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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 21 days ago

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Winter's King 28

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: It might be my only full length chapter this week but pls enjoy.

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The king keeps you within his sight. As promised, the cloak is brought to the tower chamber. You dawn it as the king pulls on the layers of his duty; tunic, breeches, leather armour, boots, cloak, and the small accoutrements to ward off the cold. For how hotly he burned beside you in the night, you would think he could not feel the winter.

It is early still. The gray of the sky never fully recedes but it is neither pale nor dark. Even so, the day has come.

There is a single tap at the door. The king backs away from the hearth. You sit at the table, restless in the cloak with the wolf patch. He calls for the knocker to enter.

Bryce appears from the other side, his saddles bags over one shoulder. "My king. Roach is ready."

"Very well," he nods, "summer maid," he turns and beckons to you with two thick fingers, "the good lord will take you ahead."

"My leige?" Bryce wonders what you do not dare ask.

"Only be concerned that she remains safe. Warm," he nears and shamelessly caresses your check. You flinch as you refuse to falter. "You will get her to the capital ahead of us. You will be fleet without so many to slow you."

You meets Bryce's gaze. In all that you've known him, he has never looked afraid. There is fear gleaming on his eyes.

"I will always serve you, my king. And never have I denied your command, but might I speak plain?" The soldier faces his master.

"I prefer you for your candour," King Geralt returns.

"This will not go without note," Bryce says. "Not least of all by the queen."

"The queen cares little for the maid. She only cares she has someone at her whim."

"Be that as it may, but it is not her who would notice. Yet, whoever did, would be certain she hears of it--"

"I fear not my wife and her temper. She is tawdry. A child. Let her whine and stomp her feet," the king dismisses. "Your concern is appreciated. I understand you only mean to protect me, but I care more to keep her safe."

"Yes, my king," Bryce accedes, "I will not let any harm come upon the maid. As I've not yet done."

"It is why I trust only you and Roach. Be gone before the party is abreast." The king faces you, surprising you as he kneels before you. You blanch as you notice the shift in the soldier's posture. "My tender maid, keep you well. I regret that it need be this way but after last eve, I must have you away from this tumultuous party." He takes your hand and pets your knuckles before kissing them. He admires your fingers as if they are adorned in gems. "I will see you in the capital. There, then, we can be happy."

“My king,” you breathe, “what about the queen?”

“I shall tend to her should she be dissatisfied. That is no longer your worry. She does not deserve you, treasure.” He avows.

You stare at him. His eyes are eerie in the low light. You would not and cannot deny him.

“Yes, your highness, as you wish,” you concede. It was never truly your choice.

“Before we part, pet,” he squeezes your hands. “A kiss?”

You hesitate. The soldier turns to the door and feigns ignorance. You dip your chin. The king tilts his head up and you lean forward. As you aim for his forehead, he brings his lips to yours.

He releases your hands and quickly cradles your head as he braces your hip. His tongue pokes along your lips and you relent to his will. That is as it will be. As it has always been. You have ever been servant.

He finally parts, humming as his bright irises glimmer, “my treasure, my love,” he rasps.

“My king, I wish you a safe journey,” you utter.

“And I shall bid the fates the same of you,” he drags his hand down your thigh and stands. “Safe and quick. Off, before my weak heart gets the best of my mind.”

Bryce’s sole scuffs and he clears his throat, “come, maid. Put your hood up.”

You stand and bow your head. You pass close to the king, your cloak stirring against him, and you cross to the soldier. He opens the door and trails you out. You do as he bid and pull your hood up. You descend the twisting steps in silence.

The corridors are no less hollow and a bitter draft wafts through. The roiling of Bryce’s thoughts ripples from him as he marches next to you. You can only sense him past the fabric of the hood.

“I shall make you tea for the road,” Bryce says at last. “It should keep you warm.”

“Thank you, sir, but it isn’t needed,” you say. “We should leave quickly.”

“Aye, we will be away ‘fore any know,” he agrees, “but not without the tea.”

You offer no further protest. It isn’t your right to argue. You haven been bidden and so you will do. Obedience never chafed before. Obedience was safe, it was sustenance for any maid.

You go to the kitchens and wait as Bryce boils water and brews a dark tea from leaves in a pouch he digs from his tunic. He offers it. It carries a pungent aroma. You blow over it and sip. You make a face.

“It is... strong,” you murmur.

“So it is, but the leaf will help warm your blood,” he insists and paces back and forth. He is restless to be away. You are as well.

You drink and he ushers you away to the stables. You stride along the row of stalls and he dodges the nip of a dark steed. He flattens himself against another door and snarls, “the damned beast. ‘Less you can tame her, the king’ll have to keep her ��neath his stubborn arse.”

You recognise the mare. It is Roach, the king’s mount. You stare at her and she turns her nose to you.

“Be wary lest she chomps off your face,” the soldier girds.

You have little mind to worry for your own nose. You raise your hand pet the creature’s long snout as she plumes hot air from her nostrils. He pushes against your palm and eases, leaning into your touch as you brush along her long head.

“Come, Roach, we have far to go... I believe,” you say. “Be kind to Sir Bryce. He is brave and kind.”

“Aye, she seen me ‘fore and I never think she’s thought so,” he snorts, keeping his distance.

You drag your touch down her neck and put your hand on the latch of her door. She nuzzles your hood and you free her. She steps out as Bryce lingers behind you.

“Can you saddle a horse? Else I’ll have to brave her bites,” he says.

“I can. Fetch it and her bit.”

You dress the horses. Daisy is left behind as Bruce claims Chestnut as his own. You’ll miss your usual mount.

You get astride and head off into the cold dawn. Your stomach churns as you descend the treacherous mountainside. You’re not sure if it is the thin air, the turmoil of what you ride away from, or ride towards. Perhaps it is all at once.

Bryce stops you in a natural alcove, away from the winds as he searches his saddle bag. He hands you a leather packet. There are oats and nuts within. He spits out the red leaf he chews so often and nibbles on dried meat instead.

You eat in silence. The food does not aid in the condition of your stomach. You feel rotten.

The soldier squints and glances out from between the rockface. He tuts and shakes his head. He puts away the jerky and struts out into the open. He looks up the pass.

“Eh, I know you’ve been there since we left. Better you show your face before I show my steel,” he warns the wind.

You frown and fold down the flap of the packet. You hear scratching, then it comes clearer, footsteps. How did he know? Why did he not say a word?

“It is I, sir,” Ezme declares. “Lord Vesemir--”

“Aye, I know he sent ya. Why?” Bryce crosses his arms. You step away from Roach as she stomps.

“He did speak with our great king last eve,” she appears just at the edge of your view. “He offered to keep the made. That the king might return to his throne ‘fore he come back to claim her.”

“And he was denied.” Bryce says.

“The king was not amenable, no, yet... Lord Vesemir acts only in accord with his duty. He vowed to protect King Geralt--”

“And to serve him. As I have,” Bryce insists. “No, you will not have her. I’ve been commanded to take her away.”

“You could remain. Lord Vesemir knows many secret places. Those that are not on maps. It would be as if the two of you were lost. The king wouldn’t know--”

“He would,” Bryce growls. “I am not fool, even if all others in this forsaken realm might be. I do like my head on my neck.”

“It is not safe. Not for the king or the maid. Not for you,” Ezme counters.

“There is nothing safe in this world. Never has been,” Bryce scoffs. “Be away before I prove that.”

“Sir Bryce, you have never been unkind.”

“You ask me to commit treason. How should I be?” He retorts.

Her head shrinks down. She slowly turns to you. Bryce moves to block her. She stops short and speaks over his arm. “Dear friend, know that Lord Vesemir’s invitation will remain. Always. Even after you leave this day.”

You blink at her. Your heart is racing. You feel sick. Knots tie into themselves in your chest and stomach. You blow out a cloud of warmth breath into the frigid mountain air.

“Thank you, friend,” you reply. “I shall follow the king’s command.”

“I understand,” she purses her lips grimly. She steps back and faces the soldier again, “safe journey.”

He sighs, “you know I cannot accept.”

“And I had to try,” she says then spins and disappears back up the incline.

“So is our call to keep on,” Bryce strides back to you and the horses. “Better sooner, the road will unwind on and on. I tire of it already.”

You climb back into the saddle and set off again. The further you get, the worse you feel. As if you might be sick, or even as if you might need to lift your skirts in some hidden brush. You feel so wretched you can hardly focus on anything but your body.

“Sir,” you say, “I must stop.”

“Aye, mouse, we might,” he reins Chestnut as you tug on Roach.

You nearly fall off of her in your panic. You are going to spew. You stumble and turn to hide the eruptions. You spit up onto the dirt.

“I have water,” Bryce offers from behind you.

“A moment, sir,” you breathe as fullness pulses in your pelvis.

You go around Roach and hide behind her. You pull up the front of the dress, letting the skirts and cloak shield your back. You reach between your legs as slip your hands down your wool underclothes. Your palm comes away streaked and red. Your blood has come. Early.

“Are you well?” The soldier asks.

“Sir, I am,” you assure him and wipe your hand on the underside of the skirt. “It is only a womanly trouble.”

“Aye, oh, aye,” he grumbles awkwardly. “Take ye time, then.”

You lean on Roach and close your eyes. You are horribly sore already and exhausted to the bone. Still, you can do nothing but persist.

“I’m ready, sir,” you lift yourself back into saddle. “I would away.”

“If we are swift, we will be on flat ground by nightfall,” he says.

⚔️

The days wear on. The first week is counted by the days of your cycle. The pain and the fatigue has you aware of each moment. Then it is the moon that marks the waning of time.

The road winds away from the mountains and onto the flatlands. Only for a time before trees rise around you and shroud you in shadow, both dusk and dawn. Between the fir needles and veined bark are those noises that keep you unsettled.

You camp before a small fire. Bryce works at planting the posts to drape canvas over. The snow is kept off the ground by the thick canopy of branches above. There is some dusting here and there, but it is mostly dry.

“What can I do, sir?” You ask, as you have done every night.

“I tell ya again to sit and warm yourself,” he sneers as he hammers in the post.

“And I repeat I would like to help,” you insist.

“I can manage. I’m not old man,” he sniffs as he grabs the canvas roll.

“I know...” you pause as you hear another faraway whine. It sends a shiver through you. “Sir, what are those sounds?”

He chortles as he works at spreading the canvas over the poles. “Why those are the frostwolves. And the low rumbles will be the bears. The skittering the snow foxes, and the shrill ones, those are the winter birds.” He explains, “they leave ya alone, so long as you keep the fire burning.” He ties a corner into place, “besides, they hate the smell of me.”

“What?” You gasp, amused.

“Aye, the don’t like my stench. I came eye-to-eye with a bear. Oh, he didn’t stick around to get a second look,” he scoffs. “And I said to the beast, I don’t mess with ya, don’t be gnawing on my leg. See, I’ve got a truce with the winter beasts.”

You laugh and sway as you hug yourself. It is awfully cold. Your ears and head hurt almost constantly, even with your hood in place, and the gloves only do so much to keep your fingers from tingling, or your boots for your toes.

“I s’pose they might be lured by the sweet scent of a summer’s maid. A new flavour,” he teases.

“You scare me, sir.”

“Scare you? Oh, but this beast is your friend. You needn’t fear the others.”

You smile through chattering teeth. He stands straight and eyes you with hands on his hips. “Get close to the fire. You don’t want to catch the ague. Not around here.”

“I am well, sir,” you promise.

“Then stay well,” he nears and grabs your wrists. He drags you to the pit and guides your hands over the flames. “Keep close to the horses even. They reek but they put off heat more than cinder.”

You nod and keep your arms out. It is nice by the fire. The further you get on the road, the colder it is. You could never dream of anything so frigid. It makes you wonder how any can survive in this place, let alone build castles or sow a field. And the more you think of what you don’t know, you are faced with what you do know.

Your fate is as certain as any of the king’s commands. You will remain in the Hinterlands. It will be your home thus you should acquaint yourself to it. You should become tolerant to the winds and the snow and the wailing beasts.

“Sir Bryce,” you eke out. “Will you tell me more about these woods?”

“These woods? Trees, wolves, dirt,” he shrugs.

“No, sir, I want to know more. I want to know everything. About the Winter Kingdom and the people who built it. What about the king? Not our king, but the one before? I hear much and yet I feel I know less.”

He huffs and tilts his head, “it is best you know as little as possible about that one.”

“Was he very bad?” You wonder.

He sniffs, “I can’t tell you all but what I can is that he was selfish. He was negligent of his kingdom and his people even his own son. He let these lands go to spoil. His name is not one any speaks lightly. It is the reason our king is so loved. Because he is all that his father was not.” He dusts off his hands and shakes his head. “At least, we all hope that proves true.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt of riva #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #winter's king #medieval au #au #the witcher

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stitchedcosmos · 2 months ago

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Abt the Orcatstra stuff

TLDR: I've looked through their posts as well as others and I can't find any proof they did anything wrong. Orca making NSFW art, saying they don't like a ship and blocking people who like that ship is completely normal and you shouldn't take it personally.

Long ver:

People in the DSAF fandom (mainly Tumblr) are freaking out about a take Orcatstra made on shipping Jack with Harry, Jake and/or Rodger, allegedly harassing people who ship them, one case being running a 14/15-year-old off the website and making NSFW art, mainly gore.

About the ship: I think Orcatstra's take is completely understandable. "Oh but the phone can leave" and "Oh but he treats them well in the Good ending" doesn't matter. At the end of the day, whether he treats them well or not is completely irrelevant. Jack can choose at any time whether they live or die. When he fires them, they get murdered. He has power over them and that is a power imbalance that a lot of people are going to be uncomfortable with. In cases like Dave, Matt, Steven or Henry, if things don't go well between the two, they have the ability to leave with no fear of something bad happening to them. The phones on the other hand, could get fired (die) if they're not on Jack's good side with just a simple phone call. Even if they left, they literally mention Afton Robotics hunting down escaped phone guys and a simple phone call telling AR one's gone rouge is all it takes. Doing this after getting pissed off by them or whatever, is completely in character for Jack to do (especially legacy). People bring up that Jack treats them well in the good ending but how about all the other routes? Especially in the Legacy routes, Jack treats them like shit and actively uses this power imbalance against them on multiple occasions. People bring up Davesport as a retort to this, bringing up how utterly devoted Dave can be, but Dave when treated like this usually fights back or distances himself away from him, neither is something the phones can do without fear of getting killed. At the end of the day, it all comes down to how you headcanon Jack to act, but the power imbalance is definitely enough to put a lot of people off. Also, as a POC myself, I don't think them saying it felt like "Owner x Slave" to them, was racist.

About the blocking: Blocking people is something people are allowed to do for whatever reason they like. If someone posts content you don't like, the normal response most people have is to block them. Whether you feel the block is "deserved" or not, doesn't matter. Hell, sometimes I block people over a single post or comment they make because I simply disagree with it so much. Blocking people is completely okay under literally any circumstance.

About harassment: I have found no proof of this. Seriously. I've looked through multiple people's accounts, including Orca's and have found nothing. I'm even seeing people ask for proof and being told the person has none. the dsaf confessions account keeps getting brought up as proof of someone who got harassed but looking at both their posts and Orca's, from what I've seen, no harassment happened. From what I can tell, all of this is a complete misunderstanding where Orca talking about not liking the account got interpreted as Orca bullying them. If they don't like them and want to post about not liking them, they have the right to do that.

Edit: Just remembered this so I’ll quickly add it now, people are shouting at orca 4 “harassing a minor” but they’re a minor themselves.

About NSFW: They're allowed to draw it. DSAF is an NSFW series and therefore has A LOT of NSFW topics, subjects, scenes and characters in it. If someone wants to draw that, they have the right to. If you don't like it, block them. Some people are saying they should tag their gore art and while I personally agree with that, if they don't want to, they have every right not to. It's their blog and if you don't like it, just block them and move on. "But what if a child sees it" on Tumblr, you can only see what you search up or are personally interested in, a child shouldn't be looking at DSAF-related content in the first place because, again, it is an NSFW series.

Overall, my thoughts on the matter are... *drum roll*

It's not that serious and the block button is free. If you don't like someone, what they're doing, what they're posting, block them. It's that simple and getting blocked doesn't mean anything. This situation, as well as others like it, are making me fear that most of you aren't old enough to even know what DSAF is, let alone be in the fandom.

#edit: muting this post cuz I don’t want to argue about allegations that aren’t even mentioned in this #and that they won’t even give me proof 4 #dayshift at freddy's #dsaf #my posts

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smokestarrules · 2 years ago

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what are your fave warrior nun fics?

Oh, anon. You don't even know the can of worms you've just opened. Here are a few (a few!) of my favorites.

Firstly, teach me to love, as you have loved me by @birgittesilverbae. It's in the POV of Beatrice as she grows up in the OCS, putting Shannon, Mary and Lilith in the limelight as well, and the most recent chapter (12k!) has gone through essentially all of canon. It's about grief and family and warmth and loss and it's so fucking good. Cannot recommend this more.

Next I have sunday people (sunday shines for you) by @piratekane. Sundays are for the girls, by the way. if you even care. This is peak pining behavior, miscommunication that isn't just there for the dramatics, and Ava being The Best Girl Ever (and the most jealous girl ever). Fantastic fic.

Then there's show me something of a reckoning by @thirteenyasmin, which is a given, of course. Switzerland canon-divergent fic where, as the tags say, fake-dating becomes real-dating. As they deserve. Has some lines that will tear your soul to pieces in the best way.

Next is Nice jugs, a climbing AU by @cowboycatd. Do you know anything about climbing? No? Me, neither. But this series of fics describes it--alongside exceptionally-written flirting--masterfully. You should read Climbing AU.

Then I have falling (for you) like snow on christmas by @justawhitewall. Hallmark movie AU! They're much better when they're Avatrice, by the way. I read it during the posting and have reread it at least once a month ever since. Incredible.

Spellbound by @omomoification. Witch (kinda) AU! Will sweep you away into the world that's created and you won't even notice as the 15k goes by in a flash. Fucking gorgeous piece of art. Made me insane, made some people break the character limit while commenting.

the imprint of your soul on mine (feels nothing short of divine) by @the-penguinspy. Read this if you're feeling down, because you won't be when you're done. The softest thing you could ever read, and I read a lot of soft things. Fic that gives you a hug and a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

And last but certainly not least, A Bit of Earth by @whatwordsmiss. Full fic isn't posted yet but it is written, and this story is just... wonderful. It's about grief, it's about growing up, it's about falling in love and healing together and healing apart and being kind and, sometimes, in particular moments, it's about a Garden. A must-read.

#most of these writers also have other works that I recommend as well!!!!! such a talented group of people #I KNOW I'm forgetting some too #but those will be for next time #sorry for the tags everyone. u deserve to be Known #warrior nun #avatrice #smokey answers #anonymous #500 #1k

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spop-romanticizes-abuse · 3 months ago

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(i kept forgetting to make this post for a while and only remembered when i was reading @antispopausandstuff 's recent post; sorry for the tag!)

i have to say this: catra having a mental breakdown basically every single season was pathetic.

usually villains have a third-act breakdown where they realize that they're losing to the heroes or they're losing control over their own allies, and they spiral into anger and desperation.

azula's spiralling in s3 of atla is a clear example of this, as she goes from the level-headed, cunning prodigy to a child who has lost everyone in her life and is desperately trying to use fear to keep people around. it's tragic because yes, she's a horrible person who enjoys torturing people and seeing them in pain, but she's also a 13 year old who was groomed into the perfect soldier by her father.

not all third-act breakdowns are like this though. sometimes instead of feeling bad for the villain, we feel satisfied seeing their downfall, because they weren't a sympathetic character in the slightest and they deserved to have that realization right before getting their ass whooped.

with catra, i get neither of these. i guess i felt a little bad for her the first time and i felt satisfied the second time, but then it just got boring.

there was no need for her to have a meltdown in every single season, only for the writers to use it as an excuse to make catra do even worse shit and hurt more people.

not to mention, her mental state wasn't consistent enough during these breakdowns. let me explain. let's take the s3 one, for instance.

catra is clearly rattled by the knowledge that shadow weaver picked adora over her (which.. wow who would have thought. but whatever). she is dissociating as she walks back to scorpia, there are tears in her eyes, she's devastated.

but then, as soon as catra reaches the horde with adora as her prisoner, she seems perfectly fine. she's calm and smirking proudly as she throws a bound adora to the floor.

and then when entrapta tries to oppose catra's attempts at opening the portal, oh no! catra is not mentally well again and she electrocutes entrapta. and she threatens to do the same to scorpia.

and then she goes right back to being calm and tells hordak that entrapta betrayed him (i'm sorry i don't care how good at lying someone is, i doubt they can deliver such a convincing lie when they are in a poor mental state) and mocks him for trusting entrapta.

and then throughout the portal sequence, catra is oddly calm. not just during the false reality, when she was pretending that everything was normal, but even after that when she starts sadistically torturing adora.

this doesn't seem like a character who finally snapped and is doing horrible things in a desperate attempt to regain control. it reads as a character who always wanted to do horrible things and finally got the chance to do it.

i can't view catra's breakdown in s3 as sympathetic because her actions seemed so intentional. the writers didn't even try to make it look like catra was going through some serious mental health issues and was only making such a dangerous choice because of that.

coming back to my original point, repeating a trope (especially a one-time trope like this) quickly gets stale. and it's even funnier when you think about the fact that catra basically had a dedicated mental breakdown every season and still didn't learn her lesson.

you stop feeling sorry for her and start rolling your eyes, wondering what atrocities she's going to commit this time. it's just the same thing over and over again, and it's funny that the writers used this as a way to keep reminding viewers that catra is a poor traumatized baby who definitely didn't make the choices that led to all this.

it's just bad writing. sure, in real life, people may have multiple breakdowns if they going through some shit. i can certainly attest. but it just doesn't work from a story point of view, especially when the writers refuse to hold catra accountable for your actions. mental health issues or not, you are responsible for your actions and you should work on changing your unhealthy coping mechanisms.

#and after all these mental breakdowns catra doesn't get to go to therapy #she is instead saved by the power of love #wow so progressive #spop critical #spop salt #spop #spop discourse #spop criticism #she ra #anti spop #anti catradora #anti c//a #anti catra #long post

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restesdelune · 6 months ago

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****Meet the Grimes****

A second chance & heartbreak

A new life on the road

A united front

A well deserved reunion

What a family ❤️‍🔥

The Last Grimes

Some context before a rant:

I can’t believe some people still exclude Michonne and RJ from the Grimes family. I saw an old post with Judith tagged as #TheLastGrimes, and a recent one claiming Michonne wasn’t Judy’s mother? I beg your pardon? (yes, it was on twitter).

Since the early days on the mothership, TWDU fandom has been so oblivious to racist bias and tropes, to the point of marginalizing Michonne fucking Grimes from her own family, the hero, supermom and wife, who *actually* raised "the last Grimes" mind you!

We really don’t respect Black women, their labour, their love and loyalty, neither irl nor in fiction.

This shows up everyday in very real ways in our lives. Whether for Black girls, gals, wives, girlfriends, single mothers, baby mamas, widows and their children. Whether they gave birth to their children or not, whether they’re mixed or not, Black motherhood is systematically denigrated. I wouldn’t recommend to anyone who doesn’t see how disastrous these optics are to engage with this.

The disrespect of Black women, the erasure of mixed children, claiming ownership of kids one didn’t raise, minimizing the bonds of a new family... See, I don’t fuck with that bs and it will be read as anti-Blackness and misogynoir on my part. People can argue with a wall.

The Grimes all chose each other, went to hell, and only some came back. A lot of us wanted nothing more than to see them reunited and finally at peace, and we did. Such canon is too much for some. Not for me. It was well-earned, by the characters as well as by the audience, and so refreshing in such cynical times. On one hand, I wish I could see more of them, on the other, I’d rather not have anyone mess it up (shout out to our TOWL S2 truthers out there though ^^).

I honestly pity those who’ve imprisoned themselves in blood lineages and narrow 'legitimate' families, unable to grasp the gifts of community and found family in a freaking post apo zombie show. That must honestly be depressing in deed...

Whether we are called dramatic or aggressive, Richonners will keep calling this out, especially Black women who don’t even need to do anything to deserve those exhausted epithets in everyday life. We see the double standards, we see the fans defending their buddies’ racist takes, we see the apparently infinite plausible deniability and benefit of the doubt afforded to some, never to others. It's not bright, it's not new, and we know the game.

No wonder this fandom can feel so segregated sometimes.

Anyway, if you’d like for me to expand on this lmk, I’ll always have more to share. Thanks for reading.

Happy Shipping

#the walking dead #the ones who live #rick grimes #michonne #richonne #twdu #meet the grimes #grimes family #carl grimes #michonne grimes #judith grimes #rj grimes #lori grimes #the last grimes #misogynoir #richonners #restesdelune #moonsoul

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gold-rhine · 14 days ago

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exactly and yeah, obv that post was a joke, so im going to move this to separate post, but like its so showing what the joke was about - how focalors is somehow selfish, like she enjoyed furina's suffering or the entire situation, and a lot of posts in focalors' tag or even asks in my inbox have same ideas - that she was unfeeling, inhuman, how she was "morally grey" character who "did bad things". and the only example of "bad things" that were actually on her and not on celestia or egeria i saw ppl cite is her not being like properly sad when talking about furina. right before she sacrificed herself for furina. like???

and not to say i'm against morally grey female characters, i have username after rhinedottir ffs, but i think ppl need to examine their criterias for who deserves label of "morally grey character", bc focalors doesn't. she was put into a horrible situation she neither chose nor created, and she agonized over solution, until she found what she saw as the best one.

and she chose LEAST selfish way to execute that solution. like, the whole point of furina living as an archon without the archon powers or knowledge was to give her a chance to survive. if focalors already decided to die, she could have lived these 500 years as a queen in luxury, ruling as powerful archon. but no, she chose to put herself in a box where her only interaction with outside world was printing cards for neuvi at trials. do ppl think it was like, fun and cool time for her? OR she could have used furina situation to try and trick fate, to use furina as a sacrifice as hydro archon and save herself. if that was her plan and she, idk, changed her mind last minute, *then* she'd be a morally grey character. but she didn't! her plan was always to save furina.

its just ridiculous to see how ppl will bend backwards to argue male characters have "hearts of gold" or whatever when they actually do warcrimes on screen, but a female character who did everything she could to save entire country, including her own death, is called "morally grey" and "selfish" bc she had a moderately cunty attitude. insane to me tbh.

#rhine talks #focalors

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zvtara-was-never-canon · 3 months ago

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The double standard Zutara shippers have towards Mai vs Katara is absolutely icky. I saw a post a while ago (don’t remember the user) and screenshotted all the Mai can’t vs Katara can points. I’ll paste them here:

- Katara threatening Zuko if he dares to hurt Aang is a sign of reprimanded sexual tension, but Mai joking about Zuko never daring to break up with her again it's her being controlling.

- Katara screaming at Zuko that, to make her forgive him after he proved to have changed and be a better person to everyone else, he'll need to bring back her dead mother, as if 10 years old Zuko is responsible for Yon Ra killing Kya, is fair. Mai screaming at Zuko to leave her alone after he made a scene insulting her in front of a crowd is abusive, violent and toxic.

- Katara treating Zuko badly after he saved her from being crushed is legit and deserved. Mai slapping Zuko's hand away from her in two separate occasions because he wouldn't stop invading her boundaries after a highly emotional moment is harsh, undeserved and abusive.

- Zuko mocking Katara and telling her that he'll save her from the pirates is cute. Zuko being actually cute with his girlfriend is cringe and obviously something he didn't want to do.

- Katara splashing Zuko when he was kneeling down in the southern air temple episode is justified. Mai throwing a SHEET OF PAPER at him after he broke up with her and ghosted her is abusive and violent.

-Katara touching Zuko's scar in the catacombs to heal him is cute and a moment of trust. Mai touching Zuko's scar multiple times and him not being bothered by it in the slightest (even burying his scar in her hair) is a breech of trust and consent.

- Katara having many guys who have a crush on her throughout the series means she has rizz and that she's a catch. Mai having one boyfriend other than Zuko makes her a slut.

- Mai and Zuko being childhood friends to lovers is cringe and an overused trope, but then you'll go on the Zutara tag and find multiple fanarts of childhood friends Zutara AUs

- Katara establishing boundaries and making her stance on breeches of trust well known with multiple characters is good writing. Mai breaking up with Zuko after he lied to her multiple times means that she isn't worth sticking around, and is so selfish that she'll leave Zuko in a moment of need.

- Katara had three children while Mai only had Izumi, which means Katara is a better woman (yes, I've actually come across this kind of disgusting comment.)

- Zutarians claim that Katara is apparently reduced to a housewife and child bearer with no agency as Aang's wife (she is a well known master, wonderful healer AND politician as she made bloodbending illegal in canon), and would be better off as the fire lady (????), but at the same time Mai is nothing special because she is just the fire lord's wife while Katara is a master. Like, make it make sense. Being a fire lady is either "demeaning" for both or for neither.

+ Zutara fans making Izumi Zuko and Katara's daughter, and then proceeding to make a rant on how Mai is NOT Izumi's mom despite her looking exactly like Mai and Michi PLUS having "fountain" a significant name in Maiko's love story, in her name.

I’ve been silently reading all the anti zutara here and thought of sharing my piece. I would like to hear what you think too

God, the Izumi one pisses me off the most because:

1 - Neither Katara nor Zuko would EVER just refuse to raise or even acknowledge a child of theirs. Katara's whole trauma is about having to grow up too fast after her mother's death. Zuko's whole trauma is growing up with an abusive father that kicked him out of the house. They would NEVER abandon a child of theirs.

2 - Neither Katara nor Zuko would ever forgive a former partner if said partner had a kid with them and then abandoned said child, again, because of their own traumas.

But also HOLY SHIT, zutara's brand of "feminism" never ceases to shock me. "A better woman has more kids"? Seriously? And here I thought the worst take I'd ever see from them was "Zuko needs to marry a woman of a different race because his genes are bad, but he is one of the good ones, and Katara could fix his defective genetic that makes his kind more likely to be violent - no, I never heard the term 'eugenics', what's that?"

And yeah, funny how they're constantly going on and on about how being Fire Lady would totally "empower" Katara, but the second Mai is the one to marry Zuko, suddenly that role is oppressive and disrespectful towards a woman.

#anti zutara #pro maiko #pro mai

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hestzhyen · 1 month ago

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Chapter 52 Hype Posting

Hi void. I am going to vibrate out of my seat. Oh I'm going feral, absolutely feral. Another WSJ cover and lead colour page next week already! Promotion on TV during prime-time in Japan! The insanely good volume 4 PV! Hokazono-sensei judging for a manga award! Kagurabachi's getting the push to be the Next Big Thing at last- you love to see it.

Kind of.

I want Hokazono-sensei to get all the recognition he deserves, but I also don't want the fandom to explode and become yet another annoying dudebro space. The success of the series is more important though, so I'm happy to see Kagurabachi get so much support. Everyone needs to know about this manga! ANYWAY.

LOOK AT THIS TROLL.

It's Chihiro's turn to have a creepy parasocial admirer now.

Hiruhiko's not doing this just for kicks, however- he deliberately (and successfully) triggered Chihiro to orchestrate his dramatic fall. Given what happened at the end of this chapter, I would not be surprised if Chihiro's literal descent is foreshadowing a metaphorical one of some kind down the line.

And this just breaks my heart:

Triggers Chihiro's rage then fucks off only to do this? I will not be mourning Hiruhiko's death.

Chihiro's not built for being a murder bot and it pains him so much to be seen as equivalent to someone like Hiruhiko. But he was taught to see things through and uses his hatred for the Hishaku to keep going. Revenge is probably the only thing he wakes up every day for- he wasn't kidding about that "fresh hatred" line in chapter 1. And neither was Shiba when he said living like this would break him. This kid needs a hug and a safe place to cry out the pain so badly, man...

More than that, though... more than anything...

HIRUHIKO'S THE FUCKIN' ANTI-HAKURI.

"We're equals", he says. "I killed my family", he mentions. "Let's be friends," he asks as he forces his way into Chihiro's life. "I'm the only one who can understand you." The hell you aren't you rat bastard. Hakuri's the one whose soul resonates with Chihiro's. He's the one Chihiro acknowledged as an equal and a friend. BEGONE, FOUL DEMON.

God damn it. Hokazono, I love you for making my most hated villain archetype into a character I want to see more of. I've never understood why playful psychopaths are so beloved but I get it with this guy. Smooth move making him the evil version of my favourite character in all of fiction, Mr. Author. Now I need Hiruhiko and Hakuri to face off over their ideals about who Chihiro really is. It would be the perfect reprise to the Sojo arc! PLEEEEEEASE. There's so much HakuHiro potential in this setup... Hakuri being the one to pull Chihiro forward again would be amazing. But not for his own goals this time- just to help Chihiro as a true friend and partner. Not gonna get too attached to this since it's just one potential development out of many... I won't let myself... (too late).

(Psst... 昼チ or 昼チヒ will probably be the JP ship tag/name for Hiruhiko/Chihiro. Ain't no way Chihiro is the top in this pair for most Japanese fujin lol.)

The Show

The main character of the play's name is Sasuke and Hokazono-sensei is a huge Naruto fan. So much so that he's taken his own spin on Naruto and Sasuke three times now (Enten, Roku no Meiyaku, Kagurabachi). Chihiro is, in fact, his OC donut steel character inspired by the most annoying emo ninja boy ever. I see you, Hokazono-sensei.

The Battle of Soshima might be a made-up title to reference the real historical event The Battle of Tsushima, which fellow Golden Kamuy fans will recognize. At any rate, there aren't any famous Japanese stage plays with the same name, so there's no direct narrative parallels to draw insight from (sad trombone noises). Fortunately for us Hiruhiko is a yapper like I hoped and tells us the plan pretty plainly anyway:

I relate so hard right now, random audience guy.

Hiruhiko says the plan to kill Chihiro's not a bluff. But he's not acting like he's intends to make good on that statement. So that means...

Perception vs Intent

Chihiro looking his best: stressed and menacing

This is gonna be huge I think. Remember what Azami said back in the Sojo arc in ch. 9:

Azami, please come back soon. I need you carnally.

Then consider likes like this...

Local violent gang member still pretty tough after becoming human shishkebab through a moving train.

Chihiro could be set up to tarnish his father's legacy.

The public doesn't know the true strength or capabilities of the weapons that won the war- they just know that Rokuhira Kunishige made them and they were the key to winning. So Chihiro dropping in on a stage play to splatter the audience with a headless corpse's blood is not a great first impression. He looks downright villainous in this scene. Awesome, but villainous.

The Hishaku are going to metaphorically "kill" Chihiro somehow. For some reason, tormenting this poor guy is absolutely vital to John's plans... it's probably more along the lines of Chihiro being a useful pawn to move around to create conflict they can exploit, but still. They're going to try to break his spirit this arc for sure. Leave Chihiro alone! He's been through enough!

I've got a hell of a lot to say about this but I need some key details from the next few chapters before going off on lunatic tangents. Fuckin' hell though, this is great. This is exactly the type of development I was hoping we'd see after Samura's chapter. Chihiro's committed to the cause of killing the Hishaku, who so far have been wholly unsympathetic villains. But killing is a wrongful act. And this chapter sets up that Chihiro might not be the sympathetic avenging swordsman we love him as in the eyes of the public- he appears to be more of a menace like some of the members of the Kamunabi accused him of. He might be challenged on his murderous modus operandi via a Hishaku-backed smear campaign. Seriously, using Chihiro's brutality against them to ruin his father's legacy would be so evil and cruel. I love it.

We'll be able to count on Shiba and Hakuri to make sure Chihiro doesn't go off the deep end at least. I wouldn't be surprised if Hiyuki played a pivotal role in helping Chihiro out this arc too, but I don't want to commit when we've hardly seen anything of her so far (my spaghetti sovereign... please come back to the main story full-time soon).

Whether or not I'm right (I'm not, I never am), Chihiro's murder sprees fueled by Fresh Hatred are going to get looked at in a critical way. High time and I am definitely here for it. Tell me what you've got to say about violent revenge motivated by grief, Hokazono-sensei. You have more space to examine the topic now compared to Farewell! Cherry Boy.

Shorter than usual but that's not a bad thing. I can always come back and edit this (came back to do so twice now already) or make another addendum post, but...

... Just choose kindness, people. For yourself and others. See you later.

#kagurabachi #I told you I'd yap about Hakuri no matter how small his appearances are (he doesn't even have to show up)#Hiyuki also appeared this chapter yay #Chihiro looks AMAZING this chapter I can't get over it

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caffeinatedmunchkin · 14 days ago

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Hanging By A Thread

Rating: M Characters/Pairings: Astarion/Tav(Sabine)

Genre: Romance, Fluff Word Count: 9k Summary: Enjoying his new life as an accomplished, highly-sought after tailor, Astarion loses himself in his work as Liar's Night dawns, and with it, sees him his busiest yet. In effort to garner the forgiveness that she neither expects, nor demands, he presents Sabine with a gift - as well as the opportunity for proper closeness. The first they've had in well over a week. Post game.

Writing for post-game events before I've even started act 3 is really giving major; "she doesn't even go here." but here I am all the same! I've been seeing a lot of tailor!astarion art and man oh man did it inspire. As a woman who grew up with two other women, but whose father was the one who acted as household tailor, this side of Astarion is one I'm particularly endeared to. This was so inevitable. Pretty please channel some of that suspension of disbelief over the fact that, for the sake of this story, some of spawn Astarion's vampire side-effects have been inexplicably curved. The man deserves to see himself in a mirror alright he's pretty. What started as a pretty simple, cut and dry idea was very quick to grow very out of hand. I did my best to keep up! So without further ado, please enjoy!

There's also a little throw back in the beginning to my oneshot, very mild, blink and you'll miss it. Shameless plug here.

Posted to both FF & AO3

Tagged: @chaoticbardlady99 as per request!

Caught in a pocket of dewy, early morning light, his fair skin seemed to glow with shimmering translucence at the suns behest. A celebration of his ethereality. The cerise of his eyes glinted in kind beneath the rays, endless as they were intent.

They fixed to her with sanguine scintillation that communicated just how great his anticipation. A stark contrast to the assured brows that hooded them, and the confident set to his lax jaw.

Astarion kept his gaze on Sabine steady, while hers was occupied by the long, flat box he had just presented to her. Splayed in her lap, the lid was held in place by a fine lace bow.

Her suspicion piqued, it was now aimed at the gift, as opposed to the gifter, who openly delighted in the girlish furrow of her brow, and how her dainty fingers unraveled the ribbon with the utmost care.

Taking the time to discard the length of it in a neat pile beside her hip, it was almost comical how large in comparison the package was to her petite stature. One side propped against her crossed leg, while the far end had nowhere else to rest, but in the vacant space of the Méridienne chaise beside where she nestled.

The half-elf had been summoned to the study early that morning, which had been a cause for confusion in it's own right.

His study, that had been outfitted as a work-space. And one that had already been booked solid straight through until early evening.

That detail alone clued her into the nature of the gift, having called her in and sat her down in the very chaise that usually saw his patrons. An ornate piece of plush velvet, cream upholstery, and polished mahogany stained so dark it presented black in the absence of light. A crane was carved out along the backing, it's slender neck stretched backward, and a single of its wings unfurled to full span.

Astarion was quick to amass a steady, loyal clientele of the affluent and respectable, of which regularly filed in and out of the very room she now joined him in. Most were the young sons and daughters, or nieces and nephews of aristocrats that kept him busy with a never-ending parade of gowns and suits alike. Scheduling their fittings for the next even quicker than the last, not a second thought nor semblance of hesitancy towards monopolizing his time and attention.

Young and pretty things that Sabine did her level best not to fall jealous of. His glib drawing their squeaks of laughter, flitting and muffled through the shut door. The cloying aroma of their perfume suffocating the presence of his own, as it clung to his body with a possessive claim of which they had no right to stake.

A festering negligence, as their needs kept him preoccupied from her own.

Measured with more patience even still, she pried the edges of the lid up, only to halt with a startled gasp as she finally laid eyes on what awaited her inside. All previous intrusions of the brazenly flirtatious youth, and unjustified jealousy scattered like roaches exposed to sudden, brilliant light.

"Astarion," she stole his name with a breath she didn't have - a breath he had succeeded in taking - and he chuckled in triumph. Her tone suggested an astonishment corroborated by her wide eyes, ripping them away with great effort to settle on his frame as it lounged in the doorway. His little half-elf wasn't often at a loss for words, and he preened at the achievement. "I don't... I don't know what to say."

Her humble beginnings and modest upbringing made her easy to spoil. An opportunity he indulged whenever it presented.

"A simple 'thank you' will do." Drawled with exaggerated femininity in effort to mimic her own, Sabine rolled her eyes in spite of the grin she failed to bite back.

"And a simple 'thank you' would be an immense disservice to the proper appreciation you're owed."

"Perhaps alone it might. Who's suggesting your gratitude's to end there?" The doorway continuing to prop him up, his smile widened as he watched her.

Careful fingers stroked the fabric, as if seeking to assure herself with the proof of physical contact. With an almost guilty curl of her lips, the deep ruby gown inlaid with coordinating crystal refused to surrender her attention.

She yielded to it, her murmur thoughtful while she continued to bask in it's material decadence. "Not you, of course."

Pushing off the beam that he shouldered, he joined her, situating himself on the sloped arm to peer from over the top of her head. Setting down the lid to her other side, both hands then ventured inside the box, though not without hesitation. Tracing along the pattern of flowered embellishment, she couldn't see the smug set to his jaw behind her, but it could be heard within his explanation.

"I understand that green is the color that best suits you, but when this caught my eye - well, I could hardly resist."

He watched her in the taut silence that followed, while his little half-elf handled it with obvious unease. As if unfit to be in the presence of such finery, let alone its possession.

Astarion reached forward to corral a loose, cinnamon curl behind her ear, and the contact seemed to snap her from the trance brought upon by the blood-red, beaded organza.

"It's... beautiful." She dared to whisper, bending forward to gently set the box down at her feet, she lifted the dress up to a fuller height for more thorough admiration.

A sheer, illusion bodice with a sweetheart neck, a veritable garden of floral appliqué blossomed against the mesh panels between the corset boning.

Coaxing her eye further down to follow it's sinuous trail, it spilled over the waist, curling midway down the full skirts in a few budding tendrils. All which were adorned with the same intricate bead work. "And to what do I attribute such thoughtfulness?"

He had been able to steal away between appointments the previous afternoon, though his free time had already been consigned to picking up a few bolts of satin he had on order.

The dress was on display in the window. He decided on its purchase before he so much as reached the door.

"Need there be a reason for a man to spoil his beloved?"

She ignored the garment in her hands long enough to toss her chin over her shoulder, batting the veil of curled lashes up at him in playful skepticism.

Sabine saw right through him with those mismatched eyes of hers. She often did.

They sifted through his very depths, and never flinched at what they saw.

A look that cast away his darkness and loathing. Leaving room for truth alone, in the presence of her light that refused to be shirked.

It was a look he had found himself on the receiving end of from their very beginning.

One he was so endeared to, he couldn't imagine now having to be without.

With a sigh of surrender he reached for her, capturing her chin in a pinch of his thumb, and curled index finger. "Surely you don't suspect all my gestures are plagued by ulterior motive." His head cocked in punctuation.

"Just the grand and the romantic." She melted in his hold, her gentle accusation teasing her lips apart in a flourishing simper that would put a freshly bloomed tulip to shame.

He bridged the gap to place a kiss to her hairline. With their closeness, he breathed her in deep, finding comfort in the reliability of her smell. A heady bouquet of jasmine, violet, lily that trailed through the halls, and stained their bed linens.

"Darling, you insult me." He was able to keep his rumbling croon even despite the constricting in his chest. "Though truth be told, I had thought it might serve you well tomorrow evening."

The evening in question none other than a lavish Liar's Night celebration, hosted by one of his associates.

Sabine had more or less decided on her attire for the occasion. He had already gifted her a lovely velvet gown, pigmented such a deep phthalo it almost shimmered midnight if the lighting was generous. Paired with a delicate mask for around her eyes, she assumed that adequate, if not wanting for creativity. Astarion, it seemed, had something more specific in mind.

With the dawning holiday, he had seen a larger influx of demand for his skill than he was accustomed. This took him away from his little sorceress. His afternoons and evenings blurred past distinction, one day bleeding into the next, once he had lost track.

Some nights he'd glimpse her just before she turned in. Sabine hated to disturb him more than he hated to be disturbed. Yet if the hour was late enough, and he wasn't in the company of a client, she'd slip into his study with hot tea, and a kiss goodnight. Like ships passing in the night, she was there and gone again. Having left behind only the tea, and a cloud of violet to know where she once had been.

He appreciated her attentiveness, but above all he longed for her companionship.

Companionship he craved more and more the longer he was made to go without. Her nearness. And for it to linger for longer than it took her to bring him the occasional treat.

He caught himself daydreaming often of nuzzling into her bosom, leeching her body-heat, and stilling himself to the mesmeric beat of her heart. To lean into the gentle scrap of her nails against his scalp like a hound shamelessly chasing the itch his owner scratched.

He was still only a man, after all.

He meant it when he confessed his hopes that she'd wear the gown to accompany him, hanging off his arm and adorned in his colors. But more than that, it was to be recompense for her neglect.

Neglect, to her credit, that she bore with patience, and grace.

The same could not be said for him. He missed her terribly.

The previous evening he wanted nothing more than to be able to slip into bed alongside her, pull her close, and indulge. A possibility that would have been feasible, had he been tangled with any other client than the one that concluded his night.

A young elven baron he had only serviced once before. An appointment, he perhaps, had been a little too accommodating during. If the haste of his repeat business and persistence was any indication. His flamboyant ingratiating rivaled only by his forwardness, he disregarded Astarion's every rebuff. Whittling his strained tact away with his diminished nerve.

After all but physically hoisting him up and tossing him out the door, he was at last free to retire. Retreating to their bedroom, however, had confirmed his fear that it had come too late. Sabine had long since been received by sleep, just as he had found her every night prior for that whole agonizing tenday.

But the look that lit up the whole of her face upon glimpsing his offering made his exhaustive agenda, and having to fend off pesky, entitled nobility, well worth it.

Her smile coy, she had drawn the gown in towards her chest, clutching it as if it were most precious. "What shall I be in this, then?"

"Oh, let me think," he waved his hand in a return to theatrics, "something like the ravishing consort of an enigmatic vampire lord?" His inflection then chest deep, he leaned back in, the tip of his nose not an inch from her own with a single, arrogant brow arched. "How does that grab you?"

A lazy, haughty grin teased her with a peek of fang. Quickening the flutter of her heart, her next breath shakier for it. Reeling from the picture he painted, and it's implication.

"Exactly as you hoped, I'm sure." She couldn't help but blush.

"Alterations will need to be made, of course, and my schedule is quite full." He sighed as he studied his nails. "But I believe I can squeeze you in."

"I'm honored to receive such preferential treatment from you." She continued to cradle the gown in her lap, mindful not to crease the tulle. "Mr. Ancunín."

The playful formality in which she addressed him, emulating the fawning aristos he had fitted in that very room, bubbled a rueful growl from the pit of his chest.

He was still acclimating to his reclaimed desire. The ache in his loins and the flare in his chest for the physicality of a lover that was entirely his own.

To touch, and to want to touch again. After all that time.

The sensation of honest, unmitigated, genuine yearning, returned to him like an old friend. A face remembered, but the haze of estrangement cast uncertainty over the reunion.

For having reintroduced him to just that alone, he owed her the moon.

Most times he could take her in his arms and conduct himself as a patient, meticulous lover. Experience at his disposal, rather than a byproduct to be loathed. Other times, he was as jittery and needy as a hormonal adolescent, and laying with her felt like it was the first time for him all over again.

His body roiled in agreement of the latter. If he reached for her again, it would only end one way.

Drawing his ankle to rest atop his knee, he opted instead to clasp his hands in his lap with much restraint. Slipping into the old, familiar territory of playing the sardonic, as opposed to reducing her to naked flesh and obscene moans of his name. The memories of which tormenting him with increasing cruelty.

"A treat to be certain, and one I mind you not to presume. My services are in high demand, as I'm sure you're aware." Head tilted in arrogance, he cast a glance down the bridge of his nose at her, as wicked with mischief as his smile. "So do be gracious, and try it on for me?"

He watched as she rose to her feet, the gown cradled in her arms, finagling the length to keep it from hitting the floor.

"Don't forget your shoes." Almost patronizing, he was then all business. "Whichever pair you intend to wear, that will ultimately determine the length."

Before leaving him to change, she pushed up to her bare toes to capture his gaunt cheek in kiss. He could feel the curve of her lips as she smiled into his skin.

That small, sneaky intimacy made him snort; "schmooze." with a shake of his head. When she spun on her heel to retreat, he responded with a ludic clap of his hand to her bottom, grumbling an; "off with you now." and relished the squeak he earned.

His gaze remained fixed to her as she pranced out of his study before disappearing from sight, unable to wipe the fond smile from his mug the whole while. A willing captive to the same, self-indulgent notion she had teased out of him many times before.

If he had a working heart, every beat taken would surely belong to her.

His little half-elf didn't leave him waiting long.

Disrobing in record time, she reappeared in his studio a vision in red.

His back to her, a drawer at his desk distracted him from her return, affording her the chance to admire him from the doorway without interruption.

A white chalk pencil slotted behind his elongated ear, the sight of him so professional never failed to goad her heart to flutter like a hummingbird.

Charcoal slacks clung in accentuation of his lithe frame, his collared shirt tucked in at the waist, the buttons pulled free at his chest as per usual. Feet slipped into soft leather loafers, simplistic as they were expensive.

Always impeccable with his dress, the added details of his trade made him look all the more distinguished.

The skirts of the gown were quite long, too long for her short frame, forcing her to gather the excess into the crook of her arm as she entered to keep from tripping.

The bodice, only loosely tied at her back and not a single clasp hooked, hung limp and ill-fitting from her thin torso. Thick twin bands of matching, intricate detail looped around her biceps. Though they lacked structural practicality, they added to the gown's overall romantic appeal.

"I'm ready when you are." She announced, warring with a victorious grin of her own at his subtle double-take.

Regardless of the less than favorable way it draped her body, not yet tailored to accommodate her waifish size, Astarion halted. Pincushion in hand, the length of his measuring tape coiled around his forearm. Though the act of breathing was merely reflexive, he couldn't have even so much as mimicked it. The only hint of movement came from the sharp protrusion of his Adams apple, bobbing with a hard swallow.

The smile she angled up at him was sheepish, her chin dropping to shy away from the severity of his silent appraisal.

Two pairs of heels dangled from the ankle-straps from her other hand that she lifted up for him to see. One satin black, and the other a soft gold, her tone held a decided timid lilt.

"Which goes best, would you say?"

He smirked at how earnest she desired his input. "The black." The emphasis dripped from the tip of his tongue like liquid smoke. "As if there was any real question."

He beckoned her to join him at the chaise lounge, his smirk growing at the soft patter of her bare-feet crossing the hardwood, and the whisper of the organza shifting against the silk slip beneath.

Carefully perching on the edge of the cushion and arranging the skirts to lay modestly about her thighs, she regarded him through a half lidded gaze while he collected the preferred heels from her hold, and sank down to one knee before her.

With no more than an easy smile, and his palm outstretched for instruction, Sabine recognized his cues, and drew up one leg to slot her ankle against his waiting hand.

Astarion could feel himself swallowed by her honeyed gaze above him as he slide her foot inside the heel, her ankle pinched in his fingers like the stem of a rose. He made short work of the buckle around her ankle, the graze of his finger-tips deliciously cool and feather-light against her sun-kissed flesh. Then he was on to the other foot, leaving the first to buzz with the lingering of his phantom touches.

Though the contact to her warm flesh was incidental at best, she leaned into it all the same. Smooth, brisk, and ever attentive, each one dizzying with addiction.

Raising to his full height, he held out his hand to help her to her feet. Continuing to hold it, as he lead her the sort distance to a raised platform before an inordinately large mirror. Newly reunited and shamelessly besotted with his own reflection, that superfluity was for his benefit alone.

Guiding her up to the center, he closed in behind her, sweeping the length off her waves over her left shoulder and out of the way. She sucked in a breath as he gathered the silk laces at her back, his deft hand cinching it as tight to her body as he was able.

An additional layer of clasps remained to join the edges flush together, tucking the lacework to lay neatly underneath and out of sight. Working with just as much expert efficiency, his knuckles grazed along her erectors as he fastened the row of hook and eyes from bottom to top.

Sabine regarded her reflection in the mirror as he tied her up. Though she knew it wasn't the finished product, the cups gaped around her breasts, making her feel like a child playing dress up with an elder sisters gown.

Her chest was the antithesis of ample, and was one physical characteristic of many that caught her disapproval. She pressed it flat against herself in a more accurate representation of how the end result might look, forgetting to wipe away her frown as she did.

"There will be none of that." Having read her thoughts with the quirk of her lips, and downcast eyes, his admonishment was loving, however firm. "This neckline will flatter your bust. A compliment only made possible by an already favorable trait. And one that's proportionate to your physique, I might add."

"You're too kind." Pursing her lips against the clouding of doubt, the utterance was as soft as it was sincere.

"I'm not kind." His correction warning, the following elaboration was no less stern. "I expect you to trust my eye. I know how to dress you, my pet."

He left her to retrieve his pin cushion, before then returning to conduct his assessment of what begged his attention. Propping his elbow on the forearm he wrapped around his chest, Astarion pinched the cut of his chin. Brow furrowed in contemplation, his narrowed gaze raking over her.

His new profession was a seamless transition, one with which his acquired finesse allured her. In that moment, propped up on the dais in a pair of heels of his choosing, she felt like one of his clients. The ones she all too recently harbored ugly, infantile jealousy over.

It was her turn to embody that role, and the thrill of that proffered mystique was such she couldn't deny.

After a moment, he discarded the cushion to the ground by her feet, but not before plucking a handful of pins he stashed between his clenched teeth. Long and slender, the heads were bulbous so as to not get lost in the appliqué, and sculpted to resemble peacock feathers.

Unbuttoning his cuffs, he folded his sleeves twice to bare impressive forearms, before he set to work.

Bending at the waist, he manipulated the fabric around her body with a small scowl of focus that made her heart swell to see. A gentle pressure behind his trained hands, he was all sweeping palms and gliding finger tips. A flurry of teasing, professional touch.

Sabine couldn't help but react as his expert fingers danced across her middle, an area of her body that was riddled with sensitivity to his ministrations. If he enjoyed the way she quivered under his attention, he didn't let it show. Beholden to the duty of his work, a willing captive to concentration.

Astarion slid a cupped palm between her waist and the interior of her elbow, guiding it outward as gentle as his murmured instruction. "Hold it right here, for me. Just as you are."

He began to gather the loose mesh at her side. Palpating for her ribs before pinching off about two inches along the seam line, his other hand retrieved one of the pins from his mouth. Inserting the needle perpendicular to the fabric as he went along, and repeating the process all the way down to her waist.

Her right side completely pinned, and his mouth now vacant, he was standing back in front of her, cocking his head to the side as he surveyed his progress.

"The sides will need to be taken in a fair bit, though I expected as much." His hands snaked around her waist, finger-tips nearly joined together with her in the middle for emphasis. "Typically, the effort necessitated by the complexity of a corset is such that fashioning a new one altogether is the more practical course, but we are quite pressed for time." He then added, in afterthought. "And I do enjoy a challenge now and again."

She returned the smile weakly. "Being this small seems to be nothing but an inconvenience."

"Nonsense. I am the one who purchased this dress, after all. And I did so because I could think of none more befitting than you." Circling behind her, he gathered where the waistline was loose, and pinned it in place.

His chin fell to rest on her right shoulder. Finding her stare across from them through their mirrored image, his eye contact ruthless as he crooned to her reflection. "That aside, I like how small you are."

Her heart pounded against it's cage when he pulled away, and strode in a circle around her. Gathering her skirts as he did, he flicked his wrists in a practiced motion to fan it out to its full diameter. A salacious, full-length slit split the skirt on her right side, and allowed cool air to rush her bare legs with every whip.

Beginning behind her with a fresh set of pins fanned from his teeth, he lowered to his haunches before settling on the ground with a grunt. Astarion widened his thighs to stretch long, slender legs out to either side of her, caging her between his bent knees.

Tweaking at the skirt so that it's weight dropped to the ground, he first checked with the tips of his fingers for the points of contact where it fell level with the floor. Only then would he slot a pin in, before repeating the process all over again. Each new one approximately six inches apart from the last.

She watched first his reflection, as he gradually worked his way back in front of her, shifting his weight across the floor by his palms and heels. His regal profile angled towards the hem, his fingers darted between the top layer of tulle to ensure it was still even with the slip underneath.

On occasion, he'd un-spool the measuring tape from the crook of his elbow to reaffirm his measurements, keeping a mental tally of the spacing.

It surprised her how weak she was to the sight of him so mundane and domestic, and the tenderness rooted at the center of it all.

She hadn't realized her gaze had fallen to stare down at him crouched before her until the heady rumble of his tone sheared through their collective silence.

"First time, darling?" He teased, his eye fixed to the pin he was in the middle of inserting. A furious blush crept upwards from her neck.

She decided to play along, hushing, "What gave me away, Mr. Ancunín?"

"Your fidgeting." He tsked with impatience, despite a wry smirk. "And how you insist on looking down. I know I'm a sight to behold, but I'm going to need you to stand up straight, and keep your eyes forward."

Running out of pins from his mouth, he paused to inspect his work. Taking the hem into his hands, he chuckled to himself in observation of the sheer amount that was in need of shortening.

"My, you're a just a little slip of thing. You're like an honest doll." Unmistakable adoration lurked within his remark, despite how offhand his delivery, "though a doll would stay still while I pinned, I'm sure." He chided up at her as he gathered the next set of pins. "Shoulders back and head level, my dear, unless you want a crooked hem."

"I can't help it." She sighed. "I do enjoy you like this."

A side of you I'm rarely able to experience. Added in lamentation by the vestiges of her jealousy.

A wicked grin curled around the pins clenched between his teeth, his voice muffled. "On my knees?"

She slit her eyes at his reflection, a smirk threatening to surface. "I meant professional."

"Semantics, my darling girl." He tittered, waving the measuring tape with a flippant flick of his wrist. "This work often sees me on my knees."

"I'm sure I'll grow to regret inflating your ego further still, but I like your look of focus. It's handsome." She stared straight ahead as instructed, while he knelt before her once more to resume his work. "Dashing, even."

"Is that so?" He soaked up her flattery like a fresh spring to a man in a drought. Before shifting forward on his knees, he prompted, "well, go on."

"And I...," she stopped herself, suddenly flaring with a bashfulness neither were used to seeing on her. Attracting his curiosity.

Brow cocked in wait, he wore an all too serious look as he pressed her. "Yes?"

"I like you... touching me in this way. It's not meant to be seductive, or coy. Your contact is out of necessity to your craft, but that just seems to make it all the more..." She trailed off, struggling to articulate.

Though by the tortured look on his face, she surmised she didn't have to. He stalled in thought.

"I see..." Expelled from him in a breath so heavy it was as if he had been holding it, a knowing grin then worked his lips apart, bearing his fangs in full. "Well I assure you, it was not my intention to get you hot and bothered. Yet, I wonder..."

He kept his musings internal, as he pushed his hand through the slit in her skirt, and wrapped his hand around the back of her knee.

The initiation, while frank, was most welcome. The hitch of her breath was all the sound she could make, as his curled fingers stroked up the back her thigh, before coming down to cradle her joint once more. Lifting her leg for her, Astarion fished it out through the separation in the fabric, guiding it up to drape over his shoulder.

Without breaking eye contact, he pushed up the skirts with his opposite hand to bunch at the crook of her hip, and out of his way.

Immediately, he was confronted by the bare sight of her, pinched rosy and glistening. Smooth as silk and exposed to him from a fresh shave. A haggard groan escaped him.

"Ohh look at you." The observation wound tight in the seat of his chest, it huffed from him as if just those few words held too great a weight for his tongue to form. His furrowed brow connected with her naval, as he brought his head to rest against her abdomen. Feigning surprise, he sighed. "Is all of this for me?"

Her fingers found his soft curls to knot in, shyness overpowering her limited capability to answer. His breath misting against her most intimate, her ears then perked to his low, agonized mutter in a foreign tongue.

She tsked with frustration of her own.

"Elvish does sound so especially pretty on your tongue, but it makes for poor bedroom talk when you speak it to a lover that does not understand it."

The wily high-elf pressed a conciliatory kiss in turn to her mons, smiling into her firm flesh at the sound of her breathless sigh spilled out into the open.

"Sincerest apologies, my love," his coo was sickeningly sweet as he placed another kiss, this one lower than the last. "You make me forget myself. Would you like a translation?"

"If it's not too much trouble." The quaver of her tone only spread his pompous grin wider.

He abandoned her core to begin trailing open-mouthed kisses to the smattering of freckles on her inner thigh. The impatience of her whimper went straight to his stiffening groin in aggravation.

"It was something to the effect of how desperate I am to devour that pretty little cunt of yours, until I'm unable to rid the taste from my mouth." Spoken with the infuriating nonchalance of one remarking on the weather.

No matter how venomous or vulgar, the liquid velvet of his voice was able to gild all that he spoke, even his filth.

His sinful divulgence made her see starts, until the elegant bridge his nose pressed against her bud in a way that erupted her vision in white. Alabaster mane curling around her fingers like rings, she tugged, her knee buckling as he rumbled into her with approval.

Limber velvet flattened against her throbbing slit as he dragged his tongue up the length of it, and then again, starting back at the bottom and swiping up to the top.

His path slow and deliberate, he coaxed her honey to soak against his maw, ushering the excess down his throat with a desperately voracious hum that she felt as clearly as she heard. So was so wet, impossibly wet, and all for him. A distinct, mild headiness that swelled his cock and ego alike.

Teasing her entrance with the flick of his tip, it clenched in vain against her own hollowness as he continued to play with her. Lapping and huffing, peeling her slick petals apart with slithering tenderness.

His hand slipped up the underside of the the thigh hooked over his shoulder, kneading the quivering hamstrings with the heel of his palm as it swept upward to grab a handful of her rear. The swell of it settling in his hold nicely, Astarion groped with steady, massaging pressure.

Kitten-like whimpers and mewls tumbled listless from her pout, wrenched open by his ceaseless onslaught. Her fingers buried in his mane, she both pushed and pulled him; unable to handle his direct assault, while at the same time longing to have his tongue wriggle its way inside her molten core.

Astarion discovered very early on in their trysts, much to his bemusement, how quick she was to writhe in over-stimulation from even the barest contact of his tongue to her womanhood. A weakness he was always relieved to discover persisted, even after all their time together.

Unburdened by the pressures of romance and consideration, he locked her against his mouth with greed, messy and crass. He swirled his tongue around her swollen nub before latching his lips around to suckle at it. Hard.

A shrill cry ripped from her throat as she thrashed in his hold. His lips and chin slippery with her arousal, her petite frame jerked and stuttered like a woman possessed. Though he was on his knees before her, he still overwhelmed her, gravity coming to his aid as she lacked the footing to ease away from him. Having no where to escape, she twisted and arched, and only ground herself down further against his mouth for her efforts.

His claws tightened their hold on the flesh of her ass, and yanked at her dress, expressing through action what his tongue was too preoccupied to speak. He wouldn't soon let her go.

Satisfied with her distraction, he took advantage to plunge the muscle as far inside her weeping channel as he could manage. Be it by fang or finger, the sensation of her spasming around his intrusion never failed to send his eyes rolling back into his skull. He almost forgot how tight she was. Her throbbing heat that drooled all over itself by but a few well-placed caresses, even just in passing. His fingers twitched against her toned, supple flesh. He would have loved nothing more than to hilt two digits to the knuckle inside of her, but he was all that was keeping her upright, and he knew that she would sooner crumble to the devastation of his tongue.

Drilling within her plush walls, he withdrew with a languid moan at how her cream coated his tongue, and smeared his cheeks, his eyes falling shut in a moment to ground himself. When he fed from his little half-elf, getting messy with her was a horrid habit, he'd have to concede. It was all too easy to get lost in her. An at times forgone conclusion, that damned his genteel manner, and decorum. This was no different. Be it her blood or her honey, the difference now seemed inconsequential.

He was feeding from her. Dropped to his knees before her, with his ravenous appetite turned on her slick, fluttering cunt instead of her pulse. Astarion fed from her like he had been starved until that moment. Nuzzling his face into the mess he made of them both.

With the taste of her at the back of his throat, and her melodic cries invading the air, he didn't think he could get any harder than he was that very moment. A realization as painful as it was startling, the itch at his groin refused to be ignored. In their absence from one another, he was quick to dismiss his own neglect, an oversight his body was quicker to confront him with.

It wasn't enough to keep him away from her for long. Her pitch spiked with a gasp that shattered him from the suffocating haze of untended lust, as he reattached himself to her clit. Swollen and sore by his doing, her little pearl twitched against his laving muscle as he sought to soothe it.

"There you are, that's my girl." His encouragement strangled in his growls. "Don't you dare hold back from me, not now. Not after how long I've waited for this"

Had he a free hand, it would have been kneading his bulge already in firm, downward strokes with the heel of his palm. He was afforded no additional selfishness. Her tremors strengthened, as did the tell-tale twice of her thigh slung over his shoulder.

Even as her climax began to tear through her from the inside, her manicured finger-tips managed to find the pointed, blushed tip of his left ear. Gathering the tine between the pads of her thumb and forefinger, she began to rub him with purposeful pressure.

He gasped into her folds, his hips bucking forward into empty space of their own accord.

"You little she-devil," drenched in affectionate pride, he groaned through lips he curled against hers. "You fight dirty."

Astarion doubled down his efforts. Sealing his lips over her bud, her worked the tip of his tongue in quick, tight flicks in a back and forth motion. Easing up only a little, just enough, knowing the barely-there, teasing licks would unravel her more powerfully than brute force ever could.

Mercifully, more so for him if he had to venture, she ceased her torment as her pleasure overtook her in a searing jolt of white lightning. A current that funneled through her being as she twisted in his iron grip, it burned from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. A blistering filament that strung itself through her little body like a marionette string, manipulating her through her submission. Tossing her head back. Forcing her pelvis to tilt, and held it in place until the muscles numbed.

The piercing of his gaze was dulled by glassiness, and heavy-lids. He stared up at her in awe, as her soul sank back down to her body, still shivering above him. Once stable enough on her own foot, he untangled his fist from the crinkled tulle to wipe his mouth.

"My poor darling, I have neglected you something awful, haven't I?" He gathered the mess of her heat from around the corners of his mouth before sucking it clean from his fingers.

Dropping that hand to splay against the floor behind him, he turned his head into the heat of her blushed thigh. Pecking at her freckled skin gingerly, the hand that had been holding her up by her bottom slid to hook under her knee. He lifted it up to place an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of the joint.

"You have." She agreed, drawing back unsteadily on one leg as she raised the other away from his mouth. Pressing her toe against his shoulder, she nudged at him to recline backward.

The motion had his bleary eyes molten in the early morning haze that poured in from the windows. Astarion allowed his little sorceress to push him to his back, catching himself on his elbows with the spike of her heel dug into his chest. She nodded as she spoke, in agreement with her own instruction. "And you are far from done with me."

He nodded right along with her, swathes of his once kempt coif hanging limp against his damp forehead.

Dropping to her knees above his waist, she scrambled to push the dress out of her way, while he wasted not a moment more in popping the buttons of his trousers.

Hissing to his own fingers grazing the engorged flesh of his shaft, he grabbed ahold with a rough grasp and pulled himself free. The two were erratic in trying to align themselves, his bruised head to the heat of her sex, by touch alone. Their view obstructed from the many layers of silk and gauze neither cared to take the time to push away.

Once her found her, he was greeted by a lewd amount of slick drizzling from her kiss swollen lips. A delicious tension having wound itself in the pit of his groin, the moment her wet folds slid across his cockhead had it spread throughout the entirety of his lower half. A rippling scorch as contagious as wild fire.

A smart remark lodged in his throat at the ready, Sabine stole it from him as she sank down the length of his shaft in one fluid, impatient motion.

His head dropped back with a thud. The sound drowned out completely by the fierce, guttural howl that erupted from him at sheathing inside her to the hilt.

She was in no way immune to the brunt of him, to the pinching stretch of her walls as they rushed to accommodate his every rigid inch. Fluttering pulses yanked him in deeper, his girth still stinging despite her generous lubrication. Her walls tender and aching, the sensation of being deliciously too-full of him coaxed a small cry to break from her tongue against his ear. As restless and visceral as cold waves to the shoreline before a storm.

"All is forgiven." Her announcement was rooted so deeply in abandon he couldn't help but laugh, as wheezing and strangled as it was.

Time was of the essence. Wasting not a second more to indulge in how lovely the sensation of their joining, she began to bounce on top of him. The first few, somehow, had taken him by surprise. As if he too was squandering a moment neither of them could afford, just to bask in how she struggled to fit him. A few grunts slipped through his lips, rubbed raw and smeared with traces of her. The same genuine, monotonous grunts he uttered as he maneuvered along the ground while he hemmed her dress.

The parallel saw her core squeeze him hard and fast, catching him up to speed.

"Really? Just like that?" He croaked through a lopsided grin, brows furrowing as he gathered her about the waist to aid her stilted, hurried gyrations. His voice continued to crack with his speech, as rushed as the climax they both raced towards with baffling inelegance. "You're quite easy to please, my dear."

She whined as he bottomed out again and again, one strike more driving and furious then the next. The resounding snap of wet flesh meeting hard knotted her stomach, and pulled it inward. "That's not a complaint, I trust."

"Darling, when have you ever known me to complain?" He gasped as if for breath, the pressure coiling low in his pelvis, threatening to spend him if they continued at their pace. If she continued with those breathy, drawn out squeaks that made him want to sink his teeth into her neck. Not to feed, but to bite. Unable to get enough of her, even now. Even as he buried himself inside of her. "But to think of all the trouble I went through to get this dress - it cost a small fortune, I'll have you know."

"Of that I've no doubt, you never settle for anything less than the very finest-!" A shrill yelp cleaved her statement in two, as he bucked up into her with desperation. "I-I've never known you to let an opportunity to boast your immaculate taste pass you by-!"

Sabine was echoed by his cackling before she even finished getting the words out, broken and panting. She clung to him for dear life against his uneven rutting.

"I'll not let it be said I don't measure up to my reputation." His banter equaled hers with how disjointed. He anchored himself by the bruising hold he kept around her waist, using that leverage to pump into, while simultaneously forcing her down around his spearing.

It caused her body to seize around his cock with a strength that proved to her; when it came to Astarion, her body was more his than her own.

"Astarion!"

His name sounded hymnal on her strangled breath. The single, vague plea would have brought him to his knees, had he not already been on his back.

Pitching forward and catching herself by sinking her claws into his exposed chest, she tilted her pelvis to chase the friction of her bud caught against him. The new position offered him more depth to exploit, as well access to the tender patch inside her that had her vice-grip tightening with every nudge of his tip.

She was close again. He knew by the way she went rigid on top of him, her joints locking as moisture welled within her squinted eyes. Her fingers trembled with weak spasms against his pectorals, the opaline flesh streaked with angry red from her nails.

"Let go," he urged with a frantic gasp. Not asking, not demanding. But begging. "Let go."

All of his charm, needless and shallow, failed him. She stripped him of his suaveness and provocation, and the front of his dominance without mercy. He yelped the last of his restraint away as she ground down on him with particular fervor.

His heavy length throbbed with insistence that matched the dilation of his pupils. So overtaken by beady black, the once shimmering Cabernet was blotted out, as if by spilled ink. Snorts and growls snagged through his twisted lips. That low, dull pressure pulled taut behind the root of his cock.

"S-sabine, love - darling-," he pleaded with the frenetic urgency of one whose lifeline was slipping through their very fingers. "I'm-,"

His use of her name was as dire as the situation felt. She recognized it's significance. Referring to her in such a deliberate way, as if calling on a Goddess for deliverance.

His little half-elf was first to come apart, and she did so all for him. Clenching tight around him, as if in ownership. She moaned and mumbled unintelligibly, her blushed body shuddering in all the extravagant, bejeweled layers of silk and tulle. Her shoulders bowed to drop her head forward as she slumped on top of him, her tousled waves a curtain that hid her tear-stained face.

Astarion didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He rode her through her glorious unraveling, thrusting into her without prowess or rhythm. Driven purely by base instinct, and their mutual desperation for their awaited reunion to be consummated.

A sound tickled the shell of his ear. Innocuous, and far from their debauched clatter. It couldn't have come from them.

He didn't have the time, nor energy to spare for discernment. Just as the blinding of her climax began to recede, he tumbled headlong into the throes of his own.

Astarion came with a shout. His tendency to slip into a mangled litany of Elvish and English stalled, his tongue offered instead something that not even her unacquainted ear would struggle to decipher.

"Fuck-!"

He emptied himself inside her, warm and thick and so much. Too much. Crammed up against her battered womb, and painting it white. Giving her more than even he thought he had to give, as he felt the excess begin to leak back out against where they meshed, trickling down over the twitching stitch of his scrotum. Sweat beaded along his hairline and dripped down his temple. The creases that webbed from the corner of his eyes deepened, as he squeezed them shut against the intensity of relief.

His feral expletive was echoed by that soft, familiar sound in the distance again. One her fritzed mind was unable to spare attention to, as the sensation of liquid heat spurting into her instigative depths preoccupied the lion share of it.

For a long while, the only sound between them were their exchange of gasping breaths. The ferocity suggesting they had just ran for their lives. Not even the aftermath of a battle had rung them out as they were after that union.

Unsurprising, Sabine was the first to break the silence. Pushing the veil of mussed hair out of her foggy eyes with hands that still trembled.

"Oh my." Her whisper hoarse, her hot flesh stained as deep a crimson as her gown. A gown that, miraculously, stood the test of their sloppy fervor, and held to his pinning. "Do you treat all of your clients with such attentiveness?"

"No." His breathing ragged, a laugh rippled through him regardless, deep and hearty. She could feel it's vibration where they were still joined. "That, my love, was more of that preferential treatment I just got through warning you not to expect."

She beamed down at him with a heaving chest, as she fought to calm her breaths. "I'll not strike that against your professionalism, then."

He reached up to slip a palm around her flushed cheek. He looked lazy and contented beneath her, and it was only in the presence of relief did she then realize how high-strung he had been. Heavy, spent throbs of his softened cock still pulsed within her in absolute bliss.

"Good thing, too." He rasped. "It would be a pity to lose your patronage."

A sated smile spreading her lips, she leaned in slowly, hoping for the deep kiss she had been robbed of. "You'd like to see me again, would you?"

Lowering to place her chest flush with his own, she slunk further up his body to yet capture his lips.

"Oh yes. As your luck would have it, I've quite the fondness for you mutts, one I can't seem to find it within myself to resist." The way he rolled the phrase around the tip of his tongue, his favor for the taste plain, had her tighten around him.

A quick burst of exultant laughter erupted from him at the feeling, huffed against her expectant pout. As if her cheeks could turn rosier.

"I'm very happy to hea-"

"Ehem - !"

Their heads snapped in unison to the source of throat clearing, coming from a yet unidentified third party.

Third, and fourth party, to Sabine's mortification.

Two young elven women. Eleven sisters, judging by their uncanny resemblance. Tall as they were slender, the one in front, who demanded their presence be acknowledged, looked more than a little discomposed. Olive skin tinged roseate at her high cheeks.

The woman behind her had a blush to match, yet was unsuccessful in hiding the scandalous grin behind her fingers.

It took a moment for him to register who they were, and why they were huddled in his doorway, through his long overdue post-coitus haze. He wasn't left to grapple with his stubborn memory for long. Where disorientation ebbed, the shadow of clarity was sure to lurk; and it swept in to sober him.

They were the daughters of the very associate who requested his presence the following evening.

A pair of mermaid gowns commissioned for a pair of sisters. Minuscule, pearlescent beads were to be sewn on to the flared hems in the pattern of siren scales. A painstaking endeavor, as the amount of that hand-stitched ornamentation doubled.

Suitable costumes, as in his recall of their previous fittings, they very much resembled a sirens squawking with their fits of laughter. One sister only feeding the others.

Their names still eluded him, not that it mattered much. Pet names made for exceptional placeholders.

"Good morning, girls! I must beg your pardon, and a moment more of your time." Drawled with chipper insouciance, donning the mask of sycophant once more. As if their much revered, and highly coveted tailor wasn't sprawled out on the floor, straddled by a tiny half-elf who very much looked like she had just been railed within an inch of her life. The reek of sex unmistakable.

His audacity didn't stop there. He winked at them, the nimble fingers of his free hand absently twisting the tulle with a lazy pace. "If you'll be so kind as to wait for me in the foyer? My hands are full with a demanding client just now."

They scurried away from the lurid scene. The flushed little half-elf in red swatting at his chest, her roar of astounded fury was only amplified by his perverse, silvery cackle.

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serasarascreams · 6 days ago

Text

Might as well add more thoughts into the mix. I was going to do it in the tags of the last post but it felt long enough. The last set of tags was a perspective I don't think I've seen yet, but then again I haven't been here too long. I think they're right in idea that the theme of responsibility doesn't just extend to Curly and Jimmy and that the game itself is a showcase of how all the little things add up and create the bigger issues alongside the certain major steps that were taken. They (aka @son-of-crows-and-rats) put it in much better terms than I did.

I was so focused on the main plot of the game a lot of other things went over my head, and while some things hit me later I'm sure there are more things like the person (and multiple others) pointed out that I'll catch here or again have it hit me later. Fuck Jimmy is the initial reaction I had at the end of the game, screaming disappointment in Curly came next, and the bleakness and awfulness of the events continue to seep through whenever I think about it.

I'm also very much on board with the statement that Curly did not deserve what happened to him and it's kinda messed up to say. Him getting deep fried, for lack of a better term, is another major consequence of him and Jimmy's actions (or inaction in Curly's case) while Anya is another. It's just a consequence that effects him directly now and I think that's a parallel to the way Anya was directly affected by Curly and Jimmy's actions. Neither Anya or Curly deserved the pain inflicted upon them, deserved to be forced to continue to live with it and all the suffering that followed, or deserved to have their autonomy ripped away from them.

Curly is not a trash human being, but I don't think I can call him a good man either. Good natured maybe, but not the best guy. The painful irony of his situation hits harder after the final conversation with Anya. His eye is always open, it's too painful to move, he can't speak. He can only watch and listen. There's no way for him to take responsibility anymore even if he desperately wants to. I think what's worse for him is that he got to live after seeing the monster beneath the skin of his friend destroy everyone and everything around him. I saw someone else say that when he froze the day of the crash it was a moment of "you were everything I feared you were" and I think that just adds an extra layer of awful to it. Curly could have been better, and if he gets rescued and lives, I like to think he will be. But I wonder if in the back of his mind it'll always eat at him that it wasn't when it mattered.

Sorry, that this partially ended up turning into a Curly post. It's just that he seems to be talked about the most. That's fair. He, Anya, and Jimmy are the ones who push the initial topic of discussion to the surface because it's there front an center.

I'll probably have more to say the more realizations dawn and the more I scroll through the tag. This is the first game in a long time that made me cry and the only horror game to really mess me up. Funny enough, it's because Curly scares me more than Jimmy.

I love this game and all the infuriating and saddening elements within and around it. I love and hate how human all these characters are. If Wrong Organ ever makes another game in the future, I'll be running to check it out.

#long post #mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #captain curly #jimmy mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing

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sad-scarred-sassy · 3 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/sad-scarred-sassy/759755499789074432/just-saw-a-not-tagged-post-say-we-are-wrong-to?source=share

God, people don't even realize Nesta stated to hate Eris because she—hated—herself. She's seeing him as a reflection of her own flaws and all that makes her, quote-unquote, despicable as a person. She does not even know Eris as individual just yet, neither of them do. They just see the mask Nesta can perfectly read, mind you, cuz is the same that she wears everyday, which is exactly what give us a much bigger picture of the possible what‐if's between the two of them (is really not that difficult, sweeties. You don't need that much effort to understand 😂).

Love your blog, by the way! I hope you're doing incredibly today, xoxo.

Hey anon! This is exactly it. First of all I find it very icky that people take the stance of once again trying to shame others for shipping a non canon ship. I know by now that this fandom isn’t very good at behaving like a normal fandom but alas.

The Eris/Nesta ship is honestly one of the most logical ships for Nesta. Eris had a lot of involvement in her story and just like you said, their interactions and the way they are written leads you to see how they mirror eachother. I may someday deep dive into their paralells as characters. But just as you said, Nesta knows merely the mask that Eris is so clearly implied of wearing, just like she also wears a tough exterior.

I do believe that Neris as a ship also tries to fix the injustices that many people see in Nesta’s story, so that’s why people have a stronger opinion on it. But I will say that even if I don’t like Nessian’s dynamic (post ACOWAR) and I do believe Nesta deserved better, I won’t ever shame nessian shippers because thats just insane. Calm down.

I hope people extend the same etiquette 🫰🏼 Love you too anon!! Thank you for your message❤️

#pro neris #nesta archeron #eris vanserra

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ohmystaxk · 11 months ago

Text

Goodbye, My Dear Stranger (7)*

[PREVIOUS] | [NEXT]

Pairing(s): (Jake Lockley x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader) (Marc Spector x Reader later on) [Pre-Moon Knight show]

Chapter Character(s): Steven Grant, Jake Lockley

Content/Tags: SMUT +18, morally grey main character, one sided non-exclusive relationship, Steven just being the nicest man in the world and deserves a hug, Jake being a fucking jealous menace, PinV, praise kink, dirty talk, jealous talk, too many pet names, hair pulling, ass slapping, DISASSOSIATING.

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Things between you and Steven seem to be going smoothly. And yet, something seems to plague his thoughts.

Hi everyone! My birthday happened recently (Nov 26!). I had planned on making this chapter WAY longer than my others, but I decided on making the next one the biggest chapter I can cook.

Q&A's are happening, so if there are any questions you have about the story, characters, the process, or the future of this fic pls comment here or on my post and I would love to answer and interact more with you guys!

ENJOY!

It had been a long day, Donna had forced Steven to work an extra-shift given the fact he had not shown up yesterday suddenly, all thanks to Marc and Khonshu. Of course, Steven didn’t know that, and neither did he know of Jake taking the body around town. Steven had immediately headed to bed and passed out, Marc didn’t even try to take over, allowing Steven the rest needed, the rest the body needed. So, after a couple of hours, Jake woke up in Steven’s bed.

It was quiet, except for the white noise coming from Gus tank that filled the noise of the apartment. The night had set already, cold shades of blue filling the dark of the place. Silent creaks of wood were heard, old foundation setting in, Jake stood up, the floorboards immediately came to life, creaking under the weight.

As he walked away from the bed, Gus swimming in the tank caught Jake’s attention. The little fella had been fed in the early morning when Marc had arrived, having not eaten enough throughout the day. He walked towards the tank and grabbed the fish food from the book case that sat right above it.

“Parece que a Steven se le olvidó darte de comer, Gus.” Taking off the lid of the food container, he sprinkles enough for Gus, the little guy swimming with all his might to get a bite. “A este paso no me sorprendería si un día te encuentras boca arriba.” (Seems Steven forgot to feed you, Gus. At this rate I would not be surprised to see you face up one day.)

Jake closed the container and placed it back where it was. It was then the flick of a light made him turn towards one of the windows. He backed away from the tank and using the dark of the apartment he moved closer. As he did, he found his eyes on the window across the street, sheer drapes making the inside of the place slightly hard to make out. He could see a kitchen, even what seemed like a living room. Then a person walked into the kitchen, their back facing Jake.

He clicked his tongue as he watched the person turned around, still not seeing Jake standing near his own window. It was you, in your own apartment having just arrived from who knows where.

“Ay, si tan solo supieras.” He said as he tapped the frame of the window, finally backing away. Tonight, he would not see you, Marc would know, Jake had the feeling Marc was itching to wake up tonight. (Oh, if only you knew.)

You bounced, your hands gripping Steven’s shoulder tightly. Head fell back as you felt the man’s lips on your breast, running circles with his tongue around your nipple. Steven squeezed your waist, breathy wines left his mouth as you continued to fuck yourself with his cock. You slapped his hands away, making Steven yelp as you pulled his hair with no effort, making him rest against the back of your couch.

“What did I say, Steven? No touching until I tell you so.” You feel his hip jerk as you lower all the way to the base of his shaft and slow down your movements. Purposely clenching around him, he looks at you through half lidded eyes, mouth agape as you start grinding in slow circles.

“I need to feel you, need to touch you, please.” Steven begs, you had almost forgotten why you were given him this punishment, but of course, you remembered quickly.

“Should have thought of that when you made me wait 3 hours at the pub.” You spat, starting to move your hips up and down again.

“I’m sorry! Love, I’m so sorry, please let me make it up to you, please.” At that you speed up your movements, making the both of you whine at how good it felt.

“This is the fifth time in less than two weeks, Steven.” Your hands travel from his shoulders to his hair, pushing it away from his face, burying your fingers on the strands.

You lean forward, your nose brushing against his as his hips jerk once again, trying everything in him not to thrust into you.

“I know, I know . Use me, but please just let me touch you , that’s all I ask for.” You smile at his words, placing a sweet kiss on his lips.

“How can I refuse you, Steven? Come on honey, you can touch me.” Your voice softens as you feel his hands grab your cheeks, he didn’t even let you finish your sentence as he was already pulling you closer to him, nose brushing yours as he closed his eyes.

“Thank you, love.” He whispers to you.

As the two of you lay on the couch, Steven underneath you as you try catching your breath, you feel him rub your back. Gently kissing your hair, you look up. He is staring at the ceiling, gaze seemingly lost there.

“What’s the matter?” You ask softly. Steven shakes his head, a frown appears on his face.

“I am really sorry about being late.” He explains, there is a heaviness in his words. “Again.”

You shift, laying on your side with a hand on his chest.

“Steven,” you bring your hand to brush the curls away from his face. “It’s okay. I am not actually mad at you, I know you are trying your best to keep up with the doctor’s treatment. I can not relate with your sleep problem but I understand, I do.”

He sighs, leaning in your touch.

“I just want to be normal, being able to go out with you without having to make you wait.” You moved to straddle his thighs.

“You are normal. I don’t want to hear you say that again.”

He gives you a weak laugh. Nodding as he looks into your eyes.

“Thank you.” He says to you, his fingers brushing your thighs. “I should head home.”

You sigh at that, rolling your eyes as you lean down, hugging him.

“Can’t stay a little longer?” You whispered to him. He embraces you, arms wrapped around you.

“Got to wake up early.” He grunts with disdain as you bury your face between his neck and shoulder. “I promise to stop by on my lunch break.”

“You better do, Mr. Grant.” A hand reaches your hair, brushing it.

“I promise, my love.” At that, Steven feels you tense. He moves his head in hope to look at you, but your face is still buried on his neck. “Love?”

“You,” you paused, Steven moved your hair and tucked it behind your ear. His thumb caressing your cheek. “You have never called me that before.”

He frowns for a second, trying to recall his words.

“Love?” He sees you shake your head.

“My love.” Your voice is hard to hear, but he understands. He feels his pulse quicken, cheeks burning up as he gulps.

Things were supposed to be slow between the two of you. That was how you wanted it, but one night you suddenly called him to your flat. You had prepared dinner, telling him you had accidentally cooked too much and asked him to eat with you. Next thing, the two of you were making out in your kitchen, too worked up to even make it to your bedroom.

That night then turned into more dinners at your flat. Sometimes you would show up at the Museum to bring him something from the café. Then you suddenly asked him on a date. Steven was over the moon seeing you wanted to spend time with him, feeling like he was walking on clouds whenever he got to see you.

In his mind, the two of you were together; except nothing had been made official. And now, he guessed he was just too in the moment, allowing himself to slip off.

“I-I did? Oh, I’m sorry about that.” He lets go of your cheek a little too fast. The movement made you finally look at him.

When he stared into your eyes, he saw a spark in them. With your cheeks blushed you smiled at him with such a gentle smile he felt his heart jump.

“Don’t apologize. I actually like it; it just took me by surprise.” You looked away, trying to hide away from his gaze.

“Are you blushing?” He says with a smile, he can already imagine he looks like a fool.

You look at him, rolling your eyes while trying not to smile.

“Don’t laugh!” You slapped his chest gently, hiding your face on the crook of his neck.

“I’m not!” He laughs, making you huff as you sit back on his hips.

“You are!” Steven pulls himself up, bringing the two of you to sit eye to eye. His hands find your hips as he smiles brightly at you.

“Only a little, but not at you! I would never laugh at you, my love.” You blush again, trying to look away. “Don’t do that.” He grabs your chin, with both hands he carefully brushes your cheeks.

You look at him with soft eyes, lips pulled in a smile. He wishes he could look at you till his dying breath. You looked tired, makeup messy, hair undone, a love mark on your shoulder; you looked gorgeous.

He wants this, more nights like this, just the two of you next to each other. He wants you, he needs you in his life.

“Would you like for me to be your-.” His words are stopped by a phone ringing. Your eyes widen, quickly getting off him.

“That’s mine. Sorry Steven, one second!” You hurry to your feet and jog towards your purse by the kitchen.

Steven huffs, his heart is pounding so loudly he feels he might throw up. He sees you bend down on the floor, looking inside your purse for the phone.

He swings his legs and sits correctly on the couch. He hears you answer the phone and start a conversation. Steven runs his hands on his face before he starts fixing his shirt, standing up to zip his pants and buckling his belt. He grabs his jacket from the other couch.

You are still on the phone when he walks up to you, his hand coming to lay on your back. You turn to look at him, but he kisses your cheek.

“Gonna head off.” He whispers and you frown.

“You sure?” You whisper.

Steven gives you a quick smile and nods.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, love.”

You nod and kiss him, waving at him as he heads to the door. Steven makes it to the elevator, the doors closing. He lets his head fall, a heavy sigh escapes him.

He finally makes it to his flat. He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, he dropped his jacket on the couch as he started undoing his shirt. Steven noticed your light was off, you probably went to bed, he thought.

Steven gets dressed for bed, well, if he was. He walks towards it, sitting down as his gaze lands on the wood post next to it. He had gone with a sleep specialist, you had gone with him. He had done the treatment, followed each and every instruction, but to his disappointment it wasn’t working. If anything, he seemed to realize he was starting to sleepwalk. He tried doing research of his own, looking for alternatives, but this one, it was the only one he could think of.

He dragged his hands down his face as he sighs one more time. With no other option he leans down, hand gripping the ankle restrain, fasting it. He laid on the bed, eyes staring at the old wooden ceiling.

“I can’t tell her.”

“I think he was going to ask me to be his girlfriend.” You blurred out. Feeling your face heat up at the memory of you sitting on Steven’s lap. The way he looked at you so lovingly.

“And you decided to answer my call instead?” Deanna questions you as the two of you lean on the counter. “Why would you let him simply go home?”

“I don’t know, Deanna!” You close your eyes, holding your head in your hands.

The woman simply sighs as she watches the customers that are sitting at the furthest corner of the shop. Then she turns to look at you.

“And I am guessing he still has no clue about your little escapades with Jake?” You groan, burning your face in your hands. “His unknown twin brother.”

“You don’t have to put it that way.” You complained, your words mumbled.

“Listen babes, you do you. Got a sweet guy, and a hot fuckbuddy. But you can’t keep things hidden forever. Especially if you think of starting something with Steven.”

Of course, Deanna had to be right, but even when you found reason, it was hard to hear it, well want to hear it.

“What if?” You stopped yourself, pausing in thought. Deanna raises an eyebrow, immediately shaking her head.

“No, no!”

“What?” You raised your eyebrows, confused by her sudden change of tone.

“Babes, you need to pick one.” As she said that you snorted.

“I wasn’t gonna say to keep both! I just, well, I don’t know if I can choose Steven that easily.” At your confession, Deanna’s face softens, exhaling as she closes her eyes. “I adore him, I really do. But-.”

The door of the shop opened, allowing the cold air of November to hit your skin. You looked up, ready to give your best smile when you immediately felt your face heat up.

“Speak of the devil.” Deanna whispers as she sees Jake walk towards the counter.

“Hey Jake.” You greet him with a smile, which he returns. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

The man shrugs, tilting his head to the side, keeping his eyes on you.

“Good to see you, angel. Been too busy to pay you a little visit.” He grins as you nod at his words, he then moves his gaze to look at Deanna, he gives her the tiniest smile alongside a frown. “Deanna, hey.”

“Jake, what a shock to see you around.” Deanna turns around and leaves, heading to the storage room.

“She sure loves me, huh?” Jake leans with one arm on the counter. You shake your head, waving him off.

“It’s nothing. Don’t mind her.” Jake scoffs at that. “What are you doing here?”

“To get my usual.” He eyes you up and down. “And my coffee, muñeca.” He gives with a wolfish smile.

You hold onto the edge of the seat for dear life, your throat hurts at how dry it is, your constant panting and moaning drying it completely. Jake’s hand on your hips are hurting you, the sting from the palm of his hand fresh on your ass as he pounds into you with such force you think you might pass out.

“Mírate, tan desesperada.” He spits out as he slaps your ass again, the pain making you jolt. “Que patética, me das lastima.” (Look at you, so desperate. How pathetic, you make me pity you.)

You rest your forehead against your arm, sweat already forming due to the closed space of the limo. But you quickly yelp, Jake’s hand grips your hair, forcing your head back towards him.

“Don’t fucking do that.” He grits, you feel him press his chest against your back, the angle making him thrust in deeper. “Come on, don’t act like you can’t take it.”

“Fuck you.” You say back at him. Your response makes him laugh, immediately followed by a sharp slap on your ass. You hiss in pain, your pussy clenching tightly around him.

“There we go, that’s my fucking girl.” Jake kisses your left shoulder, his teeth teasing the skin.

“No biting.” You quickly say, but this only seems to excite him.

“Of course, sugar. We don’t want Stevie knowing I’m fucking his girl; I think having my cock so fucking deep into you should be the biggest problem.” To make his point clear, he pulls all the way out. “Mía.” He thrusts back in with such harshness that you cry out, feeling tears forming in your eyes and your yelp dies on your throat. (Mine.)

Your clench again, your body feels so stretched you fear you might snap at any second. Something you come to learn from Jake is that he seems to fixate deeply in your secrecy; the quick fucks in the limo. He enjoys bringing up Steven every single time as he is fucking you, always promising not to leave a mark, only to do it over and over again.

The first time it happened, he had left marks on your ribs and thighs. You had to get creative and fuck Steven with the lights off, or simply suck him off for a week until the hickeys were gone. After that you told Jake to not do it, so his solution was to fuck you from behind, leaving as many marks as possible.

“Fucking hate how he gets to mark your pretty tits, angel.” You clench again, the memory of Steven’s lips around your nipples, his stupid pretty eyes all full of lust. “Oh there we go, you fucking like it, don’t you? Fucking love it when I say his name?”

You shake your head, feeling Jake sneak his hand down to your mound, fingers finding your clit. You moan as he starts touching it, you feel your head spinning.

“I bet you have dreamed of having him watch as I fuck you. Oh, I bet you have.” His touch is torturous, the tightness on your belly is becoming unbearable. “But who are we kidding?”

You felt it, your orgasm starting to peak, your grip on the seat the only thing that could ground you. It was hard to even pay attention to Jake’s ramble. He pushed your head towards him once more, his breath next to your ear.

“He almost came on your couch just because you didn’t let him touch you.” You frowned, the scenario he was selling you a little too familiar. “You are no angel, sweetheart. You are cruel for doing that to the poor guy. That’s why you are gonna come on my fucking cock tonight and not his.”

“What are you-?” His finger started working faster, the sudden orgasms making you choke on your own words. You were able to bob your head when Jake let go of your head, your forehead resting against the cold leather of the seat.

You were now on the passenger seat, Jake silently driving you home as the radio played a song in spanish. You had already fixed your appearance to the best of your abilities.

“Jake.” You started, looking at his profile as the man adjusted his cap.

“Sweetheart.” He gave you a quick glance, a smirk on his lips as he then focused ahead.

“I think Steven wants me to be his girlfriend.” The sentence felt weird in your tongue. You felt yourself cringe, not because of the implication, but because of who you were saying them to.

Jake’s eyes narrow, jaw tenses.

“So little Steven finally got the guts to ask you, huh?” The scenario strangely gave you deja vu to the night you had confessed to Jake you had slept with Steven.

“Well, I said, I think. I got a call when he was about to, so I had to answer.” That seems to catch his attention.

“So, you ignored him, to take a call?” He turned to you during a red light. He looked at you with a glint in his eyes and a shit-eating grin. “Fuck, you are a little cruel.”

“I didn’t know that’s what he was about to ask! I realized after he left.” You turned away; hearing Jake laugh in amusement.

“Oh, sweetheart.” You frowned, turned to face him again. Jake clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Better give him the best night of his life to fix the damage then. How about you take him on a nice date, buy him roses, tell him how pretty he is. That should do it.”

Jake laughed once more. But you, you could not believe him. The mockery in his words should not surprise you anymore.

“You do know that if I say yes, we can’t meet up anymore, right?” He stops laughing.

“Says who?”

“I do, Jake.” Of course, you had yet to actually think things over, but you were sure you wanted Steven. He was the right one for you. “It’s not like I can see a nice happy life by only being fucked in the back of your limo every other week.”

“Not like you can have one with him.” He throws at you, you could clearly tell he was upset, the tone making you wonder for a second.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Steven is not someone you can actually have a life with.” You scoff, rolling your eyes trying to suppress the laugh that is threatening to slip.

“And I can with who? You? I barely see you, all we do is have a quick fuck and then you take me home. I don’t even know you outside of this fucking car! And to be honest, it makes me worry you are cheating on someone with me.”

Jake grips the steering wheel tightly, simply shaking his head slightly. You see his eyes gaze off at another red light. “Every time I’ve tried to ask you anything you immediately distract me. Do you have kids? Are you dating someone? Are you married?”

It’s then you see it again, the same thing that happened the first time you slept with him. He seems to stare too far away, his body tensing before he relaxes, his gaze lost as he seems to take in his surroundings. He frowns, not from anger, but confusion?

“What’s wrong?” You ask softly, your voice seems to startle him.

His eyes fall on yours, his eyes widened as he seems to just realize you were even there. You feel a lump form at the pit of your stomach as you hear him speak again.

“What’s-. Love, what’s happening?” It’s Steven’s voice that makes you want to vomit, you feel your heart stop as he glances at you, he looks confused, scared.

Add yourself in the taglist!

Taglist: @22carolina08 @wandasupremacy @jesusbussy420 @ninebluehearts @whitearmsredhands @silversweetpea @siimiasoi @stuckybarton @jbearre85 @virgin-mojitos @theking-arthur @btsluvr1 @belladri @amasdaydream @bt21tatakeyakey @l0ki3000 @kittytiddywinks @yuukiyoko @laaundromat @fanfichotel @insomniacfigure @philiasoul @magicwithaknife @spidey-3 @chaimantis @username21mk @yoshidoes-stuff @deadbirdcz @the-rabbit-king

#jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockely x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #moon knight fanfic #marvel #fanfic

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