#or should be bred out of existence

[6qubed]

like some'a y'all are no less racist, sexist, nor hidebound than the average conservative, you just have different targets

swear to god y'all should hear how you talk

the whole guilt-tripping language in posts about important topics paired with how I'm still getting bitches in my notes talking about why it's actually good to tell "bad" people to kill themselves continues to prove to me that a lot of people have absolutely no concept of social justice or activism outside of assuming the worst of and then viciously attacking strangers on the internet

[shame-kink]

my sympathy for vegans getting a flood of “DEBATE MEEEE” comments versus my frustration that their explanations and reasoning for vegan-ness still being fucking shit

[caffeineandsociety]

There should be a term other than the cynical nonsense that is "horseshoe theory" for when the deeper you get into deconstructing some societal bullshit, the more the reality of it looks...on the superficial level, EXACTLY like the shitty assumptions of society, but for extremely different reasons

E.g., "You shouldn't make fun of white people's appearances because reverse racism is JUST as bad as any other!" -> "no it's fucking not and the fact that we call it 'reverse' racism proves it; making people feel bad is not equivalent to lynchings, enslavement, genocide, military and police violence, treating people like disease vectors, and every other way this is a structural issue with a massive power differential" -> "...in fact a lot of the aspects of appearance we make fun of 'white people' over are things like outward signs of disability, or things women are told to be insecure about to sell them solutions, because that power dynamic is so deeply ingrained in the public consciousness" -> "really, looking at how many people are just operating on a momentarily flipped script written by racists and eugenicists, maybe we shouldn't be inviting people into the movement who just want someone they can feel justified in attacking based on appearance in the first place, hating one group is not a replacement for not hurting let alone helping the people they as a class oppress, something something face-eating leopards and all......."

Because this kind of thing happens a lot and it is IMMENSELY frustrating to have to make sure everyone is on the same page every time you're saying, for example, "being an asshole to people just because they're [privileged group] is not actually good praxis" less in a "REVERSE RACISM IS REAL/#NOTALLMEN/STRAIGHT RIGHTS FOREVER" kind of way and more in a "hey just because it's cathartic and not as powerful on a mass scale doesn't mean it's more helpful than it is conducive to lateral aggression, never mind that it often falls into treating the oppressors' narrative as the only option" kind of way

[yanderenightmare]

TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

fem reader

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well.

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his frown that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety protocols,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again—

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you straight away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, all those plush curves, and not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA ��� KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[boringkate]

wow it'd suck being an actually trans person if more people transitioned for fetish reasons. it'd give people the impression that most people transition for fetish reasons. and it gives precedent to outlaw it as a sexual fetish thing, not a real condition.

What is (to you) an "actually trans person"? Someone with an incurable immutable medical condition? Someone that should be allowed to transition (an act so extreme and degenerate that no healthy person should ever be allowed to engage in it) only out of pity because they're too mentally or physically sick and weak to bare existence any other way?

The fascists that hate perverts hate you too. They want to crush you under their boot and then scrape the viscera off like they just stepped in dog shit. There's no appeasing them. You can't make them love you by being a good chaste respectable humble little white supremacist christian transsexual.

What else shouldn't people be allowed to do for sexual reasons? What should they be allowed to do for sexual reasons? Should people not be gay for sexual reasons? Or straight for sexual reasons?

Every one of us is here because our parents and our parent's parents were perverts who fucked and bred. Your great great grand mother got dicked down raw and nutted in and with any luck she enjoyed it. We're all perverts. And that's fine! There's no shame in it. No one is better than you and you're no better than anyone else.

Men and women aren't innately different. Gender isn't sacred. It doesn't need to be protected. Don't concede anything just for the chance to beg for mercy.

If trans liberation is going to be worth having then it has to be rooted in the idea that transness is both beautiful and mundane. Transitioning is no big deal. It's not regrettable. People can choose to transition for any reason (or no reason at all) and them doing so is something to celebrate.

[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses part 6: birthday present

cw: this one is nasty lol

Gaz wants to make home movies :) special lingerie for the occasion, a really nice camcorder you had no idea he had, a tripod he borrowed from someone who definitely doesn’t know what he’s using it for. And he wants to have you in literally every position you’ll let him get you in. One day, Gaz is going to get drunk and let slip that the video exists, and Soap is going to beg to see it, just so you know.

Ive mentioned what Soap wants for his birthday a couple of times, but I’ll say the more tame of my ideas again: no deodorant and he wants you to work out. Literally get as sweaty as you can with as much of your musk in your underwear as possible. Nothing to hide your natural scent. He wants to bury his face in your panties and your pits while her jerks himself off, then he’s gonna shoves his face in your cunt and spend a few hours down there.

Simon wants you to go somewhere with him wearing a skirt, and going commando. Some mid-thigh length number that he can easily slip his way under wherever you are, whenever he feels like it. Don’t worry, he’ll help you hold it down when a breeze comes by.

Price wants you collared. Who says just cause it’s his birthday, he should be the only one getting a gift? Don’t worry— he won’t have you leashed when you go out for his birthday dinner— just when you get home. Well, maybe in the car. But when you’re out, he keeps a grip on the back of the collar to lead you around, as casually as he puts his hand on the small of your back usually. And you KNOW the first thing that gonna happen when you get home is you getting on your knees, the leash wrapped in his fist while he pulls your mouth farther down his cock.

König wants heat roleplay. There, I said it. He already calls you maus, now he wants to see you wet and needy and desperate for him like a mammal in heat. Is he going to ask you to wear ears and a tail? No. Is he going to get so hard he almost passes out if you do? Yes. He loves the idea of you needing him and only him to be satisfied— that there’s a fire inside you that only he can quench. And to do so, he’s gonna have to fuck you raw until you’re dripping with him, bred the way you need to be.

Nikolai wants costumes and roleplay. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Teacher and schoolgirl, pilot and stewardess, slasher and camp counselor, knight and princess, evil advisor and princess (and yes, he gets you a different princess dress than the one from last year), he comes up with a new one every year. Once he even managed to get what quite honestly looked like authentic uniforms from world war 2, one Russian infantry and one nurse’s uniform.

[dark-konohagakure2]

Uhhh something something with Akatsuki guys breeding their (adult) lil sister :) Bonus for Konan to also breed her lil sister :,)

tw: incest, sibling incest, dub/noncon, breeding, babytrapping, possessiveness

All characters depicted are 18+

Deidara has never given much thought to having children, he's still pretty young, not to mention that kids are just annoying little brats that will distract him from his art, so he doesn't want any at first, but when he catches his younger sister spending time with other guys, Deidara gives the idea of children much more consideration.

His sister isn't much younger than him. Deidara is nineteen and his baby sis is only a year younger then he is, but the blonde artist doesn't care, she's his sister and she shouldn't be devoting himself to any man but him.

Not only does Deidara want to mark her as his property for possessive reasons, but he would be lying if the thought of breaking his sister's virginity and filling her up until she's thoroughly bred with his baby turns him on like nothing else.

Even if his sister refuses, Deidara will push the issue, practically nagging her into letting him impregnate her, despite the fact that he's being too pushy and they're closely related to each other by blood. Deidara really wants to make sure other guys know to stay away, and this is the most effective way to do it.

"C'mon dummy don't be like that! You love kids, yeah?! So you should be thanking me for being a good big brother and giving you one!"

Deidara is a virgin and an inexperienced one at that, all of his sexual knowledge comes from trashy porno magazines, so he has little to no clue what he's doing when he thrusts into his sister's cunt, too lost in how good it feels to coordinate his thrusts properly.

He also doesn't know much about impregnation and the subsequent pregnancy, but what he does know is that he has to cum inside of her a whole bunch so he can properly knock her to up and keep her all to himself.

Deidara might be inexperienced, but he isn't a complete idiot. He knows that his sister has been on the pill, but he planned ahead, taking her pills and throwing them out when she isn't looking, since he doesn't want any stupid pills getting in his way.

Once he's finally done he'll keep his cock in her for a while, telling her how she better not let a single drop spill out of her, or else he'll just have to breed her all over again.

"Oh yeah, that felt great~ Now you better be a good mommy and behave yourself, or else. I'll just fill you up again, un!"

If she somehow doesn't get pregnant from that encounter, Deidara doesn't sweat it. He's already become addicted to his sister's perfect little pussy, so he's gonna be breeding it everyday anyway.

tw: incest, sibling incest, noncon, breeding, age difference, puppet fucking, drugging, plugs

Sasori hates children. They're needy, loud, annoying, and just all around obnoxious. Sasori never thought he'd want to impregnate someone, especially his own sister, but curiosity gets the better of him, he wants to know if he can get her pregnant even as a puppet.

He rarely ever gives his sister much thought, she just exists to him, and he's only using her because she's the closest woman to him. But when Sasori actually bothers to be around her, he can't help but notice how cute she is, even if she is a brat by his standards.

Sasori won't go into things completely unprepared, he knows how to prepare for things ahead of time. He'll use some of his special poisons to increase her fertility and libido, slipping it into her food and drink when she isn't paying attention, although it is suspicious that her usually cold brother is cooking for her out of nowhere.

Once he's certain that his drugs worked on her, Sasori will take advantage of her, laying her down and getting on top of her. She's obviously confused, but Sasori will explain what he's doing to her in his usual deadpan and blunt way.

"What am I doing..? I'm putting a baby in you. Isn't it obvious? Or are you so stupid that you don't know where babies come from..?"

Sex with Sasori is rather uncomfortable for her. His body is a puppet, so it's wooden, and his cock feels more like a dildo than an actual organic penis, but for Sasori it feels completely normal and pleasurable, although it's hard to tell he's feeling good, since he rarely makes noise and never blinks.

Sasori is still emotionless even during such an intimate moment, he'll simply thrust into his sister's sloppy cunt, only really talking to tell her to stop being so loud with all her annoying crying and pleas to stop.

The absolute loudest he'll be is when he groans as he finishes inside of her. Sasori won't show it on his face or with his words, but he really enjoyed it, even if his sister clearly didn't enjoy it at all as evidenced by her tears.

After he pulls out, Sasori will be stern and make sure that she knows her place, letting her know that she better have his children, despite the fact that he has a very open dislike of kids that he doesn't even bother to hide from her.

"This better work... and if it does, I want nothing to do with whatever annoying children you push out... that's your problem now, little sister."

When he's done, he'll shove a plug into her filled up hole, not wanting her to waste a single drop of his essence, and Sasori will make it very clear that he won't tolerate her removing the plug until he says so.

tw: incest, sibling incest, dub/noncon, breeding, praise, infantilization, choking, cheating

Itachi is an Uchiha, so he has a natural inclination to reproduce, and he's also an older brother, so if he ever has the urge to breed, he can always go to his sweet little sister.

While Itachi could knock up Izumi instead of his own little sister, and his girlfriend would be more than willing to have his babies, Itachi just thinks his baby sister is so much more adorable and sweet, not to mention more tight and fertile.

He isn't a brute, he isn't going to throw his sister down and force himself onto her like a common thug, that would be mean, so instead he'll manipulate her into coming to his bedroom, and of course she does. She has no reason to doubt her sweet older brother's good intentions.

Itachi still sees his little sister as his baby, despite her being much too old to be considered that, so he'll be overly soothing and gentle when he eases his fat cock into her, not stopping until he's balls deep inside of her fertile cunt, cooing praises into her ear as he pounds her.

"Shhh... There there, baby. You're doing such a good job. Now keep taking it like a good girl, you're making Nii Nii so proud of you..."

He's almost too gentle when he's breeding her, treating her like a porcelain doll that can shatter with even the most slight of pressure, he also doesn't want to risk being too rough when he's trying to impregnate her, not wanting to damage the cute little womb that he's going to fill up with new Uchihas. However, he will choke her slightly, his slender hand squeezing her neck as he gets close.

Itachi is almost a completely different person when he's inside his sister. He's usually a doting yet distant older brother, but he becomes almost clingy when he's fucking her, his heavier body pressed flush against hers and his hands constantly gripping her body as he pounds into her, whispering praises into her ear.

He's nothing if not thorough, he wants to be completely certain that he's bred her well and proper, so he won't stop even after cumming inside of her countless times. She obviously grows tired and overwhelmed from the prolonged breeding session, but he's too focused on claiming her sweet pussy to stop.

When he is finally done filling her to the brim, he'll kindly manipulate incentivize her into keeping this as their little secret, offering to spend more time with her and train her despite his busy mission schedule.

"Good girl, you made me feel so good... Now, if you promise to be good and not tell anyone about this, I'll help you with your shuriken jutsu later, doesn't that sound nice?"

He'll never call himself a pervert, but he doesn't exactly hide how much it turns him on to see his sister cutely limp around the house afterwards, her big brother's seed stuffed inside her womb, unbeknownst to the rest of the family.

tw: incest, sibling incest, dub/noncon, breeding, monster cocks, double penetration, age difference, size difference, biting, victim blaming

Kisame has always been a more hands off elder brother. His sister didn't inherit the shark like features that he has, so it's almost impossible to believe that such a sweet and cute looking girl is so closely related to the Monster of The Mist, and Kissme himself isn't immune to her cuteness.

Kisame is a bit strange when it comes to his sex drive, on some days sex is the last thing on his mind, but on other days he's practically a feral animal in heat that needs a wet hole to breed, and his poor sister just so happens to catch him on one of those days.

He's a big guy, so he can easily just hold her down and use her like a little fleshlight, and that's exactly what she does, as soon as he gets his hands on her he's pinning her down on the nearest surface and stuffing her full of his dual cocks.

While Kisame technically doesn't need to use both of his cocks in order to breed, he wants to, and his poor sister's pussy will have to suffer for it as she's filled up with both of her brother's huge cocks.

"Fuck!! Keep squeezing my cocks like that, bitch. Your big bro wants to fill ya up real good, so no more bitchin' and whinin'~"

Even if he wasn't trying to be rough, his thrusts are still brutal, his large thighs pressed against her smaller ones as he shoves himself into her over and over again, his deadly teeth biting down on any bit of her skin that they can reach.

Due to his menacing appearance and even more monstrous reputation, Kisame doesn't get laid very often, so he is very pent up, his huge and heavy balls slapping against her clit as he fills her up with his thick cocks, shooting his pent up load into her countless times.

He has very high stamina, so the shark-like man is able to go at it for hours on end, never having to take breaks even when she's hardly conscious underneath him and begging him to stop.

Once he is finally done with her, most likely having fucked her from dusk until dawn, he'll be somewhat apologetic, although will ultimately blame her for his actions. She knows how Kisame gets sometimes, so she should have been a good girl and known better.

"Ahh~ Sorry about that, babygirl, guess I got a bit carried away... Maybe don't go actin' all cute around me next time..."

Kisame isn't trying to knock her up because he wants kids, he's too busy slicing his enemies to ribbons for something like that, he just can't control his feral urges when he's around he sweet little cunt.

tw: incest, sibling incest, noncon, breeding, sadism, abuse, degradation, blood kink, ritual sex, threats, bondage

Unlike some others, Hidan doesn't want to knock his sister up because of a deep possessiveness or need for control, Hidan just wants to breed her because the sadist thinks it would be absolutely hilarious to see his sister all knocked up.

He isn't a nice big brother at all, Hidan is always picking on his sister and making her feel dirty about herself, so his little sister will try to avoid being alone with him at all costs, but Hidan gets her alone eventually...

He'll drag his sister into his room under the guise of a ritual for his beloved Lord Jashin, he'll even threaten her into accepting the "ritual" telling her that she either gets to participate in a breeding ritual or a blood ritual with him, so she has little choice in the matter.

He's quick to tie her down on his bed, making sure she can't move when he has his way with her. Hidan doesn't gag her however, since no one else lives with them and their parents are out of the picture, she can scream and cry in pain as loud as she wants, it's music to his ears.

"Cmon, just take it you dumb little hoe! You're always dressed like a slut anyway, so just take my cum and get knocked up already!"

Hidan is brutally rough with her, almost to the point of drawing blood, and if she does end up bleeding from his treatment, then that's even better, since blood turns Hidan on like nothing else.

While not inexperienced, Hidan doesn't know how to be gentle during sex, nor does he care to learn, so his cock will roughly bully it's way into her tight pussy while Hidan pounds into her and breeds her with all the carefulness and grace of a rabid dog in heat, even drooling like one during the act.

Hidan never shuts up when he's fucking her, he always has to be making some sort of noise, whether it be degrading her, openly fantasizing about her pregnant body, or just loudly grunting and moaning like a pornstar while he's fucking her.

He has quite a bit of stamina, so he can stuff her full of cum all night long. When he's finished cramming her womb full of his seed, he'll make sure she knows her place and what she's supposed to do now.

"Phew! That felt great, slut! Now you better raise this stupid little brat to follow the ways of Lord Jashin, got it, little sis?"

Hidan doesn't care to be a parent or an uncle to the kid, in fact if his sister doesn't behave herself from now on, the brat might just be his next sacrifice.

tw: incest, sibling incest, dub/noncon, breeding, age difference, abuse, tentacles, bondage

Despite his very old age, Kakuzu does have a younger sibling who is, while an adult, is also significantly younger than him. Kakuzu doesn't really get along with his sister very much due to their age difference, not to mention how expensive it is to keep her housed and fed.

He can't stand having a girl around his home "mooching" off of him and being a little freeloader. Kakuzu values his money more than anything, including her, so he figures that it's finally time to make her earn her keep and get some responsibility.

Kakuzu is a very big and muscular man, so he can easily manhandle and drag her away to whatever room is closest so he can breed her fertile womb. Her struggles are hardly felt by him, his skin and pain tolerance hardened by decades of battle.

He'll use the threads in his body to stretch out her pussy and prepare her for his cock. The process is incredibly invasive and uncomfortable, especially with her struggling underneath him, but Kakuzu will just scold her for attempting to fight back against him.

"Shut up you little brat. I'm just stretching out your little cunt for me, it wouldn't hurt so much if you weren't so damn tight..."

Once she's properly stretched out to his liking, Kakuzu will use his black threads to restrain her, wrapping around her limbs and keeping her legs spread apart and open to Kakuzu's greedy eyes. The immortal man wastes no time, shoving his cock inside of her without any warning or permission.

Kakuzu is almost as experience in sex as he is in battle, he's nearly a century old so he's had quite a few partners, some more willing than others. Kakuzu isn't experienced in lovemaking however, just in fucking and getting his rocks off.

He isn't very talkative, occasionally groaning and telling her to shut up at the very most. While Kakuzu doesn't want kids, there is a primal part of him that wants to stuff her full of cum and make her his, his thrusts will speed up ever so slightly when these thoughts cross his mind.

While his stamina isn't bad, he won't fuck her for too long, having more important things to do, but he'll still empty a lot of cum inside of her, not even bothering to use any protection. He is rather old anyway, so he probably doesn't have to worry about her getting impregnated from his seed.

"You better not go having any children now, you little idiot. I already have one brat to deal with, the last thing I need is another..."

If she does end up having his child, Kakuzu won't be very happy about it, only tolerating the kid if it somehow benefits him financially, or just keeps his little sister out of his hair and wallet.

tw: incest, sibling incest, dub/noncon, breeding, God complex, praise, mating press

Pain is an incredibly busy man, being the leader of an organization full of eccentric and dangerous individuals, so he's more focused on that family of his instead of his actual one, which comprises of only his younger sister, whom Pain deeply cherishes despite his cold demeanor.

While not a very remorseful individual most of the time, Pain can't help but feel somewhat bad for neglecting his dear sister, so he decides to give her some very special attention when he finally makes time for her.

Pain starts off rather slow, putting an arm around her shoulder in an affectionate gesture before escalating, holding her against his body, which is as cold as a corpse and rigid due to the rods in his body, the proximity quickly makes her very uncomfortable.

Pain can tell she is uncomfortable but doesn't let that deter him very much at all. He wants to make up for lost time, and he won't let her shyness get in the way of that goal.

"Hush now, little one. You should be feeling very grateful right now, not everybody is lucky enough to bear the child of a God."

He'll fuck her on his bed so that his cold body doesn't cause her too much discomfort during the breeding. While he doesn't go out of his way to be rough, he doesn't make much effort to be gentle either, the end goal is to cum inside of her, not to provide pleasure.

Pain is an incredibly imposing figure, even when he doesn't mean to be. His Rinnegan is staring into her very soul as he thrusts into her, the purple circular pattern showing his overwhelming power over her and almost every other human in the world.

Pain is strong physically as well, not just with his eyes but with his body as well, holding his sister down in the mating press while he pounds into her cunt, making sure none of his precious seed spills out of her.

He cums quite a bit, being rather pent up due to his lack of partners and sexual release, so she'll almost certainly be thoroughly knocked up by the time Pain is done with her, he'll even spare her a few kind wonders afterwards.

"Good girl, you did well. Now you'll have someone too keep your company while your elder brother is too busy. Aren't I so benevolent?"

Pain won't be a very attentive parent, he's already too concerned with running his organization and planning their world domination, but he won't be cruel either, occasionally making time for his little wife sister and their offspring.

tw: incest, sibling incest, dub/noncon, breeding, futanari/dickgirl, age difference, manipulation, slight misandry

Konan is a very gentle older sister, helping her dear younger sister with whatever she needs. But Konan is only human, and even she has some urges that are very far from gentle or angelic.

Konan is a very unique woman, she has both a cock and a pair of beautiful breasts, so she can satisfy her sisters emotional needs for a womanly presence, and her physical needs for a male one. But of course her innocent little sister isn't very aware of her elder sister's secret part just yet.

When Konan can't resist the urge to have her dearest sister any longer, she is easily able to manipulate the situation to get her sister alone. The younger sibling adores her older sister, so she'll think nothing of Konan getting rather touchy feely at first.

Even if she does notice Konan getting too close to comfort, Konan can easily talk her way into things, telling her sister how good and normal these sorts of interactions between family members apparently are.

"Shhh, there's nothing strange about this, my little angel. We're both girls after all, so we're allowed to be close like this..."

Konan is almost too gentle, being slow when she pushes her cock inside of her sister, making the younger woman feel every single inch as it slides into her virgin pussy, the feeling is both pleasurable and torturous at once.

Konan's cock is rather big despite her lithe frame, so she's easily able to hit her sister's womb with each thrust, her thick meat stretching her out and filling her fertile depths to the brim with her cum.

She would never wittingly harm her dearest sister, but even a woman as angelic and composed as Konan can't help but get lost in the heat of the moment when she's so deep inside her most cherished treasure, her thrusts speeding up when she's getting especially close to cumming again.

Konan won't stop until she is certain that her sister has been impregnated, then she'll finally be able to keep her sister to herself completely, and without having to worry about any undesirable men getting their perverted hands on her innocent baby sister.

"That's my good little girl... Now we can make a new family together, just the two of us. There's no need for any mean, scary men when you have me..."

Once she's impregnated her little sister, Konan won't let the girl out of her sight for even a minute, keeping a close eye on her little angel and the growing bundle of joy growing in her womb.

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

What's My Name? - R.B.

Bully!Regulus Black x fem!reader

summary: you’ve befriended the emeralds and few other Slytherin’s. Regulus is drawn to you like a magnet, but knows you have no business associating with them or their families, so he tries to scare you off. It backfires spectacularly.

cw: MDNI 18+ Regulus tries to white fang you. degradation, bullying, toxic relationships and friend groups, future death-eaters, trauma, Black Family Angst, choking, dry-humping, p in v sex

an: Ik everyone has a different marauders!era slytherin group, so here’s a quick breakdown of my personal headcanon:

Inner circle: Regulus Black, Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch Jr., Pandora, and Dorcas Meadowes (the emeralds)

Outer circle: Severus Snape, Avery, Mulciber, Emma Vanity, Charity Burbage, Aurora Sinistra, and Wilkes.

Circle-adjacent: Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, and the Marauders

There is also the much darker group with Rabastan Lestrange, Thorfinn Rowle, and the Carrow’s, who actively prey on some of the others for Voldemort’s Cause.

────────────────────────

No matter how hard Regulus tried, you refused to leave his orbit. You had no business affiliating with him and his friends, and had no idea what that affiliation truly meant. It meant darkness. It meant bloodshed. It met imminent and very real danger. A war was brewing right under your nose.

Regulus had been born and bred for this, as had most of his friends, but you…you were an innocent. Intelligent, witty, trusting. As much as he tried not to care, he couldn’t stand to watch your light be snuffed out for simply existing around them: metaphorically or literally.

But no matter how many times Regulus tried to run you off, spare you from what came next, you would not heed. In fact, you seemed to take his animosity as a challenge, leaving him in the predicament of being your unwitting adversary.

You were in the Slytherin common room now, curled up by the fireplace with Pandora, Evan, Barty and a few others, doing more gossiping than studying despite the piles of books and parchment on the floor around you. The greenish light of the lake contrasted with the glow of the fire against your face, creating an otherworldly halo around you.

You hair was pulled back, revealing the slender curve of your neck, the dip in your v-neck sweater where a silver pendant rested against your clavicle.

You laughed at whatever terrible joke Barty made and Regulus rolled his eyes, turning back to the spell book in his lap. He was studying alone, having told Evan a number of times to fuck off and let him work on his assignments in peace.

“Regulus!” Emma called suddenly, and he cringed, pretending he didn't hear his Quidditch captain. “Reg!” She called again.

He closed his eyes, willing them all to disappear.

“Regulus fucking Black!” She hollered, loud enough for the whole common room to fall silent.

He clapped his book shut and stalked over to where you all were sitting, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other clamped on his book.

“Yes?” He droned, leaning against the arm chair Emma was sitting in.

“Can you help me with this?” Emma asked, holding up her Defense Against the Dark Arts homework.

Annoyance prickled along his skin. “What good is a genius pet if she doesn't help with your work?” He asked, leveling you with his coldest stare.

You tilted your head, eyes flicking from his black, curly hair to his leather shoes, and didn't respond.

“She said she wouldn't help me,” Emma pouted.

“I said I wouldn't do it for you,” you corrected.

“Barty, then?”

“No can do, Reg,” Barty responded, coughing up a lungful of pungent smoke, waggling a joint in Regulus’ direction.

Emma waved the smoke from her face. “Will you help, Reg? I have to get a good grade in the class or I could lose my spot on the team. And you know these lot are useless at spells.”

He sighed and took the assignment from her hands, flipping through the pages. It was rudimentary work, things she really should know in order to defend herself.

“Can't help you,” Regulus said, handing it back to her. “If you can't do this, maybe you should be demoted.”

The group ooooh’d at his dig.

“Reg!” Emma whined.

“Ignore him, Em. Not everyone takes to dark magic as easily as the ancient and most bitchy house of Black,” you quipped, narrowing your eyes at him.

Regulus resisted the urge to clench his jaw, feigning the nonchalance you wore like a second skin. The group swiveled to look at him.

“All magic, really. But thank you, darling,” he purred, winking at you.

“You should have seen Sirius in advanced Transfiguration last semester, he's a natural. Truly a gifted wizard,” you continued.

“Hot as fuck, too,” Evan added, just to dig the knife in a little deeper.

Regulus’ blood began to simmer, his temperature rising beneath his dark robes. He tsked under his breath, shaking his head. “I thought you'd be smart enough to not fall for his clown act.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Evidently not.”

“I wouldn't touch a Black with a twenty foot pole,” you replied, leaning back on your hands, stretching your long legs out in front of you, your skirt sitting high on your thighs.

“Who said anything about a pole?” Regulus replied, mimicking your condescending head tilt.

The group snickered, watching your verbal sparring like it was a duel.

“You sound a bit jealous, Reggie. Need a little attention?”

Reggie. His mask nearly slipped, he was so caught off guard by the nickname on your sharp tongue. “May as well, since you give it out so freely.” He glanced down at your shapely legs, punctuating his point.

Your head fell back as you laughed, your chest pressing up and tits bouncing, and he felt an irritating kick in his trouser as the heat of his anger took a new, sinful shape.

“It's the 70’s, love. Are you still so prudish?” You lifted your head, pining him with eyes fierce enough to cleave him in half.

He smirked. “Far from it. Just selective.”

“Don't see much of a selection to chose from,” you chuckled, earning another spike of laughter from the group. “What I see is a spoiled youngest son with nothing better to do than needle the people around him to fill the hole in his chest.” You got to your feet, shouldering your bag.

Regulus felt like he'd been punched clean through the sternum, your words never failing to cut to the quik.

“Spoken by a girl with nothing better to do than fish for a rich husband that might save her from her home in the gutter. Trust me, nothing can fill the hole of inadequacy, y/l/n.”

You stepped over Evan and Barty's tangled limbs and left without another word, leaving Regulus’ cruelty to echo off the glass and stone, the group silent.

Regulus turned on his heel and disappeared into the boys dormitory, guilt dogging every step.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The Quidditch match was in full swing, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the score was neck and neck. It was up to Regulus and the Gryffindor Seeker now, since neither team could get a leg up through the rings.

You sat in the stands sipping hot chocolate with Marlene, Pandora, and Dorcas, Barty pouting to your left because he couldn't sit with Evan in the Slytherin stands.

Regulus hovered a few meters away, his eyes trained upwards, catching every falling leaf and ripple of air around him. You hated how handsome he looked in his Quidditch robes, his lean body relaxed on the broom despite the stakes.

That was Regulus, un-fucking-shakeable. And it drove you insane that you could never get a rise out of him, but he managed to needle one out of you time and time again.

He was as relentless as a northern wind, and you couldn't help but be swept away.

His dark curls framed his angular face, those perpetually sleepy eyes the most arresting green. Sure, everyone thought Sirius was hot, but Regulus was beautiful, ethereal almost, and he wrapped around your mind like a constrictor.

You watched as the other Seeker suddenly took off above the Hufflepuff stands, in pursuit of something, and the Gryffindor stands cheered. But Regulus remained motionless, watching his opponent like a cat trailing a mouse. Even as Slytherin urged him to take up the chase, he remained unmoved, bidding his time.

His bottomless patience would be awe-inspiring if it wasn't so damn frustrating.

You wouldn't have an issue with Regulus, maybe even could have been friends with him, if he hadn't taken issue with you first. You had no idea what his fucking problem was, whether it was because your family was poor, you had better grades than him, or what. He loathed you from the moment you showed up in the Slytherin common room, and you've yet to receive an explanation.

You'd been saddled with a one-sided rivalry, but you'd be damned if you let him defeat you now after a full semester of back and forth.

The other Seeker pulled up short, whipping his head around like he'd lost something, and you saw Regulus crack a smirk, his canines white and sharp.

Regulus turned his head suddenly, quick like a bird, and then he was off in a blur of motion. His opponent was all the way across the pitch, entirely too far to get there in time.

A moment later— “Regulus Black has caught the snitch for 150 points! Slytherin wins!”

The Slytherin stands erupted with cheers while every other house booed, including your own. But you knew a Slytherin victory meant a rager in the dungeons, so you kept your lips sealed.

Instead, you watched Regulus land at the center of the pitch, the golden snitch held lazily between his pointer finger and thumb above his head. Any other Seeker would have been parading around the field, or flying in wide circles over the stands, screaming their head off, but Regulus was silent. His victory spoke for him.

Although, you knew he'd still be smug as fuck later.

As soon as the stands began to drain, you, Pandora, and Barty caught up with the rest of your Slytherin friends, all of them buzzing about the victory, even melancholic Severus. By the time you all reached the dungeons, a party was already in full swing.

Music thrummed along the walls, so loud it caused ripples in the Black Lake, making the emerald-tinged moonlight shift and dance along the floor. You happily accepted a shot of gin, then another before letting Evan cajole you out onto the dance floor.

Sweat pooled along your spine as the music wore on, your hair wild and loose down your back as you danced, electric energy flowing through you.

A cheer came up from the entrance and everyone turned towards the commotion. The Slytherin Quidditch team strode into the room, black robes billowing behind them. Regulus stood at the front, of course. Even from several meters away, you could see the confident glimmer in his eyes, the arrogant tilt of his chiseled jaw.

Fucking Black’s.

Like a magnet, his eyes found yours across the room, and you nearly tripped over Evan’s feet at the venom they held. But he looked away as quickly as he found you, getting swept up by the crowd and disappearing from your line of sight.

You tracked down another shot and rejoined Evan and Barty on the dance floor, squished between them in a tangle of limbs. Impossible to tell who’s hands were where, just a mess of sensation and touch. The temperature in the common room was rising expontentially, so you shed your sweater, leaving you in your skirt and a white camisole, sweat making the fabric cling to your skin.

A few songs passed like that, and a blonde guy you barely know, Rowle, you thought, took your friends place when they tapped out to smoke. You rolled your body against his, enjoying the way his thick muscles felt beneath his robes, the hungry way he was staring down at you. But you were about ready to take a break yourself, the musky smell of weed calling your name from across the room, when the hair on the back of your neck suddenly rose.

You looked around, searching for the source of your bodies response, when you locked eyes, once again, with Regulus.

He was sitting in a circle of couches against the glass wall with your shared friends, a halo of smoke around his head, a girl perched on his lap, sucking at his neck while he took a drag off of a cigarette. But his eyes were glued to you, tracking every movement you made with the same intensity he tracked the golden snitch.

Confidence wafted through you, and you wrapped your arms around your dance partners neck, letting him dip you so low your hair pooled on the floor, your tits nearly falling out of your shirt. You rolled back up slowly, articulating every vertebrae in your spine until you were chest to chest with your partner, sharing the same breaths.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Regulus choke on the smoke, dislodging the girl from his skin, and you smirked.

You let your partner turn you, showing every angle of your body, and you dropped low, circling your hips in time with the resinous goth song as you rose back up.

Regulus' cigarette hung limp between his fingers, his perfect jaw a little slack.

Emboldened, you broke away from your partner, letting yourself get lost in the sensuous, thrumming beat. Your arms rose above your head, your shoulders and hips swaying in time. It felt like you were hypnotizing him, his eyes glued to every undulation of your hips, and you couldn't recall a time where you felt more alive.

Too soon, though, the music changed to a more electro-pop vibe, and you slipped reluctantly off the dance floor, the taste of smoke beckoning you across the room.

You sauntered over to the circle, pointedly ignoring Regulus as you approached.

“There she is,” Even cooed, extending an arm to you. “You looked amazing out there.”

You smiled, sliding into his lap and taking a drag from the joint between his fingers. “Thank you, lovely.” You smiled sweetly up at him, and you could have sworn he started drooling.

“Feels even better,” Barty teased, sprawled out on the couch beside Evan, clearly a little too inebriated already.

You winked at him, and he flushed a deep scarlet. Pandora, who was resting on the floor between Dorcas’ legs, chuckled at his expense.

Regulus was quiet, per usual, watching as the group chattered around him, turning the golden snitch he caught over and over in his long fingers.

The smoke made your mind a little hazy, your tired muscles from dancing going loose, and you sagged into Evan’s side, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Regulus’ fingers tightened on the snitch, his jaw feathering, and your stomach swooped with nervous excitement. You’d never been able to rattle him before. Had you finally knocked the monolithic Regulus Black off of his axis?

“Reg, why so quiet?” Evan asked, nudging his leg with his boot.

Regulus raised a brow. “What would you like to talk about, Rosier? Fucking Junior? Or eye-fucking y/l/n?”

“We can talk about eye-fucking y/n.” Evan winked down at you, and you rolled your eyes. Avery barked a laugh from his spot on the other side of Regulus.

“Yes, let's,” Barty added, raking his willowly fingers through your hair draped over Evan’s arm. You hummed under the attention, knowing it was all in good, hedonistic Slytherin fun.

Well, almost all in good fun.

As always, Regulus couldn't let your ego inflate too much. “It's hard not indulge in a little novelty, no matter how ineffectual.”

Ouch. His words landed like barbs on your skin, but you ignored him, leaning into Barty’s attention with light moan.

Regulus shifted a little in his seat, his hands falling over his lap, and you nearly smiled. Regulus may act all high and mighty, but he wasn't impervious.

“Look at you,” Even purred, blowing smoke over your heated skin, your decolletage exposed as you stretched towards Barty. “Prettiest girl at Hogwarts, stretched across my lap.” You flushed, squirming a little in his lap, and Evan groaned. “You're torturing me, baby.”

Barty tugged on your hair, sending a skitter of pleasure down your spine and craning your head back even further. “Oh, keep doing that. He loves being tortured.”

“What a good girl,” Regulus hummed, and your pussy throbbed, soaking through your underwear. It was a rush, being admired by the heirs of some of the most powerful families in the magical world. But hearing those sweet words from Regulus, twisted into degradation, did sick things to your mind. “She's on track to graduate with her perfect, filthy-rich husband, and spend the rest of her days as mindless, fertile eye candy.”

You flinched, not that the boys noticed, and sat up a little, suddenly self-conscious in your barely-there shirt.

“We volunteer,” Avery and Wilkes said at the same time.

Evan’s arm tightened around you. “You'll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands,” he replied.

Claustrophobia clawed at your throat, but you couldn't let Regulus know how thoroughly he'd flipped your night upside down.

Wilkes drew their wand, pointing it at Evan’s head. “That can be arranged.”

“A no-name isn't worth it, children,” Regulus sneered. “Save your Azkaban trips for nobler pursuits than cunt.”

That's it. You swung your legs to the ground and rose, stalking towards Regulus. The group whistled and hooted, excited by the oncoming storm of drama.

You climbed into Regulus’ lap, straddling him and stealing the golden snitch from his hands. He was warm and solid beneath you, his expensive, amber cologne swirling with the smoke to create an addicting combination.

His hands immediately fell to your bare thighs, the cold of his rings biting into your heated flesh. His green eyes darkened, lids growing heavy as he looked up at you, his ebony lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks.

“Regulus Black,” you murmured in his ear while loosening his tie. His hands tensing on your thighs for a split second before he relaxed them. “You will never find someone that can withstand your thorns the way I do.”

He loosed a breath, chin lifting a little closer to your face like a wilted rose tilting towards the sun.

“You will never scare me off.” You brushed your nose along his temple, feeling his heart rate increase, his breath turn shallow. “I will ruin you, and you will thank me for it.”

Before he could respond, you slipped away, taking his prize snitch with you all the way to Ravenclaw Tower. Unreachable, even for the boy that had everything.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Regulus turned your words over and over in his mind, an endless, torturous loop. The others seemed obvious to his torment, prattling on and on while he burned through cigarette after cigarette, his tongue raw and throat scratchy.

Nothing would numb the ache on his chest, the pulsing strain of his cock beneath his robes. He'd already been painfully hard watching you move, watching you stretch across Evan and Barty like a contented kitten, preening under their devoted attention.

But when you climbed into his lap…fuck.

He was a heartbeat away from coming in his pants. One roll of your hips and he would have been done for, and you had no idea.

Or, maybe you did.

I will ruin you.

It was a miracle that you'd climbed off of him and stormed away, because the only thought he could formulate was please.

Eventually, he couldn't fucking take it anymore. He didn't even say goodnight to his friends, just disappeared into the dormitory and locked the door behind him.

He shirked his robe and grabbed a spare Slytherin scarf from his drawer. He flopped onto his bed and freed his aching cock, the head and angry red and shiny. He wrapped the scarf around it, squeezing hard for a semblance of relief.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, pumping his cock slowly as your voice filled his mind again, the feeling of your weight on top of him, your sweet breath on his neck, your perfume rewiring the synopsis in his brain.

His hand started to move quicker, breath coming out in desperate pants. He imagined licking across your dewy chest, tasting the salt on your skin, gin on your tongue. Blowing his cigarette smoke over your naked body, into your open mouth. So eager and flayed open for him to ravage—his innocent lamb to ruin.

“Fuck, y/n!” Your name wrenched itself from his throat as he came hard into his scarf, imaging it was deep inside your greedy cunt. His whole body shuddered with the force of it, his jaw hanging open as he pumped himself through the orgasm until he'd milked every drop from himself, wondering if your pussy, your mouth, would do the same.

He slumped back onto the pillows, completely exhausted, and shoved the scarf under his bed.

You were right, you would fucking ruin him, ruin his plans. And he wasn't sure if he hated or loved you for it.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Regulus avoided you for two weeks after that party, going so far as to skip your shared Potions class entirely. It was for the better really, you still felt a little raw after that night, the dull ache of his words combined with the unresolved arousal has left you out of sorts, to put it mildly.

If you ran into him, you weren’t sure if you’d throttle or fuck him to death.

Your friends were beginning to grow suspicious of his absence, and your squirrely behavior, and, unbeknownst to you, they set a trap to bring this stand-off to a finish once and for all.

Pandora chatted animatedly beside you as you walked together down the stairs to the dungeon, ranting about something Aurora did to piss her off. When you arrived to the dungeon, she suddenly paused to tie her shoelace, waving for you to go on ahead of her into the common room.

You did, and the large green door swung shut behind you.

“No! Fuck, Dora!” Regulus was right there, banging his fist on the door.

You looked around, bewildered, only to find the common room completely deserted. Except for Regulus, of course.

“Move,” you hissed, withdrawing your wand.

“I tried everything,” Regulus huffed, a hand raking through his dark hair.

“I said move,” you repeated, pointing your wand at him.

He rolled his eyes and stepped aside, walking back into the common room. He dropped onto the couch by the fireplace, retrieving his book.

You threw every spell you could think of at the door, but it simply wouldn’t budge. “What the fuck!” You shouted, nearly throwing your wand across the room out of frustration.

“They left us a note,” Regulus said, not looking up from his reading.

You stalked over to him, finding an open piece of parchment on the coffee table. Immediately, you recognized Pandora’s loping hand.

“Just bone already.” You read aloud, and scoffed. “What the fuck does that mean?” You glared at Regulus, as if he was somehow responsible, but he still didn’t look up.

“I suspect they’re tired of our bickering,” he replied, turning the page.

“And what does locking us in the dungeon together accomplish?” You couldn’t believe this was happening. Couldn’t believe they’d lock you in a dungeon with your fucking nemesis. Your school yard bully. The bane of your goddamn existence.

Regulus shrugged. “Maybe they think you’ll kill me.”

You let out an exasperated sound and stormed away from him, trying the door to the girls dormitory.

“Locked,” he called a millisecond after you tried the handle.

“Maybe I am going to fucking kill him,” you muttered to yourself. Resigned, you sat on a chair by the glass wall, as far away from him as you could possibly get, and sulked.

You had no clue how much time passed, the only light filtering in through the murky lake. The cold leeched through the glass, chilling you to the bone, but you refused to move closer to him. You’d freeze to death in here if you had to.

“Y/l/n,” Regulus said after the fifth full body chill wracked through you. “Come sit by the fire.”

“Go fuck yourself,” you bit back, and he snorted.

“Fine, freeze.” He returned to his book, not sparing you another glance.

Your hands started to ache from the cold, your jaw sore from your teeth chattering together. With a sigh, you got up and crossed the room. Regulus still didn’t look up, though you could feel his attention shift to you as you sat directly in front of the fire, holding your hands out to it.

“You really think they’ll leave us in here all night?” You asked, staring at the dancing flames.

“Absolutely,” Regulus answered, lowering his book to his lap.

You sighed, resigned. The only way out is through. “I’ll start.”

He tilted his head, dark brows drawing together in suspicion.

You cursed under your breath, and dove headfirst. “I don’t understand why you’re so shitty to me,” you blurted, refusing to look at him. “I’ve never done anything to you.”

He was quiet for so long, you finally caved and glanced over at him, only to find him staring back at you, expression unreadable.

“Regulus,” you huffed, frustrated.

“Y/n,” he mocked, and your stomach flipped despite his attitude. He’d never used your first name before.

“Just fucking talk to me.” You straightened your spine, folding your legs on the ground underneath you, the fire at your side.

He stared at you for a few more moments, his eyes dancing back and forth, before he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book.

“You’re a lot of things, Black, but I didn’t take you for a coward.”

His eyes flickered with anger, but he didn’t bite.

“Reg,” you murmured, softening your voice, and he rolled his eyes, the most unbelievably bored expression on his face. You shifted your weight, placing your hands on the ground, and lifted to your knees. Slowly, you began to crawl to him, being careful to not sway your hips too much, and he broke after only a few seconds.

“On your knees already, darling?” He teased, but the casual tone didn’t match his eyes. The fire in them, the way his hands tightened around the cover of his book, betrayed his true feelings.

Once you were directly in front on him, you sat back on your heels. “Be honest with me, Reggie, did it turn you on seeing me with Evan and Barty?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your question. In his lap, you saw his cock twitch, a small pulse along his right thigh.

Men are so fucking easy.

“What about when I was dancing with them? Sandwiched between their bodies?” You rolled your head on your shoulders, mimicking the way you danced and revealing the fragile plains of your throat, your hair falling around your face. “When Barty pulled my hair? When Evan blew smoke over my tits?”

Regulus swallowed hard, his eyes like melted jade.

“What about when I crawled into your lap?” You took the book from him and set it onto the table. Then, you placed your hands on his lean, muscular thighs and pushed yourself to your feet, straddling him the same way you did that night. His entire body was rigid beneath you, muscles coiled tight with tension. “Did you like when I whispered in your ear, Regulus? When I told you that I’d ruin you?”

“Y/n,” he rasped, breathing hard.

“Tell me the truth.” You were so close, your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. You committed to the contact, brushing your lips along his racing pulse, down his jugular vein. You fought to keep your thighs from clenching together, your own body responding to the feeling him slowly unraveling beneath you. “Do you hate me because you want me?”

“I don't,” he hissed through his teeth.

“If you say so,” you hummed, moving to slide off his lap.

He grabbed your waist, his grip bruising. “Don't you fucking dare."

“I thought you didn't want me?” You taunted, sitting back on his lap to look at him, a hand braced on his sternum.

When you shifted your weight, your pussy accidentally pressed against the hard outline of his cock. You had to force your hips to stay still, your pussy practically begging you to move when you felt him throb against your warm heat.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. All the malice had drained from his voice, his eyes locked on yours.

Then what the fuck did he mean?

You rolled your hips, biting back the moan that crept up your throat as pleasure snaked through you. Regulus was less successful, a broken groan falling from his pretty mouth.

“It would be so much easier to just tell me the truth,” you purred, slowly rocking your hips over his twitching length, allowing a hint of breathlessness to bleed into your voice. “It would feel so good, Reg, to let it all go. To lose control.”

“Shit,” he crushed under his breath. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” He grated, sliding his hands down to feel your thighs flex with each movement, his fingertips dimpling your flesh.

“What did you mean by ‘I don’t’?” You asked, tilting his chin up with a finger.

His jaw went a little slack as he stared up at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and shining. “I don’t hate you,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then why do you say such awful things?” You stopped your movements, and he made a small noise in his throat, nearly a whimper, but didn’t answer. “Regulus,” you prodded, lifting yourself from him entirely.

“N-no, please, fuck y/n,” he stammered, lifting his hips to grind against you. Another moan threatened to spill from you, his body felt so fucking good against yours, but you managed to restrain yourself. “I did it to try and push you away, I—”

You lowered back onto him, your hips grinding in tandem, and his head fell back against the couch, releasing a throaty groan. You couldn’t hold back a small squeak of pleasure when the hard head of his cock grazed your clit just right, and a wave of pleasure crashed through you.

“Why did you want to push me away?” You started undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, lean muscles flexing as he thrusted up against you.

He shook his head, picking it up to look down at where your bodies met, a pool of your slick dampening his trousers. “Getting me all wet, lamb. You like toying with me?” he rasped, moving one of his hands to press a thumb against your clothed clit, his long fingers splayed across your pelvis. “Is that why I couldn’t scare you off?”

You nodded before you could stop yourself, a full moan finally breaking free with the added pressure. You were embarrassingly close to coming, to banter combined with the friction between your bodies was a lethal cocktail, a drug you weren’t sure you’d be able to quit.

You wrapped your hands around his throat, applying enough pressure that he gasped, the sound vibrating your hand. “Why are you trying to push me away?” You leaned closer to his face, his strained pants fanning across your lips. He was so beautiful like this, ravaged by lust and desperate.

“You know why,” he growled, grabbing your wrists. He rolled suddenly, flipping you beneath him and pinning your hands above your head. “What’s my name, y/n?” His free hand slid under your skirt, palming your soaked panties.

“Regulus,” you gasped, arching into his chest.

“Regulus what?” He started rubbing the heel of his palm over your clit, electric pleasure burning through you.

“Regulus Black.” You were on the brink of coming, teetering on that torturous edge.

“Tell me then, my clever little Ravenclaw. What does that say about me and mine?” He leaned down and dragged his teeth along your pulse point, pausing to suck a mark under your ear.

“Fuck, Reg, I’m going to come,” you whined, fighting against his hold as the feeling started to overwhelm you.

His hand stopped suddenly, ruining the orgasm you had just begun to crest. You cried out in frustration, tears springing to your eyes as the pleasure bled out of you, leaving you desperate and humming with tension.

“Answer me,” he demanded, grabbing your jaw with his slick covered hand.

“I’m not an idiot,” you snapped, eyes blazing into his. “I know what the fuck it means. And I don’t care.”

He fell still, eyes searching your face. “Then maybe you are an idiot,” he murmured, eyes softening now that the truth was finally out. “But so am I.”

He closed the final inch between you, connecting your lips in a searing, devastating kiss that you felt all the way to your toes. He released your hands and you tangled your fingers into his curls, finally feeling their softness for yourself as you pulled him closer. Your mouth parted for him, his tongue delving in to taste you.

“Reg, please,” you whined against his mouth, pressing your hips to his again.

“Tell me what you want, lamb.” He kissed down your neck, one of his hands sliding down to grip your thigh and draw it over his hip.

“Fuck me, I need you inside of me.” You clawed at his belt, flipping the clasp and tugging down his zipper.

“Merlin, yes.” He finished undoing his pants and freed his cock, pulling aside your panties to glide the head through your slick folds, lubricating himself. He notched the head at your entrance, hissing at the warmth already kissing him, and eased himself in.

Regulus wasn’t overly large, but the stretch was still divine, filling you until you went cross-eyed, an unholy cry ripping from your chest. He drew his hips back and slammed back into you, over and over again until your were in shambles, a moaning, shaking mess, on the precipice of coming for the second time.

“Come for me, love. I want to feel you break.” He cupped your face, kissing you as he finally pushed you over the edge, an orgasm ripping you apart at the seams. You screamed into his mouth, your cunt clenching around him as your body convulsed. “God, I love this fucking cunt. So perfect for me,” he growled, his hips losing their rhythm as your walls bared down on him, sucking him back in every time he pulled out.

“Reg,” you whimpered, sagging against the couch as the strength bled out of of you.

He pulled out suddenly, pumping his cock in his fist, your honey coating him. “Stay just like that, pretty girl. All fucked out and used. All mine—” a guttural groan broke the final word as he came in his hand, spraying ropes of cum over your rumpled skirt and Ravenclaw sweater, his head thrown back. He looked gorgeous milking himself for you, his muscles flexing with the effort, sweat beading along his skin.

He slowly relaxed, chest heaving, and looked down at you, ruined and covered in his cum. You stared back, completely starstruck by what just happened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, draping himself over you and pressing ksises to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. “I’m sorry for everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it, I—”

“Me too,” you interrupted him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I know how hard things are for you, at home, I mean, and I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no. I deserved it. I shouldn’t have brought up your family—”

“But I kept—”

“I never meant too—”

You both exhaled, laughing softly at your rushed confessions, the sudden, giddy nervousness that bloomed between you where there once was glacial wit and razor-sharp banter. He sat you both up, removing your stained sweater and straightening your skirt, then righted himself.

“What now?” You asked when he finished fussing, studying his flushed cheeks, his tousled hair.

He sighed, suddenly looking grim, and your heart gave a nervous thump. “We find a way to keep you safe, lamb,” he said, meeting your eyes. “But until then, we should act like nothing’s changed. Okay?”

Uncertainty coiled in your stomach, but you nodded. “Okay.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thanks for reading!

[elllisaaa]

is this a safe place? i can’t get this out of my mind

but i wanna see my boyfriend jake fuck another bitch in front of me, not just fuck but fuck FUCK i want them to go nasty like i don’t even exist. i need him to fuck her RAW, cum inside her, breed her, go rough, degrade me and talk down on me while he fuck her, say her pussy is tighter and better, idc i just need to see it while i watch them 😭

i think im a voyeur 😞 what’s wrong with me

this blog is definitely a safe place, don't worry, i'm always happy to see people get unhinged in my inbox ! nothing's wrong with you, because then i would be fucked up too 'cause that's definitely very hot.

JAKE loves nasty sex, if you don't end up covered in a mixture of cum, slick, saliva and sweat by the end of it, he obviously didn't do a great job. moreover, he's down to try pretty much anything, as he's into some unusual kinks as well. so the moment you mention your fantasy to him, he's okay to give it a go.

and fuck, he ends up liking it way more than he should. you picked one of your friends together, because you both thought she was hot and you knew she would probably be down. and now, you sat on your desk chair, one hand down your panties and two fingers deep inside you as you rubbed your clit, your eyes fixed on the way jake was fucking another girl in your shared bed.

"fuck" he moaned as he looked down at the way she was swallowing him whole. "you're so tight." - "feels good ?" she asked in a barely contained whimper as jake literally pounded into her. "so damn good baby." he answered in a breath, making another rush of arousal course through your veins as you sped up your rhythm. "mmh, better than y/n ?" she continued, and jake raised up his head to look at you in the eyes as he responded : "so much better."

you moaned in harmony with them, feeling closer to the edge with every new filthy thing jake said to your friend : "i'm gonna fill you up so good. yeah ? you want that ? then beg for it." - "such a nasty girl… you love to be ruined, don't you ? you love it when i spank you, uh ?" - "you're gonna make me cum, shit !"

the way they fucked as if you weren't even there while jake was simultaneously talking you down was what made you cum just as your boyfriend bred another girl. you were breathless as the three of you looked at each other, jake smirking at your disheveled state even though he hadn't even touched you. "wanna prove that you can do a better job, angel ?" you nodded eagerly and jake chuckled, his gaze darkening. "then come here, show me how good you can be." that was all you needed to join them and do your best.

[trainsinanime]

I'm not sure I have anything interesting to say about it, but I am very intrigued by the way The Locked Tomb portrays cavaliers, necromancers and lyctorhood as relationships.

First of all, Necromancer+Cavalier is a metaphor for marriage, that's obvious table stakes. It's explicitly non-romantic (or should be, anyway, in the way the society there has constructed it), but it is intense, highly devoted, starts with a vow, goes "til death do us part" ("one flesh, one end").

In the series Cavalier and Necromancer are a form of gender roles, and they map incredibly well onto the most stereotypical gender roles we have in our society. The Cavalier has stereotypical masculine traits: The fighter, the protector, up on the front lines, physically active. The Necromancer has stereotypical feminine traits: Weak, frail, but whatever the necromantic equivalent of nurturing is, with power over death and life. In the mythology and "gender roles" of the nine houses, necromancy is sort of not quite but still a bit equivalent to "the mystical power of women to bring forth life". And yes, this is all very conservative and cishet-normative and so on.

Of course the books then immediately, from moment one, subvert this on at least three different layers.

The first layer is that the feminine-coded Necromancer is the head of the deadly family in the society, and the masculine-coded Cavalier is the support, the disposable one.

The other layer is that the book distributes the roles of Necromancer and Cavalier basically randomly across the actual genders of the characters. There are male necromancers, female cavaliers, plenty of same-sex pairings and so on.

But the biggest and most important inversion is that when we first meet the nine houses, ten thousand years after a cow-murdering Twitch streamer destroyed the world, nobody actually follows that role assignment to the letter. All the different houses have very different ideas of how Necromancer and Cavalier works in practice.

For example, Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn are just straight-up married. Their work relationship is romantic, and while that's considered a bit weird by their society, it makes it clear that it can go on like this.

We are actually told that there was something going on in the second house, too, where Judith fell in love with Marta, but there she was gently rebuked and they were just friends instead.

Over in the sixth, Camilla and Palamedes have the inversion of boy necromancer and girl cavalier, but most importantly they have their own very QPR style of relationship that is unique to them and does not fit into either our society's traditional idea of romantic relationship, nor their society's traditional idea of what Necromancer and Cavalier should be like.

The seventh house leans into the frail necromancer/strong protector idea the most, except for [spoilers for the final third of Gideon].

The eighth house leans fully into the idea that the relationship is one-sided, that the cavalier is disposable, and jumps straight off the deep end by making the cavalier genetically bred to be nothing more than a power source.

The third house I've left out so far because, dear god, what even is going on there?

And finally, of course, the ninth, who are technically, strictly speaking, if we're following the metaphor to its logical end, doing a "fake married to lovers" plot.

So with that out of the way, let's look at Lyctorhood. Lyctorhood is fundamentally the final test, the final form of the Necromancer/Cavalier relationship as embedded in that society: The Cavalier has completely dissolved in the marriage, making their "spouse" all-powerful, but ending their own existence. That's the standard of the society as presented to the characters when they discover it, and all of them very quickly have their own ideas about it..

Most characters we know from Canaan House don't actually get that far (and to be fair, I think many of them would not have anything that interesting to say about it), but the ones who do are interesting:

Ianthe is physically repulsed by the idea of healthy relationships, so she has no problem eating Babs for power.

Gideon and Harrow are deeply in love, deeply devoted to each other, and deeply dysfunctional in their own ways, and Harrow manages to find a way to continue a dysfunctional horrible situationship with massive communication issues into Lyctorhood.

Cam and Pal find a different thing entirely, still recognisable as a take on Lyctorhood but also not at all. Instead of one absorbing the other, they fuse into a single new person together, but also in some ways dying in the process.

And it turns out even the older lyctors may not have worked quite as originally designed, with Pyrrha Dve still hanging around in Gideon the First and then finding her own way in Nona the Ninth. Throughout Nona it becomes obvious what was hinted at throughout most of Harrow: Lyctorhood is really just one of many ways for two people to become one. It is not the purest and best form of "one flesh, one end", just the best Johnny Boy could think of. Left to their own devices, we see people left and right figure out new ways to be together as one regardless of what society and God thinks of them.

This is really a key question of the book series: What does it mean for two people to become one? Well, it's up to them, and listening to what God has to say about it is probably not the best way to go. It'll make you end up like Ianthe. Do you want to be Ianthe? Actually don't answer that.

[taradactyls]

Something I love about how Pride and Prejudice is told through an omnipresent narrator, aside from the witty remarks and insight into other characters it allows even though it's usually focused on Elizabeth, is how it plays on the audience's own prejudices and assumptions.

The narrator tells us very early on, chapter 4, that Darcy is "haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting." We've already seen that when we meet him the previous chapter, and will see more of it in those following. But it's the readers, along with Elizabeth, who take that observation as not only a list of flaws (despite only the first actually being negative) but presumes even more damaging flaws must be attached to it. Darcy can be off-putting, especially so in the setting we meet him in: he dismissed Elizabeth within earshot of her, didn't engage with people attempting to converse with him, etc. It's easy to assume the worst of him in a world so driven by social niceties, and because we follow Elizabeth, who is so lively and playful amidst the rules which govern society. Elizabeth thinks he's bad tempered? It would make sense - he hasn't shown consideration for others much socially, why would he care when he's angry? He acted from resentment and jealousy and went against his father's will? That's not such a jump after the conclusion of a bad temper, his own acknowledgement of implacable resentment, and evidence of pride. The awareness of one offensive trait so naturally leads to prejudice against it, that we easily assume still worse qualities must exist. We are as mistaken as Elizabeth.

Even the idea that 'No, Darcy was never haughty or rude, he was just shy and misunderstood, the narrator is wrong' is just magnifying that prejudice. Yes, we do find out later that Darcy is not at ease among strangers, and was always intrinsically good; his morals and core values meant he was never as bad as Elizabeth believed. But that doesn't mean he was without flaws, and it's so fascinating that some analysis of his character seek to completely remove the negative traits which he eventually overcame after acknowledging them in himself. The logic seems to be that they feel if he had them in the start that he isn't actually such a good person. It's just another example of being so prejudiced against certain flaws that it's impossible for some people to reconcile that there doesn't have to be more serious failings attached, and someone can still be a good person despite being arrogant and not always nice. It's, ironically, being prejudiced in the exact same way that Elizabeth was at the start of the novel. It's amazing that Jane Austen was able to tap into that aspect of human nature so deftly, and invoke in both in her main character, and readers to this day.

Now, of course, the story is so well known it's rare for anyone to read it blind, so it's less likely anyone will be unaware of Darcy's good qualities despite first seeing his worst. Even if they do, Pride and Prejudice has become so genre defining that new readers who are the slightest bit genre savvy will be more aware than contemporary audiences were. But even if we know the story it's still so understandable why Elizabeth feels the way she does. We see what she sees and feel her conclusions make sense. Just as, even though the narrator tells us Darcy is starting to catch feelings for Elizabeth, we fully comprehend her not noticing and believing there's a mutual dislike. And though that is concrete evidence of Elizabeth not reading Darcy and his motives correctly, we are still so sympathetic of the basis of her prejudice that her continued belief in Darcy's lack of virtues makes sense from her point of view. We can see, as she later will, that she takes it too far, and should have noticed evidence to the contrary, but her prejudice against him based on his early behaviour and her pride at reading people correctly is so understandable.

Basically, in a story about the characters' pride and prejudices, I love, love, LOVE how the narrator's voice brings out those same traits in readers the exact same way we see it presenting in Elizabeth. We're all on that journey with her, and we can likewise learn the same lessons about ourselves as she does. Pride and Prejudice feels timeless, because even though society and thus the nuance changes, the book is about human nature, and that remains essentially the same.

[zorosdimples]

WHEREVER YOU ARE

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ brief descriptions of violence. a little angsty at first but it’s fluff i pinky promise!

word count ༄ 796

notes ༄ i’ve been feeling so deeply about zoro lately—i cried over him a few nights ago. this is embarrassingly soggy; i poured my heart out for him. tagging my dearest ai @gojoest <3

home.

a soft breeze carries the word, a gentle whisper that ruffles zoro’s hair and curls over the shell of his ear, fading once the message rests uncomfortably on his tongue. the sea shimmers under the moon’s loving gaze, the lulling lap of waves the only sound that reaches the starlit deck. he should be chilly in the crisp salt air, but as he glances down at you—wrapped in his protective embrace, head resting against his bare chest and the steady beat of his heart—he realizes that he has never felt warmer.

home is a word that has never meant much to the swordsman.

from an orphanage to the dojo to the furthest reaches of the east blue, zoro was born a wanderer, cursed to roam land and sea with little more than three swords and a fierce dream. hunting humans and exchanging souls for bounties that could barely cover a warm meal, a glass of sake, and a dirty bed—it was a monastic existence, devoid of comfort and pleasure. but that’s the price you pay when you make a deal with the devil. greatness isn’t bestowed upon the righteous; greatness is something you must fight for with steel claws and blood in your maw. may the most vicious creature win.

home is make-believe for a demon. it’s a tale told to frightened children who don’t yet understand the cruelty of the world.

joining luffy did not cure zoro’s restlessness. it did not make him a better man—it only redirected his cruelty. the piles of flesh and bone he left in his wake loomed over him still; he trudged through a sticky stream of ichor in his nightmares. destruction in the name of something is destruction all the same. he could feel the shackles of solitude slipping, but he was (and still is) set in his ways. it’s difficult to unlearn that which you believe yourself to be. a lifetime of isolation bred a bone-deep loneliness that he couldn’t bleed out of his chest or escape when he cracked open his rib cage and welcomed eternal darkness.

home is a luxury a man—a monster—like him does not deserve.

you draw zoro from his thoughts as you shift in his lap to face him, wrapping your legs around his waist, smoothing your palms across the strong planes of his stomach. your delicate caresses dance upwards, an act of reverence as you trace over the story of his life.

puckered scars, rippling striae, dappled moles, smattered freckles; these etchings on his tanned flesh tell of his victories and mistakes and birthrights. when you reach his broad shoulders, one hand darts up to rake through his mint green strands, fingernails grazing his scalp in a way that has him chasing your touch. your other hand tinkles his earrings, the golden chimes playing their hymn as they reflect the glimmering moonlight.

zoro’s lone eye is enraptured with your movements, and when your sweet gaze meets his, you press a featherlight kiss to his unsuspecting lips. “what was that for?” he asks with a rumbling chuckle. his hands—rough, capable of atrocities—unconsciously rub up and down your sides with worshipful tenderness.

“i love you,” you confess airily with a smile, as though those aren’t the most devastating words the swordsman has ever heard.

if zoro wasn’t a selfish man he would weep at your words. he would tell you to find someone better, he would show you the mortal weight of his sins, and he would keep his distance from a soul as radiant and kind as yours. but decades of want have conditioned him to be greedy.

hearing that phrase—though zoro has heard it from your lips hundreds of times—has a grin rivaling the brightness of the moon split his sharp features. cradling his face, you stroke his dimples with your thumbs. his hands settle on your waist and tug you toward him, your bodies pressed together like hands in a prayer. he crooks his head so your mouths are a mere breath apart.

“i love you, too,” he murmurs before claiming your parted lips with his own.

zoro still has little more than three swords and a fierce dream. but he also has three warm meals a day, more glasses of sake than he could ever want, and a clean bed to crawl into at night. he’s no longer an orphan; with the straw hats there is friendship and laughter and adventure. if asked, he will insist that he’s not a good man, that he’s a demon. but he’s fiercely loyal to his family—he will cut down anyone that stands in their way to freedom.

and then there’s you. with you, zoro has a love he has never felt before. as far as he’s concerned?

wherever you are is home.

[evilminji]

Here I sit, considering Blood Blossoms.

It can be safely assumed, that the species originally developed their Anti-ghost properties to drive HUMANS and other things with, well, SOULS? Away? But as some enterprising human likely did, was selectively bred for purely Anti-ghost properties.

As with most things in nature, we can only assume it was originally to allow for unfettered spread of its seeds. Likely even had an effect on other PLANTS, allowing it more soil in which to grow. A "Blight Blossom" if you will. Or "Life's Bane".

But! That is not what I wonder about.

I wonder about the OTHER end of the evolutionary niche. Like plants with berries, meant to entice birds and other animals into carrying their seeds to new and fertile grounds.

Are there Ghost ATTRACTING plants?

And I don't not mean, drugs, though that certainly WOULD be one means of attracting potentially symbiotic relationships. I mean plants that smell unusually good. TASTE good. Have developed around high ectoplasmic areas.

Do they only exsist in the Realms? Or are such plants possible to find in the living Realm?

If I found them, dug them up carefully, and transferred them to a brand new home, freshly built on untouched land... would it be haunted in short order? Or would the plants die, because the environment could no longer support them?

The most LIKELY contender to exsist? Would be some sort of extoplasmic berry. An EXTREMELY hardy and slow growing vine, that likely grows in places of high extoplasm. Such as old war zones, grave yards, old hospitals, and cities with particularly high death counts. Or Amity. Really, anywhere it can find a LOT of Ectoplasm.

I imagine the berries would literally glow. Like neon battery acid. Reminiscent of blackberry bushs with long creeping vines and hooking thorns. Darker, red black leaves.

DEEPLY lethal if the living ingested. The comparison to battery acid being not made lightly.

The berries, I imagine, would basicly be sugar water and ectoplasm. Sweet ecto. The plant "realizing" that ghosts need ectoplasm. If it HAS ectoplasm, they will come get it. And if the form the ectoplasm is pleasing? They will cultivate the plant to get more.

Because that's what it does. It passively gathers ectoplasm from the air, water, and soil.

Into a nice, neat, EDIBLE little treat.

After all, it's not like there's a hole to the Zone just lying around! Do you know how hard it is to luck out and find a natural portal? How are we to feed ourselves? Sit here and suck air?

Yes, the portal makes the plant effectively redundant. But! Much like pigeons? It doesn't stop EXISTING just because ghosts aren't using it now. Just going unharvested.

Which? Is probably why there are so many new ghost animals. They ARE berries after all. Danny should probably talk to people about that. It's irresponsible to just up an leave lethal fruit where humans might find it.

@hdgnj @nerdpoe @ailithnight @the-witchhunter

[starlightsuffered]

Ovulating

Info - ovulating reader, werewolf au, stranger sex, breeding kink, unprotected sex, cock warming, animalistic sex

I could smell it on her. She was ovulating. She was primed to be bred. She needed to be filled as bad as I needed to fill. She wanted to be pregnant, she needed to have a creamy load shot into her womb. She needed to be heavy and round and absolutely bursting with cum.

The moon was full and I could feel my strength increase as I approached her. She was bathing naked in the mating pool. This was where the fertile members of our kind went to find a mate for their ovulation time.

“Are you available?” I barely gritted the words out. I was painfully hard and her bare form was so tempting it should have been sinful. My cock throbbed and dripped as I thought of her snugness, her fertile womb, the way we would crash together. Regardless of all this, I would ask if I was the one she wanted to breed her.

“For you I am,” she purred.

“What do you mean?”

“I have watched you, hunting in your pack. You are a favourable mate. Your length and girth along with your angelic looks and creative mind. I would bow before you to bear your offspring.”

“No need to bow, please, just let me have you. Let me bury my member in your womb and give you what you want,” I begged.

She came to me and I was so grateful only my clothing needed tearing off. All of her was bare. The swell of her breasts, the tenderness of her cunt, the curves of her figure, it was all nearly too much to bear. Finally, she’d reached me.

My breath ghosted over her lips. We held one another’s gaze for a moment. All was still in the world. We were all that mattered and existed.

Then I pounced. I could smell her fertile sweetness. I laid her down in the grass hurriedly. I torn my clothes in the need to get them up. Just the scent of one another was enough to get us wet enough that I could slide in easily.

Our slick mixed as my cock rammed home. Her cunt was tight and I could feel her body calling to mine.

“Uh, uh, fuck!” I moaned with every thrust.

“Make me swell,” she begged.

“I’m going to put a baby in you,” I gasped. “A litter of pups will fill you womb.”

My body was on fire as I rocked against her. I was deep, and clenched hard.

“My beloved, my immortal beloved,” I breathed into her ear. I needed her to know what an honour it was to impregnate her.

“I want to be full of your seed,” she whispered desperately. “I need to be sloshing with your cum, with your offering.”

“Yes, I’m going to get you pregnant,” I wailed. I felt the howl of release building inside me. The longer my cock plunged inside her the harder it was to contain.

“You feel so good, you feel like heaven,” I told her. I was balls deep. My balls themselves were growing with seed, preparing to overwhelm her with cum. She needed to be full.

I wanted to own her, claim her fertile cunt. I needed to be the reason she was round and leaking milk. Every other wolf would know. My scent would linger on her. They would know she grew because of me, because of what I’d shot inside her. She was mine, mine, mine.

“Yes!” she wailed. She wrapped her legs around me in pure bliss. I pressed closer to her. Our swear mingled as did our breath.

“Oh dear Lord, you feel better than anything,” I roared as I rammed in even harder. I held her hips in place and pushed my dick as far in as I could manage.

“Oh yes! The whole thing! Breed me as deep as I can take it, split me in two and knit me back together with your cum!” She wailed. She was clutching her stomach as if she was prepping her womb for my load.

“All of it so far in me,” she whimpered. The look in her eyes was addictive. Pure submission and willingness to be full and leaking and to grow.

I was getting tired from how hard I’d been fucking her. I just needed to breed. I let my weight fall on her and her arms were around me. All I could move was my hips as I suckled and bit her neck. I took care not to tip her skin but to make sure I marked her. The rest had to know.

Wet sounds echoed as I rutted my hips down. She was letting out feral whined and pawing at my back. We were both getting more animalistic.

We were licking and scratching. We were beasts that just needed to procreate. We panted and lapped, and fucked. I was brain dead from her pussy.

“M’gonna get you pregnant,” I repeated over and over in her ear. She was nodding and gasping. Her guttural needy noises were spurring me on.

“I’m going to cum, gonna put a baby in YOU!” I screamed the last word as I unleashed. Her walls were clamping down on me. We both made noises akin to howls. We knew the sperm had met its mate.

“Stay in me, I don’t want any chance of failure,” she begged me. We were both wet and sweaty and cum was squealching out of her from how large my load was, but I wanted to stay.

“Always,” I said as I nuzzled my face into her neck.

[unholyhelbig]

hold on can we have more firecrest?

Title: Firecrest (Part 3/???)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Sub/dom dynamics, strap-on, nipple play, nipple clamps, Slight edging (idk I don't write smut often), horrible parenting, talks about neglect, horrible grammar

[A/n: For some reason, this is the only story that I can sit down long enough to write, so let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Her apartment was located above a pizza shop that operated well into the early morning hours. You’d never seen in truly closed but had only been here twice before. There was the constant acidic scent of tomato sauce that somehow bred comfort.

A man was hunched on the curb, folding a slice of dripping pie at an angle that covered his face in the greasy discharge. He had mumbled something to you around mouthfuls of cheese and dough, nodding vaguely at the cement block that propped open the door to the units.

You thanked him with a nod and slid into the air-conditioned corridor. The coolness seemed to bring clarity with it, but you didn’t stop your legs from sorely dragging you up the steps towards the unit. Why were you here? Kate Bishop was not your girlfriend. Not really.

She was cocky, and clumsy, and the object of your fathers desired attentions. For all intents and purposes, she should be your worst enemy. The bane of your existence, and in some moments, she was. But right now you swallowed your pride and realized that you needed her. Even if she didn’t need you.

You were entirely confident that Kate would turn you away. It was late. You’d spent most of the day shut-in your own apartment; the blinds drawn and mindless movies bathing you in a blue glow. You hadn’t eaten, or showered, or done anything that was considered productive aside from icing your knee with a bag of peas.

When you knocked, you hadn’t expected a muffled bark as an answer. Maybe you had the wrong apartment, or at least, you thought you did until you heard Kate’s tender admonishing. Three deadbolts clicked and clacked until the door was swung open.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of her. Kate’s hand gripped the doorframe, her muscular frame hugged by a tank-top and a pair of purple boxer shorts with little arrows sprinkled across the fabric. You could see her abdominal muscles as she steadied her breath. Her cheeks were tinted a light red.

You’d seen that look before. It was arousal. The sweet smell of sex was emanating from her, a light sheen of sweat catching the overhead lights with each inhale. She panted out “Hi,”

“I’m sorry,” You shook your head, blinking a few times “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I can just-“

When you attempted to take a step back, her hand darted out and grabbed onto a fistful of fabric, pulling you out of the hallway by your shirt. You dumbly allowed her to manhandle you and stumbled into her space before she closed the heavy oak door.

“No, you’re fine I’m… alone.”

You lifted an eyebrow, and she gave you a nervous smile, unhanding you and wiping her palm on the front of her own shirt. You opened your mouth to rib her (just a little) but caught the sound of nails clicking against linoleum. A smile, a genuine one, spread across your lips.

A blur of fur, golden and soft, failed to hide excitement as a dog clomped towards you. He stopped a little short, sliding on the floor and barreling into your legs. You knelt down and scratched behind the marvelous creatures ears, noting that he was a bit of a misfit like you, pirated and plagued with one eye.

He licked your face generously and you giggled. Actually giggled, because you had forgotten the audience in the room. Suddenly screwing your face back into it’s signature scowl and flicking your eyes back up to Kate. She bit the side of her hand to hide her own grin.

“I thought you said you were alone, Bishop.”

“Oh, this free-loader? Lucky doesn’t pay rent, so he doesn’t count.”

“Lucky,” You breathed, carding your fingers through his fur. He wiggled with excitement, his tail pounding against the floor as he shoved his head under your chin, nudging you to get closer than he already had. “You’re a good boy, I bet. Don’t listen to your mean old landlord.”

When you stood, much to Lucky’s dismay, Kate was staring at you with a starry look in her eyes. You narrowed your own, crossing your arms over your chest. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’ve just never seen you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Soft.”

You scoffed indignantly “I am not soft!”

She hummed dismissively and padded across the room until she reached her kitchen. Kate popped the fridge open and that was enough of a call for Lucky to abandon you (maybe he was a traitor) and wait expectantly for something to drop. Nothing did, and Kate squeezed the tip of an orange juice container before chugging diligently from the carton.

Kate was captivating like this. You’d seen her in many settings, but relaxed like this, was not one of them. Her hair was slightly muffed and she was mostly bare. The cold of the room made it hard for you not to notice the way her chest perked up under the thin fabric of her shirt.

You were in deep, down bad. Not having been sexually satisfied by anything more than your fingers since the little arson incident. So, you cleared your throat and sidled up to the other end of the kitchen island. At least there was that separating the two of you. She set the carton down and leaned forward, pushing her breasts out.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, y/n?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet her eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing, and the smirk on her face eluded to that. It was a subtle shift, from being embarrassed about her current state, to milking the arrogance.

“Nothing I just… was restless, I guess. Didn’t want to be alone.”

Her expression softened “Did something happen?”

You shook your head. She didn’t need to know about Clint and his valiant effort to protect the one he really cared for. It would throw her into turmoil, threaten something she had worked so hard for. You may resent your father, but you were a far cry from resenting Kate.

“You’re pent up, then?”

“Excuse me?”

She shrugged her shoulders and took another long gulp of orange juice. You felt your mouth dry as her throat worked at the drink. Even with the carton blocking her expression, you could see that she was smirking. Her eyes gave her away, and she didn’t break contact with you for a single moment before pulling it away, and predictably throwing it into the trashcan with accuracy.

“We could go upstairs,”

Kate closed the distance between the both of you. Your skin felt like it was on fire, arousal shooting straight from your gut the second you could smell the dangerous mix of wintergreen and citrus on her breath. She had a few inches on you, her arm snaking around your mid-section. She pulled you flush against her with a quickness that took your breath.

“That is, if you promise to not to get fire-happy.” Her slender fingers started to play with the silver necklace hanging between your clavicle. “I just repainted after the last one.”

“The last one?”

Kate didn’t’ answer you, instead she pressed her lips against yours, her tongue suddenly exploring your mouth. There was a sour, orange taste to her kiss and you sighed into it, seemingly melting into the archer. Hell- you could ask her about the fire after your mind stopped fogging.

There was a something so alluring about Kate Bishop that made your mind shut-off. You’d do anything and everything she said and that was apparent from the first time the two of you had laid together. She had you on your knees in a matter of minutes, completely stripped nude of your own accord. Her fingers were between your legs and nothing else mattered. You knew that she would take care of you, and you her.  

She pulled back and nudged her nose with yours. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” You whispered, voice tinged with lust.

A yelp escaped you when she hauled you up into her arms. Her hands grasped at your ass, holding you in place as you encircled her hips. You knew Kate was strong, but you were a rock yourself. She seemed to hold you effortlessly, not looking where she was going as she ascended the steps and nipped sloppily at your neck.

Stars swallowed you, heart pounding in your chest. You’d been here before, yes, mostly to drop off something for Eleanors fundraisers, or to return a gym bag that was left behind. They were short interactions that certainly never led to the bedroom.

For all of her haste, Kate set you down gently on her comforter. It smelled overwhelmingly like her. There was something digging into your spine, and you squirmed, propping yourself up on your elbow and producing the silicone vibrator that had been keeping Kate company. Of course, it was purple.

“Seriously?”

“Shut up,” she husked, snatching it from you and throwing it down onto the carpeted floor. “I have better toys than that.”

That did effectively silence you, blush coloring your cheeks. She was smiling down wolfishly at you, so much so, that an attractive growl that bordered human escaped her. You’d never heard a more attractive noise following a statement so bold. Desperately you craned your neck and kissed her, hard.

Her fingers were cold, goosebumps rising against your skin as she moved them under your shirt and scratched down your ribs. You desperately moaned into her mouth and she swallowed the sound effortlessly. Her hand had found your right breast, and you twitched as her thumb brushed over the sensitive bud.

“What,” You snarled into her mouth, each one of her exhales splaying against your cheek. “Kind of toys?”

A look of apprehension seemed to cross her face. The archer was completely on top of you, grinding down against your body in a motion that gave way to the desperation that you felt. Both of her hands were planted on either side of you, holding herself up.

Kate had suddenly switched back to her bashful self, and while the expression was cute, you were thoroughly worked up. You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and spoke softly. “Hey, you aren’t going to break me, okay? If I’m uncomfortable with something, I’ll tell you.”

“I know it’s just,” she paused, frowned in almost a pout before a look of finality crossed her face. “what if I want to break you?”

While you were rendered silent, you felt a pang of arousal swim to your gut. A noise had pushed past your lips. Something that was so desperate, you weren’t sure it even came from you. Here was this girl, this person that you’d wanted to beat your entire life, and she had you pinned beneath her.

“Kate, I think I’ll physically die if you don’t take what you want, and fuck me until I’m dumb.” You arched yourself from the bed, stopping just short of pressing your lips to hers. You murmured against her. “Use me.”

That vicious spark returned to her eyes and she was suddenly scrambling off of you. For a moment, you were worried that you’d scared her off, but she nearly tripped over her discarded combat boots trying to get to her walk in closet. You could hear things clanging, falling over, and being sent across the room.

“Just, hold on! Don’t go anywhere!” softer, mumbled with a poisonous determination “I know it’s here somewhere.”

When she remerged, she was out of breath and leaning suavely against the door. The bulge that pressed against the opening of her boxers, you had seen before, many times. Kate had never used a strap on you before. Most of your intimate interactions were isolated to storage closets, or locker room showers. Her’s, of course, was bigger than you expected, and the same royal purple as the rest of her personality.

She held something in her right hand, something you had, of course, seen while your Bluetooth headphones were on and saving you the embarrassment of playing porn out loud. A silver chain that ended in crocodile clamps on each side. Black rubber tipped each clip for comfort. A bigger silver ring sat comfortably in the middle, the perfect size to wrap two fingers around and tug.

“Huh,” you let the corner of your lip quirk up affectionately.

“Oh god, you hate it.”

“No, no. I didn’t say that. Just surprised is all.” You sat up entirely, feeling your pulse point at your core. You were still much too clothed for your liking. They started to itch against your skin. You were going to lose it if she didn’t’ rip them off soon. “Impressed, actually.”

She lifted an eyebrow at you and once against closed the distance. She towered over you completely, standing between your legs in the same exact way she had at the gym. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering dangerously to how she’d feel inside of you, stretching you.

“We should have a safe word,” She purred, brushing her hand against your cheek. “You need to tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Okay, what do you suggest?”

She smiled “Flame-on”

You groaned and buried your nose in the warmth of her neck. You could feel the vibration of her glorious laugh and the quiet it brought you was unmatched. You knew you were fucked, but it was easier to ignore the looming thoughts of something more in exchange for this.

“Fine, fine. Not a fan of Johnny Storm, then?” You pulled back and leveled her with a glare. You’d never met the man and frankly despised the notation that everyone with pyrotechnic powers knew one another “How about red?”

Contemplating didn’t take long. It was a simple color that reminded you of stop. You didn’t want to tell Kate that most of your forays into the depths of the internet involved the very items that she held in her hands. This seemed to be new for both of you. Red was good. Red was comfortable.

“I’m all yours,” You wrapped your arms around her waist, her stomach level with your eyes. You peered up at her, knowing that they glowed with your own arousal. “Do what you want with me.”

“Take off your shirt.” She snarled, suddenly switching back to that dominant woman who had carried you up here. Now that the rules were set, you were confident that she wouldn’t be edging into her demure nature anytime soon. “I want to see what’s mine.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. Kate had seen you naked before, but each time, she got a misty look in her eyes that spurred you on. She seemed to admire the expanses of skin that she could nip at, and soothe with her tongue. The burn scars that never quite healed. All of you, she found beautiful.

Her stare moved down to your front-latching bra, head tilting to the side. “Wow. Were you expecting something to happen tonight, slut?”

The word sent shivers down your spine, especially when they came from her mouth. Kate straddled you then, her weight familiar. You moved to encircle her, hug her close, but her hand splayed against your chest and held you there. “No touching. I’m in control tonight.”

You nodded, too desperately for your liking. Her fingers dragged down to the latch and unhooked it. The familiar pressure was instantly relieved and Kate’s eyes hungrily devoured your breasts. You knew she had a thing for them- always had- which is why the shock wasn’t so visceral when it came to the clamps.

Kate’s strap was aligned with your stomach, but, she didn’t seem to notice how intimidating her length was. Her mouth dropped to your breasts and a content sigh escaped you. Your hands itched to run against her, but that would just delay the pleasure that she offered.

Her tongue expertly circled one nipple, while she teased the other between her forefinger and thumb. You arched towards her and gasped as her teeth scraped against the sensitive area. In a matter of seconds, she had you writhing under her, a complete mess.

“God, you’re desperate.” She hummed against you. “I’ve barely touched you, baby.”

You were well aware of that. An embarrassed flush crept across your neck. Normally, you wouldn’t let Kate have the satisfaction. But right now, you would let Kate have anything she wanted. The chain made a soft noise. You shuddered as it’s chilled surface was dragged between the center of your breasts.

You took a deep breath, Kate’s stare dominant, but questioning all the same. You were both well-aware that this was on the tamer side of things. But you’d never let someone have full control before, including her. She was taking this slow, and it was something you appreciated. Something you needed right now.

When the first clamp was placed, you couldn’t help the shudder that rocked through you. It was an odd, pinching sensation that was soon replaced with a bolt of pleasure. Kate’s thumb brushed lightly against your other nipple, not letting up on it’s torment. She clamped the second one on and this time, a heated groan left you.

“Fuck,” She gripped your sides, moving back to get a good look “You look so beautiful like this.”

Her hands moved down to your hips and in a swift, possessive, movement she had you flipped onto your back. She unbuttoned your pants and started to slide them down your legs. You were impossibly wet, having soaked through your underwear. If you prayed that Kate wouldn’t notice, your hopes were dashed by her cocksure smile.

“Katie,” You whined, the cold air hitting your legs just seconds after she had discarded your jeans. Your fingers brushed against her side, instantly conjuring goosebumps. “Please,”

She hissed through clenched teeth, grabbing both of your hands and pinning them above your head with one, strong grip. When she pressed the lower half of her body down on top of you, you felt the pressure of the much-too-intimidating strap.

“I said no touching, remember?” She lilted her head, took the slack of the chain and twirled it around her finger “I would hate to have to punish you, pet.”

You wouldn’t. There were a few seconds where you contemplated testing your luck, being a brat, just to see if you could get a rise out of her. But she pulled the thin strip of fabric covering your core to the side, dipping her finger into your heat.

“Oh, fuck.” You arched your back off the bed. “Kate, I’m… I need you inside of me.”

You reveled in the way a chill ran through her, her grip on your hands slackening just a moment before it tightened. “Just checking to see how ready you are.”

Beyond. You nearly folded when you felt her guide the cool tip of the strap against your entrance. It’s head pushed the smallest bit into you. Truthfully, you had never taken something this big. But you were nothing, if not determined.

Kate pushed her full length into you in a soft motion, all the while tugging at the center of the chain. The combination of sensations brought a stream of expletives that you hadn’t used in years. Both of you seemed to forget about Kate’s rule about not touching.

She pumped in and out of you, keeping a steady pressure on the chain. Your moans seemed to synch, her overwhelming warmth increasing the building peaks of your core. You hugged her as close as you could, hands splayed against her back.

“Shit, you’re so tight, baby.” She growled into your ear, “You take me so well. Such a good girl, taking everything I give you.”

She shifted, hitting your g-spot with ferocity. Each thrust pushing a satisfied moan from your lips. Between each one, you exhaled “I’m going to come, shit, Katie.”

“Not yet. Not until I give you permission.”

She was getting close, you could feel the subtle tightening of her stomach. Kate had a tendency to bury her face in the small of your neck when the tension built like this. Two more even pushes and her nose was against your throat, feeling the pulse point that quickened with each passing moment.

“Come for me, you desperate, little slut.”

Again, she pulled on the chains, distinct pleasure rushing through you. You tightened around her, the moans becoming more desperate. Kate came with you, breathing heavy, mewling against your throat. You could feel her heart against your chest, could feel the fire brewing just below your fingertips. You were true to your word, however, and kept your promise. No arson.

A whimper escaped you when Kate unclipped the clamps, still inside you. Feeling returned to your nipples with a blast of pleasurable pain followed by a wave of warmth. She smirked at you, face red and hair messed up. She sat perfectly on your hips, you still twitched around her.

“Jesus, y/n.” Kate panted, leaning down and kissing you sweetly. You eagerly returned it, still able to taste the citrus on her tongue. “Who knew you were a little freak?”

Her hand pressed down on your stomach with the slightest pressure as she pulled out of you with a wet noise. She landed next to you, trying to catch her breath. You found yourself laughing, fully sated, fully pleasured.

“That? It was nothing.” She gave you a mock frown, and you backtracked “Expertly done, and very, very hot. But it’ll take more than that to break me.”

“Who said I was done?” Kate smiled lazily at you, “I’m just going to… rest my eyes for a second. Get ready for the second pounding of your life.”

You watched as her eyes slowly closed, a look of pure bliss on her face. It was a thing of beauty, one that you could get used to. She could sleep anywhere, falling into unconsciousness with a graceful ease that you lacked.

She’d hug her gym bag close as a pillow under the florescent lights of the convention centers you frequented in childhood. She’d curl up under a tree when you both attended university together, often getting patterns burned into her skin, easy to make fun of.

It was always endearing, but it settled you with an admired warmth right now. You easily shifted her until she was laying comfortably, pulling her duvet up to her chin. Kate made a small noise at the back of her throat and curled into a deeper slumber.

God. You were so fucked.

The sun flitted the industrial windows in Kate’s apartment that you hadn’t noticed before. They were dusty with time, but still allowed a considerable amount of light. The whir of a fan in the corner lulled you into a peaceful afterglow.

Sleep didn’t come easily for you. Sometimes, you would drift into a half-state of lucidness on the sofa, the movie you put on as some form of noise droned on and you’d always startle awake with a kink in your neck and a strange tiredness clinging to you.

Your therapist had suggested practicing healthy sleeping habits. Only use the bed for sleep, don’t read there, don’t doom-scroll on your phone. You were meant to utilize the exhaustion in your bones to your benefit. And for the first few nights, it had worked.

But, then the nightmares that often accompanied the rem cycle started to push to the forefront of your mind. The same terror on your mothers face as a cobalt blue clouded your vision. It was suffocating, and the sharp burning in your chest would bring you back to the inky black, too-cold, room.

A sleepy groan escaped you, pressing your face closer into the warmth that you embraced. Kate lacked her signature scent, and she seemed… furrier than usual. You didn’t want to pry your eyes open yet. You didn’t want the lazy morning to end with the harsh reality of feelings you were less than enthusiastic to explore.

It took you three more seconds of pressing your nose into something that smelled suspiciously like dog, to realize that’s exactly what it was.

Lucky was fast asleep, pressed flush against you over the duvet that you had shimmied under at some point in the night. He was a buffer between you and the empty half of the bed. You figured Kate was an early riser, or something had stirred her. She spooked easily. You hoped desperately that it wasn’t you who had scared her.

She was rifling around in the closet. Your hand splayed against golden fur, you absently ran you fingers through it. He was a lazy dog, and it was something you appreciated. Both of you watched with unimpressed eyes as she emerged, not expecting you to be awake.

Kate smiled at you, and then seemed to realize that it was effortless, because it took a few moments for her to school her features into something stoic. She was still wearing her boxer shorts and tank-top from last night. You fought back a frown. Kate had gotten you naked without even trying. Your own clothes were scattered across the room.

“Promise you won’t freak out?”

You propped yourself up on your elbow. Lucky huffed in annoyance. “I can’t promise that”

She gave you a nervous look and tossed a sweatshirt towards you. The fabric was soft, and it was her signature purple color, and what she was rifling around the closet for. You felt your cheeks heat up, holding the cool garment flush against you.

“Clint is on his way,”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah, oh my god.”

Pretending to be anything more than friends with benefits sounded good on paper. It made Clint irate and that was good for some cheap thrills. But the two of you hadn’t practiced any form of affection outside of the bedroom. You had a cold exterior, and a single look could send Kate into a rambling mess, as if she’d been injected with truth serum.

“I can sneak out the window?” You pulled the sweater over your head, reaching blindly for your jeans. The button had fallen off, and you couldn’t locate your underwear. Kate watched you with a quiet amusement until you stood across from her. “Second floor isn’t too bad. The daylight kills my cover a bit, but-“

“You should stay.” Her voice came out a little too loud. She took a deep breath, “I want you to stay.”

A pang of affection ran through you, reflexively you dropped your hold on your jeans. They fell around your ankles in a pool of denim. It earned a snicker from Kate, but you didn’t’ mind. The sound was heavenly and made your head feel unbelievably fuzzy, despite the embarrassment.

She wordlessly thrust a pair of sweatpants into your hands. It was soft, and you would swim in it. This would be easy, a simple way to pull at Clint’s nerves. Cruel, maybe, but each time you imagined that pitying look on his face as he pleaded with you to leave Kate alone, that rush of anger came back.

When Kate turned, you pressed you palm to your lips to keep from yelping out a laugh. Kate’s tank-top was still it’s stark white, just with two scorched marks in the shape of your hands. You had kept your promise, not catching anything on fire, but you came pretty damn close.

You wanted to tell her, really, you did. But the sound of the front door opening and closing caught your attention. Lucky let out a terse bark and cut through the both of you to fling himself down the stairs. Clint, you had heard from your mother, had a way with all animals. Not just birds.

“Katie Kate! I grabbed some bagels from the bodega on the corner. I know you only have one knife but I grabbed extras.”

She gave you a sheepish smile, leaning forward and kissing the corner of your lip. You froze, Kate’s hands squeezing your arms. The archer didn’t pause in her movements, as if they were second nature. She started to head down the stairs, leaving you in a bewildered state.

You let out a shuddered breath, clenching your eyes shut to steady yourself. Not even the dog was left in the room. A simple display of affection that seemed to just be for the two of you. This warmed you like no one-night-stand and horrible instant coffee could.

Clint noticed you instantly, using a plastic knife to separate two halves of a doughy bagel. His movements stilled; taking in your disheveled hair and the oversized clothing that you dawned. It was more than clear that you’d spent the night and his mouth opened with an audible pop.

Kate was pouting quietly at the empty carton of orange juice that she had drained last night. Lucky padded over to you, pushing his cool nose into your palm, tail thumping. Clint watched the interaction, one half of the bagel hitting the kitchen island with a plop.

“Good morning, baby. Sorry if we woke you.” Her scent was suddenly invading your space, another kiss, this time, more than chaste, landed on your lips. Clint paled, swallowing hard. His eyes flicked to the scorch marks on Kate’s shirt.

“Mm, not at all. Good morning, Clint.”

“Morning, y/n.”

Kate wrapped her arms around you effortlessly and hugged you against her front. Her chin rested on your shoulder, cheek pressed to your own. You were convinced that she could feel how rapid your heart was beating.

She had fit into the role of girlfriend perfectly. You, on the other hand, bit your tongue to keep from malfunctioning. Last night was so effortless. Your lust drove you, and your skin prickled at the memory of Kate’s tongue between your breasts. You shivered now, and she smirked into your neck.

“What are you guys up to today?”

You asked the question out of politeness, but your voice wavered all the same. Kate gave you an encouraging squeeze. Clint darted his eyes back and forth. An air of panic seemed to seize him and he made quick work of putting cream cheese on an untoasted bagel.

“Nothing.” Clint is quick to dismiss you. There was almost a hint of jealousy there, something that Kate picked up on too. The twitching of her fingers against the smoothness of your skin was enough to alert you to the fact.

You drew out your next word “Okay, I suppose I should get going, then.”

Playing the part, Kate let out a dissatisfied groan in response. You turned in her arms and gave her a look that was met with concern. Real concern. She pressed her forehead against your own and whispered ever-so-gently. Are you okay?

And you nodded, because you were. At least of the time being. The disgruntled actions of your biological father was enough. Having Kate hold you, even if it was all for show, was enough.

The key turned in the lock with an audible click. You made a point, when entering your mother’s shared space with Lance, to make as much noise as possible for both your benefit. The buttery scent of pancakes overwhelmed your senses and filled you with warmth.

It was Sunday, all of the windows open and an incredible dosage of sunlight filling the home. You’d grown up here between your travels and training. Bobbi had kept your room the same, hadn’t dared touched the pictures that lined the stairway. Professionally done and the portrait of a perfect family.

Your mother sipped a glass of orange juice at the table. Lance was humming a disjointed tune as he flipped a blueberry pancake, perfectly cooked and golden brown. He was wearing his glasses and a pair of plaid pajama pants. A far cry from the suits you were used to seeing him in, lately.

Bobbi’s pale green eyes flicked up from the paper she was reading, then back down before darting towards you again. Her fingers tightened around the glass. “Good morning, darling. Purple suits you.”

Lance turned with a furrowed expression. You’d worn the color before, it wasn’t as if there was an aversion to it. You’d successfully macgyvered your jeans before leaving Kate’s this morning, but you were still swimming in her sweatshirt. You found the minty scent comforting.

“A bit big, isn’t it?”

Bobbi was smirking behind her glass. You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you flopped down into the chair next to her. You leveled her with a glare that held no malice. She knew exactly what it was like to fall for a Hawkeye. They were charming, persistent, and overall, annoying.

The latter was starting to ebb away in the furthest reaches of your mind. There had always been jokes made by the elite families of New York, the ones who ran in the same circles that Eleanor and Lance did. Tabloids that voyeuristically took interest in the Bishop and Morse heirs.

Eventually, everyone proclaimed through silent looks and not-so-silent gossiping, you and Kate would end up together. The fire had squashed those rumors, and then reignited them glory. The attention made it hard to do your real job. But your chest oddly swelled with pride when Bobbi lifted an eyebrow at you.

“Is there something you want to tell us?”

Lance had flicked off the stoves burner and set a steaming pile of pancakes in the center of the table. None of you dug in. Your parents watched you, instead, almost giddy. They’d both had their fair share of run-in’s with Kate Bishop.

During your senior year, you would storm into the house and pace back and forth, seething about an award that Kate won or a competition that ended in a tie. They’d bide their time and wait. They waited for years and part of you dreaded giving them the satisfaction. You straightened in your chair, ran a finger over your fork.

“Not that I can think of,” You smirked.

“Okay,” Lance nodded “be that way.”

You huffed and reached for the plate, but he pulled it back slightly. A scrape sounding as porcelain hit wood “No Pancakes for you.”

They were enjoying this too much. You crossed your arms over your chest and stared at them with shock. Blueberry pancakes were your favorite, and you had a less than satisfactory morning. This felt like the SHIELD torture techniques they’d taught you years ago.

“Fine. Kate and I are seeing each other. Happy?”

You reached for the pancakes again, and again, Lance slid them back. “For how long?”

“Awhile”

“That’s not enough.” Bobbi cut into a pancake she had transferred onto her own plate, soaked in syrup and dripping. She took a bite and moaned in bliss. “Wow, babe, these are your best yet.”

“Before the fire at the benefit.” You supplied, hating the desperation that was in your voice. The way your stomach squeezed in hunger fueled your need. “She’s been my girlfriend for months.”

The words sent a thrill down your spine. They were entirely untrue, but your mother and Lance didn’t question it. In fact, he pulled out his time-worn wallet and produced a twenty-dollar bill. Bobbi took it wordlessly with a shit-eating grin on her face. She pushed the plate back in your direction.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You were betting on us?”

“It’s more of a pool, really.” Lance defended, having the decency to blush.

“Unbelievable!”

Really, it wasn’t. Not with the rumors that swirled around the two of you since sandbox days. Your hunger overtook your indignance and you pulled two fluffy pancakes onto your plate. Angrily (as angrily as you could) you cut them into little pieces and chewed slowly with a frown.

Bobbi returned to reading the paper and Lance raised his hand for a high five. You scowled at him, shaking your head. Sheepishly he lowered it and returned to his own breakfast.

You’d scarfed down food faster than necessary before pouring yourself a cup of coffee and retiring to the wooden swing on the front porch. You breathed in the early morning air, the cool mist that coated the lawn. It was a quick moment of peace to settle your thoughts.

Your toes pushed against the porch, settling into an easy sway. You were left to your own devices, letting the rising sun warm your bones. Eventually, Bobbi joined you with her own cup of coffee, cupping the mug and lowering herself onto the other end of the bench with a slight groan. The chains screeched in protest.

Her hand found it’s way to your knee, giving it a slight squeeze. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk.”

You knew exactly what she meant. It wasn’t about Kate, though, you could sense the buzz of questions at the tip of her tongue. The two of you hadn’t addressed the Clint shaped elephant in the room, and you bit into the soft flesh of your cheek to calm the storm that washed over you in an instant.

“Are you okay?” She whispered

“I don’t know.”

The silence returned, and you wanted so desperately to break it. But you didn’t know what to say. Your throat tightened and you swallowed a gulp of scalding coffee. The heat pinched at your eyes and they watered listlessly.

“I hate that he matters. Clint Barton is a stranger to me, but he still holds this… this power.” You drew one leg up to your chest. “I wasn’t enough for him to stay.”

“Oh, baby”

Her gravelly words of comfort made you fold into the overwhelming emotions. Bobbi’s arm was around you and your face buried into her neck. You knew your nose was cold against her skin, but she said nothing. She gripped your side and pulled you close to her. You suddenly felt like a child again.

“That’s not true,” She pulled back, cupping both of your cheeks with her hands. She frantically wiped away your tears with her thumbs “We were both kids when we had you. I grew up, and he didn’t. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t want you to doubt yourself. Your potential.”

“He…” You swallowed thickly, the words bitter in your mouth “he loves her more than me.”

It was an accusation that had tremendous merit. There was no malice towards Kate, not this time. She’d fallen into his good graces by pure luck. She’d told you the story as over two amber bottles of IPA that went down less than smooth.

“I mean, fuck, mom. He gave me the shovel talk.”

She frowned and pulled back, a certain anger falling over her facial expression. Your biological father warning you to stay away from his protégé was in bad taste. It left an ugly film over your skin. A seed of doubt that was planted by the man who abandoned you.

“You’ve never made me doubt myself. Every day of my life you’ve reminded me of my value, of what I’m capable of. I don’t want him to come over and blow that all down like the big bad wolf.”

“Sweet girl,” She pulled you back into her side, her floral scent coating your lungs. You hadn’t realized how cold you were until you cuddled into your mother as if you were nothing more than a scared child. Your fingers grasped at the fabric of her shirt like a life raft. “We’re stronger than that.”

Tag List💕: @noturlondonboy, @slvtformaria

[bonkbobl]

happy to please

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

a/n: this is set before anything bad happens in the show, maybe like early season 1 or even before. i know in the books there was domeric and i considered mentioning ramsays kinslaying but decided to just go with the show, which, my impression is that domeric just never existed and ramsay grew up at the dreadfort being cared for by roose. this fic comes from the book quote about him growing fond of walda bc she actually liked sex with him and buddy never experienced the loving touch of a woman with his past two wives

summary: roose bolton had two wives before you. so he thought he knew what to expect during the bedding but nothing could have prepared him for those sweet little noises and the way you writhed

warning: smut!!! roose bolton is very awkward and not very romantic, forced marriage but once you see roose irl you're like oh... wait guys hes kind of hot nvm im down

It was high time the Lord of the Dreadfort took another wife to try for more heirs. A bastard born to a Millers Wife was hardly a suitable option. The goal-driven Lord Bolton wanted a speedy affair and not too much fuss about it. When word was sent out that the “Dreadlord” was seeking a hand in marriage, the response was not sparse.

Several offers to meet Northern Lords’ “most beautiful” daughters landed on Roose Boltons desk. But Roose didnt want the fuss that came with that. There was no need to fret about which girl was the most desireable, only which prospect bred the most advantage.

You came from a semi prominent house, a large advantage was the fact that you had no siblings to succeed you and your uncles were all bordering on geriatric. Because of this, your father was eager to broker a marriage between you and any Lord to start producing more options for the succession of your house — you came with a heavy dowry.

All negotiations occurred on paper and before you’d learn anything about your husband, your father has your servants packing your belongings up into carriages. You were on your way to the Dreadfort

Dreadful name for a castle, you thought to yourself. Perhaps that set the tone for the marriage. You should expect nothing but that —dread.

The entire journey, you did not utter a word to your father, so upset that he’d gone behind your back to do this. You had been stubborn, growing up. You’d met several Lords from minor houses through the years and you turned all of them away.

They weren't handsome enough, weren't noble enough, weren't gentle enough, weren't firm enough. That one was too loud, too annoying, to full of himself, not sure enough of himself, too meek, too weak. There was always something. But you were never forced to. Not until now.

Perhaps it was the fact that your father finally listened to the whispers of those around him, telling him that if he doesnt marry you off soon, no lord would want an old bride. You think thats most likely. Theres also the fact that House Bolton was an extremely powerful house, your liege lord for centuries. They stood only beneath the Starks and the Crown.

When you stepped down from the carriage to greet your husband to be, you steeled yourself. You didn't know what to expect. You knew he was around your father’s age, which wasn't exactly a comfort.

But you met his cold eyes, your expression softened considerably. Your father had grown plump with unkempt hair on his chin. It was patchy and uneasy to look upon. His hair was also receding quickly as the years passed.

The years were kinder to Lord Bolton.

Giving a curtsy, you surrendered to his examination of you, suddenly feeling nervous. You found yourself hoping he liked what he saw because well… Lord Bolton, you think, immediately appears to be, well, lordly. He looks physically fit, cleanshaven, intimidating features. His stare was hard on you, and you almost shied away thinking he was, in fact, unhappy with you, but glancing back, you realized that he may be one of those men with a permanent hardness to their stare.

You mainly hope he isn’t cruel to you.

Lord Bolton nodded, then spoke, “My lady.” Taking your hand and pressing a courteous kiss to it, he continued, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You swallowed, trying your best to keep your gaze even. His voice was so smooth and deep… The kind of voice that you’d want reading to you in the darkness at night.

He’s everything you think a man should be, in appearances. The boys who wanted your hand in marriage would stumble about their words and it was endearing in their own right, but here, under his lordly gaze, you felt more willing to you resign yourself under his protection.

“Happy to please you, my lord,” You said softly, curtsying.

Roose’s eyes looked you up and down for what felt like the millionth time but he couldn’t really help it. He hadn't expected you to be the beauty you were — that wasn’t why he was marrying you — but he got lucky, it seems. You were a shy thing, barely able to meet his eyes.

Roose looked at your father, standing far away from you, awkwardly staring out into the wind and avoiding engagement. It wasn't difficult for him to make out that perhaps you might be unhappy to be here. If theres anything he can recognize, its a tense familial atmosphere.

But he watched you smile and speak your courtesies, sweet and polite. Yes, you would do just fine. You were perfect, he’d even dare to say, he was delighted by you.

You would make him rich, and it seemed like you had enough understanding and commitment to duty to not make a fuss about anything that may be unpleasant to you. He just hopes you’re fertile so that he doesn’t have to pain you unnecessarily with too many attempts.

“I’d like you to meet my son, Ramsay,” He brought his son forward.

You smiled politely at him and allowed him to kiss your hand, “My lord, it’s lovely to meet you.” You hoped it didn’t show that you were a little wary of Ramsay. It was hard to ignore the rumors of the Bastard at the Dreadfort. But you’re happy that you are not to be his or his fathers enemy.

“As it is for me to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

Roose allowed a smile and began directing you to your handmaidens, who would lead you to your temporary room.

As far as first meetings go, it might have been awkward but it wasn’t completely unbearable. You’re grateful for it.

—————

When it came time to wed him, Roose made it clear that there was to be no bedding ceremony, and you let yourself relax, smiling to yourself gratefully. It was a tradition spreading all the way from the Wall to Dorne, but you really didnt know why. The thought of being stripped and groped by all the men in the room rained dread upon you.

Instead of being carried to your room by many men, you were led there by your husband, who you were growing more fond of in each moment. Sure you barely knew him, but he was handsome enough.

Not just handsome enough, you’d say that if there was to be a ball with all the Northern men and women, you would have stared at him in the corner of your eye all night hoping he’d approach you. He reminded you of those scenarios that you’d read about only in books.

He also seemed to be respectable and a gentleman, which comforts you greatly. The fact that he chose to forego the bedding was something you hadn’t expected but it certainly made you more amenable to whats to come.

It started sort of mechanically and passive. Your husband poured you a cup of wine for your nerves, and you exchanged some words about the ceremony and he watched you drink it.

Then when he deemed you relaxed enough Roose asked, “Did your septa teach you about what happens during bedding?”

You nodded, “My septa, yes. And I had read a book once that contained some details that she had left out, so I actually know more than many would assume,” You rambled out.

Roose tilted his head questioningly but gave an amused sigh and a nod.

It was true, you did read a lot. And one of those books included a scandalous romp between the main character, a man, and a whore. Your father found you reading that and burned the book but he couldn’t burn it out of your memory.

It was part of why you might have had such a high standard for the men who had approached for your hand. The men in the books were confident but not arrogant. They could please their women properly because they knew what they were doing but also knew to listen. They were powerful. Possessing a subtle dominance that was too nuanced for younger men to understand.

Roose exuded dominance. This brand of dominance.

It excited you just as much as the memory of those pages.

“Good,” He said, “Then I have little explaining that I must do.”

You watched him stand and offer his hand to you again and you took it, letting him help you up and to the bed.

Roose couldn’t really understand it, but he identified nerves stirring inside him at the thought of bedding you. Its been a long time since he’s taken any wife to bed and he is aware that most of the time, its only really pleasurable for men.

His past two wives would lay there, passive and unmoving, waiting for him to have his fill before quickly getting up to clean themselves.

He really intended to make this as easy for you as possible and wait a week to try again. After that, perhaps he’d take you every few days until you came to be with child. Ever methodical about everything, of course he thought of how to go about this.

Roose helped you with your dress, coming up behind to aid in unlacing it. Meanwhile, you busied yourself with taking out the pins that had been keeping your hair up.

You wanted to be comfortable, Roose was pleased to note. He was glad to know you were thinking of your comfort. Making this as easy as possible. You were a girl who understood what needed to be done, a good quality to have in a wife.

His past wives understood to an extent, as well, but not without at least a little bit of whining and whinging.

With your hair undone and your dress unlaced, you took it upon yourself to shrug it off your shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Roose watched you, gracefully doing your duty, a small smile coming to him.

You surprised him quite a bit, actually. Especially when you turned to him, a little shy about your exposure, but confident enough to pull him in by his collar and kiss him for the first time.

Your lips moved shyly against his, and Roose returned your gentleness. Each thing you did made him ever more curious about you. The two of you continued to mold your lips to each others as he worked on disrobing himself. He could sense the hesitation and curiosity behind your lips movements.

All the better. He'll let you do as you needed to feel more comfortable.

Very quickly, Roose had taken off all his clothes and the moment you realized your husband was bare and ready to finally take you, you parted from him. His eyes opened slowly to see you staring up at him with those big eyes and he held your gaze as you edged backward onto the bed, situating yourself at the edge of it. Then you laid yourself down, splayed out for him.

Roose watched you get ready for him, wondering what he did to score so lucky with such a sweet, innocent, eager little wife.

He pressed the tip of his length to your slit. The edges of your pussy lips were dry but as he moved the head of his cock through your folds, some moisture coated him. Roose paused because you mewled and turned your face to the side, eyes closed, hands bunching into fists in your sheets.

His cock twitched against you as he watched, something that hasnt happened since Roose was a teenager with his first wife.

It moved him to push inside. He watched your lips part with heavy breaths, eyebrows coming together as your breaths turned into soft whimpers. He had to pull out after a certain point and push back in, further. You whimpered, grasping the sheets harder.

Roose found himself completely and utterly hypnotized by you, watching your face, turned to the side, eyes pinched shut, gently chewing your bottom lip.

“You’re very reactive,” He muttered, catching your attention.

You turned back to look at him over your rising and falling chest and giggled, running your hand over your forehead, “Yeah, I… Nothing has ever been inside like this so... I’m reacting.” A coil in your stomach twisted as he pushed even deeper and your lips puckered, letting out an "Ooh..."

Roose chuckled at the first sign of a little bit of sass in his wife, amused at your playfulness during what most would deem to be a serious moment. Roose typically disliked those who cracked unnecessary jokes in inappropriate moments, but somehow it seemed appropriate in this moment.

Your hand came down to grab his and you guided it to your thigh. You felt your husband bottom out inside you after not too much struggle or pain and you laid there happily. You were happy to take his gentle thrusts. Your cunt grew wetter and sloppier as he fucked you.

He filled you well, and it felt good to be full like this. You wanted him to touch you… You wanted him to move more. Faster, harder. You just wanted more of him.

You breathed a heavy sigh, squeezing around him, trying to coax him into moving in you.

“Roose,” You whined, squirming beneath him. Your legs came to wrap around him and guide his movements in you.

Your husband gasped at your shameless neediness, responding quickly to your coaxing movements. You felt like heaven, squeezing so tight around him. But it wasn’t just the pure sensation of a cunt enveloping him it was the fact that your heel remained pressed against his lower back, pulling him toward you. It was the fact that little whimpers kept tumbling out of you, meanwhile you hid your face as if you couldn’t keep them in. It was his name, falling from your lips, in between the whimpers.

And then you whimpered, “Harder.”

An appreciative hum rumbled in Roose's chest, his eyes focusing even harder on you. You shuddered to look at him. His smolder could easily be mistaken for a glare and you'd hate to be a man in any other situation, on the receiving end of such a look.

Here, it just made you more excited.

You cried a loud, unrestrained moan when he gave a sharp thrust, his cock angled upward and hitting a deep spot within you. When his cock touched that spot, it felt as if a little burst of pleasure had come from it and melted into the rest of your body, the coil in your tummy tightening deliciously.

His pace slowly increased, as did your pleasure. You writhed beneath him... At times it almost felt like pleasure was too much, like you were about to tip off some edge, and you had no idea what could be found once you made it over that edge other than just even more, blinding pleasure. You didn't even know if you could take it.

But you had nowhere to run. So if you had to find out what was waiting for you over that edge, so be it. You fought to hold your legs open as much as possible but your thighs would sometimes beg to close, unused to the intense stimulation. And most of the time, you kept your eyes closed and your face turned to the side.

Roose stared down at you, burying himself in you over. And over. Watching as each time you had to succumb and give yourself away to the sensations. It sparked something primal inside him, and truly for the first time he felt an animal-like instinct that often came to be the failing of many great, even-minded men.

He felt lust. Inspired by the image of your body tightening and twitching as he plunged himself deep into you.

Grabbing your waist, he fucked you faster, snapping his hips at a faster speed while he used his strength to pull your pliant body into his.

It wracked your body from head to toe, a long, loud whine, pulled from your throat, enunciated by each meeting of his balls against your ass. Your hands shot up to grasp to anything you could find on the bed but all it found were more sheets. You buried your face in the soft flesh of your arms.

Roose slowed and gave you some hard, defined thrusts, grunting as he did so. You cried out each time and then managed to blink your eyes open and look at him, eyebrows still knitted together, hair a tangled mess under you, and your lips red and wet from your chewing on them all the time.

And then your husband rediscovered the energy to plow into you again.

You held your tits this time, to keep them from bouncing uncomfortably.

He growled, adjusting so that your legs were put over his shoulder before continuing. That felt amazing. But even more amazing was that he decided it wasn't enough, climbing on the bed and pushing you further up on it. He maneuvered his leg, planting a foot next to your side.

That. That had you crying out, damn near sobbing. At least, you wouldn't be surprised if anyone passed your room and mistook it for that.

Soon your body was twitching uncontrollably under him and Roose was sighing loudly, shocked by just how tight your cunt was gripping onto him. Your moans grew weaker and breathier and your body tensed to a peak before you seemingly began to come down from it.

Your breaths remained heavy as you attempted to catch yourself, small aftershocks of convulsions and shaking taking you. He was still fucking you just as hard and your body was oversensitive to the stimulation.

But thankfully you didn't have to endure the pleasurable torture too much longer. Roose released you with a few hard thrusts and deep groans.

He stilled in you and dropped his head in exhaustion, staying buried deep inside, as he attempted to catch his breath and recover and you stared at him, also trying to catch up with yourself.

You lowered your legs to the side though and in the process, his penis slipped out of you, quickly softening. You don't know what possessed you to do so, because there was really no need to, but you brought a hand up to your husbands face and moved it so you could stare into his eyes.

His soft, exhausted eyes met you, the strong hardened exterior that you saw on him at your first meeting, melted off.

Cautiously, you closed the distance, molding your lips to his again.

Roose kissed back fervently this time, no longer hesitant and letting you take the lead. His domineering hand coming behind to cradle your face.

Your eagerness had surprised him in the beginning. But once he'd entered you, it was as if a switch had turned on for both of you. He'd expected you to bravely take on the duty that all women had to endure but he'd never expected you to take to it so well, craving more, wanting him.

Roose had never been the type of man to think about, much less want to be wanted. But his cock nearly twitched back to life, remembering. You pulled him in with your legs, asked him to fuck you harder, you came, and even afterwards, you wanted more.

When your lips finally parted, he stared, evaluating you with a new lense, a lense of true fondness. It was something that — Roose wouldn't ever dare say out loud but — it was something that could even develop into something deeper than a vague fondness or physical attraction. Something like love.

You pressed one last chaste kiss to him and smiled widely, asking, "Is that what every night will be like?" You asked, "If so I think you'll make me a very happy lady."

Roose couldn't think of a proper, clearly worded answer, so he just pressed his lips to yours again, hungrily. A very happy lady indeed. And he'll be happy to see you happy.