#navigating consent tw

[buckets-and-trees]

Chosen

a modern AU with soft!dark & mystical elements

eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha x Reader scenes, Natasha x Reader x Steve scenes, Natasha x Steve

"Your curiosity, your adaptability, your willingness to question - these are all qualities we value highly here. You are just the kind of person we are looking for to fill the position."

After applying for a position with The Winged Heritage Foundation, you're recommended for a different position within the organization. Surviving three rounds of interviews finally lands you to a full-day interview on site at the heart of the operation. But despite touring the impressive campus, lunch with executive officers, and meeting staff from across the Foundation, you're told that specific details about the work they do can not be disclosed unless you accept an offer. The choice you make could alter the course of your life.

Content Warnings: [check individual parts for their respective warnings] SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut (with feelings and without feelings), dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting, Nat and Steve and Bucky being far too attractive

INSTALLMENTS: ↠ Arrival ↠ 9/26: Lunch ↠ 9/30: Consideration ↠ 10/3: Semantics ↠ 10/7: Preparation ↠ 10/10: {redacted} ↠ 10/14: {redacted} ↠ 10/17: {redacted} ↠ 10/21: {redacted}

EXTRAS: ↠ ask about Chosen when it was still only in preview phase - commentary about some of the unexpected/exploratory nature of crafting the plot

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, violence/abuse, threat of bodily harm

gn reader

Thinking about poly yanderes again…

They’re both so patronizing – suffocatingly so. 

But where one is a brute, the other is sweet – or sweeter than the former, in any case...

He has a certain calm about him – gentle with you – considerate when showing his affection, and patient with you when he’s intimate. He doesn’t growl at you to shut up and lie still the way the other one does – instead, he asks you if you can be good for him – if you can let him love you – lipping at your throat without the touch of teeth as he all but begs for your consent.

The brute doesn't bother with such foreplay...

Your will doesn’t seem to interest him in any other aspect than ripping it from you and strangling it in his fist with a big grin, laughing while watching those pitiful tears start slipping down your cheeks.

He'll just shrug off the kinder one when he chides, telling him to stop being so rough with you. He just squeezes you a little tighter, sucks your neck a little harder, and kneads his cock a little deeper – saying that he can do whatever he wants with that which belongs to him.

When you struggle against him, he’s not shy of punishing you accordingly – in fact, he jumps at the opportunity – bending you over his lap with his fist riddled in your hair – landing strike after strike until you’re screaming in surrender, all cute pleas for his mercy, words he’s told you to say. 

He likes fucking you like that – when you’re a broken mess who only clings to him for comfort, crying into his neck while he pumps you full of cock and cum.

The kinder one scolds him afterward. Tells him he’s a fiend while petting your head and hair, carrying you away from the scene and into the bathroom. He draws you a tub of bubbles and holds a glass of water to your lips. But for all his niceties – he still gets in the hot water with you – cock in your sore hole while he washes your hair.

Still, he’s more reasonable.

When he’s tying your wrists to the bedpost like every night of you sleeping stuck in between them, you ask him if it’s really necessary – promising him you’re not going to run away – telling him that you’re going to stay right there, peacefully asleep.

The brute says that it isn’t something that’s up for discussion, that if you push your luck, he’s gonna tie every inch of you up like a floppy fish caught in a net ready to be gutted. But you don’t heed the warning – looking to your kinder warden with puppy eyes and a pout on your lips, saying please, it hurts your wrists – again, promising him you’ll be good and stay sound asleep between them the entire night.

You just needed to get to the door. 

You just needed to get to the door – through the door – out into the street, screaming while at it, and surely someone, anyone, would come to your rescue. 

Why wouldn't your feet move quicker? Why weren’t you faster? Why were you clumsier now? Tripping over rugs, missing steps when scrambling down the stairs, slipping when turning corners – trying to navigate the house when you’d barely ever seen anything but the bedroom.

You just needed to get to the door – but you could hear one of them coming after you – just behind you – big monstrous thundering steps shaking you to the core, strangling your heart, shattering your bones – and it’s getting hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to feel anything other than the numbing fear and the awful way it cripples you – throwing your mind into a tailspin while choking your lungs free of all air, clawing up your throat into a scream. 

You just needed to get to the fucking door –

You hadn't known you could make a sound like that – like something out of a horror movie – high-pitched and desperate – ripped from somewhere raw and primal.

There’s a hand in your hair, yanking you backward where you’re received by a hard chest and an arm snaking around your waist, hoisting you off the ground, kicking and yelling.

It’s the brute. He looks almost happy you’d tried running away – a manic look of delight on his face when he finally drops you down on the floor – pinning you beneath him – shadowing you with teeth seemingly dripping with venom and all the ugly punishments he’s no doubt cooking up inside his sick mind.

“Your ass is gettin’ it extra fuckin’ hard tonight – my handprint won’t heal for a month – won’t even be able to sit down without cryin’.” He growls, his teeth on your cheek as he grips your jaw tight – starting off your punishment with a harsh lovebite.

You look at the more merciful of the two. 

He’s standing off to the side, looking down at the two of you. 

You expect he’d come to the rescue like he’d done all those other times.

But to your utter horror… he isn’t lifting a single finger to stop it. 

His face is blank – cold – as cold as the words that roll dryly off his tongue, “I think we’ve established that spanking isn’t enough…” 

The one holding you down halts in his advances and seems to get just as frigid as you by the cold-blooded tone of his partner – who takes slow steps toward the two of you, so close he’s got your hair pinned beneath his toes before crouching down until he as well looms over you like a darkening storm.

He reaches a stiff hand to soothe the ring of teeth left on your cheek by the other – seemingly kindly, but his eyes are so jaded your breath catches in your throat – soulless as they stare into your teary ones.

“Maybe we ought to get ahead of the issue and break your legs.” He suggests nonchalantly, making both your and your other captor’s faces bleach.

Then he smiles – that kind smile, only now you can’t help but flinch at the sight of it. 

“That way, everyone’s happy,” He states, explaining, “You won't have to be tied up, and we can trust you to keep your word and stay put when you promise us you will.”

Then he stands up and straightens himself, looking at his partner with that same eerie smile.

“Where’d you put the bat again?”

The brute stiffens. His crazed expression had melted in light of the other into a look you’d never seen on him before. He swallows thickly as though he’s just as worried as you are. His voice is hesitant, “I think rope is enough…” 

The other throws his brows up. “Oh?” Then he snaps his focus back to you. “What do you think, baby? You think that’s enough?” He walks back to the two of you, and you feel the intense urge to hide behind the one you’d initially been caught running from.

He looks down at you expectantly, watching your lip quiver as you struggle to form an answer without choking on it.

“Hm? What was that? Rope or bat, what do you prefer?” His voice is sharp, licking at you like a knife.

You stutter, “Ro-rope.”

“Yeah? Okay, then – that’s settled.” He confirms, then looks back at the other. “Go get the rope.”

It doesn’t seem like he wants to leave – almost like he’s afraid of what might happen if he does. “Now?” He asks.

“Yes, now.” The smile tightens – sharpens into something truly lethal if you were to test it. “Our pet thinks they can run wild, so we’ll have to reintroduce them to the leash.”

Then he sets his sights back on you, robbing you of all air.

“Unless you’d prefer the bat after all?”

You whimper, shaking your head with a sniffle, “No-no – rope…”

He looks back to the other. “You heard 'em. Get going.”

He’s reluctant about it – looking from you to him, then back to you again, almost apologetically – before he gets up off you, leaving you on the floor – alone.

Your hair is then grabbed harshly, and you’re pulled up to your feet before you’re dragged off them – pulled along until you’re tugged from the floor up onto his lap as he plopped down, comfortably seated on the couch.

He sighs, letting go of your hair and placing both hands on the fat of your haunches, making you straddle him – mirroring your breathless, tear-streaked face with an expressionless one.

A hand ascends, and you’re convinced he’s going to slap you – but as you squeeze your eyes tightly shut in wait for it, his hand finds your cheek, only to ever-so-gently pet the wet away.

Cupping your face, he places a light peck on the corner of your mouth, followed by his voice, “Apologize, and I’ll forgive you.”

Your eyes peel open, looking back into his. You regret it instantly. Still eclipsed, it’s a cold and blank stare that seems to seize you by the throat.

“I’m sorry, I’ll never- never ever do it again.” You whisper pitifully – as if you’re afraid to be too loud.

“Hm…” He hums, looking unimpressed. “I don’t think that’s good enough…” 

His hand slips from your face down your neck, circling it lightly before squeezing it firmly with whitening knuckles. “You hurt my feelings, y’know? I trusted you, and you lied to me – right to my fucking face.”

You cack, wrapping your smaller hands around his wrist as he strangles the words out of you. “I’m sorry- I’m really- really sorry-”

His breathing is thick, as though something’s bubbling underneath the surface – a beast within whose bloodthirst hasn’t yet been sated. “I want more than empty words.” He states flatly, unforgivingly.

Still, he lets go of your throat, letting you drop to his chest, panting sore breaths with his words ringing hot in your head. You start kissing between sipping for air – desperately, up his neck and jaw, then his lips, even though he doesn’t kiss back – pleading, “Please forgive me- I’m sorry, I-”

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” He mocks, stroking the back of your head, down your back as though soothing you – voice dripping with fake empathy. “Sorry for what exactly? Hm? For being a dumb little bitch, thinking you could run when you haven’t even so much as walked on your own two feet for months.”

A laugh inches into his words like a sickness. The eerie smile returns, small and curling in the corner of his mouth.

“You were fuckin’ hilarious, you know that?” He breathes lightly – eyes wide, staring at you like cornered prey. “Trippin’ over yer own two feet, barely even making it to the door.”

The grip around your throat returns, and you squeak out a whimper.

“Say it.” He seethes, “Say you’re a dumb little bitch who didn’t know what you were doing.” His lips ghost yours with the command, forcing you to echo the words back into his mouth.

“I’m- I’m a dumb little bitch- I’m- I didn’t know what I was doing-” 

He hums at your shivering but doesn’t ease his grip – molding his lips against yours, he kisses you deeply until parting with your lips between his teeth – letting go slowly.

“I- I’ll be good from now on, I promise-” You add – in the hope it would thaw the ice of his stare.

It doesn’t. He keeps them just as jaded – half-masted now as he runs his fingers up and down your spine, brushing your chin and cheek with his lips until blowing on your ear. “You better be.”

You shudder, wincing.

“‘Cause if you ever try anything like that again, I’m gonna go get that bat – and nothing and no one is gonna keep me from bashing away at you until I’ve made certain you can’t lift a single fucking finger without my help.”

You’re a broken mess of sniveling apologies and prayers on his lap by the time the brute comes back with the rope. 

But the one who’d reduced you to it doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. 

“There you are!” He beams with a bright smile.

Acting as though you weren’t falling apart in his arms, gripping his shirt for purchase while sobbing hard and ugly into his chest. 

“Let’s tie every square inch of 'em up like you suggested.” He muses while picking your tear-stained face up in both hands, nose-kissing you with his words dripping fondly off his tongue. “Just like a floppy fish ready to be gutted.”

BNHA – BakuDeku, DabiHawks, EndMight, ShinKami, TodoDeku, KiriBaku, Shiggy x villain!Deku

JJK – SatoSugu, YujiKuna, YujiGumi

HQ – Miya twins, IwaOi,

BLLK – NagiReo, KuniGiri

AOT - EreMin

DS - InoTan, DouAka

HxH – HisoIllu

[etfrin]

— ᴄᴀɴ ᴀ ɢᴀʏ ɢɪʀʟ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀɴ ᴀᴍᴇɴ !

regina george x virgin! fem! reader

navigation | masterlist

tw: partying, cunnilingus, loosing virginity (reader), fingering, mean-ish! Regina, dom-ish! Regina , semi-public sex, scissoring, multiple orgasms, hints of overstimulation if you squint, college! Regina, face riding, dub-con if you squint in the beginning, <33 | lmk if i forgot anything

dividers : @cafekitsune @rookthornesartistry @saradika

a/n: first time writing wlw, be kind 💋❤️

You pretend the red cup you held had vodka. It's water. Boring yet the safest choice for a party like this, loud, filled with drunks humping each other. None of them will remember the night tomorrow. You will though. Because you weren't drunk like them. And you certainly didn't enjoy the party.

You came to socialize but within minutes of saying hello to everyone you were tired. There's one girl you haven't seen yet, the queen of your college, Regina George. You weren't the only one who thought that this party was lame.

On second thought, maybe not, because Regina George was on the dance floor swaying while holding her red cup high in the air. You swallow as heat begins to pool between your legs. Fuck, she was sexy. Her pink top, black boots, perfectly styled hair.

Regina George was Aphrodite in disguise.

Your panties get wet with your slick as you lean on the wall and watch her. You rub your thighs subtly and wonder if liquor would give you the courage to talk to her. You close your eyes, wondering how the conversation will even go.

It ends terribly with her laughing at your face. You open your eyes and let out a squeak. Aphrodite (Regina) in front of you in all her glory was smirking down at you. “Hello,” you squeaked out, your voice abnormally high. You feel your face heating up. Stop being an obvious fuck, you tell yourself.

“Hi,” she leans in, her expensive vanilla scent attacking your senses, much more overwhelming than the reek of vodka. She grins, “You're cute.” She whispered, coming in closer, pinning you to the wall, “You look like you wanna play with me, sweetheart.”

You let out a surprised laugh, trying to play it off. You didn't need her rejection, not after the shitty day you had. “I am not sure- ah!”

Regina giggled her hand under your skirt. Her fingers pull your panties aside. “I don't think you're this wet for a man, sweetie.” Her thumb finds your clit and she pressed into the sensitive pearl. Her eyes showed that she enjoyed the gasp you let out.

“Regina,” you moan, as she rubs fast circles onto your clit. Your juices coating her fingers. She hums in response, “I am not hearing a no.”

Regina George begins to fuck her fingers into you. Your walls are sucking her digits in. You let out a moan, your eyes rolling back as she drags her dainty, long fingers against your walls. She pressed into your G-spot, finding it like an expert. You cry out, your legs nearly giving out because of how sensitive you are.

Regina pulls back and you let out a whimper of pure desperation. “But that's not a yes either,” the goddess said, her fingers glistening with your juices. Her tongue peeks out to lick the nectar of your cunt off her fingertips. You moan at the sight, your pussy walls pulsating.

“Yes- play with me,” you consent.

She smirks with triumph. “Good girl.”

She brings you upstairs, pulling you into an empty room and pushing you onto the bed. She lets her clothes drop on the floor, revealing her body for worship. Your mouth waters as you look at her. Fucking delicious of a meal she was.

Regina straddles you. “Played with girls before?” She questions, her hand tilting your chin upwards to look at her in the eyes. You shake your head, nervous.

“But I want to…” you admit shakily, wondering if your lack of experience would be a turn-off for her.

She pushes you down on the bed, a hand on your shoulder to keep you pinned. She took off your skirt along with your soaked panties. “I'll make you cum several times tonight,” she remarks, “but let's see how much of a mess you can create for the first time. Don't be too loud, pretty angel.”

She spreads your legs and lets her body fall onto yours. Her soaking cunt pressed onto yours. You let out a gasp at the feeling, your hands clutching the bedsheets. She grinds into you slowly, overwhelming your senses with pleasure. Her clit rubbed against yours with every small thrust of her hips. You whine, pathetic and needy. You wanted her to go faster.

Your hips begin to rut against her, fastening the pace. She lets out an annoyed huff from your sudden enthusiasm and dominance. She holds your jaw with her hand, her nails digging into your cheek. You stop your desperate movement and wait for her to speak.

The silence was loud enough. She pressed a wet kiss to your lips. You laid pliant for her to use. A toy for Regina to break. You were the lucky one chosen. You won't let the opportunity go to waste. You wanted to be broken by her.

She picks up the pace. Squelching wet sounds seemingly louder than either of your moans. It was obscene, and your blood was on fire. You feel yourself wanting more, wanting to lose control. You pull Regina into a kiss, feeding on the broken moan she released. Your hand gets tangled in her blond hair, your free hand digging into the plush of her ass.

“Please,” you beg. Your pleas go unheard and your cunt throbs with need. Desperate to cum like this. “Please, please, Regina. My Aphrodite please.”

“You're talking too much,” she murmurs, her cherry lips brushing against yours. “Shut up, doll.” You whine in response, and she kisses you all sloppy and wet, just like the movements of her hips slowing down. Her pussy fucking your cunt with agonizing strokes, her clit seemingly kissing your swollen pearl.

Your walls begin to clench around nothing, painting her cunt with your nectar. She moans into your mouth, and you hear a whisper of some kind of insult.

You couldn't bring yourself to care, not when your body is feeling like jelly. You seemed to be melted on the bed, panting, your eyes blown. Regina chuckles at the sight. “You're too fun,” she snarks, “I am not done yet.”

Regina presses several kisses over your breasts, her tongue teasing your nipple and savoring the salty taste of your skin. She continues down the path until she's between your thighs. She playfully bites into your flesh. You cry out from the sudden sharp pain that borders on pleasure. She does it several times, pulling back when she's satisfied.

She dives into your weeping cunt. Regina pressed a kiss to your swollen clit, before her tongue began to lick your pearl. You swear she was licking her name onto your sensitive nub.

And, fuck, that thought got you off.

Your moans got louder, and it spurred Regina on. The way she was eating out your cunt was fucking filthy. It was as if she was a succubus feeding on you. You enjoyed it, feeling heat gather again in your body. You whine her name, telling her that you're close. She didn't respond; instead, she takes your clit in her mouth to give a harsh suck. She even lets her teeth nip the bud.

You let out a small scream from the pleasure, nearly passing out from bliss. Your juices were coating her face as you calmed down from your sudden, intense orgasm. Your slick walls spasm around nothing. She watched the sight of your fluttering cunt, utterly mesmerized.

She pressed a kiss to your pussy when your orgasm ends. She sits back up. She runs a hand through her silk, blonde hair. Her eyes heated and glazed with lust as she looked at you.

“Think you can return the favor, doll?”

You nod. Your lips are ready to beg for her taste on your tongue. She hums in response and gets in position to ride your pretty, ruined face. Before she blesses you with her cunt on your lips, she gives you a stern glare. “Follow what I did, sweetheart,” she ordered before she lowered down onto your face.

You knew you were too enthusiastic. Your mind is hazy from the lack of air. You lick her cunt sloppily, long stripes all over her folds. You couldn't help yourself, you wanted to have as much of her nectar as possible. Then when you hear her moans getting higher, you focus on her clit.

You do the same thing she does. You spell out your name on her sensitive nub, and it works like a charm. She begins to move her hips, suffocating you with her cunt. You could have died happily like this, you suck her clit harder. Your tongue is getting faster and desperate to taste as much of her. You moan into her cunt, and the vibration of the sound sets her off.

She cries out of bliss as more slick comes out of her cumming pussy. You eagerly gather her slick onto your tongue, not caring about how sensitive she is right now. You keep going until she gets off your face. You let out a whine of displeasure when she does. She readily ignores the pathetic sound. She lays down beside you on the bed.

Her voice was breathless as she asked,

“So what's your name, pretty girl?”

[multiwreckedmess]

Two Princes (An Unexpected Part 2)

Pairing: Prince!Hyunjin x fem!servant!Reader x Prince!Felix Genre: Royalty AU Smut WC: 5.5k Summary: The Princes are a dream too good to be true. The previous encounter feels like a mere hallucination. They are determined to prove you wrong.   TW/CW: Power imbalance. SoftDom!Hyunjin, SoftDom!Felix, unprotected penetration, non-explicit consent, reader is called “darling” “doll” “toy”, hyunlix is called “sir”, oral sex, throat fucking, gagging mentioned, lots of body fluids, creampie/cum in mouth. Hyunjin has a name kink ig? Felix and Hyunjin aren’t related but are close like brothers so if that gives you the ick heads up. Written mostly in a fugue state with no editing because HAPPY 5-STAR DAY

As usual, this is fiction not a resource manual for how to do literally anything in life. This does not represent ANYONE real or fictional. It’s a fantasy AU FFS if you cannot figure that out I cannot help you. Also not proofread sorry...

Part 1 idk that it matters though. But people see to like it!

 Eyes shut to prolong your feeling of floaty weightlessness you roll over, surprised to find more mattress instead of the edge of the bed. Sandwiched between cool cotton sheets your fingers run over the fabric, softer than you remember but not unfamiliar, it’s fabric you’ve felt too many times to count as you practiced folding immaculate corners. There’s even more light here than in your small single room on the ground floor that has to fight for the occasional beam.   Gripping the thin fabric of your chamise with the luxurious cotton bedspread you bolt upright, eyelids flying open and heart pounding. The room is full of light linen fabrics in preparation for summer, bouncing the sun off of the walls brilliantly. Your maid’s uniform sticks out, dark stiff cloth neatly hung over the back of a small wooden chair nearby. Window open to the spring breeze, the smell of the castle garden flowers wafts past. It’s not your room, it’s not even near your side of the castle, you’re not even sure you’ve seen this room. It’s too quiet and lovely for you to feel comfortable in, years of conditioning rousing your aching body from the sheets to hurriedly don your uniform.  Unfussed about fully lacing your bodice you scurry out of the door, still making the effort to close it quietly, muscle memory hindering your quick escape. Heels barely touching the tiles, your feet propel you forward, down the side stairs to the cool darkness of the ground level, your home level. It’s easier and more familiar for you to navigate this, both the people and the corridors.

 A little sore and a little confused you’ve never felt more relieved to crash unseen into the kitchen, yanking a bundle of herbs from the pantry. You knew how to prepare the remedy, the ‘backup plan’ that had passed through the eons of people before you. Choking back the bitter concoction in your room alone you sighed. A small price to pay for a moment in a dream. It barely felt real. None of your interactions with the Princes ever did. Memories tossed in a haze of fairy dust thickly layered over your senses. What seemed so real and physical even a day prior was faded and yellowed and distant already.

 Never to happen again for sure.  You were a birthday present.  An experience for the men.  Nothing more.  Don’t delude yourself.

 From bundled in your covers, much rougher than you’d slept in the night before, to busying yourself with daily chores, you tried your best to forget. Yet you couldn’t help thinking giddily of the possessive way their eyes watched you, their tongues talked about you. Worth of winning, of dominating. A good subject, the best really that they could hope for. Their prized gift.

 It was easy to slip back into the natural rhythm of the castle. The council only convened on a monthly basis and without their direct request, few women were asked to care for either prince, mostly needing hands for meals and daily exercises, nothing that particularly required you. They were independent and easy to avoid without drawing much attention. Free agents at least within the walls of the fortress.

 It’s humid and sticky. It finally feels like summer is nearing after a cool spring. You don’t expect anyone of importance to see you, hair pulled up and away into ‘work mode’ straggling strands flying every which way. Cheeks hot from exertion you knead your fresh-from-the-icebox pie crust. Flour billowing up around your elbows as you slam the dough into the smooth marble counter. Finally seeing fit to press it flat and roll it out to cut into thin strips and carefully lattice the top of your strawberry rhubarb pie.

 “I’ve been simply craving a slice of pie,” a deep rumble purrs in your ear as you weave the delicate strips between each other. “-and I do love strawberries.”  You bump up against him as you scramble to curtsy, “Your Royal Highness, Prince Felix. What-why-you- forgive me but this is the servers quarters-”  “This is my castle,” he retorts, “nothing is off limits that is within my sight or grasp.”  You nod your head in a half bow, “correct sir, of course but- why? Your eyes shouldn’t be soiled by this!”  He smirks, eyes flitting to a stack of freshly washed strawberries, waiting to be pitted and sliced. “I wanted a snack,” he explains cooly, arm brushing passed yours to grab the fattest, ripest strawberry on the top of the pile, “and there were none left in the auxiliary kitchen so I thought I’d find my very favorite sweet.” Pouty lips wrapping around the plump fruit he bites down, red juices tinting his mouth a pinkish hue. Eyes closing slowly like a pleased cat, Felix moans. You struggle to keep your composure as a telltale throb courses to your cunt. Slowly his lids flutter open, hand turning the strawberry to you, eyes locked on your face. “It’s perfect. Won’t you try a bite?”  “Sir I couldn’t, really, they are meant for-” the firm flesh of the fruit bumps against your lower lip, finishing your sentence for you.  “Darling, you’re going to refuse a treat from your future king? That’s not the good girl I know.”  A bead of juice slides over your lips, traveling down your chin. Felix watches with pride as you slowly accept his offer, hesitantly opening your mouth, waiting for him to place the berry further on your tongue. When he doesn’t move you gingerly crane your neck forward to take the other half of the berry and bite down. An explosion of acidic sweetness plays over your tongue. It is as he said, a perfect berry, the dictionary definition of a strawberry, tangy and fresh. It’s difficult to control your eyes, momentarily rolling back in your head in delight.  “Delicious,” Felix watches you savor the experience, feasting on your reaction, arms caging you in as you chew. “I’m still a little hungry though,” his thumb swipes the trail of red from the corner of your mouth as you swallow, “aren’t you?” The wet pad playing over your lips you open and accept him in, tongue twirling around him sucking the juice off gently. Felix shudders, hips pressing forward and pinning yours to the counter. Your entire nervous system pulses, tingling waves traveling out to your fingertips, an alarm jolting through you. He leans in, eyelids half lowered, like he’s going to kiss you. Instead he stops, firmly pressing his damp thumb to your cheek and brushing flour off you before pulling away completely.  You can’t contain the gasp, the obvious release of tension from your body, the way you bit your lip to try to control your expression.  “Cute,” he coos, turning heel to the door. “Mother always said not to fill up on sweets though. Too much sugar will spoil the meal.”

 Sweaty, dirty, skirt hitched and legs unstockinged, the hot mid morning sun beats down on you as you plod through the large kitchen garden. Far less aesthetic than the gardens outside of the window you’d woke up by after that fateful day but far more useful. Flowers here won’t turn into beautiful bouquets or pressed ornaments to be put on display. They’ll turn into sustenance or medicine or be plucked to prolong the herb’s fragrance.  “Were I not who I am, I think I’d rather like the country life.” You hear a voice float your way.  “Says the one standing on the outside,” you retort without thinking or looking up. “Country life is easy when you’re not the one elbow deep in-” bent over, yanking a shallot free of the earth you are interrupted by hands at your waist and thighs meeting your backside. Yelping you whip around ready to smack the assailant who dares handle you in such a rough manner but as your head turns and eyes meet you find yourself diverting the energy into a curtsy. “Your Royal Highness, Prince Hyunjin, I’m so sorry I-I would’ve never- if I’d known- why are you-? Why didn’t you-? I’m not decent!” You stammer helplessly, eyes down, quickly working to let your skirts down to preserve what little appearance you hoped to have in front of your lord.  “Darling, I’ve seen you far less decent and will see you far less decent again, if you’ll have me.”  A lump catches in your throat, brain melting in the heat of the sun or the heat of his gaze. “I thought- I assumed it was just- I was just-”  Hyunjin smiles and laughs, brushing back the small hairs stuck to your brow. It’s a kind laugh, a knowing laugh. “Now now, our mothers taught us better than that. Never waste wine, words or women, that was the little idiom.” He looks at you with such sincerity, eyes crinkling into half moons, beads of sweat forming on his own brow as the sun rises higher. As you stand silent in the middle of the garden surrounded by freshly unfurled leaves it feels private and intimate. Slowly his arms mimic the growing beanstalks beside you, wrapping around at your waist casually.  “Sir I’m dripping sweat and caked in dirt you really shouldn’t-”  “What if I like that about you? The sweat and the dirt. What if I want my woman to be sweaty and dirty?” He cocks his eyebrow with a smirk.  It’s hard to contain your eye roll even as your heart flutters, “then that is your choice sir but-”  “You can call me my name. We aren’t in earshot of anyone, you can just say it.”  “Sir I-”  “I want you to say my name.”  You sigh, shooting him a pleading glance as you untangle yourself from his arms, “sir please my training dictates-”  “I can either say please or I can order you but I want to hear you say my name so you will.”  “Prince Hyunjin,” you say hesitantly, hoping that it will be enough to satisfy him.  He shakes his head, “just the last part. Just my name.”  “Hyunjin,” you breathe out. Though it’s a silly superstition but it feels like a bolt of lightening might strike you at any time, your body tensing in preparation for the hit. Even the slight brush of his fingertips to the side of your arms has your shoulder flinching in response.  “It sounds so sweet coming from you, darling, but I rather hear you scream it.” He says with a twinkle in his eye, hand wandering to your ass to cup it. It’s easier this time, “Hyunjin,” falling exasperated from your lips. “Not here.”  With a chuckle he steps closer, impossibly closer. The sun is hot and so is he, both sending rays of heat from their bodies to set you aflame. He smells like earth and musk. “It’s my castle. If we want to right here, we can. And if anyone says anything malicious about it I can have them beheaded.”  Your eyes bulging, you gasp. Normally you’d assume he was joking but his face is so neutral, so matter-of-fact, that there has to be at least some truth to his words. The proximity to power scares and excites you.  “But- my brother might hear about it and he’d be so disappointed to miss out on the fun! I don’t think I could bare his sorrowful stare.” And so Hyunjin leaves you, stunned in the middle of the kitchen garden, only half the leeks for dinner gathered in your basket and the afternoon sun high in the sky.

 “You’ve been requested for duty in the throne room again,” the matron eyes you up and down. Logically you know, her judgemental gaze is simply routine, scrutinizing your preparedness to undertake the job. It was a part of your work you were accustomed to. Fastidiously managing every aspect of the staff was her job, any emotion had been removed long before you were born. “Be sure to tidy yourself.” She’s brusque with words and actions alike, hurriedly closing your door behind her.  “The princes wouldn’t care if you marched in there only in your chamise, they seemed to make that quite clear,” you snickered to yourself, the matron’s final word to “tidy” still fresh in your ear. You weren’t shocked to be called back, neither was she. You were well trained in her eyes, a star pupil of hers, of course the princes would see the value in your quiet servitude. However you knew that your aptitude at sitting in a corner and refilling goblets wasn’t the reason they were asking for you and that was enough to make your stomach flutter. The tension of anticipation building and surging through you, an energy, infectiously radiated from your aura. How would you manage to keep yourself in check for however long the council would be today

 High arched windows, velvet curtains swapped recently for billowing linens, light flooded the great hall. Even your corner, your darling little corner, was brighter than you remembered. The twin glittering thrones posed domineering at the head of the long table, lined with similarly lush chairs although none as impressive. Memories of your previous foray into the belly of the castle appear in flashes as you blink. The cool air kissing your skin before their warm hands had time to. The prickle of tension passing up your spine as they admired you.  You shake yourself, you have to stay focused. You can’t get your hopes up. You were a gift, a toy, an experience for the Princes and you should be happy enough with that. No matter how they were raised or their stations in life, they were men after all. The matron had always warned you, in love and politics all men were knaves not knights. Besides what good would swooning do when work had to be done? Play your part, the stalwart help, rather than expose the small stuttering maid you feel like in their presence.  It isn’t long before advisors and guests alike trickle into the room, some mingling while standing, others immediately settling into their seats. A good mixture of familiar faces and new. The hum of voices busys your mind as you wait for someone to have want for something.  When the princes enter it feels like the oxygen is sucked from the room. The older advisors don’t seem to notice, happily continuing their side conversations. The guests notice. You notice. Instead of heading to their thrones they join the fray around the table, quiet confident smiles and assured strides carry them. Hyunjin seems more at ease, leaning to the side casually as Felix maintains his near military posture. They almost blend into the group, were it not for their beauty. Their hair is even longer since you last saw it, flowing almost past their chin, pieces neatly tucked behind their ears. Were they yours to have and hold you’d braid pieces back from their face, maybe weave flowers or ribbons through. You catch yourself. It wasn’t your place to consider how they managed any part of their appearance. It was your place to monitor the food and drink and get additional assistance as required.  A clanging of a fork to a glass jolts you up and onto your feet. Hyunjin’s glass is aloft, casually stretched in front of him, focused on you.  “Before we officially begin,” his voice fills the hall, ringing clearly off the walls, “I’d like to welcome our Miss. Would you please come to the head of the table for me darling?”  You nearly choke as all eyes turn to you. There are no other people near you, there is no excuse to hide behind. An order is an order and you find your legs moving stiffly below you, stepping almost mechanically as they bring you to the head of the table.  Felix’s hand swoops behind you, the warmth of his palm spreading through the layers of bodice, corset, and chamise, easily maneuvering you between the princes with a gentle pressure against your spine. Hyunjins hand lines up just above Felix’s, like a guard on either side.  “As she passed her trial run with flying colors, we’ve requested she become a permanent fixture as a part of these meetings,” Hyunjin beams as the party claps. Arms pressed to you, they keep your standing as your legs waiver. “Please say hello. We insist.”  You clear your throat, “I’m honored too much by your graces. I look forward to fulfilling my duties to the utmost,” your voice breaks awkwardly, embarrassed heat creeping up the back of your neck.  “We look forward to using all of your services.” Felix announces, the polite clapping of the attendees carefully covers his cheeky swat at your behind. Hyunjin gently squeezes your hip with a reassuring nod. It feels like home, even just for a second.

 Meetings and side conversations and boring court business seems to last forever. Normally you’d see at least some attrition from the advisors and guests but today each one appears to be firmly cemented to their seat. Your spine grows tired, eyes drooping with fatigue. It would be one thing if they needed you as they did the last meeting, running around with pitchers of various drinks to suit all tastes but today no one seems to want for anything. Somehow the absence of work is more tiring than the work itself. Your time is spent finding small ways to keep yourself alert, tapping your toes, staring at the bright sun, even busying yourself by changing out the many pitchers to their cooler cellar kept counterparts.  Even with the intense conversations and work happening it’s impossible to miss the prince’s apologetic glances as you pass the table once more, topping off glasses of both water and wine.  “Please,” Hyunjin claps his hands together, “no more. My brother is getting a headache and I fear I should shortly follow if this goes much longer. As I see it, there are no more pressing agenda items for this month, the rest may follow at our next meeting. Thank you all.” Hyunjin looks over his joined hands, locking eyes with you as he sits. He knows the staff’s rules, carefully watching you as you wait on your stool.

 Your eyes move between the princes, sensing the game of cat and mouse has already begun without your being aware. The thought enters your mind- at least this time you caught on before you were half dressed.  “Come, darling.” Felix’s command rings in the empty hall, shaking you all the way down to your core. “We’d like some of your assistance.”  Your pulse quickens, stepping lightly off the stool. Ears buzzing and oversensitive your footsteps sound like the marching of foot soldiers even as you pass lightly on the marble floor. It mirrors your heartbeat, wild in your chest and sinking low into your gut.  “Your royal highnesses, what do you desire?” You curtsy low in front of them. Meeting their gaze from beneath your brows at the apex of the bow. They look briefly at each other and smile.  “You.” Felix states plainly. The blatentness of it chokes you, air catching between your lungs and throat.   “I heard my brother paid you a visit,” Hyunjin begins. “He left hungry.”  “That’s funny as I heard a similar rumor about you Hyunjin,” Felix’s eyes stay locked on you. “visiting her in the garden but…you left empty handed.”  Your eyes flit downwards, embarrassed. “I’m sorry sirs, I’ll-I- if you are left wanting than the burden is on me.”  Wordlessly they rise from their thrones and meet you on the ground before their thrones.  “Are we really so burdensome to you?” Despite being only a pair their presence surrounds you, slowly circling on opposite sides like sharks.  “No that’s not what I - you- sirs- I-my words- it has been a long day for all of us and really-” you mutter, flustered. Head still tilted down Hyunjin takes the chance to plant a kiss on the back of your neck, lips working their way from your spine to the juncture between of your shoulder and side of your neck. Slowly his arms wrap around your waist, hands caressing up the front of your bodice. There’s no tugging, no hurry to remove the rough fabric under his fingertips. Instead he treats it like the most luxurious silk, breath fanning hotly as he groans.  “You’re right, we did you wrong today. Should’ve ended those pesky formalities much sooner. You must be so tired.” Hyunjin murmurs empathetically, the tones buzzing against your skin.Your body shivers, spine straightening with your head collapsing back on his shoulder. The slight suction of his mouth as he nips and sucks along his path has you head back on his shoulder, gasping for air.  “We must’ve mistaken a tired mind for disinterest, isn’t that right darling?” Felix presses himself to your front, sandwiching you between their warm frames. “Or did a cat catch your tongue?” He laughs and his licks from your collarbone up the column of your throat. If it weren’t for their pressure you’d have collapsed to the floor between them as your legs turn to jelly.

 The princes feel the additional weight immediately.  “Move?”  “Mhm.”  “Garden room.”  “Perfect.”  Their casual communication to each other is a far crying from the flowering sentences they court you with. Brisk, short, economical with their words. The dialogue of two men who need none to understand each other. Felix breaks from you, his hand still curled over yours, tugging the mass of you and Hyunjin forward through the room to a small door you hadn’t remembered ever spotting. Whisking you down the corridor you barely remember the area before you pop out the other side into the room you’d woken up in after your last foray. The sun casting a reddish orange over, particles of dust float in the air, the bed shoddily made, unlike those you tended to. Less like the image of opulence you’d originally made it to be, more of a sanctuary from daily castle life.

 They assume their roles naturally, Felix left to undress you, like last time, as Hyunjin undresses himself. Felix’s hands are sure of their path, unlacing your bodice, unpinning the waist of your skirts, popping open the confines of your corset, each action a smooth steady motion. Goosebumps coat your newly exposed skin as he peels off layers at a time. He peppers the areas with warm kisses as he tosses the fabric to the floor at the side of the bed, dark fabrics sitting like piles of fallen leaves. With the smallest of pushes Felix presses your back to the mattress, pulling your legs up against his torso to shimmy your loosened skirts and bloomers the rest of the way off your body.

 Head sliding sideways Hyunjin reappears in your line of sight. Lit by the streams of the setting sun his body line is thin and muscular, elegant as ever. Even as he slowly strokes his already aroused member he looks beautiful. Lips parted slightly and eyes locked with yours, his thighs meet the foot of the bed and hault him just barely within your fingertips reach. Eyes unable to tear themselves from him, you feel your thighs press into Felix’s shoulders as he pulls your pelvis to the edge of the bed. Chest tensing, eyes blown wide, you gasp as his lips tickle your inner thigh. For a moment your eyes cross as Hyunjin laughs, a series of three short airy hums.  “Focus on me, darling,” he purrs, “you know how much I love to see your pretty expressions.”  With a breathy “yes, sir,” you nod shortly as he approaches you, knees cushioned by the billowing fabrics of the bed. Hungry for him you drop your jaw and let your tongue loll, an open invitation he readily takes. Supporting at the back of your neck, he coos as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, barely pursing your lips as you kiss your way down. Hyunjin shudders when you finally wrap yourself fully around him and you preen. Seeing the Prince in such a vulnerable state so suddenly grows the fire in your belly, motivates you to go further, screwing your eyes open to watch him as you struggle to take the full length into your throat, tears burning and blurring your vision.  “Do you trust your future king?” Hyunjins long fingers trace your throat.  Slurping you nod.  “If it’s too much tap my thigh twice, if it’s urgent, pinch. I don’t care if it hurts me, you have my permission.” Carefully he lays your head down, placing his thighs on either side of your head. As he takes your mouth you feel him bump against a resistance in your throat. Trying your best to force past it, you find the position puts you at his complete mercy, trapped between him and Felix. You gag softly as he attempts a second push. “Slowly darling, breathe through your nose. Trust me.” Delicate strokes of his fingers down the column of your throat calm you. With a full breath in through your nose he pops past the barrier with a hiss, nearly immediately retreating fully, strands of spit still connecting the two of you. With tender touches he swipes the mess from your jaw, “you did so well darling. See how easy it is when you trust me?”  “Yes sir,” you pant.  Palm pressed to the side of your neck he fucks your throat, watching the swell of your neck as he fills you, whining with each flex of your muscle eager to gulp him down. “Just like that, keep breathing darling. Breath calms-fuck- just a little more.”  Pacing your breathing is a difficult task with Felix taking every opportunity to distract you. His breath is so warm on your inner thighs as he teases you, lips just barely brushing over your slit as he passes from leg to leg as if one would get jealous of the other if lingered on for too long. Finally he sees you’re wound up enough to settle at your mound. Tongue dipping between your folds and tracing you slowly, the warms of his mouth meshes with the heat of your sex. Hands tangling into the sheets as you try to ground yourself as he hones in on your clit. Flicking and swirling his taut muscle around it you hardly notice the almost inaudible whines that escape your open mouth. His hands grasp your thighs to him as your hips kick upwards, still speared between the two of them.

 As you feel Hyunjins thighs tense below your palms he withdraws with a groan. “He’s doing a good job right? Your Prince is treating you well?” Hyunjin goads. “Tell him, tell him how good he is.”  “Sir, so good,” you croak, barely able to crane over your body to look down at the source of pleasure.  “Which sir?” Hyunjin smirks, “we’re both your sir. So tell me who.”  “Prince Felix, sir,” you stutter and catch on his name. Your fingers desperately want to scramble and tug on the mop of blonde hair between your legs. Groaning, you gather the sheets into your fists to satiate your need. “It feels so good. God you feel so good.” Endorphins flood your body, bursting from your center out to your fingertips like white hot fire. Your whines reach a fever pitch, warbling as your body shakes. “Sir, Felix, sir,” panic rises in your throat as another wave quickly hits. Your abs tense and brace down, the walls of your sex clenching and pulsing around nothing. His hand joins his mouth, fingers short and small but strong to make up for it, quickly fucking into you as tears prick the corners of your eyes. The world spins around you, spiraling into intense pleasure. A wash of relief passes over you, in you, through you, sensitizing you. You gulp air down, lungs hiccupping it back in small bursts as you tremble and twist and cry, senses lost to the world.  “Enough, we don’t want to break her,” Hyunjin pulls Felix back from you by his mane of hair, his mouth and jaw glisten with a mess of spit and your juices.  Felix pants and snarls like a man possessed, “wanted to see how many she could take.” Shaking himself of Hyunjin, he runs his hands along your legs, still vibrating with exhaustion.  “Wanted to spoil our present. Otherwise how will she know how sweet she tastes?”  “Go show her then,” Hyunjin clambers between your thighs, practically forcing Felix from his post. Cock in hand he teases your hole, gathering the mess to lubricate himself. He fills you with one steady thrust, stretching out to accommodate him with a groan. You moan as his hips push harder into the backs of your thighs, the head of his cock stirring your guts.  Looking up at Felix dreamily he seems like the son of Apollo rather than a son of a man, shining back at you as fiercely as the sun. “You missed this didn’t you doll?” He leans down lips to yours, catching your reply before you manage to voice it, stealing a messy kiss as you moan. You taste more him than yourself, the tanin of the red wine still clinging to his tongue, as juicy and ripe as the heat of the august sun had baked the grapes that made it.  “Yes sir,” you manage to groan, open mouth pressed to his shoulder as Hyunjin leans his whole body weight forward into your thighs.  “Good. Maybe next time you won’t steal yourself so selfishly from us.” Hyunjin hisses as his hips pull back, pulling a groan from you as well. Your hands scramble indecisively, the need to grab him and fill yourself once again fighting your training to treat each man with white gloves. You can hear Felix chuckle at your side, pitch starting low and climbing slightly. He’s finally fully undressed himself, each groove of his musculature seemingly cut from glass, his undertones contrasting with Hyunjin’s, both luminescent in the low light. Laid bare like this their different lineages could not be more clear despite their joint upbringing.  “You want to be ours, right?” Felix sweeps some of the collected strands of hair from your brow. “We won’t play with a toy that doesn’t want to be played with.”  “Sir- I want- I want-” your reply emerges in quick gasps as Hyunjin’s hips roll into you over and over, driving you back into the center of the mattress.  “You want? Hyune- are you not fucking her hard enough? She wants.” Felix smirks at the elder.  Hyunjin grunts and withdraws from you, clearly annoyed by Felix’s goading.  Grabbing your hips he shoves you onto your side and then stomach, his grip leaving indents in your soft flesh. You scramble to accommodate his wordless directions, pushing your knees below you as he pulls your ass up, presenting to him lewdly. Hasty and animalistic he pushes back into you easily, new angle and new sense of fullness. Wobbling with each thrust you try to prop your chest up and away from the bed, arms knocking out from under you, defeated.  Back arched fully up you gasp into the mattress, wailing and moaning muffled in the down, drool soaking into the sheets.  “Who is fucking you dumb?”  “Sir, Prince Hyunjin sir.” You yelp against the damp fabric.  “What is my name?”   A wail escapes your mouth instead of a name.  Hyunjin leans over, hips still pistoning against you. With a shaky growl he commands you,“say my name.”  It’s like a dam in you breaks fully, flooding the air with words and his member with your arousal. “Hyunjin! Hyunjin,” you scream without care for formalities, over and over until his name becomes a sound rather than a proper noun.  “Hold her up for me.” You vaguely hear Felix ask Hyunjin before a tug at your arms pulls you up. Tension keeping you jutting outward with your back bowed, your shoulder joints burn as he silences you with his cock, lodged between your lips. No coaxing, no slow pace, just a man chasing a means to an end. He’s thicker than you remember, mouth straining to accommodate him comfortably as the spongy head of his cock hits your barrier, briefly popping past it as Hyunjin bounces you forward. Completely at their mercy, you feel like you’re floating between them, pinging back at forth, never left wanting for long. Your tongue can feel the seizing of Felix’s impending climax as he stuffs himself down your throat, a whimper catching in his throat as he unloads before stumbling backwards as spit and cum burble and overflow from your lips. Hyunjin follows closely, collapsing forward and warmth rushes to fill your core.  This must be the ecstasy of death, you think, every fiber of your being reverberating uncontrollably beneath your lover as he sucks small kisses possessively into the nape of your neck. You aren’t sure if the heartbeat you feel thudding is yours or his.  “She’ll stay here.”  “With us?”  “With us.”

Part three eventually. I have an outline its just everything in between. Probably not for a while though ya’ll i’m sorry. I’m going to have a few Ateez centric pieces out because June is theeeee month for comebacks.

In the meantime my sorta updated masterlist is here

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕏: ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕍𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 ℝ𝕠𝕞𝕖 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

Summary: Vincent goes back to his old life in Rome as if nothing happened. But there's Chidi, at his side, the one thing Vincent doesn't want to forget from the last few months. And it's causing complications...especially with Santino.

TW: grief, nightmares, PTSD, drug use, hypersexuality, stalking, jealousy, withdrawing consent during sex (and the response to the “no” is scary, although there’s no assault), attempted kidnapping, knife wound, concussion, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Author's Note: The title is a callback to that line in one of the first chapters, in which Chidi wonders how Vincent lived in Rome - bonus points if you remembered!

Fine. Good and done with. Vincent was strong again.

It was better to forget all of it. That bloodied thing that he could not recognize reflected in the mirrors outside the ballroom. The words coming through the intercom. The time in the hospital. Even the coronation. That was worst of all, perhaps. The disappointment in himself, in the way that perfect day had felt so hollow… No, no, no, just forget any of it had happened. And to Vincent’s great relief, his mind blanked it all mercifully away. There was a gaping hole at the center of him where he dared not tread, but that was better than dealing with it. He could even talk about it, very easily, just as he had done at the ball with everybody. As long as he didn’t feel it, he could talk about it. This was the way one recovered from grief, he decided. One day, one simply decided to stop being a baby.

Yes, he was just going back to Italy after a few days away, and everything would be normal. “Il palazzo,” as he called it, was the quaintest, pleasantest place anyone could imagine living, and he would thoroughly enjoy it. It was humble by the Marquis' standards, but still very comfortable, and fully staffed with maids and a cook. He’d made it every bit as lavish as might suit him, while being a little less stuffy than Versailles. There was an abundance of French furniture with a Roman twist, in sunset gradients from pink to burgundy, with gilding glittering at the edges of everything. There was statuary in honor of Bacchus and Apollo. There was a full bar in the parlor where Vincent was sure to entertain guests as often as he could. There was some obscure art piece or trinket in almost every room, gifted from suitors. He would walk by the river in the mornings, with one of those suitors on his arm, and have luncheons with Gianna to talk business. And sneak off with Santino, not to come back until morning. What happened in between was…generally something of a blur.

In Rome, he didn’t feel quite as unsafe as he did in the estate. He had learned to navigate this city on his own – always guarded, yes, but giving the guards the slip long enough to do a line unseen. The Myrmidons didn’t have the slightest idea about his activities…well, maybe the slightest idea, but they couldn’t prove anything. In the past, Vincent had made sure of that because they reported to his – no. No. Nothing happened. Don’t think in that direction.

There was one problem with this perfect plan, and its name was Chidi. He had absolutely no desire nor ability to forget Chidi. And it was Chidi who carried his broken body out of that bloodbath, it was Chidi who held him together in the weeks afterwards. It was Chidi who stood up for him at the coronation, and then swayed with him in an empty side room, leading him with unexpectedly graceful steps and an exhilarating hand pressed to his waist. Chidi was inextricably tied to everything that had happened to him, everything he had suffered, lacing every poisoned memory with something too sweet to spit out. Chidi had seen all of it, dealt with all of it, and now he haunted Vincent, reminding him of every moment. Vincent found that it was becoming difficult even to look at his bodyguard. A mixture of shame and hope and…something hung over Chidi, making him unbearably beautiful.

So, when they arrived at the precious Il Palazzo, Vincent assigned him a room on the lower floor, not adjacent to his own. It was much finer than the servant quarters. It was the finest of any room in the house except Vincent’s, in fact. But they absolutely had to sleep separately. He was not a child, nor was he a lover. What was acceptable in grief was no longer acceptable once one was done grieving. And Vincent was done grieving, thank you very much. He could sleep very well on his own, and he would need his privacy. Chidi made no protest.

Thus it began. Forcing his eyes to close in an unfriendly darkness. Waking up in cold sweats at three AM until he learned to fear sleep more than exhaustion. Sobbing with his face buried in a pillow so that no one would hear him and force him to admit that yes, things were different now. That he could no longer take being alone. Each morning dawned in pure, golden relief, spent gasping until the remnants of tears had cleared out of his breathing, and then meeting Chidi with a stately nod at his bedroom door. Chidi must know, by the way he waited there earlier and earlier each time, but he said nothing.

There was, of course, an alternative to this torture. He could go to bed with someone. Not Chidi, no, that would reopen too much, but…someone.

It was just three days after their arrival in Rome when Vincent dismissed Chidi for the first time. “Je sors avec les autres gardes ce soir. Prenez du temps libre. [I’m going out with the other guards this evening. Take some time off.]“ He said it casually, the way that one might casually toss a grenade into the center of a crowded room. They were seated at either side of a little round tea table for an afternoon snack. Chidi stood up and stared at him, breathing hard. Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Avons-nous un problème? [Do we have a problem?]”

He promptly sat down again. “Non.”

“Bien. [Good.]”

That night, Chidi had already gone to his own bedroom when Vincent returned with a man on his arm. But the door was cracked open, and Vincent could feel eyes on him as he passed, prickling his skin with visceral guilt. Well, to hell with that. He would not be guilted for doing what he had to do to get a moment of peace. No matter whether he pictured Chidi alone in that downstairs bedroom, unhappy. Probably very unhappy…

The night passed without troubled dreams – in fact, it passed almost entirely sleepless. And in the morning, Chidi was waiting for him at the door, the same as ever. His co-conspirator must have passed Chidi on the way out in the early hours. They didn’t speak a word about it.

And they didn’t speak a word about it the next time, or the time after that. It became Vincent’s habit to ensure that he did not sleep alone two nights in a row – which was to say, it became Vincent’s habit not to sleep more than two nights in a row. It was a perfect system, really. A liaison kept the nightmares away for a night. Drugs kept him upright and free of shame over the course of the day following a liaison. And by the time he passed out from exhaustion the next night, he was too tired to dream. As long as he didn’t look at Chidi, he didn’t have to feel bad about any of it, which was perfect, because he was trying not to look at Chidi anyway. What could go wrong?

Best of all, the whole cycle numbed him just enough to maintain things with Santino. The relationship had become…draining. A series of encounters that he had to get through by being drunk or high or teasing Santino to vent his own resentment. But the connection made sense politically. Vincent wracked his brain for a real reason to break up, and he couldn’t justify it. He definitely couldn’t deal with the fallout that would ensue if Santino decided to throw a fit about the breakup, not right now. It could ruin things with Gianna, and that was going so well.

Santi, for his part, was only too glad to have Vincent back in the city, and to restock his drug supplies whenever he wanted. He made excuses to stay in Rome until winter. The D’Antonio family was already making plans for how they would spend Christmas together. Again, the only hitch was Chidi.

“Pourquoi ne vous débarrassez-vous pas de votre garde du corps stupide? [Why don’t you get rid of that brainless bodyguard of yours?]” Santino would say, while eyeing him across the room and grimacing. Normally, Vincent tried to see him when Chidi wasn’t on shift, but Santino had an infuriating habit of showing up unexpectedly. And every time the two were in the same room, some variation of this conversation played out. “Il ressemble à un gros bœuf stupide. Je peux t'en trouver un meilleur. Quelqu'un de pointu. Vous savez à quel point Ares est efficace... [He looks like a big, stupid ox. I can find you a better one. Someone sharp. You know how effective Ares - ]”

“Je suis très bien fourni en gardes du corps, merci. [I’m very well supplied with bodyguards, thank you.]” But he never seemed to drop the subject for good. It was like Chidi was getting into everything, changing every aspect of his life, haunting his thoughts throughout every one-night-stand. No matter how he tried to act like he didn’t care, no matter how he tried to compartmentalize him, there was Chidi again.

What bothered him most of all was that Chidi seemed to have no trouble getting a life of his own. He was settling into his role as head of the Myrmidons admirably. In the evenings, when Vincent allowed himself the agonizing ecstasy of an hour in undivided company with Chidi, he learned that Chidi was exploring Rome by himself and finding it very much to his liking. He had even discovered a favorite restaurant in a historic building downtown. Would Vincent like to go there together sometime? He seemed to be testing the waters. Vincent couldn’t resist saying yes. Despite his best efforts to exclude Chidi, he couldn’t bear the thought of Chidi having a favorite place that didn’t include him. It was very confusing.

Apparently, the other Myrmidons sometimes accompanied him on his walks through the city. One of the maids, too. Chidi was friends with them now. Everybody liked him, because of course they did. He was so gentle in his brutishness, so playful and yet so steadying, so infectious when he laughed. And on top of that, just look at him. Vincent did, and felt physically burned by the way his shoulders strained with muscle under his blazer, the way that beard cut knife-sharp along his jaw. As usual, he had to look away.

The next day, Vincent watched him with this maid. He felt burned then too. The way her shining, brunette curls bounced when she nodded at something Chidi said, glowing with smiles. Did Chidi feel burned when he looked at her? When he looked at Vincent? Had Chidi ever felt this way, about anyone? Had anyone in the world ever felt this way about anyone else, or was Vincent being tortured in some cruel and usual manner peculiar to god’s least favorites? He was in flames. He was dying. He must be.

That night, he got very high indeed.

He went to Santino, because damn it, if Chidi was going to go to the maid when he was lonely, then Vincent was going to go to Santino.

A line. Santino’s finger running over a wine glass as he stared out at the river at dinner, interrupting sparkling candlelight. A line. That sparkling transformed into flashing on a club floor. A line. Their bodies pressed together in the back of a limo. A line. Santino’s words spilling into his mouth between kisses. “Sapevo che mi volevi, mio ​​caro. Sapevo che saresti venuto da me da solo uno di questi giorni. Hai finalmente finito di farmi implorare? [I knew you wanted me, mio caro. I knew you’d come to me on your own one of these days. Are you finally done making me beg?]”

Disgust twisting in the pit of his body. “No. Prega più forte. [No. Beg harder.]” Say that you desire me. That I’m worth something…that no one could resist me… Santino whined and started humping into the leather seat with Vincent still buried in his ass.

“Per favore, mio ​​amore. Per favore. Fammi sentire bene. Non so come fai... aaaa... devi essere una specie di diavolo. La mia tentazione. Non sei nemmeno umano. [Please, mon amour. Please. Make me feel good. I don’t know how you do it…aaaa…you must be some kind of devil. My temptation. You’re not even human.]”

“Ovviamente non lo sai. Non mi conosci affatto. [Of course you don’t know. You don’t know me at all.]” It just slipped out. Santino didn’t seem to notice.

But he noticed when Vincent went soft and retreated into the seat away from him.

“Dove-cosa...? Dove sei andato? [Where-what…? Where’d you go?]”

“Ferma la macchina. [Stop the car.]”

“Che – [What the – ]“

“Sei sordo e del tutto inosservante? Ho detto di fermare la macchina. Ho avuto tutto ciò che volevo. [Are you deaf as well as completely unobservant? I said stop the car. I’ve had all I wanted.]”

Santino’s face went from confused to livid. “No! Verrai a casa con me stasera. Hai accettato. [No! You’re coming home with me tonight. You agreed.]”

“Davvero Santino? Sei quel tipo di uomo? [Really, Santino? Are you that kind of man?]” He rolled his eyes disdainfully, but his heart had started doing something utterly sickening. Was Santino that kind of man? His hand closed on the handle of the knife in his back pocket.

“Non ti toccherò. [I won’t touch you],” Santino said very graciously, despite caressing the air just above his cheek in a gesture so close to touching that it might as well have been. “Ma avevi promesso di venire. Ti terrò finché non ti renderai conto di quanto ti piaccio. [But you promised to come. I’m going to keep you until you realize how much you like me.]” His face hovered inches from Vincent’s. How did this escalate so fast? Only minutes ago, it seemed, he was sober, having dinner and planning to go home soon…

Don’t panic. He wished Chidi were here. How could he get back to Chidi? What could he do? His bodyguards were following behind them in another car. They’d know if he went missing. And they’d notice if he jumped from the vehicle. His eyes flickered from Santino’s too-close lips to the door handle. Santino caught the look and covered the lock with his hand, grinning. “Non mi sfuggirai, Vincent. Finalmente, dopo mesi, sei venuto da me volentieri. Non a un pranzo con me e mia sorella, non a una cena per cui ho dovuto implorare. Sei venuto da me, da solo, perché stai iniziando a vederlo anche tu. E non ti permetterò di buttarlo via solo perché a volte ti confondi. Apparteniamo insieme. Quella guardia del corpo ti sta dando fastidio, ma io... [You’re not getting away from me, Vincent. Finally, after months, you’ve come to me willingly. Not at some lunch with both me and my sister, not at some dinner I had to plead for. You came to me, all on your own, because you’re starting to see it too. And I won’t let you throw that away just because you get confused sometimes. We belong together. That bodyguard is messing with your head but I’ll - ]”

The blade plunged into the center of Santino’s hand. It was so satisfying that Vincent had to take a moment to enjoy the look on his face. “Oh, sei sorpreso di essere stato pugnalato dopo un discorso del genere? Hahahaha, malato di merda! Non appartengo a te! [Oh, you’re surprised you got stabbed after a speech like that? Hahahaha, you sick fuck! I do not BELONG with you!]” It was already too late – he might as well unleash everything. “Sai perché sono venuto qui stasera? Perché sei il fondo del barile, la persona che vedo quando ho voglia di sguazzare. Ti ho sedotto solo nel caso in cui tu uccidessi tua sorella più tardi, e sai una cosa? Spero che tu ci provi, e spero che lei ti uccida prima. Ti odio a morte, questa è la verità. Ovviamente devi ricorrere al rapimento solo per la più piccola speranza di ricevere il più piccolo briciolo di attenzione, patetico e disperato succhiacazzi. Risparmiati la fatica e non cercarmi più [You know why I came here tonight? Because you’re the bottom of the barrel, the person I see when I feel like wallowing. I only ever seduced you in case you kill your sister later, and you know what? I hope you try, and I hope she kills you first. I hate your guts, that’s the truth. Of course you have to resort to kidnapping just for the smallest hope of the smallest scrap of attention, you pathetic, desperate cock sucker. Save yourself the trouble and don’t look for me again.]” And with a spray of crimson trialing behind, he wrenched himself and the knife out into the battering midnight wind.

It hurt…a lot more than he was expecting. His shoulder made impact first. The purple-black of the city sky rolled over and over itself as he tumbled across cobblestones. There was tearing fabric, rocks driving into his flesh, a sharp impact against the back of his skull. In the distance, he could hear screeching tires. Was it one or both cars that turned back for him? But he blacked out before he could learn the answer.

He woke up in motion. A familiar scent. Someone’s arms underneath him. “Move. Don’t stand there, get a doctor.”

“Chidi…?” He curled closer against his chest. They were going up a flight of stairs, it seemed.

“C'est moi. Vous allez bien, monsieur. Vous êtes à la maison. [It’s me. You’re okay, sir. You’re home.]”

Splitting pain down the center of his head. “Je ne… je ne ressens pas… [I don’t…I don’t feel…]”

“Vous avez une commotion cérébrale. Mais tout ira bien. Tu étais si courageux. Ils m'ont dit – [You have a concussion. But everything will be alright. You were so brave. They told me – ]“ Chidi cut himself off, seemingly overcome. “De toute façon. Je vais te déposer maintenant, au lit. Est-ce que ça va? [Anyway. I’m going to set you down now, in bed. Is that okay?]”

Vincent realized he was shaking. “N'allez nulle part. [Don’t go anywhere.]”

“Je ne le ferai pas. [I won’t.]” He was laid very gently onto soft sheets. His shoes and tie were pulled away, the blanket tucked up to his chin. Everything was so warm, so bright…his head was still cradled in Chidi’s arms. Finally, Chidi was in his bedroom again, and everything seemed fixed. The change from the past few days was so enormous that Vincent couldn’t understand why he hadn’t done this sooner.

“Chidi?”

“Oui?”

“Je déteste Santino. [I hate Santino.]”

That gorgeous jaw set tight. “Il t'a fait du mal? [Did he hurt you?]”

“Non, heureusement non. Il a juste essayé de me kidnapper. [No, fortunately not. He just tried to kidnap me.]” Vincent scoffed. “C’est de ma faute, j’ai renvoyé mes gardes du corps, donc j’ai dû sauter – [It’s my fault, I sent my bodyguards away, so I had to jump – ]”

“Ce n'est PAS votre faute. [It is NOT your fault.]” Chidi pressed a kiss against his pounding head. “Cet homme est une petite fouine dégoûtante. Je ne le laisserai plus jamais toucher à toi. [That man is a disgusting little weasel. I will never let him lay a finger on you again.]”

Vincent smiled, savoring the way the warmth spread from the spot his lover’s lips had touched. “Merci.” He studied Chidi’s face. Worry lines at the corner of his mouth and eyes stood out prominently. There was the burning thing, flaring up in his chest at the sight of Chidi’s face. The guilt, the shame. The terrifying magnetism. “…Que vous ont dit les gardes? […How much did the guards tell you?]”

“Que veux-tu dire? [What do you mean?]”

They didn’t tell him anything, then. This was going to be incredibly difficult. Vincent tried one more time. “Vous ont-ils dit ce que je faisais avant de quitter le club ? Vous ont-ils dit… dans quel état je me trouve? [Did they tell you what I was doing before we left the club? Did they tell you…the state that I am in?]”

“Ils feraient mieux de ne rien me cacher. [They had better not have kept anything from me.]”

“Je leur ai fait jurer de ne rien te dire. [I made them swear not to tell you.]” He stared at the far corner of the blanket for a minute, trying to muster the courage. Instead, he found himself deciding maybe not. Maybe it was better Chidi didn’t know. If he quit, then who would ever have to tell Chidi? Nobody, right?

But Chidi saved him the trouble. “Que prenez-vous, monsieur? [What are you taking, sir?]”

Infinite silence, still staring into the corner. “Cocaïne.” He waited for disappointment, for crushing sympathy, already preemptively irritated by both.

“Comment ça a commencé? [How did it start?]”

“…Santino. Quand je suis arrivé ici seul pour la première fois. […Santino. When I first came out here alone.]”

“Je vois. [I see.]” Vincent could almost feel that information being filed for later. “Voulez-vous arrêter? [Do you want to stop?]”

“Non. Oui. Je ne sais pas. [No. Yes. I don’t know.]”

“Eh bien… c'est mon travail de protéger votre santé, monsieur. Je ne ferais pas mon travail si je te laissais continuer. [Well…it’s my job to protect your health, sir. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you continue.]”

“Et si c’était la seule chose qui me garde sain d’esprit, hmm ? J'ai besoin… [What if it’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane, hmm? I need…]” Fuck, he was going to cry if they kept on with this discussion. “Et si ça me maintenait en vie ? N'est-ce pas important pour ma santé ? Je serai trop fatigué sans ça, et puis je dormirai, et puis je… je ne peux pas… je ne peux pas… [What if it’s keeping me alive? Isn’t that important for my health? I’ll be too tired without it, and then I’ll sleep, and then I’ll…I can’t…I can’t…]” At some point he had started hyperventilating and couldn’t stop.

Chidi took his hand and kissed it, looking deeply pained on his behalf. “Monsieur. Je veux t'aider avec les cauchemars. Avec le chagrin. Tout cela. Chaque jour, je te vois souffrir alors que tout le monde s’attend à ce que tu ailles bien. C’est impossible, vu la pression que vous subissez, d’essayer de revenir instantanément à la normale. Sachez que vous n’êtes pas obligé de le faire seul. [Sir. I want to help you with the nightmares. With the grief. All of it. Every day, I see you hurting when everyone else expects you to be fine. It’s impossible, the amount of pressure you’re under, trying to go back to normal instantly. Please know that you don’t have to do this alone.]”

“N'êtes-vous pas trop occupé avec la femme de chambre? [Aren’t you too busy with the maid?]” Vincent wished he could take back the words but they were already out, and now he would have to hear the answer, hear Chidi lie or get angry or pity him or -

“Comme si quelqu’un pouvait être plus important pour moi que toi. Vous êtes ma vie, Maître Vincent. J'ai donné ma vie pour la tienne volontairement, tu te souviens ? J'étais prêt à être exécuté. Et je reste prêt. Je vous attends. Je n’ai touché personne d’autre, et je ne le ferai pas, peu importe le nombre de personnes que vous coucherez. Faites ce que vous devez faire, monsieur. Je veux juste être là pour toi. Même quand les choses vont mieux. Quand tu n’as plus mal… et je ferai en sorte que ce jour vienne… quand tu n’as plus mal, je veux toujours être à côté de toi. Pas besoin d’être malade pour dormir à mes côtés, Vincent. Si tu me veux, c'est tout ce qu'il faut. Je viendrai à toi. Peut-être que tu ne ressens pas la même chose, mais je t’aime et je le ferai toujours. [As if anyone could be more important to me than you. You are my life, Master Vincent. I gave my life for yours willingly, remember? I was ready to be executed. And I remain ready. I wait for you. I haven’t touched anyone else, and I won’t, no matter how many people you take to bed. You do what you need to do, sir. I just want to be there for you. Even when things are better. When you’re not in pain anymore…and I’ll make sure that day comes…when you’re not in pain anymore, I still want to be next to you. You don’t need to be unwell to sleep beside me, Vincent. If you want me, that’s all it takes. I will come to you. Maybe you don’t feel the same way, but I love you, and I always will.]”

Maybe it was the dawn finally starting to rise, but the world shone gold at all the edges. Like it was cracking, and sunlight was seeping in. It bled around the curtains, onto the bed, onto their joined hands. But Vincent’s eyes were too well adjusted to the darkness. He didn’t know what to do. Barely even knew how to talk around the lump in his throat. Say it back. I love you too. I love you too. I love you too. “Je ne savais pas… Je ne savais pas que tu pouvais parler de cette façon, Chidi. [I didn’t know…I didn’t know that you could talk this way, Chidi.]”

“Ce n’est pas une conversation, monsieur. Je t'aime. [It’s not talk, sir. I love you.]”

I love you too. “Allonge-toi à côté de moi. [Lay next to me.]” I love you too. “Jusqu'à ce que le médecin arrive. [Until the doctor gets here.]” I love you too. “Je ne veux pas que tu ailles n'importe où. [I don’t want you to go anywhere.]”

And Chidi slipped into the bed beside him, embracing Vincent skin to skin, arms securely around his waist, sighing contentedly against his neck… not asking him to say a thing. “Je sais. [I know.]”

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[co-reborn]

WYR-0525: Good Little Student Wang Yiren Is Secret Porno Slut! Couldn't Resist Fuck During Office Hours With Teacher, Multiple Orgasms Spanking Doggy Style Sex Party!

Yiren x Male Reader

view in AFF

4,246 Words

A/N: Powered through writing this for @praeluxius​ and special thanks to him and @sinswithpleasure​ for helping beta-read this fic. 

A/N2: Potential TW in terms of dubious consent for a certain part of the fic. I do not condone doing it IRL.

Funny how Wang Yiren has such a strong passion for the camera. The shot of her face when you take her attendance always reminds you of the many times you’ve seen her on the internet long before she became your student. You didn’t want to believe it at first but everything about her felt so familiar. You try to ignore her online persona as much as you can. She distracts you enough outside of class and you can’t have her be a distraction in class too. 

Your eyes linger a little too long after you mark her as present. An hour and a half ago, she was dressed all prim and proper. Now at the end of class, Yiren looks like a complete mess. Her top is haphazardly buttoned and her face is flushed with stray hairs sticking to her forehead. You know that look. You can tell what she has been doing during your online class.

Block out any stray thoughts and focus on what’s on hand right now. You finish class with final reminders about other assignments and soon after, your students begin to leave the call. Only one remains. Yiren doesn’t say anything, just navigating her screen before she makes eye contact with you through the screen. 

Immediately, your phone receives a notification. The website icon gives you a hint on what it’s about and you tense up for a second. When you look back at your monitor, you’re alone in the online classroom. You heave a sigh and close the app. Your next lesson is a while away so you busy yourself with some emails and marking of assignments. However, the universe has another plan for you. The notification of your phone stares at you. Ignore it.

You can’t. 

You pick your phone up to read it proper—WYR uploaded a new video. 

Your monitor cursor automatically finds its way to the bookmark bar and clicks the oh-so familiar webpage. Right at the top of the page it shows the latest video—“Class Time Sex Video For Teacher To Watch!”. You check the video length. Thirty minutes. Lunch break ends in an hour. You can finish lunch in fifteen minutes, you have time to spare. Your cursor hovers over the thumbnail. Just click away.

You almost give in to that voice in your head. The video preview starts playing. It shows Wang Yiren’s near-naked body. She has posted several intimate videos on this blog from months prior to being in your class and you hate to admit that you watched every single one of them. Your fingers tremble and ultimately, you go against your morals and get ready to watch the latest release.

The video starts off simple as always—an up-close image of her cute face smiling at her viewers. You’re thinking to yourself, ‘Fuck, she’s so goddamn pretty’. Yiren is easily the cutest student you have come across and if you were her classmate, you’d die to date her. 

However, when she takes a step back and you see the manner she’s dressed in, your thoughts change to ‘Fuck, she’s so goddamn hot’. Her uniform top, the same one she was wearing earlier in your class, is halfway undone and she’s giving you a peek down to her cleavage. That sight remains on your screen for the next few minutes, you aren’t exactly sure how long. She stayed in the position for some time, undoing the rest of the buttons and pulling the top open repeatedly in a teasing fashion, plus you couldn’t resist rewinding those few seconds several times. 

Then, Yiren takes another step back and turns around. When she leans forward, her skirt lifts just enough for you to see her cheeks peek from below it. Her hands reach for the side of the skirt and an audible zip later, it drops to reveal her skimpy pink panties. You pause the video to take the moment to properly admire her half-clothed ass, even spotting the outline of her pussy. Letting the video continue playing, you watch Yiren pull her panties down her legs. She’s already wet and definitely needy for some action. She follows up by teasing the camera with shakes of her ass mixed with her hands running all over the pristine white skin.

Meanwhile, you’re obsessed with the thought of what it would be like if you were next to her. Digging your fingers into her fine little ass would send you into a frenzy. You wouldn’t stop there. There’s more to enjoy than groping her. You want to spank that ass and ruin the perfect white with red hand marks. That will truly drive you insane.

As if she can predict your thoughts, what comes next is a series of soft slaps accompanied by her soft yelps. Yiren is slapping her own ass, although you would be rougher than that if you had the chance, and the first few moans of the video already have you twitching and leaking. This continues for the next minute or so, her slaps gradually increasing in strength, causing her ass to grow redder.

Yiren then turns back to the camera and smiles as she takes a seat. Slowly, she spreads her legs and your eyes are glued to the screen. You want to get a proper look at her crotch but her hands are covering the view, as if she knows exactly what you want. Keeping up the painfully slow movement, her fingers run across her soaking pussy lips before she fully exposes herself to the camera.

Yiren picks up a dildo off her desk and she winks when she presses the dildo against her entrance. Anticipation is at its peak. You’re staring intently at the screen and waiting for your student to begin fucking herself. Unfortunately, she draws out the moment further by circling the toy around her clit.

You do not have the time nor the patience to watch Yiren tease herself so you spam the arrow key to skip ahead. One click too many and you barely catch the sight of her inserting the last inch of the toy into her pussy. She then pulls it out and her juices staining the toy causes it to glisten. A split second later, the dildo is buried deep inside her one more. In and out the toy goes, a seemingly endless cycle that you’re so accustomed to watching such that you can “watch” with your eyes closed.

You stroke yourself at the same pace as Yiren fucking herself. You wish to be the one fucking her and your mental image slowly shifts. 

She’s lying on her back and already spreading her legs. She’s wearing that same “fuck me” look she loves to put on in her videos and beckoning you to get closer to her. You’re pounding her fast and hard and the next thing you know, Yiren has her arms and legs wrapped around your neck and waist. She pulls you into her and you hear her every gasp and moan.

“Faster. Harder.”

You’re fully unaware of how long the video has been going for and eventually, the moaning comes to a temporary pause. You slow your strokes down as well, not wanting to blow your load too early. An abrupt cut later, you’re presented with a new angle.

The dildo is now placed on her chair and Yiren has repositioned herself to face the backrest of the chair. While you’re denied vision to her front, you have the privilege to watch her ass. Her hand steadies herself against the backrest while the other pulls her cheeks apart just enough for the camera to catch the erotic scene. Yiren looks over her shoulder and bites her lips as she sinks downwards onto the toy. 

As soon as the dildo is fully in her body, she begins to ride it fervently, not hesitating to vocalise her pleasure. You wish you could watch her face contort in pleasure but you’ll settle for the sight of her ass rippling as she bounces on the chair over and over. If only you get to watch that in the flesh or even experience it for yourself.

You always suppress the thought of fucking her when in class or on campus but in the privacy of your home, your inhibitions no longer hold you back. It would be heaven for Yiren to be on top of your lying figure and riding you. You want to grip her hips and bounce her hard against your cock. You want to fucking use your hot student’s body in any way possible. While your imagination continues to go wild, the pressure in your loins grows as you inch closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck!”

You snap your attention back to the screen when Yiren’s moans grow in volume and frequency. Your eyes are glued to the screen just in time to watch her cum. Her back arches and her head tosses back. Even after she has came, she never stops riding the toy despite the struggle.

By now, you’re more than 20 minutes into the video. You have been edging closer and closer to your peak. Rewind the last few seconds over and over. Watching the sight of Yiren cumming repeatedly is just what sets you off. You cum all over yourself and make a mess of your hands and your crotch. Your eyes shut while the pleasure of your orgasm courses through you and all you can hear is Yiren’s skin slapping on the now-wet chair.

Gently maintain your strokes even when you have stopped leaking while you grab nearby tissue to wipe yourself up. By now, Yiren is facing the camera and is holding her stained dildo. Her tongue circles the girth of the toy as she begins to suck it. If not for the time constraint, you would consider going for a second round.

After you finish cleaning yourself, you look at the video again. The glint in her eyes as she sucks her juices clean off the toy tells you something—she’s not done yet.

Before the video ends, she leans closer to the camera and whispers, “Aren’t I a good little student?”

“Yes, Yiren. Yes you are.”

~~~~~~

An unexpected knock on the door causes you to snap out of your trance and pause the video you were engrossed in.

“Come in.” You shut your laptop and look up.

Oh. It’s her. 

Yiren steps into your office. Seeing that she’s wearing the same outfit as that video from days ago, your mind replays clips of her stripping herself, spanking herself, fucking herself. You shake your head and clear the images away. 

Standing across the desk from you, she exclaims, “Do you like me?”

You raise your eyebrow, unsure of what she means. She shifts your laptop to the side of your table and lays her bag carefully on it. You frown, confused by her actions. Moving towards your side of the table, Yiren crosses her arms and leans on the edge of your desk, “I mean, sir, do you like watching my videos?”

There’s nothing you can do but sit in confused silence.

“Oh please, I recognise that website icon on your bookmark bar any day of the week.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. In fact, I’m flattered that you watch my videos.” Yiren then places her hands on your shoulders and leans closer to you. “Sir, did you know I started filming myself in the middle of your online classes before?”

You gulp. Of course you remember the times when notifications go off minutes after your class ends and when you watch the videos, she is wearing the very same clothes as during the attendance check. “Y-Yes Yiren.”

“I did that not because I was bored, but because I get so wet whenever I hear your voice. I touch myself thinking about you. I fuck myself imagining it’s your cock I’m riding.” 

Your eyes widen at the revelation. Your student lusting after you? This can’t be right.

“I want you, Sir, and I know you want me too. This will be our little secret.”

She finally plants her lips on yours and you immediately reciprocate.

You shut your eyes as you melt into the kiss. Her lips taste so sweet and addictive that it makes you yearn for much more. This isn’t right. 

It feels like a match made in heaven. Yiren straddles you and pushes into you to deepen the kiss. Her tongue probes against your lips and you accept it. Immediately, it swirls around yours and explores your mouth. This is wrong.

Your hands roam her body, starting from her thighs up to her waist. So, so wrong. 

They continue moving up to her shoulders. You want to wrap your arms around her and pull her tight. Stop now!

Your eyes widen and you push her away instead, trembling while the dilemma of what’s right or wrong sets in. Your last bit of conscience begs you to draw the line and walk away before you make any mistake. Yet where was it all those times when you jerked off to your student’s porn videos and streams and fantasised about fucking her in any conceivable way?

Deep in thought, you don’t even notice that your top is removed. Your body doesn’t register the sudden cold when heat is built up between your legs. The devil is now on her knees. Yiren does everything in her power to tempt you. Her lust-filled eyes are fixated on you and hold yours in place. You feel her hands unbuckling your belt and pulling down your pants but you’re completely powerless to react. Maybe you don’t want to.

Her first touch on your exposed shaft sends shivers up your spine. When she spits on your cock and begins to stroke it, you’re pulled back closer to sin and your rational thoughts are pushed further away. Yiren doesn’t stop there, especially when there’s so much more she can do. She dips her head lower and begins to pepper your balls with light kisses. It becomes so much easier to give in to your primal desires when she lightly sucks them. You manage to hold back a moan but your resistance is crumbling fast.

Your eyes dart up and look at the door. It isn’t locked. In a final attempt to stop, you mumble, “Someone might come in and catch us.” 

As if being caught is the only problem with this.

Yiren licks your cock from the base to the tip before she looks into your eyes. “So let them watch.” You twitch in her hands and elicit a smirk from her. “Let them watch how good you fuck your good little student.”

You take a step across the line once again. When she wraps her lips around your girth, you hold her hair and push her lower onto your dick. Taking her time, Yiren takes you into her mouth inch by inch until your full length is in. She keeps you there and loudly gags on your cock, making a mess on your crotch with her saliva. Then, as slowly as she took you in, she peels off you, her lips still maintaining their tight seal around your girth. 

Your hands clutch onto your chair, trying to ground yourself into reality. You’re a teacher. Yiren’s your student. She’s sucking you off. She’s giving you the best blowjob you’ve ever had.

“Fuck, your cock tastes so good, Sir.” Yiren continues to lick your slit and leaking precum. “You like my mouth on your cock?”

A groan will suffice. You don’t need any other answer. You only need her skilful mouth pleasuring you. 

“Shut up and fucking suck my dick.” 

She takes you in her mouth once again, this time letting the tip hit the back of her throat. Her hand rubs your balls and she alternates between deepthroating you and stroking you quickly. 

The room is filled with the sounds of Yiren’s sloppy blowjob and your deep breaths. If anyone were to walk by your office, surely you’ll be in deep trouble. However, the fear of getting caught has long slipped your mind, replaced by the ever-growing lust for your student.

You yank her off your cock by the hair and pull her onto her feet. Hastily undo all her shirt buttons and rid her of the top, followed by her bra. You barely get any time to admire her bare chest before she turns around, so your hands roam her body instead, feeling up her waist and her tummy, fondling her breasts and pinching her nipples. This perfect body that thousands watch and dream about touching that only you get the honour of doing so.

Yiren leans against your chest and unzips her skirt. It drops to the floor and leaves her in her panties. You wish to reach into it and finger her but she pushes off you and supports herself on the desk. She repeatedly shakes her ass and pushes it back to you, her clothed ass occasionally brushes against your swollen tip.

Her teasing got to you and you’re too impatient for that at this point. You bend down and peel her panties off her, ridding Yiren of her last article of clothing. You finally get to see her naked in the flesh and even get a close up view. Your forefinger rubs her lower lips to find that she’s utterly wet. Curiosity got to you and you get a quick taste of her essence. Fuck, she’s so delectable. 

You wish to bury yourself between her thighs and drown in her juices but you have a better prize instead—your hottest student is aching and desperate for you to fuck her. Having perfectly positioned yourself behind Yiren, you press your tip against her pussy. She looks over her shoulder and bites her lips. 

Your heart pounds. You’re about to do it. You’re about to fuck your student. You’re about to fuck the Wang Yiren. Fully entering her body in one go, you're quickly overwhelmed. You want nothing other than to fuck this girl over and over. 

“God, you have no clue how long I’ve wanted this.”

“If you had asked, I would let you fucked me earlier.”

“Then we have a lot of lost time to make up.” You kiss her cheek. “I’ll need to schedule more meetings with you.”

Yiren giggles in response and you feel her clench around you even further. As you continue to indulge in her body, more sinful thoughts fill your head, particularly all the things you want to do to Yiren. 

Raise your hand and land a slap on her butt. Immediately, there is a reaction—her body tenses up and her pussy clenches around you. Yiren drags out a moan before she turns to you. The glint in her eyes tells you that she wants more. You time your next few slaps with your thrusts. Partially withdraw your cock from her, then land a spank on her. When her body jolts forward, hold her hips and pull her back to yours, thrusting your dick in at the same time. Upon establishing this rhythm, your strength gradually increases and you spank and fuck Yiren harder.

This is addictive. You’ve been “using” her to relieve yourself for months now, watching her put on provocative performances on the internet, but now, you’re truly using her as an outlet for your pleasure without a care about hers, although there is no doubt she’s enjoying herself too. You can’t go back from here. There’s no return to just jerking off to her videos. You need her. 

Soon after, you press onto her back to slam her onto your desk and pin her waist against the edge, keeping her writhing body still while you continue to have your way with her. Caught off guard, Yiren yelps in pain. Her walls tighten around you as she gets closer to her peak. She’s so snug, so wet, and you take it as a signal to give her the final push. Digging your heels into the floor, you put more energy into your hips, forgoing strength for speed, all the while not letting up on your spanks. Tug her hair and lean straight into her ear, “Cum.”

Yiren instantly melts into her orgasm and loudly moans as pleasure washes over her. You remain buried deep in her throughout it, her pussy pulsating around your cock and bringing you a step closer to cumming. 

Moments later, you pull out of her and fall back onto your chair, your slick-coated shaft still erect and aching for your own orgasm. Yiren remains bent over the table while recovering and you note the shade of red on her ass. It’s even redder than any of the other times she spanked herself on her videos.

Still, you can’t resist giving one last slap to her ass and watching her flesh ripple. She turns around and giggles before leaning over you. Her left hand holds your cheek and pulls you in for a kiss while her right wraps itself around your cock and briefly strokes you.

“Yiren, I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock.”

“Anything for you, Sir.”

Yiren straddles you and inserts you back into her wet pussy. She holds onto your shoulder and rides you with the sole purpose of milking your cum. She tosses her head back and moans at the sheer pleasure of fucking you. 

Your senses are in overdrive. Days ago, the video only showed her riding the toy from the back and you were satisfied already. Now, you get to watch her pretty face contort in pleasure and nothing can beat this view anymore. The feel of her tight pussy is out of the world as her snug walls pulsating around you brings you more pleasure than all her videos combined. Her moans are mixed with your deep groans as well as the repeated sounds of skin slapping, surely anyone who passes by will know what’s going on. The musky scent that fills the enclosed room is one that you wish to keep permanently in your office. Her taste still lingers on your tongue that makes you seek for more.

When she leans further into you, you kiss her neck and down to her chest. Her breasts are a perfect size, all the times she teases her nipples makes you want to nibble on them and now you have the perfect opportunity to do so.

Yiren digs into your skin with each passing second and she picks up the rhythm. You try your best to hold back as you want to prolong this session but her body is just too hot. You don’t know how long it has been since she first entered your office and you don’t know how you have lasted this long.

“Are you going to cum in me Sir?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Fill me up. Fulfil your dreams of cumming in your good little student’s pussy.”

Your willpower has been chipped away and your body starts to crumble and give in. Holding her butt and slamming her petite body harder onto your lap, you thrust your hips up as much as you can. 

“Fuck!”

You hold her tight as you do just that. Spurts of cum are shot into Yiren as you experience an orgasmic high like never before. She gently grinds on you throughout, ensuring every drop of cum leaves your body and is buried inside hers. 

You sigh after you recover and bits of your conscience come flowing back. You shouldn’t have done that. It felt amazing, but you shouldn’t have fucked Yiren. When she lifts herself off your cock, you struggle to keep a moan in out of the fear that she pulls you in for another session.

She hastily puts on her clothes, leaving her bra and panties in your possession. You follow right after, haphazardly dressing yourself as fear of getting caught begins to seep in. While you’re doing so, Yiren leans against your desk and dips her fingers under her skirt. She scoops some of your cum out of her pussy and licks it clean. “You taste good.”

She then grabs her bag and heads out of your office but not before stopping at the door and turning back to you.

“See you soon, Sir.”

~~~~~~

The rest of the day goes by with your mind wandering about this afternoon’s events. You’re back home and by your desk. Why are you here again?

Your laptop is open. The website is loading. You’re preparing to undress yourself and to watch Yiren’s videos once again. Now knowing how Yiren’s petite body feels under your touch surely makes watching her videos much more enjoyable. The voice in your head quickly gives up and is suppressed. The sinful thoughts prevail once again.

At the top of the blog is her latest release—“Couldn't Resist Fuck During Office Hours With Teacher, Multiple Orgasms Spanking Doggy Style Sex Party!”. Your hand shivers as you click onto it. Eyes widen as you realise she has somehow recorded the session from earlier, capturing the action from multiple angles. Distraught, betrayal and anger fills you. You’d never expect to be set up like that.

But while your blood continues to boil, another feeling resurfaces. An extremely familiar one. 

You pull down your shorts and boxers. The video plays and you stroke yourself with each frame triggering memories of her touch. 

Maybe Yiren isn’t a good little student after all.

******

A/N3: Thanks for reading :) Please don’t record your sexual acts without your partner’s consent IRL

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 13: The Fallacy of Power

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.5k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

TW: Astarion's past abuse under Cazador is mentioned/visited in this chapter.

She has been cold and withdrawn since their discussion when he refused to say what she wanted to hear. She avoids him if possible and ignores him unless he directly speaks to her. When she walks around the manor, she is like a phantom gliding, lifeless and vacant, the ghost of a ship long ago wrecked at sea that still wanders the waters wayward with no purpose. So far, he’s left her alone in her misery. Should he be trying to cheer her up? His heart tells him he should, but his head tells him it’s unbecoming of the Vampire Ascendant to postulate himself in such a way. He should not have to seek her attention. She should give it to him willingly. If she wishes to wallow in her desolation, so be it.

He’s missed her in their bed, against his skin, and on his lips. Her silence is as deep as demise and simultaneously deafening. He misses her laughter, happy giggles, and his name on her tongue in her sweet, musical voice. Hells, he would even take a scolding from her right now as long as she’s speaking and more expressive than this wall of dysphoria. He will take anything but this pale apparition of surrender and hopelessness. He’s tried to goad her into arguments if only to get a rise from her, but she does as he requests without question, challenge, or emotion.

She wants a real relationship, but what does that mean to him? What kind of relationship is he capable of giving her? That presence in his head bids him to control, claim, and make her belong to him with or without her consent. It encourages him to give the command to make it so. The Vampire Ascendant does not request love - he simply fucking takes it because he is entitled to it. He is entitled to have anything and everything he wants, including her.

No.

There his thoughts go again, getting away from him, towing him down like quicksand. He must be careful not to let himself be cast down that ungodly rabbit hole. He may not get the chance to surface. Astarion’s hands rack over his face and through his hair. He needs the physical sensation that often interrupts the slow descent into madness.

Astarion. He reminds himself. I am Astarion.

She does not acknowledge his presence when he enters the library. Her sullen eyes are moored to the book lying in her lap, and she flips the pages idly. She did not even bother to light any of the candles, scones or oil lamps. She sits in the shadows like a lone lily, white and fair, against a pond reflecting dusk.

He clears his throat to get her attention, “I need you to attend my business meeting with me today. It may put you in a position where you are… uncomfortable, but I will be there to protect and stop you if needed.”

She closes the book, staring straight vacantly, not bothering to look at him. Her voice is as whisper quiet as a catatonic echo, “You’re taking me to a business meeting?”

“Yes,” he replies softly, making his voice as warm as a summer day as if he could warm her with it. “I need my consort by my side.”

“I am not your consort, Astarion,” she shakes her head with a despondent expression. She is so cold it makes him shiver. He’s used to flames veritably leaping off her tongue when she speaks. This... He has never witnessed this in her, but he recognizes it. This is how he was when he all but gave up after a few lashings, “I will go with you if you need me, but I am not your consort.”

Please, don’t give up on me... just yet.

“If you do not like the word consort, that is fine,” he crouches and takes her hand. It remains limp, and she still does not look at him. Astarion gently cradles her cheek and walks her eyes to him. They seem to look through him instead of at him, and his heart seizes in his chest. “Tell me what you would prefer. Partner? Girlfriend? Soulmate? Bride? Hells, wife? Just tell me what you want me to say. Please.”

The words scour his tongue like steel wool. Can his spawn truly be his partner, girlfriend or… Good Gods, he said wife, didn’t he? Where in the Hells did that come from, and why does the notion fill him with genuine joy? Will he be able to see her as an equal? He is the Vampire Ascendant… No one is his equal, and no one could ever be. But he is also Astarion. Which him does he want to be? Does he even have a choice?

He stares at her, trying to discern how he views her. When he looks at her, does he see an equal? Or does he see his spawn, his puppet, his favourite little toy to play with? He views both versions in parallel spaces of his mind. He cannot ascertain which one is him and which is the Vampire Ascendant.

“Consort. Partner. Girlfriend. Soulmate. Bride. Wife,” she repeats hollowly as if she’s saying the words without thinking about them, just a recording being played back, “None of them because we are none of those.”

“Perhaps not yet,” he retorts with a plea clinging to his voice. “You said you want something real, and I agreed to try and give you just that. Let me try.”

“Are you capable of love,” she whispers, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“I… don’t know,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re view of what love is may differ from mine, but perhaps we can meet in the middle?”

“When do we leave?” She asks dryly and slips her hand out of his, “And what do I wear?”

“I had something made for you,” he smirks. “It’s in your room. Wear it or don’t. The choice is yours.”

“You’re giving me a choice?”

"Darling," he drawls in an unemotional infection, “I admittedly do not know much about relationships, but I don’t think forcing you to wear something would be very… nice. You are free to dress yourself in whatever you wish.”

“What if I decide I wish to wear a burlap sack?”

“Well…” he cringes. Gods. He would not put it past her doing just that to prove a point. Would he let her do that? Could he? His skin crawls just thinking about it. “You would look very foolish, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

Hells below, he hopes she does not wear a sack.

Truthfully, he does want to control what she wears, where she goes, and even how she does her hair and makeup, but he does not understand why he is so drawn to it. He does not recall feeling the need to be so controlling when he was a spawn. He must quell those desires and untoward thoughts if he has any hope of showing her that he can be what she wants and needs.

Because he needs her…

He’s almost afraid to look when she walks down the hall, scared she’s going to see if he truly means what he said, but he’s elated to see she decided to wear the ensemble he had fashioned. An extravagant, high-necked navy-blue robe with delicate golden lace sleeves and a bodice embellished with dragon wings with gleaming rose-gold scales to match hers.

His coat is very close, except it is raven black, inlaid with deep purple and golden embroidered dragons revolving around his arms. His chest is embellished with dragon wings expanding across the breast.

“Dragons?” Her hand glides down the breast of his coat, “I thought you were fonder of bats.”

“It seems I have become rather smitten with dragons as of late,” he winks. He feigns puzzlement, bringing his finger to his lips, “I wonder why.”

She gives him some semblance of a smile. It’s the first time he’s seen any emotion in days. It fades quickly, and her face is once again a smooth plane of vacancy.

“What do you mean I will be uncomfortable?” She mutters, eyes fixed straight ahead as if looking at him pains her like staring directly at the sun. “You promised you would not put me in a situation I cannot handle.”

“And I won’t. You have my word.” He bows slightly, “There will be people around. If you need to leave, you say the word, and we will go. You know I could compel you not to feel that hunger…”

She scowls at him and hisses, “Do it, and I will walk out that door. I will not return.”

Well, even anger is better than emptiness.

“It is just an offer,” he nods curtly with his hands up. “I would not do it without your expressed permission. Shall we go?”

You follow Astarion, twisting down alleys and paths in the Lower City. You refuse to hold his hand and are attempting to use pure willpower to ignore all the tasty citizens scurrying about. They smell good, and it’s making your mouth water. No matter how much you eat, bloodlust is insatiable, unquenchable and never fully slumbers. There’s always this stitch in your side and a dryness to your throat that will not ebb. When you smell blood, you are immediately starved, and your stomach pinches in your belly. It could easily send you into hysterics. Astarion always keeps a close eye, sticking by your side and matching your pace instead of his usual elongated strides.

You recognize the alley with the guards and the secret door, “The guild?”

“The very one,” he nods with a cunning smirk.

“Lord Ancunin,” the guard bows low and stiff. “I see you have brought a guest.”

“Lady Ancunin,” Astarion drawls, confident and poised. If your heart was beating, it would surely have skipped beats and possibly stopped. “She is to be treated with the same respect as I. You are to follow her orders as you would follow mine. Is that clear?”

“So you command, so shall it be,” the guard bows low before you. “Lady Ancunin.”

You stare detached past the guard, barely noticing the reverent display before you. A welcome numbness has incorporated itself into your psyche. You felt so much, and now you feel nothing. You’re not sure which is worse.

“Come,” Astarion gestures to the stairs.

The Guildhall has been rebuilt with more extravagance. The walkways are now properly constructed and far less shabby looking with richly coloured wood. It is organized, not the haphazard mess you remember. There are so many hearts beating the chant of life. Their blood smells like Elysian fields teeming with ichor blossoms. Pressing your eyes shut, you try to tune out the thump, thump, thump assaulting your ears. You clutch Astarion’s hand and squeeze as hard as you can.

Yes, this will be a challenge.

Astarion senses your apprehension and squeezes your hand reassuringly, “We can leave whenever you want. I do not have to be here long.”

“You operate the Guild now?”

“Yes and no,” he grins, devilish and handsome enough to make you melt despite your discomfort. “Nine Fingers still handles the mundane day-to-day. You know I have never been a details person.”

“How did this come about?”

“Simple,” he smiles wolfish and sly. His eyes glint mischievously. “If you know the right people to coerce, anything can be taken. Grease a few palms here, blackmail some merchants there. You know how it is.”

“Coerce or kill?”

“Well, negotiations don’t always go as planned,” he chuckles with a cavalier shrug. “But I do not go around killing everyone, just those who need killing anyway. Gods. What do you think of me? I’ve been manipulating people for 200 years. This was hardly a challenge.”

“Ah, Lord Ancunin,” Nine Fingers strides up with a tight look as if she’s working hard not to frown. “How nice of you to bless us with your presence. I do not believe we have a meeting scheduled for today.”

“I’m here to make sure you’re running my,” Astarion accentuates the word with a low, threatening growl, “Guild befittingly. I received reports of your idiot pickpockets getting caught by the authorities and inconsistent yields. Do I need to appoint someone more suitable for such a role?”

“Lord Ancunin,” Nine Fingers snickers, and you wonder how he hasn’t killed this one yet. She was always snarky. “The pickpockets have been dealt with. They did not even make it to prison. As for the yields, I’m looking into it. You will not find anyone more proficient at running your guild than I.”

Astarion and Nine Fingers continue to talk business. Boring. You walk away, down the stairs and watch the people flitting about, ledgers in hand, counting shipments of what looks like silk from Cormyr and imported liquor. Others with clearly stolen pieces of art and other antiquities. The bottom of that cesspool pit has been cleaned up, and it appears new tunnels have been put in place, with more still being constructed.

You catch bits and pieces of a conversation between a short, rotund man in a burgundy coat speaking about a shipment being lost or damaged. Leaning on a railing, you watch the conversation play out with a shrewd eye for a while before you make your way over there. The closer you get to people, the harder it is to control yourself, but you’re getting better.

You sit close to the conversation so you can listen and watch. Nine Fingers sits beside you, “I remember you. Jaheria’s friend, right?” she gives you a scrutinizing once over and then her eyes finally settle on yours. “I remember you being much more… alive the last time you were here. The lords doing, I presume.”

“I wanted it,” you growl through your clenched jaw. “There is nothing further to discuss on it.”

“I’ve seen his little compulsion trick,” she says sourly. “It’s not a stretch to believe-“

You cut her off by grabbing her by the neck and pushing her up against a support beam. The rhythmical pulsing of her vein is felt on the pads of your fingers. Good Gods, you are tempted to take a nibble. Just a little sip...

No. You throw her away from you before you lose your precarious control.

“Watch your tongue,” you snarl, baring your teeth. “I am just as deadly as the lord.”

“Deadlier even.” Astarion chuckles, leaning close to your ear, “Are you okay?”

“I’m managing…” you whisper. Raising your voice, you point to the man, “Who is that?”

“A local merchant. He caters to the aristocracy.” Astarion arches a brow, “Why?”

“You were talking about inconsistent yields,” you watch the man circumspective, who now stares at you wide-eyed. “I think you will find he is the reason for some or all of your inconsistencies.” You sneer at the little fleshy liar, “Won’t we?"

“No,” Nine Fingers interjects. “That can’t be. He’s been working with the Guild for many years and is well-known and respected by the patriars. He’s an invaluable asset.”

“Silence!” Astarion orders brusquely, making her flinch. “Your superiors are having a discussion.” Astarion’s fingers come to his chin. “Go on, darling. How do you know?”

“His speech pattern is all over the place. He does not make direct eye contact. He’s fidgeting nervously. I can hear his heartbeat kick up from here every time he has to alter his story, and he’s sweating like a pig,” you smirk. You are good at this, and it feels natural. You give the man a grin as you virtually hear his heart sink, “You are a terrible liar. I think you’ve picked the wrong business.”

“Well,” Astarion cocks his head while watching the man as sweat rains down his face, “Let’s find out, shall we?” He points at the rotund traitor, “You. Come here.”

“Y-yes, Lord Ancunin.”

Astarion hauls the man into the air by his coat with an eerily cordial smile, “You’ve been stealing from me. Come clean now, and I will consider allowing you to keep your pathetic life.”

You expected to hear the anger in Astarion’s voice, but it’s matter-of-fact and impassive.

“My lord,” the man’s eyes widen, and his feet kick uselessly in the air. “I would never dream of it. Honest!”

Astarion’s eyes glow that wicked crimson of compulsion, and he brings the man close to his face, “You will tell me the truth. How long have you been stealing?”

The man’s eyes become glossy as the red tendrils of compulsion twist around him and into his mind. His body becomes limp. “I will tell the truth.” He repeats hollowly. “I have been skimming off the top for years. I misconstrue reported earnings and inventory, record shipments as lost or damaged and keep them for myself.”

The man continues spewing his transgressions, and you can see the rage start building in Astarion.

“That wasn’t so hard. Was it?” Astarion smiles manically. His eyes start to flash as he draws his dagger.

You put your hand on his shoulder, “Astarion…” You soothe and request the connection with his mind. You do not want to undermine him, but you need him to stay in control. He opens it, and you wince at the pain that splits through your head. It feels as if your skull has been cracked open. You push through it and roll your thoughts over the bridge, “His death will not gain you anything, Astarion. Hold onto yourself.”

His muscles strain under your fingers, and sweat starts to sheen his skin, but he answers in your thoughts, “His death would serve as a reminder to these insolent fucks that no one betrays the Vampire Ascendant and lives.”

“Astarion, please.”

“I am the Vampire Ascendant!” He bellows in your head so hard you wonder if your ears are bleeding, leaking your brain matter.

“Is that all you are? Is that your entire identity?”

He growls viciously aloud, snarling and turning his head to look at you with violence humming in his flickering eyes. With a pained grunt, Astarion throws the man on the ground and hisses, “Leave. If I ever see you in my city again, I will kill you and your family.”

Astarion whirls, taking your chin roughly in his fingers, bringing his mouth to yours, savage and hungry, with enough force to split and bruise your lips. You can hear that tittering in his head, straining against his control, trying to claim him. It bites like a serrated blade at your mind, and Astarion tries to close the connection to save you from that pain, but you rue against it.

“Don’t,” you think. “I can be your light. I can help you, but you have to let me.”

His fingers curl into your hair, and his tongue laps at the blood smeared across your lips, sucking on the cut gently. Your fingers caress the back of his neck. You’re not exactly sure how you do it, but as if on instinct, you flood Astarion with every iota of your love, light and fire into his psyche, upending the darkness and silencing his demons.

His body relaxes. His fingers no longer grip aggressively but embrace, and he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on yours as he pants. As your senses return to you, so does the angelic chorus of beating hearts and the enticing smell of blood, and you clench your jaw as your stomach does cartwheels in your abdomen. Your fingernails incise your palm.

“I’ve got you, my treasure.” Astarion interlocks his fingers with yours to stop you. “Hold onto me.”

Astarion turns to Nine Fingers. She’s staring at you with a speculatively arched brow, “We will be taking our leave now. I expect to see improved totals on your subsequent report, or we will have a very unpleasant discussion, and if any more pickpockets get caught, you will not be calling yourself Nine Fingers any longer. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Lord Ancunin,” she nods curtly with a twisted mouth and narrowed eyes. “Do bring your spawn along more often. She is incredibly useful, it seems.”

Astarion roars, slamming Nine Fingers against a wooden column, splitting it. He bellows when he speaks, making sure everyone can hear him, “No one is to call her “spawn.” If I hear anyone utter that word in reference to her, I will hang them from the rafters by their intestines while they still draw breath.” Astarion looks around with a frightening scowl, verifying everyone is paying attention, “She is my right hand, and you will treat her with due respect. Any orders from her should be treated as if they are coming from me directly.”

“Astarion,” you whimper, scratching lacerations into the top of your hand to keep yourself grounded. “I need to go.”

He releases Nine Fingers, spins and grabs your hand. He keeps a tight hold on you until you’re back in the alley. He orders the guards to stand further away. You sprint to the dead end and grip a fence as hard as you can, taking in large gasps of air to try and quiet the bloodlust ravaging your mind, bullying you into mania. Astarion’s hands come to the rail on either side of you, caging you in with his chest pressed against your back.

“You did well in there,” he purrs. “Controlling the bloodlust.”

“You could have warned me that I would want to eat everyone with a beating heart,” you groan, leaning into him.

“I suppose I could have been a tad more forthcoming,” he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “To be fair, I was a young spawn centuries ago. It’s not exactly fresh in my mind.”

“How did you learn to control it?” you sigh. You’re falling into him again, slipping into that blissful completeness that melts that icy numbness keeping you sane.

There’s a quiver of torment that dithers across the harmony. “Cazador…” he starts, spoken with a desolate undertone. He folds his arms around you, holding you close, and he trembles, “Cazador would starve me and then have people stand in the kennels while I was chained or caged. He would cut them, small at first, but gradually worse. They would get progressively closer. If I made a move or lost control in any way, I would be punished. Severely.” He pauses with a sigh, and his brows turn down at the sides. “I lost control a lot.”

By the Gods. You would not have been able to understand how torturous that would be without being a vampire yourself. Bloodlust hurts, a physical pain that progressively gets steadily worse until you are nothing but a writhing, rabid animal with no semblance of sentience.

“Astarion…” you turn to him, wrapping your arms around him. “That’s… Gods, there are no words. I’m so sorry.”

“Come,” he clears his throat, uncomfortable with the emotion as if he does not believe he deserves your empathy. “Let’s go home.”

“Thank you for telling me.” You murmur, hoping you’re not overstepping, “About… him. I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

“Partners talk about this type of stuff openly, yes?”

“I…” you balk at the question. It seems so out of character for him. You expected him to ignore you or scold you for bringing it up further. “I suppose they do, but-“

“Yes,” he cuts you off. “I know what we aren’t. You keep reminding me every chance you get. You requested real and real you shall have. I never wanted you to see that side of me.” Astarion sighs and looks at the setting sun reverently, his face softening, a glimpse of his former self, “Cazador is no longer an off-limits topic for you.”

What?

Can you trust him not to fly into a blind rage when you speak of his former self, the pathetic spawn he is so genuinely disgusted with? Perhaps this is not the time to test the limits of this newfound freedom.

“Lady Ancunin?” You quirk a brow at him. “That’s not my name.”

“Not as of yet, it’s not,” his arm wraps around your waist, and a smile flashes over his face like wintry sunshine. He whispers, “You bear my name beautifully, my love.”

Your eyelashes flutter open, and you’re shocked to be in the familiar halls of the Crimson Palace, but it does not appear as you remember it. Everything is washed in a drab sepia tone, and you blink, trying to clear your vision. The walls and floors appear to wave as if they are an illusion. Servants blink in and out of existence as they flit around. You try to walk in the way of them, waving your arms to get their attention, but they pay you no heed, blinking out and reappearing behind you.

A scream you would recognize anywhere reverberates through the ghostly halls, shrill and bone-chilling.

Astarion…

You sprint toward the sound, descending the dark staircase two or three steps at a time that appears to end in a black well of nothingness. You’re trying to grip the weave and call on your magic, but when you reach for it, you find nothing but a yawning void where it should be. Staring at your palm, you shake it, confused, as you burst into the hall leading to the spawn quarters. Another cry echoes. You forget about your lack of magic as horror grips your heart, and you sprint around the corner and halt dead in your tracks.

Astarion stands in the hallway. He’s hunched over with hands pressed against the doorframe as he stares distantly into the room before him - the kennels. He is the only thing in undulled, vivid colour. It’s a stark contrast to the atmosphere of mousy undertones.

“Astarion?”

He jolts, whirling and staring at you with a disoriented tangle of sorrow and perplexity. His jaw tightens, and his eyes shift quickly from side to side, “No,” he mutters, shaking his head, “No, this isn’t right. You would not have been here.”

“What’s going on?” You sputter, voice breaking. “I don’t understand.”

Another strident shriek. You are stirred into action, dashing down the hall at full speed. Astarion’s eyes widen as he gauges your target, and he takes long steps to cut you off. His arm wraps around your waist, hauling you backward from the open doorway.

“No, darling,” he coos, trying to swath his voice in velvet. “You don’t want to go in there. Please, trust me on this.”

“What?” You’re panicked, clawing at him, trying to push his arms away. “I can’t just stand here! Let me go!”

“You can’t help him… Me. You can’t help me.” Astarion rasps. His eyes are sad, but he tries to smile. “This is long over and done. It’s a memory - my memory.”

Anguished wailing reverberates, making the walls appear to shudder. You can’t take it, you can’t fucking take it, and you push out of Astarion’s arms and charge into the kennels.

The scene that greets you makes tears instantly flow down your cheeks, and you can’t help but dry heave as your stomach shoots into your throat.

“That’s right, my boy.” Cazador snickers, compulsion glowing in his eyes, tendrils stirring the air. “Sing those sweet, sweet cries for me.”

You try to grab Cazador, screaming in anguish, but your hand swishes straight through the apparition. Arms come around your waist, hauling you up and out of the room while you reach and clamber, trying to do something. Anything.

Astarion sets you down, folding his arms around you, “Shhh, little love,” he purrs. “It will be alright.”

“Astarion,” you sob, knees quaking. Astarion braces you against himself, “What in the Hells is happening?”

“I’m not entirely sure. We are tranced, in the manor, I think. This... it already happened long ago. So long, I cannot even recall the colours anymore.”

His thumb clears the rivulets of tears storming down your cheeks so sweetly, like the whisper of a fairy dream. His eyes, so intensely crimson, are doting, inviting you to get lost in them.

Another soul-crushing outcry discharges from the room, and you can’t help but scream with him. Astarion firmly but gently places his hands over your ears, trying to provide you amnesty from the howling cries.

You lean into him and beg, tugging on his clothes, “Make it stop, Astarion. Good Gods. Make it stop. Please. I can’t… I can’t… Wake us up.”

“I’m trying,” he breathes faintly, pressing harder on your ears as another jarring yowl rolls over you, and you start slipping to the floor in a puddle of sorrow.

Everything dissolves around you, turning black and silent, and you’re pitched into a bottomless void that makes your stomach lurch.

You thrash in your bed, convulsing so violently that you throw yourself to your hands and knees on the floor with a discordant shriek. Your bedsheets and clothes are soddened with sweat, the delicate fabric clinging to your body, and you tremble so turbulently that you can barely push yourself to your feet.

You blink rapidly, trying to see through the distortion caused by unshed tears. Your chest heaves in quick, rapid breaths as you sprint into the hallway. Astarion is already running toward you, and you slam into his arms as your legs give way.

“It’s okay,” he comforts you with a soft, deep baritone, a salve to your pain. “Everything is alright.”

Your mind sees that gruesome vision, a ghostly layer veiling the man before you. Your stomach twists and knots. Saliva floods your mouth. Pushing out of his hold, you scramble away as far as you can, and your liquid dinner is a sanguine spill spreading across the floor. Astarion holds your hair back and rubs your back as you continue to dry heave between your rapid breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs.

“It is I who should be sorry,” he sits on the chaise, beckoning you into his arms. You curl up in his lap once the wave of nausea eases, desperate to be close to him. Astarion strokes your arm, “I left the connection open. I did not know you could get transported into my dreams. I will not make that mistake again.”

You look up, cupping his cheek in your palm and searching his eyes. That beautiful face is calm and carpeted with earnest affection but otherwise unfazed while he sweeps strands of your hair behind your ear, “Are you okay?”

“My sweet, sweet girl,” he kisses your palm. “I have relived many of my memories hundreds of times over. There are only a few that truly disturb me anymore. Thank you for asking, but I am fine.”

“Okay...” you breathe deeply, unsure if your mind can accept how undaunted he is. The last remnants of your weeping shudder through your body, “I’ll clean that up.”

Pushing yourself away from him is a monumental task. He is warm like sunshine and comforting like darkness. You hate him a little for being so… him.

“Will you come to bed?” Astarion looks at you longingly. “ Our bed, I mean.”

“No.”

“When are you going to stop punishing me?” He laments, following you while you grab a rag and bucket of soapy water from the rarely used kitchen.

“I’m not punishing you for anything, Astarion.”

“Bullshit.” He exclaims sourly. “Do not think me blind. You’ve been ignoring and avoiding me purposefully. I- I miss you.” Astarion’s arms fall limp at this side, “Tell me how to make it right.”

You hand Astarion a cup, “Break this.”

His brows pinch as he turns the cup over and over. He looks at you, confused, but throws it to the floor, shattering it. “What was the point of that?”

“Now, fix it.”

“I have many mind-blowing abilities,” he stares at the shattered pieces strewn across the floor, brows pinched. “Fixing broken goblets is not one of them.”

“Because not everything can be fixed."

You start wiping up your sick in the tense muteness between you and Astarion. He sits on the chaise, just watching with a grief-stricken expression that makes you want to weep.

“I can run up walls, walk upside down on ceilings, turn into a bat and mist, among other things. All this power…” A low laugh rumbles in his chest, crestfallen and mournful. “All this fucking power,” he clenches his fists, craning his head to look up at the ceiling, “and I still cannot have the one thing in the world I want most.” He sighs, shaking his head. Astarion cocks his head to look at you and smiles bleakly, “Sleep tight, my love.”

Astarion disappears into his room, and you bite your tongue to stifle your crying. After you’ve finished cleaning up and are back in your bed, you toss restlessly. How long will this harrowing purgatory go on? You take deep breaths, but it does not even begin to fill the void in your chest. You are fragmented without him in your head or against your skin. As if you’re soul has deformed, warped and splintered into a mangled husk.

This is why you’ve been avoiding Astarion. His words tear your heart open, dissect it, and then you must stitch yourself up anew. How many times can your chest be torn open and your heart ripped to pieces before the scarps are too small to glue back together?

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

In the hall, you jump at the sight of Astarion halfway up the long corridor. He halts, and you stare at each other in reticence. His hair is a disarrayed jumble of soft silver curls. The moonlight streaming in from the windows brilliantly sets the ivory skin of his bared chest aglow. His shoulders are slumped in a disconsolate stature you’re not used to seeing on him. The iron countenance and steely confidence he oozes are absent.

“Love,” he whispers wearily. “Lay with me tonight.” Astarion gestures toward himself, splaying his hand on his bare chest. Desperation clings to his voice, “Be with me. We can workshop the details as we go.”

“Tell me you love me,” you say, moon-eyed, lips quivering.

“I-I,” he pauses. Anticipation clenches your heart in your chest. Please, you think, please just fucking say it so we can stop playing this game. You think he just might until he grimaces. “I can’t.”

“No. Of course, you can’t,” you mewl. You wrap yourself in your comfortable cloak of numbness to preserve your sanity, “Because how could you love a lowly spawn like my good self?”

He does not answer, and that is answer enough.

You’re crouched low in a dark alley, skulking around in the shadows in the Lower City. Astarion went out to deal with some business you were not invited to, so you’ve taken the chance to survey the tavern you last saw that purple-haired bitch at - Elowyn. Your intuition tells you she has something to do with the Gur attacks, regardless of Astarion’s assurances that she’s harmless. The earth-shatteringly handsome man can be blinded by his overconfidence at times.

You’re not sure what Astarion will do if he gets home and you’re nowhere to be found, but you left him a note saying you went for a walk. He probably won’t tear the city apart looking for you. You’re not a caged bird. You can come and go as you please.

... Right?

You’re about to give up for the night when you see her. She glances out the tavern doors, askant, surveying her surroundings before pulling up her hood and slinking down the street. Elowyn takes an oddly winding route, up and down dark alleys and paths, often doubling back. She strolls confidently but takes acute notice of her surroundings. She is practiced and methodical in the way she observes. You should have eaten her when she cornered you with her singsong voice and dainty little face, spewing filth and lies. Maybe you should eat her now…

No, no. You can eat her after you figure out what she’s up to. You smile sadistically at the promise to yourself, licking your lips. You will eat her when you’ve ascertained how she means to harm your master.

Gods. Where did that thought come from?

Elowyn turns abruptly down a side street. Casting Misty Step, you appear on a roof, crouch at the edge and watch her intently. She walks up and down the pathway, looking in all directions except up, much to your delight.

Hardly anyone looks up.

She leans down and opens the entrance to the sewers, climbing down and replacing the cover. The sewers… You fucking hate the sewers. It’s the last place you want to follow her, but nothing can deter you.

This place is a maze of tunnels and run-offs. It’s an arduous task to track her with any degree of certainty. The rayless, glum passageways look similar, but you glimpse her here and there. Her course is consistent with the streets above as she makes arbitrary turns left and right, retracing her steps before continuing. It makes you question if she spotted you and is just taking you on a wild goose chase for shits and giggles, but it’s doubtful. There is purpose in Elowyn’s steps, even if you’re not quite able to understand it yet.

Elowyn steps onto the wooden platform, pulls the lever, and floats up the nauseating river of excrement and contamination. You recognize the area she is going to by smell alone. She’s heading into the lowest floors of the ruined temple under the Crimson Palace. You frown. You’ve been all through those lower, ravaged corridors.

You used to try and hide from Astarion down there, but he always found you. You shudder at the memories of playing some sick, twisted version of hide and seek, where the consequences were more dire than being tagged “it.”

What could be down there that’s of any interest to her? Does Astarion know? Is that where he set the Drow up to do her assessments? Unlikely. He would not want Araj that close to home.

There’s a barely perceptible shift in the atmosphere. The chilled air starts to warm unnaturally, embers floating around. Your skin prickles as the hair on the back of your neck and arms rises. You smell the smoky stench and pollution of sulphur crawling through the air. It stings your nostrils, twisting in the back of your nose and down your throat, choking you. A liquid black maw opens in the stone before your feet, and the inky, viscid silhouette emerges from the gaping orifice, taking shape and wings stretching with a boastful flare.

You jump backward, filling yourself with the Weave, heating your palms and skin with spells dancing on your fingertips and primed on your tongue.

“Darling,” a toothy grin greets you. “Now, now, Sorceress. Put those spells of yours to rest. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“Mizora.”  

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

It's never a good sign when Mizora shows up. We are getting into the thick of it now :)

[daisyofwaterdeep]

Just gonna start of saying I LOVE your drabbles - especially big fan of what you’ve written about Gortash as of recently :D could I humbly request your thoughts on how Gortash might try to win over a particularly stubborn (gn) tav/durge? Perhaps with some… questionable consent towards his methods 😌

Gortash/Reader (reader is gender neutral with a vagina) Tags: NSFW, dry humping, dubcon, manipulation, fingering TW: sexual assault, noncon, sexual violence, kidnapping, descriptions of violence and gore, object insertion

A/N: kinda went ham on this one...please be mindful of the tags!

'Conquest'

Gortash had handpicked you as his assistant. As soon as he saw you, some nobody helping with the armory in Wyrm's Rock, he gestured to his advisor and demanded to have you brought in for briefing.

At first it was based solely on your looks--having an attractive assistant around to fuck on a whim would be great for stress relief. But as he watches you, he detects a defiant shine in your eyes, a sort of "just try to mess with me" sort of attitude in the way you carry yourself that draws him in.

As he sits you down and informs you of your new post, he gets a better reading on you. You're guarded, surprisingly so, and even as he offers you a pay raise for a far less cumbersome job, you don't look at him with gratitude-- only caution.

Most wouldn't hesitate to blubber out thanks and praises at such an opportunity, but you...you seem to know that there's a catch. That nice things don't just fall into one's lap. He likes that cleverness about you.

As much as Gortash enjoys an easy lay, this is far more fun. Like sexual enrichment-- working for his reward.

It's going to be a challenge and a delight to fuck you.

~~~

Gortash lets you settle into your job before making a move. Nearly a month passes before he decides it's time to test the waters.

You approach him as he's reading over a letter at his desk.

"I'll be heading home soon. Is there anything you need before I go?"

He hums to himself, pretending to think as he sets the paper to the side and leans back in his chair. "Hmm, no, nothing comes to mind." He stops, gives a short laugh, then adds, "Well, a blowjob wouldn't be remiss."

The look you give him is adorable. Pretty lips parted, eyes wide, and an almost immediate pinkening of your cheeks. Gortash wishes he could get your expression painted so he could enjoy it at his leisure.

"I--" Your lips move soundlessly for a moment before finding your voice. "I c-could see if Sharess' Caress makes house visits."

Gortash waves his hand in the air and laughs again. "That was a tasteless joke, my apologies." He gets up from his chair, stretching his back out with a small grunt, "However, I do appreciate the lengths you would go to for my sake."

You incline your head politely, cheeks still rosy. "Of course."

"But I will say, if you ever decide to treat me to a bit of...stress relief, I'd rather it be sourced from within the fortress." He holds his hands out in a grand gesture, "I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

You shuffle on your feet, "Makes sense...I'll keep it in mind."

"Wonderful." He mirrors you with a polite head nod of his own. "Now, don't let me keep you. Go enjoy the rest of your day."

As soon as you leave, Gortash's shoulders slump and he holds onto the back of his chair. Damn. Part of him was really hoping that would work. It would have been too easy of a victory, sure, but also.... a blowjob really does sound quite nice right now.

~~~

"Are you finished with these?" you gesture at the stack of books perched on the edge of Gortash's desk.

He looks up for only a moment to cofirm before going back to his work, "Yes, you can put those away."

He move his arm out of the way as you pick up the massive stack and begin carefully navigating to the bookshelf across the room.

The quiet shuffle of you putting them away and the scratch of his quill on parchment fills the room for a time, but when you let out a soft noise, he can't help but divert his attention.

There you are, on the tips of your toes, pressed against the shelf, trying to slide a book into it's high home but failing by a whole inch.

Gortash is out of his chair and slinking up behind you before he can think better of it. And when he does have a chance to think, he's already looming behind you, close enough to smell the shampoo in your hair. He decides that this is a good idea, actually. He had dipped his toe into the waters last time and nothing came of it, so maybe it's time to really jump in. He tells himself that it's merely seizing an opportunity for his overall plan--his overly eager and half hard cock has nothing to do with it.

You squeak as he presses up against you, outstretched arm beginning to come down, but Gortash is quick to grab your hand and brings the book back up. He slides it into place easily, then lets the tips of his gauntlet graze down the length of your arm before moving his mouth near your ear.

"It looked as if you needed some help."

The near whisper of his voice ghosting along your skin gives you a shiver, one that Gortash can feel run through your entire body.

"L...Lord Gortash?"

Your voice matches the same quiet of his own--it's nervous, yes, but still private, confidential. You aren't necessarily trying to stop him from what he's doing.

And if you aren't going to stop him, then he sure as all the hells is going to continue.

He lets out a soft, satisfied breath against your cheek as he presses his hips more firmly against your ass, knowing full well that you can feel the stiffness of his cock. You let out a small gasp but otherwise stay still, so Gortash indulges further, his hands dropping to your hips and he sets into a slow, deliberate grind.

He wonders what's going through that pretty head of yours right now. Are you scared you'll lose your job if you stop him? Are you surprised that he wants you? Have you been waiting for him to make a move like this? Are you disgusted, infuriated, turned on? The thoughts crowd his mind as the deliciously inadequate friction has his cock throbbing, his lips brushing over the curve of your neck in something nearing a kiss.

If he takes it further, what will you do? Will you push your ass back into him, begging to be taken? Or will you finally find your voice and demand for him to stop?

Gortash brings his hands forward, fingers already finding the cool metal of your belt buckle, enraptured by the flutter of the tendon in your neck, cock jerking and sticky as precum oozes and smears in his pants--

A knock comes at the door.

In an instant Gortash is two paces away from you, falling easily back into his airy persona just as the door opens and a worker comes in. He shoots a look at you, still standing where he left you but pretending to straighten the books with stiff, jittering movements. He silently applauds your efforts as the worker approaches with a small bow.

"My lord, your guests have arrived."

Damnit. He had completely forgotten about his afternoon meeting. Part of him-- a very hard, throbbing part-- considers postponing, if only for 15 minutes.

But of course he can't do that.

With his blood still running hot, Gortash follows the worker out of his study and into the hall, mentally cursing the inopportune timing all the while.

~~~~

He needs to rethink his strategy.

A night of cooling off and masturbating has allowed him to think more clearly. The stunt he had pulled was fun, sure, but it's not what he wanted.

A few glasses of wine and some brainstorming through the night finally led him to what he does want-- for you to fall for him. For you to be grateful for his touch. He wants you to feel downright terrible for just how bad you want him. No, no want. Need. And he's concocted the perfect scenario for such a thing. It'll take a bit of elbow grease and careful planning, but that's where he really excels.

The first step of his plan starts as soon as you come in for your daily duties. He's usually already nose-deep in work when you arrive, but today he's standing by with a smile, waiting for you.

"Ah, perfect timing." He raises a finger and dabs it at you, putting on a charming smile. "We need to talk before you go about your duties."

You don't look particularly thrilled with the idea, but your face says that you expected as much. It's time for him to put on his show.

His smile falls with his voice, "I apologize for what happened yesterday. It was entirely inappropriate." He lets a soft edge of weariness creep into his words as he holds out his hands, "I'm tired. Overworked. And I admit that I've grown used to relying on you in stressful times such as these." He waves his hand and furrows his brow, "But that's no excuse to do such a thing to you." And now, a sorrowful expression paired with a gold-gilded hand over his heart. "If you would like to resign from your post, I'll ensure you are handsomely compensated. But if you stay, I can promise you, such a thing will never transpire again."

A rousing performance, he must say. Even if your face didn't betray your forgiveness-- which it does-- he knows he has you in the bag.

You shuffle on your feet, hands clasped in front of you, "I appreciate the apology."

Gortash sighs with a soft, relieved smile, eyes still trained on you as you work out your next sentence.

"I'd...like to stay."

"Thank you." He feels a predatory gleam threaten to sneak into his expression as he bows his head. "I truly don't know what I'd do without you."

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

And now, onto the fun part.

~~~~

"Everything went according to the plan, I presume?"

"Oh yesss," The banite grins wide, his yellowed teeth as much of an affront as his breath. "Got 'em in there for ye, all nice and ready. Put up a bit uvva fight, all squawkin' and squallin' at first, but the pretty lil' thing's calmed down some." He jerks his thumb to the metal door behind him. "Been on guard duty while the other two 'ave their fun."

Gortash is grateful for the falling night that hides the darkness that crosses his own face, though his voice stays just as cordial.

"Oh? What sort of fun?"

"Just tossin' em about, really." The banite looks around the empty dock before shuffling forward, a wicked glitter in his beady eyes, "Arnie found some nice rocks-- pebbles really," The man snickers, "We've been stuffin' em up in the pretty thing. Seein' how many can fit." He puts his hands up before adding, "Ah, but no sex stuff, like ye said. Made sure all three of us kept our britches on."

"I see."

Gotash steps forward and with one swift jab of his hand upward, slices the man's carotid artery with the tip of his gauntlet. The banite sputters and clutches at his neck, hot gushes of blood spurting from between his grimy fingers as his eyes go wide and his mouth gapes wordlessly. Gortash had planned to dispose of the men when their role was through out of necessity, but now it's out of anger.

"Perhaps you'll learn to follow directions in your next life."

Gortash grabs the man by the collar--the other side, so as not to filthy his clothes with the pig's blood, and yanks him to the edge of the dock. The man's floundering and uneven footing does the rest of the work for him. A large splash in the dark of the water, a bit more struggling, then nothing but the sound of the sea.

As pissed as he is...this could work. It could work damn well, in fact. His mind is already churning, reevaluating the situation and turning this error to his advantage.

With a new plan in mind, Gortash takes in a deep breath and opens the door.

Two lanterns illuminate the warehouse, only supressing the darkness in a single corner. And there you are, only visible as a pair of bare legs on the stone floor, two men on their knees and obscuring the rest of you.

Gortash has always taken pride in the control he has over his emotions. But in this moment, he lets that control go completely.

A swift end is made of the men with a few brutal jabs of his claws. They try to stumble to their feet and grab at their weapons, but the blood pouring from their gurgling throats is too heavy of a flow, and all too soon, they collapse to the floor, dead.

With that out of the way, he finally gets a look at you. Even if he's beyond annoyed at the hunks of waste he's just disposed of, he does have to applaud them for their work. You look stunning-- Completely bare, hands tied behind your back, legs splayed open, face tear-streaked and eyes terrified. He's grateful for the terrible lighting, because his cock stiffens immediately at the sight of you.

"What happened?" Gortash falls to his knees by your side, "Are you okay?"

"Th-they," Your voice is virtually a croak, thrown out from your crying and yelling. He watches as you swallow roughly before trying to continue, "They a-ambushed me. As s-soon as I opened the door, they--"

Your words waver as despair threatens to take you once again, so Gortash leans down, snaking an arm under your back.

"It's alright darling. I'm here now." He shakes his head, "Gods, what was I thinking, sending you here alone...?"

He helps you sit up, noting the way you jolt and whimper, your legs unable to close. He hasn't dared to venture his eyes down just yet, but it seems they did a number on you.

Another slice from his gauntlet releases the rough rope that binds your hands and you bring them forward slowly, shoulder sockets seemingly tender from being forced behind you for so long. As you rub at your chafed wrists, Gortash unfastens his cumberbund and quickly shucks off his coat, draping it across you.

"Th-thank you," you sniffle, clutching the coat to your chest.

"Of course." Gortash places a gentle hand on your back, "Let's get you out of here. Are you able to walk?"

You had been slowly regaining your composure, but your face crumples at his words, fresh tears cascading down your cheeks.

"Th-they put...inside...m--"

Your sentence ends on a soft wail as you bury your face in his jacket.

"Hush now, it's alright." Gortash slides an arm under your knees and carefully picks you up, loving how you so easily wrap your arms around his neck, even as your body stiffens in discomfort. As he adjusts your weight in his hold, you gasp and he hears the distinct soft patter of a single pebble hitting the stone between his feet.

There's a large crate nearby that he gingerly perches you on the edge of. He makes sure you've got a good hold of his jacket before grabbing one of the lanterns and setting it nearby.

"I'll fetch a doctor--"

"No," You cut him off, eyes going wide as they flit over to the dark masses of the men, "P-please, don't leave me."

"Then I won't." He gently places his hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look up at him. "I won't leave, if that's what you want. But that means I'll have to care for you here."

He can see it written all over your face. The fear, the shame, the humiliation-- but also the relief. The trust. The men that had tormented you are dead and cooling in the shadows of the warehouse, and your savior is standing in front of you, eyes earnest and full of concern. He sees the way you want to tell him not to look, but also the desire to be cared for.

Gortash drives it home with a gentle smile and his soft, confident words. "You needn't worry anymore. I'm here now."

And just like that, you're his. Your bottom lip quivers but you nod shakily, raising the coat up to your mouth and spreading your legs, your knees coming out from either side of the dark fabric.

"Good," He says, voice hushed and calm even as he kneels down in front of you, his blood thundering in his veins. "As wide as you can."

With bated breath from the both of you, Gortash grabs the end of his coat and pulls it up, gently placing the length of it in your lap.

Mud is matted in your pubic hair and smeared on your inner thighs, but even still, he can smell the distinct musk of you. And with your legs wide as they are, your labia is spread, showing the soft pink folds of your vagina, also streaked with grime. His cock engorges fully as he gently grabs your thighs and pushes them open just a bit further and sees, with a rush of twisted excitement, the smooth grey surface of a pebble bulging from your entrance.

"We need to get them out." Gortash says, surprised by just how even his voice is as he slides off the fingers of his gauntlets and places them on the floor next to him. "It may hurt, but I need you to bear with me. Alright?"

Your head is like an old rusted machine, the first nod is like a lurch, then the next two come easier with use.

"Good." Gortash places one hand on your thigh to steady you and brings the other forward. "Try to stay calm."

Even though you seem desperate to obey, as soon as a finger brushes against the softness of your inner folds, your muscles flex and the pebble at your entrance sinks in deeper.

"Relax, Gortash nearly coos the word, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle into your thigh, " Relax for me, darling."

The tension in your muscles eases with small jerky jumps in between, and Gortash waits for you to let out a long, shuddering breath before trying again.

You tighten involuntarily as his fingers brush against you again, but this time, he doesn't pull back. His finger slides in next to the pebble, the juxtaposition of your soft hole and the hard rock making his head swim and his cock ache. He hooks his finger before pulling it out and the pebble, a little bigger than a grape, pops out of you and skitters onto the floor. Your pretty little hole flutters and contracts as you gasp and another pebble is immediately clogging your entrance, this one seemingly bigger.

"You poor thing," Gortash has to push the stone back into you to get his finger to fit, and he can feel it clack and scrape against the other rocks still stuffed inside you, "I know it probably hurts, but you're doing wonderful..."

He pushes the rock subtly up as he speaks, delighted at the way you whimper and bury your face into his coat as your thighs close around him. The soft meat of your entrance clenches around his finger and he softly tuts, using his free hand to spread your legs once again.

"Relax, darling, it's alright."

"S...sorry..." Your voice is muffled through his coat, but he can still hear your strain and embarassment.

"You don't have to apologize," He assures you, curving his finger around the stone, "This one might hurt, okay? So try to not to tighten if you can."

He hears you suck in a deep breath before shuddering your muscles loose. With that, he begins pulling the rock forward. It's nearly hypnotizing, seeing your tiny hole stretch tight as the slimy surface of the stone pushes up to it, against it, resisting the pressure of his finger.

"Try pushing for me," He says, breathless, "Try to relax and push."

"Ah--" The muscles in your thighs clench and you let out a strained gasp that breaks into a hurt whimper as your hole stretches more, more--

With the widest part of the stone past, the rest slides out all at once, the plum-sized rock clattering to the floor as your hole gapes open from it's size. Two more pebbles, much smaller, fall from you and join the others at his knees.

"There we go, that's it darling, shh, shh, it's alright--" He softly comforts you as you gasp and cry out soft little noises of relief.

He rests both hands on your thighs, watching as your entrance contracts with jittery clenches, a thick gush of natural juices streaked with dirt and blood leaking from your abused hole. Gods, he's half tempted to shove his cock in you-- to share that pain of heavy stones pressing against his most tender parts.

But he can't, of course. So instead, he fishes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes at your folds. You seem to appreciate the break, sighing and relaxing as you lower the coat from your face. Good, because he'll get to see your expression for what comes next.

"We'll need to get you cleaned properly, but this will have to do for now."

He meets your eyes as he speaks, bringing his hand up and dragging the cloth slowly and deliberately over your clit.

Your eyes flutter and your mouth falls open as your thighs close around him involuntarily. It lasts for all but a moment, though, because the coat comes back up to hide your face. What a teasing little thing you are.

"Poor dear," he glides two fingers back into your entrance, feeling the grit of the dirt as he goes in deeper and you tighten. His other hand rests in his lap, as casually as he can, to subtly rub at his erection. "It'll all be over soon, so hold on for a little longer."

And it really does seem to almost be over-- the palm of his hand meets with your mound as he goes in as far as he can, fingers slipping around the last two stones. A shame, really. But he can work with this.

"They're in deep," He frowns, raising up on his knees for a better angle. "This may be difficult, darling. Just hang in there."

You peek at him from behind the jacket and nod nervously.

Gortash has to work to keep his own face straight as he slides a third finger into you, bottoming out easily with his palm pressed firmly over your clit. He pins the two stones against the roof of your cunt and lets them move and slip from his hold. He spreads his fingers inside of your to retrieve them, exploring the wet, swallowing heat of you to his pleasure. You gasp as his palm grinds against your clit, legs pressing into his sides once again.

"Almost," He breathes out, cock jerking madly against his thigh as he pushes in deeper, "It's alright, just a little more..."

Your breathing is picking up and, soft, distressed whimpers leave you with every minstration. His hand is coated in slick, it's positivley soaked as he pulls his fingers out halfway with a stone, only to 'lose' it and have to push them back in.

He knows that he's getting less subtle in his excitement, but you seem too far gone to understand that, or perhaps you don't care. Either way, the sounds you're making are becoming sweeter, more raw, and your legs are trembling as they squeeze around him. He wants to rip the jacket away from you, to see the way your chest is heaving, to get a look at the pleasure-pained face you must be making right now...but even if he's being more indulgent than he should, that would definitely blow his cover.

"Wait," You stumble out on a shaky breath, your body jerking forward and your eyes wide, "W-wait, please--!"

Your words break off in a sharp cry as your back arches and your pussy locks around his fingers, juices gushing around his intrusion and running down his forearm. Gortash lets out a small noise of his own, hopefully hidden in the throes of your orgasm, and uses the cover of your clenched eyes to fondle his leaking cock. He finds his own release a mere second later, the hot spurts of his cum soaking into his pants.

It's torturously perfect, having to keep his face as straight as possible as he's wracked with pleasure, forced to supress his shivers and shakes, even as you slowly loosen into your own.

"Gods, I'm..." Your face disappears behind his jacket again as your voice wavers, "I'm so sorry..."

"Shh, it's alright." He says in a near whisper, hoping it negates the post-climax gruffness in his voice, "It's not your fault, dear."

He easily traps the two remaing stones and gingerly extracts them, though it still makes you jerk and gasp. He notes with flared nostrils that your cunt has gotten swollen and puffy from your orgasm--looking perfectly inviting for some soft licking and sucking, though he wouldn't dare. The slick running from you seems to be clear now, the natural processes of your body clearing your passageway. You still may end up with an infection, but this will certainly help ease things.

He folds his handkerchief and dabs at your folds politely, cleaning you up as best as he can before finally standing up, his head light and his heart still pounding just as fiercely.

"Let's see if you can walk now."

He holds out a hand to you and you take it, your other arm pinning the jacket to yourself modestly. You're unsteady on your feet, but you only have to endure for a few moments as he helps you put his coat on. As soon as you're decent enough, Gortash leans you against him, a protective arm around your shoulders.

"Come, darling. Let's get out of here."

As he leads you out of the warehouse, he has to fight a devious smile as you tiredly rest your head against his arm.

[wiliowisp]

Ominis Gaunt Headcanons | Pt.1

➻ incredible piano player. being unable to see the keys he has all but memorised the placement of the notes and plays pieces from rote. he also composes some pieces of his own but none that he ever writes down.

➻ on that note, he has an impeccable memory. he can recall entire lessons almost word-for-word and will remember any conversation he's had recently.

➻ hates snakes. despises them. the gaunt household is surrounded by a number of snakes at any given time, as a child he could hear them slithering and talking in the walls. he rejects everything about the gaunt family, their name, their values, parseltongue, and so the snakes too.

➻ also a formidable opponent in chess. again, unable to visualise the board, he instead memorised the names of the spaces, which allowed him to grasp strategy more clearly. he beats sebastian every time, which annoys him to no end.

➻ a fierce spellcaster. the gaunt blood runs strong through him, including the magical power that comes with it. he may not be a better duelist than sebastian, but in every form of spellcraft, he excels.

➻ post-graduation, he becomes an animagus. his form is that of an albino puma with white eyes. he remains blind in his animagus form, but he gains the heightened senses of the animal, which allow him to navigate without a wand.

➻ TW// his blindness is a product of inbreeding. it's well known that the gaunts remain pureblood via incest, thus his parents are cousins. for this reason, ominis became an unwilling victim of their pureblood mania. he jokes about it to cope, only to cover how much it actually disgusts him.

➻ he has an acute sense of touch, for this reason he isn't a big fan of being touched. ominis is touch starved, to be sure, but will flinch if someone touches him without his prior knowledge or consent--with something like a pat on the shoulder. sebastian and MC are really the only ones he allows casual touches.

➻ he has an impeccable sense of style. perhaps its coming from old wizarding money, but he is the height of fashion. he uses his wand to discern colour, and then his hands to help discern pattern and texture. his outfits, when not in uniform, are always sophisticated and well-chosen.

(ominis photo credit to @deathlysallows)

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Bear ch 4

Pairings: Wanda x R || avengers (platonic) x R

Word count: 3.8K

TW: flashback, torture, themes of death, panic attack, concussion, nonverbalism, brain washing, mind control, trauma, abuse, violence, needles, restrains, bruises, injuries, guns, medical malpractice, human experimenting, tears, insanity (implied), headache, (damn thats a lot of warnings.)

Summary: You join your uncle tony in the avengers, it wasn’t your original plan but you never planned for your powers either so here you are. Now your at the avengers tower and falling for the girl of your dreams. With a haunting past and interesting abilities can you navigate your way through the challenges of being a hero? After a mission gone wrong and a cruel twist of fate the team starts digging for answers. Can tony keep them from finding out the truth?

A/n sorry this took so long to publish I might have broken one of my fingers im getting an X-ray in three days. Also the sign language I describe is auslan (Australian) sign language so … yeah. Also im not great at it so it might be wrong sorry.

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

When your mind awoke the dull headache still sat behind your eyes which you had kept shut. You wiggle slightly and Wanda knows your awake.

“Hello sweet girl. How are you feeling” she asked rubbing her thumb over your cheekbone. You were in her lap and quite comfortable. You let out a content hum and Wanda chuckled slightly. The vibrations of her chest were soothing on your head as you had your face nestled into her chest.

“Baby?”

“Mm?”

“If your feeling good enough natty and i wanna ask you something my love.” Wanda asked taking note of your muscles as they stiffened. You knew this was coming, they wanted to know why you had frozen on the mission. You fought back the emotions that bubbled in your chest and nodded.

“You want to know why i froze.” You said in a small voice. Wanda wiped the baby hairs from your eyes and looked down at you softly. Nat laid a comforting hand on your thigh and you almost had forgotten she was in the room. Wanda and nat were sat against the headboard on your bed and you were curled in Wanda’s lap.

She began to run her hands through your hair and you let out a content sigh.

“Baby we just want to know so we can help you and keep you safe.” She said softly and nat nodded her agreement.

“Alright, but i-i c-cant t-talk about it.” You stuttered clearing your throat at annoyance at the nervous habit.

“Baby thats ok, can i look and show natty then?” She asked your consent and rubbed her thumb over your cheek again with her hand cupping your face. You suddenly felt small and nodded, words becoming too hard for you.

“Ok if you need me to stop or it gets too much at all i need you to tap twice on my thigh baby girl. Can you do that for me now so i know you can do it?” She asked still speaking softly. You used two fingers and tapped twice on her thigh. She smiled down at you. “Perfect baby your doing so well. Let me know when your ready ok my love?” She asked and you drew a shaky breathe and looked into her eyes and nodded your consent.

“Words baby. I need to hear you say its ok.” She said. You looked slightly stressed and signed ‘no talk’ with your hands. Bringing your middle and pointer finger to your thumb to say no and then bringing your finger to your mouth and drawing circles to say talk. Wanda understood and began storing your hair.

“Ok baby no talking. Are you nonverbal baby?” She asked and you nodded and sniffled slightly. She cooed and asked you once more if you were ready. When you signed yes she hummed and began to project from your mind to her own and Natashas.

As she sifted through your memories her brow furrowed. They were fragmented and many were repressed, the trauma distorting the images. She saw many things. A damp cold cell with white chalk drawing of tony and the outside world covering the walls. The drawings were magical and intricate. She saw a small room with nothing in it but a chair, a man and a tray of what looked like torture instruments. She saw the lights of hospital but it was unlike anything private or government, more like a run down covert facility. She saw the man from the mission standing over you as you writhed in the restraints that kept you strapped to a table. He held a long needle filled with black liquid. She saw you standing over a man, a bear skull mask on your face and a black suit on you body. You had a gun pressed to his temple and sick grin on your face. She knew that suit. That grin. That gun. She recognised the cold sadistic chuckle as you drew the trigger. The crack of a bullet firing ricocheted throughout the ally and she watched the body fall limp on the floor with a sickening thud. But despite the cruelty of then action she saw the lacquer in your eyes. The gloss that told her you weren’t in control. She saw the light in your eyes flickering as you fought for control. She watched as the scene changed again and you were laid beaten on the floor of a cell cradling a bruised abdomen as you wore nothing but a ruined and bloody rag. She saw a man, the man from the mission again land hit after hit across your already broken and bruised body.

She watched you be broken and bled in every way possible before you were thrown back into your cell. She saw the kind scientist sneak you chalk that you covered the walls with. She watched you cry alone and broken. But the last thing she saw, was the logo of hydra printed on the door of your cell. The red ink bleeding down the walls.

She found nothing else. Careful not to damage your mind further she withdrew her controls. Looking down at you in her arms she pulled you tighter to her despite the shock. Your body shook with sobs as you wailed slightly still not speaking. In a surprising display of strength you pushed yourself away from her chest and sprung from the bed. Natasha looked dazed as you curled into a ball in the corner. Shielding your head with your forearms and rocking back and forth. The sound of your broken cries permeated the room and broke Wanda’s heart. She slowly came over to you seeing the panic in your eyes as she tried to stop the flashback. She pulled you into her arms and rocked you slowly as you sobbed. Slowly the sobs slowed as your hand gripped her shirt in fists.

As you began to recognise who was around you and where you were Wanda held you tighter.

“Baby we understand you weren’t in control. That wasn’t you. I remember fighting you but i know it wasn’t you. You couldn’t ever be that cold.” You howled and Wanda squeezed you again.

“Baby we love you the same as always and now we know just how strong you are and we love you even more.”

You sniffled and began to move your hands as you began to sign that you wanted to explain.

Wanda placed her hand over yours. “Baby you don’t have to do that just now.”

You signed back ‘I want to or i know i never will be able to.’

Wanda hesitated but nodded. Carefully she stood with you in her arms and walked back to the bed where nat sat and offered you a smile. You knew she didn’t care about your past the same you didn’t care about hers. Wanda held you as you explained. Hydra took you in the early days of tony being Ironman. You, behind the spotlight helped on missions and when you were captured one day things changed. They tortured you amongst other things and brain washed you to do their bidding. When tony rescued you he hid you away when he saved you from hydra and you and him faked your death. When you told him two months ago your powers returned after hydra suppressed them and made sure only you could use them when told, he panicked and made you come to the compound. The drugs they gave you to control your powers finally wearing off. You had always loved your powers, they made you feel safe and you quickly regained full control but the damage hydra did made some of them dissapper. Tony wants to keep an eye on you to make sure your ok if they come back also. But now hydra knows your alive and your powers are back and stronger, and they have almost certainly ordered a hit on you.

Wanda sat back and sighed running her hands through her hair as she took it all in. She was quick to comfort you as you took her silence as a bad sign. Tears formed in your eyes. And your loud thoughts told Wanda you thought she was mad. You began to struggle in her lap. She quickly pulled you into her chest again and shushed you reassuring you everything would be ok.

After all the stress and crying your head felt even worse and the familiar nausea returned. You thrashed in Wanda’s arms who pulled you from her neck to look into your eyes. They looked frantic and you quickly signed the word for throw up. Nat was quick to understand and grabbed another sick-bag. She had half expected this to happen after the stress this had put on you and the pain of crying that hard with a concussion.

She carefully placed it under your chin and you put your hands over hers as they shook. Wanda rubbed circles between your shoulder blades. You hunched over your hands clinging to Nat’s wrists for dear life she she held the sick-bag for you.

“Its ok baby. Let it out. We’re here. Don’t hold it back bubs.” Wanda said seeings you gagging and struggling to keep it down. Tears formed in your eyes before you ducked your head lowered towards the sick bag. The sound of you throwing up filled the room as all the food you had eaten in the past few hours was violently expelled.

“Shh sh sh your doing so good for us Detka. So so good baby girl.” Wanda said.

“It’ll be ok y/n/n its alright love.” Nat said. When you stopped gaging nat went to take away the sick-bag but your grip on her wrist tightened and you shook your head slowly.

“Going to go again?” Nat asked raising a brow and her question was answered as you threw up a second round. When you stopped you pushed her hands away and nat nodded to Wanda who pulled you into her as nat went to dispose of the sick and grab some more mouthwash for your sensitive tastebuds. You sniffled and buried your face in her neck.

“Aww bubs your ok. Your ok now love.” Wanda soothed. After a bit your sniffles died down and you simply laid curled in her arms. Nat returned and you rinsed out your mouth and then began to drift off to sleep.

“Its ok baby you can close your eyes. You must be exhausted after all that my sweet.” Wanda said and you nodded and curled into her chest. After a little your soft snores sounded throughout the room.

When you woke up the room was dimly lit still but the headache was lesser. You signed to Wanda you wanted a snack and you were hungry. She stood getting ready to leave but you signed that you wanted to come with. Nat who had been watching the conversation over the top of her book frowned. After a series of quick hand movements from you you made it clear that you were coming with. Nat stood pulling some sunglasses out of a drawer.

“If you come with you wear these. You don’t need to loose the progress you have made in recovering.” Nat said and you pouted but let her slip them onto your face regardless. After a second you blinked and then turned grabbing nat and Wanda’s hands before dragging them out of the room.

Nat snagged a sick-bag on the way not knowing how your stomach would react to the lurch of the lift. You raised a brow but didn’t comment. After a successful trip down to the kitchen you realised it was mostly empty. Clint stood by the toaster making bagels with cream cheese and looked up smiling at you when you walked in. Nat waved and went over to talk to him. But he frowned and nat paused. Looking sheepish he signed to nat he broke his hearing aids while training and nat laughed. Quickly signing back she told him it was ok and she would tell fury to send more. Clint looked up from his conversation and noticed you signing to Wanda about what you wanted to eat. He frowned.

‘I didn’t know she knew sign language.’ He signed. Nat froze and Wanda swooped in.

‘She’s got a sore throat so she’s resting her voice’ Wanda said and you smiled shyly. Clint smiled, happy he had someone else he could sign with. The toaster dinged loudly and you flinched still slightly on edge from earlier. Wanda took you hand rubbing her thumb over you knuckles to smooth you.

You sighed softly and gave her a look of thanks.

‘Are you alright y/n?’ Clint signed not missing the way you had flinched.

‘Yeah toaster startled me’ you signed back and Clint nodded in understanding. He shot a questioning look to nat who shook her head and indicated he should just drop it. He nodded and pulled out his bagels which nat pointed too seeing he couldn’t hear the ding.

“Wanda once you got y/n/n’s snack head back up to the room and I’ll join you a bit later. I need to call fury to get more of Clint’s hearing aids sent to the compound. Clint signed thanks after reading her lips and nat waved him off. He wouldn’t be able to make the call himself because he couldn’t really talk right now.

Earlier you, nat and Wanda had decided on how to tell the team about your issues but decided to start small. Clint would be the first one to tell he would understand the best. But you hadn’t had the courage to tell him yet.

Wanda and you headed back to the room and after around a half hour of relaxing and listening to Wanda read to you you had been dozing lightly when Jarvis startled you into fully being awake.

“Director fury is asking for everyone to meet him in the conference room.”

The AI said.

“Alright tell him we are on our way.” Wanda said slipping the sunglasses back on your face rubbing her thumb over your cheekbone as you basked in her touch. She grabbed you hand and softly pulled you from the bed.

Fury was waiting in the meeting room. Nat and the rest were already there and Wanda pulled you into a chair next to her and Natasha.

“Nice of you to join us Maximoff and L/n” fury said and you made yourself smaller in your seat as the team looked at you.

“Alright getting straight to the point.” Fury said. “Operative has confirmed that hydra has put out a hit on y/n.” Wanda, Natasha, tony and you tensed but stayed quiet. “L/n will need to be accompanied by another member of the team at all times and is not to leave the compound unattended.” Fury said and you groaned quietly. Whenever similar things had happened in the past it had made you feel trapped. And as you explained to Wanda and nat earlier that often led to you disappearing for a couple hours to be alone. “This is not up for discussion L/n.” Fury said when he heard you groan. You slouched but didn’t protest not wanting to talk still or make a scene by using sign language in front of the team who still didn’t know.

“Everyone else you are to be going to this hydra base here” fury tapped a spot on the map behind him that was being projected on the screen. “This meeting will brief you all on what will happen and i trust tony to brief the rest of you with more details on y/n later.” Tony, Wanda and nat stiffened knowing the truth about you. “Only a handful of you will be staying behind. Clint seeings you can’t hear right now which would make using coms a nightmare.” Clint frowned crossing his arms and sounding in. The chair but knowing fury was right. “Y/n for obvious reasons and a concussion. Bruce will stay here in case y/n requires medical attention and Wanda and nat seeings you have taken a liking to young ms L/n will stay behind to protect her. The rest of you will be going to the base. You leave in three days. Tony you have three days to tell the team about y/n or I will be. Alright now lets get into the details of what’s happening on the mission. L/n, Barton, Maximoff and Romanoff you all stay for this as well, you might be needed as backup at any point so stay focused here.” You deflated in your chair, feeling yourself getting overstimulated. It was a mix of the constant flow of information and the fact your concussion was making everything around you seem ten times louder than it was. Nat was taking note on your left and Wanda sat doing the same on your right. Even though they wouldn’t be going on the mission they wanted to stay informed.

You drummed your fingers on your thigh and fidgeted softly trying to lay attention. You felt the headache begging to worsen and you winced, luckily hidden by the sunglasses. After another five minutes you were struggling even more. Even through the sunglasses the light was hurting your eyes slightly and the noises had blurred together to create an endless stream of overstimulating pain. You couldn’t tell nat or Wanda because you couldn’t sign in front of the team. Quietly you took a pen from the cup of them in the centre of the table. Uncapping the black biro and starting to draw up and down your arms. You drew and octopus to start and were putting the details on the tentacles when you felt a hand on yours. Looking up you see nat offering you her notepad. She slides it to you across the table indicating to draw on it instead. With slightly shaky hands you take it. Nat frowns seeing your tremor. You glanced around before moving your hands below the table and signed “what about your notes?” And she points to Wanda who is talking notes as well and she gives a finger wiggling wave with a cheeky grin. You chuckle and when you realise the room us quiet you see Steve glaring at you.

“Y/n? Are you even paying attention.” You swallow nervously.

“Yeah thats what I thought. Please listen this is important or we will have to. Bench you on the next mission.”

when nat saw the tears collecting in your eyes she stood up for you knowing it was too much and you couldn’t talk or leave. You felt trapped. Steve was still lecturing oblivious to you going a deep shade of red from the teams eyes on you.

“Alright thats enough Steve you made your point now get back to it.” Natasha said sounding very annoyed. Steve paused taking note of the authority in Nat’s voice and swallowed before returning to the briefing as fury had left to deal with more important matters. Wanda’s eyes lingered on you for a second before meeting Nat’s as they silently and possible mentally conversed thanks to Wanda’s powers. You were a little annoyed because you knew they would be talking about you. You huffed and fixed your gaze on the screen trying to get your buzzing brain to pay attention to the details. After what felt like hours Steve dismissed the team and you made a beeline for the door. Quickly retreating to your room and despite the silence, slipping on your noise cancelling headphones and starting to draw in your sketchbook. You were chewing on your pinky finger absentmindedly as your pen flew across the page when two short raps came on the door. Wanda and nat wanted to make sure you were ok. They knew something was up. Of course with the headphones on you didn’t hear them. Only realising when then door cracked open spilling light into the dimly lit room. Wandas head peeked in cautiously and you gave a small apologetic smile and signed for her to come in, looking sheepish. She smiled wildly and pushed the door open the rest of the way as her and nat entered. Shutting it after them, the room returned to its previously dimly lit level of light but the two girls didn’t seem to care. Nat eyed your sketchbook complementing your art before Wanda pulled you into her arms.

You buried your face in her neck and drew in a heavy breathe pf her calming scent.

“Baby girl was that meeting a bit much for you?” Wanda asked softly and felt you nod into her neck.

“Im sorry my love. The reason we didn’t come find you straight away is natty here chewed out Steve for calling you out like that in front of the team.” She heard you sniffle into her chest and felt small sobs wrack your form.

“Aww sweets don’t cry we’re here now.” Wanda said and you pulled away still straddling her with her hands on your hips. You signed ‘too much’ and nat carefully slipped the noise canceling headphones back over your ears. You sighed and Wanda pulled you into her again and drew circles on your back with the palm of her hand. It soothed you like the presence of the two women. After a bit you fell asleep and Wanda quietly talked to nat about telling the team. They would find out sooner or later and right now them not knowing was making things harder on you. Stressing to keep it secret was taking its toll on you. Nat knew the team the longest and knew they would be fine with it. Helpful even.

When you next woke they posed the idea and tired and sad you agreed. Pointing at them and signing that they would tell the team for you. Nat chuckled. “Sure thing kiddo whatever you want squirt.” She said ruffling you hair with a smile you batted her hand away grinning and poked your tongue out at her.With mock offence she placed a hand over her chest and gasped. Wanda rolled her eyes at your antics.

“Honestly you two are such children.”

“Yeah but you love us.” Nat said and Wanda sighed.

“I do. I love you both very much” she said peppering your face with kisses as you giggled slightly the sound warming Wanda’s heart.

“Right we have a meeting to call.” Nat said standing up.

MASTERLIST

[baldurs-writers-3]

Angst: A BG3 Rec List

This week, we have Angst!  Check under the cut for 12 fics that include a lot of that oh so tasty pain (both emotional and physical!), and as always, comment and kudos if you like them!

The lick of poison by astarionfreak (4994,Explicit) Warnings: Sex pollen, fuck or die, dubious consent, forced orgasm Pairings: Astarion/Naenia (Fem!Tav)

This is a sex pollen/fuck or die fic. Naenia is the only one affected. Astarion has some complex feelings about consent. It's set in Act 1 in the Underdark.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Daisies On My Nightstand by Thedrowlock on AO3 and bhaalbabebardlock on tumblr (158000,Explicit) Warnings: PLEASE be mindful of all tags and chapter notes especially as you progress through the story. This fic takes a hard, hard dive into dead dove territory at chapter sixty and stays there (the angst stays too). This is an ongoing, updates almost daily longfic. Part one is almost complete. Pairings: Named Dark Urge (Ilara)/Astarion; Ilara/Gortash, Ilara/Shadowheart, Ilara & Raphael, Ilara/A!Astarion

The story of a Bhaal-spawn who only ever wanted her freedom, and how far she'll go to find it.

Reccer says: I liked it!

In Another Life (I Found You) by grovyrosegirl (74380,Mature) Warnings: Violence, Death, Grief, Kidnapping, Emotional/Psychological Abuse Pairings: Gale/Tav

Five years after the Netherbrain’s defeat, Gale and Connie (Tav)’s happy married life is interrupted when Connie is suddenly kidnapped by a mysterious intruder. This intruder turns out to be another Gale, from a world where he claimed the Crown of Karsus.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Deo volente by cyranonic (33529,Mature) Warnings: astarion's past is mentioned, so i guess TW: Astarion :( Pairings: Astarion/Gale

Astarion is having a shitty time post game, miserable without the sun. Gale is having a miserable time as well. Watch them drag each other down even worse!

Reccer says: a darker look than many fics at what could occur after the game is over, with some characters feeling abandoned. Super well written in general, great Astarion voice.

Oathbreaker by Mellybaggins (173240,Explicit) Warnings: Major character death, rape/non-con, religious trauma, some dead dove content Pairings: Tav/Astarion, Tav/Halsin, Tav/OC

A longfic about an oathbreaker paladin navigating the events of the game, and working through her own memories of why she broke her oath.

Reccer says: It seems like a standard Tav fic at first, but takes a sharp turn into OC territory when Raphael messes with her memories.

jackrabbit by tomorrowsrain (15589,Teen) Warnings: past abuse (really, CW: Astarion :( ) Pairings: Astarion & Karlach, Astarion & Wyll

Astarion wakes up on the beach in the sun and realizes he has a chance at becoming a person again. Maybe.

Reccer says: Seriously one of the best examinations of Astarion's transformation during the game from the start of act 1 to mid act 2 that is out there. A treasure to read.

You'll hate me (make love) by astarionfreak (5305,Explicit) Warnings: Character About to Die, Smut, Sad and Sweet, Angst, Bittersweet Pairings: Astarion/Tav

Ascended Astarion pretends to be his spawn self as Tav's dying wish and they fuck on his grave.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Diary of a Dark Consort by NottaBear (8,619 and growing ,Mature) Warnings: Implied/Referenced sexual assault, emotional manipulation Pairings: Named Tav/Ascended Astarion

A found diary style story following the life of a Vampire Lords consort.

Reccer says: I liked it!

i still want to live by fetch_me_penguins (7750,Explicit) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav, Astarion & Jaheira, Tav & Jaheira

An angsty take on the premise of Cazador kidnapping Tav to replace the spawn she killed on the Ascension ritual and to teach Astarion a lesson on obedience.

Reccer says: I liked it!

Ruin. by Thedrowlock (3859,Explicit) Warnings: Major character death, smut Pairings: Astarion/f! reader

It's been five years since you left The Vampire Ascendant and everything he offered you, but now you're back to handle him. Why is that so hard?

Reccer says: I liked it!

Stolen Futures by onlymine139 (2530,General) Warnings: Major character death Pairings: Gale/Tav

Gale and Tav journey to Waterdeep to start their new life together, only to be interrupted by a devastating realization.

Reccer says: Just some good old fashioned heartbreak.

when the work needs doing, she will see it done by vampireposter (7940,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: The Dark Urge & Jaheira

A small neglected and abused child attempts to assassinate Jaheira, so she adopts her about it

Reccer says:

The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! 

Next week, we’ll be back with Fluff Fics!

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

The ABLEIST mindset within Wings of Fire

TW: Ableism and Ranting.

Within wings of fire, I noticed that there’s a bad, and even ableist mindset within Wings of Fire that assumes that disabled characters - or at least, the part of them that’s disabled - is ‘broken’, and that the disabled character would be happier being ‘fixed’ of it. But before I explain this, here’s some disclaimers:

Please note that while I am neurodivergent, I’m NOT physically disabled, so if I say anything bad and/or wrong within this confession, please inform people about it in a non-harassing and hopefully civil manner. I did learn that there are disabled people that dislike this mindset and/or trope, resulting in me to be upset about it as well, so I came here to inform people and rant about this mindset in this confession.

Do NOT hate and/or harass Tui., anyone who agrees or disagrees with this confession, and people within the sources and/or evidence I’ll leave for this ask. I advise people to instead inform and/or educate people instead about why this confession is good and/or bad, instead of hating and/or harassing people because they agree or disagree with it.

I’m NOT telling anymore to the characters I’ll be mentioning here, which specifically Turtle and Anemone. I honestly don’t hate or dislike both of them myself, and feel like the problem with them having mindset is more so the problem of the writing within WoF than the characters themselves instead, which unfortunately negatively writes them in the series.

Within Part one of Talons of Power, after Tamarin tells Turtle that he’ll keep the fact that Anemone being a animus a secret, Turtle thinks about his animus magic. And while he does so, he thinks…this:

 “He’d been keeping the same secret his whole life. Was it hard? Maybe sometimes - like whenever something bad happened that he knew his magic could fix, but he had to go ahead and leave it broken. Like Tamarin’s eyes.

I could fix them. I could do it right now . . . I could enchant that bandage so when she takes it off she can see for the first time of her life.” - Talons of Power, Page 24.

Turtle stated that he views Tamarin’s eyes as ‘broken’ because she can’t see out of them. Something that he could ‘fix’.  And what’s more icky and even bad about this is that Turtle DOESN’T even THINK about whether or it Tamarin actually WANTS to be ‘fixed’. Her consent and/or agency in this quote ISN’T even CONSIDERED.

And what’s even WORSER about this is the fact that she was literally mentioned to have literal SERIOUS BURNS AND INJURIES that she gained only a few DAYS or ONE WEEK ago.

And within the same book, she was mentioned to have these injures literally a few PAGES AGO: 

She’s “covered swathes of bandages and streaks of bandage marks. A poultice of damp leaves is wrapped around her eyes.” - Talons of Power, Page 19.

And despite this, he doesn’t even THINK or CONSIDER healing Tamarin’s literal SERIOUS INJURIES despite the fact that he has a literal ENCHANTED rock that can heal wounds and is KNOWN to work, like when Turtle healed his tail after the cactus bomb explosion in Possibility, and saved Winter’s literal LIFE from the SEVERE BURNS that Peril accidentally gave Winter.

So the fact that Turtle thought about ‘FIXING’ Tamarin’s disability, something that she was BORN with and lived with her ENTIRE LIFE, and has already ADAPTED to living with it so well to the point that she taught Starflight how to fly and navigate while blind at the age of THREE, without even THINKING and/or CONSIDERING to heal Tamarin LITERAL RECENT BURNS AND WOUNDS, despite her probably having actual physical PAIN from them, is honestly feels quite upsetting, and GROSS even.

And Turtle’s not the only one to have this negative mindset…Anemone does to.

ANEMONE. The dragon that has a literal CRUSH on Tamarin, and is confirmed to be DATING Tamarin too! 

Because later within Talons of Power - the same book that Turtle said the stuff mentioned above in - after Darkstalker ‘heals’ Flame’s face, Darkstalker and Anemone have…THIS conversation: 

 “You know, I offered to cure Starflight’s blindness once, but Tsunami said no, that my soul is too vauleable, whatever, whatever.” She touched her neckband. “But now I can! Or you can! One of us can. Won’t Starflight be exciters?”

“I’m not sure.” Darkstalker said kindly “It’s a generous idea, but in my visions, he’s reluctant to have a magic cure from us. Maybe if we give him a little more time to get used to the idea.”

“Reluctant? Why?” Anemone demanded. “We can fix everyone now!” - Talons of Power, Page 63

❗️“Reluctant? Why?” Anemone demanded. “We can fix everyone now!”❗️The way Anemone reacted to Darksthonestly feels like she’s ignorant to the fact that there’s disabled dragon in the world that are HESITANT to be ‘cured’ of their disability. Let alone DON’T want to be ‘fixed’ of it. Maybe even viewing disabled dragons as ‘broken’ because of their disability, and assumes they would be happier being ‘fixed’ of their disability.

And within the prologue of The Hive Queen, Turtle mentions that he and Anemone attempted to ‘cure’ Starflight and Tamarin of their disability, with Turtle attempting to do this to Starflight, and Anemone attempting to do this to Tamarin. And Turtle DOESN’T even mention whether or not Starflight and Tamarin actually WANTED to be ‘cured’ or not.

And you maybe asking: “Why is this such a bad thing?” Or at least “why or how does this mindset fall into such a bad and even ABLEIST trope?”

Well, because there’s unfortunately a common but bad trope within media that believes - or at least implies - that disabled characters - disabled PEOPLE - are ‘incomplete’ because of their disability, so they need to be ‘fixed’ healed’ or ‘cured’ of it in order to become ‘whole’.

And while Wings of Fire doesn’t 100% completely fit and/or believes in this trope - It still implys that disabled dragons - DISABLED PEOPLE, since dragons are equally as intelligent and complex as humans IRL within Wings of Fire - as ‘broken’ because of their disability, and assumes that disabled dragons would be happier or maybe even better if they’re ‘fixed’ ‘healed’ or ‘cured’ by it, which is…yeah. Still pretty damn icky.

Of course, I do understand that it may make sense for Turtle and Anemone to have these thoughts, especially for how young they

Turtle is mentioned to see wounded soldiers in The Garden of the Wounded within the Sea kingdom, which had dragons that recently had lost one of their limbs from fighting within the war, not knowing how to swim - yet - while recovering from the trauma of their injuries. I suppose that this possibly made Turtle mistake being and/or living as disabled as a bad and/or negative thing through his childhood, rather than the TRAUMA and/or the TRAUMATIC EVENT that caused those soldiers to lose one of their limbs.

While Anemone is a traumatized and abused young child and/or tween, who became a “bratty” and “ignorant” dragon within Arc 2, not just from the trauma she experienced, but possibly from Coral’s ignorant and/or angry behavior negatively impacting Anemone as a dragon as well.

However, regardless of the case to why these characters have these mindsets about disabled dragons, or even how common this point of view is within media, it does NOT stop the fact that thinking this way about disabled dragons is NEGATIVE. Is BAD. And that it even falls into a ABLEIST mindset within media.

The main problem about this though is not the fact that Turtle and Anemone have these thoughts about disabled dragons, or even the fact that it falls into a ableist trope within media.

It’s the fact that the characters or even the writing doesn’t ADRESS that these thoughts about disabled characters are a NEGATIVE or even a BAD thing.

These thoughts could’ve even been OK as long as the characters and the writing implied and even stated that this mindset towards disabled dragons is a NEGATIVE or even a BAD thing! But it’s NOT. Not even in areas within the plot and/or story that this mindset COULD’VE been written and be ADDRESSED about being negative and/or bad. 

Turtle wasn’t written to possibly feel uncomfortable about Darkstalker ‘healing’ Flame’s scar. Because while yes, he did want it healed, Darkstalker mentally PUSHED and MADE his scar becoming ‘healed’ instead of convincing him to do so with his “kindness” that he has towards Anemone.

Turtle wasn’t written to feel uncomfortable about what Anemone said to Darkstalker, and then think about Tamarin and wonder whether or not she actually wants to be ‘fixed’ of her blindness, and maybe even guilty for thinking about ‘fixing’ her eyes without even considering her consent for it. Possibly even wondering whether or not he’s bad dragon for thinking about her disability in that way.

Anemone’s mindset about disabled dragons is NEVER confronted by ANY disabled character, whether it be Clay, Starflight, or even Tamarin. Or by a character who’s friends with one of them, like Fatespeaker or Sunny. Anemone’s mindset about disabled dragons ISN’T confronted BEFORE she started dating TAMARIN, a dragon which has the SAME disability as the one that Anemone has IGNORANCE to when to comes to dragons being hesitant about being ‘cured’ of their blindness, let alone don’t want to be ‘cured’ of their disability.

The fact that Turtle and Anemone attempted to actually ‘CURE’ or ‘FIX’ Starflight and Tamarin isn’t ADDRESSED or even WRIITEN as bad if those characters don’t want to be ‘fixed’ of their disability, or at least whether or it they actually WANT to be ‘fixed’ or not.

TURTLE’S AND ANEMONE’S MINDSETS TOWARDS DISABLED DRAGONS IS NEVER ADDRESSED OR EVEN IMPLIED TO BE NEGATIVE OR BAD WITHIN THE WRITING. 

And because of this, these mindsets on disabled dragons are treated as NORMAL, or OK mindsets to have on disabled dragons. But they’re NOT.

And because of this, it can result into people reading this to believe that these thoughts about disabled character - disabled PEOPLE - are NORMAL to have. That they’re OK to believe in. And that’s very upsetting, especially since this series is directed towards literal CHILDREN, specifically around the ages of 8 - 12, who also probably will absorb this and believe in this bad mindset towards disabled characters - and possibly disabled PEOPLE even - and that it’s a ok mindset to have MORE than the older fans reading it.

And the negative impacts of this mindset in Wings of Fire can be seen within the WoF fandom - whether it be from young fans, older fans or fans of ANY age - with some parts of the fandom even believing in this harmful mindset towards disabled characters-

With people making fanfics about Anemone ‘curing’ Tamarin’s disability, and with people wishing that Starflight’s and/or Tamarin’s disabilities are ‘healed’.

Disabled characters - disabled PEOPLE - are NOT ‘broken’ because of their disability. People with disabilities don’t need to be ‘FIXED’, and may not even want that.

Disabled people can STILL live a HAPPY and GOOD life with their disability, despite the struggles it gives them.

The problem is NOT the fact that there’s people that are disabled - rather the negative struggles that come with their disability.

And ESPECIALLY the fact that a LOT disabled people around the world unfortunately live in a society that’s more likely to prejudice them for being disabled, even wishing that they’re more “normal” and/or “fixed” rather than accepting disabled people as they are while helping them with the struggles from their disability.

And if you still don’t believe the information within this confession, I HIGHLY recommend the video called “Why You Shouldn’t Heal Disabled Characters”, which can be found on youtube. Because while it does NOT talk about this ableism within Wings of Fire, it DOES talk about why this trope and/or mindset with media is ableist, and that you should NOT put it within your own stories.

I’ll mention some of the disclaimers again:

Please note that while I am neurodivergent, I’m NOT physically disabled, so if YOU are physically disabled, and noticed I said anything bad or wrong within this confession, let people know about it in a non-harassing and hopefully civil manner.

And if you want to add in your own input about this confession, and even link sources to support this confession, feel free to do it if you want!

Also, do NOT hate and/or harass Tui, people who agree or disagree with this confession, or anyone who created the evidence and/or sources in this confession. INSTEAD, if you agree or disagree with this confession, please inform and educate people about it instead in a civil manner.

Anon asked me to add some images, which will be below the divider.

Anon's notes and sources:

Essay about dragons wanting ‘fix’ Tamarin’s disability:https://www.deviantart.com/amphibiian/status-update/one-problem-with-wings-of-922342904

Notes: A essay that someone posted that talks about dragons thinking about ‘fixing’ Tamarin’s disability, and why Tamarin doesn’t need to be ‘fixed’.

Why You Shouldn’t Heal Disabled Characters:https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=h203v5ZTqBo&feature=youtu.be

Notes: The video I mentioned within the confession. The video explains the ableist trope that I mentioned within the confession and why you shouldn’t believe in it and/or not put it within your stories.

Disability in Warrior Cats - ❕time stamp 7:56 - 9:15❕:https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=c7mL2Y3rezw&pp=ygUZd2FycmlvciBjYXRzIGRpc2FiaWxpdGllcw%3D%3D

Notes: The reason why I also included this video is that within the time stamp, it explains that disabled warrior cat characters are ‘healed’ or ‘fixed’ in Starclan - the cat characters’ afterlife - and why that’s a bad and/or negative thing to be written within the books.

Ableist Tropes 101: Miracle Cure:https://luminositylibrary.wordpress.com/2021/07/13/ableist-tropes-101-miracle-cure/

Notes: A essay that explains why this trope is negative, bad, and ableist within media.

All the people who created the sources within the links - excluding the Tamarin essay - are people who are disabled.

[fell-contract]

Congratulations on the sobriety! If you don't mind answering, what are you recovering from?

Thank you! I went back and forth on fully addressing this, but I figured bringing awareness to certain things and being vulnerable might help someone else, so here we go.

It was ultimately just alcohol. I was one of those college students who made partying my personality my entire senior year, so afterward I tried to maintain that lifestyle while navigating my tenuous relationship with my parents and figure out my future. To be completely blunt (TW), I would get into these drunken self saboteur spirals where I would put myself in the way of danger: I couldn't swim and jumped into the lake on a work trip only to be saved by a coworker, I hooked up with strangers who knew I was too intoxicated to consent, and at the worst I tried to slice my wrist on two separate occasions.

I've oscillated between these tendencies and a healthier outlook on alcohol, but as my relationship with my parents remained stagnant despite my best efforts I realized I had created this concept that I was working against some natural deficit borne out of who I was. I've come to recognize that was just religious doctrine brainwashing me, but when I would get too drunk it would all pour back into my brain without the safeguards of clarity to pull me back from the edge. NYE I relapsed into self-harm again in front of my partner and I realized the next morning I would never grow up beyond that scared kid I used to be if I didn't stop drinking. 12/31/23 was my last drink and while I've entertained integrating wine again at some point, I feel assured that I'll never touch hard liquor again.

I'm sharing this not to garner sympathy, but rather to show that the life I project here isn't the full picture. Social media can be a blessing of connection but also a curse of comparison, and I hope no one is comparing the highlight reels of others to the full scope of their own reality. I can finally see a future beyond tomorrow and all the blessings I've had in the midst of pain. I think there's power in recognizing the part we can play in our own suffering, and allowing ourselves to believe in who we can be rather than who we were is what begins the journey of happiness.

[embossross]

hi ross! do you happen to have any fic recs? explicit is okay! (i've read thru all your mlist and its perfection,, i bet your taste will also be just as good) <3 hope youre doing well

first of all, thank you 💕

second of all, it's a little tricky to give recs because i don't have any organization system whatsoever. anything i reblog here, i obviously enjoy, so that's a starting point, and i tried to come up with some things below too; third, my fave fics of all time aren't in the anime fandoms. if you want those, just send me another ask and i'll throw a little list together

some fave multi-chap anime fics

the road to hell by vagabondings - all the haikyuu captains as mafia bosses having to court reader. almost all of the guys are decent except oikawa and the individual dynamics are all great

also anything by vagabondings, especially her ran fics

love me wrong by mianavs - mikey x reader where reader is kisaki's little sister with amnesia, and mikey is on some super weird / dark shit. a little bit thriller, a little bit revenge, a little character study, a little romance

realistic romanticisms by passionesque - naoya x utahime - a kind of fascinating combination of angst, character, and politics in the jjk universe. starts pretty dark, but gets lighter as utahime navigates through it

a very yakuza christmas by lalunanymph - mikey x reader - technically 1 very long chap, but whatever. this is the fluffiest fic i'll rec with really good characterization and good vibes

no one is what they were before by ohmytheon - gojo/reader and geto/reader fic - dark gojo fic where he joins geto. mostly political.

some good smut off the top of my head

osmosis by takaholic - hakkai x mitsuya x reader fic - this is so unnecessarily well written for a smut fic omg

a place for everything, and everything in its place by madamskk - oikawa x reader x iwaizumi - just such good nasty smut

in the wolves den by someone deactivated ?? - bonten gangbang that's insane (coerced consent)

all mine by vagabondings - great bonten gangbang + hanma (coerced consent)

horrid part 1 + horrid part 2 - super dark, darkest thing i'll rec. gangbang with the seijoh 4 (rape tw); for a less dark version, with cnc roleplay halfway to the end by the same author feat. iwaizumi & oikawa

[nonnieapple]

⛈ ☂️ Peach Pit, 3- A Rocky Heart For Breakin' Teeth☂️ ⛈

• (Akura-ou x g/n reader x Tomoe)   • r a t i n g: m a t u r e • 7 9 9 w o r d s  •  p o s t e d 07.01.2024    🌧  navigation 🍑 previous chapter 🍑 next chapter • s u m m a r y: you're a peaceful farmer in the mountains during the sengoku period. someone starts stealing your peaches, and the thief turns out to be a chaotic oni, and the events that ensue flip your life upside down. • c h a p t e r s u m m a r y: tomoe taunts you and you debate your life decisions. TW: alco hol, mention of alcoho lism-like behavior, brief discussion of de ath. 

The morning sky was a marble of golds, pinks, and soft blues. 

  Before getting to work on your poem about sadness and roses, as one does, you went out for peaches. 

  You hesitated before you even left the door. Your hand tightened around your wrist. 

  You'd take the plums instead. 

  The fog was deeper that morning. The peaches were untouched. 

  Perhaps, you weren't so much mad at the act of the peaches being taken, but by the lack of consent. You had more peaches than you could eat. If he had asked from the start, there would be no issue, more so an issue solved. No rotting peaches would litter the ground unappealingly. Yokai were the worst of the worst, but if they didn't touch you, it'd be bearable. Would it? 

  You missed your dagger. When you checked your hip, your hand closed around empty space. It left you feeling empty inside too. 

  The dagger was undoubtedly a thing you didn't want anyone taking- even after your death. You wanted to be buried with it at the very least. You'd want to find it even in your next lives.

  You tucked a basket under your arm as you unlocked your door. 

  No tracks in the ground. 

  You ripped plums from the tree with minimum resistance, the plums squeaking against your skin and thumping against the basket. With your basket full enough you wandered along your territory. You stopped at the large sakura. More petals had fallen. Was it diseased? 

  You surveyed the branches. All seemed well until a pair of violet eyes met yours. You gripped your basket tighter. Yokai had a habit of stealing things from you. Especially now. 

  The kitsune sat on a sturdy branch, flicking his tail, ears perked up and hair blowing in the breeze ethereally. He seemed utterly immaterial, as thin like the fabric of his kosode, as light as the fan held in his hand, as mysterious as the look in his squinting eyes. 

  "Are you taunting me?" You called, your eyebrows lowering and stance defensive. 

  The light outlined his form softly. You were sure if you'd touch him, he'd disappear. 

  "Is it working?" He asked with amusement. A sinister smile reached his eyes, which some would call pretty. You'd call them trouble.

  "Quite." Your nails dug into your palm. Your feet were pressed so hard into the ground they could've grown roots. 

  As much as you knew ignoring him would've been better you couldn't win over your own stubbornness. 

  "Are you gonna keep that dagger?" 

  He fluttered his fan. 

  "Why do you ask? It's only some knife. You humans are materialistic." He hummed. He lowered his fan, flashing a smile. 

  "Get a new one." He leaned on his lithe hand. 

  Your lip twitched. 

  "I can't "get a new one"! That was important to me!" Your voice rose, anger burning inside your chest and up to your face.

  You took a pebble and threw it at his leg. It hit him, and he hissed, eyes wide with surprise. He didn't have time to get angry as you yelled once more.

  "You yokai are pathetic! You say we're materialistic?! Look at you in your pretty clothes! You look like a damn emperor!" You could feel your voice crack and your face heat up unbearably. 

  The kitsune clutched his leg silently. For a second, it seemed like he was sorry.

  His brows lowered. 

  "How rude," He grumbled. 

  Well, there went your spark of hope. You should expect less of spirits after all you've lived through, but you were stubborn through and through. And a tad stupid. Aren't we all? Ah, the plight of a human. 

  You put down the basket of plums. 

  You cracked open some plum wine from last year. You drank quickly. It was hailed as medicine, but you weren't drinking to heal. You were drinking to destroy. 

  It felt like stale water with how much you drank of it. You needed something stronger. 

  You stood in your kitchen as you cut up food for yourself patiently. The wine tingled at the back of your throat. 

  Night fell as did you into your bed. 

  You waited until you couldn't breathe to flip over. Life at the farm was truly thrilling. And your plants- how talkative. Life of the damn pity party. 

  You were delighted when you noticed the familiar shuffling outside. You hated to admit it, but it made you feel something other than the flat numbness that the farm evoked. It was an escape from pain to a placid buzz of mediocrity. You wondered if you could find something more exciting. 

  You heard steps. A flash of gold graced your window. Your agitation turned fear had turned into amusement with the creature. 

  You wondered how long he'd keep up with the visits. 

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

TW= child sexual assualt(?)

Looking for advice and validation ig

I'm not sure if this counts as sa, I want to know if it does count. When I was around 7years old, when I would lay in bed, sometimes my mom would take my pants off and touch,kiss and suck my private parts (I'm a girl btw). I thought it was normal so I let her do it. When she do it she would say that she's sad cuz she won't be able to do this anymore when I grow up, and bc of that she should do it alot rn. My family is very physically affectionate so no one thought it was unusual. Also my memory of this happening is blurry and not vivid, but I'm a 100% sure this happened a lot. I don't know if I'm just overreacting. Now she doesn't do that to me anymore but she still touches my butt even when I constantly ask her not to do it. She said she can do whatever she wants cuz she's my mom. She does the same thing she did to younger me to my younger brother rn, and it makes me really uncomfortable. Can u tell me if this is normal or not? It made me really uncomfortable and even now I'm afraid to change in front of people cuz I'm afraid they might do that to me.

Thank you so much if u answer this, yall are amazing 💓

- 💛

Hi 💛,

I'm so sorry about what happened and please know that her behavior is not normal or okay at all. It's one thing to be physically affectionate but this is much more than that. This can count as CSA, and it's understandable that it made you uncomfortable and anxious.

Consent is crucial in any physical interaction, including within family relationships. No one should engage in any form of sexual contact without your consent, and it's concerning that your boundaries are not being respected, even now. Just because she's your mother doesn't entitle her to your body, especially in a sexual way.

I also want to just point out that while it seems that your family may normalize this kind of behavior, that doesn't make it okay. Language creates ways of thinking and perceiving and so it can be hard to notice or name abusive behavior when the people around us don't frame it negatively. But it's important to know that abusers or those that harm others can be surrounded by people who enable said abuse, and so just because people might excuse this behavior, doesn't make it right.

Please know that you have the right to feel safe and respected in your own body. It's not your fault, and you deserve support and understanding. If you can access or afford it, a mental health professional such as a therapist can help you navigate and process your experiences, as well as develop healthy coping strategies.

I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun