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backwardsbread · 1 month

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Hazbin Hotel:

Human!Alastor x Housewife!Reader

~Understanding Asexuality~

Warnings‼️- Established relationship, angst to fluff, mentions of pregnancy, fem!reader, maybe OOC Alastor??, mentions of cannibalism but only for like one sentence.

Setting is Alastor’s time period, 1900-1930s.

A/N: I hope I did Alastor’s character justice! He might be slightly out of character?? I can’t imagine him actually getting in a relationship, I mean man is literally a serial killer- so I tried- ENJOY

~I would also like to say, I am not asexual or aromatic myself. This is just my take on Alastor’s sexuality/how he handles it. If I made any mistakes, please correct me but I tried to be as respectful as possible. I tried to do some research on the history of asexuality during the time period, but remember I am not perfect and this is a FAKE scenario with a FICTIONAL character.~

You like to think you know your husband like the back of your hand.

The two of you got married young, falling hard for the young radio host was easy. Many other maidens had, their affections for Alastor painfully obvious. All the while Alastor had no plans on perusing any of the women who fancied him. He was love blind, not really understanding the amount of people attracted to him, or why they were.

What wasn’t to like? He was an attractive young man, charming, and a true gentleman. But the idea of settling down, having to commit himself to one individual the rest of his life, didn’t appeal to him.

Especially with how tainted his brain was with his little hobbies.

He never got the special feeling everyone spoke about. Butterflies, increased heart palpitations, sweaty palms. The mere thought of it was enough to have his face contorting in mild disgust.

That opinion didn’t change when he met you. There was no ‘love at first sight’ feeling for him. You were polite and put together and that was something Alastor could appreciate. He didn’t quite understand your advances towards him. Seeing your interest towards him as friendly banter, while you saw his reactions to it as rejection.

You accepted his dismissal of your feelings, knowing you had given it your best shot. It didn’t stop Alastor from adoring your company. Whether it be on the dance floor or attending the diner you worked at. You were an incredible friend to him, nothing more.

Safe to say, Alastor didn’t suddenly catch feelings for you. There was no sudden change in his feelings.

But there were whispers

Unwanted Attention being brought on Alastor.

Gossip was high. Many mouths questioning Alastor’s true intent with you. Why was he always along side such a pretty thing without courting her? Were the two of you involved in secret affairs?

The theories grew, and while Alastor loved the attention being a radio host brought him, gossip was bad if he needed to keep his personal life under wraps. Besides, what kind of gentleman would he be if he let others tarnish your good name? Getting with you was more of an effort to fit into norms rather than it being for ‘true love’.

Slowly he showed signs of affection towards you. Holding your hand in public, taking you on more proper dates, even kissing your cheek once or twice when he saw hushed whispers from nearby crowds. The affection was sudden, but not unwelcome to you. Your feelings had never truly gone away for the radio host, and you pinned his original rejections on him being shy.

It wasn’t long after his advances he asked your official partnership. To be frank, you were easy and Alastor needed a cover. His true intentions were cruel, but you were blindsided by your longtime crush and friend being interested in you.

But you weren’t completely naïve.

While yes, you loved Alastor with all your heart, you knew in the back of your mind he had ulterior motivations. Every chaste kiss, every hand hold, every hug, felt rushed and nervous. Your whole relationship with Alastor felt fast paced, as only a few months after having the gall to ask you out, he was asking you to marry him.

It felt forced.

The feeling you tried to ignore, hoping it was just your insecurities causing the sinking feeling in your gut. You of course said yes to Alastor’s proposal. Knowing deep down you loved him and should not question if he did so in return.

Before you knew it, you were dressed in white in front friends and family, listening to wedding bells chime gleefully.

You could recall joyous laughter and dancing, talking about your soon future with the radio host whose last name you had now shared. Sharing drinks with friends to celebrate you ‘winning’ over Alastor. It all moved so fast yet you were happy with the results.

Alastor couldn’t have agreed more considering the chatter about the two of you had died down ever since his proposal. (Besides a few heartbroken maidens who heard the handsome host was officially off the market) Less eyes were on him which was good for the estranged hobbies he would indulge in.

You and Alastor moved in together and it felt like smooth sailing.

Until the next thing people expected from the two of you. That of course being children.

Alastor and you would constantly hear all about the subject from your mother, who was desperate to have some grandkids running around. At the mention of children you felt flustered and embarrassed, considering you and Alastor had yet to be intimate with one another.

It was through the subject, however, that sinking feeling returned. As your mother rambled on about grandchildren, you occasionally piped in with your own opinion. When your husband realized having children was something you actually wanted, you caught him grimacing at the idea.

The look he gave made your heart feel heavy in your chest. The sinking only worsened when he begrudgingly agreed with your mother, saying how the two of you would provide her with grandchildren with time.

Forced.

You felt guilty. You knew Alastor was lying with his words. It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to seduce your husband before. It was actually something you expected to happen and for the radio host to initiate.

Alastor would be lying if he said he didn’t start to feel genuine fondness towards you. You knew him well, better than any other friend he had.

You knew his schedule, his habits, his preferences. It scared him how much you could read his mind like a book. All the reason more to keep you sheltered away from how cruel of a man he truly was.

You were simply too good for him. Too innocent.

But when it came to intimacy, the radio host showed absolutely no interest. Coming up with one excuse after another to not be intimate with you. His rejection left you feeling unwanted and almost abandoned. Your own husband didn’t seem to enjoy your affections and it hurt your heart. You started to question if you were the cause of his discomfort. Was he just not attracted to you? Were you being too pushy?

Your mind even wandered to the late nights Alastor would stay out. Was he seeing someone else, perhaps? He could have anyone he wanted really, despite your marriage, there were many women who would still flirt with him. Had one caught his eye that he favored over you?

Anxiety and insecurity riddled your body for a long time before you started to search for possible answers. After work, you would head to a library of the outskirts of town. You didn’t want anyone you knew possibly catching you wildly scanning through books for possible answers.

The library didn’t provide much comfort. You found unsatisfactory answers, many of which ended in advice on how to ‘properly seduce a man’.

You didn’t want to force your husband to be intimate with you. Making desperate attempts that would ultimately be denied as they had been in the past.

You dug a little deeper, with a lot of the same results. You were just at your wits end with all the repetitive failure to find anything that felt right. However, one article caught your eye. A book that had dusted over from the lack of acknowledgment. Out of luck you reached for it, hoping to find any answers. Reading through the contents, it opened a whole new world of terminology and knowledge about a community you didn’t know existed.

You found comfort knowing there were possibly other people like your husband. That his rejections could possibly be the cause of something else other than you. You decided to take the article home with you, along with a few others, to read into it more at home.

————————————————————————

Through your research, you had started to understand your husband’s behavior more and more. You wouldn’t truly know the answers unless you had simply asked him, but at the same time, it felt better to consider this an option than to believe something was wrong with your marriage.

There were other people who exhibited traits your husband showed when it came to intimacy. Those who didn’t enjoy such pleasures or desires. It was a spectrum, one that you had never heard of. But it all made sense the more you read into different people’s experiences.

Some people’s stories you read stated how intimacy rarely crossed their mind. Before, you had only heard stories of friends being hyper sexual, with high sex drive that would oftentimes cause high gossip. It made sense that there were bound to be people at the other end of the stick, who felt the opposite. Of course they could acknowledge it was a thing. However the need/want to experience such things would rarely and sometimes never spark. It didn’t make these people strange or less human, it was simply how they felt.

You hear the door swing open, interrupting your thoughts. You swear to yourself silently, hurrying to close the books and articles you were reading up on. You shove the disorganized papers into the large book, then shove it underneath the table, out of view. You stand, brushing off your dress, and quickly go over to the stove.

“Hi honey! You’re home early.” You shout across the house to your husband. You grab your apron, messily tying the back of it.

“Oh I finished up early today, thought you would enjoy the surprise.” Alastor’s voice responds, his footsteps approaching the kitchen.

Grabbing a pot, you fill it with water as Alastor enters the room. He approaches you, putting a finger under your chin and bringing you closer. He gives your cheek a small peck, his fingers barely grazing your hip.

Forced.

You smile towards your lover, setting the full pot over the unlit stovetop. Adrenaline runs through your veins as you watch Alastor go and sit at the table. You clear your throat, avoiding looking at your husband. You open up the cabinets, looking around for ingredients to start on supper.

“How was your day, love?” You ask, trying to be as casual as you could. Alastor caught on to your anxiety, but decided to ignore it. He hummed, adjusting his glasses on his face.

“As normal as any other, dear. There was actually quite the crazy story, today about-..” Alastor went on about his radio show and the topics he had covered. You nod occasionally to show you could hear him, but his words didn’t really process in your head. You couldn’t focus with you heart drumming in your ears. Pulling out random ingredients from the cabinets, trying to think of anything to make for dinner, Alastor continues to speak. His voice a source of comfort despite him unknowingly being the cause of your anxious behavior.

“..they apparently continued their actions anyway! Don’t these men have any class? I swear to you the nerve of… some.. folk..” You tuned back into Alastor’s rambling just as he hear him start to trail off. You hear his seat pull back, making a creaking noise as he leans back and looks under the table. Feeling his gaze on you for a moment, you don’t dare to look back at your husband. He had seen what you tried to poorly hide.

Alastor leans down, grabbing the book with articles sticking out of the side. He hums, opening the book a skimming over the contents of what he found.

“Darling, what’s all this?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing as he read through the article. Tensing at his tone, you avoid looking towards him and keep quiet. Your mind racing almost as fast as your heart. Your voice was caught in your throat, trying to come up with an excuse. Any excuse.

It takes a moment to gain your composure. Eventually you speak, after clearing your throat in an attempt to get rid of the lump stuck there.

“I was just.. doing some reading.. on uhm..” Gosh, this was embarrassing to admit. Your face flushes to pink as you continue, “I just had some concerns.. I suppose I was feeling a bit insecure about our relationship-..”

“Our relationship?” Alastor questions, staring daggers into your back. His tone showing signs of irritation and discomfort. You turn towards your husband. There was no hiding how you felt now. You couldn’t lie to him when he had the evidence in his hands.

“I.. suppose I was worried.. for my own selfish reasons. I got to wondering why you didn’t seem attracted.. to me.” Alastor glares slightly at your words, drumming his fingers against the table. He knew exactly what you meant with your words, his nose instinctively cringing up in mild disgust. He opens his mouth to speak again, but is cut off quickly by you.

“I know it’s something silly to be concerned about, it shouldn’t be a concern at all. I shouldn’t have questioned you. Dare I say it was wrong of me.” You quickly tried to explain to ease your husbands silent anger.

Alastor stayed quiet, teeth gritting as his all too fake smile cracked at the seems. He felt on edge. He couldn’t have you questioning him like this, opening him up and making him vulnerable. You made him question how well he was really hiding his true identity. You could tap in to what he was feeling and it irked him. He cleared his throat, interwining his fingers together to create a cradle for his chin to sit.

“I don’t see how your concerns are important, dear. Our relationship is fine without such activities. Do you not believe that to be true? I love you, do I not?” Alastor asked, a small smile plastered on his face.

Forced

“Do you?” You find yourself asking before you can process the question yourself. Alastor’s wide eyes make you replay your words. You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands. What were you thinking??

Both you and your husband stay quiet for a period of time, staring at each other with wide eyes. Alastor breaks his gaze, looking towards the wallpaper design in the kitchen that suddenly interested him. Your voice catches in your throat. It felt like you couldn’t speak for what felt like forever. Heavy weight on your chest when you uttered the question you’d been keeping inside since you said your I do’s.

Taking a breath to regain yourself, you look towards the stove. Scattered abandoned ingredients of what dinner was supposed to be left there. You glance towards Alastor, voice barely a whisper as you speak to him.

“I understand..” Your muttered voice doesn’t reach him, causing him to look at you and turn his head. You see him in your peripheral vision, then repeat yourself;

“I understand if you don’t.. or if you don’t want to partake in any.. intimate actions with me..” You start, grabbing a potato that had been abandoned on the counter. You start to rinse it under the sink water.

“From what I’ve read, you’re not alone. There apparently are men and women alike who don’t share an interest for sexual acts and behaviors. You’re not the only one..”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.. I’m not trying.. to make you feel bad. I just wanted to understand.. and I do. Please let me.”

Alastor stares at you while you speak. His silence feels like rejection. The same rejection you felt when you had first met him, but this was worse. Your heart ached, your chest felt tight, and your eyes felt like they were drowning in welled up tears.

You loved Alastor.

But never would you force him to return it.

You hear your husband stand from his place at the table, slow steps walking towards you. You feel his presence behind you. You silently prepare yourself for an onslaught of ‘how dare you’s and ‘who do you think you are’s.

Instead you feel warm hands hook underneath your arms, pulling you back towards Alastor’s body. Your body tenses, as you drop the vegetable you were once washing into the sink. Alastor leaned forward, resting his nose in the crook of your neck. Leaning down and hugging you tight.

Flood gates open as soft tears spill down your flushed cheeks. You gently hold onto Alastor’s arm with one hand, trying to stay perfectly still as if your husband were a stray animal. As if you move, he’d flinch away.

Alastor pulls away from your neck, looking at your face. His hand reaches up, standing straight, as he caresses one of your cheeks. He smears the tears across your cheek in an attempt to wipe them away, before leaning into you. Breath hitting yours before his lips meet yours.

Authentic

You’d never felt such a gentle and loving kiss from your husband. It felt so genuine and kind. You kiss back weakly, only hoping to make him feel the warm feeling he gave you.

Alastor never truly did understand his admiration for you. He never regretted marrying you. Of course you were always a good friend for him, one that he would work hard to keep safe. To keep you hidden away from who he was. Your happiness was always in the back of his mind as an essential. Sure he hated how you read him so easily, like it was second nature. But he hated it because if you knew the truth, you wouldn’t be safe.

He hated it because a part of him did love you.

Pulling away from the kiss, Alastor keeps you close to him, watching more soft tears fall down your face. He brings his other hand up, letting you face him while he grabs out a handkerchief from his pocket. Gently dabbing away the tears on your face, he looks at you with such soft eyes. Such genuine eyes.

“Thank you.” Is all he says. It wasn’t a satisfying answer. You wanted more than anything a long list of answers to all your worries.

But invisible weight lifts off your shoulders. Closing your eyes and letting out a breath that felt much deserved to let go. It was a solution, an answer no matter how much it truly did explain. You had made an effort to understand your husband, when most would force their ways through the barriers he set around himself. That was something Alastor could appreciate.

He never understood why you took the time in your life to be patient. Be understanding. How an angel like you ended up with the demon he was.

But he hoped you wouldn’t regret it just the way he never regretted you.

——————————BONUS———————————

“…and I told her, if she ever had a problem with him again, take it up with me! And just like that, her husband was on a platter! Such a shame, his body was almost as disgusting as his behavior!”

Alastor sipped his tea as he listened to Rosie ramble. He never broke his gaze away from her, hanging on to every word she had to say. He delicately set down his cup on the porcelain saucer. Everything about Rosie.. her charm, her personality, her humor.

It all lead back to the thought of you. Someone he admired and felt comfortable with.

“Are you alright, Al? You’re kinda gawking over there..” Rosie asked, practically seeing the gears turning in Alastor’s head. Alastor blinked out of his thoughts, watching Rosie give a smile at him and tilt her head.

“I’m fine, dear, it’s just..” Alastor glanced to the side, his signature smile softening into something genuine. “You remind me of someone.” He explained quietly.

The mention raised Rosie’s interest, ready for any gossip Alastor had to spill. She leaned in close, grinning ear to ear. “Ooo! Don’t be shy, who do I remind ya of?”

Alastor looked at Rosie and he could’ve sworn that in her midnight eyes, he could see yours. Staring back at him through his soul. How could he describe you? Someone who just knew him despite how hard he tried to hide. Someone who acknowledged him over and over again despite his own uncertainties.

“She was the dearest darling to ever grace the earth.” Alastor found himself muttering. Rosie melted at the compliment he not only gave you, but her as well. She saw genuine adoration in the radio demons eyes when he spoke of you.

While what you had with Alastor wasn’t entirely real, he wouldn’t have exchanged your marriage for anything. After all, when everyone else didn’t and refused to.

You understood.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #rosie and alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel rosie

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spacerockfloater · 2 months

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Being a female viewer and hating Criston Cole is deranged.

I have to get this off my chest. The blind hatred that Criston is receiving from women is insane and I’m going to explain why.

For context, I am talking about Show Criston, not Book Criston. Comparing two standalone versions of a story is silly.

I cannot wrap my head around the fact that so many women, who are the primary victims of utilitarian relationships, would ever come together and shit on Criston for enduring such a situation.

I’m sorry, but how many of you have been used by men? How many of you have been reduced to one night stands, situationships and placeholder wives? How many of you have been deemed “not good enough” to be an exclusive partner? I log into tiktok and I see NOTHING but stories of broken women who are just used for sex, money, care and whatnot by men, and then they are tossed away like worthless trash while said men continue their pursuit of the ideal woman. Being used by men just for sex and being denied the status of girlfriend, let alone wife, is probably one of the worst plagues women are experiencing in the western world because the MOMENT we were emancipated, men understood that they don’t owe us shit anymore and instead of treating us with respect, they decided to grab whatever they can and give nothing back. Do not tell me that there are women out there that are fine with this arrangement because the multiple “GWM while I tell you about the guy that was with me for 12 years and then married someone else” tell a different story, one of multiple women’s dignities being trampled by hungry men. My heart breaks for every woman (EVERY woman, cis, trans, EVERY woman) who has been called by a man she loves just for sex, for every woman whose man never wanted to be seen in public with her, for every woman who had to hear that her man is not ready for a relationship only to witness him getting engaged to another woman 2 weeks after. I hope you overcome this and become stronger and I am glad that we are finally supporting one another.

How can we then, the women who are helping other female victims rise up and speak out against this kind of abuse, push Criston down and tell him to suck it up and accept being Rhaenyra’s plaything? Have we no mercy? Are we so hungry for revenge against men that we’d want them to endure the same humiliation that we did, as if one fictional man’s suffering would bring us justice? Are we so jealous that Criston didn’t sit down and just take it like the rest of us, but instead spoke up and removed himself from that situation? Or are we so gullible that we accept what the screenwriters shove down our throats and unknowingly support the patriarchic view that if you’re being used by someone you should just accept it?

I can hear some of you arguing that “Oh, this is different because Rhaenyra is royalty!” as if being used and tossed by a powerful person somehow makes the situation any better? Would it be okay if a rich person wanted to constantly use you for sex while he keeps looking for a better woman to be by his side, just because he values his wealth and status more? Rhaenyra straight up sneered at the idea of a simple life with him. She straight up told him that HE is not worth as much as her crown. OUCH. Even though I can’t even begin to imagine the pain of being told you are not enough by your loved one, it was Rhaenyra’s right to choose what her priorities are, but WHY would he have to accept being her sidepiece? “These were different times”: does this make it any less devastating for the victim? And he was a victim because Rhaenyra still used Criston and misled him by constantly complaining about how she HATES her duties for YEARS and then luring him to break his oath. Do you think he would have still slept with her if he was aware that moments ago, Rhaenyra was begging on her knees to be fucked by Daemon and only turned to Criston because her first option was no longer available? Like, the man was contemplating having sex with her and resisted her for a good fucking while, so imagine how quickly he would have turned around and walked out that door if he had that information beforehand. You know why? Because he loved her. He loved her to the point that he broke his oath for her, the oath of a station he FOUGHT FOR IN A WAR. He shed blood and sweat and risked his life for the mere opportunity to gain that position. This was ALL he had, he came from NOTHING and he was still willing to toss it all away for Rhaenyra not once, but twice. It wasn’t just sex he wanted because we never see him have sex again after that. He became vulnerable and gave up everything that he was to be with Rhaenyra. He was willing to abandon his whole identity for her sake. Is this not what the ideal partner is? Ready to abandon everything for your shake? Everything he fought for, tooth and nail? Was he unreasonable in thinking that Rhaenyra was willing to do the same for him? Was he crazy to think that because he was ready to put everything he FOUGHT for aside for her shake, Rhaenyra would also put aside a duty she was handed and actively seem to hate for him too? Fuck no! After hearing her constant talk about how she hates her father, her duties, her refusal to wed other men, how she is trapped as a princess, how people have no idea how much it SUCKS being her, why would he not assume that she’d be willing to give it all up for him, as he’d do for her We never see Rhaenyra even TRY to be a ruler, just complain about it. Of course it would be a fucking shock to him hearing her say “Lol dude, I actually do kinda want this”.

Criston was actually the only person in the series that wanted Rhaenyra for her, not her money or crown. I’m not saying she had to follow him, it was her right to refuse him, but his willingness to lead a simple life with just her has got to mean something. And don’t give me that “he only wanted to redeem his honour by marrying her” crap, because first of all Criston nutted up and admitted everything to Alicent and was ready to face death without EVER blaming Rhaenyra for anything, and second of all, oh no, how dare a human being have ethical values and desire to live with dignity in society’s broad light rather than move in the shadows as the princess’s secret boytoy! Bad, bad Criston for feeling you have to atone for your sins. Maybe we as people have become so corrupt that we envy those who wish to walk a virtuous path in life. Or maybe y’all have become so fond of the unhinged unapologetic character trope because it feels “original” (even if it’s ridiculously overused nowadays) that you’ve actually forgotten what characters with good morals are. Like, picking your fave war criminal and rolling with them because you enjoy good drama, especially in a show that’s meant to provide entertainment, is one thing, but passionately stating that Criston had to submit to that humiliation is something else entirely.

Finally, let’s ditch the Criston being a misogynist bullshit because he had NO issue obeying Rhaenyra before their affair or Alicent. And he is ALWAYS true to himself and his values, because even after everything he endured, he did not use Alicent’s anger as an excuse to take revenge on Rhaenyra and harm her children. Criston never betrayed her, Rhaenyra used him and he walked away and he went towards the only person who seemed to spare him some sympathy and understand him and not condemn him for his crimes even if he hated himself, which is typical victim mentality. And don’t get me started on the Joffrey incident because y’all tore Cole to SHREDS for it. Joffrey had it fucking coming. You don’t go up to people’s faces, especially ones you don’t know, threaten them by telling them you know their secret, a secret that SHAMES them and burdens them to the point they’re ready to commit suicide, and all but directly call them a whore. What the fuck did he think was going to happen? They’d shake hands? Piss off. Let this be a lesson to anyone that doesn’t know how to keep their mouths shut and their noses out of other people’s business. Also, mocking his suicide attempt makes my stomach turn. Just take a moment to consider all the young women who just like him, reluctantly surrendered their virginities to men only to find out they were nothing but sex dolls in their eyes, all these girls whose trust led to their secret being spread and them getting ridiculed and slut shamed for it: how many girls have taken their own lives because they found living with such a burden unbearable?

For the love of everything you hold sacred, please wake up sisters. The narrative that you can be used by someone powerful and you have to accept it because that’s the way things are is a man’s construct. Do not let them fool you.

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depravitycentral · 4 months

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Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku NSFW Profile

Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of non-con, dub-con, breeding, non-consensual touching, dry humping, masturbation, panty sniffing, a brief mention about virginity being sacred but no explicit mention of whether reader is a virgin or not, Kyojuro is a virgin tho so corruption kink kind of, pillow humping, coercion, allusions to lactation kink and pregnancy kink, choking, spitting, Kyo gets sex advice from Tengen, Kyo picks you up at one point but remember he's literally a Hashira and could pick anyone up no matter their weight, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS:

In general, Kyojuro isn’t an incessantly horny man. Not only does he hold women in a high respect and doesn’t inherently sexualize them, but to be quite honest he simply doesn’t have time to be regularly indulging in sex or even masturbation. He’s a busy man, and when others are settled under their covers, either sleeping or moaning in another’s ear, he’s out in the dark, dangerous night hunting demons.

And so despite being in the sexual prime of his life, Kyojuro doesn’t have a huge amount of experience. He’s never considered actually touching a woman before, mostly because he didn’t feel the urge to and because he firmly believes in the idea of saving himself for his wife and life partner.

And even once you step into his life he doesn’t magically become some sex-crazed monster – eventually he is, sure, but it’s gradual. It takes a while to reach that stage, for him to both desire you enough and desire sex enough to be wasting his time fantasizing about you and your body.

Little seeds will be planted in his mind as the weeks and month pass, his obsession slowly developing and leaving him floundering when small, inappropriate thoughts begin seeping into the edges of his mind.

He’s noticing the way your kimono dips down just a bit one day – your collarbones are pretty, and he can’t help but have a fleeting thought of how soft the skin of your neck and shoulders must be.

(He’ll return home that night and try to forget that thought, going through an even more extensive training regime than normal, but even by the end of the some four hour session, he’s still imagining how the skin of your collarbones must taste.)

He’s suddenly noticing that your voice gets higher when you get flustered, the pitch raising just slightly, enough for him to notice and mentally file away for future reference.

(Would your voice get higher if he were to fluster you? How would you sound when he’s just kissed you, your lips swollen and your eyes dazed? How would you sound when he’s touching you, his hands settling at your waist or cupping your breasts, or perhaps even slowly, carefully dipping his fingers inside of you, feeling you tighten up and clench down and gasp and writhe and moan his name - )

He becomes acutely aware of the way you always seem to bend over to pick things up, your clumsiness coming into play as he finds himself unconsciously moving to stand so that he has an unobstructed view as you bend over, his eyes blatantly fixed on the curve of your ass, his lips slightly parted.

(He’s definitely thinking of that image later that night, one of his rare nights off, with his hand wrapped deathly tight around his cock as he imagines you bending over for him - perhaps over his dining table, or maybe even over his knee as he gropes and squeezes and plays with you.)

The thoughts feel largely out of place initially, more often than not leaving him slightly dazed and confused because he’s never thought about how soft and smooth a woman’s thighs must be, nor about how your hands feel so small in comparison to his: less calloused and rough and warmer.

It’s strange, but as his delusions grow deeper and his feelings for you only intensify, Kyojuro finds himself rationalizing that it isn’t so disrespectful to be thinking this way – you’re practically already courting, and while you may not yet possess the Rengoku name, you will soon enough.

And once you’re wed?

Well, surely you must know what married couples do – pleasuring one another, loving one another, spending hours tangled in the sheets with gasps and cries ringing through their ears, sweat and kisses and cum covering every inch of their bodies. And if that’s your future – which he’s positive it is – then what’s the harm in imagining it?

He imagines all sorts of domestic scenarios with you, so why should it matter if the clothing is removed and your pretty smile is replaced with a pretty moan?

It’s fine – and so, while he still doesn’t wring himself dry to you every day, he’s sure to settle down and explicitly imagine being with you in an intimate way at least three times a week – even if that means unzipping the pants of his uniform with a demon’s blood still staining his hands, freshly killed and sending adrenaline through his veins.

(Adrenaline that then gets channeled into imagining the way you’d be so proud of him for outsmarting the demon and successfully eliminating it – perhaps you’d be so proud that you’d be willing to get on your knees for him, your soft lips wrapping around him and sucking, your little moans making his head spin and your nimble fingers kneading and groping at his balls. Ah yes, what a lovely thought…)

So while he’s not the most horny yandere of his comrades, he’s certainly no saint. But really, how could he be when you’re so damn alluring?

When it comes to actually touching himself, Kyojuro finds that his pleasure comes easiest when he’s actually doing the work, actually putting effort into getting himself off. It feels okay to simply pump his fist up and down, but it’s not enough – because being with you would be so much more overwhelming, even just your body heat alone making the experience ten times more powerful, more intense, more enjoyable.

He wants to immerse himself in the fantasy of actually having your soft body to kiss and touch and love, and he finds the best way to really achieve this is to fuck something rather than fucking his fist. But he’s a loyal man, and would sooner end his life than fall into the arms of another woman, even if only for a night.

And so, he compromises by fashioning a pillow – one with a covering of your favorite color, of course – into a substitute for yourself.

And while it feels good to have the pillow at all, Kyojuro finds that even just the simple pillow isn’t enough – it needs more, to be more representative of you, to just be better at convincing him that it’s really your wet, warm cunt he’s sinking into with every thrust rather than the dense plush of the pillow.

And so, with dark ink, he musters up every bit of artistic talent he possesses and carefully, oh so carefully draws in your features as much as he’s able to. He’s certainly no artist, but he’s slow and methodical with bringing to life this poor stand in for your own body – paying attention to every small detail, wanting everything to be as life-like as possible.

Your eyes are drawn on, correct down to the shape, even going so far as to try and ink on every eyelash, the flecks of color in your irises, any eye bags or wrinkles you may have.

He’s drawing your nose, the outline of jaw and neck, and, of course, your lips. He’s drawn them so that they’re permanently parted, leaving you looking like you’re gasping in pleasure, even going so far as to try and shade them so that they appear to be wet.

(Presumably with spit, or perhaps something a bit thicker, a bit hotter – it depends on the fantasy.)

The drawings continue down your body, making sure to outline your neck and shoulders, even down to your hands and fingers. (One hand is drawn with all your fingers curled and your thumb touching your index finger, so that a circular hole is made.)

He’s drawn your breasts, nipples, the swell of your tummy, your hips and thighs, even your calves and the arch of your ankles.

(He’s drawn you so that your thighs are spread slightly, giving him a view into what lies between – he’s not entirely sure of the technicalities of female anatomy, so he’s negating drawing any specifics and instead simply leaving the area blank, not willing to misrepresent your lovely, gorgeous figure – that’d feel disrespectful to you, as if the fact that he’s essentially created a sex doll in your image isn’t. He’s seen enough mothers breastfeeding children to have an idea of the upper half of a woman’s body, but he still shivers in excitement at learning how your upper body looks – though he thinks he has a good idea based upon how your clothing fits you, his eyes greedily observing the way the material is taut around your chest.)

Once everything is drawn, it’s easy to tear holes in the pillow – one between your legs, one in the curled circle of your hand, one between your pretty, parted lips.

Once he’s completed his work he'll eagerly, gingerly bring the pillow to his bed, gulping excitedly and immediately stripping off his clothing. His cock is already rock hard, swollen and pressing against his lower stomach, the tip a bright red and shining in the firelight of the room, precum soaking the skin.

He’d managed to get a guaranteed night off-duty this evening, which means there won’t be a single interruption. He’ll set the pillow down flat, excitement already licking at his every muscle, the room feeling incredibly hot already. He’s quick to settle himself above the pillow, his weight resting on both knees and his forearm that’s pressed against the ground. His free hand comes up to lightly trace at the drawn-on curve of your jaw, his face mere inches from where he imagines yours to be.

My flame, you are so beautiful… He’ll tell you, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips.

His cock twitches as he leans down to softly press his lips against your drawn ones, the kiss soft and slow and meaningful, the Hashira pouring every ounce of affection he feels for you into the action.

He imagines you kissing back; would you be hesitant, embarrassed and shy? Or would you be just as eager, perhaps wrapping your arms around his neck and running your hands through his hair, maybe even pulling on it, biting his lip and letting him know how badly you need him?

He groans, his eyes closed, lips working harder against the pillow, his tongue coming out to dart against the hole cut out, imagining your own tongue tangling with his. His hand wanders down from your jaw to your breast, fingers groping and squeezing at nothing but cotton, but the motion alone has his hips bucking, cock brushing slightly against the pillow. It makes him hiss, pulling back from the kiss and licking his lips, his eyes already half lidded and dazed.

Forgive me, I can’t wait any longer, I must be inside you.

His voice is breathless, and as he shimmeys upwards slightly, he’s spreading his legs a bit, thighs flexing as he leans back, audible inhaling as he nudges his tip against the hole between your drawn on legs, already smearing precum against the material from just a bit of contact.

His fingers are trembling slightly as he pushes in inch by inch, going slowly just like he would if it was really you, wanting to make sure you adjust to him and he feels good, so that you’ll be ready for him to absolutely ravish you.

He’s groaning as he bottoms out, balls pressed tightly against the pillow, his chest heaving as he stares wildly at your drawn on face. You feel – you feel amazing, my flame, oh –

He presses his forehead against yours as he slowly pulls back, the muscles of his ass and lower back going taut, before sinking in slowly again, an uneven sigh of your name slipping past his lips.

You feel so tight around me, does it feel good? Does it feel good to have me inside you?

Just the phrasing of that makes his head spin, the idea that he’s inside of you (even if he’s really not) making his hips snap to life, his previously slow pace picking up quickly.

He’s panting already, all the breathing control he’s mastered flying out the window because this is different – it’s your body underneath him, your pretty pussy sucking him in over and over and over, your moans ringing in his ears as you cry out his name again and again.

Kyojuro Kyojuro Kyojuro, please it feels so good!

He’s imagining the way you’d moan his name, how your voice would get so breathy, your fingers raking down his back, your legs wrapping around his hips.

He groans your name again, hips snapping into yours hard enough to push the pillow up with every thrust, his mind running wild as he imagines how your breasts would bounce at the force, practically begging to be squeezed and sucked at. A hand comes up and begins groping at nothing again, his thumb brushing over where he’s drawn on your nipple, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as the pleasure begins mounting.

It just feels too damn good – it’s so easy to imagine you below him, crying out his name as he fucks you hard enough to leave you utterly destroyed, your perfect little cunt massaging him in just the right ways.

He’s chanting your name under his breath, his eyes wide and staring down at your inked face, his voice getting faster and more strained as his muscles start clenching, his balls tightening and his hips stuttering and his heart racing because oh god oh fuck oh fuck –

He’s pulling out at the last minute, cum spurting all over the pillowcase, his moans of your name filling the room as his hand quickly tugs, wrist twisting and moving so fast it’s nearly a blur. The pleasure is immense, leaving his toes curling and every hair on his body standing up straight, feeling as if fire is running through his veins.

After the last few sad spurts dribble from his oversensitive, swollen tip, he’s left gasping, swallowing hard and letting a broad grin slip across his face. With still heavy breaths, he pushes back any stray hair from his forehead, the bit of sweat gathered there leaving him sighing. He’s quick to lean down, pressing a soft, long kiss against your drawn-on lips, a whispered I love you murmured against the pillow.

He has to swallow hard as he pulls back, euphoria still swimming in his veins at the intensity of his orgasm. Pleasuring himself to the thought of you is nearly too much - it leaves him breathless, feeling a high that doesn’t fade for hours after, and as he lays down beside the pillow, still stained with cum as he pulls it against his chest, imagining spooning you, he can’t help but shiver.

Because if it feels this good to simply imagine, how would the real you feel?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your thighs

In general, Kyojuro thinks you’re absolutely beautiful.

He finds you to be the single most attractive woman on Earth, and even if he’s never seen your body in anything more form fitting than a kimono or a slayer uniform, he’s absolutely sure that whatever awaits him beneath the cloth will be heaven, the thing of wet dreams.

And the moment he finally, finally has you bare below him, your pretty skin on display and waiting to be kissed, fondled, marked as his, he finds that he’s not disappointed in any way.

You’re gorgeous – and, naturally, the most gorgeous part of you is your thighs. There’s something about the sight of them that gets him swallowing hard, his eyes growing a bit brighter and wider.

His palms get a bit sweatier when he sees the way they splay out when you sit down, the fat jiggling with every step you take, the way they just look so touchable and squeezable. He nearly has a full body reaction the moment your thighs are out on display, his body temperature rising to extreme heights and his attention straining to stay on you rather than your pretty legs.

Even in settings where soft, loving affection is occurring, he's still eyeing them, appreciating the way you look in his clothing, the simple overshirt you’d put on that morning stopping mid thigh and leaving very little of your upper legs to the imagination.

(You’ll notice the way his fingers slowly creep down from your waist, moving inch by inch until they’re finally laying over the curve of your thigh, idly rubbing and pressing into the warm flesh, marveling at just how soft you are.)

And when you’re both intimate with one another, his enjoyment of your thighs will be more than apparent – he’s always touching them, his hand coming down to squeeze and stay there, almost latching onto you as he throws your leg over his shoulder, his hips never stopping the brutal pace he’s established.

Every position he fucks you in involves your thighs somehow – he’s forcing you to wrap them around his hips when he's hovering above you and pressing down on you so tightly you’re only able to breath in him.

When he’s folded you into the deepest mating press possible, he’s holding you in position by pressing directly against the back of your thighs rather than your knees, often leaving fingertip shaped bruises there from the sheer force and strength he has to keep at bay every time he slips inside you.

Even when he’s fucking you from behind, your pretty ass on display as he sinks so deeply into you that it drives him crazy, he’s making sure to line his own thighs up to press against yours, relishing in the way his balls clap against your clit and the soft, plush fat of your upper inner thighs.

He’s paying extra attention to nip and tease you when he’s got his head between your legs, sucking hickeys and pressing kisses against your inner thighs as he slowly trails up from the inside of your knees.

He wants you to cage in his head when you’re nearing your orgasm, to squeeze as tightly as possible while he licks and moans and thrusts his tongue into you, the only thing he can see and taste and feel and hear being you you you.

Even when you’ve got your lips wrapped around his cock, his eyes are fixated on the way your thighs look splayed out while you kneel on them, his hips bucking as he zones out slightly, the pleasurable feeling of your mouth making him moan and struggle to maintain his composure.

He just really, really likes that area of your body, and while there’s certainly no part of you that he doesn’t like, his penchant for touching you there and always having a hand on your thigh will be very, very apparent to you.

So if you want to tease him, to see the way his eyes darken a bit and his smile grows a bit sinister, sit down with your legs slightly spread, stare at him with those pretty, pouty eyes of yours, and tell him that you’ve been feeling sore, will you please give me a massage, Kyo? I miss your touch…

You’ll have trouble walking the next day, and the littering of bruises, hickeys, and bite marks against your thighs will serve as proud trophies for Kyojuro, who will insist you not cover them up.

His mouth

In the context of sex, Kyojuro lives to please. He’s being completely honest when he firmly tells you that your pleasure is his, because he really does feel that way.

When you touch him it makes his head spin and his hips involuntarily buck, but when he touches you?

Well, more often than not he’s coming alongside you when he’s fingering you, that telltale groan of o-oh and the wet warmth you’ll feel against your skin letting you know exactly how watching you fall apart is affecting him. And similarly, he gets very, very into it when he’s got his mouth working at you, his talented tongue drawing tight circles over your clit and his hair tickling the inside of your thighs.

Every sexual encounter with Kyojuro will involve him eating you out in some capacity, both because he wants you to feel good, and also because he genuinely enjoys the taste of you and the feel of you against his tongue.

And he’s good at it too – he starts off slow, teasing you with playful nipping and smiles against your skin, his eyes looking up at you the whole time, forcing you to keep eye contact because he wants you to see how he pleasures you, for you to see how right he looks between your legs.

He’ll ghost around where you really need him for a while, making sure to pepper kisses at the juncture between your pelvis and thigh, the area right above your clit, even your lower tummy and hips.

He’ll kitten lick at your folds, humming against your skin and letting the vibrations send shivers up your spine, his tongue dipping just a bit deeper each time, until he’s using his thumbs to physically spread your lips, lewd slurping noises filling your ears as he licks and sucks, pleasure making you sigh his name.

After he’s sufficiently teases you, he’ll press a few more kisses to your thigh, then move upwards, still staring you in the eyes, before licking his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your clit.

He’ll tell you that he loves your body, my flame, especially this special spot that always makes you moan my name, before flicking his tongue along it, enjoying the way you jerk at the acute stimulation.

He’s perfected the art of keeping a steady, consistent pattern against you, making sure that the rhythm can let the pleasure build, a dull warmth spreading through your entire lower body.

Meanwhile, he’ll always slip a finger inside of you, curling and pressing against areas he knows you like, feeling the way your thighs twitch and your moans get louder.

He likes when you run your hands through his hair as he uses his mouth on you, especially if you lightly tug or pull; the pleasure tinged with slight pain makes him blindly hump at whatever is closest to him.

And he’ll always, always keep going until you’ve reached your high, even if that means spending hours between your legs; anything to feel the way your cunt flutters against his lips, how you gasp and practically wail his name, your thighs seizing up and your slick coating his chin and lips.

His eyes close as he eagerly laps it up, addicted to your taste – and as he pulls back, his lower face glistening with your arousal and spit, he’ll kiss you, pulling you into a passionate, tongue-heavy kiss.

Even outside of going down on you, Kyojuro finds ways to utilize his mouth in regards to you in every situation he can – he’s always pressing kisses against your lips, cheek, forehead, neck, and knuckles, liking the way that it flusters you and leaves you biting your lip.

He’s taking your hand in his and pressing kisses against your fingertips, singing your praises between presses of his lips, until he’s eventually slipping a finger into his mouth, holding your gaze as he sucks and runs his tongue up and down your skin, the intensity of the moment making you simultaneously aroused and uncomfortable.

He’ll even go so far as to share your toothbrush, just because he likes the idea of a little bit of him being in a little bit of you.

(You’re very aware of this, even without the whole toothbrush misfortune – his penchant for always, always finishing inside of you makes this abundantly clear.)

DRIVE:

Despite Kyojuro’s delusions about your relationship and how you feel for him, even he can’t misread the way you react so negatively to his mentions of being sexual with you. You always freeze up, eyes going wide, your head shaking no and your voice hurried as you tell him please, please no Kyojuro, I’m not – I’m not ready for that, please don’t!

He’ll respect that, firmly nodding and tell you to not worry, my love, I can wait for as long as it takes!

He doesn’t really understand it, however, because in his mind there really shouldn’t be a reason why you aren’t ready – you’re his, and you know it.

You’re living together (even if that wasn’t your choice) and you share a bed together when he’s home. You bath together (something that Kyojuro enjoys very, very much, his hands always wandering, his breath hot in your ear as he tells you that you’re beautiful, something hard pressing against you when he’s washing your hair), share a toothbrush, eat together and wear his clothing – you’re a couple, a partnership between a man and a woman, and wanting to express your love physically is a natural urge.

It’s normal and healthy, and something he wants so, so very badly to do with you. But he understands that perhaps you’re not comfortable with that level of intimacy quite yet – he’s aware of how society views women who’ve lost their virginity (he’d never explicitly asked you if you’ve touched another person, but he assumes you’ve saved yourself for him as he’s saved himself for you), and although you’d be giving it to the man you’ll spend the rest of your life with, he can respect that you might simply be afraid to lose something you’ve learned is cherished.

He’s disappointed by your rejection of sex, but he means it when he says he’ll wait for you to be ready and won’t force it upon you. That does not, however, mean that Kyojuro will completely abstain from interacting with you sexually. He just can’t help himself – sure, he may not be actively fucking you, but he finds other ways to placate the carnal desires practically begging him to rip off your clothing and press you against him while he makes you moan and writhe and fills you with him him him.

It starts small – he’s kissing you every chance he gets, letting them get longer and deeper, lasting sometimes minutes at a time while small moans and groans slip from his mouth into yours. His hand initially starts at your shoulder when he does this, but as time passes he gets bolder – it moves to your waist, your cheek, your hip, even over your ribcage right below your clothed breast, the edges of his fingers brushing against the underside of the pudge fat as moving up slowly, up until he pulls away from the kiss for air.

When kissing you becomes not enough, he moves to hugging you for longer periods of time, getting tighter and purposefully pressing parts of his body against you. He’s always been touchy, and you’ve been getting hugs for nearly as long as you’ve known him (even before his infatuation formed, back when his feelings for you were strictly platonic – now, though, they’re anything but).

But these hugs are different – he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and forcing you flush with his body, smiling at you with those wide, unsettling eyes while his breathing picks up ever so slightly, his pelvis pressed tightly against your own so that you can feel something – something warm, big, almost feeling like it’s moving against you, like it’s throbbing.

He’ll ask you to give him a pair of your panties when he leaves for missions, smiling so brightly and boyishly when you hesitantly deliver the piece of cloth to his outstretched palm, licking his lips and bringing the garment up to inhale deeply before stuffing it away into one of the many pockets of his Demon Corps uniform, telling you with a laugh to choose a pair that’s been used next time please, my flame.

(You never ask why he wants the underwear while he’s gone, simply because you think you know the answer already, but somehow hearing it from him would be worse, like confirming a truth you desperately wished to be false. Plus, you’re sure he’d tell you in extreme detail exactly how he uses them, too, perhaps even giving you a visual demonstration because he’s just so eager to interact with you, to feel your pretty eyes on him.)

It’s disturbing, but it’s a small comfort to know that he may be pushy and make you uncomfortable but he’ll never truly force you into sex. Kyojuro may be many things, but he’s at least a man of his word – even if he very, very badly wishes he wasn’t sometimes.

And so as wonderful as kissing you deeper and hugging you tighter and fucking his fist to your panties is, Kyojuro eventually decides that he needs more. He needs to get as close to actually fucking you as he can without being inside of you, just as he promised.

And so the perfect solution is really just that simple – running through the motions without violating your wishes. Kyojuro is ecstatic just thinking about – which is why, when the mood strikes him, his cock straining against his trousers and his fingers itching to reach out and touch, he’ll strip off his clothing, smiling at you and running his knuckles against your cheek while telling you to take your clothing off please, love, I want to make you feel good.

And really, as much as you don’t want to, it’s easier on both of you if you just do – your options are let him hump you like a dog, or be forced to touch him, your own hand wrapped around his cock as he moans and sighs and thrusts into your hand while telling you how good you look. And so, once your clothing is off, Kyojuro will look at you with those eyes, licking his lips slowly and walking up to you, pressing himself against you again and letting his hands sit firmly at your waist.

My flame, he’ll murmur to you, his voice low and his breath a bit hitched because his cock is pressed up against your thigh and god, even that touch alone is enough to make his knees feel weak. Lay down for me.

He’ll have you lay on your back, your legs spread for him and your arms over your head. He’ll stand for a while, simply staring at you, the sight of you in such a provocative position making his cheeks tinge pink and his throat feel a bit dry. But soon there’s too much precum dribbling from his tip to ignore, and he’ll climb over you, hovering over you and wrapping your leg around his waist, so that his face is mere inches from yours and his cock is pressed against your navel.

He’ll swallow, leaning down a bit to press his lips against yours, relishing in the warmth of your body pressed against his own. Kisses are pressed against the corner of your mouth, then down the length of your jaw, down your neck and finally to your shoulder, the movements slow and meaningful despite the near painful aching between his legs. His hips seem to move on their own, slowly rocking forward and backwards, the friction of his cock rubbing against your skin and against the tufts of hair making him hiss slightly.

His lips find purchase at your ear, deep sighs and heavy pants impossible to ignore as he slowly picks up his pace. The stimulation feels good, but it’s not enough for him - he has to move faster, harder, be better, because this is really a chance for him to show you exactly what you’re missing out on. This is his opportunity to show you that if he were to do this inside of you, it would feel so much better for you – it’s his opportunity to convince you that sex with him would feel good, that you’d be satisfied, that he could please you.

And he commits to that desire – one forearm is pressed against the bed right beside your head supporting his weight while the other wanders from your waist up to grope and squeeze at your breast, deft fingers pinching and rolling your nipple between them. He’ll groan your name, leaning down to lick at your lips and tell you that you’re so very beautiful, his voice strained. He’ll bring the hand down to ghost over your stomach, right above where his cock is grinding and thrusting, moving to bury his nose against your neck while he chants your name. His voice is a bit slurred, the pleasure making his brows draw tightly together, his hips snapping and flexing harder and harder.

He’s close, and he tells you as much – muffled against your neck, his low groan of f-feels too good, you feel so good love…

With his orgasm approaching, he resorts to kissing your neck again, his hair tickling you and the feeling of his cock dragging against your skin over and over making your toes curl involuntarily, because even as humiliating and uncomfortable as this is, isn’t there something oddly sexy about this big, strong man making himself a fool on you, losing him mind from just the feel of you?

He’s desperate for the pleasure he’s right on the brink of as he blindly reaches out to find your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours tightly, the moan that rises in the back of his throat high and uneven and raw. His whole body shakes as something warm and thick spurts against your stomach, a few drops landing on the undersides of your breasts, his breath heavy in your ear as he slowly, oh so slowly thrusts, riding out the last waves of his pleasure.

His hand is still gripping yours, and after a moment he pulls back and kisses you again, his tongue immediately pushing into your mouth and insistent, the red on his cheeks even more pronounced now.

It’s still not ideal, grinding and humping against you like this, but Kyojuro is content to do it as many times as it takes until you finally, finally feel ready to let him love you like you deserve, to let him make you gasp and cry out his name and gush around him until you’re too incoherent to even think.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Praise

Kyojuro is very vocal in bed. He’s constantly talking to you – telling you how good you feel, telling you when something in particular feels best, warning you when his orgasm is dangerously near, just producing a constant stream of commentary as he fucks you. His voice is breathy the whole time, always turned up at the ends of his sentences because the pleasure is too strong, forcing him to slur his words together because fuck you feel good.

A lot of his vocalness stems from the fact that he’s just so excited to be intimate with you – he’s been fantasizing about this for a long time, long nights spent with his eyes closed and his cheeks a bit pink,

imagining the way you’d look underneath the pretty kimonos and clothing you wear.

He’s imagined what your face would look like when he’s cupping your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and making your brows twitch, biting your lip as you tell him to squeeze just a hair harder, pressing yourself against him because having his hands on you feel too good.

He’s imagined how your thighs would tremble when he’s got two fingers buried in your cunt, curling and scissoring and rubbing against your sensitive walls while you curl your toes and whine his name.

He’s even imagined the way your pussy would feel as he’s fucking you, how it would clench down on him hard, practically begging him to stay inside, begging for every last drop of cum he can possibly give.

He’s fantasized and daydreamed and imagined for months on end, each scenario only making him more anxious to finally have his hands on you, the buildup to actual intimacy with you leaving him wildly excited. And so, now that you’re finally with him, your perfect body warm and soft to the touch just as he knew you’d be, Kyojuro can’t help himself from telling you every little thing he’s thinking and feeling. He’s rambling on about how pretty you look when you’re underneath him, your body spread out for him and completely bare.

He’ll smile at you and kiss at every available inch of skin as his hands squeeze and knead at your sides, leaning back to admire the view of a flustered, bashful you underneath him all with a dreamy sigh and a small you’re so perfect, my flame, exactly as I imagined you’d be. And really, it would be sweet if it weren’t for the way he continues on to tell you exactly what he’d imagined, explicit details about how he'd fucked to his fist to the thought of you writhing below him, what pace he’d used, how he’d tightened up his grip to simulate how tight you’d grip him, even going so far as to tell you that this particular fantasy had him producing much more cum than normal when he eventually came.

It’s too much information and will leave you feeling disturbed and a bit scared, but Kyojuro doesn’t seem to notice – he’s too deeply enthralled with the pleasure you’re giving him, the words seeing to slip off his tongue without him even realizing it as he thrusts into you with an almost inhuman speed.

But of course, even as lovely as it is to detail all of the fantasies he’s had of you, what you’ll most often get with him is praise. He generally thinks that you’re enchanting, viewing you as something perfect and lovely and so, so very wonderful, but when he’s intimate with you this perception of you only intensifies.

Every small burst of pleasure you give him only solidifies his infatuation with you, and he can’t stop himself from telling you how beautiful you look on your knees for him, your pretty lips wrapped around his cock and your eyes prickling with tears because he’s too big for you to take down your throat. He’ll just smile, hand cupping the back of your hand and slowly easing you down his length, biting his lip at the sight and sighing out that you’re doing so well, you feel so – so good, yes love oh, suck just like that, it feels amazing when you do that.

He’ll have you perched on his lap, tits bouncing in his face while his hands clutch at your hips and move you up and down his cock, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and a moan of your name falling past his lips, small chants of yes yes yes and gasps of your name filling the air between you.

He’ll lick and suck at your clit with his head buried between your thighs, a lithe finger working in and out of you as he moans appreciatively against you, your taste on his tongue forcing him to pull back a moment to lick a long, flat stripe against your folds, his chin and lips visibly glistening as you tells you that you taste so delicious, I can’t get enough of you, give me more please my flame, I need more of you.

And when you’re gushing around his fingers a few minutes later, desperately grabbing at the pillow under your head and his hair, Kyojuro can only brokenly groan, his own orgasm not far behind yours as he thrusts his hips against the floor. You’re just so pretty and perfect and wonderful, and how can he not tell you?

And after he’s emptied himself inside of you, he’ll curl you into his arms and hold you, breathing into your ear and telling you how good you did, how you did so well and made him feel so good. Kisses are pressed against the crown of your head while he does this, his compliments sounding so genuine and reverent that you’ll be equal parts flattered and uncomfortable because god, he really means it when he says you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, doesn’t he?

Kyojuro of course loves to be praised in turn – any positive comment from you is met with eager and wide eyes, his ministrations and motions only increasing, his desperation to please you and make you feel good nearly palpable. Your moans of his name and cries of yes and right there and please making something smug and warm swell in his chest, his obsession only deepening because you just look so right when you’re falling apart on his cock.

He lives to please you, so please praise him – he’ll return the favor with so much passion and vigor that you’ll almost be embarrassed for him at how high and whiny and lewd the groan he lets out when he spills inside you is.

Almost, because he’ll follow it up with heavy breaths and a stuttered that – that was for you, because of you, because you feel so fucking good.

Oral Fixation

There’s something about the taste of you that he simply can’t get enough of. Even before he stole you away, Kyojuro was quick to snatch any small item of yours that could potentially taste like you.

He managed to snag the small vial of lip balm he’s seen you use – the one that his eyes always get stuck on, watching the way you pucker and pop your lips, the smacking noises obscene and provocative and sexy. You’d left it on the table after a lunch he’d invited you to, and Kyojuro – ever the gentleman – had pocketed it with the intention to return it to you later. Only, he didn’t – it stayed in his pocket until later that night when he’d fished it out, carefully opened it, and pressed the nearly empty balm against his own lips, closing his eyes and sighing because oh, if he licks his lips now he’ll taste you…

He’s got a cloth he keeps in his pocket that’s reserved specifically for you – when you’re eating with him, going on outgoings that are strictly platonic to you but are anything but to him, he’ll use the cloth and wipe off bits of food sitting on your lips, some stray sauce on the corner of your mouth. The cloth is kept in his pocket until later, when his cock is bright red and swollen and drooling precum for you, his lip caught between his teeth as he uses the cloth to tug and twist at his sensitive head, the friction of the cotton against his skin making him shiver and writhe and curl his toes all the while your name falls from his lips.

And once he’s done, he’s quick to bring the cloth up to his mouth, tongue lolling against the material as he tastes his cum and you mixed together, a flavor that gets the last sad little spurt of cum oozing from his swollen tip, the sensation making him groan lowly.

Really, he just likes the taste of you – and once your physical relationship begins, this penchant he has for tasting you only increases.

Now, he doesn’t have to be sneaky – no longer does he have to rely on placing your used utensils in his mouth in order to get even the slightest bit of you on his tongue.

Now he can just wrap an arm around your waist and press you close, mouth dipping down to slot his lips against yours, a moan muffled against your mouth because god, you’re so sweet and warm and he wants to drink in everything you can give him.

(Yes you’ve watched him kiss you and pull back, swallowing and licking his lips, telling you that your spit tastes delicious, my flame, please give me more before diving back in, kissing you and sucking on your tongue so hard you can practically feel his desperation.)

Now he can press kisses against your neck and jawline, tongue lathing up and down your collarbones while he licks and sucks, the dark bruising making his eyes light up and his breathing a bit uneven.

(Normally Kyojuro is strictly against harming you, but there’s something about hickeys that makes him sway ever so slightly on this rule. Perhaps it’s because he’s the cause of the dull pain, or maybe it’s because every time he’s working at your neck and shoulders you always let out these little whines that go straight to his cock, your fingers gripping tighter at his hair. Sometimes, when he’s particularly pent up and desperate for you, he swears he can even feel your cunt throbbing through the layers of clothing separating you, as if you’re just as needy and frantic for him as he is you. Ah, what a lovely thought.)

Now he can just gently press you against the wall, getting to his knees and throwing your leg over his shoulder while he pushing the pretty robe he’d bought you up to your hips, exposing the skimpy panties he'd bought for you as a present.

(They’re red, of course, with pretty lace details around the edges and a little bow at the very top, almost as if you’re a present for him to open and play with. He’d bought them for you before he’d stolen you away, gifted them to you with a bright smile and not an ounce of shame, and had insisted you wear them despite your discomfort after noticing an odd stain on them – one that left a dark spot that Kyojuro refused to explain, only laughing and pressing a kiss to your cheek when asked.)

He’ll lick over your clothed cunt, humming against you and chuckling when you squirm at the vibrations. He’s suckling at your clit over the cloth, those eyes of his staring up at you from between your legs, the taste of you strong and making his mind spin even before he’s actually touching you.

But soon, Kyojuro can’t settle for just your phantom taste – he needs more, needs you, and so he’s suddenly standing up, picking you up with no effort and settling you down onto the bed, immediately laying between your legs. He’s spreading your thighs and licking his lips, rolling your panties down and off your legs before absolutely devouring you – he’s licking and sucking loudly enough to make lewd, wet suction noises fill the room.

There’s wet schluck-schluck noises ringing in your ears as he pushes a finger inside, all the way down to his second knuckle and curling them, the pads of his fingers brushing against the spot that gets you moaning and your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. All the while he’s playing with your clit, tongue tracing shapes and spelling his name, humming and moaning and sucking at you like a man starved. His stamina is high, and he’s keeping up the pace until you’re clutching at his hair and moaning his name like a prayer, the pleasure making you writhe and gasp and gush all over his fingers and chin.

But once Kyojuro gets a taste of you, he’s not simply satisfied with just one orgasm – he needs more, to feel you clenching down on his fingers and your clit throbbing as he fucks you through the high.

He’ll simply laugh at your whines of too sensitive, I can’t Kyo please, keeping his steady pace and pressing a kiss against your clit that makes your hips jerk.

You can do it, he’ll tell you, slick and your cum smeared all across his lips, chin and cheeks. You can give me another one, let me make you feel good, my flame.

And even while he’s fucking you his fixation doesn’t decrease – you feel like heaven around his cock, sure, with your warm, soft walls clenching down on him and your slick coating his thighs, but that doesn’t stop his fingers from snaking up and pressing against your lips.

He'll push them inside two at a time, hot breaths against your ear telling you to suck, ngh suck for me, his hips snapping into you with more fervor as he feels your lips close around him, throat tightening and your little gagging noises as he thrusts his fingers in and out.

You’re just so beautiful, and although his fixation mostly manifests as him using his mouth on you, he certainly won’t deny you if you were to flip the script. You get on your knees for him, licking your lips and pawing at his cock over his pants?

The pants are off faster than you can blink, his hand already at the back of your head and guiding you down his length, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lets out a low groan of yes, o-oh, you’re so warm, I’ve been thinking of this all day-!

He won’t deny you when you press kisses against his exposed chest, your tongue tracing around his sensitive nipple and feeling the skin pebble, even grazing your teeth against the sensitive skin just to hear his breath hitch and the audible gulp that follows.

He just thinks the ultimate form of intimacy is to taste each other, and Kyojuro is always eager to get closer to you, and to prove just how much he loves you – and, of course, just how depraved you make him.

Breeding

Kyojuro will get you pregnant. It’s not even a matter of discussion as far as he’s concerned – yes, it’s a sexual fantasy for him to stuff you so full of his cum that you’re literally leaking it, but it’s more than that. He genuinely wants to build a family with you, to have you as his sweet little housewife that he dotes on and provides for and cares for, and to complete the fantasy he needs a few children running around.

He gets this dopey grin and blushing cheeks when he imagines you with a toddler clutching at your leg and a baby nursing at your breast, something inside his chest swelling with pride and happiness. And so, every time he fucks you he will be finishing inside, stuffing you as full as he physically can.

The image of you pregnant gets his breathing shallow; something about seeing you round, your breasts swollen and nipples so sensitive you sharply gasp when he so much as brushes against them making him shift his pants, his skin feeling hot and clammy. He likes the idea of knocking you up so that you’re completely, utterly dependent on him for every little thing – you’ll be so sweet and lovely and incapable, allowing him to attend to your every need. You’ll need him to walk any significant distance, to reach things on high shelves, to help you get up and out of chairs, to help with anything, really, and Kyojuro is more than happy to aid you in your time of need.

But even outside of actually getting you pregnant, the kink also satisfies some of his more shameful needs, some of his more masculine and carnal needs. After all, breeding you means coming inside you, filling you to the brim with his cum, something only he can provide you.

There’s just something about the idea of leaving you full with something so utterly him that gets him hot under the collar, his fingers twitching eagerly because just the thought makes him desperate to get his hands on you. He's not too terribly possessive, all things considered, but something about the idea of his cum settling inside you just feels right in a way he can’t describe, almost as if you were made to take it. As if you were made to take him, really, if the way your perfect little pussy sucks him in so well is any indication.

Besides, every time he finishes inside he’ll pull back and just stare, watching with bright eyes at the way his cum slowly dribbles out of you, white staining against the curve of your ass, his fingers coming up to scoop up the leaking bits and stuff them back inside you.

(And he will finish inside every time he fucks you, and even when your fist is wrapped around his girth or your lips are pressed against his base, tip making you gag at how deep he is in your throat. He’ll warn you with a near-yell of ‘m close before pushing you down and spreading your legs so quickly that it knocks the breath out of you, nestling his tip just inside you and coming, the sheer volume and force of the spurts making you squirm because you can feel it.)

There’s lots of talk about how you mustn’t waste anything he gives you, how you must keep every last drop inside you, his voice strained and breathy as he groans that into your ear, a thrust punctuating each word and making you clutch onto him for dear life because he’s fucking you meanly, every clap of his hips against yours making you physically scoot up until you reach the edge of the bed.

There’s something about the idea of stuffing you full of his cum that makes Kyojuro near feral, his hips seeming to have a mind of their own as they snap and pound against you, his cock pushing deeper and deeper and deeper, tip nestling further inside you with every thrust.

While he’s fucking you, the only thing running through his mind (aside from the constant stream of compliments towards you and the indescribable feeling of how fucking warm you are) is a mantra of needing to get deeper, to go as far inside you as he can, to press right up against your womb so that when his abs flex and his pace stutters, a shallow gasp and low groan rolling past his lips, his cum can shoot directly where it needs to go. It can spurt and splatter and flood your cute little pussy, each twitch of his cock giving you more and more and more, until it’s literally leaking out of you, even while he’s still stuffed inside you.

And Kyojuro, ever the talkative lover, is more than happy to narrate the process – his orgasms always follow a rather wanton groan of your name, his voice strained and uneven as he tells you to take it, o-oh take it take it take it, take every fucking drop ngh yes yes yes!

He’ll press down on your stomach as he finishes, the sensation making you impossibly tighter, the motion forcing his cum to shoot even deeper into you, his eyes wide in wonder and lust as if he can see the way his cock is twitching and throbbing, pushing out everything it can give you.

His voice nearly awed as he asks if you feel that, my love? I’m breeding this lovely pussy, does it feel good? It’s feels likes heaven for me, and soon you’ll be rounded and glowing and carrying my child.

He’ll pause to press a kiss against your nipple, tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive skin, before cupping it with his hand and squeezing, his own voice turning a bit darker as he tells you that soon your breasts will be so swollen and heavy, you’ll be feeding our child, nursing our baby…

He sucks at your nipple, hard. I’m sure you’ll taste divine – you’ll give me a taste too, I’m sure.

He’ll run his hand along your stomach, sucking in a sharp breath and telling you that you’ll be full soon, that you’ll be swollen and big and his, your body proving to him exactly who you belong to, exactly who kisses you and fucks you and gives you what your body is made for.

He just really, really wants a family with you, so don’t be surprised when he forces you to lay by his side for hours after sex, his cock keeping you stuffed full, not allowing a single drop of cum to leak out, his hand pressed firmly against your stomach as he rambles on and on about baby names and how he’ll be there for the entire birth, how he hopes the baby has his hair and your personality, how he’ll protect the both of you from demons until his dying breath.

It would be sweet, really, if he wasn’t so insistent, if he didn’t have twenty names already picked out for you to choose from, if he wasn’t telling you that according to Shinobu the part of your cycle you’re currently in is your highest window of fertility, if he wasn’t clutching onto you and saying when you’re pregnant instead of if.

And when his cock slowly hardens once more inside of you, you’ll feel the palpable change in the air as he kisses your neck again, his hips slowly starting to move as he tells you that he has to make sure it took, I have to make sure you’re carrying my child… Open your legs for me, my flame, let me give you more of me.

And when he comes with a gasp of your name a few minutes later, even more cum flooding you and sending some dripping down over his cock and onto his pelvis, Kyojuro can only lick his lips, the sight of you with a rounded belly and swollen breasts making him near feral.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Marking

While Kyojuro isn’t the most possessive, there’s something about the idea of physically marking you as his that gets his blood rushing, heat blooming on his cheeks, a wide grin splitting across his face.

Just the thought get him eagerly pulling you closer, nudging his nose against your neck, sighing heavily and letting you feel the way his pants slowly grow tighter, his breathing growing heavier as he groans your name.

There’s just something about the idea of claiming you as his own that makes some primal, animalistic part of him light up, so be prepared to be absolutely covered in marks as your sexual relationship progresses.

Hickeys will cover nearly all of your skin, leaving no area untouched by his lips and teeth. He’ll leave love marks (as he calls them) in the shape of a heart situated on the plane of your chest, nestled right up your breasts. As he’s fucking you he’ll kiss over the area again, his hips never slowing their pace as he starts whispering your name under his breath, nearly chanting it with every clap his balls against the curve of your ass.

A ‘K’ and an ‘R’ are placed on your inner thighs, so that when he sits beside you he can reach over and grip the area, sending you a blinding grin and telling you that even under all the layers of clothing he can feel your love. Once the marks fade he’ll spend hours between your legs again, remaking the hickies so there’s a letter per leg, so that every time he spreads them, excitement bubbling in his chest, he’ll see his letters, a mark of ownership, a reminder that you’re his and his alone, that your pretty skin and plush thighs and that lovely little pussy of yours is completely and utterly his.

It’s just fucking hot to Kyojuro, so when he pins you down, your body nude and bared for his eyes, know that he’ll kiss you, lips working eagerly against your own, tongue coaxing yours in an effort to get you to engage, groans and grunts tumbling into your mouth as his hands wander down to grope at your breasts, squeezing your side, toying with the pubic hair settled on your navel.

He’ll kiss you, then let his lips travel down, dipping to your neck to suck harshly against the skin, then down to your collarbone to lick and suckle, then to your nipples to bruise the area beside your areolas, then down your stomach and to your thighs, mumbling praises and sweet words of affirmation as he goes.

You’ll wince and avoid looking at yourself in mirrors after he’s through with you, but just know that Kyojuro does it all out of love.

He doesn’t enjoy hurting you, but the pleasure and pride that swells in his chest when he sees you with his markings outweighs his small worries at your bruising.

Just let it happen, really, because he’ll be getting his way, one way or the other, and while eventually the dull throb and sting as he works section after section will grow slightly painful, at least his fingers are talented – after all, you can handle the hickies when he’s making you gasp his name, cream on his fingers and beg for more, more, more, right?

Choking

While Kyojuro is generally the more dominant partner in bed (regardless of your personal tastes – he likes to feel like your provider, so even if you want to peg him until he’s a sobbing, begging mess, little mewls of your name and p-please, need to come so bad slipping past his lips, you’ll likely be the one trapped below him), there’s a certain allure to letting you take charge for a night every few weeks, letting you take the reigns for a few minutes.

There’s something oddly sexy about watching the way the power slowly goes to your head, how your eyes grow darker, your actions more passionate as you bounce up and down on top of him, your hands planted against his chest, pinching at his nipples, shoving your tongue down his throat all while he groans and enjoys the view.

He just likes to see the way you use him, his body simply a toy for you to get off on. It’s the ultimate form of caring for you – and seeing the way you’re so unabashedly pleasuring yourself gets his blood pumping so hard he can hear it in his ears, the sight of you so raw and natural and not at all the shy little thing you were when he first spread your legs all those months ago making him lick his lips in anticipation.

And yet, there’s a certain habit you’ve developed in these moments that Kyojuro absolutely cannot get enough of – that is, when your soft fingers wrap around his throat, your skin against his, pressing just hard enough to disrupt the blood flow to his brain, the feeling dizzying and disorienting and wonderful.

His eyes literally roll to the back of his head when you do this, your hips snapping and scooping above him as you tell him to hold it in, be a good boy, don’t come yet.

He’s groaning and wildly bucking his hips, face turning slightly red as you lean down to kiss him, your lips harsh and demanding, the kiss rough and forceful.

It’s heaven, Kyojuro thinks, as you clench around him, your fingers following suit, his cock twitching inside of you, his hands coming up to grope and knead at your ass as he bounces you harder and harder, the desire to come inside you suddenly washing over him.

It’s something he finds himself craving as time goes on, and so while he’ll more often prefer to be the one on top, in charge, calling the shots, be prepared for the nights where he wants to let you do all the work.

But really, once you’re straddling him, sinking down onto his drooling, leaking tip and grinding, your hand wrapped around his throat, he’ll often do most of the ‘work’ – desperate, sad little humps up into you with his heels planted against the futon mat that’ll leave you gasping and going limp, his cock reaching parts of you unexplored by your own fingers.

And when you lean down over him, your pretty face just inches away from his own flushed you’re your fingers wrapped around his neck, Kyojuro will eagerly obey when you tell him to open wide, his cock throbbing inside you as your spit lands against his tongue, your taste and the lewd sight of you spitting in his mouth making his orgasm hurtle towards him. As soon as he eagerly swallows his eyes are going wide, his words rushed and slurred and strained as he tells you that it’s so fucking good, oh here it comes, shit it’s coming, it – it’s-!

He just really, really likes the way it feels to have your pretty fingers around such a vulnerable area, so get used to it – because Kyojuro is a passionate man, and as his lover, you must be just as passionate, too.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

As a general rule, Kyojuro is vocal about every sexual desire he has with you. He doesn’t believe in keeping secrets, especially in the context of sex where you could both be benefitting.

He wants to share every explicit, lewd fantasy he has of you simply because he thinks you might enjoy it – you might have even been dreaming of doing the same thing, you were just too shy to tell him.

(He knows how you are – how you’re so very shy, always seeming to skirt away from him when he nears you, your wide-eyed looks you send him when he’s talking to you, how your hands are clammy and you’re shaking ever so slightly when he pulls you in for a kiss with far too much tongue.)

And so, Kyojuro is open and honest; painfully so, really. He wakes up one morning with you in his arms, your eyes already open as he leans in and kisses the shell of your ear, sighing and pressing his navel against your ass, telling you in that husky morning voice of his that he’d dreamed about tasting you until you cry, my flame, doesn’t that sound nice?

(And of course, you’ll not be leaving that bed for hours after the fantasy is spoken out into the air – Kyojuro is nothing if not determined, and his tongue seems to never tire.) After returning home from a mission, he’s announcing to you that he’d passed by a risqué local shop and saw a drawing of a man and a woman where the woman was on top and oh, why didn’t you tell him that women sometimes enjoyed being the more dominant partner?

You’ll be left to flounder, unsure of how to respond, but it’s too late because Kyojuro is already laying down on his back, his pants pulled down to his knees and his expression eager, the smile across his lips blinding as he tells you to come here, my love, the woman in the drawing looked to be enjoying herself, and I want to see that on you as well!

However, because he has no sexual experience before you, he doesn’t harbor any particularly intense fantasies for you. He’s excited and aroused by the simple, straight-forward sex that he knows produces a child – missionary, mostly, or positions that involve spreading your legs and maintaining eye contact while he slides in, a hand cupping your cheek while he groans and tells you in a strained voice that you’re so beautiful, you feel so – ngh, so good!

And so, after a one-off chat with Tengen about wifely matters (he’s announced to the other Hashira that he has a wife, though none of them have met you or know that you aren’t actually his partner, just the woman he considers to be his wife), Kyojuro asks with complete sincerity if his friend has any advice in the bedroom.

Tengen had just laughed and clapped Kyojuro’s back, telling him that sex should be flashy, so don’t do the same things over and over! Mix things up – women love variety, so try some new positions, or a different method of pleasuring her!

When asked what other positions to try, Tengen had grinned, his eyes widening a bit as he said bend her over, she’ll feel you deeper and the view will drive you crazy.

And so, that night after coming home to you, he’d gulped, his eyes narrowing in on your ass, his voice a bit gruff as he told you to come with me, my love, I want to try something new.

“Are you comfortable?” Kyojuro asks, though he sounds distracted.

Swallowing, you nod, embarrassment clear on your face. This position was beyond humiliating – Kyojuro hadn’t explained much when he approached you earlier in the evening, simply looking at you with those unblinking eyes and telling you to get undressed because he had something new he wanted to try out.

And now, here you are, on your hands and knees on your shared bed, clothing neatly folded in a corner of the room. It’s cold, and the air is making goosebumps prickle along your skin and your nipples stiff.

If Kyojuro notices you shiver, he doesn’t say anything – instead, you hear him gulp, the sound suddenly much closer.

“You’re very beautiful…” He whispers, so quiet and unlike him that it makes you glance back over your shoulder. The sight you’re met with makes your embarrassment deepen, a mixture of shame and bashfulness seeping into your every bone.

He’s standing behind you, those wide eyes of his fixated on your exposed cunt, with his cock in hand. Thick fingers wrap around his base, visibly squeezing, his balls periodically twitching even without being touched. He looks entranced – awed, almost, presumably by the sight of your ass presented on display like this.

“Kyojuro…” You start, anxious to just get started so he’ll stop staring at you like you’re something holy and sacred. Wiggling your hips, you hope he’ll get the message.

Instead, you hear a muffled groan and suddenly feel air brushing against your sensitive folds, the sensation making your arms feel a bit weak. You feel a sudden slimy warmth, and wet noises ring in your ears as Kyojuro presses his tongue against you, dipping in briefly to taste and rub at anything he can reach. Heavy breaths are muffled against your cunt, but the insistent press of his chin against your clit makes it difficult to focus.

“Kyo – oh, Kyo please need you to fuck me, don’t tease me.” Your whines make him pause for a moment, before he slowly pulls back, pressing a single long kiss against your folds that has you biting your lip.

“Very well, you’ll have to tell me how it feels, love. Tell me everything you’re feeling.” He asks, gripping his base again and rubbing the tip through your folds, collecting your slick at the tip. His breathing is still loud, the way he’s sucking in air through clenched teeth making it obvious just how strongly the sight of you bent over and exposed like this is affecting him.

You look gorgeous – he’s intimately familiar with what’s between your legs, of course, but this view feels so lewd. He can see your pretty hole clenching every few moments, tufts of hair decorating the pretty sight, and he can even see your other hole, the one you always tell him not to touch with a squeak and a slap of his hand.

Soon he’s swallowing hard and pressing himself inside, the breath sucked out of his lungs because somehow you feel tighter like this, your cunt seeming to suck him in so tightly that it almost hurts, the sensation making his knees buckle slightly.

And you’re certainly not helping, either – as you’d promised him you’re gasping, telling him in an airy voice, “It’s so big – you’re so big, Kyo, fuck you’ve never felt so big, I can’t – you have to wait a second, please, ‘s too much-!”

And he does, with bared teeth and hands that find purchase at your ass, just as Tengen had told him to do. He’s groping at the soft flesh, grabbing handfuls and pulling them apart to get a full view. A whine slips out of him at the lewd sight of his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, the angle letting him see just how you stretch to accommodate him, even seeing the edges of his balls pressed against your thighs. It’s just too much, and as soon as your shaky ‘okay’ registers, Kyojuro’s immediately thrusting.

And the sight of him moving is even more erotic – pulling out of you and seeing the ring of white coating his base makes him lean more of his weight against you, trying to get more leverage as he thrusts back in so that he can fuck you harder, wanting to get impossibly deeper to feel more and more of you. He’s entranced, watching with wide eyes the way he appears and disappears inside of you again and again, almost lost in a trance.

Your noises have him grunting, the desperate whines and rhythmic gasps every time he sinks back into you making his orgasm come creeping up much too quickly. He’s just too overwhelmed, your pretty moans and cries of his name making his head spin.

Soon he’s bringing a leg up and pressing his foot flat against the ground, gaining better leverage and an angle that makes you scream, your cunt squeezing down on him so tightly that he struggles to pull back to just his tip. He’s seen animals do this in the wild – he’s fucking you like an animal would, mounting you and grasping at your waist to pull you back against him harder, anything and everything to get him deeper inside, to reach a part of you that he’s sure no man or even you have touched.

You’re just too damn pretty, and as he gasps your name and clutches onto you tightly enough to leave bruises while ropes of runny cum fill you, Kyojuro decides that he needs to try out all the other positions Tengen had told him about – perhaps he’ll try something called 69 with you tomorrow.

Maybe that’ll get you to scream his name like this ‘Doggy’ has.

#yandere kny #yandere demon slayer #yandere rengoku #kny smut #_lee's profiles #_kny #_kyojuro rengoku #rengoku x reader #rengoku smut

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magics-neptunes-things · 7 months

Text

Use me as a cushion

Hello!

I received some requests for fictions with other people than Ona, so here I am trying with Alexia!

It's fluff, literally pure fluff.

I hope you will like it! As always, the reviews are much appreciated :)

_____________________________________________________________

The situation of the Spanish women’s football team was no longer to be explained. After the forced departures of Vilda and the president of the Federation, the fight was far from over. While you naively thought you were going to have a break, you were all summoned to the national team despite the various statements you made.

Like all the others players of the team, you were forced to show up, participate in a few mediation sessions while following the usual training. You were exausted, all of you.

But you know that your girlfriend is even more than you are.

Alexia, as captain of the team, participated in many more discussions than all of you put together. In addition to everything else, she's the team’s anchor for everyone. The one you can rely on, the one you can count on. And it was true, she takes that role to perfection. Like everything she does, in your opinion (not quite impartial tho).

But over the days, you saw her fatigue increase and her condition deteriorate a little more. You told Ona about it, knowing that your girlfriend trusted her completely and that she wasn’t the type to talk further. You were scared for her, scared that she hurt herself on training because of the level of her tiredness.

Ona advised you to continue doing what you knew how to do best with Alexia, to be there for her and take care of her. Even if you don’t feel like it’s a big deal, you naturally planned a small schedule for Alexia tonight.

So here you are, waiting for you girlfriend to come back from an other discussion with some thinking heads of the Federation. You hate them, all of them.

Your game against Switzerland is in two days and you already are in Sevilla. Even if you're together since like a year, you weren't always set up in the same room. Luckily, Alexia found herself alone in her room, allowing you to join her there without disturbing anyone.

Even if it means you two end up in a single bed. You don't mind tho, having a good reason to sleep on the top of your girlfriend all night long.

Lying on Alexia’s bed, you look again at the time on the screen of your phone while continuing to play the mobile game you downloaded. Sighing, you roll sideways, allowing yourself to smell Alexia’s shampoo on her pillow. It's almost 23:00 and still not any sign fo Alexia. Chewing your lips, you hesitate to send her a message but then you heard the door open quietly.

You sit up immediatly, startled Alexia.

"Madre mia" she huffs with her hand on her heart. "What are you doing here? You should be sleeping"

She frowns while gently scolding you, but you make your way to her to hug her. You smile while she melt in your arms, caressing her back tenderly with your fingertips. Alexia is strong, everybody can see that. Everybody know that. But knowing that she trusts you enough to let it go with you is in your eyes the greatest proof of love she can give you.

"I can't sleep without my goodnight kiss" you point.

She smiles and kiss you softly, but you don't leave anyway. Like you said, you have plans for her.

"Did you eat?" you ask her as she takes off her shoes, dropping them to the ground with a thud.

"Not really" she sights "but it's to late anyway"

You roll your eyes before turning on the table behind you. You ordered a meal an hour ago and asked them to find you something to keep it warm. You were pretty sure that she will come back to late to ask the kitchen to make her something.

"What is it?" she asks, approaching the table with curiosity.

Her face lit up when she lifts the lid and you can’t help but smile back. You promised yourself, if Alexia is everyone’s crutch, you’ll be hers.

"Tortilla de patatas" she smiles.

"Con tomato, as you like. Not sure if it will be as good as your Mama's tho"

You shrugs but Alexia made her way towards you to take you in her arms. The hug was longer than before and you play with her hair for a while.

"Thank you" she whispers in your neck before moving back a few centimeters. "But you really should have sleeping"

You roll your eyes once again, before you made her a little smirk.

"If you insist I can go back sleeping with Claudia"

You were teasing, Alexia knew it. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here with her.

"Not funny" she pouts anyway.

You smile again and point to the plate that has still not been touched.

"Why don't you eat while I run you a bath?"

Alexia seems to think a few moments, hesitating between going to eat or spending some time with you. It’s hard to have moments just for you these last few days.

"With bubbles?"

"With bubbles" you answer, laughing at her baby voice.

Letting her eat, you went to the bathroom and do what you said. Waiting for the tub to be full, you get lost in your thoughts for longs minutes, contemplating the foam mix with the hot water. You were pretty tired yourself, but Alexia goes first. You need to take care of her.

You don’t hear her coming into the room though, making you jump slightly when she passes her arms around your waist. You let her lean into your neck, shivering when you feel her smell you.

"How can I thank you enought Amor?"

You turn around in her arms and put your hands around your neck.

"Your love is more than I can wish for"

The kiss she gives you this time is breathtaking. It's like you can feel the love and the recognition she feels for your actions. When the kiss ends, both of you looking for air, she strokes your nose with hers.

"Come with me?"

"Nah, tonight it's all about you"

She pouts again and you bite your lips. She knows that you can't resist her when she does this. And you know that she knows. And she knows that you know that she knows.

"Come on! If it's for me you can be my personnal cushion?"

You laugh at her antics and just give up. Who could deny this to the love of his life?

"Ok, but only because you will use me as a cushion."

#woso imagines #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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house-of-lovin · 1 year

Text

legally binded - 2

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. ♣ prev part | next part

Chapter 2: Lakers, Headlines… New York?

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual pov, famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of substances, intoxication, mature language, real people. (do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: part 2 of legally binded! I hear yall and I see the comments! This will be a series, got a lot of ideas for this one. But of course, I am open to hearing what you guys think and want to see! A little bonding moment for R and Jenna 😮‍💨

Word Count: 6.3k+ (lol sorry, may have gone overboard!)

“So… what does this mean, exactly?” Jenna asks for both of you.

“We’re gonna make the two of you the talk of the town. And hopefully get people to back off on the allegations that Jenna is difficult to work with and that Y/N is entering her Justin Bieber phase — and not the good one.” Your PR agent, Liv, purses her lips.

Jenna can’t help the snort that leaves her lips, awkwardly coughing to hide it. But you catch it anyway, throwing her a glare.

“Difficult to work with huh?” You speak up — in faux interest. “Not hard to see why.”

This time Jenna is the one glaring at you. “You don’t even know me.”

“You don’t know me either.” You huff.

“Enough!” Jake yells. Anger steadily rose in the man’s bloodstream.

You and Jenna flinch at his loudness. Sliding down the chair, you feel ashamed again; ignoring Jenna’s piercing glare.

Liv is sighing but opts not to add fuel to the fire. “It’s going to take a few hours to get the paperwork and contract drafted —but once it’s done we’ll have it sent over to you. For now, get to know each other, I don’t know.”

You shoot Liv a scowl. She was making this already awkward situation so much worse.

She catches your look, sighing, “Just–pretend this is another job and you’re new castmates. Anything please. ” She rolls her eyes, already fed up with what disaster this morning has been.

“You can do that, right?” Liv crosses her arms, staring at you two in question.

“Yes.” Jenna mumbles.

“Mhmm.” You hum lazily, changing the subject. “Can we tell people? That this isn’t real?”

Liv glances at Jake and Sarah sharing a silent conversation. They nod at each other. “If they sign an NDA. Only family, your team and us. This cannot leave the room.”

You feel pale. You couldn’t even tell the people around you about this fake relationship without binding them to a contract? Suddenly, the situation starts to feel more real; the carpet of delusion being pulled from under you.

You’re standing up, pushing the chair back with a loud scrape that rings terribly against your ears. “I need some air.”

“You’re really leaving in the middle of a meeting?” Jenna questions with a snip, crossing her arms.

“Sorry your highness, I got better places to be. Liv you can send the contract to my assistant. Ortega, wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you… but well.” You trail off, shrugging.

Liv and Jake are fuming red in the face at your words, but you were still hungover and the comedown was begging to wreak havoc – your irritation getting harder to restrain.

Jenna’s face scrunches, offended. You walk away, not bothering to listen for a response.

“There’s no way I can work with her…” You catch it anyway.

●●●

“I mean can you believe what they’re asking me to do!” You pace up and down your living room.

“Oh come on, I don’t buy the allegations that she’s difficult, you know they love to tear women down when they get their come up.” Link reasons tapping on his phone.

“I mean how can this face be rude?” He holds up a picture of Jenna at the SAG awards and you furrow your brows because you don’t remember seeing her there — you might have been late.

You were just nominated anyway. So you pulled a Beyoncé and only showed up for your category.

“Maybe Jenna’s not so bad?”

“Quit it.”

It was now mid-afternoon and the battering Californian sun was shining bright above clear skies and through your floor-to-ceiling windows. You bought this house in the Palisades for the peace it provided you. Not too far from central L.A. but still tucked away enough for a moment of solitude with a life like yours.

It was your own version of a sanctuary – like a home should be.

“Okay, that sounds crazy, I agree. But dude, you fucked up. Big time.” Your long-time friend Link said.

You and Link grew up together and when you got your come up, best believe you took your best friend with you. You offered to help him out while he lives with you as you achieve your dreams but ever the stubborn guy, he refused. Only agreeing to move to Los Angeles with you if he works as your assistant to earn his keep.

He’s a good guy like that.

Since then, he’s been by your side. Through every disappointment, bad news, great news, red carpets, and movie premieres. You couldn’t do this job without him.

He’s like your brother.

“I know!” You groan, dropping to the couch. Why the hell did you let your designer choose these couches? They were stiffer than a plank of wood.

“Look at this article online, 2-time Grammy winner and Academy Award Nominee, Y/N L/N’s fall from grace? Sin City indeed! The actress blacks out at a Vegas strip club! Click here to see exclusive mugshots.”

“They’re selling my fucking mugshots?” You lift your head above the headrest horrified, watching Link sit across the room on a bar stool reading his phone.

“I’m pretty sure they’re public domain.” He refutes.

Falling back, you groan louder – hiding your face behind your palms.

“I don’t see how you have a choice, buddy.” He sighs, placing his phone on the bar top.

“There has to be another way. Why can’t I just run away? I’ll fly back home for a couple of weeks, and let all of this shit die down. It’s worked before.”

“Yeah, I told Jake and Liv you’d say that.” He rolls his eyes, walking to you. “I don’t think you can run from this one, Y/N.”

The softness in his voice has you sighing in defeat. He’s right, you know he’s right. This wasn’t just some tiny mistake you can brush under the carpet like all the other ones. This was serious.

You got arrested. For blacking out with someone who had drugs on them. In a strip club, no less.

What a mess.

Something like this could seriously hurt your career. You could lose roles, relationships, connections, brand deals – the blood, sweat, and tears you poured in; everything you worked so hard for – gone.

“I know… Doesn’t make me wanna do it more though,” You mumble, distantly staring at the high ceiling.

He chuckles, “I know bud. But this is what we signed up for, right?”

You frown. It’s what we signed up for.

It’s a mantra that you have adopted in all your years as a working performer. It certainly wasn’t the most comforting and loving thing to say, but it works because it’s true and there’s no greater motivator than a slap in the face to reality.

You much preferred tough love anyway.

“Right.” You mutter.

“Come on, I think Jenna’s manager just sent me the signed contract, they’re just waiting for your signature.” He walks off to his office.

You close your eyes, letting the sun warm you up through the glass panes. A few moments pass until Link comes back out with a tablet and pen. “Sign here, under Jenna’s signature.”

She has pretty handwriting – you note as you sign the electronic document.

Call it weird but you had a thing for people with neat handwriting, steady hands and all that.

But then you remember who the professional signature belonged to and forced yourself to snap out of it.

“Did you even read it?” He arches a brow.

“That’s what lawyers are for.”

He scoffs, “Okay, superstar. It basically says what you and Jenna need to do. Public spottings at first, then dates, appearances at each other's events. Maybe posts on social media, but the idea is to be discreet – we can’t have it seem like we’re using this to scrub away the Vegas incident.”

“But that’s exactly what we’re doing,” You sigh.

“Yeah, but they don’t know that. And it’s your damn job to make sure they don’t ever find out either.”

You rub your forehead; a headache beginning to form. Not sure if it was from the hangover or from all this PR mess.

“Anways,” He takes the tablet out of your hands. “I’ll send these over to Liv. Now as for you. Go upstairs, take a shower because you smell horrendous and then put on what your stylist picked out.”

Wrinkling your nose, you ask, “What, why? I literally just got back, I already have to go out and show my face? The paparazzi will hound me.”

“We have to beat the Vegas headline with a bigger story, so you need to be seen with Jenna ASAP. That means out for a late lunch at a well-known spot downtown. You have to act like the news doesn’t bother you – like you’re moving past it.”

“Who goes out for late lunch?”

He sends you a pointed look.

“I’ll be upstairs…” You mumble, dragging your feet as you ascend the steps.

●●●

You tap your fingers on the steering wheel, glancing up at the modest house through your sunglasses.

A mid-modern century house in Glendale. Not where you pictured her to live but whatever. Her front yard was bare but professionally trimmed. No signs of any plant life that made the space look a little… dull. The only signs of life in the house was the humble SUV that you assumed belonged to the young actress.

Your tapping grows impatient the longer you wait.

As if staring harder at the front door will make the actress come out faster. Another five agonizing minutes pass – you seriously consider pulling away to go home and sleep off this hangover but Link stood a good half-foot taller than you.

He’d lock your ass out of your own home.

Eventually, the door opens and the short brunette walks down the driveway in confident strides. Dressed in jeans, combat boots and a cardigan; those headphones around her neck, again. Somehow, she looked consistently gothic and you pondered if she really was like her character in real life.

You see her scan your Mercedes-AMG GT3 for a moment before pulling the passenger door open; sliding into the cushy seats. “Nice car.”

You blink, “Thanks… you sure took your time though,”

You couldn’t stop the slight attitude that accompanied your words.

She gives you a sharp glance, “why didn’t you just ring the doorbell?”

“You had to unlock the gate to let me in, you knew I was waiting outside.” You huff, staring at her back.

“Then would have waited in the living room if you had knocked. What difference does it make?” She shrugs.

“That’s not the poi–” You gruff but stop, inhaling a deep breath. The pounding in your skull was begging for you to cool down.

“I think I much preferred waiting in the car… alone.” You whisper the last bit then shoot her a sarcastic glance; shifting the gear in reverse.

You don’t bother to check if she had her seatbelt on as you aggressively pull out her driveway; leaving skid marks on the pavement.

She jerks forward at the sudden movement. “Shit– a little warning next time?” She glares bracing herself on the dashboard.

“Hands off the leather,” You bite as you pull off her street and to the restaurant Link sent you the directions to.

She scoffs. “My driveway!”

●●●

“Table for 2 under Ortega? Please follow me, can I be the first one to say how delighted we are that you two decided to dine here.” The host enthused a little too much.

“It’s our pleasure.” Jenna answers politely.

You plaster a tight-lipped smile keeping quiet; sliding a modest hand on Jenna’s back when he leads you past other patrons and to a secluded table – heads already turning in your direction. Jenna jumps, sending you a menacing glare and for a moment you feel slightly scared by the fire in her eyes – dropping your hand immediately.

Okay, no touching. Got it.

“Here we are, the best seat in the house. We have complementary champagne on the table to start your evening. We’ll give you a few moments to get settled,” He sends a tight smile causing his wrinkles to show – definitely trying too hard but you’d never say no to free alcohol.

“Thank you,” You bid, pulling a chair out for Jenna.

She walks to claim the opposite chair, assuming you’re taking the one you pulled out. But she stares as you stand behind the open chair, awkwardly. Only then did she seem to realize that the seat was for her.

Raising her brows, she looked a little surprised but wordlessly and a bit awkwardly (she sends a tight-lipped smile) sits over to the chair allowing you to push it in for her, before taking your own seat across.

The first thing you grab is the bottle of champagne and the flute.

You miss Jenna’s tracking eyes as you pour a hefty glass. “Is that really the best thing for you to have, especially after last night? Also, it’s like 4 PM.”

“I didn’t know you were the alcohol police and it’s 8 PM somewhere.” You take big gulps of the champagne, savouring the way it burned but also felt cool on the way down.

“Trust me, I’m not. But my ass is on the line here too and there are people watching.” She grits out the last part, signalling with her eyes. You glance up catching two girls from another table with their phones up, no doubt taking pictures and recording you and Jenna.

Looking away, you place the glass flute down, sitting back in your seat with a slump. “Fine…”

“When are you going to take this seriously?” She whispers, tone: sharp.

“I am taking this seriously,” You fight to keep your face impassive knowing there are eyes on you both.

“No, you’re not. You couldn’t even sit through the meeting this morning and now you’re acting like a child. Might I remind you, we’re in this mess because of you.”

You clench your jaw, trying your hardest not to blow up in this fine establishment.

“I’m the reaso—“

“Are we ready to order?” The waitress cuts in.

“Yes, we are.” Jenna turns to her with that large, sweet smile that sells millions.

●●●

‘New Gal-Pals in Hollywood, Y/N L/N and Jenna Ortega spotted out for lunch’

It was now the following day after your ‘lunch date’ with Jenna and you wish to say it only got better as time went on but that would be a lie. You two did not get along – at all. How was it possible for your management to find the one person on this planet that you just couldn’t get along with.

You know difficult, you can handle difficult. You’ve worked with the likes of Shia Lebeouf, Gweneth Paltrow, Michael Bay… just to name a few. You’ve had your fair share of difficult colleagues.

But this girl? She’s something else.

“Gal pals? Really?” Your nose scrunches in distaste.

“No wait, this one’s better! Wednesday star Jenna Ortega supports new bestie, Y/N L/N amid Vegas arrest.”

“Stop.” But Link’s loud laughter overpowers you.

“Oh! We got one that’s different, Trouble-maker, A-lister, Y/N L/N, will drag down rising-star Jenna Ortega!”

“Okay, that’s just bullshit.” You pique up.

“Rising star?” Jenna voices in disdain.

“Enough!” Liv’s voice echoes from your laptop speaker. “This isn’t the headline we wanted.”

You roll your eyes, scanning the candid photo of you and Jenna sitting at the restaurant.

The images look tame enough and can definitely be interpreted as just two friends out for a bite. News outlets don’t buy it, but the internet is already freaking out; spewing out unsolicited opinions on this new pairing. Some think you two are just friends, some think it’s a date, others think it’s for a movie role.

“I thought I did a good job,” Jenna speaks up on the other line of the Facetime call.

“Clearly not…” You mumble, but she catches it anyway, rolling her eyes.

“We need to up the ante, this is not good enough.” Liv sighs and you can hear the trepidation through the call.

“Like what?”

“There’s a Lakers game tonight and you two are making your first official appearance.” She grins with mischief.

“Lakers?” Jenna rouses, sounding excited.

“How would they interpret that differently than before?” Shaking your head.

“I got a plan already, darling. I have a guy in TMZ who’s going to break the first official headline that you two are in the ‘getting to know each other’ stage. Which is where you two come in… after the game headlines of your guys’ date night will be the number one trending topic.” She explains, eyes lighting up in excitement.

Liv loves to lay out her plans to whoever was willing to listen — you’re already tuning her out.

You are sure her plan is genius like she says it is.

“Are they versing someone decent, at least?” You ask tiredly. When were you going to get some time to yourself?

“Celtics.”

“I’m in.”

●●●

“Do you really have to wear sunglasses indoors? Everyone knows we’re here.” Jenna whispers from beside you.

“It’s part of the look.” You retort, sliding down the foldable chair. Why are courtside seats so uncomfortable for all the money I’m paying?

“What look.”

“We got two stars in the Lakers house tonight! Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Y/N L/N and Jenna Ortega!”’ The announcer booms through the stadium speakers.

Looking up at the jumbotron, you and Jenna are plastered big and bright on the screen. You flash a dazzling smile and force your body to untense – ignoring Jenna’s quip.

You embrace the loud cheers and applauds, waving and sending the camera that dazzling smile you have mastered. Jenna copies your movements.

Eventually, the camera pans away from you two and you finally feel like you can breathe again.

“God, I think my eardrums ruptured.” She complains, clutching her earring clad-ears painfully.

You laugh, “Oh come on, you don’t have people shouting for your attention at you at every turn?”

She frowns, shaking her head, “Not at this level… I like to think I still have some anonymity.”

Snorting, you say, “Yeah well, just wait. That’ll all be gone — so enjoy it while you can.”

You don’t see her frown deepen because you spot a familiar face. “Look who’s in the house!”

“Hey!” You stand briskly. Lebron James comes barreling over in large steps; greeting you with a hug and a pat on the back.

“Feeling ready for tonight?” You ask, smiling up at the athlete. Being a big name in Hollywood definitely came with nice perks like knowing world-renowned athletes.

As much as you complain about your life – this is certainly a perk you can’t deny.

“You know it! We’re gonna mop the floors with your lil Celtics team.” He smirks making you laugh.

“Okay, save the trash-talking for the court... This is Jenna by the way.” You move to the side to reveal Jenna sitting; watching the two of you with a flabbergasted look on her face.

“Nice to meet you, Jenna. My kids loved Wednesday, I think my daughter might dress up as you this Halloween.” He jokes; shaking her hand.

It was quite an amusing sight to see Jenna crane her neck to meet the basketball player’s eyes. And you really tried your hardest not to snort when her tiny hands slide into his gigantic palms – her upper arm practically disappearing in his grasp.

They continue talking for a few more moments before the basketball player eventually bids his goodbye to continue warming up.

“You’re friends with Lebron James?” She asked in disbelief when you sit back down.

“Yeah, is that surprising?” You arch a brow.

“Yes?” She asks like you were stupid for even asking.

You chuckle. “Well, now you know.”

“Also… a Celtics fan, really? That’s just disgraceful.” She shakes her head.

You scrunch your face in faux annoyance, puffing your chest proudly, “Hell yeah the Celtics! We’re gonna wipe the court with your little Lakers in their own house.”

“Don’t let people hear you say that, you’ll be stoned,” She laughs heartily.

For a brief moment, you watch as she shakes in laughter at her own joke – unable to fight the infectiousness of her laugh. Her bangs shake with her movements as she attempts to hide her smile behind her hand.

Were you guys getting along? Nah, impossible.

“I’ll just use you as a shield.”

“I’m like five-foot, I don’t think I’ll be much help.” She snorts.

“Pocket-sized shield – makes travelling easier.” You shrug, smirking.

She shoots you a side-eye but you see the smirk she tries to hide from you.

Eventually, the national anthem is sung and tip-off begins. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying yourself right now. After the weekend disaster in Vegas, all you wanted to do was sleep away your fuck-ups. But this… isn’t so bad.

Jenna seems to have loosened up and allowed herself to enjoy the game.

You cheer enthusiastically when the Celtics go on a 12-0 run in the fourth quarter.

The score is 94 - 90, with the Lakers in the lead. You were standing now, your concession drinks and snacks forgotten under your chair. The energy in the stadium is infectious as everyone cheers for their respective teams.

“This is what I’m talking about, now we got a game!” You clap loudly, yelling.

“$100 Lakers win this one.” The sweet voice shouts over the crowd.

You turn, grinning. “That’s it? $1000, Celtics win.”

The quiet contemplation is burning bright in her eyes, but eventually, she gives in extending her hand. “You’re on.”

Somehow, your grin stretches wider when she slides her hand in yours to seal the deal. “I can’t wait to be a $1000 richer.”

“In your dreams,” she clicks her tongue, focusing on the court.

“Come on ref, that was a foul!” She shouts at the checkered-shirt man as he runs past you.

She’s not looking at you but you find yourself unable to look away from her.

Granted, you barely knew anything about Jenna before meeting her yesterday. But you think you like this laid-back version of her more than the one you met at first.

A whistle-blowing breaks your staring before it becomes too obvious.

Eventually, the game goes into overtime with the score being 104 - 104 when the Lakers gets both free throws in. You’re practically shaking in excitement as you watch from courtside.

You are bent over, hands on your knees like a soccer mom watching their kid get a penalty kick. You miss Jenna snapping a photo of the court with you bent over in the corner of the picture.

“Come on, Tatum!” You shout, a vein on your forehead protruding.

“Did you say a $1000 richer?” She mocks, using your words against you.

“Don’t go on a victory lap yet,” You stand as the last time-out is called, “The score’s even and there’s still 5 seconds on the clock. It’s anybody's game right now.”

When the whistle blows signalling time-out is over, you are tense again. Jenna seems to share your sentiments as she absentmindedly grabs your jacket when the Celtics shooting guard walks behind the line to inbound the ball.

Anticipation getting the best of her.

You ignore the touch – unsure if you wanted to pull away or never move your arm again.

“Shit!” You yell when someone on the Lakers intercepts the Celtics attempt to inbound — sloppily passing it to another player in gold and purple.

3 seconds remaining on the clock and a fast-break on the Lakers side ensues; green jerseys struggling to keep up.

“Schroder tips the Celtics inbound and manages to pass it off to Thompson, to James! James with a hail mary from half-court with 2 seconds, will he make it!” The announcer exclaims.

It was like the movies when everything goes silent and somehow you see everything in slow motion. You watch as the ball spins high above in the air with the powerful throw from the Laker’s power forward. The only thing you feel is Jenna’s fist gripping your arm, bunching the jacket in her hands.

You unconsciously lean into her; the intensity of the room bouncing off you.

The ball continues to spin until it amazingly flies through the basket with a satisfying swoosh and the buzzer rings loudly.

The crowd explodes – bursting into loud cheers.

“Holy shit!” Jenna jumps, cheering.

“No fucking way.” You groan.

You feel her grab your shoulders to face her, still jumping up and down; a large smile on her face. You find yourself matching her grin despite your team not winning.

Nodding in defeat, you admit, “Okay, okay… that was a pretty great game.”

“Great?” She shakes you like a rag doll, “That was the best game I’ve ever seen!”

“Are you turning into a basketball fan, Miss Ortega?” You tease as she pulls away from you.

Still with a grin, she says, “Never… Football will always have my heart.”

“I didn’t peg you for an NFL fan but I guess I’ve heard stranger things.” You tease as she rolls her eyes.

“Soccer, Y/N.”

“Why didn’t you just call it the proper name then?”

“We are not starting this.” She holds a hand up, turning to sit back in her seat. The high of winning the bet, dwindling away.

●●●

“This is me…” Jenna says into the quiet night air.

You shifted on your feet as you stood by your car. The night had been an unexpected…. success. After the game, you two made sure to stick around to chat and take pictures with fans in the crowd.

The more eyes that saw you two together, the better.

“Um… this was nice, I guess.” You mumble, feeling a bit awkward now that it was just you and her.

She blinks up at you, surprised by your admission. “Uh – yeah, this wasn’t bad. Surprising, but not bad.”

A small smile creeps on your face, “Okay, well I guess I’ll see you later… or whenever our managers say we need to be seen together again.”

She laughs, nodding, “Yeah…”

A bright flash from your peripheral has you blinking, unfocused. “What the–”

“Paps…” She sighs. “Kiss my cheek.”

“What?” You asked bewildered.

She sends you a pointed look, turning her back from the direction of the flash so they couldn’t see her face. “Kiss my cheek, they’ll take a picture and then they’ll know we’re not just gal pals.”

Jenna is rolling her eyes but you’re still stuck in your spot. “Y/N.”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you clear your throat, “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Something indecipherable shines in her eyes, but it disappears as she blinks, “You’re not asking for my hand in marriage, Y/N. Just kiss my cheek.”

Blushing, you lean down. Shyly placing your lips on her soft-dimpled cheek – she leans into the contact, placing a hand on your neck. Immediately, a flurry of bright flashes and sounds of clicking interrupt the moment.

“Goodnight, Jenna.” You say softly once you pulled away; ignoring the goosebumps that rose on your skin.

“Goodnight.” She takes a moment to look at you before walking to unlock her gate.

You wait until she opens the metal door; not missing the kind eyes she shoots you as she shuts the gate. Only once Jenna’s out of your view did you let out a deep sigh, turning around.

“Y/N! Over here! Did you just kiss Jenna Ortega? What about the singer you were with in Vegas? Are you two over?”

You didn’t want to give the paparazzi lurking on her street more reason to stay, so you keep your head down ignoring their shouting and slip into your car.

●●●

“How was it?” Her sister’s voice can be heard on her phone.

“Awful – she’s a menace, Mia.” Jenna replies as she opens her fridge, looking for a mid-afternoon snack.

It was now Sunday afternoon and as predicted – you and Jenna are the top headline of every major news outlet in America.

“Did you tell her that you loved her in Little Women?”

“What? No, of course not! I’m not gonna tell her that.”

“Why not? You watched that movie like five times when it came out.” Her sister reminds.

“Shut up, Mia.”

“Okay, anyways…” She trails off, laughing. “I saw the pictures. You’re smiling pretty wide with her. Also the kiss on the cheek when she was dropping you off? Chef’s kiss. Just perfect.”

Jenna rolls her eyes, “It’s all part of the act. Of course, I look happy.”

“There’s videos of you jumping on her. I can barely scroll through my Twitter feed without seeing an edit of you two at the game.”

“Stop. I don’t want to talk about her anymore.” Jenna snaps.

“Okay, okay…” Mia laughs and Jenna can picture her raising her hands in surrender. “Let’s talk about New York, are you excited?’

Jenna lets out a repressed sigh. With all of this PR mess with you, she hasn’t had time to think about how busy her schedule is about to be. The Scream VI premiere and SNL is inching closer and the Coachella native is feeling the familiar phantoms of anxiety rumbling in her chest.

“Yeah, of course, I am. It’s SNL…”

“But?” Aliyah, her younger sister’s voice comes out of nowhere.

“But it’s SNL!” Jenna exclaims, “It’s a big deal! What if… what if I fuck up? Or I break character?”

“Okay… let’s take a deep breath,” Mia speaks up. She recognizes her sister’s looming anxiety and knew she had to act before the young actress sends herself into a panic. “You will kill it, like you always do and you won’t mess up. It’s okay to be a little nervous.

“Right, right.” Jenna agrees but the weighted pressure in her chest was still to creeping in.

Mia hums over the line unconvinced, “Listen, the whole family is flying in before your premiere. So don’t worry, we’ll be there, cheering you on!”

Jenna can’t fight the smile that creeps up on her face. The thought of her family being there on one of the most important nights of her career is all she needs. They always had her back, picking her up when she felt like she couldn’t do it anymore. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate that.”

●●●

“You want me to fly to New York, to what– be her personal cheerleader?” You dead-pan, watching as Link frantically throws clothes and shoes into a suitcase.

It’s been about a week since the Lakers and Celtics game and news of you and Jenna’s night out in town are still abuzz. The two of you made a couple more subtle appearances over the last couple of days and the media is eating it up shamelessly. Pictures of you and the star are plastered on the front pages; be it grabbing coffee or grocery shopping or walking your dog at the park.

Now, you couldn’t even step outside without someone hurling Jenna’s name at you.

But you couldn’t lie. It was nice to have some company while you run your errands. Only yours though — you hated when you had to do hers. Jenna always thought too hard about which cereal to get, like she’s ever home to eat it.

‘New budding romance in Hollywood? Do we have a new power couple on the rise with Y/N L/N and Jenna Ortega? These two seem to be getting to know each other well… click here to read more’

Was the first thing you read when you turned on your phone this morning.

Of course, it’s never that easy because there are still a handful of nobodies sending hateful messages about your criminal escapades – not everyone was convinced.

Some well-known people on social media – people you personally know are adding fuel to the fire; engaging in discourses of you and Jenna and if you are dragging her down just by being associated with you.

Fake-ass motherfuckers.

“Yes, I think those are the exact words Jake and Liv put in their texts, actually.” He reaches for his phone to read over the message; mocking you.

“Stop, Link…” You run a hand on your face, “Tell them I’m not going. I have better things to do, Coachella is right around the corner and I literally have a song I need to send to my producer.”

He watches as you childishly cross your arms, scowling.

If you weren’t his best friend he would’ve said goodbye to the Hollywood life – too rich for his blood. Link wasn’t sure how he still put up with your attitude after all these years. Could you have said those words any more snobbishly?

“Are you done?”

“No.”

“Well you don’t have a damn choice. Now, take a shower – Marcus will be here in an hour to drive us to LAX. And you can record in New York, no one said you had to be attached to Jenna’s hip.”

“What if I don’t want to.” You stand your ground.

“Don’t do this today, Y/N.” He sighs.

For a few moments, you hold your ground; contemplating if you should dig a hole and barricade yourself – metaphorically, of course. But never say never.

Link raises a challenging brow – daring you to try him today.

Wow, someone must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed…

Knowing what that look meant, you knew when to pick your battles and accepted the loss, trudging over to the master bathroom but not before slamming the door behind you.

“Don’t be slamming doors ‘round here! I don’t care if the house is under your name.” He shouts from the other side.

“Fuck off!” You yell back, yanking your shirt off as the water turns hot.

He is such a dad.

–

“What are you doing here?”

“Hi to you too, Jenna. How was your day? Mine was great, the flight was a bit bumpy but I can handle a ‘lil turbulence. Thanks for asking.” You reply, ignoring the furrow in her brow hidden behind the silky fringe.

You wonder what conditioner she uses to get her hair looking that soft.

“Y/N…” Jenna sighs, walking past you to enter your hotel suite. Walking into the living room to place her shoulder bag on the coffee table then she turns to face you, crossing her arms still waiting for an answer. “I’m serious, why are you in New York.”

You lean against a wooden panel, crossing your arms as well. “Didn’t your team tell you?”

Her frown deepens, patience thinning the longer you beat around the bush. “Obviously not or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Okay relax…” You warn not appreciating her tone. You literally just landed an hour ago and it’s almost midnight East Coast time. The timezone switch is fucking with you and her attitude is the last thing you need.

“Don’t tell me to relax.” She snaps. The young actress hated those words, it always made her more riled up.

You scoff trying your hardest not to snap back but controlling your anger has never been your strong suit. “Why do you think I’m here? Liv told me I had to show face for your premiere and SNL episode. Be your cheerleader or some shit.”

She drops her arms, frown still etched on her soft face. What? Ignore that.

“Shit, I think Sarah might’ve mentioned it but I was just so busy with rehearsal and fittings with Enrique that I didn’t see.” Jenna sighs, rubbing her forehead.

For the first time since she barged into your room – you take a moment to scan her. Her face is bare and makeup free but you can see the dark smudges from her eyeliner earlier today just under the lashline. She was dressed in a large sweater and mismatched sweatpants; the sleeves are so long it covers half her hands and her short wavy locks tied into a messy low bun.

Her clothes practically engulfed her tiny stature. You figure this is a pretty rare sight that most people aren’t privy to and suddenly you’re unsure as to why it’s so hard to look away.

“I didn’t mean to snap… I’m sorry.” She says quietly, looking at you like she was genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine…” You shrug and pushed off the wall to sit on the couch. Everyone has their days, you thought.

“I didn’t mean to ambush you. I really thought you knew I’d be here.” You turn on the TV, not being to stand the silence in the large room.

Jenna sits down beside you, tucking her feet against her chest. When did she take off her shoes? “It’s not your fault.”

The sigh she lets out is heavy and something tells you there’s some meaning behind it too. But you didn’t feel like it was your business so you zip it and continue watching the TV drone on about a program you don’t care about.

“I saw clips of your SNL promo… I thought it was hilarious – you were great and that reporter outfit? So cool.” You change the subject. It gets her to smile as her dimples poke out, a little shy now.

“It’s so cringy.” She covers her face.

“Awh, nah… the internet loved it.” You laugh, a little amused that the actress was all flushed by a single compliment.

Call it big-headed, call it ego, call it whatever you want but you personally relished it when people fawned over you.

“Of course they did. They’re the whole reason for the meme.” She rolls her eyes after dropping her hands but she still had a toothy smile.

“I bet that dance follows you everywhere…”

“Every. Fucking. Day.” She says then raises a brow at you, “How do you know about the dance, though?’

You send her an affronted look, “I’m not a grandmother, Jenna. I know what’s hip with the kids.”

She snorts, “You’re an idiot – I just mean, I didn’t think you were on TikTok like that with a schedule like yours. Also, that app is toxic.”

“Every social media app can be toxic.” You quip, “But get off your high horse, your majesty. I literally just saw a couple of edits on Twitter of it.”

“Uh huh…” She hums, unconvinced, if the side glance she throws you was any indication. “But yeah the writers wanted to do a bit with Wednesday and this is what we came up with.”

“Well, I think it’s genius… from a business standpoint.” You offer up, nudging her shoulder then turning back to the TV.

You miss Jenna’s bothered frown. “Business standpoint?”

“Yeah,” You say off-handedly, “It’s smart, good for you.”

“Are most things a ‘business standpoint’ for you?” She asks, genuinely curious about what you could mean.

“Hmm. I guess I never thought of it like that but now that I’m saying it out loud, yeah, kinda.” You shrug, thinking about it.

Most of the interactions in Hollywood that you have had are based on transactions and is usually for your own self-interest.

“...That’s kinda sad.” She says getting you to turn.

“What does that mean?” You frown.

“I’m just saying… there’s more to this industry than business deals and brand offers.” This time Jenna offers up a thought but it sounds a bit judgemental to you, shrugging.

You’re furrowing your brows, sitting up straight. “Look, you don’t even know me. Just forget what I said.”

But the laugh she lets out grinds your gears in the most unpleasant way.

Jenna holds up her hands in surrender but it feels mocking. “Clearly…” She emphasizes. “But I’m just saying, there’s no need to get all defensive.”

“Okay, I don’t know what kind of shit you were dealing with today but don’t take it out on me. Don’t come to my room talking about things you know nothing about.” You glower.

She matches your frown, standing. “It kinda sounds like you’re the one dealing with something, actually.”

“I think you should leave.” Your glare turns sharp and cold, standing too.

“Already on my way out.” She scoffed, snatching her bag aggressively off the coffee table then turns to walk to the front door.

You follow to make sure the door hits her on the way out but she stops abruptly by the hall causing you to trip on your own feet to not tumble over her.

“I think you should go back to L.A.” She glares up at you, tightly clutching her shoulder bag.

The laugh you let out is humourless, stepping back to create space between you and the other actress. “And get my ass handed to me by Jake, Liv and Sarah? They’re like four horsemen of the apocalypse – just searching for their last member. No thanks. You got a problem with me here? You deal with it.”

She clenches her jaw, “Done. Leave it to me.” Then turns and leaves making sure to slam the door shut.

Those hotel doors weigh a fuck ton, how did she do that? And what did she mean leave it to me?

“Can I come out now?” Link peeks his head out from the adjoining room; fear present on his features.

●●●

tagging who comment so far:

@alexkolax @ladey @jjsmaybank20 @werewoofrobinbuckley

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega #wednesday netflix #legally binded

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captainfern · 3 months

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fern rant below lol

yk one thing i have noticed both on tiktok, here and the rest of the internet is the “pornification” of media

by that i mean the standards people are being held to in regards of sexual attraction or just “beauty standards in general” and how there is this sudden increase of ideals and values built on the foundation of toxic pornography

i mean there are several examples, but the most common ideals you see typically relate to someone’s body and someone’s body hair and i have a bit to say on the matter, especially as someone who creates “pornographic” content

let’s talk body first

you are beautiful. it does not matter whether the internet perceives you as anything more or less than that. you are beautiful exactly the way you are

the pornification of modern media will tell you that you have to look a certain way. you will be told you can’t be plus-size, or you can’t be too skinny, or you can’t be tall, or you can’t lack curves, or you can’t have hyperpigmentation, etc. don’t listen to that bullshit

you are beautiful and i luv you

i don’t want to see negative body image portrayed in fanfic: x reader’s can be plus-size, they can be tall, they can have no curves. they are x reader for a reason !!! the reader should be described as little as possible !!!

and in saying that, yeah, your favourite fictional characters would fuck a bigger person. they’d fuck a taller person. they’d love you for you and be completely and utterly obsessed with you. “but actually— 🤓☝️” shut up please <3

now body hair

its natural !!! it grows !!!

if you don’t wanna shave, don’t shave. if you wanna shave, shave. baby it’s your choice. do what YOU want. don’t let anybody else influence you and your body

the pornification of modern media has really fucked this kind of thinking up because people (a lot of men unfortunately) think they can dictate the way people / women present themselves ??? gtfo what lmao

“body hair is nasty, body hair is unnatural, body hair is unhygienic”— honey please don’t. it’s not any of these things. body hair is completely ok (and so is not wanting it on you ofc— as long as it’s your decision, not the persuasion of anyone else)

i saw a tiktok of these guys being like “oh i’d never have sex with someone who didn’t shave” and “ew i’d never eat hairy puss” brother you literally suck (it’s ok to have preference, but don’t make it out to be vile or weird or something other people have to agree with)

it’s natural. it’s normal. it’s perfectly hygienic if you keep it that way. if you meet someone like the guys i mentioned above, they ain’t worth your time

and yeah, john price and simon riley and johnny mactavish and kyle garrick would fuck you and eat you out if you didn’t shave cause they’re MEN

love yourself because you’re beautiful and i’m telling you so right now !!!

i felt the need to say this as i write pornography. i write x readers. i try to keep everything regarding body as neutral as possible (and if i ever fuck up, please let me know !!)

i often write about “fat” or “flesh” in my writing but that’s because i don’t see a lot of fics with it. if you want something different, specify in a request and i will write your request more to your liking <3 i want everyone to feel accepted and welcome here because it’s important !!!

on that note, you won’t catch me writing about “bare pussy” or “hairless legs” or whatever. i try to keep it all up to your imagination !!! (you will find hairy men tho !!! the lads i write for will always be hairy but that’s cause i’m a whore)

anyway i luv you and you are so so so beautiful and i hope you have an amazing day / night wherever you may be

this post is not an attack or anything of the sort. i’m just speaking my mind :)

lots of luv <3

#captainfern #fern talks about societal issues for some reason when she probably should be writing about john price or something

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joannechocolat · 1 year

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On why women’s rage is a superpower

My mother hates my new book. I gave her a proof just a few days ago, and although she’s still only halfway through, she can’t wait to tell me all the ways in which she hates my novel.

“Is this science fiction?” she says. (She detests science fiction.) “Were you ill when you wrote this?” (I was.) And repeatedly, she says: “Why are the women so angry?”

I get it. She’s out of her comfort zone. At 83, with no internet, no interest in pop culture and a deep-rooted hatred of anything close to horror or the supernatural, she wasn’t my target audience. And yet it’s never easy to hear such criticism from a loved one. But in some ways, she isn’t wrong. Broken Light is an angry book. It came from a time of lockdown, when social media was my only window onto the world. It came from a place of trauma, when I was fighting cancer. It came from a place of corrupt hierarchies, self-serving politicians, anti-vaxxers, Covid deniers, victim-blamers, and those eager to blame all their woes on minorities. And of course, it arose against the background of the #MeToo campaign and the Sarah Everard murder – a murder that shocked the nation, not least because the murderer turned out to be a serving police officer with a reputation for sexual misconduct - which unleashed a collective howl of protest, as well as an ugly, misogynistic backlash. Even so, my story came as something of a surprise to me: the story of a woman’s rage, and, on reaching the age at which women often feel least valued, her coming into her power.

It surprised me, most of all because I wasn’t an angry person. At least, I didn’t think I was. Those who know me describe me as someone who tends to flee conflict, who generally tries to find common ground, who gets upset when people fight. And yet, writing this story, I found myself saying and feeling certain things on behalf of my heroine, Bernie Moon; things I might not have said for myself, but which felt right and urgent, and true, and strangely liberating.

Anger has a bad press. A woman’s anger, especially. While men are encouraged to express feelings of justified anger, women are often criticized when they try to do the same. Angry women are often portrayed as “harpies,” “banshees,” “Furies.” It suggests that a man’s rage is righteous, but that a woman’s is unnatural, making her into a monster. Male anger is powerful. The God of the Bible is one of wrath. Seldom is he ever portrayed as expressing any other emotion. In the same way, men and boys are often led to believe that expressing emotion is weak - except for anger, which is seen as acceptably masculine.

In comparison, women are often criticized when they show aggression. Angry women are hysterical, shrill, out of control, unreliable, unattractive, unfeminine. A perceived lack of “femininity” makes a woman less valuable, less worthy of respect and of protection. The Press coverage of women victims of violence is a case in point. A victim of violence needs to be attractive, white, gender conforming and virtuous in every way if she is not to be overlooked, or worse, portrayed as somehow having contributed to her misfortune. When trans teenager Brianna Ghey was stabbed, the Press were very quick to state that her murder was not thought to be a hate crime, whilst at the same time obsessing over – and questioning - her gender. When Nicola Bulley disappeared, police felt obliged to divulge details of her struggle with the menopause, as well as her alcohol issues, even though this was privileged information and of no public relevance. When Emma Pattison, the Head of Epsom College, was murdered alongside her daughter, the Press immediately assumed that her husband George must have felt “overshadowed” and “driven to distraction” by his wife’s prestigious job. In all three cases, the victim falls under the hostile scrutiny of the Press, while the perpetrator is given an excuse. In all three cases, the victim – one trans, one hormonal, one better-paid than her husband - is effectively portrayed as “unnatural”. Subtext: Unnatural women do not deserve the protection of the patriarchy. Unnatural women come to bad ends.

Once you start to acknowledge it, rage grows at a surprising rate. Over the past three years, I have found myself growing increasingly angry. Angry at the injustices committed by our Government; t the greed of corporations; angry at the prejudice extended to those who are different.

Connecting with others on social media has made me more aware of the lives and experiences of those from different backgrounds to mine, and with different levels of privilege. For a long time I’d been resistant to calling myself a feminist. Feminists are angry, I thought. What right have you to be angry?

Growing older, I realize that this was my mother speaking. A woman of a certain generation, who although she was aware of the challenges of living in a patriarchy, still had a level of privilege that many women do not share. White, professional, cishet women can sometimes have the luxury of choosing not to be angry. White, professional, cishet women can sometimes have the illusion of equality. But feminism isn’t only for just one kind of woman. A feminist must look beyond the limits of their own experience. And that’s where the anger really starts: anger at injustice; anger at corruption and lies. Most of all, anger at the prejudice against certain people for just being themselves; for being transgender, or Black, or old, or simply not conforming to what a white, patriarchal society expects and values. And once you start seeing injustice, you start to see it everywhere. It’s like an eye, which, once opened, cannot unsee inequality.

My anger flourished in lockdown. A time of growing divisions. Masks are invaluable in a pandemic, and yet they inhibit connection. They serve as a kind of reminder of who can speak, and who is to be silenced. While Boris Johnson was urging the public to trust the police, a vigil for Sarah Everard was broken up, with violence, by officers citing lockdown laws. While elderly people were dying alone; while I drove for four hours just to go for a half-hour walk in the park with my son; while I sat alone in my chemo chair, politicians were partying. Billionaires were enriching themselves. Behind the mask, the eye opened wide. I caught myself making faces behind my disguise at strangers. There was something weirdly liberating about this; as if, behind the piece of cloth, I could express myself at last. Not unlike writing a book, in fact. On screen, the eye opened wider. Bernie Moon, my heroine, was unlike like me in many ways, and yet anger connected us. The anger that comes from helplessness; from seeing others mistreated. Anger at a society that propagates inequality. And the anger that comes from hormones – those mood-altering chemicals that everyone produces, and yet which allegedly make women erratic; unreliable; hormonal.

In his novel, Carrie, Stephen King tells the story of a girl, whose telekinetic powers are unleashed by her teenage hormones. Carrie is unpopular, bullied, isolated. Her rage finds an outlet in her power. Driven to breaking-point by the bullies, she becomes a monster. Of course she does: after all, the author of this tale is a man, writing from the perspective of a couple of thousand years’ worth of patriarchal inheritance. In literature, a woman’s anger is unnatural; monstrous. It leads to terrible, unnatural things: makes murderers and infanticides of Clytemnestra and Medea; monsters of Medusa and Scylla. Unnatural, monstrous women are always punished in literature, even while acknowledging that they are often the victims of men. And unnatural women are often seen as physically repulsive – a reminder that, to be valued and loved, women must be young, and pure, and conform to the standards of beauty set out by their society. In literature, just as in life, those women who do not conform tend to be less valued, less seen, and when they do appear, do so as wicked witches, evil stepmothers, ugly crones and hideous travesties of womanhood.

But what would happen if a woman took control of the narrative? In recent years, we have observed a number of retellings of Greek myths from the point of view of the monster. Stone Blind, by Nathalie Haynes; Medusa, by Jessie Burton; Circe, by Madeline Miller. In both cases, the monstrous woman is seen from a different perspective; her rage absorbed and justified; her narrative reclaimed from a patriarchy that seeks to tame and subdue a woman’s rage, even at the cost of her life.

My new novel, Broken Light, comes from the same process of reclamation. It owes a debt to Carrie, but I have avoided the explicitly paranormal theme of the original, as well as the girl-on-girl bullying and the psychopathic mother. In my version, Carrie lives; marries her childhood sweetheart; internalizes all her rage and suffocates her power. Until the menopause – a topic which until recently has been largely misunderstood and taboo – at which point her power returns, and with it, a new kind of freedom. Freedom from the male gaze; from the responsibilities of motherhood; from the largely impossible expectations of society. Unlike puberty, menopause is triggered by a lack of certain hormones; and yet the symptoms can be just as dramatic and isolating. Loss of libido, exhaustion, depression, emotional outbursts as well as unpredictable and alarming hot flashes – my version of Carrie’s pyrokinesis. Whether my heroine’s powers stem from any kind of paranormal source is very much up to the reader to decide – after all, paranormal is only a step away from unnatural. And what counts as unnatural is in the eye of the reader – an eye that has been opened, I hope, to a series of new possibilities.

One is that rage is natural. Living in a patriarchy, women have a right to their rage. In fact, it seems more unnatural to me when women are not angry, given how much misogyny remains in our society. And growing old is natural. Being hormonal is natural. Differences are natural; so are disabilities. All women matter; whatever their age, or colour, or sexual orientation, or marital or reproductive status. The value of a woman’s life should not be defined by her popularity, or her age, or her looks, or her kids, or her value to the patriarchy. And no-one else gets to decide what a woman ought to be. A woman is not what, but who - a person, not an object; an active participant in her world. Women have lived too long behind the mask. They deserve their own stories. Stories in which they are allowed the full range of human possibility. So, to answer my mother’s question: Why are the women so angry?

Because it’s a superpower.

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isahorcrux · 1 year

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In light of the recent announcement of the Harry Potter TV Show and the fact that this is primarily a Harry Potter fan fiction blog, the below needs to be said.

I am not excited about this show.

If you told my past self 5 years ago this, I’d be shocked. Five years ago, if they announced a Harry Potter TV show I’d be doing everything in my power to be involved some way or another. However, in the last five years JKR has shown her true colors and spent her free time and money attacking the trans community. There are many reasons why I’m not excited about the show or looking forward to it in any regard, but to me the most important is that this show gives JKR more money and cultural capital to further her anti-trans agenda. This is unacceptable.

I think a lot of us raised on Harry Potter really wanted to separate the art from the artist, dive further into fanfic and fandom and just ignore that the woman who created a world in which we’ve spent most of our lives escaping into. However, we can’t do that. It’s come to my attention over the past few days that a lot of people aren’t even aware of the active harm JKR is doing to the trans community. Most people just say, ‘oh she said some weird stuff on twitter’ right?

Well, yeah. But, did you also know she launched an active campaign against a reform bill that made it easier for trans people to legally change gender? You know what happened? The UK blocked that Bill and Scotland now has to launch a legal challenge to the government block. She’s also funding a Sex Abuse Crisis Center that excludes trans women. Yeah, that’s right. She’s using her money from a book about love and acceptance to actively exclude a marginalized group from a crisis center. She’s also publicly admitted via twitter that she funds anti-LGBTQ political activity in the UK.

So yeah, there’s a direct line of fans supporting official trademarked Harry Potter anything and that money directly harming transpeople. Sorry for that rude awakening, but some of y’all are doing backflips to avoid seeing this.

Now, is there a way to prevent Warner Brothers (and Max, lol) from making this show? Probably not? After mergers and at a point when the tv and film industry isn’t booming, they need money. You know what makes money? Harry Potter. Which is why they’re rebooting it. Another question that’s been raised, will the looming writer’s strike affect this? I would guess probably not? Most UK writers (and International writers at large) are not in the WGA. JKR has always wanted the most amount of British people involved in Harry Potter adaptations, so they’ll use the strike to find a UK writer and get them to work.

So what can we do?

Don’t watch the show. Or, if you do. Pirate it. In fact, cancel your Max subscription before the show launches.

They’re going to spend A LOT of money on this. If the numbers aren’t there for them they will do what every other streamer does with an unsuccessful show and cancel it. They announced 5 Fantastic Beast movies, and yet...where’s that last one?

Anyway, thanks for reading this whole thing if you’ve gotten this far. Please share with friends who are excited about the show. Please engage in meaningful discussions with other Potter fans. Please support our trans friends and strangers.

Once again, this blog says FUCK JKR.

#harry potter #I don't know if I'm supposed to censor her name or not but tumblr's not like twitter so I don't think I have to ?#idk let me know #my asks are open for meaningful discussion #but any anti trans retoric will be deleted and blogs will be blocked #I know I spelled retoric wrong but it's too late now #trans rights are human rights

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readnburied · 5 months

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13 Moons Reading Challenge 2024 — Announcement

So it’s finally time for the announcement of the 13 Moons reading challenge for 2024. Another year, another list of prompts that will make your reading journey exciting. This reading challenge is created by me for the entire reading community. So if you love reading or are looking for a reading challenge to try for the upcoming year, then here is one for you.

Rules & Levels

The rules for this reading challenge are simple. First of all, this is just for fun so no need to feel pressured into doing anything or reading anything you don’t want to. You can also be flexible with the prompts if you choose to do so. The challenge will run from January 1st, 2024 and till December 31st, 2024.

There are a total of 104 reading prompts divided into 13 categories. There is a list of levels given and you can choose which level you wish to participate in based on your preference. The levels you can participate in are as follows:

Penumbral Lunar Eclipse: 13 books — fulfill one prompt from each category

Partial Lunar Eclipse: 26 books — fulfill at least one prompt from each category

Central Lunar Eclipse: 52 books — fulfill at least one prompt from each category

Total Lunar Eclipse: 104 books — fulfill all the prompts

The reading challenge is given below. I am trying to create a graphic for it, and if I succeed I’ll edit this post and attach the graphic later, but for now I will write it all down here in case you wish to participate and plan your TBR. So without further ado, here is the 13 Moons reading challenge 2024.

13 Moons Reading Challenge 2024

Wolf Moon

A Stand Alone novel

A furry creature on the cover

Hair on the cover

The words Straight, Waves or Curly in the title

Hair color in the title

A book about found family

A book about adoption

A book with a hierarchy

Snow Moon

The word White in the title

Blanket on the cover

Read a book while drinking a hot beverage

Read a book while burning a candle

Hat/Cap on the cover

A book about mountains

A book about a fresh start or a new beginning

A book with necromancy themes

Worm Moon

Read a book in a series with more than 5 books

A book about rebirth or reincarnation

A cozy book

Book about insects

Continue a series

A book that gives you the creeps

A book you’re not sure about

A book you’re thinking of unhauling

Pink Moon

A book with a princess

Book about women empowerment

A pink object on the cover

Book recommended by a celebrity

Book that tickles you pink

A coming of age book

A celebrity memoir

Start a book on a new moon

Flower Moon

Book by a BIPOC author

Book about friendship

A book club pick

Book with an animated cover

Book with a character named after a flower

A speculative fiction

A book set in spring

Read a book at any time of the day

Strawberry Moon

Read a book from your backlist

Read a book with Bubbles on the cover

A book with less than 400 pages

Book you see trending on social media

Read a book from an author which is new to you

A debut novel

Book with the word Leaf in the title

Book about swimming

Buck Moon

A book that has multiple editions

A Paperback

A book recommended by a friend

A biography

A book you’re seeing everywhere

A 2024 release

A 5 star prediction

Book with a Man on the cover

Sturgeon Moon

Book with a map

Book that people have been forcing you to read

Book with a title that starts with the first letter of your name

Book you hauled recently

Book with a Tree on the cover

Book with the word Can’t in the title

Book with a dark cover

A novella

Harvest Moon

An anthology

A book you had to read for an assignment

A book with a movie adaptation

Book you’d recommend to somebody else

A book chosen by somebody else

Book with a Fish on the cover

A fruit in the title

Book about a celebration

Hunter’s Moon

Book about food

Book set in Europe

Book with an Umbrella on the cover

Book about a topic you’re curious about

An award winning book

Read the 7th book on your shelf

Book with Buildings on the cover

book divided into parts

Beaver Moon

Book about a psychological phenomenon

Book with the word Five in the title

Book with a Street on the cover

Start a book in the evening

A book about a specific country

A book from your monthly TBR

Book with a cover you don’t like

Book about a single parent

Cold Moon

Book set in the medieval times

Book with a Spider on the cover

Read a book while wearing a pair of socks

A memoir

Book about a historical event

Book with a character’s name in the title

Book you think you will love

Book from a Goodreads shelf

Blue Moon

Book with a unique format

Read a classic

Book with 3 or more people on the cover

Book recommended by your favorite social media influencer

Book with a dramatic title

Book with a Dagger in the story

Book set in high school

Book about a spy

And there you have it. This is the 13 Moons reading challenge 2024 for you all. Let me know if you like it. If you wish to participate I’d love it if you can comment below to tell me you’re participating in the challenge. If you don’t want to comment, that’s fine as well. As long as you enjoy doing the challenge, I’m happy.

Happy Reading!!

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depravitycentral · 7 months

Text

Yandere! Uvogin NSFW Profile

Yandere! Uvogin x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non-con, masturbation, non-consensual aiding of masturbation (? not sure what to tag this but you'll see what I mean), excessive cum-play, snowballing, facials, stalking, kidnapping, mentions of degradation, exhibitionism, implied that Nobunaga jerked it to you I'm so sorry for your loss, kind of allusions to breeding but nothing explicit, fem reader, MDNI

WC: 10K

HABITS:

In general, Uvogin is no stranger to sex. He’s had his fair share of hookups over the years, and while he’s never really had a long term partner (being a criminal and always on the run makes it a bit difficult), he’s got a good, solid amount of experience under his belt.

And so, while he may be intimidating and a bit scary, there’s always plenty of drunk women at the local bars or clubs who are more than willing to take their chance at managing to take him.

And for the most part, Uvogin is completely satisfied with this – hookups and flings are fun, and he’s able to get his rocks off whenever he pleases.

However, once you step into his life, his frequent sex with strangers take an abrupt and very strict hiatus. Not only does it feel wrong to sleep with any woman besides you, he simply doesn’t find the allure anymore – if he were to sleep with anyone aside from you, he’d spend the entire time focused on all the things that are different from you rather than actually enjoying the experience.

Maybe their hair is different – yours is prettier, he thinks.

Maybe your voice is different – it’s not as annoying and shrill and whiny as the other woman’s, and Uvogin can very confidently say that he likes yours much, much more.

Maybe their body is different – your curves are different, better for him, and you’re softer and warmer and just better.

Hookups are out of the question once he really decides that he wants you – but unfortunately, the same can’t be said of his hormones. He still craves sexual contact and release, perhaps even more so now that he has you to actively imagine and think of and desire, but his tried and true method of finding someone random to relieve some pent up stress isn’t an option anymore.

And so, once his obsession develops, he finds himself masturbating much, much more often.

It’s not as nice as having a living, breathing person there to help him out, but it’s his only option – you’re not an option yet, as much as he desperately wishes you were, because while he’d give anything to sink into what he’s sure is your tight, warm, soaking wet cunt, he doesn’t want to reserve the progress he’s made in worming his way into your life all for one night of pleasure.

And so, he falls back on pleasuring himself with a bit of an aid – it’s not enough to simply fist himself and imagine your body or your sounds.

No, it’s not nearly enough – so instead, Uvogin finds a way to seamlessly involve you in his self-pleasure, all with the wonderful caveat of you having absolutely no idea of your role.

Uvogin’s already reaching for the hem of his shorts as he plops down onto the ratty couch in the living room of his current hideout. He’s quick to shimmey them down, all the way down to his ankles, only to unceremoniously kick them off to some corner of the room.

His cock is already semi-hard, the knowledge of what’s coming next unconsciously exciting him. He sighs and lets his head roll back slightly, resting on the frame of the couch, his hand sneaking down the plane of his abdomen and settling lightly over his cock.

Idly groping at his balls (just soft, teasing squeezes – nothing too serious yet, not when the action hasn’t begun), his free hand reaches to the next cushion and picks up the cheap burner phone Shalnark had provided him with last week. There’s only three numbers saved in it – Chrollo’s, Shalnark’s, and yours.

With a sharp swallow, Uvogin presses on your contact listing, listening as the familiar dial tone rings through the speakers. Your voice is surprised as you pick up, a delighted little oh, I wasn’t expecting a call from you!

It makes him bite his lip, squeezing at his balls just a bit harder.

Yeah, sorry, but I was bored and wanted to hear your voice. He smirks at the soft little sound of surprise you make at that.

Oh! Oh, sure, yeah! Okay, well, uh, how has your day been?

And although you’ve said absolutely nothing even remotely suggestive, Uvogin’s cock twitches against his forearm, making his thighs tense slightly.

Good, drank some beer and watched the hockey game, the usual. I want to hear about you, though. Tell me everything about this week, yeah?

And with that, he settles back further against the couch, truly getting comfortable as you start telling him about how this week you’ve done this and that, then this, then that…

He’s not really listening, and some part of him – the part not currently imagining the way you’d look with his cock down your throat – feels guilty about not giving you one hundred percent of his attention, but as you suddenly gasp and say oh then this happened he finds himself not caring.

Soon he’s transitioning from groping his balls to wrapping his fingers around his length, careful not to hiss into the phone receiver as he slowly, almost painfully slowly brings his fist up to his tip, squeezing a bit, then bringing it back down.

Your voice is a constant through the phone, the familiar lilt and pace of your words only slightly distorted through the device, and as he slowly works himself, he closes his eyes to listen more carefully. He likes the way you pronounce things – occasionally you say his name, and his hips jerk up a bit to fuck up into his fist each time you do, making him hold in a grunt each time.

Slowly he picks up the pace, moving his wrist a bit faster with every sentence you say, letting his eyes flutter closed again while his head lolls back slightly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

He can practically imagine you here with him – the way you’d be straddling him on this couch, your soft thighs pressing against his hips, your pussy rubbing and grinding against him because you want to tease him, your hands splayed across his chest as you tell him that you want him, that you need him, that you need him to touch you and taste you and feel you and fuck you –

Uvogin? Uvogin? Are you okay? You sound like you’ve just run a marathon…

Your voice brings him back to reality, and immediately his eyes are snapping open and his hand freezes, his heavy breaths ringing through the receiver. After a beat, he swallows and reassures that he’s fine! Sorry sorry, that stupid neighbor of mine just stood outside my front door – you know how loud he breaths. Don’t worry about it, keep going. I like listening.

You seem a bit hesitant, but you keep going, and Uvogin makes sure to mute himself this time. Now he can listen to you talk and not worry about being too loud. Immediately he’s picking up where he left off, hips coming up to help fuck up into his fist, grunts and groans of your name slipping past his lips all the while you chatter on about last Wednesday.

Uvogin’s feet plant flat against the floor as he uses them for leverage to thrust up, pretending you’re perched in his lap with his cock buried between your legs, your pretty tits squished up against his chest while you gasp and moan and cry out his name, his thrusts only getting deeper and harder and stronger, the desire to truly fuck you and mold your cunt to the shape of his cock getting the better of him.

Soon he’s fully groaning out phrases into the phone, going on about how you’re so damn tight, fuck baby just like that, shit clench just like that, oh fuuuck! His hips are making an audible sound as they smack back into the couch cushions with every thrust, and with wild eyes he stares down at his lap, imagining the sight of his cock sinking into your cunt over and over, your slick spilling down your thighs and getting everything wet and sticky, the sound of his balls clapping against your ass over and over.

He's close, feeling the trace edges of his orgasm approaching, his toes beginning to curl and his abs starting to tighten and his balls starting to clench and oh –

I missed you that day, Uvogin, I wish you’d been there.

He comes with a near shout of your name, his hips pistoling into his fist as ropes of cum spurt onto his chest, his breathing heavy and uneven as he shakes, his hand trembling slightly as it grips onto the phone so tightly it nearly breaks.

You’re still speaking, but Uvogin’s not listening as he replays your words over and over in his head – you wanted him there, wanted to see him, wanted to be with him. He’s still saying your name over and over, his breathing slowly calming down as his cum slowly dribbles down his chest, and he lets a smile sit on his lips. Running a hand through his hair (still slightly stained with cum, but the euphoria swimming through his veins makes it hard to care), he swallows, saying your name one last time with a small chuckle.

Fuck, only you can make me like this, huh? You’re making me into a real loser, you know that? Fucking himself and pretending you’re here with me. God.

Soon, once he’s gotten enough of a grip on his breathing, he unmutes himself, just in time for you to finish up your report.

That’s about it, sorry for rambling! But anyways, what are you up to?

He smiles at that, giving his cock one final squeeze and licking a bit of cum off his finger.

Just wondering if you wanna get dinner tonight, how about that Italian place you were talking about the other day?

And when you agree, eventually hanging up, Uvogin can only sigh and slap his thigh.

Soon, very soon, he’s sure he won’t have to imagine anymore – soon it’ll be your hand instead of his.

Just the thought makes him groan, blood already rushing south again.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Ass

Uvogin likes every part of you, but he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t have a special spot for your ass.

It doesn’t matter the shape or size – it’s yours, and by extension, Uvogin wants to touch It and squeeze it and grope it.

Constantly.

He’s generally a touchy person, both in and out of sexual contexts, and while his handsiness is often innocent regarding you, his hand finds its way to your backside much too often to be considered truly accidental.

He’s a bit fan of idly groping you, letting a hand wander down and give a playful squeeze, only to feel you jump a bit out of surprise.

(He’ll always send you this toothy grin afterwards, telling you that he can’t help it baby, it’s just right there and it’s so damn cute and fuck, if you could see it you’d understand.)

He likes to come up behind you and hug you, pressing himself directly against your backside – your heights likely mean that his cock doesn’t directly sit against your ass, but even feeling his legs against the soft area makes him lick his lips, already imagining the way the soft skin would feel under the rough pads of his fingers.

He likes to smack your ass when you walk by him – it’s always, always light, of course, just enough to startle you but not enough to actually hurt.

He likes the way you get irritated and swat at him, telling you with a cheeky wink and grin that you can always return the favor, babe.

And when you’re actually intimate with one another, this habit of his certainly doesn’t change – he’s always slapping your ass when he’s fucking you in doggy style, going on about how you look so pretty from this angle, all the while groping and squeezing at your poor cheeks until they’re nearly purple.

He’s always cupping your ass when you’re riding him, helping move you up and down with a palm on each cheek, squeezing and holding you so tightly you nearly have no control over your own movements.

He’ll fuck you in a prone bone position, all the while staring at how your ass jiggles with each smack of his hips against it, his fingers (that he’d intertwined with yours above your head) clutching onto yours even harder at the sight.

He’s just genuinely in love with the way your ass looks and feels, and although he wouldn’t bring it up unless you wanted to, Uvogin would love to have you sit on his face, letting your pretty ass be the only thing he sees as you grind and scoop and use him, letting his tongue brush across your clit over and over again all while he gets to admire.

(He wouldn’t even mind if you wanted to scoot forward a bit, letting your pussy rub against his chin while his tongue works diligently at the tight, taboo little hole you don’t normally let him touch. He’s sure it'll feel good, that you’ll enjoy it, that he’ll enjoy it, because it’s just another way to be close to you, another way to claim something of yours as his his his.)

Expect your ass to fondled and groped and smacked at least twice a day, if not more – he just can’t control himself, and surely you understand?

If you were as deeply obsessed and attracted to yourself as he is, you’d have to understand that he physically can’t help himself – not when you’re so goddamn tempting.

His mouth

Because Uvogin is such a pleaser in bed, he’s very quickly exploring the variety of ways he can utilize to get you off.

Of course, he likes the tried and true fucking, making you melt on his cock, but something about it feels a bit barbarian, a little bit too rough sometimes, even if he’s addicted to the feeling of your pussy.

Even his fingers are sometimes a little too much, just because you always tense up so much, your walls clamping down on him and making it difficult to move, the stretch from them alone feeling like the size of any of your previous partners.

Of course, he still likes fucking you and fingering you, but there’s something about using his mouth on you that he simply can’t get enough of.

Maybe it’s because it’s so much more intimate, like something special the two of you are sharing. He’s tasting the most private part of you, a place only a handful of people have ever gotten to see (much less taste), and something about that knowledge makes him swell with pride, a smirk settling across his lips.

Regardless, Uvogin takes every opportunity to use his mouth on you that he possibly can – the two of you are sitting on the couch while you read one of the few books he picked up for you and he watches TV, and suddenly he’s between your legs and pulling down your lounging shorts, looking up at you and licking his lips with a positively feral expression, murmuring that he’s feeling a little hungry, yeah?

Every sexual encounter between the two of almost always including Uvogin’s lips against your cunt in some capacity – he’s a very firm believer in the necessity of foreplay (particularly due to his size), and he spares no expense in making sure that you’re properly wet for him, that you’ve come at least once his tongue, that you’re as prepared and ready as possible in order to take him with minimal pain.

And Uvogin is good with his mouth, too – he’s got amazing stamina, and is able to stick with a consistent speed and tempo.

His fallback is to lick small, tight circles with medium pressure, but he’s always stealing glances up at you to check your facial expressions, adjusting anything and everything he think she needs to in order to get your eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He’ll start with light kisses spanning along your inner thighs and all around your core, pressing butterfly licks against your folds that are barely there and leave you wanting more more more.

He’ll press kisses against your clit, coming down to kitten lick and stare at you the whole time, a smirk sitting on his lips each time you bite your lip or keen.

He'll slowly add more pressure, building up the pace a bit too, until he’s licking shapes against your bud and occasionally sucking it into his mouth lightly, feeling the way your thighs tense up a bit around his head, loving the way your eyes flutter closed and you grasp onto the pillow underneath you.

He’ll occasionally dip down to lick long stripes along your folds, dipping his tongue in to tease your entrance, making lewd, obnoxious slurping noises just to hear you get embarrassed.

He loves it, and as soon as he gets to a pace he thinks you’re liking, he’ll stay down there for as long as it takes to get you coming, whether that be five minutes or an hour – it’s worth it, because when you get all doe eyed and shake and writhe and cream on his face, you look so fucking pretty, so perfect he can’t help but grind against the bed, anything to relieve some of the ache.

DRIVE:

In general, his sex drive is high. It’s always been that way, really, even before you stepped into his life – the thrill of combat and sex are two of his guiltiest pleasures, and he’s absolutely no stranger to hook ups.

He’s not unbearably horny, but he toes the line quite well, needing to get off at least two times a week in order to stay functional and sane.

So really, once his obsession with you forms, sexual thoughts revolving around you are very, very quick to follow.

Frankly, when he first realizes that he’s drawn to you, that there’s just something about you that he can’t seem to leave alone, he genuinely believes it’s simply a sexual attraction to you that’s messing with him. He rationalizes these infant stages of his infatuation with you as simply wanting to fuck you, rather than wanting to have you.

And Uvogin is a man of opportunity – he can’t not imagine stripping you bare and cupping at your tits, smacking your ass, perching you on his lap and bouncing you up and down like you’re just some glorified sex toy.

The images come quickly and startingly easily – too easily, really, because imagining all the different ways he wants to get you screaming his name and gushing for him really should’ve clued him in to the fact that his feelings for you go way beyond physical.

And eventually, once he decides that you’re more than just a hot piece of ass, he can’t just forget about the multitudes of nights he’s fantasized about spending hours with his face between your legs, or the number of times he’s soaked his fist with cum from merely thinking about how you’d look with your pretty face pressed into the mattress, his form caging you into a prone bone position while he absolutely destroys your tight little pussy.

He can’t – won’t – forget, and so as his obsession becomes richer, deeper, more hopeless, Uvogin’s sexual fantasies revolving around you become harder and harder to control and fight. Because really, how can he not imagine even more once he’s realized he’s in love with you?

Sure, he still wants to shove his cock down your throat and hear you choke and struggle with his girth, but now he also wants to trace his tip along the shape of your lips, to see your pretty eyes sparkling up at him with a few tears dotting the lashes, to feel you moan around him at his taste.

Sure, he still wants to bend you over and feel that perfect, tight little pussy of yours, but now he also wants to thrust softly and sweetly, to get deeper and brush against the spot he knows you like, to make you cry out his name rather than just scream and gasp.

The sexual fantasies are still explicit, but they’re more loving, more like making love rather than just animalistic fucking – and of course, once these thoughts develop in their entirety, Uvogin has to exercise an extreme amount of self-control to not act them out.

He’s painfully aware of the fact that you likely aren’t clamoring to sleep with him, partially because you’re infuriated at him for kidnapping you, and terrified of him because of his physical stature and criminal status.

He’s sure you don’t particularly want to be with him in a sexual way (though he hopes, desperately, that one day you will), and the last thing he wants is for you to be even more afraid of him, or to hate him even more.

And so, Uvogin won’t force himself onto you.

He won’t force you onto your knees or strip your clothing off of you or anything of the sort. He wants to, of course, so badly that it nearly drives him insane, but he won’t do it out of respect for you and a selfish desire to get you falling in love with him.

What he will do, however, is make it perfectly, abundantly clear that if you’re ever in the mood, he’s more than willing to oblige.

He’ll tell you, pretty much from the beginning of your captivity with him, that if you ever desire absolutely anything physical at all, he’ll be naked and eagerly waiting for you within seconds.

And that includes everything: simply using those massive palms of his to grope and squeeze at your breasts, calloused fingers gently rolling a nipple between them and listening to the way you sigh out.

(He’ll approach you with this particular offer when he knows your menstrual cycle is nearing, when you’re bloated and soar and desperate for any kind of reprieve – you need someone to hold those for ya, babe? They’re looking awfully heavy, and you’d be surprised how gentle these fingers can be.)

He’ll offer to finger you when you seem stressed, that grin of his wolfish and eager but also strangely genuine, as if the prospect of pleasuring you isn’t just some sexual urge and rather something he wants to do, as if it pleasures him, too.

(This offer is always accompanied with a rather showy wiggle of his fingers, making sure the veins and tendons in his hand are visibly flexing, just to try and entice you even more – and it works, because although you shake your head and tell him that you strongly pass, he can see the way your eyes are glued to his fingers, how your thighs press together ever so slightly, how you can’t hide the desire swimming in your eyes.)

He’ll offer to let you sit on his cock when you’re feeling lonely, telling you that he’ll be there the whole time, how you can’t possibly feel lonely when there’s literally someone inside of you, patting his groin – with pants barely holding back his straining erection – and telling you that he won’t try anything funny he promises.

(And he’ll stay true to that promise – it’s actual torture to not fuck up into you, to not bounce you up and down in his lap and feel the way your walls desperately clench down on him, but he holds himself back. Besides, feeling you slowly, slowly work your way down his length is a treat enough, each inch stretching you further than you though possible, your little hisses and whines and whimpers making him physically throb inside of you.)

He’ll even offer to fuck you when the mood feels right, telling you that he’s never left a partner unsatisfied, that he knows how to treat you, that he’ll be slow and gentle and soft and sweet, something that he means with every fiber of his being.

(At least, he’ll be all those things the first time he gets you naked in his arms – after that, anything goes. He can’t always be expected to control himself, after all.)

It’s mildly intrusive and will make you uncomfortable in the beginning, but as time passes and he doesn’t actually force anything onto you, merely offering, slowly your walls will start crumbling.

If you’re stuck with him, maybe it isn’t the end of the world if you get something out of the ordeal – you’re trapped with him, but does that mean you aren’t allowed an orgasm?

Sure he’s kidnapped you and keeps you locked away in a modestly furnished home, but is it really so wrong of you to accept the pleasure he seems more than happy to give you? Does that make you a bad person, or a selfish person?

With time you’ll start thinking no, that perhaps letting Uvogin eat you out for hours and bring you high after high wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world – and he’ll be very, very happy to oblige.

(And you can tell, too – the way he groans and growls against you makes it hard to ignore, as does the way something warm and wet and thick splatters against your thighs when he’s got you hovering over his chin.)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Size Kink

Uvogin is more than aware of the size difference between the two of you.

It doesn’t matter how tall you are, or how large you are – he is bigger than you, both in stature and presence and every other measurable way. He’s a hulking figure that takes up the entire side of the dining table you share meals at, needing to wear shirts that literally fall off your frame, dominating and bigger than you in every sense of the word.

And he knows this - he’s completely aware of how you’re so small compared to him, so tiny and adorable and breakable, and when it comes to really anything between the two of you, he has a tendency to take this fact to heart, to be beyond careful in making sure that he does absolutely nothing that could ever put you in harm’s way.

Though he won’t admit it, having you hurt or afraid of him in any way is genuinely one of his worst fears, and although he knows he can do nothing to change his physical appearance, he takes care to come across as least threatening and as welcoming as possible.

And when it comes to the bedroom, Uvo is even more hyper aware, because when he’s buried inside that tight, cute little cunt of yours, his orgasm rapidly approaching, it’s almost disturbingly easy to lose control, to just pin you down and fuck the absolute shit out of you, until you’re nothing more than a quivering, split open mess below him.

He has to keep an incredible amount of focus when his orgasm looms near to make sure that he doesn’t dig his fingers into your skin too hard lest he leave bruises, or that he doesn’t fuck into you at the pace he truly wants to lest he push a little too far and tear something.

He doesn’t want to hurt you, so he tries his absolute best to keep you on top, to keep you controlling the pace and everything else in order to keep you safe and feeling good.

(Besides, he’s got a great view when you’re on top – he can see, all in the same glance, your pussy sucking in his length over and over, your breasts bouncing and jiggling, even your face all twisted up in ecstasy as you ride him as hard as you can. He’s not particularly hands-off during sex, but often he’s tempted to simply lay back with his arms crossed behind his head, content to watch your show and let your cunt bring him steadily closer to orgasm. His desire to see you gasp and stare wildly at him in shock and pleasure often outweighs this urge, however, because he almost always settles his hands on your hips and helps guide you, suddenly thrusting just a hair deeper into you and hearing your cry of a-ah Uvo too deep!)

However, that isn’t to say that Uvogin doesn’t enjoy the size difference between the two of you – on the contrary, he thinks it’s beyond cute, that it’s adorable just how tiny you are in comparison to him.

And while the fear that he could hurt you is very much omnipresent, he can’t deny how it makes his heart race and blood pump to his cock when he sees how just one of his hands engulfs your entire thigh, how you struggle to straddle him because his waist is just so muscular and wide, how your breast is completely engulfed by his palm when he roughly fondles and kneads at it.

It’s endearing in a way, how cute and small you are beside him, and even more obvious when you have your hands wrapped around his cock, your fingers not able to close completely around his girth.

Seeing you struggle so much to simply jerk him off makes Uvo smug, a smirk falling across his face while he groans, little murmurs of your name tumbling past his lips while you work at him, trying desperately to get him to come, to get him to tell you how you’re a good girl, fuck look at your hands, ngh wanna – gonna stretch out that tiny little cunt with this fat cock, you want that?

It’s most definitely a guilty pleasure, something that makes him feel big and strong and important, and in the context of your sexual relationship, there’s just simply no way to get around the fact that Uvogin quite literally towers over you.

(Especially when you’re on your knees, staring up at his imposing stature and the large, swollen, veiny cock sitting at eye level, his voice teasing as he tells you to go on, it won’t bite, I promise. Only I do that.)

Praise

Generally Uvogin isn’t particularly derogatory in bed. He’s not a big fan of degradation in general, both in and out of the bedroom, partially because he’s not a naturally mean person (aside from the criminal activity and murder, of course), and partly because he really does cherish and love you. He thinks you’re beautiful and perfect and everything he could want in a woman, and his honesty bars him from ever saying anything to the contrary.

He doesn’t want to tell you that you’re just a slut, that you’re a hole for him to fuck, that you should stay quiet and let him get what he wants – he wants you, in more ways than one. He loves you, in his own twisted, fucked up way, and he wants your time in bed together to reflect that sentiment.

And so, Uvogin falls on the opposite side of the spectrum from degradation – that is, there’s a nearly overwhelming amount of praise in the bedroom.

Comments about how pretty you are or how good at something you are constantly slip past his lips, his voice gruff and low as he tells that you look so damn pretty on your knees baby.

He’s got a compliment or praise ready for every possible situation in bed – you’re undressing, struggling to get the giant shirt Uvogin had forced you into this morning up over your head? He’s chuckling, grinning, slapping your ass and telling you that you’re so damn cute, princess, makes me go crazy when you wear my shit.

You’re kissing him, pinned below him with your wrists over your head? He’s licking his lips as he pulls back, planting kisses against your neck and telling you that you taste so good, you’re so fucking pretty.

You’re biting your lip and carding your fingers through your hair as he sucks and playfully bites at your nipples? He’s burying his face between your breasts and vigorously shaking it, laughing and telling you that these tits are so perfect babe, god I always wanna touch ‘em and kiss ‘em, how about no more bras around the house? Or maybe no more shirts at all – don’t expect me to control myself, yeah?

You’re sinking to your knees while he sighs and grabs the base of his cock, running his tip over your lips while he stares down at you? He’s telling you that you look so pretty babe, can’t wait to see these lips with my cum on them instead.

You’re perched on his lap, his tip barely nestled inside you while you wince and bite your lip? He’s running soothing hands up your sides, cooing at you that you’re doing so good baby, ‘m so proud of you, fuck you’re tight, feels so damn good.

You’re on your hands and knees, chest and face pressed in the mattress while he mounts you from behind, hips flush with yours and pummeling into you with no mercy? He’s leaning all the way over you and growling into your ear that you’re mine, babe, fuck don’t you ever forget, god this pussy is so good, y’so damn tight and wet, gonna make me come baby, you want that? Yeah? You want my cum?

You’re underneath him, tits bouncing every which way and body physically thrusting back and forth as he fucks into you with a sturdy hand pressing right over your naval? He’s laughing breathlessly, using his free hand to push back his hair and telling you to take it baby, fuck yeah just like that, you look so damn hot like this.

Even when he’s in the middle of coming, thick spurts of white shooting from his swollen, red tip, he’s praising you – telling you that you take him so well, that you always take – fuck, take it all, look so damn pretty with my cum in you.

He just genuinely believes that you’re beautiful, and because he’s naturally quite talkative, this shows in the bedroom – he can’t not comment on how you look, how you feel, how smell, how you taste.

It would be wrong to not let you know how much he’s enjoying being with you, how badly he’s dreamed of fucking you, or how long he’s dreamed of touching you – so really, even if his constant praise embarrasses you, you’d best get used to it. He won’t stop, and if you were to return the favor?

Well, his ego isn’t particularly fragile, but he can’t deny how it affects him any time you moan out about how good he feels or how big he is or how you’re close – oh god, ‘m gonna come, oh god Uvo Uvo Uvo-!

He can’t deny the way his cock jumps, how it twitches and pulses and oozes out precum at just hearing your voice and words, hearing his name and feeling the way your body seizes up all because of him him him.

He’s a sucker for it, so expect sex with him to be loud and full of compliments – even if they’re a little vulgar sometimes (fuck babe, these tits – I wanna fuck ‘em, get them all messy and covered in my cum fuuuck-) or oddly specific (god you taste good, those panties of yours don’t even come close…).

He just can’t help himself, so get used to it – he won’t stop, even if you beg him to.

Cum play

He’s possessive, and it shows in the bedroom.

He’s always got a hand on your body, hickeys bruising your throat, collarbone or inner thighs, handprints decorating your ass, or even a light bite mark here and there along your thighs and stomach.

He likes the concept of claiming you and physically showing that you’re his, and while this presents itself in normal ways like previously mentioned, Uvogin’s favorite form of showcasing that you belong to him is by getting his cum absolutely everywhere on your body.

He produces an insane amount of it with every orgasm – it just keeps coming, spurt after spurt shooting from his swollen tip and landing on your body or the sheets underneath you, all the while he’s groaning and his hips are involuntarily thrusting, making everything even more messy.

His orgasms last easily twenty seconds, with a constant stream of white, and Uvogin loves nothing more than to absolutely paint you with it.

When your hands – so small and cute and soft compared to his calloused skin – are wrapped around him, pulling and tugging, the slick sound of spit and lube clicking in his ears, he’ll give a warning of here it comes, shit baby take it – and immediately your hands are covered in it, pools of cum dribbling down onto your fingers, slipping down your wrist and leaving everything sticky and wet and warm, Uvogin’s chest rising and falling with both the force of his orgasm and the sight of his cum against your skin.

(He’ll always grab your hands afterwards, slipping your fingers into his mouth one by one and licking away his cum, only to kiss you afterwards and push it all into your mouth, entertained by your surprised sound and the way you squirm against him.)

When you’re struggling to fit him into your mouth, only able to take the first few inches and leaving your hands to deal with the rest, he’ll dig his fingers into your hair and hold you there, biting his lip and telling you to swallow every last fucking drop, don’t wanna see any wasted babe before letting go, listening to the way you gag and eagerly swallow everything he’s giving you.

He’ll pull away with harsh breaths, watching the way you eagerly suck in air, your lips wet and glistening with spit and cum, your tongue still painted a white color.

(Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly possessive, he’ll instead pull back right before letting go, telling you to stay sitting on your knees while he stands, fisting his cock at a near inhuman speed before pointing it right at your face, letting go and watching as ropes land across your cheeks, nose, lips and forehead, your entire face streaked with him in a way that makes his knees weak. Often, he’ll shake his cock a bit right at the end, eager to get every little bit out and onto you, groaning in satisfaction when the last, weakest little spurt lands right on your outstretched tongue. He’ll lean in closer and smear the cum across your skin even more, his voice sounding genuinely awed as he tells you that you’re so damn beautiful baby, fuck, get on the bed, I need to fuck you. Now.)

He loves to have you take his cock between your breasts, regardless of their size – he wants you suckle on his tip and rub your skin against him, feeling your pebbled nipples and the soft plush.

When he gets close, he’ll pull back and finish himself off, having you lay on your back while he straddles your waist, painting your breasts white and paying special attention to smear it across your nipples, pinching and twisting and pulling at them.

And even when he’s actually inside you, his penchant for being picky about where his cum goes doesn’t change – nine times out of ten he will come inside you, pushing his hips all the way the hilt so that he can finish as deeply as possible, the groan he lets out sending pleasure racing up your spine.

You can often literally feel it inside of you – something warm and wet filling you up, his cock spasming with every spurt, his balls clenching and tightening against your ass as he whispers your name under his breath.

(Most of the time, there’s simply too much to keep inside of you – it just never seems to end, and eventually there’s some dribbling out of you, smearing against your folds and dripping down the curve of your ass, sometimes even leaving a small pool against the bedsheets. Uvogin is equal parts proud and irritated when this happens, though – proud because god, you look perfect with his cum leaking out of you, but irritated because all of that really should be inside of you, not wasted and sitting on the bed. So, he'll scoop it up with his fingers, pushing it back inside you and fucking it up into you until he’s satisfied, the wet shmucking noise making him grin.)

Sometimes, though, he’ll pull out right at the last minute and instead come onto your cunt, letting the white settle against your inner thighs and coat your folds, leaving everything in a layer of opaque cream as he growls out your name.

He’ll often have you keep your legs spread even after he’s finished, moving closer to peer at his handiwork, getting so close and staring so hard that you inevitably get embarrassed, especially when he uses both thumbs to spread your folds and watch the cum dip down inside, even a few drops dribbling down inside you, the sight making him inexplicably satisfied.

Really, Uvogin just likes seeing you with his cum – whether it’s on you or inside you, he will find a way to incorporate it – it helps quell his possessiveness, and he can’t deny that the sight just looks so right, like something carnal and primal and natural.

(Unfortunately, though, he is a bit sensitive about you trying to clean it up – he often won’t let you shower after sex, telling you that it's better if you keep it on you or in you, and if you were to complain about it, he’ll just grab a pair of your panties and force them up your legs, the mess he’d left between them soaking into the fabric and making them damp every time you sit down or move. Again, don’t try to fight it – you won’t win, and Uvogin will often reach down between your legs just to ensure that you haven’t cleaned up – it’s a waste, he’d say, and he knows his girl isn’t wasteful.)

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Overstimulation

In general, Uvogin loves to please you.

He’s by no means submissive, but there’s something about bringing you pleasure and watching you fall apart for him that gets him harder than he’s ever been, all the blood rushing to his cock so quickly it nearly makes him dizzy.

He just loves the way you look on the brink of an orgasm, how you look at him with such wide eyes and need, how you clutch onto him and chant his name over and over. He likes how your hips twitch and jerk in his grasp, how he has to physically hold you still so that he can keep his tongue working over your clit or his fingers thrusting into you.

It’s addicting, honestly, in some ways even better than his own orgasms – and so, Uvogin finds himself making it a priority every time he gets you naked that you find your high, unwilling to stop until you come at least once.

And that’s really the key – at least, because any given sexual encounter with Uvogin generally results in you having at least three orgasms. He absolutely loves to overstimulate you – watching you come is one of his favorite sights, those dark eyes of his always hyperfixated on your pretty face as you fall apart, and the face you make when he doesn’t stop?

When he keeps his fingers on that cute clit of yours, still rubbing and pressing and making you feel good even as you gasp and whine about how it’s too much?

Well, it makes Uvogin grin, pearly teeth on display as he tells you to take it baby, be a good girl for me, yeah?

He likes the way you squirm and beg for him, your legs shaking like crazy and your abdomen visibly clenching and unclenching.

He likes the way you get so sensitive and grasp onto him like he’s your lifeline, pushing him to get you off twice, three times, four times, sometimes even five in a single session.

Of course, he likes seeing you pleasured, but there’s a bit of selfishness at play too – because when you’re holding him so tightly and moaning out in that perfect voice of yours please – please Uvogin (he’s not sure whether you’re begging for him to stop or for more – and he suspects you’re not sure either), how can he not feel utterly self-satisfied?

How can he not feel like a good lover, not feel like your dependence on him is growing more and more with each orgasm?

He views it as a good way to simultaneously get you a trembling mess for him and to also solidify your growing feelings for him - plus, he gets to lick his fingers clean of your wonderful taste while also getting to sink himself inside your soaking wet, twitching, hypersensitive cunt already practically milking him for everything he’s got…

It doesn’t take him long to come after that, and the sight of you exhausted, twitching, and leaking thick, white globs of cum is positively droolworthy.

Femdom

But in a very specific way – you’ll never be truly in charge in bed with him, if only because there’s not a single submissive bone in Uvogin’s body.

Sex with him is under his terms and conditions, but he’s generous enough to care about your pleasure and your desires, too.

That said, Uvo is incredibly entertained by your attempts at dominating him – it’s not necessarily hot or attractive, but it’s incredibly endearing and sweet, and serves to make his heart melt and his cock swell with the knowledge that eventually he will be shattering this fragile illusion of control you’re creating.

He likes when you get on top of him, your poor hips struggle to straggle the expanse of his own, his cock pressing harshly and insistently against your ass while you bite your lip and steel yourself.

He likes the way you try to move his arms over his head forcefully (you aren’t actually moving them, even if you think you are – he’s letting you, manually moving them for you, letting you believe that you’re doing it when it reality it’s all him), seeing the way your eyes light up and your thighs squeeze around his hips tighter.

He likes the way you lean down to kiss him, your tongue rushing into his mouth, your kisses noticeably more aggressive than usual but still nothing particularly dominant.

And yet, Uvogin lets you take the lead, letting you control the pacing, the angle, everything just to maintain this illusion of dominance.

He’ll let you tie the blindfold around his head, limiting his vision but not hindering any of his other senses, conveniently forgetting to mention to you that he can still feel your every breath, hear your every movement, practically taste what you’re going to do next.

He’ll let you slowly sink down onto his length, pulling back every few moments to tease his length and leave him wanting more.

Uvogin will take it all in stride, entertained at the way you try to be dominant and in control, only to shatter it once he decides you’ve had your fun, once you pull off of him one too many times and leave his cock wet, throbbing and needing your pussy so badly it hurts –

It’s not hard to rip his wrists out of the dingey bindings you’d placed them in earlier, fingers immediately digging into the plush of your hips to force you back down onto him, setting a brutal pace combined with his own thrusting hips and moving your body up and down so that every brush of his cock into you leaves you gasping, panting for air because it’s all so unexpected and he’s just so deep and big and god…

You can try being dominant all you want, because he finds it entertaining and endearing, but know that at the end of the day you will be the one at his mercy, your body simply his to toy with and tease as he sees fit.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

It's no secret that Uvogin is possessive – you’ll learn this from the very moment you become aware of his feelings for you. He firmly, whole-heartedly views you as his, just as he is yours.

And in the context of your sexual relationship, this mindset of his is only more apparent, more blatantly obvious with the way he clutches onto you and tells you how much he loves his little pussy between your legs, the way he leaves bruises on your hips and ass from smacking you or holding on just a bit too tight while he’s fucking you, or even sinking his teeth lightly into the flesh of your shoulder so that you’re marked as his.

It satisfies the intense desire he feels to keep you by his side and away from everyone else, all with the added benefit of getting you writhing and moaning his name.

And so, most of Uvo’s fantasies in the bedroom tend to branch off from his possessiveness – specifically, while it would be unlikely to happen, he desperately, desperately, wants to fuck you in a semi-public space so that his fellow Troupe members can hear.

He wants them to hear you screaming his name, your pleas and cries sounding like music to his ears and showing them exactly who gets to touch you, who makes you feel good, who’s allowed to dump fresh, potent cum in your cute little hole.

It makes him giddy, genuinely, excitement brewing in his chest because he loves the idea of publicly claiming you, about making sure that everyone knows that you’re his, that every part of you belongs to him.

He likes everyone knowing that only he gets to touch you and make you moan and scream, that it’s only ever his name that’ll be leaving those pretty lips of yours.

Plus, this fantasy fulfills that possessive urge without actually letting other people see you – he can’t stomach the thought of any of his fellow Troupe members actually seeing your naked body or the way you look at the height of your pleasure – Shizuku can’t ogle like she does, Shalnark can’t fist his cock to the sight of your tits bouncing, and even Franklin can’t swallow and ghost a hand over his crotch at the sight of your body taking his too-big cock.

It’s perfect, a fantasy that he’s harbored since the early days of his infatuation with you – and while it’ll take a while for him to actually act out, he wants nothing more than to utterly claim you all while his friends can hear.

“You gonna scream for me baby?” Uvogin grunts, his hips snapping into yours just a bit harder.

Everything feels like too much – he’s holding you up against the wall, the cold brick digging into your back just mixing with the onslaught of pleasure his cock is giving you, bullying its way inside you and leaving you clenching down on him with every thrust. He’s so big – stretching you out nearly past your limits, making you drool and moan and shake, thoroughly destroying you long before he’s even bothering to reach for your clit.

You’re a mess already, and Uvogin knows it. It makes him smirk, staving off his own orgasm in favor of making sure he fucks you just right, just to make sure the rest of the Troupe can hear you on the other side of the wall.

“I can’t hear you.” He growls, burying his face in your neck and biting his lip to hold his release at bay. It’s hard to – you’re so damn tight and warm around him, and each time he pushes just the tiniest bit deeper inside you, you squeeze up like a vice, massaging and pulsing around him so well that it makes his knees weak.

“Fuck, Uvo Uvo Uvo Uvo -!” You’re chanting his name, the words slurred together and sounding strained, and it only makes him thrust into you harder, enough force landing on each push of his hips that it physically gets you bouncing, even mid-air.

He can hear faint, muffled talking from the other side of the wall, and it only makes him bare his teeth, lightly biting the shell of your ear. His fingers dig into your thighs, his grip on them firm and tight.

“Shit baby, tell them who’s fucking you like this,” He starts, only to cut himself off with a groan when you clench down on him particularly hard. His hips stutter for just a moment, and you claw at his back at the sensation.

“It – it’s you, Uvogin!” Your voice is strained and slurred, and it makes Uvogin grin.

“Who’s cock is this perfect little pussy taking? Who’s it belong to, huh?” His voice is gravely and deep, husky and making your toes curl as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Uvogin Uvogin Uvogin!” You’re practically screaming at this point, and he hears a dull thud from the next room over.

He barks out a laugh and buries his face into your neck, forcing his hips to go faster, harder, deeper, anything to get you louder.

And it’s working – you’re physically trembling, hips twitching and jerking wildly in his grasp, a non-sensical slurry of words spilling from your lips that make his heart and cock ache, each sound you make sending him closer and closer to his end.

“Tell me what you want baby, fuck fuck fuck, tell me where you want it.”

“Inside! Please Uvo, inside, need it inside me –“ You’re blabbering, but he doesn’t mind. A finger comes down to roughly press circles against your sensitive clit, and your reaction is immediate – you tense up, every muscle in your body seizing up as the pleasure mounts and mounts, his hips never stilling and drilling into that spot inside you over and over and over again –

You come with a scream of his name, your cunt fluttering wildly around him, squeezing and pulsing and massaging him in a way that gets his knees scarily close to buckling, his own orgasm right on the brink as he presses you even tighter against the wall, leaving no space to breath as he literally fucks you into the brick.

“Don’t you dare stop,” He warns you, each word punctuated by a sharp thrust.

Another loud bang comes from the other side of the wall, and Uvogin freezes for just a moment as he hears the faintest sound of panting, of someone cursing under their breath, of something muttering out an oh fuck…

He comes with a loud groan of your name, spurts of warm, thick cum settling inside you and making you cry out again, the sound music to his ears. A muffled groan sounds from the other side of the wall, and pride swims in Uvo’s gut as he watches you try to recover, your body shaking and your lips all swollen from biting them. He kisses you, hard, his tongue slipping into your mouth immediately, before helping you stand on your own and paddle to the bathroom to clean up.

Once the shower starts running, Uvogin sighs and slips out the door, walking into the other room with a smirk spread across his lips. Feitan, Phinks and Nobunaga all look at him, the first with a disgusted look, the second with a noticeable blush, and the third with dazed eyes, clearly in the aftershocks of his own pleasure.

Uvogin laughs, settling a hand on his hip. “Like what you heard, huh?”

Nobuanga nods, Phinks’s blush only settles deeper, and Feitan snorts.

Uvogin’s smile drops at that, his nen flaring up. “Too bad you’ll never even touch her.”

His cock twitches at the mere thought, and soon he’s sliding open the glass door of the bathroom, pressing your chest against the tile wall, determined to see if his friends can still hear you over the sound of the rushing water.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere uvogin #hxh smut #_hxh #_uvogin #_lee's profiles

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betelgo0ze · 2 months

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People seemed to really like my fanon v canon rant so here’s another rant about the concept of Cybertronian gender and language

Pronouns aren’t limited to he/she/they, and I’m not just talking about Neo and non-mainstream pronouns. Words like “you” and “our” are also pronouns, so the next time you hear someone say “i dOnT uSe pRoNoUnS” yes you do. Literally yes you do(excluding people who are referred to only by name, I’m talking specifically about homophobes and bigots but I digress)

The English language, along with most earth languages, have unique words that can only apply to that language. Of course you can translate as close as possible, but some words are exclusive to that language and you can’t accurately translate them. I speak English and Spanish(specifically Argentinian) and there are many words that I can’t translate into English. My father’s from Argentina so he taught me, and even he can’t translate a few words because they simply aren’t words in the English dictionary.

Now when we talk about Cybertronian, it is a fictional language that directly translates into English. Each letter has a symbol that represents that letter so people can directly translate it. It doesn’t have its own structure or grammar, it is just a silly easter egg.

(Also there’s two main versions of cybertronian I could find but they both follow the same format of what is basically a decoding game)

It’s obvious they have their own language, but it’s presented to us in a format we can understand, but if we’re thinking of cybertronions as a real species than it would not directly translate and just like any other earth language.

Quick but important detail: cybertronions don’t reproduce. They call us organic for a reason. They can’t do the squinty and dirty because they don’t have things to do it with, therefore don’t have a true concept of gender identity or sexual orientation. The only reason they’re referred to as “he,” “she,” or “they” in media is because it’s translated into English, the same way languages don’t always translate accurately.

There are transgender characters but they are for the viewer if anything, and Cybertronian gender is so much more complex if anything at all. A good theory is that humans introduced the concept of gender, but I don’t think that’s the case. Some people might like slimmer frames which just happen to be a characteristic of women. Some want bulkier bodys and to not be as slim, like a stereotypical male. Words like “he” and “she” are translated into words that refer to physical characteristics rather than mental. There’s also instances of this not happening like when Swerve mistakes Nautica for a man despite her having colored lips and a slim body(traits which normally apply to AFAB people)

At the end of the day, Cybertronions are something to dissect with their culture being so vague due to language barriers and Rodimus being British apparently(different areas have different accents, Rodimus is just compared to having a British accent. Don’t think too deep into it)

also if your curious here’s the two languages sorry that ones transparent lmao

Oke thanks for coming to my ted talk I love you drink wawa and eat please I beg of you

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affixjoy · 4 months

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Today I continued my Star Trek journey by rewatching Star Trek (2009) and boy howdy do I have some thoughts.

So first off, I saw this for the first time when I came out in 2009. It wasn’t my first experience with Star Trek, but it was probably my first with Kirk and Spock and that gang. I remember liking it a lot.

Now that I’ve watched all of TOS and a few of the movies with the original cast my feelings are a little more complicated.

Overall, fun movie! I imagine they had to have felt the weight of recasting and redoing such iconic characters, and in a lot of ways they succeeded. It certainly got younger people like me interested in the franchise!

💫 Spock: I do love this version of him. His “live long and prosper” to the VSA is perfectly bitchy and I’m obsessed with it.

💫BONES!! if you’ve read any of my other posts you’ll know that somehow Bones snuck up on me as my favorite character. I love his intro here, and I think Karl Urban gets the tone just right. This really is a buffet for the McKirkers out there, I can see how this led to 1000 academy era fics of them.

💫Kirk: oh Jim. Jimmy Jim Jim. Baby boy. What are you doing. How did being played by Chris Pine (who is incredibly hot) make you LESS attractive??

Obviously this Kirk suffers from some Kirk drift and the added trauma of losing his dad. He’s so much angrier, so much less sweet and nerdy. Rewatching this now I can see why I was so hesitant to like him in TOS because he’s a lot less lovable here.

💫 I get it’s an emergency and they had to for plot reasons, but almost all of Pike’s staffing choices make no sense. Sure, Spock as acting captain, I get that. But everyone else?? Imagine being one of the other people there who has been with starfleet for years and seeing him hand Kirk the role of first officer. The ship can’t be entirely cadets can it?? Imagine the group texts going around after like “thank god he didn’t die because I really need to bitch about this.”

💫 I love all three Uhuras (tos, aos, and snw) and I get why they made her Spock’s love interest here because they’ve got fun chemistry! They have a lot in common, they’re both hot and smart, I get it. But cmon guys, that man is a 6 on the Kinsey scale. You keep pairing him with women and it doesn’t work.

💫 I feel like they worked in lots of little references to classic trek, from plot stuff to smaller details like when Spock enters from the turbolift at the end in a very TMP way. I love that, it makes me feel like the people making the movie really care about the stories and the characters. When Spock Prime says good luck I felt all the weight of his relationship with his Jim and how it changed him. So lovely and touching.

And just how close they made Kirk and Spock stand, especially towards the end of the movie. They were always glued to each other in TOS and JJ must have known us Spirk shippers needed something to latch on to 😅

💫 There’s too much action in this movie for me. We didn’t need to see Scotty beamed into the water tank. The best sf stuff is always story based, I don’t need extravagant fights and cgi shit. I’m sure there are people who watch science fiction for the spectacle but I’m here for the ideas and the feelings.

💫 goddddd everything with Vulcan and losing Amanda. Rip all our hearts out why don’t you. Spock’s mom dying is just heartbreaking. I know they had to lose someone we knew to make the destruction of the planet more real to us as viewers but so crushing to see it.

💫 Old Spock 😭😭😭

He knows right away who Jim is and expects that Jim found him on purpose.

Old Spock just launched right in to the mind meld huh. To me this really says that he and his Jim are on very casual mind meld terms and he’s not fully understanding that this Jim is not his Jim.

Think about how fucking weird all this must be for old Spock. How heartbreakingly strange it would be so see a young version of your husband and send him to a young version of yourself. Meeting all your old friends young selves, years after you’ve lost them all.

And from here out it’s just miscellaneous thoughts I jotted down while watching that don’t fit great anywhere else:

⭐️I love when the redshirt is so excited to get the Romulans and Kirk gets this look like… that’s why you’re here? Dude the battle not the appeal here. A nice glimpse of how this Kirk is similar at heart to TOS Kirk.

⭐️Love you Sulu and your fencing skills

⭐️I love when they stop the lift for emotional reasons.

⭐️“Our destinies have changed” goddddd great speech Spock

⭐️Jim has the look of a man who is frequently escorted places by security

⭐️Spock wants to break Kirk so bad 😂

⭐️When Jim slaps Spock’s back and Spock has a look of “I think that just awakened something in me.”

⭐️Spock you’re calling him Jim already? You slut. (Delighted, affectionate)

Overall I think it’s a fun movie but it misses a lot of what’s at the heart of the classic Trek I love. They try to do everything too fast and it just doesn’t work as well for me. I’m excited to rewatch the next two and see how these versions of the characters change!

#spirk #star trek #james t kirk #spock #leonard mccoy #star trek 2009 #nyota uhura #not a bad movie!#but missing a lot of the vibes I love #I get why people love it and I get why people hate it.#mckirk

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frankie-bell · 7 months

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An Essay Exploring Psycho-Pass's Most Controversial Character

I know I’m opening a huge, slimy can of worms and potentially incurring the wrath of half the Psycho-Pass fandom, but I feel compelled to share my feelings on Mika Shimotsuki and how I believe she serves as a lightning rod for fan culture misogyny. Now, before I start, let me just say that this essay isn’t targeted at any one individual, and it’s just my personal opinion, which you are more than welcome to disagree with. I’d also like to stress that, despite my love for Mika’s character, I’m going to try my very best to approach this topic from an academic standpoint rather than an emotional one. I recently picked Parasocial Relationships and their effect on female celebrities and fictional characters as a thesis for my Gender and Media course, and it really got me thinking about this anime in particular, so here we go…

Let’s tackle the female side of things first, because it’s the one that shocks and disappoints me the most. Don’t get me wrong -- I think fandoms with a strong female presence are awesome, complex, uplifting, and oftentimes incredibly positive and inclusive spaces. I love being a female genre fan and interacting with other female genre fans. That said, I’ve noticed female fandom can sometimes fall prey to online bullying and misogynistic groupthink when it comes to (a) female characters they find arrogant, bossy, mean, etc. and (b) female characters who are positioned as potential love interests for their collective male "blorbos," "husbandos," "faves," whatever the term may be. These two things very often overlap, which I’ll touch on later, but for now, let’s talk about the first point.

There was a big movement online several years ago urging creators to “let women be mean. Let them be angry. Let them be petty and complex and difficult. Let them be messy.” I fully support this idea in both theory and practice and wish it were that simple, but unfortunately, it’s not, because uncomfortably large swaths of fandom don’t like/appreciate unapologetically mean female characters the way they do male characters. Men in fiction are allowed to be cutthroat, selfish, cruel, narcissistic, arrogant, and even evil without garnering even a fraction of the judgement that female characters receive for simply being “difficult” or “unlikable.”

Take, for instance, Shougo Makishima. The Psycho-Pass fandom at large adores this character (myself included), despite the fact that he’s a remorseless sociopath who touts the importance of free will as a wholesale excuse for murder. He is a bad person, full-stop, and yet he garners love -- even sympathy -- in abundance. He’s the subject of fawning fan fiction, chibi art, thirst tweets, and endless Reddit analysis. Fans are capable of seeing him, murderous warts and all, as a product of the warped dystopian society Sibyl has created. But Mika? Nope. Just “a bitch, a whiner, an arrogant little girl who deserves to get slapped in the mouth.” (I am not making this up. These are the type of comments I see *female* fans making left and right about her character). She receives far more hate for giving up the location of Akane’s grandmother as a blackmailed, frightened teenager than Makishima does for slashing Yuki’s throat or blowing up Masaoka. Hell, she catches more heat for Akane’s grandmother than Sakuya Togane, the woman’s actual murderer and -- I can’t stress this enough -- a 41-year-old adult man.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking -- Makishima and Togane are villains, so their personality flaws (putting it lightly) and horrible actions are essential to the narrative and indicative of good storytelling. We’re meant to “love to hate them.” All correct, and yet this doesn’t change or excuse the fact that their standing in the fandom, when compared to the equally complex and emotionally fractured Mika, is textbook pernicious misogyny. But, for the sake of argument, let’s compare Mika to another character ostensibly on the side of good -- Nobuchika Ginoza. [Note: Ginoza is my favorite character in Psycho-Pass, and any commentary regarding his PP1 shittiness is made with pure love and appreciation for him and nuanced character growth in general.]

When we first meet Ginoza, he is rude, terse, unyielding, intellectually smug, and totally unforgiving of those closest to him. He’s a brilliant character, and his behavior, no matter how insufferable and seemingly cruel, is the result of compounded trauma -- the trauma of having his father ripped away when he was only nine, the trauma of being unfairly judged for the “sins” of said latent criminal father, the trauma of his mother numbing her pain with medication and eventually becoming something akin to a human corpse, the trauma of finding a new support system and best friend in Kougami only to once again be “abandoned” for the other side of the law. In many ways, he’s still a hurt child lashing out at the world, unwilling to see it for the complicated, morally gray place that it is, because being mad is easier. Telling himself that Enforcers are nothing more than dogs for him to guide and use as shields is easier. Blindly trusting the judgements handed down by Sibyl is easier.

In this way, he and Mika are remarkably similar. When she first joins the MWPSB, she’s a 17-year-old minor whose best friend (and probably first love) was dismembered by a latent criminal under the direction of a serial killer disguising himself as a teacher -- a trusted authority figure. She’s filled with guilt and self-loathing over her failure to act, and the easiest way for her to sort out her feelings and ensure the same thing doesn’t happen again is to harden herself to all latent criminals. Distrusting them, treating them as “other,” is her form of self-preservation. Yes, it makes her come across as mean, as closed-minded, as unlikable, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s good storytelling, and it presents her with plenty of potential for growth, which she is certainly given.

[Upon discovering that her best friend, fellow Oso Academy student Kagami Kawarazaki, has been murdered by Rikako Oryo, Mika breaks down in tears, blaming herself for the tragedy. This is the moment her distrust of latent criminals is solidified.]

But, unlike Ginoza (a 28-year-old adult man), over half the fandom decided that Mika was so awful, so totally unforgivable, such a “heinous cunt,” that they were unwilling to allow her the time and space to grow beyond her trauma and immaturity. But why? Is it because we’ve been taught to judge women, even fictional ones, based on a different set of criteria than men? I think the answer is obvious, and I urge fans who dislike Mika’s character with such intensity to seriously examine their reasoning. I don’t mean to say that she’s infallible (hardly) or that it’s wrong to dislike her. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and no one person’s take is more valid than another’s, but it’s definitely something to think about in the larger conversation that is media analysis.

Which brings me to Akane Tsunemori, someone who fits all the abovementioned criteria for a “likeable” female character. [Another note: I love Akane, and none of this is meant to disparage her. I am simply trying to point out that she’s a more easily digestible female when viewed through the patriarchal lens of pop culture.] She’s smart but not arrogant about it, strong-willed but never disagreeable, empathetic but not easily led by her emotions, and most importantly, she’s always kind to the fandom’s male faves. She is, in almost every way, trademark "Best Girl" material, and Mika is her foil (at least in PP2). She’s set up to be the anti-Akane, both in personality and narrative function. If Akane trusts someone, Mika doesn’t. If Akane wants to bend the rules, Mika is rigid in upholding them. If Akane isn’t afraid of clouding her Hue, Mika is downright terrified.

Though it’s never stated outright, she probably hoped her senior Inspector would serve as a mentor figure, yet we see none of that from Akane, who often abandons Mika to chase down seemingly wild leads and appears to be stuck in the past, yearning for the original Division 01. (Mika even says as much to Ginoza in a novelization of the first film.) On top of that, I think it’s important to remember that we’re predisposed to side with Akane, as she is both our POV protagonist *and* the hero of the narrative. We have unprecedented access to her private moments, motivations, and methodology. We know she means well and trust that her unconventional strategy will pay off in the end. Mika does not. All she knows is that her direct superior is habitually breaking the rules, overloading her team with what feels like excessive busywork, and ignoring the more bureaucratic side of the job in favor of unconventional/unsanctioned detective work. If I’m being perfectly honest, I would also be submitting concerned reports to my boss.

[When Akane blatantly disregards Sibyl's judgement of bomber Akira Kitazawa, talking him down from a Crime Coefficient of 302 to 299, Mika confronts her for putting both their colleagues and nearby civilians in danger. This later proves to be the right call, as Kitazawa attacks Inspector Risa Aoyanagi and escapes police custody.]

[While investigating Kirito Kamui, Akane keeps her suspicions/theories close to the chest, leaving Mika and the rest of Division 01 in the dark as to her game plan.]

[Although Akane's decision to entrust Hinakawa with all 185 Halos proves to be the right one, it's understandable why Mika is taken aback by her placing so much responsibility on a single subordinate -- especially one with Hinakawa's history.]

Now, that’s not to say Mika’s feelings about Akane are purely altruistic. She’s definitely jealous of her senior Inspector and resents her standing within the Bureau, which makes her behave in ways both petty and vindictive. But I’d argue that this, too, is understandable, if not wholly forgivable, when viewed through Mika’s eyes. Picture this: You’re the youngest-ever recruit to a highly coveted position. You follow protocol to a T, are deferential to your superiors, and show a genuine aptitude for the job. Even your callousness toward the Enforcers (again, your childhood best friend was butchered by a latent criminal) is in accordance with Sybil’s will. Shitty, yes, but standard for someone raised within the Orwellian hellscape of 2100s Japan. And yet, everyone around you prefers your senior Inspector. Your subordinates defer to her when you’re the officer in charge (Hinakawa) and even help her game the system (Ginoza). The Chief tells you you’re boring, but displays obvious favoritism toward her. This severely harms your self-esteem and colors the way you interact with everyone around you. After all, it’s hard to feel like a valued member of the team when you’re being undermined and lectured at every turn. This doesn’t excuse Mika’s behavior, and if she didn’t evolve, I might understand some of the hate, but she does evolve. Spectacularly. She’s just not Akane, and that’s okay.

[While dealing with the hostage situation in PP2, Mika notices Hinakawa working on something off to the side. When she confronts him about it, he admits that he's acting on Akane's orders, even though Mika is technically the officer in charge.]

[A similar incident occurs in Sinners of the System: Case. 1, when Ginoza shoots down Mika's (admittedly ridiculous) plan, which she interprets as him once again siding with Akane over her.]

Again, this is good storytelling at work, and you can acknowledge that these two women are diametrically opposed and still appreciate -- hell, even like -- both of them for the well-written characters they are. After all, most Psycho-Pass fans like both Kougami and Ginoza in PP1 despite their many differences, not to mention the fact that Ginoza is (and I say this with love) a giant asshole. Let’s not forget, he was *this close* to microwaving Kougami at Chief Kasei’s behest. You can tell yourself he wouldn’t have, but are you sure? Are you really sure? But we forgive him, because he’s a man. Anyway, back to Akane and Mika. For reasons I’ll never understand, many fans find it borderline impossible to love two women with beef, whether it’s one-sided or mutual. There can only be one Best Girl, and everyone better be on her team. It reminds me of the Sansa vs. Daenerys discourse that gripped the Game of Thrones fandom in its last few seasons. This is doubly ridiculous in Psycho-Pass’s case, because Akane and Mika come to trust, respect, and depend on each other. But people decided to hate this 19-year-old forever, so none of that matters.

[Notice how Ginoza's gaze narrows ominously in the last frame, suggesting he might actually have pulled the trigger, thereby killing his best friend, had Akane not intervened.]

Now, let’s return to my earlier point about certain fans irrationally hating any female character they deem unworthy of their blorbo, husbando, etc. This is where Parasocial Relationships become extremely interesting. As mentioned above, Ginoza is my favorite character in Psycho-Pass, which I think is pretty common. While I myself have never been one for self-insertion or creating OCs to pair with my favorite characters, I understand that it’s a popular trend, and if you enjoy it, more power to you. It becomes problematic, however, when those who engage in self-shipping/OC-shipping decide to collectively gang up on the female character creators have paired (or hinted at pairing) with the object of their affection. Enter GinoMika. Now, I know what you’re thinking -- “But Mika’s a lesbian!” I don’t necessarily agree. Do I think she was in love with her best friend at Oso Academy? Yes. Do I think she had a crush on Yayoi at the beginning of PP2? Yes. Do I also think it’s obvious she currently has feelings for Ginoza, which have been steadily growing since Sinners of the System? Absolutely. For this reason, I interpret her as being both bisexual and demisexual. But that’s beside the point --

The point is that many Ginoza fans who ship him with themselves, their OCs, or Akane (remember, she’s Best Girl) seem to enjoy trashing on Mika like it’s an Olympic sport. And when I say “trashing,” I don’t mean your normal yet still disappointing level of ship nonsense; I mean unhinged, violent rhetoric that makes me feel like the Internet is a place where women can never win. And why? Because she was mean to him when she first started working for the MWPSB? As if he was oh-so-kind to the Enforcers who worked under him. I seem to recall him screaming at his father and threatening to “make him pay” for visiting his sick wife without permission. Oh, and then there was the time he introduced Akane to her new colleagues by telling her, “Don’t think that the guys you’re about to meet are humans like us.” But yes, Mika once told him that she didn’t want his opinion as a latent criminal, which is so much worse. And before you can say that she’s still a bitch to him, let me point out that she is a textbook tsundere. That’s how she flirts, shows affection, etc. She can never come right out and say what she means, because that would make her vulnerable. But she can surreptitiously tell Ginoza he better come back alive by insisting he return her special Dominator. You know, because it would be a real hassle if she had to replace that thing.

[The language Ginoza uses when introducing Akane to the Enforcers, including his own best friend and father, is deeply dehumanizing.]

[When Aoyanagi takes Masaoka to visit his estranged wife, Ginoza reacts with explosive anger, reprimanding his father in front of their colleagues and threatening to retaliate should he do it again.]

Which brings us, at long last, to the male portion of the fandom. While many female fans like to call Mika out for her more negative character traits, completely ignoring any and all growth she’s experienced since PP2, male fans tend to direct their anger, dislike, etc. in a much more aggressive manner. I wish I was exaggerating when I say that I’ve seen multiple posts praying for Mika’s rape and subsequent murder. You can’t dive into a single “Season 4 Wish List” thread without finding at least one person wishing extreme ill on Mika Shimotsuki. It's pure misogyny, classic “I’ll fuck the bitch right out of her” rhetoric, and it has no place in this fandom or any other. You would never see a male character being talked about in these terms. Consider this: There’s more fan fiction featuring Mika being raped or coerced into sex by her tormentor, Sakuya Togane, than her having a positive, consensual experience with any other character. Love her or hate her, that is extremely fucked up. We as a fandom need to do better, because once this type of misogyny can be weaponized against fictional characters, it becomes much easier to use against real people. Fan culture, though it might seem trivial, says a lot about us and our values.

[This is just a sampling of the comments you'll find on Twitter, Tumblr, Reddit, and other social media sites.]

That said, I’d like to end this essay on a more positive note, so let’s take a look at all the ways in which Mika has become a better, more compassionate human being over the course of the series...

By PP3, she shows obvious concern for her Enforcers, values their opinions, and treats them like integral members of her team. In an especially cute scene, she even fist-bumps Tenma Todoroki after they work seamlessly to defeat Koichi Azusawa’s henchmen. She also makes a point to attend the party thrown in the Enforcers’ quarters, as she now longs to be part of the gang -- a gang she would have actively shunned in PP2.

[During First Inspector, Mika shows time and again that she's willing to work with and for her Enforcers.]

[As Chief, Mika realizes that Enforcers deserve respect and gratitude from their superiors. They are no longer dogs to her.]

[In PP2, Mika tells Ginoza she doesn't care what the Enforcers think of her. By PP3, however, we see her display concern that her team might find her dull. She wants to be liked and accepted by them.]

She becomes far more flexible with her co-workers, allowing Inspectors Arata Shindo and Kei Mikhail Ignatov plenty of freedom to conduct investigations as they see fit. Yes, she consistently scolds them (textbook tsundere behavior), but this is done in a manner far more humorous than anything else. We know she actually trusts them and has their best interests at heart; she just can’t bring herself to say it aloud. She also repeatedly takes heat from Chief Hosorogi on their behalf and is genuinely worried for Arata when it seems like Sibyl might “eliminate” him. The palpable relief on her face when she finds out he’s allowed to remain an Inspector speaks volumes.

[Throughout PP3, Mika allows Kei and Arata to play to their individual strengths, even if it means bending the rules -- something she would never have done in PP2 or the first film.]

[Just look at that excited face. No caption necessary.]

She goes out of her way to make sure the immigrant prostitutes saved by religious leader Joseph Auma are protected following his death. This is an especially big deal, since many of these individuals are latent criminals, and Mika is forced to ask her newfound nemesis, Frederica Hanashiro, for a favor in order to secure their safety. When she tries to pretend it’s no big deal, Frederica calls her bluff by pointing out that no one would stoop to asking someone they hate for help in order to protect people whose fates they don’t care about.

[Even though Mika detests Frederica, she puts the well-being of the immigrants before her own pride.]

In Sinners of the System: Case. 1, her distrust of latent criminals is permanently altered after dealing with Izumi Yasaka, whom she works tirelessly to rescue and comes to view as brave, capable, and worthy of reintegration into society. She also displays genuine concern for and lack of discrimination toward Takeya Kukuri, the young son of a latent criminal, and is horrified to discover that the latent criminal inmates at Sanctuary are being used as disposable tools to move nuclear waste canisters.

[Sinners of the System: Case. 1 marks a decided shift in the way Mika views latent criminals. Instead of lumping them all together, she begins to see them as individuals who deserve basic human rights.]

[Even though Mika is unable to save all the latent criminals at Sanctuary, she does everything in her power to ensure Yasaka and Takeya walk away clean.]

When Enforcer Mao Kisaragi turns out to be the “fox within the CID,” Mika and the rest of Division 01 are united in supporting her claim of innocence. Mika trusts (without concrete proof, mind you) that she’s telling the truth about being an unwitting accomplice, something she never would have done in PP2 or even the first film.

[While the old Mika would have been the first person to distrust Kisaragi, here we see her standing up for the beleaguered Enforcer.]

She comes to respect Division 01 (Akane, Ginoza, Sugo, Hinakawa, Kunizuka, and Shion), views them as a surrogate family, and misses them once their unit is disbanded. In Sinners of the System: Case. 3, Frederica Hanashiro, who temporarily worked as part of their unit, says, “CID Division 01… They’re not just capable; they have a rare teamwork that overcomes the barrier between Inspectors and Enforcers.” Yes, this is mostly due to Akane’s guiding influence, but it’s clear Frederica is talking about the whole team. It’s taken Mika years to get there, but she is now definitely part of the group, not a jealous outsider looking in. In fact, even Mika’s obvious dislike of Frederica in PP3 is a clear result of this affection. After finally finding a place to belong, she feels as though Frederica swooped in and stole her found family, leaving her right back where she started -- on the outside.

[Though she'll never admit it, Mika views Ginoza as both a mentor and a friend. When he leaves the PSB to join SAD/MOFA, she misses having him around.]

[During her lowest moment in PP2, a jealous Mika actually hopes that Akane's Hue will darken. In Sinners of the System: Case. 2, she pleads with her to take her own safety more seriously. It's clear a big change has occurred in the intervening years.]

[Instead of feeling constant competition with Akane, by PP3, Mika is finally able to give her her due. It's clear they trust and respect each other despite their many differences.]

She’s grown from an immature young woman who couldn’t bring herself to take responsibility for her failures -- most notably her involvement in Akane’s grandmother’s murder -- to a responsible PSB Chief who holds herself accountable for anything that goes wrong with her Inspectors and Enforcers. This is most evident in her reaction to Koichi Azusawa taking control of Nona Tower and subsequently endangering the lives of MWPSB faculty and agents. We first see inklings of this change near the end of PP2, when Kunizuka tells Mika she’ll never forgive the person who gave up Aoi Tsunemori’s location, and Mika responds in kind. It’s clear that she’s not merely parroting a response to save her own skin but is deeply troubled and filled with regret over her own actions.

[In PP2, Mika is constantly blaming others for her mistakes. By First Inspector, she's owning mistakes she didn't even make.]

[Mika trusts her team so much, she's willing to put her job on the line.]

[Although Mika doesn't come clean to Kunizuka about her role in Aoi Tsunemori's death, it's clear she’s haunted by it. Later, when she confesses the truth to Ginoza, he admits to feeling a similar guilt over the way he treated his late father, telling Mika they'll have to bear their respective shame silently for the rest of their lives.]

And lastly, I believe the biggest example of Mika's growth can be found in what is arguably her most important relationship -- the one she shares with Ginoza. Whether you view them as mentor/mentee, begrudging friends, potential love interests, or all three, you can't deny that they have one of the most interesting and entertaining dynamics in the series. As mentioned above, when Mika first meets Ginoza, she views him as a cautionary tale. His demotion from Inspector to Enforcer is her worst nightmare, something that could conceivably happen to her, though she'll never admit it. Because of this, she treats him with hostility, disregarding his opinions and shunning his advice. But the longer they work together, the more we realize that Ginoza brings out the best in Mika -- and vice-versa. His calm, cool demeanor tempers her fiery spirit, and her enthusiasm makes him feel like he still has a purpose. By the time PP3 rolls around, he's become her #1 confidant, the person she calls whenever she has intel to share, grievances to air, etc. And you can't deny that Mika is the one person who makes Ginoza funny. Their flirtatious banter is genuinely charming and shows the softer, more human side of both their characters.

[Given her history with latent criminals, Mika refuses to listen to Ginoza, even when he's coming from a place of experience and genuinely trying to help her.]

[After working together for several years, Mika learns to value Ginoza's opinion and even feels proud when he compliments her.]

[During the Sanctuary case, Ginoza admits to both Akane and himself that being an Enforcer isn't so bad, as long as Mika is the one calling the shots. He knows she has a good heart, and working for her reminds him why he joined the MWPSB in the first place.]

[Notice how Mika's body language changes from PP2 to Sinners of the System. She now looks at Ginoza with appreciation and, in certain instances, affection. The fact that he views her the same way speaks volumes about how far their relationship has come.]

If you made it to the end of this mammoth post, thank you for sticking with me. Hopefully, we can all treat Mika with a little more patience, kindness, and respect when PP4 arrives.

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 14

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: E for Explicit. 18+ Word Count: 16k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Hurt/comfort, family planning, mentions of sex toys, lingerie, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex. Summary: Jack’s condition upon waking up in Ginger’s lab has some unexpected consequences. A meeting with Champ goes a little differently than expected. And Tex and Sophia’s wedding leads to something we all should have seen coming. Notes: We’re in the home stretch now, folx! One more chapter and an epilogue before we’re jetting off to the next soulmate story. This rollercoaster with Jack and Sugar has been quite the ride and I can’t begin to say how much I’ve loved having all of you along for it. 🧡🧡✨

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Hours tick by at a snail's pace. Diana delivers dinner from the restaurant with a Get Well card signed by your staff who all think that it's you still under the weather, and not Jack fighting for his life in a science fiction machine. There's food for you, Tex, and Ginger there but you don't have the stomach for it. You can't seem to do anything but stare as Jack sleeps the hours away, exhausted from crying until there are no more tears left to shed. He has to wake up. He has to.

Six hours pass, then seven. Longer than your own time in the chamber. Hour eight arrives and Jack’s vitals change slightly. The tiniest twitch of his finger, lifting and flexing off the bed. Eyes fluttering slightly. Jack is starting to stir.

“Ginger! Ginger, he’s waking up!” Bolting up out of your chair, you nearly jump forward to get your hands on the pod but Tex holds you back. No good can come from interrupting Jack’s healing, even if he understands how anxious you are.

It’s not an instantaneous thing, waking up from the healing coma he had been in. His injuries were more severe than yours had been, plus his body needed to heal from the trauma of nearly dying several times. He shifts slightly, frowning with his eyes closed as Ginger comes over and punches several commands on the front of the chamber.

“It’s going to be slow,” she warns you, not turning around as she watches Jack’s face start to react to regular stimuli. “You remember how groggy you were?”

“Right.” It takes more of Tex’s strength to hold you back than he expected, but you’re nodding and practically going to pull him over. “I—I just— he’s waking up!”

She bites her lip, remembering the last time that Jack had woken up from a serious injury. She wonders if he will remember you, remember himself. If this will make the situation between you worse. “He’s waking up.” She murmurs quietly.

The monitors whir to life with all manner of sounds and readings and the quiet fear that Jack will be different again gnaws at you. If it had happened once, it might happen again. The door to the chamber clicks and there is a quiet hiss as the pressure equalizes inside. Sounding like something from a science fiction movie before it slowly opens up. The monitor shuts off and for a second the entire room is quiet as everyone instinctively leans in to watch what Jack will do. Tex braces himself, holding back from you and Ginger on purpose – he’s not a medical professional by any means and his face isn’t going to bring Jack’s memories back if they’ve slipped, so all he can do is watch and wait.

When his eyes pop open, they are wide, taking in the scene of two women leaning over him. Watching both of them jump back slightly and he focuses on the one in the glasses, just because she is closer. Swinging up to sit, he leaps to his feet with a smirk on his face. “Hello gorgeous.” He drawls, stepping forward with a determined hitch in his step. “How’d you like to ride home on a real cowboy?” He drawls out. “I’ve got a six pack on ice and my roomie’s out all night so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, darlin’.” Every other word is punctuated by a step forward. The gait of a man on the prowl as Ginger backs up.

She expected this. She did. And it’s good to see that Jack’s reaction to waking up is exactly the same as always. Except this time, there is no need for the photograph in her coat pocket. Ginger clears her throat, masking her amusement, and puts one hand on your shoulder to redirect his attention to you. “Barking up the wrong tree, cowboy,” she tells him, nudging you in front of her. “Try again.”

The confusion on Jack’s face flashes as he is redirected but he smirks and strides towards you. “Hello sugar.” His voice drops to the same sugary seductiveness he had used on Ginger, but then he freezes. Cylinders seem to fire and he straightens slightly, the lazy, uncaring posture abandoned and his eyes start to clear. “Sugar.” He breathes, more reverently this time, the nickname having the same meaning as it has since he’s bestowed it on you. “I– I was on a mission.”

“You were, love.” It takes every ounce of self-control you have not to pounce on him - not to throw your arms around him and pull him against you and never let go again. Your hands flex with it and your whole body seems to shake with the need to touch him. “Y—you got hurt…Sophia brought you back home.”

His eyes narrow slightly, trying to remember but it’s all hazy. Just slipping from his grasp like a wisp of smoke. He grunts, eyes finding yours again. “You’re here.”

“I was here when they brought you in.” You remember being a bit fuzzy when you were healed here but you hadn’t been nearly as hurt as Jack, so you try not to be scared that he seems so disoriented. Instead you reach out, gently touching his fingertips with yours. “I’m right here, Jack. You’re gonna be okay.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” Jack rasps out, shaking his head. “You– you’re pregnant.” He coughs, wincing at the small ache in his newly mended side. The skin is still tender. “You need– rest.”

“I’m not.” It actually breaks your heart to say, now that you’ve sat with the reality for long enough, and seeing how it pains Jack just makes that ache deepen. “I was wrong. I’m not. Ginger checked, I promise.”

“You’re not?” He shakes his head, unsure if he’s heard you correctly or not. His head hurts, pounding and it feels like the blood is rushing his ears. Ginger had said the more often you got into the chamber, the worse the recovery would be. She’s right about that. “It’s okay–” he promises, thinking that you’re because you’re scared. “I–I don’t care if it’s mine.” He takes your hand fully, lacing his fingers with yours. “It’s your baby, a part of you, and I’m– I’m going to be there for you, for them.”

“Jack, I’m not pregnant.” Holding his hand tightly, you step closer and put your other hand to his face to cup his cheek. “It was just stress and the chamber fucking with my body after the kidnapping. Ginger can show you my scans if you don’t believe me.”

Relief and sadness wash over him in nearly equal measure. Relief because he selfishly wants you to have his baby. Not someone else’s. Sadness because he had realized after talking to Champ, he is ready to be a father. Or at least prepare to be a father again. He closes his eyes and nods, absorbing the information and covering your hand with his own.

“You need rest, love.” Sure he popped out of that chamber like a baseball shooting out of a pitching machine, but he looks…worn. You’d almost call it sad, but you brush that thought off and glance at Astrid. “Maybe Ging will let me take you home?”

“Home.” His eyes open and they slide over to Ginger. “Can I go home?” He asks quietly, not feeling exactly up to racing off on another mission just yet. Maybe he is getting old.

“I want to get a clean set of vitals, and then yes.” She nods, looking at you seriously. “You will call me the second anything about his condition changes, and you will bring him in tomorrow morning so I can give him a once over. He always tries to skip them but they’re important.”

“Absolutely,” you agree immediately, wanting Jack to be able to come home so you can take care of him. The chamber will have had some kind of effect on him that you can’t place yet, and you know you need to let him take it easy, but the idea of bringing him home seems desperately important right now.

Jack lets Ginger lead him away, checking him over as she frowns. “Am I gunna live?” He jokes weakly.

“Fortunately for the woman who hasn’t left your side for the last eight and a half hours? Yes.” Ginger pauses her examination to look up at him. “But if you take another bad hit in a mission? Between you and me, Jack, not even I might be able to bring you back next time.”

“So you’re tellin’ me it might be time to hang up my whip?” He asks seriously, aware that an agent past his prime might be more of a liability than an asset in the field.

"I'm saying you should sit down with Champ." Her lips are pursed, not enjoying having to deliver that kind of news. Not ever. "Intelligence gathering and tails might be more...appropriate choices for you at this point." Ginger sighs, pinching her eyes shut before she looks her friend in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Jack. But you've been on the brink of death three times now. That takes its toll."

Jack looks over at you, watching as you stare at him as if you could blink and he will disappear. “Haven’t had much beyond the job to live for in a long time.” He admits quietly. “But I don’t think a third soulmate is in the cards for her. And I ain’t gunna make her live without one.”

"Sit down with Champ." Ginger urges again, her voice dropping to match his. "There's a lot of valuable work you can do for this agency without being a field agent." There had never been a moment she had known Jack that Ginger ever believed that he would leave this life any other way but on a mission, but his eyes are crystal clear with the decision.

“I will.” Jack winces again and shakes his head. “But I’ll do that tomorrow. She looks like she’s about to collapse.”

"Go home. Let her dote on you. She's been worried sick since she came to me yesterday morning for a test." She shrugs with a sigh. "Since before that, from what Gabi said."

“I’ll let her dote.” Jack promises, nodding. That’s what had been bothering you, and he feels guilty for leaving and not talking to you.

"He's all yours." Ginger tells you with a bright smile. It's not her place to tell you any of what Jack is considering, or her medical opinion. But she's damn glad that Jack had a reason to fight. Without it, he might have gone out on that mission the way she always figured he would. "Don't let him do much of anything," she warns, then smirks. "Including sex. I'm telling you both, he needs forty-eight hours of rest before any exertion."

Jack pouts but it’s purely for show. Right now he’s not even sure if he could get it up, he’s feeling so out of sorts. The initial burst of energy has been quickly depleted.

"Let's go home, love." Having him released is more than you ever would have gotten in a regular hospital – you would be sitting at his bedside for a week or more. As it is, you put your arms around him and feel him sag a little, which you don't like at all. "We can curl up and nap if you want, or I can make you something to eat? Or we can just turn on a movie. Whatever you want. I'm all yours."

“I just–” Jack frowns, realizing he’s not even wearing his shirt but the scrubs they put on you when you have to have your clothes removed. “Damn, I liked that jacket too.” He huffs, knowing it must have been cut off of him.

"I can grab you something from your office?" Tequila offers, having been sitting quietly during the commotion of Jack's revival. He hadn't left your side while you waited for your soulmate to wake up, and now he just wanted to make sure that his best friend was well enough to get home before he went and reported to Champ.

“I– no, I don’t think so?” Jack frowns and shakes his head quietly. His bag was on the Statesman jet. Wherever that currently was.

"I had them take your bag back to the house," the younger man offers, knowing that an agent and his go-bag were often separated when medical emergencies happened. Frankly, the fact that Jack survived is something of a miracle. It was touch and go for far too long. "You guys go home. I'll call later to see how you're feeling, okay?"

“Thanks.” Jack reaches out and shakes Tequila’s hand. “Go home and take care of your soulmate. I think I worried her.”

“You worried all of us.” And he’ll be damned if he’s going to sugar coat that at all. Either way, Tex gives you a tight hug and waves to Ginger on his way out of the lab. He’s already texted Sophia that Jack is awake, but she’ll want a full update.

Jack turns towards you, an apology in his eyes. He’s made things hard for you and tiredness in your eyes is his fault.

“C’mon, baby.” All you care about right now is that he’s safe, and that means not letting him out of your sight for at least a few days. If you have your way he’ll be sitting in your office when you go back to work so you know he’s okay. You hold out your hand to him, gratefully sighing when he takes it and feels solid in your grasp to head for the elevator.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Jack murmurs quietly. “Didn’t think he’d get me.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” For all you know the entire incident is classified and you just have to sit on the knowledge that he was in danger, but you step into the barrel-shaped elevator together and fortunately find yourselves alone again.

Jack hesitates, not because it’s classified, it’s not. But he knows as soon as he tells you, you’re gunna blame yourself and he doesn’t want that. Ultimately the blame rests on him alone.

“If you can’t, I understand.” His hand in yours flexes and you look at him curiously, biting your lip for a second before exhaling slowly. “If there’s…some other reason you don’t want to tell me…like you had to kiss Sophia for the mission and didn’t see the guy come up on you or something like that…work is work, love. I promise I won’t be upset.”

“I didn’t kiss Sophia.” Jack sighs, knowing he needs to be honest with you. “I just need you to tell me about what has been going on with you, okay?” He asks, relieved when you nod. “Sugar, I just– I was distracted. That’s why I got hurt.”

It’s your fault. The first thought in your head when he tells you it was a distraction is that if you were the distraction then you are at fault. “I’m so sorry.” You murmur, looking down at your joined hands like he ought to be tearing away from you.

“That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.” Jack squeezes your hand and pulls you close. “It’s not your fault. I should have been thinkin’ about the mission. Not about somethin’ I couldn’t do anything about.”

“I should have called you the second I thought I was pregnant,” you admit quietly, listening to Jack’s heart beat with your head on his chest. “I panicked.”

“I did too.” Jack confesses quietly. “That's why I had to leave early last night.”

“Diana told me about Bobby.” This elevator ride seems to be for letting all of your secrets out, but if that’s what it needs to be then you’ll take it. “And how you went over last night. Jack, I…I was convinced you would leave me if it was anyone else’s. That’s why I got so scared. And then I realized that I don’t even know if you want to have kids…after what happened to your son.”

“I didn’t want kids.” Jack admits. “Not until the moment I figured – wrongly – that you were pregnant.”

“So…” Pulling back to look into his eyes, the doors open as soon as you’re about to open your mouth again and you stifle when you see Agent Rye waiting to enter on the ground floor. “Let’s get home,” you murmur, knowing you have a lot to talk about.

Your car isn’t here, but Jack’s Bronco is sitting in the parking lot. A testimony to just how out of sorts Jack feels is evident when he doesn’t try to get behind the wheel. Tucking him into the passenger side only takes a second, and you climb behind the wheel to make the five minute drive home. "Are you tired, honey?" He seems exhausted, but you don't know how he's feeling emotionally. Whether or not he wants to finish the conversation you were having so he can quiet his mind to actually rest. Or if he's too damn tired for it to even matter.

“Yes and no.” Jack just wants to touch you. To hold you and know that he didn’t die. That you aren’t leaving him. He had been worried you would, you’re an honorable woman and you might have thought it was best if you left if you had been pregnant. “I just– I want to lay down with you.”

"How about we cuddle up in bed and we can drift off whenever we feel like?" You reach for his hand as you drive, lacing your fingers together and holding onto him even as you rest your hand back on the gear shift. "We can keep talking if you want to, or just hang on to each other." It's enough that he's here. That Sophia brought him home to you and Astrid fixed him up, and that you can take him home to crawl into bed together. That's more than you had feared you would have even just a few hours ago.

“That sounds good, sugar.” Jack still feels off kilter, but he squeezes your hand. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

"I'm sorry I worried you." The two of you had been pretty far off base these last few days, which you haven't been in a while. That's the kind of thing that makes your stomach churn when you think about it and you don't like it one bit.

“I should have talked to you instead of trying to figure out how to fix things.” Jack can admit he was wrong, especially when all it took was a simple conversation. He could have gone with you to Ginger’s test and the thing put behind the both of you before he ever was on the mission.

"I should have told you why I was upset instead of being distant." The breathy chuckle that comes out of you is rueful, and you look over at him as you turn the Bronco into your driveway. "I think I know what we're talking about in our next therapy appointment."

“At least it will be some new form of miscommunication.” Jack jokes awkwardly.

"I don't know if that's a good thing or not." You cut the engine and lift Jack's hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "Let's keep this going, though. Honesty is...it's scary, but we usually do okay with it."

“I don’t want to risk losing you again.” Jack nods, sighing softly. “Let’s– let’s go inside.”

Neither of you bother to stop on the ground floor, you only take a three second detour for glasses of water to bring upstairs in case Jack gets thirsty and then you’re behind the safety of your closed bedroom door. “You’re not going to lose me,” you promise him, setting the glasses down so you can take his hands. “I was afraid to lose you. That…that if the baby wasn’t yours, you wouldn’t want either of us.”

“I was angry.” Jack won’t deny that. “But I was angry at myself. Hurt because of my own fucking stubborn pride and I–” he shrugs and closes his eyes. “Terrified because for a split second, I imagined what losing you and another baby – mine or not – would do to me.”

“I—” You blow out a breath, reminding yourself that you were the one counseling honesty just a few minutes ago. “I wasn’t going to keep it,” you admit quietly, eyes turning down to the carpet just so you don’t have to see if he reacts badly. “If it wasn’t yours. I asked Astrid if she could find out early enough.”

“Would you have told me?” Jack frowns, understanding that it would be your choice but he hopes that it wouldn’t be to hide something like that from him.

“You?” With a sigh, you nod your head. “Yes. But I wouldn’t have wanted to tell anyone else.”

“I’m glad you didn’t have to make that choice.” Even as bone-deep exhausted as he suddenly is, Jack picks up your hand and kisses it. “I need to shower. Hate how that damn machine makes me feel.”

“Do you want me to come with you, or do you want me to warm up the bed?” Sure Astrid said no sex, but that isn’t what you’re angling for. You just want the closeness and the intimacy of being beside him. You’re still skittish about letting him out of your sight.

Jack knows exactly how you feel right now. He can read it in your eyes and he remembers the need to have you with him. That if he took his eyes off of you, you would disappear. He’s sure that you are feeling the same. “Come with me, sugar?”

Pure relief relaxes your shoulders and you nod, following him into the bathroom to toss your lived-in pajamas into the laundry basket. The hospital-style scrubs that he had been put into after his clothes were cut away would just be thrown out, as disposability was a virtue of those particular items.

Jack looks back at you and then gestures. “Bath or shower?” A shower would be quicker, but he doesn’t know how you are feeling about things right now. It might be better for you to soak.

An argument could be made for either one, but crawling into bed with him and holding him in your arms feels like the right thing for right now. Plus, there’s the other thing. “Shower?” You smile a little guiltily. “If I have you naked in the bath I can’t guarantee I’ll behave myself and Astrid said no sex.”

“Shower.” Jack doesn’t want to embarrass himself by not even being able to get it up, and he doesn’t know if he could right now. “That sounds good, sugar.”

It’s just a few minutes – long enough to clean both of you up and get the blood splatter out of Jack’s hair. Whatever happened, it was far more brutal than what you had first imagined when Diana showed up at your door last night.

Jack lets you wash him, feeling a little embarrassed by how much he enjoys it. Or simply not having to do it himself. He climbs out of the shower and huffs when you dry him off, not even bothering to dress before he shuffles to the bedroom. Falling into bed is easy. You just climb under the covers and let him curl up against you, wrapping your arms around him and relishing the solid bulk pressed against your body. He’s here. He’s home. He’s alive.

“What did Ginger say to you?” You ask quietly, once you’re both settled. “While she was discharging you?”

Jack sighs, knowing that he can't hide this from you, not when it would affect you. "That I need to talk to Champ."

“About what? The accident?” Of course he needs to talk to Champ. That’s his boss and his friend. You can’t imagine why he wouldn’t, and your brows furrowed in confusion.

"She said that she doesn't know if she can pull me back the next time." Jack whispers softly. "It's the third time."

No one’s heart should be capable of breaking so many times in so few days, but you can feel yours crack again at the resignation in his voice. The fact that he already has broken again. “As in…if this happens again…that might be…it?”

"Ye–yeah." Jack sighs again. "I'm gunna talk to Champ. Tell 'em I want out of the field. I'm sorry, sugar. I should have– I should have just accepted that I didn't need to be in the field anymore."

“Need?” His choice of words makes your forehead pinch that much more, but you graze one hand over his bare back soothingly. “It’s your job, love. A job that you’ve been extremely successful at, from everything I’ve heard.”

"I needed the job before you." Jack explains softly. "I needed a high risk job that took me away from the pain, my own fucking thoughts. And I realized about two seconds after I got on the mission that I didn't want to be there."

“You don’t…want to be an agent anymore?” The idea is practically unfathomable to you, but it’s Jack’s life and his decision. What he decides to make of things is entirely up to him. All you can do is support him, though you have no idea through what.

"I don't want to leave you without a soulmate, or a widow." Jack is adamant about that. "Maybe I could go into the field if needed every now and again, but–" His arms tighten around you. "I want a future with you and I won't give that up for the thrill of a mission."

“I love you so much.” Mirroring him, your arms hold him that much closer and you bury your face in his damp hair to just breathe in the solid state of him all around you. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you. I just…I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

"Only regret I will have is if I hurt you again, sugar." Jack murmurs quietly. "I think I want to just train agents and settle down."

“Settle down, huh?” You can see Jack as a trainer. He had bitched about being stuck with the recruits but every day you’d see him come home from work satisfied with what they’d done and ready with new ideas. He hadn’t been willing to admit that he enjoyed it. At least not until now. “Are you telling me this house might get a little more crowded?” The subject of children has been breached by the last few days and it’s not the kind of thing you want to pretend didn’t happen. As much as you had been terrified to lose Jack, the idea of having a baby with him had made you feel so hopeful.

"If that's something you wanted, sugar." Jack's brow furrows and he smiles when your thumb rubs it to smooth it out. "I– I can't deny that I won't be worried. I'll probably hover like a nervous nelly."

“Would your worry outweigh any happiness it might bring you?” That’s one thing that you never would have even thought of before him - that the amount of worry your soulmate might have over you being pregnant or having a young child might be far greater than the joy of having a family.

"Before yesterday I would have said yes." Jack tells you honestly. "But– I just– I can't explain it. I was terrified and happy, sad and eager all at the same time."

“Things can change in the blink of an eye,” you remind him, that same gentle worry in your voice. “Second soulmates and second chances…it’s all a lot of things you didn’t think you’d have again. But I…I’m glad that you want to build a life, love. I would have understood if you never wanted to be a parent again. But I— while Ginger had me under the scanner, I just kept thinking…if it was yours, I would have been over the moon.”

Emotions stick in his throat, making him have to swallow as he nods. He would have been happy about that too. "I– I would have come out of the field then, too." He promises, knowing that missions are tough on a soulmate, especially hard if they are pregnant.

“Can I ask you something?” You were never brave enough to bring it up before, not wanting to upset him, but the proverbial can of worms has already been dumped everywhere anyway. You may as well try.

“Anything, sugar.” Jack’s eyes are closed and his fingers brush your bare back encouragingly.

“I wondered, that’s all.” As comforting as you’re trying to be, you've also made yourself quite nervous. “If…you had ever picked a name for your son?”

"We had." Jack murmurs softly. "She was due in less than seven weeks when they were...killed." He knows you want to know what the name is. "We had decided on Timothy, Timothy Charles. Charles was my daddy's name."

“If you still want to honor him if we have a boy, we can absolutely do that.” You promise him, blinking back some water that is rising behind your eyes. “I just…I didn’t want to accidentally suggest a name to you one day and have it be the one you had already picked out. That’s all.”

"You are thoughtful, sugar." He murmurs quietly, opening his eyes to stare into yours. "I'm grateful that you understand." The happiness and joy of choosing names is more bittersweet than it had been before. Smiling softly as he remembers how Abigail had worried over it for weeks until they decided.

“When my sister and her husband were picking out names for their kids it was a whole chaotic thing.” At times it had seemed to be even more stressful for Eliza than carrying the babies themselves, which seemed crazy. But now you look at it and it doesn’t seem odd at all – even just two days of thinking about it made you realize that was a whole entire person who was going to have that name. That’s an enormous responsibility. “Whatever changes come, we’ll manage. You’ll talk to Champ about coming out of the field, I’ll keep my head down at the restaurant and really get things going. When you’re ready to talk about trying for a baby, then we’ll take that step as well.”

Jack bites his lip, nodding and then he sighs softly. "Um, sugar?" He ventures. He knows you are tired, but the need to eat something has hit him out of nowhere and it feels like his stomach is about to eat itself through to his spine. "I'm going to go fix myself a sandwich."

“Okay…” It’s not that it’s unusual to snack or anything like that, but you frown for a second. “Do you want me to make you something to eat? Like actually cook something?”

"You're tired." Jack protests, although the thought of your food has him nearly drooling. Especially your take on shrimp and grits. "I can live with a sandwich."

“How about I make a big dinner tonight?” It’s a compromise, and you tend to be good at those. “Have a sandwich now and we’ll take a nap. And then tonight I’ll make you whatever you want for dinner and tell you about the good parts of New York.”

"That sounds good." Jack nods but he doesn't make any more to get out of the bed. He wants to, but he just doesn't.

“Less hungry than you thought?” When he doesn’t move, you shift in bed and give him a once over to make sure everything is okay.

"Just...slow." Jack draws, sending you a slow grin and blinking just as slow.

“I don’t think Ginger wants you moving too fast anyway.” As long as he’s safe, that’s all that matters to you. Jack’s safety is paramount.

Eventually, Jack pulls back, slowly unwinding his arms from around you. He wouldn't do it at all, but he is hungry and he needs to get something in his stomach. "You gunna come with me, or stay here?"

“I’ll come with you.” As tired as you are, it’s much easier for you to pop out of bed and throw on your bathrobe to wander after him. And you’re not one to say no to a snack.

Jack doesn't bother with clothes, just striding downstairs in the buff, albeit slower than he normally moves. Moving to the fridge and opening it up. He knows you keep all kinds of goodies in the fridge now.

“What are you thinking?” Normally there’s a container of crawfish salad in your fridge at all times but Jack seems to have demolished the last one. “Something small or something filling?”

“I don’t know.” He admits as he pokes around the fridge. “I had thought of shrimp and grits, and then the crawfish salad but I ate that for dinner while you were gone.”

"I can make shrimp and grits for dinner if you want." It's a little more involved than just a sandwich, especially the way you make it, but you pull out an airtight container of roasted chicken and hold it up with a grin. "Waldorf chicken salad sandwich?" It was one of the things that didn't end up on the Rabbit Hole menu, but Jack had loved. Roast chicken salad with tarragon, grapes, toasted walnuts, and sliced celery is fresh but filling.

Jack groans and nods happily. “Yes, that sounds amazing.” He wants to sit down but he moves towards the bread bin. “Sourdough or everything?” He asks, his eyes rolling back at the thought of the chicken salad on an everything bagel.

"You know I believe chicken salad belongs on a bagel." To date, Jack seems to be the one person in the world who believes that as much as you do, and had accordingly taken you to what he considered the best bagel place in Louisville for breakfast one morning soon after you had moved in.

“Everything it is.” Jack pulls out the fresh bagels and moves over to the toaster to twist them open and toast them to perfection.

He makes an obscene noise when you shove a container of cookies aside on the counter to make room for your cutting board and you smile at him, feeling more worry slide away as you see your Jack shine through after his accident. "Appetite out of nowhere, huh?" You tease gently. "You sure Ginger's machine didn't make you pregnant this time?"

“Isn’t there a movie about that?” Jack asks with a grin as he snags a red velvet cookie with cream cheese chips. “Mr. Mom, or something? I might be pregnant.”

"Junior." The man has been through a near-death experience, so you just push the cookies over to him and let him enjoy while you chop things up for the chicken salad. It does, though, make you think. And you look over at him with curiosity. "Jack Junior, yay or nay?"

"Would you want a Junior?" Jack chomps down on half the cookie and looks at you curiously. "That was shot down quickly the first time, so I get that some people don't like it."

"I dunno, I kinda like it." You've always been into the idea of honoring family members with name choice. A lot of cultures take it very seriously and you find it to be a really sweet way of saying that someone is important to you. "Jack Charles has a ring to it. For you and your father? It's just a thought."

“Jackson.” Jack mumbles quietly, stuffing the rest of his cookie into his mouth.

"Jackson?" It doesn't quite register at first, but about five full seconds later you put your knife down and tilt your head at him. "Do you mean to tell me we're engaged to be married and I didn't know your real first name?"

“Never went by it.” Jack winces and sends you a small grin. “Jackson Wyatt Daniels.” He’s never gone by anything but Jack, never even really thinks about his real name.

"That is the most cowboy-ass stupidly sexy name I've ever heard." You nearly burst out laughing at your own reaction, but you swear if Jack was feeling up to it you'd be leaning over this kitchen counter right the hell now. For some reason it just perfectly conjured the image of horses and sunsets and campfires in your mind and all but has your mouth watering.

“Yeah? You like my stupidly sexy ‘cowboy-ass name’?” He chuckles and reaches for another cookie.

"We don't have cowboys in New Hampshire," you remind him with a pout before refocusing on making his sandwich. "Stupidly sexy or otherwise. And I love your name. So much that I will definitely have Jackson at the top of my baby name list if we ever have a boy."

“If you want to name him Jackson, that’s okay with me.” Just because Jack didn’t use his full name, didn’t mean a son wouldn’t.

"And if you want to name a little girl, that's fine with me." His bagel pops out of the toaster a second later and you lean over to kiss him when you grab it. You fill the two halves up with prepared chicken salad and slide the plate over to him to enjoy.

“I think we should name ‘em together, don’t you?” He asks, smiling at the idea. “Though I’ve always kinda liked the name Emily.”

"I have an aunt Emily who's not exactly the nicest person. She would tell everyone in the world that we named the baby after her and try to be her godmother or something." This, apparently, is exactly the kind of reason to share the decision together, and you gather things up in your arms to bring them back to the fridge while Jack eats. "Maybe a middle name? Or a variant like Amelia or Emeline?"

"Never mind. No Emily." Jack shakes his head, crossing that name off his list. "What's been a name you've always liked?"

With everything put away, you grab a cookie from the open container beside him and hum at the thought. It's both unconventional and very conventional at the same time, depending on who you are. "I always liked Scout," you tell him, nibbling at the cookie. "Like from To Kill a Mockingbird?"

"Scout, hmm?" Jack tilts his head and thinks about it. "It's...unusual" He has to give you that. He's distracted by taking another bite of his bagel sandwich and moaning softly at the deliciousness of it.

"It's okay if you don't like it." It's not like you have your heart set on it, and apparently picking a name for a girl will be slightly more difficult than deciding to name your son after his father.

"What about naming her after your grandmother?" Jack asks, tapping your bracelet on your wrist. "Charles is after his grandpa if it's a boy. We can honor your grandma with a girl."

"Jane?" It's a wonderful thought, one that has you moving in to put your arms around him in a tight hug of gratitude. "I think that would be beautiful. Jane Daniels is a very sweet name."

"You like that?" He asks, leaning in to kiss you softly.

“I love it.” On any other day you might get lost in that kiss, letting it linger and turn exploratory, but the both of you are bone tired and Ginger’s word is law, so you back off to let him finish eating. “Guess we’re all ready for it to happen, then. Down the line.”

"When is up to you." Jack murmurs softly. "You are the one with the restaurant to run."

“Let’s at least get you settled into whatever you new role is going to be.” With big changes in the horizon, throwing lots of new things at Jack all at once doesn’t seem fair in the least. “Talk to Champ, I’ll have Astrid give me a full physical to make sure I’m in good shape, and then we’ll look at family planning. Does that…sound okay?” It really is the definition of family planning, but now that you’ve had a taste of what the expected could feel like, you feel a lot better about a schedule than a surprise.

“That sounds good to me, sugar.” Jack pops the last bite of the bagel sandwich in his mouth and reaches for another cookie. “Still hungry. Damn.”

“That thing really did a number on your appetite, huh?” You’re a little too timid to ask if this is normal in any way for someone who has been so close to death – like his body trying to take in all the calories he needs to regain his strength very quickly.

“I guess.” Jack grunts, shoving the whole cookie into his mouth. “It’s like I’m a teenager again. Hunger-wise.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for acne and a pile of used tissues on your side of the bed.” There are plenty of cookies, thankfully, and you make a mental note to do some more baking tonight so he can at least enjoy his appetite.

Jack snorts and shakes his head. "I think that I've thought about sex less in the past two hours than I probably ever have."

“Then we won’t worry about that for now.” If nothing else, your neighbors will be spared the noise for a bit. “But if it doesn’t come back, make sure you tell Astrid. That’s definitely a side effect.”

"A damn embarrassin' one." Jack huffs, looking down at his flaccid cock. "Looks like a damn traitor to me."

“It’s better.” Or at least it’s not worse, and you throw Jack a grin. “You’re not allowed to indulge for at least two days, so it’s probably better that he’s taking a nap now and not when we are trying to make little humans.”

"Never let me down until now." He huffs, rolling his eyes. "I woulda broken Ging's rule. She knows it too."

“No one’s ever accused you of being well-behaved.” You smirk at him, seeing him finally take a breath again after killing the rest of the container of cookies. “Feel better? Or still hungry? I promise to make shrimp and grits tonight.”

"Now I want that nap." Jack is tried, weary is a more apt word. But just like he had when you had been released from the hyperbaric chamber, all he wants to do is wrap his arms around you and sleep.

“Then let’s go upstairs.” The kitchen is tidy enough, and you’re only going to make a mess of it later, so you leave things as they are and offer him your hand. “We could both do with a good nap in each other’s arms.”

“That’s the best damn idea I’ve heard, sugar.” Jack admits as he reaches for you. “I just want to hold you.”

“I am all for that.” After all, you barely slept the night after you got back from New York, and not at all last night. If not for your extended nap yesterday you’d be running on empty. “I am absolutely all for that.”

******

“Jack.” Champ turns from the bar cart, relieved to see his friend looking like himself. He had learned about his recovery through Tex but hadn’t wanted to intrude while you and he were holed up in the house. “Good to see you looking spry.” He motions Jack closer and holds up a bottle of Reserve. “Tempt you?”

Jack chuckles and nods. “Please. Need to talk to ya.”

“Sounds serious.” The last serious conversation they had had was about a baby, and from the determined set of Jack’s jaw, it could certainly have been unhappy news. “Everything okay?” He asks, pouring them each a glass.

“Yes and no.” Jack won’t deny that he’s upset that he needs to come out of the field, but recovering from injury has felt like he was going through a meat grinder and he wants to avoid leaving you alone in the world. “Need to talk to you about the last mission.”

“Agent Isolde briefed me fully.” The elder of the two men puts both glasses down on either side of his desk with a frown and sits, motioning for Jack to do the same. To say he had been less than thrilled with the injury of one of his best agents would be an understatement, but at least their goal had been achieved. “But I take it you want to discuss something that won’t be in your report?”

“Ginger’s basically said she doesn’t know if she can fix me next time ‘round.” Jack tells Champ bluntly, not willing to beat around the bush. “So I think it’s best if we reevaluate my role here in the operations side of Statesman.”

"Well, that ain't how I thought I would start my day." Champ grumbles, deflating slightly in his chair as he picks up his glass and knocks back half the contents in one go. "Gotta admit, Jack. Part of me didn't think you'd ever come out of the field unless it was in shreds, and it sounds like that's what happened this last time."

“Before…before her, I anticipated being carried out of the field in a box.” Jack admits. “You know I lived for the job, Champ. I ain’t quittin’ on ya. But I can’t make her go through losin’ another soulmate.”

"And I respect the hell out of that." Folding his hands in front of him on the desk, Champ examines his friend. "But I can't have you resentin' your work, either. Decision's gotta be for you. Not her."

“I’m makin’ the call.” Jack assures him. “She was just as flabbergasted as you are, but it’s not the same as when I was out for the tattoo. It’s my choice. I–I want to build a life with her and I can’t do that if she’s visitin’ my memorial.”

"Ain't very often we actually pay out Field Agent Pensions to the agent themselves instead of the spouse." It's not never, but it certainly is unusual. Champ sighs inwardly and meets Jack's eyes. "As far as what you’re capable of, you can do pretty well anything you want," he tells him. "You've earned that right."

He’s glad that Champ is being so accommodating to him. “I still want to be on standby in case something happens where the young’uns need back up.” Jack tells Champ. “But I was thinkin’ about goin’ back to trainin’.”

“If Ginger’s concerned about keeping you out of the line of fire, we’ll take it slow on your standby status.” There is always the chance of something going wrong, as Jack well knows, but Champ won’t shut him out entirely. He does smile, though, amused by the choice. “But training, huh? After you bitched and moaned about being with the recruits, you wanna school ‘em?”

Jack rolls his eyes, blowing out a sigh and crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back. “Knew you’d give me shit about it.” He grumbles under his breath. The training hadn’t been bad, he’d just chafed at it being someone else’s choice. So he’d bitched on principle. “Gotta make sure the next group doesn’t embarrass the hell outta us.”

“If that’s what you want, I’m not gonna object to you bein’ with the new agents. They could learn a thing or two from somebody with your experience.” For that matter, it didn’t always happen that somebody with Jack’s body of work made it to an age where they could become a trainer at all. They had both expected him to come out of the field in tatters for a reason. “I’ll talk to Merlot. She’s got different specialities than you anyway and you could be a good team as trainers.”

“You good with this?” Jack asks seriously, raising a brow at his old friend and boss. “I’ll still be the damn face of this thing. Everyone else is too ugly.”

“I should make you turn in your title,” Champ reminds him, leaning back in his chair. “Take you out of the field and make somebody else Agent Whiskey.” He doesn’t want to, though, and since he’s in charge he can make that decision himself. “Thing is, I’ve been having my own thoughts about Statesman lately.”

“Yeah?” Jack uncrosses his arms and leans forward. “What are you thinking?” He asks, frowning slightly.

“Thinkin’ I’m gettin’ old,” Champ chuckles, topping off both of their glasses and leveling his friend with a serious look. “Got ideas in my head about stepping back, but there wasn’t anyone to trust with runnin’ the place until about five minutes ago.”

Jack’s jaw drops open, never imagining Champ retiring anytime soon. “And someone just came to mind five minutes ago, huh?” He asks, picking up his drink and taking a sip of the smooth whiskey.

"Five minutes, two minutes, I don't know how long ago your stubborn ass strolled in here. I was tryin' to be dramatic." Champ huffs, rolling his eyes at Jack and sipping his drink. "Point is, I was about your age when I stepped up to this post, and I don't fancy wasting my retirement on years where I need help wipin' my ass." He shifts in his seat, drawing up to his fullest height like it was a matter of dignity. And maybe it is. "Things around here are changing, Jack. And as much as I like to pretend I ain't any different than I used to be, I'm movin' a lot slower these days. Now Diana won't be retiring anytime soon and that's fine, but I could. I could step back and let somebody else take this office and I'd be happy as a pig in shit tinkering away in R&D making new weapons for the agents coming in."

“You did make some damn fine weapons.” Jack draws with a smirk. His own whip was Champ’s creation and he was awfully fond of it. “So what you’re sayin’ is that you wanna saddle me with the headache of wranglin’ agents while you drink whiskey and play with toys.”

"Hell yes I do." That makes him laugh, genuinely belly laugh, and Champ sits back again feeling a little more relaxed. "You can say no, Jack. But I don't think I want to hand the mantle of Agent Champagne off to anybody else."

“Those are mighty big fuckin’ boots to fill.” Jack leans back and gauges his old friend’s face. The idea has merit. He’s actually pretty damn good at the administrative side no matter how much it irks him. Probably a little rougher around the edges than Champ, but that’s just due to him still thinking like a field agent. “Let me talk to her?” He asks, knowing that he wouldn’t expect anything less from Jack. “But start having Diana plan your retirement party.”

"I think we'll have a mighty fine new Agent Whiskey." The mischief on Champ's face is obvious, and he knows it'll take some getting used to for everyone but he won't mind leaving his old moniker behind now. Not now that he's got Jack to trust with it.

“And who are you thinkin’ that will be?” Jack’s brow ticks up curiously.

"Don't know if she told you." It would surprise him if it hadn't been mentioned, but things have been a little tumultuous lately, he gathers. "But Sophia applied to be a permanent fixture at Statesman."

“Yeah….” Jack grins. “You want to make the Brit Agent Whiskey?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “That’ll be just perfect. The next Whiskey’ll run roughshod over Tequila just like I did.”

“What do you want me to do? Gin is already taken.” Both men share a laugh over the irony of the choice, but Champ has to admit that it feels right to him. Sophia is a strong agent who fits into the fabric of Statesman better than some of the damn American recruits they’ve had. She’s got the – as Jack says – roughshod tendencies of a cowboy and the tenacity of six men all packed into one woman. “Go talk to your better half,” he encourages. “I’m gonna look over the list of inactive monikers for myself so you don’t try to make me Iced Tea or some damn thing.”

Jack snorts and tosses back the rest of his drink and slides the glass across the table. “Could always call you Arnold Palmer.” He teases, referencing the concoction of half iced tea, half lemonade.

“Get out,” Champ huffs, shaking his head as he guffaws unapologetically. “While I can still kick ya out, I’m gonna.”

Jack nods and stands, eager to go talk to you and see what you think. He knows you will tell him to do whatever he wants, but he wants to include you in this decision.

******

Being gone for a few days means that things at the restaurant need checking over, but Diana and your staff had things running smoothly enough in your absence. What’s left to do today is the ordering, so you’re hunkered down at your desk with a cup of tea and one of yesterday’s leftover scones to look over the books and make sure that you’ll be getting in what you need for the coming week. Tedious? Maybe. But after the last few days you welcome it.

The smell of your coconut cake cooling hits Jack’s nose as he opens the door, making him groan happily. “Sugar?” He calls out, striding through the empty dining room. “You here?”

“In my office!” You call out, not looking up and grinning when you hear your pastry staff greeting Jack on his way through the kitchen. When he hits your doorway he’s almost beaming and you’re glad to see his meeting with Champ went well. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Daniels?”

“Just wanted to see my sugar, sugar.” He teases, although he may have swiped a tea cake on his way by. The hunger still comes in waves. “And talk to you about somethin’ important.”

“Oh?” Important but not bad, judging from his demeanor. That’s good. “Come on in and shut the door. I could use a break before my eyes cross.”

He dutifully closes the door, but he doesn’t sit. Instead he comes up behind you and rubs your shoulders sympathetically as he peers over at your order. “Paperwork?”

“Weekly order.” You hum, affecting a frown but not feeling it. “So yeah, paperwork in a way.”

“Gotcha.” He smirks when you moan, his fingers digging into a knot right in your shoulders. “So I talked to Champ about the training. But he’s not so sure that’s what he wants me to do.”

“No?” It’s hard to be upset about anything with Jack giving you a massage, but you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder. “He wants you to stay in the field? Even with what Ginger said?”

“Nah. He wants to retire.” Jack hums. “He wants me to become Agent Champagne.”

“What?!” Immediately turning around in your chair, you’re gaping at Jack with your mouth wide open at how casually he says it. “H—he just…can he do that? Do you even want that??” It’s never been anything that he had discussed with you, and you have to wonder if this is just something that happens every few decades or if Champ and Jack really are so close that one man would just hand it off to the next like this. Like a plane dropping out of midair without warning.

“Champ came out of the field and took the role when he was my age.” Jack admits, shuffling over and perching on the edge of your desk. “I already did a lot of paperwork as the senior field agent, so it will be more administrative. Handling the agents and assigning missions.” He explains. “Champ wants to tinker in R&D again – where he worked best – and turn the day to day over to me.”

“Baby…” Sitting back, you can’t help but take in the way Jack seems to downright glow with this new development. He’s bursting at the seams with pride and grinning like a madman and you can see the excitement rolling off him in waves. “You look excited. If this is what you want to do – taking this big promotion and being in charge of it all? It’s your decision, and I’m one hundred percent behind whatever you decide.”

“I knew you were gonna say that.” He rolls his eyes playfully and leans in. “Are you sure? That means I’m home all the time.”

“Is that supposed to deter me?” You grin back, ticking one eyebrow up at him. “Getting to see my fiancé isn’t a chore, ya know.”

“You say that now but you might get tired of me.” Jack chuckles again and leans in to kiss you. “So that’s a yes? To becoming the old man in the whiskey bottle?”

“Honestly?” You look up at him seriously, accepting a second kiss when he leans in again. “You’re gonna be home instead of out there with your neck on the line. We can have nights and weekends, we can plan vacations, and we can have a stable environment for the kids when they eventually are born. As long as you’re happy, it sounds pretty perfect to me.”

“Picture perfect, sugar.” Jack winks and presses his lips to yours. “You’re gunna have your happily ever after.” He murmurs against your lips. “Starting on your next day off.”

“The very next one, huh?” He’s excited, and his kisses have an addictive quality like this that you just can’t deny. “We gonna celebrate?”

“Figured we could.” He smirks at you and lifts a brow. “Scheduled us both some appointments.”

“Appointments?” Ah, this is the other reason he’s excited. “What are you treating us to, Agent Champagne?”

“Well, since I will officially not be going back in the field…” Jack shrugs, wondering if you will love or hate the idea. “I figured we could put that ink back on your pretty skin.”

“Jack.” It hadn’t even occurred to you, but he’s right. If he’s taken a desk job – for lack of a better term – then there is no reason to not have that mark returned to your arm. But the fact that he thought of it so immediately is so sweet you could cry. “Are you sure?”

“Appointments are booked.” Jack confirms, raising his brows. “Unless you want to wait?” He asks, unsure if maybe your own perception of him wearing your marks have changed since New York.

“No, no, I don’t.” You promise him quickly. “I want to have our marks back. I just wanted to be sure that it’s what you want, too.”

“Sugar….” Jack picks up your arm and turns it over so he can press his lips to the patch of skin above your elbow where the tattoo used to sit. “I want to wear your marks. Every one of them.”

The smile you shoot at him is mischievous and you squeeze his hand. “Does that mean I can get more?” You tease.

His eyes widen and he looks scared for a moment. “Where?”

“Nowhere that’s going to hurt.” Or hurt worse, anyway. “But I had always planned on having my family’s names on me somewhere, when I eventually met my soulmate or had kids on my own.”

“So I would wear my own name?” He tilts his head and snickers. “People will accuse me of being a narcissist.”

“I had a plan for a little family tree…” you explain, starting to feel silly about the whole thing. “We don’t have to, honey. It was a long ago thought and it’s more than enough that you’re okay with having my playing card back.”

“I’m teasing you.” Jack promises, grinning. “Where do you want to put it?”

“O-on my thigh.” Your hand goes to the place automatically, tracing where you had thought the roots of the tree would sit. “So this is what it’s gonna be like, huh?” If he is going to tease you, you’re going to tease him right back. “You’re gonna have to burn off all that energy you would use chasing bad guys by teasing me?”

“That or keep you tied to the bed with my lasso.” Jack hums. Actual restraints haven’t been used so far but you’ve talked about that little fantasy and how you still want to try it when you are ready.

“Adventures in baby making,” you joke with a smirk. “I’m not going to be mad about more sex.”

“Want to make a baby in my new office?” He waggles his brows playfully.

“I kinda always wondered how sturdy that desk is.” It’s playful now, the easy joking and teasing, and you lean in to brush the tip of his nose with yours. “I also wonder how sturdy my desk is.”

“Hmmm we will have to find that out.” Jack hums. Later. He still hasn’t even popped wood yet and if Ginger hadn’t put him through a full physical earlier, he would be worried.

“I guess we will.” It’s nothing to pressure him about, but you do steal another kiss. “I’m having dinner with Sophia tonight to talk about wedding things. Maybe we can have dinner to celebrate your promotion tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, sugar.” Jack murmurs softly. “If you want, I can get something from Ginger to…help things?” He asks. It’s embarrassing as hell; but he would do it if his fingers or his tongue aren’t enough.

“I don’t mind waiting, baby. I promise.” After all, recovering from an injury takes time. And his injuries were severe. “Just be prepared for me to want to ride my cowboy when you’re feeling up to it.”

“It wouldn’t take long if my traitorous cock would listen to my mind and heart.” Jack huffs. His lack of sex drive has nothing to do to his attraction to you, you’re still gorgeous to him. Sexy and appealing.

“We have all the time in the world.” It’s actually a relief, of sorts, to think that Jack will stay home and safe. That you will have all the time in the world. “No reason to rush.”

“I just don’t want you thinkin’ I don’t want you.” Jack admits quietly.

“I don’t think that.” Your voice softens, hearing the confession, and you place both of your hands on his knees. “We’ve both been through hell lately, physically. It’s not so bad for us to rest a little before we go back to our favorite cardio routine.”

“Good.” He’s relieved that you don’t believe that. Closing his eyes and smiling softly. “We did pack a lot of sex into a small window, didn’t we?”

“As often as humanly possible,” you snicker in amusement. “We got every room in the house pretty quickly.”

“He better work before we move.” Jack grunts. “That’s a lot of rooms to christen.”

That makes you sit back again, and you tilt your head at him. “We’re moving?”

“The house comes with the title, sugar.” Jack realizes you don’t know. “Diana and Champ will move into another, smaller house and we will move into theirs.”

“Damn…” You shake your head, offering him an impressed expression and squeezing his thighs gently with both hands. “So someone else will take over as Senior Field Agent and CEO, and you’ll take over as Director and Owner.”

“It’s weird to think about, but yeah.” Jack chuckles as he realizes that’s what his titles would be.

"For what it's worth, I'm proud of you." Both thumbs rub soft, reassuring circles on his jeans just above his knees. "Being the right person to run Statesman is no small achievement."

“I hope I can do him justice.” Jack admits, flashing you a smile. “For all his laid back attitude, Champ is a hell of a boss. I hope to be the same.”

******

For all the big and small changes, for all the adjustments and moving and settling in, spring turned to summer with grace. Tourist traffic ramped up, the restaurant got busier, and the demands of Jack’s new position all kept you both busy until suddenly it was time for Tex and Sophia to get married. It seemed to sneak up on you all at once, and yet nothing was too rushed or too unprepared.

A beautiful ceremony in the converted barn became a reception that seemingly spilled out over every inch of the campus, with twinkling lights and cheerful music filling the late June night. The towering green geode wedding cake you made them was a beast to cut, but you return to Jack’s side triumphantly with two plates after conquering the giant confection. “Dessert is served,” you announce with a grin, having slipped a slice of the key lime cheesecake that he and Sophia both adore onto your plates alongside the caramel apple flavored cake.

“God.” Jack groans, snatching up his fork. “I love your cakes.” He moans as he forks up a bite of the cheesecake.

“I think I’m going to make our wedding cake,” you tell him, glad that his mouth is full and he can’t immediately object. “They’re big and they’re showy and they’re fun.”

“Are you sure?” Jack asks, unsure of if that is the best idea. He knows that planning a wedding is stressful.

“I won’t do it alone. I’ll have an assistant for it, and if I get overwhelmed, I’ll have them finish it for me.” Truth be told, you’ve barely started nailing down the planning for your own wedding, having spent the last two months focusing on Tex and Sophia’s emerald paradise. “But I’d like to do something with my own two hands for the day, if I can.”

“Sugar, it’s whatever you want.” Jack promises. “The wedding of the new Director of Statesman is a big deal after all. You make it as fancy or as homey as you want. Long as you marry me, I’m good as gold.”

His promotion and Rick Rogers’ retirement has been big news, and though Jack hasn’t adopted Champ as a nickname the way his predecessor did, he is still easily recognizable as the big man on campus. “Between Diana and me, planning will be a breeze. All you boys will have to do is show up.”

“Well, that’s a damn relief.” Jack snorts with a grin, forking up a bite of the cake to feed to you. “Is this the kind of cake you want at your wedding? Or do you want a giant coconut cake?”

“I think it has to be coconut cake, don’t you?” It’s a family favorite and Jack’s favorite, so it seems like the logical answer. “But I think our alternate dessert should have whiskey in it. Just because.”

“What about a chocolate whiskey cake? With strawberries.” Jack offers. “Or…we have whiskey and coconut cream shooters to go with the cake?”

“Would you want a groom’s cake?” It’s not something you’d discussed yet, but it has a distinct charm to it. “You could have a chocolate groom’s cake with whiskey caramel buttercream? Or something like that.”

“You tryin’ to seduce me all over again, sugar?” Jack groans, rolling his eyes dramatically at the thought of that cake. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have that too. Although I would want to save a piece for later on to share with you.”

“We’ll freeze a little bit of each for our anniversary.” It was something your parents always talked about having done, and you had thought it was such a sweet way to honor the day — pun very much intended. “How about that?”

“We’ll need to store it good.” Jack chuckles. “Otherwise it’ll be freezer burnt.” His cake with Abigail had been, and they had each taken one bite before spitting it out and laughing at how horrible it tasted. “Have you decided when?” He asks softly, wearing a small smirk. “So I know when you want to start tryin’ for that first little cowboy?”

“If it gets freezer burnt, I’ll make cupcakes,” you promise him with a grin. “I…I was thinking spring? A nice, long engagement so we can plan with the least possible stress.”

“Well, you know I’ll be here to help wherever you want to me.” He doesn’t expect you to plan the entire thing yourself. “And I’ve already got half our honeymoon planned.”

“Oh yeah?” That has you smiling a little more broadly and raising an eyebrow at him as you fork up a bite of caramel apple cake to feed him. “But we didn’t pick out where we’d go for a spring wedding.”

“Well damn, we didn’t.” Jack sends you an amused glance. “So where am I keeping you in bed for half the day?”

“You tell me,” you smirk at him. “Since you already have it half planned, apparently.”

He thinks about it for a moment and grins. “South America. Brazil, Chile, Peru, Argentina.” He decides. “How does that sound?”

There’s a momentary pause where you practically vibrate in your chair as you get more and more excited, thinking through how many intricacies of cuisines, gorgeous beaches, and wonderful sights there are in that stunning part of the world. “It sounds amazing!” You squeak, throwing one arm around him tightly. “Suddenly I’m extra glad you won an extra honeymoon week from our bet.”

Jack chuckles and doesn’t miss the opportunity to hold you close and kiss you. He had another surprise for you later. “You like that, huh?”

“Very romantic,” you commend with a hum, happy to be glued to his side. Since his sex drive returned he’s been absolutely insatiable. “Just be ready for me to bargain with every abuelita we meet for their family recipes.”

“I already anticipated that.” Jack chuckles. “I’ve ordered you a ‘Honeymoon Recipe’ book to jot down all the recipes in.”

“Jack Daniels.” There’s awe and gratitude in your voice when you pull back to look him in the eyes. “That might be one of the sexiest things you’ve ever said to me.”

The laugh he lets out draws the attention of quite a few of the guests, but he doesn’t care, pulling you in for a hug. “Sexiest, huh?” He teases. “How worked up will you get if I start readin’ a recipe to ya?”

“Depends what it’s for.” Practically in his lap at your table, you smirk at him and leave a kiss on his cheek. “Chocolate mousse is a lot sexier than oatmeal.”

“If I hadn’t promised you a dance, I would be sweet talking you out of here with the recipe for lemon curd.” He teases.

“Okay, but lemon curd is actually deceptively easy—” You start in, completely in earnest, only catching yourself when he smirks at you. “I was supposed to hone in on the dancing and sweet talking part of that and not the recipe, wasn’t I?”

“Yes you were, sugar.” Jack chuckles again and stands up, holding out his hand to you. “Come dance with me and you can tell me all about the lemon curd you’re gonna add to the menu.”

The band is playing something slow, and you abandon your table and empty dessert plates happily to take his hand. Any dance with Jack is a good one, but something romantic is even better. “I have been thinking about it,” you laugh, letting him pull you into his arms on the dance floor.

“I figured.” Jack hums, smiling at you. “There’s been a hundred pounds of lemons in our kitchen.”

“The privilege of having a chef for a soulmate is getting to be a taste tester,” you remind him, Batting your eyelashes as though it takes convincing for him to agree.

“As long as you make me some lemon pancakes.” Jack hums. “With honey butter.”

“Is that what you want for breakfast tomorrow?” Swaying in his arms is such a safe place that you soften and giggle without a thought for anything else in the world. “I can do that.”

“That sounds good and brunchy, doesn’t it?” Jack muses. “Because I have every intention of not letting you out of the bed until at least noon.”

“Oh, is that so?” It sounds perfect, and a generous way to spend the morning after your close friends’ wedding. They’ll be jetting off to Tahiti and you’ll be snug in Jack’s arms in bed. “In that case I’m making sausage, too. Sounds like we’ll need our strength,” you tease with a wink.

“We need to strategize our baby making routine.” Jack teases, leaning in and nuzzling his nose against your neck. “Want to make sure we have it perfected for when you go off the birth control.”

“Put the man behind a desk and suddenly life is full of missions.” It makes things feel like little adventures, though, which you can’t object to.

“So you don’t want me to show you the sexy little plug I got you?” Jack asks, lifting a brow as he pulls away to see your reaction.

"You–" That is a very unexpected thing for him to say, and you can't help the way you smirk when you raise an eyebrow at him. "Are we talking anal plug or pussy plug? I'm in either way, I'm just curious."

“Well now that you say that…” Jack jokes. “I was talkin’ about a pussy plug, but I see I need to go back to that store.”

"Maybe we should go together." It's certainly something you haven't done before, and would probably lead to rampant fucking for the rest of the day afterward, so it sounds like a damn good plan to you.

He smirks and winks at you. “I think we should do that, sugar. But we don’t need to worry about whips or lassos.” He teases. “I’ve got that covered.”

"Yes, you definitely do." The bedroom-approved ones are definitely different from the ones that hang in his office every day, but they are much more fun for being that much less dangerous. "And I'm a very big fan of how well you use them."

Things have become a little more adventurous where restraints are concerned. After talking about it in therapy, safe words and the light system were put into place so you could feel secure in exploring that with Jack. He made sure to constantly check in with you, not wanting you to have any sort of pressure to push past things and do it for him. “You feelin’ like usin’ ‘em tonight?”

"We could do that." Adventurous sex on somebody else's wedding night sounds perfect, actually, and you lean in a little closer to kiss the sensitive skin on the edge of his jaw. "Might even dodge a noise complaint with our neighbors at this party all night long."

“It’s always funny to me.” Jack admits with a chuckle. “Means they are envious.”

"We should see if we can't find Joe a date now and then," you smirk, barely holding back a giggle. Agent Rye had taken up the mantle of Senior Field Agent and Statesman CEO at Jack's insistence, and that meant that he had moved into your old house next door.

“Man should be able to find his own dates.” Jack huffs playfully. “Don’t understand.”

The song has changed, but it's still sweet and slow so you and Jack have just kept swaying together. "Not everybody is as effortlessly charming and handsome as you are, baby."

“Wondering if Rye might not be the relationship type.” Jack hums, looking over at where he was sitting and talking to Sophia’s parents.

"Maybe not. That's okay, too." The man may have helped save your life in New York, but you were really only just getting to know him now. "But maybe we'll make sure there are plenty of eligible ladies and gentlemen at the Fourth of July party just in case."

“Absolutely.” Jack thinks that it’s sweet that you want all your friends to be happy in relationships. “I think that’ll be a good idea.”

"Hey..." Reaching up, you brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead and smile softly. He looks so fucking handsome in the moonlight like this, but his hand on your back is barely above your ass and it's got you thinking distinctly private thoughts. "You wanna get out of here, cowboy?"

His grin is quick and dirty, nodding eagerly. “Yes ma’am.” He drawls. “I’ve gotta pretty girl to make scream my name.”

"She's a very lucky girl." You grin at him before you both slip off the dance floor to retrieve your things from your table. "Lucky and very excited."

“We’ll see how excited you are when you are begging me for a break.” Jack swats your ass playfully and winks at the bride and groom as they glance over at you.

Sophia laughs, seeing you jump a second after Jack winks, and she knows he must have smacked your ass just the same way that Tex likes to do to her. She only waves, looking up to her newly minted husband to whisper to him that you and Jack are leaving, and Tex gives the same small gesture as Sophia. The small acknowledgement between you is enough. It's permission to slip away and thanks, and you put your hand to your heart before waving back one more time and scurrying away with Jack.

Even though the house isn’t too far away, Jack had still brought the Bronco. Not wanting you to walk too far in heels or have to mess up your hair or makeup on the way to the wedding. Now it makes for the prime getaway vehicle.

You hop into the Bronco and giggle gleefully as Jack peels out of the parking lot with you tucked into his side like teenagers sneaking away from the school to go find some privacy. The whole five minutes it will take you to drive home is still five minutes of being fully clothed around each other and right now that feels like an awfully long time.

Tonight, Jack has plans. The romance of the day isn't lost on him and he wants to make sure that you are fully aware of how much he loves you. The weeks that it took for his libido to catch back up with his brain had been much like your days recovering, lots of intimate moments without being physical, but he wants to leave you limp with pleasure tonight. Especially since he was made to swear he wouldn't touch you before the reception in an effort to not make you late or ruin your look.

The giddiness in the air doesn’t dissipate as Jack pulls into the driveway. The day has been exciting and joyful and the night is no exception, though not that you and Jack are alone again the excitement is more akin to electricity. Jack bounds out of the Bronco and rushes around the hood, not wanting you to open the door yourself. You smirk at him, about to comment over what a gentleman he is when he reaches up and scoops you out of the seat and tosses you over his shoulder.

Your squeak is music to his ears, delighted and eager, and you hang onto his shoulder for dear life as he carries you into the house. Something gives your feeling that slow and steady lovemaking is out of the question for tonight, and that is just fine with you.

“Been teasin’ me all damn day in this dress.” Jack growls, slapping your ass as he kicks open the door to the bedroom.

"You say that like I picked it." Of course you might not have, but Sophia was the one who picked the lowest cut neckline for your bridesmaid dress and the swing-style skirt that showed off your legs while you danced. Of course you didn't choose it yourself, but you certainly didn't argue with the choice, knowing that Jack would love it.

Jack huffs. “You poured yourself into it, didn’t you?” He demands, tossing you down on the bed and shucking his tux jacket.

"Just for you, baby," you promise him, giggling grin turning into a hungry moan as Jack starts pulling at his shirt.

Jack smirks, slowing his hands down until he is barely slipping a button from its snug resting place. "You want me naked, sugar?" He asks, voice dipping down low.

"Now who's the tease?" The fingers about to remove your jewelry and the shimmering belt from the waist of your dress pause in challenge and the smirk returns to your lips. "I'd rather not damage your tux, cowboy, but it's coming off you one way or another."

"Oh really?" Jack chuckles and slips another button free, finally completely unbuttoning his shirt so he can work on his cufflinks. "I think one day I'd like to see you tear my clothes off."

"I came pretty close a few weeks ago." Jack's healing had kept you cooling your heels for a while, which was fine. He needed the time to regain his strength and feel like himself again. But you had pretty much pounced on him the morning he had finally woken up with morning wood again.

"I've never seen you sink down on my cock quite so quickly...." Jack teases, winking at you. "Or that desperately. It's like you like having me buried deep and throbbing inside you or something."

"You're fucking right I do." Dropping your earrings and belt on your nightstand, you sit up on your knees and reach behind you to pull the zipper on your dress. "Best feeling in the world."

"Yeah?" Jack tosses the cufflinks into the small tray where he keeps his watch and glasses, hitting it perfectly. He sheds the shirt to reveal his chest, smooth and whole without any scars to remind you of his near death experience.

"Yeah." It barely even matters for you to shrug out of the thin straps of your dress, but slipping out of it lets your arms free to reach for him and that's what you care about right now. You never miss the opportunity to press a kiss over his heart anymore, knowing that you came so very close to never being able to again.

The moment softens slightly and Jack reaches for your hands, hold them in his before the lace under your dress captures his attention. "What is this?" Jack asks.

"Oh, this old thing?" The smirk returns to your lips full force as you step off the bed, letting the dress slip off your body and pool on the floor around your feet. Sophia may have chosen the dress, but you hand selected the lacy corset bra and matching panties underneath just for Jack to have as a treat. "They're just something I had lying around," you tease. "Why? You like them?"

"Fuck, sugar." Jack whistles, his cock violently twitching in his pants. "It looks like it's our wedding night and you are dressed to give your new husband a heart attack." The tea length white dresses had looked amazing against the bride's emerald green wedding dress and all in all, it had been a beautiful wedding.

"Oohhh no," you turn in place for him to see the whole thing, and make sure to shake your hips at him for good measure. "What I have on under my dress at our wedding is going to be a whole lot skimpier, I promise."

"So I'm hauling you directly from the wedding to the honeymoon suite?" Jack groans, reaching down and palming himself as he tries to unbuckle his belt one handed.

"We can always slip off for a quickie while people are at cocktails and the photographer is with the wedding party." Smacking his hand away, you have his belt open and pulled free of his pants in ten seconds. "I'm sure we wouldn't be the first newlyweds to need to fuck immediately after their vows."

The second your fingers brush his throbbing cock, it's like a switch has been thrown. In one quick move Jack grabs your hands, lifting them over your head and twisting your body back down onto the bed in the blink of an eye. The motion absorbing bed is the only reason you don't bounce and it keeps you firmly in his clutches.

"Fuck!" It takes you off guard but the curse comes on a moan as you twist to look at him over your shoulder. "You like them that much, baby?"

He doesn't answer, letting go of your wrists and gripping the lace corset in his hands, not even bothering with the small eyelets as he pulls it apart with his bare hands.

"Shit, Jack!" If you hadn't fully wanted this reaction and worn favorite lingerie instead of a new set just for him, you might be upset to lose the corset, but frankly the animalistic reaction is exactly what you were hoping to get from him and you end up whimpering and pushing your ass back toward him instead of making any protest at all.

His hands come down on the globes of your ass, making a crack ring out around the bedroom. Along with your gasping moan of delight. The thin line of material down the crack of your ass is where he grabs, shredding them in his hands and pulling the material out from under you to fling behind him. "Fuck."

You push up on your hands and knees and rock backward, nudging your ass against him so his cock slides along your skin, shivering at the sensation. "I'm wet enough," you promise him, practically panting at the thought. "Every time you fucking looked at me tonight it was like a flood in those tiny little panties."

"Good." He groans, reaching for your hips as his cock slides through your soaked folds. You are wet. "I'm going to make sure that you feel me, sugar." He vows. "Every inch."

The warm thickness of his cock makes your eyelids flutter and you push back again, intending to make him live up to that promise tonight. "You want me just like this, baby?" At some point tonight you fully intend to ride your cowboy, but the way he fucks you into the mattress from behind is a feeling that just can't be compared.

"Yes." Jack growls, snapping his hips forward and burying himself to the hilt into you and propelling both of you into the bed.

"FUCK." Your back bows and cheek hits the comforter, arms buckling under you with no chance of holding you up while Jack pushes you down into the bedding with a great groan. Like this it feels like his cock has reached all the way into your chest, and you keen at the feeling of his throbbing inside you. It's so fucking good and all he did was push inside.

"Perfect." Jack grunts out, grinding into you before he pulls his hips back. He wants to make tonight as rowdy as a rodeo on a Friday night in a country town. "Fuckin' perfect." His next thrust is just as powerful, just as harsh as he pushes back into you, stealing your breath and pushing the sexiest little whine out of your mouth.

"Make me feel it." The challenge comes out with a moan, already certain without a doubt that that's his goal. "For days, baby. Wanna still feel your cock when I'm on the line tomorrow."

Smirking, Jack slaps your ass as he pulls his hips back and sets out to do just that. The pace he sets is brutal. Bone jarring and there isn't time to think, draw a breath or even cry out as he hammers into you as if he was on a mission. In his mind, he is. Watching the way your body absorbs the impact of his thrusts and feeling the way your walls flutter around his drilling length.

It's gloriously brutal, unforgiving in a way that has you clawing at the blankets and hanging on for dear life as he takes what he wants with every single thrust. There's no faltering in his pace and no indication that he has any intention of letting up, and if you could form a coherent thought you would be babbling praise and even begging him for more. Whatever he's willing to give, you'll take it. This night is going to have your eyes watering and mascara streaking down your cheeks and it's worth every second.

As he beats himself into you, hoping to reach your womb, he thinks about how he would get you pregnant. Filling you up and letting it take. He hadn’t realized how amazing it could be when he had done it the first time around. He wants to make sure he appreciates every step of the way in this journey.

With as fast and furious as he's fucking himself into you it only makes sense that your first orgasm hits you like a battering ram, slamming into your body with so much force that your scream cracks on its way out of your throat, crumbling into a whimpering keen that only vaguely resembles his name. Your pussy locks down around him temporarily, flooding his cock with liquid pleasure and making the next thrust squelch pornographically.

Groaning is the only response Jack had to your orgasm. His pace never falters for a single second. The obscene sounds of his cock working in and out of you get louder, more satisfying, but he wants more. He needs it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck–" There is nothing stopping him tonight and you swear if you had known he would be this dedicated to the task tonight you would have stretched. There's nothing to do but take it, as he keeps you pinned down under his bulk with both hands holding you tight enough that if you find permanent indentations there in the morning you won't be the least bit surprised.

He doesn’t want to cum again and not be able to see your face. Pulling out of you abruptly, he grabs your hips to roll you over onto your back. His long hands circle your ankles, pulling one leg up onto his shoulder and plunging back into you so sharply and abruptly that you cry out. The little bit of pain that comes with him thrusting with so much force only adds to the pleasure and your back arches all over again with the new angle.

One leg isn’t enough, he can’t get deep enough to satisfy him. He pulls your other leg up onto his shoulder and starts to press down. Folding you in half as he drills down, filling you up at the same harsh pace as before. His sweat rolls down his forehead but he just watches the way you buck under him.

It's like he's doing push-ups on top of you and somehow that image just makes it even sexier, letting your head fall back onto the sheets as the crumpled blankets slip further down the bed. Groans and growls rumble out of his chest. Gritting his teeth harshly and somehow, his pace picks up. Making him rock his hips even faster as his cock plunges in and out of you.

The night dissolves around you with sounds of pleasure mixing into the celebratory air. The lights in your bedroom are bright behind the drawn curtains and let you watch every bulging, straining muscle on Jack's body. All but the one throbbing inside you, making you cry out with each and every flick of his hips.

It’s almost unhinged, the pace that he’s thrusting into you. Nearly pushing you up the bed, Jack fucks into you like it’s his last night on earth. “Love—” he groans, feeling his body starting to tense and for the first time since sliding inside you, his pace stutters. “You.”

"I–fuck–love you, too." His eyes roll back when his pace breaks, and if you had any leverage at all you would roll him onto his back and ride him until every last drop of him was spent inside you. This is Jack's show tonight, though, and you reach above your head to brace yourself against the headboard so you don't hit your head.

Only two more thrusts later and he’s gone, pushing as deep as he can and shouting your name. Body jerking as he starts to empty himself inside you. Your body shatters on the heels of his seeming explosion, and you shake with the force of cumming a second time. Every wave of pleasure is your cunt clenching down on him that much tighter, drawing him deeper into your body and holding him there like it's trying to fuse you together permanently.

Heaving over you, Jack makes sure every drop of his cum pushes inside you. Flooding your womb and with the last twitch, he sighs, nearly drunk on pleasure.

"Fucking hell," you groan, head falling back again on the mattress as your body lets go every ounce of tension it had coiled into in the grip of orgasm. There isn't a chance in hell of being able to kiss him like this so you focus on catching on catching your breath, grinning up at him like a madwoman.

“Fuck.” Jack huffs, panting as he slowly takes stock of where his body parts are. His forearms are trembling and he lets your legs fall from his shoulders. “Let me catch my breath and I’ll get off you, sugar.”

"Take your time." There's a giggle in the back of your throat, and you reach up with one heavy arm to brush the damp hair off of his forehead. "I'm just gonna lay here and gaze at you like a lovestruck idiot, if that's okay."

“Gaze away.” Jack chuckles and lets out a winded breath. “Damn, that was a ride. You didn’t buck me though.”

"Never," you promise him. "I'd never buck my favorite stud."

“Wasn’t too rough, was I?” Jack asks with a slight frown on his face. “Swore I saw you wince once.”

"Just once." It's not like you would bother lying about it, when it didn't matter at all. "I think you must have been trying to get past my cervix," you tease.

“Thought that was the way you like it?” Jack still pets your face and kisses you tenderly in apology.

"I absolutely do." But you'll still steal any excuse in the world to kiss him. “Which is why the moaning didn't stop for a single second.” Jack hums, feeling your slight wiggle, indicating it’s time for your bathroom break. It always comes within three minutes of finishing up. "How does a bath sound?" He's started to move off of you with a grunt and you have to go to the bathroom anyway. "Soothe those hard working muscles before bed?"

“That sounds good, sugar.” There’s a high probability that you are suggesting it because you are sore, but Jack climbs to his feet after he pulls out of you and offers you his hand to help you off the bed. “You pee and I’ll run the bath.”

The loss of him makes you moan in the back of your throat, but you lift yourself up with Jack's help and pause for just a moment, wrapping him up in a soft, sweet kiss. "I love you so much," you murmur, leaving a kiss on the tip of his nose as well as his lips. "And I can't wait to marry you."

“Whenever you want.” Jack promises, smiling like he won the damn lottery. His fingers brush over your tattoo that is back in its place of honor on your elbow.

"Maybe tomorrow we'll sit down with a calendar and our lemon pancakes." Finally picking a date would be a big step in the right direction, and you kiss him once more before unraveling yourself from him to go into the bathroom. It was a perfect wedding, and a perfect night afterward. The only one you're looking forward to more is your own.

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au

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