#except for every facet of life

[moe-broey]

Sketch I accidentally put too close between other doodles

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Sometimes I want to read my friends' fics bc like... friends! Their fics! But then like... my brain reminds me the only fic I read is dmcl.

[chibelial]

.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel Having A Crush On You Would Include…

Warnings: Implications of Smut, Obsessive Miguel, Possessive Miguel, Implied Yandere Miguel, Miguel in Love, Vampire Marking, Marking (Kind Of), Fluff, Typical Crush Behaviour, Petnames/Nicknames, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Him being absolutely OBSESSED with you.

Literally completely feral, down bad, infatuated, etc.

Initially, when he realised he’d started liking you in a romantic sense, he tried pushing you away; tried drowning his feelings in work, missions, Hell – even resolving petty spats between the Spiderpeople at the base. Anything to exorcise this rising feeling of butterflies in his chest whenever you were around. Vulnerability.

However, you were persistent.

You’d bring him lunch whenever you knew it would be a long day in the office for him, telling him that “Even the best superhero needs a sandwich every now and then!”

And by God were your sandwiches phenomenal.

Though he’d never admit it, his heart would skip a beat whenever the door to his office opened, knowing that it could be you paying him a visit with your delectable lunchables, or even just to check in on him. Make him feel special in ways nobody else had or could in years.

Eventually, this turned into a daily affair; one Miguel would watch the clock for, wait for. Long for.

Miguel also tried hiding his feelings when you brought him hand-crafted, love-filled desserts that he just couldn’t bring himself to ignore or throw away. Or, when Miles offered to take them off his hands, let anyone else have.

Eventually, there isn’t a day that goes by where you aren’t with him in some capacity. And it shows.

Whenever you’re late, even only by a few minutes, Miguel can feel his heart spike, asking Lyla where you are, if she can track you, etc.

“Sounds like you liiiike (Y/N)~” Lyla gives Miguel a knowing smile.

Miguel just grunts, ignores her. Though, he can feel the corners of his lips turning up, and hides them behind a well-placed hand, rubbing his temples.

Soft glances whenever you’re in the room, all his attention turning to you and you alone.

He just loves to stare at you. You’re so beautiful that he can’t understand why nobody else passing you has to stitch their dropped jaw back onto their face.

Then again, he is grateful. The fury that bubbles inside him whenever he catches someone glancing at you, gaze lustful, is all-consuming, enough to make his teeth grind, his eyes bleed a light rouge hue, piercing. He makes sure they’ll never cross paths with you again.

Gradually, your warmth and kindness thaws his walls, and, once the floodgates are open, neither you nor he can predict the dark ocean that is to flood your lives.

He doesn’t mean to throw himself full-force into his feelings, but after being so guarded for so long, he just can’t help it.

Becomes overly-concerned with every facet of your life. More so than he already was.

Constantly trying to find out information about you, though being stumped as to how to do so without arousing your suspicion.

Asks Lyla to track you, see what you’re doing, who you’re with, their relation to you.

However, she begins to deny Miguel such luxuries, telling him to “Grow a pair and ask (Y/N) yourself!”

When he realises Lyla is steadfast in her resolve, he does so. Reluctantly.

Though, once he starts, he finds it difficult to stop.

“Where are you going after work?”, “Are you going out tonight with anyone?”, “Who?”

Eventually, you just look up at him, seemingly oblivious to his growing desperation, and say: “Gosh, Miguel, you’re starting to sound like you’re my boyfriend or something!”

His heart stops. His throat dries and he just looks at you, eyes wide.

One second passes. Then two. Then–

“Oh– uh– yeah... I mean, not that that’s weird, right? Unless you think it is weird, then–”

Lyla has to step in and save him from himself, telling him he has ‘urgent business’ in one of the other wings of the facility.

His suit suddenly feels too tight and too hot beneath the collar whenever he has to speak with you alone.

And tight in…other places when his mind wanders to the more intimate aspects of your hypothetical relationship.

Miguel likes to rationalise this as him preparing how best to please you when the time, inevitably, comes for him to claim you, make you his. At least, this staves off the post-nut clarity (guilt) just a little longer when he’s pursuing a release, blasphemous images of you running through his mind.

A good example of this occurs almost nightly, with Miguel thoroughly loving a pillow clad in a shirt he’d lent you once, your scent still woven, though faded, into the fabric.

Many nights, his face is pressed to the cotton of that shirt, muffling his lips and his moans as his teeth sink into your temporary body, extending, marking, hand moving fervently beneath the bed sheets, your name the chant of many a spell of ardour.

You might mistake that red glow on his cheeks for the illumination of the console screens, but anyone who looks close enough knows better.

He loves showing you around the facility. Especially when your eyes light up and you remark how intelligent he is for “Doing this all on your own,”

Any compliment from you makes his heart thrum and his cheeks burn with the urge to smile. And, if it’s only you in his company, he does so.

Maybe even give you a nervous laugh.

You’re the only one he feels comfortable with showing emotion to.

He hopes that his displays aren’t lost on you; that you know him well enough to know that every smile, every laugh, is for you and you only.

And he is determined to, one day, make that smile of yours for him. And only him.

But, for now, he will content himself with daydreams and night ventures into territory not yet known, all the while possessing a seat beside you, being a shoulder for you to cry on, an ear into which you may pour your worries, a hero on whom you can always depend in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism: I can fix him (no really I can)

G/N. Gun, DG, Sammy, Jakey, Ryuhei, Goo, Vin

You didn't roll up your sleeves, ready to fix the men that came into your life. As if you were some amber or red flag magnet, and you had ample time and energy and patience to sort out their issues. Somehow though, it happened anyway. Slowly. Little by little.

With yourself more of a dubious observer more than anything.

Only a fool would invite someone like Gun into their life and not expect troubles. The pitch black eyes are already an obvious omen.

Except. Gun has second thoughts around you. Peaks of humanity showing through his cracks. Fun for Gun used to be fights and bloodshed. Letting his demons out fully. He can never be completely tamed but he realises there's joy, a bone-deep peace, in other things too.

Namely, your company.

James plays his cards to his chest. As James Lee, as Diego Kang, as whoever he may be in the future.

Hides his intention and true character with a detached, arrogant smile. Buries into himself further with his shiny k-pop persona, not letting anyone see his authentic self.

Your touch first cracked his well polished veneer. Your words and keen eyes, astute and observant, blew the gap wide open.

He realises there's no more hiding with you.

Samuel doesn't lack motivation or discipline with most areas of his life. When it comes to his mental health though, it's sorely lacking. Though, delusional and lacking introspection, he never realised it was a problem until you.

He notices your smile dimming during the beginning of his spirals. Feels your absences as he plummets to rock bottom. Craves you with every part of his being as he soars into mania.

Your worried looks and trembling bottom lip gives him the final push he needs to want to improve.

Being Gapryong's son is a part of who Jake is, irrefutable and undeniable. As much as he likes to convince himself he is nothing like his dad, he has fortunately taken all his best traits and foregone the worst.

However. It takes someone like you to come along, that loves all the parts of him-

(Son of the legend of the Pre-generation, the Boss of Big Deal... And the quietest part, the part of him dimmed and muted through the challenges of life, simply Jake Kim, where he can be as he wants to be.)

-For him to finally accept all parts of himself too.

When Ryuhei crushes, falls, obsesses, he finds it hard to fit the whole image of someone in his head.

All their imperfections and flaws and faults are non-existent in his mind. Which sounds harmless and sweet at first thought, but he could never truly connect with anyone if he is only able to see his own perception of them.

But then you showed him all sides of you, forced him to acknowledge the good with the bad, experience the troughs with the peaks.

Until, over time, he fully sees every facet of you.

Being with Goo is like trying to domesticate a wild animal.

He has glimpses of docility assuming he is well fed and well entertained, though he is still likely to bite the hand that feeds at any moment. Of course, only someone used to getting his way would continue being this... deranged.

You take no prisoners. Uncompromising in the way you should be treated, respected, until Goo has no choice but to also fall in line if he wants to keep you by his side.

Vin keeps himself barbed and prickly. Masks his true feelings, his own insecurities, with jokes and insults. Has made more people cry than he can remember and ignores any guilt with a shrug of his shoulders.

He's not a sociopath. It's just that he's been this way for so long he doesn't know how to be anything else.

You cut through the bullshit, give him no judgement for who he is, how he looks, but how he acts.

His jokes are still rude. Insults still mean. But there's no longer any cruelty.

[alltimefail]

Okay so I have more thoughts on Dead Boy Detectives but this is less about scene analysis and more about my own personal interpretation of Charles as I truly believe Charles' inability to fully "reciprocate" Edwin's feelings is less about accepting his sexuality/lack of awareness about his sexuality and more about feeling unworthy of being on the receiving end of Edwin's love (and about bad timing - them being in an afterlife or eternal suffering situation on the literal stairs of hell, but I digress lol). This would explain, pretty seamlessly, why he seems to seek out fleeting or "fun" romances and flirtations. It would also explain why, immediately following the confession, there are micro-changes, blink-and-you'll-miss-it differences in Charles' behaviors and expressions. It's clear that our boy is reflecting, and he meant it when he said he intended to "figure out what the rest means..." even if it takes him forever (and I doubt it will, but again... I digress). This is why calling his reassurances to Edwin on the staircase a "rejection" and putting Charles in a box as default-straight is a complete disservice to his character, to the writers, to the queer brilliance that rings beautifully in every facet of this show, and to Jayden Revri who is an exceptional actor with a palpable, deep love and reverence for the character he's portraying.

As a repressed PTSD bisexual™️ myself, I can't help but connect Charles' history with abuse alongside his poor perception of self, people-pleasing tendencies, and his quickness to stifle and repress his own feelings and desires to his fear of being a "bad person." It would not surprise me if Charles would fear the possibility that he is capable of taking something fragile, beautiful, raw, and vulnerable (Edwin's love) and destroy it in the way his father did.

Charles has always loved fully and without caution; I would even say he loves recklessly at times, throwing himself in front of danger, even to his own detriment. But has anyone fully loved him back in the way he loves? Charles has always loved Edwin, but did he ever allow himself to humor the idea that Edwin might just love him back?

It's evident that Charles had very little kindness in his life. Charles' friends were conditional at best and violent/abusive at their worst, his father was a monster, and his mother (who, in all fairness, was also a victim of abuse) was quiet and complicit in the abuse Charles received from his father. His entire afterlife is intrinsically connected to Edwin's - his entire existence, and Edwin's entire existence, are so closely entwined to one another that to "screw up" the delicate balance they've struck would be more than unfortunate - it would be earth-shattering, a loss like no other. Charles is impulsive, but he is not careless...quite the opposite, actually. I truly think whether or not he's attracted to men is not the issue; it wouldn't surprise me if, at the very least, Charles is aware he is attracted to people regardless of gender and just doesn't have the language to put a label to that sensation yet (he might have never been compelled to put a label on it, frankly). The issue is that Charles is unsure if he is deserving of someone not just loving him, but being in love with him... especially when it's coming from someone he thinks is the best person in the world, the most important person to him, the only person he would deny heavy and defy hell for.

Honestly Charles might even already know he has feelings toward Edwin specifically that are not strictly platonic, but taking that gamble even though he struggles with feelings such as being undeserving of Edwin; that he would be selfish to take a love he's undeserving of; that Edwin might come to realize, at some point, that he was mistaken in loving Charles and that being with Charles isn't actually enough/what he hoped it would be and he regrets his confession all together. Or, perhaps worst of all, what if Charles finds that the nagging fear he's buried deep down was correct all along... that he actually is like his father and capable of hurting Edwin and bastardizing the concept of love as a whole?

There are stakes when it comes to loving Edwin - if he were to screw up what they have, the consequences would be disastrous, it very well might destroy him. He cannot be careless, he cannot be impulsive, he cannot risk destroying what he and Edwin have. I'm not sure Charles has ever not loved Edwin, but he probably never humored that his Edwin: touch-reserved, buttoned-up, logical, stubborn, beautiful, kind Edwin who brought a warm light to Charles in his darkest moment, could feel that way, too... especially about him. What is he to do with that?

[valtsv]

cw for discussions of suicide and suicidal ideation but i'm thinking about tsv saints again and wondering if they're even capable of self-destruction (self-iconoclasm?). like, every saint we've seen so far, no matter how much suffering they're being forced to endure and how much of their self-awareness they've retained, has only been able to die if they're dispatched by another character - with the exception of the woundtree saints, which are generated by suicide as an act of protest, but they're an intentional outlier. this isn't a "should saints be euthanised if their quality of life is determined to be below a level that is considered acceptable" debate because that's a whole different ethical can of worms. i just wonder because there's an argument to be made that in taking away their ability to intentionally end their own lives, the hallowing procedure attacks another facet of personal bodily autonomy by denying the right to harm or terminate that body. compounding the horror of it all further.

[artdcnaldson]

PAT GIVING ART A BLOWJOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! omg elaborate need ur thoughts………

-🩰

Patrick's first BLOWJOB 💜 (giving ofc <3)

He's just curious! Maybe they're both high or crossed after a party with Art's Stanford tennis friends, and Patrick just wants to know what it's like!! He fucks girls' faces all the time, he's just curious what it's like. Maybe he just doesn't phrase it correctly.

"Can I see what your dick tastes like?"

Art narrows his eyes, which is a feat considering they're already half-lidded. "Dude, what?"

But Patrick's a convincing guy (not that either of them needs any convincing, really. The thought has lived in both of their heads for a long time), and their inhibitions are already lowered soooo far that it's not long before Patrick's on his knees between Art's thighs, watching as Art tries to stroke himself to full-hardness.

"How are you gonna— ngh— know what to do?" Art pants, teasing over the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb, digging into the slit just the way he likes.

"I'll just copy what girls do," he says. "How hard can it be?"

It's mostly intuitive— Patrick finds, and he can't really find an easy way to describe the taste of cock on his tongue. He likes it, though. The weight and heat of it.

When they were younger, he and Art would compare dick sizes. Soft, then hard, 'cause that's what really counts. They'd frantically jerked off, then lined them up side by side.

"So close, champ," Patrick had teased when he beat him in length. Not that Art had anything to be embarrassed about, but winning was always a rush, in every facet of life.

Now though, with Art's dick in his mouth, his jaw aches a little, and there's so much spit pooling at the corners of his mouth that it's messy.

"Am I doing okay? Is it too messy?" Patrick asks, his voice a little hoarse.

Art nods, flushed from his cheeks to the tip of his nose to the tips of his ears. Flushed even through his cock. "No, you're... it's good, just... maybe you can take it deeper," he pants.

Patrick nods, spitting onto Art's dick. It twitches. He watches as precum beads at the tip and spills down the side, following the vein down the side.

Art whines when Patrick takes him back into his mouth, when his cock presses against the back of his throat and the brunet gags pathetically around it. The drool pooling at the base of Art's cock is thick, stringy, dripping down Art's balls messily.

He has to remind himself to breathe through his nose— to not suffocate around Art's dick, not that it would be too bad of a way to go.

He falls into a rhythm, sucking Art's cock deeper, bobbing his head up and down and relishing in the sound of Art coming apart just above him. Lithe fingers tangle at the back of his head, not pushing, just guiding how he wants. He wonders if the girls who've sucked him off felt comforted by it the way he does.

There's just so much he wants to do. He's not sure if it's because of that innate curiosity, or if it's about Art. Except it is about Art. Everything is, usually. He tries to use a little tongue, to lave over the underside of his cock as he goes deeper. He takes him as deep as he can, which, admittedly, isn't impressive, but is rewarded by the prettiest noise from Art's mouth.

"F— fuck, Pat—" Art slaps at his shoulders frantically. "C'mon, up— fuck— up... Gonna c— shit—"

Art had always cum a lot. Every time they jerked off together, he saw that. But in Patrick's mouth, it was a lot. He feels Art's hot spend paint his tongue and tries to swallow as much as he can. Part of the experiment, part of knowing what it's like. It tastes different than his own cum, not as salty, which is... well, it's something.

Art pants, collapsed back onto the bed with an arm slung over his face. Patrick releases Art's softening cock with a pop.

They both feel a lot more sober now.

[stopper-my-heart]

Nick's moments of panic under the umbrella in Heartstopper S1E4 before Charlie kisses him really get me. So I wrote a thing in second person to try to appreciate the weight of the emotions that I imagine Nick is experiencing.

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

You’re into this boy. So into him. He’s been in your thoughts. . . a lot. You've been talking all the time, you keep wanting to see him, and whenever you do, it’s never enough. You can’t help but smile when you think of him, let alone when you see him.

You want this boy. Romantically. You don’t really know what that looks like, but you know it’s true.

And, it seems, he wants you, too.

Your first kiss was good. Really good. All those tingles and flutters and sparks that you felt from just being close to him were amplified into so much more. It was so much better than you could’ve ever imagined.

And then you panicked. You screwed it up. You ran. You went back, but it was too late. You need him to know that you don’t regret it, that you wanted it, that you want him, that you were (are) just freaking out.

You try to be calm, you try to keep your cool. (No need to embarrass yourself in front of your crush.) Plus things are a little weird, restrained, and understandably so. He's probably really hurt. You need to get this out, you need to explain. You can do it.

And then he begins apologising. It quickly becomes clear that he has this all wrong. That he’s wildly misunderstood, rewritten what has happened. You were there because you wanted to be, because you chose to be. Yes, you were scared — are scared — but he has this all twisted.

Charlie.

Charlie!

Charlie.

He's not getting it. So you kiss him.

You make sure he knows what’s going to happen, and even if he seems very confused, he responds readily enough. You attempt to pour all of your feelings into him, to get across all of your regret and sorrow for hurting him as well as (maybe especially) how much you do want this. And for a moment, he loses himself in the kiss. You understand, you do too. Kissing him is just as good as you remember.

And, well, it’s too late for being cool now. You just kissed all your emotions into him, practically begging him to understand; you’d best explain what those emotions are in the hopes that he properly will. (Besides, this isn’t just “your crush”, this is Charlie.) You can’t leave him standing there so lost and confused. You may be confused, but he deserves to know that that confusion isn't about him.

So you start to explain…and then it all comes out. You’re vulnerable in a way you can’t remember being before. There’s no one in your life you can talk to like this, especially not about this. And it’s really been messing with you. Because not only has this boy's presence in your life already begun to upend everything, but you're so much happier because of it. And what are you supposed to do with that? What even would your life be if it were entirely different? Do you even want it to be different? . . .Maybe. But it’s scary. But you want him. And you want you.

So you tell him this, more or less. Really, you cry into his chest. Is this too much? Is he overwhelmed? So much for keeping it cool, keeping your cool. But you need this. He seems okay, he seems to get it. The friendship you’ve built is there, it can handle difficult things — it already has. He seems to want to be there for you. So you let him, and he lets you, and things are hard but they’re better in this moment. You’re finally seen and understood, and maybe Charlie now understands why you ran away, that it wasn’t about him, about the two of you.

. . .But now what?

You want him, but being with him will indeed upend every single facet of your life if other people know. You’re not ready for that, you can’t face that yet. It's too much. Everything is still so new and confusing. You don’t want to ask, but you want to be with him and you don’t see any other way to do that right now except to…keep this a secret? He finishes the thought for you. "Yeah," you concede, unhappily, but owning that that’s where you’re at.

He agrees, he tries to reassure you; you’re not completely convinced, but you want to believe him, so you let yourself.

And there's that question again: Now what?

There have been a lot of emotions and things are a little weird, even if a lot better, and you want to say something, or to touch him, but this is new and you’re meant to be leaving and…best to just go. The awkwardness will fade eventually. You’ll figure out how to be in this new dynamic. For now, you’re wanting, but you don’t know how to do anything more than that (would he want you to?). So you smile at him through the awkwardness and start to walk home.

. . .

. . .

What. Just. Happened.

This is good, but awkward, but good, and he wants this too, right? You’re together now, right? You’re really getting to be with him, with this boy you want so much, with Charlie. This is happening?

And then you hear it: Charlie calling out to you. Feet slapping on wet pavement.

“Nick!”

You stop, startled, confused, off-balance. What’s happening? He’s smiling, but.. What could possibly be worth running out into the rain in his pyjamas for? Has he changed his mind already? Does he not want this? Is keeping it a secret too much?

The doubts and fear are filling your mind, but you try to rein it in, to not let it show, to not let him see.

And then he looks back at you. And you know, in an instant, that everything that you wanted for your goodbye, he wanted, too.

Right? Please let you be understanding this correctly. You look at his lips, once, twice — you can’t help it. You’re desperately hoping that you’re on the same page, but barely daring to believe it.

And then he kisses you.

And the world stops.

.

.

.

.

And this is it. This is right.

Charlie.

This boy just ran out in the rain to kiss you. He’s soaking wet, he must be freezing, and here he is, kissing you. That’s the only reason he came out after you. To kiss you.

He smiles — that amazing smile of his that lights up your whole world — and then he runs off again.

There’s no more room for thoughts, only feelings. Massive feelings that well up inside you. So much sentiment that it feels like your heart is bursting.

You thought you were off-balance before? Well now you’re practically drunk.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Maybe the best thing ever.

[clairedaring]

Sneak Peak of the Cutting-Edge Futuristic Netflix Thai Original ‘Tomorrow and I’

What happens when hyper-advanced technology collides with traditional Thai beliefs and customs? Discover the answers in Tomorrow and I, a four episode anthology series that takes viewers on a journey through a futuristic Thailand where technology has become an inescapable part of daily life.

The cast includes Pakorn Chatborrirak, Violette Wautier, Waruntorn Paonil, Treechada Hongsyok, Ray Macdonald, Timethai, Thongchai Thongkuntom, Aelm Thavornsiri, Pongsatorn Jongwilas, Chananticha Chaipa, and Wanichaya Pornpanarittichai.

This groundbreaking series is directed by Paween Purijitpanya a trailblazing filmmaker known for his genre-defying works such as Body, 4bia, and Phobia 2. Paween has also showcased his talents with the feel-good series Seven Something, the boundary-pushing film Ghost Lab, and his exceptional direction in the episode “Liberation” of Girl from Nowhere Season 2. In Tomorrow and I, Paween reimagines four everyday scenarios in intriguing ways, starting with…

Episode 1: Bringing your loved ones back from the dead. Imagine a future where innovation has reached its peak, testing the boundaries of life and death. In this world, the cycle of birth, death, and being reborn may become an everyday reality through the technology of cloning.

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Episode 4: And if an entire city were submerged underwater after years of relentless rainfall, how would humanity survive? Would people fall into despair as the waters rose, or would they have to rely on "octopuses," potentially the last hope for survival? When this moment arrives, everyone will face a crisis beyond our species' abilities.

Unveil the future in Tomorrow and I, the year-end series that will spark your imagination and challenge your perceptions of a world where technology seamlessly integrates into every facet of our lives. Coming soon, exclusively on Netflix.

[powdermelonkeg]

just saw ur gale/mystra analysis post. im new to the game and dnd lore and honestly… ur take on their relationship feels like the most natural/compelling one??? esp since its all too easy to simplify topics that have many facets and nuance….

thanks for sharing i love analysis and reading people’s takes on narratives : D

My pleasure! (Bee from the future here: congrats, you spawned another meta!)

I love complicated characters, WAY more than I like a clear cut-and-dry case. Flaws, to me, are what make a character compelling and lead to interesting stories about them with choices that can get them into situations. I'm both writing a fanfic and running a campaign where I'm playing as Gale, and in the interest of portraying him properly and in-character, I've gone into SUCH a deep dive into all the decisions and facts that make him him.

It helps to, y'know, also be in love with the fictional wizard, but I digress

The thing about Baldur's Gate 3 is that no character in there is perfect. I've seen a couple analyses about the theme of continuing cycles of abuse vs breaking out of them, but in my mind, in terms of the characters themselves, it goes like this:

The origin characters have just come out of the lowest situation of their lives (Lae'zel being the exception; being tadpoled is a gith's worst nightmare. You're seeing that lowest situation in real time).

Not the lowest point, mind. Gale's lowest was probably the day after he got the Orb. Wyll's was probably the day his father cast him out. Karlach's was the day she lost her heart. But the lowest, accepted normal for them is what they've just left.

They're then thrown out of their depth and forced to rely on you to live. That's #1 priority: living. We get the extremes of these characters before we get their nuances, because they're quite literally at their breaking points.

Then once we get to know them, we see their wants, their hopes, their fears, as they open up to us. Every companion's story is at their own pace, but they all have a moment where they ping-pong between despondency and desire. Sometimes that desire is what we know isn't good for them, like Shadowheart wanting to be a Dark Justiciar. Sometimes that despondency is only for a flicker, like Astarion's realization that he's condemned 7000 people to a half-life of tortured spawnhood for as long as he's been a vampire.

Romance lets us crack all that open more, because if you pursue a romantic partner, they see you as their closest confidant. They WANT to trust you, so they're more willing to explain how they see the world and what decisions they want to chase.

And then their endings. Those often get simplified as good/bad, continuing the cycle vs breaking away from it. But how is Duke Wyll on the same platform as Ascended Astarion? He's not evil, he's not even entirely unhappy. He might even have broken out of his abusive cycle with Mizora, if you played your cards right. And Ascended Astarion is overjoyed, even if he is remarkably more cold.

I think that the endings are less a dichotomy of "this is good for them" vs "this is bad for them," and more one of "bringing out their best traits" vs "bringing out their worst."

Wyll's worst trait is being willing to sacrifice his own wants for whatever people desire of him. His best is standing for what he believes in and ensuring people are safe. Duke Wyll leans into that necessity to turn the other cheek in the name of people who count on him, while the Blade of Avernus has seized that moral compass of his and forged it out of mithral.

Shadowheart's worst trait is blind obedience at the cost of her individuality, while her best is her desire to be kind to things that don't deserve to be hurt. Mother Superior Shadowheart's whole life is defined by Shar. Selûnite Shadowheart's life is defined by her hospitality, especially towards animals.

Karlach's worst trait is how willing she is to accept that things are (to quote her) fucked, letting despair override hope. Her best is her durability in the face of horror. Exploded Karlach would rather die than try to work out a solution in the Hells, because she's terrified of facing Zariel alone. Mindflayer Karlach has accepted her fate and decides to give up her heart and soul to go out a hero, losing who she is. Fury of Avernus Karlach is willing to keep fighting for a solution, and by the time the epilogue happens, she's got her sights set on one.

Astarion's worst trait is his desire for power over people. His best trait is using the tools he has to his advantage. Ascended Astarion has let his powerhungry nature and paranoia lead all of his decisions, with his sights set on dominating mankind. Spawn Astarion has embraced what he is, and carved out a life for himself where he can do as he pleases.

Lae'zel's worst trait is her blind fanaticism, while her best trait is her individual dedication, making her loyalty a marriage of the two. Ascended Lae'zel is a meal for the lich queen, turning a blind eye to all Vlaakith's tried to do to her and literally being consumed by her fervor. Champion of Orpheus Lae'zel has turned her loyalty into something productive for diplomacy. Faerûnian Lae'zel has seized her individuality by the throat and decided her own future.

And then Gale. Gale's worst traits are his hubris and, paradoxically, his low self worth. His best traits are his creativity and wonder for the world. God Gale is the embodiment of ambition, having burned away all but that in pursuit of perfection. Exploded Gale has let his remorse blot out all hope for a redemption in which he does not die, because he thinks he's earned it. Professor Gale leads his life by embracing the school of Illusion and letting his creativity thrive, teaching others to do the same. House Husband Gale has multiple creative projects he's working on, and Adventurer Gale is always finding new sights to see and wanting to share them with you.

There are arguments to be made on which ending the origins are happiest in, certainly, or which one benefits them the most, but each ending represents the extreme of a facet they possess.

So with all that, there's a sort of malleable method to figuring out the ins and outs of a character.

You take their endings—all of them, all variables they can have—and reverse-engineer the flaws and details they carry. Then you start to notice how those work into their approvals for minor things: Astarion approving of your taking of the Blood of Lathander, or Shadowheart approving of standing up for Arabella. Getting a list of approvals and disapprovals is helpful, but having those endings on hand tells you why they react like that to a majority of their decisions.

You take their romance-route explanations of how they act, and apply those to earlier decisions. Astarion's confession to manipulating you and Araj-prompted admittance to using himself as a tool brings to light how he reacts to your decisions, regardless of his actual opinions on them. Wyll's fairytale romance and love of poetic adages speaks to his idealistic nature, and why he takes a sometimes-blinded approach to decisions in which the "right" answer isn't always the smart one.

You take their beginning reactions to stress and use that to measure how future decisions impact them. Lae'zel locks down and gets snappy when she's scared, while Gale immediately turns to diplomacy. Shadowheart has gallows humor, while Wyll turns to quiet acceptance. If they break from these and seem even worse, you know the situation is more dire in their minds than having seven days to live.

And then you factor in all their fun facts and dialogue choices and backstories.

A wizard falls in love with a goddess and her magic, attempts to retrieve a piece of her power for her, is scorned for his attempt and is cursed to die.

Give that backstory to a Tav. Look at how it changes.

A chaotic good wizard fell in love with a goddess, thought retrieving a piece of power for her would be a showy bouquet of love, and was punished for not thinking things through.

A lawful evil wizard fell in love with a goddess's power, snatched the most precious thing she owned, tried to use it to barter his way through to the secrets she kept, and was given a swift retribution.

Same backstory. Same class, same act, same goddess. Wildly different connotations. Wildly different conclusions as to who is in the wrong.

If you take all there is to Gale, all that the game shows us makes up his character, and apply it to this backstory, you get what really happened:

A wizard, enamored with magic, fell in love with a goddess. His desires led him to want more than she was willing to give. In his well-buried fear of inadequacy, he concluded that the reason she wouldn't indulge his ambitions was because he just hadn't proven himself worthy enough. So he tried to prove himself, but he lacked the context for what he was proving himself with. And the goddess, seeing a weapon that had killed her predecessor, saw this ambitious wizard as losing his way and coming for her just like the weapon's creator had. She was angry, she withdrew his link to her, and he didn't know why. So he drew the conclusion that she took his powers to punish him, and let that encompass his fall from grace.

Was he wrong to reach for what was out there?

If you knew that the answers to everything you cared about were not only known, but kept by someone you loved—someone who adored you—what would you do to ask to see them? What if your curiosities were if there were other planets with life out there, or how dark matter worked, or whether or not we could one day travel in the stars? What if it was the potential cure to an illness that's little-understood, or the way to make a program you dreamt up, or the scope of the true limits of your artistic talents? Would your answer change?

Was she wrong to cut him off?

If you were once hurt, and the person you loved—the person who adored you—brought the thing that caused it to your door, believing you'd want it, how would you react to seeing it? What if that thing was someone you thought you'd broken contact with, like a friend or family member you'd been trying to avoid? Would your answer change?

That's the sort of scope that needs to be applied to this, on both sides. You have to take the perspectives of each party, and apply two analogies instead of one.

Gale saw the vastness of the universe, untold wonders, the solution to every question he could ever dream up, and saw Mystra as withholding this from him because she thought he just wasn't worthy enough. To claim Mystra knew his perspective does her a disservice.

Mystra saw a cruel weapon she thought long gone, in the hands of someone who could use it, brought right to her, and thought Gale was willingly following the path of Karsus. To claim Gale knew her perspective does him a disservice.

Should Gale have researched his prize more, so he knew just what he was obtaining? Should he have kept his hands off a cursed book that would devour him? Of course he should have.

Should he have given up on chasing his dreams?

Should Mystra have understood that Gale's pursuit of power was nothing like Karsus'? Should she have communicated when she was angry instead of giving the cold shoulder? Of course she should have.

Should she have given him the benefit of the doubt?

That's the root of their falling out. That's what leads to hurt being inflicted. Understandable, human reactions to the situations they perceive. Unhealthy, unwise choices made afterwards.

You work backwards from this to figure out their dynamic as Chosen and goddess. You work forward from this to understand more of where Gale and Mystra are during the events of Baldur's Gate 3. Gale reached too high, and understands this. His goddess hates him, and he regrets this. Mystra isolated Gale, and understands this. Her Chosen wants redemption, and she wants to make it happen.

Just like we took Gale's character into account, we also have to take Mystra's.

A goddess is faced with a problem. She uses someone who's desperate for approval to solve it, by telling him to kill himself.

An evil goddess is faced with a threat to her reign. She sees someone who's unfailingly loyal and hates himself, and elects to have him tear himself apart rather than do anything about it.

A good goddess is terrified of the future. She sees someone who tried to hurt her, who's going to die anyways, and tells him to use it to save the world.

Same story. Same act, same power, same pawn. Different character. Different perspective. Different outlook on whether or not this is the right thing to do.

Mystra has died, multiple times, to people trying to stake claim to her domain. Someone appears with the very thing that could do it again, right as she's regained her stability.

She does not see mortals the way mortals do. She is timeless. She is eternal. She has a duty to protect billions of people, and one person lost to protect that number is more than worth the sacrifice.

People like to bring up the Seven Sisters as proof of Mystra's cruelty. For those unaware, Mystra asked permission to, then possessed, a woman, used her to court a man (with dubious consent from the woman), and bore seven children, all of whom were capable of bearing Mystra's power as Chosen without dying. The woman she possessed was killed in the process (reduced to no more than a husk, then slain by her now-husband, hoping to end her suffering), and the husband was horrified by the whole story.

Mystra needed Chosen in order to restore herself in the event that she was killed again, to prevent magic as a whole from collapsing and wreaking havoc on the mortal realm, like it had in the few seconds Mystryl had been dead. Elminster, Khelben Blackstaff, and the Seven Sisters contributed to this. The more Chosen she has, the better; what happens if Elminster dies? She can't afford to have all her eggs in one basket.

Mystra has Volo (yeah, that Volo) as a Weave Anchor, imparted with a portion of her power to prevent the Weave from shredding itself to pieces in her absence. All Chosen of Mystra are Weave Anchors by nature. The creation of Weave Anchors was mandated by Ao, the Overgod, and Chosen are the best way to make sure those anchors aren't drained by ambitious people hoping for godlike power. Chosen can, and will, defend themselves, unlike static locations (which Mystra also has). The anchors are why the Weave wasn't completely obliterated during Mystra's last death, when the Spellplague rose up, because they stabilized the Weave around them.

Everything Mystra does is in the name of the big picture, to prevent a catastrophe like the fall of Netheril from happening again. Her restriction of magic, her numerous Chosen, her creation of Weave Anchors, her destruction of those who would claim her power, it's all in the name of the stability she's been charged with. Dornal Silverhand's grief and Elué Silverhand's death, while regrettable, were worth it to bring seven more anchors into existence to save all of the Material.

So someone appears with the Crown of Karsus, potentially powerful enough to try to kill the other gods in the name of the Dead Three. She can't risk being a target of them. She can't risk the destruction of magic again.

Gale is going to die. He lives in fear. He begs for forgiveness.

In Mystra's eyes, she's offering him the best outcome. She'll let him die in service to her, to save Faerûn, and she'll forgive him. He's going to die anyways, and if he does this, she'll give him everything (she thinks) he could ever want in her realm. She's asking him to do what (she thinks) is the right thing.

"She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness."

Notably, she leaves the decision in his hands. She doesn't have Elminster lead him to the Nether Brain. She doesn't activate him as soon as he's there. When he lives yet, she doesn't revoke the charm that keeps him stable. And when he declines, when he lets it go and starts pursuing Karsus' path, she doesn't smite him on the spot.

She is (she thinks) being incredibly patient. If Gale is going to try to be Karsus II, she's ready for him. If he decides to walk off and keep the Orb, he's dug his own grave in the Fugue Plane (those who don't have a god to claim them roam endlessly as husks and form a wall of bodies around the City of Judgement).

From her perspective, she's not being unreasonable. But from the perspective of a mortal, she absolutely is.

"Now, I have a question for thee: what is the worth of a single mortal's life?"

This is a question she cannot answer properly.

I think a lot of characterization is lost whenever someone paints one of them as being totally in the right. But I also think you have to be invested in them as characters to want to see that characterization. If you want to write about Mystra, you have to try to get into her head, analyze the decisions she made, figure out why she thinks she was right, and follow the pattern.

Gale's sacrifice is a very predictable thing for her to ask for.

[kavehater]

Man I wish I could feel bad enough for even talking so I just don’t yap too much it just feels embarrassing a lot of the time

My brother just called me an unskippable NPC 😭

[junkdrawerfics]

What's Imprinting?

Jasper Hale X Reader

Summary: You are a wolf shift, except you have no clue what that is. During your search for someone like you, someone who can explain what's happening, you run into a certain vampire and you, what did he call it? You imprint on him apparently!

Word Count: 2037

Note: So this plays with the idea that there are other wolf shifters besides the Quileute tribe, mainly because I am not Native American and don't feel comfortable writing a reader that explicitly is. No origin is stated, so it's open to all.

---

When you first shifted, every facet of your reality shifted with you. 

Suddenly, things you thought were just stories became disturbingly real. Every monster. Every myth. You couldn’t rule any of them out, not when you could turn into a massive wolf and run faster than a car.

The worst part was not knowing why. And you couldn’t ask just anyone.

So you left. There had to be someone who could explain why this happened to you. Someone like you. Somewhere. Finding them turns out to be harder than you think though, because, like you, someone who can turn into a wolf doesn’t exactly want the world to know about them.

So now, after a year of searching, you’re in Washington. On the brink of giving up.

Letting out a low huff, you drop yourself onto the edge of the cliff, staring down at the waves below you. The dark water crashes against the rocks, as if it’s trying to rip the cliff away, mist spraying high into the air. The salty smell of the ocean drifts up on the soft breeze. You take a deep breath, trying to rid yourself of the lingering city scent.

Seattle proved fruitless. Not that you were really expecting much. What kind of wolf would stay in a place so gross? Every city block brought a new scent. Garbage, grease, smog, sewer. Just like every other city you’ve been to. Even if there was another wolf there, you’d never be able to catch their scent in all of that.

“I swear, if I end up smelling like that city for the next week,” you grumble to yourself, nose scrunching at the thought.

“I don’t think you smell all that bad.”

You freeze.

Someone’s behind you?

Every muscle in your body goes taut as a scent suddenly sweeps over you. It’s like walking into a candy shop, so sickeningly sweet and heady, it makes your head spin. Your wolf snarls to the surface, jaws snapping, hackles bristling. Screaming at you to run.

Fear creeps up your spine.

But then it just…disappears.

Everything falls still. Your mind, the anxiety pulsing through your veins, even your wolf. The strange sense of calm that floods through you covers it all like a heavy fog. But it’s not you. It’s not you.

“What are you doing to me?” You breathe out shakily, fingers digging into the stone under you.

“Just stay calm.” It’s a man, his voice deep and soothing, rolling with a southern accent that would be charming under different circumstances.

But right now, you’re just focused on the way your panic keeps being taken away. You can’t even feel frustrated about it without that being covered too.

“You don’t seem to be giving me an option,” you growl. It has to be him. Nothing else could explain it. What is he? How is he doing this?

“I can answer all your questions if you just give me-”

“Stop it!” You flip around, lips pulled back in a snarl, ready to phase and snap this guy’s head off.

Until your eyes meet a pair of honey gold ones.

The whole world seems to slow down, all except your heart, because the man in front of you is possibly the most beautiful person you’ve ever set eyes on. He’s tall and lean, with a face that looks like it’s been carved from marble. And his smile. It slants his mouth in an adorably boyish way.

Your eyes trail down the pale curve of his neck, across his broad shoulders, down his arms. That’s when you notice countless scars littering his pale skin. Like a match striking stone, rage flares to life in you, so sharp and sudden you have to clench your eyes shut to stop yourself from phasing. 

How could someone do that to him? You’ll kill them. All of them. You’ll hunt them down and-

Wait.

Eyes flickering back open, wide now as you look back at the blond and his strikingly gold eyes, you can’t help but shrink back. What was that? What is this feeling? A deep ache starts in your chest, only growing worse when you put more distance between you. Like you want to be close to him. Like everything you’ve done up until this moment doesn’t matter, and all you want is to just press into him and learn everything about him and protect him.

The man keeps his eyes trained on you, brow creasing when you let out a strangled, confused whine. He takes a step forward, hand reaching out for you, but stops in his tracks when you flinch.

“Are you doing this too?” You demand, practically toeing the edge of the cliff now.

“No.”

As if his words carry magic, your struggling panic eases. You take a deep breath, easing away from the cliff and closer to the handsome stranger. A smile pulls at his lips again, all soft and kind and tempting. For a split second, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss hi-

“Why do I feel this way then?” You wrap your arms around yourself, unnerved by the sudden desires burning under your skin.

The blond raises a confused brow, “I believe you wolves call it ‘imprinting’.”

Imprinting? What on earth does that me-

Your eyes blow wide, voice shrill, “Wolves?”

The man nods. He knows. How does he know? And why doesn’t it bother you that he knows?

You expect the panic to come back, or your wolf to go crazy, but nothing. And it’s not him this time. Instead of any of that, you almost feel…relieved. There’s no need to hide. You don’t want to hide.

 You look at the man again. He should be threatening. Tall stature, lean muscles, and all those scars. But when you look at him, all you feel is the need to be closer. You look at him and you feel safe for the first time in years. Is this what imprinting is?

“Who are you?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

“My name’s Jasper Whitlock,” he hums, inching closer. You don’t back away.

“How do you know I’m…?”

The blond - Jasper - chuckles, the sound warm and rough, “Your kind has a particular scent, easy to recognize. Though yours isn’t that bad.”

Brow furrowing, you have to resist the urge to sniff your clothes, “You can…smell me?”

“Vampires have keen senses.”

Vampires. He’s a vampire. Of course he’s a vampire. Pale skin. Unusually colored eyes. The scent, which has changed since you first caught it. It’s softer somehow, still sweet, but more like caramel and dark chocolate. Addictive.

“So you, you um, and I, okay.” You drop to the ground abruptly, legs folding under you. Your head is spinning with all the new information. “So you’re a vampire?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement as he sits himself a couple feet away from you.

“And you know I’m a werewolf.” A nod. “What is - What did you call it? - Imprinting?”

“You don’t know?” You hunch your shoulders, cheeks growing warm under his curious gaze. Jasper frowns, “I suppose you wouldn’t. My understandin’ is that when your kind imprints, it’s like…findin’ your soulmate.”

Soulmate. That’s…big. It seems life just can’t stop throwing curveballs at you. First the wolf thing, now you learn you have a soulmate. A vampire soulmate. Who looks like a Greek sculpture. While you must look like a mess.

“I can’t believe this,” you grumble, mostly to yourself, but Jasper still hears you if his amused smile is anything to go on. “All I’ve been looking for is another wolf to explain what on Earth is happening to me and instead I find my soulmate, who’s a vampire. I thought werewolves and vampires hated each other? That’s what all the books say!”

“Most humans enjoy exaggerating the details,” Jasper drawls, “Though this is certainly unusual.”

You pout. How are you supposed to react to all of this? On one hand, it’s completely crazy. On the other, he could be the answer to everything you’ve been searching for. He knows what you are, maybe he knows why! Or maybe-

“Do you know other wolves?” You practically jump at him, hope soaring in your chest.

Jasper freezes. His gold eyes go wide, trailing down your arm. Cocking your head in confusion, you follow his gaze. Your eyes go just as wide as his at the sight.

Unbeknownst to you, you grabbed onto his hand, your fingers awkwardly interlacing with his. His skin is cold to the touch, but you feel overwhelmingly hot as your embarrassment skyrockets. You should let go. The man is still a stranger. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. Touching him feels…right. Taking a deep breath, you look back up to his face hesitantly.

The shock is gone, replaced with a look of awe. Jasper slowly shifts his hand, fitting them together more comfortably. Your skin tingles with each touch, your heart dancing wildly in your chest. His eyes dart back up to yours, and the warmth there makes your breath stutter.

“I was worried I wouldn’t be able to handle bein’ around you,'' he breathes, the low hum of his voice quickly becoming your favorite song. You could listen to him for hours and never get bored. “I wanted this to be perfect. I’ve been waitin’ a long while for you-”

“(Y/n),” you supply without thinking.

Jasper smiles softly, repeating it to himself, “(Y/n)...”

And just like that, you find yourself falling for the vampire. Jasper Whitlock. The golden light that came into your life when you were so close to giving up. 

You sit on that cliff for hours, asking countless questions. Jasper answers each and every one of them, the best he can at least. You learn about his family, how they’re different from other vampires and don’t harm humans, a fact that brings you more relief than you expected. He tells you about Alice and her visions, the one she had of you, and his years waiting for you.

You, in turn, tell him about your life as a human. Your small town, your family, and how much you miss them. You recount when you first phased and how you’ve been searching for someone to explain it all. For him.

It’s only when the sun starts to set, painting the sky in dreamy shades of pink and purple, that your conversation trails off into a comfortable silence. You look out across the water, thoughts drifting to your still intertwined fingers. You don’t have the heart to let go, and Jasper seems more than pleased to hold on to you.

“So,” you hesitate. The words stick to your tongue despite how desperately you want to ask them. As if sensing this, Jasper squeezes your hand softly, a silent encouragement. You gather every bit of your remaining confidence, all to ask, “What now?”

He hums and traces his thumb over your knuckles thoughtfully, tenderly, “What do you want to happen, darlin’?”

You don’t have to think about it. The words tumble from your lips readily, “I want to be with you.”

And the smile he gives you is all you need to know you’ve made the right choice. It lights up his whole face, and for a moment, you swear his eyes seem to glow. And, just as you think he can’t look more beautiful, the last few rays of sunlight streak across the cliff, reflecting off his skin like diamonds, surrounding him with an angelic haze. It steals your breath away.

How absolutely gorgeous.

“I think that can be arranged,” Jasper replies, drawing you from your stupor. 

“Good, cause you’re officially stuck with me,” you chirp and lean into his side.

Jasper slips his hand out from yours, leaving you feeling horribly empty, until his arm wraps securely around your shoulders to draw you even closer. The gesture sends pure elation buzzing through your whole body. If you were in wolf form, your tail would be wagging like a tornado. You curl into him, hiding your own smile in his sweater.

When you first phased, you never imagined this is where you would end up.

Maybe fate wasn’t too cruel, after all.

---

Might have a part 2 for this, because I have a funny idea for when they team up with the wolves in Eclipse.

I hope you guys enjoyed it!

[inkdrinkerworld]

going on holiday with remus and having not plan a single thing!! at the airport etc your only job is to look pretty and be excited :)) he does everything for u <33

Remus is dead set on taking care of you. In every facet of the word.

“Dove, just sit there and look pretty okay?” He says, stroking your hand as he sets your bags beside your legs as you wait for your flight to be called.

“I can’t help?” You ask, already fishing your switch out of the front pocket of your bag.

When you and Remus had just gotten together, letting him do everything himself had been hard.

You’d been used to doing a lot of things for yourself- being self sufficient was a something you’d strived for your whole life.

Just when you’d gotten exceptional at it, Remus had stepped in and told you that you didn’t have to do it all yourself.

“No, I like taking care of you. You know that, I like you not having to do anything when I’m around.”

You nod, Remus smiling when he sees you start up your game.

He doesn’t know how to explain it to you, but there’s something so fulfilling about seeing you relaxing while he’s taking care of you.

You’re still working on telling him when you want stuff from him, but now at least you don’t fight him on letting him take care of you like this.

“Remmy, do you think the airport has handpies? Or toasties?” You look up quickly before looking back down at your gaming console.

“I’ll go check dovey,” Remus kisses your forehead as he stands, patting his pocket for his wallet. “You want anything else?”

You shake your head, but Remus is already going through a mental list of your favourite airport treats for the flight.

“I’ll be ten minutes.” You don’t even try to stand to go with him and Remus can feel the pride prickling every nerve ending he has.

[seiya-starsniper]

Anon I have NO IDEA what happened to your original ask oaisdjaodjoaijasas. I got three asks around the same time so I am assuming they were all from you? If so, I still have those asks, THIS ONE just got deleted. Tumblr either glitched mad hard or I deleted it by accident. But luckily I still have the email notification so I saved it.

Anyways, continuing with the birthday fic posts, here's my fill for your prompt! 💖

[AO3 Link Here]

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Hob Gadling has lived a long life. A long, rich, beautiful life, full of wondrous discoveries and terrible heartbreaks, hard lessons and thrilling adventures.

There are, Hob thinks sometimes, few experiences left in the world that are truly brand new for him. The realization does not make him want to live less, for he always finds a thrill in experiencing something familiar, just in a different way, a different decade, a different century. But he does occasionally mourn the fact that the gap between novel experiences has grown longer and longer.

When the role of Dream of the Endless is passed on, and the facet known as Morpheus is cast off and left to his own devices, he stumbles wide eyed and weary into the arms of his oldest friend. That event alone is an entirely unprecedented experience for Hob, who has never seen Morpheus as anything other than infinite and otherworldly. But in this exact moment Morpheus is mortal, and so very fragile, and Hob vows to himself that he will not let this man walk the earth alone for as long as they both lived.

Over the next few months, Hob rapidly realizes that every experience with Morpheus is something brand new, for both of them. Morpheus has never been anything other than Endless, and Hob has never had to teach anyone the basics of being human. They fumble and fight, laugh and cry, and then at some point through it all, Hob realizes he’s in love.

He has no idea how to go about confessing to his friend of 600+ years though. At least that will be a new experience for them both too.

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

On a cold and rainy evening, Hob returns to their shared flat after a long day of lectures. The weather outside was utterly miserable, and he was looking forward to planting himself on the couch and watching TV, while pretending to accidentally cuddle with Morpheus.

Except, Morpheus is fast asleep on said couch. And wearing Hob’s forest green fluffy robe despite very much having his own matching robe in midnight black.

Hob swallows as he takes in the sight. He wants to take out his phone and snap a photo. He wants to burrow himself in Morpheus’s side and never let him go. 

Before he can do any of these things, Morpheus stirs awake and yawns, only startling the slightest bit once he notices Hob is home. 

“Hob?” Morpheus asks. “I—I apologize, I did not mean to fall asleep here.”

“You looked so cozy I didn’t want to disturb you,” Hob replies, smiling as Morpheus rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks around. Suddenly, the other man’s face pinks, and he must realize what it is he’s wearing, for he wraps his arms around himself, as if that will somehow hide the fact that he’s wearing Hob’s robe.

Hob snorts and then nudges Morpheus’s feet with his knees. The raven-haired man brings in his knees, and Hob flops unceremoniously onto the couch, patting his lap to indicate that his friend could place his feet there. Morpheus does so easily, and Hob tries not to yelp when he realizes just how freezing cold Morpheus’s feet are. 

“Green’s a good color on you,” Hob says, placing his hands on Morpheus’s ankles and rubbing small circles to warm them up. He grins, and Morpheus huffs, his blush even more pronounced now that the subject is out in the open.

“Yours was more convenient to locate than mine,” Morpheus replies, still not meeting his gaze. Hob knows that’s utter shit, they hang their robes next to one another over hooks on the bathroom door. But he hums and accepts the flimsy excuse, before he grabs the remote off the side table and turns on the TV.

They watch a silly movie for the next few hours, and settle into easy conversation, Morpheus asking clarifying questions on pop culture references he still doesn’t quite grasp, and Hob explaining some of the minutiae of human chores when they’re mentioned in casual dialogue. 

They order take-away eventually, eating peacefully on Hob’s couch, and then the next thing he knows, Hob is waking up with a serious crick in his neck, the TV long turned off due its power saving feature, and with Morpheus curled into his side. Hob jostles the other man lightly, laughing when Morpheus groans in obvious displeasure at having been disturbed.

“Wake up sleepyhead it’s time for bed,” Hob whispers to his friend. 

Morpheus blinks up at him, still half asleep and Hob can’t help but lean in close, like he’s ready to tell his friend a secret.

But then Morpheus leans his head up, and their lips brush in an accidental kiss. 

Hob freezes, unsure of what to do. His eyes are wide open but Morpheus’s are shut. The other man lets out a pleased hum at first, and then a moment later they snap open as Morpheus belatedly realizes exactly what he’s done. He pulls away and Hob—

Hob leans down and kisses his friend of 600 years on purpose. 

Morpheus kisses him back.

Hob sighs happily into the kiss, and Morpheus wraps an arm around his neck, pulling him down onto the other side of the couch. Hob goes easily, carefully placing his body atop his oldest friend’s, all the while refusing to let go of his mouth. Morpheus tastes like starlight, even though Hob knows that shouldn’t be possible. He’s mortal now, or at least as mortal as Hob is, which is to say, not very. But he’s no longer Endless so nothing about him should feel so otherworldly. 

But maybe Hob’s just projecting. Maybe he really is that far gone for this man. 

“You desire me,” Morpheus whispers, his voice tinged with awe when they take a short break from kissing.

“I do,” Hob answers. “Have for a little while now,” he admits. 

Morpheus’s brow furrows.“But…you didn’t before—”

Hob shushes him gently.

“We didn’t spend time like this before,” Hob whispers, pressing his forehead to Morpheus’s. “You were never this accessible before you were human. I’ve always found you beautiful, even when you were still Endless, but it was always look, don’t touch.”

Morpheus nods in understanding. There was never a chance for the idea of them before, not when Morpheus was still Dream, and Dream of the Endless carried the weight of the entire unconscious universe on his shoulders. Not when he held so much baggage he knew Hob could not help him carry. 

“But now?” Morpheus breathes, his voice so hopeful, so longing, so human, it nearly breaks Hob’s heart with how much he loves him.   

“But now,” Hob replies, touching his hand to Morpheus’s check, admiring the way the other man’s eyes flutter shut in pleasure. “Now we have all the time in the world to love each other, if you’d like.”

“I would—like that,” Morpheus says, opening his eyes once more. “It will be new for me, to love as a human.”

Hob smiles, and presses a kiss to the corner of Morpheus’s mouth. 

“It’ll be new for me too,” he replies, grinning against his friend turned lover’s mouth. “Everything is new and beautiful with you.”

[babyblue711]

Temptation

Ettore (High Life) x Reader - Part 1 Summary: Tired of the monotony of everyday life aboard the spaceship, you decide to start a little game to taunt Ettore. But your plan backfires and now you must deal with the consequences of temptation. This fic was heavily inspired by these two songs. I recommend giving them a listen before continuing: "Fill the Void" by Lily-Rose Depp & The Weeknd and "Little Girl Gone" by CHINCHILLA Words: 6.3K

Warnings: PLEASE READ! NSFW, Smut, Mature Themes 18+, Sexual Content 18+, Noncon, Dubcon, Rough Sex, Physical Violence, Mention of Suicide, Mention of Physical Abuse, Language, Degradation A/N: Consider Part 1 to be "just getting warmed up". I hope you all enjoy! Thank you to @arcielee for beta reading and @myfandomprompts for providing most of the pics and gifs! Dividers by @firefly-graphic

Every day was the same.

Trapped on this doomed spaceship that was destined for hell, every day felt like a relentless loop of monotony and misery. Same work, same people, same experiments, same old bullshit every fucking day. 

The utilitarian living quarters of the spacecraft make you feel like you are in a mental hospital, cold and uninviting. Every facet of the interior is minimalistic; a mix of sterile clinical spaces and dimly lit, shadowy corridors. Blue light shines at night that’s supposed to help the inhabitants sleep. The bland functionality and oppressive “sameness” just makes you want to scream.

Some days it all becomes too much to bear and you feel a small part of you snap. You despise feeling helpless and not in control of your life anymore; with each beat of your heart, white hot fire courses through your veins. At times, you yearn to unleash your fury on someone, anyone, to let out the pent-up frustration that has been building within you for far too long. But then the storm inside of you passes and you settle back into your repetitive routine once more. 

Your fellow shipmates are a bunch of criminals and weirdos. You try to make due with what you have, except for Dr. Dibs, whom you hate with your whole heart. Her cold demeanor and cruel experiments are a constant source of dread. She seems to derive pleasure from the suffering she inflicts upon you and the other girls aboard the ship.

Although you aren’t really sure you could call them friends, there are a few people you were “ok” with, mainly the other girls that also had to suffer through Dr. Dib’s sick experiments. A few of the guys are alright too; Monte is a loner that mainly keeps to himself and you’ve never heard him say an unkind word. Tcherny’s favorite place on the ship is the makeshift garden and you couldn’t blame him since it reminds everyone of Earth, of home. 

Ettore is…unusual. He has a certain aura that just feels…off. Your hair stands up on the back of your neck whenever you catch him staring or whenever he passes too close in the corridor, as if an electric current surrounds him, radiating off of his body. He’s a man of few words; you’ve rarely ever heard him speak. 

Amongst the girls, it’s well known that he doesn’t give a fuck if he is caught staring or leering, which he often is. Boyse especially dislikes him because he gives her the creeps. She normally has trouble sleeping at night because she says she can feel her skin crawl when he looks at her. You try your best to just ignore him most of the time. 

Until one day, during lunch in the cafeteria, you are sitting with the girls, mingling and talking quietly, when you feel a tingle go down your spine. You glance up and immediately make eye contact with him. 

His eyes lock onto yours, and you find yourself momentarily captivated by the intensity behind his gaze.

You were already having a bad day and you can feel the beginnings of another storm brewing inside. You’re sick of Ettore’s shit so you stare right back, issuing him a challenge in a silent duel to look away first. The air seems to sizzle with tension as you watch his glare harden when you don’t look away, like most of the girls normally do; he looks positively predatory with his sharp angular face and dark blue eyes. 

You refuse to let him intimidate you. Your eyes are watering but you’re too involved in this stupid little battle of wills to concede to him now by blinking. Thankfully, a welcome interruption arrives in the form of Monte. Having not noticed the little contest between you and Ettore, he walks right in front, breaking the spell between you two. You blink rapidly and take a deep breath, watching as Ettore leans around Monte to look back at you, an unspoken promise in his stare that seems to say, I’m not done with you yet. You roll your eyes and look away.

“What are you looking at, Y/N?” Boyse asks from beside you, snapping you to attention. 

“Uh...nothing,” you mumble back, not really wanting to engage with her.

“That fucking creep. He sits across from us to stare at us on purpose, have you noticed?” Boyse says, noticing the trail of your gaze.

“Yeah, I know but don’t let it bother you, Boyse, just ignore him,” you try to diffuse the situation. You don’t want to be involved in yet another incident where Ettore made a girl feel uncomfortable. Boyse goes back to picking at her food silently and you do the same. 

You ignore him now; he isn’t worth your time or attention. Even though you get a bad vibe from him, you can’t help but notice a certain attractiveness about Ettore. He is tall and lean, with corded muscles on his arms, toned chest, and abs. He has a very angular face, strong jaw and chin with a sharp nose and luscious lips. You have to admit that you had never seen a man with as beautiful lips as his.

Lost for a moment thinking about his body, you bring yourself back to the present. You scold yourself; perhaps the monotony of this ship really was driving you insane, lusting after someone who gave off such ominous vibes. You swore to hate men for all eternity after what you had endured. That’s how you ended up in this hell hole to begin with….

After years of torment and physical violence of both you and your mother, you finally snapped and murdered your abusive stepfather in his sleep after he was passed out from another drunken rage.

But, despite arguing in court that your actions should be considered self defense after years of abuse, the jury found you guilty and sentenced you to life in prison...or join this sick experiment in space. You aren’t remorseful that you had killed your step-father. He got what he deserved and no other woman would have to deal with his violence ever again. However, when your mother learned that you had chosen to accept this mission in space, she couldn’t bear the pain of losing her only daughter. She took a bunch of pills and never woke up. 

Now, you are an unloved, unwanted murderer and no one cared if you lived or died. This mission is perfect for people like you. 

You’re standing in line for the shower that evening, towel in hand, when Ettore walks by; his hair is still wet from his shower and he’s wearing a fresh set of scrubs, towel slung over his shoulder. You see him coming and avert your eyes so as not to attract his attention. He saunters over anyway and you know he’s trying to annoy you on purpose.

He stops right beside your left shoulder and you reluctantly bring your eyes up to meet his gaze. His presence is imposing and you can't help but notice how much taller he is compared to you, making you feel small and vulnerable in his shadow. He leers, invading your personal space and it takes everything in you to not step back from him as he looks down his nose at you. Your eyes lock in a tense standoff, each daring the other to back down. 

Despite your inner resolve, you feel a knot of tension in your stomach, and your hand instinctively tightens around the towel you're holding. It takes all your strength to hold your ground, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he sneers in a low voice. 

You realize that he is trying to intimidate you with some stupid alpha-male shit, but you are not afraid of him. Fire burns hot in your blood and you are ready for a fight.

“I’m not doin’ shit, Ettore, now fuck off,” you say back aggressively, letting him know you won’t be an easy meal with your tone.

“The fuck you aren’t,” he growls lowly, deep in his chest. He steps closer to you, suddenly trailing a finger from your eyebrow down the side of your face. The gesture is so unexpected that you flinch and freeze, staring up at him with wide eyes mixed with confusion and defiance.

“C’mon, love, I know you’re just playing hard to get,” he whispers as his eyes look you up and down suggestively. Finally, he turns and walks away.

As he exits the bathroom, you let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding and think, What the fuck was that? You curse internally; you knew you shouldn’t have started anything back in the cafeteria. Now he thinks you’re interested or some shit. But…maybe you were, in a way? You feel conflicted, knowing that he thinks of you as an easy target. 

Finally, it’s your turn for the shower. You undress quickly and start to relax as the hot water streams over your shoulders. As you’re washing your hair, an idea comes to you and butterflies flutter in your chest at your wicked thoughts, the most excitement you’ve felt in a long time. Because of your abusive past, you refuse to let anyone ever make you feel small and insignificant ever again and decide on the spot that Ettore is going to become your next target of torture. You knew his weakness; you’d exploit his obvious sexual deviousness, which was probably fueled by the rules on the ship that the inmates couldn’t engage in any sexual behavior with each other.

A dark chuckle escapes your lips. You’d show him who’s boss. Given the lack of privacy on the spacecraft, you’d never fear his retribution; you could tease him mercilessly and always be able to evade any potential advances if he thought he would take things further…or so you hoped. 

A tiny alarm bell rings in the back of your mind. You knew that what you were planning was the equivalent to waking a sleeping dragon but you didn’t care. You are so beyond sick of the monotony of everyday life that you convince yourself that you needed this little extra bit of spice as an escape from the mundane reality of your circumstances.  

So, you allow this little game to proceed between you and Ettore, a cocktail of emotions swirling within you: boredom, lust, anger, hatred, desire—all of them fuel this strange dance.

As the days pass by, you continue to provoke him with stolen glances and lingering eye contact that says more than words ever could. He responds eagerly to your meager attention, just as you knew he would. His advances quickly became more pronounced as simple stares turn into physical contact: brushing your shoulder on purpose as he walks by, daring you to react. Anytime you are in the same vicinity as him, you feel a magnetic energy pulling the two of you together. You have created this friction on purpose to drive him mad, but you can’t help but feel like you are getting caught up in it too…  

Something had awoken in you that night when he touched your face in the bathroom. A wild, feral animal rattles at the bars of this proverbial cage that you had locked away deep inside a long time ago. Women aren’t supposed to be sexual creatures in the same way men are. It was a part of yourself that you have spent years hiding because you are afraid you’d just be labeled a whore or a slut. But what did it matter anymore on this dreaded spaceship? You can’t deny that you, too, feel a deep void, an ache in your chest, a need for something more.

Upon arriving back at your bunk one evening, you hear a deep breath from behind you. You whirl and see Ettore across the hallway, standing in another doorway, watching you. It’s the most provocative he’s looked thus far since he’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. You hesitate, then decide to make a show of looking him up and down, biting your bottom lip, secretly admiring his toned chest and abs. When your eyes flick back up to his face, his gaze locks onto yours as he reaches into his pants and starts pleasuring himself right in front of you, not caring if anyone saw. 

Your eyeballs pop in shock at this brazen display of desire. Your heartbeat picks up and a million thoughts start to race through your mind. Should you tease him in return? What if he decides to come into your bunk? Red flags wave a warning in the back of your mind and you knew you were walking on a razor’s edge. You think he’s about to take a step towards you when, thankfully, a door slams nearby and Ettore vanishes into the shadows. You let out a deep breath, doubting your stupid plan to taunt him that was working way too easily. A ripple of unease flows through you. You could feel that he was like a volcano waiting to explode. What would you do when he did?

You decide to ignore him from now on to try to diffuse the tension you had built between you both. He needs to get a grip and, honestly, so did you. So, as much as you despise it, you release your frustration within “The Box” when it all becomes too much to bear. 

A few nights later, you are walking back to your bunk after visiting The Box. Still unsatisfied, you turn the corner and see Ettore scrubbing the floor in front of you, his back to you. He is shirtless again, dressed only in orange cargo pants. He doesn’t look around and you don’t think he’s heard your approach. You pause behind him, admiring the way his shoulder and back muscles ripple as he scrubs the floor. He has three tattoos, all black triangles; one on his right forearm, another on his left bicep, and finally, one on the right side of his neck. You assume they are symbolism for some type of gang. You’re staring, openly, almost hypnotized by the movement of his muscles. 

“I know you’re there,” he says suddenly and you jump out of your revere, heart leaping into your throat. He continues to mop the floor, not even bothering to turn around.

You feign nonchalance and start to walk by him, glancing down just as he is looking up at you.

“I can do you better than that box, you know,” he purrs at you with a cocky smirk. 

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen at his words. Your heart pounds and you know you can’t give him any encouragement, so you give a noncommittal grunt before hurrying back to your bunk. When you lay in bed that night, you know, deep down, that if you stood there and watched him any longer, half naked on the floor, you might just be tempted to find out for yourself. 

The next day starts like any other. You’ve been assigned to organize the storage room; a redundant and mundane task, located in the bottom level of the ship. You’ve been at it for a couple of hours, in the middle of inventorying the stockpile of supplies, when you feel a presence from behind. You don’t know what tipped you off exactly because he hasn’t made a sound, but you turn to see him silently shutting the door behind him and locking it, staring at you with a predatory gaze.

“The fuck do you want?” you ask aggressively, firing up at once. Anger is your first line of defense as your heartbeat picks up, but the smallest thrill of fear laces up your spine. An alarm bell goes off in the back of your mind, a small voice is screaming a warning to get out of that room. You are quite alone down here in this part of the ship and you doubt anyone would hear you if you try to scream. This was it…you had pushed him too far and now the consequence was right in front of you, looking at you mercilessly. 

“I think you know what I want,” he almost growls, voice deep. “You have a choice, we can do this the easy way….or we can do this the hard way,” his gaze hardens as he stares at you.

“Fuck off,” you say defiantly back. Inside, you are cursing fluently. You knew this day would come, knew he wouldn’t be able to resist temptation. He chuckles as he steps closer until he’s right in front of you, looking down.

“You wanna know what I think?” he says, and you really don’t care what he thinks but you know he’s about to tell you anyway so you don’t even bother responding. “I don’t know what you did to land here on this cursed spaceship, but I think, deep down, you’re just a good little girl, pretending to be bad, aren’t you?” He says this as if hoping to corrupt your innocence; you smirk to yourself, thinking he has no idea who he’s messing with.  

You raise your chin, looking him straight in the eyes and you just can’t help the words that escape from your mouth. “Well…this good little girl is only a bad girl for the right man,” you say with fire in your gaze, taunting him on purpose even though you know it’s a stupid thing to do. “And that sure as hell isn’t you.” 

You could feel the heat radiate off of him from the proximity of his body so close to yours. He smirks and his eyes darken dangerously as he takes the bait.

“Is that so?” he says easily. “You’ve been provoking me for weeks. You think I didn’t know exactly what you were doing all along? I saw you staring at me too. I think you want me as much as I want you.” His eyes seem to burn into you with desire, lust blowing out his pupil.

“It was just a stupid little game, Ettore. It didn’t mean anything, it’s not that serious,” you know you’re babbling as you try to remain calm by playing it off like you don’t know what he’s talking about. His nostrils flare as he sniffs out your lie and you suddenly feel like a mouse that has just wandered into the lion's den. “Besides, you know we can’t,” you say sternly, referring to the rules, trying to get him to see reason. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it. And I don’t give a fuck about Dibs’ rules,” he says menacingly. 

Rage starts to come to your rescue as you realize he’s not going to listen to a word you say.

You level him with a hard glare. “I don’t fucking want you, Ettore,” you growl back at him.

Panic seizes you for a moment when he reaches for you suddenly and cups your face with his hand. His thumb runs over your cheek in an unexpected gentle caress before moving over your lips, pulling your bottom lip down. His eyes flick up to yours as lust surges through your core at his touch.

“Such a smart little mouth you have,” he says quietly as he takes a deep breath. “I won’t have a problem fucking the brat outta you.”   

He moves so fast you don’t even have time to blink as he lunges for you, spinning you around and smashing you against some cardboard boxes stacked against the wall nearby. His fingers have a tight grip on your hair as he pushes your face into the box, using his knees to kick your legs apart, unbalancing you, one hand grabs your left arm and twists it behind your back. He moves at such a lightning pace that it momentarily takes your breath away.

He pulls your head back from the box by your hair and bends your neck to the side so he can run his nose from your ear to your shoulder, groaning like an animal in heat as he savors your smell. Your heart hammers in your chest. Shockwaves roll over you at the speed of his assault and you can’t even form words yet, only whimper slightly from the pain of having your hair pulled. At the same time, wetness pools at your center. 

“I gave you an opportunity, didn’t I?” he whispers darkly in your ear. “It didn’t have to be like this, you stupid little cunt,” he grunts as you try to struggle with all your might to get away from him, but he’s just too big, too heavy, too strong to break free of his grasp.

Rage boils in your blood as you realize just how well and truly trapped you are. Deep down, you knew this would happen. You realize he saw an opportunity to get you alone and he took it.  You know what’s about to happen and you know you can’t stop it, but you aren’t going down without a fight. 

Your breathing is fast as he starts kissing your neck, biting down on your pulsepoint, feeling your heart race.

“Fuck you, Ettore,” you say through gritted teeth. 

Provocatively, he grinds his hard cock against your ass through your clothes. “Oh, you will,” he growls as he lets go of your hair to effectively pin your arms behind your back with one hand. With the other free hand, he starts exploring your body, running his hand over your breasts and squeezing until he trails down lower, dipping his fingers under the band of your pants. 

You truly lose it at this moment as you feel him reach for your core. You struggle and fight for all your worth and he's forced to stop his path to your center and hold onto you tighter to keep you from getting away. His fingers latch around your throat and he squeezes hard, immobilizing you easily as you struggle to take a breath. His body pushes you further into the boxes, leaning his weight on you.  

“Stop fighting me,” he loudly growls into your ear aggressively. “You stupid little bitch, I know I do things to you too, just the same as you do me,” he breathes harshly. “Look how your body responds to me,” your nipples are pebbled against your shirt and he could clearly feel them when he assaulted your front a moment ago. 

“And I bet, if I touched you right now, you’d be wet, wouldn’t you, love?” he licks the outer rim of your ear and releases his grip on your throat. As you gasp and suck in air, as his fingers reach below your panties and his fingers find your slippery core. You whimper and draw shallow breaths as he groans into your ear when he feels how wet your cunt is. 

He dips down to your opening and gathers some slick, bringing it up to circle your bud and you feel the fight slowly leave your body. It has been so long since a man touched you, you feel like a switch has been flipped, lust now running rampant through your veins, like a shot of ecstasy to your system. He feels you relax under his hand and loosens his hold on your wrists that are still pinned behind your back. You moan softly and lean into him.

“That’s what I thought, you little slut,” he whispers in your ear. You allow yourself to enjoy this moment, but you’ve already formulated a secondary plan and intend to make him pay for this too. You’re simply lulling him into a false sense of security right now. By loosening his hold, he’s actually done exactly what you wanted. You let him circle your bud for a few more times, before you tense, spinning around and shoving him away from you as hard as you can. You aren’t the only one who’s going to feel pain today as renewed rage pounds in your chest.

You leap at him and the fight for dominance ensues as you grapple with each other, falling onto the floor. Physically, you know you are no match for him, but taking your anger and frustration out on him just feels so good. You kick and punch and scratch and scream. He’s doing everything he can to block and contain your flurry of blows but he’s not hit back yet either. Even if he does, that’s nothing new to you; you still have plenty of scars from your step-father.

You’re on top at first, but you’re under no illusion that you’re “winning”, just simply letting the frustration out as you claw at his chest. He quickly decides he’s tired of being your punching bag and he flips you over and lays his full weight on top of you, pinning you to the floor. 

You wrap him in a bear hug on the floor, thinking that if he can’t lean away from you to punch you, you’re safe from any strong direct hits from him. You’re both breathing heavily, Ettore trapped between your legs and you try to kick him from your position but he grabs your hip and pinches harshly, causing you to yelp in pain. 

He wiggles free of your arms, pinning your hands above your head with one of his as he looks down at you, fury in his gaze.

“Are you fuckin’ done yet?” he taunts you, knowing you’re pinned now. 

You literally growl back at him like a rabid, wild animal and show him your teeth; maybe he’ll think you’re insane and he won’t want to continue this anymore. It doesn’t work...

He smirks instead. “There she is…you weren’t lying earlier about the bad girl thing were you? I got myself a right little she-devil, haven’t I?” He chuckles darkly, a menacing sound causing fear to tingle at the base of your spine. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you tamed by the end.”

You don’t respond, distracted by his other hand that has traveled up your shirt, roving over your breasts. You try to buck him off but he’s just too heavy and you barely get him to budge. In alarm, you realize you’ve missed your chance to escape. He watches your face as he touches you and you glare back up into his eyes, hating feeling helpless like this. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he squeezes your breasts and then runs his warm hand down your ribs. 

Hatred and fury pound in your chest, but you’re caught off guard that he isn’t beating you to a pulp. It’s what you had come to expect from men, especially after the physical altercation you just had with him. Involuntarily, you feel yourself relax a little at his touch and your breathing becomes a little more steady. After a few more moments, he notices the tension leave you and suddenly his lips find yours in a violent kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. He starts grinding his pelvis into your aching cunt and you moan into his kiss, hating yourself for liking this but you succumb to his attentions, unable to resist more. Animalistic lust and desire blooms from deep within, your head swirls from his kiss, your body aches for his touch.  

You surrender the fight. “Take your shirt off,” you say when you both come up for air from your kiss; he knows he has to let go of your hands in order to remove his clothes.

“Are you going to stop fighting me?” he asks and you nod. He smirks, “so you gonna be a good girl now?” 

“Shut up, Ettore, it's your dick I want, not you,” you growl back at him and his grin widens. 

He lets go of your hands and quickly pulls his shirt over his head. You notice the red marks on his chest from where you clawed him earlier. You watch his abs contract with each panting breath, noticing his defined chest and lean muscles of his arms. You feel more wetness pool in your core as your eyes appreciate his body. 

You reach for the bottom of your shirt and surprise him by removing it yourself, your breasts pebbling in the cool air; you barely bothered wearing a bra anymore. He looks down hungrily at them, running his hands softly over your nipples. You arch your back and he immediately takes one in his mouth, the other rolling your nipples between his fingers. Your hands are in his hair as you grind your hips into his hard length. He bites down on the skin of your left breast, sucking a bruise onto the skin while massaging the other one firmly with his other hand. He moves upwards, kissing along your collarbone until he reaches your neck, biting, licking and sucking at all of your exposed skin. You rake your fingernails down his back, becoming impatient for more. 

He pulls away from your neck and sits up, reaching for your pants. You lift your hips so he can remove them completely. He admires your naked body, laying bare on the floor beneath him, the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, your wet cunt open for him. From his position kneeling between your legs, he takes your knees and spreads them apart, opening your pussy more for his view, groaning deep in his chest as his eyes feast upon your body. Deciding to tease him a little, you reach down and start playing with your bud and he stares shamelessly.

“Fuck,” he murmurs and watches you for a few moments. “Such a needy little slut aren’t you?” 

You moan and grind into your own hand, fingers dipping down to your entrance to gather some slick onto your fingers. You bring them up to your mouth to taste yourself, knowing that you’re about to drive him absolutely wild. Since he’s seen your “feral animal” wild-side, now you want to see his too. 

His mouth hangs open, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breathing as he watches your lips close around your fingers as you taste yourself and moan. His restraint snaps in an instant.

He pulls down his pants, freeing his large, veiny cock and gives it a couple pumps, watching your face. Your eyes widened at the sight; his cock is bigger than you expected, long and thick, a pearl of his spend visible on the tip. Your eyes meet and you’re sure he can see the slight trepidation in yours as he smirks. 

“You can fuckin’ take it,” Ettore says confidently, as if this is supposed to reassure you. He doesn’t waste any more time as he lines himself up with your entrance.

You were wet and willing and ready for him but you cry aloud as he sheathes himself fully in one thrust, not caring to take things slow with you. You pant and arch your back as his large cock fills you so completely full, eyes popping a little at the intensity of the intrusion. The stretch burns more than you anticipated and you focus on breathing through the pain.  

He gives you a few shallow thrusts before mumbling, “Fuckin’ hell, your pussy is so fuckin’ tight - sorry if that hurt a little after all,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound sorry at all. 

He pauses for a moment as he watches your face wince at the pain. He doesn’t give you long though, knowing that he’s hurting you but can’t seem to control himself as his hips start to snap into yours at a steady pace. 

After a few thrusts, you’ve adjusted to his size and pleasure starts to course through your core. You begin to meet his thrusts with your hips. He seems to take that as a sign to speed up as he suddenly pounds into you, much harder, causing you to cry aloud not from pain, but from pleasure.

His hips snap into yours as he fucks you hard, brutally, wickedly, deliciously, and you groan as lightning races from your cunt into your chest. Pleasure starts to build deep inside as his thick cock continually rubs your g-spot. He grabs one leg and puts it over his shoulder and leans over you, changing the angle, driving you wild and your walls start to clench around him.

“Gonna cum for me already?” he pants, an amused smirk on his luscious lips.

“Fuck, Ettore,” you mewl as the pleasure starts to overwhelm your senses. It had been so long since you felt this good. “Harder,” you challenge him, as if he isn’t already fucking you hard enough.

He glances up at your face before withdrawing completely and you feel momentary emptiness at the void left behind as he pulls out from your aching pussy. Flipping you over on your stomach, bringing your ass back in the air as he kneels behind you. You prop yourself up on your elbows as your knees dig into the cold, hard floor; you know you’ll have bruises on your knees from this position. He thrusts back into your aching core with a guttural groan and you feel a stinging slap to your rear end. You cry aloud and mewl pathetically, then feel him yank on your hair from behind. He pulls you up so that your palms are now resting on the floor, your neck pulled back, held by his grip in your hair; he fucks you ruthlessly as he rides you from behind. His other hand grips your hip so hard you know you’ll have more bruises tomorrow.

You both are panting heavily as he lands another blow to your ass, harder this time, you’re positive a red handprint remains and you may even form yet another bruise with the strength of his slap. He doesn’t even bother to run his hand along the tender skin to soothe it, he just keeps thrusting with single-minded intensity. The slaps sting but in a pleasurable way as you feel your core become impossibly wetter each time he hits you.  

You reach a hand down to play with your pearl, your walls clenching around his thick cock as pleasure coils low in your belly.

The bites, the bruises, the ache around your throat from being choked, the pull of your hair on your scalp, the sore spot on your ass cheek from his repeated slaps, the drag of his thick cock inside your wet, tight pussy causes your mind to go blissfully blank, all of the sensations overwhelming you. Your eyes roll in your head and you idly wonder how much pain and how much pleasure your body could handle until it snaps. 

Ettore can feel your orgasm approach as your walls start to spasm around him. 

“Little slut, gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you?” he growls, increasing his tempo. 

You have the wherewithal to get out one request before it’s too late. You try to speak in between his brutal thrusts. “Please…Ettore,” you pant. “When you cum, pull out.” All of the women who had gotten pregnant through Dibs’ sick experiment ended up dying. You didn’t want that fate just yet.

He doesn’t respond, continuing his pace and your breathing becomes harsh as you approach the precipice of your orgasm. The coil snaps and your release rips through you, obliterating everything else, your vision goes white. You cry out his name as he continues to fuck you through your high. 

“Fuckin’ shit,” he grunts as he feels your cunt clench down on him. Your orgasm is still rolling through you but he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls out and paints your ass with his spend. 

He finally lets your hair go and you collapse onto the floor and he falls next to you. You both pant and breath harshly for a few minutes, not saying anything. As you come down from your high from your intense orgasm, reality sets in: part of you feels satisfied for the first time in a long while, the other part of you feels like you can’t believe you just let that happen to you. You wanted it but you didn’t want it; you didn’t know how to feel. You feel relief that he at least listened and pulled out. 

Finally, he sits up and starts looking for his clothes. You take one last deep breath and are about to do the same when you unexpectedly feel him clean his spend off of you with his shirt, making you jump a little. He’s a little rough with the wiping but the gesture is almost nice for Ettore. He throws your shirt and pants over to you and you both get dressed in silence. 

He helps you up off the floor and lifts your chin with his finger.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he warns, looking deep into your eyes. You nod in acquiescence, there is no way you’d ever tell anyone, but you give him the reassurance that he needs.

A smug smile plays on his lips. “So compliant now, I see. I told you I would fuck the brat outta you.” You scowl and try to pull away from him but he’s trapped your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He leans in closer and you think he’s about to kiss you, but he doesn’t. 

“You’re mine now, mine to use whenever I want, my own little slut, you fuckin’ belong to me. Don’t forget it,” he squeezes your chin and gives you one last dark glare before opening the door and exiting the storage room, leaving you stunned. 

You watch him go and feel a little paralyzed. You feel as though you just opened Pandora’s box. 

What monster have you just unleashed?

>>> Part 2

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