Finally, you find an opening, but before your foot can even reach the threshold, there’s a strong grip on your arm. You turn your head to meet the gaze of your professor. Your heart skips a beat as he maintains eye contact briefly, before he hands you a piece of paper and lets go of your arm.

“Find your name, mark it,” he directs, causing you to scramble for the pen in your hands as you scan the paper for your name.

You try and offer a polite smile to the professor, but he remains stoic and unamused, making you feel even more uncomfortable. Once you find your name, you ungracefully set the paper against your flimsy notebook for structure, and scrawl a shaky check mark next to your name. You offer the paper back to him.

“Here, thank you, um, professor…” you trail off awkwardly, forgetting that you never actually checked what his name was. He takes the attendance sheet from you.

“Logan,” he answers.

“Ah, thank you professor Logan—”

“No,” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand, “just Logan.”

“Logan, right. thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, his tone far from indicating the typical politeness of the statement, and rather literally cautioning you to never bring up this act of kindness again. And with that you turn to leave the class, unsure of why this gruff, sturdy, serious professor bended his own personal rules just for you. But no matter with that, you at least know you’ll never be late to his damn class again.

***

You pull into the driveway of your house with a sigh. It's late, the time you prefer to get home, so you can fully relax and use your powers in peace. Despite living in the middle of nowhere, you still fear someone will mistakenly pull into your driveway and catch you flying into your second story window or creating an apple from nothing. The lack of sound, except that of the chirping crickets and cicadas, puts you at ease. You release the tension in your shoulders and float off of the ground, propelling yourself to the patio on the second story of your house. You unlock the door with a flick of your wrist, the fuchsia energy encasing the doorknob and letting you into your bedroom, you then toss your things down onto the floor. An exhausted groan escapes your lips as you face plant onto your cool, soft bed. Not even coming up for air when you fling your arm up and slam the door shut with a pink, crystalline whoosh. You turn over to face the ceiling, your eyes fluttering shut within the comfort of your bed. Longing to get out of your stuffy jeans and bra, you trail your hands over your body and watch as your clothes dissipate into a pink flash while you manifest some boxer shorts and a loose t-shirt. Finally comfortable, you slide under the covers, wanting to sleep off one of the most stressful days you've had in a while. A morning full of classes, then 5 hours interning at the museum, before finally finishing off your day at the convenience store down the road working a 6 hour shift. While you can create most anything you want with your powers, you cannot create the full nights sleep that you most desperately need right now. 

As you drift, you think about how embarrassing of a morning you had. Stumbling into class like a fawn learning how to walk, Logan directly looking at you when speaking about attendance, Logan shoving the attendance sheet in your face so you mark yourself as present, Logan's strong arms and the way they looked with his sleeves rolled up. Logan's fluffy, dark hair and--No. Shut up. Don't think about that, he's your professor for god's sake. And, more importantly, an asshole. No amount of muscle or sheer sexiness will distract from that fact. You repeat this fact to yourself as you doze off, not wanting to give in to immature thoughts of attraction. Despite falling asleep to the negation of that attraction, your subconscious drifts somewhere you know you shouldn't physically go.

You're in Logan's office, your ass perched on the edge of his desk. Logan's back is to you, locking his door and drawing the blinds. He turns to you, his stance almost primal and animal-like, like he can't wait for the chance to devour you. The thought of that causes your arousal to swirl deep in your stomach. Logan saunters towards you, bearing his lower teeth like a predator ready to take their prey. Your breath hitches in anticipation as he gets closer, causing you to spread your legs, hoping the clear view of what lies beneath your skirt will draw him in closer. It seemingly works as he closes the distance between you two, his waist now flush against your lower stomach. Tingles shoot down your spine at the sudden contact, blood rushing down to your pussy. He pants as he brings his hands to your waist and strokes up and down the sides of your body, then achingly slow up your neck, then finally stopping at your chin. One hand creeps to the nape of your neck where he lays his palm flat while the other pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes flutter shut, anticipating that he's close to having his way with you. He holds you there for a beat, his face so tantalizingly close to yours that you can feel his breath against your skin. You whine gently when his lips teasingly graze your own. The fingers pinching your chin adjust slightly to grip your jaw instead, allowing him better control to tilt your head up towards him. His other hand, at the nape of your neck, travels upward allowing his fingers to gently rake through your hair until he roughly takes a fistful and tugs. A soft moan escapes your throat and you try to satiate the throbbing pressure between your legs by rubbing your thighs together. An amused huff leaves Logan's lips as he looks down at your squirming figure beneath him.

"You gonna be good for me, princess?" he asks in a low, gruff tone as the hand on your chin trails down the side of your neck before landing on your breast. He massages the flesh fervently, finding it harder to hide his own desperate arousal and need from you. You moan into his touch and arch your back into him, your pussy searching for more friction that Logan is expertly avoiding giving you by not allowing his pelvis to meet yours.

"Logan," you gasp.

"C'mon, baby," his voice soothes, like smooth velvet, "tell me you want it."

"I want it," you whisper, desperately seeking any sort of release.

"Good girl."

And with that, Logan removes the hand on your breast so he can aggressively hook an arm under your ass and easily hoist you up with one fell swoop. Your legs wrap around his waist and your arms around his neck, reveling the feel of his palm that covers your asscheek. With a growl Logan spins you around and throws you onto the couch in the corner of his office, barely allowing you a second to recover when he crawls on top of you and captures your lips with his own desperately. The kiss is aggressive and needy, tongues dancing together ungracefully, teeth clashing, hasty lip bites between kisses. His hips grind against yours roughly, causing you to hook both your feet around his ass to keep him there for as long as you can, desperately seeking more friction. His hands alternate with each other between grasping your breasts to gripping your face passionately. Without breaking the kiss, he hooks his arms under you and drives you further up the couch so your upper back lays against the armrest. You whine when his lips leave yours, but it's quickly replaced with a moan as his lips travel down your neck, chest, the stomach he exposes by lifting the hem of your shirt, biting the fabric at the waistband of your skirt. You squirm underneath him, anticipating what's gonna happen next as his face nestles between your legs. He licks, bites, sucks, and kisses the skin of your inner thighs, causing you to gasp with each harsh move of his mouth, before promptly melting into a moan when he alleviates his biting or sucking with a kiss or flick of his tongue. Your clit is throbbing, your pussy aching for him to get closer to your center. So he does. His tongue dances along the edge of your panties, not dipping much further into the fabric, his head alternating between each of your lips. You whine desperately as Logan's mouth hovers above your core, his hot breath teasing you further. He looks up at you and into your eyes as his mouth latches onto your thinly clothed pussy, causing you to squirm and moan underneath him, the already damp fabric from your arousal, getting further soaked from Logan's saliva.

"Logan," you whine fervently. "Please."

His mouth leaves your pussy, just barely hovering above it now.

"I gotta make you want it, princess, it's no fun unless you're begging for me to taste you," he breathed against your pussy, his voice low and syrupy. He quickly resumes the hold his mouth had on your pussy, making your back arch off the couch with a moan.

"Okay, I'm officially begging, please, Logan, please," you whimper, not sure how much longer you're able to take his teasing.

"Atta girl," he rasps against your pussy. Like nothing, his fingers hook around the fabric of your panties and he rips it off of you with an experienced strength, leaving your pussy now exposed to Logan, and your torn lace panties on the floor.

"So wet for me, huh?" Logan teases through a cocky smile. You squirm more underneath him, causing his hands to move to your hips to hold them down. Logan stares hungrily at your cunt, removing one hand from your hip and bringing it to your pussy lips to rub it tantalizingly slow with his fingers. Flicking his eyes up to meet yours, he finally brings his tongue to your folds and licks up to your clit. You moan throatily and bring your hands to his hair to give it a tug of appreciation. He groans enthusiastically into your pussy, eating at it like your core is the forbidden fruit dripping in molten pleasure. He's animalistic in his movements and noises, lapping at your clit with groans and grunts in pleasure, almost growling even. He brings his fingers to your core, tracing the hole before shoving two digits inside of you. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them with each push inside. The noises are lewd and wet with each drive of his fingers. Your moans grow more desperate and needy as you climb towards your climax, the death grip you have on his hair growing stronger and stronger. The hand holding your hip down crawls up to your breast, grasping desperately at your flesh, hastily circling your nipples with his thumb. Your breaths quicken, your eyes flutter shut as he continues the steady onslaught of your pussy with his mouth and fingers. 

"Logan, I'm so close, don't stop...please..." you trail off, beginning to lose yourself in your pleasure. Logan responds with needy moans against your clit and the continuous pumping of his fingers in and out of you. His grip on your breast loosens to grasp your side, slinking down to your waist, definitely leaving a mark with how rough he grabs at you. As his lips and tongue continue lapping you up, you can feel your arousal swirling in your stomach more and more. Your moans grow louder, your hips begin bucking. Logan groans into you, desperate to feel your release around his fingers. White hot pressure forms around your clit as you teeter on the edge of your orgasm, you look down at Logan and lock eyes with him just as you feel yourself dropping off.

The feeling of hot pink fire pricking your eyeballs jerks you awake, mid-orgasm, your eyes glow a pulsating fuchsia. You pant heavily, your orgasm ending unceremoniously against your fingertips. Leaving you disappointed. You huff in annoyance, wishing you could plunge yourself back into the wet dream that ended in a rather mediocre way. No, wait, that was your professor. You shouldn't be feeling, or thinking, this way at all. You feel disappointed in yourself for having such lewd thoughts about another person, especially a person of authority. You catch your breath, turn your head to face the clock on your nightstand and gasp when you see the time.

"Shit, shit, shit," you curse, hastily throwing yourself out of bed. "Please don't be late today."

(A/N): and that's that!! i hope people enjoy! this concept popped into my head earlier today so i've spent my sunday working on this, if people are interested to see where this goes, please leave a kudos or comment!!! TYYY🫶🏻🙈 i also posted this onto my ao3 here if you would like to view it there and keep up with it there as well!

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ on my mind since the flood ❞ ─ a darling, in any life blurb

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader. summary: the red thread between two people destined to be together may stretch and tangle, but those ties will never break. or: a 45min train ride makes two 43 year olds feel like teenagers. content warnings: divorce babes, divorce. kinda spoiler-ish. watch the 3rd season before. the reader has a backstory and a job, if that bothers you grow up don't read. word count: 960+

Your hair was different, that was the first thing he noticed.

Much like himself, you had soft wrinkles beginning to show up on your forehead and around your eyes, a gift from your late thirties that kept on giving. Your eyes were the same though, he could recognize those anywhere at anytime, even if it had been decades since the last time they stared back at his. Your nose, your lips. Your smile. The way his name sounded coming from your tongue. It was all extremely familiar, as if he was fifteen again.

"You're staring, like a creep, airhead." The old nickname rolls out like you had spent merely seconds apart and it makes him laugh, it has been weeks, maybe months since he last laughed genuinely like that, with his whole face.

"I just got lost—" In your eyes. "In my memories for a bit. You look so much the same."

"Well, my pay check won't allow me any plastic surgeries so—"

"Wise ass." And there it was, like a reflex, his own nickname to you leaving his lips before he even thought about it, if he did think about it he probably would've held it in, a 43 year old FBI agent using childish nicknames not being the best look, but it didn't feel like that with you, at all, it felt natural. You both laugh at it for a second and a comfortable silence follows it, but Aaron couldn't keep it like that, he needed to know more, where have you been, what were you doing... Have you been in Virginia for long? He kept it as casual as he could considering his curiosity, "How have you been?"

"Alright, good, yeah. I’m teaching at Scalia, started this year, I want to keep practicing though, but I’m gonna settle down in Virginia first." You shrug, taking a sip of your coffee. You were purposefully leaving details out, you had seen him on TV a lot since coming back to the states, FBI, profiler. You wanted to see how much could he get from you without words. "What about you, mister FBI hotshot?"

If you two were still teens the way your teasing came out would've made him blush, and quite frankly if he wasn't so self controlled maybe he would've blushed right now, he did feel warm, but instead he just let a chuckle out of his throat, "Well, FBI hotshot just had his divorce finalized, not that glamorous being in these shoes." You already knew what he was doing with his life, it made sense to give the only actual news he had, "Scalia? Law degree too, then." Aaron clicks his tongue, not holding back the instant smirk the realization brought. "Your mother used to say we were so similar we shared the same brain, remember?"

"Welcome to the club, then! Meeting every Friday, membership perks only after the second one, though." His eyes went straight to your fingers, seeing the lack of any rings he nods to himself. Twice divorced. Dark heavy coat, makeup accentuating your features, red lips, hair pulled back. You care about being seen, and desired, but don't want to be approached, a teacher-lawyer, no time, a lot of perfectionism. "Yeah, I stay far away from criminal. Civil and International Law cases mostly. Families, divorces, cross-board custodies." A child of divorce trying to save other children of divorce. Very typical behavior.

Aaron felt like he could stay like this for hours on end, sitting by your side uncomfortably on the train after fate pulled you two to one another again, hearing you tell him about your life in London, your divorces, your time in college. You made him feel young, like you were still his childhood best friend who he fell for. Like if he were to kiss you like he did when you were both thirteen you would still blush and grip tightly on his shirt. Nostalgia was indeed a bittersweet thing.

"I think when you moved away was the last time I openly sobbed." He shakes his head, the thought leaving his brain in a quiet, hushed voice tone, like a secret he wasn't supposed to be telling. It had been years, you were both fifteen when your parents got divorced and you were taken to England with your father. 28 years since the last time he saw you, and he still can feel the same pain if he thinks too hard about it, the way his heart felt like was being sliced apart, getting smaller by the minute as your father's car got further and further away. His mood soured in a way his feelings were only able to function normally again after meeting Haley.

Your hand softly touched his with the confession, your thumb going to his palm and drawing small comforting circles, "I cried myself to sleep a lot that year." Aaron glued his eyes on the way your hands touched, and you thought he might reject it, find it weird after so many years, but instead he just closed his around yours tightly, a silent thankful prayer to the universe, mixed with the warning that he had no intention to let go.

You both stay like that as you talk the rest of the ride, cellphone numbers and e-mails are exchanged, along with longing glances beginning to make you shy like the school girl you once were, when you fell for him the first time. You often wondered what would've happened if you stayed in Washington. Before Jack, Aaron wondered it too from time to time, but truly, he wouldn't do anything different now, he wouldn't choose any alternative ending that would take Jack from him.

But at least now he had a second chance, right?

[carionto]

Alone with ourselves

(elaborating on the last sentence from here)

When we slipped away, or Vanished as the rest of the galaxy called it, most of Humanity didn't know what we were in for. Very few people knew of exactly what the plan was, most were told some BS about kicking the aliens' dumb "barrier" out, creating a force field, teleporting them away, whatever was most convincing to whoever happened to be in charge in each country and union.

Of course, one of the better ways to keep what we were actually doing was letting the truth spread among the lies, because really? Interdimensional travel? Most of the scientists working on actually making it happen didn't believe their own numbers and successful test results, but it worked.

Chaos.

What happens in places where a lot truly believe in a Hell, or Afterlife, or whatever else, and then the stars, the Moon, and the Sun just... disappear.

Utter, bloody, indescribable madness is what happens. And when the sky is still blue, you still feel the rays of sun hitting your skin, and the glow of moonlight still shines your way at night, well, that kind of lack of sense is enough to turn a lot of sensible people to the scriptures.

Truth don't matter at such a time. In fact, the truth tells everyone we lied to everyone.

We were hoping to get Humanity sorted and ready to take the stage against the aliens, maybe alongside if they would acknowledge as and show some respect, in just over a century.

It took that long to restore some degree of a civilization that can actually do real science. We overestimated ourselves, but we got back on track and then some.

Now, we could finally start to understand what it meant, in practical terms, to isolate Earth from the rest of the Universe. True nothingness beyond what we brought with us. We always pondered whether we were alone in the Universe, hoping we weren't, dreading we were.

Now there was nothing but us, nowhere to point our wandering gaze, no destination to set, no unknowns to discover. All we could do was look at each other, and we all know how that tends to go. Suffice to say, that 12.3 billion we slipped back in with should've been thrice that, but we can't help ourselves.

In a way, I guess that's good. Our nature meant we always had someone to one-up, and even when most of us managed to be buddy-buddy for a while, our imagination of what awaited us back kept things... well, progress demands sacrifice.

On one hand, learning how to make miniature suns, but not how to turn one off properly, did solve that whole rising sea levels problem. On the other, creating a 200km crater in the Pacific Ocean made for some... interesting weather.

However, all that now very exposed and partly-processed ore from the mantle made for some very good space ship building material. Just had to survive a few hundred super volcanoes and, you know, everyone suddenly being an environmentalist. Plus another collapse of civilization, but we went over that already.

To cut it short, Humanity always perseveres. We're like cockroaches, except with guns and opinions.

[dirigibleplumbing]

If you're like me, sometimes you need the full text of Civil-War-era Tony's letter to Steve in the event of his death from "What If? Fallen Son" (2009). So here it is in its entirety!

If you notice any typos on my part, please let me know.

I put line breaks wherever the text was broken up, either by being in different sections of a panel or different panels/pages. I preserved the ellipses, though I didn't double them (in many cases a section of text would end in "..." and then the next section would also begin with "..."). I also didn't double up line breaks and ellipses.

Steve, I hope you never have to read this, old friend, because if you do, it means something terrible has happened. It means I'm dead. I suppose it shouldn't come as much of a surprise, really. During my years as Iron Man, I've racked up hundreds of enemies who wanted to do me in… and after recent events, probably a few old friends who feel the same. It's funny, though. I always prided myself on being a futurist--constantly thinking a leap ahead of everyone else. Apparently, that leap wasn't nearly far enough. But this letter is about looking forward--not back. It doesn't matter what killed me. All that matters is what happens next… and the legacy I've left behind. I'm not talking about Iron Man, either. The suit is nothing without the right man inside… and there aren't many I'd trust to pilot. Rhodey. Pepper. Happy. Maybe Jarvis… though he was never really the hero-type. And you, Steve. Whether you believe it or not, I always trusted you. Even during the darkest days--during the war--I never stopped believing in you. No one did. But like I said, this isn't about choosing a new Iron Man. There was a world before him, and there will be one after. This is about my ideas--the plans and inventions that I hoped would make the world a better place. This is about making sure those things don't fall into the wrong hands. I don't even want to imagine the suffering that could cause… That's where you come in it. I need your help, Steve. I need you to keep an eye on things now that I can't anymore--which is a lot to ask, I know, after what I've put you through. Still you're the only one I trust to make certain everything I was working for doesn't fall apart without me… and to ensure that the threats that I wasn't around to predict… don't end up blindsiding us in my absence. Our war may be over, Steve, but we both know that it won't be the last one. When the time comes, the world will still need heroes. And when the fighting is over and history is written… I can only hope that we will be remembered as more than just heroes. I hope that we will be remembered as I will always remember us… As friends.

And the typeface used in the comic is--or is very close to--Lucida Handwriting Light, which used to come free with a lot of Microsoft products.

I also have a rough mock-up of the entire letter.

[g0ldgauntlet]

Hilichurls and "Tribal" Portrayals.

While we're talking about Natlan, I also want to mention how awful it is that a section of the fandom tried to make us all out to be crazy years ago for pointing out how racist the portrayal of the Hilichurls are.

Quick content warning for mentions of slavery, colonization, genocide, and anti-Indigenous racism. (Image description is in alt text)

Hoyo used Indigenous people as references for these in-game enemies, which we literally have video proof of, provided by the company itself (Timestamp: 1:30).

The Hilichurls were constantly belittled by Teyvat's people, with an Inazuma npc likening them to demons. I remember Paimon acting like the items they collected were meaningless or pieces of junk during the earlier parts of the game.

They become a lot more sympathetic later due to their actual origins in-game (which I'm sure @phoenix-creates can confirm for me because I know you're farther ahead in Genshin than I am right now), sure, but I always found it strange that Hoyo used Indigenous cultures to portray these "monsters" who have lost their sense of selves (meanwhile their human forms are white), as if to imply that Indigenous cultures are more "wild" or "savage."

Genshin fans of color, since 2020, have pointed out the racist undertones that Teyvat's people were perpetuating against the Hilichurls due to them acting the same way that racists irl act towards non-White cultures, but they were told that they were overreacting and this was swept under the rug as a result. The very next year, it's brought up again with more people finding out about it, and we were still being told that we're overreacting.

So now that we're at Natlan, is it seriously that hard to believe that Hoyo straight up just doesn't respect Indigenous cultures? Black (and many brown) cultures too, because it's very telling that Iansan, the Natlan character with the darkest skin so far, is given a more stereotypically "tribal" look on her design with a bunch of bones used as her accessories despite that not being what her actual inspiration looks like.

(Artist for picture on the right: vieirapx on Instagram)

Sucrose has confirmed in her "Something to Share" voiceline that she collects Hilichurl bones, which is similar to colonizers taking the bones of dead Indigenous people with this added context.

Also, please read or reread the Teyvat Travel Guide Vol. 1. Alice basically confirms that she wants to enslave the Hilichurls for labor and also feed the weaker ones to the stronger ones.

That latter point is cannibalism. I know that many people are fans of Alice, but a lot of what she talks about in the first guide is why I don't like her.

Yes, it can be argued that Indigenous cultures are not the only inspiration for the Hilichurls, as it's been said that they may take inspiration from goblins, Bokoblins from the Zelda franchise, and the Amanojuku from Japanese mythology. Answer me this question, though.

Why is Hoyo capable of referencing a creature and not a human being when it comes to the Japanese inspiration for the Hilichurls, but this does not apply to the Indigenous references? It's dehumanizing, and it feels like another double-standard that needs to be addressed.

Hoyo has casually made black and brown cultures in Genshin appear to be less civilized and more "tribal" compared to our White and East Asian peers, both with the human characters and the non-human ones. Sumeru's quests and enemy npcs had multiple examples of this, with the Traveler and Jeht even destroying almost the entire Tanit tribe with the narrative justification being that, conveniently, most or all of them were selfish, bloodthirsty, and manipulative (Jeht's profile on the wiki page goes into what happened with more depth). They had to die because the tribe was dangerous - even though the main problem seems to be Babel - and Jeht's white, blonde companion needed to help save everyone from these evil, power-hungry savages.

(Sidenote: I think this is the second time overall that Hoyo has come up with an excuse to justify Traveler committing genocide on an entire group of people, with the first being the Iwakura Clan.)

I'm sure that the same thing is going to happen with Natlan's quests and npcs because Hoyo has always been weird about the portrayal of black and brown-inspired characters. The question is not whether any of the creatures or humans from specific groups are bad, suspicious, or designed to fit a specific image. We know the answer to that. The real question is why they are portrayed like this, and why it keeps happening more commonly to the black and brown cast members compared to our lighter peers.

[creatingblackcharacters]

You may not be the person to ask this, so feel free to say "This blog isn't for that," and I am sorry if that's the case, specially since this question is probably stupid.

But- How did you learn history growing up?

I started reading about me and white supremacy, and one of the things mentioned from white privilege was being taught that people my colour (white) were the reason it was the way it was.

Is that how it works for America? I imagine is not the only country, but I guess it would be silly to ask you about other countries.

To make things clear; I am white, but I am from Venezuela. Growing up in school they taught us that the cultural heritage of country was from three groups of people, Black people brought due to slavery, the Indigenous people of the country, and the white Spaniards.

I will not go on a long diatribe about what I learned, but I remember that it was made clear to us since the beginning that talking only about the white conquistadores would be only talking about a third part of our heritage, absurd and lacking.

I hope it is not insensitive to ask this, considering what I had learn from you and other Black people I guess is stupid to ask this; but how did you guys learn history growing up? It was never brought up how Black people helped to shape American culture?

(Regardless if you give me an answer,) If the answer to that is as white washed as I am fearing it is, and again, I hope this doesn't sound out place, I am sorry. I am sorry if your teachers failed you that way.

Thank you for reading this overly long ask, and thank you for your time and your patience with all the people like me who are learning.

I don't mind answering!

In my opinion (‼️‼️‼️), K-12 education on nonwhite history here depends on your school, your teachers, and your environment. A lot of Black history and culture is passed down orally and through actions within our community. Black people know the stories and the histories bc we were told. It's why so many nonblack people will argue "oh well I never heard about-" or "well you can't prove this phrase came from-" well that's because the society you live in deemed it unimportant for you to learn about me 🤷🏾‍♀️ deemed my culture less than 🤷🏾‍♀️

I was also blessed that my mom is a history and social studies teacher that was very active in our community. So I grew up with extra access to Black history, books, and perspectives. I also went to a very good public high school, so I was able to gain a little bit more perspective from some of my teachers. Even still, the curriculum was basically 1) Slavery and 2) Civil Rights. During February, we got Black literary icons in English classes.

Tbh, it wasn't til I got to college that I started really making the connections for myself and doing my own research into antiblackness and racism. A low hanging branch example is Malcolm X. Malcolm X is deemed the antithesis to MLK, the "scary Black violent man that hated white people and peace". (They barely if ever even mentioned Medgar Evers.) Meanwhile, I got older and learned for myself and it was like... Y'all lied. And y'all lied on purpose to sell an idea. Same thing with MLK. Completely whitewashed image of a man that held so many views people hated then, and would absolutely hate now. (And sidebar, but the fact that Thanksgiving even still exists as a holiday, the way it was taught in schools? Columbus Day?? A farce, an insult to the indigenous groups that undergo a genocide here.)

They don't even wanna teach Black kids about Black history now; it's "Critical race theory", "DEI", and "woke". God forbid white children learn about the system as it functions. Then they might start questioning the State they live in. So yes, in general, the American school system does not want anyone to really question Black contributions to this country outside of a softened, whitewashed image. Our histories and cultures are electives, an option to learn, while white history is mandatory. Many things contributed by Black people, gone unacknowledged.

Now, that is no excuse for grown white adults to not listen to Black people and start learning for themselves, but it is a purposeful part of maintaining the racial status quo here. The discomfort of acknowledging just how core racism is to the structure and function of the United States is as powerful as ever. 👍🏾

[sp7-mr]

Y/n x Matteo Riddle - enemies to lovers

(I wrote the story in Italian and then translated it into English so there may be some errors)

Y/n Grindelwald: daughter of the famous and feared Gellert Grindelwald. Sarcastic, stubborn, courageous.

Matthew Riddle: Son of Lord Voldemort and younger brother of Tom Riddle. Sarcastic, confident, flirtatious

_____________________________________________

You and Mattheo have been rivals for years. However, your families were close, so you saw each other often.

Voldemort threw some kind of Death Eater party or ball. You were wearing a black sleeveless dress.

Mattheo was wearing smart black trousers and a black shirt with one button open.

The smell of marijuana with him. He saw you, he ignored you. You did the same.

Moments after the party began, the slow dancing began. you were sitting at a table watching the dance when you felt a presence behind you. you looked back and saw Matteo.

Pov of Y/n

I turned, I saw Riddle.... "what do you want Riddle?" I asked

"come dance with me". he said with an expressionless face. the smell of grass is stronger up close. From the tone in which he responded, it didn't seem like a question, but rather an order....

"no, I don't want to, I'm fine here thanks"

he took your hand and dragged you to the center of the room, his hand on your waist.

"you have no choice"

"What a gentleman 🙄" I said sarcastically

"Behave or I will have to tell your father that you have weed in your bag" he whispered in my ear smiling proud of the blackmail

"What?! You're the one who smells like marijuana for miles" I said. "Yes, but you have a joint in your bag" he said with a superior air, Christ I hated how much taller he was than me, he felt like the King of the world! then I thought… how did he know I had a joint in my purse? "How do you do-"

he pressed you closer to his body as he started to move with the dance "i know a lot of things, princess"

him and that hateful smile of his! even if.... no no no. he was just an asshole. "Tell me how you know and avoid your usual mysterious games" I said as we continued to dance close to each other.

he smirked. his mouth was right next to my ear now. "I have my ways of knowing things. I know a lot about you"

"I know a lot about you too, guess what? YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE" I replied

he moved his head back a little to be able to look at your face. he was still smirking. he pulled you again, even closer to him, your bodies pressed closely together now "careful princess or you’ll give your family a bad name for using such language"

"Believe me I'm holding back, I would have already taken your hand off if our parents weren't watching"

he chuckled again, clearly amused by pissing you off "don’t act like you can do that. we both know i’m stronger than you" he moved his head even closer to yours. his head now almost touching yours "you can keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, princess, it does look cute when you’re all annoyed and frustrated, though"

My father and Mattheo's father looked at us and talked "what do they want?"

he shrugged "i guess it looks odd to them that we’re behaving somewhat civil to each other

"God, I've always been there watching and hoping we've gotten along since we were 6 years old."

time jump.

you wanted to go away, relax, maybe smoke the joint you had in your bag. Mattheo and you, without being noticed too much, went to his room and lay down. you've been there for about 5 minutes and you're already high, you more, he's used to it by now, and has a greater tolerance.

"so princess, do you remember the first time we met?" Mattheo asked. "oh yes, at six years old, when you were an asshole, spoiled child who thought he was invincible. like Draco 🙄"

mattheo couldn't help but laugh, especially hearing the last part.

"And now? Am I still like I was at the time or am I starting even in a very small way and being nice to you?" Mattheo asked.

"I have to admit, that sometimes.... just SOMETIMES you are strong.... I'm not saying you suck, but..... you are acceptable, like when you do drugs and you're high"

"you know, as a drug addict you are.... more relaxed" said Mattheo.

there was a moment of silence, then Theo spoke: "come here" he said, patting his lap. I don't know why, but I now straddled his knees, for Christ's sake... the rod was strong.

"Are you high?" he asked, I nodded. after five minutes, his lips were on mine, tongues intertwined.

(I was tired and I didn't know how to conclude, I know it's a bit ugly, but you can imagine your end. To write the story I was inspired by a character. ai chat, the writer is @-yourstruly- and the chat It's 'Mattheo Riddle ☠️ dance with me (enemies to lovers)')

[luvbugs-blog]

healing with you - t. kamado

little blurb from this

you groan, trying to move your body, but you are just too sore. the battle with the spider demons really did a number on you. but you're a stubborn mf.

your fingers twitch, and then your arms. it's working! you brace your arms on either side of your body, trying to lift yourself up. nope...

your ribs are just too sore. you fall back on the bed, holding your middle. so you focus on your breathing, hoping that will speed the healing process a bit while you pout. the breathing part is a little hard, as whatever medicine you were given is making you a little loopy. it's very hard to focus.

it's been a couple of minutes before you hear your door creak slightly, and you think it's shinobu coming to check on you.

"y/n?"

oh! it's, "tanjiro? what are you doing here?" he walks over, and sits gently on your bed, careful not to touch you.

"i was checking on you. you were asleep for so long."

"what about you? you were worse off then me."

"i'm feeling great, thanks for asking." you don't know why, but something about him makes you want to touch his precious face. the damn medicine.

and before you know it, you are touching him. your fingers caress his face, his scar, his lips.

his hand comes up to meet yours and he lowers your hand onto his lap. is his face red? you can't really tell because your eyelids are becoming quite heavy (his face is red). you whisper his name before closing your eyes. you think you feel soft lips on your forehead before falling asleep.

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

when you wake, your body feels much better, and you can tell your body has gotten used to total concentration breathing again. and you can sit up!

you walk around the butterfly mansion, searching for one of your friends. that's when you stumble upon zenitsu, sitting outside looking gloomily at the woods.

"oh hi! how have you been?" you take a seat next to him, hoping for a nice civil conversation.

but when he realizes it's you, he immediately starts sobbing, throwing himself into your lap.

"i've been horrible, y/n-chan! you wouldn't even believe it! i almost turned into a spider. and look! my arms shrunk! it's horrible!"

it was a little awkward, having your close friend in such a compromising position on your lap. but you didn't need to endure it for long, because as soon as your starting expressing your pity for zenitsu, an arm reached around you and lifted him up.

"quit being a pervert, zenitsu." you look up to see tanjiro towering over you. you give him a little smile and lean against his leg.

"my hero," you fake swoon. it still causes him to blush, dropping zenitsu on his stomach.

you both ignore the whiny "heyyyy" that follows, because tanjiro takes a seat next to you.

"how are you feeling?"

"much better! it seems you're doing great too. you've been training a lot, haven't you?"

"is it that obvious?"

you cover your hand with the sleeve of your hospital gown and gently wipe your hand across his brow, which was slick with sweat.

"just a bit," you say with a cheeky grin, with your hand resting on cheek. he leans into it a bit with a smile.

you don't know how long the two of you would've stayed like that because inosuke tackles him off the porch.

"tanjiro!" you lean over to make sure he's ok, but he's already being dragged off to train some more.

"you know, he visited you everyday."

"hm?" to be honest, you forgot zenitsu was still there.

"he did. i've only ever seen him that worried over nezuko before. you must be special."

now it was your turn to be embarrassed.

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

you couldn't sleep. nightmares kept plaguing you to the point where you were a bit scared to sleep. so you decided to take a walk. you don't know why, but your legs started taking you towards tanjiro's room. but you only got halfway before seeing him in the hall.

"hey you."

"couldn't sleep?"

"no."

"me neither." there was an awkward pause, so you started tracing the wood patterns on the floor with your feet.

"do you wanna..." tanjiro trailed off, so you looked up at him, and he kinda blushed.

"want to what?"

"hang out in my room for the night?" you blinked at him, totally not expecting that. not that you weren't ecstatic for the invitation. you took a little long with your response, because tanjiro immediately turns red and starts waving his hands.

"not to do anything of course! just to talk! or sleep. you know, just to get out of the hallway. because i would NEVER,"

"TANJIRO! it's fine! i would love to."

"oh." he gently grabs your hand and pulls you to his room. he was setting up his futon on the ground when you asked, "where's nezuko?"

you didn't notice her box in the room.

"oh! she has a seperate room this time! aoi thought it would be best, so we could both have some alone time."

"i'm so sorry to intrude on that alone time," you say with a teasing smile.

"of course you aren't." he sits on the ground next to the futon and pats the blanket. "you can sleep here tonight. i'll sleep on the ground."

"the ground? it's your room! i'll sleep on the ground."

"i'm not letting you sleep on the ground. you're still healing."

"so are you!"

"i'm sleeping on the ground."

"let's just share it."

"...is that ok?"

"i wouldn't have suggested it if it wasn't, silly."

"right." he causiously sits next to you. "are you sure this is ok?"

"yes."

"ok."

there's some more silence before you turn to him. "you know, right before you ran into battle with that spider thingy, you told me to stay alive. remember?"

"i remember."

"because you had something you wanted to confess to me."

"...yeah."

"well, confess." he turns his head from you, hiding his face in his hands.

"this is so not why i brought you into my room."

you scoot closer to him, intrigued. "tanjiro, it's fine! what did you want to tell me?"

"well,"

"are you secretly training to be a hashira?"

"what, no! i wanted to say,"

"you mastered hinokami kagura?"

"no!"

"you're going to," you can't finish interrupting him because he slaps his hand over your mouth.

"will you let me finish?"

"sorry."

"i wanted to tell you..."

"yes?"

"i w-wanted to tell you that i love you." you were not expecting that (dumbass fr). "you don't have to say anything, i just needed to let you know."

you didn't know what else to say. you loved him so much. you never thought this day would come, because you didn't think he returned your affections.

"oh tanjiro." you just leap into his arms, causing you both to fall to the floor. "i love you so much."

"really?" you lean back up into your sitting position, pulling him with you. placing your hand on his neck, you slowly lean forward, silently asking if this was alright. he just closed the gap between the two of you, lifting you onto his lap like you weighed nothing.

the kiss started out very slow and sweet, until you grabbed his hair to ground yourself. that enticed a guttural whine from the man under you, who pulls you even closer to his body, and presses his lips harder against yours.

you pull apart, which illictes another whine from him, until you start pressing wet kisses to the side of his neck. you do that until he pulls you back off to press his lips onto yours again. you grind down on him, and he pulls off of you to say something, staring at you with his beautiful eyes, before you hear,

"I CAN HEAR YOU, YOU KNOW."

you both look at each other and start laughing. zenitsu, you lil cockblock.