#and it’s not even like. actual consent. coerced consent works just as well.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Still bothered by Azazel possessing a reaper. How tf did you do that, old man.

[leadyoutothelight]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia

This wasn’t supposed to be your place in life, you were the second daughter, a spare given to the temple of Minerva to serve as one of the many temple maidens. But when your father comes to you, telling you of your sister’s sudden passing, suddenly you’re thrust into a new role. Expected to fill her place in a political marriage to the famed General Marcus Acacius Rome’s beloved war dog.

Rating: Explicit +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Dubious Consent/Coerced Consent, Age Gap (no specified ages), Virginity Loss *discomfort mentioned, no blood* , Implied physical abuse from a parent, Patriarchal world and expectations of women, Grinding, Unprotected p in v sex, reader is a virgin, first time sex *please let me know if I miss anything*

Word Count: 8k

Author Note: Hello, first time writing for a Pedro Pascal character, but finally saw Gladiator II and I couldn't resist writing this! Please note, there is very little research into Rome actually done, I'm not writing this based on historical accuracy, just had an idea and wanted to write it. The title is based off a common Roman wedding vow meaning, Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.

Please let me know what you think!

-

Your sister is dead, you shall be the one to marry General Acacius. 

It had been the most your father had ever spoken to you in your entire life, the most he’d even looked at you. 

Being born the second daughter of a noble family is about as important as a new pair of sandals. Especially when you were the last born of five, and three of the five being boys. Your father was more than happy to direct his attention to his sons and his wars. Your sister and yourself were content to live in the house learning from your mother, waiting for the day your father drafted a marriage contract and sent you to a new household. 

Until it was decided that in a bid to gain the gods favor you were given to the temple of Minerva as a temple maiden, at ten you were bundled up with your few worldly items and left to the Priestess' devices. 

It was a sudden and chaotic change. But after the first year you found, you didn’t mind this new living arrangement. Yes, you had chores now, and you needed to share things. But you grew to like your new home with other women and girls working in the temple. Learning the day-to-day needs, and expectations of your new home. You flourished, and your mother and sister visiting every now and again helped you settle as well. 

The last time you’d seen your sister she’d been an excited mess talking the whole time of her engagement to General Acacius, that they’d be wed as soon as he’d returned home from another conquest.

“Just think sissy, me, a famed general’s wife!”  

Her eyes glowed in the lamplight as she’d clutched your hands in hers. You’d given her a smile and a nod, as she went on and on. Whilst you’d thought to yourself that you’d be stuck cleaning the temple floors for the next week due to staying out longer than allowed.

“You’ll be there right?” 

Her question pulls you out of your glum thoughts, and you give her a wide eye-scrunching smile. You don’t have the heart to disappoint, maybe with your father’s status you can ask for the time…

A pain twinges through you at the thought, the high priestess had been kind, giving you the time in exchange for you doing more chores when you returned. 

But today, a day you expected your sister to visit, with her finished bridal veil in tow. You expected to ‘oh’ and ‘aw’ over her hard work, compliment her delicate needlework, ask her jokingly which parts your mother had helped with. To comfort her, she’d mentioned fainting spells had started since the date had been announced. 

Maybe you’d even offer to bring her into the inner sanctum to ask the goddess to protect her, and her future husband. To give her calm in the coming ‘battle’ of marriage. 

But now you sit across from your father. A beast of a man, skin tanned and leathered from the sun. Scars criss-cross along his arms, you resist the urge to glance at his left pinky. Where only a ghastly stump sits. 

His voice brokers no argument, yet, you can’t stop yourself.

“What do you mean?” 

He blinks, those dark eyes boring into you, and you see a flash of anger, mixed with surprise. Again, your existence has been a fleeting one in your father’s opinion. He was the one who sent you here…he was the one who gave you to the gods. He can’t just–take you back. 

“I wasn’t aware you were an imbecile–” 

“I’m not, but you cannot take me from the temple–from Minerva herself–” 

“I have made the appropriate tithes and the priestess herself has granted your hand–”

“I am to serve the goddess, that is what you–”

“And now you shall serve the family!” It’s the way he stands, the clatter of the chair he once occupied. The roar of his voice, the one you know he uses to order his troops into battle with. You cower, well aware that this rage is one you don’t survive. 

Tears brim over your lashes, and you bite your cheek to stop yourself from arguing further, here in the temple, you are free to share your opinions. Voice concerns, even vent frustrations, rare luxuries in this male dominated society. You’ve found you enjoy the thrill of conversing, and theology the other maidens and priestesses provide. 

But now, that’s all being taken, when you’re so close to the priesthood. To take the sacred robes of Minerva, learn the sacred rights. Bless soldiers, generals, and emperors in their great conquests for the Roman Empire. 

That was your purpose, your place in this world. Being born a woman was a curse in this empire, but here you were safe, here you could make a life. 

“You shall be collected in the morning, the wedding will take place in a week's time.” 

That tone again. One brokering no peace, no argument. The voice he commands thousands with, and you are one of them. 

The next morning passes in a blur, your few things taken by slaves. You’re barely given enough time to hug the girls, and women you’ve come to see as your new family. Careful to hide your tears as the High Priestess stops you outside the temple doors. 

“Go with Minerva’s blessing,” her voice is soft, though there is an edge to it. You don’t respond, for fear that you’ll fall to your knees and beg her to stop this. Claim Minerva’s hold over you, refuse your father’s demands. 

But she won’t, your father is a powerful man, marrying you to another powerful man, and not even the goddess of war can prevent it. 

You’re whisked away on a chariot handled by one of your father’s trusted soldiers. A clear warning to behave, the city passes by. A few of the bustling crowds pause to watch you entourage, but it’s fleeting, they return to their day-to-day lives as it's nothing new to see a noble pass in their gilded transports. 

A blink and you’re home. The home you hadn’t seen in years, still a marbled behemoth, a villa of luxury befitting one of Rome’s finest generals. The sandstone pillars glow in the mid-afternoon sun. Banners the color of blood mark the door, along with coal black braziers that will be lit when the sun disappears behind the mountains. 

Awaiting you is a group of slaves, heads bowed, they drop to kneel as you are escorted from the chariot and into the house. 

It’s barely changed, since you last ran about the halls, as a wild precocious child. Tripping over your feet to follow your older brothers. The large atrium, with a lapis lazuli lined pool. Filled with various plants your father brought home to your mother. More braziers and torches line the halls. 

Gold, and weapons decorate the walls, all of them spoils of war taken by your father. Silk curtains billow in the afternoon wind, and distantly you smell the incense your mother uses throughout the villa. 

Your sister used to smell of it, well, the incense and rose water. A pang ricochets through your chest.  Her voice doesn’t greet you, and you’ll never hear it again. Instead it’s the rush of silks, and the patter of feet, and your mother enters the atrium, in the warm glow of the sun she shines. 

Dark hair in tight ringlets cascading down her back, her eyes shine with unshed tears. She stops seeing you in the entrance, then her arms spread wide, and like a child you rush into them. 

She smells of her personal fragrance of jasmine, and cinnamon. The mixture your father had gifted her after a long campaign many years ago. She buries her nose into your hair, fingers threading through the tresses. She presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Mama,” you whimper into her bosom, and she shushes you. Pulling back, her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against the apples of your cheeks. 

“Well, not the way I expected my beloved child to return to me but,” another kiss is pressed to your forehead. Her lips are soft and warm, tears well and threaten to spill a lump gathers in the back of your throat. “I am grateful to have some time with you again.” 

 For a moment, you’re grateful for the reprieve as well. But it’s short lived. She ushers you into the house, into her personal chambers. Where she sits you on the lounge, it’s darker here. Not as many windows, and most of them blocked by curtains. 

The incense is thicker here, and you stifle a cough as you settle into the dimness with her. 

“Oh my dear one, how I’ve missed you.” She smiles, and again her eyes take you in. Just as you do her, she’s aged in the years you’ve been gone. Where once was smooth skin, you see wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. The creases of her lips, a few grey hairs decorate her dark curls. 

“I’m sorry it wasn’t under…better circumstances.” You mutter, fingers toying with the robes you had left in. They’re still the temple robes, a simple woven woolen tunic. Good for completing chores, and easy to move in. 

Not like her opulent robes, her pure white muslin, with a deep blue dyed sash. A golden belt cinching in her waist. Her smile falters, a look of pain crosses her expression. 

“Y–your sister fought hard against the sweating sickness,” her voice wavers, and tears spill over her lashes, smudging the kohl lining her eyes. “But, she has been given her last rights, and she rests now in Elysium.” 

You nod, your chin quivers, as your own tears rain down from your eyes. Your mother tuts, and leans forward her hands warm and soft, unlike your now calloused fingers and palms.

“She would not want us to mourn–” 

“But Mama, she wanted this,” you gesture to the room of grandeur around you. Feeling your mother’s gaze watching you as you struggle with your next words, “I was promised to Minerva–to the gods!” 

You stand beginning to pace as you consider everything, and are finally able to do so.

“She should be here, I should be at the temple, learning the rites, blessing soldiers–”

“My darling you’re here now,” your mother’s voice is firm, a tone you recognize as her warning, and just like your father you know she’s not going to entertain you abandoning this marriage. “Come.” 

She offers you a bedecked hand, rings, and bangles gleaming against her skin. All the finery a woman could want. Sullenly you take her hand as she pulls you beside her, her hands take yours in a solid grip. 

“Your sister’s passing was a tragedy, but the gods have smiled upon us, in that Acacius is willing to continue the betrothal with you,” her voice is soft, you stare at your clasped hands. She’d done this before, when you’d first been promised to the Temple of Minerva. 

How strange to be here again, a child begging her mother to see reason and send you back. She pulls your hands up to her lips, pressing a warm kiss to them, as more tears spill from your eyes. Rolling warm, and wet down your cheeks. 

“I don’t want to marry him Mama,” a soft sob leaves you, and you bury your face into her shoulder, losing yourself in her smell once more, you forget how much you’ve missed her. Missed this, just being with her, but there’s a hollow feeling inside of you, your sister should be here, and that makes more tears form. Another tut and her arms wrap around you, a hand goes to your cheek, another to your back. “I was happy at the Temple.” 

She hums low in her throat, the hand on your back rubbing soothing circles against your spine. She is warm, and solid, a soothing presence and she lets you weep. You don’t know how long you cry for but finally the hiccuping sobs ebb and you calm. 

She pulls back her hands returning to your cheeks as she takes in your red eyes, and tear-streaked face. 

“My love, I will say this to you, I understand more than you know,” she brushes a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, curling the wayward pieces behind your ear. “I know the fear of marrying a man, much less a military man.” 

You sniffle as she gives you a weak smile. “I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.” 

She pulls back, her hands resting on her lap, your tears have dried and you sigh, nodding, face downcast as you consider her words. 

“I swear my love, I know your sister dreamed of love, and of a grand marriage, I assure you that General Acacius is a good man,” her fingers lift your chin and your eyes meet, she gives you a final wistful smile, “it may not be a marriage of love, but…maybe it can be a marriage of equals.” 

-

The next week passes in a blur, and suddenly it’s the hour before your wedding. The final adjustments to your sister's dress are being made. You stand alone, a slave placing pins in the areas the garment might drag. 

Silently staring at the reflection in the copper before you. You don’t recognize the girl in the reflection. Your hair has been styled in the traditional bridal braids. A golden hairnet pinned against your scalp, a few strands have managed to escape. Make up paints your skin, mica shimmers on your eyelids, kohl darkening your waterline. 

The slave pauses in her adjustments, she glances up with a fearful look. 

“M–my lady, I’ve run out of pins–” 

A spark of your father’s rage courses through you, of course it doesn’t fit you it was meant for your sister. 

“Go fetch some then!” 

You don’t mean to snap but your nerves are shot as it is. She jumps and with a fearful bow leaves the room. Alone you slump, staring at yourself, unwilling to keep staring at the stranger before you. Your sister truly spared no detail, the embroidery along the edges is her finest work. With golden thread painstakingly sewn into the edges, when it catches the light it almost seems to glow like fire. The main shawl dyed a deep burgundy, is decorated with words of protection, along with her favorite flowers, pale lilies blooming along the skirt. 

I want him to think me a goddess made flesh. 

You hear her in the back of your mind, and wonder…if you should have admonished her. Maybe her vanity was her downfall, and the gods sought to correct her error. Tears spring to your eyes at the thought, no, they couldn’t have. 

She was good, and kind; her only wish was to marry and give her husband strong sons. Now she lays alone, and cold in the family crypts. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud chorus of calls from the atrium.

You hear it somewhere below, the revels have begun. The boisterous voice of your father as he jokes and cajoles with his old war fellows. The wine is flowing freely tonight, he has much to celebrate. 

“-it’s a good thing you had another one!” 

A laugh from your father as he claps someone on the back. 

“Ha! The only thing a second daughter is good for!” 

The rage sparks again, and before you can stop to think, you’re grabbing a jar of perfumed oil. Throwing it with a shriek, it lands with a satisfying shatter against the copper mirror. The thick liquid drips to the floor in a dark puddle on the sandstone. 

Your outburst has called attention to the crowd, a few moments of silence and your mother appears with the slave who left you. She gives a withering glare to the woman, who cowers, before turning her gaze to you. You clench your fist ready to fight, the rage in you growing, daring your mother to say something, anything.

“My love–” there is no time to admonish you, as a great rushing of horses and the wheels of a chariot sound, along with calls from the atrium. 

He's here. 

Before you can think your mother and the slave rush to finish the last minute adjustments, and finally the fine veil is placed over your head. You're dragged through the halls, almost tripping on the skirt, that’s still too long for your legs. 

Your sister’s belt is cinched so tight it cuts into the soft fat of your stomach, at least an old pair of your sandals fits, one of the only things of yours on you tonight. Your mother stops you just outside the atrium. The crowd is rowdy, the sweet smell of wine, the smokey herbs of the many roasted beasts, and finally the mixture of the florals from the many bundles of your sister’s favorite flowers fills your nose.

It’s beautiful, and your sister would have been beaming. You feel your stomach churn, your mother’s fingers rub soothingly along your arm, but it doesn’t quell the fear to run, the deer forced into the hunter’s trap. 

You don’t want to, but your eyes search the crowd, none of your brothers are in attendance. Your mother mentioned that all had been called away to far reaches of the Empire, one a rising commander in his own right. Another a promising scholar in Alexandria, and the last is a Senator, most likely schmoozing with the twin emperors to gain more political favor. 

Of course none of them felt it dire to come to their younger sister’s funeral, and the other’s marriage. You’re not surprised…though maybe a bit hurt, after all…they should have at least come home to give your sister her last rights. But even that is too pitiful a request compared to their great lives.

There are others here, all your father’s friends, and their wives, entertaining themselves with food and drink. Dressed in the finery expected for nobility, none of them take your attention for too long. 

You see your father speaking animatedly with someone you don’t recognize. He wears the traditional Generals uniform, the armor a pitch black, with the extravagant golden embellishments. A long red cape, fastened at his shoulder, you almost wonder if the man came straight from campaign. 

Then again…the twin emperors have been insistent that their empire grow, and the General has been the ever faithful war dog. You’d never met him in person, only the high Priestess of Minerva could bless the generals before a campaign.

You are loath to admit it, but he's handsome. In a rugged way, a strong jaw, full lips, a proud nose, with tanned skin. His beard is shorter but well kept, and his hair, was probably once a deep brown, has greyed and silvered with age, is kept in neat curls. 

His eyes remain on your father, but as if the gods enjoy your torment, seem to feel your gaze upon him. He turns, and those eyes the color of polished mahogany lance through you. 

For a moment you forget to breathe, forget to think. Those eyes take you in, just as you had done moments ago. But it’s short lived as your father spots you, and your mother. 

“Ah! Acacius, your bride arrives!” He leaves the General to come usher you over, you’re grateful for the veil, the fabric is thick enough it hides your face, so he can’t see your face very well, can’t see the panicked look in your eyes, as your father yanks you from your mother’s protective grasp. 

You want to reach out to her, to claw your way back, scream, dig your fingers into his eyes till he releases you, but resist. As he pushes you to the General, up close he’s nothing like you thought. He bows his head to you with a soft, “my Lady.” 

You respond in kind with a low bow and a muttered, “my Lord.” 

And with that the ceremony begins, with Acacius taking his place besides the officiant. One of your father’s many senatorial friends. 

Your father’s grip is a painful shackle around your wrist, the stump of his left pinky digs into your arm. 

“You will do well to make him happy girl,” he snarls beneath the music, his gaze burning a hole into the side of your skull. “It’s because of me, he accepted you, remember that.” 

You bite your cheek, the taste of copper filling your mouth as you ignore the remark, in favor of staring at the man who will take his place. 

The ceremony is short, the officiant stumbles over your name, as he clearly practiced for your sister’s name. It makes the ache in your chest grow, through the ceremony you feel the General’s gaze upon you as the final call for the gods to bless your union is made. 

“General, you may now reveal your bride, and take her to your home as is commanded by the gods.” 

Your heart has leapt from your chest to your throat as his hands take the veil and lift, revealing your face to him. 

Your eyes meet his, and he stares silently at you, those dark eyes taking you in, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His lips are soft, the rasp of his beard against your skin sending a chill down your spine. The kiss is quick, emotionless, before pulling away, he glances to the side, you follow his gaze. Your mother stands beside your father, tears stream down her face, and your heart breaks seeing her in such despair. 

“Take a moment with your family, I will collect you in a moment.” 

You don’t waste a second rushing away from him to your mother’s arms, she collects you with a soft sob. You can’t help the tears that spring forth. 

“My love, my dear,” she weeps into your hair, and you cling to her, a little girl once more. Afraid of your father’s anger had you broken something, or worse he had come home from a failed campaign, and no one would be spared from his rage. 

She would be alone after this, alone with only your father for company, and he barely stayed home long enough to acknowledge her. She presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Please…Mama, please,” a whimpered plea into her bosom, where your tears stain the silk, you look up to her eyes wide and terrified. “Don’t let him take me.” 

Her lower lip quivers, and more tears spill from her beautiful eyes, she shakes her head, her answer, and it cleaves your heart into two. She can’t stop this, no matter how much you beg, plead, all she could do was make sure he was a good man. You feel it then, Acacius’ arms wrap around your middle, the shriek that leaves you is animalistic, your fingers claw into your mother’s dress. 

“No! Mama! No!” It only takes one pull from Acacius for your mother to release you, your fingers pulled from her dress by your father. So you go to the next best thing, his arms, nails dig into skin. He grunts, the only sign of his pain, as he hauls you away from your mother who wails in chorus with your panicked shrieks. 

Your mother collapses, her palms slapping against the marbled floors in grief, your father just stands there, no better than a statue. No one will comfort your mother tonight…though you hope, somehow your sister will. That her spirit will curl about your mother’s form and give her rest. 

Or maybe she’ll spare you the horrors of the wedding night, but as you struggle uselessly against Acacius you know neither of those things will happen. As he drags you from the atrium to his chariot. You struggle, scream, and cry a final plea to Minerva to intervene. 

But alas she does not answer, and you're dragged from the safety of your mother’s arms and to Acacius’ villa where your wedding night awaits. 

-

It’s quiet in the spacious bedchamber, as you consider the marble flooring beneath your feet. Acacius hasn’t appeared since he placed you here. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you’ve ripped the veil and golden hairnet off. Your hair remains in its painful tangle of braids, you’re unsure of how to get them out without help. 

You take in the room around you, and from what you could see of Acacius’ villa like you thought it’s a luxurious home, maybe even greater than your father’s. 

You take in the fineries here, golden chairs and marble-topped tables. The fires of the braziers warm the room comfortably, and a soft breeze from the outside keeps the air fresh. The light of the fires gleam off the cups, and decanters of wine placed about the room, even the bed silks are a fine fabric you’ve never felt before. You absentmindedly run your hand over the softness, considering your options. The bed is pushed to the farthest wall, a behemoth of dark wood, and fine muslin curtains. 

Large windows line the eastern wall, to let in the light of the morning, and doors lead to what you can only assume is a terrace. Your legs twitch as you consider rushing to the doors, seeing how far the drop is, escaping into the night, the General none-the-wiser. 

But the idea is foolish, he’s a General with thousands at his beck and call, you are a noble girl, raised in the halls of a temple…You’d get no further than the city gates if you’re lucky. 

Your thoughts are interrupted as the sounds of footsteps echo into your silence. Your head snaps to the noise, a deer suddenly aware of the danger lurking somewhere in the trees.

He stands in the doorway, orange light of the fires play over his face, his eyes black pits, face unreadable. Your heart stutters in your chest, as you both consider each other. 

He’s removed his armor, though it does nothing to soothe you, he still stands with the rigidity of a military man. Prepared for battle should he need to be. You consider fighting him, but it’s a laughable idea. 

He could kill you with a flick of his wrist if he so dared, but he hasn’t moved closer. So you both remain silent, observing. 

It is a tense standoff, both of you sizing the other up, Acacius makes the first move. Taking a chair and settling into it with an exhausted huff. 

You tense, watching him as he takes a cup and decanter, pouring a healthy swig of wine, before drinking deeply. He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, his fingertips trace the rim of his cup. 

“I am pleased to see you haven’t run yet,” he gives a humorless chuckle, and takes another drink. “I will say, this is not how I expected my wedding night to go.” 

You remain silent, waiting for his next move, he doesn’t say anything for a moment staring into the cup with a pensive look. 

“Those braids look uncomfortable,” those umber eyes meet your gaze. You can’t find your voice, so you nod. He sets the cup aside and stands, you can’t help your gaze falling to his exposed legs. The bunching of his muscles beneath his skin, the subtle strength there as he approaches you, a subtle grace to his movements that years of swordplay, and war-making has refined. The glow of his skin in the firelight, paints golden highlights along his flesh. 

A clearing of his throat stops your exploration, your gaze snaps up to Acacius, he gives you a small gesture to turn around. Tense you follow his directions, a moment of indecision, before the softest touch against your scalp. 

You can’t stop the yelp that leaves you, and the jolt of your body. The touch leaves, and there is a sigh through his nose. You wince, awaiting the strike that’s sure to come. 

Acacius surprises you again, a hand cups your chin and turns you to face him. You’re shivering, and fearfully you look up at the General. 

“I–I’m sorry–” 

“I promise, I will not strike you my Lady, I just want to unbraid your hair.” His hand is warm, his fingers large, and his palm is rough with calluses from holding a sword. You try not to notice how his hand easily encompasses your lower jaw. You nod, and again turn away. 

This time when his touch returns you steady yourself. For such large fingers, you’re surprised at their delicate caresses. As he finds the pins, and ties that keep your bridal braids in place. Slowly the pain of the too tight braids are relieved. 

His touch is gentle, the final braid is undone and he takes a moment to card his fingers through your tresses. A ripple of something courses through you, goosebumps alight along your skin. He chuckles, you finally find your voice. 

“Thank you, my Lord.” 

He doesn’t answer, instead you feel the brush of his knuckles against your cheek, again you jolt away. 

You know what must be done tonight, but you had hoped, and prayed, that he’d busy himself with his something, anything else. That you’d be forgotten and left to your own devices for the night. Acacius sighs through his nose, disappointment clear in his tone. 

“It is our wedding night—”

“I know my Lord–”

“I do not wish to force you.” 

The statement silences you, your heart pounding in its cage as you clench your fists in your lap. 

“My Lord Acacius please–” 

“My Lady,” he kneels beside you, one of his hands easily encasing both of yours. You resist every urge in your body to pull away from him, to scream, shout that you won’t allow him near you. “Your father told me, he would visit in the morning, to assure his daughter had done her duty.” 

You will give him this, he looks disgusted at the prospect, those full lips pulled into a grimace as he considers you. You glance down at his hand over yours, before meeting his gaze again. 

“Lord Acacius please, I was given as a child to the Temple of Minerva, I have no…no sense of the things required of a wife.” 

You press forward, one of your hands leaving the captivity of his to cover it. He seems surprised at the touch, glancing down at your hand before meeting your gaze again. His eyes are beautiful, and considering him for a moment, you recall your sister’s voice. 

He’s handsome sissy, you would agree. 

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes, you do agree, he’s handsome. A part of you was jealous that she remained at home, with your mother. But after settling in the temple you knew this life would never be yours, and some small part of you…knows that hint of jealousy still lingers, somewhere deep in your mind. It would have grown a bit more seeing who she married today. 

“You can learn–”

“I was given to Minerva,” you snap, a spike of your father’s rage, Acacius’ brows lift, a flash of surprise crosses his face. The hand beneath yours tensing. 

“What’s done is done, and your father would sooner kill you then return you to the temple.” 

His eyes darken and your shoulders slump, he’s well aware of your father’s reputation then. Well aware of the violence he so easily wielded even when not in battle. 

“But you could return me–” 

“I do not intend to.” 

That statement leaves you bewildered, and scrambling to come up with something, anything for him to change his mind. He leans forward, in the glow of the braziers he looks otherworldly, and you can’t find your voice. 

“I swear to you, I shall be a devoted husband, and I am willing to give you liberties in this union,” you consider silently, gaze going from his eyes and to his lips, “I cannot give you all the freedoms priesthood promises, but you will want for nothing.” 

You bite your cheek, searching his umber eyes for any hint of a lie. His other hand comes up once more to cup your cheek. This time you do not flinch from his touch. 

“I can make it pleasurable for you,” heat rises to your face as his thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek, “but this union must be consummated tonight, as the gods demand.” 

The silence between both of you is thick, he’s right, you know he is. There is no way you will be able to return to the temple, it is either death or Acacius. 

I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.

Your mother’s words ring out in your mind, you close your eyes to stop the tears forming there, and nod. 

“I need to hear you,” he whispers, he’s moved closer to your face, the warmth of his breath ghosts over your lips. “Please, my Lady.” 

“I–I accept Lord Acacius, but–” you don’t know why it tumbles from your lips so freely, “but please, I don’t want it to hurt.” 

His lips press to yours suddenly, your eyes snapping open at the touch. The kiss is quick, he moves on from your lips to your cheek, then jaw, ending at your neck. 

You gasp as his tongue slips from between his lips, wetting the skin above your pulse. A heat rushes through you as his lips suck on the skin there, teeth nipping. 

Your fingers turn to claws as they grasp at his tunic, his hands shift easily, one going to cup your head. The other around your waist pulling you against him. His lips continue their exploration of your neck, finding new bits of flesh that he attends to. 

Pulling noises from you that surprise you, as a feeling courses through you, like you're hot and cold at the same time. You can feel your pulse between your legs, his mouth shifts further up your neck, Acacius pauses at your ear. 

“As we are going to be husband and wife,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, his lips sending electric zaps along the cartilage. You shiver as his voice drops to a rasp, “please call me Marcus, can you do that?” 

He nuzzles into the corner of your jaw, giving the skin another nip, a soft keen leaves you, as the nip sparks with a soft pain before dulling to a throb. As your fingers flex again in his tunic, unsure if you want to pull him closer or push you both apart. 

He has to be doing something, must have given you something, for this–feeling, this sensation to be burning through you. 

The hand at your waist is quick, fingers plucking at your sister’s belt, and it releases with a soft clink. The soft leather falls away, leaving your dress to sag, heat rises again to your cheeks and you squirm a moment. 

Acacius’ hand in your hair tightens, and for a moment you fear you’ve angered him. But all he does is move lower, the tip of his nose trailing down your neck, along the path he created with his lips. 

Marks of varying colors have bloomed across your skin, before stopping just above the cut of your bodice. Those deep brown eyes meet yours in silent question, you give a nod. The pulse between your thighs is growing. 

He works quickly finding the folds of your dress that keep it around your shoulders and covering your breasts. The silk falls away, you move to cover yourself, only the other temple maidens, and the priestess’ had ever seen you naked. 

Embarrassment fills you, should he see you, but Acacius is quick, his hands find your wrists. The short tussle sends you back onto the bed, Acacius hovering above you. He positions your hands beside your head. For a moment you consider fighting once more, thinking he intends you harm, but freeze as you see his eyes explore your newly exposed flesh. You can feel every touch of his gaze as he takes in the swell of them, your nipples pebbling in the sudden chill. 

“M–Marcus–ah!” 

Saying his name spurs him into his next move, his face descends and he presses a kiss to your sternum, then shifting to your right breast. The scrape of his beard on your skin sends flutters of pleasure through you. 

A surprised moan leaves you as his lips find your nipple, pulling the hardening bud between them, sucking lightly your body convulses. Your eyes roll, the muscles of your abdomen clench, fingers twitch digging into his knuckles as he keeps them pinned. You gasp, back arching, pressing harder into his mouth. As if your body begs for more of the sensation. 

“M–Marcus,” you whimper his name as his tongue swirls around the bud, and gives it another suck, toying with it gently between his teeth. “Marcus please!” 

Your mind is becoming a fog, unsure of what you’ve begun to beg for, but the pulsing between your thighs has grown almost painful, and even as Acacius switches to your other breast giving the neglected bud the same attention. 

You squirm, thighs pressing together, another soft moan leaves you as the pressure gives some relief. Acacius pauses in his attention to your breast, his eyes are changed, that umber brown swallowed by the dark of his pupil. He presses kisses to the swell of your breasts, before asking, “What do you need of me my Lady?” 

You whine struggling to understand his question, as your thighs writhe, you bite your lip whimpering. 

“You said it wouldn’t hurt–” 

“Where does it hurt?” His reaction is quick, he returns to your face pressing a kiss to the underside of your chin. “Tell me.” His breath is warm, and smells of the sweet wine he indulged in before all this. 

“B–Between–” it feels foolish to say it, to mention the heat between your legs, the strange throb that’s continued to grow since he began to touch you. 

“Where?” he asks again, another soft kiss to your jaw. 

“Between my legs,” you whine, the writhing of your thighs no longer offering the necessary relief. You feel feverish, unwell, your stomach tightening uncomfortably. Acacius huffs a laugh against your neck, he releases your hands trailing his fingers down your arms. Over your breasts, where he pauses a moment to toy with your nipples once more. 

Your body reacts back bowing, pressing yourself into his palms, Acaius hums appreciatively, before his hands delve lower. Pushing down the rest of your sister’s wedding gown, you’re left bare to him. 

Again the embarrassment of it floods you, but Acaius is quick to stop you, laying on his side, he pulls you against him, one hand cupping your hip, cradling it  between his legs where something rubs against you, your other hand nestled between your bodies, the other splayed to the side finding purchase in the sheets. 

Acacius pauses taking his bottom lip between his teeth whilst considering you. 

“I promise this will make the pain go away,” he whispers against your cheek, and you nod, half mad with the overwhelming sensations devouring every coherent thought. 

“Please.” You whine, and his hand slides between your legs, a noise leaves you that’s closer to a howl than anything. The rough pads of his fingers find your clit, two circle the bud slowly, teasingly. Before pinching it between them, your hips buck into his palm. He groans softly into your hair. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, the sudden onslaught of pleasure leaving you reeling in its wake. 

Only a few garbled pleas, and his name can leave your lips, it’s all your mind can remember to say. As his fingers release your clit, and return to swirling in indiscernible patterns around the sensitive bundle.

It feels like too much, the rough stroke of his finger pad against your clit, your fingers close around his wrist. 

“W–Wait–” your tongue can barely form the words, it’s too much, and if he keeps touching you like this, you fear you’re going to break. A sensation you can’t name growing in your belly, the throb between your legs. The wetness there drips down your thighs, staining the sheets beneath you. 

“T–too much, it’s too much.” Acacius hushes you, the muscles of his wrist flexing against your palm, as he continues his pattern. Every touch sends bolts of lightning up your spine, clouding your thoughts. 

“It’s alright, let it come,” he whispers against your throat, the rasp of his beard adding another feeling that makes your body ache. Muscles bunching, toes curling, your mouth opens in a silent scream as something washes over you. Overwhelms you, your nails dig into his shoulder. He muffles a noise into your collarbone. 

This must be the gods, or death, or–or something. Your body convulses, the throbbing between your legs pulses with every beat of your heart. Eyes rolling in your skull, Acacius groans as you settle. Something hard presses against your hip, but you're still caught in the undertow of whatever spell he’s placed you in. 

“M–Marcus,” you whine, as his finger toys with your clit again, the feeling borders on painful, as the touch causes another throb to race through you. “Wh–what did–” 

“To help with the next part,” he hums, his fingers leave between your legs. He pulls away from you. Body shivering at the loss of his warmth, the solid form of his body against yours, and you feel more exposed than ever before. A deer caught in the line of Diana’s arrow. As those soft umber eyes look over your exposed flesh, pausing at the swell of your breasts heaving with every breath. He pulls instantly at his wedding tunic, shucking the last article of clothing off. 

His skin is a sun kissed tan, and scars lace across the expanse of his flesh. Swords, spears, knives. All manner of brutality has marked him, as your gaze travels lower you stop. The hardness you felt against your hip, long, with a mushroom-like head, a pearl of fluid leaking from the tip. It bobs with his breathing, veins pulse along the shaft, it looks painful. You pull your hazy gaze to meet his, and your breath hitches. 

His eyes gleam in the firelight, he reminds you of the towering Jupiter, or Mars. A god made flesh, and your heart stutters as he kneels on the bed between your legs. That fear returning full force. You stumble, and scramble in the sheets. They stick to your sweat-coated skin, and you can’t escape as he settles over you. 

Caging you beneath his form, you struggle, Acacius traps your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I will go slow,” he whispers, as again, tears brim along your lashes. His thumb rubs the hollow of your cheek, in an attempt to soothe. It doesn’t, as your heartbeat spikes, and your hands go to his chest weakly. His skin is rough, the scars knotted and strange against your fingers. He makes a noise low in his throat as your hands splay over his flesh. 

“But–I thought–” he settles between your thighs, you look into his eyes, pleadingly, a gasp leaves you as his length brushes against your core. He grunts, and his length twitches, you feel it, sudden and foreign. You squirm, and a hand lashes out grabbing your hip to still you. 

“Be still,” he whispers through clenched teeth. It’s a command and you listen, forcing your eyes closed, his hand leaves your hip to trail between your bodies. For a moment you think he only means to pleasure himself, but you tense as the head of his cock brushes against your cunt. 

“Acacius what–” you're silenced by the pain, though his previous ministrations helped, he’s large. The stretch of him entering you burns, your fingernails dig into his flesh, as if that will quell the pain of him entering you. 

You can’t breathe, can’t think, as all your mind can focus on is the stretch of his cock filling you. The way his length spears you, opening you, a soft whine of pain leaves you. Acacius huffs above you, the fingers beside your head curl into the sheets. He leans down forehead against your shoulder. 

“So tight,” he rasps, he almost sounds to be in pain as well. You think for a moment, maybe he’ll stop, that it’s too much for him as well. But he presses on, inch by painful inch he opens your cunt. “I’m sorry.” It’s whispered to the flesh above your heart, his lips brush the skin, sending a jolt of something through you once more. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he settles. You whimper feeling the press of his hips between your own. 

“Acacius, please…” You don’t know what you’re begging for, as the uncomfortable fullness settles. You swear you can feel every part of him, the throb of his cock as it rests heavy and thick in your cunt a warm sort of pain that lingers behind your navel. His cock twitches and you jolt, Acacuis grunts above you, again that hand returns to your hips. 

“Y–You must be still,” he gasps, your fingers flex, you glance down, seeing the red half moons  where your nails dug into his flesh. You silently hope he felt a bit of the pain he put you through. “Tell me when it stops hurting.” 

You glance up, those eyes giving you pause, he’s watching you. Taking in every wince, every hiss of breath as he remains still inside you. For a moment you consider lying, telling him it’s too much, but as you both remain there you feel it. The burn subsides, though the fullness remains. 

You take your lip between your teeth considering him, the greatest General of Rome, waiting for your lead. You shift, and Acacius gasps, your cunt flutters around him. He shudders above you and his length throbs again inside you. 

“D–Don’t–move,” he pants his fist clenching again on your hip, his head lowering to press his forehead to your shoulder again. A stutter of breath against your skin. “Does it still hurt?” 

A whispered plea into your breast, you hesitate to answer him, fearing another onslaught of pain. His voice is soft, as his hips give a subtle thrust, “I swear my lady, I will make sure we both find our pleasures.” 

A choked noise leaves you, as his pelvis grinds against your clit, your cunt walls quiver around him. Acacius gasps, his arm shakes, and you whine. 

“Please–” he grunts, “tell me I can move.” His dark eyes meet yours and your lungs refuse to breathe, your heart stops beating for a moment, and the world slows. His skin shins with a layer of sweat, he’s trapped his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Move,” a whispered acceptance, Acacius takes it with fervor, pulling his hips back, your head falling back into the softness of the sheets. You feel every inch of him, every pulse of his veins as he pulls from your soaked core. 

Acacius curses under his breath as he begins a steady, hard rhythm. Every thrust of his hips sends new shock waves of bliss up your spine. Your cunt flutters around his shaft, with every thrust he seems to plunge deeper. 

Your legs shift, thighs settling on the solid form of his hips, the movement making you tighten. Acacius gasps, you feel it, another pulse of his cock. He grunts a hand moving from beside your head to between your bodies. Fingers finding your clit again, you keen, toes curling as another wave threatens to overwhelm you. 

“Are you close?” He huffs, his hips continue in their thrusting, his fingers dance along your clit. Your eyes can hardly focus on the man straining above you, all you can offer is another high pitched moan, your hips beginning to rise to meet his thrusts. 

Acacius groans again, his arm shaking as he pistons into you with a gratuitous fervor, the sounds of your coupling fill the room. Your skin shines with sweat, as does his, those eyes meet yours as he grits his teeth. 

His fingers press against your clit, and his cock thrusts so deep inside of you that for a moment you see stars. Your body stills, you forget to breathe for a moment, you think a scream of his name leaves you, as your back arches pressing into Acacius who shouts. 

Your cunt quivers around his length, you feel a warmth as his cock throbs inside of you. Both of you remain still, breath returning in soft pants as your vision returns to you. Acaius huffs above you, his hair, once well styled is mussed about his face. But you think distantly that it suits him, he leans down pressing his forehead to your chest. 

For a moment you wonder if you will have to remain like this, until with a slow movement Acacius pulls from you. A whine leaves you, as he pulls from your cunt. 

You lay on the bed, eyes closed, sweat cooling uncomfortably on your skin. None of your muscles wish to work, and you don’t sense Acacius still in the room. 

You’re shocked to feel…disappointment worming its way into your mind, after everything you should be grateful that he’s left you be. 

But you’re surprised again as his footfalls sound, with a tired blink you open your eyes and glance up. Acacius has put on a robe, and he kneels beside the bed with a rag, he takes his time cleaning you. 

It reminds you, for a moment, of the baths in the Temple where you would clean, and help clean other initiates. His hands are careful as he reaches between your thighs, noticing you tense he’s gentle. Careful of your still sensitive core the roughness of the rag makes you whine, hips bucking away from it. His hand steady's you as he works.

The rag cleans away the wetness that drenches your thighs, and butt. He finishes his cleaning, and then moves to lift you from the edge of the bed to the middle, carefully tucking you into the soft sheets. Your body doesn’t respond to anything, not even the want to help him does it respond, until he turns to leave. 

“Marcus,” your voice is soft, unsure, but he stops and turns looking at you, “aren’t you…going to stay?” 

His eyes seem to lighten at the question, he bows his head, “Would you like me to?” 

You nod, and he relaxes moving back to the bed he settles in beside you, careful not to move you too much. You don’t mind it though, you notice that his sheets smell of jasmine. You huddle into the sheets, staring at the general silently. 

And you consider…this marriage my not be one of love…but maybe…of equals.

[charliemwrites]

Part 3 of obsessed Johnny

(Part 2 is here.)

CW for extremely dubious consent.. or this might actually be coerced consent? Is there a difference? Anyway, be safe!

There’s a few things you learn quickly. If you ask nicely, present things just right, Johnny will give you just about anything. Any foods, any drinks. He movies a huge flatscreen into your room and makes it so you can watch damn near anything with streaming.

“I just want to let everyone know I’m okay. You can read the message yourself before I send it! But the police will come looking if I don’t tell people I’m alright.”

So he cuddles up next to your shoulder and reads as you make up lies to family and friends and professors that you’re fine, but you’re very stressed and need space. That you’re taking some time to “work on yourself.” Johnny takes your phone away again when it’s done and apologizes again when you cry about it.

There are things you don’t ask for either, that he brings you. A squishy pillow in the shape of a bunny. A bunch of fidget toys. Soft thigh high socks for the cold room and cotton shirts that stretch down nearly to your knees. Not a lot of pants.

When you carefully ask why, he blushes and tells you that you look cuter without them. Still, you have a couple pairs of fleece joggers that mysteriously disappear sometimes.

Then there’s…. well there’s this.

“I’m making it up to you, angel,” he breathes against your bare thigh. “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean. But I promise it’s all for you, I’ll show you.”

You’re trembling, trying to think of a good way to tell him to stop that won’t upset him. Hard to do that when he’s prying his way so gently between your legs, tonguing at your cotton panties.

“It’s alright, I won’t take anything, Bonnie. Going to give you everything,” he whispers. “It’s not for me. All for you to feel good.”

He rips through the lace on the side with his teeth and tugs it away to bear you. He groans, eyes going moony.

“Gorgeous girl,” he moans, laying kisses all over. “Such a pretty kitty. Knew you would be.”

“W-wait, wait, soap,” you finally force out. But he’s far, far too gone now. His eyes don’t even flicker away from your pussy.

“Don’t get shy on me now, hen.” He loops one of your legs over his shoulder, stroking the outside of your thigh. “Nothing to be shy about.”

Your stomach clenches as his mouth drops open, hot air across your sensitive core. His mouth is already shiny. He finally, finally pries his eyes from your cunt, looking up at you through thick lashes.

“Let me, baby,” he begs. “Say I can, say I’m allowed to make you feel good. You deserve it, let me make this up to you.”

At this point, you don’t think he’d listen if you didn’t give permission so you just nod.

“S-slow, soap. Please?”

“Anything for you,” he promises. “Anything… anything…”

He kisses your pussy like a lover leaving his beloved. Aching, slow, devoted. His tongue grinding against your clit, licking at your entrance. He moans at the taste of you, eyes rolling back in his head.

You try to lay still, to be quiet, to just... let it happen to you. But Christ, he feels so good. Luxuriant. There’s no resisting the way he sucks so softly at your clit, tongue rolling over and over that little bundle of nerves.

You’re soaking, you can feel it running down onto the bed. He swipes the flat of his tongue through you slit, picks his head up enough for you to see the thick, glistening string of saliva and slick connecting him to your cunt.

You press a hand to your mouth as your hips buck, muffling the noise you make into you palm.

“No, no,” he whimpers, “how am I supposed to know I’m taking care of you? Please, baby, let me hear you. I know I’m never gonna hear heaven’s choir so you’re the closest I’ve got.”

He dives down with renewed vigor, sloppy noises mixing with his grunts and moans. He’s writhing his own hips into the bed, getting off on the taste of you alone. You’ve lost control of your voice - and your hands. They’re tangled up in his mohawk, guiding him to tongue fuck you just right.

You don’t know what does it? What sets you off. Only that it’s all too much all at once and you’re tipping over the edge before you can think about what it means when you do. You clench down on his tongue, ride his mouth as wave after wave curves your back off the mattress.

When you can breathe again, his cheek is lying on your thigh, a dopey, cum-drink grin on his messy face.

“So pretty when you cum,” he sighs, lashes fluttering. There’s a wet spot against your calf; he came when you did. Just… just from…

“Can’t wait to give you another.”

[ceilidho]

This is in no way of hating but i want to know why do you enjoy writing noncon/rape? When I first downloaded tumblr which was couple of months ago i was surprised by the amount of noncon fics here. I eventually came to enjoy them which makes me question myself. Whenever i read a noncon fic and enjoy it i feel like im betraying women who actually went through those traumatic events. Plus I actually don't really like dark romance books? I love cod dead dove and that is mainly because i really love the characters and the authors are so talented. I rambled so much and i hope you don't get this in the wrong way i don't mean to hate AT ALL i love the stuff you write. Maybe i shouldn't think too much and let myself enjoy what im reading lol

first of all, no worries! i wasn't sure about your tone/intentions at first, but by the end i was totally fine with the question.

i actually don't mind talking about this stuff - i just sometimes avoid it on main because i prefer chatting about it privately.

second, i'm no psychologist or sociologist, so i probably won't be able to give you the most satisfactory answer, but i think there are a lot of different reasons. i can only name a few. one thing i should mention right off the bat is that rape fantasies are very normal (and this is true whether you're a survivor of SA or not) and writing/reading fiction can be a safe way to process those thoughts/feelings.

one of prevailing reasons is, of course, that many survivors of SA use noncon/dubcon literature/art as a way of processing their experiences and taking ownership of their trauma.

and look, people are going to go back and forth on this point (i've seen it all before - many people refuse to believe that engaging with noncon lit/art is helpful, and in fairness, it's NOT helpful for everyone because every person is different), but at the end of the day, if a survivor tells you "writing/reading this was helpful in my recovery" then that's that!

additionally, for many women and non-binary folk (i can only speak as a cis woman, but i'm sure this is a shared lived experience across many different people), we're also taught from a very young age to suppress our sexual desires / that being open about our sexuality is morally reprehensible and shameful. and a lot of people carry that shame for years, impacting them well into adulthood. so dubcon/noncon fantasies can be a way of being able to enjoy sexual scenarios where you don't have to be the initiator, thus taking away some of the emotional weight and shame.

plus, at the end of the day (and im sure many people will disagree with this take, it's something that i'm still figuring out myself), there is a kind of weird underlying consent implicit in dark fics. like, you might be reading a fic or novel that's ostensibly noncon, but you're also actively seeking out that literature (hopefully it's not just sprung on you - i do very much agree with tagging to the fullest extent and my lukewarm take is that I think all books, even traditionally published ones, should come with content/trigger warnings too).

there are a medley of reasons why someone might write or read dark fiction/dark romance. again, i'm just one person and i can only speak from my own experience!

i think at the end of the day, the important thing to realize is that fiction is fake, and as long as the writer appropriately tags their work and ensures that the audience is aware of what they're getting into when they start reading, they're not coercing the reader into something they aren't prepared for.

and it's totally fine if you have limits (like, you can read and enjoy dubcon, but not noncon) or can't engage with the material at all, but it's also unfair to say that it reflects someone's real life values - the same way that we don't say that the people who enjoy crime fiction must love murder.

and the last thing i want to say because this got a bit out of hand lol, is that, yes, for some people dark fiction is genuinely harmful, whether or not they're a survivor. it's not for everyone and that's completely fine and i'm aware of that, which is why i agree that you should tag as much as possible (even if you feel like you're overdoing it sometimes), but someone else's discomfort doesn't give them the right to tell you how to process your own emotions/experiences/desires/etc.

as long as no one's getting hurt, there's no issue as far as i'm concerned. and sorry but, no one's getting hurt by reading a fic or a novel unless the author didn't give proper content warnings - if you "forgot" to read the tags or read anyway DESPITE being warned, im sorry but that's life.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

hello! hope you’re having a pleasant day whenever you read this! you’ve probably been asked this before, but do you have any tips for writing dubcon for the first time? this is actually for an original piece, not for fanfiction, but i just have no idea where to even start. i’ve read some but now am staring at a blank page sort of clueless haha even though i have a rough scene blocked out. sorry if this is too vague of an ask!! thank you for reading regardless of whether or not you decide to respond!!

hi! thank you for the ask and hope you’re having a pleasant day as well!

tips for writing dubcon that I personally use

trigger warning’s applied

internal conflict the character goes through can be one of the main factors that separate dubcon from non-con; in most dubcon works, the protagonist is unsure, not in a position or condition where they can outright consent or say no (or in some scenarios, the protagonist doesn’t want to get intimate with the antagonist, but is coerced into getting intimate with them anyway).

personally, while writing dubcon, I like to emphasize the vulnerability of my protagonist. while at the same time I’ll make sure that there are also some aspects / some glimpses that indicate some parts of my protagonist may begin to yield and enjoy the sex during the act.

that being said, although a part of my protagonist may later find themself enjoying it, I’ll always keep their vulnerability — in the sense that the one who holds all power and authority over them is the antagonist, and my protagonist has little to no control over what happens to them.

which also leads back to this internal conflict. something about “character A does not want to sleep with character B, but they can’t really say no, and during the sex, a part of character A starts yearning for character B, and character A is upset (or even outright disgusted) with themself for how they yearn for character B”.

that being said, one thing I’ll always keep in mind is that “orgasm does not necessarily mean the atmosphere shifts from non-con to dubcon”. you can write a dark non-con fic where your protagonist reaches an orgasm, and it will not mean your work now falls under the “dubcon” category just because the victim reaches their climax. your work is not “dubcon” if your protagonist cries and begs for the antagonist to stop the entire time before said protagonist eventually reaches an orgasm. my point is, orgasm is not a deciding factor whether a work is dubcon or if it’s non-con, because orgasm is a natural response of a person’s body to sexual stimulation, your character can have an orgasm against their will (this also applies to character getting an erection; it can be against their will, so erection alone does not decide if your work is non-con or if it’s dubcon).

basically, these are keys to dubcon that I personally use: uncertainty, vulnerability, power imbalance (also worth mentioning that these are just key points that can make a work fall under dubcon category, but works that contain these topics are not necessarily dubcon or non-con just because they feature these topics).

I hope this helps, and happy writing!

[starcrossed591]

I'm kind of obsessed with how intentional and specific Flourished Peony is being about how sexism is not just a matter of individuals being shitty, but a matter of systemic inequality. (They're also being really fucking clear that classism and other elements of the social hierarchy compound it, but that's another post.)

First, take how difficult it was for Mu Dan to get a divorce (and she still doesn't have the paperwork, which I'm *sure* is going to come back to bite her in the ass!). In her attempts to leave the Liu family, she's up not just against her terrible in laws and trash husband, but an intertwined legal and social system that works against her being able to get out alive, much less with any sort of means to support herself. In order to get the local court to approve her divorce, she not only has to prove that her husband has beaten her (and also make it look like the physical abuse she endured is much worse than it was because spousal rape I'm sure would not be acknowledged as a crime), have her body examined in public in order to prove the beating is real--and because that's not actually enough to guarantee her escape, arrange for a higher ranking official on her side and a paid audience to be there for her hearing in order to make sure the judge doesn't sweep it all under the rug. Even with all that on her side, the Judge even tries to justify kicking her out of the Liu family, leaving her dowry behind, because she has not yet born a child and therefore must be at fault for the problems in her relationship.

And *then* even though she gets her divorce papers, her (terrible, no good, piece of garbage) father-in-law sends his servant to murder her so he can keep her dowry. They've already coerced her into giving up a significant portion of that dowry, and sold other parts of it without her consent. Her father-in-law burns her divorce decree, and she has to run for her life with only a potted plant to her name. She then stages her death because she discovers she can't actually go home. Using a combo of social conventions, legal conventions, and rank, the Liu family has convinced her family that Mudan is at fault for all the trouble and as such, they would immediately send her back if she goes home for help.

And then ass if *that* wasn't enough, once Mu Dan makes it to the capital, she can't get a dang job to support herself because she doesn't have a household registration because she wasn't able to get properly divorced! And not having the proper paperwork once again makes her vulnerable to further abuse and gender based violence. She takes a job working in a tavern for 30% of what she deserves for her labor and on top of that, is then nearly sexually assaulted and forced to become the tavern owner's concubine. And even though she manages to escape, she can't hold the tavern owner responsible for beating, abduction, and attempted murder because she can't take him to court because she still *does not have the right paperwork*.

Now, a lot of people acted terribly in this sequence of events, including but not limited to: the Liu family, especially Mu Dan's father-in-law; Mu Dan's trash husband, who has treated her like something he found on the bottom of his shoe for the entirety of their marriage and now only wants to keep her because she wants to leave; the Liu family's servants, who, admittedly, don't have much recourse of their own; the judge; and the tavern owner. Murder attempt and outright abuse aside, though, there were a lot of good people who maybe even *wanted* to help Mu Dan and either couldn't or chose not to because of a combination of legal restrictions and social conventions.

Perhaps the most potent example of well-meaning people using the law and social conventions to justify their perpetuation of this system is Mu Dan's cousin, the imperial scholar. Though he does intervene to save her when she runs bang into him when running for her life from the tavern owner, what he absolutely won't do is help her get a fake household registration. Without that registration, she can't get a job and would have to fully depend on his support for food, clothing, and shelter. And hanging over his offer to house her is the threat that if her in laws find out that she's there--which they eventually would--her law-abiding cousin would almost certainly feel obliged to send her back to said in laws that want to kill her. Because legally, they have a right to do with her what they want. Because she's a woman. Who can't seem to get a divorce.

Anyway, I can't stop thinking about it, so there you go, there's my gender analysis of the first seven episodes of this drama.

[evidence-based-activism]

you know that porn doesn't have to involve women, right? you know that porn can be animated, right? you know that sex workers often run their own websites and publish their own work, right? good lord

"all porn is bad because the porn industry is often abusive" ok. stop eating chocolate. all chocolate. the chocolate industry is hugely abusive. stop eating it. all of it. even chocolate that you're pretty sure was ethically sourced. even homemade chocolate from your neighbor or that you bought online from the person who harvested the beans

"you know that porn doesn't have to involve women, right?"

(1) The vast majority of it does. (2) I actually do care about the men being abused in pornography as well. It may not be as frequent of an issue, but it does exist. (3) So ... you admit that pornography hurts women?

(Also, here is a post with a quote on this topic.)

"you know that porn can be animated, right?"

There are three forms of harm resulting from pornography: (1) the harm incurred by the people who are involved in its production (primarily the women - and sometimes the men - being filmed), (2) the harm incurred by the "consumers" of pornography, (3) the harms incurred by society (e.g., the connection to misogynistic beliefs, violence rates, etc.).

Animated pornography doesn't involve the first harm, but it may (and likely does) involve the second two harms. There is very little research on animated and/or written pornography. (I've asked for people to send any me known sources on this topic in the past.) That being said, here's a few sources I did find:

This article [1] describes how hentai, a common form of animated pornography, is disproportionately viewed by children aged 6-12 years and includes violence directed at female characters.

This article describes the similarities between animated and "regular" pornography [2]. This post [3] describes how animated pornography may be a "supernormal stimulus", affecting us in way that mimic other supernormal stimuli (e.g., junk food).

You can consult this website [4] that lists literally hundreds of sources on the negative effects of pornography. Most of these concern the harm incurred by the "consumer", which are likely shared (at least in part) by animated pornography.

We absolutely need more research on the topic of animated pornography specifically (and also written/drawn pornography). But given that we've established the harms of pornography, it's reasonable for the "burden of proof" to be transferred (i.e., we no longer need to prove the harm of pornography, you need to prove that this harm doesn't apply to animated pornography).

"you know that sex workers often run their own websites and publish their own work, right?"

(1) You'll need to provide a source for that "often". (2) What "sex workers" do you mean, anon? Pimps and pornography producers have taken to calling themselves "sex workers", but they are clearly in a different situation than the women who are "having sex" and being filmed are in. (3) How do you know which websites and work are "their own"? How do you know if the content is being posted by the women in the video and not someone else? If everyone was of age? If all the sex acts were consensual? If the women consented to it being posted/distributed? If she's being coerced by a pimp or a boyfriend or economic destitution? (4) Most importantly: are you willing to risk watching and masturbating to a rape video?

[Your chocolate metaphor.]

This is a false analogy for a few of reasons. Most importantly, however, it is possible to produce chocolate without exploitation. It is not possible to produce pornography without exploitation. It isn't even possible to conform to existing health and safety laws; the only reason why the pornography industry exists (in the USA) is because the government hasn't been enforcing these protections.

Here's an article [5] discussing how prostitution (and pornography is just prostitution on film) upends traditional consumer models (and is therefore not comparable with other "products"). Here is a post comparing the pornography and film industries, so as to highlight the inherent and inescapable differences between them. And another post, with the same purpose.

Conclusion

Pornography results in violence against women and the majority of it is violence against women. No amount of false analogies or loaded questions will change that.

References under the cut:

Wheelock College, USA, et al. “Hentai and the Pornification of Childhood: How the Porn Industry Just Made the Case of Regulation.” Dignity: A Journal of Analysis of Exploitation and Violence, vol. 8, no. 1, Feb. 2023. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.23860/dignity.2023.08.01.03.

Fight the New Drug. “What Is Hentai Porn, and Why Is It So Popular?” Fight the New Drug, https://fightthenewdrug.org/exposing-the-new-wave-of-extreme-hentai-animated-porn/.

“Why Are People Sexually Attracted to Cartoons? Nikolaas Tinbergen’s Concept of ‘Supernormal Stimulus’ Explains Why Humans Are Attracted to a Heightened Version of Reality.” Your Brain On Porn, https://www.yourbrainonporn.com/rebooting-porn-use-faqs/how-is-internet-porn-different-from-porn-of-the-past/why-are-people-sexually-attracted-to-cartoons-nikolaas-tinbergens-concept-of-supernormal-stimulus-explains-why-humans-are-attracted-to-a-heightened-version-of-reality/.

“Relevant Research and Articles About the Studies.” Your Brain On Porn, https://www.yourbrainonporn.com/relevant-research-and-articles-about-the-studies/.

Farley, M. (2018). Risks of Prostitution: When the Person Is the Product. Journal of the Association for Consumer Research, 3(1), 97–108. https://doi.org/10.1086/695670

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Prettier When You're Mine

Andy Barber x Reader

Author's Note: Slowly trying to finish a few of these ongoing stories.

Summary: One year into working with a young, bright and beautiful junior prosecutor, Y/n, who bears an almost uncanny resemblance to Andy’s late wife, Laurie, he finds himself developing feelings for her. Though, when she brushes off his advances, Andy proves that he’ll do whatever it takes to recreate his family.

Disclaimer: 18+ This work contains dark themes, including stalking, dub-con, infidelity and manipulation. Read at your own discretion.

Masterlist Playlist Chapter 5

Chapter 6

A trip to Andy's house to reclaim her lost ring causes tension between Y/n and James, and unveils some dark truths. Warning: dubious consent, SMUT/NSFW, coerced/forced sex. Please do not read if you are even remotely uncomfortable with any of these warnings.

Dumping the contents of her bag on the kitchen counter, Y/n hastily sifted through it. Compact, cell phone, a couple pens, a packet of tissues, wallet, loose change and no ring. “Shit, shit, shit,” she swore under her breath, on the verge of tears. It hadn’t been anywhere that she'd looked, not in her office, her coat pocket or even in the damn coffee cup she’d checked on a whim. Calls to the doctor’s office and the bus station as well as a visit to the coffee shop and the place that she’d bought lunch had also been completely unhelpful and Y/n was beginning to fear that the ring was gone for good. 

But it couldn’t be, not James’ mother’s ring. Precious family heirloom and the first material sign that she’d been accepted into their fold. 

For the millionth time that day, Y/n found herself asking; why me? Was it because she’d almost been willing to let things go too far with Andy? Because part of her wanted them to? Or was it because she’d gotten herself in a self-pitying funk over something she was supposed to have made peace with? 

Was it a sign that she simply didn’t deserve a man like James? 

Standing in the middle of their loft’s small kitchen, she didn’t feel like she did. Because how could she be deserving of him and still spend rare, private moments fantasizing about her boss- who had proven himself to be just like any other jerk in a position of authority. 

In retrospect, she should have seen the signs; his penchant for initiating physical contact, his apparent desire to know her on a personal level, his insistence that they work together. She couldn’t believe she actually thought he just saw potential in her- no strings, no expectations. 

“Babe?” Hearing the bathroom door open, Y/n worked quickly to clumsily repack everything into her handbag. She hadn’t told James that she’d lost the ring, and had spent the entire car ride home trying to hide her left hand.

“Yeah?” Y/n’s head snapped up and her frenzied gazed noted James standing near the foot of their bed, wrapped only on a towel, with his skin still damp and his hair dripping. “What?” Then, hearing the haste in her tone, she cleared her throat and tried again, “I mean….what’s up?” 

James’ lips fell again and he stuttered before continuing, “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to get Chinese,” he padded barefoot across the wood floor, “But I think I can ask you the same question.”

“If I wanna get Chinese….?”

“What’s up?” He quoted with emphasis, “Or better way; are you okay?” 

Sneaking a cautionary glance at her hand, Y/n dropped it at her side and didn’t dare make a move towards James. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Not believing her for a second, James shook his head and made the final steps towards her, rounding the kitchen counter so he could lay his wet hands on her shoulders, “No you’re not." He searched her teary eyes, worry pooling in his, “Did something happen at the doctor's?”

Sniffling as slow tears trickled down her cheeks, “I’ve just had a really rough day,” her voice broke pitifully and James didn’t miss another beat before pulling her against his chest. One hand cradled the back of her head while the other fell to the small off her back, and as she clung to his waist, she finally let a couple sobs break through.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" He probed gently. 

How was she supposed to tell him that she was irrationally insecure about them never being able to convince? Or that Andy had come onto her in a moment of vulnerability. Or that she'd lost his mother's ring.

"No," she whimpered, "Not yet. I just wanna….I just want to forget the whole thing." Forget that she'd always secretly want something she would never have. Forget that she'd lost a very expensive and precious symbol of their union. 

Forget that she was still thinking about what would have happened if she'd been brave enough to give in when Andy had come on to her. 

Forget that she was above betraying the man she loved. 

“Alright,” James murmured, kissing the crown of her head, “Well we don’t have to until you’re ready,” he added, lips still pressed to her hair. He was so good, so patient and she loved that. 

Andy was so brooding and dangerous, she liked that. 

Hugging James tighter, Y/n squeezed her eyes shut and tried to regulate her breaths; she didn’t deserve to cry about it when she’d come so close to acting on selfish impulse. They might have stayed like that for a while, if it were for her phone ringing loudly from where it sat on the counter. Sniffling loudly, Y/n pulled away and brushed her tears away with the sides of her fingers, “I should….” Trailing off, she moved towards the phone, sluming her shoulders when she saw Andy’s name on the screen, “Its my boss,” she reported sullenly. 

Coming to stand behind her, James rested his hand on her shoulder, “Just let it go to voicemail.”

Y/n sighed, “Its not that easy.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” James reminded before letting go of a heavy breath and reluctantly adding, “But if you feel like you need to then, I can’t stop you.” 

As James retracted his hand and started walking away, Y/n looked at Andy’s name on the screen and frowned as she glanced back up at her fiancee, “Don’t be mad, please.”

“Not mad,” he said, not looking at her as he tugged one of his drawers open, pulling out a pair of sweatpants, “Just….I’m worried about you, okay? This guy keeps you at the office at these weird hours and then today you come home crying.”

“What happened today has nothing to do with, Andy,” she lied, “He…he tried to help-”

“So you told him what was wrong but you didn’t tell me?” James knitted his brows, stepping behind the bamboo privacy screen that they kept near their wardrobe to get changed. 

By then her phone had stopped ringing and the screen had faded to black, “That’s not….I didn’t tell him. I was really vague about it-”

“Yeah, well all I got was you had a rough day,” stepping out from behind the screen in low riding sweats and a t-shirt, James moved to hang his towel on a rack they kept next to the bathroom door. 

“I…its complicated,” just then, her phone started ringing again, the urgency evident in the blaring tone, “I really have to take this,” Y/n snatched her phone off the counter and swiped the green icon. “Hey, what’s up?” Y/n answered cooly, defiantly matching eyes with James, whose gaze had hardened. 

“I have something that I think belongs to you.”

Knitting her brows, Y/n stuttered, “What?”

“Three carats-”

“You have it,” Y/n gasped; she must have lost it in the haste to vacate his office, everything had been so jumbled and messy, from her feelings at the time to the physical situation. 

“Yeah. Why don’t you come by and get it?”

Turning away so her back would be to James, Y/n drew in what she hoped would be a calming breath, “You’ve had it all day and said nothing?” She hissed as quietly as possible. 

“Well, let’s not get accusatory.”

“God,” Y/n suspired, “Are you at the office?”

“Of course not,” Andy sounded amused by the whole situation, like he was baiting her, and it made Y/n’s blood boil. “You should come get it, tonight. Wouldn’t want James to think you’re trying to seem like an available woman.”

Exasperated, Y/n sighed, “Yeah, well, I don’t know where you live.”

“I’ll send you the address now,” she heard the phone moving on his end of the line and then less than a minute later, her phone pinged with an incoming text. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

There was that name again, that involuntary thrill up her spine. 

Without another word, Y/n hung up and turned to James who was looking at her expectantly. “I have to go, some stuff came up late in discovery and its a lot so we’d have to start going through tonight to finish in time for Thursday.”

She wasn’t sure if James believed her, but he did play along, “Alright, well you should take the car,” he suggested and she was grateful that he didn’t offer to drive her. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, approaching her once more, that time grabbing the keys off the coffee table and pressing it into her hands from over the counter, “Go do your job, we’ll talk when you get back.”

Leaning over, Y/n smiled tightly and reached to cup his cheek with her free hand, “I love you,” she kissed him briefly, hoping to chisel away some of the lingering tension. 

James hummed softly, “Yeah, I know, I love you too.” When they broke, she grabbed her bag and coat quickly and hurried out of the apartment, letting a slow breath vacate her lips when she pulled the door shut behind herself; caught between being excited to see Andy again and combating worry over what would happen when they did. 

Stuffing the hand with the car keys into the pocket of her camel coat, Y/n inhaled deeply before bringing her fist to Andy’s front door. His house was nice, it was one of the first thoughts she had upon pulling up at the curb; it was kind of like the one she had in her mind when she thought about the perfect place to live; big enough to comfortably raise a family with a gable roof and big windows that made you wonder what was happening inside. It looked like something out of HGTV or one of those home and garden magazines- sweet and picturesque. 

“You came,” Andy determined when the door swung open. He was still half dressed from work; sleeves of his navy shirt rolled up to his elbows, black and blue tie from earlier gone and top two buttons of his shirt open. 

“Yeah,” she squared her shoulders and straightened her back, “Well I want my ring.”

Andy smirked and Y/n ground her teeth, “Its upstairs, come in and I’ll get it for you.” Y/n couldn’t tell if it was an invitation or condition but Andy didn’t leave room for explanation, instead leaving her to follow him as he turned and delved further into the house. 

The hall light was off, making the glow emanating from the kitchen up ahead to seem dim and ominous. Their shadows seemed bigger and in even in the low lighting Y/n could make out some of the framed photographs on the wall  and she slowed down to see some of them. She recognized the people, a woman and a teenage boy, from the one personal picture that Andy had in his office- a small, family portrait taken on what she'd assumed was a taken at a beachy resort, contained in a shiny gold frame. 

Mexico, he'd explained when he'd caught her staring once. The last vacation they'd taken before Laurie and Jacob's accident. 

It must have been so hard for him to lose everything like that, especially since he had no other family. Worst yet, he was still a social pariah; the things she'd heard around the office were brutal and they seemed to follow him around like a dark cloud. It was why she'd tried to befriend him when they'd started working together, no one should be that alone. 

But Andy had crossed a line.

Though, she hadn’t been very good at drawing one in the first place. Maybe she should have told him about James sooner. Maybe she didn’t want to. 

When they finally broke off into the kitchen, Y/n stopped abruptly and folded her arms defensively. Andy didn’t head upstairs immediately, instead he poured two glasses from an open bottle on the dark veined marble counter. “I think you’ll like this one,” he offered her the glass. 

Rolling her eyes, Y/n kept her arms folded, “I want my ring.”

“Have a drink,” Andy inched closer, causing Y/n to have to tip her chin to match his gaze. Swallowing a hitch breath, she tried to not react too much. He was so much bigger than her though, it was hard to keep the thrill contained. If the past couple months had taught her anything it was that there was a darkness that resided within Andy- behind the sad blue eyes and the strong silence was something akin to a tornado strong enough to rip an entire country to shreds. 

Dangerous and violent. 

And she liked it. 

“I don’t want one,” she countered definitely, his proximity chipping her resolve away. 

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart,” Andy offered her the glass again, “Take it.” Reluctantly, Y/n relieved him of the glass but hesitated on taking a sip. Something might stir inside her when he was around, but it wasn’t trust. “Relax, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Y/n glared and in response, Andy downed his entire glass in one go, stepping away to fill it up again- that time a little more than the last. “See?” He took a generous swing, “I’m not that kind of guy,” he got close again, that time offering his glass for a toast, “To good men.” 

She’d called him a good man, that had aged pretty badly. 

“To good men,” she retorted sarcastically, taking a large sip of the wine. He was right, she did like it. 

“Do you like it?” Y/n could have been wrong, maybe she had a little too much faith in him, but his question seemed genuine. Like he was eager to know if he’d made the right pick. 

“Its alright,” the lie must not have been a very good one because Andy smirked. “I want my-”

“I know, finish your drink,” he gritted. Then, after polishing off his second glass at an alarming rate, Andy wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. With just the slightest stumble in his usually confident gait, he set the empty glass down with a thump and started walking towards the stairs, “I’ll go get you’re fucking ring,” he mummbled, leaving her downstairs without another word. 

Not thinking much of it, she took periodic sips of the wine. It was good, and judging by the label, it must have cost upwards of a couple hundred dollars, but it wasn't particularly strong- definitely not strong enough to get a man of his size drunk after two glasses.

That was when she put it together; the slightest scent of liquor on his breath when he’d answered the door, his outwardly aggressive behavior, the way he’d swallowed the wine like it was water- Andy was already drunk. He’d probably been that way since he’d called earlier. 

And he was obviously playing some kind of game with her. Laying a trap. Luring her to danger. 

On heavy steps, Andy returned downstairs about five minutes later, prowling towards her and prompting Y/n to absently inch backwards into the wall. “Your ring,” he held it up with a little, wicked grin. She put her hand out for it, but Andy took it instead, turning it over so her palm would be face down. Their chests were inches apart at that point and he kept his darkened eyes matched with hers, presumably in a defiant act above all else, as he slid the ring back onto her finger. “All better?”

Clenching her jaw, Y/n tried to pull her hand away but Andy tightened his grip and lunged; within the second his lips were on hers. Reacting instinctively, she kissed him back- it was completely impulsive, submission to a primal desire. She could taste the mixture of liquors on his lips and his kiss could have been as inebriating  as the poison he’d poured down his throat. She might have gotten drunk on him- she would have- But the minute she caught herself, deserting carnal yearning in favor of what was true and right, Y/n tried to use her free hand to shove him away. 

But he wouldn’t budge. 

Andy was solid, immovable. Like a gray stone wall or a bear boxing in its prey. 

She could feel a bulge pressing into her lower stomach, making it hard to focus

“Stop,” she fought against his lips, a frustrated noise escaping her lips when grabbed the wrist of the hand she as using to push against his chest. “You need to stop,” Y/n struggled against his hungry lips. It doesn't matter that she actually doesn't want him to, that she'd traded hours of sleep for fantasies that looked just like that. A moment where they'd be alone and he'd do things to her that James might be scared to.

But none of that mattered- they were fantasies and she was engaged.

When she attempted to use her legs against him- knee him in the groin or kick him in the shin- Andy reacted swiftly positioned both his legs between hers, consequently pressing his crotch against her.

“No,” he easily positioned her hands over her head, closing his fingers in around her wrists and pinning them to the wall above her head, rendering her defenseless. “You want this,” Andy snarled into her mouth, hooking his now free hand around the back of her thigh, guiding it harshly to his hip. “Say you want this.”

Wiggling against frantically, Y/n tossed her head back, hitting it on the wall, as she tried to tear her lips from his. “No, get off me,” she protested, voice rising above a harsh warning. 

Deserting her thigh, Andy brought his hand to her neck and held her like that for a moment, “We’re doing this,” he managed through gritted teeth, “I know you, you want this. All those nights we spent together, just the two of us. Everytime I asked you if you wanted to go home, what did you say?” He was squeezing her throat, applying enough pressure to limit airflow. 

“N–no,” it was getting harder to breathe and speak, and her vision was dancing  but something in the back of Y/n’s mind doubted that he genuinely wanted to hurt her, “I-I said….no.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re engaged?” He pulled her forward a little, only to slam her head into the wall again, though not hard enough to inflict any more damage than a sore spot. 

“Exactly,” Andy hissed, “You said no. We went on a fucking date and you didn’t tell me you were engaged.”

Hot tears were racing down her paling cheeks and Andy was beginning to seem more and more like a blur. “Because,” she gasped, desperately trying to suck in some air, “I…” A hitched sob punctuated her words, “I….I didn’t want you to know.”

She really didn’t. It was wrong, misguided and shamefully selfish, but at some point, Y/n had thought that bringing up her engagement would ruin the closeness that she so enjoyed with Andy. She enjoyed being the only person he opened up to, in a way, it felt like he was hers and as long as she kept her relationship with James hidden, nothing would change.

“Exactly,” he growled, seeking her lips once more, “You’ve wanted me exactly the way I’ve wanted you since that first case.”

A broken sob fell into his mouth and Y/n occasionally found herself punctuating her failing resistance with sloppily returned kisses. “I don’t wanna do this,” she cried weakly, breaths short and throat dry, “You don’t wanna do this,” halfheartedly, she kissed the corner of his lips and tried to turn her face away again, “You’re drunk, this isn’t you.” 

Pressing his forehead to hers, Andy chuckled and his grip on her neck loosened so he could flatten his hand on the top of her chest. She could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of her dress as he dragged it slowly down her body, and as she got a clearer sense of where his hand was going, she was breathing quickly. “I promise you, sweetheart” he rasped, fingers creeping under the hem of her skirt, which had ridden up her thigh, “This is exactly me.” 

Pushing aside the crotch off her underwear, Andy slipped two of his digits into her folds and started pumping slowly. “See?” He taunted in response to the slickness that had gathered there shortly after she’d felt his member pressing into her stomach. Try as she might, it was impossible to deny the effect that Andy had on her and she hated that she did want him- a man like him, who was proving to be worse than the rumors. She hated that the only reason she was resisting was because she didn't want to be branded as a cheater. 

“You want this,” he coaxed, curling his fingers and extracting a sharp inhale, “Admit it sweetheart.”

Not because she loved her fiance- she did- but she didn’t want that love questioned. Not by Andy, not by herself. 

But love and sex, they were different. She could love James and want Andy. It wasn't wrong, it was just human.

His beard grazed her skin, and the sensation coupled with her mounting arousal made a shiver run up her spine. “Please….” Her plea was teary, and Y/n wasn’t sure what she was begging for; for him to spare her the consequence of a nasty truth or give her more. 

Biting down on her lower lip, Y/n hoped a little pain and blood on her tongue was enough to keep her mouth shut and ward off the obvious truth, but when his lips sought her jaw and he added another finger to his quickening ministrations while pressing his thumb to her nub, she succumbed. “Yes…” She heaved, sobbing, “I want you,” she cried, head bending forward and her face consequently nuzzling the side of his.

She was only human, after all.

Finally satisfied, Andy let Y/n’s wrists go and she immediately loomed her arms around his neck, holding him to her. Meanwhile, he removed his fingers from her arousal and started pushing her underwear down, letting it pool at her feet. Without thinking, she kicked it away and when Andy curled his fingers under her ass after sparing a bare moment to undo his pants and free his cock, she let him lift her off the ground and wrapped her legs around his waist. 

But when Andy slid into her with unfettered ease, girth stretching her to the point of a delicious burn, an erotic moan tumbled off her lips and her fingers curled in his nape. Immediately, he struck up a pace of pronounced but aggressive thrusts, giving off the sense that he was barely containing himself. 

She still felt guilty. Y/n still knew it was wrong. 

“Fuck….Laurie….” In the heat of the moment, her name dripped off his lips, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that it wasn’t even about her;

'Because you remind me of someone. Someone special.'

'Keep the length, try a couple shades darker'- just like the woman in the photographs. 

“I’ve been thinking about this since we met,” he admitted, liquor stained breath hot on her face and distracting her, “God, you feel so fucking good, you take me so well.” 

He felt good too. 

Steadying her at the hip with one hand, Andy used the other to free her blouse from the waist of her skirt. Delving under the hem, he groped her breast through her bra, kneading harshly. As the rhythmic roll of his hips grew rabid, Y/n found herself demanding, “Harder,” and, “Faster,” with the occasional obscene praise peppered in between. 

Reveling in the feel of his bulging veins rubbing her sensitive walls with each purposeful, aggressive thrust and the way the curve of his member seemed to probe at the lowest part of her stomach, Y/n sunk her nails into his back, clawing at Andy through his shirt. Breathy moans and low grunts bounced off the walls as stifling heat cocooned them, hardly remedied by the air conditioning. 

With each jerk, her back hit the wall with an audible thump and as Y/n felt herself inching closer to insurmountable gratification she tightened her legs around his hips, driving the back of her feet into his thighs. “Andy,” she hitched headily when his lips met hers again, not really in a kiss but a stretch of shared breaths. “Fuck,” Y/n heaved into his mouth, “You feel so….”

Grinning wickedly, he tried to meet her lust blown eyes but their faces were so close that it was hard. “Feel so….?”

“So-uh,” a small fraction of her was readily able to recognize that there was no coming back from the words she wanted to say. Her silly admission that he was the best she’d ever had. Y/n’s mind though had fallen into some kind of sex-crazed limbo, caught between what was inherently right and what felt incomparably good. 

“Tell me,” he demanded, kissing her roughly, biting her lips before pulling away a few centimeters.

“Good,” at the back of his head, she grabbed a fistful of his hair, causing him to bite her lips when they kissed again, “So fucking good.” Pressing her face close to his, the rise and fall of her chest became erratic and her heart was galloping in behind her ribs and she became acutely aware of just how close she was to toppling over with gratification. 

“I wanna feel you,” he encouraged, quickening his pace a little, fingers digging into her waist. 

The fabric of his shirt was crumpled in her grip and eager for release, Y/n struggled to buck her hips towards his. With a gasp, Y/n’s legs stiffened and her head lolled back against the wall. Unrestrained ecstasy started in a burst at her center, spreading like an untamed wildefire to electrify her every nerve. Clenching around him, her frame quaked and she drenched their thighs in silky moisture. She didn’t think it had ever felt like that; like watching fireworks on an LSD high or speeding on the freeway after a night of tequila shots. There was a rush she’d never experienced before, one she fittingly thought could only ever be achieved with drugs. “Andy! Fuck!” Her throat hurt and her words were loud and a little hoarse.

Andy’s pace didn’t falter through the crest of her euphoria, though just as her high settled, leaving behind a pleasurable sensitivity and colours on her vision, his hips sputtered. She should have pushed him away, begged him to pull out, but much too consumed by the threads of pleasure still running through her veins, Y/n clung to him as generous ribbons of his hot product shot into her. By then, he’d shifted his feet slightly and moved both his hands to hold onto her hip, as if he were keeping her in place so she’d take every drop of him. 

Even after it was over, Andy remained sheathed between her sore walls for a handful of slow moments. They kissed, lips taking on a leisured pace that time and Y/n leaned forward so he’d be supporting most of her weight. She could have sworn that every sensation in that moment was raw and amplified; the roughness of his beard scratching the area around her lips and tickling her palms, the fullness of him still settled inside her, the heat of his touch seeping through her blouse and the rhythm of his heart matching hers. 

Suddenly, she couldn’t remember if her heartbeat had ever matched James’. 

She hated that she was comparing them. He was a good man and Andy was…..Andy. 

Gingerly, he pulled out, and simultaneously, she untangled her legs from around him, knees almost buckling as her feet finally hit the ground. Shutting her eyes as she slumped against the wall, Y/n could hear the soft clink of his belt as Andy tugged his pants up, and while she made no effort to pull her skirt down, she could feel the fabric slowly creeping back to his proper place. 

When he lazily leaned forward, braced by one arm pressed to the wall diagonally over her head, Andy  reached out to ghost the  outline of her face with his rough fingertips, thumb tracing tear stains and then the shape of her kiss-swollen lips. His breathing was just as heavy as hers and it was only after his touch hand trailed down her neck and had reached the valley of her cleavage did he disturbed the heavy silence. “Can I tell you something?” His hoarse whisper elicited a pitiful whimper and shiver from her. His large hand skimmed the contour of her curves and settled to a firm grip on her waist, “You’re prettier when you’re mine.”

Mine. 

His. 

A hitched sob escaped her throat just as her guilt doubled; how could she? That time, when she pushed him away, Andy complied. There was so much she could say to him; curse him, lie and say she hated him, blame him but it would really only be words born from her own guilt and after he’d spent the past forty minutes or so ruining her, Y/n didn’t think he deserved the satisfaction. 

Sucking in a big breath to contain her shameful tears, she shuffled away from Andy, who didn’t even put a toe towards trying to stop her; she supposed it was because he’d already gotten what he wanted. Blindly, Y/n stumbled towards the door, letting herself out without a word and not bothering to shut it as she left. Approaching the car parked on the curb, Y/n rummaged through her coat for the keys and after she got them out, she shrugged off the coat using it to lap up some of the moisture on her face and neck before getting in. 

Immediately after getting the engine going, Y/n put down the windows and turned on the air conditioning, hoping the inescapable chill would do something for her appearance. Then reaching into the glove compartment, she hastily extracted a wad of napkins and did her best to clean up before discarding them on the passenger seat  and  grabbing up her phone. 

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

“Drive safe. Text me when you get there.”

“Y/n?” 

“I get it if you’re still upset but please let me know that you’re safe.”

“Ordered your favorite for dinner. Waiting till you get here. I love you.”

“Shit!” Y/n banged the wheel with the side of her fist and hot tears rained from blurry eyes. She’d been at Andy’s for just over an hour. Trying to slow the erratic rise and fall of her chest and quiet her sobs, she quickly typed a response, telling James that she’d forgotten her phone in the car and would be home within the next half hour. 

Then, as she wiped her eyes and pulled off, hoping she could bring herself to face James by the time she got home. 

[kanguin]

Prometheus Gave the Gift of Fire to Mankind. We Can't Give it Back, nor Should We.

AI. Artificial intelligence. Large Language Models. Learning Algorithms. Deep Learning. Generative Algorithms. Neural Networks. This technology has many names, and has been a polarizing topic in numerous communities online. By my observation, a lot of the discussion is either solely focused on A) how to profit off it or B) how to get rid of it and/or protect yourself from it. But to me, I feel both of these perspectives apply a very narrow usage lens on something that's more than a get rich quick scheme or an evil plague to wipe from the earth.

This is going to be long, because as someone whose degree is in psych and computer science, has been a teacher, has been a writing tutor for my younger brother, and whose fiance works in freelance data model training... I have a lot to say about this.

I'm going to address the profit angle first, because I feel most people in my orbit (and in related orbits) on Tumblr are going to agree with this: flat out, the way AI is being utilized by large corporations and tech startups -- scraping mass amounts of visual and written works without consent and compensation, replacing human professionals in roles from concept art to story boarding to screenwriting to customer service and more -- is unethical and damaging to the wellbeing of people, would-be hires and consumers alike. It's wasting energy having dedicated servers running nonstop generating content that serves no greater purpose, and is even pressing on already overworked educators because plagiarism just got a very new, harder to identify younger brother that's also infinitely more easy to access.

In fact, ChatGPT is such an issue in the education world that plagiarism-detector subscription services that take advantage of how overworked teachers are have begun paddling supposed AI-detectors to schools and universities. Detectors that plainly DO NOT and CANNOT work, because the difference between "A Writer Who Writes Surprisingly Well For Their Age" is indistinguishable from "A Language Replicating Algorithm That Followed A Prompt Correctly", just as "A Writer Who Doesn't Know What They're Talking About Or Even How To Write Properly" is indistinguishable from "A Language Replicating Algorithm That Returned Bad Results". What's hilarious is that the way these "detectors" work is also run by AI.

(to be clear, I say plagiarism detectors like TurnItIn.com and such are predatory because A) they cost money to access advanced features that B) often don't work properly or as intended with several false flags, and C) these companies often are super shady behind the scenes; TurnItIn for instance has been involved in numerous lawsuits over intellectual property violations, as their services scrape (or hopefully scraped now) the papers submitted to the site without user consent (or under coerced consent if being forced to use it by an educator), which it uses in can use in its own databases as it pleases, such as for training the AI detecting AI that rarely actually detects AI.)

The prevalence of visual and lingustic generative algorithms is having multiple, overlapping, and complex consequences on many facets of society, from art to music to writing to film and video game production, and even in the classroom before all that, so it's no wonder that many disgruntled artists and industry professionals are online wishing for it all to go away and never come back. The problem is... It can't. I understand that there's likely a large swath of people saying that who understand this, but for those who don't: AI, or as it should more properly be called, generative algorithms, didn't just show up now (they're not even that new), and they certainly weren't developed or invented by any of the tech bros peddling it to megacorps and the general public.

Long before ChatGPT and DALL-E came online, generative algorithms were being used by programmers to simulate natural processes in weather models, shed light on the mechanics of walking for roboticists and paleontologists alike, identified patterns in our DNA related to disease, aided in complex 2D and 3D animation visuals, and so on. Generative algorithms have been a part of the professional world for many years now, and up until recently have been a general force for good, or at the very least a force for the mundane. It's only recently that the technology involved in creating generative algorithms became so advanced AND so readily available, that university grad students were able to make the publicly available projects that began this descent into madness.

Does anyone else remember that? That years ago, somewhere in the late 2010s to the beginning of the 2020s, these novelty sites that allowed you to generate vague images from prompts, or generate short stylistic writings from a short prompt, were popping up with University URLs? Oftentimes the queues on these programs were hours long, sometimes eventually days or weeks or months long, because of how unexpectedly popular this concept was to the general public. Suddenly overnight, all over social media, everyone and their grandma, and not just high level programming and arts students, knew this was possible, and of course, everyone wanted in. Automated art and writing, isn't that neat? And of course, investors saw dollar signs. Simply scale up the process, scrape the entire web for data to train the model without advertising that you're using ALL material, even copyrighted and personal materials, and sell the resulting algorithm for big money. As usual, startup investors ruin every new technology the moment they can access it.

To most people, it seemed like this magic tech popped up overnight, and before it became known that the art assets on later models were stolen, even I had fun with them. I knew how learning algorithms worked, if you're going to have a computer make images and text, it has to be shown what that is and then try and fail to make its own until it's ready. I just, rather naively as I was still in my early 20s, assumed that everything was above board and the assets were either public domain or fairly licensed. But when the news did came out, and when corporations started unethically implementing "AI" in everything from chatbots to search algorithms to asking their tech staff to add AI to sliced bread, those who were impacted and didn't know and/or didn't care where generative algorithms came from wanted them GONE. And like, I can't blame them. But I also quietly acknowledged to myself that getting rid of a whole technology is just neither possible nor advisable. The cat's already out of the bag, the genie has left its bottle, the Pandorica is OPEN. If we tried to blanket ban what people call AI, numerous industries involved in making lives better would be impacted. Because unfortunately the same tool that can edit selfies into revenge porn has also been used to identify cancer cells in patients and aided in decoding dead languages, among other things.

When, in Greek myth, Prometheus gave us the gift of fire, he gave us both a gift and a curse. Fire is so crucial to human society, it cooks our food, it lights our cities, it disposes of waste, and it protects us from unseen threats. But fire also destroys, and the same flame that can light your home can burn it down. Surely, there were people in this mythic past who hated fire and all it stood for, because without fire no forest would ever burn to the ground, and surely they would have called for fire to be given back, to be done away with entirely. Except, there was no going back. The nature of life is that no new element can ever be undone, it cannot be given back.

So what's the way forward, then? Like, surely if I can write a multi-paragraph think piece on Tumblr.com that next to nobody is going to read because it's long as sin, about an unpopular topic, and I rarely post original content anyway, then surely I have an idea of how this cyberpunk dystopia can be a little less.. Dys. Well I do, actually, but it's a long shot. Thankfully, unlike business majors, I actually had to take a cyber ethics course in university, and I actually paid attention. I also passed preschool where I learned taking stuff you weren't given permission to have is stealing, which is bad. So the obvious solution is to make some fucking laws to limit the input on data model training on models used for public products and services. It's that simple. You either use public domain and licensed data only or you get fined into hell and back and liable to lawsuits from any entity you wronged, be they citizen or very wealthy mouse conglomerate (suing AI bros is the only time Mickey isn't the bigger enemy). And I'm going to be honest, tech companies are NOT going to like this, because not only will it make doing business more expensive (boo fucking hoo), they'd very likely need to throw out their current trained datasets because of the illegal components mixed in there. To my memory, you can't simply prune specific content from a completed algorithm, you actually have to redo rhe training from the ground up because the bad data would be mixed in there like gum in hair. And you know what, those companies deserve that. They deserve to suffer a punishment, and maybe fold if they're young enough, for what they've done to creators everywhere. Actually, laws moving forward isn't enough, this needs to be retroactive. These companies need to be sued into the ground, honestly.

So yeah, that's the mess of it. We can't unlearn and unpublicize any technology, even if it's currently being used as a tool of exploitation. What we can do though is demand ethical use laws and organize around the cause of the exclusive rights of individuals to the content they create. The screenwriter's guild, actor's guild, and so on already have been fighting against this misuse, but given upcoming administration changes to the US, things are going to get a lot worse before thet get a little better. Even still, don't give up, have clear and educated goals, and focus on what you can do to affect change, even if right now that's just individual self-care through mental and physical health crises like me.

[shallowcoffin]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :  10,066

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Smut, unrealistic sex, restraints, bdsm(? they use a safeword + intentional pain), hair pulling, choking, PiV, anal(briefly), unprotected sex ( WRAP YOUR SHIT I'M SERIOUS ), glove kink(?), clothed fingering, smacking, creampie,  mentions of drugs / spice and drug / spice usage, general bratty behavior and coercion for answers [not coerced or forced consent].

𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 / 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : [Romantic]  Commander Fox  &  Jewels [oc]

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 :  NSFW  Smut with plot ?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : 

To avoid smut and just the plot, anything bracketed between the gray lines is smut, and anything before or after it is the plot.

Jewels is also AFAB nonbinary so if i slipped up and said she, tell me please i swear to the gods-

Jewels is also heavily implied to be part of a Spice cartel.

Anyways, ( for the most part )  I have proofread so hopefully there are no mistakes. There is also use of Mando'a terms, such as di'kut and leralta. 

𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐬 : gif belong to kaminocoruscant respectively.

Could they really have been this stupid ?  Fuck. They wouldn’t hear the end of this from Junior, not once he finds out. They may as well be dead by the time he finds out. FUCK ! 

Interrogation after interrogation, they’d been there for at least twenty hours. And they were already sober at this point. The buzz of the overhanging lights causes a never-ending sound in their head, making them wish they could grip their head in pain. They yanked once more on the cuffs on their wrists. Chains on each cuff with the chain itself are attached in a thick metal loop on the table. Pulling on the restraints as if it would fix anything.

Couldn’t they just flip the table ?  They’d done it so many times before, that the Coruscant Guard got smart and bolted the tables down. Fucking pricks. Even yanking on them again, pushing the chair out from under them and yanking harder. It didn’t work. Much like the last ten or so tries they’d had. Even being sober their strength isn’t the greatest, so their not sure if they're doing it in an attempt to go insane or get attention. 

“ Thorn ! “  They yelled out, looking up towards the gray camera in the corner of the room. They had asked for ibuprofen almost an hour ago, or what felt like an hour ago. And of course, the stupid buzzing was getting worse from the overhang lights

“ Thorn, please. “ They beg their voice sweet and sultery, almost begging. “ At least turn the lights down ? “ They plead with the Commander in hopes he’d give them the relief of a dimmer light at the minimum. But when they still stood staring, squinting at the camera, no relief came. 

They screamed in frustration, yelling as they continued to pull at their restraints. Their scream piercing and sounded like a person having a meltdown. Maybe this was a meltdown. It didn’t feel like one, bt fuck the buzzing felt like it was scrapping against their brain. Even as they continued to pull and continue their ‘tantrum’ it took a moment for a single thing to happen about it. But, the lights finally dimmed down. They stop as the light dims down to half the intensity it had been. They breathed a sigh of relief and swallowed. They hadn’t exactly expected them throwing a tantrum would ever help the situation. But perhaps Thorn was pitying them.

“ Thanks . . . “ They say, begrudgingly.

Pulling their chair by one foot they pull it back to the table and sit, scooting every so slightly forward before they could get their hands and elbows to rest on the cold surface. Although there was a second chair, no one had sat in it for over an hour or so. Or maybe it was longer, or shorter. They couldn’t tell, they didn’t want to know how long they’d been stuck in the interrogation room. Why ?  Because all the actual cells were doubled up, or over capacity. At least that’s how both Thorn and Stone had told them during interrogation. Most certainly full of people who had no crimes, or so little a crime it was hard to believe they had been thrown in a cell to begin with. 

But them ?  They were only in here every other goddamn day. Enough to have thrown them into the same interrogation room too many times to count. Enough to know many of the guards by name, though they can’t say they have favorites, Thorn and Fox seem to be what Jewels could call a favorite. 

They sigh, muttering a curse in ryl under their breath. Their frustration brought their forehead down to the cold metal earning a hiss from their mouth, upset at their situation. Even though it was their own doing.

They had done this to themselves. They had gotten into trouble and were at a very illegal party with very illegal drugs that they were dealing. They’d never heard the end of it from their brother, Junior. If they’d ever hear from him. Their impending doom was inevitable at some point. But they’d known the Coruscant Guard for as long as they’ve been around. And they’d known the police force before them. It all had been about six or seven years on the streets selling, indulging, just being. The previous police force had no real quarrel with them. Some even had a deal with Junior, or even worse, their father. It felt wrong some days, but maker did they not have the strength to stop. The ability to stop. The itching sensation of withdrawal had already crept up their spine. Headache and slight nausea. The bright lights only contribute to it more. So as the lights had dimmed it felt like a godsend. 

“ Taking a nap ? “ The familiar tinge of a voice came through, ringing in their ears. Fox. Finally, after what felt like days of them alone in a brightly lite room, now turned dim. They didn’t intend for Fox specifically, but, they know from previous experiences that not many other Shock troopers can handle the druggie well. Hell, they remember the first time Hound interrogated them, and they made the poor trooper start sobbing.

“ Oh look, it’s my favorite Commander, “ They gently jab back at his tease as they look up and see the Commander. His red and white plastoid clashed together to make noise as he moved. Stopping, he stared out the observation window. It was usually one-sided, with onlookers able to look in while people in the room could not. For now, it was tinted as a two-way bullet proof window. People could look in, and similarly, they could see people walk by. 

“ Here I thought Thorn was your favorite. “ He teased, though he wasn’t nearly as playful sounding as usual. A tinge of either frustration or exhaustion was hinted in his voice.  But they knew he was only teasing. They expected he’s probably stressed to hell right now. But their not above pushing their luck. Fox stressed, or not.

“ Come to think of it, “ They start, shifting in their chains. “ Thorn is the only commander who takes care of me. “  They coo as if to imply that Thorn had done something off-book. Sure, Thorn had once or twice done something for them that would have been seen as going off-book, or perhaps even seen as too friendly. But its nothing more than a friendly gesture. But even then, they were no snitch. And it had only been bottles of water or even a snack from the break room.

“ Oh ? “ He questions, they can tell even from behind his helmet that his brow is raised in curiosity as his head turns toward them. “ How so ? “  

His inquiry almost caused the silver-dyed nat-born to blush as they clenched their teeth. The way his voice pulled through his visor was so familiarly attractive. It haunted their every good dream. Plaguing their mind with fantasies that would never happen. And with memories of fucking some other clone like it was him. Not that they would ever admit that in a hundred years. Instead, they calmed the heat on their face and smirked slightly to regain what little control they had.

“ I had a headache, and he turned the light down for me. “  They respond as Fox takes a step forward. 

“ Oh, did he now ? “ He spoke back, stepping towards them, closer. He was close enough that They could hear his coms through his helmet and hear Thorn’s apology. 

“ He did. So nice of him, hm ? “ They respond. They turn their head to their side, having to tilt their head up to look at the six-foot Coruscant Guard. His proximity doing a number on their heartbeat as it beat harshly in their chest. Stomach filled with their favorite feeling of exhilaration. The familiar and exhilarating ecstasy that only drugs and sex have been known to give them. They almost loathed Fox because of it. What made him so damn special to make them feel this way ?  What had made him so damn desirable in their eyes ?  They’d never even seen his actual face.

The Commander didn’t say anything back and instead walked over to the other side of the table, slapping a folder on the metal table. They raise an eyebrow as the clone sits. He opens the folder and hums. There's a momentary silence between them both as he reads over and scans the contents. The file currently is thin and most likely only a page wide. But their certain they have a collective folder from previous arrests, and that this was just for the event from twenty or so hours ago. 

“ What were you doing in that warehouse ? “ He questions without any warning of where he’s going with this. Or why. Usually, their conversations had playful banter and teasing and they’d be more willing to answer questions correctly. Though now, they were fully sober and feeling the pain of a harsh headache while being more than likely dehydrated. 

“ Hmmm, well i was hooking up with this lovely girl, your girlfriend, “  They say clutching their hands together and leaning their chin on top of them, elbows on the table. The chains from their cuffs halted most of their movement as the chains suspended from the cuffs to the loop on the table.

“ Jewels, “ He warns, but the smirk that’s plastered on their face sustains. 

“ The whole time I was eating her out- “ they were interrupted by their name, again.

“ Jewels, “ He warned again, louder, but Jewels kept going. Kept pushing.

“ She was screaming me praises about how good I was, and how shit you are in bed. I made her orgasm more times than you can count. “ They boast, brag even as if it wasn’t a complete lie just to piss him off. Their words were not chosen carefully enough as this time he spared no effort for patience. His gloved hand hooked and pulled on the chain, causing the human to be pulled forward. Their hands knocked off their elbows and chin bashed into the table. 

“ Jewels, “ His voice aching with pure frustration as he yanked harder as he raised his voice. Their breath caught in their throat like they’d been knocked the wind out of. Their cuffs were completely pulled to the end of the middle of the table, wrists pressed together in a tight hold, no doubt either bruising or chaffing harshly into their skin. 

“ Fucking shit !! “ They hiss their chin hurting as they lift their head from the table staring at the Coruscant Guard. They’re lucky their nose didn’t break because it definitely would have if their face planted into the table instead. “ Fucking sith-hells, Fox ! “ 

“ It’s Commander Fox, “ He growled back, leaning half over the table as he held the chain with one hand. Causing Jewels to swallow. Never in their time being arrested, interrogated, or manhandled had he ever been this rough. Sure, he’d been more than fine with pushing or shoving them, maybe even cuffing or detaining them with slight force. But nothing to the extent of truly being this rough. 

They held their ground. They knew they were sober enough to know this was real. This was not a spice trip-induced fantasy. Then what the hell was actually happening right now ?

“ You answer my questions, “ He demands, “ Or i’ll continue to use unorthodox methods to get my answers. “ He finishes his statement with the most sincere voice they think they’ve ever heard from this man. He slowly lets go of the chain, causing the chain to fall back on the table and release the pressure on their wrists. They are able to finally sit back in their chair. Their wrists feel sore, but it isn’t anything they’ve never felt before, or dealt with. Instead, they rub both their wrist before putting them back on the table. 

“ What were you doing at the warehouse ? “ He asks again. This time there is genuine consideration in their eyes as they stare at Fox. They’re weighing their options. There’s too much stake in this. They’re well aware the commander could physically hurt them, and harm them. But if they lied and continued to lie to save their father and brother's skins, their punishment would be a lot worse than a broken face, or bones.

“ Raving, it was a rave. “ They reply as if it’s an obvious answer. He is clearly impatient as he stares them down through the visor on his helmet. An audible growl hissed through his helmet’s modulator. He’s not happy, it’s obvious they're testing the very limits the very stressed commander has, and it’s a bit frightening.

“ What were you doing at the rave. “ He asks again, this time clearly gritting his teeth. The blue-eyed human stares at him blankly. They are careful not to convey their emotions through their features, which is difficult with him being so intense, straining the former playful energy with a tense atmosphere.

“ Dancing, eating, drinking. Ya know the bartender was so sweet, they made me a sex on the beach and complimented me all night. Such a lovely guy, honestly i think if you were there- “ They start to ramble trying to cut the growing tension between them. But they're cut off but his fist slams against the table. They shift in their chair with their breath caught in their throat. 

“ Thorn, “ Fox says pressing his com button with two fingers, on the left side of his helmet. 

“ Yeah, Fox ? “ Thorn inquires back as Jewels sits in absolute silence. Their breath is shallow and their scared to breathe. At this point they're almost certain he’s had enough of them, and going to beat the shit of them for not complying with the ‘right answers.’ Could he tell they were little half-truths and not the full truth ?  Or had he completely lost faith in their ability to tell the truth ?

“ Turn off the camera. “ Fox orders and it’s clear Thorn is struggling to understand as Jewel’s eyes widen. “ Sir I don't- “ Thorn starts but he too is cut off by the intense energy Fox is displaying.  Even though Thorn has just as much say in the matter as a ranking officer in the gar. It’s clear by the tone in Thorn’s voice this has never happened before, and he finds it questionable. If they weren’t facing the possibility of being sent to prison, Jewels would almost find it sweet that Thorn is concerned.

“ Turn. Them. Off. “ Fox demands and without any more hesitation the Commander turns the camera off. The red light dimmed as it powered down, and they felt their heart drop in their stomach. Without another order the Commander gets up from his seat, walking towards the door panel and messing with the buttons. The lights remain dim, but the viewing window on the left side dulls into a blank black, presumably shutting it off. Shit, he really is going to beat the answers out of them. They swallow, terrified of what is to come. 

“ ‘Cmon Fox, enough messing around. “ They try and joke as their voice is barely there. Their voice crackles slightly like it’s breaking. They're nervous, anxious, and terrified of what he’ll do. The usual teasing and gentle, serious man completely shifted from their playful banter to a tone of tension and silence. A dominating and demanding nature arises. He has never been this intense, nor this obviously upset or distressed about something. There was more to this than just Jewels not complying with the full truth. 

“ It’s Commander, leralta. “ He corrects, darkness laced in his voice as his steps draw closer to the table. His hands gripped the chain again pulling it back to the edge. It’s slower than the slam before, but it pulls the prisoner from their seat.

 The name is new, and so is this tactic. They’ve never done this before. Their eyes show confusion and general fear as he grabs a key from his pocket. Confusion plastered on their face and he un-cuffs one hand, gripping their wrist tightly. In an instant, they try to pull back but are quickly stopped. Grabbing both their wrist tightly, Fox makes it clear he’s not messing around. And even if they managed to wiggle free of their cuffs, he still had a blaster holstered to his side and a locked door.

“ tsk tsk, be a good leralta, listen, and stay still. “  His voice retains his serious tone but it’s lighter than before, almost bold. It’s playful but laced with darkness in his voice, something they’d never experienced from anyone, let alone him. His grip loosens, Jewels being too afraid to move stays put, eyes taking in the whole thing. Chest pressed against the table and arms stretched out across it, breathing shallow as they carefully watched him wrap the chain around several times between the two cuffs and re-cuff their wrist. The chain is now tightly fixed to the center of the table leaving the poor human sprawled across it. 

The front of their thighs pressed into the side of the table, standing on their feet. Their chest pressed against the cold metal. And without the jacket they’d come in with, they would be shivering from the cold metal immediately.

“ F-Fox- ? “ They start but are interrupted by a gloved hand in their hair, pulling it to look him in the eyes through his visor. It’s a tight pull, his gloved hands feel weird in their silvery hair. But it pulls all the same, demanding them to look at him.

“ Choose your words carefully, “ He warns, the lowness in his voice never ceasing. They swallow. 

“ Commander, I- “ They nervously start, “ I’ll um, be honest if you are honest with me. “  They proposition. His gloved hand was removed from their locks, hoping he’d consider their offer. But what they weren’t expecting was the hiss of his helmet removing. His helmet was placed on the far side of the table, not that Jewels could reach it. Instead, their eyes were fixed on the man in front of them. Short charcoal dark curls covered the top of his head, sides shaved with streaks of gray, it almost looked soft, and certainly well maintained. While his eyes stared at them, swirls of darkness mixed with brown chocolate eyes. It stirred a warm mess in their chest, hot, heavy, and full of want. 

He’d never done that before. He’s never taken his helmet off before, and they realize they’ve never seen his face before. A noticeable, horizontal scar over the bridge of his nose. A smaller vertical scar over a small part of his jawline on his left side. It trails a bit down his neck but it’s smaller than the one across his nose. They don’t notice the small scar over his right temple, but at the moment their just trying to comprehend that during this entire ordeal, he’s taken off his helmet.

“ Hm, how about I ask a question, you answer honestly and then maybe I’ll let you ask a question back. “ He replies, sitting down on the metal chair. He spreads his legs apart, elbows resting on knees and hands clasped together as he rests his chin on top of them. His chair is far enough away from he table for them to see him, and his still intimidating figure.

“ O- Okay. “ They agree as they stare at him in their awkward position. Looking deeply into his brown eyes. They’ve seen them so many times in other men, but his are so different. A familiar shade of brown, but they could swear a hint of a darker brown in his left iris. A swirl of soft shades of brown pleasing to their own blue colored iris.

“ What were you doing at the rave, in the warehouse ? “ Although worded differently it held a deeper weight to it now. They swallow, their heart racing, thighs clenched together as his eyes stared hungrily back at them. A pool of arousal flooded their stomach and their panties. Fuck he’s hot. 

“ Selling spice. “ They finally answer, with truth and honesty. His eyebrow raised. Was this the answer he wanted ?  Expected ? Fuck, they're in too deep now. They can’t go back. They can’t take back a confession. They swallow as the realization they can never go home settles in their chest. 

“ So the leralta can listen. “  He teases, his playful nature shining through. But it held so much more in his voice. And the nickname, what does leralta even mean ?  They try to compose themselves but find it difficult. A mixture of emotions they’ve never had the pleasure of feeling sober bleeding through them as their stomach twists.

“ You answered honestly, now I will allow you to ask one yourself. Better make it count. “ He spoke again, curious about what they might ask. They swallow and search their mind, but it’s so full of thoughts. Dirty thoughts. Even as they try to pick out the real question they want to ask, it’s overshadowed by the further dread that cemented itself in them. They needed to know if he was going to hurt them. They can think about the consequences of their confession later.

“ What . . . What are you going to do to me ? “ Their question passes their lips before they can even think about how to word it better. But it’s already slipped past him. It’s a bizarre question their sure, but it’s possible he was willing to hurt them. He chuckles darkly, a smile across his lips like he finds the question amusing. It causes a bitter feeling of butterflies to twist in their stomach instead. 

“ Only good things, if you listen. “ He answers with a sense of excitement behind them. He hasn’t touched them besides their wrists, if he was going to hurt them wouldn’t he have already ?  They feel better about this realization but it only causes a small flush of heat on their cheeks.

“ Is that what you want, leralta ? “  He asks, almost tauntingly as he does so. Is he asking permission ? Consent ? Their heart races as their eyes show a pleading they’ve never dared show to the Commander before. Their excited to find out what he means. But they’d be lying if they said there wasn’t hesitation. Did they really want to ruin the dynamic between them ?  This was not just crossing a line for them, but for him as well. If anyone found out about it, he’d more than likely be court marshaled. Or worse, decommissioned. 

They swallow, once again weighing their options as the commander waits for their reply. His eyes show how eager he feels, had he thought about it too ?  The near thought was taboo itself. But all the same arousing and slightly amusing. Every second that passes by them, they can sense his own anxieties about it. So they do what has been on their mind for what feels like years. 

“ Yes Commander Please, “ They practically beg, pathetically, giving him any permission he needs to do what his sick little mind has wanted to do since they first opened their mouth. 

His eyes darken, standing to his feet and slowly, torturously walks towards them. The near way he walks towards them makes their skin shiver, and boots heavy against the cement floor as he walks around the bolted-down table. Their eyes follow him, but before their head can turn to their left, his gloved fingers tangle in their short hair leaning in, his left hand plastered on the table palm down. They can barely see him out of the corner of their eyes, even with their head tilted to their left. It strains their neck to do so but they don’t care.

“ You want me to fuck you against this table ? “  Fox whispers into their ear, pulling their hair back as his hot breath hits against their ear. His lips were only centimeters away from their ear. They can hear him breathing as his plastoid clanks on the table as he lays his arm down to lean in closer. They only focused on the words he’s asked them.

“ M-Ma-Maker- “ They stutter, swallowing what little pride they had left. “ Ye-yes, “  They respond, a soft whimper leaving them as he lets go of their hair. 

“ Such a needy toy, “ He hums, his voice trailing behind them as he moves. They feel as his gloved hands trace around the back of their waistband before he slowly hikes up their shirt and jacket, his gloved hands rubbing the small of their back, slightly curved as he grips at their flesh for a moment. They shiver silently against the warm leather against their skin as it slides down back to their waistband, hooking two fingers into their pants and pulling them down. A small gasp leaves them as the front of their thighs press into the cold metal side of the table, thighs bare and warm against the cold metal.

Pulling their pants down slowly, he makes sure his gloves brush up against their thighs, down to their calves before trailing back up. As he makes his way back up, both his gloved hand cups and squeezes their ass. A small surprised gasp escapes them as fingers sneak between their thighs and rub against their clothed flesh. 

“ If asked, will you provide where you get your spice from ? “ Fox asks, toying with them as he asks his interrogation questions. Rubbing softly against their clothed pearl with his index finger to ensure a quicker answer, his other hand grabbed onto the metal table.

“ I-I can’t do that- “ They reply, frantically trying to hold it together. They can’t tell him, not unless they know they're protected. But even then, the deep fear in the pit of their stomach is dulled by the sensation of the slow circles across their clothed heat. 

He is not pleased by this answer, stopping and pulling the piece of clothing from exposing their cunt down far enough it’s not in the way, letting more cold air hit their flesh. It all feels so cold when you're burning with heated desire. Without a warning he presses a gloved finger into the slick, pressing into the wet warmth earning a gasping sound as a reaction. 

“ Let’s try that again, Leralta. “ He says, pulling out his finger before he slides two gloved fingers in its place. The burning sensation mixed with a twist of pleasure from how large his fingers were, lightly stretching them. It caused the nat-born human to whimper against it. This is a new experience altogether. Burning leather pressed in and out of their heat to coerce a response.

“ Oo-Okay okay,  i-i will. I will. “ They try to say with as little sound of whimpering or moaning as they could. This earned them a slow curl of his fingers, applying pressure as he slowly, and painfully moved his gloved fingers inside them. 

“ And you’ll provide a list of people you sold to today, as well ? “ He asks as Jewels mewled from his actions. Maker, why’d he have to be so good at making them feel this way ?

“ Ye-yes ! M-Ma-Maker, anything ! “ They complied in hopes he would go faster. Or relieve them of their release. 

“ Good toy, “ He praised, increasing his speed much to their pleasure as he listened to them heave their breath and softly moan to keep quiet, the burning sensation not fading. But then he stopped, pulling his fingers out and removing his glove with his teeth, throwing both his gloves onto the table. They try not to whine from the missed friction, burning and all, it felt so heavenly against their heated cunt. Why couldn’t he just fuck them already ? 

His knees finally made contact with the floor as his hands gripped their hips trailing before giving their ass a squeeze before giving it a slap, watching it promptly bounce a bit. Jewels tried not to yelp at the action, his bare hand on their skin was rougher than the leather had been. He couldn’t help but let out a low growl, reverberating in his chest as he pulled their underwear down further and out of his way. His left hand gripped tightly onto their thigh fat as his unclothed right thumb slowly trailed across their slick before meeting their sensitive pearl. He trailed gentle circles into their clint, humming very pleased by the small moan and mewl from the nat-born human. He feels rather jealous about other men having touched what he is now, but he doesn’t let himself think about it. Instead, focusing on the quiet whimpers and huffs they give him. Their breath heaved and moans soft, yet quiet as they try their best not to struggle against the ecstasy.

“ Your sounds are so pretty. “  He hummed as they only continued to quietly moan trying to come up with a reply but failing to form words. Without another word, his tongue met face to face into their cunt. Earning an even louder moan as he started to eat them out. Gripping tightly into their thigh for support as his other thumb rolled harder circles into their clit. Moaning relentlessly, they tried to keep it to a minimum even as his curls tickled parts of their ass. 

“ F-Fuck- “  Jewels cursed as they muffled themselves into their arm. Fox’s mouth parts but his thumb continues. “ Don’t to dare cover your mouth Leralta, “ He warns with a warning slap and a tight thigh squeeze. 

They whimper and wince in response, chest pressed against the table. His pace increases as his thumb slowly replaces with his tongue, it’s sloppier but more effective as they moan out. 

“ F-Fox- aaah ! C-Commander ! “  They try again earning his hand to slap on their ass, and thumb to press into her asshole causing a gasped whimper as a response. The stimulus is just enough to get them off as they orgasm. Walls clenching around nothing as his tongue moves slower and then to a stop. He must have realized they reached their release because his approach changes as his hands grip onto their thighs.

“ Do you know how many times I've thought about you ? “ He asks, his movements stopped, but he’s still on his knees. Their thighs spread apart, legs pulled apart from his knees. Their sex is still clenched and wet as they breathe against the table. His question catches them off guard, but it causes another rise of excitement in them as they breathe. 

“ You think about me ? “  They ask, answering his question with a question, almost coely as they want to be playful. But they're genuinely curious about how and why. Does he truly think about them the way he thinks about him ?   “ I think about you too much, yes. “  He replies, his lips kissing their left thigh as he holds onto the fats of said thighs. 

“ What exactly do you think about, when you think of me ?  “  They muse as his thumb brushes against their clit, a bit more sensitive as he notices them clench harshly from the touch. Before he answers, he slowly starts to roll circles again, his other hand squeezing roughly on the fat of their left thigh.

 “ Depends on the day. “ He replies, listening to their soft whimper. “ Most are less than work appropriate. “ He adds as he adds two of his thick fingers into their slick without warning, a gasped moan escapes them again as they clench around his fingers. 

“ Making me hard under my desk while i’m trying to write reports, “ He groans, his cheek resting against their right thigh, his groan vibrating the fat gently. “ Not appropriate for work. But here we are, “ His fingers curl against the roof of their cunt, pressing against the spongy texture of their sensitive spot. They softly mewl in reply. 

“ Commander i- “ Jewels attempt to reply to his words, but they're silenced by a bite on the back of their thigh. A successful bruise is left as he roughens his paced circles. He becomes rougher, the pressure building as he continues. “ How disgusting i must be for wanting you so badly. “ He continues, but his voice seems a bit disparaged. “ Maker, i just want to fuck you til’ you can’t walk. “ He growls into their thigh. 

His quickened pace causes a surge of ecstasy to form in their stomach. A soft moan escapes as their cheek rests against the table. The pressure builds enough that the poor nat-born human can’t even speak as they moan into a soft whimper as their sex clenches once again against the Commander's fingers. A soft huffed pant leaves them before they can say anything. His fingers leave them before he promptly puts the two fingers in his mouth, whipping them clean. “ Never thought you’d taste this tart, “ He hums as he gets up from his knees. 

As he gets up, his hand slaps their ass. The cold plastoid of his codpiece perfectly pressed against their bare, wet, cunt. It’s colder than they expected, earning another shiver rolling down their spine as they huff trying to calm their breath.

“ Ask next time, Leralta. “ He breaths as the nat-born human under him pants like a dog in the heat.

“ Sorry . . . i’m usually the one in charge. “  They admit with a breathless laugh, though they still find it rather embarrassing. He chuckles too, breath huffing against their ear as his teeth grab ahold of their earlobe. 

“ I’ll be changing that. “  He whispers, hands holding their hips as he continues to pressure into their wet cunt, still aching for more. Their slick is bound to be all over his codpiece with how much pressure he’s holding. 

“ If i fuck you against the table, Leralta, “ He starts, his breath wavering as he continues to whisper in their ear. “ I will not stop. “ 

It’s less of a threat and more of a promise as if saying he won’t stop unless they explicitly say. or maybe even then he wouldn’t. It’s a warning that isn’t concerning, at least not compared to the pain they’ve already experienced at his hand today. But for all they know he could get rougher. “ Now is you’re time to flag out, or tell me a safeword. “ This time it’s clear that he wants a safeword. 

Jewels swallows and thinks. They move to look over their shoulder, looking at his face once more. His gaze i genuine and shows how much he actually cares for their safety as he rubs circles into their hips. His face is inches away, and yet to far away to press their lips to. It almost hurts more not being able to face him. It hurts not being able to kiss him. “ If i say, creamer, will you stop ? “ They ask to confirm a safeword. Fox nods even though he knows they can barely see with his face buried behind their ear. “ Creamer is fine, “ He repeats and confirms, though it is barely above a whisper. The nat-born human only nods in reply to confirm. He’s softer, his breath sounding slightly shaky as he breathes in the scent of spice, and alcohol from their clothes. Yet there's something else he smells that he can’t determine, he’d find it frustrating if he wasn’t so calm breathing it in. His eyes are closed, he’s close enough to become part of them, and yet it isn’t enough.

They take in a deep breath and exhale from the silence, “ Then what are you waiting for, Commander ? “ They ask teasingly. After their words, his hand slithers under their arm and grabs their throat. “ Watch it, Leralta, or i’ll make it painfully slow. “ He whispers, squeezing the sides of their neck rather than a full-on hand palming coke. He’s definitely done this before, squeezing tight enough to make them dizzy, his hand is big enough to engulf half of their neck almost perfectly, like it’s a perfect fit as he softly breathes kissing their ear and down to the base of their neck. 

He isn’t going to be gentle for long, it’s clear by the grip of their hip, and as he let go of their neck. The pressure of his codpiece leaves their cunt, his hands pulling away. They are painfully aware of his touch being gone as he pulls off his codpiece. He groans as he pulls his length from his blacks, he gives it a few pumps with his hands before he spits in his hand and presses his tip against their folds. He trails his cock up and down their slick as he prepares himself. Slick coating his foreskin as he repeats his actions a few times.

“ Fox . . . “ Jewels whines in response to his teasing. The actions of such brought across the consequence of him pressing his tip in, and ramming it inside them without a warning or moment to adjust. They let out a gasp and almost pained whimper. But he pulls himself out again to relieve it, making them aware that he has control over the situation. “ Already forget how to address me ? “  He teases as he presses his tip back in, earning a grumble in response from Jewels as they lay their cheek back against the table. Slowly, he pushes his cock back into their cunt, feeling the clench of their walls around him. It sounds sloppy and wet as he pushes in slowly, air and discharge mixed together to make such a sound as he buries his penis into their sex.

“ Sorry, Commander, “ They reply weakly with a soft whimper in their voice. They easily adjust to his cock, clenching needingly around him. He feels like the girth of two of his fingers, and long enough to leave half an inch out of them, fitting him like a tight leather glove. “ Fuck, please move, “ Their voice is pathetically whiny as they ask politely. Even if it sounded like begging. 

He gives a slow thrust, pulling out and then pushing back in at a slow pace. He grabs their hips, perfectly placed around them. 

“ Now, can you be quiet, leralta ?  Not a sound. “  He rasps in their ear before he increases his pace, fingers digging into their hips slightly, hand trailing up enough to move their shirt out of the way. They swallow and bite their lip, trying not to let out a soft moan as they breathe heavily, leaving a condensational mist against the metal table.

His breath is heavy too, keeping his pace as he lets out low grunt after grunt, hovering a bit over them. “ You’re doing so well, “ He breathes praise, a hand leaves their hip as he snakes his fingers into the back of their short hair. Gripping it’s silver shade and pulling their hair back. As gasps leave their lips but they are quick to silence the moan of pleasure that wants to leave from him grabbing their hair. Their head is pulled back from their cheek leaning on the table, pulling it back, making their back involuntarily arch.

 “ Keeping quiet for me. “ He finishes his previous sentence making Jewels paint softly, almost in reply. Their not afraid to say 'thank you' or speak. A part of them wants to know what he’ll do if they don’t, so they raise the challenge in excitement. “ Not just you, “ They reply in a cheeky tone, teasing him immensely.

He pulls tighter on their hair and leans back in, his thrusts slowed, painfully getting rougher as his hips harshly pump in and out. “ You want to be a brat ? “  He growls, his teeth biting the edge of their ear. “ You want to see what happens when you don’t listen ? “  He asks, his voice has a hint of amusement. They're already restrained, at his mercy. Yet they still had to push him. They can’t help it. “ I do, “  They reply, challenging Fox right off the gate. It’s bold, Fox could give them that, but he’s not about to give in to bratty behavior. In response to their reply, the hand once on their hip moved, and he spits in his fingers before rubbing them across their asshole. His pace slowed down causing the human beneath him to whine. 

“ Would you prefer i destroy a different hole ? “  He muses for a moment, his thrusts becoming almost non-existent with a roll of his hips every so often as he slips his thumb back into their second hole. Jewels only mumbles in response, trying to find out what to say that egg him on. So he completely stopped and pulled out. His cock rested against the crevice of their ass. “ Why’d you stop ? “  They huff head turning to the side. He uses both his hands to spread their asshole before he spits on his cock adding more of whatever possible lubricant. After adding to it, he presses his tip against their asshole, penetrating it slowly.

 “ Fuck ! “ They mewl a little too loudly, but it’s warranted and he doesn’t scold them, he just hopes no one heard it. “ To- too much, too much- “  They squeal in pain feeling the stretch as he attempts to push in further. They’ve never had the initiative to try anal, making it incredibly painful of a stretch, even with just his tip and probably no more than half an inch in, pressed inside. He stops holding an asscheek with one hand, and gives a small squeeze.

 " Are you going to be a good little toy ? “  He asks a small hint of amusement in his tone as he stays put, his hand squeezing their cheek before letting go and smacking their ass. Instead of going back his hand grips their waist running his fingers down their side.

“ Yes, “ They breathe out sounding like they keeping in tears, and they are. There is slight regret for causing pain, but they weren’t using their agreed safeword, so he quickly waved away the guilt in his chest. “ Will you be quiet ? “ He asks. 

Instead of using words, they give a nod and soft whimper in reply. As he grabs ahold of their hips again, pulling his tip out of their ass. He spits in his hand again and rolls it around his tip until anything that was on it is gone. When done, he pushes back into their slick and resumes his original pace. He isn’t rewarded with much noise other than a muffled moan, and he’s more than content with them finally listening. “ Look at you, “ He groans, the sight of them bent over the table. He quickens his pace, hands gripping on their hips like they're a railing. Thrusting roughly into them. “ Finally being a good aan leralta. “  He says shamelessly as the nat-born human continues to moan and whimper into the side of their arm, Fox in turn suppressing his own groans.

His grip is rough enough to leave bruises, and he doesn’t even think about it when his mouth makes it way to the side of their neck. Their so much smaller than him, even with their cheek pressed to the table, he could easily reach their neck. He nips at their flesh, tasting the sweat dripping down their neck. Her groans into them, his voice reverberating into their flesh as he growls into their neck. Their flesh perfectly muffles his moans as he grunts and continues his pace.

“ You take me so well, “ He praises, but theirs a hit of malice behind them. “ I wonder how many others have fucked you before me. “ He hissed like it’s a thought he hates, a thought he cannot relish in the fact of knowing they’ve done this many times before. His thrust becomes harder, hand grabbing their side like he’s fucking a toy, or even his hand. His thrusts are brutal enough to cause their thighs to bruise from the sheer force he presses into them.

“ Slut, “ He hisses into their ear before pulling harshly on their hair, head tilting back with it. With their head tilted back he bites their shoulder earning him a muffled groan. He licks his new mark, looking at it. It’s not bleeding, just imprints of his teeth pressed into their skin as it started to bruise. He moves his hand from beside the on the table, and smacks, then grabs their ass.

 “ How many other men have cum inside you ? “ He asks darkly, his curiosity getting the best of him as he pounds deep into them. His own frustrations become known to them as they slowly realize through their pleasure haze that he hates the thought of them being with other people. They swallow, not daring to answer. Even though they already know their answer is a resounding no, they don’t want to get punished for speaking. Instead, they hold back a soft whimper. 

“ Speak leralta, answer my question, “ He demands as he lets go of their hair, both hands smacked against the table by their hips, thumbs hooked on the table sides as he aggressively thrusts deeper. They wouldn’t be surprised if it’s enough to bruise their cervix. And definitely enough to feel it within the coming hours for certain.

“ N-None, “ They stutter their response as their hot breath breathes against the cold table once again, panting and trying to keep themselves from moaning as loud as they want to. “ Fuck, “ They whimper out on accident, but Fox is too occupied by this new revelation. 

“ None ? “ He repeats, earning a whimpering nod from Jewels as they quietly cannot contain their noise as he brushes against their spongy spot, over, and over, and over again from the new angle.

“ N-No, no one. “ They breathe as he becomes more sloppy in his thrusts as they try their best not to unravel beneath him. “ Can, kriff, can I be the first ? “ He asks as his grunts become more strained as his grunts and groans are perfectly placed next to her ear. 

They vigorously nod as they come dangerously close to the edge with every hard press against their G-spot. “ Tell me how much you want it, “ He breathes. He sounds out of breath as he keeps going, his pace slows but his intensity does not, making it rougher as he tries to keep himself together when his thrust becomes sloppy. The new revelation of no one having cum inside them makes him feel like he’s in a fever dream, primally groaning as he takes what he wants. Maker, he’s ready to take exactly what he wants. He grabs at their hips again, practically squeezing them tightly against him as he thrusts relentlessly.

“ Kriff Commander, please I need you so ba- ah ! bad ! “ They beg as they hold themselves together just a little longer. “ Let me feel your hot cum inside me F- F- ah- Fox, please, “ They mewl no longer caring what hell rains on them as they breathlessly paint. He doesn’t even address the fact they’ve used the wrong name, and truthfully he doesn’t care. It pulls at an urge inside him as he groans pulling deep and sloppy thrusts as he prepares to finally let go of his release. 

Without warning Jewels squeals, muffling themselves into their arm as they moan ecstasy. “ Fox ! “ They whine, their walls clench harshly around him and it finally brings him to the edge. His fingers dig deep into their skin, almost drawing blood as he released inside them, hot cum splurging inside as he pumps out the rest of his high. 

Panting inches away from the table made a mist on the cold metal, condensation moving like a water ripple. They swear, if they were to get up and on their legs, they’d be absolute jelly. 

“ F-Fuck- “ They breathe, feeling the ache forming in their wrists. In response to their curse, they feel nips at their neck, before soft gentle kisses replace them. “ For someone that says they’re a top, you sure are one hell of a bottom, darling. “

Fox’s tease sends a gentle shiver down their spine. They huff at his tease, mumbling something in huttese, or was it ryl ?

“ What was that, Leralta ? “  He questions. The red heat returns to their face, a flushed mess across it. “ Noth-N-Nothing, “ They defend trying to make it seem like Fox hadn’t just turned them into a complete mess.

Feeling a shift of pressure caused them to swallow a gasp in their throat as he pulled out. A thick slow stream of white trails down their thighs, the sensation making them shiver. This is a completely new feeling. A fullness they’ve never experienced. 

He is quick to shove himself back into his blacks before Jewels feel their underwear slip back up their thighs and back around their waist. Trapping the liquid from spilling any further, at least for now. It’s no pussy plug and will probably end up seeping through them.

“ Wait what- “ Before they can even protest it, their panties and pants are already slipped and snugged back around their hips. They grunt in slight discomfort as they get used to the feeling. He liked this, didn’t he ?  Just knowing it’s going to be staying in cunt until they leave.

“ Really ? “ They ask annoyed as they hear him shuffle around behind them. “ Yes really. “  He replies as he fastens his codpiece back on, his voice isn’t very far away and they can’t see well behind them, either way.

“ You said about four months ago you have the implant, what’s the harm in indulging ? “  He asks, smugly. The fact he even remembers that is a bit, questionable. If anyone heard him he’d probably be questioned about it. But, the fact they just had sex on an interrogation table is probably what people would be more concerned about. Not the fact that Fox remembered they were on birth control. 

“ Man you’re frustrating. “ They huffed as he walked back to his side of the interrogation table.  “ I could say the same thing to you, “ He retorts with a small chuckle. They're glad he finds it amusing. The previous tense energy had left them both. They suppose their activity probably helped whatever was going on with Fox.

As his appearance made it back to their vision, they swear they can still see the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. A groan of discomfort and a cough comes out of them causing a form of concern on the clone's face as the nat-born human swallows to keep themselves from coughing more.

“ Did, did i go too hard ?  Are you alright ? “ He asks with a genuine concern in his voice, and his eyes showing it too. “ No, I'm okay, just really dehydrated. “  They respond with a small laugh that turns back into a cough. Their smile doesn’t fade. They don’t know if they like aggressive Fox, or the usual teasing Fox better. Either way, they can’t say they dislike either side. 

Without even talking about it or telling them, he puts a key from his pocket in between his lips holding it between his teeth as he grabs the cuffs around their wrists. Grabbing the key back he unlocks the cuffs and unravels the chain. As he uncuffs the second cuff, Jewel's face is contorted into confusion. Getting back on their legs they feel like jelly. They groan in discomfort as they finally are able to sit down. They almost wobble when they finally stand up, both legs feeling like jelly. It just takes a moment to adjust to the feeling of standing right on their feet.

He says nothing as he grabs the file from the table, and then his helmet and looks at them. “ Let’s go get you some water. “  He says, a gentleness in his eyes and a slight smile curved on his lips before it’s covered by the helmet once again. His fingers press buttons on the door putting in a passcode as the nat-born human stares at him with shock on their face. 

As the door opens he looks back at them again, taking in the display in confusion riddled on their faces. “ Stay close, or i’ll have to cuff you again. “ Fox states before he takes a step out. Jewels is quick to follow. Even in the midst of their confusion, they understand exactly what he means and aren’t particularly inclined to feel cuffs around their wrists again. 

Instead, they awkwardly continue after him, getting used to the weird sensation in their pants until it finally becomes bearable enough to walk down the hall and away from the interrogation rooms. They only got a small glimpse while walking by, but no one walked past them, nor were there any other prisoners in interrogation rooms. It led Jewels to wonder whether they had been the last interrogated, or that they were the Coruscant guards' main suspect. Or, more plausible, that Stone and Thorn had lied to them. They swallow what is left in their dry throat as they have a sudden realization. They had just admitted to the commander that they had been selling spice at a rave. 

Step by step, it felt like the hallways drew out longer and longer until they almost bumped into the commander's back when he stopped. He seems to be contemplating something, but he eventually taps away at the control panel door and opens it, turning to the silver-haired nat-born human as he ushers them inside. 

Inside the room was what one could only assume to be a break room. A small kitchen, a couple of tables, and plenty of off-duty men drinking kaf and talking. All of the clones were helmetless, and a few even had tattoos on their face or different hair styles. But what really caught their attention was a man whose armor alone was familiar enough to soothe Jewels ever-growing nerves. 

“ Commander Thorn, “ They say with a small wave. They quietly tilted their head over toward where they assumed Fox was, but he’d walked over to the kitchen fridge and left Jewels standing by the now-closed door. Swallowing their nerves they walk over to Thorn, happy to see a familiar, well, armor set that now had an individual face. Though Thorn had two very distinct differences from any of his colleagues, and especially Fox. A three-scratched scar over his right eye, coupled with a cybernetic eye to match, had certainly caught their attention first. With his long and disheveled hair looked brushed and untamed as the trooper had been fixing his hair by tying it back into a bun. 

“ Jewels, you’re a sight to see here. “ He says with a small smile, hands finally finished forgetting with his long locks. The nat born human only crossed their arms and smiled back as the shock trooper happily obliged to smile back. “ Fox said we should get some water. “ They reply simply as if it was a regular occurrence for them to be in the break room. This earned a raised brow from the clone and a knowing look in his eyes. 

“ So he brought you to the break room instead of bringing you one instead ? “ Thorn muses as he takes a sip of his kaf. This only made Jewels face flush with heat as they struggled to find words. 

“ It’s a complicated reason. “ Fox chimes in, handing a plastic water bottle to Jewels. They look over at him, and his face once again as his helmet rests at his side in his hands. Maker, they could look at his face for hours. But, instead, they only nod in agreement and open their water bottle. 

“ Complicated, how ? “ Thorn asks with both hands on his mug, which is just a plain red mug. Jewels notice the way that Thorn and Fox share eye contact for almost a solid minute before breaking it. A chill runs up their spine as Thorn looks at them. 

“ Trust me, I already know. I’m going to have to completely wipe the interrogation recorders audio. “ Thorn says, mumbling as he takes another sip of pure black kaf. Jewel’s face turns pale and blood runs cold as their hand clutched the water bottle in it, trying to process what he just said. 

“ We’re gonna need you to re-record your confession anyways. Fox didn’t exactly follow protocol or rules. “ Thorn adds as he sets his mug down on the table beside him with a small glare from and to Fox. 

Had Thorn heard the entire time ? The thought alone sent panic in their face as both clones were quick to notice. They feel a firm hand on their shoulder, their head almost snapping as they look up at Fox. 

“ Breath, Leralta. “ He quickly comforts them, reassuring them that he has it under control. But Jewels wasn’t just panicked about the fact Thorn had supposedly heard everything, but that they had confessed and complied to give them a list of people they sold to, and where they get their spice from. They swallow as their eyes look back towards Thorn. Thorn’s eyes too displayed a softness, something they’ve never received with a helmet over their heads. Something they’ve never had the pleasure of seeing until now. Both brown-eyed gazes calm the fire in their chest as they take a deep breath. 

“ Here, come sit. “ Thorn says as he gestures to the plenty of seats that Jewels could sit in, at the table. They take him up on the offer immediately, pulling a chair out and sitting down. Their legs still ached, and so did their head. They quickly finish off their water bottle and set the empty bottle on the table. 

“ You . . . you heard all of it ? “ Jewels asked with hesitation in their voice, a tone of embarrassment in their voice as they finally did. Both of their elbows on the table as they fold over each other and blue eyes staring at the commander for an answer. 

“ Not all of it. I disconnected about halfway. But, we still can’t show that audio for reports for obvious reasons. “ Thorn finally replies as Fox stands a bit between the two. Far enough away from the table but he sets his helmet next to Thorn’s while listening. Jewels only watch as Fox smacks his brothers upside the head. Jewels almost instinctively cover their mouth from seeing such violence but instead, only lightly flinches.

“ Di’kut, “ Fox said in a frustrated tone as Thorn stuck his tongue out at Fox. “ Hey, I did what you asked. You didn’t say anything about the interrogation recorder. “ Thorn defended himself as Fox sighs. 

“ Plus, I was sort of worried you were going to kill ‘em. “ Thorn adds, his hand grabbing his mug again as Fox scoffs at his brother's inquiry. 

“ I would never, and you know that. “ Fox hisses before he crosses his arms, his empty bottle in his own hand as he stares at his brother in frustration. All the while Jewels quietly watches and listens to the two, taking in the information and silently wishing they could form a coherent thought about it all. Just knowing he wouldn’t hurt them made Jewels feel all the more safe. As if his already muscular physique and features hadn’t already. 

“ Well, you were kinda pissed after the whole report to the chancellor so I was worried you would do something stupid. “ Thorn mumbled almost as Fox shook his head. Now Jewels put the pieces together, why he had been so frustrated. Their hands ache to reach out to the commander and comfort him. But the moment has long passed, their mind slipping into a small corner as they tuck the feeling away. 

“ Whatever, you want some kaf, Jewels ? We’ve got a long morning ahead of us. “ Fox sighs as he takes their water bottle from the table and goes to throw it in the trash. Jewels gives a small smile as they watch him, propping their elbow up and placing their chin into the palm of their hand. 

“ Yeah, I take mine with creamer, do you got any of that ? “ Jewels asks with a smug smirk on their face as Fox looks at them, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. A small smile of his own forms on his lips as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. 

“ Cute, “ He replies to their comment, “ We got cream and sugar, how do you want it ? “ He muses. Jewels only shake their head as they can’t help the small heat creeping to their face as they look at his smile. He looks so content with himself, smiling like a dork. They like his smile, and they can feel the warmth of it in his eyes. 

“ I’ll take it however you’ll give it to me. “  

[sonofbhaal]

headcanon - gale: mystra the bwitch and the folly of men

Hello, I've arrived in the fandom and immediately choose violence. Just kidding, I choose research and talking too much, as does my muse. I'll start this off by saying I disagree with the fandom take of Mystra "gro/oming" Gale due to various reasons, and it's important for my portrayal of Gale so thank you for coming to my TED talk. There's plenty wrong with their relationship, but that's a story for another day.

Here's what I've gathered so far that makes people think in this direction: a) they had a love affair when Gale was younger; b) she is the reason he had his little netherese magic mishap & folklore has it that Mystra likes to snatch little wizard boys for ambiguous reasons.

Okay, let's get into it. (And yes, I am using wikipedia as a source among other things, sue me. This is not an academic paper. Even if it kinda looks like one.)

Here's the literally TLDR (I don't want to call it an abstract): wizards are arrogant and at high risk to overestimate their abilities and importance in a grander scheme of things, so Mystra, as falling into the kind of feminism-inspired archetype of a witch, lays out the possibilty of greatness as a trap to test them and they tend to fail. Gale brought about his own doom and though Mystra had a hand in it, he chose it of his own volition and was not coerced into it. He was also 23/30 years old when he started sleeping with Mystra so I don't understand the collective desire to infantilize him.

a) Gale and Mystra's carnal relationship

Let's start with Gale's age. Gale was born in 1457 DR.

Now, there are two separate sources stating different years for Mystra's return but the core argument for Gale's age does not really change.

This is taken from the Magical Histories: The Spellplague and it suggests that Mystra was restored in 1480 DR, which would put Gale at 23 years old.

Alternatively, the Forgotten Realms Wiki states that Mystra was not restored to power until 1487 DR. Which puts Gale at 30 years minimum when he and Mystra had their relationship.

He wasn't a child, he wasn't a teenager, he was 30 years old. (Or 23. Either way, an adult by all laws and standards.) I suppose one could argue that Mystra (or rather Mystryl at that point) had reached out to him prior to her return, as she did with Elminster, but in my opinion that's not what Gale's story suggests. This also means that Gale's time with Mystra may have been pretty short, because in 1492 DR the events of BG3 start, which was only 5 years after Mystra's return/reincarnation (if we go by the wiki). This is the bit I am undecided about at present and I'm almost leaning toward making him 23 when she started mentoring him, simply because the nature of their relationship makes it sound like more than 5 years have passed. 12 years is not much for a goddess but it would leave a notable influence on Gale's life - and give him actual time to learn and grow enough to impress Mystra into paying attention to him in the first place. It also sounds like he's been without her but with the orb in his chest for a while, so maybe their affair lasted 5ish years and then he was alone for 2 prior to the game storyline.

With that said, a 5-12 year relationship with a grown and consenting adult is not behavior that I would describe as gro/oming. Even if there's a power imbalance (due to god - mortal) and even if there are elements of not-so-kosher intentions involved. Which leads me to..

b) Mystra the WITCH - a somewhat feminist reading

Here's what Minsc said about Mystra that has a lot of people's alarm bells going off:

Weave-touched boys were hidden away, trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth I thought it born of caution after some catstrophe wrought by wizardly (?) menfolk of old. Now I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm? Oh, this suggests that Mystra has never tempted a witch into foolishness. Not that I would blaspheme by suggesting otherwise.

Okay. I understand why this sounds wrong as hell when you're already thinking in that direction. But let me offer you a different interpretation for Mystra and what she symbolizes in this case specifically, and please note that I could write a whole paper about Mystra's symbolism but this will be a one-sided reading because I am focusing on her in constrast to Gale, not her as a character by herself.

[Preface: I am not claiming that Mystra represents female liberation, it's just an aspect necessarily tied to the point I'm about to make about her connection to male wizards.]

Mystra - or Mystryl - is an inherently female character, in my opinion, as understood in literary history (not in a modern philosophical way), and more specifically she is inspired by the archetype of the witch; however, trapped between the old archetype - the evil temptress witch who corrupts and attacks good pious men and the (good) "patriarchy" - and the modernized version - the untamed free woman who opposes and threatens the (bad) "patriarchy". This could be in part because DnD was created in the 70s and the sources speaking of Mystryl that I found are from the 90s as well, so her character is bound to have changed up to the creation of BG3 in 2023. And because our narrator in this specific story is a man.

Some quotes that I find useful for this discussion from a thesis:

"The figure of the witch mirrors—albeit sometimes in distorted form—the many images and selfimages of feminism itself." (Source, page 12)

and about the "witch" as a character type in literary history in general:

In other words, the feminists that participated in the creation and dissemination of the myth did so because of its significance as a story that offered an alternative to male-centred history. Purkiss (2003) sustains that the reason why it is significant is that it allows the readers to distinguish the roles of the characters very easily. The myth outlines a story with a clear opposition between men —the oppressors, the bad ones— and women —the victims, the good ones.

Make of that what you will. I am not here to make a point for or against feminism in literature - the idea of it as a basis for Mystra's archetype is simply necessary to get to my point of what she represents in Gale's story. Look at how Mystryl's character is described in the FR wiki:

This is very reminiscent of how authors and philosophers have written about women in the past - fickle nature, capricious, irrational, but also innocent, dedicated and emotional. Going in to that would reach too far here, but historically women used to represent emotion and impulse whereas men represented logic and reason. This description of Mystryl sounds like it was written in the 18th century by a man who is confused by femininity.

Normally I would say Mystra is inspired by Hecate but this point is a little tricky to make considering DnD lore has its own version of Hecate. However I'll still dump it here, because DnD Hecate is a very negative reading of her myth, as she is a chaotic evil goddess not native to Faerûn. That said, a quote about a modern interpretation of Hecate:

In women's eyes, Hecate holds positive intent, though to men she can be destructive. Hecate is the Goddess invoked by women who desired freedom from male tyranny. The goddess Hecate is presented as a resistor of the male and patriarchal. [...] Within mythology, Hecate is deemed too fearful (to men) to be provided with a husband, and thus represents female sovereignty and freedom. Moreover, Hecate shares gifts of magic, inspiration and understanding and governs the creative, unconscious mind; she offered women the power of awakening or dampening male desire and can curse conquerors or unjust rulers. (Source)

Two things I find important here: 1) she is not evil but she can be destructive to men, which is my main point in this entire ramble and 2) she shares magic and understanding with both men and women, but does not tolerate when they overreach - which I'd argue targets male wizards, such as, in our case, Gale. I think she can be destructive because in addition to the witch, Mystryl/Mystra holds elements of the archetype of the temptress.

Here's one take on that archetype from an article on literary devices:

Although allurement is the key element of a temptress archetype, some of her character traits are unique for such a lady. She has her beauty to add to her allurement with seduction, intelligence, and wit to help her in her beauty. [...] However, it is interesting to note that the negativity with her title does not match her real character, as she could have positive character traits despite being a temptress. [...] It seems that she lures characters to her, causing them to be blind to the danger lurking in her. [...] This allurement lies in her femininity and sexuality.

Another inspiration for my take on this is a fun source for a change, one of my favorite songs from Karliene, titled "Witch". Aside from being a banger, this song has lyrics that describe a very specific aspect of men's relationship towards "witches" and how they're seen and treated as evil and deranged and yet desirable (implied) for reasons so extensive they'd blow up the scope of this already too long post.

You’re a foul heathen A demon of malevolence Venomous bitch, old witch You’re the reason for all our sins[...] Vile succubus How you beguiled And defiled my innocence You’re a bitch, you’re a witch You’re the reason for all my sins

The man accusing the witch in this story/song is not even hiding his own transgression: "succubus", "defiled my innocence" and "you're the reason for all our sins" implies that he sinned but instead of taking accountability for his actions, he blames it entirely on her as the archetypical temptress. This is the type of man that Mystra's temptation targets, the type of man her "snares" are created for. (Though not all of them are necessarily vile enough to want to execute her/the temptress for it. It's a concept of male self-importance, not a defined character trait.)

And this is what I think Mystra represents in the context of Gale's story. She showed him a path to greatness, great knowledge and power but she didn't force him to walk it. She even denied him when he asked to gain more access. Yet he chose to do it anyway and it led to his downfall and her punishment. So is Mystra entirely innocent in Gale's fall? No. I believe she has tempted him - and other men before him - to seek more knowledge and more power and eventually fall to their doom, because it was never meant for them; but instead of recognizing that and accepting their place, they all fell victim to their own hubris and self-importance. As did Gale. Even if he says he did it to impress her, he first and foremost thought of himself. He wanted the knowledge and the magic and the proof that he can walk on spheres meant for gods alone. And he had a rude awakening.

If anything, this is what I think Mystra does to "young wizard boys" and what her danger really is. It's not about her seducing young wizards for her own sexual interests - though in some cases her relationship to them may take on this nature because temptation and seduction historically looks a specific way in art and literature - but about luring and seducing them into revealing their own arrogance and hubris and falling victim to it. Which is a not a nice thing to do, but it's a very different thing from what the fandom makes her out to be. They could also resist, but within their inability to resist lies the reason for Mystra's justification for doing it in the first place.

*In addition and to place some more responsibility on Mystra: she might also like to see if they can rise to a certain power, but if they do she loses interest. And if they can't then it proves a point. None of what I wrote is meant to present Mystra as a nice goddess - I just find the way she is spoken about kind of misses the mark. She has obvious flaws but I see them in other places.

I'm so sorry, what a nightmare to read. If you made it this far, have some chocolate: 🍫

[lavenderpanic]

Your disclaimer does not mean anything when this is what you put in your writing:

Starvation is not a punishment in kink. Even someone who doesn’t know about kink knows that. Or isnt “educated” as you said. Food restriction and weight is not part of kink.

That is not what somnophilia is, because he did not consent.

Bucky was sixteen (underage) and Brock didn’t know. Is that his fault?

And the club let underage Bucky inside which is not how kink clubs work.

A quote from a chapter. “Bucky shrugs. “Technically an acronym, but sure. Honestly, Brock and I kind of do our own thing, so I really don’t know if either of us would call it that, but that’s… the general term, I suppose. I had this… this period of a few months, I guess, a few years ago, when I was super anxious and withdrawn and… I just wasn’t in a good headspace. I kinda felt attracted to the thought of dominance and submission and all that because it felt like a safe way to cope with my anxiety, and I met Brock at a club and… and it’s just been us since then. Nobody’s ever understood me like he does. A lot of people look at me like I’m crazy or weird, but Brock never thought that. It’s like… a balanced scale, kinda. He’s my counterweight, just as strong in the opposite direction.” This is not what kink is and it is not why poeple get into kink. This is false information and does not represent the community.

He has a safe word but Brock does not listen to it. Bucky should know that this is not how safe words work.

There are so many examples. You are corellating abuse and kink and that is dangerous for people who are actually in the community. Being abused does not excuse you.

I've been staring at this for like an hour and I just... like I'm genuinely at a loss for words. This is so incredibly weird. Like, I feel so weird right now, this is so creepy. I don't even think I know my fic well enough to pull fucking examples like this out of my ass why the fuck are you so weirdly obsessed??

Food restriction can 100% be a part of a TPE. Again, I've got weird and mixed-up feelings about it, but it isn't like... absurdly uncommon. But also, like... Bucky has anorexia. Brock knows this. Brock is abusing him. Brock is not like... conforming to BDSM rules or practices or whatever. I really don't know what you aren't understanding about this. I'm not saying that food restriction = abuse or what Brock is doing = a normal part of BDSM.

The fic is tagged "non-consensual somnophilia." It is not tagged "somnophilia." I don't even use that word in-text, I'm pretty sure. AGAIN, I feel weird about somnophilia, but if that's part of your dynamic and it's consensual WHATEVER IDCCCCC I'M OBVIOUSLY NOT TALKING ABOUT YOUUUUU.

Brock knows Bucky is underage before they do anything together sexually. He also coerces Bucky the first time they meet, regardless of his age. Yup, it's Brock's fault.

Clubs will let in people who are 18. This is a fact. Like I said in the fic, they mark that Bucky is <21 and can't drink. He has a fake ID which says he is 18.

That quote is actually inspired by my own experience, and I know I'm not the only person who felt that way. I don't claim to represent every person involved in the community. I never have. This is one person's story. You can't just make a blanket statement like "this isn't why people get into kink" because you're just fucking wrong.

Bucky knows this isn't how safewords work. He is abused and assaulted. He is being abused. He is being manipulated. You said you were older than me but your reading comprehension skills are like kindergarten level.

Nothing I have written is dangerous for any community (idk except maybe abusers?) and I have absolutely no clue why you would think so. I'm not claiming to represent an entire community. I am sharing my experience. I am writing one person's story. Fact of the matter is, there are many people involved in kink who take advantage of people who are new to kink because they can be so easy to manipulate and coerce and push past their boundaries. If you're saying I'm wrong, then you're either so fucking dumb I'm genuinely concerned for your wellbeing, or you're a predator or someone who excuses them. YOUUUU are the one sharing gross misinformation.

Go fuck yourself, genuinely. I'm blocking you and every other account you make and I'm not giving you my attention anymore. I have actual real-life problems and I really don't have the mental capacity at the moment to deal with shit like this. This is the one true safe space I still have in my life. I can't imagine how fucking miserable and alone you have to be to spend your fucking time making anonymous fucking accounts and antagonizing someone trying to bring awareness to victims of DV?? What the actual fuck is your deal? Go get a fucking job or volunteer or get a hobby you miserable piece of shit.

[kholkate]

The coldness of the room woke him, letting him know that it was likely morning, he slowly realized that was laying down and when he opened his eyes he saw Holmes looking back at him with a bemused gaze.

“Good morning, John,” he greeted.

Watson turned over to his back and sat up, clearing his throat. “Sherlock…” he said, barely above a whisper.

“I'm so pleased to see you accepted my offer of sharing my bed,” Holmes said.

“I'm so sorry, Holmes. I got up to check on you in the night and I must have been more tired than I thought,” Watson said, putting a leg over the side of the bed in order to get up.

Holmes took him by the wrist. “Please, don't leave just yet, you seemed to be so comfortable. That and I would like to discuss this case with you,” he said.

“Well alright. How are you feeling?,” Watson inquired. He noted that his friend looked well rested which pleased him.

“I admit I am feeling quite sore, but I am in good spirits,” Holmes informed. He stretched his back slightly and grimaced as he did so.

“Good. I won't go into my practice today, not while I have a patient at home,” Watson said. Laying there felt good, perhaps too comfortable.

“I appreciate that, my dear Watson, but if you consent to help me with this case it may take you to the local hospital,” Holmes informed.

“The hospital? What would be going on at the hospital?” Watson asked, concerned.

“A man came to see me yesterday morning not long after you left, he claimed that his aunt had been coerced into a surgery that she didn't actually need and that it has left her bedridden and in acoma,” Holmes told. He shifted carefully in order to look his friend in the face.

“That's absolutely horrible! What kind of doctor would do something so cruel?” Watson asked, appalled.

“One that loves money above the health of a human being. You see, this man, a Mr. Thomas James, said that his aunt had paid said doctor a rather large sum for his services,” Holmes said. He had closed his eyes and was thinking over his present problem.

“Oh no… what kind of surgery did he do on her?” Watson asked.

“Well you see, she suffered greatly from headaches and this Dr. Burkes swore to her that he could alleviate her pain by drilling a hole in her skull. He assured her and her nephew that she would make a full recovery but instead she will likely never wake up,” Holmes said. His eyes remained closed but he cooked his head to the side.

“It's not unheard of but not something one would do lightly. Certainly it's not something a doctor would do to a patient without carefully explaining the risks. Has he been doing this to others?” Watson asked, growing more concerned the more he heard.

“Mr. James had been doing a little sleuthing before coming to see me, he found that Dr. Burkes had indeed done some dirty deeds before. Not only with heads but causing others to go blind, lame and even losing at least one patient in surgery,” Holmes explained.

“Working at the London Hospital?” Watson asked.

“No, he has only recently come here. He had worked previously in Scotland and Wales, though his last patient died in Dover. He has used his being a doctor to get slip of the authorities when a family would even be suspicious of him, mostly he targets those who have little family to inquire after them. I am certain that he does not work alone,” Holmes said. He finally opened his eyes and looked straight up at the ceiling.

“What makes you say that?” Watson asked. He felt a chill, he didn't know if it was from the coldness of the room or from the story Holmes was telling.

“When I went out to the hospital yesterday in hopes of meeting Dr. Burkes I was attacked while passing an alley a block from the hospital. I feel sure that, unbeknownst to him, Mr. James was being followed when he came to me and therefore they tried to stop me before I could get further involved,” Holmes said, looking over at his friend.

“Well that's absolutely ghastly, Holmes! Who would be behind such a thing?” Watson asked.

“I don't know…” Holmes trailed off, gaze turning downward.

Watson could tell he was holding back but he didn't press him, he checked his pulse and then stood up.

“Well, I think you had better leave this one to me. It's my fortay as a doctor, I can go in and out of the hospital without anyone noticing and go into the inner workings of it. I know quite a few of the doctors and nurses there that I can talk to, I might even be able to befriend this Dr. Burkes and find out some things,” he said.

Holmes started shaking his head immediately. “No. No, Watson. I can't allow you to do that, this is more dangerous than you think. If these people understand who I am then they certainly know who you are and they will try to dispatch of you in a similar fashion,” he said.

“I don't think you have much to say about it, old man. Besides, I know what danger smells like, I am a soldier after all, I can handle myself,” Watson insisted.

Holmes gave a momentary smirk. “You are. Once a soldier, always a soldier… I don't want anything to happen to you, old fellow,” he said. He met the doctor's eye, his own eyes were hard and serious.

“Don't worry about me, Holmes,” Watson said. He took his hand and gave it a squeeze before letting go after a few seconds.

Holmes remained silent, choosing not to express any more of what he was thinking.

“Now, I'll make sure Mrs. Hudson gets you some porridge,” Watson said. He patted his shoulder before leaving the room.

He stayed by the door a moment to make sure Holmes didn't get up, once he was satisfied he went downstairs to where he met Mrs. Hudson carrying a tray.

“Oh! Good morning, Dr. Watson. I was just bringing you and Mr. Holmes up some breakfast,” Mrs. Hudson said with a smile.

“Thank you. Porridge?” Watson asked, hoping.

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“Good. Make sure Mr. Holmes eats some of this at least. I'll be going out right away- but don't tell Mr. Holmes. Just carry on as if I am eating in the other room, alright?” Watson said. He was seeing the door even as they spoke.

“Lie? To Mr. Holmes?” Mrs. Hudson asked, skeptical.

“It's for his own good. And I will take the brunt of his temper later,” Watson said. And he knew the man would likely be upset, but he wanted to take this chance.

“Well…alright. But whatever you are planning, be careful, doctor,” Mrs. Hudson said.

Watson smiled. “I will. Have a good day,” he bid.

As Mrs. Hudson went on up the stairs Watson put on his coat and hat and stepped out onto the street to begin an adventure on his own.

***

Thought I would share a bit of one of my current fics.

[wanderingxrivers]

Personal rambling re: gender fuckery and a dissolving marriage under the cut, feel free to scroll on. I just need to get this out.

For as long as I remember, I've never quite performed gender correctly. My uniform has always been oversized tee shirt with jeans (preferably men's if I could manage it bc pockets). Proper femininity was not something I quite grasped. Sometimes, I managed it, those days where I felt like a girl/woman. But for the most part, I realize now I've never connected to my gender in a way that cis people. The best I can describe it is jello-mold, jello-mold that looks like woman but is not actually a woman, and then just sometimes, woman. And now I'm in my 40s realizing this has always been the case.

It *almost* makes me want to want to break NC and be like "I'm not your daughter. I never was" bc I'm not a woman. Not really. Thinly connected to being a woman at best.

The more I explore this, the more I realize that my spouse is not safe to come out to. Its one of the many reasons I came to the determination I have to divorce him but I need to plan. I need to make sure that I'm doing this right and can get not just me but my offspring out of here.

My lack of safety is something I am all too easily reminded of today. Last night, he coerced me into sex I didn't even want. I don't want sex with him. And I felt I couldn't say no and now my body doesn't even feel like mine. And because the universe loves to just point at me and laugh, it's also my spawn point's birthday which I almost never handle well. This isn't the first time we've had sex where I didn't give my full consent. I mean let us not forget when he came home drunk as hell and just climbed right on like I was a fleshlight while I was dead asleep.

If I only I was a fucking snake who could shed my skin and peel off the layers he touched. Instead I have to take all these terrible feelings that I have and shove them into a tidy box so I can get through the work day and not lose my goddamn mind.

Surely, surely, it will get better. Surely I'll be able to be free one day.

One day my body will feel like mine.

[trans-leek-cookie]

very personal (arguably oversharing) but vague on details talking about. CSA and experiences in my life that idk how to like. Organize my thoughts on them. 👎 And also I genuinely couldn't care less Abt who reads this (minus like. Pls keep urself safe y'know) here's a mahjong tile 🀄 because idk

Thinking abt CSA is fucking weird bc there was an instance that (clothed and minimal physical contact. I don't wanna over share but Id feel weird not clarifying). I have trouble personally labeling bc like in my mind there wasn't intent to harm or like. Full Awareness of what what happening bc the other ppl involved were also my age. So I don't want to label them as abusers but at the same time I do think it affected me. But, besides that, the thing is I don't think the event was The Big Thing that fucked my relationship w sex/sexuality as a kid bc really That One Was The Internet. Like the reason The Thing happened was bc all of us as kids were exposed to porn at a young age and we didn't have the ability to really process what that meant and idk Abt them but my parents just tried to keep me away from that stuff rather than actually helping me process what I was seeing?

Especially since it wasn't even something that I really actually... Idk i sought it out bc I didn't understand it well more than actually being aroused by it so. Yeah I do wish my parents had given me more info there.

But to summarize basically I don't think that even was uniquely traumatic in that like. I don't want to downplay the fact it obviously still affects me but it honestly feels like. Idk it wasn't anyones fault directly it was just decisions that we all didn't have the proper context for (my peers and I lacked the info and experience to have informed consent when it came to sexual stuff and my parents didnt know how much sexual stuff i was seeking out bc I actively hid it from them) so like.

The way I'll put it is that if someone has The Exact Same Experiences I wouldn't say they Were Wrong to label it as CSA (specifically COCSA) but personally I think that label doesn't capture the way it registers and therefore affects my relationship w sexuality. I feel like I struggle with that in some ways bc it's a sorta... Hard to define gray area and I don't Like That. I want things to be defined and like fully dissected to I can understand them.

Then there's. Like. Another incident in which my dad exposed me to a movie that. Idk it was about strippers so it wasnt that it had A Sex Scene it was About Sex Work and shit. Also one of the fuckin. Trailers for other movies they put on DVD had a "please be 18" joke (it was a racecar driver getting flashed) that. Now idk if it was meant as like hopeful or worried? But I had to ask my dad to explain that to me and he did??????? And I barely remember his explanation but man what the fuck

Anyway it's another case of I don't want to call it CSA bc that implies there is An Abuser and that. Doesn't feel right. I guess. And not just bc like oh he's my dad he wouldn't do that

It's like i wasn't forced or coerced into watching I was just curious so I watched it. And I think the problem is the fact he didn't like. I don't know

Because I was getting exposed to sexual shit on my own, so I don't even think making me Not Watch it wouldve helped in the long run. I guess it's more that fuckign. Both of these things are singular incidents that are easy to remember bc of the fact they are identifiable as Incidents

But like. The thing is that I genuinely don't think those Incidents are the problem, because even if they didn't happen I would have still been exposed to sexual material that normalized fucked up ideas of consent and sexuality and sex. Like.

I guess the problem is less Abuse and more... Neglect? In that I wish adults around me had done more to explain consent and that sexual shit isn't Bad in some nebulous way but is like. Dangerous in the way a knife is.

Because the problem isn't the fact a knife is sharp the problem is that you arent careful when using the knife and hurt yourself or someone else (or someone else hurts you) and a knife can be used to hurt people because it's dangerous but that doesn't mean it's always bad it's just Dangerous. And also it should be kept out of kids' reaches until they understand how to safely interact w it

Also tangent: I don't think asexuality should b like pushed on kids or whatever but I think it's worth telling kids about because learning about asexuality as a (pre?)teen when I had known about sex since I was probably 7 ish? really helped prevent my relationship with sex getting worse

Mainly bc it taught me it was normal to not want sex and never want sex, and I think while some kids might think they're ace when they're just y'know. Kids who aren't interested in sex. I think it does help kids who have been exposed to sex contextualize their experiences more

Like. Explicitly having confirmation that sometimes people just don't have sex (which isn't exclusive to ace ppl there's just a lotta overlap) or experience sexual attraction Ever was helpful for me to fully understand the different parts of sex. And also I don't think it's the end of the world if some eleven yrs old thinks they're ace and when they become an adult they realize they were wrong or whatever.

[kithtaehyung]

ugh f*ck (m) | myg

— “who you belong to.”

title: UGH F*CK parts: one by @kookskingdom​, two by @yoon2k​​ pairing: yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader rating/genre: m ; smut ; boxer au ; boxer!yoongi , ring girl!reader summary: you tend to yoongi’s wounds after a match, even though you damn well know that someone is coming to pick you up. very, very soon. warnings: pwp, swearing, dirty talk, infidelity (that turns out to be consensual it’ll all make sense!!), fingering, penetration, unprotected (pls be safe), voyeurism, exhibitionism, consent wbk, rough sex, choking, degradation, humiliation, dom!jin, clit slapping, overstimulation, crying, daddy kink, touch of aftercare, sl*t/wh*re mentions, creampie, begging, orgasm denial, breast play, boxer yoongi??, rich suited up seokjin???, feelings??, just a yoonjin pwp idk what else to say note: this is a last-second surprise for @sugakookitty​!! dee, the theme is purely for you I CANT DO THIS AGAIN!! no more! and i have no excuses other than i was coerced by four people, and two of them are min yoongi and kim seokjin (whom i heard you were thirsting hard for lately!) lastly, ty to my brain for actually allowing this fic to happen note 2: umm.. this is also for the yoonjin stans lol also it’s p unedited so apologies! total word count: 6k drop date: december 16th, 2021, 1:22am est

Like every other time, Yoongi left the ring a champion. 

In fact, everything that happened today was as predictable as the changing of seasons. You got to work, prepped for the matches, turned down many drunken suitors, and wrapped everything up when the crowds filed out. 

The only thing you didn’t predict this time was how banged up Yoongi got during his fight. 

Are bloody noses and black eyes considerably normal for fighters? Absolutely. Which attests to Yoongi’s adept and efficient fighting style, really, since the man rarely garners anything worse than a few bruises. 

But this time? When you watched the big screens, it was hard to miss the busted lip, cut eyebrow, and multiple scratches on his face—injuries you knew he could feel and taste. You couldn’t express your concern while out in the stadium since you upheld professionalism, but as soon as you could catch him backstage you were at his side. 

“You should wash those out.” 

Yoongi waves you off as he walks further down the hall. “Don’t tell me what to do, doll. I got a press conference.” 

“They’ll get infected if you don’t,” you insist over the surrounding commotion, bare legs trotting to keep up and maneuver the corridor. “I’ve seen it before and it’s gross.”

A look is cast over his shoulder. Instead of listening to your attempts, he simply offers through a smirk, “If you’re such a pro, why don’t you do it then?” 

“What? Me?” 

“Yeah.” Yoongi adjusts the towel on his shoulders before stopping in front of solid double doors. “Be a good girl and wait in my room.”  

“But”–you pause, wondering if you should tell him that you need to leave on time today–“I don’t know if I–”

“You can,” he says with confidence. Adjusting your body so that you face the hallway again, he slaps your ass before ordering, “Now go, brat. I’m already late.” 

Checking your phone for any new messages, you cock a brow when nothing graces your lock screen. Odd. He’s supposed to be coming soon. 

But you still wait like the good girl you are. The good girl that deserves jail time. 

Laid out on the leather sofa that sits in Yoongi’s room, you start playing with the seams of your shorts, thinking about nothing and everything. The time he cornered you in your dressing room, the time you practiced with him and Hoseok and Namjoon… 

You should feel ashamed. Do you? You really should. Because what would h—

The swing of a door hits your ears. 

Jolting from the couch, you feel the intense aura Yoongi brings into the room, its magnetism and fire gravitating you to his form. Even while he’s on his phone, typing away, your reaction to his entrance is visceral. Foolish. That damned combination of confidence and aloofness is what always gets you, and you can see them both in the way he pockets his device and dumps himself where you were just lying.

Ass. He doesn’t need to slump his arms over the back of the sofa like a bored king.

“Well?”

Blinking at his already impatient tone, you reply, “What do you mean, well?”

Yoongi simply points to his sarcastic as fuck expression. “Get to it, miss nurse.”

With a roll of your eyes, you sigh, going over to him with heated steps. In a bout of pettiness, you yank the white towel from one side of his neck before strutting away to his sink, cheeks warming when you hear a gravelly laugh nudge your back. 

“If they ever change those uniforms, I’m retiring.” 

“You’ll never retire,” you retort, dousing the fabric in cold water. “Not as long as you’re making bank and fucking ring girls for free.”

Another puff of mirth erupts. “Read me like a fucking book.” 

“I assure you your book is like, two lines long.” When you’re done wringing the towel, you rummage through a nearby medicine cabinet for rubbing alcohol before making your way back. 

It’s not the silence that gives you pause, but the way Yoongi stares at you—a shrouded expression that you’ve seen grace his face more often lately. Swallowing your thoughts, you remind yourself that you really don’t have time to screw around—literally—so you need to make this quick. 

The plan was to sit next to him while cleaning his face. 

But the wide spread of his legs doesn’t make that possible.

“Can you move? I need to sit.” 

Yoongi’s smile is lopsided, and you absolutely abhor the fact that it’s even hotter while sporting a cut. He takes no arms off the back of the sofa, only prodding a cheek with his tongue before mentioning, “Got a seat for you right here, ring girl.” 

“Ugh, stop,” you plead, “I gotta go soon!”

“Then you better hurry up, huh?”

Huffing one last time, you wordlessly straddle his white sweats, already plotting revenge on his cockiness and entitlement. “Screw you, Min Yoongi,” you hiss to his shameless face checking out your bunched shorts and exaggerated cleavage. 

“Yes, please.”

When you feel a hand snake around to cup your ass, you swat it away. “No funny business. I’m just cleaning you up and heading out.” 

“Uh huh,” the boxer responds, obviously unconvinced.

The wounds on Yoongi’s face are already dried. Seeing his otherwise unblemished skin, still coated with a light sheen, you find it harder and harder to concentrate. 

Why the fuck does he have to be so attractive? And why the hell can’t you contain yourself around him anymore? Damn that stupid dressing room incident. And damn this man licking his lips while looking at yours. 

“Tick tock, doll.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, embarrassment drenching you when Yoongi grins in pride. ��Okay, stay still.”

At first, you solely concentrate on cleaning and wiping the dried blood out of his cuts. Having seen this done dozens of times before, you already semi-knew what to do, making sure to get them ready for the antiseptic. 

But over time, your pinched brows and bitten lip slowly relaxed, giving away to a different expression. Surprisingly, cleaning someone’s injuries is quite intimate. And it doesn’t help that you’re straddling this particular patient, nor does it help that at some point, his eyes had also softened and his arms had wrapped around your waist. 

You’re completely silent when you stop wiping Yoongi down, not saying anything as you put alcohol on the towel. When you finally speak, your voice comes out as a whisper, “This part might hurt.” 

He only flicks his eyebrows up once in wordless reply, his eyes still staring at your tongue darting out to wet your lips. Strange. Usually he has a cheeky answer ready to fire. 

You get through the next part of cleaning without a hitch, trying your best to ignore the way Yoongi started rubbing his thumbs on your lower back. His phone even vibrated a couple times and he completely ignored it, which never happens—unless he’s rearranging someone’s stomach or is jammed into their throat. 

“That should do it,” you conclude, using the other side of the long towel to wipe him dry. “And now I really have to go.” 

“Kiss me.”

Your brain grinds to a halt. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Did you accidentally rub alcohol on his brain? What’s with him? You both know the only things you’re capable of are quick flings, though even those are crossing the line for you. He’s never once asked for something so simple. “Yoongi, I—”

“Just one.” He squeezes his veiny arms around you, licking the lips you just swiped clean. “Come on, pretty girl. Think of it as a thank you.”

“Fine,” you surrender, chucking the towel as close to the nearest bin as possible. “Entitled ass.”

“You love it.”

Staring at his face, perfect except for the dust of cuts and other wounds, you find him wildly attractive in the moment. Scarily attractive. Almost enough to make you—

His lips meet yours and cut your train of thought short. 

Already smothered in Yoongi’s embrace, you lean into his touch without any further coercion, slinging your arms around his sweaty neck and pulling at the ends of his hair. Fuck, you wanted to do this ever since he got in the ring. You want to do this every time he’s within two feet of your beating heart. 

He tugs your bottom lip before releasing it with a pop. “What did I just say,” he asks, voice deep and laden with cockiness. 

“Just shut up.” You smash your lips back onto his, rolling your hips like you’re more angry with him than anything. 

Because you are. Goddamn it, you are. Angry with him, with the man that gave him those wounds in the first place, with yourself–you aren’t quite sure. But you start to flex your thighs on his again and again and again, enough for a mischievous laugh to rumble from his chest.  

You know you don’t have a lot of time–no time, frankly–and yet you can’t force yourself away. Not in the slightest. Willpower has no meaning, especially when you start to feel evidence of his own lust building under your core. 

“Don’t seem rushed to leave now, do you? All it takes is getting you on my lap?” Yoongi swats your asscheek before grabbing it in his veiny hands. “Too easy.” 

“No, I…” You pepper kisses along his stupid face, careful to miss his injuries but careless with your words between each peck. “I need to go. He’s waiting for me. I shouldn’t be here.” 

Yoongi’s eyes remain lidded while you lather his face in your love. When you see them widen slightly at something behind you, no time is given for you to escape his death grip and sudden rough kiss to your puffy lips. 

What’s—

Light and sound burst into the room when the door opens, and your entire heart slams to the ground when you hear a very, horrifyingly familiar voice, 

“Yoongi! What’s up, my bro?” 

Holy fuck. 

Is that Jin?

Jin. Seokjin. Your boyfriend, Seokjin? 

Nothing can describe the outright dread you feel in your center, creeping down your limbs like sinister molasses and rendering you powerless. Life with Seokjin flashes before your eyes, second after second unraveling and pricking your heart until it bleeds out. 

You’re fully situated on Yoongi’s hard-on; Jin is standing in the doorway; Yoongi’s greeting him as if they’ve known each other for years.

“Sup, idiot.”  

“You didn’t see my texts?” Your nightmare slowly walks over with his hands in his suit pockets, hollow clinks echoing from under his high-end shoes. Mortified, you stay still—unblinking in your compromising position and feeling a burning sensation in the corners of your eyes. “Just left work early to pick up someone that needed a ride.”

It’s when he finishes his explanation that he finally looks down at your shock, features unmoving when he plainly greets, “Hi, angel.” 

You choke on an empty sob, biting your lip to keep it from quivering. It’s too late to make it seem like anything else, too late to dismount from Yoongi’s warmth. But instead of mentioning a breakup or vowing severe punishment, your boyfriend simply walks off to grab a chair, twisting it toward you and settling in. 

…What the fuck. 

What the fuck? 

What’s happening? What’s he doing? Shouldn’t this situation be a textbook example of how a relationship ends? You’re literally straddling another man’s thighs—panties and shorts soaked through and lips puffed and smeared—and your boyfriend grabs a goddamn seat?

And why did he come in only to say hi so casually to Yoongi? 

Your haze is sliced with words, considerate in meaning but cold in tone, “Don’t let me distract you.” 

Your eyes widen to the point of pain. “What?”

Seokjin simply dusts a speck of nothing off his thigh. “You’re clearly in the middle of something, sweetheart.” 

“But… I…” You strain your neck to keep your eyes on his lax form behind you, turning to briefly face Yoongi’s bored expression before swerving around again. “You’re not… Upset?” 

A chilling laugh bubbles from your boyfriend’s throat. It’s enough to cast goosebumps on your arms, and you can only sit there in complete awe. When he speaks, you turn into ice.

“You think I don’t already know?” 

Another devilish sound pierces you through. “Oh, doll… You have no idea, do you?” 

The sudden reveal throws you for a thousand loops, twisting your brain and dissolving it into mush. 

Jin knows? What does that mean? What does he know about? When you stare at Yoongi, taking in his fiendish smile and curved eyes, you can’t think of a single coherent thought. Your legs are suddenly both jelly and lead, unmoving when you try to yank yourself upward. 

“Go on then, sweetheart,” you boyfriend goads, “Your cunt’s already wet, isn’t it? I bet it’s throbbing just from getting caught, huh?” 

Why the fuck is he so right! 

A small whimper escapes you as Yoongi tugs you down onto his clothed cock, his eyes narrowed and glinting. “Answer him.” 

“Yes—”

“Louder.” 

“Yes!” you squeak out, whining when Yoongi lifts you and forces your deadened legs to cooperate in keeping you upright. As you stand limp before him, confused, he cocks his head. 

“If you wanna be a dirty whore so bad, show him then, princess.” 

You’re completely conflicted right now. On one hand, you’re hyper aware of your feelings regarding both of the men watching you, and the realization that they both know about each other still hasn’t quite processed in your brain. On the other hand, you really don’t know if your boyfriend is okay with what’s happening. Does he really not mind? Is he really okay with sharing? 

Turning to face him, you watch his dark expression when you ask, “Is this really okay?” 

“Now you wanna ask?” 

Your heart flatlines.

“What about all those other times, angel? Did you feel like asking me then?” 

His relentless onslaught is valid and destructive. You feel incredibly sick to your stomach, all the times you’ve gone behind his back now laughing at you with disdain. Without much prelude, tears start rolling down your cheeks and you feel a hollowness in your throat. “Baby, I—”

Jin’s already out of his chair, going to you and encasing you in his familiar cologne. When he brings a hand up, it’s only to softly cup your chin, his lips claiming yours in a deep, tender kiss right after. He’s uncaring about the way your lipstick smeared, or the way you must taste metallic, which further serves to confuse you. 

When Seokjin slowly pulls away, you meet his lidded eyes like he holds your entire existence in his palms. Rubbing your cheek with a thumb, he whispers, “It’s okay. I don’t mind, sweetheart.” 

As his hand falls away and his warmth leaves your chest, you breathe, “You don’t?” 

“With the way you always look at me? Even now? I know you know who you belong to.” Mocking contemplation, he leers at you while rubbing his chin.

And at his sudden drop in tone, you fear him more than Death itself. 

“I just need to see how you’re getting fucked behind my back, that’s all.”  

Oh, fuck. 

You are so fucked. 

“You heard your man, baby girl,” Yoongi finally growls, grabbing your hips and forcing you to fall back onto his lap. Roughly grabbing your face to squish it, he has you look straight at your boyfriend alongside him. “Let’s give him a show.” 

Jin’s already back in his seat, glaring as Yoongi drags your top downward to release your breasts. As you yelp, he cups your throat and snaps the band of your shorts. “Take these off. Hurry up.” 

Air supply cut short, you watch your boyfriend’s expression as you shakily tug down your uniform bottoms, lifting your ass off Yoongi’s legs to slide them off fully. Strings of your slick taper from your cunt as the garments hit the floor, and you can feel more than see the change in Jin’s eyes. 

Yoongi’s voice is deeper than trenches when he commands, “Spread those fucking legs. Wider.” 

You push your lips together as you obey, splayed out on Yoongi’s all-white tracksuit, drenched cunt facing your silent boyfriend. Your head rests heavily on his collarbone, but you can’t bring yourself to move. 

“You see that, hyung,” Yoongi questions from behind as he brings a hand down to open your lips further. “Knew she couldn’t wait to get caught. Dirty whore.” 

He gives your clit a quick slap before releasing your throat to get his dick out, and you gasp for precious oxygen while reeling from the pleasurable sting. 

The fact that Seokjin is actually fine with all of this happening intrigues you and turns you on tenfold, your highest fantasy being this exact scenario unfolding right now. How did you get so lucky? It’s like they both knew exactly what you needed, wanted, craved before anything else.

Yoongi was on his phone when he came into the room initially. Was Seokjin the one he was texting? This is all too much to take in. But they’re both here, both acutely aware of everything you do, devouring you with their eyes. 

Despite this ridiculous miracle, something is missing. You feel it in your bones. 

Is it the fact that you want to be… rightfully punished for this? For your sins? It can’t be that. It can’t be how you truly feel. 

But when Yoongi growls his next words, you banish all of those thoughts at once. 

“You should be fuckin’ ashamed.” 

What you feel against your back is his cock—solid as a rock; what you feel against your front is his fingers seizing a nipple and pulling hard. You cry out at the pain, whimpering when his hand slips down to tease your clit. 

“Deepthroating us behind his back. Getting a train run on you. Telling him nothing.” 

Two fingers plunge into your cunt, curling upward to hit exactly where you want them to. You’re temporarily blinded and screaming out indecipherable syllables. 

“Finger-fucked while he’s right in front of you. Can’t believe he still wants to fuck this cunt. You don’t deserve him.” 

“I don’t,” you agree wholeheartedly as your body fucks long fingers, eyes shooting lust right into the ceiling. “I don’t.” 

“Lift your ass up. You’re gonna take this dick like the ungrateful slut you are.” 

Shit, did you just hear Jin groan? 

Teeth nick your ear before pouring more and more filth inside. Abruptly, soaked fingers are removed from your core with another quick slap, skirting around your hips to lube a throbbing cock behind you. As your vision descends back to your boyfriend, your lower back feels just how wet you got Yoongi’s digits. 

“I said lift this ass up.” When rough hands grip your hips, you feel your asscheeks grind up Yoongi’s jacket, sweat and desire causing your skin to slide and heat up to a thousand degrees.

Immediately, you’re speared by Yoongi’s girth, arching your back and crying out when your cunt pulses wildly against its wide head. Your legs shake on impact, straining every muscle to keep yourself upright. “Yoongi!” 

“That’s right, princess,” he grits into your neck, thrusting up into you without a shred of hesitation. “Keep saying who you really belong to.” 

Jin’s low voice darts across the room in an instant, “Watch it.” 

You’re absolutely certain Yoongi’s grinning back in response behind your mussed hair and bouncing chest, and being the object of both their desires in the moment flings you into another universe of ecstasy. Hands make their way to both of your breasts, groping them hard before pinching your nipples. 

“Fuck!” Your breath is next to gone, lost to moans and whines as you’re being wrecked between your legs. 

“You like that?” Both of Yoongi’s arms tug you down, slamming you right to the base of his cock and holding you there to take his fast movements. He completely revels in your cries when he laughs, “Of course you do. Dirty fucking whore.” 

It hurts so good. Your walls are being spread again and again and again, and you have to relax them to allow Yoongi more room to intrude. “Oh, my god,” you gasp out, “Yoongi, please!” 

He has to know your legs are giving out. That your thighs are blocks of exhausted muscle—nothing more. But even if he does, Yoongi doesn’t care in the slightest, ramming his cock inside you so deep that your stomach will walk away with the same bruises on his face. 

“Your girl feels so good around my cock, hyung,” he taunts, his hot breath rolling down your sweat-slicked chest. “It’s like she doesn’t want me to leave.” 

When you listen for a reply, you only get silence. And that seems to delight the younger man in the room, his dark chuckles assaulting your earlobe. 

Damn him and his laughs. You can help but clench around his dick, and his reaction to that is to burst in higher pitched glee. “That’s right, baby girl. You know you’re really mine.” 

The scraping of metal chair legs grinds your ears, and you snap your eyes to where your boyfriend is leaving his seat. 

Oh, fuck. Is he leaving? No no no he can’t leave. Is he really mad now? Fuck, he’s livid. He doesn’t want you anymore. 

“Baby!” you suddenly plead, “Come here—” 

“Save it.” 

Fuck! He didn’t even address you by any names. Fuck fuck fuck!

Tears are rolling down your face, taking your makeup with them. “Jinnie—” 

“Jinnie’s not concerned with a slut like you,” Yoongi sneers, thrusting up into you and making you see stars. You’re so damn conflicted, feeling euphoric in this state and in an outright panic in your gut. Why the hell do you feel this way? “Fuck, Jin, she’s clenching around me so fucking hard. This your girl?” 

“I am,” you cry out. Pulling all your strength from your center, your lips quiver when you finally address Jin how you want to, how you’ve never addressed him anywhere else outside his lavish penthouse.

“Daddy, please—” 

Yoongi stops.

Jin straightens. 

When your boyfriend stalks forward, it’s not anger or fury embedded in his features. No. Not at all. 

Seokjin is hunger incarnate. 

His eyes may as well be bleeding black all the way through, and you forget any strain you feel in your muscles at the sight of them. When you dart your gaze down, the angry bulge in his pants makes you wetter than you’ve ever been, and you look at him with pure shock. 

It seems that even Yoongi feels the shift in the room when you say it. You never said it during his competition with Hoseok and Namjoon. Only the latter implied that you did when you were fucking him. 

But now, after hearing that fly out of your mouth, something in him snaps because he transforms  into another beast entirely. Seokjin doesn’t even make it all the way to you before your arms are held back at their elbows, arching you forward and allowing next to no movement. A strangled whine leaves your mouth as your face is tilted to the ceiling. 

And all you see is your boyfriend staring down at your naked, restricted form, fully dressed in the designer suit he left work in.

Fuck, he is so goddamn fine.

Undisturbed by your pussy getting reamed, he simply brushes a thumb against your mouth. “Does my greedy girl want daddy? Want his generous dick in her mouth while she gets fucked?” 

“Yes!” Your brows pinch in desperation. “Fuck yes, daddy.” 

Immediately, Seokjin inserts a finger in you instead, leering down at your batting eyelashes. “I didn’t hear you,” he lies. 

You’re about to shout louder when he inserts more, jamming his long digits in until you’re filled and moaning around him. 

Holy shit. You’re going to hell. Just the feeling of Jin’s fingers in your mouth while Yoongi thrusts up into you is enough to get one foot over the edge. As your boyfriend regards you with a bored expression that can burn cities, your pussy wrestles Yoongi in a vice grip. 

“Oh, fuck,” you hear him groan behind you, snaking a wet hand around your throat to cut off your air supply even more. You damn near blackout from the sensation of suffering at both their thick, veiny hands. 

But Jin can sense it because he promptly yanks his fingers out, roughly patting your cheek with your saliva before tutting, “Guess that’s a no. Too bad.” 

Fuck! Frustrated, you loll your head forward. You’ve been denied from so many things while being granted a million. 

But he’s still here. Jin’s still here. Voluntarily watching you get split in two by a world-renowned boxer. 

And you cannot describe how turned on that makes you. 

Your pussy desperately aches for release around Yoongi, your high being so close from having Jin’s fully clothed form right in front of your debauchery. From being degraded, shamed, and spoiled all at once.

It seems that both men know your body well. 

As soon as your breath hitches profusely, Yoongi bucks you forward and releases you entirely, making your spent form fumble to the ground on all fours. You’re lucky to get one hand planted correctly, your forearm and knees not as fortunate.  

But no rest for the fucked. “Get up. Get on the couch.” 

Your body barely cooperates as you strain to lift yourself. A three ton weight of exhaustion and shame pushes you down, biceps and thighs burning with betrayal. Turning your head to see Jin unphased, you catch a glimpse of something in his eyes, something carnal and sinful. 

And you feel like the dirtiest and most wanted woman on the planet. 

Yoongi leans down and grips your chin, snapping your face to his. “You good?”

The sudden question causes your brain to reset. “Yeah,” you blurt, confused. 

“Bet.” Your limbs are softly pulled upward, and the fighter dumps you onto his couch with a grunt. Immediately swallowing your naked form in his unzipped jacket, he positions his cock at your entrance while murmuring, “Thought you hit the floor kinda hard.” 

You almost don’t know how to respond to this Yoongi. Is he really acting… concerned? “I did,” you admit, “But not too bad.” 

“Good girl.” 

His dark bangs stick to his forehead, and you find yourself swelling with something dangerous. Whether it’s from his turn of character, or just seeing his face again, you aren’t sure and you don’t know how to feel about it. 

You’ve been facing Jin that entire time. Why did your heart flutter either way? 

Sweat drips onto your cheeks as Yoongi whispers, “Eyes on me.” 

As you flick your gaze upward at the command, he pushes himself back inside your throbbing cunt, the pair of you groaning at the connection. Overwhelmed by multiple emotions, your heart starts to bang the walls of your chest, as if being charmed by Yoongi’s spell. 

Because what was that? What did you feel just then? There existed something in the pair of eyes above you, something you didn’t want to address.

“Always so fucking tight,” Yoongi grits, fully sheathing himself before increasing his pace faster and faster. “Too tight for a slut.” 

And just like that, the spell dissipates, and you’re a shaking mess under his attack. Thrust after thrust after deep thrust shoves you into the arm of the sofa, and your finally freed hands grab onto his sleeves for support. “Yoongi, fuck!”

“Just like that, doll,” he growls with purpose, “Say my name again.”

“Yoongi—” 

He shoves his cock so far into you that you taste him on your tongue. “Louder.”

Eyes squeezed tight, you rip his name out of your throat, gasping when he sets a relentless pace, the ridges of his dick rubbing so well against your walls that you feel your high approaching fast again. “Oh, my god!”

Yoongi then grabs your outside leg to lift over his shoulder, his brows furrowing in focus as he leans further into you. “You gonna come for me, angel? I feel it. You can’t hide from me.”

“I wanna,” you wheeze out, body limp and thrumming all over with pleasure. “So bad.”

“Then come. Come for me, you dirty whore.”

You feel a fire flare inside your chest. 

Because there’s a single, astute truth that you can’t escape. An understanding that you’ve solidified into fact. 

And the only other person that knows this about you is sitting right across the room. 

You sense his lips curve in pride, his confidence drowning the room from floor to chipped ceiling. When you turn your head, he’s already standing, hands planted on his hips and slightly lifting the ends of his jacket. 

“Daddy,” you call out to him, ignoring Yoongi’s stare completely. When Seokjin tilts his head, you finish the sentence you always request in his presence without fail, “Can I?”

And ever his favorite answer, he denies, “No.” 

“Please, I—” Turning back to Yoongi, you moan as he continues to plunge into you, strokes getting rougher as he plants a frustrated hand on the back of the couch. Staring right into the fighter’s eyes, you admit to Jin, “It feels so good.” 

Yoongi groans above you while you hear a scoff. “Why should I let you, sweetheart?” 

“Because… I… Fuck!” It’s when you’re speaking that Yoongi decides to lift your other leg up, hoisting them both over your body to fold you tight. Your words become unintelligible as you keep pleading to him, to Yoongi, to anyone. It’s all too much to handle. Your pussy is reaching its breaking point and you need release. Now. 

But ever patient, Jin simply asks again, “Because what, angel?” 

Hot tears are quick to form in your eyes, rolling down into your ears as Yoongi continues to stroke at a torturous pace. Your coil is winding and winding and you don’t know if anyone on Earth would be able to stop it now. Stomach squished and face burning, you cry out, “I’ll be good! I’ll do anything! Just, please!” 

“Not good enough.” 

What the fucking hell! Seokjin knows you need release. He knows how much you’re burning from the inside. He knows how sorry you are even though he knew everything. 

Dry sobs destroy your throat, the stimulation coming from everywhere—inside and outside, Yoongi and Seokjin—overwhelming and driving you over an edge you’ve never reached before. The coil twists and winds and curves into itself terrifyingly taut. Tighter and tighter and too fucking tight.  

“I need it!” you choke out, as if you’ll never say another word again. “I’ll do whatever you want! Please!” 

Finally—finally—Jin drags you to paradise.

“Then go ahead, sweetheart. Come like you do for daddy.” 

Like a dam crumbling, you come violently around Yoongi at his words, trembling and shaking and throwing your head all the way back. Waves crash against your body as your limbs lock at hard angles, pummeling you all the way to your proverbial shore. 

Above you, Yoongi releases a guttural moan, stuttering his hips when you milk him impossibly hard. “What the fuck!” With an erratic pace, he spills inside of you, string after molten string painting your walls white. Sweat from his cut brow drips onto your face, and the skin you can see under his white clothing is flushed as red as the robe he wears into the ring. 

Your legs fall back straight. 

One breath. Then another. 

Seconds later, it feels like centuries have passed. You’re a limp mess on the sofa, molding with its damp leather as you lie completely still. 

In a slightly better state, Yoongi pulls out and spreads your numb thighs, letting one of your legs dangle off the furniture. “Look at you,” he sneers with no heat behind it, “Dripping out another man’s cum in front of daddy.” 

You can only whimper under his lustful gaze, knowing both of them are focused on the same thing.

The boxer tucks his cock back inside his pants, adjusting the band on his hips. Drinking up your splayed out form one more time, he praises in a low tone, “Fuck, Jin, she’s perfect.” 

“I know.” 

Crouching, Yoongi takes his fingers to slowly shove some of his essence back inside your cunt, making you clench again way too soon. “You’re gonna keep all this in you for later, princess,” he commands in a voice only you can hear.

Which confuses you because you can’t find a reason why. It’s not like he’ll get another chance anytime soon, especially when Jin is walking toward you the way he is now.��

When he reaches your exhausted heap, you finally see the glint of a belt buckle in front of your eyes. A belt buckle you recognize to the point of drooling at the very sight. 

Your eyes follow his as he lowers himself to face-level. “Did you enjoy that, angel?” he asks, wiping a comforting thumb across your forehead. 

“I did,” you croak, voice rasp and eternally thankful.

Seokjin is silent for a moment before he breathes from his nose. “So did I,” he admits, “I like when my baby gets to have fun.” 

“I should’ve told you,” you whisper, eyes getting much too heavy to keep open. “About before.” 

“You should have. You’re right.” Another caress of your hair. When he turns to his side, he grabs the clothes that Yoongi brought over, though you don’t have the energy to question why. “But I’m not mad.” 

“Okay,” you reply, smaller than a whisper. “Love you, Jinnie.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart.” He slips an arm under your tired bones, lifting you slightly and urging you to stay awake just a bit longer. “Dress up and we can go home.” 

“K.” 

It takes you much longer than it should to put four pieces of clothing back on, but your present company doesn’t pay you any mind, their voices filling another part of the room. You don’t know exactly what the topic of conversation is, though you can throw in a guess. Give or take a few. 

All you know for sure is that you’re going to need a weeks’ worth of time to process what just happened. 

Truthfully, it all feels like a fever dream. From the moment Jin walked through that door, your mind had nestled itself inside another plane of existence, floating above the clouds at unreachable heights. 

But once you finally realize—days from now—that it was all true, you know you’re going to be faced with a multitude of emotions and feelings that need sorting out. Especially the few that sparked between you and the man talking to your boyfriend.

Regardless, that’s for another time. Now, you need to thank Seokjin for everything under the Sun, revolve around him endlessly like an infatuated moon.

“I’m ready,” you rasp out, causing both men to turn back to you. 

Jin comes to your side immediately, with Yoongi strolling behind, hands deep in his pockets. With a sure hand on your back, your boyfriend kisses your forehead before leading you towards the exit. Once there, he lightly lets you past the threshold before turning behind him. 

“And Yoongi?” 

Intrigued, you pop your head around his wide chest before the fighter eloquently responds. 

“What.” 

Seokjin’s tone is playful when he taunts, “It’s cute. How you think she’s yours.” 

Your face reaches high temperatures in immediate embarrassment. Or is it pride? You don’t know for sure. 

Yoongi simply rubs his bottom lip, smirking more at you than his addresser. 

“You always forget, hyung.” He huffs out a laugh, teeth shining with confidence and the knowledge that his cum is still inside you. “I never lose.”

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A/N: dsljkfnsdljkfh soooo.. i know this is super sudden.. but a burst of inspiration and the power of friendship is a lethal fic-writing combo. anyways, hope you all like it despite the themes sdklfjd dee you better know how much ily bc i can’t write infidelity without sobbing AHH i can’t do this again!!  ++ feedback box (new!): ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here!   ++ ⇥ masterlist