#if you want to try pushing beyond the limit then you risk doing what he did yesterday in quali and today during the race

[il-predestinato]

.

[demensrage]

e for eager exploration ⚊ • . with harwin strong

summary: one night you decided to escape from the castle. you wanted to take a risk, living locked up in a glass bubble was tiring you. your faithful squire decides to show you the pleasures of life.

cw: dom!harwin, sub!reader, corruption kink, virgin!reader, fingering, nipple play, hickyes, oral (m. receiving).

wordcount: 9.4k

note: english is not my firts lenguage so please forgive me for the grammatical errors I may commit

© demensrage 2024. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

Your eyes followed the movements of that knight who so invaded your thoughts. You were supposed to be studying; the Septa was waiting for you, and you truly intended to go with her, but when you saw Ser Harwin leaving his father's chambers, you couldn't help but follow him.

Your steps were silent as you advanced through the halls, trying not to attract attention while you followed Ser Harwin. His imposing figure was impossible to ignore; every movement he made seemed designed to capture your attention. The simple clothes he wore, the shine of his hair in the light filtering through the windows… everything about him seemed to draw your gaze.

You hid behind a pillar when he stopped near the training yard, watching how he interacted with the other knights. The Septa would be furious if she knew you had abandoned your lessons to follow him, but at that moment, all that mattered was the warmth swirling in your stomach every time Harwin smiled or let out a deep laugh.

Without thinking twice, you moved even closer, your heart pounding against your chest. What would you think if he caught you? If he looked at you with those eyes that seemed to see through any mask you wore?

Your fixation on him had grown beyond any limit you could have imagined. It was like an invisible force pushing you to seek him, to desire to be near him, even if he barely noticed you. Each time you saw him, something inside you ignited, and that spark became a fire when your thoughts, night and day, filled with him.

You watched him during training, on walks, at formal gatherings… always from a distance, always longing. You made an effort to cross paths with him, to provoke some glance, even if it was fleeting, wishing to feel his attention on you, if only for a moment.

It was an almost painful yearning, a need you didn’t quite understand. How could someone have so much power over you without even knowing it? Harwin was a knight, a man of honor, a man who might never look at you the way you desired, but that didn’t stop you from getting lost in fantasies where his strong hands held you, where his lips brushed against yours with the intensity you imagined in every hidden glance.

It was more than desire; it was an obsession consuming your mind, guiding each of your steps toward him, no matter how much it cost you to remain on the sidelines or how much pain his apparent indifference caused you.

Harwin was not a naive man; far from it, he had always been aware of every one of your movements. He could feel your eyes on him from across the hall, how you followed him through the corridors, seeking the slightest excuse to get closer, to exchange a few words that meant much more to you than he let on. He knew you hid in the shadows during his training, watching, waiting. And although he pretended not to notice your efforts, he was always aware of your presence.

You were hidden behind a thick stone pillar in one of the less-traveled corners of the training yard, where Harwin trained alone. You bit your lip, trying not to make a sound while your eyes followed him with devotion. Your cheeks burned when you saw him remove his shirt, exposing his muscular torso, bronzed by the sun. Sweat glistened on his skin, and every time he raised his sword, the muscles in his back and arms tensed, as if every movement of his was a work of art in progress.

Your breath quickened, but you tried to maintain control, knowing that if he discovered you, you wouldn't be able to justify your presence there. Yet, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. There was something in the way Harwin moved, so confident, so strong, that left you entranced.

Your hands clung to the edge of the pillar, and you felt a tremor run through your body every time his muscles contracted. It was a vision, something almost hypnotic. The sword swung in his hands with enviable ease, and his concentration in combat made you feel invisible, as if you could watch him all day without him ever realizing your presence.

But you knew he wasn’t as oblivious to your attention as you might have thought. Even in that moment, while his eyes were fixed on the training dummy, it seemed like he knew you were there, hidden, spying on him. And that idea, that Harwin could feel your gaze upon him, made you yearn even more to be close to him, to feel the warmth of his skin and the strength that emanated from his body.

As you watched Harwin, your mind began to wander to forbidden places, to fantasies you would only dare to have in the solitude of your chamber, under the shadows of the night. If the Septa knew what was going through your head, she would be horrified. "Those are not desires worthy of a princess," she would tell you, but in that moment, you didn’t care. Your thoughts were far removed from everything you had been taught, and the mere sight of Harwin’s body intensified your desires with an urgency you couldn’t ignore.

Your dreams had become increasingly vivid. You would wake up exhilarated, your breath quickening, your body enveloped in a mix of heat and sweat. Your hands trembled, and the throbbing between your thighs reminded you just how real those longings were. You needed those dreams to become reality, for the sensations that overwhelmed you when you closed your eyes thinking of him to take form.

The desire to feel Harwin's skin beneath your fingers, to be taken by the strength that his movements conveyed, had become more than a mere fantasy. The dampness you felt between your thighs when you thought about how he would touch you, how he would claim you, tormented you, to the point where every furtive encounter with him, every glance he threw your way, seemed to stoke the fire burning inside you.

You knew these thoughts were dangerous, that if anyone found out, you would be judged, but Harwin made you feel alive in a way you had never experienced before.

The heat coursing through your body was undeniable. Your cheeks burned, and the desire swelled in every corner of your being, as if you could no longer contain it. You leaned against the cold stone wall, seeking something to help you balance the fire that raged within you, but it only seemed to fuel it further. You gripped your skirt tightly in your hands, trying to find relief, even if just momentarily, while your chest rose and fell rapidly, in rhythm with the intensity of your thoughts.

Your eyes closed for a moment, surrendering to the sensation. You felt your own heart pounding beneath your palm, as if it were responding to something more than just your emotions. In that instant, a desire washed over you that the hand you felt on your chest was his—Harwin’s. You imagined his fingers, strong and rough, tracing the contours of your skin, pressing exactly where your heart now thudded with an intensity you didn’t know how to handle.

You peeked out, just for an instant, hoping the moment would be as perfect as you had imagined. But as you did, your eyes met Harwin’s. In an instant, the world seemed to stop. His gaze, intense and penetrating, landed on you as if he could see through your darkest thoughts.

Your heart skipped a beat, and in an instinctive act, you hurried to hide again behind the pillar, feeling embarrassment wash over you. You knew you couldn’t allow him to catch you in that state, with your desires exposed like an open book. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, and as you pressed against the cold stone, you could hear the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears.

However, instead of stepping away, you heard his footsteps drawing closer. Concern and desire mingled in your chest as you tried to calm your breathing, knowing he was now aware of your presence.

“Are you there, my princess?” his voice resonated softly, a blend of curiosity and amusement. There was no anger in his tone, only a confidence that made you feel exposed, as if he could truly read what you were thinking.

You remained silent, motionless, unsure of how to respond. Guilt and desire intertwined in your mind, and the image of Harwin, strong and confident, filled your thoughts once more. You knew you couldn’t hide forever. You had crossed the line from being a mere observer to becoming the object of his attention.

“Sir Harwin,” you managed to say, trying to make your voice sound firm, though the mix of nervousness and excitement made your tone tremble slightly. Each syllable seemed to echo your own heartbeat, resonating in the air between you.

He smiled, an expression that lit up his face irresistibly. There was something playful in his gaze, as if he enjoyed having discovered your little secret. His presence was magnetic, and every inch of his figure radiated an aura of power that left you breathless.

“I didn’t expect to find a lady like you spying on my training,” he said, taking another step closer, causing your pulse to quicken. The way he pronounced “lady” sounded almost like a double entendre, a reminder of your position in the court, but his eyes conveyed something else. There was curiosity, a silent invitation to drop the masks you both wore.

You fell silent for a moment, searching for the right words. How could you justify your presence there? How could you explain that burning desire you had tried to conceal? But before you could formulate a response, he continued, his voice lower, more intimate.

“Tell me, what is it that you really desire, princess?” he asked, with a tone that promised much more than he could offer.

A shiver ran down your spine. The way he looked at you, that blend of seriousness and mischief, made you feel as if you were at the center of a game you didn’t know how to play. You could feel the heat of his presence enveloping you, and the closeness made you forget everything that had led you to hide in the first place.

“I...” you began, but the words refused to come out. It was as if the air between you had charged with a palpable electricity, and the world around you faded away.

Finally, you decided to be honest. You knew it was a pivotal moment, an opportunity you couldn’t let slip away.

“I just wanted to see you, sir,” you managed to articulate, feeling the blush creep up your cheeks. There was a fragility in your words, an honesty that resonated with the truth of your deepest desires. It was a simple statement, yet with an emotional weight that made you feel vulnerable, exposed before him.

Harwin’s smile widened, and you noticed a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes, as if your words were a personal victory. He stepped even closer, enough for you to catch his scent—a mix of sweat, earth, and a masculine fragrance that intoxicated you.

“Is that all?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, as if evaluating every nuance of your expression. His tone was playful, but there was something deeper in his gaze, a spark that ignited the emotions within you.

You felt the outside world fade away, leaving you both alone in your bubble of tension and desire. Though you wanted to be bold, a part of you feared making a misstep, so you decided to play with the sincerity of your confession.

“Yes...” you whispered, feeling the weight of vulnerability. “Seeing you makes me feel... alive.”

“Is that all?” he asked again, tilting his head slightly, his voice deeper and filled with a tone that vibrated between mockery and seriousness.

You felt the outside world dissolve, leaving you both alone in your bubble of tension and desire.

“Seeing you makes me feel... alive,” you whispered, the weight of vulnerability peeking through your words, as the air grew dense with palpable emotion.

In that moment, his eyes sparkled with something that went beyond mere curiosity.

“Alive?” he repeated, as if savoring the word, his gaze fixed on you, making your heart race. “Perhaps I should make you feel even more alive.”

You shivered, a thrill of anticipation coursing through your body. The way he looked at you, as if he could see inside you, made you feel as though every secret you had kept inside was on the verge of being revealed.

“How...?” you managed to ask, your voice barely a whisper, unsure if you wanted to know the answer or not.

Without answering, he stepped closer, bringing his face near yours. You could feel his warm breath brushing against your skin, and for a brief moment, the world around you faded away. His gaze softened, and the moment felt eternal.

“Sometimes, a simple gesture can change everything,” he murmured, and before you could fully process his words, he gently took your hand, bringing it to his lips.

With a smooth and tender movement, he pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles, a gesture so intimate that it made you gasp. The contact of his lips was electrifying, a promising bond that hinted at more.

“Take care of yourself, my princess,” he said, holding his gaze on yours for a moment longer before letting you go and stepping back, allowing the echo of his presence to fill the space he had left empty.

You stood there, still feeling the warmth of his kiss on your skin, the burning desire mingling with confusion, knowing that that brief moment had changed everything between you, leaving you yearning for more than you had ever imagined possible.

You made sure no one saw you as you left the Red Keep, ready to venture into the unknown. Your sister had spoken to you about how unreal the Silk Street was, and curiosity became impossible to resist. You wanted to see it with your own eyes, to experience it.

Night fell over the city like a dark cloak, and the flickering lights of the lanterns twinkled like fallen stars, guiding you along the path. As you turned the corner, the air became infused with intoxicating aromas: spices, exotic perfumes, and the sweetness of fresh fruits. You felt a bit like a spirit in a world where time seemed to flow differently, where the court’s norms had no place.

As you approached the Silk Street, the bustle of nightlife surrounded you. Laughter and murmurs of conversation floated in the air, mingling with the soft music emanating from the taverns. Colored lights danced on the facades of the buildings, and silk fabric waved in the shop windows, promising secrets and unexplored pleasures.

You stepped into the crowd, excitement and a slight fear bubbling inside you. Each step brought you closer to a reality you had longed for, a world where you could be more than just a princess, where you could set aside your responsibilities and allow yourself to feel.

As you walked, your eyes darted from side to side, capturing the scenes unfolding before you: merchants haggling, artists showcasing their talents, and couples surrendering to passion in the shadows. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to the vibrant life of the street, an antithesis to the rigidity of the court.

Suddenly, a booming laugh caught your attention. You turned to find a group of young people laughing and drinking, the air filled with a contagious joy.

Cautiously, you approached them, determined to see what they were laughing about. In front of them was a table where they were betting money on a card game. The excitement in the air was palpable, but as you moved deeper into the scene, the atmosphere revealed a darker side of the Silk Street. Moans surrounded you, uncontrolled laughter, and cheers mixed in a whirlwind of sensations.

The sight dazzled you; men and women lay sprawled on the ground, some drunk and laughing uncontrollably, while others seemed trapped in their own bubble of euphoria. In the corners, couples surrendered to passion, oblivious to the world around them, their bodies intertwined in a frenzied dance of desire.

The contrast between the life you had known in court and this new reality was overwhelming. You felt a mix of excitement and unease; this was a world where rules seemed not to exist. You wondered if there was more to discover, if the Silk Street would offer you an experience more intense than you had imagined.

The curious glances of those around you rested on you, recognizing the vulnerability and curiosity that radiated from you.

You realized you didn’t know anything about how to survive outside the fortress. There, everyone was protecting you, caring for the princess, the king’s youngest daughter. You had been so absorbed in the idea of escaping, of experiencing life beyond the stone walls, that you forgot Rhaenyra had gone with Daemon. He had protected her in that place, and you were alone, vulnerable in a world you didn’t know.

You had to get away from the man who was looking at you intently, so you took the edge of your cloak’s hood and adjusted it, covering as much of your face as possible, trying to go unnoticed. However, with each step you took, you felt a mix of anxiety and excitement beginning to consume your courage.

"Are you lost, my lady?" the man asked, approaching with a smile that made you frown. You turned to leave, but as you did, you collided with a broad body.

The impact was sudden, and before you could react, strong arms wrapped around you, holding you against a solid chest. You turned, and when you looked up, you found the eyes of Harwin Strong gazing at you with a mix of concern and curiosity.

"What are you doing here, so far from the castle?" he asked, his deep voice gentle yet firm, as though he was more interested in you than the commotion around you. His presence brought you a sense of safety, and though you knew you were in a dangerous place, his closeness anchored you amidst the chaos.

You felt caught between the need to reveal yourself to him and the fear of what it truly meant to be on the Street of Silk. Yet, in that moment, all you wanted was to stay there, in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body surrounding you, keeping you safe from the unsettling reality around you.

"I just wanted... to experience it," you managed to murmur, feeling your words slip out between the fast beats of your heart.

"Sometimes, experiencing things can be dangerous, especially for a princess," Harwin said, the seriousness in his tone making you feel even more exposed. But in his gaze, there was a spark of understanding, as though he too had felt the allure of the forbidden.

Harwin adjusted the hood of your cloak, ensuring you were shielded from the cold and the curious stares. Then, he took your hand firmly and began leading you through the narrow streets, his imposing figure guiding you safely.

"Let me take you back to the castle, princess," he said, his voice resonating with a blend of authority and concern, as if every step he took was for your own well-being. However, as you walked, a longing stirred within you, an impulse that resisted his intent.

You looked around; the bustling vitality of the Street of Silk was an undeniable pull, and although you knew dangers lurked around every corner, you couldn’t help it. You wanted to be there, to feel the electricity in the air, to lose yourself in the life throbbing around you. More than that, you wanted to be there with him—with Harwin.

"No..." you murmured, stopping in your tracks. His hand, still holding yours, caused him to turn toward you, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for understanding.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his expression now filled with confusion and concern. You could see his brow furrow, as if trying to unravel your thoughts.

You felt your heartbeat in your ears, fear and excitement intertwined. It was a moment of vulnerability, but also one of boldness. Instead of yielding to his desire to take you back to the fortress, you decided to step forward, embracing the unknown.

"I want to stay here... with you," you declared, feeling the air grow heavy around you. The answer to your own words was an impulse you had never experienced before, a spark of desire that filled you with courage.

Harwin looked at you in silence, as though weighing your words, the tension between you palpable. And in that moment, the world around you faded away, leaving only the connection between the two of you. His hand still held yours, and for an instant, nothing else mattered.

Harwin shook his head, his expression serious as he maintained his firm grip on your hand. He couldn’t, wouldn’t risk tarnishing your name by letting you stay in a place like this. He knew the Street of Silk was not for you—not for the princess, not for someone of your status. As your sworn protector, it was his duty to safeguard you, not throw you into the wolf's den that waited around every dark corner of those streets.

"I cannot let you stay here," he said firmly, his deep voice echoing with the weight of an unbreakable promise. Harwin would not only protect you from others but from yourself if necessary.

However, something else flickered in his gaze. If what you wanted was to experience the world, he understood that. But not here, not like this. If there was anything he could do for you, he would, even if that meant taking you back to the only place where you'd be safe.

Before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly, throwing you over his shoulder with a strength that allowed no resistance. The air rushed from your lungs, and everything around you spun as he held you firmly. The bustle of the Street of Silk continued behind you, but at that moment, Harwin had made a decision.

"If you wish to experience the world, princess, it will not be here," he murmured as he walked with determined strides toward his horse. You knew he was doing what he believed was right, what he had to do to protect you.

He led you to where his horse awaited, and without hesitation, he carefully placed you on the saddle before mounting himself. Everything that had happened, all the tension, began to fade as he guided you back to the castle, to the place where, according to him, you belonged.

Even though your heart raced and the desire to defy fate burned within you, you knew that Harwin was doing his duty. He was your shield, your protector, and though he had taken away the freedom you sought in that moment, he gave you the safety you had always known by his side.

You remained silent as Harwin took you back to the castle, the steady rhythm of the horse's trot in sync with the rapid beating of your heart. The cool night air brushed against your face, but the only thing you could truly feel was the warmth of his strong body against yours, the protective weight of his arms ensuring your safety.

His broad chest was pressed against your back, and though your mind was clouded with the sensation of repressed desire, you also felt inexplicably secure. The heat of his body enveloped you, and for an instant, everything else—the Street of Silk, the danger, the risk—seemed to fade away.

The silence between you was profound, charged with all that was left unsaid. Every breath he took, every slight movement of his hands on the reins reminded you how close you were to him, how unbreakable his loyalty was. It was almost a sweet torture to be this close, yet so far, knowing there was an invisible barrier between what you both wanted and what duty allowed.

You looked at the door that would come between you and Harwin in a matter of seconds, a barrier that would not only divide your bodies but also the small fragment of freedom you had managed to steal during the night. Your chambers, though luxurious and worthy of a princess, felt more like a prison than a refuge. The loneliness of its walls felt crushing, and the silence became a constant reminder of how limited you were within the Red Keep.

To you, that place was not the majestic castle everyone revered; it was simply a cell, a golden cage where your desires and restlessness had no place. You felt the frustration growing in your chest, fueled by the helplessness of not being able to venture out into the world and live as you wished.

"I just wanted to see the world around me, sir," you said softly, your voice barely a whisper as your eyes remained fixed on the door, with no intention of crossing it. The weight of resignation began to fall upon you, but deep down, you resisted. You didn’t want to enter that room. You didn’t want to return to that solitude.

Harwin, who had been silent since he lifted you off the horse, observed you with a mixture of understanding and conflict. He knew that his duty was to ensure you stayed inside, to keep you away from the dangers that awaited beyond the castle walls. But he also understood your yearning for freedom, the desire for something more than the restrictions your position imposed on you.

"I know, princess," he murmured, in a tone that made you pause.

"I didn’t resist because I didn’t want to fight you," you whispered again, your eyes still fixed on the door, almost as if the mere act of looking at it bound you even more to this place. The weight of your words hung in the air, laden with emotions you had kept inside for too long. Harwin remained by your side in silence, but you could feel his intense presence, as though every word you spoke affected him in some way.

"I can’t explore the world here," you added, your voice trembling slightly as your fingers brushed against the cold metal of the handle. "A dragon is not enough for me."

The final whisper of your declaration blended with the echo of the hallway. A dragon, a symbol of power and freedom for many, but for you, it wasn’t enough. Not when the invisible chains of your position and responsibilities weighed so heavily on your shoulders. Not when every corner of the castle reminded you of what you couldn’t have.

Harwin watched you in silence, his deep eyes searching yours, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. He understood better than anyone the limitations of your life, though he could never experience them in the same way. But at that moment, as you stood motionless before the door to your chambers, there was a shared truth between you both: you longed for more, and he knew it.

"This isn’t my world, Harwin," you added, still without looking at him. "And yet, I’m trapped in it."

Harwin stepped toward you, his intense gaze locked on yours, as if he were waiting for you to say something else, something both of you knew hung in the air but hadn’t yet been spoken. His presence enveloped you, and you felt your heart race. The weight of the question still hung between the two of you, charged with an electric tension.

"What is it you truly desire, princess?" His voice was deep, low, almost a whisper that slipped under your skin.

Your breath caught for an instant, your lips trembling as you tried to process his words. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the blush betraying you as you finally decided to respond. The words seemed to burn inside you, but you needed to say it.

"You…" The confession escaped your lips before you could stop it, and just saying it out loud made the blush on your cheeks deepen.

You didn’t need to say more; the latent desire in the air was evident. You had always wanted him. You had wanted him from the first moment you saw him, from the first time you felt his gaze pierce through you, making you feel vulnerable but also filled with a curiosity you couldn’t ignore.

Harwin smiled, just a slight curve of his lips, but his eyes glimmered with something darker, something that seemed to ignite with every word you had spoken. There was something about you, that curious innocence, the pure and unexplored desire that drew him in. He looked at you as if you were a flame he was willing to feed, a light he wanted to mold, to corrupt… in the best possible way.

"Me?" he repeated, stepping closer, his hand rising to gently brush your cheek, the touch so light you barely felt it, but enough to make your whole body tense.

Your eyes met his, the desire burning within you was palpable, but at the same time, there was a vulnerability, an innocence he longed to explore, something that made him want you even more. Harwin had always had that inclination, a taste for the forbidden, for the pure he could turn into something of his own, something dark and thrilling.

"You know you shouldn’t say things like that…" His husky voice slid across your skin like a caress. "But I’m glad you did."

Your lips parted slightly, your breath coming in short gasps as he drew even closer, his fingers tracing a slow line from your cheek to your neck. The sensation made you shiver, but it wasn’t fear you felt; it was a deep yearning for something you couldn’t explain, something only he seemed able to give you.

"If you truly desire me…" he continued, his lips just inches from yours, "then you’ll have to understand that once we start, there’s no turning back."

His voice, his proximity, everything about him called to you. You were trapped between the desire to explore the unknown and the sweet anticipation of what might come. And the worst—or perhaps the best—was that Harwin knew exactly what he wanted. He desired you in a way only he could understand, and you, curious and innocent, were willing to surrender yourself to that dangerous game.

Harwin’s hand slid down to yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. Slowly, he brought your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

"But if you truly want what you say..." he whispered against your skin, "I promise I'll give it to you. Everything."

You invited him into your chambers, excitement pounding in your chest. The door closed softly behind him, sealing off the outside world and creating a space just for the two of you. The air became thick, full of expectation and a faint tinge of fear, but most of all, desire.

The room was dimly lit, the candlelight dancing on the walls, casting shadows that seemed to play with the intimacy of the moment. You turned to Harwin, and in that instant, all the curiosity you had felt for so long intensified. What was that "everything" he had promised? You felt like an explorer, ready to discover uncharted territory, and he, the guide who would lead you through the adventure.

"What will you offer me, Sir Harwin?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, baring your vulnerability and desire.

Harwin took a step forward, his presence overwhelming. The tension between you grew, and you could feel it like a thin thread threatening to snap at any moment. But instead of retreating, you decided to move forward, determined to discover where this new reality would lead you.

"I'm going to show you what true desire is, what it means to explore the world around you," he responded, as he began to unfasten your cloak, letting the fabric fall to the floor, revealing your figure in the dim light.

He captured you with his gaze, and without thinking, you stepped closer. Harwin, reveling in the power he had over you, let your cloak fall and, with his hand, began to loosen your beautiful white hair, letting it cascade like a river of silk over your shoulders.

"Everything you've ever desired, princess," he said, as he traced a finger along the line of your neck, slowly descending toward your chest, where your blouse covered the breasts that longed to be discovered.

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, and the mix of anticipation and nervousness felt like an electric current. You knew that what you were about to do was not just an act of curiosity, but a leap into the unknown. But with Harwin by your side, you felt safe.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his eyes filled with a fire that promised adventures beyond what you had imagined.

You nodded, unable to find the words. There was no turning back, and deep down, you knew it. But there was a part of you that craved that "everything," the part that wanted to discover what it truly meant to be free, to be yourself, far from the expectations that weighed on your shoulders.

Harwin left a soft kiss on your cheek, barely brushing your lips, a gesture that left you longing for more, craving everything he promised with that touch. As he pulled back slightly, his eyes met yours, dark and filled with palpable need. His gaze, firm yet seductive, roamed over your body with an intensity that made you shiver.

"Undress for me, princess," he commanded softly, his voice hoarse with expectation.

The heat that filled you intensified, and your hands trembled slightly as you began to comply with his request. His words, so simple, held a power over you that you had never felt before. The dress you wore seemed like a barrier between the two of you, one he wished for you to remove. With your gaze locked on his, you untied the knot of your cloak, letting it fall to the ground, and began to unbutton the top of your dress.

Each movement was slow, deliberate, laden with the tension of the moment. Harwin never looked away, watching intently as you slowly revealed your skin, exposing what only he had the privilege to see.

With each piece of clothing that fell, you felt the distance between you vanish, the latent desire in his eyes enveloping you like a flame. Finally, when the last piece of fabric slid down your skin, you stood before him, vulnerable and exposed, but without fear. You surrendered completely to that moment, knowing there was no turning back.

"Perfect," he murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper.

Harwin wasted no time. His strong hands slid confidently over your body until they found your breasts, taking them firmly, as if they had always been his. His touch was raw, unrestrained, and each caress sent waves of pleasure through you, making you arch involuntarily toward him.

His fingers found your nipples, hardened under his touch, and he began to play with them, gently tugging, pinching, and rolling them between his fingers, teasing you with a mix of pain and pleasure that left you breathless. Every movement, every pressure, ignited something deep within you, a desire you couldn’t control.

His eyes, fixed on yours, left no doubt of his intentions. Every action was calculated, every touch aimed at exploring your limits, and you, completely surrendered, felt how desire consumed you.

The sensation far surpassed any fantasy that had ever invaded your mind in the solitude of your chambers. Feeling his hands on your skin, the firmness of his touch, was incomparable. Every pinch, every caress made you tremble with desire, as if your entire body had been designed to react only to him.

Your body moved on impulse, eager for more, desperate to experience everything he had to offer. You leaned into Harwin, seeking his mouth with a sense of urgency. You needed him closer, his warmth, his strength, but most of all, you needed the taste of his lips claiming yours.

Your hands clung to his neck, pulling him toward you. Harwin, offering no resistance, allowed you to close the gap, and when his lips finally met yours, the world seemed to disappear. The kiss was neither gentle nor tender. It was searing, intense, as if both of you had been waiting for this moment for far too long. His tongue invaded with possession, and you surrendered entirely, lost in that kiss that burned like uncontrollable fire.

His hands, still playing with your breasts, continued their relentless teasing as he kissed you, squeezing harder, pulling moans from you that you couldn't hold back. This was more than any dream, more than any repressed desire.

Harwin let one of his hands leave your breast, only to entangle it firmly in your hair, pulling with absolute control, making your body arch toward him without resistance. The gesture was as dominant as you had imagined, intensifying the kiss until you could hardly breathe. His tongue ravaged your mouth with wild passion, claiming you in a way you had never experienced before.

With a decisive movement, Harwin began to move away from your lips, tracing a path of open-mouthed kisses along your jawline, each contact laden with a promise of what was to come. His wet lips moved slowly downward, leaving scorching traces on every inch of your skin. When he reached the soft curve of your neck, his pace shifted. He wasn’t gentle. He bit softly at first, then his lips pressed hard against your sensitive skin, sucking forcefully, leaving visible marks, hickeys that would betray his claim on you.

The heat coursing through your body had you on the verge of exploding, and each mark he left on your neck was a reminder of who controlled every second of this moment. Harwin growled close to your ear, feeling how you responded to every touch, how you melted under his control.

"That’s how I like to see you, completely mine" he murmured in a hoarse voice, not letting go of your hair as he continued to claim every inch of skin he encountered.

Without stopping his assault on your neck, Harwin let his hands roam down your body, his fingers tracing the outline of your curves with a mix of possession and desire. Finally, his hands found your thighs, gripping them firmly, and without any effort, he lifted you, carrying you as if you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your body now completely at his mercy.

You felt the pressure of his chest against you, and the friction of your wet pussy against the piece of fabric separating you from him sent a wave of pleasure straight to your core.

"So good for me…" Harwin murmured with a mix of adoration and lust, his voice rough as he claimed your lips again with searing intensity. The kiss was fierce, as if he were devouring you, and the world around you faded until only he remained, his body, his mouth, and the way he made you feel completely his.

Effortlessly, he sat you down on the bed, his strong hands holding you in place while his lips never left yours. The heat from his body flooded into yours, and the way he looked at you, as if you were the most precious thing in his world, made you tremble with desire.

Every move he made was controlled, deliberate, but filled with a passion that only he could awaken in you. The brush of his tongue against yours, the slight pull on your hair as he tilted your head to deepen the kiss, all of it was done with the intent of making you surrender completely.

His hands began to explore once more, sliding down your sides until his thumb stroked the small of your back, pulling you closer to him as you sat there, trapped between his body and the edge of the bed.

"Open your legs for me, darling," Harwin whispered, his voice thick with desire, but also laced with that authority that made your muscles respond without a second thought. He looked at you intently, his dark eyes fixed on yours as he gave that bold command.

The tone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, straight to your core, making your hands clutch at the fabric of the bed as you slowly obeyed.

His hands traveled down to your thighs, caressing them firmly, parting them with an ease that only showed how little control you had in that moment. The brush of his fingers against your exposed skin made your breath catch, as he undressed you not only physically but stripped away any trace of innocence you had left.

Every inch of space you created between your legs made him smile, that dark smile that promised to give you far more than you could have ever dreamed.

His gaze roamed over every part of you as he leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours again, but not kissing you yet. He held you in that point of delicious tension, relishing the way you gave in completely to his desires.

The glint in Harwin’s eyes intensified as your thighs parted for him, revealing the purity he so desired to corrupt. He knew you were his to mold, that every touch, every word, would bring you to the edge of something unknown and tantalizing. That mix of innocence and submission in you excited him like nothing else, and your shaky voice, those little moans you couldn’t hold back, only made him want more.

His hand ran along the inside of your thighs with torturous slowness, barely brushing the skin, causing a sigh to escape your lips. Your body had never been touched like this; you had never allowed a man to cross those boundaries. But with Harwin, you wished he would. Every part of you screamed for more, to feel his fingers where you had never allowed them.

“You’re so pretty… and all for me,” he murmured, his voice husky, as he slid one of his fingers into your center, caressing your hole, making you desperate for more. Your hips instinctively moved towards him, seeking more of that touch you had only dreamed of feeling.

With a dark, seductive smile, he slid his finger inside your dripping hole, touching you. The first direct brush of his fingers on your wetness tore a moan from your lips, and he, pleased with your reaction, began to move slowly, exploring every part of you as he listened to every sound you made.

His fingers went deeper, touching you with that mix of firmness and sweetness that only he knew how to handle. The control he exerted over you was absolute, and he relished watching you give in to every touch, your voice grow more vocal, more desperate, as he taught you what it meant to be his.

Your words were incoherent, filled with desire, and every moan, every gasp, only goaded him to go deeper, to claim you as his.

The rhythm of his fingers began to become rawer, firmer. Your thighs began to tremble involuntarily, the new, overwhelming pleasure making you try to close your legs, as if your body, in its innocence, wanted to stop what was happening, but Harwin wouldn’t let you.

“What’s wrong, princess?” he asked with a dark smile, as he used one of his hands to spread your legs wider, holding them firmly in place. “Are you scared? No, don’t close your legs… I know you like it, I can feel it.”

“Harwin… please…” you whispered between gasps, your voice a shaky echo of what you used to be. It was overwhelming, that mix of pleasure and shame, but you didn’t want it to stop.

“That’s it. Let yourself go,” he murmured, leaning in closer to kiss your neck, gently biting your skin between his words. “I want you to cum just for me.”

His words were the spark that ignited the explosion inside you, and you felt yourself overwhelmed with pleasure as your climax hit you. Your legs shook, trying to close from the intensity, but Harwin held them wide open, allowing all the pleasure to course through you unrestricted as his fingers remained inside you, guiding you through the swell of your orgasm.

Harwin slowly withdrew his fingers from inside you, watching with an intensity that made you feel vulnerable and exposed. His eyes roamed over your body with a mix of possessiveness and admiration, lingering on your flushed cheeks and the way your legs still trembled, spread wide for him.

“Look how beautiful you are,” he said, his voice soft but charged with power. “So sweet… and just for me.” He pulled away just enough to get a better look at you, his gaze scanning every corner of your skin. You felt completely his under that scrutiny, aware of how your body responded to him, how your breathing remained ragged as the heat of the moment still resided in the air.

“This is how I want you,” he murmured, as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip, enjoying the spectacle in front of him. “Open and ready to be mine.”

You blushed even more at his words, unable to help the blush that spread across your skin. There was something about the way he looked at you, as if you were already completely his, that made you feel safe and, at the same time, vulnerable.

Harwin, with slow deliberation, began to undress, stripping off his shirt while you couldn’t take your eyes off his torso. That same skin that you had so often silently admired, was now exposed before you, every muscle taut, sculpted, and vibrant under the dim light of the room. The air felt thicker the moment you saw him—pointing in your direction, thick and firm.

A stifled moan caught in your throat. Doubt immediately assaulted your mind: that couldn’t possibly enter you, you thought. There was no way your body could handle it.

However, as your mind struggled with the idea, your body reacted in a completely different way. Your lips grew moist on their own, and without realizing it, you had slowly licked yourself, your thoughts being replaced by an overwhelming feeling of curiosity and desire. You sat up on your legs, your breathing quickening as you watched him with an intense gaze.

Your eyes locked on him, eager and filled with curiosity, as you imagined what could happen. Every inch of him seemed more tempting than the last. Your heart was pounding, but it wasn’t nervousness that was taking over, but desire. That insatiable curiosity you had always felt for him was pushing you for more. You wanted to feel it, taste it.

Your eyes couldn't tear themselves away from his body, and a fleeting thought crossed your mind, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You wanted to lick him.

You bit your bottom lip, heat rising up your chest and throat, leaving you breathless. Your cheeks burned, tinted red, as your hands trembled slightly as they brushed against his skin. That desire, uncontrollable and overwhelming, grew within you.

Your fingers, initially timid, slid over his torso, moving down to wrap around him with firm pressure. He was thick, warm, pulsing against your palm. The touch alone made a moan catch in your throat, but you swallowed it back, letting the anticipation consume you.

Without further delay, you leaned forward, and with your tongue barely brushing his skin, you began to trace it. The salty taste of his skin invaded your senses as your lips slowly enveloped him. You felt Harwin tense, his hand burying itself in your hair, guiding you without a word, but the pressure on the back of your neck said it all: he wanted more.

Your tongue traced a wet path from base to tip as he let out a low growl, his abdomen tightening at the intensity of the moment. With each movement of your mouth, the heat grew between your legs, your own body responding to Harwin’s every reaction, knowing you were taking him to the edge.

Harwin tightened his hand in your hair, taking control of your every movement with a commanding yet restrained firmness. His breathing became heavy, his eyes dark as he watched you, making sure you felt him completely. He pulled your head back slightly, making you look into his eyes.

“Relax, princess,” he murmured in a deep, almost husky voice as he moved your lips deeper over him, setting the pace he desired. His hips rocked slowly, controlling each thrust as he guided you, making sure you took more with each movement.

You felt his thickness pressing against the back of your throat, and every time you tried to pull back a little to take a breath, he pulled you back in, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Your body trembled at the mix of submission and pleasure, as the heat between your legs became unbearable.

“Like that, good girl,” Harwin whispered with satisfaction evident in his voice. With each word, his movements became slower but deeper, keeping you at that point where control was completely his. “Keep going… don’t stop.”

Tears began to pool in your eyes, the pressure and intensity of the sensation almost overwhelming. With each thrust from Harwin, your throat tightened, the sound of your labored breathing echoing in the air. It was an aching pleasure, a mix of humiliation and desire that kept you on the edge of insanity.

Your body reacted to every pull and thrust, even as tears silently fell down your cheeks. The heat of his body, the intensity of his gaze, it all made you feel alive, but also vulnerable. You tried to close yourself off, but he only tightened his hold, trapping you between his strength and the soft surrender of your body.

Your hands clenched tightly on the edge of the bed, your knuckles turning white from the force of keeping yourself balanced. You felt the tip of his cock hit against your throat, one of your hands shooting up to his thigh, feeling the firmness beneath your palm.

“God…!” he breathed out in a broken whisper, his voice thick with desire and desperation. The intensity of his words filled you with deep satisfaction; you knew you had him on the edge. With each stroke of your tongue, you felt his body tense, writhing, wanting more.

Then, in a moment of pure surrender, he gave himself over to the sensation, his body shuddering in a powerful climax. The explosion of his seed filled your mouth, a warm, salty taste that made you moan in pleasure. Though the surprise caught you off guard, the need to swallow it all was overwhelming, and you let yourself go, enjoying every drop that emanated from him.

With one last, deep suck, a pop resonated as it left your lips, the sound filling the room with an echo of satisfaction. You pulled away from him, feeling the cool air caress your hot face, as you sat back down on your legs. Your lips were red and swollen, as if you had been at war, and a drop of his essence slowly trickled down your chin, leaving an obvious trail of what you had just experienced.

You looked up, meeting his gaze, which was now filled with desire and admiration. The way he watched you made you feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time. Every movement of his body reflected the need that still vibrated in the air between you, a palpable reminder of what you had just shared.

“See what you can do to me?” Harwin said, his voice low and heavy with desire. He moved a little closer, the air between you thick with the electricity of what had just happened. Your heart was pounding, and the anticipation of what was to come next made you hold your breath.

Without thinking, you brought a hand to your face, wiping the drop of his essence away with a finger, only to bring it to your lips and taste it once more. You blushed, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Desire burned within you, a flame that only he could fan. The night had only just begun, and you both knew there was so much more to discover.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Tis the sleazins

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You keep the small lamp next to the bed on through the night. You slip into a shallow doze, aware of Ernie’s deep breaths and your ears' thrum in the silence of the room. After hours of this, you finally dip beneath the threshold of true sleep. The deep sort that blocks out even dreams. You are thoughtless in the void.

A swirling sensation comes over you. A subconscious dizziness that weighs down your body. The achy paralysis of an all consuming fatigue.

The layers of your unconscious slake away one by one. Your breathing picks up, your eyes roll beneath their lids, your body tingles as your senses return to you. Little by little, you float towards reality.

It’s as if you’re being tugged between two forces. The dregs of your exhaustion battle with a sharp plucking you can’t place. Your voice tickles your ears, bringing you closer to the world. Your lashes flutter as you moan, a tremor between your thighs as heat brews in your pelvis.

Your eyes snap open and your head pops up. You choke as your dry throat catches the scream that rises from your lungs. First at the memory of where you are, then at the sight of the body between your thighs. The shoulders that keep you splayed as he man bows his head to your cunt.

You try to holler but again it shrivels to a pathetic whine. His tongue smothers your resistance as he laps at your clit, swiping and suckling, playing with you expertly. You fall back and grasp the pillow, back arching instinctively into him.

He chuckles, the noise rippling into you as his fingertips brush up your thigh. Rubbing and tracing along the flesh, closer and closer to their price. Your gasp as he feels along your folds, gliding between them as he hums and tastes, drinking up the pleasure slickens your lips. 

He rolls your bud between his teeth playful as he prods at your entrance. He pushes, threatening to slide inside, then pulls back, roving up between your folds and down again. He does this again and again, each time sending a tide rattling through you.

He snickers and pushes a single finger into you. Easily sliding into his lowest knuckle, curling his finger as he tests your limits. He extends his finger again, measuring your depth and eases it out. This time, he aligns two thick digits and shoves them into you, a fiery stretch radiating into your stomach.

There’s that stubborn voice telling you to push him away, to kick and hit, to do anything but let him keep going. You can’t. It’s delectable. The short trim of hair on his lip adds just enough friction to make you writhe. How can someone so repugnant make you feel so good? Almost as good as your pulse vibrator.

You swing your hand down and latch onto his hair. You fist the strands as you put your other palm to the shave sides. You buck your hips, trying to control his rhythm as he slides in and out of you. He snarls as he wiggles his head, purring as he laps you up.

You feel your orgasm twisting and twisting. The tension knots in your muscles and curls your toes. It has you quiver as you shove his head down and moan. Your walls squeeze his fingers as a gush flows out around his knuckles.

He snickers and keeps going. You puff and push on his head as his tending grows overbearing. You try to roll him away from you but he pins you flat. He rams in as deep as he can, pressing against the sensitive ridge just behind your entrance.

You squeal and shake. Oh god, it’s too much. You don’t even think it’s him. It’s just the effort. It’s been a while since you were with a man who did more than wander aimlessly around your cunt.

He seals his lips around your clit and sucks. The pressure is immaculate. It swells and your climax spills over again. You drag your hands away from his head and brace the bed. You get lost in the whirlwind of your own pleasure.

He pops his mouth off of you. You spasm as your head lolls. You look down at him, unable to close your legs as he stays nestled between them. His mustache glistens from your stolen delight.

“Like that, kitten?” He winks.

“Wha…” you garble and push yourself up on your elbows. He keeps his fingers in you, wiggle them until you squeak.

“Those other dicks won’t treat you like a nine course buffet,” he rocks his hand at an easy tempo, “mmmm,” his eyes flick down to your cunt as he watches himself finger you, “Merry fucking Christmas, huh?”

“Wh- where–” you can hardly think straight. Something’s off, something’s missing. Is this some demented dream?

You flinch as a beep comes from the other side of the door. He doesn’t react or stop. The mechanism whirs back and the door opens. You drop your head and hide under your arm in shame before you can see who it is.

“What the fuck?” The other man exclaims, “Lloyd, get off her–”

“Breakfast, most important meal of the day,” he chuckles as his breath dances over your cunt and he leans in again. Before he can meet your cunt, he’s pulled away, his hand ripped unceremoniously from between your legs.

“This isn’t what we agreed on,” Andy snarls.

“Keep saying it and I might fucking care,” Lloyd retorts.

You close your legs and bend them as you pull down your skirt. You push yourself up against the pillows, folding yourself as small as you can as you stare at the men’s shoulders. Andy has Lloyd by the front of his black turtleneck as Lloyd grips his forearms in turn.

Andy inhales deeply and lets it out through his nose. He peeks over at you as you put your palms to your cheeks. You give a sheepish look, averting your eyes to the bedspread.

“Outside.”

Andy tries to move Lloyd. He can’t. The men stare each other down. The latter scoffs and shoves the other’s hands off his collar. The part, squaring their shoulders and posturing like animals.

Not a word passes between them as Lloyd raises his two fingers, “let me just get cleaned up.”

He sucks his fingers clean and you grimace, turning your head to hide behind your eyelids. He snickers again and a sole scuff before footfalls trail out the door. Another deep breath and another pair of steps pace away. The door closes and you’re left to silent confusion.

You look around the room as more of the previous night pieces together. You bounce to the edge of the bed in a sudden panic as you look around. Ernie!

You hear a scratch, then another, and a puff of nostrils. You spin to face the small door on the opposite side of the room. You round the bed and turn the handle, finding both your dog and an en suite bathroom.

“Oh, Ern, thank god,” you bend to hug him around the neck. He smells like bacon. You stand as you pat his head; he must’ve been lured in by the delicious cured meat. “Silly.”

You drag your hand away and turn to the room. You look around as you consider your options. There aren’t many. That door is locked and the walls are soundproof. You’re not going to be saved by some miracle hero. You’re also not going to fight off three men for much longer. Not through brute strength.

Give a little, get a lot. This isn’t a typical fight. It’s three against one. You’re outnumbered. You can’t win alone, but you also won’t gain any allies. There is something they say about that; the enemy of my enemy…

You go to the tall wardrobe and open the door. You pick out a red sweater dress with bell sleeves that ends just across your thighs. With it, you take a pair of similarly coloured panties; a thong but the least skimpy of the collection. You also grab a pair of black knee socks to keep your toes warm.

Ernie goes to the door and lays down in front of it. He’s always your little guard. Wherever you are, he puts himself between you and any entrance. He’s like a furry knight.

You go into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. You flip on the light and take in the space. A typical bathroom; a shower with a completely transparent wall, shining counters, and a porcelain toilet beneath a silver set of shelves.

There’s a towel on the bar. You put the clothes on the closed toilet and undress. You crank on the shower and wait for the booth to fog up. You step inside and let the heat soak into you. It’s almost comforting, as much peace as you’ll find in this place.

You use that moment to think. You don’t have a clear plan. You can’t have one but you have an idea. As much as you can barely stand those men, they would say the same of each other. You can use that.

You use the body soap in the bottle with the cupcake as a cap. You smell like a candle as you rinse off. You turn off the flow of water and turn to the door. You push it open and step onto the mat, stopping short as you find someone waiting on the other side.

Andy sputters as his eyes rove up and down your body. You cross your arms, and hand over your pelvis as you gasp and shy away. He clears his throat and snatches the towel off the bar, holding it out as his eyes skim the ceiling.

“Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to scare you–”

“It’s fine,” you assure him as you accept the towel and cover yourself. You gotta get your shit together. You have to let them think they have you cornered but you can’t really get yourself stuck. “I was just cleaning up, I’m sorry. I… I should’ve asked.”

“No, it’s okay,” he assures you, “I should be sorry. About Lloyd. He shouldn’t have… just barged in.”

“Oh, uh…” you look away. You’re genuinely embarrassed.

“He likes to do whatever he wants. Not anymore. I’ll make sure of that, honey. If he pulls anything, I want you to tell me, can you do that?”

You turn back to him. You meet his eyes. You see the strain around them. He’s fighting not to look down. 

“Sure,” you agree. 

“Good,” he says, “I…” He glances around, “I should let you get dressed. When you’re ready, you can come out and join us.”

“Okay,” you smile and sway back and forth, “Andy?”

He looks at you, his eyes alight, “yes, honey?”

“You said you won’t let them hurt me, right?”

He nods, his face softening, “I won’t.”

You let your lips tremble and squeeze the top of the towel, “promise?”

“I promise,” he assures you. “You’re precious to me. I…” he swallows, “I wouldn’t have done all this if you weren’t.”

“I… you’re right, it is a lot,” you go to the sink and look in the mirror before taking a bottle of expensive cream from the shelf over the toilet. You read the label, “you know, I could never afford this on my own. Ninety-five dollars an ounce.”

“I know,” he drones, “it’s why I got it for you.”

“You?” You hold onto the small tube as you peek at him.

“The others… they helped me get you. That’s it. Everything else, I did. For you.”

“That’s so sweet,” a tremor breaks through your voice, an unintended affect.

“Let me know if I missed anything,” he inches back slowly, “if you need… anything.”

“I will,” you turn back to your reflection. You know he doesn’t mean anything. If you asked him to take you home, you don’t think he’d listen.

You wait for him to go. You only realise when he’s gone that you really are shaking. You’re afraid. Even if these men are dumb, they scare you. You have to be very careful.

🎀

When you’re dressed, you find the door open, waiting for you. You go down the hall as you hear a commotion. Ernie’s paws tap on the floor as he wiggles in his pre-meal dance. He must be so hungry!

He drools as he threatens to jump up at Ransom who holds the open bag of kibble in his arms. You know by the torn top that it’s the very same from your cupboard. He fights to keep from spilling as he’s corned by the Saint Bernard.

“He’s going to bite me!” He yells.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Lloyd appears in the doorway, “you got one job, the dog food. So feed the damn dog.”

“You feed it,” Ransom slams the bag down on the table against the wall, “just watch your fingers.”

Ransom holds up his bandaged hand; Ernie’s work. You almost laugh. You’re proud of your boy.

“Ah, hello, pussy cat,” Lloyd turns his attention on you, “look who’s up from her cat nap.”

You blink at him dumbly. He smirks smugly and winks, pointing at you with two fingers. Those two fingers. You shudder.

“I can feed him,” you offer. “He needs a bowl.”

You head for the front room but Lloyd is quick to block you as he stretches his arm across the expanse of the hallway, “I’m still a bit peckish, can I get something to eat?”

You cringe and back up. Ransom comes closer as Ernie’s distracted by the bag of kibble, his nose pressed to the side. You gulp as the men zero in on you.

“She tastes like honey,” Lloyd comments, “you want some? I’ll bend her over and you can go through the back, huh?”

Ransom snickers as he steps up next to Lloyd, “how do you know?”

Lloyd growls and tilts his head, “how do you think?”

“How the fuck did you get away with that?”

“I didn’t,” Lloyd sneers, “Mr. Bossy Pants spoiled the meal.”

“Uh, oh, please, I… it’s Christmas,” you show your palms, “so I think we should, er–”

“It’s Christmas so why don’t you give us a present?” Ransom grins, “got a couple I can think of under that sweater.”

“I– but Andy–”

A sudden crash and scatter makes you all flinch. The men turn and you look between them to find Ernie tearing into the bag of kibble. You rush forward, elbowing the men as you race towards him. You pull him back by the collar, barely able to keep him from pigging out.

“Please, he needs a bowl,” you plead, “he’s on a controlled diet.”

“He’s a dog,” Lloyd sniffs.

“Yeah? And you gave him bacon!” You accuse.

“What’s going on?” Andy appears from the front room.

“Great,” Lloyd grumbles.

“Stupid dog,” Ransom snarls, “that’s what’s going on.”

“Honey,” Andy ignores them, rushing to you, “are you okay?”

“No,” you pout, “if he eats too much, he’ll be sick.”

“Aw, it’s okay,” he rubs you back through the sweater. You note how eager he is to touch you. “I’ll clean up, you get him in the kitchen.”

“I’ll go with her,” Lloyd offers, “there’s knives in there.”

“Ransom,” Andy grits and rescinds his hand as he turns to glare at Lloyd, “you can take her.”

The other two men stare each other down, just like before. That argument isn’t over and you’re not sure it ever will be. Whatever their plan is doesn’t seem to be going as they expected. You can only hope that it doesn’t.

[thursdayinspace]

So much to say about the Duane Barry episodes and Scully's abduction, but mostly I find it amazing how much relationship development they managed to pack into a handful of episodes that Scully is barely in at all. It's already set up nicely: the hostage negotiation, Mulder being frustrated because first he's asked to help and then has to find out they're withholding information from him. Once again, he's not being taken seriously; he has to turn to Scully again even though they're not even partners anymore. He still relies on her, she's still the only one he can really trust. She comes all the way out there with the information she digs up when she can't reach him. She talks into his ear to help him resolve the situation. Afterwards, when they find that implant in Duane Barry, they try to figure that out together as well. As we've seen throughout all the episodes before, they fall back into their partnership easily, like it's the most natural thing in the world for them. And then she's abducted and everything falls apart. That's where it really picks up and it becomes clear that everything up to this point has been little more than a (very well done and important) prologue.

Mulder's silence at the beginning of "Ascension" is almost frightening. It's certainly intense. Somewhere between withdrawn and hyperfocused, with a good dose of fear mixed in. He tells Scully's mother that she's not in her apartment, and after that we don't hear him speak again until a good way into the conversation in Skinner's office the next morning, a good five minutes into the episode even though he's in every scene before then. And when he barely puts up a fight when Skinner tells him to go home, you know he's going rogue. He does not trust them to find Scully, and he certainly can't sit and wait while she's out there with Duane Barry.

He pushes himself beyond his limits, almost falling asleep at the wheel but refusing to let Krycek drive -- he doesn't give up the tiniest sliver of control. When the tram operator won't let them take the tram up the mountain, Mulder has no problem showing him his gun. He pushes the tram beyond safety limits. Does his acrobatics out in the open who knows how high up in the air -- risking his life -- after Krycek stops the tram.

And holy shit the way he loses it when he spots Scully's blood and hair on Duane Barry's hospital band is truly scary, I don't think we've ever seen him that angry before. But on second thought, maybe angry is the wrong word. He's acting out of fear and panic. I don't think even an angry Mulder would choke anyone. He isn't thinking straight anymore, his responses are almost primal at this point. He hasn't slept, he's running on adrenaline, he's no closer to finding Scully and now he knows she's injured.

Finding out about Krycek, Skinner reopening the x files . . . it all seems almost secondary. Not as important as his meeting with Scully's mother and her telling him to keep the cross necklace. He didn't have anyone this entire time to lean on or to talk to. And he still doesn't, but this is the closest he gets. He and Scully's mom are in similar places. For them, this is personal. I love that they're bonding over this, over their love for Scully and their worry about her. (Whatever meaning you want to read into the word "love" between Mulder and Scully at this point.)

The beginning of "One Breath" is so intense, Mulder running into that room in the hospital to find her lying there unconscious, hooked up to a respirator. Anger fueled by blind panic. "Who brought her here?" "How did she get here?" "Who did this to her?" "Listen, if you’re hiding anything, I swear, I will do anything, whatever it takes, I will find out what they did to her!" I love the scene and I absolutely love the way it's acted, big thumbs up to DD. Getting her back could have been the emotional release of that arc, but she comes back in a coma. It spikes the angst to a whole new level. Before, he didn't know whether she was okay or not, he could hold onto hope. Now he knows she's not okay. Getting her back does not let him finally sit down and take a deep breath and process any of it. Nothing is resolved, the fight is just taken elsewhere.

I just want to take a second to think about the fact that he sigend her living will as her witness. That is. A very intimate thing to do. And that moment needs to get the credit it deserves. Knowing that they have talked about the event of her being unable to decide for herself, knowing she let him in, let him sign it, and the fact that he did it? That is a huge HUGE thing.

What is really intriguing is that Mulder and Melissa clash in the way they do, because you'd expect them to get along. I wonder if they would have gotten along better had they met under different circumstances. But here, Mulder is in a very different place. He tends to go to extremes when the stakes are high, his single-minded focus in this moment doesn't allow for anything but action. He still believes he can do something. He doesn't even go in with them when they decide to pull the plug -- he refuses to accept a reality where she dies. We see that again in the cancer arc, where he tells her as much when she tells him her cancer is untreatable.

If anyone would go to the trouble of putting together a list of the top ten most heartbreaking moments from the entire show, Mulder's visit to CSM and the way his voice breaks when he asks "Why her?" would have to be on it. "Why her and not me?" It's the way he says it, but it's also what's in that question that makes it so heartbreaking. Because that's what it all boils down to. He feels guilty. He asked in the hospital "Who did this to her?" And throughout these episodes, in his head, he has always considered that person to be himself. He did this to her. Something we get to hear again and again all the way into the revival when he tells her he wishes she'd left that basement earlier so she'd have been spared from all the things that happened to her. He feels responsible.

(Just a short digression: He is not responsible. I feel like that's a very important thing to remember. Something her brother should have been told in the cancer arc too. Holding Mulder responsible robs Scully of all agency and makes her nothing more than a loyal puppy. But unpacking Bill Jr.'s implicit misogyny, and why the way Mulder feels responisble for everything is not the same thing, that is for another post. If anyone has thoughts on that though, I'd love to hear them.)

A real Mulder moment is him choosing not to take revenge on the men responsible for Scully's abduction, after X pretty much hand-delivers them to him on a silver tray, but rather to go to the hospital after Melissa tells him it might be his last chance, that Scully is dying. He will choose Scully over everything every time. Sitting at her bedside, taking her hand, the way he speaks to her -- it becomes clear how deep the feelings go but also how fragile and undefined it all is between them. They're friends, they're partners, they've flirted, they've told each other some of their deepest secrets, and he has no idea how to be around her now. "I don’t know if my being here . . . will help bring you back. But I’m here." His pause there before "will help bring you back" kills me. He honestly has no idea. He can hope, but he just doesn't know if he'd be a contributing factor in her decision to come back or move on, if she even hears him, if it's even in her control. (I've always wondered when he says in the revival that he invented wishing someone back to life when she was in the hospital, whether he was talking about her cancer or about this moment, or maybe both.)

He gets his breakdown once he comes back home to his destroyed apartment. Sliding down the wall crying -- such a moment. There's no anger in that anymore. No action. He expects to be losing her at that point and all the fight has left him. Until he gets the phone call that she's okay.

Could the episode have benefited from a slightly longer scene at the end? Maybe. It seems a bit anticlimactic, after all he's been through, that he walks into her room, gives her that silly tape (such a Mulder thing to do), hands her the cross necklace back, and that's pretty much it. On the other hand, considering the scene by her bedside before, maybe it fits. He doesn't know where he stands with her, and she's with her family.

I do think the ending is a bit abrupt, but that can easily be forgiven with all that those episodes provided before that. If anyone can see more in that ending than I do, I'd love to hear it because I really don't quite know what to make of it. But they seriously sent Mulder on a journey there, and it worked. And it sets so many things in motion, for the plot and for their relationship.

[lilacxquartz]

Blood Thicker Than Honey | One Shot

Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

ao3 link | masterlist

Summary: Suguru was drawn to you from the start, however your lineage shared a similar flaw to his own and in his perfect world, there were no exceptions.

W.C: 4.3k

Themes: (warnings in red) one shot, dark, dead dove lite, some smut, references to murder/death, reader insert, second person pov

A/N: After the break of the first half, it’s a slight time skip, just a year. This nightmare of a fic is short and sweet, but a lot happens.

~~~

It had been just a couple of years since the day that Suguru last said goodbye to his old life and chose to walk down his own path. No regrets, he thought. His life should have been his own from the very start and it was a cruel joke with what jujutsu society had initially planned to do; to script a predetermined fate for him instead, to force the shovel into his hand and to dig the same early, shallow grave as his friends would have done.

It was sickening, in its own right. To take a canvas so perfectly untouched and mar it with ink from a well that wasn’t his own and he couldn’t help but want to spill the pot. If it were up to him, regardless of the mistakes he’d make, then it would still be his own story to tell at least. What felt more cruel was to be left behind as just another tool to use, another weapon in a limited arsenal yet discarded as soon as the value was lost.

(Except for the blue-eyed ghost from his past, they’d use him until there would be nothing left.)

He simply couldn’t set an example with that, at least not for the two girls he had adopted. After all, what good could possibly come from anything at all when the only lesson that such a society taught was that sorcerers were born to be led to slaughter? No, Suguru wanted something different for them, something that should have been given to his old friend in fact; the freedom of an actual childhood.

Despite this, he was still sure to remind them that they were simply better unlike the filth that had otherwise locked them away before. The non-sorcerers, who hurt what they couldn’t understand, that abused them and refused to see beyond their own ignorance. He would remind them whenever they showed even a flicker of empathy for the ordinary people of the world, quick to extinguish such a silly thought away from their still uncorrupted minds.

Perhaps it was cruel to do so, but they didn’t know any better.

Reminding them as many times as he had to do so, again and again, that if the regular people of the world knew about sorcerers and what they were capable of, then their own history risked repeating once more.

After all, humans loved to destroy what they couldn’t understand, blaming themselves later on in history books when the apologies didn’t have any weight to them any longer; when the lives that they destroyed were buried long ago, forgotten and already lost to time.

He would remind them of how he slaughtered—massacred—those who dared invite such cruelty in the village they were kept in and how he struck down every last one of them. How he dipped his hands into their blood and wore the stained aftermath like a badge of honour.

Maybe the world didn’t deserve to understand, he thought. It was true that the ordinary people could earn their place and even worship the strong as their gods if they were given a chance to do so, but they’d always remain beneath them all the same. If he was willing to sever his own parents from the world for their own flawed existence, then there was nothing left in the world that could stop him alone.

And while taking a trip to the city, all these thoughts festering in his mind, trying to push them away for just a moment. Trying to give the girls a childhood worth remembering and looking back on, that’s when he spotted someone unfamiliar but captivating all the same—you.

Sporting an all too familiar work uniform, it seemed that you were in the midst of having just completed a mission of some sort, evident from how worn out you looked. He watched as you slipped into a nearby cafe, clad in layers of dust that hung onto your frame.

What a sight for sore eyes, he thought.

“Maybe we’ll stop somewhere and get something sweet?” he announced to both Mimiko and Nanako, both of his hands occupying their own. He didn’t personally care about interacting with the common people, but he bit his tongue for certain moments.

He wasn’t going to make them miss out on life just because of the prejudices he had.

And as he followed you in, his eyes focusing on you and how you acted, he found a certain charm behind your actions. Maybe it was the way your eyes seemed to convey exactly what you were thinking—fumbling your order with wide eyes and reluctantly accepting the fate of your new name, when called out to be known as “Kaka” in the busy joint. Standing just a few people behind you, he very clearly heard you say “Keiko”, though.

Maybe it was also the way that you didn’t seem to push his girls away when he instructed them to infiltrate your table and to steal your attention for a little bit while he ordered. Watching as you instead accepted your fate to entertain the two young siblings that took over the seats opposite with what he concluded to be genuine kindness. He glanced on and off as you smiled and you wowed at whatever it was the girls talked about you with.

Suguru of course, shamelessly played his way over to the table, feinging both ignorance and concern over his “lost” girls, handing them both a pastry each accompanied with hot chocolate. There was something endearing with how you interacted with them that he couldn’t just shake away; the first impression already made and set in stone.

“Ah, there you both are,” he said, ruffling their as they smiled at one another—so young and yet already understanding of his intentions, keeping their mouths perfectly zipped shut as they stifled giggles at the idea of him having a crush (and one so obvious, too.)

You blinked at the guy before you, flashing a glance at his features. He seemed significantly older than the two but not enough to be their father.

“Oh, are you their brother?” you asked.

“Not exactly, I see them more as daughters,” Suguru replied, his lips easing into a friendly smile, “you could say that I saved them from a bad situation so it’s been just us three for a while.”

You smiled in understanding while maintaining a polite tone, “How kind of you.”

Extending a hand that you were still cautious enough to not reciprocate to, he clicked his tongue in resignation and introduced himself anyway, “I’m Suguru by the way and these two are Mimiko and Nanako,” he paused, studying your reaction, “and you are…?”

You were about to introduce yourself but then your eyes narrowed as he spotted your name scribbled incorrectly on the paper cup, reaching out to turn it towards him. With embarrassed haste, you attempted to blurt it out in an effort to correct him, “Kei-“

“—Kaka?” he couldn’t help but snort, the two girls giggling beside him. He didn’t mean to bully you, but he did want to have a silly story to introduce you with in the future.

“It’s Keiko,” you muttered in a resigned tone, taking the cup back and gulping down a sip.

Suguru leaned back as you did so, studying the way your lips pressed against the slotted lid. You seemed tired from the way you glanced at him, but not bothered enough to push away his company completely. Maybe you wanted to be alone after what was likely a busy day but didn’t have the heart to say something rude in front of children. He knew just how intensive those missions could be and considered leaving you alone, but he didn’t want for you to just slip away either.

To lose you to the city, to allow you to fade away as just another fleeting face in the crowd, never to be seen again.

Tokyo was like that, after all. Maybe to an extent, all major cities were. You’d see someone and you’d bond with them in your mind, maybe spin a whole fabricated story riddled with what-ifs and maybes, only to never see them again. He didn’t want to reduce you to just another ghost that haunted his memory though (he had enough of those already) and besides, he could tell that there was more to you than just being a pretty face.

“So, you’re a sorcerer, aren’t you?” Suguru was quick to ask, his eyes locking in on the uniform you wore. He needed to keep your attention for just a minute longer, if he could help it. He knew how this looked too and didn’t want to come across as an out-of-touch person trying to hit on you without knowing anything about you (even if he did have the girls help him out in that regard).

You nodded as you took yet another sip, recognising right away that this was no ordinary encounter, “Oh, yeah. Just moved a here couple of weeks ago from Osaka, actually.”

Suddenly, your interest was piqued and you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he wanted from you. The very act of jujutsu was rightfully concealed from the prying eyes of the public and for obvious reasons, so he had to either be involved or was a sorcerer himself to have made such a conclusion. Lowering your cup and studying him, he seemed to be laughing at something in particular. Your eyes settled on the darker-haired girl, (Mimiko, was it?) sitting opposite you, her fingers dabbing at her lips while she stared at yours. Quickly, you wiped off the foamy residue left from your latte, thankful that at least someone let you know.

Suguru leaned in closer as the girls tucked into their pastries, his elbows resting on the table, “So, what brings you here?”

You considered how to respond to his question as your fingertips drummed around the paper cup. There was nothing rude about the way he asked it, but you were still wary about being too honest. You didn’t mind the company that the three offered you, but your reasoning for coming to work in Tokyo was shallow at best.

“The pay is better here,” you admitted, reading his reaction carefully. You had a mixed bag with admitting such a thing; some people cared a great deal, immediately making assumptions about your character while others didn’t care at all.

“Hm, but the spirits are a lot worse around here, no?” Suguru asked, his tone sounding curious but laced in bitterness. “The pay is great, but it comes at a cost.”

He didn’t want to admit it too soon, especially since he didn’t even know you existed until just ten minutes ago, but he didn’t like hearing that someone that he harboured a potential interest in was doomed to be just another cog in the machine; another part to be replaced rather than repaired.

It wasn’t your fault, many were just simply too blind to see just how disposable they really were in the shackles of jujutsu society. Not to worry though, he thought, he would help bring you to the light.

You tilted your head to the side as you hummed, finding his reaction interesting but fair, “I mean, yeah? I suppose they are, but not everyone has a choice in how they earn their living, you know? I’d rather have a fighting chance to live a better life if I can help it.”

Suguru nodded, continuing to chat with you while both you and the girls ate and sipped on whatever you had left. Again, you didn’t mind, finding the company interesting and almost pleasant in a way. Maybe his words might have seemed blunt and maybe even rude to others, but you appreciated that he didn’t mince his words.

You did find it curious, though, that he remained somewhat cryptic about what he truly did. You didn’t know all too much about him just yet, but his name did ring some sort of bell, seeming familiar in your mind—maybe you heard it in passing? The big shots of Tokyo were rampant here and in your short time spent in the city, you had already shaken hands with your fair share.

And maybe, just maybe, it was poor judgement on your end to have followed him back so soon, but the shyer sibling of the pair insisted that you did so and being a once quiet kid yourself, you weren’t one to dampen someone’s spark, no matter how faint. Mimiko seemed to have taken a liking to you and wanted to show you just about everything that she thought you’d like—mostly drawings but also a plush doll similar to the features you had. You did find it amusing though, that Nanako’s side of the room in contrast, was more orderly and even composed, more like an actual preteen’s room seeking independence more than Mimiko’s side.

Suguru in the meantime watched on from the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the frame. He brought you here partially to entertain Mimiko’s request but also to prove a point to you, that he wasn’t after you as a caretaker. Admittedly, this was an insecurity he had, needing to prove to you for some reason that he wasn’t just some lost kid barely breaking into his twenties with two extra mouths to feed, but someone reliable.

He walked you back after meeting with you either way, already convinced that you might be the perfect one for him which was admittedly, a rare moment of clarity for someone like him. Suguru was very selective with the company he chose to keep and even while his found-family was growing in steady numbers and there were already suitable candidates to consider, this also meant nothing if the girls he sought to protect didn’t think the same.

No, it had to be someone that they all liked. Strangely though, he didn’t resent this sort of system. Perhaps the sisters were a blessing of some sort, acting as some sort of filter to determine who was worthy and who wasn’t. Mimiko, so kind-hearted, would settle on someone gentle. Nanako, more guarded and even selective, would only allow those who didn’t pose a threat to get close.

And as he walked you back in the slowly darkening skies, the golden hour hues soon to be replaced with blanketing darkness that threatened to sweep over, he couldn’t help but already fall for you. He admitted more than he should have, telling you about the girls and allowed you a glimpse into his idolised perfect future, but he didn’t reveal too much too soon.

Not yet.

You parted from him with more questions than answers, just as he had so intended, wanting nothing more than to write you into his own story. Leaving you behind with just a name and a phone number, daring you to contact him again if you too, had felt something in between the lines.

Indeed, it wasn’t the last you saw of him as you met with him a second time after that, and then a third time and soon a fourth. Slowly, but surely, he entangled you into a mess that he spung with his own matter yarn, expecting you to navigate through the knots with no needle in place. It was by sixth meet or perhaps the seventh, that you learned just how cruel he could be but also just how kind—especially so as the city continued to break you down just as it did with everyone else, just as he predicted it would with you too.

(And at your most desperate, he offered you salvation. Happy to break you away from the predetermined mundane, eager to welcome you into a life where love didn’t have to be hidden—a place where you didn’t have to pretend.)

It was though his words slowly poisoned you into a sweet surrender, spreading venom through your once hopeful mind, keen to rid the idea that the world deserved to be helped at all. He reminded you that cursed spirits were a result of human negativity, so therefore the problem lied within people, not you, not him and certainly not the girls. He convinced you with carefully curated words that you could be so much more, planting the seeds of his own personal hatred into the core of your mind—sprouting what he thought to be a justified blame.

People weren’t worth fighting for, he would tell you, repeating it as many times as he had to do so before it would echo as an innate truth in your thoughts.

Lingering, festering. Settling into a known truth.

Yet, at the same time, it didn’t feel like a forced decision on your end to surrender to his will when you packed up your old life behind to see a promising future with him and the girls. If was with your own pledge that you vowed to not become another body in a casket, be it figurative or literal.

No, this was something you grew to want as well.

(A sweeter existence without the bitter aftertaste that followed.)

~~~

“We both share the same flaw, you know,” Suguru gently murmured, half asleep on the bed that you both now shared. His black hair loose, cascading against his sharpened features.

“We do…?” you asked, meeting his longing gaze. The skies outside were dark by now and the girls were sound asleep in their room down the hall. A bedside lamp offered a dim light, offering just enough of a glow to illuminate the troubling thoughts brewing on his face.

Suguru gently cupped your cheeks before answering you, fully understanding that you simply just didn’t get it yet. Not fully, at least. His touch brushed against your flesh like cushioned silk against his own skin, his barren eyes desperate to find life within yours.

It was ever since you told him that your parents weren’t sorcerers either, that he felt an even stronger connection to you. Something that flipped a switch in his mind as he became fully convinced that this was his true fate—one where he had to liberate you, to erase the imperfections that held you back.

In his vision for a perfect world, there was simply no room for mistakes and that included ordinary people. Including your parents. Even if your family did manage to somehow create art from unskilled hands (just as his own had done so too), then that still didn’t make them artists. The world was corrupted with negativity and they deserved to meet their end the very same way.

“Maybe it was meant to be this way,” Suguru mumbled again, sounding even more cryptic than before, “both sorcerers born from nothing.”

“…Suguru?” you asked, your voice laced with a hint of caution, unsure whether or not you should have been trying harder to break him away from his nonsensical thoughts. His expression was so serious, so angry and yet, he looked at you with such love, almost unconditional.

(You were his future.)

“I want to protect you,” he concluded, taking both of your hands and pressing them to his lips. His eyes were dead set on you as you watched him move back, ready to take a break from whatever darkness festered in the back of his mind.

He kissed at your shoulders, silently announcing to you that he was back to normal again. He peppered love bites along your neck and down to your collarbones, a little ritual that he spent the last year or so carefully defining. Suguru was territorial and his lips bruised you in places that were visible, where the ending cuts of clothes didn’t fully cover or reach, as if to show you off in a way that others couldn’t even dream of having.

He wasn’t shy about how much he loved your body either, with how his hands constantly roamed around your flesh, mapping out every single inch of your skin with such tender love and care.

It didn’t take too long for you to learn that his sexual appetite was insatiable either with most nights ending with him spearing his cock in-between your legs, pounding you into a flustered state as if his life depended on it.

Each night would start similar; so deceptively gentle. Soft kisses and careful worship, but if your body was his temple then he only saw it as right to be the one who got to ruin you as he pleased.

You’d surrender to him nightly, with your hands wrapping around his back and pulling him down by the shoulders. You’d hug his taut body flat against yours, rubbing flesh and skin alike into sweating passion.

And this night should have been no different, yet something about it felt off. As if he made a decision just now with you, perhaps for you… without you?

But you didn’t think too much of it for now, your mind melting at his touch as his tip teased at your entrance. Suguru loved to take his sweet time with you before he claimed you every night. He loved nothing more than to rub the head over your clit, testing the waters with your slick heat tempting him inside just below.

“So fucking perfect,” he would say, an unending cycle of varying praise remixing at his lips. Sometimes he would simply whine, so intoxicated before entry and desperate to stake his claim.

He pushed himself in when he couldn’t take it anymore, swiftly easing himself into your glossed sex, so ready to take him in. Every time he plunged into your core and every time he felt your walls tighten and your thighs clench around him, he could feel himself being driven to madness from just lust alone.

You cried his name as he impaled you and as his hips bucked against yours—your fingers desperately grasping at his back to gift you comfort. His relentless rutting driving you almost manic, but unchanged from his usual pace. Sometimes, he worried about being too vanilla for you as his desires were admittedly simple, but just from hearing your aching screams and needy moans and the way your breathing seemed to shudder from when he slammed into you from impact alone, he knew that he permanently had you; you were his and he was yours.

And as he emptied himself into you yet again, he pushed himself into you until the wave rode itself out completely. It was almost mesmerising of a sight, to see you so flustered and slightly tinged red, salted beads of sweat prickling down your body; your pretty pussy so full of him and perfectly spent.

Pulling away from you, he concluded something darker, promising you something you didn’t yet understand, “I’ll do it for you. Just for you.”

~~~

Perhaps you should have seen the warning signs with just how erratic he was acting just a couple of nights ago. Since then, the sex had died down in intensity and the words he drove himself insane with were no longer uttered, but his passive claim on you felt almost personal. It no longer felt as though you were simply his lover nor just a girlfriend, but someone who had intertwined with his very own soul.

So, at the mention of him cheerfully suggesting to meet with the people responsible for bringing you into the world, perhaps you should have read more in between the lines. Maybe you should have deflected his direction or even lie about their whereabouts, but you didn’t.

Deep down, you knew what he was up to. The the man you fell for—the very same who confessed to razing villages and killing their residents, the one who killed his very own kin for the sake of a better world, free from humanity’s own doomed confinement, was now driven to dip his hands in even more blood.

(And for your sake that time.)

It was almost sickening to hear; with his smooth words falling onto your corrupted ears, with how he truly did believe that it was all for a greater cause.

“You’d still choose me in the end, right?” he asked you, holding your hand as you faced your family home. He was about to go in, to do something unspeakable but all for you.

You nodded, albeit cautiously. Accepting that the world was simply just too cruel. You felt as your own tears spilled from your eyes, salting your cheeks while your heart fluttered in your chest; fully understanding what it was that he was about to do.

You knew better than to stop him.

You’d be a hypocrite if you called for exceptions.

It was a maddening sight, all things considered as you watched the loveless walls of your childhood interior, devoid of happy memories that could have been photographed and adorned around the various rooms, decorated by Suguru in the heat of something terrible. Ivory white concrete, splattered from the aftermath of crimson slashes, like sprayed ink from the finest well—blood that was spilled again and for your cause.

Suguru only ever wanted to liberate you.

To free you.

So maybe that’s how it all had to be.

You watched as the life disappeared from the faces of those who raised you a final time, like a light giving out. Deep, dark blood pooled at their heads, almost void like, the reflected lights overhead seeming almost like stars.

Blood that was thicker than honey and yet it didn’t feel so sweet.

A part of you however felt troubled as the death finally settled, something that you couldn’t quite shake off. You started to feel it at first in the mornings, just maybe a week ago. A sweeping nausea that would overcome you; a sickness that was perhaps too telling, too frequent by now to be written off as a coincidence.

You couldn’t help but wonder…

If you were both born from such equally flawed lineages, then what if the unborn child you carried was woven from the same sort of cloth?

What if they were born simply… ordinary?

Would he accept it… spare it? Or would he…?

You clutched at your stomach, almost sickened by the thought.

You already knew the answer.

(No exceptions.)

[asherisawkward]

I found Luz not caring about the demon realms history annoying. I get it. Some of it was made up, but most of it wasn't, just why the crusade was started. It seems a lot of the history she got was through word of mouth.

You figure a fan of fantasy would be excited to learn the history and culture of a magical realm, not just magic. I'm surprise a lot more demons and witches didn't get fed up with her. The only thing who seemed to have anything against it was Hunter, but I could be remembering it all wrong. Sorry if this comes off as a rant.

I absolutely get what you mean!! Luz, from what I remember of TOH, spent a lot of time trying to fit the Boiling Isles into her opinion of what a fantasy world should be. She doesn’t really listen to the laws or the cultural norms. I suppose that it makes sense to ignore the laws to a certain extent, considering they’re made by a witch hunter pretending to be a benevolent ruler, but she doesn’t even try to think about things critically. Especially in this day and age, you are supposed to research and analyze before you draw a conclusion, not just take the word of some criminal who doesn’t even off you any proof. I love Eda. She’s badass and creative, and I adore how she grows to care about others through the series. But she is a biased character to introduce a world through, and Luz doesn’t even question it. She hears Eda’s “oh, he just wants to control magic” and runs with it.

The biggest example of her complete dismissal of the Boiling Isles culture, laws, and norms would be when she continued to push to be in all classes. Not only does she lack the necessary knowledge to cast precise spells, but she is asking the principal, the teachers, and all the students to risk themselves for her fantasy. This isn’t some petty pickpocketing that she’s asking a few people to ignore. She asks to be allowed to violate one of the most important laws in the whole country—it has the death penalty, for fuck’s sake! Principal Bump could have been executed for allowing this; the teachers could have gone to prison! And the students who don’t turn her in, while unlikely to suffer so severely, are likely to be punished as well! How many people could have been hurt or killed by her thoughtless violation of the laws if Belos had been shown to be a bit more how Dana claims he was? (Because, all things considered, he’s not shown to be the harshest ruler ever.)

Additionally, it bothers me that she never bothers to explore any real cultures or traditions on the Isles. She “wants to be a witch,” but doesn’t focus on anything other than the magic of it. If it were Harry Potter world, where witches are exclusively humans with human culture but magic, I’d get that, but it isn’t. It is a whole other world where everything from childhood to the system of government is different. Her refusal to let go of her preconceived notions and just explore what the BIs is like comes off a little bit like a weeb in their mother’s basement saying “I want to be Japanese,” going to Japan, and then never exploring it beyond their notions of what Japan is like from anime. I love Luz, and it was incredibly impactful for me to see a fellow neurodivergent fantasy nerd on screen, but she has a tendency of treating the Boiling Isles like her escapist fantasies. It bothers me that it’s not really addressed.

Finally, this lack of exploration leads to limited knowledge on what the actual inhabitants of the Boiling Isles are like aside from a select handful. What beliefs aside from the Titan do people have? What rituals do they perform, holidays do they celebrate? What are the people of the Boiling Isles like? Part of what I love about Amphibia is the time it takes to world-build, to show us all the different ways that the world works, and how there are varied, diverse, and unique cultures that are a part of it. It makes Amphibia dynamic and alive. The Owl House doesn’t do that with the Boiling Isles, and I’m bummed about that.

I hope this is close enough to what you’re talking about, because this got me on a tangent.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

For @silvrash-797’s baby shower! :D Congratulations, girl!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Have some Ganondorf + kids, paired with Link + his daughter, paired with bedtime stories and yeah. Anyway, hope you enjoy! ❤️

Ganondorf truly had found that of all his quests and grand plans, the most difficult missions in his life had been to reel in his children.

He loved them dearly, truly. But by the goddesses, they could push him to his limits. Having just tracked down his daughter, who was most certainly the troublemaker of his twin children, he had finally dragged her and her boyfriend back to the capital, keeping his temper evident but silent as he practically deposited them on the ground. Link’s coughing brought him no sympathy from the Gerudo king, though he clearly wasn’t looking for any. Hemisi was completely unapologetic, and it was immediately apparent that the pair’s disappearance had been her idea.

Of course it had. The girl was a menace; she had her father’s tenacity and fiery temper paired with her mother’s mischievousness. The girl was a spitfire and Ganondorf adored her for it.

Except when she snuck off to forbidden places with someone who needed to be resting. Honestly, getting Link to understand the meaning of self preservation was proving to be difficult enough, but pairing it with Hemisi’s seeming lack of concern for either of their well-beings made Ganondorf wonder what the heck he’d done wrong in raising his daughter.

Why did teenagers think they were indestructible? It was beyond frustrating.

Hemisi decided to try and test the waters. “Come on, Father. We’re fine, and it wasn’t even that bad!”

He didn’t have time for this. He couldn’t exactly punish Hemisi too severely since tomorrow’s plans were being set in motion by Nabooru right now, and he needed Hemisi for it. Instead, he just glowered at the girl before directing his ire at Link. The boy looked reasonably apologetic, but offered no feeble words to excuse himself, which was frankly a little surprising as he was the polite, placating one usually.

“Get in bed,” Ganondorf grumbled to the boy. “And stay there this time. I expected more obedience from you. Not to mention you’re risking Hemisi’s health by being near her.”

The way the teenager wilted gave Ganondorf a little satisfaction, but Hemisi immediately jumped to his defense. “Oh, stop it, Dad! He’s not going to get me sick too; he’s feeling better! You should’ve seen him fighting the monsters down there, he’s fine!”

Ganondorf briefly entertained the curiosity in his mind that wanted to see Link fight – he’d seen glimpses of it in sparring matches, but that wasn’t the same. Orik had managed to defeat Merovar in every fight, and he and Hemisi were equals. To see him in a real fight would be interesting. Nevertheless, the boy had sand fever, and though he was doing far better now than he had been the other day, there was still always a risk that he could get sicker again or worse, give it to Hemisi. “I don’t care for your excuses, Hemisi. I expected you to know better. You wish to be treated as an adult, yet you still make decisions like a child.”

Hemisi puffed out her chest, getting riled up. Link dragged himself into bed with some effort to try and appease the situation, and Hemisi hopped on the mattress just beside where he’d settled.

“No,” Ganondorf immediately ordered. “You, daughter, are sleeping in your own room.”

“I will,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes before her anger seemed to settle into something else. “But can’t we all just hang out a bit? Maybe you could tell us a story? We’ll exchange stories! I can tell you about what we saw down there.”

“You disobey my orders and think you can regale your disobedience to me like it’s a tale of legend?” Ganondorf snapped. “You are pushing my patience, Hemisi.”

“Father.” Now she was trying pleading, petitioning to his soft spot for her with her tone. “We were simply curious. And Link was going stir crazy.”

“Link is sick. He needs to rest.”

“With all due respect, my lord—“

“No.” Ganondorf interrupted the boy. “Be silent and go to sleep.”

Link’s mouth snapped shut, and he practically deflated, sinking into the pillows.

“Come on, Dad,” Hemisi petitioned more gently, something genuine in her tone this time. “We… we never get to all really just… hang out anymore, you know? The Festival of Colors has been so nice because we’ve all been together just having fun. Can’t you just tell us a story? I’ll even grab Merovar.”

“You know your brother isn’t interested in my stories anymore,” Ganondorf noted, far less annoyed and perhaps a little… he didn’t know. His chest felt tight at her words. Of course they hadn’t had much time – he’d had planning to do. The Triforce would soon be theirs, and then they’d have all the time in the world for each other. And he wasn’t at all upset in the slightest at Merovar outgrowing such moments like this. He wasn’t.

“That’s because he’s stupid,” Hemisi fired back dully, eliciting a laugh from her father. “Link and I will listen. You haven’t told me any stories in a while, and you’ve never told Link any.”

Ganondorf sighed a little, glancing at Link halfheartedly. He didn’t mind indulging Hemisi, but Link… well, there was little point in not doing so. Life was about to change a great deal for this child as well, and Ganondorf knew he would be lying if he said he didn’t care about him at this point. “Do you care for stories, boy?”

Link’s red eyes sparkled a little, curious. “If… you don’t mind.”

“Dad’s an amazing storyteller,” Hemisi noted supportively, elbowing Link and smiling at her father. Ganondorf felt his chest warm and swell with pride at it, and he finally sighed, letting himself smile a little.

This girl, honestly. He couldn’t stay angry at her. “Very well. I’ll tell you about the Dragon Huntress.”

Hemisi’s eyes widened as she gasped in delight. “Oh, I love this one! Get comfortable, Link, it takes eighty years for him to tell—”

“You just complimented my storytelling abilities.”

“I didn’t say it was bad, it’s just long! And that’s not a bad thing! We can sleep through some of it.”

Ganondorf didn’t bother hiding his unimpressed expression. Children always made for the most difficult audience, but he’d thought it would improve with teenagers. To his credit, Link still seemed eager and interested, so Ganondorf sighed heavily and settled on the edge of the bed.

“Very well. Long ago, in the distant past, there was a fearsome dragon. It dominated the skies, elusive and powerful, with teeth that could snap bones and a mouth that could swallow cities whole. There was a Gerudo warrior at the time who swore to hunt down the dragon and destroy it after it took her parents from her. But the challenge was that she was of the desert, and the beast of the sky – how could she possibly hunt down such a monster and destroy it?

“The challenge was a formidable one, but the warrior decided she would fulfill it. She had to leave the protection and familiarity of her homeland, moving from the oasis into the great sand sea to the south, where the dragon often roamed. At first, it was a long, grueling walk. The sun scorched her during the day, drying her throat so much it felt as if she were swallowing the sand itself. With every step she took she could feel the heat pulling away her energy. But with every dune she crossed, she grew more determined, for she would not let the desert conquer her before she could reach her target.

“After several days’ journey, the warrior crossed yet another dune to find a new curiosity. The desert was different here, with patches of different colors like paint droplets on a canvas. Just to the left was blue, filled with water like an oasis but surrounded by pink and yellow flowers. To the right was green, grass waving in the breeze only to be choked out by more sand just beyond its little borders. Everywhere she looked there was patchwork of nature, magic sparkling in the air like fireflies.

“‘What is this land,’ she wondered curiously, ‘where Farore can piece together every fabric of the world into one place like a quilt?’

“The warrior stepped from one patch to another, one moment feeling a cool evening breeze on her face, relieving her of the dry, hot breath of the desert, and the next, dipping her toes in mud, sloshing in marshland and getting a bitter chill. As she moved forward, she heard a small cry, and she saw a curious-looking little creature. Its tiny paws were dark as the night sky, but its coat was the color of sand, tail small and ears large. It was stomping into the earth with gusto, echoing a phrase over in frustration as it moved, scratching here, pouncing there.

“‘What is the matter?’ The warrior asked the creature.

“‘Why, I lost my marbles!’ The magical fox replied.”

Here, his story was interrupted with an amused snort from Hemisi, who giggled as if she hadn’t heard this tale before, giving Link seeming permission to chuckle a little as well. It had admittedly been a while since he had regaled anyone with the story of the Dragon Huntress, and it was… a nice reprieve to have this moment.

Ganondorf spoke on, telling the pair of the warrior’s journey with the creature to retrieve little magical stones that held pieces of the world within them. With each stone was a new adventure, with each recovery was a new discovery. For one stone, she had to traverse a land of fire, helping Mr. Salamander retrieve his stolen eggs from a local demon who had taken them, including the magical stone the warrior needed. In another adventure, the warrior had to learn how to breathe underwater, in another she sang so beautifully she moved a tree spirit’s weary, heavy heart and it revealed where one of the stones were. This particular tale was so long because it was showing how the warrior lost her way, how she spent so much time getting involved in retrieving these magical stones, and all the misadventures and creatures she had to assist in doing so diverted her from her main goal. The story never really had a true ending – when the warrior finally retrieved all twelve marbles, she simply… stayed with her fox friend in the magical land she’d discovered. It was a cautionary tale, in Ganondorf’s mind, to never lose sight of one’s goal.

He planned to not make the same mistake as the ancient warrior.

Surprisingly, Link stayed awake for the entirety of the folktale, while Hemisi steadily fell asleep on his shoulder. The boy’s body was sagging steadily in exhaustion, but he hung on to every word, a captive audience caught in the wonders of the descriptions Ganondorf was giving him. He smiled and laughed softly in certain parts, looked worried in others, but never interrupted, never faltered despite looking utterly spent from his adventures earlier in the day. When Ganondorf reached the conclusion of the tale, he picked Hemisi up (he knew the girl would wake up from the movement, but she didn’t protest being held on rare occasions) and tucked Link in.

“So she… never got to the dragon?” Link asked quietly.

Ganondorf paused in the doorway, considering it. “I’d like to think she did, someday. When she came to her senses.”

The world changed a few days later. Golden grace split into three, the fires of war scorched the land, and their lives changed forever.

But many years later, the King Consort of Hyrule sat in the nursery, his sweet little princess on his lap and held in his gentle embrace. He’d only just started talking again recently, but he wanted Sonia to hear him speak more, as she’d almost lost her voice due to his own silence. As such, he figured he could tell her stories at night, to help her settle to sleep. He’d gone through a couple Sheikah tales that he knew, but he admittedly didn’t have much repertoire in storytelling.

And then he remembered a Gerudo story from long ago. He remembered the cool desert night, huddled up against Hemisi, body aching from illness and exertion but heart full of peace and joy. He remembered Ganondorf, deep voice low and gentle instead of menacing and terrifying, face soft and eyes welcoming instead of harsh and threatening. He remembered his story of the warrior who hunted a dragon and lost her way in all the little quests to help others.

At first, he didn’t even want to tell this fable. It felt like the words would poison his mouth, like spreading something around that that monster had told him would somehow bring him back. His heart ached at even thinking of a time when he and Hemisi had been together, when he’d almost had a family. But there… there was no harm in regaling his daughter with images of Gerudo folklore. He couldn’t let the past keep hurting him so much. And he had a family now, right here, right in front of him. He wouldn’t let Ganondorf ruin that for him, for his daughter, for anyone. So he started in on the tale of the Dragon Huntress, and oh how Sonia loved it, how she excitedly emphasized points she enjoyed and how she giggled, how she grew peaceful with the rumble of Link’s quiet voice, how she settled in her father’s loving arms.

And as Link told the story to his daughter, he pondered over the message it relayed, how Ganondorf had insisted that it was a cautionary tale about keeping focus on one’s goal. But as Link spoke to Sonia of each new adventure the warrior went on, and all the people she helped, and all the friends she made, and all the new things she discovered, he started to realize the legend’s true meaning. It wasn’t until he got to the adventure of the graveyard of fireflies, where the warrior had to help her newest friend, who was grieving, that it truly struck him.

It had never been about losing one’s way. It had been about closure and learning to live again. The warrior had been risking her life on the chance of revenge, on eliminating a beast that had taken everything from her, but through her quest to retrieve the magical little marbles for her new friend, she’d discovered peace.

Link felt his own eyes sting as he finished up the tale, Sonia sleeping peacefully in his arms.

Years later, the little princess had grown into a young woman, with a family of her own. And she told the tale to her children, just as her father had told her.

Millennia later, in the ruins of a village in the desert, Ganondorf gazed at the fire, the new Hero of Hyrule sitting across from him. The other Gerudo had passed the time telling stories, and it seemed it was now Link’s turn.

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know much,” the young captain started. “But Zelda had one story she loved a lot. I don’t remember all the details, but I remember the overall plot.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” one of the women prompted.

“It’s called the Dragon Huntress,” Link started, and oh how Ganondorf’s gaze snapped to him. Link didn’t seem to notice, wrapped in the blanket he shared with Lana; he’d captured his audience’s attention and that was all he cared about. It was strange, really, how different he was from…

Ganondorf bit his tongue, pushing away the overwhelming, nauseating pain in his heart.

“Long ago, a Gerudo warrior tried to hunt down a dragon that had taken her parents from her.”

Goddesses, how did the boy know this story? How did he know a Gerudo tale in a land where the Gerudo were seemingly forgotten? And he’d heard it from the queen?

Had… had that child… after everything…

“On her journey, she met a magical fox. He’d lost little stones, magical marbles, and she promised to help him find them. But each stone was in a different place, and each one required a different problem to solve. I remember a few, like the one where she had to sail across a giant river with an otter who captained a ship, and another one with fireflies, I think? But anyway, the point was that she spent all her time going on these adventures and making new friends, and she realized that she had been obsessing over something that was never going to bring her parents back. So she learned to be happy with what she had, and she learned to move on.”

She… but that wasn’t how the story…

“So she… never got the dragon?”

Goddesses, he hadn’t heard that boy’s voice in so long. He could still feel the weight of his precious daughter resting in his arms, could still see the tired, quiet curiosity in young Link’s eyes.

It had been so long, yet this story lived on. And it had lived on because Link had decided to tell it to his children.

She learned to be happy with what she had, and she learned to move on.

Ganondorf’s gaze drifted upward, following the sparks from the fire until they blended into the stars of the sky. He breathed in slowly, feeling his chest tighten, feeling his eyes sting, and then he let go with a deep, shuddering exhale.

[gibbearish]

wanted to throw my hat into the ring specifically in regards to james responding to the bigotry claims bc i havent seen anyone address the aspects i wanna talk abt in full yet, it kinda got long as fuck for a p short excerpt so putting it under a readmore

so here's the section (text from @storagebay29 's v helpful transcript):

"I never ever intended to hurt anybody. I never thought that that's what I was doing. Before I went- before I went to the hospital,¹ I read a lot of stuff from people who were really hurt, not just authors and stuff but people who watched my videos who were hurt by stuff in them. People think that I hate ace people and women and bisexual people and lesbians and that's not true. It's really- it's just- it’s not true. And I’m sorry that stuff made it into videos² that just shouldn’t have been there: misinformation and lies... But I promise you I did not write that stuff.³

I should have been a lot more exacting when Nick and I would be editing scripts but I promise you that those are not- I don't think those things.⁴ I specifically want to apologise to asexual people who feel⁵ that I just completed delegitimised you. Nick being ace, I- I know that it's kinda like you know, no two gay people are exactly the same, no two ace people are exactly the same, but I kind of, when it came to that I just kind of ran with Nick's judgement⁶ and his observations and stuff like that. And I’m not trying to throw Nick under the bus,⁷ which a bunch of people are saying that I was setting him up as doing, which is not true…"

so! let's break this down

¹ "Before I went- before I went to the hospital" - firstly i want to be clear of my position with the "did he actually attempt" question bc ive seen some people being absolutely vile already, which is that while i understand doubting his story considering his history of lying and manipulation and obviously skewed moral compass, i also feel like it is VERY much plausible enough that publically speculating abt whether it's true or not is shitty, especially telling HIM you think he's lying. best case scenario you're right, worst case scenario you're crossing a hell of a line, and he's obviously done enough stuff that the situation can be addressed pretty comprehensively without risking getting that coin flip wrong. i think we should proceed under the assumption that lying about that is one line he wouldn't cross, and if proof comes along that he was lying then obviously fuck him, but otherwise i think that aspect should be off limits. and having said all that, even under the assumption he is telling the truth, the way he brings it up in this apology is still manipulative, as many have already pointed out, and this is an excellent example. by bringing it up right before addressing his bigotry, he a) implies to the audience that these comments in particular are a notable part of what sent him there, and therefore plants the idea that if they continue to address it while knowing how badly it's already affecting him, they'd be deliberately trying to hurt him or push him to attempt again, and b) tries to distract the audience from the fact that he's addressing his bigotry and get them to go easy on him, since clearly he's already punished himself over it enough. but harming yourself does not actually make up for harm caused to others, and even if it did, unlearning the bigotry that caused the harm in the first place doesnt end at "feel really bad about it," that's actually step one. and as i'm sure you're already aware and i'll get into more in points 4 and 5, whether he's even at step one yet is doubtful!

² "And I’m sorry that stuff made it into videos" - others have covered his passive voice the whole way through so i won't dwell too long beyond pointing it out, it's mostly just highlighted here bc of how it ties into the next point

³ "But I promise you I did not write that stuff." - just, beautiful in so many ways. performance art, even. firstly, the fact that one of the closest places he comes to calling it plagiarism is in defense against a second allegation? just lmao. and secondly, this is about the most solid proof you could get that he indeed did not watch hbomberguy's video (or at least the whole thing) because hbomb very conclusively showed that if there are /any/ original thoughts of James' in his scripts, it is the bigotry, because he showed multiple examples of James /specifically/ rewording things he plagiarized to ADD IN the bigotry. so then tying back to point 2, his passive voice then becomes about ten times funnier here because he was just. blissfully unaware we all already knew exactly how it "made it into" the script and that his next statement would be a lie. just incredible

⁴ "I don't think those things." - notice the lack of specificity here, the most he can say is "people think i hate these groups" and "i don't think those things" and not "this is exactly what i said that was harmful, here's how it was harmful, here's the correct version of it, and here's how to avoid similar pitfalls in the future", yknow, like what people do when they actually accidentally say bigoted things bc they don't know any better? and again this point ties into the next one:

⁵ "I specifically want to apologise to asexual people who feel that I just completed delegitimised you." - ah yes, nothing says apology like "i'm sorry you felt like what i said was hurtful," where the message is less "i did something wrong and hurt you, i regret this and want to fix it," and more "you were too sensitive and got your feelings hurt by something i didn't intend to be hurtful, but i GUESS i'll be the bigger person and say sorry even though i didn't actually do anything wrong🙄". and see again 4, if he actually had looked into it and learned why it was wrong, he wouldn't be saying people "felt" delegitimised. he would be explaining why people reacted that way ie what it was a reaction to, why this reaction was correct, and providing actual information about asexual people. but he doesnt, because he didnt, because he doesnt care. which is all ESPECIALLY fucked because in saying it this way he's. delegitimising what they were saying. like some kind of fuckin aphobia ouroboros

⁶ "when it came to that I just kind of ran with Nick's judgement" + ⁷ "And I’m not trying to throw Nick under the bus" - here we are, the crown jewels. so obviously ppl are already talking abt the performative allyship of "but my best friend is minority and they said it was fine!!1!" which is fucked up on its own, but then the fact that he immediately jumps to "and also i'm not throwing nick under the bus" shows us that within the greater context, point 6 did indeed mean "the bigotry in the scripts that i am currently apologizing for and explaining the presence of in this section is there because i repeated the things nick told me were true, these ideas originate from him." aka blame nick, not me. but then he remembered that scapegoating nick is also something people are accusing him of so he had to backtrack over it, which if it was actually an innocent statement, it yknow. wouldn't need to be backtracked over? it's like he thinks just because he doesn't outright say "nick has bigoted ideas that i parroted so basically its his fault" that no one can pick up on the subtext? and frankly i don't know much about nick (or james beyond this whole thing tbf so obv take everything i say with the whole shaker of salt) so this very well could be the truth to a degree, but if nick does hold bigoted views too, that's TOO. not instead. for james to repeat them without question to the camera means he doesn't disagree. even if hbomb hadn't proven the bigotry did originate from him, it would still be meaningless, because if it came from nick then that would just mean james decided to stay close working friends with a shitbag and repeat all of his garbage to his fans uncritically!

so in summary, in just this one chunk he: reminds you to be extra niceys to him because hes delicate right now, immediately lies about where the bigotry came from, talks around what he actually said wrong or that he was in the drivers seat for it, then blames nick for it before hearing himself say it out loud reminds him people are picking up on that now too and has to walk it back.

to spoof the roblox oof video: when we look at the sum collective of all of his claims regarding his bigotry, and we put it in context with. the fucking everything about him. when james says the bigotry didn't come from him, this might just be me. but I don't believe him!

[winterweary]

9 Days of Solomon

Day 1: Stars

Wahoo! I'm so excited to be participating with fic for the 9 Days of Solomon event dreamt up by @impish-ivy !

My first entry is a SFW fic that takes place early on in Nightbringer. I wanted to write Solomon being worried and frantic (in his own way) since he's always so chill and collected. I think a truly angry/worried Solomon would be a very frightening sight indeed...

There is no North Star in the Devildom.

At least, not one that you know. If you were home, you may have been able to sort yourself out, pick a constellation that looked familiar and point your toes toward it. But even though Belphegor and Satan have started to teach you about their constellations, the sky still appears alien to you, like a face you know you should recognize but don’t.

Which means you are still very very lost.

--

“Explain to me exactly what happened.”

Solomon is smiling but his eyes are cold, and there is a tension in the air that carries a threat not quite spoken aloud. Though he’s standing casually, leaning a hip against the table in the House of Lamentation, his knuckles are white where he grips his lower arms.

There is a stretch of silence when no one answers him, and his smile widens tightly.

“Let’s just all take a deep breath!” Asmo bursts out with forced cheeriness and a sharp clap of his hands, flicking his gaze from Solomon to his brothers and back again.

“Oh, rest assured Asmodeus, I am very calm,” Solomon replies quickly, “I am just a bit curious as to how seven demons managed to lose my apprentice.” Lucifer clears his throat and stands, taking a protective step forward though Solomon’s smile never slips. He’s not afraid of the sorcerer’s wrath, but his brothers are foolish and worried and he doesn’t see the sense in letting one of them provoke Solomon.

“It was a mistake,” he says firmly, “Obviously. Mammon and Satan are already looking and will find them soon, I’m sure. The rest of us will begin searching as well. Diavolo has already been alerted –“

“Oh good!” Solomon says brightly, volume growing as he pushes off from the table and a crackle of electricity makes the room charge with static, “Diavolo has been alerted. Well then, I’m sure all is right as rain. After all, it’s not as though there’s anything at risk here-”

“You know very well I didn’t mean to imply that,” Lucifer snaps, but Solomon ignores him and snaps his gaze back to Belphegor who recoils slightly.

“Since we have all the time in the world, let’s return to my question, shall we?” he hums, leaning forward to force the demon to look at him, “What happened to my apprentice?”

--

It was supposed to have been just a silly prank.

You sigh, rubbing your hands up your arms and jumping in place in an effort to warm yourself. You seem to have been dropped into an arid landscape, cracked clay stretching as far as your eye can see, with occasional scraggly foliage breaking up the horizon. Despite the desert-like appearance, it’s freezing, and a cool wind has picked up at your back.  

It would have been no problem for Lucifer, who’d been the original target of the curse. Because of course he had. The newly formed Anti-Lucifer league had been so confident. And, to be fair, so had you. In general, you’d taken sort of a neutral stance with Satan and Belphie’s antics. Lucifer seemed to almost enjoy the attention, and the boys were clearly bonding over it. You’d tried to dissuade them from anything that might cause physical damage to the house but beyond that let them go pretty wild.

This was the first time doing so had bitten you in the ass.

In the distance, something howled. You give a soft curse, turning to try and decipher how far away it might be. Everyone was always going on and on about how dangerous the Devildom could be for a human, but you never really took it all that seriously until now. Then again, you’d always had your pacts to rely on. Sure, you weren’t completely helpless. You had your own magic. But you didn’t want to push your limits when you didn’t know how long you might be stuck out here. That was part of the reason you’d resisted making a fire to warm yourself. But if the temp kept dropping…

Once more, you turn in a circle, trying to find something, anything that you could use as a landmark to ground yourself. Finally, in the light of the quartered moon, you thought you see a dark ripple of what might have been forest in the distance. If you could find some trees, maybe you could climb one to get a view from above. At the very least, it should give you some shelter from the wind.

Huffing air on your fingers, you begin to walk, choosing a brisk pace to try and warm yourself.

--

It had been a very long time since Solomon had felt true fear.

What did an immortal have to fear? He’d been able to look after himself for a long time now. Even after he’d met you his confidence in his abilities meant that when things had gotten dicey, he’d known he’d do whatever it took to look after you. Because you’d always been there. The one time you weren’t, he’d even managed to follow you, chasing your footprint through time to make sure he’d always be by your side to protect your fragile mortal life. So now, having you gone, not knowing how much danger you might be in, how badly you might already be hurt…

Well, it was making Solomon feel a bit insane. A part of him that stayed detached could almost observe it calmly: how hard it was for him to follow a thought or form a theory, the racing of his heart, and the tightness in his stomach that was only growing more rotten as the hours without a trace of you stretched on. This detached part was a bit in awe over how human these feelings felt, and how long it had been since he’d suffered them. The insane part was certain he’d slaughter any demon he could get his hands on if anything had happened to you.

He pulled back from his scrying pool, where he’d been searching every location he could think of for you. Rubbing his fists over his strained eyes he let out a deep, frustrated exhale. Beside him, Barbatos remained silent. He knew better than to try to offer words of encouragement or admonishment. Besides, he was equally frustrated. He couldn’t use his sight to find you if he didn’t have a trail to follow, and so far it appeared you were restraining from using your magic.

Neither of them wanted to think about what that might mean.

--

“Finally…” you groan, skidding down a dry embankment to see you were just yards out from the tree line. It wasn’t exactly the most welcoming of forests, the trees old and dark, all jagged edges and sharp needles. But it was better than the desolation you’d come from, and you eagerly jog the final distance into their shelter.

Despite being sheltered from the wind, it felt almost colder now that you were under cover. The light of the stars couldn’t penetrate, and the darkness was absolute. You slow your pace, trying to get a handle on the fear that began to take root. Your humanity knew this wasn’t a place you belonged.

Walking a bit further, you focus on trying to find a tree with low enough branches for you to climb. Finally, you find one that seems well suited, several snapped limbs offering short footholds that allow you to awkwardly heave yourself up.  

The labor from there is long and hard. The bark is sharp, and soon you’ve rubbed the palms of your hands raw. You fear the scent of blood is being caught on the wind, because it seems now that the howls are drawing closer. In your chest your little human heart is pounding, as if it could urge you with its pace to abandon your efforts and flee back into the open. You knew though that you needed this vantage point or you’d be truly lost in the darkness, and there was no way you were going to be wandering deeper into the forest without knowing which direction you were heading in.

Finally, breathing labored and sweat trickling down your spine, you crest the tops of your neighboring trees. Your chosen sentinel was thinning too, but you feel sturdy enough to pause and get your bearings.

One more, the stars greet you, all the more brilliant after adjusting your eyes to the darkness of the woods. You twist, trying to see in all directions. The desert from which you came seemed to stretch forever, and your hopes of finding salvation through the forest were dashed as well, a black and infinite ocean of trees all you could see. To your right, you weren’t sure, but you thought it seemed to get hilly, and to the left…

Possibly? You squint, wondering if you were imagining the distant glow that might indicate a collection of lights. Lights meant people. Or demons. Whatever. It was something. And you were willing to take your chances on a demon that might eat you over whatever that howling thing was that certainly wanted to eat you. Besides, your signal wasn’t for either of them. There was only one whose attention you wanted.

Closing your eyes, you draw your time weakened magic to you, gathering heat in your belly and envisioning your desired spell. Murmuring under your breath, you stretch a palm to the stars. With a rushing release of energy that leaves you almost too weak to keep clinging, a brilliant shock of sparks blasts over your head. It lights up the area in a beacon, shooting into the sky like a firework.

And somewhere, many miles away, a sorcerer begins to laugh with relief.

[aloneonceagainaspredicted]

you’re so real for that peacetime au jilco post,, i will admit i think the fact they added that half baked au to canon in the first place is bullshit. but setting the annoyance aside, there’s potential there for some really interesting jilco

one thing that could be fun is seeing what their dynamic is like when they have external limits: canon jinx&silco exist in their own little bubble with nobody who gives a fuck what they are and what they do with each other, and they have no external reasons to take a step back besides the fear of abandonment/ruining what they have and silco’s inevitable self vitriolic guilt spiral.

but in the everyone’s-happy-au they’re a. less deranged, and b. surrounded by actual reference points for what healthy relationships should be, which would up the taboo factor. and there would be consequences if anyone caught on that they were fucking. both of them (but mainly silco because he would be perceived as predatory) would risk losing their carefully crafted little life and family and the things that let them be so content.

but with it being riskier and them having to fight harder to actually have each other, i also think things could be softer between them? one of the fun and less healthy bits about canon!jilco is the way he encourages her to be crueler and sharper. but underlying the way he shapes her into a monster like him and urges her to lean into that vicious anger, the primary goal behind it is he wants her to be the best she can be. canon!silco sees an unchained and focused monster as the ideal. it’s what he wishes he still was. and he sees all of jinx’s potential to be better than him and to be everything he couldn’t. she is literally synonymous with zaun to him until he finally learns that she is the priority over zaun. she’s the embodiment of his dreams.

and in the au, powder still has all that potential and the spark burning in her. she’s stifled by the same fear she has in canon, but without silco pushing her to lean into and weaponize being a jinx, the fear manifested differently. it inverted and now she doesn’t try anything or explore her ideas for fear of jinxing it. multiversal ekko didn’t have time to convince her of her full potential beyond a few cryptic sentences, but i think the softer and less sharp-edged silco would be able to. he could be able to help her overcome the fear in a different, less destructive way, that would probably leave both of them happier than they ever got the chance to be in canon.

i would love to hear your opinions on them or any thoughts you have on how au jilco could go, there’s so many possibilities there

YOU GET IT YOU GET IT DING DING DING

something i love about Silco with Jinx is that he BELIEVES in her so so soooo much, and i feel robbed of it with the Good Timeline because we barely see him, but i just know that even if he IS a man without a grudge, he's still much more similar to jinx than Vander will ever be- and i have my... theories, about when Vander and Silco made peace (after Vi died and Vander's family was in a more fragile state, i assume? and i do think it was Vander's initiative to forgive and forget), well how could Silco even begin to help the family heal? perhaaaaaaaps giving more attention to the little girl that just missed her big sister? perhaps because when the girl's parents died, he also lost friends? perhaps because he wasn't a father to them, but he empathized with the loss of a loved one regardless of circumstance?

perhaps Vander even failed to look Powder in the eye at first, and Silco helped, in his own way. therefore, he's not Anybody in Powder's mind but a kind older man that helped her through the toughest time, even if he had no obligation to. who cares what he had been doing before becoming part of their family? Powder never cared much for rights and wrongs as strongly as her sister, and well... we count our blessings, don't we?

THERE'S SO MUCH THAT COULD HAPPEN!!!! especially when talking about Powder's potential as an inventor, i just KNOW that Silco would encourage it, and oh, imagine her not only afraid of exploding something but of hurting Silco... god, what if she makes her own version of HexTech to help her people, what if Silco himself sponsors it, what if they meet at her lab and have their first kiss while he's praising her blueprints and she asks to the sanctuary of her big sister if she's going insane for how she feels and cringes at her sister 'seeing' them kiss- what if she feels the same rush of making something work when she's around Silco, who doesn't just tell her to think of herself but shows her how, that tells her she's as charming and efficient as a leader should be (and she never thought herself a leader, no, but it does make her heart beat faster, nobody ever told her to lead anything)...

AAAAAAAAA I JUST WANT IT SO BAD

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Hi hi !! Love your cod hcs!! And I apologise if I spammed them.

They pretty much made me smile today since ive been binging on them. If it's okay can I ask for some of the cod boys comforting a medic reader and their new employer is just a dick. Where reader works so much over time(even during sick days), maybe the boys get worried because reader's body is just basically telling them, they need rest?

My job has been kinda crappy lately and I've considered finding another clinic to work at because some staff get treated like shit while others are put on a pedestal.

ᙖᥱttᥱɾ Ꙇᥙᥴƙ ᥒᥱxt tɩຕᥱ

Task Force 141 + gn! Reader

Hey Love! First of all, thank you so much for helping people that need you. I wish you the best and I hope you find a clinic that gives you what you deserve. Please don’t forget to also take care of yourself <3 I love you!

And thank you so much 🥺 This literally means so much to me <3 Spam as much as you want, I literally don’t care. In fact, it always makes me happy 😋

I hope you like this<3 LOVE YOU💖💖💖💖

╚═════ ∘◦ ❈ ◦∘ ══════╝

You were working in the infirmary for the Task Force 141 and other units. You had proven yourself to be an indispensable asset to the team, healing their physical wounds and bringing warmth to their hearts. You were their favorite. They knew they could come to you running and you would catch them with open arms. Always having a smile on your face and shining brighter than all the stars combined. They were lucky to have someone motivated and happy medic like you.

However, it wasn't long before the demands of your new employer began to take a toll on your well-being. The team noticed the exhaustion etched in the lines of your face, the dark circles under your eyes and the way you pushed yourself beyond your limits, even working during sick days. They noticed how you slowly lost your smile as each day passed and you started to look like you hadn’t slept for weeks. This started to worry the boys since they weren’t used to this side of you.

Kyle was the first to speak up, concern lacing his voice. "I think that you've been pushing yourself too hard. It's okay to take a break sometimes, you know?" he said softly.

You attempted to brush off his worry with a smile, but it couldn't hide the weariness in your eyes. "I'm fine, really" you replied, trying to convince yourself as much as you tried to convince him. He looked sad and you could read it off of his face. You healed his wound and told him to not overwork himself. Oh how bad he wanted to say that you shouldn’t either. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to provoke you.

It didn’t take too long until Simon entered the room. You turn to look at him and give him a smile but he couldn’t feel your smile to his heart like he usually would. Whenever you smiled at him, it felt like the whole world was smiling at him. But today he didn’t feel like the whole world was smiling at him.

Simon leaned forward, making it hard for you to not look at him, yet his voice gentle was stern. "You're not fine" he said, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. "We can see it, I can see it, and it's not worth risking your health for us" you couldn’t look at him any longer so you looked down, not answering him. From outside, you and Simon could hear the new employee yell at you to come and do something instead of just sitting. Without looking back, you turned around and got out of your room, leaving Simon alone. And he was holding him back from snapping at the newbie to fuck off.

John Price, the wise captain of the Task Force came around a day later and greeted you with a warm smile he had saved. Just for you.

"How is my favorite medic?" he asked and you gave him a warm smile. Or let’s say you tried. "You lost weight, Y/N. I‘m worried you’re not doing fine. Anything you wanna talk about?" he stated, causing you to look at yourself and then back at him. "No sir. I‘m working out at home. That’s probably why." you reply, desperately trying to close the conversation but he doesn’t let you.

"What’s with your eyes then? Why do they look so tired if you’re okay?" he hits a spot in your heart and the tears are threatening you to fall any second. "I watched a sad movie last night. Still hurts. That’s all. Anything else captain?" your voice id trembling. You hope he says no and leaves because if he doesn’t, he will get to see you cry in front of him. And you don’t want him to see that.

"Come here" he opens his arms and hugs you tightly. You can’t help but let the tears fall down your eyes and ruin the makeup you put on to cover the dark circles around your eyes. "It’s okay. You just need a rest. Please take a few days off, for yourself. You need to rest Sweetheart."

You hesitated, torn between your dedication to the team and the need to care for yourself. But you know that if you leave, you’re gonna have to work harder because of the new doctor around here.

As the days passed, the team grew increasingly worried as they saw the toll that constant work was taking on you. Your body was showing clear signs of exhaustion and the concern in their eyes intensified.

Again, kyle entered the med bay, a determined look in his eyes. "Y/N" he said, his voice unwavering, "I know you've been neglecting your own well-being, but we won't let you do it anymore."

He revealed a small cut on his arm, deliberately made. "If you won't take care of yourself," he continued, "I'll have to take care of you."

In that moment, the weight of his worry and love for you became too much to bear. Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded, finally allowing yourself to accept their care and concern.

With the help of the team, Price had a conversation with your boss behind your back and reported what’s going on and ensured that you were given a few days off to rest. The boys rallied around you, bringing you snacks, food and making sure you stayed hydrated.

Simon spoke up with a grin, "Hey there doc." he said playfully "have a whole team to take care of you now."

A genuine smile graced your lips as you felt the warmth of their care surrounding you. "Thank you" you said softly.

Johnny clapped you on the shoulder. "We're a team" he said, his voice filled with camaraderie "and can we take care of our own. And of you. That’s the least we can do"

In the days that followed, you finally allowed yourself to rest, your body and soul. The boys were there every step of the way, ensuring you got the rest and care you needed.

You were thankful to whoever was listening to you. They were family to you and whenever you needed someone, they were there for you. It’s the least they can do and pay off the times you overworked so they were doing fine. And now they are taking care of you until you stand up again and send them to bed to rest.

[akantonelli]

ACTUALLY 9 IS SO LESTAPPEN CODED

angry confession prompts

“Yeah, well, if I could, I’d lose feelings for you. But it’s not that easy. It’s not that easy to just let go of someone you’ve held onto for so fucking long.”

Max let Charles shout, because Charles never shouted.

Charles never shouted, never lost his cool, never showed an iota of real emotion that hadn't been pre-scripted. Everything he said had been drilled into his PR trained mind. Charles let things happen, no matter how bad they were, and he simply smiled and said he'd come back stronger, or that he was doing it for the team, or that it was just an inch-ident. 

He also let Charles shout because he didn’t have the slightest of ideas how to respond. His mind was still trying to process the fact that Charles had feelings for him, he hadn’t even moved onto Charles trying to lose those feelings. 

Love was a complicated, messy thing at the best of times, and even more so when it was at the highest level of competitive sport. To top it all off they were rivals, lifelong rivals. It didn’t help in the slightest that Charles had decided the best moment to confess how he felt in Max’s drivers room after a collision that’d taken them both out of the race. Max wanted to win - if ever a day came where he didn’t want to win then he might as well retire - but the points didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. The title was already his. Charles, on the other hand, was at risk of dropping another position in the Championship. Maybe that was why he was saying it all now. Maybe bottling up so many emotions for so long had turned him into a powder keg, and this had been the spark that made him blow.

Charles was quiet now, and Max wanted to ask if he was done, if the outburst had helped, but he knew that wasn’t the right thing to say. He wasn’t sure there was a right thing to say. Charles was upset, and if he said he loved him back he’d be furious he’d chosen a moment like this to do it. Then there was the next question - did Max love him back? 

Love was a complicated, messy thing at the best of times, and Max wasn’t sure he’d ever been on the receiving end of it to know what it felt like. He cared about Charles, deeply, because it was impossible not to care about someone he’d known for so long. They’d been rivals since they were children and their relationship had grown as they had. He’d gone from being furious when they crashed to craving some kind of battle with him. It wasn’t like he wanted to DNF every race because they’d pushed each other beyond the limits, but he wanted something. 

He wanted Charles in a competitive car. He wanted Charles to push him. He wanted to overtake Charles and for Charles to overtake right back. 

He wanted to feel passion and heat on the track and off it. He wanted friction. He wanted - he needed - Charles to succeed. He wanted to see him smile, really smile, not that dog-trained PR bullshit he’d been spewing the last few years. He wanted to watch Charles on the podium next to him, trading which step they were on every race, spraying each other with champagne. He wanted to taste the alcohol on his skin and in his mouth, he wanted to feel Charles against him, moving with the same energy in the bedroom as he did on the track. He wanted adrenaline and risk, he wanted to leave bruises and scratches. 

He wanted breakfast on the balcony, overlooking the Monaco harbour. He wanted nights by the fire in a cabin in the Alps. He wanted hiking trips in the Appalachian mountains. He wanted to watch the aurora twinkling above their heads.

By the time Max opened his mouth, the door to his room clicked shut.

Charles had gone.

Max swallowed, pushing his emotions aside. He licked at his lips as his hand came to his jaw and rubbed over the slight hint of stubble on his skin. Charles probably didn’t mean it, he probably just needed to get things off his chest and Max had seemed like a suitable punching bag. That was okay.

It wasn’t like he loved Charles back or anything.

(@piastrification)

[kyrionkrackers]

isn't this what you wanted? (pt 2)

summary: you're new in town - when you finally decide to step out of your house, you walk into a bar and end up straight in the basement of a snuff film maker. life isn't so bad, but you want to learn more about your kidnapper. you decide to do that by taking matters into your own hands.

contains: noncon, self-harm, brief descriptions of injuries (knife wounds, branding), suicide

also posted on ao3, here. please enjoy :)

part 2 - dying

  Life with Strade is… exciting, to put it nicely. Everyday is new, different – and sure, you’re never safe, never unharmed, never comfortable but at least you’re… happy? Happier than before.

  Even if it’s a never ending struggle to stay alive, even if you’re always at risk of bleeding out in the basement you’ve grown so familiar with, even if you’re run through by all sorts of power tools in front of an eager virtual audience, you think that your life now has just a bit more meaning than it did before. The constant pain, holding your breath and walking on eggshells around your captor is almost preferable to your previous state of just existing. At least now, you have some sort of purpose and there’s people who care, twisted as their definition of ‘care’ may be. 

  Strade told you on that first day that you two were sharing something very, very intimate. You didn’t quite get it at first, too busy screaming your lungs out and panicking over what you thought was certain death, but now that things have slowed down a bit you have to admit that he has a point. Your injuries are typically one-sided gifts from your captor, so to say that you two are sharing pain would be inaccurate. Yet you’ve almost grown to appreciate the intensity of your time with Strade, gut-wrenching torment (from having your limbs run through with nails, having your bones shattered with a hammer, boiling water poured onto your torso) and all. 

  Sure, in the heat of the moment there’s a sort of hatred and resentment that consumes you – it’s hard to think kindly of Strade when he’s slicing into your arms with all sorts of creative tools. And sure, the type of torture Strade puts you through is absolutely agonising – day after day, when you think it can’t get worse, Strade finds a way to draw out your suffering just a bit more for his amusement. But at the end of it all there’s always just the tiniest of moments that almost, not quite but almost make everything worth it. When Strade has finished and is looking down at you with that flushed face, those hooded eyes and calling you German pet names, when he’s grinning at you with such infectious joy that you can’t help but grin back even if your body is screaming at you, when Strade patches you up in his own callous way – those moments are what keep you from falling apart. 

  Strade understands in a way that no one else ever has – he always seems to know what you’re thinking, what you want, what you need, and he knows just as well how to keep those things out of reach. He’s pushed you to your limit, and sometimes beyond that. It would be so easy for him to push just a little too hard one day, and when you look into his eyes you just know that it’s a matter of when, not if. Strade is a man of little remorse – no matter how hard you try to endear yourself to him, and god have you tried, you know he’ll be more than happy to watch you bleed to death before his very eyes if it’s what he wants at the moment. Then afterwards, maybe he’ll laugh at your body, give it a firm pat on the back if he’s feeling nice and sweep it under the rug as if you never existed. And that thought terrifies you more than anything else. 

  In many ways, Strade is an excitable puppy. When you’re pressed beneath his body and still well enough to think, you think about him. To you, he’s a puzzle to be figured out, a paradox you can't quite wrap your head around. You wonder what makes him tick, what makes him happy, what goes on in his head – you wonder how someone can be so honest yet so fucking cruel, how he can be so genuine yet so heartless. You wonder how far you can push him with your actions, if you’ll ever be able to make any emotion other than anger and happiness appear on his face if you try hard enough. With Strade, it’s a constant fight between your desire to live and your desire to push him as far as you can – you think his tendencies have rubbed off on you. 

  You don’t think it’s love – what you feel for him, what he feels for you, it isn’t love. Love is what someone like Strade would see it as, but you know better. At most, it’s a sort of twisted fascination, developed through all those shared, ‘intimate’ moments. Maybe Strade’s infected you with his way of thinking, but you can’t think of any way to get to know someone better than by seeing them at their lowest. Sometimes, you think that you knew you’d be getting yourself into something like this even back at the bar, and part of you just wanted to see it happen. 

  The basement is where you spend your days and nights, often alone, often surrounded by the aftermath of whatever went on earlier in the day and engulfed by the smell of your own blood. Strade kindly laid out a mattress and a thin blanket for you on the third day of your stay, when he determined that you were fun enough to keep around for a bit longer. On the same day he proudly presented you with another gift, a homemade shock collar that would ensure you never tried to run away and would never get far even if you did. The collar sits snugly around your neck, just enough to dig into your flesh when you lay your head down.

  If not for Ren, you’d probably be dead by now. The shy fox was scared out of his wits when he saw you at first, bleeding everywhere after your time with Strade. You had nails sticking out the top of your foot, cuts all along your thighs and a few missing teeth. Ren patched you up then, cleaning your wounds and offering you a drink of water despite his jumpiness, and you’ve thanked him many times since then. 

  “I’ve never seen him go that far with someone and still keep them alive,” Ren told you a few days later, when the two of you got a bit closer. Then, with a bit more bitterness, “He must really like you, huh?” (A small part of you was overjoyed at this comment, though you’d never admit it.) 

  Ren is always there when you need him the most, ready with a humble first-aid kit to patch you up after a particularly nasty session with Strade. In return, you try to be there for him when you can – sometimes he appears in the basement with his ears pressed flat and tail tucked between his legs, and you give him your company. In Ren, you find a sort of solace, comfort in the fact that you’re not alone – he finds that in you, too.

  You know that whatever it is you feel about Strade pales in comparison to what Ren does – based on what you’ve heard and what little you’ve seen, the fox boy practically reveres the German man. If the scars are anything to go off, Ren has had it worse than you, yet he still worships your captor like a god, hanging on every word that he says with unmatched devotion. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll end up like Ren if you survive long enough, clinging to every shred of affection sent your way even after the waves of pain. This, too, terrifies you.  

  And then, in the second week of your life with Strade, as Ren is mumbling apologies and cleaning a long cut going down the length of your arm, a brilliant idea strikes you. A plan to get a reaction out of Strade, to figure out how he works, one which will probably end very, very poorly. But it’ll be fun, you reason – you get to take matters into your own hands, and it’ll be something that will give you a level of control. The thought lingers in your head, gnawing at you like an incessant bug even as Ren takes his leave. Will Strade even care? Will he be angry? How will he react? 

  All you need is a knife. Your eyes shift over to the drawer that Strade forgot to lock.

…

  Strade finds you bleeding out on your mattress the next day – not that it’s unusual, but on a typical day the wounds along the length of your thighs are ones inflicted by him, not you. 

  His first reaction is to laugh, then to ask you what this is all about. You mumble that you wanted to make him happy, and he tells you that this makes him very happy indeed. Then, he rambles off in English mixed with German phrases that you still don’t know the meaning of after all this time, as he usually does when he’s excited. He tells you that you can do better than this (and you did, on your first night when you were left bleeding out on the floor similar to how you are now and Strade stood above you, panting) and that he’ll give you a chance to prove yourself again. He hands you the knife. 

  Nothing has changed. To your dismay, nothing has changed. It’s like the first night all over again, when you first developed that damned fascination for your captor, when he was watching you slice into your arms with rapt attention and smiling the same fucking smile you’ve seen on his face countless times now. He doesn’t care, he isn’t angry or overjoyed, he isn’t reacting in a way that’s any different from usual – you’re not any closer to figuring him out than you were before, not any clearer on how he works. Maybe he’s a little more chipper, he’s got a bit more of a glow in his eyes but he’s still confident – he’s still in control, of you and of himself. Maybe he knew you’d do this and maybe that’s why he left the drawer unlocked for once, maybe you’ve been dancing right in the palm of his hands the whole time and you’re just… you’re just so fucking angry. You hate that you can’t get into his head the same way he gets into yours, can’t get a fucking reaction out of him even when you’re carving into your own flesh like it’s a slab of meat on the chopping block.

  “What do you want?” you whisper. Strade hums and grabs something from the workbench behind him – a branding iron and a blowtorch. He begins heating the metal.

  “Cut yourself,” he says, and you obey. You raise the knife high and bring it down onto your arm, with a sort of familiarity that sends another wave of anger through you. With less hesitation than before you shove the blade deep into your flesh, pushing down and leaving a gaping wound where metal meets human. You trace along the wounds that haven’t even healed properly yet, reopening them and cutting just a little deeper than the first time. A pained scream rips from your throat, raw and genuine, the sort you know Strade enjoys hearing. It doesn’t get easier, it never gets easier no matter how much torture Strade puts you through. And god, he’s put you through so much yet you’re still here, seeking out more pain just to satiate your curiosity. 

  Strade’s eyes are fixed onto you, half-lidded and shining with excitement. His face is flushed and his breathing is heavy, yet his hands are still steady as he heats the metal piece. He has experience, you know that – you found out four days into your stay that when Strade said he was a ‘performer’, he meant ‘snuff film maker’. And you, you’re nothing more than another one of his innumerable victims, one that’s lived just a bit longer than the rest. Despite all you’ve done, despite how good you’ve been, despite how hard you’ve tried to be different and stand out, you’ll be nothing more than another body to him once he’s had his fun and the thought drives you mad. 

  “It hurts,” you whimper when he presses his hands against the cuts along your arm. Your wound is throbbing with a familiar pain – you can imagine the sort of stinging pain you’ll feel when Ren dabs alcohol on it later, the itch that never goes away when the wound finally begins to heal. Strade digs his fingers into the wound, poking and prodding at it. Your breaths come out short and rapid, and you tighten your grip on the knife. The blowtorch has been set back onto the workbench and Strade holds the iron in one hand, letting it hover slightly above your chest. It’s glowing a terrifying red. You can feel the heat radiating off it in waves.

   “Isn't this what you wanted?” He reminds you as he stirs around your wound with his finger. He’s right. You grit your teeth and glare down at your arm.  “To make me happy, ja?” 

  Then he presses the iron against your skin, and you’re screaming. The metal sears into your skin and there’s a sick sizzling sound, then smoke, then you smell the burning flesh and it hurts, it hurts. You’re thrashing around on the floor, convulsing as Strade holds the metal against you for just a second longer before discarding it to the side. He’s on top of you in an instant, pulling his dick out of his pants and pushing you down with all his body weight. One of his hands locks yours in place above you, and the other wraps around your neck and squeezes. Strade is messy, always – when the camera isn’t on and he isn’t wearing his mask he goes wild, rutting into whatever hole or crevice he can find on you like a feral animal in heat. Today is no different. 

  “You’ll look so pretty choking on your blood, Schatz,” he teases, barking out a laugh as he licks your fresh burn. He loosens his hold on your wrists and tangles his fingers in your hair instead, roughly pulling you up so that your noses are practically touching. “One day I’ll watch the light fade from those pretty eyes.” 

  Through the pain, through your tears and through the haze that’s beginning to consume you, you remember that you’re still holding the knife. And even though you can barely think anymore, you know an opportunity when you see one. One last chance, you think – you have one last chance to make that change, to figure him out. With all the strength you can muster, you raise your hands, pry your collar as far from your neck as it will go and drive the blade straight into your neck. You don’t hesitate – you can’t afford to, and your heart is set. When you see something akin to panic flash through Strade’s eyes, pure ecstasy consumes you. There – finally, you see it. A change. A new emotion in his eyes, one that you want to see more of. You viciously twist the blade around in your wound, crying out louder than you ever thought humanly possible until you physically can’t hold on to the handle anymore. The collar holds the knife in place, and you watch as Strade tries to get it out.

 “No, no–” he growls. He’s angry, lips pulled apart in a snarl as his hands pry at your collar. The collar he put around your neck, you recall with a laugh. “You’re not supposed to… Verdammt!”

  “I-isn’t this… what you wanted?” you rasp, grinning slightly when his furious eyes meet yours. He’s saying something, you think – he’s shouting, but all you hear is your blood rushing through your ears. He manages to dislodge the knife but you think you must’ve hit something major, because your blood is still pouring out like a faucet. He’s shaking you, and for once he’s shaking too, hands trembling as he scrambles to find a way to stop the blood. It’s so refreshing to see him so desperate for a change – you can see the agitation swirling in his eyes even though his face is locked into an angry snarl. He must’ve called for Ren because Ren is there too, first-aid kit in hand, trying to stop the bleeding. You want to apologise to the fox boy for leaving him behind like this, for not telling him about your plan but no sound escapes your throat. You’re choking, you think, on your own blood – it’s metallic and thick in your mouth but you can’t quite taste it, can’t quite feel anything, not even the brand seared into your torso from just a few minutes ago. It’s not that bad, going out like this. You stare at Strade’s eyes as you begin to drift away, like the first time you passed out in his presence. This time it’s different – no amusement, no joy, no sadistic satisfaction. Raw anger, mixed with something akin to regret. Maybe he does have other feelings after all, you think. A small, victorious smile emerges on your lips as his eyes meet yours and you finally slip off the edge, still holding his gaze even in the last second. Just like he wanted. 

...

part 1 here <

[dragonmasterhiccup]

Him saying he could've lost his knee as well didn't help her worrisome thoughts. Her mouth slightly gaped, her arms fell by her sides, "Your knee?" Shaking her head with a sigh, she muttered: "Hiccup, knowing you, you probably still want beyond your limit most of the time. You said so yourself that you're stubborn." Lifting her eyes to sternly gaze at him, she continued: "You better not be pushing yourself too much if it's hurting, or else I'll give you a bigger reason to be in pain when I punch you."

She hated when she saw him hurt from the cut on his hand, and she wasn't ready to face the fact that his injuries could've been a lot worse. Although, Freya had just learned of the many other things he's been through. She wished she could take it away, the harrowing experiences. He didn't deserve for all of that to happen to him, his good-heartedness shouldn't have caused him to be scarred physically and emotionally- it wasn't fair.

She concluded that's all it really was: unfairness. Shouldn't it have been her, if anything, to have such distressing situations done to her? Freya's guilt was put to a pause at Hiccup's words, blinking at him inquisitively as she reflected on what he said; 'I'm just me..he says..' She stared at the ground now, considering his answer in her mind. Maybe that's what was drawing her to him..

Maybe that's what made her like him. He was just being..himself. His kind, good-natured, caring, benign, amiable...self. She stopped herself from going down the list she had set up in her mind, not wanting to get distracted any further.

Still looking at the grass below them, she mumbled out her response in a gentle tone, almost as though she were comforting Ayla, "Well, then...you just keep being you..cause it seems to be working.." She silently communicated something to herself in that moment as well, telling her that he was slowly but surely breaking down the walls she had surrounded herself with.

Glancing up at him, Freya subtly shook her head at his selfless answer. "You risked your life for people who treated you so wrongly...and I'm assuming you didn't expect anything in return, really.." Flickering her gaze across his freckles, she continued: "Toothless helped you a lot, yes, but you were still willing to do what you did. That came first before Toothless, Hiccup." Lightly poking his chest, she finished with keeping eye contact, "Your will was the thing that jumpstarted it all. Don't forget to give yourself some credit.."

Slightly surprised at how easily he was able to snatch Ayla out of her grip, she mockingly gasped, "How dare you try to take my sister away? I was in the middle of punishing her!" Placing her hands on her hips, she watched as Ayla gleefully ran behind Toothless, hiding behind his wing as Blaze stood in front of them both for 'extra protection.' The Sand Wraith lifted both of his wings, trying to appear intimidating - which would've worked if they hadn't been in the situation they were now.

Biting her lip to hold back from grinning, Freya couldn't help but snort at Hiccup as he set himself in front of her, "I'm sorry, I can't take you seriously with that flower in your hair.." She chuckled a few times, nimbly moving to the left and right in an attempt to get past him, but failing with each try. Not wanting to give up, though, mostly because of the smug look on Ayla's face, she quickly thought of a plan.

'Oh, this has to work..!'

Pretending to trip, she faked a yelp and brought herself closer to him, using one of his arms to uphold her. Suppressing a mischievous smirk, she lifted her gaze to settle on Hiccup, speaking lightheartedly, "Why, thank you for saving a damsel in distress like me.." Leaning in closer she purposefully allowed her lips to just barely brush against his cheek, faking a kiss in the same way she had done in their training session. Before she did anything, she paused, quietly snickering, "Just kidding."

Swiftly darting away from him, she raced towards Ayla, grinning triumphantly at the shriek she did as she crouched lower in the stream. Blaze, however, was quick to defend her little sister, his wings still raised as he 'dangerously' narrowed his eyes at his rider, daring her to try something. "Oh, c'mon, buddy, you too?" She held back from giggling as she attempted to run past him, utterly failing as the Sand Wraith lifted her up with his head, slightly throwing her in the air to cause her to wrap her arms around his neck with a squeal of her own.

He trilled in amusement, standing on his two hind legs as he lifted her up with him, leaving her to dangle off his neck. "Hey! Put me down! You're not getting any extra fish when we get home!" Her words betrayed the delightful smile on her face, finally giggling as the dragon marched in a circle. "Okay, okay I give up! Hiccup, do the flamey sword thing again!" Freya shouted, clinging onto Blaze's neck as she laughed.

"It happens, but the damage wasn't near that."

Holding his hands up, he suppressed a smirk, nodding. "You got it. No need to punch, alright?"

It looked like she was still fairly bothered... Adjusting himself slightly, he fully faced her. "Freya, this...it's what's normal for me now. I've made peace with it," at least, he thinks he did... "It can't be changed. What's important is that I recovered, that I can still fly Toothless, do just about everything I could before."

He had his eyes on the dragons again, but her gentle tone caused him to look back at her.

It's working? What does she mean by that?

As she said 'didn't expect anything in return', he mumbled, "No, I...I didn't..." The way that day had gone, he would've considered himself lucky to not become an Outcast.

Her kind words gave him pause. Locking eyes with her, his expression was one of resignation, but also yearning.

No one had said anything like this to him before, and he hadn't realized just how much he needed to hear it.

He still saw himself the same way he always had: a skinny Viking who didn't live up to the standards of his tribe. Having Toothless with him gave him the bravery and courage he desperately needed, and together they've done some amazing things.

But...for someone to see him that way, before Toothless?

He had to look away, feeling his eyes sting. Blinking it away, he nodded, giving a weak smile. "...thanks. That..." He took a breath. "...that means a lot to me..."

Arching a brow, he continued in the same playful manner, "Punishing her? Not on my watch!"

Taking a defensive stance, he waited to see what Freya would do, a grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes.

He straightened up slightly. "Need I remind you that you put this flower here?" He asked, pointing to it. Laughing, he added, "Oh, you'll regret not taking me seriously, I know it! This day will go down in history as the day Freya Leif changed her mind about Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third!"

Hiccup was quick, easily preventing her from getting past him...

...that is, until she tripped.

Immediately, his hands reached out to steady her, though her words caused him to look at her skeptically.

When she leaned in, and her lips brushed her cheek, Hiccup's eyes went wide, and his heart started thumping in his chest.

He stayed there, almost frozen, in a daze, as she extricated herself from his grasp and got around him to her sister.

It took him a few moments to recover, finally turning himself around as Freya yelped, holding on the Blaze's neck for dear life...her laughter ringing through the air.

Hiccup's expression changed as he saw Freya's bright smile, his eyes softening and a faint smile on his lips.

But he quickly snapped out of it as she requested he do the 'flamey sword thing again'. With a grin, he shook his head, pulling out the dragon blade as he made his way over.

Igniting it, the flame was low, so he quickly popped out the empty cartridge, grabbing a new one from the holder on his boot and replacing it with one swift motion.

Slowly waving the sword in front of Blaze, he took a few steps back, before collapsing the sword, tossing the hilt in the air and catching the other end.

Balancing on his prosthetic, he pulled the trigger to release Hideous Zippleback gas as he spun in a circle, crouching down and protecting his face with his other arm as he released sparks to ignite it.

He was far enough away that the resulting flame would peter out before getting anywhere near Blaze or Freya. He didn't have to worry about Toothless and Ayla, as they were further back.

Now that he had Blaze's attention, he ignited the blade once more, making sure the dragon was following its movements. "Now might be a good time to get down, Fey..."

[avatarskywalker78]

not so nice OC asks for steph :) break, failure, future, guilt, monster

break - What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

Losing a friend - specifically losing either Eddie or Alyssa but honestly losing any of her friends would fucking devastate her, like it would absolutely bring her to her knees, especially if it was during a superhero clash, if they were killed by a villain because the survivor's guilt would be horrendous. So far Steph hasn't had to face it...in this timeline, but in the Original Timeline she did end up losing Alyssa in a car accident and was inconsolable for months - Eddie was the one to eventually bring her out of it because he'd been there for her the whole time. It was painful for him to witness because he couldn't help beyond just being there - except of course that meant absolutely everything to Steph, who just needed someone.)

(In the current timeline, 1x07 is gonna put poor Steph through the wringer and ratchets up her determination to train up.)

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

Again, I know this hasn't happened in the series yet, but she'll consider 1x07 a failure, never mind that there isn't anything she could've done outside of being psychic and being in the building at the time. And there is another incident later on - not gonna go into too much detail, but let's just say a situation escalates despite her best attempts, and she's gonna blame herself for the person going on to hurt others even though it really isn't her fault.

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

In terms of external factors, I refer you to break - she cannot stand the thought of losing any of her friends and partly trains up to avoid that ever happening. In terms of Steph personally? Going too far over her limits for her force fields and dying - though Team Shieldmaiden have discussed risk factors, this is still somewhat in the abstract because right now she isn't actively fighting metas, and it's unlikely a metahuman will have enough power to push her over the limits.

(...for now.)

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

Steph's whole thing is that she wants to help as many people as she can - through her physics work, through the Meta Outreach Project, through just being kind to people - and she always feels so guilty when she can't help everyone, when she does, in fact, have to delegate for her own mental health. She knows this is better in the long run but also accepts that the guilt is going to stay for a while (she's trying to work on that though).

monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?

Steph's not monstrous at all.

Not So Nice OC Asks

@shrinkthisviolet @starstruckpurpledragon @daughter-of-melpomene @negative-speedforce

[il-predestinato]

Netflix needs to do an entire series « We need to talk about Ferrari »

No tyres ? 😱

And it always just happens to Charles too… anyway. I’ll just try to erase 2023 from my memory.

lol you would think with everyone rambling about the radar and knowing that the rain was 100% coming in, you would be on standby in the pitlane just in case. kind of like how rb were immediately ready for perez. but alas, it's ferrari. what else did we expect from their organizational behaviour?

that being said, great call from charles that was all undone by his own actions. that contact with oscar, with the endplate damage and floor damage, ended his race. he's been extremely disappointing this weekend (and to an extent - for multiple races this season). i kind of get it - when you drive for such a clown team and clown organization with such a clown teammate, YEAR AFTER YEAR, and the car has ZERO chance of fighting for wins, i'm sure it all feels very pointless fighting for mere points. so yeah, i get it - he wants to push the limits and we LOVE that about him. but like for ffs, there's pushing the limits and there's going WAY beyond that while knowing the car is shite and has zero front end and you KNOW how it's going to end (looking at quali this weekend, but also multiple other examples this season).

i know charles doesn't care about anything other than the p1 and he'd rather take a risk than play it safe for a p4-5... but dear god, there is something to be said about having the maturity to grit your teeth and slog through a tough period to make the best out of what you have. 🤷‍♀️ but this is more the fan in me speaking. charles doesn't care where he is in the standings when he's not fighting for the win, but EYE care that he is the lead ferrari driver with the lead points, the best of the rest with what he can do. and it frustrates me that he won't just ... play with the hand he's dealt. not more than ferrari frustrates me, but still.

i hope he's back fighting at the front asap. if charles isn't winning, what's the point of f1? (that's really how sports works 😆)