#t: presumption of innocence

[lokisgoodgirl]

Crossed Swords [Avenger! Loki x Fem.Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: (9) You overhear something unwelcome. Mischief ensues. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smuttish. "Friends" w/ benefits. Graphic descriptions of Loki in fencing pants. Language. Mild violence. (w/c 4.2k)

You didn’t know what had possessed you to knock on Loki’s door. It had been over a week since Scotland, and visions of that night had consumed your mind like a virus. It was all you could think about, and you needed to see him. Alone. You squeezed the clan pin from his tartan sash that had somehow ended up in your possession into a fist as the other rapped the wood three times. The sharp edges stung into the soft base of your palm as you heard footsteps approaching. I’m here to return it before the tactics meeting. I’m here to return it, that’s all. It’s not weird. It’s normal, totally nor- “Don’t.” Loki’s deep voice had suddenly commanded through the wood. “Come back to the bed.”

The footsteps paused before retreating. Your stomach clenched, chest tightening while dread rolled up your body like a wave. Without thinking, you pressed your ear to the door. Loki moaned. A low, guttural sound you’d only heard when he was nine inches deep. You frowned, blood thumping in your chest. This was not an unexpected scenario, but hearing it first-hand smarted like vinegar. You took a step back and frowned at the sealed door, rage bubbling in your belly. He’s so fucking full of it, you thought furiously; instantly chastising yourself for being annoyed at all. Jealous. You’re fucking jealous...you fucking idiot. You squeezed the brooch a final time before throwing it harshly at the door. Shit. It hit the centre with a loud thud. Shitshit, Why did I do that?! Swearing under your breath you made a hasty retreat down the corridor, a plan forming as you made your way back to your room. There was just enough time before the tactics meeting. And you had a tactic of your own to deploy.

“Righto guys n’ gals, time for a few home truths.” Steve clapped his hands together, resting them under his chin as he stood at the head of the table. He’s the only one more annoying than Loki, you thought; letting your eyes flicker from your notepad to the pristine god sitting directly across the table. Loki found your covert gaze, immediately shooting you an almost imperceptible wink. Nope, still Loki; you decided, returning his presumptive gesture with a roll of your eyes. Thor sat beside him, the blonde’s hoodie making him look even bulkier beside his lean, perfectly toned brother radiating arrogance in his stupid tight t-shirt. Thor was staring again. You saw his chin dip lower, the swirling blue of his eyes darkening as he gave you that look. His lustful glare had become all too common around the Tower since the red dress incident. And it told you that you tactics were about to play out perfectly.

Fingers pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, being careful to keep looking at the Captain as you tilted your body towards the head of the table. The fingers brushed down your neck, stopping to lightly massage the dent of your collarbone before falling and undoing one innocent button just above your heart. “All this technology is nice and dandy, but if an enemy intercepts our comms; we’re jimmied. Kaplunkered, folks…unless you have the inbuilt qualities, of course.” Steve said. Your fingertips brushed back to your shoulder, digging deeper into the bare flesh and letting your dark chiffon blouse slip down. The fingers caught on a twinge. You frowned, closing your eyes with lips parted in a calculated silent sigh of pleasure. “...so we need to make more of an effort to ensure our bop em’, sock em’ techniques are up to scratch. The ol' S&M. Swords and muscles, folks.” The feeling of Loki’s gaze lingering on you touching yourself was palpable. His analysing stare sifting over your body was something you had become as accustomed to recognising as the waft of burnt toast. You let a smile twitch the edges of your mouth, opening your eyes to concentrate on Steve once again. “Later this afternoon we’ll run a group session, and we can make sure we’re all where we need to be.” You gave your shoulder a final squeeze, letting an expression that was entirely too sexual flash across your features. A low whimper erupted from Thor’s direction. “Asgardians?” Steve huffed in exasperation, making you turn to face the accused with innocent interest. “This applies to you, too.” Thor snapped to attention, babbling incoherently as his cheeks flushed. Loki’s eyes narrowed towards you, before he too looked toward Rogers with a nod. Cool as a New York winter morning. “I concur that the team skillset is somewhat lacking in the close combat department, Rogers. Particularly where blades are concerned.” he said with an air of haughtiness only he could muster. “I would be happy to whip them, into shape.” Whip. The word was onomatopoeic on his tongue. A soft beginning climaxing in a sharp crack which lingered on his lips. His hands lay clasped in front of him on the table, the long lines of his torso perfectly straight through impeccable posture. Those dark waves were tied back in a loose bun, strands hanging against his carved cheekbones. “Excellent.” Steve clapped his hands together again. “Everyone in the training hall in one hour under 'Master of Blades' Laufeyson, then.” he quipped.

I wonder if he had it loose while he was fucking her, you thought; an intrusive mental image making you fight the urge to squirm in your seat. Memories of his wild locks trailing your body filled your mind, how you’d always tug it roughly as he took his pleasure like an animal in heat. Did she do the same? You imagined Loki padding naked and sated across his rooms, casually scraping his luxurious hair still sex-damp up into the messy bun while manifesting the simple black t-shirt and chinos he was wearing. His rooms, you thought with a twinge. He’s never taken me to his rooms. Wetness slid between your thighs as you shuffled, feeling your jaw clench. Loki smirked, as Steve’s voice prattled in the background. You imagined how you would do things differently if he had his hair tied up like that while you fucked him. How your mouth would suck and bruise all along the uninterrupted landscape of pure masculine eroticism he called a jawline. From his chin to his earlobe. God, you wanted to fucking bite him. Hard. Like the bruise he had become accustomed to leaving on the curve of your shoulder. A gift. A remembrance. His mark. You suddenly wondered if anyone else around this table wore that mark.

There were mumbles of disapproval at the idea of Loki as a teacher while seats scraped back on the floor. You lifted your bag onto the surface, nudging a pen which rolled to the middle of the table. “Oops.” you muttered coyly, sliding the bag purposefully to the side. You leant forward, lowering your chest and giving both brothers a view down the neckline of your blouse. Thor’s jaw slackened, seeing the lacey lingerie cupping your breasts. “See you in an hour, boys.” you murmured innocently, beginning to slide the pen towards you. Thor’s glazed stare travelled from your cleavage to your face and back to your chest. The lace was a bright, rich red. Loki’s gaze rose from the salacious view down your top to your eyes. The icy set of his features made your nipples harden. A low growl rumbled in the blonde’s throat as you straightened, not looking back as you casually exited the room with a smirk. “Don’t even think about it, brother.” Loki snarled under his breath, feeling Thor’s biceps vibrate against his shoulder with covert mirth. “Oh brother…” the blonde growled, watching the curve of your ass as you disappeared out of sight. “I fear it is far too late for that.”

The Tower weapons training facility was on the thirty-second floor, but it may as well have been in the basement. There was no natural light, just overhead runners that made it feel like you could be anywhere.

You and Nat pushed the swing doors open in sync, letting them fly wide as the waiting group turned expectantly. You’d changed. A black sports bra underneath a loose racer-back top with high-waisted leggings completing the uniform. You smiled to yourself at the knowledge that the matching lace underpants to the red bra were safely concealed. Ready to be deployed if needed. When needed. “Nice of you to join us at last.” Loki sneered, projecting his voice as he ran his gaze appraisingly over you both. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Laufeyson” Nat shrugged, stretching her bicep over her chest. “Not everyone walks around in baggy sweatpants all damn day.” She threw Scott a knowing look. His eyes widened at the unexpected barb, pulling out the sides of his sweatpants with a pout before looking to Sam for support. Sam shook his head silently. Loki ignored her, striding forward from the head of the hall towards the group. “A 'Master of Blades." Loki announced theatrically as the mutters grew silent. "While the Captain may have noted this in childish jest, I can assure you it is no mere flippantry. Across these nine realms, my skills with steel are legendary...and it is your privilege to learn from me today.” “Is your boyfriend on his period or something?” Nat whispered, making you cover your mouth to suppress a laugh. “He’s not my boyfriend. God forbid.” you hissed, regaining your composure. “He gets off of this sort of stuff. Lording it over people. He’s a dick.” “Sometimes all they need to be is a dick.” Nat said solemnly, making you press a finger to your mouth to stifle another giggle. She smirked, pressing her lips together. Loki threw you both a scowl. You had been trying not to look at him, knowing that as soon as you did the familiar fizz between your legs would rise; but it was too late. His hair was still in that goddam messy bun, strands falling in thin curls around his jawline. The overhead lighting accentuated every shadow cast by his cheekbones, that fair skin utterly luminous. He wore a tight charcoal gym top that suddenly reminded you of the wetsuit. That fucking wetsuit, you thought; clenching at the memory of it peeling down his chiselled abs. The spandex clung to every curve of his muscles, his biceps perfectly encased beneath the fabric. Only his forearms were visible, the sight of thick veins running beneath his pale skin making saliva well under your tongue. Pristine white straps ran down his chest from over his shoulders, part of a high waisted swordfighting ensemble tight around his midriff. The material ran straight down his hips, snug to the crotch by design. They fell just above the knee, a pair of tight black socks tucked beneath the hem. Perfectly fitted, naturally. How does he look so fucking good in everything, you thought wistfully; watching the flex of his thigh muscles through the white cotton as he stalked towards you. The straps hugged his chest, bound tight. The mental image of riding them down his bare shoulders while you mounted him filled your mind; feeling his cock straining up between your thighs. The material creased at his hips, accentuating the bulge of his obscene manhood with every stride. He stopped, his face inches from yours. “Thank you for returning my relic.” he stated formally, hands clasped behind his back.

You grimaced, regretting letting your irritation boil over with your earlier theatrics. “That’s fine. Shall we?” Loki frowned at your brevity, searching your face before taking his place in the centre of the semi-circle. In a flash of green, a steel blade appeared in his grip. Dulled, of course. He twirled the twenty-four inches of metal fluidly, enjoying the reluctantly impressed faces of the team gathered. Scott ooo’ed. Sam elbowed him in the ribs. Loki held the sword in front of his face, hands clasped around the hilt; splitting the symmetrical perfection in two. Only one side was smiling. “My first wisdom about the sword” he enunciated regally, “is that it’s power comes from the force of your core.” He looked at you as he said it, sending chills shuddering through the base of your leggings. “The blade is an extension of your body. You direct it. Master it. You do not follow it.” He began to pace, swinging the sword theatrically. Each slice made a cutting whir through the air. “Every strike, every thrust, every stab should be calculated. Each offensive move or defensive counter-strike a graceful, fluid motion. Your impulses must be tamed, so that you are always in control. Dominating, like one would handle a submissive lover.” “God, even his tutorials are sexualised.” you whispered bitterly to Nat. She offered a weak eye-roll. “What was that, Agent?” Loki snapped, his stoic demeanour holding as he rested the blade against his shoulder. You sighed, feeling your adrenaline rise at his confrontation. God, you thought. Imagine him wearing those fucking fencing pants shirtless- “I said, even your tutorials are sexualised. Is that really necessary?” Loki let out a low chuckle, weaving the handle of the blade expertly as he stalked closer. “It is not a question of what is necessary” he hummed, running one long digit along the blade horizontal to his midriff. His eyes followed the finger, until it rested on the dulled tip. “At their basest level, all realms share two passions which are impossible to extinguish. Violence, and...sex.” His long lashes fluttered upwards, making your breath hitch.

“Mastering the art of the blade is inextricable with mastering the art of sex, Agent. One cannot be achieved without the other. At least, not in a manner which will cause any significant lasting impression.” Nat snorted beside you. “And you’ve mastered these arts have you?” you sneered, folding your arms. “You know I have, Agent.” he purred darkly, making your cheeks heat as every gaze fell on you. “But since you seem resistant to my methods of tutelage, let’s have a demonstration shall we?”

You shrugged, ignoring the churning of your stomach and extending your hand in expectation. Loki nodded towards the wall, where twelve immaculately positioned short-swords had appeared resting vertically. You pursed your lips, placidly making your way over and picking one up. You swivelled the blade in your grip, feeling the weight. A pin drop would have echoed. The onlookers stepped back as Loki stalked towards you like a panther on the hunt. A fencing mask appeared in his hand, swinging casually before he threw it to you. You grunted, tossing it to the side before raising your sword. Pretentious Asshole. The straps over his shoulders strained with every calculated, heavy breath; the ropes of thick muscle shifting as he perfected his stance. Suddenly, Loki lunged. A clang of steel resounded around the hall as your blade met his, blocking in a high X that spliced his sharpened features in two. He pushed forwards, making you stumble as you desperately tried to hold your ground. His chin was lowered, smouldering eyes burning into yours as the muscle of his forearm bulged in thick lines. “Defend yourself.” he growled, scraping his blade upwards and pivoting it with a flick of his wrist, immediately going for an underhand strike. You retreated, countering again; steel singing as metal slid to his hilt. “Fuck you, Loki.” you hissed, bringing your free hand up in a fist. He flinched, raising a palm to catch it. You kneed him in the ribs. A low rumble of mirth rippled across the semi-circle around you both. Loki barely reacted. Barely. But it was just enough. You leveraged the weight change, pushing his sword upward and ducking under his arm. The dull tip of your blade met his jugular as you pushed his bicep down with all the force you could muster, edging on the pressure-point of that taut neck you knew he loved sucked. Bet he got it sucked this morning, you thought venomously; panting as a reluctant grin stretched across Loki’s lips. You know he could kill you with one hand if he chose. With his obscenely large thumb, even. For now, it was a hollow victory to be sure. But you would take it. “You found my weak spot, it seems.” he murmured quietly, a knowing smile tugging at his dimples; eyebrows slanted in mock-surrender. “You’re easily distracted.” you panted, pushing away his bicep with a rough shove. There was a ripple of tentative applause as Loki straightened and you made your way back to your spot. Nat nodded approvingly.

“As demonstrated by our colleague here, the force of the blade is not always in its length, sharpness or girth. It is the manner in which it is wielded. With the innate, fierce hostility toward any who would overpower you.” Loki’s chin tilted as he spoke, analysing the effect of his words on those watching. On you. “She was not willing to let me overpower her.” he continued thoughtfully, fingering the edge of the blade. “If I was a mere man, I’d say she may even have succeeded.” “Hey- she did succeed, asshole.” Nat interjected, offering a nudge of solidarity. Loki chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that, Romanoff. A Master of Blades is not easily defeated by such a…” Loki's eyes ran down to your trainers and back to meet your narrowed eyes, tilting his head. “Let’s continue. Pairs. And I shall observe your efforts.” Your nostrils flared, a deep growl simmering in your chest. You were vaguely aware of a tall shadow beginning to loom over you. “My Lady, may I-” “Yes.” you snapped, still glaring at Loki as he slid his sword gracefully into a leather back-holster he had manifested out of thin air. You turned towards Thor, forcing a smile. “It would be my pleasure.” The blonde god’s eyes followed the movement of your lips, before licking his own. “Wonderful.” he rumbled after a pause. As you watched him join the others retrieving blades from the wall, your fingers found their way to the waistband of your leggings, folding them over.

Your eyes flickered back to Loki, swinging his blade fluidly in a series of joined twists and strikes that made your traitorous sex scream with wet, hot need. The next hour was blessedly uneventful; a series of test formations observed by Master Laufeyson as he circled the group like a shark. The relentless clang of metal rang in your ears as Loki’s deep voice reverberated, his sultry commands making it increasingly difficult to concentrate. “Inward cut to downward block, Lang. Upper cut to Alpha. Go harder.” Loki bellowed, the gravitas making a shudder roll down your spine. “Impress me.” he announced sanctimoniously, flicking the curling waves around his face back with a flourish. The dark god left your vision as you side-stepped, waiting for your chance to strike his elder brother. You absent-mindedly twisted the bottom of your baggy t-shirt, balling it at your back and tucking it into the folded leggings. A flash of red lace was visible. Inevitably, your gaze was drawn back to Loki. Standing there with his sword tucked in that ludicrously erotic back-holster. Straps. He’s all straps today; you thought, biting your lip.

That spandex top tucked into the fencing pants did nothing to hide the carved abdomen beneath it; the outline of his cock visible with every measured pace as he observed the team with haughty disdain. The leather of the back-holster was completely out of place and yet...perfectly natural. Loki's triangular shoulders flexed as he paced in a wide circle, condescension at their efforts simmering beneath half-lidded eyes. How you yearned to hook your fingers beneath those leather straps as he fucked you senseless, pulling him tighter. Deeper. Hearing him hiss as the tight skin cut underneath his armpits- “Shit.” you gasped, raising your hand just in time to block an attack from your blonde opponent. Thor snarled, walking you backwards. His wandering eyes travelled down your body, widening as he noticed the flash of red lace rising over your hip like blood in the water. His blade pushed closer to your face, pressing your forearm to your chest. The chill of the steel radiated against your skin as it hovered close to your cheek. “Tonight.” Thor murmured. “Your invitation. I accept.” “My...invitation?” you gasped, as his sword lowered to your throat; your own forced past the point of no return. Thor growled approvingly. “Never fear, I know of your unfortunate liaisons with my brother. It is not the first time a woman has sought the comfort of my mighty cock after being unfulfilled in his bed.” “My-? I..ohgod.” Your sword clattered to the ground as Thor’s hand slid firmly around your waist, pulling your hips towards his. The dulled blade slid down your neck, resting on the curve of your cleavage. You curled your hand in a fist, ready to punch him right in the eye. Suddenly Thor's blade was flicked away from your bosom, cast upwards from his meaty grip like a toothpick by another, larger length of metal. It hit the floor and bounced, rattling. “Brother.” Loki snarled, his sword raised to Thor’s throat; eyes flashing with warning. Gone was the short, more wieldy weapon; and in it’s place a longsword fit for battle. The dark god let his hardened gaze fall on you. “I credited you with more finesse, Agent.” he sneered. “Clearly I was mistaken.” Thor released you, making sure his hand slid lightly over your ass as he did so. You grimaced. “If Ordinances of the Colours do not apply in this realm, brother...then neither does the Covenant of the First Seed.” he said pompously. Loki snorted, tilted his chin to the ceiling with a mirthless chuckle before lowering it once again with renewed malice in his eyes. “Since when did you respect the Covenant of the First Seed, brother?” he spat. “In this realm or in any other.” Thor shrugged. “I see not how it is my fault that you could not satisfy your lovers, Loki.” With a flash of green, another mighty longsword appeared in Loki’s free hand. He flipped the handle effortlessly towards Thor, the implication clear. You suddenly realised that neither were dull blades. Nordic runes were engraved along the shafts, thick grooves running through the centre to ornate golden handles which gleamed garishly under the overhead lights. “Wait I-” you panted, before a hand wrapped around your forearm pulling you backwards. “We can’t do anything, just stay out the way.” Nat muttered, confusion etched across her brow. “Is this about you?” she added quietly, her voice tinged with pride as she watched the scene unfold. The brothers circled each other like feral wolves as the team shrank back warily against the wall. “I don’t know anymore.” you whispered, wondering what the hell you’d just done.

Both lunged at the same time, meeting in a clash of bared teeth and snarls and heavy steel. Thor pressed the blade towards Loki, bending him backwards before your lover kicked his brother’s feet from under him. The blonde hit the ground with a harsh thud, immediately rising to the sound of Loki’s menacing laughter echoing around the high ceiling. It was relentless. A series of nimble twists and strikes from the dark god outmanoeuvring his brother’s lumbering frame as metal struck and vibrated in the air. Strands of Loki’s hair flew wildly, sticking to his forehead as he wielded the weaponry like the master he was. The abject fury on his face had given way to something softer. Mischief, you thought; watching every pop of his thick forearms as he struck repeatedly into Thor’s feeble defence. His elongated thighs lunged with expert precision, the curves of his obscenely toned calves visible through the tight socks with every calculated thrust. Thor was clearly more accustomed to using his fists, the blade forming no more than a rustic barrier to his brother’s rage. Loki dodged his clumsy attempts with ease as the blonde left a trail of destruction through the gym. A chorus of shock rippled among the onlookers with every crunch as Thor’s sword met the wall while Loki spun away - his growls of frustration growing louder. You counted seven holes. Wait...make that eight. Thor lumbered towards his brother, hair swinging as his jaw clenched. Loki smirked, pacing quickly towards him with sword raised before dodging at the last moment and spinning behind. He pinned the edge of the sharp blade to his brother’s neck; a free arm fast around his chest as he rubbed the flat against a pulsating vein. Thor bellowed, his reddened face writhing as he struggled. “Yield.” Loki announced loudly, his voice frighteningly calm. “I will not.” Thor roared, twisting as Loki whispered something in his ear. You watched silently, eyes frantically scanning them as Thor’s brow furrowed in anguish. “Damn you, brother!” he shouted, as Loki released him with a final snarl of victory. Your eyes ran covetously over Loki’s thighs in those tight pants as he swaggered backwards; suddenly realising you had been holding your breath. “What the heck…” Steve’s whine pierced the air. “What is this?” The group turned sheepishly towards him, as Loki moved the sword in a casual, flourishing figure of eight. He raised his arm, sliding the Asgardian steel into the leather holster like a fucking tease. “My brother and I crossed swords, that is all.” he purred innocently, casting a glance towards his heavily breathing sibling still bubbling with silent fury. “Oh is that right?” Steve huffed, putting his hands on his hips as he strutted forwards, observing the piles of plaster littering the gym from Thor’s clumsy combat techniques. “Well you can clear up all this goshdarned mess.” he snipped, poking Loki in the chest. The god smirked, running a hand innocently through his hair. “And don’t think about using magic to tidy the blade depository, Laufeyson. Last time it was an absolute tarnation of a scene in there. Sheaths and daggers and morning-glories all over the heckin’ shop. All out of order from the wallchart, I may add.. which is clearly displayed, thank-you-very-much.”

You bit your lip, stifling a giggle. The thought of Loki arranging the blade depositary by hand was laughable. “Agent, you watch him.” Steve said, waving a hand towards you as he began to strut towards the door. “Make sure he behaves. I know I can count on you.” You stood open mouthed as the team began to assemble a pile of swords on the floor in front of you, mumbling their condolences. You sighed as Loki’s hard bicep brushed against your own. You didn't need to look at him to know that shit-eating grin would be stretched across his infuriatingly handsome face. The scent of heavy leather and tang of his fresh sweat radiating the heat between you made you feel light-headed. “You heard the man, Agent.” he murmured, that velveteen voice sinking into the gusset of your surely ruined panties. “The question is...do you think you have what it takes to make me behave?” There was a heavy pause.

“Inquiring minds wish to know...” he keened, his mirth palpable. “Shut up.” you snapped, as Loki chuckled. “Little does Rogers know that it is you, Agent, who needs to be brought to heel.” he purred, tucking his thumbs under the straps of the fencing pants and running them purposefully downward. He leant to the side when they met the base of the high waistband. His warm breath fanned your cheek; moist lips grazing your earlobe. “And Agent…” he hummed. “I know just where to start.”

Continued in Crossed Swords: To The Hilt Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection

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[fairest]

Mourning for Whiteness

Thinking about this today as I have been since 2016.

Toni Morrison November 13, 2016

This is a serious project. All immigrants to the United States know (and knew) that if they want to become real, authentic Americans they must reduce their fealty to their native country and regard it as secondary, subordinate, in order to emphasize their whiteness. Unlike any nation in Europe, the United States holds whiteness as the unifying force. Here, for many people, the definition of “Americanness” is color.

Under slave laws, the necessity for color rankings was obvious, but in America today, post-civil-rights legislation, white people’s conviction of their natural superiority is being lost. Rapidly lost. There are “people of color” everywhere, threatening to erase this long-understood definition of America. And what then? Another black President? A predominantly black Senate? Three black Supreme Court Justices? The threat is frightening.

In order to limit the possibility of this untenable change, and restore whiteness to its former status as a marker of national identity, a number of white Americans are sacrificing themselves. They have begun to do things they clearly don’t really want to be doing, and, to do so, they are (1) abandoning their sense of human dignity and (2) risking the appearance of cowardice. Much as they may hate their behavior, and know full well how craven it is, they are willing to kill small children attending Sunday school and slaughter churchgoers who invite a white boy to pray. Embarrassing as the obvious display of cowardice must be, they are willing to set fire to churches, and to start firing in them while the members are at prayer. And, shameful as such demonstrations of weakness are, they are willing to shoot black children in the street.

To keep alive the perception of white superiority, these white Americans tuck their heads under cone-shaped hats and American flags and deny themselves the dignity of face-to-face confrontation, training their guns on the unarmed, the innocent, the scared, on subjects who are running away, exposing their unthreatening backs to bullets. Surely, shooting a fleeing man in the back hurts the presumption of white strength? The sad plight of grown white men, crouching beneath their (better) selves, to slaughter the innocent during traffic stops, to push black women’s faces into the dirt, to handcuff black children. Only the frightened would do that. Right?

These sacrifices, made by supposedly tough white men, who are prepared to abandon their humanity out of fear of black men and women, suggest the true horror of lost status.

It may be hard to feel pity for the men who are making these bizarre sacrifices in the name of white power and supremacy. Personal debasement is not easy for white people (especially for white men), but to retain the conviction of their superiority to others—especially to black people—they are willing to risk contempt, and to be reviled by the mature, the sophisticated, and the strong. If it weren’t so ignorant and pitiful, one could mourn this collapse of dignity in service to an evil cause.

The comfort of being “naturally better than,” of not having to struggle or demand civil treatment, is hard to give up. The confidence that you will not be watched in a department store, that you are the preferred customer in high-end restaurants—these social inflections, belonging to whiteness, are greedily relished.

So scary are the consequences of a collapse of white privilege that many Americans have flocked to a political platform that supports and translates violence against the defenseless as strength. These people are not so much angry as terrified, with the kind of terror that makes knees tremble.

On Election Day, how eagerly so many white voters—both the poorly educated and the well educated—embraced the shame and fear sowed by Donald Trump. The candidate whose company has been sued by the Justice Department for not renting apartments to black people. The candidate who questioned whether Barack Obama was born in the United States, and who seemed to condone the beating of a Black Lives Matter protester at a campaign rally. The candidate who kept black workers off the floors of his casinos. The candidate who is beloved by David Duke and endorsed by the Ku Klux Klan.

William Faulkner understood this better than almost any other American writer. In “Absalom, Absalom,” incest is less of a taboo for an upper-class Southern family than acknowledging the one drop of black blood that would clearly soil the family line. Rather than lose its “whiteness” (once again), the family chooses murder.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The presumption of innocence is a good thing in personal life too. This week, AOC didn't go to a public event for, she said, security reasons and got roundly attacked on social media as though she was just a deadbeat or insincere in her commitments. She gets a lot of death threats and spoke candidly about how severely traumatized she was in the January 6, 2021 coup attempt, so I'd take 'security reasons' at face value. But also we're in a moment when most people are overwhelmed, reorienting themselves in changed worlds and lives, exhausted, often grieving some kind of loss or other, and if they're not available or not showing up for something it might be because they're helping someone else whose suffering they don't need to broadcast or need help themselves or are just drained and recharging by being quiet and self-protective. Many years ago, I had a yoga teacher who reproached me for not trying hard enough when I was at a point where just showing up while struggling with the inertia and exhaustion of depression took a lot of effort. If he'd asked I would've told him, but he presumed he fully comprehended what I should be doing and what my capacity was. You cannot learn what you assume you already know, and you cannot teach well if you cannot learn. I never took his class again. This reminds me of the others who affirm that if you're not focused on their particular cause (or them) You Don't Care when it's actually that you're working your heart out on some other cause (or person or project) That Also Matters. But mostly this is a post about the fact that mostly we don't fully know what's going on with other people (sometimes they don't know themselves) and the assumption it's about you is often wrong. As is, often, any assumption that you know what it's about. The sister of the "presumption of innocence" is "the benefit of the doubt," but the doubt is in your own comprehension, even if the benefit is to others. Not knowing is one of the hardest things for people to master, it often seems, in an era when people like to jump to conclusions in the opposite of a leap of faith. We fill in not-knowing with all kinds of assumptions, assertions, projections, because not knowing is about confronting the essentially mysterious nature of life and consciousness, about the fact that we have to navigate by guesswork, prepare to be wrong, and at best be open to discovery. Even if you ask someone how they are, there may be reasons why they can't or won't give a full answer. We walk in fog; we walk on a twisting path through an intricate landscape and cannot see what is ahead; we walk through forests in which we cannot see past the first few stands of trees but know that life is going on there. We don't fully know who we ourselves are, who others are, what's going to happen, what else is happening, how something will play out. And if you're already stuffed full of assumptions there's no room for discovery. Not knowing is the openness and spaciousness that can reside in mystery or invite in understanding. p.s. A related thing is when people make assumptions about your family member, partner/ lover/spouse, boss, coworker/ collaborator, or other figure based on comparatively casual acquaintance. Or someone of high status who assumes that the person who treats them well treats everyone well, when that person has a different face if you're low-status, voiceless, powerless. (We see this so much around sexual abuse. By presumption of innocence I mean, innocent of what people tend to presume or assume: people can assume someone is trustworthy or safe who is not and do, as readily as the reverse.) You don't know how someone is in different circumstances, and often someone who is good at friendship can be terrible at partnership; someone who is fun in public has terrible anxiety or terrible rage in private, and so forth. Perhaps I should add that sometimes we don't know ourselves, haven't yet unpacked our burdens to find how heavy they are, seen what toll something took, understood why we can't when rationally we should. The less you assume the more you can know. Knowing you don't is a huge gift to everyone, yourself included.

[Rebecca Solnit]

[cyarskaren52]

Member-only story

RACISM IN LAW ENFORCEMENT

How The Sluggish Arrest of Daniel Penny Exposes His White Privilege

Black suspects are not treated with nearly as much grace

Allison Wiltz

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5 min read·9 hours ago

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When police officers arrive, they expect an immediate response from everyone on the scene, and failing to comply with any demand can lead to a deadly standoff. Of course, in a more humane system, officers would understand that some people cannot immediately comply because of physical and psychological differences, but we're not there yet. Instead, what we have is a system where impatience, cruelty, and racism reign supreme. Black people are 2.9 timesmore likely to be killed by a police officer than White people. "In America, Black people must" often "fight those natural human urges," like fight-or-flight if they hope to survive the next traffic stop. So, what does it say about our society that a White man like Daniel Penny can "turn himself in to authorities" at his leisure after a video suggests he killed Jordan Neely, a Black man, when Black people are routinely killed during traffic stops for alleged noncompliance? It suggests that white privilege is the bedrock of our criminal justice system and that there is a consistent difference in the way our society treats Black and White suspects.

According to a report written by the Vera Institute of Justice, racial discrimination within America's criminal justice system has been cemented into its foundation, that it "unjustifiably targeted Black people since the Reconstruction Era, including Black codes, vagrancy laws, and convict leasing, all of which were used to continue post-slavery control over newly-freed people." Now, even "race-neutral" laws continue to perpetuate the same anti-Black racism, which disproportionately punishes Black people. In short, it is not a coincidence that a White man suspected of killing a Black man is given more grace than Black suspects — the system is functioning as designed.

Making arrangements before your arrest is the epitome of white privilege.

In our nation, the presumption of innocence protects those accused of committing a crime of unfair treatment until their case can be adjudicated in a court of law. However, the truth is that Black people are often treated as if they are guilty before their arrest. For instance, a White Louisiana police officer Alexander Tyler was arrested after "fatally shooting" Alonzo Bagley, a 43-year old "an unarmed Black man," believed to be a fleeing police officer "responding to a domestic disturbance," last February. Of course, Bagley never got to make it into court to face any criminal charges — he was killed on the scene. Under this societal context, being able to schedule a time to turn yourself into law enforcement is the epitome of white privilege because it is something Black people are typically deprived of. Not only are Black suspects rarely allowed to schedule a time to turn themselves in to authorities, but they can be killed on the scene if the officer believes they are not compliant or submissive enough to satisfy their ego. And Black suspects don’t have to be suspected of murder to be treated with deadly force — any suspected infraction can lead to their fatality.

In the Columbus Dispatch, Susan K. Smith wrote, "They are trained to regard Black and brown people as "the enemy" and in training, a so-called "warrior mindset" is cultivated. But, of course, the flip side of the coin is that many White police officers treat White people like their allies or friend, even when suspected of committing a violent crime. We saw this in the way police officers' provided water and gratitude to 17-year-old Kyle Rittenhouse, a young White man who brought his gun to Kenosha, Wisconsin, in the aftermath of a police shooting that left a Black man, Jacob Blake, paralyzed. Later that evening, Rittenhouse shot three unarmed Black Lives Matter protestors, leaving two dead. In short, officers did not see Rittenhouse as a threat — his whiteness shielded him from any discernment that could have kept the community safe that night. Racism blinded officers so that they thought unarmed Black Lives Matter Protesters were dangerous instead of the White men bringing guns into Kenosha.

The sluggish arrest of Daniel Penny exposes his white privilege and lays it plain like laundry on the clothesline. As Jon Blisteinwrote in Rolling Stone, "It took prosecutors eleven days to charge Penny, who killed Neely after putting him in a fatal chokehold." To be suspected of committing such a violent, heinous crime and still be given the time to collect yourself is something other White suspects can relate to. For instance, after self-proclaimed white supremacist Dylann Roof killed nine Black churchgoers in a Charleston church, police officers were caught allowing him to purchase Burger King. It's as if they were congratulating him for a job well done, as if killing innocent Black people was something to feel proud of or rewarding him in the only way they could, by showing grace despite the callousness of his crimes.

Black people like George Floyd, Daunte Wright, and Breonna Taylor were not given an opportunity to turn themselves in for questioning, make arrangements, eat a meal of their choosing, connect with their families, or seek counsel — they were killed on the spot. So, what we're faced with is a system that punishes Black people for not complying fast enough but also gives White people all the time they need to yield to their demands, a disparity that comprises the integrity of the system. Racism is the leak in America's faulty roof, and every time a storm comes, we're constantly reaching for yet another bucket for the inevitable downpour, the inequitable mess our negligence continues to produce. The criminal justice system in America is unjust because from the moment a person is suspected of a crime, the race of the suspect will help determine their fate.

The fact that our system punishes Black people for not complying fast enough but gives White people all the time they need to comply with law enforcement demands crumbles the credibility of those claiming that Black people can comply-themselves-out-of-racism, who routinely blame Black people for their disproportionate deaths at the hands of law enforcement. If anything, the sluggish arrest of Daniel Perry after his suspected involvement in Neely's death shows how white privilege operates so that a White suspected murderer is given more grace than a Black person suspected of running a stop sign.

Racial prejudicial policing contributes to a phenomenon where Black people are regularly "deprived of" their "fight or flight response" and are expected to submit under the penalty of death. Yet, when we question the system, we're often asked to understand that this is how law enforcement operates. But when we examine the treatment of White defendants, we see that the system operates differently, depending on your skin color, that when you’re White, you can get some time to go home, contact a lawyer, sleep in your own bed, and relax before turning yourself into the authorities. If our system weren’t racist, the same grace would be extended to Black suspects, but we know that’s not how America’s dog and pony show operates.

How Racial Stereotypes Dehumanize Black Victims Like Jordan Neely

Calling non-violent homicide victims "aggressive" is racist

momentum.medium.com

How Black People Are Deprived of Fight or Flight Response

When it comes to confrontations with the police, Black people are asked to do something strange

momentum.medium.com

🌹Learn more about the author here. 🖊Sign up to read all my stories and thousands more.

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[books-bread-and-brigandage]

Email the DWP t stop them spying on benefits clamants bank accounts

Theresa lot going on in the US political sphere aym and I try to do my bit. But this is importantto me so I'm asking if you are in the UK to please, please follow the link and send the email, and if you can email your MP and explain why this idea s harmfull and has to stop. The fact that its the thin ede of the wedge to deciding what we can spend our money on if we claim benefits, that it creates a second class citasenship where privacy and so digity are conditional, that it flies in the face of the basis of our law in which we are innocent till proven guilty, that contant scrutany with a presumption of malfecence will damage the millions of people who reliy on benefits because of their mental health. The fact that fraud accounts for a teeny % and thsi will cost more than it saves. That it will discourage pepple from claiming what they are entitled too and freinds andfamily (who can also be scrutanised) from he;ping them. Thefact that it is simply cruel and unnesiacry. Just please, send the email, if you cant (becase you're not in the UK) plaese reablog this for visablity too. https://the.organise.network/campaigns/email-dwp-ministers-scrutiny-post-budget?utm_campaign=share1

[eveninglark]

03. Tempest

✦ now we're stuck in the storm

“What?” G’raha asked innocently. “You’re wet,” Harvey observed frankly. G’raha titled his head, smiling blithely. “And?” Him being wet was obvious. There was an implication to the statement that they did not say. He was goading them. What were they thinking? “Why?” “It’s raining,” G’raha explained patiently. The tip of his soggy tail curled in delight as Harvey’s eyes widened ever so slightly at his audaciousness, their ruddy cheeks flushing deeper and obscuring their freckles, and the thrill in his stomach renewed.

G'raha and the Warrior of Light get caught in a storm, and G'raha gets a little swept away, as one does.

Rated T ⟡ WoL/G'raha ⟡ EW ⟡ 1.7k

FFXIV Write 2024 ⟡ Master Post ⟡ AO3 Link

The rainy season, as the name suggested, meant there was a chance it was going to rain, even for arid lands like Thanalan. Perhaps G’raha and Harvey were too comfortable in their presumptions, thinking the only concern in a desert was hot days and cold nights, and were fools for not consulting a Skywatcher that was stationed right by the exit. The sky was a clear blue when they walked through the Gates of Nald, but by the time they had approached Black Brush Station a bell later, dark clouds strode in with incredible speed, their wake thundering.

At the first raindrops that landed on the pair, Harvey lifted their gaze and squinted at the clouds as if they had spoken an unamusing joke and would cease trying to be funny by glaring at them. Unfortunately, the weather was unimpressed by the Warrior of Light.

A squall flew in and brought a wall of rain. Harvey protested with an affronted “oh” and G’raha let out a startled laugh. Without having to think, he grabbed Harvey’s hand, urging them to join them in a run that probably looked as ridiculous as it felt. As if they were being chased. The thrill tickled his stomach and he laughed more as Harvey put more effort in their sprint once he cajoled them into it, letting them lead him over a pair of tracks that circled the station and underneath the closest awning not occupied by a stall.

Under the safety of the canvas, G’raha contained his giggling as they slowed to a stop and looked over to Harvey to assess the damage. The shoulders of their clothes were speckled with numerous dark splotches. A few drops of water dripped from their bangs that clung to their forehead. But otherwise, they were relatively dry given how the rain was now pounding around them. They didn’t appear upset about the unexpected turn of events, their frown soft and more so neutral as they peered up at the sky to watch. Once out of the rain itself, it seemed they were fine with it.

“Are you alright?” G’raha asked anyway, giving a squeeze to the hand he was still holding.

Harvey glanced at him. In the dim light, their blue eyes looked gray and stormy, not quite so vivid and intense, but no less attentive. “Mn,” they simply hummed with a nod.

There was nothing to do now but wait it out. Conventional wisdom—Harvey’s born from years of traveling, G’raha’s wrought by a century lived—told that a storm that swept in so quickly would also not linger for long and would move on to continue its rampage elsewhere. If it came down to it though, a delay wouldn’t be the worst thing, Harvey said, given that there was a tavern they ran by that G’raha didn’t notice in their rush. If they needed accommodations for the rest of the day, there was usually a vacancy; Ul’dah was close enough for most to make the final leg of the trip without stopping and the inn was utilized more so by local miners due to its proximity to the station.

Said laborers went about their business, criss-crossing around the plaza without regard for the rain. G’raha’s eyes lingered on the aetheryte that sat tauntingly in the center. While he was more than happy to converse with Harvey to pass the time, the excitement from their flight hummed in his body. He felt restless. Harvey was the one he ran to cover for, knowing how much they disliked getting wet, but he didn’t mind it as much. So if the miners could be out and unbothered, why couldn’t he be like that too?

G’raha had resolved a few things upon his homecoming to the Source. One was to not let himself be held back.

G’raha took off their satchel and placed it on the ground. Then he removed his scarf and vest, folding them neatly as Harvey watched, growing more confused as he leaned his staff against the wall of the building they nestled against. They were silent, quietly accepting… whatever it was he was doing without judgment, but curiosity burned them enough to finally ask, “What are you doing?”

G’raha answered by sprinting out into the rain and towards the aetheryte.

It took a few moments for Harvey to respond, calling out with an abashed, “Raha!”

G’raha grinned like the mad fool he was, reveling in the sound of his name. Absolutely worth it. He squinted to shield his eyes against the downpour as he attuned to the aetheryte, making quick work of it before scurrying back to Harvey. The smaller Miqo’te was standing at the edge of the awning, as if they had been tempted to follow after him to pull him back but decided against it. They backed away and crossed their arms as he dripped water everywhere, and their brows were furrowed as they looked up at him expectantly.

“What?” G’raha asked innocently.

“You’re wet,” Harvey observed frankly.

G’raha titled his head, smiling blithely. Water dripped from his hair and rolled down his neck, titillating. “And?” Him being wet was obvious. There was an implication to the statement that they did not say. He was goading them. What were they thinking?

“Why?”

“It’s raining,” G’raha explained patiently. The tip of his soggy tail curled in delight as Harvey’s eyes widened ever so slightly at his audaciousness, their ruddy cheeks flushing deeper and obscuring their freckles, and the thrill in his stomach renewed. What were they thinking? Were they mad at him, worried about him? Were they thinking of him? They had to be, staring as hard as they were at him, and he felt pleasantly pinned.

Changing course, Harvey became more direct but it wasn’t the insight he was looking for. “You could’ve waited until it stopped to attune to the aetheryte.”

“But I didn’t want to,” he said. What would they do about it?

Harvey’s face scrunched with some inexplicable emotion. Something between annoyance and disbelief, like they didn’t want to believe how willfully obtuse he was being. They opened their mouth, forming the word “why” again, but stopped themself, pressing their lips together. The interruption pulled G'raha taut. Anticipation made him hyper-aware. He was hanging.

Harvey was silent as they stared up at G’raha, who could do nothing but smile back and stand in all of his soaked glory. Their eyes slowly looked him over, as if they were searching for something, the pensive wedge still trapped in their brows. G’raha had to repress a shiver. The intensity of their gaze was a palpable weight against him. He could feel their eyes brush like the tip of their fingers against his face, his chest, his stomach and lower as their examination, so thorough, went to his boots. What were they seeing? What were they looking for? What did they find?

G’raha had thought he had the upper hand in this little game, that he was the one teasing Harvey. But as he minded his breath that threatened to be stolen, fought to cling to his unbothered disposition to preserve the tension, smothered the urge to say their name as if saying it would give relief, he was the one being tormented, clearly. And he wanted it. He orchestrated it. He craved it. The madness of it being too much and not enough. The delight of getting their attention and being burned by it.

He knew well how men could fall to their own devices.

Harvey’s eyes returned to G’raha’s, holding them for a beat before they closed their own with a relenting sigh, making peace. “You’re absurd,” they concluded.

G’raha finally laughed because Harvey’s deadpan was too funny to hold it back anymore and the truth of it was too much to deny.

The pair sat together against the wall, Harvey giving his damp body a wide berth. The heat of the moment went away. In the cool shadow of the awning made worse by his wet clothes, G’raha eventually could not stop a shiver. At least it was for benign reasons. Harvey noticed this and touched his arm where he had them wrapped around his legs.

“Oh,” they said with quiet realization. “You’re cold.”

Harvey’s palm was warm. They always ran a little hotter, but G’raha usually wasn’t this cold. Gooseflesh prickled at the contact and his first thought was that he didn’t want them to let go. Harvey let go and pressed their arm against his, parallel, and the contrasting temperatures playing havoc made both of their tails fluff in response.

Harvey scooted closer to him without further comment, only wrinkling their nose a little when they felt his wet clothes but never flinching or withdrawing. G’raha didn’t move as they rested against him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. 

Harvey took his right arm, the one closest to them, the one they touched before, and G’raha made himself palliable, allowing Harvey to do as they pleased, completely at ease. They rested his hand in their lap and held it between their own. They were so warm.

Harvey laid their head on his wet shoulder and stilled, finished with making themself comfortable. G’raha then permissed himself to adjust, curling more into Harvey and laying his cheek against their hair. It still smelled like mint despite the rain. Harvey, feeling the space was made available, settled into the crook of his neck.

G’raha wondered if they were sharing their body warmth with him or if they were leeching the cold from him to cool off. He didn’t ask.

Harvey, to pass the time, talked about a time at the station where Cid had repaired an imperial car and taught them how to drive it. As they spoke they fiddled with his hand. Threaded their fingers through his, stroked every digit in sequential order, rubbed the pad of their thumb against his short nails, massaged his palm, traced the creases. One point they were even posing his fingers, intrigued with how they moved as if they didn’t have their own. Sometimes it felt like they were touching him without thinking about it and others it felt purposeful.

G’raha was paying attention. Of course he was—how could he forgive himself if he missed how the old man had mourned a paint job of all things? It was easy to listen, his cheek against their head feeling how their voice reverberated softly, and to watch them play with his hand at the same time.

Harvey wanted to talk to him about their memories. They wanted to hold his hand between their own. They wanted him even when he was absurd. Oh, it was enough.

[emmaturnbull]

How do Criminal Defence Lawyers Protect Your Rights?

In the world of the legal system, criminal defence lawyers are the unsung heroes who champion the cause of justice and safeguard the fundamental rights of individuals accused of crimes. From navigating complex legal procedures to advocating tirelessly in the courtroom, these legal professionals play a crucial role in ensuring fair treatment and due process for their clients.

In this blog, we'll delve into the multifaceted ways Criminal Defence Lawyers Melbourne protect your rights and why their expertise is invaluable in the face of legal challenges. 

Expert Guidance Through the Legal Maze

Facing criminal charges can be a daunting experience, with legal jargon and procedures often overwhelming for the average person. This is where criminal defence lawyers step in as trusted guides, providing clarity and guidance every step of the way.

Whether it's explaining your rights, deciphering legal documents, or outlining potential outcomes, their expertise demystifies the legal process, empowering you to make informed decisions about your case. 

Vigorous Defence Against Accusations

In the courtroom, criminal defence lawyers serve as formidable advocates for their clients' rights. Armed with a deep understanding of criminal law and courtroom tactics, they construct a robust defence strategy tailored to each case's unique circumstances.

From challenging evidence to cross-examining witnesses, their goal is to poke holes in the prosecution's case and ensure that your side of the story receives fair consideration.

Protection Against Unlawful Treatment

One of the fundamental principles of justice is the presumption of innocence until proven guilty. However, without proper representation, individuals may fall victim to overzealous law enforcement or procedural misconduct.

Criminal defence lawyers act as vigilant watchdogs, ensuring that your rights are upheld throughout the legal process. Whether it's safeguarding against unlawful searches and seizures or challenging coercive interrogation tactics, they stand as staunch defenders of your constitutional rights. 

Negotiating Favorable Outcomes

Not every case goes to trial, and Intervention Order Lawyer excel in negotiating plea bargains and favourable settlements when it's in the best interest of their clients.

Through skilful negotiation and leveraging their understanding of the legal landscape, they strive to secure reduced charges, alternative sentencing options, or even dismissal of charges altogether. Their goal is to achieve the most favourable outcome possible while minimising the potential impact on your life and future. 

Emotional Support and Empathy

Facing criminal charges is emotionally taxing, with individuals often experiencing fear, anxiety, and uncertainty about the future. Criminal defence lawyers not only provide legal representation but also offer invaluable emotional support and empathy during this challenging time.

By listening attentively, offering reassurance, and being a constant source of encouragement, they help alleviate some of the burdens associated with the legal process, ensuring that you feel supported every step of the way. 

Upholding Justice and Due Process

At its core, the role of criminal defence lawyers Melbourne is deeply intertwined with the principles of justice and due process. By diligently representing their clients and holding the prosecution accountable, they contribute to the integrity of the legal system as a whole.

Their dedication to upholding the rights of the accused ensures that justice is not only served but that it is served fairly and impartially. 

Conclusion

Criminal defence lawyers play a pivotal role in protecting the rights of individuals accused of crimes.

From providing expert guidance and vigorous defence to safeguarding against unlawful treatment and offering emotional support, their contributions are invaluable in ensuring a fair and just legal process. As guardians of justice, they stand as unwavering advocates for the rights and freedoms of all.

[truck-fump]

Letitia James Just 'Stunned' Donald <b>Trump</b>—Mary <b>Trump</b> - Newsweek

New Post has been published on https://www.google.com/url?rct=j&sa=t&url=https://www.newsweek.com/letitia-james-stunned-donald-trump-1887630&ct=ga&cd=CAIyGjUzM2UwMTY5ZmFhZTIwMGQ6Y29tOmVuOlVT&usg=AOvVaw3CvrZjIV9VPSYZGiCFba-2

Letitia James Just 'Stunned' Donald Trump—Mary Trump - Newsweek

Trump, the presumptive Republican 2024 presidential nominee, maintains his innocence and is fighting his civil fraud ruling through appeal.

[vridian]

presumption of innocence.

@teumedom

When dealing with a dangerous mission, one should always stay focused and remain cautious - undercover assignments especially so. The loneliness was the hardest part. While taking on this different identity, you temporarily bid farewell to your family, friends, and every other social connection from your past. Jiho thought he was prepared for that and as a man who’d rather spend time with computers versus fellow humans, he thought he wouldn’t be tempted. 

Alas, love. It was a curse but one that came with such a pretty face. 

To be fully honest, though their relationship was built on a complicated string of lies, Jiho’s feelings were perfectly genuine. He really did find the love of his life, though they were technically on the opposite sides of the battlefield and he just might get a bullet to the head if the other found out. Perhaps by then he would have managed to figure a way out of this. Or maybe true love would conquer all in the end, just like they did in the fairytales. 

I know, I know, not bloody likely, but let a man dream.

“Baby,” he started, holding both of his hands in the air. “I swear, I am not cheating on you.” In his left hand was a cell phone that his lover didn’t recognized and there was a good reason for that. See, that was one of the ones he used to contact his actual people. Usually when they had a late night, his lover would opt to sleep in until at least nine, which gave Jiho ample time to make a few calls in the privacy of their basement. Why the kid chose to get up early this time he had no idea, especially since he worked extra hard to tire the other out last night. 

“Listen, I understand, ordinarily when you catch your man with a second phone, that’s a bad sign, but think about my work. I have to have extra phones and we are not exactly ordinary people.” Jiho’s lips curved in a sheepish smile. “Besides, why would I ever cheat? You are the most beautiful person I know. I mean, uh, in the world.” Now that was laying it on a bit thick, but hey, nobody hated compliments.  

[sweeterxfiction]

Did you know that on any night there are half a million Americans sitting in jail who are eligible for bail? There are so many people who were arrested for nonviolent/minor infractions who can’t go home to their family or go to work because they can’t pay bail. And they’re just sitting, awaiting trial. That can take months!

The Bail Project pays bail for people that are unable to afford their bail or have unreasonably high bails. They let out people that are legally innocent — not a threat to society.

The cash-bail system is hella fucked and disproportionately affects low-income communities and people.

Check em out or donate:

[goodqueenaly]

Sorry if you’ve already answered this but why did Varys tell Ned that it was his mercy that killed Robert, as Cersei’s plan to kill him had already been set in motion?

Remember that Varys almost never says anything innocently or simply. Remember also that Varys has been working on a very specific, very elaborate political conspiracy for the better part of 20 years. In this moment, Varys is facing a very unwelcome stumbling block to that conspiracy: with Robert dead before he, Varys, planned on him being so, but Aegon not quite ready to take the throne, the throne is left open - and the most sensible (in a Baratheon succession sense) individual to take it is the adult, very militarily capable Stannis, a man who could crush a nascent Targaryen invasion in the future. Worse (for Varys), he, Varys, knows that Ned both is aware that Stannis is the heir presumptive to Robert’s throne (having concluded that Cersei’s children were fathered by Jaime) and, being “an honest and honorable man”, would declare for Stannis should he ever get the chance again. Varys needs Ned not only out of the picture politically, but out of the picture in a way that does not lend any assistance to the pro-Stannis (and, historically, anti-Targaryen) faction.

So this line by Varys (a supremely dramatic one, befitting a former actor) is intended to nudge Ned toward what Varys wants and away from what Ned believes is true and right. Varys needs Ned to believe in his, Ned’s, own supreme guilt in the matter of his best friend’s death because that belief places Ned in a better frame of mind to accept Varys’ suggestion - that is, to serve the rest of his life in a sort of atonement for that “crime” in the realm’s foremost penal colony. (This frame of mind also strengthens Varys’ threat of Sansa’s head at the end of the chapter: if Ned believes that his ironclad commitment to mercy and honesty got his best friend killed, will he maintain them again when his own daughter’s life is on the line?) Varys’ line also nicely contrasts Ned and Stannis, in a way that might make Ned that much less inclined to use his last days to rally his supporters to Stannis: if Ned himself admitted to “[t]he madness of mercy” having inspired him to warn Cersei to flee with her children away from Robert’s wrath, how can he support a man “utterly without mercy”, who, upon “proclaim[ing] himself king”, would “lop off her [i.e. Cersei’s] son’s curly blond head … [sic] and her own in the bargain”? Whatever he can do to keep Ned from martyring himself for the sake of Stannis, Varys is going to do; convincing Ned of the guilt of his mercy in (supposedly) killing Robert, the better to drive him to take the black, is Varys’ solution.

[sunshineandaisies]

Cabin Fever (Part One)

Cabin Fever Masterlist

Summary: What was meant to be a weekend at the cabin with Peter, Pepper, and Morgan very quickly turned into a weekend alone with your best friend and your recently acknowledged feelings for him thanks to a certain assumption made by your step-mother.

Pairing: College!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Words: ~1.6k

Warnings: language, sexual suggestions, angst?, too much overthinking

“So Pepper just called,” you announced, staring at your phone with a confused expression. “Her and Morgan aren’t gonna make the trip up here this weekend.”

Your travel companion popped his head around the door of the open fridge, staring at you with his big chocolate eyes that never failed to send your heart racing. Not that you’d ever tell him that, though. Nope, there was absolutely nothing between you and Peter Parker but good ol’, super platonic friendship. Absolutely zero non-platonic feelings. Nope. Nada.

“They’re not coming?”

You shrugged, tossing your phone onto the couch before you sank down into the cushions beside it. “Nope.”

“Did she say why?” Peter asked as he shut the fridge. 

You bit your lip nervously, your gaze sliding to Peter as he walked around the couch and sat beside you. Pepper had told you why, but you weren’t really sure if sharing that reason was the best course of action. Your step-mom’s reason had been a little presumptive, to say the least. 

“No, not really,” you lied, and you smiled at him reassuringly. “Maybe something came up at work.”

He nodded, but the skeptical look he sent you when he thought you weren’t looking told you that you hadn’t gotten any better at lying to him in the six years since you first met as high school freshmen. But, Peter being Peter, he let it go. He let you have your secrets, just as you let him have his.

The only problem with that was that you inevitably always ended up telling him your secrets, just as he always told you his.

Peter spoke up beside you, pulling you from your thoughts. “So if Pepper and Morgan aren’t coming, what’s our plan for the weekend?” He nervously played with his fingers, and your attention was drawn to the action. What did Peter have to be nervous about? “Should we just go home?”

“No!” you said more abruptly than you had intended. You averted your eyes and cleared your throat before turning back to Peter. “No, Pepper would feel bad if we just scraped the weekend altogether. We can still swim and play games and relax. You know, enjoy the first week of our summer break and celebrate surviving finals for another semester.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We should definitely celebrate the end of finals. This semester was kinda the semester from hell, wasn’t it?” 

You huffed. That was an understatement. Both you and Peter were double majoring - him at Columbia, you at your father’s alma mater, MIT - and it was slowly but surely draining the life out of you. Your only saving grace was the few weekends you returned to New York, splitting time between being home with Pepper and Morgan and staying with Peter in his far too small dorm room. Unfortunately, the workload for your courses during the past semester had made it nearly impossible to find a free weekend to go home, and you wanted nothing more than to enjoy a weekend with Peter. 

Pepper seemed to think the same thing, though her reasoning was slightly different than yours.

“At least I’ll get to graduate a semester early,” you answered. You closed your eyes and rested your head against the back of the couch, finally letting the fact that you had zero responsibilities for the next three months sink in. “If it weren’t for that, I definitely wouldn’t have overloaded my schedule like that. Do you think you can overdose on coffee? I think I nearly overdosed on coffee last semester.” 

His responding laughter made your eyes flutter open, and you drank in his appearance - cheeks flushed from the early summer heat, messy hair beginning to curl from the humidity, his muscled arms on full display in his tight t-shirt, and his chapped lips curled into the most adorable smile. You ached to reach out to him, to run a hand through his curls, to drag your fingers over his arms, to press your lips against his. 

You moved away and clasped your hands in your lap. “I, uh- I’m gonna go unpack, I think.”

If Peter noticed your sudden distance and change in demeanor, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he let you go, dragging your suitcase behind you to the bedroom that your dad had set up for you years ago in the hopes that one day he’d get you back after Thanos had turned you to dust alongside Peter. 

Tony got you back, but he never got to see you in the cabin he had built for his family, never got to see you in the room that he had set up just for you.

The first time you came to the cabin with Pepper and Morgan after the Blip, you hadn’t even been able to stay in the room for more than five minutes, and you had ended up sleeping with Morgan in her tiny bed. The only exception to that was the night of your dad’s funeral, when both you and Morgan had crawled into bed with Pepper, anchoring yourself to what little family you had left. 

The second time you came to the cabin with Pepper and Morgan, it had been for a weekend getaway before you left for college, and Peter and May had joined the Stark family. You’d only managed to sleep in your room that weekend because Peter had crawled beneath the blankets with you and held you close after he found you sat against the wall, your eyes bloodshot and wet from your tears. He’d slept with you in your room every weekend you’d spent at the cabin since.

And this weekend would be no different, even though the feelings that you felt for him were very drastically different than they had been all those other times you’d shared your bed with him. You were absolutely sure that sharing your bed with Peter Parker all weekend was slowly, but surely, going to kill you. Even the thought of  laying in bed with him, close enough to touch him, to kiss him was sending your heart racing. 

Fuck, you wanted to kiss him so bad and it confused you so much. He was your best friend, he was nerdy Peter, he was...he was so adorable and- and when did you stop seeing him as just Peter and start seeing him as so, so much more?

“You okay?” 

You jumped, startled. You spun around to face Peter, your eyes wide as they latched onto his concerned expression. You blinked, twisting the material of the sweatshirt that you held in your hands. “Um, yeah.” You cleared your throat and dropped the sweatshirt into your dresser with the rest of your clothes you’d brought along for the weekend. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just kinda...I don’t know. I’ll give you some time to unpack. I’m gonna get some fresh air.”

You slid past him in the doorway before he had a chance to protest, and after grabbing a random bottle of wine from the wine rack, you found yourself sitting on the dock, your shoes beside you on the wooden surface and your feet dragging through the tepid lake water. 

Drinking directly from the bottle, you thought back to the phone call with Pepper earlier in the day that had sent your thoughts haywire in the first place. 

‘You haven’t seen each other in months, Y/N,” she had said. ‘You deserve to have some time together. Alone.’

That in and of itself had been innocent enough. There hadn’t been any suggestive undertone to her words, no incorrect assumptions. It could easily have been interpreted as Pepper urging you to have a relaxing weekend with your best friend.

Except that’s not at all what she had meant, and that became abundantly clear as the call went on. 

‘Just be safe, Y/N. You and Peter are both adults, and I trust you to make good choices. I know your dad would have been over the moon to know how close you and Peter have gotten, but I don’t think he’d be too eager to be a grandpa if he were still around.’ You had nearly choked on your own spit when she said that, and before you were even able to respond she continued, ‘There are condoms under the sink in my bathroom if you didn’t bring your own. Seriously, Y/N, be safe. Enjoy your weekend with Peter.’

You had been too tongue-tied to say anything more than a quick goodbye, and the entire conversation had been playing on repeat in your head ever since. It was torturing you, slowly driving you mad in the same manner that your sudden change in feelings for Peter were driving you mad.

The wooden dock creaked, and without even turning to look, you knew that it was Peter padding down the length of the dock to join you at the end. He was silent as he pulled off his shoes and socks, silent as he sat beside you, silent as he plunged his feet into the water and nudged your foot with his big toe. 

You pressed the wine bottle to your lips and tilted it, drinking deeply and swallowing thickly. “I lied to you earlier,” you admitted. You held the wine bottle out to him in silent offering, and once he took it from your hand you twisted your hands together in your lap nervously. “About why Pepper and Morgan aren’t coming this weekend.”

[silvyysthings]

to the anonymous "why you don't want"...

I will not publish your ask ' cause if you want a comparison with me on this you have to remove the anonymous .

Anyway, there is a thing that is called" police "and "presumption of innocence".

Serious allegations aren' t reported on social media, if it happens you are just a pathetic looking for visibility for your inflatable lips ... was I clear enough?

#"young women" 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 please

[kangaroo-sniper-imagine]

The Mercs catching you , uhhh, “self-loving”

Spy

“Need help? Hon hon hon hon~”

You think this dude wouldn’t immediately offer himself up? He came in under the innocent presumption you happen to hear him walking past your room and you had a question, but now you gotta deal with a horny frenchman.

If you don’t want help, he’ll smirk and sigh, but leaves you to your own devices if you have a device (i'm really proud of that joke please laugh). If you do want help, expect teasing galore and missing whatever activities that team had planned for that evening. If he completely ruined the mood he’ll apologize and ask to “make it better.” good luck with ladies and gents.

Sniper

Poor Mick would just walk into your room, bored and wanting to hang out with you, and accidentally catches you, uuuuuh, well you get the idea.

He blushes and immediately shuts the door. After a moment, he asks “Need help?” what a tool.

He isn’t so much embarrassed by it, everyone jerks off occasionally; but Mick’s got a high sex drive and it doesnt take much to get him ready to go, know what I mean? If you tell him to fuck off, he will without a second thought. Doesn’t bring it up cuz he’s nice

Scout

HA! You broke Jeremy congrats. He heard you call his name from down the hall so he just busted into your room, thinking you were hurt to see you doing the one man tango and it’s “Error 404: Jeremy not found”

Probs gets a nosebleed, maybe faints from the suddenness of it all. Most likely just stares at you stock still and freaking out internally cuz shit how does one proceed in a relationship after something like this

Honestly, you might have to comfort him, he didn’t mean to embarrass you and he feels really bad about barging in like that. He knocks now tho

Soldier

Hahhahahahhahaha this is rough for both sides, lbr. When Jane barged in to your room because he faintly heard you call out to him, he was expecting you to be injured on the floor or something, not with your hands down your pants.

The rough part is, he keeps ASKING what you were doing, and you have to explain in detail, cus bucket head won’t get it the first few times. When it DOES get through his thick skull, he just nods to himself, turns heel, and leave the room

Refuses to bring it up, will cut you off if you try to bring it up; Jane is just super embarrassed for it he’s so sorry

Medic

Wouldn’t notice at first. Doctor Chucklehead over here just strided into your shared bedroom, shirt covered in blood, walking past you to the sink that was oddly in the corner of your room (weird but convenient considering Ludwig’s… habits)

After the situation finally settles into his peripheral, he just sort of… walks back out. Makes no eye contact, says nothing, his weird smile plastered onto his face.

Doesn’t come back in for 2 hours, and knocks before entering. “Can I come in now, schatzi?” He enters every room you’re in like this for a month, and it takes you a whole month to realize that he’s fucking with you. It was embarrassing at first but Ludwig is a tease first and foremost and now sees it as an opportunity to mess with you

Heavy

Your room is actually pretty close to his, and the walls are pretty thin (unfortunately). One moan was a little too loud and your gentle giant boyfriend knocks on your door, asking if you’re alright.

Mikhail grew up with three sisters and his mom, he’s probably the only one who knows not to barge in. Doesn't mean he WON”T come in! Just means you’ve got a few minutes of a weird conversation where you give Misha vague answers when he tries to question what you’re doing while you try to make yourself presentable.

He doesn’t figure out what you were doing, but he gets the feeling that you were embarrassed by the whole ordeal and doesn’t bring it up

Engineer

Dell, the sweet southern gentleman that he is, upon seeing you like THAT, completely on accident, breaks him. He loses all his brain cells, completely forgets to function normally.

You tell him to close the door, he does, but he enters the room first. You tell him to go away and he asks where. The whole time he’s red in the face and just becomes a bumbling mess in general

Take a day or two to look you in the eye and he keeps apologizing to you. You both feel like the victim is ridiculous; you’ll laugh about it later, but for right now y’all are acting like right fools

Pyro

Opens the door, surveys the situation, and shuts the door

Doesn’t bring it up, acts like nothing happened.

I don’t think Pyro is sexual person, and doesn’t really react to this situations, they just leave

Demo

“Need help? Lolololol”

Apologizes immediately and leaves, chuckling. He’s pretty comfortable with things like this. He does it, you do, he accidentally walked in on Scout doing it, it’s whatever.

If you feel embarrassed, he’ll try to convince you not to be. It/s totally normal and he wants you to know you shouldn’t be ashamed about it.

[sweetestlamb]

Sharp Dressed Man

Summary: Mun-Yeong hadn’t expected him to show up, especially not looking like that. Gang-tae learns about the power of a man in a suit.  

Note: Back again with more smut to soothe our souls, this weekend has been an emotional roller coaster. I bring to you SUITSMUT! I intended for this to be naughty, light and cute but after this weekend I need...more. I need lovemaking and devotion and declarations, balm for my heart. I tried to add some of the things you asked for, but I really just followed my heart with this one. Writing is therapy for me, and this show has made me need therapy more than ever. Anyway onto the smut, and yes I will continue to name these fics after songs. This one really fits perfectly, if you don’t know it look up ZZ Top “Sharp Dressed Man”. 

Not kissing him was not an option, not with the way he was looking right now; when she’d been picking out his outfit for the portrait she couldn’t help but imagine him in this suit, dapper and gorgeous. He even made his dull thoroughly washed t-shirts and jeans look fashionable, the clothes doing nothing to negate the beautiful man inside them. Therefore, she knew the power he would wield in a suit. It was comparable to handing Excalibur to King Arthur, too much strength for one man to possess. 

Her assumptions had been sound, just like ants were drawn to sweets women were drawn to her Gang-Tae. He had walked around the library, completely unaware of the attention he was garnering. Coquettish giggles falling from hungry lips whenever he strolled by, girls congregating in circles to steal him away from her, her blood boiled from the thought, but then he looked over those broad strapping shoulders with a smile just for her. His entire face gleaming like a land-bound sun. Her jealousy simmered down,minutely, scratching under her skin with the need to announce that he was hers, she had fought long and hard for him. 

So the kiss was inevitable. When the clouds were grey, it would rain and when you watered plants they would grow, when he was looking that delectable she had to put a small claim on him, taste those lips and feel his skin underneath her own, appease her insatiable craving for him. 

With a firm tug she pulls him in seductively, his tie woven tightly around her fingers, silken under her touch, as she maneuvers it to bring their lips together.  His breath hitches as the tie minutely tightens around his neck, forcing him into a soft flush of lips. The kiss is just a quick peck, as innocent as their first, lacking the hunger and desperation of their second, but the love they all hold remains constant. She knows now that, that is what this is. 

Love. 

Has never experienced it before, has scoffed at it her whole life, knowing that someone like her simply wasn’t worthy of such an emotion, life had handed her the shorter stick a long ago and as the years went by it dwindled away further. 

Until he came and breathed it back into her bones, him, Sang-Tae and Mang-Tae, they were a family now, he had confirmed that while holding her hand, unaware that with it he was also holding her heart. That too, was inevitable. Her loving him. 

“What was that for?” He draws back from the unexpected kiss with a vivid splash of red across his cheeks. 

“I was sealing our promise, everyone knows you seal a promise with a kiss.” She replies, nonchalantly, pointedly not releasing his tie, savoring the closeness between their bodies. 

He raises a thick eyebrow before replying with a possessive gleam in his eye, “Really? I’ve never sealed a promise like that, how many people have you sealed promises with like that?” 

His smile is tight, as he awaits her reply, she laughs at his small show of jealousy, he is much better at hiding his own but like her it always simmer right below the surface of his skin. 

“I don’t make promises with anyone else.” She answers honestly, watching his eyes soften at her reply, the memory fresh in their mind, I’ll keep it because it’s a promise I made with you. Promises are worthless because people always break them but with him it’s different, he is always the outlier in every equation. 

Switching the topic, her eyes harden as she peers into his soul, “I meant what I said, don’t wear this outside anymore. I decided to compromise, you can wear it around the house.” She levels with a gracious smile. 

“Oh? You compromised? I thought you said it didn’t look good. Do you like how it looks now?” 

The smirk on his full pink lips-made pinker by her own lipstick- is irritatingly handsome on his face. 

With a roll of her eyes she retorts, “You don’t look...terrible. But it’s only acceptable to wear it in the house. I told you the caregiver uniform is more your style. Leave the fashion to me.” Her voice is clipped and matter-of-fact, reigning in her jealousy at the memory of all the eyes that had followed him today, she should have gotten a bag to cover his face too. That suit enhanced every inch of his body, and annoyingly she wasn’t the only one who noticed. 

His eyes track her face, searching with a knowing look, damn him. “I can never wear a suit again? What about our wedding? Will I not wear a suit there either?” 

Her heartbeat jolts like she’s been struck my lighting, he continues on as if he has thrown her thoughts asunder, “What will I wear to that? My caregiver uniform?” His voice is teasing, as he pulls his tie from her limp hand, with capable hands he secures it around his neck once more before sauntering to the couch. 

Her voice is almost inaudible to her own ears when she finds the courage to reply, “Our wedding?”  She feels as weightless as she did with his hand interwoven with hers, declaring that they were now a family with an unbreakable bond. Offhandedly offering her the one thing she has never had and always desired. 

“How can you be a dutiful wife without a wedding? The mistress and wife are now best friends, right? You are also no longer the mistress. You’re one of us.” 

He opens his legs, stance wide and inviting, the material of his dress pants stretch tight across the wide expanse of his thighs. Suit coat opened to reveal the gleaming white shirt under that hugs the muscled curves of his body. Her own cheeks are burning too now, she drags in a breath of stagnant air, gulping to clear the tightness in her throat. 

With a broad sweep of his hands, he grabs her arm dragging her closer to him, until she tumbles like a rag doll onto the couch, pressed close to his thigh with little room to move. 

His hand reaches up to cup her hand, she fights the urge to nuzzle into his soft hold, “You look beautiful, like an angel.” He eyes her short white dress, she is a picture of innocence, proving that you shouldn’t believe everything you see. 

His own baritone voice is soft and delicate as a feather, as if anything louder will burst this bubble they are encapsulated in. 

“Do you think of us...doing that? Getting married?” The hope that drips from each syllable is thick and heavy, she feels incredibly vulnerable, the armor around her body not enough to protect her from him. 

He stares at her, a long quiet pause, his eyes glossy and expressive, “I think about.....forever.” He tenderly answers, words hanging heavy in the space between them. 

She clutches the smooth lapel of his suit, needing support, her body feeling like it could fly away right now and be lost in the wind. 

Suddenly she can’t help but to imagine it, him handsome as ever waiting for her at the end of an aisle with wet eyes tracking her movement, his suit perfect as it is now, Sang-Tae by his side, as they are bound together forever. The second kiss is inevitable as well. 

Her arms are too weak from the vision, but with a small tug of his suit, he’s moving and meeting her at her end of the couch, his hands curl around the small of her waist, gentle as if she is something fragile to be cherished. 

Their lips grow closer like opposite ends of a magnet, their lips meet again in a peck, before she tugs harder and he spills onto her body, consuming her mouth with his. His tongue pries her mouth open, licking at the seams until she gives him access. She moans into the kiss as he hovers over her, strong arms pressing into the arm of the chair as to not crush her. He turns her head maneuvering her to press deeper, his tongue lapping at her, moving with certainty now, gone is his usual cloak of shyness. She falls back onto the couch and gasps as he slides into position above her, his legs knocking her own open to make space for him. 

His warm hands caress the side of her head, as he draws back from the languid kiss, eyes as dark and searing as coal. With a careless but captivating flex of his shoulders, he shrugs off his coat and it rustles to the ground. If possible, he is even more gorgeous now in just the dress shirt and pants. 

She strokes her hand down his chest, relishing the warmth underneath oozing  out at their close proximity. His stare is intense as he gazes at her touching him, then he lowers his head consuming her once again, this kiss more smoldering than the last. His hands caress and soothe across her body unhurriedly, indulgent, finding purchase on naked legs, smoothing up and down the soft skin. 

With blunt nails, she scratches down his back, his shirt soft beneath her nails, his back muscles barely concealed by the material, large and prominent under her touch. He groans at the sensation, breathing into her open mouth, before sucking her tongue into his mouth, their tongues wrestle playfully, in no rush as they have all the time in the world. Forever. 

A loud thump from upstairs knocks them from their reprieve, as they swiftly pull away from each other, her eyes on his face as he looks at the stairs, she sighs knowing how this usually goes. He loses himself in the moment with her, kisses her until she can’t feel her legs but once he is reminded of reality he is gone, fleeing like a thief in the night. 

The sudden loss of his body heat confirms her presumption, she begins to stand up reluctantly, before his voice imbibes her movement. “Hold on.” Confusion colors her eyes until he falls to his knees, one arm sliding under the bend of her knees and the other around her back. In one fluent move, he lifts with her sequestered in his arms, she grabs his shoulders instinctively. She looks up at him in wonder, as smitten as when he rode in the rain to rescue her. 

When she glances at his face, his eyes penetrate her own, like staring directly at the sun she turns away, shyly placing her head on his chest, feeling soft and defenseless. Her body jostles at his first step, clutching on tighter as he ascends the stairs, long strides as he climbs the stairs with her in his arms. Her additional weight not hindering his motion in the slightest. With a flushed cheeks she observes as he walks to her door, bypassing his own door. He gently places her on her feet, but only for a moment as soon as he opens the door, he delicately lifts her once again. Kicking the door shut with a soft bang. 

The clicks of his dress shoes piercing on her wooden floors, they mirror the drumming of her own booming heartbeat. He is the only one capable of making her swoon in this manner, she will never get used to the feeling. 

He places her on bed, simply gazing at her, before reaching behind her and tugging her hair loose from her ponytail, fingers carding through her thick lustrous hair. Her reaction is instant, a deep long moan pours from her lips, pins of pleasure rushing through her scalp. “So beautiful.” He whispers thickly, the words stuck in his throat, like molasses. 

“You too.” 

He smiles at her response, his hands rubbing her head as he sits beside her and he is too far away, her hands yearn to be on him, with eager fingers she draws him onto the bed with her, he comes easily, wrapping her up in his powerful arms, absorbing her small figure. He hums as he continues to stroke her head, the vibrations running through her body, her skin tingles in response. 

“You know. don’t you?” 

His gentle touch almost distracts her from his sudden questions, shaking the fuzziness from her head she gazes into his eyes, “Know what?”

With a composed smile he replies, “That I love you.” 

Her mind goes blank, white noise as her brain tries to catch up with the words he just uttered to her casually on a Tuesday evening, the sun shines through her window, leaves falling from trees, as the world keeps spinning, but not her world, that is frozen. 

She didn’t know. Couldn’t know. Love. Had anyone ever loved her before? She can’t recall, the last two people to utter those words to her were gone now. Their love hadn’t felt like this, he hadn’t screamed it as he demanded her obedience in return. He had simply offered it again, like the choice was hers, she could have it if she wanted. She’d never wanted like this before. 

The tears fall uncontrollably from her eyes, she whimpers as he brushes them away, lovingly, his own eyes swelling up with unshed tears. “Don’t cry.” He begs as he kisses her again, pouring all the love he has for her into her, it overflows. 

She tastes the saltiness of her own tears, as their mouths move sensuously, his hand firm on her face as he kisses her again and again, swallowing her moans ravenously, before she feels his hand on her back, he grips the zipper of her dress and waits patiently. Her nod is immediate and then she feels the cool air, her skin pebbling with goosebumps, as he carefully undresses her. He slides the dress off her shoulders, watching as it cascades to her lap. Her white bra gleaming on her flushed pink skin, he looks intently at the newly revealed skin, before coming back to her face. His lips curve into a smile before he whispers, “Why are you blushing?” 

She doesn’t deign his imposition with an answer, too inflamed to play this particular game. Boldly stripping the dress off her body, lifting long lithe legs before tossing the material on the ground. 

Gang-tae’s mouth falls open as his eyes devour her, crawling up her milky thighs, halting at the white lace that covers where she is dripping, resuming over the small valleys of her heaving breasts before landing squarely on her face. 

His slightly calloused hands fondle her lush skin as she presses into his electric touch, she squirms on the bed, wetness seeping through the thin material of her panties, his eyes snap down to the juncture between her legs, avidly observing as she grinds into the air, silently begging for release. 

Brushing the downy skin of her flat belly, he reaches the white lace, eyes locking on hers as she nods, lifting off the bed to help him, with a deep breath he pulls the offending item from her quivering body. Her nerves rise as he stares at her, eyes unmoving as he drinks in her, she feels herself moisten as he hovers over her still fully clothed, suit crumpled from their actions. The only deviation the hard erection protruding out from the space between his legs. 

He moves to remove his shirt and she impishly snatches his hand, with a raspy voice she commands, “No. Leave it on.” 

His eyes widen, as he releases the button in his hand, his face slack until a small smile splits it open, “Another place I can wear the suit?” 

She blushes, nodding, he slides down the bed until his head is level with her groin, his intention clear as he grabs her legs and pries them open putting her on display for the first time. His hard gasps brushing across her wet folds, as he swipes across the hot skin, fingers gliding easily with how aroused she is. A moan escapes her lips, as he caresses her clit before slipping a long finger into her tight opening, setting a languid pace that drives her mad. Her juices are soaking his fingers, trickling down until they soak the cuff of his shirt. At the sight, he begins to thrust faster, fucking into her as she groans and twists on his fingers, loud cries reverberating off the walls. 

In a sudden, his fingers are gone and she feels miserably empty, she opens her lips to yell, whine, shout, demand more, before she feels something smooth being shoved into her mouth severing her ability to complain. With a surprised look she meets his eyes, his neck is empty now, no more silk tie wrapped around his throat, it is now drenched in her saliva, stuffed in her mouth. 

“You need to be quiet, or we’ll have to stop.” He whispers with a roguish grin, eyes taking in the vision she makes, lain across the bed bare to his eyes with only her bra and his tie as a gag in her open mouth. 

His fingers are back with a vengeance, ramming into her as she screams around the tie impeding her cries, she meets his every thrust, desperate for him, lightheaded from the tie obstructing her airway and the immense pleasure roaring through her body. 

Desperately, ripping her bra from her own heated body, her breasts jostling at his brutal pace as he devastates her, then she watches him lower his head, intently watching his own fingers surging into her, he draws his fingers away once more only to replace them with his tongue. Drinking the sweet nectar like a dying man, his tongue lapping at her pussy in wide strokes. Before he stiffens the appendage and thrusts into her, her body curves violently off the bed, her back bending at the sensation. 

She thanks god for the tie in her mouth, knowing her scream would have been piercing without the gag. The sound of his zipper lowering is deafening in the room with only her muffled pants breaking the silence. Then there are wet sounds beneath her, lifting her head she glances down at him, to see his hard cock jutting from the opening in his pants as he thrusts into his own hands. His head red and angry with arousal, clear fluid seeping out and aiding his hands glide up and down the large shaft. 

Almost too sinful a picture, it’s burned in her retina. 

He simultaneously unravels them both, his tongue and hands moving in harmony, his strokes becoming uneven and she knows the meaning. Adrenaline gushes through her veins as she grabs his head pulling it away from her molten center, he looks up at her with glossy lips, tongue swiping across to catch the excess. Her inner walls clench at the sight. Too fucking sexy for his own good, even more dangerous now that he knows his effect. 

She drags him up her naked body, rubbing against his suited body until their bodies are aligned. The heat from his cock is scorching, with a sinuous roll of her hips rubs herself on him, shuddering at the pleasure and his raucous gasp, his hips move compulsively, thrusting through her wetness as they grind on each other. He leans forward, kissing her around the tie in her mouth, licking at her stretched mouth, before nipping at her bottom lip drawing into his own mouth. 

Their hips are harmonious as they thrust into each other, sensation raking their bodies, before its all together too much and not enough. 

With a tilt of his hips and one fluid move, he glides into her, the juices leaking from her smoothing his journey, until he is pressed flush against her, still. His arms clench in their position next to her head as the pleasure nearly undoes him and his tight control. She lays still, her own reckoning suspending her movement, his cock fills her completely, her walls forced open to accept his girth. She takes as deep a breath as she can around the gag, white spots dancing behind her eyes. 

She reaches up to stroke his hair, impatiently grinding up into him, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows sluggishly, before he glides out almost completely, just the tip remaining inside and thunderously drives back into her, his hands on her hips preventing her from moving. He plunges into her, crashing against her clit with every thrust, her moans lost around the tie in her mouth. While he buries his own groans into her hair, working her over with long, deep movements. His crisp shirt scratching against her hard nipples and her skin burning on the satin of his dress pants, sweltering beneath him as he wrecks her. 

His voice scraping past his lips he whispers, “I want this forever, want you forever. I’ll never leave you.” 

She thrashes on the bed, his movements and words overstimulating her body, as she hammers herself onto Gang-tae’s cock, smacks filling the air as the scent of their lovemaking permeates the room. Collecting her wrists into his huge hand, he pulls them over her head, her body stretched tight, as he pummels her into her, mouth falling to suck in her bouncing nipple. His teeth gnawing at the peaks, the pain quickly morphing to pleasure. His powerful hips drive deeper, losing rhythm as he closes in, now pistoning in her wetness, she latches onto his shoulder, their eyes unfocused as the end draws near. 

Her walls clench and unclench as she shakes apart on the bed, pleasure knocking all the air from her lungs, she gasps for air around the tie, Gang-tae drags the soaked material from her mouth, making her lightheaded from the influx of oxygen, before he steals her breath again with a final punishing drive of his hips that spirals him over the edge of bliss. 

His cum is sweltering as he empties into her quivering pussy, the excess dripping out and onto the bed. A thick stream landing on his pants, stark white against the jet black. 

With a huff he falls onto her, crushing her underneath him, she savors the closeness, heart hammering against her chest, still recovering from the euphoric moment. Before finally, pushing at him with weak hands, with a deep sigh he rolls over onto the bed.

“If that’s the outcome, I’m never going to stop wearing suits.” 

She slaps at his chest too boneless to reprimand him, he dodges her hand, instead grabbing it to pull her in, she softens as he cuddles her close. After a few peaceful moments of silence she finds the courage she didn’t have earlier. 

“I do too, you know?” For once she is the coward, the words caught in her throat. She feels all her love for him flowing through her body, she just can’t... say it. Yet. 

But he smiles in understanding, they have forever for her to gain her courage. 

Gang-tae enters the room he shares with his older brother, hair still wet from his shower, Mun-Yeong’s scent still lingering on his skin. His cheeks pinken in memory of what they just did, only a few feet from his unaware brother.  The moonlight against her skin had been criminal, he’d never seen anyone that beautiful, he still couldn't believe he was allowed to have this dream.  His suit sits crumpled in the bathroom hamper, cum stains mocking him as Mun-yeong gets her wish, he can no longer wear that particular suit. Far too embarrassed to bring that to the cleaners, he will just have to get more suits. 

Joining Sang-tae on the bed, he smiles at the television, his brother’s voice melting with the characters as he recites the lines by heart.  

He is unprepared when Sang-tae turns to look at him, searching his face as he always does before speaking, “Why is your face so red?”

Stuttering out a response, he answers, “I just took a hot shower it’s probably from that.” But that answer doesn’t halt his brother’s interrogation, “No, your face is red and your pupils are dilated. You look like that when you’re shy. Are you feeling shy, did you do something to make you feel shy?”

His face heats up further at the inquiry, all the intimate images flashing through his mind instantly, “No!”

His brothers looks unconvinced as he raises his eyebrows. Damn. 

“Um.. yes a little. I guess.” He finally answers honestly. 

Before Sang-tae knocks his breath away, “Where you and Mun-yeong wrestling? I went to get water and I heard noises in the room. You were groaning and panting, it sounded like you were wrestling.” 

If he could jump out the window and survive, he would. Embarrassment stings his skin as his brother continues, unaware of the damage he is doing. 

“You shouldn’t wrestle, if you two fight I’ll scold you. Be nice to each other and get along, don’t wrestle anymore and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed if she beat you, she’s a vicious fighter. I remember.”  He states, turning back to the television.

With that his brother is immersed back into the adventures of Ko Dil-Gang, no longer interested in him as the familiar lines fall from his lips again. 

Groaning he throws himself on the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow him. 

He is a good person, he doesn’t deserve this.