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inevitablysomber-dark · 23 days ago

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Loki's Sweet Treat

Dividers by @jiyascepter

Dark!Loki x Honey!Reader

About 20k words, so tread carefully

Honey Duval navigates the treacherous world of high society, facing family tensions, personal struggles, and Loki's dark interest in her. As she tries to protect her family's fragile reputation, Honey finds herself entangled in dangerous power plays and secrets that threaten her future.

Warning:

This story contains graphic content that may be disturbing to readers, including themes of sexual assault, manipulation, and emotional abuse. Explicit scenes involving non-consensual encounters, coercion, and power dynamics are present, which may be triggering for some readers.

The sun streamed in through the tall windows of Lady Jane's sitting room, casting a golden glow on the well-dressed women gathered for tea. The gentle clink of China and the murmur of conversation filled the air, yet I couldn’t help but feel entirely out of place. I lingered at the edge of the room, blending into the wallpaper as I clutched my teacup, regretting my decision to come to this wretched party.

Of course, I had little choice. My family, the Duvals, were barely clinging to their status, and everyone knew it. The invitations I received weren’t because I was welcome, they were because everyone wanted to bask in the schadenfreude of watching the once-prominent Duval family teeter on the brink of losing everything. That’s why I found myself at yet another gathering, pretending to fit in while my family’s fortunes slipped further through our fingers.

Lady Jane, our host, sat near the center of the room, surrounded by her usual crowd of sycophants. I wasn’t sure which was worse, her thinly veiled hostility or the saccharine sweetness she used to mask it. Either way, she made my skin crawl and today, her vitriol was aimed squarely at the Royal Family of Asgard.

“Can you believe it?” Lady Jane sneered, her voice carrying across the room. “That woman, Cyan, is to be our future queen? It’s an outrage! A commoner, raised among peasants, is supposed to marry the crowned prince? What are they thinking?!”

Her audience murmured their agreement, some nodding so vigorously I wondered if their heads might fall off. They all knew better than to cross Lady Jane, who was still nursing her bitter disappointment over not being chosen by the prince herself.

“I was so certain Thor had his eye on me,” Jane continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “But instead, they choose a woman without breeding, without class! Imagine Queen Freya’s humiliation.”

One of the ladies beside her leaned in. “I’ve heard the queen is mortified. She’s so ashamed of the match that she barely speaks of it.”

I tried to tune out their gossip, but it was impossible. This was what passed for entertainment among women like Jane,tearing down anyone who dared to rise above their station.

I took a small sip of tea, my gaze wandering to where my younger sister, Saffron, sat. She was newly debuted, and though she carried herself with grace, I knew she felt as out of place as I did. It was hard not to, with the ever-looming threat of our family’s collapse hanging over our heads.

“The only good thing to come from this debacle,” Jane’s voice cut through my thoughts, “is the ball they’re throwing to celebrate the engagement. At least we’ll get a grand event out of it.”

The other women tittered with laughter, clearly enjoying the idea of a lavish ball more than the prospect of a common-born queen.

And to think," Jane added, her voice lowering, "there were times Thor would have done anything to get under my skirts. What a shame he felt the need to settle for Cyan."

The room erupted into gasps and giggles, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. The audacity. The rumor about Lady Jane and Thor had been swirling for ages, but I had my doubts. If Thor had ever entertained such an affair, he certainly wasn’t entertaining it now.

I leaned back against my chair, feeling invisible and detached from their world of petty gossip and social climbing. The Duvals may have been struggling, but at least we hadn’t descended to Lady Jane’s level of desperation. Not yet, anyway.

As the conversation continued to swirl around me, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was like for someone like Cyan, entering a world that was waiting for her to fail. And as much as I despised Lady Jane’s cruelty, I also feared for what might be in store for me and Saffron. After all, even those who seemed untouchable could easily be cast aside.

The tea party was a spectacle of opulence, an excuse for the nobility to gather and show off their status. I sat toward the edge of the gathering with Saffron, doing my best to blend into the background. It wasn’t difficult, most of the women here treated us as though we didn’t exist. I should’ve known better than to come, but Mother had insisted we make an appearance. As if mingling with these people could somehow save the Duval name.

I heard the snickers before I even focused on the conversation.

"Honestly, it’s a miracle the Duvals are still being invited to these things," Lady Margaret said, her voice unnecessarily loud. She made no effort to lower her tone, her words clearly meant for my ears. "You’d think they’d have the good sense to keep a low profile instead of parading their desperation."

The other women laughed, their voices high and cruel. Saffron’s face turned pale beside me, her fingers nervously clutching her tea. I clenched my fists under the table.

"They’re just biding their time, hoping to sell off one of those pretty daughters to keep the estate afloat," Lady Sharon added, her gaze flickering over to us briefly. "Though I doubt anyone of real consequence would be interested."

The comment hung in the air, and the group of women dissolved into more laughter. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. They weren’t even trying to be subtle. It was as if our very existence amused them, as if our struggles were a source of entertainment.

“Pathetic,” Jane sneered. “Trying to scrape by with the little dignity they have left.I would have never invited them had mother not insisted”

The tension within me snapped.

I stood up slowly, forcing my hands to unclench. "It’s curious, Lady Jane," I said, my voice calm though every word was sharpened with intention, "how loudly you speak about dignity when it’s something you’ve long since thrown away."

The laughter died abruptly, and all eyes turned to me. Saffron looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. But I had reached my limit.

Jane blinked, her mouth tightening. "Excuse me?"

I stepped forward, refusing to be intimidated. "I’ve heard the rumors, Jane. Everyone has. You thought lying on your back would secure yourself a crown, as if a few stolen moments beneath a prince would make you queen." I let the words sink in, watching as Jane’s composure faltered. "It’s rather tragic, really, how you’ve convinced yourself that by spreading your legs, you could spread your influence."

There was a collective gasp from the group, their mouths hanging open in shock.

Jane’s face went pale, then flushed a deep crimson. “You—how dare you speak to me like that!”

"I dare because it's the truth," I said coolly, holding her gaze. "You gamble with your pride, and yet here you are, no crown, no prince, no claim, just a scorned woman who can’t seem to grasp why a prince didn’t choose her."

The room had gone deathly silent. Saffron was staring at me, wide-eyed, and the other ladies looked like they couldn’t decide whether to intervene or flee. Jane’s face contorted with fury, but before she could spit out a retort, I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice.

"Next time you want to mock someone’s struggles, Jane, make sure your own failures aren’t quite so obvious."

I straightened up and walked back toward my seat, feeling every pair of eyes on me. Saffron looked at me as though I’d just declared war on the entire room, her hands trembling in her lap.

I could feel Jane’s burning stare, her dignity in tatters, but she said nothing. She couldn’t. The truth had been laid bare, and no amount of biting retort could salvage her pride now.

"Saffron, let’s go." My voice was steady, though my heart still raced from the confrontation. I guided my sister out of the room, her arm linked through mine, and we stepped out into the cool air, away from the judgment and venom of those who thrived on misfortune.

We were still the subject of their gossip, still teetering on the edge of ruin. But I wouldn’t let them crush us. Not without a fight.

Baroness Helena Duval, my mother, paced the drawing room, her eyes sharp and angry as she threw a furious glance at me. My father, Reginald, stood at the window with his back to us, silent, as was his usual stance when my mother unleashed her wrath.

"I can't believe you! Every invitation we had received, every opportunity to mingle with those that could possibly save us, gone!" she shouted, her voice trembling with rage.

I remained silent, standing in the corner with Saffron beside me, while my mother focused all her ire on me. "Do you understand what you've done? Lady Jane is connected to half the nobility in the kingdom! And what do you do? Confront her about her...fraternizing with the Crown Prince?"

She spat out the last words as if they were poison, her tone as biting as ever. But I wasn’t about to apologize, not to Lady Jane, and certainly not for speaking the truth.

Helena's sharp eyes flicked over to Saffron, softening just a touch as she sighed deeply. "Why can't you be more like your sister? Graceful, quiet, and demure. Everything a young lady should be."

Saffron, at those words, dropped her head in shame, and my heart clenched for her. I knew she hated when our mother used her as an example, especially because "graceful and demure" really meant spineless. Saffron had told me that, late one night when we were younger, and ever since then, whenever someone praised her, I knew she felt nothing but shame.

I reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze, letting her know I understood. I wasn’t offended by my mother’s words; I knew this was simply how she thought. To her, Saffron was the perfect daughter, the one who played her role quietly, and I- well, I was the one who didn’t know when to keep my mouth shut.

My mother’s sharp eyes softened momentarily when she noticed me grab Saffron’s hand, but her anger was far from gone. She let out a deep, exasperated sigh, shaking her head before turning to me, her voice dripping with frustration.

“What in God's name possessed you to confront Lady Jane in the first place?” she asked, her tone sharp, though not quite as biting as before.

I raised my chin, meeting her gaze directly. "She called us pathetic," I said simply.

She paused, her eyes flickering with something close to understanding. For a brief moment, the fury drained from her face, and she almost looked sympathetic. Almost.

"I understand your frustration, Honey. Truly, I do," she admitted, her voice gentler now. "But jumping straight into social suicide...was that really the best course of action?"

I bit my tongue, looking down at my feet. No, it wasn’t.

"We are on the verge of losing everything," she said, her voice softer but filled with a different kind of anger. "This was our chance, Honey. The ball, the invitations...they were supposed to help secure our future. Now-now we are outcasts. Again."

I said nothing, knowing full well she wasn’t looking for a reply. But deep down, I couldn’t regret my actions, not when I thought of the smug look on Lady Jane’s face as she droned on about her imagined place in the royal court.

As my mother left the room in frustration, I turned to Saffron, squeezing her hand again. The weight of the world felt like it was pressing down on both of us, and there didn’t seem to be any easy way out of it.

“At least we won’t be wasting any more money on dresses and jewelry,” I muttered under my breath.

At that, my father let out a hearty laugh, walking up to the both of us but locking his gaze on me.

“You realize what you did could ruin us, right?” His voice carried a mixture of amusement and warning.

I dropped my head, swallowing the knot in my throat. “Yes, Father,” I answered, my voice begrudging but respectful.

He grunted, smirking as he leaned down to kiss both Saffron and me on the forehead.

“Don’t worry too much, my dear. We’ll get through this, like we always have,” he said, his tone light, almost dismissive of the severity of the situation.

It didn't erase the weight of my mother’s words or the danger we were in, but my father’s confidence, misplaced or not, eased the tension for moments as brief as these.

The Duvals were enjoying a rare moment of quiet in their living space. Saffron and Mother were embroidering by the window, their needles gliding through fabric with delicate precision. Father and I sat side by side, each absorbed in the local news when our butler, Gerard, suddenly burst into the room, his face flushed with excitement.

"Baroness, Baron! You’ve received an invitation from the palace!" he announced, holding the crisp, cream-colored envelope as though it were made of pure gold.

Mother looked up from her embroidery, visibly shocked. "An invitation?" she murmured, her voice barely hiding her surprise. I could see it in her eyes, she had resigned herself to a quiet fall from grace, expecting our family to fade into the background without further notice. Yet here was a summons, proof that the royal family had not completely turned its back on us.

Father reached for the envelope, breaking the royal seal. He cleared his throat before reading aloud: “You are cordially invited to the engagement party of the Crown Prince Thor and his fiancée Cyan.”

A surprised chuckle escaped my lips. Of all the people to be engaged to a prince, it was Lady Cyan. She had no title and no noble lineage to speak of, yet here she was, about to marry the future king.What a fairytale. The invitation, unsurprisingly, didn’t mention any title for Lady Cyan, she had none yet, but once she married Thor, she would become the Crowned Princess.

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of delight. Deep down, I couldn’t deny my penchant for stirring the pot of intrigue. And watching someone like Cyan, a peasant girl, rise to a position of power was sure to throw the entire class system into chaos. And with our family teetering on the edge of ruin, what was the harm in finding a little entertainment before we were booted from high society?

The evening of the party arrived quickly. The Royal Garden was breathtaking, every inch of it meticulously prepared for the grand affair. Saffron and I stood by the fountain, sipping champagne and enjoying the soothing trickle of the water as we waited for the royal family to make their entrance.

When they finally appeared, the crowd gasped in awe. King Odin and Queen Freya entered first, regal as ever, their presence demanding respect. Hela and Loki followed, each exuding their own form of royal authority. And then, the couple of the hour, Prince Thor and Lady Cyan.

I nearly choked on my champagne when I saw Lady Cyan.

She looked... awful.

Her hair was down but tangled and unbrushed, her makeup was smeared and unflattering, and worst of all, she wore a dress that had been popular last season, as if she hadn’t noticed the fashion had moved on. Even her shoes were an insult,flats, when everyone knew a proper royal event required heels. It was clear to me that the palace maids had set her up for failure, likely encouraged by none other than the ladies in waiting, who were no doubt snickering behind her back.

A quick glance toward Lady Jane confirmed my suspicions. There she was, surrounded by her loyal gaggle of women, all of them giggling into their gloves like schoolgirls. I could practically hear the whispers, whispers that Jane herself had probably orchestrated.

Yet, even as Cyan stood there, a vision of royal disaster, Thor remained unfazed. He looked at her as if she were the only person in the room, his eyes filled with love and admiration. It was almost endearing, in a sickening sort of way.

When the time came for the royals to mingle, I made sure to stay out of the way. I had no intention of angering Mother any further after the debacle with Lady Jane. Saffron, naturally, trailed behind me like a shadow, her shy demeanor making her hesitant to stray too far. She chattered quietly about a romance novel she’d been reading with her friends, her soft voice blending with the music that floated through the garden. Just as she was getting to a particularly juicy part, where the Duke of the novel had finally caught the Princess in a compromising position, our mother appeared, with Duke Bruce Banner in tow.

Mother’s smile was painfully forced as she practically pushed Saffron into Duke Banner’s path. "Saffron, darling, the Duke was just asking about you," she cooed, already working her magic to arrange yet another another potential match for her favorite child. Despite Saffron’s beauty,for some reason her shy and quiet nature had kept many potential husbands at bay, one would think they’d enjoy it.But Mother wasn’t one to give up easily.

I stood back, watching the exchange with a knowing smile. Saffron might be the favorite, but she hated being paraded around like this. I gave her a sympathetic glance before turning my attention elsewhere. I had no interest in finding a match tonight, especially not when I was feeling like a mere observer to a world that was slipping away from us.

While Mother busied herself with Saffron and the Duke, I slipped away, seeking solace at the border where the Royal Garden met the Royal Forest. The sounds of the party grew distant as I found a quiet bench beneath a cluster of trees, my thoughts swirling as I sipped the last of my champagne. This engagement party was a disaster for Lady Cyan, and no doubt her ascension would continue to be entertaining, if nothing else, it would distract the nobles from our impending downfall.

The sound of a timid "Oh" pulled me from the quiet of my thoughts. I turned my head and found the future Crowned Princess standing a few feet away, wringing her hands and staring at me with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt," Lady Cyan stammered, already stepping back as though she had committed some great offense.

“Nonsense,” I replied, rising from my seat near the edge of the garden. “If anything, I am intruding on your walk.” I bowed my head before making my way elsewhere, but she quickly spoke again, her voice hesitant.

“Could you stay? I mean... if you don’t mind.”

I paused, unsure if I should humor the girl or retreat to the quiet, I had sought. Yet when I looked at her, there was something in her manner that reminded me of Saffron, fragile, in need of protection, utterly ill-suited to the cruel ways of this world. With a slight nod I sat back down, on bench, and she hurried to sit next to me. How unflattering for a future queen.

We sat in comfortable silence at first, the air between us light but unspoken words hanging on the edge of her lips. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn't realize the noble world could be so cruel."

I glanced at her sideways. “Prince Thor did not warn you?”

She looked down, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. “He didn’t have time, considering how he picked me from a crowd.”

Now, that caught my attention. “How do you mean?” I asked, leaning in slightly.

Lady Cyan glanced around as if to ensure we were alone, then spoke in a lowered tone, “I used to be... a lady of the night.” She cast her eyes to the ground. “Thor was just a regular customer. I never got the chance to see the royal family, so I didn’t know who he really was. He didn’t use his name either, he just called himself Donar.”

I barely managed to conceal my surprise. This was... extraordinary. “How did you come to be his fiancée?” I asked, genuinely intrigued now.

Lady Cyan sighed. “I was out one morning buying groceries for my mother when a knight seized me and pulled me into a carriage with Thor. That’s when he told me who he really was. He said he wanted me to marry him.”

I blinked, trying to suppress a laugh. “And you thought this was... what? A joke?”

“At first, yes,” she said with a small, embarrassed chuckle. “The next thing I knew, my mother and I were having breakfast with the king and queen.”

Now, this was beyond amusing. I had always known Prince Thor to be impulsive, rumors about him were legendary, but this? This was another level entirely. A peasant marrying into royalty was scandalous enough, but a former courtesan? The whole system was bound to erupt. I could hardly contain my amusement.

Lady Cyan frowned slightly, noticing my reaction. “What’s so funny?”

I gave her a knowing look. “Oh, it’s nothing... except how very on-brand this is for Prince Thor. You should be careful, though. That bit of information? You should keep it to yourself.”

Her eyes widened in panic. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

I waved a hand. “Of course not. But be warned, others won’t be so kind. You’d best keep quiet about your past if you want to survive this court.”

Lady Cyan nodded, her expression softening into one of gratitude. “I was just... so grateful to be here. To wear such fine clothing...”

I looked at her more closely. And her ungodly look “Who dressed you for tonight?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

“Hela had some of her ladies-in-waiting help me,” she replied.

I sighed, shaking my head. “Don’t let them help you again. They made you look ragged, and it was likely intentional.”

Her face fell. “I had a feeling when everyone started laughing at me... The servants say awful things when they think I’m not listening. That Lady Jane should have been Thor’s bride. They don’t know why he chose me.”

My blood boiled. “Fuck them,” I said without thinking.

Lady Cyan gasped, clearly shocked by my language. I rolled my eyes. “Listen, you need to build your own court. Your own ladies-in-waiting, your own servants,and most importantly your own thick-skin. As long as these current people remain, they will never respect you, and they will always try to make you look the fool.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know if I can do that...”

I gave her a stern look. “Do you want to be treated like this for the rest of your life?”

She fell silent.

“You’re going to be queen one day. Prince Thor would give you anything you ask for, that I could clearly see, so use that power. Snuggle up to him, get what you need, and make yourself comfortable. You’ll be here for a long time, Lady Cyan. You might as well rule in comfort.”

She nodded slowly; her gaze thoughtful. I could tell she was unsure of herself, but if she had any hope of surviving this world, she would need to learn quickly. And if I had to give her a push in the right direction, so be it.

“Cyan!” A voice cut through the stillness of the garden, deep and unmistakably male.

Both of us turned toward the sound, and soon enough, Prince Loki stepped into view. His presence carried the same shadowy grace as always, but this time, his gaze briefly flickered to me before settling on Cyan.

“Your fiancé is looking for you,” he said smoothly, though his eyes lingered on me a moment longer. “I suggest you go calm him before he sends out a search party.”

“Oh, right! Of course!” Lady Cyan hurriedly stood, her flustered movements betraying her nervousness. I rose to my feet as well, out of courtesy.

“Thank you so much for the advice...” Lady Cyan paused, her brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Honey. Honey Duval.” I offered my hand, knowing full well it was improper, but she didn’t seem to notice. She shook it with the casual grace of someone entirely untrained in court etiquette.

“I’m Cyan,” she smiled, her warmth genuine if not misplaced.

“I know” I retort, a smile on my face

I made a mental note: the girl would need to refine such small gestures if she hoped to command any respect in the court. There was more to being a princess than simply having the prince’s affection.

I watched as she hurried away, her pace quickening as she no doubt rushed to find her fiancé before he acted on Prince Loki’s warning. Once she disappeared into the crowd, I turned, ready to find my family, only to realize Prince Loki hadn’t moved. He was still standing near, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

I immediately curtsied. “Prince Loki,” I murmured, trying to sound composed as I stood straight again, preparing to make my exit.

But before I could take a step, his voice stopped me cold. “I haven’t dismissed you yet.”

I froze, the weight of his words pulling me back in place. “Duval,” he repeated, his voice low and deliberate, letting the name roll off his tongue as though it were some kind of secret he was savoring. Then he moved toward me, closing the distance until he was standing mere inches from my face.

Prince Loki was an intimidating man, far more dangerous than most cared to admit. I’d heard the stories, of course, of the legendary battles between him and Prince Thor, the ferocity with which they fought their enemies and, at times, each other. And though I prided myself on my resolve, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of fear. His presence, so dark and calculated, was enough to unsettle even the strongest of wills.

“You are of a house with status,Barons, I believe?” His words were a statement, not a question, as though he already knew the answer.

“Yes, Prince Loki,” I replied, forcing myself to keep my voice steady.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with a cruel amusement. “So, then you should’ve known better than to extend your hand to the future ruler of Asgard.”

I stiffened at the reprimand. I knew I’d made a mistake, but hearing it so coldly from his lips made it sting all the more. He sighed dramatically. “But I suppose... what else could one expect from a falling house?”

His words were a dagger. Before I could stop myself, my spine straightened, and the retort slipped from my lips without a second thought. “Nothing as bad as one would expect from a treacherous prince.”

The moment the words escaped me, regret surged through my veins like ice. I had struck too close to the truth, to the rumors that still clung to his name even after all these years. I knew of Loki’s dark history, how, as a young man, he had once betrayed Asgard by siding with Jotunheim in a fit of jealousy, trying to seize the throne from King Odin and Prince Thor. Though he had redeemed himself by turning around and conquering Jotunheim, earning back the trust of the kingdom, the title of “Treacherous Prince” still lingered in whispers.

Personally, I wouldn’t be so quick to forgive someone who’s so eager to switch sides.

Realizing my mistake, I immediately began to apologize, my voice rushing out in a panic. “Prince Loki, I didn’t mean-”

He squinted, annoyance flashing in his eyes, but to my surprise, there was amusement as well. His lips curled into a smirk; his expression unreadable. “Bold,” he murmured, stepping even closer. “But foolish. You may Go.”

Then, before I could react, he grabbed me, pulling me roughly against his chest. My heart pounded as he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “Remember, I have more power than you. And with that power, I can do far more damage.”

He released me with a shove, and I stumbled back, fear and dread gripping my heart. The reality of what I’d just done washed over me like a tidal wave. Loki was not the type of man to forgive easily, and I had just signed the Duval family’s death warrant with my reckless words.

Terrified, I hurried away, my mind racing as I realized just how dire our situation had become. If Loki so wished, he could destroy us with a single utterance, and I had just given him reason to do so.

Several weeks had passed without a single word from the palace. It was strange, the quiet. The Duvals had not received any invitations to events or gatherings, but oddly enough, things seemed to be looking up,at least on the surface. Duke Banner’s interest in Saffron had become more obvious with each passing day. Bouquets of delicate flowers arrived regularly, along with boxes of sweets, each one more decadent than the last. He must have somehow learned of Saffron’s love for such indulgences. While I found his eagerness unsettling, Mother insisted it was nothing to be concerned about, calling it a sign of his devotion.

But I could see the confusion in Saffron’s eyes. She didn’t know how to respond to the Duke’s affections. Her heart was too gentle, too uncertain. She was torn between her own feelings and the expectations placed upon her. I couldn’t blame her,I had my own storm to contend with.

Prince Loki. The memory of our confrontation still hung over me like a dark cloud, heavy and foreboding, threatening to break at any moment. I had said nothing to Mother, choosing instead to wait for the inevitable disaster. Confiding in her would only shatter this brief illusion of peace.

That afternoon, Saffron and I were sitting in the garden, playing a quiet game of spades, trying to enjoy the mild weather. The gentle breeze was soothing, if only for a moment. But then, a sharp, piercing scream cut through the calm.

Both of us snapped our heads toward the commotion, just in time to see Mother rushing toward us, the head maid trailing closely behind. Her hands waved an envelope above her head, the royal crest glinting in the sunlight.

My stomach lurched. This was it. The reckoning I had feared.

Saffron, always attuned to my unease, clasped my hand under the table, offering silent comfort. She knew everything that happened with Prince Loki. We told each other everything.

Mother reached us, breathless, her eyes wide and brimming with excitement. “Honey!” she exclaimed, waving the envelope as if it were a priceless relic. “You’ve been summoned to the royal palace!”

I froze, my heart pounding. What?

Mother continued, her voice filled with barely contained glee. “You’ve been called to interview as a lady-in-waiting for the future queen!”

The words barely registered. “What?” I whispered, my voice thin and shaky. I glanced at Saffron, seeing my own disbelief reflected in her wide eyes. Surely this was some kind of cruel jest.

But Mother, oblivious to the shock etched on our faces, began reading the letter aloud. The future queen, Cyan, had personally selected me for consideration. Me. Out of all the girls. The words blurred together as my mind drifted back to Loki. Had he said nothing? Was this a game?

Mother’s excited voice pulled me back to the present as she finished reading, her arms suddenly wrapping around Saffron and me in a tight embrace. “This is it! Things are finally looking up!” she squealed, her joy almost tangible. “This is exactly what we needed!”

I remained silent, my thoughts spinning out of control. This invitation, no, this summons,could either be our salvation or the final blow that brought everything crashing down. And somehow, I knew… this wasn’t a coincidence.

I sat across from Lady Cyan in the quiet Receiving Room, the silence hanging heavily between us. She fidgeted, her fingers tracing the edge of her chair, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of the moment. I waited, wondering if she would speak first, but when it became apparent she was at a loss, I decided to break the silence.

"Your Highness," I began, keeping my voice measured, "is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

Lady Cyan blinked, as though startled by the question. "Oh," she replied softly, her uncertainty palpable. "I... I’m not really sure what I should ask. I requested that the Queen and Princess Hela be present, but they... well, they refused."

She seemed embarrassed by the admission, and I realized, once again, how out of place she must feel here. The future Queen of Asgard, yet still lost within the complexities of court.

"Would you like me to guide you, Your Highness?" I offered gently, knowing she needed a nudge.

She nodded, looking relieved. "Yes, please."

"Well," I began, "what do you think of me as a candidate so far?"

Lady Cyan straightened in her chair, her posture suddenly more formal. "I like you. I think you would have my back. Even Loki agrees."

“Prince Loki?” I asked

She nodded “Yes, in fact when I mentioned That I would like to get my own Ladies in Waiting, he suggested you as the first one.”

How Curious.

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her directness. "Right.” I chose then to ignore the mention of Prince Loki “So then,Why do you like me, and how do you believe that would benefit you in the court?"

She hesitated before speaking again, her voice quieter, almost vulnerable. "Since I arrived at the palace, I’ve felt like an outsider. No one truly talks to me, except Thor. The conversation we had in the royal garden…" she trailed off, as if collecting her thoughts. "It felt real, like I could tell you anything. And when you advised me not to spread the truth of my past, I felt... safe. You didn’t judge me, and you kept your word so far. I haven’t heard any whispers of it since. That’s why I feel like I can trust you."

She glanced down at her lap, her tone sincere but unsure, as if she feared I might turn her words against her. There was a certain naivety about her, but it was clear she was trying to navigate the treacherous waters of the court. I folded my hands in my lap and smiled softly.

"So you met me and felt that I could be useful to you?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

Lady Cyan's eyes widened, shaking her head frantically. "Oh no, I don’t want you to think I’m using you."

I couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at her flustered reaction. "That’s the system, Your Highness. Everyone in court uses everyone else to further their own agendas. If you are deemed useless, they’ll find a way to cast you aside."

Lady Cyan nodded slowly, absorbing my words like a student eager to learn. She seemed to be coming to terms with the harsh reality of her new life. This wasn’t the world of commoners she once knew; here, survival depended on alliances and strategic moves.

"So," I pressed on, "since you already had a good impression of me during our first meeting, what is it you’re trying to confirm now, in this interview?"

Lady Cyan shifted, clearly embarrassed again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Well... I wanted to hire you immediately, but Queen Freya said that was nonsense. She told me I should at least have an interview with you first."

It was clear that Queen Freya expected me to decline her request. After all, who in their right mind would willingly work under a former commoner, especially with my family teetering on the brink of ruin? But the Queen, in all her wisdom and grandeur, had overestimated my penchant for pride and underestimated the deep-rooted vitriol I held for the very system that sought to throw me and my family to the dogs.

I couldn't help but smile at her honesty, and there was something endearing about her candor. It was clear she was out of her depth, but there was potential in her, potential that could be nurtured if handled correctly. I leaned forward, my tone reassuring.

"Then, Your Highness, you have my word. If you choose to have me by your side, I will ensure you have what you need to succeed in this court. But remember, loyalty goes both ways. I will protect you, but I ask for the same in return."

Lady Cyan met my gaze, her expression softening with relief. "I understand, Honey. Thank you."

I nodded, knowing that from this moment forward, I had entered a dangerous alliance. The future Queen would need more than just trust; she would need strength. And if I was to help her navigate the world she had been thrust into, I would have to play this game carefully, for both our sakes.

My first week working under Lady Cyan, I made it clear that I was there to observe. She agreed, a bit relieved, I think. I spent the week silently watching the way the servants treated her, the way the butlers undermined her every word, and how Hela’s ladies-in-waiting, who were temporarily assigned to her, blatantly ignored her.

Lady Cyan mostly ate alone with her mother, and when they did, it was pitiful. They served them meals that even my own family, on the verge of ruin, would refuse. But when she dined with Prince Thor, everything was immaculate, like a magic switch had been flipped. Even Prince Thor’s courtiers, the ones supposed to show respect to the future queen, treated her poorly.

And then there was the mountain of paperwork they threw at her, expecting her to understand and manage the upkeep of the palace without any guidance. It was clear that she was not only doing her work but the work of Hela’s ladies-in-waiting as well.

I had seen enough.

"Why haven’t you hired the new staff after I told you to?" I asked her one afternoon.

She sighed; exhaustion etched into every feature. "I haven’t had the time," she said.

"Of course you haven’t," I retorted. "You’re buried in work that doesn’t even belong to you."

As I watched her, overwhelmed and far too thin, I was reminded again of Saffron. Someone kind, gentle, and easily taken advantage of. This was more work than I’d intended to take on, but someone needed to help her.

"First things first," I said, taking hold of her wrist gently. "We’re hiring you a personal chef. You’re entirely too thin, and it’s obvious the kitchen staff has no intention of keeping you healthy."

"Will I be able to?" she asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "I don’t know. What do your funds look like?"

"Oh, I don’t—"

I didn’t let her finish. I strode over to her desk, pulling out her accounting book. As I read through the pages, it was clear. The funds allocated to Lady Cyan were being skimmed, and heavily. According to the records, she was eating lavish meals, wearing the latest fashions, and buying expensive jewelry. And yet, here she was, sitting in a handdown dress, malnourished and mistreated.

"When was the last time you spent any of the funds given to you?" I asked, holding the book up to her.

Lady Cyan’s face crumpled in confusion. "I didn’t know I was receiving any funds. Prince Thor didn’t tell me."

I shut the book with a sharp thud. "He’s not supposed to. That’s the job of his courtier. His courtier was meant to show you how to manage your paperwork, how your finances work, and how to oversee your responsibilities, both in maintaining the palace and fulfilling your duties to the kingdom."

Cyan blinked, clearly overwhelmed. This explained everything. No wonder she hadn’t hosted any balls or tea parties, and why she was wearing tattered clothing.

"Someone is stealing from you," I said firmly, my eyes narrowing as I considered the possibilities. "And I’m willing to bet the accountant knows exactly who."

I shut her books and tucked them under my arm, turning to Lady Cyan with a calm but firm expression. “Show me where accounting is.”

She perked up immediately. “Oh, okay.” She started to stand, but as soon as she did, I noticed her posture was completely atrocious, slouched shoulders, head bowed. I stopped her with a slight raise of my hand.

“Before we continue, straighten your back, stretch your neck, and hold your head high,” I instructed. Lady Cyan blinked at me but did as I asked. I spent a few moments adjusting her posture, teaching her how to carry herself with dignity. She still moved with a bit of awkwardness, but with practice, she would improve.

As we made our way to the accounting office, I trailed behind her, as any good lady-in-waiting would. When we arrived, Lady Cyan politely asked the receptionist, Miss Elara Merton, if she could meet with Lord Gregor Voss.

Merton barely glanced at us and replied with obvious disdain, “He’s busy.”

I felt my temper flare. “Well, that’s too bad,” I said, stepping past her and bursting into the office. I had no patience left. Lady Cyan was being mistreated at every turn in this castle, and I couldn’t help but think had it been me the castle would have long ago been set ablazed.

There was Lord Voss, in all his disgrace, caught mid-act with a woman who was most certainly not Lady Voss. The woman, mortified, hurriedly gathered her things and bolted from the room.

“What the hell?” Lord Voss spluttered, adjusting his trousers.

“The future Queen of Asgard wishes to speak with you,” I said coolly.

He looked past me and saw Lady Cyan, standing in the doorway, her expression a mixture of shock and expectancy.

“I’m busy,” he repeated, sounding more defensive than before.

“Oh, we can see that,” I replied, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the scene. I couldn’t wait to tell Saffron about this later.

I ushered Lady Cyan into the room as Miss Merton approached, trying to assert some sort of authority. I stepped up to her, meeting her eyes with an intimidating glare that left no room for argument. “Step back,” I said, my tone commanding. Intimidated, she complied, and I shut the door behind us.

I walked up to Lord Voss and fixed him with a stare. “Tell us who has been taking money from Lady Cyan’s funds.”

Voss blinked, taken aback by the direct question, but he quickly regained his composure. “Lady Cyan has been making purchases on her own,” he said with a practiced smoothness. “Just check her accounting book. Her ladies-in-waiting bring in the necessary—"

“So, Hela’s ladies-in-waiting are stealing from Cyan?” I cut in sharply.

“I did not say that,” he stammered. “I was simply—"

“Of course you did,” I interrupted, holding up the accounting book I had taken. “Jewelry, clothing, shoes, and food, purchases made with her funds. Yet, look at her.” I gestured toward Cyan, who stood looking pale and tired, her dress ill-fitting and her frame almost fragile. “She wears none of it, and she’s thin as a pencil. The ladies-in-waiting have been making these purchases for themselves. They are stealing from her.”

“Baroness Duval—” Voss began.

“That’s my mother,” I said, flashing him a cold smile. “Just call me Lady Honey.”

“Right,” Voss muttered, leaning in to whisper, “Lady Honey. Between you and I, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was hoarding it all.”

That was the last straw. I grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close enough that he could see the fire in my eyes. Cyan gasped softly behind me.

“Listen here, you pathetic excuse for a man,” I hissed. “If you do not tell us who’s been stealing from the future Queen of Asgard, the next person walking through those doors will be the Crowned Prince Thor himself.” His eyes widened in fear, and I pressed further. “Or maybe I should let Lady Voss know exactly what you’ve been up to at work, since we all know who truly runs your household.”

Voss paled and quickly surrendered. “Okay, okay, it is Lady Vivienne, a maid named Kelly, and Lord Cyril Vance.”

“How spineless.” I shoved him back, wiping my hands of his filth. With a gentle voice I turn to Lady Cyan “Let us go.” as I have her walk ahead of me

I opened the door for her, and she walked out with her head held a little higher than before. When we returned to her office,she collapsed into tears, overwhelmed by the realization of how many people had been betraying her.

“Lady Vivienne is one of Princess Hela’s ladies-in-waiting, and Lord Cyril Vance is Thor’s courtier,” she sobbed. “What am I to do now?”

I embraced her gently, offering comfort before I spoke firmly. “You fire them.”

She stops to look at me, as if I’d said something ridiculous “I can’t do that,” she protested, shaking her head.

“Then ask Prince Thor to do it,” I suggested.

“But I—”

“Listen, Lady Cyan,” I interrupted softly but seriously. “You need a completely new court. Not only are they insulting you, but they’re also stealing from you. I understand you don’t want to rattle the cage, but you must do the uncomfortable things now so that you can be comfortable later. You have power now. Use it.”

She paused, considering my words. Then, with a hesitant nod, she whispered, “Okay.”

For the next several months, Cyan had gone on a thorough firing spree, and anyone she couldn’t directly remove was replaced for personal matters, leaving them slowly edged out. I was with her every step of the way, ensuring that each word she spoke was met with the respect and dignity she deserved.

The first major task was sending Hela back her ladies-in-waiting. Lady Cyan, with newfound confidence, informed Hela that Vivienne had been embezzling money from her books. I made sure to advise her to suggest Hela check her own accounts. It wasn’t long before Lady Vivienne was escorted from the palace in disgrace.

Thor’s reaction to Lord Cyril’s involvement in stealing from Lady Cyan was nothing short of fury. He dismissed Cyril immediately, along with the maid Kelly, their reputations shattered beyond repair. No person of prominence would dare to hire them again.

During these palace changes, I cleverly slipped in a word about the kitchen staff feeding Lady Cyan slop. If anyone should have a personal chef, it was her. Prince Thor did one better, he replaced the entire kitchen staff, ensuring that the finest food was prepared for everyone in the palace. He made it very clear that if anyone was served less than what was expected, they would face the gallows. Since then,Lady Cyan’s figure has filled out, and she looks much healthier, with her own strength returning.

She also found herself a new accountant. Prince Thor and I convinced her not to continue relying on Voss, given his negligence. Instead, I helped her hire a young man named Edric Hale. He seemed sharp, rigid, and incredibly thorough, like someone who wouldn’t let anything slip by unnoticed. And I was right, Edric was so good at his job that he not only fixed inconsistencies within Lady Cyans books but uncovered six more individuals committing fraud under the royal name. It wasn’t long before Voss was removed from his post, and Hale was promoted to Royal Financial Advisor.

Even Prince Thor’s courtier was replaced, as I recommended Sir Alistair Graves during the hiring process.He was tall, unsettling, and mysterious, Alistair's appearance drew questions from Prince Thor and Lady Cyan alike, but Alistair soon proved himself to be an invaluable asset.I was right again.

Surprisingly, Thor and Alistair developed a close bond, despite his eerie demeanor.

After all this, Lady Cyan finally had time to hire her own ladies-in-waiting. To my amusement, Lady Jane and Lady Sharon applied for the position. Needless to say, they weren’t hired. I took personal joy in turning them down during the vetting process. Instead, Lady Cyan appointed Lady Natasha Romanoff and Lady Pepper Potts, both competent and trustworthy. As the wedding drew closer, the palace bustled with preparations, fully ready to receive her as the Crowned Princess of Asgard.

The first time I noticed Queen Freya's distaste for me, it was subtle, a cold glance from across the room as I sat with Lady Cyan during a court gathering. At the time, I thought nothing of it. Surely, a queen had more important matters to concern herself with than a mere lady-in-waiting. But as the weeks passed, it became clear: it wasn’t just a glance,it was a warning.

Every time Lady Cyan made progress, especially with my guidance, Queen Freya's irritation grew more obvious.

I remember standing in the corner of the throne room when Vivienne was escorted out by the guards. Queen Freya had been across the hall, watching. Our eyes met briefly, and in that moment, I saw a flash of something, annoyance, perhaps even hatred. I had facilitated that firing, and she knew it.

Later, as I escorted Lady Cyan from the council room, the Queen called out to me, her voice smooth as velvet but sharp as a blade.

"Lady Honey," she began, forcing me to turn back. "You've done such a... thorough job cleaning up the mess around the palace." The way she said "thorough" was laced with disdain. "Though, I do wonder, have you left anything for Lady Cyan to do herself?"

I bristled at the remark, but I kept my expression neutral. "Her Highness has made all the decisions. I simply advised her where necessary." I could not allow my mouth to ruin this for me.

The Queen smiled that thin, humorless smile of hers. "Of course. But do be careful. A lady of your... talents should know when to step back. We wouldn’t want to overshadow the future princess, now, would we?"

The words cut deeper than intended. She wasn’t praising me. She was warning me. I was doing too much, and that didn’t sit well with her.

As Lady Cyan continued to gain confidence, Freya’s hostility grew. When Thor replaced the kitchen staff, I could see the Queen’s patience slipping further. I once overheard her speaking to Hela’s remaining ladies-in-waiting about how “some people simply don’t know their place” as I passed through the halls. I had no doubt she was referring to me.

It all came to a head during one of our morning meetings. I was assisting Cyan with the latest preparations for her upcoming wedding, ensuring all the details were perfect, when Queen Freya entered the room, her presence like a sudden frost in the air.

"Lady Honey," she addressed me without looking directly at Cyan. "It seems you’ve become quite indispensable. How fortunate for Lady Cyan."

I curtsied, though my stomach twisted. I knew what was coming.

"You've certainly made an impression," she continued, her voice sharp, "but one wonders if you've made the right kind."

There was no mistake in her meaning. I had been far too effective in my role, far too supportive of Cyan. Queen Freya wasn’t just irritated anymore, she was furious.

Unfortunately, during all of this, I had to deal with Prince Loki breathing down my neck. He insisted on my company far too often, even intruding on Lady Cyan’s morning teas, meant for us to go over her itinerary. He was relentless.

One morning, after Loki had finally left, opting to go train I couldn’t hold back. “That man is infuriating,” I muttered, still editing the itinerary.

“You mean Prince Loki of Asgard?” Lady Romanoff asked with a smirk.

“Who else?” I replied, shaking my head.

“I think it’s sweet that he’s found interest in you,” Lady Potts chimed in, her words slightly tentative. “And, well, at least you’d know your future is secure if you married him.” She was prone to putting her foot in her mouth without realizing it.

I gave her a sharp look but let it pass. “Did you manage to find a venue for the next royal tea party?”

“Oh, right,” she said, quickly handing me a sheet of paper. “Here’s the list of available venues for the date we need. I’ve marked the ones that would be most appropriate.”

Despite her occasional blunders, Potts was excellent at her job. I could always count on her efficiency.

With new ladies-in-waiting and the right servants, Lady Cyan was finally surrounded by a supportive circle. Her transformation was undeniable, and I was proud to have played a role in it.

Lady Cyan’s soft voice broke my thoughts. “Would it be so wrong to consider Prince Loki?”

I nearly scoffed. “If I were interested, perhaps it wouldn’t be.”

“I think you should give him a chance,” she suggested, her large doe eyes gazing at me earnestly.

I sighed. I was ready to dismiss the notion entirely, but those eyes… “I’ll think about it,” I conceded, though the thought made me cringe inwardly.

“That’s all I ask,” Cyan said with a sweet smile.

I shook my head, standing up. “I’ll be back. I need to confirm a few numbers with Edric.” I made my way to the door, hearing the giggles of the other ladies as I left the room.

It took a tremendous amount of work, but for the first time, I felt I had done right by Lady Cyan. She had a proper support system now, and she was ready to step into her role as Crowned Princess of Asgard.

As I walked down the palace halls toward accounting, my footsteps slowed as I passed the training grounds. There, shirtless and glistening with sweat, was Prince Loki, sparring with one of the knights. His lean, muscular form moved with precision, and I begrudgingly admitted to myself, yes, Prince Loki was a very handsome man. But he was oh so arrogant.

Not to mention, something about him made me uncomfortable, a discomfort I couldn’t quite shake. It was the same feeling I got around Duke Bruce and, on occasion, even Prince Thor. Maybe it had something to do with their high positions of power or the way they carried themselves with an air of control. Whatever it was, I had no interest in exploring it further.

Before I could turn away, I caught Loki’s eye. His gaze locked onto mine, and a sly smirk spread across his face as he waved. My heart skipped a beat, but not from admiration, it was more like a warning bell. I quickly dispersed, pretending not to notice, and rushed down the corridor toward Lord Hale’s office.

After finishing my business with Lord Hale, I made my way back to Lady Cyan’s chambers, feeling a sense of relief that the conversation had gone smoothly. But midway through my return, I found myself stopped by none other than Loki himself.

“May I help you, Prince Loki?” I asked stiffly, my posture rigid as I forced myself to remain composed.

A playful grin adorned his face, and his tone was laced with flirtation. “Oh, nothing in particular, just wanting to chat with the pretty girl who’s managed to turn the palace upside down.”

I straightened my spine. “You mean right side up,” I corrected coolly.

Prince Loki chuckled, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the air between us. “Well, regardless. Tonight, I’m headed to a gathering. A close friend of mine is planning to ask for a woman’s hand in marriage. Quite the event.And I was wondering if you’d like to attend” he pushes a lock of my hair behind my shoulder. “With me.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to attend,” I replied curtly. “I have a gathering of my own tonight.”

He chuckled again,as if he had some kind of secret, clearly entertained by my formality. “Well, shoot. I’m sure we’ll find a way to get together sometime.”

I forced a polite smile. “Of course.” I curtsied briefly, making it clear the conversation was over, and headed back to Lady Cyan’s chambers, the unsettling feeling from earlier creeping back into my chest.

“Do you want me to say something?” I’d asked her multiple times, my voice filled with the urge to protect her, but she always refused, her shy voice barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” she’d insist, and despite my frustration, I respected her decision. So tonight, as always, I played the role of silent protector, standing close to her, watching her every move, and his.

The party was filled with the usual noble chatter and laughter, but I found no comfort in it. Saffron’s uneasy smile, her fidgeting hands, and Duke Bruce’s ever-watchful eyes were the only things I could focus on.

I was lost in my thoughts when I felt someone brush close behind me, their breath warm against my ear. “Hello, Honey.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.Prince Loki. Of course. His voice carried that teasing edge, filled with amusement and arrogance, as if this was all a game to him.

I glanced over my shoulder, my irritation barely concealed. “Are you following me, Prince Loki?” I asked, my voice sharper than intended.

He chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on me as though he found the situation endlessly entertaining. “Following you? No, darling, I’m here for a special moment.”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten. “And what moment might that be?” I asked, my words clipped.

His smirk widened as he casually nodded toward the center of the room. “That one,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

I followed his gaze and froze. My heart sank as I saw Duke Bruce Banner on one knee, proposing to Saffron in front of the entire room. She stood there, pale and trembling, but with all eyes on her, there was no way out. Her lips moved in slow motion, forming the dreaded word. “Yes.”

Applause filled the room as the crowd celebrated the engagement, toasting to their future. Saffron’s eyes darted toward me, wide with panic, but all I could do was stare, powerless to stop what was happening.

Loki leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Congratulations on your sister’s engagement,” he said, his smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth. “It seems Duke Banner will soon be family.”

I turned to him, my jaw tight with barely concealed rage. “You knew this was going to happen.”

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Bruce is a close friend of mine. He’s been planning this for some time.”

I swallowed my anger, trying to keep my composure as I watched Saffron, my heart aching for her. Loki’s smug smile felt like salt in the wound. “Enjoy your evening, Lady Honey,” he added, his tone mocking. “I’m sure there will be more surprises to come.”

With that, he walked away, leaving me standing there, helpless as my sister’s fate was sealed before my eyes.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of stress and unanswered questions. Saffron’s engagement to Duke Banner weighed heavily on my mind, though she insisted everything was fine. I knew better. Every night she would come to me, her face tight with worry, sharing how uncomfortable everything made her feel. I’d offered her an out, told her we could make a formal request to call off the engagement, but she refused. She was too afraid of disappointing our parents, especially our mother.

“Everything will be fine,” she’d said with that fragile, hopeful look in her eyes. It made me furious, but I couldn’t force her hand. All I could do was stand by her, ready to step in if things went too far.

And then there was Lady Cyan. Rumors had spread quickly about her being ill, though I had my doubts. Something about it felt... off. The palace was rife with gossip, and yet Prince Thor, always the picture of calm, didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he appeared more focused than ever.

My attempts to see her had been blocked at every turn. Alistair, ever the watchful guard, was always there, standing between me and the answers I sought. A time where I’d tried to visit her, I was met with him stepping out of her chambers just as I approached. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for me.

“Lady Cyan is resting,” he’d said, his tone polite but firm. His cold, calculating eyes met mine without so much as a flicker of guilt. I couldn’t stand how easily he lied to my face. "She needs her privacy."

“She’s been resting for weeks,” I shot back, frustration bubbling in my chest. “Surely she could spare a moment?”

Alistair didn’t blink, didn’t falter. “Her health is delicate. If you truly care for her well-being, you'll give her time.”

His words were a steel wall, and I had no choice but to retreat, fuming. But I didn’t stop trying. Each day, I attempted to get close, whether it was checking in through the maids or attempting another visit myself,but Alistair was always there, standing guard like some immovable sentry.

Pepper and Natasha told me to let it go, that if Prince Thor said she was unwell, it was best to leave it at that. But I couldn’t. Something in my gut told me that there was more to it. And as the days passed, that gnawing suspicion only grew stronger.

It didn’t help that Loki seemed intent on feeding into my doubts, though his information came in small, tantalizing pieces. Each time we crossed paths, he would drop a hint, a little morsel of knowledge that made my curiosity burn brighter. He never gave me the full picture, just enough to keep me coming back for more.

I had just finished reviewing some paperwork with Edric when I stepped out into the hallway. Prince Loki was there, casually leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. His eyes immediately found mine, that familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“Lady Honey,” he greeted, his tone smooth. “Busy day?”

“Always,” I muttered, not in the mood for small talk. “Do you need something?”

He pushed off the wall, sauntering over to me, his presence impossible to ignore. “Not at all. Just curious how Lady Cyan is faring.” His voice dropped ever so slightly, hinting at something beneath the surface.

I stiffened, trying to mask my surprise. “She’s unwell, or so I’ve been told,” I replied carefully, eyeing him. “You would know that if you bothered to ask.”

Prince Loki chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to grab my chin. “Oh, I ask plenty of questions, my dear. Just not to the right people, apparently.” His touch lingered longer than necessary, and before I could say anything, he stepped back with a knowing smile. “Keep an eye on her,” he added, his tone soft but carrying weight.

Before I could respond, he was already walking away, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Days had passed, and Prince Loki’s cryptic comments continued to nag at me. I was heading down the palace corridor, lost in thought, when I felt a sudden arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side embrace. Prince Loki again.

“You always seem so tense, Lady Honey,” he teased, his voice close to my ear. “What has you so worked up this time?”

I tried to wriggle free, but he held me firmly in place, his warmth both irritating and oddly comforting. “Prince Loki, I have work to do,” I grumbled. “This isn’t the time.”

He laughed, his grip loosening but not completely letting go. “Is it ever? You’re always working, always investigating. I wonder... what would you do if you found something you weren’t supposed to?”

I stilled at his words, the weight of them sinking in. He knew something. “What are you implying?”

He smiled down at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Let’s just say... not everyone in the palace is who they seem. Keep digging, and you might be surprised at what you find.”

I pulled away from him, trying to regain my composure. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re delightful,” he replied with a wink before walking off, leaving me even more frustrated than before.

I was pouring over documents late one evening when Prince Loki appeared out of nowhere, his presence once again unsettling but familiar. He stood behind me, his hand lightly resting on my back as he leaned in.

“Still working, I see,” he murmured. “Do you ever rest?”

I tensed at the closeness, but his hand was gentle, not imposing. “Someone has to do the work around here,” I replied dryly, not looking up.

“Hmm,” he mused, his fingers lightly tracing down my spine before lifting away. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re just looking for something you shouldn’t be finding.”

I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. “Are you ever going to just tell me what you know, or are you going to keep playing these games?”

Loki smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Where’s the fun in that, my dear? Sometimes, the best discoveries are made through patience... and persistence.”

Before I could respond, he was gone again, leaving only the faint warmth where his hand had been.

I stormed through the palace halls, my frustration building with every step. This was the fourth time I’d been turned away from seeing Lady Cyan, and I wasn’t about to let Alistair dismiss me again. My pulse quickened as I approached her chambers, my mind already preparing for a confrontation.

As soon as I reached the door, there he was, Alistair, standing outside with his arms crossed, as if he were waiting for me. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but I could see the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Move aside,” I said sharply, not caring how harsh I sounded. “I’m seeing Lady Cyan whether you like it or not.”

Alistair didn’t flinch. Instead, he sighed and straightened, blocking the entrance with his large frame. “Young One,” he began in that infuriatingly calm voice, “how many times must we go through this? Lady Cyan is ill, and Prince Thor is taking excellent care of her.”

“That’s nonsense,” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. “Every time I’ve tried to see her, it’s been the same excuse. Do you think I’m some fool who will just let it go because you keep repeating the same thing? Lady Cyan hasn’t been seen for days!”

His gaze didn’t waver. “And she won’t be seen until she’s recovered. Now, go back to your duties.”

I clenched my fists, anger bubbling in my chest. “I’m not a child, Alistair! Don’t treat me like one just because you don’t have the decency to tell me what’s actually going on. You think I’m blind to what’s happening?”

Alistair stared at me, unfazed by my outburst. Then, to my utter fury, he reached out and gently patted me on the head, as if I were some bothersome child. “Young One,” he said, a hint of condescension in his tone, “you should focus on your own work and let Prince Thor handle LadCyan. You’re only going to exhaust yourself meddling in things you don’t understand.”

I slapped his hand away, my blood boiling at the insult. “You can’t keep me away from her forever, Alistair.”

He merely shrugged, unfazed. “Perhaps not, but for now, you should go. I won’t tell you again.”

My teeth ground together, but I knew I couldn’t push him further without making a scene. I had no choice but to turn around and leave, but the fire of frustration burned deep in my chest. I wasn’t going to let this go, not by a long shot.

As I walked away, I could still feel Alistair’s patronizing pat on my head, and it only fueled my determination. Something was wrong, and I was going to find out what.

The royal wedding was only a few days away, and I’d reached my breaking point. The palace had become a den of whispers and secrets, and it seemed that the closer we got to the wedding, the more the air thickened with lies. I had tried everything, pushing past Alistair, confronting Prince Thor’s other courtiers, even pleading with Lady Natasha and Lady Pepper to help me get to LadyCyan. But all paths led to closed doors.

And Prince Loki with his cryptic words, his teasing smiles, and half-baked hints. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I stormed through the palace halls, not caring who saw me. My feet led me to the Royal Garden, where I knew he’d be. He always found some quiet corner to lounge in, away from the royal duties he couldn’t be bothered with. Sure enough, there he was, seated by the fountain, leaning back like a man without a care in the world. He hadn’t seen me yet, his eyes closed, hands resting in his lap.

“Prince Loki!” I hissed, my voice cutting through the peaceful evening air. His eyes snapped open, a smirk already curling his lips as he straightened, watching me approach.

“Well, well, Lady Honey. I was wondering when you’d come seeking my company,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. He pushed off the edge of the fountain and stood, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What brings you to me so... heatedly?”

“I’ve had enough of your games,” I spat, my fists clenched at my sides. “Tell me what’s going on with Lady Cyan.”

His smirk deepened, and he took a few slow steps toward me. “And what makes you think I’ll just give you the answers you seek?”

“Because you know something!” I shouted, unable to contain my frustration. “You’ve been dropping hints for weeks, playing with me like a cat with a mouse, and I’m done! I need to know what’s happening to her!”

Prince Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by my outburst. He circled me slowly, as if appraising me. “Oh, my dear Lady Honey, I do know many things. But nothing comes for free in this world.”

I turned to face him, my heart pounding in my chest. “What do you want?”

He stopped in front of me, his gaze locked on mine, intense and unwavering. “A kiss.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“A kiss,” he repeated, his voice low and velvety. “Give me one, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

I stared at him, stunned. This was a new game. A dangerous one. “You’re joking.”

His eyes darkened, and the smirk on his face faded slightly, replaced with something more... possessive. “I never, Lady Honey.”

I hesitated, my mind racing. A kiss? For information? It felt wrong. But I had to know. I needed to understand what was happening, why Cyan had suddenly vanished behind locked doors, why everyone was pretending everything was fine.

With reluctance weighing heavily on me, I nodded. “Fine.”

Loki’s smirk returned, but this time it was darker, more victorious. Before I could even prepare myself, he stepped forward, his hand snaking around my waist and pulling me against him. His grip was firm, and the heat of his body was overwhelming. He didn’t hesitate , his lips crashed down on mine, strong and possessive, swallowing my breath. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was raw, and claiming. His hand moved to the small of my back, pulling me even closer, while his other hand gripped my neck, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.

I gasped against his mouth, but he didn’t relent. His fingers dug into my waist, his body pressing me tightly against him as if he couldn’t bear to let me go. His lips moved with a fierceness that stole the air from my lungs, and when I tried to pull back, his grip tightened, holding me in place.

The kiss grew rougher, more demanding. His hand slid from my waist to my hip, his fingers brushing dangerously close to my thigh. He groped me as if I were his to take, his hold possessive, his body commanding.

My mind screamed at me to push him away, but my body was paralyzed. My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear and something else , something I didn’t want to name. His lips moved over mine, devouring me, until I was left breathless, gasping against him.

When he finally pulled back, I was dizzy, my knees weak. I could hardly catch my breath as I stared up at him, my lips swollen, my body trembling from the intensity of it all. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and hungry, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“Well, Lady Honey,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “A deal’s a deal.”

I tried to steady my breathing, still reeling from the kiss. “Tell me,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

But Loki didn’t move away. Instead, he stayed close, his hand still firmly gripping my waist. He tilted his head slightly, brushing his nose against mine in an almost affectionate manner, a contrast to the possessive way he had kissed me moments earlier.

He pressed his lips softly to my forehead, lingering for a moment as his breath fanned over my skin. “Thor has been spending a lot of time with Cyan,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. “Alone. Uninterrupted. But she’s not ill. Not at all.”

His hand slid lower, caressing my side as he spoke, his lips brushing against my hair. “They’ve been keeping her in her chambers, but it’s not for the reasons you think.”

I pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. “Then why?” I asked, my voice trembling.

Loki’s grip tightened for a moment, his eyes locking with mine. “Because she’s trapped, just like you, little honeybee. Thor has no intention of letting her go.”

I stared at him, a sinking feeling of dread filling my stomach.

The day after my tense encounter with Loki, I finally managed to see Lady Cyan. She was glowing, radiant even, but her expression, her eyes, told a different story. As soon as I laid eyes on her, I rushed forward and embraced her tightly.

“Are you alright?” I asked, my voice low, laced with concern.

Pepper and Natasha, standing nearby with knowing smiles, seemed to think my worry was misplaced. “Honey, had been worried sick about you,” Natasha said, her tone light, almost dismissive of the tension that clung to me. It was as if they were brushing off the entire ordeal.

“I’m fine,” Lady Cyan answered, but her eyes,they were haunted. Despite her soft smile, there was a sadness there that pulled at my chest.

I nodded, but I didn’t believe her. Something was wrong, and as the days leading up to the wedding crept by, I tried to coax her into talking. She remained tight-lipped, her melancholy growing more apparent, but she wouldn’t say a word.

Prince Loki, who had been dropping hints and playing his games, was nowhere to be found during this time. It should have unsettled me, but I was too focused on Lady Cyan to care.

Then, the day of the royal wedding arrived. It was the grandest affair Asgard had ever seen, extravagant, dazzling, and utterly flawless in its execution. Everyone was there, dressed to the nines, and the entire kingdom celebrated the union of Crown Prince Thor and Princess Cyan.

But then, during the reception, Princess Cyan disappeared.

I knew where to find her.

I followed my instincts, weaving my way through the palace grounds until I reached the Royal Forest. There, in the center of the garden, was a bench where she sat, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed uncontrollably.

“Princess Cyan?” I whispered as I approached. She looked up at me, her eyes red, streaked with tears.

Without a word, I sat beside her, wrapping my arms around her trembling frame. “What’s wrong?” I asked gently, stroking her hair as she cried.This was meant to be the happiest day of her life. Or so I’ve heard.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes as she extended her hand. “Do you know what this is?” she asked, showing me her wedding ring.

I frowned. “It’s your wedding ring, of course.”

She shook her head, her hand trembling. “No, Honey, it’s a Vowthorn.”

Confusion filled me as I studied the ring more closely. My blood ran cold as I saw it—tiny thorns lining the underside, almost imperceptible unless you looked carefully.

“What do you mean?”

She sniffled again, and before I could stop her, she tugged at the ring. To my horror, pieces of her skin began to tear as she tried to remove it. Blood welled at the edges, and I quickly grabbed her hand to stop her. “Princess Cyan, stop!” I cried, my heart pounding.

“I can never take it off,” she whispered, her voice broken. “I’m bound to him, Honey. Forever.”

My eyes widened as I stared at her bloody finger, my stomach churning with revulsion. The thorns had sunk into her flesh, marking her, chaining her to Prince Thor in a way far crueler than I could have imagined.

“Princess Cyan.”

Alistair’s voice broke through the moment, his presence looming as he stepped out from the shadows of the trees. “Your husband is looking for you,” he said calmly, as if nothing was amiss.

Princess Cyan wiped her eyes, standing slowly as she gave me one last, heart-wrenching hug. “Thank you for everything,” she whispered, her voice hollow.

I held her tightly for a moment before releasing her, watching helplessly as she walked toward Alistair. He smiled, cold, knowing, and I could only stand there, frozen, as he gently escorted her back to the party.

I felt my heart twist, anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Do you understand now?”

Prince Loki had emerged from the shadows, lurking like the serpent he always was. I didn’t bother looking at him, my gaze still fixed on the spot where Cyan had disappeared, her broken form haunting my thoughts.

If I were being honest, I didn’t fully understand. Not yet. But there was one thing I was almost certain of.

“He’s harming her,” I said aloud, unable to shake the memory of her fear, the wedding ring that tore into her skin when she dared to remove it. “But why? I thought he loved her.”

Loki’s laugh was sharp, cutting through the stillness of the forest. It grated on my nerves, and I finally turned to stare at him. “What’s so funny?”

He stepped closer, his smirk both infuriating and dangerous. “Hardly harming her,” he corrected, his tone dripping with amusement. “There may be a bit of pain involved, yes... but the pleasure, from what I’ve heard, is immaculate.” His voice deepens

I rolled my eyes, my patience thinning. “What in gods’ name are you babbling about, Loki?”

He chuckled darkly, as if I were some naïve child. “Thor is playing a different game, Honey. One where control is disguised as love, and desire is wrapped in thorns. You see, your dear crowned prince has no intention of letting his bride go. Not ever.”

My stomach twisted. "That doesn't explain the ring. The pain."

Prince Loki's gaze softened, almost mockingly. “Ah, but pain and pleasure often intertwine. Thor’s made sure she feels both, he wants her to be bound to him in every way. The ring, the restrictions, they serve a purpose beyond mere possession. It’s a reminder. That no matter how much she may try to escape, she’ll always come back to him.”

I clenched my fists, anger rising in me like a tide. "You're saying he's... manipulating her into staying?"

"Isn't that what marriage often is?" Loki raised an eyebrow, his voice deceptively light. He moved closer, until the heat of his body was almost touching mine. "But don’t think of it as cruelty. In Thor’s eyes, it’s love. Just a... particular kind."

I felt sick. "And you? Do you condone it?"

Prince Loki leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “I don’t condone or condemn. I observe. And I act when it suits me.” He paused, his voice lowering to a whisper. "As I’ve been observing you."

A shiver ran down my spine. His presence, his words, it was all too much. I stepped back, trying to put distance between us, but Loki only smirked, as if he enjoyed seeing me unsettled.

He gestured toward the path Princess Cyan and Alistair had taken. “If you really want to know what’s happening, you’re asking the wrong questions. Thor loves her, yes, but his love is one that consumes, one that binds. Just like the ring on her finger.” His eyes gleamed. "The real question is, how far will he go to keep her?"

Before I could even think of leaving,Prince Loki’s slender fingers grab around my neck, his grip deceptively strong. He yanked me closer, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek, his body pressing against mine in a way that made my stomach churn with both fear and an unexpected flicker of something else, something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Now, then,” Loki whispered in a voice as smooth as velvet, his lips barely brushing my ear. “I think I’ve waited long enough.”

“Let go of me!” I demanded, my voice shaking but defiant as I pushed against his chest, trying to create distance. But it was no use, he barely moves, his frame lean yet unyielding as if carved from stone.

“Now, now, little Honey,” he purred, his tone dripping with a sick sort of amusement. “You’ve been so curious about what’s happening to sweet Cyan... I think it’s only fair I show you ”

His lips descended on mine with a force that took my breath away. I gasped, my body instinctively tensing at the sudden invasion. His mouth claimed mine without hesitation, his kiss demanding, harsh, and unforgiving.

My hands pressed against his chest, trying to create some distance between us, but it was futile. Loki was everywhere. His fingers gripped my waist tightly, pulling me closer as though he intended to merge us into one being. His other hand roamed, sliding down my back, groping and kneading as if he were staking his claim.

The heat of his body was overwhelming, and I could feel his fingers curling into the fabric of my gown, tugging me impossibly closer. His lips moved against mine, rough and unrelenting, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a dominance that made my knees buckle.

"L-Loki—" I tried to speak, to push him away, but my voice was swallowed by the intensity of the kiss. He groaned against my lips, his hand trailing lower, grabbing my hip and squeezing with enough force to make me gasp.

"Shh," he whispered, his lips brushing mine in a cruel mockery of tenderness. "You’ve wanted this, Honey. Don’t pretend otherwise."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, but before I could respond, his mouth was back on mine, stealing my breath once more. His hands slid down to my backside, gripping and pulling me against him in a way that left no space between us. I could feel every inch of him, his body pressed tightly to mine as if he couldn’t bear to let me go.

His lips left mine only to trail down the side of my neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along my skin. I whimpered as he nipped at my collarbone, his teeth grazing my flesh just enough to send a bolt of heat through me.

"You’re mine now," he growled against my skin, his voice low and possessive. "Don’t think for a second you can escape me."

His hands roamed freely, tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips, and the dip of my back. His touch was rough, insistent, as though he was marking me with every stroke of his fingers. My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear, and confusion

I've never done anything like this before, I’ve never been exposed to anything like this before. For the first time in my life, I feared what would happened next.

Loki's grip tightened, his hands digging into my flesh as if daring me to try and escape. But there was no escape. Not from him. Not from this.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that made me want to run and hide. His thumb traced the line of my jaw as he smirked down at me, his lips swollen from the kiss.

He shoved me hard, sending me crashing to the ground. My head smacked against the cold earth, a sharp pain shooting through my skull as the world spun for a moment.

Using my confusion as an opportunity, Loki climbed on top of me, forcibly lifting my skirts and ripping apart my undergarments.

“Wait” I called out “Loki! Please! No!” my pleas falling on deaf ears as I heard and felt him shuffle about.

I tried to get up, but this only caused Loki to grab my neck once more, shoving my head back into the ground. The pressure on my neck causing me to still.

All at once, I feel a searing pain in my nether regions, and Loki growls with what I can only assume is pleasure. I begin digging my nails into his arm and dragging them down. Tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

The anguish squeezing every bit of breath I had in my body.

He takes one look at my face, at the agony and discomfort he was causing, and he laughed loudly.

“You are a virgin?” he asks, shock laced into his voice.

I swallow, whimpers escape me as I try to breathe through the torment.

“And you worry about the whore?”

He begins moving his body against mine the pain sharp, and persistent, a deep, stretching discomfort catching me off guard. Distress overtaking me as tears fell down my face. It felt as if a fresh wound had been torn open, and he was mercilessly digging into it, over and over, each movement sending waves of torment through me.

A pressure that started small but grew with every motion, my muscles tensing instinctively. It wasn’t just the physical sting; there was an emotional weight behind it too. A feeling of vulnerability, of crossing a threshold I could never return from. It was unbearable, and far from pleasant, a blend of confusion and distress mixed with the ache.

With every grunt and growl Loki worked to steal away my innocence. I became tired, my arms dropped to my side as I allowed him what he wanted. I still cried to myself wondering when this would be over.

He removed his hand from my neck, planting both firmly on to the ground as he worked to move faster. Finally, just when I felt that I could take no more he lets out a final roar pushing himself as deep as he could inside me, causing me to cry out in pain,before collapsing on my worn body.

"See?" he whispered, his voice a low growl. "I told you, Honey. You’re mine."

I stared up at him, panting, my mind still spinning from the events that occurred.

He stood, fixing himself before leaving me on the ground with a chuckle.

I had never felt so ashamed, to allow something so awful to happen to me. I move into a fetal position, wondering where I went wrong.

Afterwards when Prince Loki stood up and fixed his garments I chose to lay on the ground for what felt like hours, my body aching, my mind swirling in the haze of disbelief. Used, humiliated, and utterly broken, I could hardly muster the strength to move. The cool earth beneath me felt foreign, much like the shell of my own body. I wanted to scream, to cry, but the exhaustion and shame anchored me to the ground.

Eventually, reality clawed its way back in. I still had to go home. As battered as I was, I couldn’t allow myself to be found like this. I still had my family’s dignity to uphold, fragile though it was. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to block out the vile memories of what had just happened. Loki's touch lingered on my skin, searing like a brand I’d never erase. But I had to get up. I had no choice.

With trembling arms, I pushed myself off the cold ground. Every movement sent a fresh wave of soreness through my body. My dress was filthy, covered in dirt and torn in places. My hair, usually so neatly kept, hung in tangled clumps around my face. I wiped at my cheeks, but the tears had long since dried. I felt like a ghost of the woman I was when I arrived.

My legs shook as I took one step, then another. My body protested, but I bit back the groan of agony and pressed on. I couldn’t afford to be found here. Not like this.

It was a miracle no one had come across me. The palace grounds had plenty of hidden corners, but in this state, I felt exposed, vulnerable. With every faltering step, I felt the weight of what had been stolen from me. I was no longer Honey Duval, the thorny, snarky daughter of a struggling Baroness. I had become something else entirely.

After what seemed like an eternity, I reached the entrance of the palace. There were still people milling about, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that raged inside me. I kept my head low, pulling my ruined dress around me to hide the worst of the damage. I prayed that no one would take a second look, that no one would notice the way I limped toward the line of carriages.

I spotted an empty one, its driver standing idly by. I approached him as steadily as I could, my voice a ragged whisper as I asked, “Take me home.”

The driver, with barely a glance, helped me inside, and I sank into the seat, every muscle in my body screaming for rest. The door shut, and with the soft lurch of the carriage, I felt myself collapse inward.

I managed to stumble my way through the door without a soul in sight. The house was still and quiet, no sign of my family. Of course, they were all still at the wedding. My parents, Saffron, even Bruce, none of them would have noticed I was missing yet. That gave me some relief, though it was fleeting.

The servants had long retired to their quarters for the night. There was no one to see me in this state, no judgmental eyes to pry at my disheveled hair and filthy gown. I was grateful for the emptiness of the estate.

I moved quietly through the halls, each step painful, my body still aching from the night’s cruelty. When I finally reached my room, I shut the door behind me, leaning my back against it and letting out a ragged breath. My legs gave out from under me, and I slid to the floor, my dress pooling around me in a tattered mess.

I could still feel Loki’s hands on me, the weight of his body, his mocking smile as he took everything I had left. A fresh wave of nausea rolled over me, and I pressed a hand to my mouth, fighting back the bile that threatened to rise.

I was falling apart.

With shaking hands, I dragged myself to the mirror, catching sight of the wreck I had become. My eyes hollow, my hair tangled and dirty, my dress in ruins. I could barely recognize myself.

I stripped off my ruined dress, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Every inch of my body ached, bruises I hadn’t noticed earlier now flaring with every movement. My mind was clouded with the horrors of what had transpired, but I knew one thing,I needed to wash it all away.

The bathwater was scalding as I stepped in, but I didn’t care. I welcomed the heat, letting it burn my skin, hoping it could sear away the filth that clung to me. I grabbed the soap and scrubbed harder than I ever had before. I scrubbed until my skin felt raw, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t rid myself of the feeling of his hands, his breath on my neck, the unbearable weight of him.

Loki’s sins clung to me like a second skin, and no amount of scrubbing could make them disappear.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and this time I couldn’t stop them. They fell silently, mixing with the water, but I didn’t make a sound. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let this break me—not yet. I had to keep going. I had to find a way to survive.

After what felt like an eternity, I dragged myself out of the tub, my skin tender and sore. I wrapped myself in a towel, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling me down, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

I dressed quickly, slipping into a nightgown, my body trembling with every movement. Each bruise, each ache, was a reminder of what had happened, of what I had endured.

Finally, I collapsed onto the bed, pulling the sheets around me as tightly as I could. I wanted to disappear, to become invisible, but the memories wouldn’t let me. They played over and over in my mind, tormenting me, reminding me that I was no longer the person I had been just hours before.

As the night deepened, I lay there in silence, staring at the ceiling, my body too heavy to move, my mind too shattered to rest.

The morning after the... incident, I went to work, doing my best to avoid Loki like the plague. Thankfully, he wasn't lurking anywhere near me, but my focus stayed on my work, burying myself in it to ignore the memory of last night.

Princess Cyan was finally available today, but something was off. She was quieter than usual, almost distant, her glow subdued. I glanced around the room, noticing Natasha and Pepper were unusually silent too. The whole room felt heavy, but I was too preoccupied with my work to dwell on it. There were more pressing things to address,or so I thought.

Queen Freya had summoned me.

When the notice arrived, I paused, the paper trembling in my hands. I could feel my pulse quicken, but I kept my composure as I made my way to the Queen’s receiving room. What could she possibly want? Had something else gone wrong?

The air in Queen Freya’s receiving room was as cold and stiff as the Queen herself. I stood quietly, waiting for her to get to the point of summoning me here. She'd been polite enough, making small talk about the weather and my family’s well-being, but her eyes never softened. Not for a moment.

It wasn’t long before she finally sat back in her chair and sighed, an air of finality in her voice. "Honey, you’ve done quite a remarkable job assisting... Princess Cyan." The way she said "Princess" made it sound like an insult rather than a title. "But I'm afraid your services are no longer needed."

I blinked, completely thrown. "Your Majesty, may I ask what I’ve done wrong?"

She folded her hands and looked at me with the kind of smile that never reached her eyes. "It’s not about wrongdoing, per se. But your absence on the night of the wedding was entirely unprofessional. We cannot risk something like that happening again. What if Princess Cyan needed you? You were nowhere to be found."

My heart raced. That night… my time spent with PrincesCyan had been brief before I stumbled upon her secret. I knew better than to mention it. "Your Majesty, I—"

"There’s no need for explanations, dear," she cut me off sharply. "I am well aware that you have been rather... vocal in your support for Princess Cyan. Too vocal, perhaps."

There it was. The truth. Queen Freya’s gaze flickered, revealing the venom she had been holding back. It wasn’t about my absence or my professionalism. This had nothing to do with any potential failure on my part.

"Your service to her has been... commendable," she continued, her tone laced with condescension. "But it’s not what is needed at court. We must think of the future of Asgard, and Princess Cyan’s role. You... would do better to think of your own future outside these palace walls."

I stood there, stunned into silence.

"There are no second chances in court, Honey. You must understand that. You’re dismissed."

It hit me like a blow. All my work, all my effort to support Princess Cyan, to make sure she was respected, treated as she should be, would be undone by a queen who saw her as a blemish. And I was simply collateral.

I gathered myself, curtsying. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

As I walked out of the receiving room, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the power Queen Freya wielded. This wasn’t about professionalism or duty. This was about control.

Mother’s eyes blazed with fury, the air between us crackling with her frustration. I stood there, hands clenched at my sides, trying to steady my breathing, but the storm in her gaze only grew.

"What could you have possibly done?" she spat, pacing in front of me like a lioness ready to strike. "Did you offend someone again? Oh, did you open your big mouth to the wrong person this time?"

I flinched at her words, though I knew better than to respond too quickly. I kept my head down, my eyes tracing the intricate patterns on the rug beneath my feet, as if I could disappear into the floor. Her accusations, though harsh, were nothing new.

She stopped pacing, turning to me with that piercing look that always left me feeling smaller than I was. "Speak, Honey. What have you done? You must have done something, or you wouldn’t have been fired as Princess Cyan’s lady-in-waiting! So what was it?"

I stayed silent, my throat tight with the truth I couldn’t say. She wouldn’t understand, not now, not ever. And even if I told her everything, how would I explain Loki?

Her voice broke through my thoughts, sharp and biting. "Answer me!" she demanded. "Do you know what you’ve caused? To be dismissed from court like some common servant, disgraceful! You’ve brought shame upon this family."

I swallowed, the words heavy on my tongue, but none of them would make a difference. My mother was looking for someone to blame, and I was the easiest target.

Her gaze darkened, filled with suspicion. “So you’ve nothing to say? No defense for yourself?”

I shook my head. "No, Mother. Nothing."

For a moment, silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken accusations. She crossed her arms, looking me up and down as if searching for some clue, some evidence of the disgrace I’d caused.

Her lips curled into a sneer

It was another day of being reprimanded by her. But this time, it stung more than usual. Saffron wasn’t here to soften the blow, to offer that silent comfort only a sister could. No, she was off with Bruce’s mother, going over preparations for her own wedding, blissfully unaware of the disaster that had become my life.

I stood there, feeling the weight of my mother’s words, the shame and frustration building up like a dam about to break. Tears welled in my eyes, but I bit them back. Could I even tell her what had really happened? Could I tell her about Loki, about the things that I didn’t even want to think about, let alone speak aloud?

"Answer me, Honey!" my mother snapped, her impatience rising.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, I rushed past her, ignoring the startled look on her face. I needed to get away, to hide. I fled to my room, slamming the door behind me as the tears finally broke free.

I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to hear anyone. I didn’t know what I wanted, but it certainly wasn’t this. This life, this shame, this pain,I couldn’t bear it.

I curled up on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest, wishing for everything to just disappear.

Weeks had passed, and I was growing weaker with each day.

I stayed silent. Lying in bed, withering away, my body betraying me as much as my mind. What could I possibly say? What could my family do if I did tell them? Loki was the Prince of Asgard, untouchable by anyone in our position. And with Saffron dealing with her own issues with the Duke, I couldn’t add more burden to the family.

From what I knew, Saffron wanted to delay the wedding—push it back a year or two, give them time to get to know each other better. But The Duke refused, insisting that he could hardly wait the few days left until they were to be married. The fear in Saffron’s eyes was clear as day. She was terrified, but with me having been fired from the palace, she felt like she had no other choice. Bruce was our only hope of pulling the Duvals out of the pit of "nonexistence," as my mother had begun to call it.

I tried to tell Saffron that she always had a choice, that there was another way, but she wouldn’t listen. The weight of saving the family seemed to matter more to her than saving herself.

We were walking through the Duval garden when I could feel my body rebelling again. Saffron had convinced me that fresh air might do me good, that perhaps I was simply exhausted from being cooped up for so long. But I felt nauseous, my head swimming. Eventually, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I leaned over, vomiting into the bushes, and before I knew it, everything went black.

When I woke, I was surrounded by my family. Saffron, my father, and my mother, along with a doctor who was wiping his hands clean on a cloth. My mother was hovering over me, panicked, her voice shrill as she called my name. My father stood by, trying to calm her down, while Saffron sat silently at the edge of the bed, her face pale.

"She's awake," my father sighed in relief.

I blinked, trying to shake the fog from my mind. "What happened?" My voice was weak, barely above a whisper.

The doctor cleared his throat, stepping forward. "You've fainted, Lady Honey, but you're alright now. However, there’s something else... You’re with child.”

The words hit me like a boulder.

"That’s impossible," I muttered, though deep down I knew it wasn’t. The memory of Loki’s hands on me flashed in my mind, and I felt my stomach twist.

"I think you know how this happened," the doctor said, his tone professional but laced with an understanding that made the room feel even heavier.

Silence fell, and the air grew thick with tension. My mother was the first to break it, her voice high-pitched with disbelief. "Who is the father? Who have you been with?" Her words came sharp and fast, like a blade cutting through me.

I said nothing. What could I say? How could I explain something I barely had the strength to acknowledge myself?

My father quietly ushered the doctor out of the room, but Saffron remained, her face frozen in shock. She didn’t move. She didn’t say a word.

My mother’s voice rose again, frantic now. "Who is the father, Honey? Answer me!" Her hands grabbed my shoulders, shaking me, but still, I stayed silent.

I couldn’t bring myself to utter Loki’s name. Not now. Not ever.

"If you don’t tell me this instant, I’ll—I’ll..." My mother’s voice cracked, her eyes wild as she searched for something that might break me. She straightened, her face flushed with frustration. "I’ll send you to your Aunt Gertrude."

I blinked, the words settling in the air like an empty threat. Aunt Gertrude. As a child, her name had been synonymous with punishment. The strange spinster, cast aside by the family for reasons never fully explained to me and my sister. I used to shudder at the mere mention of her name, but now... now, the thought of being sent to her estate didn’t stir the same fear it once did.

In fact, I couldn’t remember ever having a true reason to fear Aunt Gertrude. She was an outcast, yes. Blamed for the Duvals’ declining status in society. But what had she really done? No one had ever told me.

Maybe it was because she was different, unconventional, and refused to play the endless games of high society. Or maybe it was because she didn’t fit into the mold my mother had set for the family.

And now, I was beginning to realize... I might not either.

I was much too tired to fight, to resist the weight of my mother’s constant reproach. My head ached, and the room spun slightly as I forced myself to sit up straighter, meeting her gaze. Her threat hung in the air between us, but the words that escaped me were softer than I intended, drained of their sting.

"Then send me," I said, barely above a whisper. "I don’t care anymore."

She recoiled as if I’d struck her. "How dare you," she hissed, eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms. "After all we’ve done for you, after everything our family has sacrificed, this is how you repay us?"

I turned my head, gazing out of the window as she raged. My chest felt hollow, my heart heavy with exhaustion. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, perhaps I cared too much, but what could I do?

She stood abruptly, the anger still palpable in the air between us. "You’ll leave for Gertrude’s after Saffron’s wedding, she will be in attendance, and will take you with her when she leaves" she declared, her voice colder now, resolved. "And don’t expect us to welcome you back anytime soon."

I nodded silently, still looking away. As she left the room, I let out a slow breath, sinking back into the pillows. A strange calm washed over me. The threat of being sent to Aunt Gertrude no longer loomed like it once had.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the less frightening it seemed.

Aunt Gertrude had been cast out for being different, for failing to meet society’s expectations. Maybe, just maybe, I had more in common with her than anyone else in this family.

Saffron looked radiant but terrified. Her eyes darted across the grand hall, her smile faltering every time someone came too close. I should have objected to this marriage, but I couldn't. Not for lack of love or loyalty,no, I simply couldn't find the energy within myself. The truth was, I had no reason to.

On paper, Duke Bruce Banner was everything one could hope for. Powerful, wealthy, and above all else, terrifyingly loyal to Saffron. Since their courtship began, he had proven his devotion in ways that made him seem perfect, like the ideal match for a girl of Saffron’s standing. And with our family’s name teetering on the edge of ruin, he was exactly what she needed. What we all needed.

Mother had remained by my side throughout the day, ensuring that I didn’t cause a scene. Her hands were always just a breath away, offering water, passing sweets, shielding me from questions thrown by fellow relatives. It was the most affectionate she’d ever been, a strange contrast to her usual distant demeanor. Perhaps she feared what the slightest slip would reveal that her daughter carried a secret far more scandalous than a dismissal from court.

My pregnancy was the one secret she seemed determined to protect, at least for now.

I managed to slip away and found Saffron standing alone, staring into the mirror, her smile long gone. Her hands were trembling as she adjusted her veil, and when she saw me, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

“We can run away together, you know?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the murmurs of guests in the distance.

She looked at me, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "And I know you’re seriously considering that," she said, a soft laugh escaping her. But there was no joy in it, only resignation. “But I can’t, Honey. I can’t abandon my obligations. I don’t have the luxury of running away.”

I nodded, though my heart ached for her. Saffron, my strong-willed sister, had always carried the weight of responsibility on her delicate shoulders, and despite her fear, she would never cast it aside. That was who she was.

She pulled me in close, her breath warm against my cheek. "I’d like to see my little niece or nephew often, though," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "So I expect frequent visits."

I couldn’t help but smile, though tears blurred my vision. "You’ll be the best aunt this child will ever know," I said, meaning every word.

We hugged tightly, holding onto this fleeting moment of peace. It was one of the few moments we’d had where neither of us had to pretend. For just a heartbeat, it was the two of us again,sisters, not trapped by titles or duties, but bound by love.

But we both knew it wouldn’t last. We had already lost, each in our own way.

“Dear!” A voice interrupted our embrace, and we both turned to see Duke Bruce Banner standing at the entrance, a charming but calculated smile on his face. His eyes flickered between us, though it was clear his attention was only on Saffron.

"I truly hate to interrupt a bonding moment between sisters," he said with a grin, "but it’s time for the cake."

Saffron gave him a strained smile before taking his arm. But before she let go of my hand, she squeezed it tightly, a silent promise, a reassurance that no matter what, we would always have each other. Even if the world we lived in forced us apart.

As they walked away, the weight of what was coming settled over me like a shroud. Soon, I would be gone, sent away under the guise of preserving what little dignity we had left. And Saffron would stay, locked in a life she hadn’t chosen but couldn’t refuse.

I watched them go, my heart heavy, knowing that we had both become prisoners of our fates. But for now, we could pretend,for one last time,that everything was still as it had been.

The weight of it all pressed heavily on my chest. A chapter of my life that I had barely begun to understand was forcibly coming to a close, and it was out of my control. I let out a small breath, placing a hand over my belly. The child inside me had yet to show, but the reality of it, the enormity of it, was already sinking in. Would I be a good mother? Would I ever have a chance to make things right?

The carriage rumbled through the forest, cutting a path toward the next town where we would stop to rest. I watched as tree after tree passed by, but the rhythmic movement of the ride made me nauseous. I closed my eyes, trying to calm the twisting in my stomach, but instead, my mind filled with questions.

What will my new life be like?

I hadn’t realized I had drifted off into sleep until a sharp jolt startled me awake. The carriage had come to a sudden stop. At first, there was nothing but hushed murmurs from outside, voices low and indistinct. But then the gurgling screams began.

My heart seized in my chest.

Were we being robbed?

Terror gripped me, and I curled up tightly in the corner of the carriage, trying to make myself as small as possible. My pulse thundered in my ears, and I held my breath, listening as footsteps crunched on the gravel outside, drawing closer to the carriage door. There was a pause,three distinct knocks,before the door swung open.

Green eyes met mine, gleaming with amusement. A familiar, infuriating smirk followed.

"Loki."

Confusion flooded through me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He stepped forward with all the casual arrogance I had come to expect from him taking a seat across from me, his grin widening. “I’m here to collect what’s mine.”

His words took me aback, my confusion deepening. What did he mean?

Loki sighed, as if I were being slow, and moved closer, his hand brushing lightly against my cheek, a gesture that was oddly tender coming from him. But then his hand traveled lower, resting over my stomach. His voice was soft, but there was a dangerous edge to it. “This," he said, his fingers pressing gently, "and this.”

I recoiled instinctively, grabbing his hand and pushing it away. Panic swirled inside me as I whispered, “How did you know?”

His eyes darkened, the smirk fading into something more serious. “What made you think I wouldn’t know?”

I didn’t know what to say. My mind raced, searching for something that would make this moment less terrifying, but nothing came. The air between us felt suffocating.

Loki sat back, spreading his legs wide and resting his arms along the back of the seat, completely at ease as though we weren’t discussing the life growing inside of me. “Why didn’t you tell your mother about us?”

“There was nothing to tell,” I said quickly, my voice tight.

He laughed then, a cold, humorless sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh, there’s plenty to tell,” he said, his tone darkening. His gaze dropped to my stomach, his eyes narrowing. “Did you think you could keep the child from me?” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Did you think you could keep yourself away from me?”

I swallowed hard, trying to hold his gaze but feeling the weight of his words press down on me.

Loki leaned back again, watching me with those sharp, calculating eyes. “Since you’re carrying my child, I won’t punish you as I normally would.” His voice was low, almost casual, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable. “But make no mistake, Honey,you will be punished.”

The carriage fell eerily quiet. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and I could feel the chill creeping up my spine. For a moment, neither of us moved. The tension was thick, palpable.

Then, slowly, Loki stood, towering over me, his expression unreadable. “You won’t escape me, Honey. Not now, not ever.” He grabbed my hair, banging my head against the wall. “Maybe next time you’ll be a bit more forthcoming about your condition.” He pulls me up by my hair, my scalp burning as I feel my skin being pulled. He begins moving me around, as if molding me to his touch. Before I know it, I am on my hands and knees. I try to move away but Loki slaps my face “No, you will behave.” I still, his hand still in my hair. I feel fingers creeping down my dress before lifting my skirts over my bottom. Tears flow from my eyes as I begin to beg him to let me go. “Please Loki do not do this to me.” He ignores my please as he removes my undergarments, I feel the cool air against my naked skin, and I begin to struggle once more. He pushes me into the carriage seat “If you’d like my guards to join, that please continue to move.”

I still once more.

This could not be happening again. As much fear as I had to be meeting aunt Gertrude, the one thing I was glad to avoid was this.

But it seems to be something I am unable to escape.

I feel his fingers ghosting my bottom, before feeling their way between my lips, gently pushing against my pearl. My breathe hitches as I whimper at the feel. He chuckles slowly rubbing it as my arousal begins to stain his hands.

It wasn’t long before I felt him moving around behind, and I felt something soft and firm poking between my legs.

“Please” I whisper with one final plea

He carefully moves to grab my hips, tightening his hands against them. “You will be mine forever.”

He thrusted into my pussy, prying the flesh apart, pushing until he reached the hilt of his pubic region.

Although there was pain, as expected, it did not feel as terribly as the first time. Slowly he began to move, pushing in and out until his cock was soaked with the juices of my cunt. Although it stung, the feeling wasn’t torturous, in fact, it was beginning to feel pleasurable.

Guilt began to eat away at me as his thrusts became more forceful, and I slowly begin reach a peak. My whimpers becoming moans, as he hovers over me to pinch my nipples.

I don’t realize what’s happened, until I feel vibrations in my body and see stars in my eyes.

“Good Girl.” Loki whispers into my ear as \ he continues to thrust until I feel his body stiffen with his own release. He collapses on top of me, feeling my exposed skin while still inside of me.

I was still wrapping my head about what had just gone on when Loki moved to open the carriage door, a blissful smile playing on his lips as he glanced back at me. His expression was unsettling, a dangerous mix of amusement and calculation.

"I feel like a game of tag," he said casually, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.

My mind was still spinning, my body worn out, trying desperately to gather my bearings after everything that had just happened. The situation felt surreal, like some twisted nightmare.

"I’ll give you a five-minute head start." His words made my stomach drop as the pieces slowly started coming together in my mind. "If you make it to your mother’s home before I catch you, I will leave you alone forever."

I sat up, quickly fixing my dress, my heart pounding in my chest. Loki was playing a game, one I knew I couldn’t afford to lose. Staying in this carriage with him would lead to nowhere good, but the alternative was no less terrifying.

"However," he continued, pausing just enough to let the weight of his words sink in, "if I catch you first, you’ll have to say yes to my proposal." He smiled wider, his eyes glinting with dangerous excitement. "And we’ll continue to play tag until you do reach your home."

Before I could respond, Loki stepped out of the carriage and, with alarming ease, pulled me out and lifted me onto the ground. His grip was firm but not painful, yet it only heightened the sense of helplessness coiling inside me.

When I looked behind him, I found the coachmen dead on the ground, laying in what I assumed to be blood. I was too scared to speak, so I remained quiet.

"Your five minutes starts now." His grin widened as he glanced at an invisible clock. "Four minutes and fifty-four seconds."

I didn’t waste another second. I took off running, my legs stiff and unsteady beneath me, my body still heavy with the shock of what had just occurred. My heart hammered in my chest, each step labored and uncoordinated as I struggled to push forward. All with his essence dripping down my legs.

This can’t be happening, I thought to myself, as tears welled up in my eyes. This can’t be real.

But it was.

The trees blurred as I stumbled through the forest, branches catching at my dress, my shoes sinking into the uneven earth beneath me. Tears streamed down my face as I tripped and fell hard into the dirt, my hands scraping against the ground as I hit the earth with a dull thud.

I could hear Loki’s voice in the back of my mind, taunting me with his smile, his challenge. The reality of what he wanted, the cruel game he was playing, pressed down on me, suffocating my thoughts.

I lay there for a moment, my chest heaving, dirt smeared across my hands and face. I felt the ground beneath me, solid and cold, but all I could think was:

what am I supposed to do now?

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 2 years ago

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The Wrath Of Set

Summary: Only Jake is able to give you what you desperately crave in moments of utter devastation.

Pairing: Jake Lockley x fem!Reader (mentions of Marc and Steven)

Word Count: 1.7k

Content Warnings: very dark smut 18+!, MDNI, consensual knife play, blood and blood play, mentions of past self harm, explicit talk about self harm, hard!dom!Jake Lockley, sub!reader, bondage, buckle up because we are jumping right into the action!, morally very questionable actions!, pet names, sir kink, begging, degradation, unprotected sex, spanking, seriously…this turned out so super fucking dark and if any of that upsets or triggers you: please do yourself the favour and stay far away from it!

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!

A/N: This story was inspired by this artwork here (TW: consensual knife play, blood, NSFW!). As for some context to the title, Set is the brother of Osiris and one angry motherfucker. He’s the god of chaos, war, storms and violence.

Tagging who might be interested: @luke-o-lophus @screechingsweets @marcspectorsj @littlefreya @demotalias

Please consider liking, reblogging and commenting! It means the world to me 🌸💞

Feel free to check out my Masterlist!

Also, feel free to check out my supportive Discord server! Nobody needs to simp all alone!

Your encounters with Jake weren’t frequent, but when you searched out his company you really were in desperate need for him. He was able to do what neither Marc nor god forbid gentle, caring Steven could ever do to you. Jake was the only one able to take the edge off, to scratch your dark and morally more than questionable itch when you were down bad and devastated again.

Tonight was one of those nights where you needed him to touch you in the roughest of ways, to toss you around like a little, mindless ragdoll and to remind you who you belong to.

“Jake!” You whined out into the dimly lit bedroom, your naked body being pressed against the wall by the man right behind you.

His muscular statue towered behind your back, one of his hands firmly wrapped around your bound wrists pushed to the tapestry above your head in an almost painful stretch.

“Shut up!”, He responded in a menacing growl that rumbled through his chest “I don’t remember allowing you to speak.”

You mewled against the wall as your rule-breaking was punished with a rigid smack on your bare ass. The sharp sound cut through the room and you tried not to flinch too much, knowing that it would only encourage him to hit harder. Both of you knew that you were in dire need for the pain but Jake wouldn’t give it all to you right away. No, first you had to repent for your sins, for even thinking about hurting yourself again. He wouldn’t release you from his grasp until each and every last thought about that had left your brain, that was already about to fall in the depths of an all-consuming subspace.

Before you could recover from the spank on your ass, Jake served you another one on the other cheek, for good measure, to even out the burning sensation that spread across your skin. In a bolt of rising excitement and arousal the pain did not only go right up your spine but also deep between your slightly shaking legs. You felt your cunt throbbing from two simple hits of his flat hand and a hint of embarrassment at just how pathetically needy you felt tonight flushed your cheeks with red.

The past weeks have been rough for you to say the least. Life had thrown shit at you from every angle imaginable and tonight you had felt the impending breakdown rearing its ugly head inside your thoughts. Everything had been too much in too short of a time for you to be able to handle it properly. So many emotions eating away at you at the same time and so much tension for you to bear on your already weak and exhausted shoulders.

Tonight you had begged Jake to take it all off of you, because that’s what the two of you granted as a crude gift to each other. Unlike so many others you didn’t see him as a violent monster, no, to you he was the one and only person you trusted with your inner darkness. You presented it to him in painful honesty, purging your soul of what you were fantasizing doing to yourself because you couldn’t handle the agonizing pressure anymore. And in that Jake understood you like no one else had ever done before. The two of you creatures that were pained by their own malicious demons.

Pressing your forehead to the wall, you subconsciously shoved your ass closer to his crotch, looking for any form of friction to ease the pulsing need in your core, but your skin stroked across nothing but the fabric of his slacks.

“Look at you…”, Jake mused with a wicked amusement lacing his tone “So desperate already..”

You felt his free hand scratching across your lower back before it snaked its way into his pocket, his nails digging mercilessly into your flesh, leaving it marked with quickly forming red swellings. At that you sucked your lower lip between your teeth, biting down hard so as to not make a sound.

“So, little dove….”, You recognised the familiar clicking noise of a switchblade knife being flipped “What were you thinking of doing to yourself, hm?”

Right as you parted your lips again to answer, you felt the cold metal tip of the knife carefully kissing the skin between your shoulders. It wasn’t quite enough for it to dig in yet, but the sensation left you shivering already.

“I- I wanted to… I was thinking about…”, The words falling from your mouth in an awkward stutter “I was thinking about hurting myself, sir!”

Jake behind you clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Why would you do that to yourself, huh?” His question, demanding nothing but painful truth from you elicited small, but burning hot tears to pool in the corners of your eyes.

“Because…. because…”, Your trembling tone turned into choked back sobs “Sir, I don’t know how to handle all the tension, sir!”

“You know you just have to beg me to take it from you. Beg me, dove, and I’ll deal with it for you.”

Your entire body got crushed by a wave of shame and embarrassment. You hated it while you loved it at the same amount. It was downright degrading, but you knew damn well that those thoughts needed to be degraded back into their place.

“Please…”, You eventually winced, falling into total submission underneath his touch “Please, sir! I need you to take it.”

“How much do you need it?” Jake groaned, adding more pressure to the tip of the blade.

You felt how it slowly tore through the first delicate layer of skin.

“Need it so much, sir!” Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of the cold steel between your shoulders.

“Then be my good girl and let me take care of it..” The words hadn’t even left his mouth entirely as he slowly dragged the knife down, the distinct cold stinging pain rippling through every fiber of your body.

What fell from your lips in response was a morbidly pleasure-filled moan that echoed right back from the wall in front of you. With your mind slipping into a blissful state of not thinking a single thought, you didn’t fully realize how Jake loosened his bruising grip around your wrists, the now free hand shooting right down to the fly of his slacks. With a few sovereign movements he freed his aching cock from underneath the fabric and drilled himself into your cunt without a warning. The stretching hurt from being split apart from behind like that mixed into the pain the knife inflicted as it left another shallow cut next to the first one.

“God, you are so wet when you get desperate like that.” Jakes breathy moans filled the air as he started fucking into you at a merciless pace, his hand grabbing you by the waist to pull you impossibly close to him with every thrust of his hips.

Skin slapped against skin over and over while the sensations threatened to burn you from the inside out. A fire to cleanse you from all your dangerous, self-loathing fueled thoughts that had no right to punish you the way they did.

After Jake had administered a handful of different-sized cuts along your shoulders, he tossed the knife to the ground, admiring his morbid artwork before he leaned in to seal it with his lips. His wet, sloppy kisses burned on your damaged skin as he lapped up small droplets of blood, allowing the taste of you into his mouth that sent him straight into his own kind of mad frenzy.

Accompanied by an animalistic growl he pushed himself so deep into you that you’d certainly feel him for more than just the next day. Rutting into you like the madman you allowed him to be with you, Jake chased his own high ferociously, not wasting a single thought about whether you’d come around his cock or not. It was exactly that which set you off not long after. With your entire being lost in a wicked concoction of pain and pleasure, your orgasm crushed right through you with a scorching intensity that was second to none. You cried out for Jake, seeing starts behind your closed eyes while he fucked you through your orgasm, tightening the already firm grip around your waist.

Once again his fingers dug into your flesh with an increasing force while his rhythm started to falter. It turned erratic just like his flat panting that brushed over your back until he pushed into you with one final thrust, a feral growl being ripped from the very bottom of his lungs. You felt every pulse of his twitching cock inside of you as Jake painted your insides with his seed.

A moment of silence spread between your bodies, the both of you gasping for air and trying to catch your breath.

“Now, now…”, Jake huffed as he released your body from his tight grip, slowly pulling out of you “Let me take good care of your back.”

#jake lockley x you #jake lockley x female reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #hard!dom!Jake lockley #tw dark fic #dark fic #mcu moon knight #marvel moon knight #moon knight fic #jake lockely smut #jake lockley imagine

159 notes · View notes

trisshawkeye · 4 years ago

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I'm a little hesitant to weigh in on the discourse going around, since I can't speak to the Chinese LGBTQ+ experience, but what I can speak to is one of the reasons why a queer person might find the nature of the sex scenes in MDZS, and in particular the extras, interesting and relatable to their experience as a queer person.

First off I want to stress that YOU DO NOT NEED TO READ THE MDZS EXTRAS. In fact, if you think they might be triggering or upsetting to you, or just not your cup of tea, then just don't read them. You don't need to read them to enjoy everything else MDZS has to offer. Indeed, if any of the following would wig you out—slightly dub-con kissing, misunderstandings around a sexual encounter due to each party thinking the other didn't want it in the same way they did, an inexperienced couple figuring out what they like and finding out that includes mild consent-play—then maybe you might want to skip the scenes in the main novel too. It's okay to have preferences and for those preferences to not include that. If you don't want to read those sections, then I'm not gonna judge you, don't read them. There is plenty else to enjoy. Look after yourself first!

Okay, with that out the way, I'd like to talk to you a little bit about shame and sexual fantasy.

While not written to this particular audience at all, Lan Wangji is a painfully relatable character for a certain type of gifted queer kid growing up in conservative Evangelical Christian spaces. The combination of having a strict, rule-based moral code one is expected to follow, and being held up as a well-behaved, good example to others from a young age, both in terms of pseudo-academic achievement and in terms of following of said moral code, and then finding yourself and your worldview becoming increasingly incompatible with the code you are trying to live by, is one that really fucks you up. Lan Wangji is a character laser-targeted at my own set up of hang-ups and neuroses, oh boy. I love him so much and want him to be happy.

And to be fair, that's not to say the Gusu Lan sect rules are bad per se, and characters such as Lan Xichen show that it is possible to have a different relationship with them such that they inform your behaviour but still allow for flexibility and compromise. But Lan Wangji definitely strikes me as someone who took rule-following deep into his own sense of identity, and that gets very messy for him when he starts questioning how to handle moral quandaries that the rules can't easily address by themselves, or finds himself trying to follow them in a way that conflicts with how the rest of his sect are doing so.

So when this kind of strict moral purity forms a big part of your identity, and then you suddenly get attracted to someone 'inappropriate' (or indeed, anyone at all as a horny teenager who’s supposed to behave themselves), your new and growing sense of desire runs smack bang into your existential need to be someone who is Good(TM), who follows the rules, who wouldn't in their right mind to anything that contradicts them. You can't just dream soft dreams about sneaking away to kiss your crush and you both enjoying it, because even that is shameful, it's wrong, it flies in the face of everything you're supposed to be and you'd never do that. And so one way for your mind to get around this is for your fantasies to take a darker turn, to imagine that you were pushed beyond all reasonable human limits, that you lost all control, that you were drugged or manipulated, that the other person took advantage of you or somehow provoked you into assaulting them, and that way you can sort of excuse yourself, you can imagine yourself in that situation because at least then it wasn't really your fault, you can kind of keep your internal sense of identity consistent. But now you've imagined you're in that situation and you have that 'excuse', you have a kind of free rein to act out the things you want to do and it doesn't really 'count'. And all the while you're entirely aware that this is a fucked up fantasy, that it would be unforgivable if you did such a thing or such a thing was done to you in real life, and now you're worried that even imagining such a thing is a failure of your moral character, and it builds into a destructive cycle of shame and self-loathing, and it's just a real mess all round.

Now, I think this is something that Lan Wangji worked through and came out the other side of, and he was no longer ashamed of his desire for Wei Wuxian by the time he came back in the body of Mo Xuanyu (and probably even by the time of the first siege of the Burial Mounds, though it was far too late at that point). But for a sixteen-year-old Lan Wangji to have these violent fantasies about being provoked into raping Wei Wuxian because that was the only way he could imagine himself in a situation in which he could express that desire? And then later in life finding out that consent-play holds some appeal? Yeah, I can see that, I can relate to it.

And so in the incense burner chapter? When it becomes clear they're visiting one of Lan Wangji's teenage fantasies, especially right after the adorably domestic scene that is Wei Wuxian's dream, he is absolutely embarrassed by it, he's mortified—it's obvious he still considers it to be shameful and would honestly rather Wei Wuxian didn't see this side of himself so clearly, although he loves and trusts Wei Wuxian enough not to hide it from him when he says wants to stay. And then, when Wei Wuxian sees where it's going, and finds it hilarious and honestly kinda hot, knowing that it is just a fantasy, and one that meshes well with his own consensual-non-consent kinks to boot, you know what? It's a relief! It's an honest-to-goodness relief and entirely delightful to me that he turns around and basically says, hey, it's okay, this doesn't make you a bad person, you don't have to be ashamed of this, I love you, I'm enjoying this too, I want to see where this goes, let's have sex!

Because none of this does make Lan Wangji a bad person—none of these fantasies were acted upon except for one intensely-regretted kiss (and then only really regretted on his own part), and then later in the context of entirely consensual, mutually enjoyable sex as adults between him and Wei Wuxian. And being able to revisit those fantasies and take away the shame he's associated with them all this time is probably pretty healing for him!

Like I said at the start, you don't have to read these chapters. They were not written for you personally, and you are not the target audience for them. If you're going to be at all distressed by the content then I actively encourage you not to read them, it would be a form of emotional self-harm to do so. It's not like you're missing out on anything important (or even very well-written, if I'm being honest, particularly once it's gone through the mangle of a translation that I don't personally think handles the nuances of the smut scenes very well, from what I can gather from various pieces of discussion about it). It's totally fine if you find these kinks unpleasant and don't want to touch them with a barge pole! But that doesn't make having or writing or enjoying these kinks or fantasies somehow morally wrong—it's not shameful, it's not homophobic, and please, please stop accusing the author or fans of being so just because you don't personally like it. Because you’re just reinforcing the shame-based, purity-based thinking that screws so many of us up in the first place.

(Aside: I’m not saying this is necessarily the correct way to interpret Lan Wangji’s character and motivations with respect to these scenes, since I too am a Westerner coming at all this material through the veil of translation and with very little understanding of its surrounding literary context—I’m more describing how, from my own experience as a young repressed religious queer, I found myself vibing a lot with this character and his relationship with sexual desire.)

#lan wangji #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mdzs discourse #cw rape mention #in the context of discussing rape fantasies #and why one might have them #and in the context of a chapter in which a rape fantasy is observed but no one is actually raped #ugh i already feel like i'm oversharing please don't make me regret posting this #this is just like the don't consume horror if you don't like it discourse goin on over in the tma fandom all over again #mdzs meta

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utterlyhopeful-fics · 4 years ago

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Too Late

A/N: CONSENSUAL HATE SEX SMUT AHEAD. THIS IS MY WARNING.

Masterlist

Angel Reyes x Reader

Word Count: 2050k

Warnings: TRIGGERING CONTENT, consensual sex, hate sex, JUST DIRTY SEX, language, angst.

***************************************

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be your dirty little secret, Angel. Stop backing me into a corner.”

His vehement tone pierced her eardrums, anger radiated coursing through the evening air; “What the hell do ya mean, Y/N? It takes two to tango. Don’t act like I forced this on you. You decided to cross a line. We both did!”

“And now I’m ending it. Done. Over. Finished.”

Her austere hands sliced at in the invisible air hoping to rid herself of the frustration taking ahold of her.

Angel couldn’t tell if she was joking with him or poking at his inner workings. He’d heard her pleas so many times before he knew better than to believe her this time around. They were unstoppable, a magnetic pull that never ceased, always driving them together.

“Querida, I’ve heard this sob story before. Save me the bullshit this time.”

Y/N scoffed; “You seriously don’t get it, do you?”

His quizzically confused look almost made her laugh aloud as she covered her mouth. Angel Reyes never thought he’d see the day Y/N would stand up to him. In their battle for dominance, Angel hadn’t detected her deflated stance.

“Get what? Enlighten me, Y/N. What don’t I get about you, huh?”

“I’m done playing this game. I don’t want you anymore. Isn’t screwing Adelita enough for you to stay sated?”

His pupils dilated swallowing the whites of his eyes. Fear momentarily gripped every rigid bone in his body.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“I didn’t stutter. You heard me, Reyes. I can’t decide if I’m the fool or you’re the idiot for thinking you’d get away with it? How many times did you fuck her and come crawling to my bed afterwards?”

Angel snapped shoving her roughly against the brick wall behind Y/N, his fingers indented into her arms leaving his burdensome fury. But what truly scared Y/N was the flicker of pure rage simmering just underneath his deceptive caramel irises. There was no trace of her Angel, the one she’d so grossly loved.

His tongue clicked with every single word that left his lips; “You don’t’ want to start this. I can promise you won’t like where it goes next…”

She peered into him unwilling to back down from the monster amongst her and welcomed his stabbing gaze. Y/N challenged him, calling his bluff.

“This is the last time you ever touch me in any shape or form. I’m fucking done with you. You. Disgust. Me.”

She spewed every syllable directly into his angelically sculpted face. Angel slammed her harder against the brick increasing her frightful nature.

“If I’m so disgusting, why are you here alone with me? Did you pep talk yourself into believing you can seriously walk away from me?”

His vice-like grip caused Y/N to cringe whimpering slightly. He leaned closer leaving just an inch between their bodies whispering; “You’re mine. Whether you like it or not. Tough shit, baby.”

Y/N growled attempting to break his sturdy clutch but Angel only squeezed harder.

Y/N gritted through clenched teeth; “Go fuck yourself.”

“I already have. And I bet if I were to slide my hand down into your jeans, I’d find you fucking soaked. You hate that I can read your body, the tilt of your hips my direction begging to be fucked. Shit, I bet you want me to take you right here where anyone could see.

“No, stop it. I don’t want this Angel. I—I’m in love with him.”

Angel pulled back looking her straight in the eye. Bewilderment the only registerable emotion.

“You what?”

“I’m seeing someone and it’s getting serious. I can’t – I won’t continue to do this to him.”

His vision tinted to an intense red unable to tame the violence mounting within him. For the first time in Angel Reyes’s life, he was speechless. Only one question lingered at the forefront of his mind: who.

“Do I know him?”

Her silence was unwavering and it pissed him off even further.

“Answer me.”

Again, Y/N remained diligent in her muteness before nodding. A meek ‘Yes.’ slithered from her.

Stillness erupted as they stared at the other watching every grimace, waiting to see who would make the next move. The hush sound of nothingness was beginning to drown them forcing them closer to destruction.

“You knew how I felt about you and manipulated it to the best of your abilities. Since forever, I’ve just wanted you to choose me, pick me, but you never do!”

Tears swarmed her weepy eyes as Y/N tried to collect her ramblings.

“I can’t be your side piece forever. If anything, you forced my hand. I need appreciation…affection of sorts. I crave to be someone’s first choice and I think I’ve found it.”

Angel grunted; “Who is it?”

“Coco.”

“No, NOO! My brothers are off limits. Mayans are MY family, not yours. Shit, aren’t you the little slut? Maybe we should vote and make you the groupie whore?”

Spit spattered her flushed cheeks as he slid a knee directly between her thighs.

“You’re angry, I get it. But now you’re just being cruel. I don’t owe you any explanations. Last time I checked I was single and able to do whatever the hell I wanted. Besides rumor has it Adelita is knocked up. Congrats, daddy.”

Angel exploded kissing her achingly stiff. His tongue maneuvered across her lips begging for access. She greedily accepted as a resounding moan tumbled out. Angel devoured her like she was his last meal, licking every available drop she offered. His knee grazed the divide in between her jeans rubbing tantalizing circles.

“I will always desire you, Y/N. You’re my forbidden fruit. Horny, aren’t you?”

A mere whimper was all Y/N was able to muster; “Yes. I hate you. I hate you for doing this to me.”

“No, you don’t. The face you make when you cum will be satisfactory enough for me… soon enough you’ll be pleading for my cock to be inside you. I dare you to tell me I’m wrong.”

Her nonverbal cues turned him more so. The face that Y/N wasn’t denying him only proved that she wasn’t ready to give him up.

“He’ll never fuck you like I do, make you cum like I can. After this, when you’re lying underneath him, you’ll imagine my dripping cock thrusting up into you. Baby tell me you want it. I need to you to fucking say it.”

Hesitation flittered throughout her entire body, but her hips gyrated against his knee insatiably. A wet blotch appeared on his jeans proving just how turned on she was by their entire encounter.

He snarled once more; “Say it and I’m yours.”

“Yes, okay? Are you happy now?”

“Actually, yes. I’m fucking ecstatic.”

Angel’s hands quickly maneuvered towards the button of her pants opening with a resounding snap. His violent tugs involuntarily forced her to reach for Angel’s shoulders as he stripped her off the offending clothing.

“This is the last time. It doesn’t mean shit, A.”

“You keep telling yourself that baby girl.”

Y/N’s shaky hands approached his familiar belt buckle with their well-established routine. With quick work of his zipper, Y/N plunged into his boxers grasping his semi hard dick. In the blink of an eye, Angel shoved her panties aside and forced two fingers willingly inside her. The sensation caused Y/N’s head to crack against the wall as she wailed in pleasure.

She locked her lips with his once again devouring for any semblance of control, but he met her with resistance every inch of the way.

The squelching noise of her pussy was the only sound heard other than their intense breathing. Y/N stimulated him moving faster than before, gripping harshly at his moistened tip. Pre-cum coated his dick as Angel heavily sighed.

In the dim alleyway of some towny bar two people were too lost in each other to notice their surroundings.

“Your wetness tells a different story. Feels like I’m right where I should be.”

“Well then fuck me and fuck me good.”

In a millisecond Angel flipped Y/N jostling her chest now on the cool brick. With her jeans around her ankles, Y/N was fully open to Angel. She pushed her ass against him grinding slowly. Angel’s fingers tangled in her hair before pulling hard leaning her on his shoulder blade. His hand shifted towards his exposed cock as he teased her entrance rubbing against her folds.

“Shit, you’re drenched for a girl indebted on ending things. Ya sure you want this?”

Without any uncertainty, she blindly agreed. Angel placed her hands against the wall to support her. He again circled her accepting hole as Y/N impatiently waited.

“Get the fu---” Before Y/N could finish her sentence, Angel thrusted balls deep inside of her resting his forehead on her shoulder. Her walls securely hugged him unwilling to surrender.

“Ah, ah. If you keep gripping me like that I won’t last. Relax baby.”

Y/N exhaled overwhelmed by the sensations taking ahold of her as Angel lunged inwards. The slapping of skin echoed around the abandoned area. Their moans intermingled into one as each thrust was met with enthusiasm. Angel’s hips slid against hers as his hand wrapped around her throat. His constricted grip blocked her airways causing her eyelids to flutter shut. Fireworks shot off behind her closed lids. His other hand connected with her pulsating clit as he rubbed forceful motions. He had Y/N right where he wanted her all along. He continued to fuck her hard hearing her wails of lust overcome him.

Angel motioned close to her inner ear; “I’m the only one who makes you feel like this.”

Y/N was met with a harsh thrust triggering her to push back against his pelvis. She met him push for prod. The ache in her belly elicited ferocious tremors to erupt within her. She was a woman scorned; someone she didn’t recognize anymore. Y/N was terrified yet excited; two feelings she could no longer differentiate. Angel picked up his pace slamming into her full force.

In his rumbled tone; “This moment. This exact moment of complete bliss… from me to you. This is what I want with you. What I need. What we both desire.”

Her inner walls clenched initiating Angel’s balls to quiver.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I..I—I’m about to cum.”

Angel’s hand reared back slapping her ass starkly as she tightened around his sensitive cock. He sped up ramming into her repeatedly murmuring incoherently. Her saturated pussy was beyond repair as her orgasm began to surface. Her gritted teeth and clasped walls allowed Angel one final mind-blowing plunge deep into Y/N.

“Shit, Angel. Right there, don’t fucking stop.”

Angel bottomed out within her quaking barriers as he came deep in her womb. Hot spurts shot into her as he succumbed to a heavenly orgasm. His warm cum filled her inner crevices as she unknowingly clamped solidly on his cock. Her walls ached with release as she sporadically came undone. Her right hand stretched back grasping for Angel’s hair as she came down from her high. Angel’s hands guided atop hers intertwining their fingers together as their panted gasps filtered the stuffy air.

“I love you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

With Angel still inside her, Y/N guided her hips slowly against his exciting her all over again. Angel’s cock vibrated within Y/N as she wholeheartedly embraced him. Ever so slowly, Angel removed himself from her grasp watching in awe as his cum leaked down her inner thighs. Each speedy dribble made his heart soar in astonishment. Y/N pulled her underwear and jeans up covering herself turning towards him.

“Too late. I have to move on. This isn’t healthy.”

“I know.”

She pushed her forehead to rest against his and exhaled; “For what it’s worth…I love you too.”

A bitter smile overcame him as a sense of impending doom encapsulated his very core. She kissed him one last time with every fiber of passion she could muster unwilling to break their kiss first. He kissed her back with just as much passion. They stayed that way for minutes not wanting to disrupt their peaceful bubble. But time was a cruelty as Y/N pulled away.

“I’ll see you around Reyes.”

~~~~~~~

Tags: @twistnet @ifoundmyhappythought @angelreyesgirl89 @carlaangel86 @imagineredwood @gemini0410 @mayans-mc @reaperwalking @prospectfandom @emmaveale123 @peaky-marvel @kind-wolf @scorpio4dayzzz @starrynite7114 @penny4yourthot @breanime @thegirlwhowritesfics @star017 @threeminutesoflife @woahitslucyylu @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass @blessedboo @lady-pswrld @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @carlaangel86 @mayans-mc @claytoncardenasbabymama @angelreyesgirl89 @cocotheclown @trulysuccubus @janeexo @itsjusttaralove @soaronmywings @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @starrynite7114 @hermankopusortizorsumshite @fvckthisbxtchup

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wookie92 · 4 years ago

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WHAT IT’S LIKE TO HAVE A MICROPENIS

My micropenis is approximately ½ to 1 inch long when flaccid and 3.3 inches long when fully erect. When fully erect it has an upward angle and a slight banana curve. It is also very thin (2.8), though proportional to the length. According to calculations my penis has a volume of 36.19 ml / 1.22 fl oz (us). Various studies suggest that the average American penis is 2.8–3.9 inches flaccid and around 4.7–6.3 inches when erect. According to online information at SIZEMEUP, in a room of 1000 guys only 1 would be shorter than me.

In an adult, the average stretched penile length is about 13.24 cm (5.21 in.). An adult micropenis is a stretched penile length of 9.32 cm (3.67 in.) or less. Growing up I remember reading that a micropenis was defined as any penis shorter than 2.8 inches in length. But have been subsequently given new information that slid me well under the 3.67 inch upper limit.

Where Do I Stand On The Penis Size Chart?

All this to say: the majority of average flaccid penises are longer than mine when I am erect.

I cannot say that I am deeply ashamed of my micropenis, but certainly I have experienced shame with regard to my size. I can say that I am extremely self aware of my penis size. This is largely because of the of things I hear women and women say about micropenis, and people’s reaction to my own micropenis.

I can only speak from personal experience, but the number of times I have heard women making fun of men for the size of their manhood is staggering. At one time, I actually overheard three or four of my colleagues at work all agreeing that "men with small dicks should be required to wear a warning sign."

In school, especially high school and as an undergraduate, I was subject to a lot of hazing and bullying that was directly connected to my having a micropenis. As a sophomore in high school I was depantsed at the pool by three bullies when I got an unwanted erection. They lifted me up and held my arms behind me to prevent me from covering my erection so the entire PE class present saw what happened. The coach had left the pool area when it happened. While the three boys were penalized, the damage was done any my “secret” became known through out the school before the end of the day. The teasing commenced immediately and was unrelenting. Even my mother got calls from some friends who had heard about the incident (and my condition). My mother reacted in anger at me that somehow I was responsible for the situation (and her subsequent embarrassment). No empathy there. I was depantsed three more times before I graduated from high school and it was clear to me why I was being targeted.

I was on the swim team and during a competition with a neighboring town, discovered that two of the players from that town recognized me as the guy with the “baby dick” which got shouted as I started my event. So, word had spread. I felt like a pariah.

Numerous scientific studies have suggested time and again that for the majority of women in the western world, tiny penises are simply undesirable. I am 28 and have had just only three sexual experiences (through personal choice) with women, two of which were very humiliating, to say the least.

In high school, my first consensual sexual encounter was with a boy named Billy. I was 13 and he was 15. He was interested in anal sex, and wanted to top me. I was willing to bottom despite the fact that he was very well endowed. He did tease me about my micropenis, but seemed to accept it. I was not prepared for how painful the experience of bottoming would be, but he continued to be interested in me, and treated me well (we even kissed) so I was willing to continue to have sex with him as a bottom. I fell in love. Then he disclosed to his homophobic older brother that we had been having sex and that put an end to our relationship. His brother let me know (rather violently) that I was to stay away from Billy or he would castrate and kill me. Billy, who had a black eye, never spoke to me again.

My first sexual encounter with a woman happened during my Junior year in high school. She was a sophomore and I was a Junior. When I undressed I could tell she was “shocked” even though she was a virgin and had never seen a man naked. She has seen photographs of naked men, and she had a brother in college. She was well pleased with my digital and oral skills, and actually squirted into my mouth (something I didn’t even know was a “thing” that might happen). Unfortunately when I attempted to penetrate her, my condom slipped off, and my orgasm was triggered prematurely as I was trying to thrust into her. She tried to push me off of her as I locked up and started squirting, and was furious that I had ejaculated into her vagina. She said she could feel me ejaculating. She got up and douched. I was too embarrassed to speak more than an apology. I helped pay for her “morning after” pill and discovered that she had disclosed the whole evening, including my premature ejaculation, and condom mishap, to her friends.

As a freshman in college I encountered a very attractive university student who seemed to be attracted to me. When I stripped, she stared at my micropenis, giggled, and put her hand to her mouth, muttering simply "OK" in a tone that suggested she was taken aback. When it came to actually performing, first I found that the condom wouldn’t stay on, but more frustratingly, my micropenis kept falling out every time I tried to penetrate her. She actually asked the traditional joke question, "Is it in?" mistaking my penis for my finger. I wanted to die. It was clear that she was getting nothing out of the experience. I genuinely tried my best to make her happy via oral sex, but she didn't orgasm or enjoy that either. I suspect her encounter with my penis through a wet blanket over the whole experience. When at last I finally thought I was making her content, she suddenly huffed in an annoyed way and got up, saying she needed to use the restroom. And that was the end of it.

I can only imagine the level of disappointment and frustration she must have felt. It must have been a horrendous experience for her.

I decided after that to become a master of cunnilingus so that any future women I encountered would be satisfied, if not by my penis, then my oral skills would more than make up for it. And I did master the art.

While in graduate school at the University of Texas in Austin, I met and married a girl. We had engaged in some sexual activity before our marriage, so she was aware of my micropenis. However our marriage was short lived when I discovered she had been having sex with my then best friend. When I confronted her with her lack of fidelity, she blamed my shortcomings as a lover and told me that my micropenis disgusted her.

Since that time I have mainly had sexual experiences with gay men, though I had a threesome with a woman that went very well.

Aside from personal experiences, the media doesn’t help my self-esteem either. Men with small penis are an ongoing source of amusement in TV shows and movies. I noticed that penis shaming was mostly reserved for villains and comic sidekicks who were never taken seriously. There are more TV shows with “little dick jokes” than shows that don’t have them. No shows make fun of women’s breast size, but targeting men with small penises as a source of humor seems to be socially acceptable. All that tells me that the writers don’t really care if men with small penises are offended or hurt.

The way the media treats the body-shaming of men compared to the body-shaming of women is wildly different. When Donald Trump makes questionable comments about the looks of women, he rightly causes outrage. Lists and videos decrying his sexist remarks have gone viral. Yet when a naked model of Trump with a micropenis was displayed in public in New York City, it was treated like a punch line rather than an attack. Some publications even called it a wonderful piece of art. Hundreds of Americans now have selfies of them laughing at Trump and his micropenis. We defend Heidi Cruz and Megyn Kelly, but where are the people defending small penises? I am no Trump supporter, but targeting him because of his small penis seems wrong.

GUYS WITH MICROPENISES KNOW THEY ARE NOT WELL-ENDOWED, THEY DON’T NEED REMINDING OF IT.

From my experience (having read hundreds of articles, forum posts, videos, and having spoken to hundreds of men and women online), it feels safe to say that the overwhelming majority of sexual partners aren't thrilled about the prospect of sex with micropenises. And if we don’t accept that these views are likely the majority, then we are never going to challenge this blatant discrimination.

I would like to ask people to think about this: If you are attracted to somebody enough to ask them to bed, and if the guy is kind to you, is it fair to write him off based on size alone?

So what do I plan to do about my love life?

Luckily I am bisexual and enjoy the company of men as well as women. I fear that straight men with the micropenis condition suffer worse shame than men in the gay community. Let me be clear, a great many gay men are “size queens” and I have been rejected by more than a few gay men, but now that so many men can meet on line I have been able to meet men who actually “prefer” men with small dicks and so they are not surprised by what I have to offer when we meet. Many of them enjoy SPH (Small Penis Humiliation), but in my life I have adapted to being the subject of humor and, in some cases, can even find that sexually arousing.

So the answer to that question is “nothing”. I try to focus my life on my work, my writing, working out, outdoors activities, sports, and other subjects that interest me. If I started to look for love, it would just make me feel down, and I already struggle with depression and anxiety secretly. I don’t need the humiliation and hurt that looking for love would bring me. Sure, everybody gets rejected, but usually for less hurtful reasons. As a bottom, many men don’t care how well I am hung. Instead they care about how I make them feel when they fuck me, and I have learned to be a power bottom.

Guys with micropenises know we are not well-endowed, we don’t need to be reminded of it. If I’m attracted to a sexual partner, then what they have in their pants doesn’t matter to me; I care more about what that partner has in his/her heart. My extreme self-consciousness about my body makes me feel like everyone else's opinion must be right, that there is something wrong with my size. I just wish people could look past it, so I could too. Because intellectually I know my size is just a variation.

I try to look at it this way. Not everyone is attracted to red hair, or freckles, or blue eyes, or black skin, or hairy chests. People are attracted to differing qualities. As long as I can find some people who are interested in the qualities I possess, and are also interested n me personally, than I am gratified.

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ucsdwomenscenter-blog · 3 years ago

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Beyond the Happily Ever After: Aurora

This week on Beyond the Happily Ever After the storybook opens to the tale of our sleepy princess Aurora. The original story of Aurora was written in 1634 and was titled “The Sun, the Moon, and Talia”. In all honesty I actually love that title more than “Sleeping Beauty,” because it sounds witchy and we love a witchy story. The original tale is very similar to the Disney version except it has some very, and I mean very dark twists. The story starts with the evil witch cursing princess Talia with a spell that will put her in a deep sleep if she pricks her finger on a spindle. In this version, Talia pricks her finger on the spindle and falls into a heavy sleep. Talia’s father then hides her in an abandoned house in the forest in order to protect her from the evil witch. One day a King from another kingdom is walking through the forest and comes across the abandoned house. This is where things get really weird. I want to give you all a trigger warning for those that aren’t familiar with the original story the next part involves sexual violence. If you need to stop reading please do so.

Okay, so the King comes across the abandoned house and he proceeds to enter. Once he enters he sees Talia sound asleep, he attempts to wake her up but can’t. So, he proceeds to have non-consensual relations with her and leaves. I just want to stop here, for a moment because like what, WHAT!?! How is this okay? How is it that the man who wrote this story truly felt compelled to include this part in the book? Not only that, but the people reading this story years later felt the need to continue telling this story, just minus the sexual assault. It’s sick that this children’s story normalizes this behavior and that men continue to not take into account consent when interacting with women.

Let me be very clear, slapping someone’s ass requires consent, kissing someone requires consent, any type of physical interaction requires consent. Furthermore, consent can be retracted at any point during the encounter. PERIOD! Saying no, does not mean that someone is a tease, it does not mean patronizing them, but it should clearly be recorded in your brain to STOP whatever it is you’re doing. It makes me so upset that these stories being told to children do not emphasize consent, because even the Disney version. The fact that Prince Philip kisses Aurora in her sleep, like that's not okay. Moreover, this idea that a kiss from a man is the answer to all problems is not the message we should be giving young children. These messages influence how men interact with women (vice versa), and why sexual assault is so prominent in college. Yeah absolutely not, throw the whole story away. The story continues with Talia getting pregnant with twins from the King, but she’s still sound asleep. Fairies then come to live with her to help her care for the twin babies until Talia wakes up from the spell.

Years later, the King who abused Talia is reminded of her, however the King is married to the Queen. Despite being married he decides to go back to the abandoned house and discovers Talia, now awake and a mother of twins. The King tells Talia what happened, and instead of being utterly disgusted, she, you guessed it, falls in love with him. I just can’t imagine any scenario in which a person would fall in love with someone who did this to them. The King is sick, plus homeboy is married. Come on now. Like sir what is wrong with you? Then of course the Queen finds out about Talia and the babies, so she decides that to get back at the King she is going to kill the twins and feed them to the King. I feel very indifferent about this because on one side I’m like “YASSS GIRL!”, but then again on the other hand I’m like it’s not the babies fault your husband is a pig. She should have cooked up one of the twins dirty diapers and fed that to him, and then been like “shitty, isn't it.” LOL The Queen however fails in trying to kill both Talia and the twins, and when the King finds out he sends his men to have the Queen killed. After the death of the Queen, the King and Talia got married and lived happily ever after.

I mean this story is just over all horrible, and the fact that Disney read the original story and felt that they should continue telling it. You know a company that prides themselves on imagination definitely doesn’t demonstrate that their writers have much imagination since they are just copying the stories of other authors. Moreover, the stories they chose to re-write honesty suck! So, as per usual here is my version of the story of Aurora. First, the title of my story would be The Sun, The Moon, and Estrella. Yes, Aurora’s new name is Estrella, we need a Latinx Queen. Estella was born to her father the King and her mother the Queen. The Queen was a descendant of witches, and her sister was the Supreme witch of the underworld. When Estella was born, her father was extremely upset because he wanted a son to take over the throne. The King tells the Queen that they need to send Estrella away into a house in the forest because they need a son to be the next king. The Queen was heart broken, and hated that the man she chose as her husband was being so misogynistic. The Queen tells her sister that the King wants to get rid of Estrella because she is a girl. Her sister was not having it, and tells the Queen that she needs to get rid of the King instead. The Supreme witch of the underworld tells the Queen that it is time to turn this kingdom into a queendom.

The Queen tells her that she doesn’t want to kill the King, so her sister decides to curse the King. She curses the King by casting a spell that turned him into stone the next time he said anything misogynistic. The King, having no idea of the curse, goes to the Queen and tells her that it’s time to send Estrella away. The Queen refuses, and the King responds and tells her that they need to get rid of Estrella because a woman is not capable of ruling a kingdom. As soon as he ended that sentence he turned into stone. The Queen went on to rule the queendom alongside her sister by her side. The Supreme witch cast a spell on the queendom that turned any man that said anything patronizing or misogynistic into stone. The Queen and the Supreme witch raised Estella in their queendom. Estrella grew up with strong female role models, and became the rightful heir of the queendom. The surrounding kingdoms began to mimic Estrella’s queendom, and they lived happily ever after.

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authoressofdarkness · 5 years ago

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Beauty and the Beast (Chapter 2)

Stark’s hand closes over both of his wrists, and in the next instant, they’re both encased in metal. It’s nanotech, Peter is sure immediately. This is the same stuff that armor is made out of, and even his super strength won’t make a dent in it. He knows from experience.

Notes: Hey everyone! It's unlike me to not leave an author's note on a chapter, especially a first one, but I was busy and pretty proud of the first chapter so I decided to just post it and see how it went. Never fear, I'm back now! Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed, left kudos, etc! Love you all 3000!

I had a few people ask in the comments if this was going to be a oneshot or a short thing, because apparently I'm a dumbass and had it accidentally marked as complete. The answer is a big NO from me! I have a lot of things being tossed around for this fic and it's probably going to be massive. It's also going to get VERY dark before it gets anywhere near a happy ending, if it ever does, so PLEASE take care of yourselves. I'll try to remember to put trigger warnings at the beginning of the chapters, but just remember: I chose not to use archive warnings. ;)

Also, shoutout to @itfeelssogoodmrstark for being a great cheerleader and inspiring me to write this. Much love xo

Trigger warnings: Massive blood loss, Tony being a jerk, non/dubiously consensual touching in multiple ways, needles. Think that's all for this one.

“Behave?” Peter looks up at him, heart racing. “What do you mean, behave? I thought-“

“What, that I was going to kill you?” Stark chuckles, stalking back to him. “Hardly. What a waste that would be. What, with all the knowledge and pretty plans packed into your head. I told you, we have much to discuss.”

“Like what? You know what I’ve been doing, obviously. You know who I am. And if you think I’m going to help you-“

Stark stops in front of him and laughs that dark laugh again. “Oh, you really are naive if you think I would for a second let you work as a double agent for me so that you could double cross me at the first opportunity. I don’t think so, sweetheart.” He tilts his chin up, studying his face with those piercing blue eyes. “No, my interest in you is much more… personal,” he murmurs, lips quirking up in a devious smirk.

Peter shivers. His spider senses are going nuts. He can feel the hair on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end, and every instinct in him screams to pull away, to resist, but all he can think about is Ben being dragged to God knows where and there’s no way in hell he’s getting out of Stark’s sight to rescue him any time soon.

“What do you want?” He sounds defeated, even to his own ears.

Stark smirks, stroking a cold metal finger down his jaw. “Right now? Your wrists.”

The words throw him for a whole second before Stark raises an eyebrow at him, clearly ready to scold him already for disobeying, and then he jolts back to reality and thrusts his wrists out in front of him. It only makes sense that he’s going to be bound before they go anywhere. It just… was not the response he was expecting, though he couldn’t bring himself to fathom why.

Stark gives him a tug forward, and this time it’s his lips on Peter’s jaw. He purrs audibly as they drag over Peter’s stubble, which grows in quicker with his enhancements, so of course it’s back despite him shaving before leaving this morning for class.

Classes he’ll likely never go to again. When he was just starting college. And now he’d never get to finish.

Times like right now, when the villains got too close — and they all did, invariably, every once in a while, and of course there was still more around than just the one in front of him — he questioned why he’d become Spider-Man in the first place. He wanted a life. He wanted so much, and then-

And then Stark’s lips brushed against his jawline again, and it both served to jolt him back to reality and remember exactly why. So this person — if he could even be considered one anymore — couldn’t hurt anyone else. And if nothing else good came out of this situation, at least the more time he spent with Peter, the less time he spent hurting anyone else.

Stark steps back, keeping his grip on Peter’s wrists despite the nanotech. “Up,” he orders, and Peter obeys. Stark starts walking, towing Peter along behind him, and he follows silently, knowing better than to ask where they’re going.

At least he’s silent until he realizes where they’re going, and then he sets his heels into the ground, bringing them to a stop. “No.”

Stark raises an eyebrow at him, not even turning to face him completely. “You will do what I tell you,” he tells him. “It’s not a discussion.”

“If you think I’m going to let you-“

“I don’t think you’ll be letting me do anything. I’ll tie you up, if I have to.” Stark cocks his head. “It will be a lot less painful if you cooperate, Spiderling.”

Peter swallows hard. He’s been here an hour, tops, and Stark has him ready to beg for the second time. It’s almost laughable. “Please don’t do this.”

Stark sighs heavily. “Are you always this dramatic?” He gives him a firm tug, jerking him towards him. “We’re going to go in there, and you’re going to do what I tell you, or I’m going to go pay your uncle a visit and make you watch on the security cameras. Do you understand?”

That makes him freeze, and any thought of protests goes out the window the moment he brings Ben into it. “I thought you weren’t going to kill me.” Although I might prefer it if you did. “You’ll never get as much as you want out of me without doing it.”

Stark resumes walking, not-quite-dragging a reluctant Peter behind him again. “I don’t want full schematics. Not yet, at least. Just some blood. Don’t worry, I’ll even take it the easier way.” He stops in front of a door and taps in a code, pushing it open before shooting him a feral grin. “This time, anyway. Now get inside before I change my mind.”

It takes most of his self control to not shuffle his feet around to delay going in, but he still hesitated for the barest second in the doorway. Thus far, Stark hadn’t seemed to lie to him, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Although why he would when Peter obviously couldn’t get out if he tried…

Stark’s lab looks even more expansive inside than what he caught a glimpse of through the glass on the outside. This one is obviously for medicinal purposes - or mostly, anyway. A glance around showed full specs of equipment in various sectioned off areas, including everything from what looked to be an x-ray setup to metal tables that he didn’t even want to imagine what happened on them. Just the thought makes him shudder almost as much as the antiseptic smell.

Stark enters behind him not even a second later, and the door hums in quiet confirmation of the lock resetting. Then Stark grabs his arm, guiding him not-so-gently towards one of the areas in the back.

He pulls him to a stop in front of a metal chair - metal, always metal, some part of him notes, and he shudders to think of the reasons why - and the bonds on his wrists melt away. “Bag off and sit,” Stark orders before turning to a nearby counter. “Don’t do anything stupid, or we will do this the hard way.”

Peter complies, albeit reluctantly. He’d again forgotten he was even still wearing his book bag, but he doesn’t really want to take it off. He knows the likelihood he’ll see it again once it’s off his body is incredibly low. His chest aches at the thought of losing the suit, but he knows the likelihood he’ll ever get to use it again is even lower than the likelihood of seeing it.

He sets the bag down with a resigned sigh, and sits in the chair.

Stark turns around a moment later, looking both pleased and amused at his clear resignation. He walks back over, putting a hand on his shoulder, and the bonds on his wrists remateralize, effectively cuffing him to the chair as Stark tilts his head to the side.

Peter catches a flash of silver from the corner of his eye and can’t help the reflexive gulp. “What are you doing?”

“Exactly what I told you.” Something cold and wet brushes his neck, and he grimaces at the burn left in its place.

“You’re taking blood from my neck?”

Stark heaves a sigh. “Bigger veins, closer to your heart. More blood, faster, less chance the vein will collapse, and I can make it gravity fed so I don’t have to stand here the whole time. But I suppose next time I can just cut you open and get the blood that way, if it suits you.”

The threat doesn’t scare him as much as it should. Not as much as the idea of a needle in his neck, anyway, which is probably irrational and ridiculous, but it’s true.

He winces as the needle pierces the tender skin on the side of his neck, and then Stark tapes it in place and steps away, letting his head go. He feels the urge to try to rub at it, but doesn’t want to give Stark the satisfaction of watching him pull at the bonds. “Christ. How much blood are you taking?”

“A few pints, to start,” Stark answers, from somewhere out of his line of sight.

“A few pints? You are trying to kill me.” He sounds more surprised than he probably should.

“You really are over dramatic, aren’t you?” Stark reappears in front of him, rolling his eyes. “I know what I’m doing. You won’t lose more than thirty percent of your overall blood volume. I’m monitoring it. You may still pass out, though,” he admits with a shrug. “Or maybe not, with your advanced healing.”

Peter startles. “How do you know about that?”

Stark snorts. “Please. We’ve encountered each other… what, twice, in person? Both times you sustained injuries that might have killed someone else and were at class the next day. You’re not great at being inconspicuous.”

Peter frowns a little. He doesn’t remember much about either of the encounters, although he knows they happened. Recollection is faint — likely because of the injuries he sustained. He’s had a lot of concussions that didn’t exactly get treated properly. Oops.

“Oh,” is his brilliant response to that. Then, “If you know about my powers… what are you testing? What is there to talk about if you know all my secrets?”

Stark chuckles. “I wouldn’t say that. Not yet. Besides, there’s other things to discuss.”

By now, Peter’s head is starting to feel fainting fuzzy. Sentences are hard to form. He imagines this is what bleeding to death feels like, although the line in his neck is controlled, making it agonizingly slow. “Like what?”

There’s a faint feeling of fingers on his chin, and only then does he realize that his eyes had fallen closed, and forces them open. Stark is in front of him, of course, studying him with his brows drawn together.

He only gets a clear image for a minute before his eyes start to refusing to work. Things are going in and out of focus, fuzzy, and the effort of trying to refocus them make him dizzy, so he simply closes them again.

Stark releases his chin and steps away. “Even if I told you right now, you wouldn’t remember it later.” It’s not a threat, just a statement of fact, and right now he’s inclined to agree.

How much blood has he lost already? It’s starting to feel less like it’s flowing out and more like it’s being sucked. His limbs, head, and even his tongue are starting to feel heavy. It would take too much effort now to even consider trying to move, even if he had to rip the line out to save his own life.

It doesn’t exactly hurt. Numbness and fatigue creep up on him, not painfully but still agonizing in their slowness. He finds himself wishing Stark would just bite him next time like the vampire he is. At least that would be quicker.

Stark’s chuckle sounds like it’s echoing from far away. “I wouldn’t invite me to bite you, silly boy. Although there’s plenty of time for that later. I’m sure we can incorporate that into my plans.”

Peter is vaguely confused. Did he say that aloud? No way to know, not when his mouth is refusing to work for him when he wants it to. He lets his head fall back against the chair behind him, feeling his consciousness slowly fade away.

A keyboard is clicking from somewhere far away, accompanied by a low murmuring and then something that sounds like dial tones. A moment later, sounding so far away, he hears a single word from a voice he’s sure he knows, but can’t place through the fuzziness in his head: “Hello?”

“Hello, Doctor. I don’t suppose you’re around and would like to swing by the tower. I’ve got something you might like to see…”

The words float in and out of his head, just out of reach as soon as they enter. But the half a second’s grasp he has on them is enough to make his heart race again, even if he has no idea why after. Reality is fading away. No, maybe he is fading away from reality.

The itch of danger is there until the end, though, and he forces his eyes open one last time to catch a glimpse of a blurry face and brown eyes before passing out.

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bing-fucker · 5 years ago

Note

hello yes I have returned because i adore aphrodisiac fics ~Baby Anon

Welcome back, Baby. Just for you and Hearts, I shall reveal my horrible first attempt at writing noth aphrodisiacs and Illinois and Yancy. Also, warning, I suck at Yancy's accent.

Warning: Aphrodisiacs, technically some dubiously consensual stuff (there's a brief moment where Illinois jerks off with Yancy in his lap without knowing), rough sex, overstimulation, improper use of caves. As always, ask me to add as necessary!

In his time as an adventurer, Illinois had encountered many things. He'd been to loads of animal heavens, encountered countless tribes of people the world didn't even know about (and, usually, Illinois kept it that way. These people didn't need to be exposed to the horrors of modern society), and, yes, had been hit with aphrodisiacs before. Usually it was rather easy to handle them- a night on the town with a few beautiful people, or a couple hours alone, imagining a hot mouth or hole around his cock.

But this time was different, because he was a few days away from civilization. And, sure, usually he could've just resorted to his right hand and imagination, but he wasn't alone- and that was the biggest problem. He didn't know what compelled him to drag his boyfriend out on this adventure, especially since Yancy tended to get overwhelmed when he was outside for too long. But he seemed to be doing good- and he looked amazing while doing it. Dressed in a tight pair of black pants they'd gotten in town and his usual short, white tee-shirt, Yancy looked like a dream. More specifically, Illinois' wet dream.

Luckily, however, Yancy had been saved from whatever trap Illinois had triggered to get covered in the aphrodisiac. In fact, he didn't even notice it had happened, far too distracted by a cave painting he'd found to see. Illinois didn't mind. In fact, he was glad Yancy had escaped the blast. He may love his boyfriend, but he never wanted Yancy to know the pain of being so desperate to get off that you were practically humping the air. Like Illinois had to currently stop himself from doing.

"Hey, youse okay?" Yancy asked, looking concerned as he placed a hand on Illinois' shoulder.

Illinois barely held back a moan as he replied, "Yeah, I'm fine, Yance, don't worry."

"Youse's sure? Maybe we should stop for the night…"

"There's a cavern we can stop in for the night an hour up river," Illinois assured, patting the small boat other explorers had left behind. "This'll get us there."

"It's a bit… small, don't youse think?"

"What, you don't want to sit on my lap?" Illinois teased, desperately hoping Yancy's flexibility would come in handy and he would avoid having to hold Yancy. Not that he didn't adore having his boyfriend in his lap, but at the moment he wasn't sure if he could keep himself from brutally fucking Yancy if the former prisoner sat in his lap.

But with how much room was left when Illinois climbed in, that was exactly what had to happen. Illinois shifted slightly so at least Yancy wasn't settled completely on his crotch- not that that helped much, given the fact that Illinois' cock twitched desperately at the smallest movement. He groaned softly, resting his head on Yancy's shoulder.

"Illi? Youse sure youse's okay? Youse's been groanin' a lot, and lookin' mighty flushed."

"I'm okay," Illinois assured, the pain in his groin growing the longer Yancy spent in his lap. He panted slightly, his hips unwillingly bucking up against Yancy's ass as they hit a bit of rocky water. Yancy didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he was gracious enough not to tease Illinois about how hard he was. Illinois shifted and shoved his hand between Yancy's ass and the considerable tent in his pants, biting his lip to keep quiet as he palmed himself. Yancy shifted down so he was sitting on Illinois' shins as opposed to his thighs. Illinois quickly took the opportunity to quietly pull his cock out of his pants, jerking it quickly.

It was… unreasonably hot. To be getting off so blatantly while Yancy seemed to remain completely ignorant, his eyes wide as he looked around and talked about all the cool things he'd seen on their adventure. Illinois grunted vague responses, glad he'd chosen to wear black pants as he finally came onto them. He bit his lip and quickly cleaned himself up as much as he could, hoping that Yancy would mistake the small string of cum on his thigh for splashing water. He panted, looking at Yancy's face and silently whimpering as he was still hard.

"We're, uh. Almost there," he said, glad the shadows of the cave hid his hard on from Yancy.

Yancy nodded excitedly and turned to Illinois, kissing him deeply for a few seconds. "Thank youse for takin' me along," he said softly.

Illinois groaned and pulled Yancy back into the kiss, forcing his hands to settle on Yancy's hips, as opposed to his ass, which Illinois would probably have given his left leg to sink into right now. Yancy laughed and pulled away as their boat hit land, climbing off of Illinois and onto land.

Illinois laughed as well and climbed out, a bit uncomfortable in his cum-filled pants. "You get a fire going while I set up the tent," he said, clearing his throat so he sounded at least some semblance of normal.

Setting up camp was, luckily, quick and easy. Tent was up, food was out for the night, and Yancy had a really good fire going. The fire plus the electric lights Illinois set up were, unfortunately, making Illinois' bulge rather obvious. For once, Illinois was rather glad that his boyfriend could be a bit oblivious, because it kept Yancy from discovering his not-so-little problem. If Illinois was honest, he didn't know why he was hiding it from Yancy, but he was. And he'd been doing so for so long that it would be awkward if he mentioned it now.

Yancy frowned and walked around to Illinois' side of the fire, making the adventurer tense up for a second before he realized Yancy was just messing with something to do with the fire. Yancy stood when he was done and stepped back.

Illinois wasn't quite sure what Yancy slipped on, but he certainly slipped on something because he was suddenly falling, his ass landing heavily against Illinois' cock, and Illinois was embarrassed to find he quickly came just from that alone. His hands flew to Yancy's hips, gripping them tightly as he ground upwards, gritting his teeth slightly at the feeling of his cum-soaked pants against his cock.

"I-Illi!" Yancy exclaimed, blushing brightly and his accent dropping in his shock. "A-are you…?"

"What? Hard? Turned on? Absolutely ready to fuck your brains out?" Illinois replied, a slight growl to his words as he flipped them and pressed Yancy to the ground, continuing to grind against his ass. "Yes. Beyond all that."

"For how long!? A-and why didn't you tell me?"

"Got hit with an aphrodisiac a few hours ago. Didn't wanna worry you," Illinois replied absently, licking and sucking at Yancy's neck. "Fuck, you're wearing too many clothes. Can I take them off? Please, Yance, I need you so bad~"

Yancy groaned quietly and nodded. Illinois grinned and flipped Yancy onto his back, roughly stripping the former prisoner. Yancy blushed and reached up, trying to take off Illinois' shirt. Illinois grinned and stripped before pinning Yancy's hands above his head, taking both his and Yancy's cocks in hand and starting to pump, gentle so Yancy didn't get irritated from the friction.

"F-fuck, Illi!" Yancy exclaimed, bucking into Illinois' hand.

"That's the plan," Illinois panted, scrambling away from Yancy and grabbing the bottle of lube he'd brought from the tent. "Roll over."

Yancy rolled over obediently, pressing his chest to the ground and his ass into the air, effectively presenting himself to Illinois. Illinois groaned heavily and poured lube onto his fingers, taking barely five minutes to prepare Yancy - although the sight of Yancy writhing on his fingers was enough for Illinois to spill his seed across the former prisoner's thighs, and that was definitely an image Illinois was going to return to - before pouring lube on his aching cock and pushing in.

"Ah, Illi~ Please~" Yancy moaned, arching his back.

"Look at you," Illinois groaned, slapping the right cheek of Yancy's ass as he set a punishing pace. "So worked up just from me grinding against you- one would think you're the one hopped up on an aphrodisiac."

Yancy moaned in response and Illinois bent over his back, biting and sucking dark marks into his shoulders. He groaned at the feeling of Yancy clenching and unclenching around him. He carefully angled his hips so that, with every brutal thrust, he hit Yancy's prostate. Illinois grinned to himself, stilling briefly as he came.

"God, you feel so good, baby," Illinois growled, pulling out and flipping Yancy onto his back. Yancy quickly got the message and spread and lifted his legs, letting Illinois push back into him. Illinois grinned and held Yancy's legs, leaning down to kiss the man. Yancy whined and thrusted down against Illinois, his dick bouncing on his stomach as Illinois fucked him.

By the time the aphrodisiac wore off, it had been several hours and Illinois had cum a dozen times, and Yancy probably double that with how sensitive he was. Illinois grinned and pulled out, his cock finally softening as he lay next to Yancy.

"Youse got dirt all over youse's self. And me," Yancy commented, his voice rough probably from a combination of Illinois fucking his face and the amount of screaming in pleasure he did.

"Good thing there's a river, then," Illinois replied, content to lay by the dying fire and cuddle his boyfriend.

"Yeah, suppose so," Yancy replied, yawning.

Illinois grinned and kissed his forehead. "Get some sleep, love."

Yancy nodded, then hummed lightly and looked at Illinois. "Illi?"

"Hm?"

"If you ever get hit by another aphrodisiac, just tell me."

"Will do, baby."

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theculturedmarxist · 5 years ago

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1. The Swedish Police constructed a story of rape

Nils Melzer, why is the UN Special Rapporteur on Torture interested in Julian Assange? That is something that the German Foreign Ministry recently asked me as well: Is that really your core mandate? Is Assange the victim of torture?

What was your response? The case falls into my mandate in three different ways: First, Assange published proof of systematic torture. But instead of those responsible for the torture, it is Assange who is being persecuted. Second, he himself has been ill-treated to the point that he is now exhibiting symptoms of psychological torture. And third, he is to be extradited to a country that holds people like him in prison conditions that Amnesty International has described as torture. In summary: Julian Assange uncovered torture, has been tortured himself and could be tortured to death in the United States. And a case like that isn’t supposed to be part of my area of responsibility? Beyond that, the case is of symbolic importance and affects every citizen of a democratic country.

Why didn’t you take up the case much earlier? Imagine a dark room. Suddenly, someone shines a light on the elephant in the room – on war criminals, on corruption. Assange is the man with the spotlight. The governments are briefly in shock, but then they turn the spotlight around with accusations of rape. It is a classic maneuver when it comes to manipulating public opinion. The elephant once again disappears into the darkness, behind the spotlight. And Assange becomes the focus of attention instead, and we start talking about whether Assange is skateboarding in the embassy or whether he is feeding his cat correctly. Suddenly, we all know that he is a rapist, a hacker, a spy and a narcissist. But the abuses and war crimes he uncovered fade into the darkness. I also lost my focus, despite my professional experience, which should have led me to be more vigilant.

Let’s start at the beginning: What led you to take up the case? In December 2018, I was asked by his lawyers to intervene. I initially declined. I was overloaded with other petitions and wasn’t really familiar with the case. My impression, largely influenced by the media, was also colored by the prejudice that Julian Assange was somehow guilty and that he wanted to manipulate me. In March 2019, his lawyers approached me for a second time because indications were mounting that Assange would soon be expelled from the Ecuadorian Embassy. They sent me a few key documents and a summary of the case and I figured that my professional integrity demanded that I at least take a look at the material.

And then? It quickly became clear to me that something was wrong. That there was a contradiction that made no sense to me with my extensive legal experience: Why would a person be subject to nine years of a preliminary investigation for rape without charges ever having been filed?

Is that unusual? I have never seen a comparable case. Anyone can trigger a preliminary investigation against anyone else by simply going to the police and accusing the other person of a crime. The Swedish authorities, though, were never interested in testimony from Assange. They intentionally left him in limbo. Just imagine being accused of rape for nine-and-a-half years by an entire state apparatus and by the media without ever being given the chance to defend yourself because no charges had ever been filed.

You say that the Swedish authorities were never interested in testimony from Assange. But the media and government agencies have painted a completely different picture over the years: Julian Assange, they say, fled the Swedish judiciary in order to avoid being held accountable. That’s what I always thought, until I started investigating. The opposite is true. Assange reported to the Swedish authorities on several occasions because he wanted to respond to the accusations. But the authorities stonewalled.

What do you mean by that: «The authorities stonewalled?» Allow me to start at the beginning. I speak fluent Swedish and was thus able to read all of the original documents. I could hardly believe my eyes: According to the testimony of the woman in question, a rape had never even taken place at all. And not only that: The woman’s testimony was later changed by the Stockholm police without her involvement in order to somehow make it sound like a possible rape. I have all the documents in my possession, the emails, the text messages.

«The woman’s testimony was later changed by the police» – how exactly? On Aug. 20, 2010, a woman named S. W. entered a Stockholm police station together with a second woman named A. A. The first woman, S. W. said she had had consensual sex with Julian Assange, but he had not been wearing a condom. She said she was now concerned that she could be infected with HIV and wanted to know if she could force Assange to take an HIV test. She said she was really worried. The police wrote down her statement and immediately informed public prosecutors. Even before questioning could be completed, S. W. was informed that Assange would be arrested on suspicion of rape. S. W. was shocked and refused to continue with questioning. While still in the police station, she wrote a text message to a friend saying that she didn’t want to incriminate Assange, that she just wanted him to take an HIV test, but the police were apparently interested in «getting their hands on him.»

What does that mean? S.W. never accused Julian Assange of rape. She declined to participate in further questioning and went home. Nevertheless, two hours later, a headline appeared on the front page of Expressen, a Swedish tabloid, saying that Julian Assange was suspected of having committed two rapes.

Two rapes? Yes, because there was the second woman, A. A. She didn’t want to press charges either; she had merely accompanied S. W. to the police station. She wasn’t even questioned that day. She later said that Assange had sexually harassed her. I can’t say, of course, whether that is true or not. I can only point to the order of events: A woman walks into a police station. She doesn’t want to file a complaint but wants to demand an HIV test. The police then decide that this could be a case of rape and a matter for public prosecutors. The woman refuses to go along with that version of events and then goes home and writes a friend that it wasn’t her intention, but the police want to «get their hands on» Assange. Two hours later, the case is in the newspaper. As we know today, public prosecutors leaked it to the press – and they did so without even inviting Assange to make a statement. And the second woman, who had allegedly been raped according to the Aug. 20 headline, was only questioned on Aug. 21.

What did the second woman say when she was questioned? She said that she had made her apartment available to Assange, who was in Sweden for a conference. A small, one-room apartment. When Assange was in the apartment, she came home earlier than planned, but told him it was no problem and that the two of them could sleep in the same bed. That night, they had consensual sex, with a condom. But she said that during sex, Assange had intentionally broken the condom. If that is true, then it is, of course, a sexual offense – so-called «stealthing». But the woman also said that she only later noticed that the condom was broken. That is a contradiction that should absolutely have been clarified. If I don’t notice it, then I cannot know if the other intentionally broke it. Not a single trace of DNA from Assange or A. A. could be detected in the condom that was submitted as evidence.

How did the two women know each other? They didn’t really know each other. A. A., who was hosting Assange and was serving as his press secretary, had met S. W. at an event where S. W. was wearing a pink cashmere sweater. She apparently knew from Assange that he was interested in a sexual encounter with S. W., because one evening, she received a text message from an acquaintance saying that he knew Assange was staying with her and that he, the acquaintance, would like to contact Assange. A. A. answered: Assange is apparently sleeping at the moment with the “cashmere girl.” The next morning, S. W. spoke with A. A. on the phone and said that she, too, had slept with Assange and was now concerned about having become infected with HIV. This concern was apparently a real one, because S.W. even went to a clinic for consultation. A. A. then suggested: Let’s go to the police – they can force Assange to get an HIV test. The two women, though, didn’t go to the closest police station, but to one quite far away where a friend of A. A.’s works as a policewoman – who then questioned S. W., initially in the presence of A. A., which isn’t proper practice. Up to this point, though, the only problem was at most a lack of professionalism. The willful malevolence of the authorities only became apparent when they immediately disseminated the suspicion of rape via the tabloid press, and did so without questioning A. A. and in contradiction to the statement given by S. W. It also violated a clear ban in Swedish law against releasing the names of alleged victims or perpetrators in sexual offense cases. The case now came to the attention of the chief public prosecutor in the capital city and she suspended the rape investigation some days later with the assessment that while the statements from S. W. were credible, there was no evidence that a crime had been committed.

But then the case really took off. Why? Now the supervisor of the policewoman who had conducted the questioning wrote her an email telling her to rewrite the statement from S. W.

What did the policewoman change? We don’t know, because the first statement was directly written over in the computer program and no longer exists. We only know that the original statement, according to the chief public prosecutor, apparently did not contain any indication that a crime had been committed. In the edited form it says that the two had had sex several times – consensual and with a condom. But in the morning, according to the revised statement, the woman woke up because he tried to penetrate her without a condom. She asks: «Are you wearing a condom?» He says: «No.» Then she says: «You better not have HIV» and allows him to continue. The statement was edited without the involvement of the woman in question and it wasn’t signed by her. It is a manipulated piece of evidence out of which the Swedish authorities then constructed a story of rape.

Why would the Swedish authorities do something like that? The timing is decisive: In late July, Wikileaks – in cooperation with the «New York Times», the «Guardian» and «Der Spiegel» – published the «Afghan War Diary». It was one of the largest leaks in the history of the U.S. military. The U.S. immediately demanded that its allies inundate Assange with criminal cases. We aren’t familiar with all of the correspondence, but Stratfor, a security consultancy that works for the U.S. government, advised American officials apparently to deluge Assange with all kinds of criminal cases for the next 25 years.

2. Assange contacts the Swedish judiciary several times to make a statement – but he is turned down

Why didn’t Assange turn himself into the police at the time? He did. I mentioned that earlier.

Then please elaborate. Assange learned about the rape allegations from the press. He established contact with the police so he could make a statement. Despite the scandal having reached the public, he was only allowed to do so nine days later, after the accusation that he had raped S. W. was no longer being pursued. But proceedings related to the sexual harassment of A. A. were ongoing. On Aug. 30, 2010, Assange appeared at the police station to make a statement. He was questioned by the same policeman who had since ordered that revision of the statement had been given by S. W. At the beginning of the conversation, Assange said he was ready to make a statement, but added that he didn’t want to read about his statement again in the press. That is his right, and he was given assurances it would be granted. But that same evening, everything was in the newspapers again. It could only have come from the authorities because nobody else was present during his questioning. The intention was very clearly that of besmirching his name.

Where did the story come from that Assange was seeking to avoid Swedish justice officials? This version was manufactured, but it is not consistent with the facts. Had he been trying to hide, he would not have appeared at the police station of his own free will. On the basis of the revised statement from S.W., an appeal was filed against the public prosecutor’s attempt to suspend the investigation, and on Sept. 2, 2010, the rape proceedings were resumed. A legal representative by the name of Claes Borgstr��m was appointed to the two women at public cost. The man was a law firm partner to the previous justice minister, Thomas Bodström, under whose supervision Swedish security personnel had seized two men who the U.S. found suspicious in the middle of Stockholm. The men were seized without any kind of legal proceedings and then handed over to the CIA, who proceeded to torture them. That shows the trans-Atlantic backdrop to this affair more clearly. After the resumption of the rape investigation, Assange repeatedly indicated through his lawyer that he wished to respond to the accusations. The public prosecutor responsible kept delaying. On one occasion, it didn’t fit with the public prosecutor’s schedule, on another, the police official responsible was sick. Three weeks later, his lawyer finally wrote that Assange really had to go to Berlin for a conference and asked if he was allowed to leave the country. The public prosecutor’s office gave him written permission to leave Sweden for short periods of time.

And then? The point is: On the day that Julian Assange left Sweden, at a point in time when it wasn’t clear if he was leaving for a short time or a long time, a warrant was issued for his arrest. He flew with Scandinavian Airlines from Stockholm to Berlin. During the flight, his laptops disappeared from his checked baggage. When he arrived in Berlin, Lufthansa requested an investigation from SAS, but the airline apparently declined to provide any information at all.

Why? That is exactly the problem. In this case, things are constantly happening that shouldn’t actually be possible unless you look at them from a different angle. Assange, in any case, continued onward to London, but did not seek to hide from the judiciary. Via his Swedish lawyer, he offered public prosecutors several possible dates for questioning in Sweden – this correspondence exists. Then, the following happened: Assange caught wind of the fact that a secret criminal case had been opened against him in the U.S. At the time, it was not confirmed by the U.S., but today we know that it was true. As of that moment, Assange’s lawyer began saying that his client was prepared to testify in Sweden, but he demanded diplomatic assurance that Sweden would not extradite him to the U.S.

Was that even a realistic scenario? Absolutely. Some years previously, as I already mentioned, Swedish security personnel had handed over two asylum applicants, both of whom were registered in Sweden, to the CIA without any legal proceedings. The abuse already started at the Stockholm airport, where they were mistreated, drugged and flown to Egypt, where they were tortured. We don’t know if they were the only such cases. But we are aware of these cases because the men survived. Both later filed complaints with UN human rights agencies and won their case. Sweden was forced to pay each of them half a million dollars in damages.

Did Sweden agree to the demands submitted by Assange? The lawyers say that during the nearly seven years in which Assange lived in the Ecuadorian Embassy, they made over 30 offers to arrange for Assange to visit Sweden – in exchange for a guarantee that he would not be extradited to the U.S. The Swedes declined to provide such a guarantee by arguing that the U.S. had not made a formal request for extradition.

What is your view of the demand made by Assange’s lawyers? Such diplomatic assurances are a routine international practice. People request assurances that they won’t be extradited to places where there is a danger of serious human rights violations, completely irrespective of whether an extradition request has been filed by the country in question or not. It is a political procedure, not a legal one. Here’s an example: Say France demands that Switzerland extradite a Kazakh businessman who lives in Switzerland but who is wanted by both France and Kazakhstan on tax fraud allegations. Switzerland sees no danger of torture in France, but does believe such a danger exists in Kazakhstan. So, Switzerland tells France: We’ll extradite the man to you, but we want a diplomatic assurance that he won’t be extradited onward to Kazakhstan. The French response is not: «Kazakhstan hasn’t even filed a request!» Rather, they would, of course, grant such an assurance. The arguments coming from Sweden were tenuous at best. That is one part of it. The other, and I say this on the strength of all of my experience behind the scenes of standard international practice: If a country refuses to provide such a diplomatic assurance, then all doubts about the good intentions of the country in question are justified. Why shouldn’t Sweden provide such assurances? From a legal perspective, after all, the U.S. has absolutely nothing to do with Swedish sex offense proceedings.

Why didn’t Sweden want to offer such an assurance? You just have to look at how the case was run: For Sweden, it was never about the interests of the two women. Even after his request for assurances that he would not be extradited, Assange still wanted to testify. He said: If you cannot guarantee that I won’t be extradited, then I am willing to be questioned in London or via video link.

But is it normal, or even legally acceptable, for Swedish authorities to travel to a different country for such an interrogation? That is a further indication that Sweden was never interested in finding the truth. For exactly these kinds of judiciary issues, there is a cooperation treaty between the United Kingdom and Sweden, which foresees that Swedish officials can travel to the UK, or vice versa, to conduct interrogations or that such questioning can take place via video link. During the period of time in question, such questioning between Sweden and England took place in 44 other cases. It was only in Julian Assange’s case that Sweden insisted that it was essential for him to appear in person.

3. When the highest Swedish court finally forced public prosecutors in Stockholm to either file charges or suspend the case, the British authorities demanded: «Don’t get cold feet!!»

Why was that? There is only a single explanation for everything – for the refusal to grant diplomatic assurances, for the refusal to question him in London: They wanted to apprehend him so they could extradite him to the U.S. The number of breaches of law that accumulated in Sweden within just a few weeks during the preliminary criminal investigation is simply grotesque. The state assigned a legal adviser to the women who told them that the criminal interpretation of what they experienced was up to the state, and no longer up to them. When their legal adviser was asked about contradictions between the women’s testimony and the narrative adhered to by public officials, the legal adviser said, in reference to the women: «ah, but they’re not lawyers.» But for five long years the Swedish prosecution avoids questioning Assange regarding the purported rape, until his lawyers finally petitioned Sweden’s Supreme Court to force the public prosecution to either press charges or close the case. When the Swedes told the UK that they may be forced to abandon the case, the British wrote back, worriedly: «Don’t you dare get cold feet!!»

Are you serious? Yes, the British, or more specifically the Crown Prosecution Service, wanted to prevent Sweden from abandoning the case at all costs. Though really, the English should have been happy that they would no longer have to spend millions in taxpayer money to keep the Ecuadorian Embassy under constant surveillance to prevent Assange’s escape.

Why were the British so eager to prevent the Swedes from closing the case? We have to stop believing that there was really an interest in leading an investigation into a sexual offense. What Wikileaks did is a threat to the political elite in the U.S., Britain, France and Russia in equal measure. Wikileaks publishes secret state information – they are opposed to classification. And in a world, even in so-called mature democracies, where secrecy has become rampant, that is seen as a fundamental threat. Assange made it clear that countries are no longer interested today in legitimate confidentiality, but in the suppression of important information about corruption and crimes. Take the archetypal Wikileaks case from the leaks supplied by Chelsea Manning: The so-called «Collateral Murder» video. (Eds. Note: On April 5, 2010, Wikileaks published a classified video from the U.S. military which showed the murder of several people in Baghdad by U.S. soldiers, including two employees of the news agency Reuters.) As a long-time legal adviser to the International Committee of the Red Cross and delegate in war zones, I can tell you: The video undoubtedly documents a war crime. A helicopter crew simply mowed down a bunch of people. It could even be that one or two of these people was carrying a weapon, but injured people were intentionally targeted. That is a war crime. «He’s wounded,» you can hear one American saying. «I’m firing.» And then they laugh. Then a van drives up to save the wounded. The driver has two children with him. You can hear the soldiers say: Well it’s their fault for bringing their kids into a battle. And then they open fire. The father and the wounded are immediately killed, though the children survive with serious injuries. Through the publication of the video, we became direct witnesses to a criminal, unconscionable massacre.

What should a constitutional democracy do in such a situation? A constitutional democracy would probably investigate Chelsea Manning for violating official secrecy because she passed the video along to Assange. But it certainly wouldn’t go after Assange, because he published the video in the public interest, consistent with the practices of classic investigative journalism. More than anything, though, a constitutional democracy would investigate and punish the war criminals. These soldiers belong behind bars. But no criminal investigation was launched into a single one of them. Instead, the man who informed the public is locked away in pre-extradition detention in London and is facing a possible sentence in the U.S. of up to 175 years in prison. That is a completely absurd sentence. By comparison: The main war criminals in the Yugoslavia tribunal received sentences of 45 years. One-hundred-seventy-five years in prison in conditions that have been found to be inhumane by the UN Special Rapporteur and by Amnesty International. But the really horrifying thing about this case is the lawlessness that has developed: The powerful can kill without fear of punishment and journalism is transformed into espionage. It is becoming a crime to tell the truth.

What awaits Assange once he is extradited? He will not receive a trial consistent with the rule of law. That’s another reason why his extradition shouldn’t be allowed. Assange will receive a trial-by-jury in Alexandria, Virginia – the notorious «Espionage Court» where the U.S. tries all national security cases. The choice of location is not by coincidence, because the jury members must be chosen in proportion to the local population, and 85 percent of Alexandria residents work in the national security community – at the CIA, the NSA, the Defense Department and the State Department. When people are tried for harming national security in front of a jury like that, the verdict is clear from the very beginning. The cases are always tried in front of the same judge behind closed doors and on the strength of classified evidence. Nobody has ever been acquitted there in a case like that. The result being that most defendants reach a settlement, in which they admit to partial guilt so as to receive a milder sentence.

You are saying that Julian Assange won’t receive a fair trial in the United States? Without doubt. For as long as employees of the American government obey the orders of their superiors, they can participate in wars of aggression, war crimes and torture knowing full well that they will never have to answer to their actions. What happened to the lessons learned in the Nuremberg Trials? I have worked long enough in conflict zones to know that mistakes happen in war. It’s not always unscrupulous criminal acts. A lot of it is the result of stress, exhaustion and panic. That’s why I can absolutely understand when a government says: We’ll bring the truth to light and we, as a state, take full responsibility for the harm caused, but if blame cannot be directly assigned to individuals, we will not be imposing draconian punishments. But it is extremely dangerous when the truth is suppressed and criminals are not brought to justice. In the 1930s, Germany and Japan left the League of Nations. Fifteen years later, the world lay in ruins. Today, the U.S. has withdrawn from the UN Human Rights Council, and neither the «Collateral Murder» massacre nor the CIA torture following 9/11 nor the war of aggression against Iraq have led to criminal investigations. Now, the United Kingdom is following that example. The Security and Intelligence Committee in the country’s own parliament published two extensive reports in 2018 showing that Britain was much more deeply involved in the secret CIA torture program than previously believed. The committee recommended a formal investigation. The first thing that Boris Johnson did after he became prime minister was to annul that investigation.

4. In the UK, violations of bail conditions are generally only punished with monetary fines or, at most, a couple of days behind bars. But Assange was given 50 weeks in a maximum-security prison without the ability to prepare his own defense

In April, Julian Assange was dragged out of the Ecuadorian Embassy by British police. What is your view of these events? In 2017, a new government was elected in Ecuador. In response, the U.S. wrote a letter indicating they were eager to cooperate with Ecuador. There was, of course, a lot of money at stake, but there was one hurdle in the way: Julian Assange. The message was that the U.S. was prepared to cooperate if Ecuador handed Assange over to the U.S. At that point, the Ecuadorian Embassy began ratcheting up the pressure on Assange. They made his life difficult. But he stayed. Then Ecuador voided his amnesty and gave Britain a green light to arrest him. Because the previous government had granted him Ecuadorian citizenship, Assange’s passport also had to be revoked, because the Ecuadorian constitution forbids the extradition of its own citizens. All that took place overnight and without any legal proceedings. Assange had no opportunity to make a statement or have recourse to legal remedy. He was arrested by the British and taken before a British judge that same day, who convicted him of violating his bail.

What do you make of this accelerated verdict? Assange only had 15 minutes to prepare with his lawyer. The trial itself also lasted just 15 minutes. Assange’s lawyer plopped a thick file down on the table and made a formal objection to one of the judges for conflict of interest because her husband had been the subject of Wikileaks exposures in 35 instances. But the lead judge brushed aside the concerns without examining them further. He said accusing his colleague of a conflict of interest was an affront. Assange himself only uttered one sentence during the entire proceedings: «I plead not guilty.» The judge turned to him and said: «You are a narcissist who cannot get beyond his own self-interest. I convict you for bail violation.»

If I understand you correctly: Julian Assange never had a chance from the very beginning? That’s the point. I’m not saying Julian Assange is an angel or a hero. But he doesn’t have to be. We are talking about human rights and not about the rights of heroes or angels. Assange is a person, and he has the right to defend himself and to be treated in a humane manner. Regardless of what he is accused of, Assange has the right to a fair trial. But he has been deliberately denied that right – in Sweden, the U.S., Britain and Ecuador. Instead, he was left to rot for nearly seven years in limbo in a room. Then, he was suddenly dragged out and convicted within hours and without any preparation for a bail violation that consisted of him having received diplomatic asylum from another UN member state on the basis of political persecution, just as international law intends and just as countless Chinese, Russian and other dissidents have done in Western embassies. It is obvious that what we are dealing with here is political persecution. In Britain, bail violations seldom lead to prison sentences – they are generally subject only to fines. Assange, by contrast, was sentenced in summary proceedings to 50 weeks in a maximum-security prison – clearly a disproportionate penalty that had only a single purpose: Holding Assange long enough for the U.S. to prepare their espionage case against him.

As the UN Special Rapporteur on Torture, what do you have to say about his current conditions of imprisonment? Britain has denied Julian Assange contact with his lawyers in the U.S., where he is the subject of secret proceedings. His British lawyer has also complained that she hasn’t even had sufficient access to her client to go over court documents and evidence with him. Into October, he was not allowed to have a single document from his case file with him in his cell. He was denied his fundamental right to prepare his own defense, as guaranteed by the European Convention on Human Rights. On top of that is the almost total solitary confinement and the totally disproportionate punishment for a bail violation. As soon as he would leave his cell, the corridors were emptied to prevent him from having contact with any other inmates.

And all that because of a simple bail violation? At what point does imprisonment become torture? Julian Assange has been intentionally psychologically tortured by Sweden, Britain, Ecuador and the U.S. First through the highly arbitrary handling of proceedings against him. The way Sweden pursued the case, with active assistance from Britain, was aimed at putting him under pressure and trapping him in the embassy. Sweden was never interested in finding the truth and helping these women, but in pushing Assange into a corner. It has been an abuse of judicial processes aimed at pushing a person into a position where he is unable to defend himself. On top of that come the surveillance measures, the insults, the indignities and the attacks by politicians from these countries, up to and including death threats. This constant abuse of state power has triggered serious stress and anxiety in Assange and has resulted in measurable cognitive and neurological harm. I visited Assange in his cell in London in May 2019 together with two experienced, widely respected doctors who are specialized in the forensic and psychological examination of torture victims. The diagnosis arrived at by the two doctors was clear: Julian Assange displays the typical symptoms of psychological torture. If he doesn’t receive protection soon, a rapid deterioration of his health is likely, and death could be one outcome.

Half a year after Assange was placed in pre-extradition detention in Britain, Sweden quietly abandoned the case against him in November 2019, after nine long years. Why then? The Swedish state spent almost a decade intentionally presenting Julian Assange to the public as a sex offender. Then, they suddenly abandoned the case against him on the strength of the same argument that the first Stockholm prosecutor used in 2010, when she initially suspended the investigation after just five days: While the woman’s statement was credible, there was no proof that a crime had been committed. It is an unbelievable scandal. But the timing was no accident. On Nov. 11, an official document that I had sent to the Swedish government two months before was made public. In the document, I made a request to the Swedish government to provide explanations for around 50 points pertaining to the human rights implications of the way they were handling the case. How is it possible that the press was immediately informed despite the prohibition against doing so? How is it possible that a suspicion was made public even though the questioning hadn’t yet taken place? How is it possible for you to say that a rape occurred even though the woman involved contests that version of events? On the day the document was made public, I received a paltry response from Sweden: The government has no further comment on this case.

What does that answer mean? It is an admission of guilt.

How so? As UN Special Rapporteur, I have been tasked by the international community of nations with looking into complaints lodged by victims of torture and, if necessary, with requesting explanations or investigations from governments. That is the daily work I do with all UN member states. From my experience, I can say that countries that act in good faith are almost always interested in supplying me with the answers I need to highlight the legality of their behavior. When a country like Sweden declines to answer questions submitted by the UN Special Rapporteur on Torture, it shows that the government is aware of the illegality of its behavior and wants to take no responsibility for its behavior. They pulled the plug and abandoned the case a week later because they knew I would not back down. When countries like Sweden allow themselves to be manipulated like that, then our democracies and our human rights face a fundamental threat.

You believe that Sweden was fully aware of what it was doing? Yes. From my perspective, Sweden very clearly acted in bad faith. Had they acted in good faith, there would have been no reason to refuse to answer my questions. The same holds true for the British: Following my visit to Assange in May 2019, they took six months to answer me – in a single-page letter, which was primarily limited to rejecting all accusations of torture and all inconsistencies in the legal proceedings. If you’re going to play games like that, then what’s the point of my mandate? I am the Special Rapporteur on Torture for the United Nations. I have a mandate to ask clear questions and to demand answers. What is the legal basis for denying someone their fundamental right to defend themselves? Why is a man who is neither dangerous nor violent held in solitary confinement for several months when UN standards legally prohibit solitary confinement for periods extending beyond 15 days? None of these UN member states launched an investigation, nor did they answer my questions or even demonstrate an interest in dialogue.

5. A prison sentence of 175 years for investigative journalism: The precedent the USA vs. Julian Assange case could set

What does it mean when UN member states refuse to provide information to their own Special Rapporteur on Torture? That it is a prearranged affair. A show trial is to be used to make an example of Julian Assange. The point is to intimidate other journalists. Intimidation, by the way, is one of the primary purposes for the use of torture around the world. The message to all of us is: This is what will happen to you if you emulate the Wikileaks model. It is a model that is so dangerous because it is so simple: People who obtain sensitive information from their governments or companies transfer that information to Wikileaks, but the whistleblower remains anonymous. The reaction shows how great the threat is perceived to be: Four democratic countries joined forces – the U.S., Ecuador, Sweden and the UK – to leverage their power to portray one man as a monster so that he could later be burned at the stake without any outcry. The case is a huge scandal and represents the failure of Western rule of law. If Julian Assange is convicted, it will be a death sentence for freedom of the press.

What would this possible precedent mean for the future of journalism? On a practical level, it means that you, as a journalist, must now defend yourself. Because if investigative journalism is classified as espionage and can be incriminated around the world, then censorship and tyranny will follow. A murderous system is being created before our very eyes. War crimes and torture are not being prosecuted. YouTube videos are circulating in which American soldiers brag about driving Iraqi women to suicide with systematic rape. Nobody is investigating it. At the same time, a person who exposes such things is being threatened with 175 years in prison. For an entire decade, he has been inundated with accusations that cannot be proven and are breaking him. And nobody is being held accountable. Nobody is taking responsibility. It marks an erosion of the social contract. We give countries power and delegate it to governments – but in return, they must be held accountable for how they exercise that power. If we don’t demand that they be held accountable, we will lose our rights sooner or later. Humans are not democratic by their nature. Power corrupts if it is not monitored. Corruption is the result if we do not insist that power be monitored.

You’re saying that the targeting of Assange threatens the very core of press freedoms. Let’s see where we will be in 20 years if Assange is convicted – what you will still be able to write then as a journalist. I am convinced that we are in serious danger of losing press freedoms. It’s already happening: Suddenly, the headquarters of ABC News in Australia was raided in connection with the «Afghan War Diary». The reason? Once again, the press uncovered misconduct by representatives of the state. In order for the division of powers to work, the state must be monitored by the press as the fourth estate. WikiLeaks is a the logical consequence of an ongoing process of expanded secrecy: If the truth can no longer be examined because everything is kept secret, if investigation reports on the U.S. government’s torture policy are kept secret and when even large sections of the published summary are redacted, leaks are at some point inevitably the result. WikiLeaks is the consequence of rampant secrecy and reflects the lack of transparency in our modern political system. There are, of course, areas where secrecy can be vital. But if we no longer know what our governments are doing and the criteria they are following, if crimes are no longer being investigated, then it represents a grave danger to societal integrity.

What are the consequences? As the UN Special Rapporteur on Torture and, before that, as a Red Cross delegate, I have seen lots of horrors and violence and have seen how quickly peaceful countries like Yugoslavia or Rwanda can transform into infernos. At the roots of such developments are always a lack of transparency and unbridled political or economic power combined with the naivete, indifference and malleability of the population. Suddenly, that which always happened to the other – unpunished torture, rape, expulsion and murder – can just as easily happen to us or our children. And nobody will care. I can promise you that.

#julian assange #torture #freedom of the press #journalism #class warfare #wikileaks #united nations #sweden #united kingdom #ecuador #us state department #afghan war diary #chelsea manning #war crimes #war criminals #yugoslavia #yugoslav wars #rwanda

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iamtrashforash · 6 years ago

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“Problematic” Fanworks, i.e. Re: Last Reblog

A particularly prolific and highly talented artist-writer duo in the Banana Fish fandom has been getting aggressive messages that toe and occasionally cross the line to harassment, on top of actual hate messages. The common grievances are that their fanworks often feature “controversial” pairings, e.g. Max/Ash and Foxx/Ash, and are sexually explicit in nature.

@silverquillsideas wrote a lengthy response to an anon ask regarding the matter, which I would highly recommend people to read. I am mostly interested in the responses to @silverquillsideas post, which I find to echo similar sentiments (or “arguments”) found on Twitter and Tumblr.

[Fiction affects reality. These fanworks contribute to the normalisation and/or romanticisation of rape, abuse, and pedophilia. Hence, they are not allowed to exist.]

To “normalise” these things, I argue that the works have to present them in a normalised manner. However, this is simply not the case. The fanworks are conscientiously put behind age and NSFW filters (in this case, Privateer) and well-tagged with trigger warnings. At one point, the artist even made a separate, viewable upon approval account for the more NSFW pieces, so that people who are interested only in the SFW or “sanctioned to be non-problematic” artworks need not be notified of the existence of the “non-sanctioned” artworks. The experience is highly opt-in, and is by no means normalising. The multiple filters and warnings highlight the paraphilic, outside-the-norm nature of the artworks.

Personally, I think this normalisation argument is patronising: it underestimates the ability of adults (especially -- let’s be honest here -- female adults) to distinguish between reality and fiction, and between safe, consensual sex and fantasy materials.

[Think about the children!]

This argument is often attached to the normalisation argument. It is heavily undermined by the presence of the age filters. Age filters are put up precisely because, in general, younger consumers lack the critical thinking to properly compartmentalise fiction/fantasy from reality. When you click through an age filter, you are, in effect, declaring that you have the critical thinking and maturity to properly digest whatever awaits beyond.

[Fandom is a safe space!]

And still it remains, as long as we keep up the standards of proper age filters, NSFW filters, and trigger warnings.

[Why would you have these unhealthy fantasies when healthier fantasies exist? What is wrong with you?]

Sometimes, people ship things because they think it looks good. It appeals to an aesthetic side of them. Sexual arousal by visual cues is, unsurprisingly, greatly rooted in the aesthetics. It does not need to go deeper than that. An anecdote: I am, technically speaking, a Shingeki no Kyojin Eren/Levi shipper. Since I neither read nor watch SnK, for a long, long time, I did not realise Eren’s age and the age gap between the two. Even after finding out, I could not stop aesthetically liking the ship. When I ship them, I am not consciously and actively shipping a teenager with a middle-aged man. I ship them because they appeal to me aesthetically: I like their visuals and the fandom’s depictions of their interactions in doujinshi. I fancy that, for a lot of people, this compartmentalisation of aesthetics and age of the characters involved happens often. Some people, however, seem incapable of internalising the idea that other people are capable of this mental separation -- a failure of the imagination.

(A tangent: I mean no harsh judgment on those who fail to separate character age from fantasies, but I think one does have to accept the personal limitations of one’s own tastes. Personally, I find it hard to separate biology from shipping; hence, A/B/O fanworks are simply Not My Thing. The common trope of feminising male omega characters tends to make my eye twitch. But I am not leaving comments of how disturbed I am on A/B/O fanworks for their dissemination of wildly inaccurate biological facts and/or their tendency to reinforce a masculinity-femininity binary in MLM relationships.)

Regarding depictions of rape, assault, abusive relationships, etc., ravishment fantasies are very common; this is a fact. Sexual arousal, fear, pain, and pleasure are incontrovertibly linked: they all belong to the response pathways of the “primitive brain”, having existed long before our ancestors began developing the cortex of higher thinking. The arbitrary categorisation of “healthy” and “unhealthy” fantasies means nothing to something as basal as sexual responses.

[Still, these fantasies are disturbing.]

Some of them do disturb me. However, again, the content creators have done their utmost to make sure the experience is opt-in by nature, with big warning signs attached. If you think the content will disturb you, please do not engage with it. Think of it as not buying pickle-flavoured ice cream when you know it won’t be to your taste and/or you are allergic to pickles. The presence of pickle-flavoured ice cream might weird you out, but you have no obligation to consume it. In the same way, it is unreasonable for you to demand the ice cream company to withdraw their product because the thought of pickle ice cream disturbs you, or to complain to the convenience store for allowing the pickle ice cream to be stocked on their shelves. They released the flavour because they believe there is an audience for it out there, and that the release would bring some people delight and/or money.

[I have the right to announce how disturbed I am by these fanworks.]

I agree. You do not, however, have the right to harass people over them, especially when -- I reiterate -- the creators have made the entire experience highly opt-in.

Also, I implore you to think of the practical consequences of your actions before you decide to send strongly worded messages to content creators:

No real person is harmed in the creation of fanworks.

On the other hand, your strong words may dampen the mood of a real live person who has decided to share their talents with the world.

In consequentialist terms, when you send messages like, “You disgust me,” to a content creator, the net result of your actions is....negative. In other words, I am asking you, “Aren’t there better things to do with your time?”

[To depict Ash, a sexual abuse survivor, in sexual situations is highly damaging/insensitive/triggerring to CSA survivors.]

I have a very personal, by-no-means objective reaction to this particular extremist view. Please just skip this entire section if rationality is what you seek. I will even give you a TL;DR; it reads, “Fuck off.”

I had an entire essay planned on this for my own benefit -- think of it as bloodletting -- but I might as well say it now. Banana Fish and Ash made me realise that I was the victim of a systematic pedophile, almost twenty years after the fact. Ash and I had our fateful encounters at roughly the same age, in startlingly similar scenarios.

The realisation came more as a shock than I could ever have expected. I struggle (note the present tense) with the endowment of the mantle of a victim. I don’t know why Ash became the final piece to the jigsaw puzzle -- I mean, I had read Lolita cover to cover multiple times -- but I hypothesise that it is because his trauma does not consume most of his identity. So many stories of abuse survivors are heavily focussed on how their experiences, well, fucked them up, but I -- I was so young that I got out without any visible mental and physical scars; all that is left are grimy fingerprints on a pane of glass, visible only when you breathe on it. Specific parts of my body are weirdly off-limits in sexual situations, but I managed to ascribe those to “just how my body is” instead of “the parts he touched”. Stories about trauma are certainly needed, but what my memory needed was representation in the manner of Ash’s.

Reading about Ash exploring his sexuality, especially in a healing manner that I will never experience due to my odd lack of apparent trauma, helped me a lot with coming to terms with the realisation. I was devastated when an author abandoned an R18 fic of Ash reclaiming his sexuality with the help of Eiji, due to people messaging her with the argument above and claiming to speak for all CSA survivors. Thankfully, the author returned to finish the fic, but the experience overall had been marred, and the author was clearly uncomfortable with having posted the fic at all. It feels terrible to know that something that has helped me tremendously is regarded as disturbing by its own creator.

In other words, if you have used the above argument to harass content creators, please stop.

CLOSING REMARKS

I have none. It is currently 02.30 a.m. in Japan. Please feel free to comment with your own opinions and experiences; I will try to reply after I get some sleep. I may edit this piece tomorrow, should my morning self violently disagree with my 02.30 a.m. self.

#Banana Fish #discourse #fandom #I am trash for ash #long post

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mathurah · 5 years ago

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ADOPTION

There is an age you reach when you begin to see an explanation for everything about yourself. It’s at first enlightening and then terrifying, because you see many patterns and dotted lines to much of your personality that you did not originate. What I have always called “that’s just me” is actually the long adaptation to a perfect storm of child abuse, gender issues and family constructed low self-esteem. As we get older the pieces of the puzzle come together, as we learn what causes and builds on what. No one warns you that these explanations don’t come with a new manual. When the level of your traumas are a little higher, understanding their origins can actually trigger a deep loneliness. After pushing through the daily grey you’ve encountered on the side road it takes you down, after surviving it all, to look at how and why you got here feels as though you are starting to live so many, many years too late. And it doesn’t feel fair, and even success is not satisfying. Your brain and your heart are overwhelmed with new truths, finding ways to heal and desperate to join together to accept it all. I never knew there was a process to anything. I don’t know why my parents didn’t explain one thing about life to me, how to manage myself or money or to deal with one possible pitfall. I can’t imagine why they didn’t feel responsible for making sure that, one day, I would leave their home knowing I was worth something. I am learning to accept things about myself, but I’m struggling with the ones that need the most work. My life has been spent acting out on things I didn’t cause. The majority of adults of child abuse who kill themselves do it in their 50’s. The consensus is it’s “a mystery,” but I get it. I’m thankful for the part of my spirit that keeps me from being one of those people, but I do see that the toughest moment of your life is when you have a lot of the answers and have to answer the last big one: what are you going to do with the information? The damage is done, but you do have enough future left to enjoy other things. Then acceptance gives you one more mountain to climb: how are you going to find a new way that contradicts how you have lived out the pain of your unknowing years, recognizes your worth, and has trust in the future. At the age that most people are retiring and playing golf, I have a new responsibility I didn’t expect: me. It’s like adopting a 55-year old child. I have to try to understand the different sides of him, encourage the better parts of him, and most of all, forgive him when he doesn’t get it right. Raising a damaged child is not easy, but I am now in charge of him whether I like it or not. So I will help him. He has nowhere else to go.

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letitrainathousandflames-archive · 5 years ago

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It’s probably just me having been on tumblr too long, but whenever I read interactions between maul and obi, I imagine a session of very angry hate sex following, not gentle, not positive, they just know that If they fight again, they’d be so evenly matched that they’d both end up dead, so this is how they get the aggression out

Me? Receiving a headcanon and making a 4k long fanfic over it? It’s more likely than you think.

tw for canon-typical violence, hate sex, dubcon elements (although the whole thing is consensual), humiliation, mecha-dicks, self-loathing, force-choking etc etc don’t like don’t read, for the love of god this is why trigger warnings exist in the first place

If you like my writing, please buy a coffee to your local starving artist!

Kenobi wouldn’t tell anyone of the message, deciding to go on his own to meet Maul instead. He wouldn’t risk putting anyone else in harm’s way; Maul was too dangerous and too skilled, and he was Kenobi’s problem to be dealt with – he had failed to kill him inTatooine, he had failed to foresee his return in Mandalore and to stop him from killing innocents, from slaying Duchess Satine in front of him. This was his battle, and no one else’s.

Kenobi lands at Saleucami, a once Separatist-alligned planet of the outer rim later liberated by the Republic. It was a good place for anyone looking for peace and quiet, and it was easy enough to blend in while he followed the coordinates given by Maul.

There was nothing up there, a local had said when he asked for directions, no one wants to build or plant anything there because of the rocky soil. It’s a beautiful place for a walk if that’s what you’re looking for, sir, but there’s nothing around those parts.

That sounded about right. Kenobi keeps walking, and when he finally arrives on the place, pocketing his datapad, he sees the rocky formations ahead. A strange place in a usually plain land. He takes a few more steps, walking past rock arcs and large boulders. There seems to be a cave ahead, descending lower and lower until it’s under the ground level. Kenobi feels a shiver down his spine, something… strange within the force. He reaches for his lightsaber, powering it up and rising his guard as he walks into the cave.

“We’ve had enough of chasing one another, don’t you think so?” he says out loud, feeling the disturbance in the force humming at the back of his head as he looks around at the stone walls, hears the soft dripping of water somewhere in the back of the cave

Kenobi walks past stalactites and stalagmites that make the inside of the cave resemble a beast’s mouth with sharp stone fangs, ready to devour him. He thinks of all the innocents slayed by Maul. Thinks of Satine. Of his master Qui-Gon. He allows the grieving and anger to run past him like water running down a path, never staying in place. He draws a deep breath and stops at a chamber in the cave where there’s a small cube of light making the stalactites project long, menacing shadows on the uneven walls.

“I don’t want to fight you, Maul.”

“Then you will die complacent.”

The hissed voice comes with a sudden push of the force that presses Kenobi against the wall, making him grunt out at the taller bit where his left ribcage hits, and Kenobi has less than a split second to raise his saber to block Maul’s attack.

Their fight is not elegant, nor by any means does it follow any rule other than focusing all of their beings into surviving. Kenobi can feel Maul’s hatred through the force. It sizzles in the back of his mind, and the jedi lets it pass through, unperturbed. His balance remains, untainted, and it only increases Maul’s bloodlust.

They attack and block each other and attack again, Maul still fast as ever despite the weight of his prosthetic legs, showing his undying skill with the aggressive juyo style, his moves too hard to predict making Kenobi constantly wary, his strikes always sharp and focused even for the experienced former sith lord.

Time flows like the dripping watter that marks a constant beat that echoes in the cave along with their grunts and snarls and the sizzling noise of their blades crossing on occasion. They’re both growing weary, fixing their grip with sweaty palms, breath shallow and teeth grinding.

They have got to a point where one matches the other perfectly and their only way out of this duel is to kill one another or for them both to collapse with exhaustion. Neither have ever been taught to give up.

Kenobi sports a black eye and a bad lightsaber burn to his leg that could’ve split it off of the Jedi’s body had he been just a bit slower, and Maul’s nose bleeds profusely while he fixes its bridge in place with a nasty snapping noise. They’re both filthy with blood and sweat beads trickle down their foreheads; after another sequence of sharp blows, Kenobi manages to push Maul to the ground with the force, lightsaber inches from his throat.

He hesitates. Maul can’t understand why, but with a sharp push of the force and his own arm he manages to flip them up, sitting on top of Kenobi’s injured thigh and pressing his arm against the Jedi’s throat. Kenobi keens at the pain on his injured leg, and Maul bares his teet in a victorious grin.

He wanted to kill the Jedi. He did. More than anything in the world. But his eyes… the way his blue eyes reflected sheer anger and even hatred… Maul doesn’t understand what wicked impulse gets hold of him, but he leans down, still pinning Kenobi in place, and kisses him. Kenobi cringes and bites his lower lip hard, but the pain and anger along with the taste of blood only makes Maul hotter, eager to take Kenobi, mark him, hurt him. It’s like they’re still fighting, in a way, and when he bites down on Kenobi’s lower lip just as hard, he relishes in the muffled scream the Jedi lets out.

Kenobi’s struggle would’ve been more convincing if Maul couldn’t feel his arousal in the force. He had been caught up in the moment just as Maul, but the whole thing made as much sense to him as it did to Maul – to be taken by his enemy, a sith no less, this was the punishment he had been seeking for his own personal failures; and to Maul, to spare his prey, to not only let him live but mate with him, after all the pain the Jedi had caused him… this would be humiliating enough. It would have to suffice.

Because he couldn’t really kill Kenobi, but he would never dare to admit it. So he would blame it in his mating instincts, in his lust, in Kenobi’s magnificent blue eyes if he had to.

Kenobi stares at the zabrak with wide eyes, lips still smeared with blood, light purple coloring the skin over his eye socket where he had been struck with the hilt of Maul’s lightsaber earlier.

“What are you…?”

Maul smashes his lips against Kenobi’s, kissing him deeply, tongue pushing into his mouth and pressing against Kenobi’s own. Kenobi lies completely still for a moment before letting his eyes fall shut and returning the kiss.

Maul pulled back and Kenobi just stared at him, still wide-eyed and breathless, staring at the abyss of the zabrak’s yellow, red-rimmed eyes.

“Get up and run.” Maul snarls between gritted teeth “Run, and I’ll let you live.”

Kenobi just stares him back in defiance, not moving an inch. Maul just sneers, shifting some and pressing his knee against Kenobi’s recent wound, prying a scream out of the jedi. Maul leans closer, hissing at Kenobi’s ear.

“You won’t enjoy this. I’ll make sure you don’t.”

Kenobi breathes out sharply to then speak, voice strained:

“Is that a promise?”

That is all it takes. Maul snarls again, rising and grabbing Kenobi by the front of his robes to unceremoniously force him on his side and then on his stomach, straddling him from behind and pressing his cock against Kenobi’s ass over both of their clothes. He hears Kenobi gasp and smirks.

“I’ve had time since we last met.”

It had taken some time indeed, but he managed to engineer the perfect prosthetics made to replace everything he had lost during their first encounter in Tatooine. The new appendage, although not perfectly functional in every way – he would never be able to procreate, for instance – would work in sync with his neural impulses and the force within him, making him able to feel through it as if it were the real thing. He was able to please himself, that much he knew, but he was yet to try fucking someone with it, and he was glad that the defeated jedi would be the first he would take with his new cock. It made perfect sense.

Maul tears Kenobi’s robes down his shoulders, entertained by the show Kenobi makes out of squirming and protesting despite the way he raises his ass to meet Maul’s hips. He can feel Kenobi’s arousal in the force, can feel his aching need.

Maul undresses Kenobi hastily, pausing to enjoy the view for a few seconds. Kenobi wasn’t a bad looking human by any standards, and the training had changed him from the small young man Maul had met on Tatooine into a fine looking Jedi. Maul shifts lower, licking a long stripe over Kenobi’s spine, watching the way he shivers with a hissed breath, tensed-up muscles dancing under his skin. Maul takes his own hand to his lips, spitting on it and spreading the slickness over his fingers. He forces Kenobi’s legs apart with a sharp push of his knee, bringing his other hand over his ass to spread it open, pushing his spit-slick finger inside Kenobi’s hole.

Kenobi gasps, instinctively tensing up at the sudden intrusion, hands clenching into fists.

“What- ah!” he gasps again “What are you… no…”

“Tell me to stop.” Maul demands with a sneer, pushing his middle finger halfway inside and letting his eyes fall shut for a moment; moons, he was tight as a sweet virgin “Tell me to stop, I’ll let you go with whatever’s left of your dignity.”

Kenobi lies completely still for a moment, hesitates, tries to support himself on his elbows. He considers the offer – believing, for some absurd reason, that Maul would keep his word – but he allows himself to slump down instead. He doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand it, but he wants this. Needs this. Maul lets out a rich laugh that chills Kenobi to the bone.

“Good.” Maul pushes his finger all the way up to his knuckles, and Kenobi clamps his fist over his own lips to stifle a moan “Relax, or else it’ll hurt more than you can endure.”

There’s a veiled threat in the sentence that would be taken as concern in any other context. Kenobi draws a breath once, twice, before grumbling:

“You’d be surprised with what I can endure.”

Maul sneers, pulling his finger almost all the way out to then force another finger inside with it, baring his teeth at the way Kenobi gasps and lets out a loud, pained moan; Kenobi hisses out a curse, muffling his words against his fist again. Maul doesn’t spare him a moment, pulling his fingers halfway out and shoving them back in down to his knuckles. Kenobi tenses up, muscles pulled taut and Maul doesn’t take mercy, fingering him with sharp, unrelenting thrusts to then scissor his fingers apart. He knows he won’t be able to get his cock inside the jedi if he doesn’t relax at least to some extent, and it makes him more impatient, more eager to claim him.

“Open up.” he orders with a low growl

Kenobi doesn’t look back at him, voice defiant albeit strained.

“Fuck you.”

“I said open. Up.”

And when Maul pushes Kenobi’s walls apart with the force, Kenobi lets out a keening sound, the muscles of his back tensing up before he slumps down, pressing his forehead to the ground. The jedi gives, accepting the pressure and easing up some of his tension although he still clenches his backside instinctively at the intrusion of a third finger. Kenobi feels something wet land over his ass, trickling down the cleft of it and easing the penetration, and he can only imagine Maul is most likely letting more his spit down his tongue and over his ass. He squeezes his eyes shut at the thought, still trying to understand why he’s allowing this, why does he want this.

When Maul finally retrieves his fingers from his ass, his hole twitches involuntarily, and Kenobi feels Maul get off of him, standing up. He wonders if it’s over, if they can both go their separate ways and pretend none of this ever happened. He hears the shuffling of fabric, wonders if Maul is redressing himself, and if he can just get to his feet and reach for his robes also, but soon enough Maul is over him again, and Kenobi can feel his warmth, his now naked thighs touching the back of his own and making him shiver.

He shouldn’t feel relieved to know it isn’t over. Why does he? Maul sniffs along the side of his neck, exhales, hot breath against Kenobi’s skin. He runs his wet lips along Kenobi’s shoulder, pleased purr vibrating in his throat, and he grabs at Maul’s hips in a bruising grip, forcing them up, his knee pushing Kenobi’s own apart. Maul presses his cock against the cleft of Kenobi’s ass, enjoying his warmth and offering an appreciating hum to the way Kenobi allows himself to be handled and positioned as the zabrak wishes to. Maul pulls back some, spreading Kenobi’s cheeks open and sticking his tongue out over them, letting his spit down his tongue and into the jedi’s entrance. Kenobi shivers, spewing curses again, Maul ignores him, forcing him open with the force so that he can get Kenobi as close to properly lubed as their limited means will allow. Despite his efforts, he knew it would still hurt nonetheless.

Good.

When he straightens himself up he can hear Kenobi draw a deep breath. He reaches down for his own cock, lining it up with Kenobi’s hole, pushing it inside. Kenobi gasps loudly, tensed up thighs shaking. When Maul grunts, pushing himself deeper inside, the jedi lets out a loud, pained scream, nails dragging on the ground and knees trying to give way. Maul gives a final thrust, pressing himself flush to Kenobi’s ass and that’s when the jedi pulls away from Maul’s touch, dropping down on his stomach and hands scrambling madly…

Maul quickly recovers, pinning the jedi under his weight as he straddles him from behind, spreading him open once again and mercilessly shoving himself back inside in a single thrust. There was something primal in the way Kenobi howled in pain, instinctively trying to elbow Maul but the zabrak takes the opportunity to grab the fold of Kenobi’s arm, his free hand pressing Kenobi’s head down over his face.

Maul could see the left side of Kenobi’s face, hateful blue eye between Maul’s splayed fingers, and he grinned with a snarl at it, pulling halfway back to then slam back in, watching Kenobi squirm under his grasp, a pained moan out of the jedi’s lips. Kenobi feels deliciously tight, and the way he tries to fight back is almost convincing.

His right hand shifts from Kenobi’s arm to his hip and then reaching for his pelvis and lower, raspy laugh of surprise at the feeling of the Jedi’s hard cock under his fingers.

Maul strokes him once, squeezing him tight as he tugs upwards, and Kenobi lets out a strained breath. Maul strokes Kenobi again, slower but just as tightly. Kenobi shudders, raspy noise out of his throat. He lets out a broken moan when Maul strokes him again, in sync with his thrust this time, and again. This isn’t the first time the Jedi’s been fucked, Maul muses, noticing the way the Jedi lines himself up to accommodate the curve of Maul’s cock. All the better. He can be rougher.

Maul keeps up his pace, sharp, deep thrusts matching his own strokes on Kenobi’s cock. He can feel Kenobi’s arousal, his need to hurt and his shame of it. The zabrak licks his lips, thumb moving over the head of Kenobi’s cock, spreading the slickness there.

They don’t exchange words. No witty sarcasm, no angry threats, just their grunts and groans and the noise of their bodies smacking together. Maul rakes his nails down Kenobi’s back, angry red lines left on his wake over and over until they start bleeding, the sharp pain making Kenobi hiss, the blunt cock thrusting in and out of the jedi making him shiver, heartbeat pulsing all over his body, ringing in his ears. Maul groans at the way Kenobi’s insides twitch around him, squeezing him.

“You’re close.” it’s a dry statement in Maul’s strained voice “Come.”

“Fuck you.” Kenobi swears for the second time between clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut

Maul picks up his pace with a sigh that is almost annoyed, aiming particularly for the rugged nub of skin deep inside Kenobi, pressing the head of his cock over and over against it. Kenobi lets out a broken sound, something between a moan and a sob.

Maul snarls, fingers digging into the flesh of Kenobi’s hip, watching as the jedi slowly unravels, hips meeting Maul’s thrusts and his touch until he cries out loudly, come spilling over his stomach and Maul’s fingers; the zabrak strokes him through his orgasm, basking in this small victory, pleasure to unbearable to be stifled any longer and he lets his eyes fall shut, shuddering when the intense orgasm washes over him as well. Maul leans forward, pressing his horns to Kenobi’s back, hot breath against the jedi’s skin. They stay like this for a few moments, trying to settle their breathing, Kenobi’s legs spasming, his entire body shaking under Maul’s.

Maul presses a kiss to Kenobi’s spine, frontal horn pressing painfully over the jedi’s shoulder blade. Kenobi stands still, breath more or less settled, mind too hazy and focused on blocking away whatever the hell he had just done.

“Need to… get dressed…”

What else is he supposed to say, anyway? He wouldn’t thank maul and certainly wouldn’t expect the zabrak to thank him; this had been consensual, wicked and strange as it was, he had to admit that Maul had given him plenty of chances to deny him or leave. The fact that Kenobi had allowed it to happen made the last throes of pleasure make him scowl, disgust blossoming in his chest. Even if he got up, got dressed and walked back to his ship, there was no erasing this.

Maul hummed, hands moving down to Kenobi’s ass, spreading him open; he pulled almost all the way back out of him up to the rim of his head before plunging back inside. Kenobi gasped, insides clenching in discomfort. Had the zabrak not have enough?

Maul shifts some, pushing his knee under Kenobi’s thigh and maneuvering Kenobi’s legs until the Jedi is lying on his side; he pulls out of him briefly to push Kenobi on his back, ignoring the jedi half-words of protest as he reaches over Kenobi’s stomach, slicking his fingers with Kenobi’s come and spreading it over his cock before entering him again.

Kenobi grunts, the slickness very welcome after what had been a nearly dry fuck – he believes the only reason he isn’t bleeding badly now is that Maul must’ve eased him open with the force while he penetrated him. It’s a heady thing, being fucked by the second time in a row with barely any reprieve at all, stomack still more or less sticky with his own semen, the zabrak towering over him and pushing all the way inside him until their bodies meet.

Maul supports his hands on either side of Kenobi’s waist, and Kenobi wraps his fingers around Maul’s wrists to steady himself, groaning loudly when Maul thrusts sharply into him, cock slick with his come buried to the hilt inside him. Maul fucks him hard and fast, not sparing Kenobi even when he screams out, face scrunched in pain, helpless blue eyes swimming and gazing into merciless yellow ones.

He fucks him like he means to hurt, and Kenobi wraps his legs around Maul’s waist, heels digging into Maul’s lower back. Maul snarls and reaches down for Kenobi’s flaccid cock, pumping him a couple of times and smirking at the way Kenobi responds to his touch, cock filling in his grasp fully hard with no more than a few more strokes.

“Look at you” he sneers to then grunt with another vigorous thrust, teasing the wet slit over the head of Kenobi’s cock “Your master would be so proud.”

And that’s when Kenobi clenches painfully tight around him, eyes filled with nothing but rage and spite, and Maul fucks harder into him, sharp staccato thrusts that push the air out of Kenobi’s lungs in pained sobs that turn into gasping when Maul constricts his windpipe with the force. Kenobi’s eyes are lost, pupils blown wide, cock throbbing in Maul’s skilled hand and his hole clenching so tight it almost hurts Maul.

Maul licks his lips, grining, the unmatched feeling of conquering his prey and taking it, hateful eyes yellow like a burning flame watching Kenobi’s eyes rolling back, the jedi’s face reddened, mouth dropped open. When he ceases the pressure on Kenobi’s neck, it takes a split second before he takes in a large gulp of air, cock throbbing even harder in Maul’s hand as the zabrak strokes it still, come shooting out of his slit and drawing an arc in the air before landing on his chest and stomach, spurting over and over with less force afterward as his ass tightens repeatedly around Maul.

Maul climaxes almost simultaneously, letting out a feral growl as every muscle in his body tenses up, the beating of his twin hearts matching every shiver running down his spine, pleasure drowning his synapses, numbing his entire being. He slumps forward, chest pressed to Kenobi’s as he rides the last waves of his pleasure, slickness of Kenobi’s release staining his stomach, Kenobi’s facial hair brushing against his cheek.

Kenobi turns his face to look at Maul, their lips brush together; Kenobi presses a kiss to Maul’s lips tentatively, almost tenderly. Maul kisses him back, eyes fluttering shut, rush of hormones taking the best of him. They stay like this for a few instants, both trying to understand what had just happened. Maul is the first to move, rolling off of Kenobi and sitting up, stretching his neck.

He doesn’t look at Kenobi, getting up to his feet and walking up to where his clothes are, shoving his feet one after the other into his pants and pulling them up. Good thing his orgasms are dry now – not that much of a mess to clean up afterwards. He wipes what’s left of Kenobi’s come off his cock, doesn’t miss the small bloodstains here and there. He hadn’t been gentle after all. Still, it’s not enough blood for Kenobi to be concerned. It would hurt for him to walk for a while, but Maul isn’t concerned about this. He grabs his robes, putting them on and tying his belt over them. The moment he puls his lightsaber into his hand with the force, is the only one where he notices Kenobi move in the corner of his eye.

He looks at the jedi, watches him grunt and wince as he tries to sit down. Maul looks at the weapon in his hand, powering it up. He can easily kill Kenobi the way he is now – vulnerable and injured in more than one way – his revenge is so close he can almost taste it.

Kenobi pulls his own lightsaber to himself, wincing and grimacing as he more or less kneels up, eyes trained on Maul. The zabrak and the jedi stare at one another for a moment, and Maul sighs, powering down his lightsaber.

He walks towards Kenobi, and the jedi keeps his guard up high, waiting, lightsaber humming. Maul walks past the jedi and makes his way for the cave entrance where the last rays of sunlight still shine, bathing the rocks in a pale orange light; he feels his eyes on his back with every step he takes.

Kenobi watches Maul walking away, and he keeps his guard up until he sees his shadow disappear in the horizon. When he finally feels safe, he powers down the weapon, letting it drop from his shaking fingers. He takes a long instant considering sinking down to the floor again, and the decision of getting up instead convinces him with the argument that he should at least have medical care soon. Not the healers, however, maybe Still, one of the 212th medics could see him. He was a good man, one of the best in Cody’s battalion, and he would certainly keep quiet if his general requested it.

He gets to his feet with a hiss, the dull throbbing in his ass turned into a sharp stabbing pain. He can’t bear to lean down to get his robes, so he pulls them into his hand with the force, getting dressed as slowly as he can manage to, cursing Maul’s pointed nails for the wreck they left on his back. When he’s finally dressed, he clips his lightsaber to his belt and tries not to look at the stain on the floor where Maul had made him come. He touches his neck, thinking of the unrelenting pressure and shakes his head. Whatever this had been, it wouldn’t happen again. The next time he met Maul, he would defeat him.

Maul keeps walking without looking back until he’s back on his ship and flying past the stratosphere and above, the scent of Kenobi still on his skin and his clothes. He sets the course of his ship and watches the stars stretching into lines as he goes into hyperspace, wondering when will they meet again so that they can settle their scores once and for all.

#lemon

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