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im-poe-dameron · 17 days

Text

NO LIGHT

a/n: wake up babes a new sith dropped and he's ridiculously hot. <- i wrote that when the episode dropped. and it's taken me a bit to finish. really i got this done out of pure spite, because what the fuck do you mean we're not going to see him again. expect tons more for this man from me and feel free to scream in the inbox cause if there's one thing that will remain, i am down bad for a sith. and all i could say while writing was: i can make him worse. this is the prequel fic to darkness within.

summary: jedi were the light, the path to good in a galaxy draped in darkness. he never called himself a title you'd grown accustomed to. a life that you'd been thrust into as a child. when doubts arise and beliefs shift, you find yourself entrapped in what you were taught to fight against.

word count: 8k

pairing: qimir (darth teeth) x jedi!f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS THIS AIN'T FOR YOU, corruption arc, enemies to lovers, but let's be honest it's more hate fucking, violence, he shows mercy, an unhinged villain obsessed with his lover, biting sort of, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), bad ending if you view it that way.

"The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural."

There was no name for them spoken aloud in the temples. No title for them to wield with pride as the Jedi did theirs. An armor they strapped to their chests before they carried the weight of the word knight. History was not a lesson to be taught, nor overlooked. Yet The Great War still remained fleeting in classes of the past. As if they willed each generation to forget.

You could feel your mouth form around the letters. The quick biting word that solidified in your heart, breaking open your armor the longer you thought about it. It sounded familiar. Each letter a hiss, as poison dripped between your lips. And you wracked your brain trying to remember where you'd heard it before, why the title came with flashes of memories long forgotten and feelings locked away.

Sith.

The darkness that lingered beneath what light the Jedi spread. A plague waiting to be brought forth and wrought upon the galaxy. Yet in the cracks of that obsidian void, you caught sight of a power that still remained. One not even the Jedi could detect within their midst, and yet you somehow latched on to what you found. The glimpse of his abilities far greater than anything you could ever achieve.

Images of his smile as you fought him alongside the people who trained you; those who didn't come home. How he held his lightsaber with the assurance of a man who'd done this before. Who trained in the same halls you did—who followed a path of light before sinking down to the depths of nothingness. He nearly killed you, held your life in his hands, yet his eyes flashed the second you began to fight back.

To show what you'd been hiding beneath the wall they taught you to built. The blockade which kept each emotion, each fear, trapped in your own mind.

You lashed at him with a fervor that scared you. With an anger that nearly consumed you.

And he smiled.

Questions ran rampant in your mind, yet no matter how hard you searched. No matter how far back you looked in the Temple records, there were no answers. The Sith seemed to have vanished from sight and wiped from existence. As if they never existed in the first place. You thought that something might arise, a piece of the past someone forgot to bury, but each time you looked the quicker you realized that this was done on purpose.

The Jedi cleansed the galaxy of evil—yet in doing so created the path for them to return without notice.

Since returning, you found yourself unable to sleep. When the possibility finally arose and you gave into the pleas of your body, his face returned with a vengeance. The smile that refused to leave you. The intrigue that crossed his eyes as he finally found your weak spot—the one thing that broke you. He fought you to survive at first, but as it continued, you suddenly felt like he was testing you. Attempting to figure out what made you tick, what would eventually make you fall.

You ignored whoever lingered in the hallways of the temple, their greetings falling on deaf ears, as you rushed to the training rooms. Night was cresting on the horizon of Coruscant and where you expected to be alone, you were surprised to find people still awake.

Apparently the attack left some Knights on edge. Including you.

"Maker," you gasped, pressing a hand to your stomach—a rush of nausea rolling through your body like a wave.

Whoever he was—whatever he was—he stuck to your mind like a fungi. Growing and feeding off your thoughts; finding joy in the depths of your head. You longed to claw him out, rip him to pieces until that calm serenity of peace finally returned. Until you felt like yourself again.

The room was thankfully empty, save for a few moved seats here and there. You gathered what control you had left on your emotions, practically collapsing onto the floor, each breath a gasp for the familiar Coruscant air. From what you were taught, meditating would help to ease your mind. Or at least assist in making sense of what you encountered, what knowledge you managed to accrue.

"I am one with the Force," you muttered. The words slipped off your tongue with ease, the memory of being a youngling in this very temple returning with a flash. It remained an old saying Masters told their Padawans when they first begin training. A reminder that while you may be powerful, while you may wield it to your own rhythm, you were surrounded and made from it. "And the Force is with me."

Your breathing slowed, eyes falling shut, and you allowed the room to fall away. You sought what lingered in between the liminal space of your mind and the world around you. Teal flickered on the edge of your vision as the darkness began to take shape—morph into something familiar. Cold licked down your spine, causing the hair to stand on the back of your neck, and suddenly you weren't sitting in the Jedi Temple anymore.

Ancient symbols surrounded you, carving that were set into stones older than you. Sucking in a sharp breath, you scrambled to your feet, your hand reaching for your hip—for the lightsaber that wasn't there. Night was all you could see through the cracked open ceiling; the ruins of what you guessed to be an ancient temple. One before the time of the Jedi you knew on Coruscant.

"Tragic isn't it."

You whirled around, eyes wide as the darkness you believed to be empty, began to bleed away. A figure cloaked in black stepped forward. Only this time...he wore no helmet, no mask to hide his signature and the thoughts that surged through your mind. He gave you the freedom to find what he was, to see beyond the boundaries set by the Jedi.

"W-Who are you?" you asked, your voice echoing off the stone walls and reverberating loudly in your own mind.

He smiled, the very look shoving every emotion you fought to keep at bay to the forefront of your thoughts. "I think you already know the answer to that question."

You gulped in another breath. "Sith."

"So they haven't wiped away that memory entirely." He breathed a soft laugh to himself, taking a few steps forward. "I'm surprised by that."

"Surprised..." Your eyebrows pulled together, body going tense with each step he took. "Did they have that information before?"

His smile only grew, the haze in his brown eyes flashing a burnt yellow for the briefest of moments. "Once." His hand reached out, as if to grasp yours, but this was merely in your head. A projection of his energy and yours. Perhaps that's why you relaxed, why you didn't flinch when his Force signature began to twine with yours. Perhaps that's why you let your guard down. "When I was a Jedi."

"You were a Jedi?" you exclaimed, reeling back. "That's not-"

"Possible?"

The echo of his steps rang through the air, stifling the air from your lungs. He walked like a predator. Yet held the stance of someone who couldn't care less about what you wanted, what you might do to him. He gave you his back with ease and didn't blink twice when your hand twitched to the nonexistent weapon at your side. You began to wonder if he brought you here without it on purpose—if he knew that deep down...you wouldn't hesitate to kill him if given the chance.

"Don't you find it remarkable?" His question threw you off guard as you turned to keep up with his slow prowl.

"Where are we?"

He ignored you. "The Jedi spent so long fighting the Sith. They nearly lost. And yet...no trace of that history remains."

"There's no point to this-"

Stopping a few feet away, he assessed you with a tilt of his head, eyes scrutinizing your very being. "There's always a point. Because despite their grand powers and promises, they are doomed to repeat history."

"Lies," you spit, eyes burning a hole through him.

"The Jedi will fall," he began, coming closer until his face was mere inches from your own. You attempted to step back, to remove yourself from the warmth that bled off his body in waves. But you were stuck—forced to keep still as he finished. "It's in their nature to believe they won't. But they will. One day." His hand reached up, palm cupping your cheek and for a moment...you felt the gentle caress of his touch. "Do you really want to be a part of that?"

"Let me go."

He sighed, eyes falling to your lips without shame. "I can't do that."

"You brought me here. All to tell lies." You sucked in a shuddering breath. "You can let me go-"

"I didn't bring you here," he replied, his lips curling into another grin. "I don't know how...but you found me."

"Found you where?"

His faint touch vanished as he stepped back with a sigh dripping in disappointment. As if you'd confirmed his worst fears. "Ashas Ree."

The planet's name sounded familiar—somewhere on the outer rim. And for a mere moment, you accepted his words as truth. That he didn't call you to this place, but you in fact found yourself here. Yet all it did was open a door you couldn't close. It would give way to the chaos in your mind, to the feelings that begged to run rampant in your heart. That alone would tear you to pieces and you'd have no way to put yourself back.

He leaned in once more, lips a hairsbreadth from your own, and smiled gleefully when you gasped. Your eyes wide and body falling back. Only for him to catch you—his arm a vice around your waist as his hand went to your face, keeping you still.

His touch should have terrified you—sent trills of fear through your body—and yet...you found a piece of something softer underneath his mask of danger. Though he may have turned to the dark side, the part of him that remained a Jedi still existed in the depths of his heart.

With reluctance, you came to the understanding that he wouldn't cause you any harm.

That isn't what he wanted from you.

"I'll see you soon...Jedi."

With a gasp, you collapsed, your head slamming against the temple floor as your eyes flew open. Pain bled into your skull, vision black spotted and hazy, yet you still scrambled to your feet. Your robes caught on your legs, twisting around your body. The beat of your heart echoed loudly in your ears—his face, his voice, still prominent in your mind.

He was a scar on your heart, a reminder that no matter how much you fought against his will, you would never win.

So you ran.

The temple cleared out during the night as you sprinted through the halls, your breath quick and stunted with each slam of your boots against the sleek floor. You weren't sure how long you'd spent with him. How much time passed as you did your best to ignore his advances—to gauge what exactly had to be done. Given that you now knew where he was.

Ashas Ree. A planet taught, yet never visited.

It didn't occur to you to ask why. What was there that made the Jedi wish to ignore it's existence altogether. What had they left behind?

Slowing to a halt, you found yourself stuck between two paths. Each hallway dimly lit and bathed in shadows. You held a choice within your hands. One that could change the trajectory of the Jedi if you were able to succeed. You could forget this instance happened, continue on with being a Knight, and leave this man to someone else.

Or you could find him.

The possibility of putting an end to this problem tasted sweet on your tongue. Yet you couldn't deny the true reason for going.

Curiosity would one day be be the end of you. A saying your master told you repeatedly as you put him through every type of worry he could endure—your need to know more outweighing the logic of whether you should.

The strength he exhibited on Khofar nearly brought you to your knees, his power a force to be reckoned with. Yet there you stood, considering the option of taking him on by yourself. It would conclude with your death—you understood this. Somehow that still wasn't enough to stop you from taking the left path towards the hangar. That alone couldn't deter you from a path already carved by the Force.

A sleek muted gray ship was housed in the corner. You couldn't recall who it belonged to, nor did you find it in yourself to care. Whatever this vision procured—the emotions that began to bleed into your heart with a heady and restless need—there was no fighting against it. The steps taken would lead to an unknown future; a consequence that not even you could see through the Force.

What began would eventually end.

Yet how it would play out remained shrouded in darkness.

Flicking familiar switches and pressing buttons through muscle memory, you felt yourself begin to slide back to your mind. The hum of the ship jumping into hyperspace gave you a moment of silence to converge over your thoughts. To focus on your own Force signature that spread around you with ease.

The teal felt familiar enough to sink down into its depths with a sigh. You shut your eyes, hands falling to your lap, as you allowed yourself to step forward into the darkness. Until you felt it begin to creep up your body—chills spreading down your spine and curling around your stomach.

You expected to be faced with a wall of fear; horrors unlike those you'd seen before. Surprise filled your chest as an image began to take shape—a memory that didn't belong to you.

He sat on the floor of the Jedi Temple. His eyes closed, hands resting on his knees, and hair tied up into a bun that nearly fell free. The black robes he wore with pride were gone, traded for a familiar set of light beige Jedi robes, a perfect match for the ones you wore now.

"You're not focused."

The voice...you'd heard her before. The sharp tone of concise words teaching younglings to train until they reached a level of perfection you only dreamed of obtaining.

Soft brown robes flowed around him as she stalked in a circle. Yet no matter how far you pried, how much you attempted to clear the image, her face refused to form. As if he was merely letting you see a hint of his past. Of the man that once existed in the same place you did. Warmth pooled in your body at that thought; he wanted you to understand him, to see that perhaps you weren't as different as you believed.

"You must feel the Force. Not simply think about it."

He sighed, shifting his body—hair falling free around his face. "I am thinking Master."

"If that were true then I wouldn't be able to see in your mind. Try again."

You stepped closer, lowering yourself to sit across from him—your eyes focused on the furrow of his brows, the way his body tensed. Agitation spread along his form, growing by the second, until you saw it begin to take shape in his mind. Peace didn't come easy. Not when he felt the conflict that plagued his heart, the beliefs he once held true and firm now a distant memory.

Without realizing it, you leaned forward, and pressed your hands atop his. Hoping that in some way, he might feel the soft light of your energy—the warmth of a Jedi's presence willing to help him.

"What do you see?" she asked.

He let out a breath, expression softening. "A...Jedi."

"Good. Who?"

"I...don't know."

"Try harder."

Frustration began to cloud his thoughts, his hands clenching into fists on his legs, and just as you reached for him again, you felt it. The sharp tug of fear against your heart. As if he'd stabbed you with his blade. His eyes flew open, a ragged breath tearing from his throat. You backed away, hands falling to your lap as you awaited the memory to keep going—to see what came next.

Only for him to meet your gaze and see you.

Pain sliced through your head, invading your body as his eyes narrowed perceptively. And you cried out, hands clutching your face, nails scraping against your skin. Maybe if you dug hard enough you'd be able to get him out of your head. You would remove any part of him that weeded through your thoughts, past every wall you'd placed to protect what secrets you held. He picked at your wounds and for a moment you wondered if he held a knife in his hand.

"S-Stop," you forced out past gritted teeth and clenched fists.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Sucking in a sharp breath, you shut your eyes to the image of him, to the vision that must have projected from his own mind. He didn't want you to bear witness to his past. A version of him that once believed in the light, that once hoped he could help the galaxy.

"No," you muttered, shoving him from your mind. But to no avail did it work. He was insistent, angry at knowing you could breach him so easily.

"The power you hold. It will destroy you."

"You don't..." Your nails sliced through the skin of your palm, blood welling to the surface within seconds as you fought against his hold. "You don't know anything."

Though you couldn't see him...you felt his smile. The pleasure he gained simply from finding the weakest point in your mind and running with it. Your power, your strength. For so long you'd feared what you might become, what your abilities could manifest into. Yet they remained a mere figment of your worst nightmares, a reality that may never come to pass.

Meeting him changed that.

He knew it the second he saw you.

"You're scared you won't be able to control it. The darkness you don't show the others."

"Lies," you hissed, beating against the walls he created as he wreaked havoc within your own mind.

"Tell me...does your former Master know you're on your way to me?"

Your heart leapt to your throat, fear numbing every ability you once possessed to fight back. To keep him at bay. No matter how much you wanted to argue, to claim he was wrong, you could feel the truth ring in the back of your mind.

No one knew you were speaking to him. No one knew you'd left.

No one would know why you may never come back.

His laughter echoed through you, burning a hole in your chest large enough for the darkness to seep through.

"Thrilling isn't it? Playing against their rules."

Perhaps if you dug far enough, you could rip the tendrils of him from your mind. Pieces that threatened to ruin you. The darkness promised freedom, yet you could see the repercussions of your actions played out before you like a story already written. Accepting the bittersweet taste of something so tenuous would leave you broken by the end of it. You'd be a shell of the Jedi you grew to become.

A person unwilling to fight back.

"You want me weak." The ship rumbled as you began to claw your way out of his mind and back into yours; the show of your strength echoing through the Force. "You want me to say yes because you know that if I fight back...you won't win."

Whatever retort he had died on the tip of his tongue when your ship left hyperspace—ripping you back to the waking world. You fell back on your elbows with a gasp, eyes zeroing in on the planet directly in front of you. One that you'd seen before. Perhaps it was in a dream, a memory not of your own, but the landscape looked familiar.

Signs of life were sparse—scattered further from where he resided—and part of you felt grateful. If this concluded in a battle you didn't want to be the cause of an innocent's death. The Jedi could never know you came here. The consequences alone would lead you to be cast out of the Order with nowhere else to go.

The ground shook as you landed; the hiss of the door echoed out into the empty clearing. You expected to see wildlife within the thicket of trees that surrounded you. All that showed itself was the glow of the moon above. Illuminating the path carved into the grass by people that came before. You could see the structure ahead—it's grand entrance towered over you, becoming one with the stars that hung above.

Jedi once walked these grounds. Their energy practically hummed in your veins the closer you came to stepping foot on the stone floors. Carvings of old symbols still remained—placed there by a Republic that no longer existed.

An era of Jedi you'd only heard stories of.

The history of the Olde Republic wasn't unknown to the Jedi that existed today. You understood their practices, the ways they viewed the Force. Part of them were lost to the war when they began to form the Order that still remained.

This place should be taught, visited, to keep the remaining legacy of what came before alive. This was the history you wanted to know—a past you could almost picture in your mind.

Stepping into the temple, you felt the energy before you saw it. A constricting echo of nothing that slammed against your chest with a brutality you'd witnessed once before. Gasping, you nearly fell to your knees as the obsidian nature of his Force signature began to seep into the ground. Fighting against it felt futile as it clambered over your body—sinking into your skin. Into the very fiber of your being.

"It's quite beautiful." His voice resonated in the small circular temple.

You sucked in a sharp breath, hands slamming to the cold stone floor—your knees collapsing beneath you. "What the fuck is this place?"

Controlled steps echoed behind you, his black robes brushing the ground as he stopped mere feet away. "The past your Jedi have chosen to hide."

"This is-" Your chest tightened, air sucked from your lungs at the feeling of his power laying above you—crushing you to the ground. "No Jedi temple."

He crouched, head tilted and eyes bleeding with a curiosity he held in the forest. "You continue to defend them, even when you know they haven't told you everything."

Attempting to reach for your lightsaber felt as if you were traveling through sand. It swallowed you whole. Ate at your insides and begged for more. You couldn't see past his power, past the darkness that formed over your body. He could have killed you like this; helpless and weak to his own weapon.

Why he never did is what filled your mind; the same mind screaming for a reprieve from what lay beneath the stone. What called out to you in screeching tones.

"Long before you and I walked this galaxy, this temple was created to hide the powers of what they considered dark and unnatural." He left you to lay on the floor, your back against a symbol you recognized. "They built this above a Sith temple to wipe their existence from history."

"The Sith followed the darkside of the Force," you spit between gritted teeth and tensed muscles. Your body was on fire and yet no one had lit the flame. "They wanted to destroy the galaxy."

Though you couldn't see it, you knew his lips curved into a grin. "Why do you have so much faith in an Order that would do the same to you if they knew where you were?"

Anger fueled your actions, gave you the strength to fight against whatever bonds he created against your body. With a piercing scream, your lightsaber hit the palm of your hand, igniting as you scrambled to your feet. He stood with his back to you—entirely aware yet uncaring of how you struggled against his hold. How the darkness began to seep its way to your heart.

You'd never felt this before.

The anger.

The hatred.

The Jedi taught you to quell that part of yourself before it had a chance to rise up. For so long you allowed their teachings to define you. To put a barrier between peace and bitter anguish. And you held that wall up with pride—with the knowledge that you could center yourself at a moments notice.

Yet he managed to tear it all down within one day.

"Good," he replied, his voice a soft rasp that penetrated the wave of emotions which sought to consume you. "Feel it. The anger."

"I am a Knight of the Jedi Order-" Raising your blade, you felt the hum of it sear against the side of your face. "And I am here to enact my duty."

The familiar echo of his blade coming to life—red illuminating the walls before him—sent a thrill of fear down your spine. One he could no doubt feel through the Force. You weren't scared to die. This had been ingrained in your mind since the day the Jedi found you. No, you felt at ease knowing this fight could only end one way.

You were scared of what might become of you if you slipped beneath the might of his powers.

"You have the strength of the old ways." He turned, brown eyes gleaming crimson as he advanced. "But your duty will be your end."

You felt the wall shatter within your mind—pieces crashing to the ground—as you leapt at him. Blades crashed together, lighting up the night with sparks of teal and red. And you felt how much he held back in the forest. He didn't want to kill you then; the way you called to his intrigue kept him from slicing his lightsaber down your spine.

Tonight you could see the difference. The strength he held back within his body.

A swipe of his blade nearly knocked yours from your hand, but the foot you landed to his leg kept you upright. He barely stumbled, regaining his stance with an agility you'd only seen in the Jedi Temples. You lunged again, aiming for his shoulder only to be knocked out of the way. He shoved you back with the Force—grinning at the sight of you enraged.

"You were a Jedi." A crack echoed in the night air as you landed a hit to his saber. "And you betrayed them."

"Betrayal." He spun, circling you as if you were marked prey. "I was cast aside as you will be. I did not betray the Jedi. I chose differently and they didn't accept that."

"You chose the path to darkness." Something sparked down your spine—foreign in its nature. Yet no matter how much you tried to pinpoint its origin, you came up blank.

"Desire," he replied, lips twitching when your eyes went wide. "The emotion you're fighting."

"Stay out of my head."

He took a step towards you—the hum of his lightsaber electrifying the air. "You're confused why you're feeling that way. You shouldn't be."

"Stop-"

"I can answer your questions." The palm of his hand reached for you—offering his touch. Promising peace in spite of the anger you felt. "If you'd like."

Fear seized in your chest and you stumbled back; your saber raised as your last line of defense. "Desire is the path to the darkside."

"And yet you feel it." The closer he stood, the more you felt his pull. A whispered promise tinged with the lust of more; the want for knowledge overshadowed by the truth of his beliefs. "You should feel all they make you push down. I can see that's what you want. Let me show you how."

Temptation ate away at your heart, claiming you in ways you'd never felt before. Yet the dread of what you'd been taught began to strike. Rearing in your mind with a vengeance that overtook what he offered. You flinched, eyes narrowed and hands gripped tightly onto your lightsaber as he took another step.

"No!" Your hand flew out, a push of strength bursting free. He slid back, his hand slamming to the ground to keep himself from falling.

That's when you saw it. His patience snapped, anger breaching the otherwise calm exterior he attempted to give you. This was the Sith that lay beneath his seduction. The man you caught glimpses of in your mind. He surged forward, saber striking down against yours hard enough to rattle your bones. Each hit felt as if you were battling something stronger—older.

You could feel the weariness in your body as you blocked and parried as often as you could. Spinning on your heel, you fell to one knee as he struck down a blow that resonated against the stone. Cracking it along the grooves of the center.

There was no mercy in how he battled. No offering of penance. He was your executioner come to life—the promise of death quick to fall from his tongue as he placed you in a corner.

He dragged you forward with a pull of the Force, crimson clashing with teal as you blocked his strike. And pride swelled in your chest at the sight of the frustration that crossed his face. This was not a fight as quick to the death as Khofar was. You would battle until your final breath and he seemed to realize that the longer you went.

"You die here today," you spit, struggling against his weight.

Pain sliced through your side, burning its way through your body as his lips pulled at the corners. Eyes alight in a way you'd never seen. He was amused by your fight—your willingness to die for the Jedi's beliefs. Yet you did the one thing everyone fell for on Khofar.

You underestimated him.

Yanking the small red blade from your side, he watched your face fall. Fear lacing your heart with a poison that held no antidote. This would be where you would have your last moment. The place he'd leave you to rot. But unlike what came before, he caught you in his hold, lowering you gently to the ground—his hand reaching to cup your face.

"You're afraid," he murmured, thumb tracing the top of your cheek. "You don't want to die."

Whether he could see it painted across your face or find it in your thoughts, the truth remained the same. You didn't want your story to end here. You couldn't fathom a death so small compared to what you'd been raised to believe. Jedi's were warriors. They were the protectors of the light; the keeper of peace.

Yet there you were, withering in the darkness and begging for hope.

"Let me in." His hand slid down to your gaping wound—pressing it gently even as you cried out in pain. "I can help you."

"You'll kill me." Even when you spoke, you understood the gravity of your situation.

He offered you salvation—safety within his hands—and yet you were willing to die. Teachings of your past suddenly felt minuscule as you stared death in the face. This would not be peaceful; you could feel the ravages of your injury begin to seep through your body. And he watched while you grappled with a choice that may very well set the path of your future.

Let me see your darkness. Let me help you control it.

His voice soothed the calamity in your veins. His touch a caress against your open robes—his skin hot against yours.

The look on his face—the clarity in his gaze—may be why you finally relented. Why you nodded slowly, fear traveling through every inch of your already broken body. He watched you with a desire that you'd only read about in stories. A feeling you'd pushed away at every waking moment. One that haunted you like the ghosts of this temple.

"Please," you breathed, hand clutching his robes.

Shifting you higher, he bent his head—his palm covering your wound—and pressed his lips to yours. Electricity streaked down your spine the moment you felt his kiss. His mouth was firm, yet soft in their nature when he gripped you closer. You gasped into it, hand cupping his face as he breached your mind slowly—gently enough to make you look past the act.

Until you felt it.

The warmth that bloomed beneath your skin when your body began to stitch itself together. He pushed the Force of his life through your veins—seeping it slowly into your heart. His thoughts melded with yours, memories of a past you never lived filtered through your mind. But he remained firm and solid in the way he kissed you. His tongue slipping past your parted lips to taste you, to take what he never got to on Khofar.

"I can give you more," he mumbled against your cheek, lips sliding along the curve of your jaw. "All that you want."

You would later blame his life Force, or the thoughts you were privy to. But the word yes slipped off your tongue with ease. A quickness that nearly left you startled.

This was forbidden. Every moment spent here would damn you to an eternity of punishment. Yet his touch felt delicious against your body as he pulled up your robes—spreading them open on the floor of the temple. You should have pushed him away. Dragged your lightsaber towards you and sunk it into his chest. And part of you wanted to.

Part of you ached to kill him.

Though no matter how hard you tried...you couldn't discern whether that stemmed from the throbbing heat between your legs. Or the violent echo in your heart.

His eyes caught your bleary gaze—pupils blown out and dark as he regarded you with a searing look you felt to your bones. "How do you want this?"

"I..." A burning heat spilled beneath the skin of your cheeks, spreading down to your chest. "I don't know," you whispered.

He smiled and you couldn't help but notice how he bared his teeth. Hunger etched on every line of his face. He liked that you were lost; that this was going to be the first and only time someone would touch you this way.

He suddenly felt the urge to claim you, call you his in every way that could exist within this galaxy.

Chalking it up to the ache in his body, he waited for your head to clear. "I can show you. Teach you."

A nod of your head set him off, he pulled at your pants until they pooled with the remainder of your robes. You lay bare beneath the moon—hands reaching to touch him—and felt that nothing this pleasurable should be wrong.

How could the Jedi claim a feeling like this as dark? How could having your needs be met be so horrendous to their beliefs?

With a gasp, you rose up on your elbows to watch him hoist your legs over the wide breadth of his shoulders. His fingers dug into the meat of your thighs—eyes fixed on the way you practically dripped onto the stone floor. You were given a second to breath before the oxygen was pulled from your lungs and his mouth sealed over your cunt.

"Maker!" Your body fell to the ground in a heap—head dazed as he laved his tongue between your slick folds with a need never shown before.

He groaned at your taste, the tang of you spread along his taste buds, and felt his body throb at the sight of you. So open, so willing to let him devour you whichever way he wanted.

The burning need from earlier began to build in your body, tightening along each muscle and pulling at your stomach. Your hand dug into his hair, fingers curling against his scalp as he sucked at your clit. And you had no choice but to moan—to let your sounds echo in the air and fall back down. If someone were to pass by they'd see you—hear you.

They'd bear witness to how you sank deeper into the darkness with a dazed smile on your lips.

A finger pushed at your entrance, curling into you slowly in search of something hidden within. You were wet—dripping down his hand—and he merely smiled into you. His tongue lapped against you as he sunk into you down to the knuckle. Dragging along your walls until your legs jolted—a cry ripping from your chest at the feeling of him brushing something devastating.

"There." Your head fell back, hips canting up into his face. "Yes. Fuck right there."

The wet echo of his fingers pounding into you drove you mad. He dragged you the brink with a merciless hand and you followed him with a gasped cry of bliss. Something broke within you—spreading through your body rapidly—as your legs shook and toes curled.

He groaned drunkenly into your cunt, eyes half lidded and cheeks stained the color of his lightsaber. You cried out when he sucked at your clit—curling his fingers mercilessly as lust clouded his vision. The unknown feeling you'd fought for so long began to eat at your body. Building along your spine, spreading through your stomach. Until you held no choice but to relent to its power.

"W-What's happening?" you whined, fingers tugging at his hair.

You weren't sure if you wanted to rip him away or keep him close.

The response you got was a heady moan muffled into your slicked thighs. Slick poured out of you, drenching the floor below. Your hips began to shift of their own volition—grinding against his mouth as you struggled for breath. For a semblance of peace against the war of pleasure that ripped you apart.

He sucked hard and the tension in your body snapped.

"F-Fuck!" you sobbed, thighs shaking and body bending off the floor.

Heat blinded you as white flashed behind your shut eyelids—a vibration unlike any you'd felt before now surging up and out of you. The stone floor cracked to the center; your strength sending a wave through the Force strong enough to break anything nearby.

He curled his arms around your legs, clamping down to keep steady. Even as the power rushed through him—tempted to shove him off and across the room. His tongue was a continued to lap at your entrance, drinking down every drop of that you fed into his open and waiting mouth. A broken moan ripped from your chest—body weary and sore—and yet you let him keep going.

Even as he licked until pain spliced up your stomach. A sharp discomfort you relished in.

"Tell me," he panted, climbing his way up your body—his lips trailing a wet line of kisses up your sternum. "Did the Jedi ever tell you about that?"

You grinned, hazy and languid in your newfound bliss. "I want more."

He smiled. "I can give you more."

Whatever convictions existed before you came here died in the back of your mind when his hips settled between yours. The heavy outline of his now hard cock was a firm press against your dripping cunt. It made you whimper. Made you needy. He watched you with glee in his eyes as you reached beneath his robes to feel him—the press your skin against his.

"Do you want it?" he asked softly, thrusting forward and tearing a moan from your throat.

"Yes," you gasped. "Please. I want it."

Moving your hands to rest above your head, he shifted his robes the best he could—the fabric soft against the inside of your thighs. You watched in rapture as he pulled his cock free; the sight of the red and leaking tip only serving to make your mouth water. The need from before now burning quicker. Brighter.

"Stay still," he murmured against your lips, stealing a kiss when you nodded.

Entirely at his will.

You felt him slide through your slick, coating himself with a raspy moan, before he pressed at your entrance. The head of his throbbing cock breaching you slowly. Stretching you with the slight flicker of pain. Only for him to push forward with a gritted moan. His forehead falling to yours as you gasped for air—for anything that might keep you latched to the surface of the planet.

"So perfect," he managed to bite out, his hips finally atop yours.

Your mouth fell open at how full you felt. How he pressed against your walls and carved a place for himself inside your body. Whatever path you might have taken before tonight vanished before your very eyes. This was always meant to be your future.

He is what you were led to.

"Okay?" His eyes met your blurry gaze—tears dripping down into your hair. "Speak to me love."

A ragged breath echoed in the temple. "'M good."

His lips curled up. "I'm going to move now."

"Will it hurt?" you asked, hesitancy lingering in your voice.

The grin bloomed into a smile as he shifted his hips back, thrusting into you slowly and striking against your walls. Pushing the spot he found before. Only this time the brief tendrils of pleasure burned through you like a roaring flame.

"Oh-"

"You like that don't you?" You nodded frantically, hands still obediently above your head. "Such a pretty thing. So willing."

"Yes," you whined, legs curling around his hips with each thrust.

The reverence from before slowly faded each time he plunged into your cunt. His groans muffled into the skin of your shoulder. He fucked you with a passion that would linger. A feeling you'd search for in the middle of the night—begging for the release you once had. His teeth scraped against your skin, fingers digging sharply into your hips, and you jolted when he shifted the angle.

Pounding down into you and pulling free sounds you'd never made before.

"All mine to have," he breathed against your cheek, lips catching yours in a messy kiss of teeth and tongue. "They would dare to throw away someone to perfect."

"Maker I'm gonna-" Your head fell back, eyes screwed shut as the tension began to build again.

"Yes," he gasped, cupping your ass to help your stunted movements. "Cum for me. Give me everything."

The pleasure eviscerated you. Slammed into your body with a vengeance and ripped every doubt you had about him from the very root up. He moaned against your chest as you came with a scream. Your thighs clamping around his and body curling up in search of his heat. A hand latched onto your back, holding you close, as you drenched his cock until it smeared on the inside of your thighs.

You couldn't find your way out of this maze. The darkness shrouded you in a layer of warmth—seeping into your body with ease. Yet that isn't what horrified you. That isn't what made the hair stand up on the back of your neck as he chased his own release.

What scared you was that you liked it.

You longed for it.

He came with a hoarse shout, spurting into you and filling you with warmth that you felt spread throughout your body. It consumed you. Welcomed you with a heady kiss and the promise of more. And you drank it down like the finest glass of wine.

The lingering echo of your Force signature still flickered in the background. You refrained from reaching for it. Content to remain in this river of peace that sank you down to the bottom.

His lips found yours, tongue sliding hotly into your open mouth. You returned his kiss with a fervor you didn't know you held. A wanting that now knew what the full extent of desire felt like. A need that would crave more.

"I-I liked it," you whispered against his lips. His cum slowly dripped out and around his softening cock. You yearned for him to show you again. "All of it."

"Good," he murmured. "There's so much more to show you."

"When?"

"Soon," he said, gathering you in his arms with a kiss to your forehead. "I promise my love. You'll know all of it."

You awoke to the echo of birdsong. The bright ray of sunlight blared down through the ceiling, turning the once cold stone beneath your skin hot. It burned you as you shifted, arm searching for the warmth of another that lay beside you.

Sometime in the night he began to tell you the history of what he knew. The people that once walked these temple floors. The Sith whose memory still echoed beyond time and space. This was their legacy. A path that you would soon take as your own. Yet the doubt of what it would cost still lingered at the edges of your mind; the reality you would soon have to face.

He would be hunted.

Sought out by the Jedi who would want revenge for what happened on Khofar. By joining him, you would be setting yourself up for a fate worse than death.

When your touch came up empty, your eyes fluttered open. Expecting him to be mediating somewhere nearby, you sat up still naked from hours before. A sore ache bloomed between your thighs, spreading down your legs. Each bite he placed on your skin remained tender to the touch, and you smiled at the memory they would incite.

"Hello?" you called, hoping to draw him back. To hopefully entice him for more.

Silence was all you were met with as you stood on shaky legs. Gathering your robe, you draped it around yourself—your lightsaber already clutched in your hand. You searched for his presence in the Force; picked through the life on this planet in the hopes of finding the one you recognized.

Only to be left with an empty voice.

An expanse of nothing.

Pain sliced through your heart, shattering a piece you didn't know existed. You watched it fall to the floor—breaking you open without mercy. Without forgiveness. What hope you had that he might find you again diminished as you gathered the rest of your robes and headed back to your ship still in the clearing. The truth of what occurred, now a solid belief in your mind.

Last night you offered yourself up to the darkside of the Force and this was your consequence.

To be left alone, waiting for your lovers return that would never come.

#this took me so long to write but it's finally HERE #qimir x f!reader #qimir x reader #qimir x you #qimir x y/n #qimir smut #the stranger x reader #the stranger x you #the stranger x y/n #the stranger smut #my writing #the acolyte

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ilys00ga · 9 months

Text

life after his enlistment.

pairing: yoongi x reader

synopsis: how life/the relationship was like after he enlisted.

genre: fluff, established relationship, yoongi enlisted, they are trying their best, idk if I should call it angst or hurt/comfort, but there's some kind of ✨️melancholy✨️ in this (predictable much), I effing miss him sm more now :(.

warnings: t.w: if u are just like me, prepare to be missing yoongi sickeningly after this. gosh, it feels like a hole in a chest rn. idk what to do w myself. oh btw some ideas mentioned here are purely my own opinions, so it doesn't have to be "facts" or "all true." if u have different opinions or if u disagree with any it u can reach out to me about them, I would like that, but that's that, enjoy!!!!!!!!!

A/N: this was a request made by @kimvante2013 I hope it meets ur expectations! this was so fun to write, I liked this a lot. feel free to send more reqs or anything u want :)

PS. English is not my first language, so you know the drill.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

the problem wasn't that you couldn't see him, no.

since his duty was different from that of an ordinary individual, you both were able to spend the nights in each other's arms.

when he comes back home after duty, sometimes he's met with an empty house where he'd wash up and start preparing something for you to enjoy munching on once you get back home at a later hour of the day. other times, he comes to a busy, warm house. you blasting your favorite drama on the TV while doing the laundry in the middle of the living room, or just chilling and waiting to welcome him with mellow hugs and kisses.

and when he's on duty, he can't always contact you, but he whispered kisses laced with promises into your lips before leaving on his first day, and he would never dare to break them. not that he wants to anyway.

sometimes you'd wake up to post-it notes sticked on random surfaces and items around the house, or good morning messages of love and kisses. sometimes he calls during lunch breaks to check up on you, reminding you to drink water and eat well because that's yoongi's most precious habit of showing that he always just cares.

"don't forget to layer your outfit today, I just saw that it's gonna be awfully cold."

"did you like the bouquet I sent? want more? cook me ___ tonight xx"

"hi, don't forget to drink a cup of water right this instance or you'll shrivel up and die."

"it snowed on my way here this morning, let's go out this weekend and have some fun :]"

when days are too hard to handle, weighing one of you—maybe even both of you at the same time, cause life is a bitch like that—down and burying you under the ground, you'd send long voice messages to the other. never expecting an immediate reply. just simply pressing record and spilling all the bottled negative energy that clogged your brains and chests.

so, the problem wasn't really that you couldn't see or talk to him..

the problem was that neither of you were used to any of that.

you weren't used to being away from each other for long hours throughout the day (even though he often went on tours and job events aboard), or not being able to talk and/or see him whenever you wanted to—atleast whenever your shift agreed to let you. you're stuck on this routine for months. you were so not used to that.

over the years, you and yoongi grew to become a pen and a paper: two different items that are meant to only function and be paired together. one can't be capable without the other.

yet you try to avail yourselves of the situation and take it all easy. slowly, like waking up and leaving a warm, comfy bed at 5 in the morning to gain some purpose somewhere out there.

so, while staying away from one another for several hours a day comes with heavy challenges and even melancholy at times, that doesn't mean it can't be fruitful for your relationship.

since for it to grow healthier, a couple, intentionally or not, sometimes needs to take some "time off" to preserve the connection and intimacy between them.

you always remind yoongi of how much you had missed him during the day, which is something that never failed to put a smile on his face and trigger a stream of butterflies in his stomach.

love and yearning are two inseparable powerful emotions that one can't defeat, and absence makes the heart grow fonder. that's the beauty of the challenge your relationship was subject to at this new stage.

"I am still me, you are still you. everything's gonna be alright." yoongi would say as he hugs your face into his chest.

he always reminds you that this new chapter the two of you have entered together, hand in hand and with shaking hearts, is one that he'd been dreading but looking forward to for a very long time.

a chapter that made him understand how much he needs your existence in his life. to be himself and to be the somebody you need and deserve.

and he makes sure to translate that into your skin as he traces it with his lips and fingertips when you finally fall into each other's embrace.

#yoongi #bts #yoongi scenarios #yoongi drabble #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #bts scenarios #agustd #yoongi angst #min yoongi #bts imagines #bts fic #bts army #bts yoongi #bts enlistment

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sterlingsilver-starlight · 10 months

Text

Talk Too Much 💘

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Female Reader

Genres: Hurt/comfort, angst, drama, fluff, romance

Content Warnings: flashbacks of emotional abuse (reader has emotionally abusive mother), self-harm (briefly graphic), implied suicidal thoughts, brief strong language (mild throughout), intimate moments (very steamy makeout session, but nothing further)

Word Count: 3195 words

Summary: When Reader excuses herself to the bathroom, Seonghwa begins to grow suspicious as minutes turn into an unusually long absence. Can he unravel the truth behind her melancholy, and perhaps something deeper?

Inspirations: During the sadder parts, “Kamihitoe” by Uru and this slowed/reverbed version of Lolo Zouaï’s “Desert Rose” were my comfort. And then for the cute parts, BLACKSWAN’s “Cat & Mouse” :)

(I love the title GIF for this 🤭 but I also am still recovering from the Arriba one…I swear, I will not be the same when the full song drops in a week 😩🥵) I had something like an epiphany while writing this…the comforting words resonate on many levels, and I had to remind myself that people like that do exist out there. Even if there is someone in your life who throws harsh words or vibes your way, that’s not to say someone who does the exact opposite might not cross paths with you, too ✨🫶🏼

Also please note: This is in no way supposed to represent or depict the actual Park Seonghwa; this is just created for storytelling/entertainment purposes only :D

A hard swallow, followed by the relentless jab of another burgeoning stomachache. You set your fork down again, barely scraping the potatoes at the edge of your plate.

“Hwa, I…I don’t feel too good. I can’t eat this right now.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile as you got up from your seat. “It’s alright. Just…let me know if you need something. Okay?”

You offered a small smile, biting your lip. “Y-yeah. Okay.”

The bite dug deep enough to draw blood, but you tasted nothing like iron on your tongue. It was a flavor you had become all too accustomed to, one too bittersweet to fully enjoy or shy away from.

As soon as you were out of your friend’s line of sight, you bolted down the hall for the bathroom, only slowing down once you’d gone inside and shut the door.

A click at the knob. A snap of the fingers, idiosyncratically, to distract yourself from the sudden echo the lock gave. Did he hear that?

You hoped to God not.

Seonghwa was your most trusted confidant, but even the strongest of bonds could harbor skeletons in the closet, so as far as you were concerned, it would need to stay that way until you were able to get over this on your own.

Slumping against the door, you let yourself slide down to the ground, hugging your knees as they bunched up against your chest.

You didn’t know what you would ever do if he found out. About the thoughts, about the self-hatred…

Heck, let alone the self-harm.

Seonghwa was the twinkling star in your life, lighting up any room he entered, constantly finding ways to make you crack a smile from absolutely nothing. He was too precious for this world, you were sure of it.

Which is why, on this otherwise fine and calm evening, you found yourself yet again questioning why in the hell he put up with you as much as he did.

What if you were just fooling yourself? What if this persona you felt from your very core was nothing more than an act, masquerading from the demon that had hidden inside you from years long past?

A silent cry threatened to surface. You took a sharp breath and reached in your pocket, fumbling around until you felt what you had been looking for: a rusted metal nail file.

The lump in your throat made you feel guiltier. It’d been mere days since you’d promised yourself that this wasn’t going to be an option…

Again.

But though time could heal wounds, it could only erase so many still embedded within your subconscious, still playing like a broken record during your moments of uncertainty and vulnerability.

“Do you ever shut up?! I swear, one more word and I’ll rip your tongue off!”

You bit your lip harder, genuinely wanting to taste the pain. What did it matter anymore?

“Sure, keep doing that shit. So we can all feel sorry for you and tiptoe around your stupid feelings? I don’t think so!”

You gasped with every memory, tears blinding and blurring your bearings, the file now slashing oh-so elegantly through your flesh like a knife through butter.

“Slam your door again and I’ll make sure your head is the next thing that slams against the wall!”

You almost didn’t notice the crimson streaming down your arm, or the way it cascaded onto your other hand, dyeing the creases of your palm in a heartbeat, while numbness continued feeding your indifference.

Maybe there is no purpose to my life. Maybe I’m just meant to be a casualty and —

“Y/n?” You jolted, the three knocks on the door vibrating through your skull.

But you said nothing, afraid even a single syllable would give away your current state of mind.

“Y/n?” Seonghwa repeated, the worry carrying in his voice.

Panic kicked in and you started hyperventilating. Much to your chagrin, however, that only alerted him more.

“Okay, I-I’m coming in.” You heard the twists and click of the knob — darn it, I forgot he has keys for the place — and hastily shuffled over to the adjacent wall as he squeezed his way into the bathroom.

A sharp gasp hushed within the small room. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene before him: the rusted nail file still in your hand, the blood-stained arm, the haunted look on your face — it broke your heart, to have him see you like this.

What you didn’t realize, though, was just how much his heart was breaking.

“Hwa, I…I’m sorry.” You hugged yourself tighter, wanting nothing more than to be a turtle hidden inside its shell.

“Y/n…what happened?” His voice was laced with worry as he carefully approached you.

You tried to conceal the evidence, quickly slipping the file back into your pocket and attempting to wipe away the blood with the hem of your sleeve. But the damage had already been done. “I…I just had a little accident, is all. N-no big deal,” you stammered, furrowing your eyebrows as you looked away.

He crouched down in front of you, gently lifting your chin to meet his eyes. “Y/n, don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

A lump formed in your throat, and for a moment, you debated whether to spill your darkest secrets or to continue this facade. But when you saw the hurt in his eyes, you knew what your answer must be.

“I…I’ve been struggling, Hwa. There’s this darkness inside of me that just won’t go away,” you whispered finally, trying not to cry mid-sentence.

His expression softened, and he pulled you into an embrace. “You don’t have to face it alone, Y/n. I’m right here for you, always.”

The warmth of his hug felt like a lifeline, a tether grounding you in this moment of many that felt overwhelmingly chaotic. Tears streamed down your face as you clung to him tightly, slowly but surely releasing the weight that you had been carrying alone for far too long.

Seonghwa pulled away slowly, his hands holding yours gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? And then we can talk about this, together.”

You nodded, rubbing your thumbs against his in return. “Okay.”

He helped you to a standing position, and from there you both walked over to the medicine cabinet: you leaning slightly on the sink countertop, him removing a roll of gauze, bandages, and a few creams. Grabbing a nearby cloth to run it under warm water, you inhaled nervously. As he began tending to the wounds on your arm, still streaked in raw red, you hesitated, grappling with the storm of emotions brewing deep down. The bathroom felt like a fragile sanctuary, and you were on the verge of shattering its peace with the weight of your confessions.

“Hwa,” you began hesitantly, “I’ve…heard things. About myself. Terrible things that echo in my mind every day.”

He looked up at you, eyes brimming with a warm understanding. “It’s okay. Tell me as much or as little as you need to.”

With a shaky breath, you started to unravel the web of painful words that had been haunting you, from the cruel insults and relentless belittlement at home to the internalized hatred that had since taken root in your heart.

“I’m a failure. That’s what she says. My own blood mother.” You shuddered. “That I’m a disappointment, a burden…that her life would have been better if not for the presence of such an ungrateful bitch like me…t-that I ruin everything around me.” Your voice wavered as you stopped to catch a breath.

Seonghwa’s expression tightened with anger. “Y/n, believe me when I say you are none, and I mean absolutely none, of those things. You are strong, kind, and worthy of love. Don’t believe those lies. Please.”

You just shook your head. “I can’t accept your kind pity, though, Hwa.” Tears welled and clouded your vision as you continued. “She said I should be grateful that anyone tolerates me at all, that I’m lucky to have friends because I don’t deserve them…that I’m not good enough for anyone out there.”

His eyes softened with empathy. “Y/n, you’re more than good enough. You’re fucking incredible, and I…I care about you deeply.”

Your eyes widened at his choice of words, confusion and hope written all over your face. “Why, Hwa? Why would you care about someone like me?”

He sighed, setting aside the cloth, and cupped your face with his hands. “Because you’re not just someone, Y/n. You’re a remarkable person. Your strength, your kindness — it shines through even in your darkest moments. And…” He chuckled slightly. “I like you. More than just as a friend.”

A gasp caught in your throat, and time became still within the room as his confession hung in the air. Seonghwa’s eyes searched yours for a response, but you remained silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

A spark of worry flickered across his face. “I-I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said —”

You placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “No, Hwa. I’m honestly really glad you did. I just…I need a moment to process everything. It’s a lot, but I really appreciate your courage to tell me that.”

His shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile breaking through. “I understand. Take all the time you need.”

He resumed cleaning your cuts, all the while as you couldn’t shake the startling but exciting realization that maybe, just maybe, someone as wonderful as Hwa could see past these insecurities, could see you for you.

An almost eerie silence hung between you two, broken only by the sound of running water as you rinsed off spots of leftover blood. Hwa glanced at you, debating whether or not to break the ice.

“To be honest,” you admitted in a voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt good enough for someone like you.”

He scoffed lightly, covering your hand with his. “Y/n, you’re more than enough. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

His words lingered in the air, a poignant moment of vulnerability shared in the dimly lit bathroom.

And then something shifted.

With a playful smirk, you couldn’t help but bring up your insecurities, caught in a suddenly desperate vying to test the waters and see how he would take it. “Come on, don’t be silly, Hwa. I mean, look at me!” You raised an eyebrow at him, the hint of a smile teasing at your lips.

He took the bait. “Okay, and? What about it?”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “You gotta be kidding. I mean, for starters, I’m not even skinny, my face is rounder than the boba in that milk tea you were swirling around the other day” — he broke into a fit of laughter at this, prompting you to punch him gently on the arm (“Hwa, I’m being serious!”) before resuming your, he thought, rather dramatic speech — “and my body is far from what’s considered attractive these days.” You sighed, clenching and unclenching your fists before inspecting yourself through the bathroom mirror. “Especially with these…” You gestured vaguely to your rounded backside and thick thighs.

Hwa’s low, throaty chuckle reverberated in the bathroom, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n, you really think any of that matters to me?” He shook his head, his gaze intense. “You’re focusing on things that turn me on more than you could possibly know.”

To say you were surprised — curious, even — was an understatement. “W-what do you mean?” you dared to ask.

He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Your curves, the roundness of your face, that body you seem to underestimate so much — they’re all things I fantasize about more when I’m around you.” His words sent a thrill down your spine, and you felt a warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“But why?” you managed to stutter out, genuinely baffled.

Hwa pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning you up and down. “Because, Y/n, it’s those very things that make you uniquely you. There’s…an allure throughout, if I’m being honest…and your body is nothing short of perfection in my eyes.”

He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And let me tell you,” he continued, snaking his fingers across one of your thighs, massaging it with his thumb, “these parts of you aren’t just attractive. They’re downright irresistible.”

Your breath caught in your throat, desire rushing through your veins as he leaned in again, his fingers tracing patterns that left your skin tingling. “I think about you in ways that would make you blush,” he admitted, his voice a low murmur. “You’re beautiful, Y/n. In every way imaginable.”

With that, he closed the distance between your lips, initiating a kiss that held the weight of his confession. The bathroom seemed to vanish into the distance as Hwa’s lips kept meeting yours in a slow, tantalizing dance, each kiss a revelation of shared desire. His hands, warm and possessive, explored the curves of your body with a deliberate sensuality. Fingers traced the contours of your back, leaving a trail of trickling sensations in their wake. As the kiss deepened, his touch became more fervent, a silent promise of passion yet to unfold.

Your hands found their way into his soft, tousled hair, fingers threading through the strands as you pulled him closer. His tongue prodded your bottom lip playfully until you indulged him, allowing the sensation of his tongue to slide against and around yours, igniting a fervor that sent electrical currents through every nerve ending.

The room seemed to get hotter and hotter, but nothing could have curbed the chill in your spine by this point. Hwa’s touch was both gentle and confident, a melody of desire that crescendoed as his kisses lingered longer and he began sucking your tongue slowly, making you moan ever so softly into his mouth.

Your own hands mirrored his movements, traveling across the edges and ridges of his chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your touch. The bathroom echoed with intertwined breaths and whispered promises.

As the intensity built, you couldn’t help but straddle his lap, your bodies pressing together with an urgency that mirrored the passion between you. Hwa’s lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses. Moans continued escaping your lips as you felt his teeth grazing gently down the side of your neck. You clung to him, lost in the intoxication of the moment.

Your heartbeats all but synchronized as his lips found their way to your collarbone, his whispers of passion mingling with your soft gasps. He pulled back slightly, eyes looking deep into yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in to place gentle kisses on your earlobe, his breath sending a flutter of anticipation through you. “I want you to feel cherished, desired, and free from any doubt about your body,” he whispered finally, his tone laced with sensual liberation.

His hands, like flames against your skin, caressed the small of your back. The room was filled with the harmony of your shared desire, moans and breaths alike embellishing the melody sounding strong.

As sweat dripped down your foreheads, the intensity reached its peak, and with a shared understanding, you both began to ease out of the fervent exchange. Hwa’s lips lingered on yours for a moment, a final note in the passionate composition.

His arms wrapped around you, nestling you within the sweet scent of his aroma, heaving heavily, slowly, as you both took a moment to catch your breath. You could spot the glimpse of a tender smile dancing on his lips. “See, Y/n, you talk too much,” he teased, his eyes alight with affection.

You chuckled finally, feeling a warmth enveloping you. “Maybe I do,” you agreed, “but I think I like it that way.”

Hwa’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he smirked at you playfully. “Well, you better, because I enjoy every word,” he smiled, leaning in to peck you briefly on the lips.

As you both settled into a cuddle, an air of contentment permeated within your space. Hwa’s fingers traced soothing patterns on your back as he spoke. “You know…I think we should have a date tomorrow. I want to take you out. Just the two of us.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the idea. “A date, huh? Where are we going?”

Hwa’s playful grin widened. “Somewhere nice, but you better promise me you won’t just order a small appetizer. I want you to enjoy the food, Y/n.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Alright, alright. No small appetizers. Got it. But you’ll have to deal with me talking your ear off about how delicious everything is.”

Hwa leaned in, stealing another quick kiss. “I can’t wait. And besides, I enjoy every word, remember?”

The banter continued as you both playfully argued about your plans. Hwa grinned mischievously, glad that you were cutting loose for a change and genuinely enjoying yourself now. “And promise me, no salads as the main course. We’re going for the good stuff if this is a date.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse me? Salads are healthy and delicious.”

He chuckled. “Healthy? Yes. Delicious? Debatable. We’re going for flavor explosions, Y/n, not the world’s best landscape on a plate.”

You countered with a smirk. “Okay, first of all, tabbouleh is to die for. And maybe I like my explosions with a side of greens.”

Hwa pretended to gasp, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “You’re breaking my heart. And here I thought we had a connection.”

You burst into laughter, eyes watering within seconds. “Oh, we have a connection, alright, but my connection with tasty salads might just outdo it this time.”

He pouted. “Fine, have it your way. But if that’s how it’s gonna be, I’m ordering the biggest, heartiest dish on the menu just to torture you.”

You grinned. “Challenge dutifully accepted. I’ll enjoy my dish while you tackle your food mountain. We’ll see who’s satisfied in the end.”

Hwa leaned in, whispering. “Well, just so you know, if you end up trying a bite of mine, you might never go back to salads again.”

You smirked at him. “We’ll see about that. You can’t deprive me of my greens forever, you know.” You pretended to think hard for a moment. “I know, I’ll revolt! I’ll revolt and you won’t know what’s coming to —”

He pressed his lips against yours in a sudden, actually sweet kiss. When he finally pulled back, he was grinning slyly from ear to ear.

“You were saying?” he teased.

You snorted. “Well, I was going to say that no matter how tempting your ‘food mountain’ may be, my love for salads will endure. Just like my love for you, even if you try to sabotage it with impeccably irresistible dishes.”

He tried and failed to suppress another laugh. “You talk too much.” You grinned in satisfaction.

“Maybe I do, but you love it.”

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sspd1rtythoughts · 3 months

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Little Slut stuck in a wall (yet again)

You liked that night so much you get stuck in another wall on purpose

Continuation of this post

CW: free use, kabeshiri (stuck in wall), head, degrading (slut, whore, fuck toy), anal, recording and posting, public humiliation

After being stuck in the wall that night you couldn't think about anything else properly anymore. Being stuck like that and being used by complete strangers did something to you and your poor little brain.

You craved being used again, being on display, defenseless, having dick after dick pump in and out of you, feel the amount of cum run down your legs. You were basically a glory hole for anyone to use.

You crave it so much you can't get off normally anymore.

But you know you couldn't use the same hole again. You tried, returning to it, you can get out of it without a hassle now. That's boring. You want to feel trapped, at the mercy of whoever is fucking you. You don't want to be able to get out and run, you want to be stuck in place and be forced to take whatever they do to you.

You gave up on hope of that night ever repeating.

Until one night you stumble across another hole. Seeing it instantly has you getting wet, approaching it. You look at it and you're sure that if you try to get through you'll get stuck. How perfect...

With a sharpie you write in big capital letters on the wall: "FREE TO USE".

You are about to go through, purposefully getting stuck when you pause, why should a slut like you get to wear clothes? So you undress completely, not like you were wearing much. Since that lovely night you've stopped wearing panties and bras altogether.

Once you're completely naked you finally press your upper body through the hole and as you thought you get stuck.

In fact you're sure you're stuck even tighter than last time, ass and cunt once again hanging out on one side while your upper half is out on the other.

You can't help but sigh at the feeling, it's like you're addicted. Addicted to being used.

And it doesn't take long until you feel someone's cock pound into your tight little pussy hard and rough. Over and over you're used yet again, even more than last time since the wall isn't budging in the slightest. You can't get out and you live every second of it.

You're spanked, fucked, teased. Men even start using your mouth, grabbing fistfuls of your hair, cumming down your throat, on your face, your tits. They make you lick them clean before leaving.

Oftentimes you're used from both sides, both your mouth and cunt filled by two strangers, many of them drunk. One of them even shoves the neck of a beer bottle up your cunt, leaving it there until the next person comes to use you.

Your ass is red, strangers cum flowing down your thighs and the curve of your breasts.

At some point you hear a conversation behind the wall, to fucked stupid to properly register it. It seems to be a couple.

"Are you sure about this babe? You'll let me?" You hear a raspy male voice.

"Of course baby. It's not like you're cheating on me by using a fuck toy." A woman's voice, smooth and melodic. She slaps your ass hard to underline her point, making you let out a pathetic mewl.

"Besides...it's not like you'll be fucking her pussy."

That's all the warning you get until you feel the head of someone's dick positioning itself by your ass. You have little time to react before he starts pressing in, groaning.

You gasp, it stings and hurts slightly but it feels so good. You've never had your ass used, never been fucked.

He pushes in completely, halting for a moment. You can feel him shaking as he pulls out almost all the way before slamming back in making you cry out. He thrusts into you, his speed increasing with each movement, his pants coming out more frequently.

You see the woman come to the other side of the wall but you're too fucked out to care until she grabs your face roughly by the jaw, making you look up.

Your eyes meet with the camera lense of her phone. She's been recording the whole thing.

"Look at you, you brainless whore." She taunts as she captures everything.

"I'm gonna to post this and let everyone see what a slut you are. How you're just a fuck toy." She giggles before making her way back just in time to record her partner spill his load into your ass.

You can't help but think about what she said, everyone will see how easy you are, how you're just a toy to be used. You shiver, it's exactly what you want. Maybe strangers will come up to you in the streets, on the bus.

Bend you over and use you right then and there because they feel like it.

The man pulls out, leaving you dripping as he leaves with his girl. She's giggling while showing him her recording. "Look at her dumb expression, she took so much dick she's been fucked stupid."

You're left there for the next person to use, the wall still trapping you in place. Lovely.

That little video of hers will send many more guys your way, that you're sure off.

It's not long until you feel someone else line their dick up with your pussy, simultaneously shoving their fingers into your ass.

#dumb slvt #fr33use #free use kink #free use slvt #free use toy #good slvt #stupid slvt #fr33use slvt #free use k1nk #use me pls #use my pussy #cnc free use #slvt #degrading k1nk #degrade and humiliate me #degredation kink #humiliation kink #sspstories

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tansyuduri · 4 months

Text

Merlin Loregasm Rewatch S1E8

Hi Everyone! Welcome to my rewatch of Merlin focusing on the lore. I am a giant nerd so pretty excited about this. We’re on THE BEGINING OF THE END

So Mordred and his possible father come to Camalot for suplies. Okay the only reason for a druid to come to Camelot for supplies is that it cannot be found anywhere else. The man he talks to looks to be a Spice and Herb Merchant. If it was an herb that just grows only in Camalot you would think the druids would find them themselves. This argues it's an herb of spice that is NOT native to Albion. JUDGING from this we can say Camalot likely has a very impressive trade network going.

If we go out on a limb we can say its likely actually more impressive than it's neighbors. Because why not just get it from another kingdom otherwise? I'm going out on a limb because if they needed it urgently enough they might have no choice but to use camalot.

So the guy snitched on them to the guards or the guards found out he was selling to druids and made him play along. If its the first it's not the only time we see common people seeming to agree with Uther and the no magic ban. I think this hints as I mentioned in the first one of these that magic was used for more "Bad" things then just Arthur's birth around that time. I think this has really intersting implications on magic returning to Camelot that we see in a lot of fics because there likley would be People VERY against that ruling. and not just nobles. Though I'm sure minds could change.

So I've been starting to notice that people tend to use a lot of different hand gestures for magic. (I think sometimes people use none at all will keep an eye on that) But I just think it's intersting. It doesnt always have to be the full hand out merlin tends to use. I keep wondering if the choices mean anything. Are hand gestures nessasary? Is it just what the sorcer feels like and Merlin is all Go big or go home with it?

Same dude different hand gesture. I think its whatever you vibe with.

Arthur: The druids are a peaceful people

Uther: they preach peace but conspire against me

Okay but is there a druid conspiracy? We know by season 5 some of them had turned violent. But was that because Arthur didn't immediately bring back magic? Or was there a sect from the beginning?

Yet Arthur talks about them being a peaceful people. Is this just commonly held knowlage? WHERE did he learn that from. Not from Uther by the looks of it. OMG DID HE LEARN IT THAT TIME HE RAIDED THAT CAMP AND THEY DIDN'T FIGHT BACK OR SOMTHING? Or did he learn it from someone else. Gaius perhaps? Also lets talk a bit about druids Historically. Druids were high ranking members of a Celtic priestly class

They served many purposes from being In charge of legal proceedings, to being religious leaders, To being healers, to Advise in politics, to keeping lore. to divination. Only we don't really know what lore. See druids while thought to be litterate did not write anything down, Its thought their doctrine forbade it. So they likley had a strong Oral history but most of what we know actually comes from the romans and the greeks. They are first mentioned in writing in the 4th centery BCE by jullious ceser. byt the second century BCE they were pretty much whiped out (Thanks rome) However there are mentions of them in tales throughout the middle ages. Druid Lore according to ceaser was make up of a huge number of memorized verses and it could take up to 20 years to learn. Because this was Oral it was pretty much lost when they got wiped out (Thanks again rome.) So the druids passing down the Prophasy of Merlin and Arthur fits their MO they are also said to be exampt from military service so so does being a peaceful people. However from what is recorded they were again more a priestly class then a specific people. While it is mentioned later that druids looked for people with magic skills to train they are refered to as a "people" not a class. HOWEVER Again everything we know about them comes from the assholes who wiped them out (Thanks rome) so who even knows how accurate some of it is.

Okay so the Triskel symbol I get. It could represent earth water and fire, or the tripple godess. BUT WHAT IS THAT AMULET I think it might just be a very weird variation on the symbol for Yule.

Maybye. Perhaps. Possibly. The only other thing I could find is The Axe of Perun. Slavic God of Lightning. what is known a "hatchet amulet" And yeah I don't think its that. It could also mean nothing at all, but for this rewatch we are refusing to go down that road.

Dad has one too... I think it must mean something special to the family or group of druids Mordred is a part of. And likley something to do with yule.

Mordad: (Yes we are calling him that) You have let your fear of magic turn to hate. I pitty you.

Is he refering to the purge? Or was Uther always afraid of magic? We know he welcomed Nimue. But was that only for using her for the make Arthur ritual? I gotta wonder. And evaluate my headcannon about Nimue being court sorcerer. I think there are references to her I frinds with Uther. I'll keep an eye out.

Merlin: Do you know much about the druids

Gaius: very little, They're a very secretive people, especially now that they're being hunted by Uther. Just wanted to point out the reference to them being a "people" And how this is possibly another reference to their Oral tradition. Gaius would not have been able to read much about them in books.

Merlin: I heard the boy calling out He was nowhere to be seen, But I could hear him like he was inside my mind.

Gaius: Yes I've heard of this ability.The druids look for children with such gifts to serve as apprentices.

So there is a training system with apprentices, and it's not all families, I wonder how many people if any are born into being a druid. If the children are adopted, and how they get the children. "Your kid has magic bro, send them with me? Perhaps it was viewed as a great honnor in the old religion?"

Heather has a lot of uses herbally so it makes sence Gaius might need a lot of it. It can treat Arthritis, inflammation of the joints and muscles, kidney stones, inflammation of the kidney and bladder, Some eye diseases, Bronchitis, diarrhea, high blood pressure, Even Anxiety or sleep disorders. It's possible he even uses this as part of Morgana's treatment.

So this is a white paste he uses to treat Mordred's infection, I can only guess that it's mostly made up of mashed garlic. (possably baking soda) Which would in fact treat infection, However, its said later this was not useful. He must have put something else in it that was wrong. Or its made up of somthing else.

Emrys does in fact mean Immortal in Welsh and in the original wealth legends Merlinw as known as Myrddin Emrys The greek version is "Ambrose"

Merlin: how does the boy know who I am. I've never even met any druids

Great Dragon: There is much written about you that you have yet to read

Wait so do the druids in merlin actually write things down? Perhaps they write down some things but not central doctrine. Killy mentions this in response to Merlin's question so it kind of implies the druids wrote things down. HOWEVER these things must not be for general people to see because only certain magical beings and the druids refer to him as Emrys. ALSO how does Mordred know he is the Emrys. Do the writings actually describe him? Is it because he mind talked and is near Arthur? I expect its a bit of both. It cannot be because magic since Morgana has that too.

This is a good point. It it the seer in her showing her though instinct? That's my theory. I mean we know Arthur and Merlin have a mental connection that is used twice, but it seems different.

Okay lets talk about this. We know Uther conqurred the kingdom when he was around Arthur's age in season 3. So early 20s. But Anarchy? Thats big. That means government did not exist or had no control over the people. WE know There were earlier kings of Camelot than Uther. (Bruta who we will talk about eventually) So what would have led to Anacarchy?

My guess would be a succession crisis happened. Small lords who had a blood claim were so busy fighting each other that no actual governing happened, As they fought borders changed and so what might be law in one land could then be different in a day. None of them were undisputed leader so there was no leader.

Now often historically when this happens a kingdom would split and become a lot of smaller kingdoms. However, we know Camalot is pretty big. My guess? Uther was one of the possible claimants or a blood relative so distant that no one took him seriously he then defeated all the other claimants and conquered the kingdom. This is a pretty impressive feat.

Now he likely would want to legitimize his claim (As many new rulers try by having a child or themselves marry someone who will help or give status) and that might be why he married Ygraine du bois. The Du Bois family is ancient in France. and can be traced back at least as far as the 9th century (More on them in later posts) Anyhow this is just my speculation based on what I know of history and such.

The implications of Arthur knowing how to send word to the druid people are huge. HOW does he know to do this? Did he know of a former druid living in Camelot? I can't think he actively has communications open with them. My guess is this: Arthur knows of some merchants that do trade with the druids, He found out about it somehow, but did not tell his father. Thus he could use them to make sure a message reached the druid people.

#merlin loregasm rewatch #merlin meta #merlin lore #bbc merlin #merlin lore rewatch #merlin bbc

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cuubism · 2 years

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I don’t even know if you accept writing prompts, but just *Imagine* this

Dream, has no fuckin idea how Hobs immortality works

His sister just said “you could find out” and gave no other word other than the IMPLICATION that hob is immortal, so aside from knowledge that hob has been withheld from her gift, dream doesn’t know how the whole immortality thing works for hob

Meaning the first time Dream sees Hob DIE

I feel like he’s in for a ride

I always pictured Hobs immortality as a Deadpool kinda thing. He does TECHNICALLY die from whatever killed him, but he pops back as soon as his body heals. Not a fun experience, definitely some trauma involved (being drowned as a being that doesn’t die permanently seems ROUGH) but all in all Hob can walk away from everything pretty alright.

Now if Dream DOESN’T KNOW THAT. If he thinks hob is simply un killable, that could lead to a WORLD of delicious Temporary or Presumed death angst.

*looks at the ancient unfilled prompts lingering in my inbox from years ago* of course i take prompts what do you take me for! :D 😂 i love them, i don't always manage to write them

in retrospect 'you could find out' is QUITE mysterious and ominous, thanks Death.

yeah i usually imagine Hob's immortality working like it does in The Old Guard, where he basically does die but he comes back after a few minutes. i'm still undecided on whether he heals faster than normal, like, for plot purposes it's easier if he does, but there's something compelling also in the idea of hob having to struggle through the same long healing process as other people, just with the certainty that he will heal. i also always ask myself, can hob be permanently injured? like, if he lost an arm, would it... grow back? i don't know the answer to that. i like the idea of him being able to have scars for Symbolism, but him not having scars is also compelling, like, having no real record of anything that's happened.

drowning would... suck, especially as it probably took him ages to break free of his restraints so he probably drowned over and over and over...

dream seems to get in the 1789 scene that hob couldn't be killed by being attacked. but i feel like... like Death is not the only powerful force in the universe and she isn't all powerful. i could see dream being worried about hob being like, destroyed in some other way? like his... Being being destroyed? i don't think there's any being or creature in the story's universe that can't be killed in some way, even Dream can be killed - or, I guess, Morpheus can, is more accurate. so the fear could still be there. either way, seeing hob die would still be a hell of a shock, even knowing it's temporary.

i actually wrote something really similar to this in an as-yet-unfinished fic so i think instead of starting another wip (i have soo many ack) i will just share that scene

[ preface - there was a whole Fight and the Corinthian cut Hob across the throat (rip) and then Bounced because Dream was kind of, well, distracted ]

When Hob woke, Dream’s hands were around his throat.

Pressing, holding. Trying to keep him together.

And he was… just absolutely drenched in blood. It lay slick on his hands, smeared up his wrists, soaked in blacker patches on his black shirt and coat, he’d even managed to get a few droplets on his face. Dear God. Hob had almost forgotten how much blood could come out of a human body. It had, fortunately, been quite a while since he’d had to watch somebody exsanguinate.

Their gazes met. Hob’s bleary, Dream’s swirling with colliding galaxies.

“See?” said a voice out of Hob’s eyeline. “I told you he’d come back.”

Hob craned his neck carefully to see. A woman was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, apparently unconcerned by the scene of theatrical death and carnage playing out before her.

“Dream,” she repeated, when Dream didn’t move. “I told you. Let the man breathe.”

For all that her words were spoken lightly, there was a note of concern underneath them. Hob didn’t think it was directed at him, though, even if he had been to one to get his artery sliced open. The woman’s gaze kept flickering over to Dream.

“I had to be certain,” Dream ground out. His voice rumbled against Hob’s ruined throat.

“You don’t trust my word?”

“I had to be certain,” he repeated.

Hob wrapped a careful hand around his blood-soaked wrist, squeezing until Dream looked at him again, and rasped, “Hey. Can’t die, remember?”

Then his chest spasmed and he coughed up a truly horrific amount of blood. Dream released him, with some reluctance, allowing him to turn on his side, and Hob coughed until his throat was clear.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and spat one last clot of blood onto the absolutely destroyed living room rug. “Goddamn. That was a new one.”

“See?” said the woman, gesturing at Hob. “He even has a good attitude about it!”

Dream did not seem comforted by this. His hand fell to rest on Hob’s shoulder and gripped tight.

“Oh, I’m Death, by the way,” said the woman, catching Hob staring at her and waving at him. “Hey.”

“Um,” said Hob.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Death hastened to reassure him. “I’m not here for you. Or, I mean, I kind of am, but not to collect your soul, just because my brother here is a worry wart.”

Hob looked back and forth between them. “You… were worried Death would take me… so you… called her here?” he asked Dream incredulously.

Death sighed. “Not always the brightest bulb.”

Dream watched him intensely. “I needed to be sure she would not.”

“Dream, I told you—”

“I had never… seen you die before.” He held Hob’s gaze, but his expression wobbled into something close to fear. “It was… challenging.”

Hob supposed that knowing, abstractly, that your friend couldn’t die didn’t hold much water when seeing your friend die.

“Oh, Dream,” he murmured. Dream only looked more pained when Hob said his name. Hob found his wrist again and squeezed it. “Hey, it’s alright, yeah?”

Dream swallowed, a very human, nervous thing. “Evidently.”

“Come on, let him up,” said Death, and helped Dream haul Hob up to his feet. They dragged him over to the couch, where Hob sat, hand pressed to his still-aching neck. What a strange moment this made, he reflected. Two Endless, one covered in blood, dragging a half-dead human across the living room. Hob was going to have to give up on his life making a lick of sense anymore.

Dream’s fingers flexed, still slick with Hob’s blood. He wavered on his feet, then said, “I should— the blood,” and disappeared in the direction of the washroom at a rapid pace.

“Can’t he just—” Hob waved his hands in a gesture he hoped conveyed change his clothes magically.

“Could,” Death agreed, perching on the arm of the couch. “But he’s feeling an emotion so I think he needs a minute.”

“Ah.” Dream’s stricken expression hovered in Hob’s mind. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like seeing that forced split in his friend’s composure at all.

“You’re good for him, Hob,” continued Death.

“Because… I got my throat cut and kind of almost died and upset him?” Hob said, expecting her to correct him.

“Yup!” Death agreed cheerily. Her eyes lingered on the hallway that led to the washroom. “Among other things.”

As if any of that was reasonable. Hob leaned against the back of the couch, rubbing his eyes. “You all are so cryptic.”

Death laughed, but didn’t elaborate on what she’d said any further.

Hob lingered on it, though. You made him upset. Hob hadn’t seen Dream upset before, not like that.

Did he ever get upset like that? Or, rather, did he let himself?

Hob quickly found himself also watching the hallway for Dream’s return. He half-wondered if he’d just bolted back to the Dreaming, or maybe gone after the Corinthian, if he’d escaped after Hob had… died.

When he didn’t return for several minutes, Death let out a long breath and got up to go after him.

Now alone on the couch, Hob clenched his fingers in the fabric of his pants, gritting his teeth as a shiver of shock ran through him. Sort-of-dying sucked, but often, Hob had found that the aftermath was worse – human bodies were meant to either die or live, not land somewhere in between, and each time he’d recovered from situations he should have died in, he’d faced a sort of belated panic response, fight-or-flight kicking in with no danger present.

He stood jerkily, stumbling to his bedroom, where he stripped off his absolutely ruined shirt – he was going to have to burn that, he’d look like a serial killer throwing it away – and jeans, and scrubbed off the blood as best he could with a spare towel considering Dream was still hogging the washroom.

He’d just gotten on a clean pair of jeans and was reaching for a shirt when the door clicked open. Dream stepped in, so quiet he was less person and more shadow. Gone were his long coat, and his boots. His black skinny jeans and long sleeve shirt were functionally identical to what he’d been wearing before, but Hob had a feeling the actual blood-soaked ones from before had been destroyed – if they’d ever existed outside of dreams in the first place.

He stepped quietly, barefoot, over to Hob, and Hob looked up and down at this change in attire. “Planning to stay awhile, love?” he asked, a weak attempt at levity.

Dream stopped before him. His eyes were deep and very dark. “You are shaking.”

Hob chuckled self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, turns out that sort-of-almost-dying is a bit of a shock to the system. It’ll pass, though.”

“It will pass,” Dream echoed, expression unreadable.

“Has before,” Hob said, tension prickling up his spine at the utter stillness of him now. And not the relaxed stillness that Hob had become accustomed to when they sat and drank together at the inn. No, this was the stillness of water about to overflow. Surface tension.

“Before,” Dream repeated, again.

Hob smiled weakly at him. “Promise.”

Dream’s night sky gaze flicked over his face. His shoulders were even narrower without his coat, and the lack of structured fabric made him look softer, human, normal.

But Hob’s friend, his love, his stranger had never felt less normal. He moved in like the approach of nighttime, hovering clouds and darkness and rain, a blanket pulled over one’s head that might cocoon or suffocate.

Hob would have accepted either.

Dream caught him by the jaw with fingers soft as lamplight, murmured, “Promise,” and kissed him.

#this fic is getting long af but one day it'll be done i suppose #ask #aroace-get-out-of-my-face #my writing #dreamling

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meraki-yao · 5 months

Text

RWRB Thoughts: The Deadline Contender Panel

Quick list of very direct, subjective, random and spontaneous thoughts I had while listening/watching the panel:

I absolutely understand that Taylor probably doesn't remember every detail of the movie off the top of his head, especially with nerves, but Sweetheart really didn't describe the played DNC scene correctly😅

That being said Taylor calling Henry Alex's boyfriend made me SO FUCKING HAPPY???? I was squealing and kicking my legs because of all the feels. On top of that, intentional or not, Taylor takes a breath so it goes "wanted to bring his... boyfriend!" and there's this subtle emphasis on the word, I am screaming

I do question why this scene though? I don't know much about this whole process, but just an educated guess, if we're trying to get an emmy nom via this panel, shouldn't we be showing a scene that's more representative of the movie's core? Like, say the New Year's scene, or Kensington Palace, or the Lake scene. If we have to include the comedy aspect, then show the freaking Red Room. I love this scene of course, but if the purpose is to nominate ourselves and show ourselves then I feel like another scene should have been picked

Why can't people freaking pronounce Nick's surname correctly? It's phonic! Ga - Lit- Zine

"Orange Guy was still president" I snorted

I heard there's stupid discourse over this minor, harmless thing, but because people are stupid, here to clarify "especially Taylor since he's here" is CLEARLY A JOKE BETWEEN FRIENDS and if you didn't pick that up then that's kind of sad :P

I'm wondering if there's still recordings of the zoom auditions/chem read. I can also imagine zoom chem read being much harder. Honestly I think zoom auditions only work with monologues.

He did the chem read in his sister's apartment lmao

THEIR CHEM READ WAS KENXINGTON????!!! WHAT THE FUCK???!!! THE MOMENT THAT MADE MATTHEW GO "there's the one" WAS THIS FREAKING SCENE??? This also implies they had to say "I love you" upon the first time meeting each other oh my god I wanna see that so bad

Also I cannot freaking imagine this intense of a scene via zoom, God I really want to see it (don't think we'll ever get it but still)

Someone ask Matthew or Nick what the other scene in the chem read is

The notebook, pride and prejudice and 10 things i hate about you mention made me happy :D

The speech thing... Kinda feel like should be a Matthew question? It's cool to hear that Taylor referenced President Obama but this is still ultimately him being Alex? Plus Taylor's a great public speaker to begin with

Did he dabble in political science? Did he ever mention that? I know he did Spanish and Community but political science?

I think the only really bad gay movie in recent years was Bros and that has a myriad of issues internally and externally, but I think it's just this one?

Why is TikTok the metric? Might write something longer in the future when I have time but the thing is with this

Speaking of Taylor and queer roles, I think I saw somewhere that Noah Torres was bi?

I talked to @pippin-katz about this but dear God, I have heard the question "What is your favourite scene" being asked to the boys at least three times now, and they always answer the cake scene. Why don't they ever expand on the question, especially since Taylor affed the Kensington scene this time, and why don't they ever ask other questions or ask about specifics? Between me and my friends, we came up with at least 40 questions that could be asked to the boys and haven't been asked yet.

Nick how the fuck did cream stay in/ behind your ear for two days and Taylor how did you spot it

I'm honestly getting really tired of the sequel question, it's always phrased the same way, and of course, the answer is gonna be the same. Even if they knew, they contractually can't tell us, the first announcement of a sequel will have to come from a bigger source like Amazon themselves.

I understand being nervous but this interviewer felt too timid and unsure of herself

Overall still very enjoyable, always more than happy to hear Taylor speak about his baby that we all love, but the question are so freaking repetitive. I said it clearer in my discussion with Pippin so here's a screenshot of that part

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry hanover stuart fox #firstprince #my rwrb list #rwrb rambles #deadline contenders

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galexystern · 1 year

Text

number one fan - 18+

pairing; steve harrington/eddie munson/fem!reader aka steddie/fem!reader

rating; E

warnings; smut (MDNI), like lots of smut, unprotected p in v, double teamed, creampie, dirty talk, filthy dirty talk, light degradation, pwp, this is mostly smut with some fluff

word count; 5.5k

desc; it was never a competition.

a/n; this is basically a variation of my previous work come together (over me), i'm not sure where all this smut is coming from. but enjoy!

masterlist

Eddie notices you while he's onstage.

It's not because of your appearance or features—though you are absolutely gorgeous. It's also not due to your dancing, which is a little sexy, a little goofy, a lot fun. No, you catch his eye because you are singing along with him to the last chorus of their newest song. Corroded Coffin has only played it at a couple shows so far, and most of the crowd are rightly just nodding along pleasantly. But you, you are almost performing the words, like you know them so innately you don't have to focus.

He'd be lying if he didn't find it extremely hot.

He's moving on autopilot, so distracted by you, that he almost misses his cue to finish their set. "Thank you guys!" He rushes out. "We're Corroded Coffin!" He turns around so he and the band can hit their last few measures and ending beat together. As the note reverberates out, he spins back to the mic and adds, "We have records for sale up here also, come see one of us to buy!"

The crowd cheers and starts to disperse. Eddie lets Gareth and Jeff keep an eye out for customers and wipes his face with a nearby towel. But then he hears a perky "Hi!" and drops it to see you standing in front of the stage. He speeds toward his band members and sticks his face between them.

"Hi there," he says cheekily, and when you look up at him, you beam.

"Oh my gosh, hi," you gush. "I was just telling Jeff and Gareth that your set was so great. I love that new song."

Eddie pushes his friends' shoulders, implying that he's got this one. They grumble but leave anyway. He sits on the stage's edge and gives you a grin. "Yeah?" You nod. "I could tell. Caught you singing along at the end."

You blush. "Well, it's very catchy."

"Thanks, angel." You duck your head. "Now what can I do for you?"

"Can I buy a record?" You ask shyly.

"Course you can." Eddie grabs one from the stack while you smooth out some money from your pocket. "Five dollars, sweetheart." You hand it to him and he takes it, purposely running his fingers across your palm. He studies you at the same time and thrills when you go redder. But he doesn't hand you the vinyl yet. "You want me to sign it? Free of charge."

"Sure," you say excitedly. Eddie grabs a marker from his pocket and scrawls his autograph on the cover. Then he gives it to you, smiling as you clutch it in your arms. "Thanks!"

"Anytime, princess." With that, you give him an adorable wave and walk away, disappearing into the crowd. Eddie instantly slides off the stage and makes a beeline for the back. He weaves through the people until he reaches Steve, working the camera. "Holy shit," he says.

"What?" Steve asks flatly, focused on packing up the supplies.

"I'm in love." Eddie fake-swoons.

Steve snorts. "Yeah, right. Who is it this time?"

"Such a pretty girl. She was dancing to our set and Steve—" he makes his friend look at him, "—she was singing along. To our new song."

"Wow," Steve replies, half-heartedly.

But Eddie doesn't notice. He's too busy dreaming about you. "She came and bought a vinyl. I signed it for her." He says the last sentence with pride.

"You write your number down too?"

Eddie's mouth drops open and then he groans. "That would've been so smooth."

Steve snickers. "This is why I've always had more game than you." Eddie just huffs. His eyes are roaming the bar but he can't see you. He sadly suspects you've left. Steve continues, "What'd she look like?"

"Well..." Eddie trails off as he turns to Steve and spots the camera. "Here," he says excitedly, and lifts up the camera and turns it on. Steve goes to grab for it but Eddie just holds it closer to him and rewinds the tape until he can see you. "Look, that's her."

Steve looks at the screen and squints. He can see...an arm? A hip? A blurry shot of a face? "I can't see anything, dude."

Eddie rolls his eyes and hands back the camera. "Well, next time I'll introduce you."

"You do that," Steve responds with a smirk.

;

Steve meets you on his own instead.

At the Hideout again, he sits at the bar nursing a Tom Collins. Corroded Coffin is nearing the end of their set but Steve's been watching you—you're grooving on a stool near him, practically bouncing out of it. You're clearly feeling the music and it's too cute when you cheer after each song. He wants to talk to you but waits, since people have come up to you during the music and you've brushed them off to pay attention. He's impressed, but also keeps an eye on your drink too.

Finally, as Eddie is thanking the crowd and reminding them they have vinyls for sale, Steve slips out of his seat and makes his way to you. He smiles at how you yell the loudest for the band. When he's close, he says, "Hey."

"Holy shit!" You exclaim and turn around quickly, startled.

Steve laughs unexpectedly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

At the apology, you exhale. Turning sheepish, you reply, "It's okay. I'm sorry. I get spooked easily."

Steve nods. "I couldn't help but notice your dancing. Why didn't you get out on the floor and show it off?"

You eye him, smirk telling him you can see through his pick-up line, but spin towards him anyway. You hold up your leg, showing off a cast around your ankle, covered in signatures. "I would, but alas, I cannot," you say.

"Damn, what happened?" Steve sits on the stool next to yours.

You sigh. "It's embarrassing."

"I won't laugh." At your look, Steve holds up his hands to show he's not crossing his fingers. "Promise."

"Well...I was babysitting my little cousins a few weeks ago and we were playing the floor is lava, you know?" Steve nods. "So we'd taken all the cushions off the couch and chairs and put them on the ground, and we were jumping on them so the lava wouldn't get us." You say this like it's so obvious. It makes Steve smile. "Everything was fine until one cushion was partly on the carpet and partly on the hardwood floor. I leaped for it and it went flying out from under me. Broke my ankle for my trouble."

"That's not embarrassing at all," Steve replies. "You clearly got wounded in battle. You should receive the purple heart for your bravery."

You giggle. "Thank you. Someone finally recognizes my contribution to the war effort."

"I salute you." He actually does too, making his attitude stern so he can give a proper one. "Sucks though."

"Yeah." Your voice goes sad. "I love dancing here. But," you shake your head and brighten, "I will again. This comes off in a few days."

"Nice." Steve gives you a high-five. He lets his fingers slide across yours as he pulls his hand away. Shivers run through him. Remembering Eddie's predicament, he's about to ask for your name when...

"Steve!" Speak of the devil. Eddie's voice comes floating through just seconds before he appears. "It's hopeless. She's not here—" He stops short, both physically and verbally, when he spots you next to Steve.

You take one look at Eddie and then turn to Steve. "You didn't tell me you know the band!"

"I—" Steve stammers as Eddie turns to him with a raised eyebrow and smirk.

"Oh, Steve's our camera guy," Eddie says. "Hello again, angel."

"Hi," you reply, blushing. "Great job tonight."

Eddie grins. "Thanks. Though I missed your dancing."

As you spin around to face him, Steve points down and explains, "Broken ankle." Eddie shoots him a glare.

"Would've if I could've," you add, nodding sadly. "But, like I told Steve, I will dance again."

"Good," Eddie interjects before Steve can. "Starting to think you're our good luck charm. We keep selling out vinyls when you're here."

Both boys love it when you giggle.

Then you look at your watch and sigh. "Sorry, boys, I gotta run," you continue, sounding disappointed. "I'm on duty tomorrow." You look at Steve, who salutes you again.

"Thank you for your service," he says strictly, before laughing with you. Eddie rolls his eyes a little.

"Anyway," turning your attention back to Eddie, "you guys sounded so good tonight. Maybe you'll have another record released soon?" You ask hopefully.

"Actually, we do have some studio time this weekend. So you're in luck," Eddie answers proudly, and grins at your excited gasp. "I'll make sure we have one just for you next time. I'll even get the whole band to sign it." You clap your hands together in happiness. "Sound good?"

"Sounds amazing," you gush. "Thank you."

"Like I said, anytime, princess."

You slip off the stool and hobble around them. "You need help?" Steve asks, concerned. Eddie nods, seconding the question.

You wave them away. "Nope, I got it. Though this is not the 'make them watch you walk away' moment I'd hoped for." You laugh. "Steve, thanks for not laughing. Eddie, amazing show as always. I'll see you." With that, you enter the crowd.

Eddie turns to Steve with a searing look. "'Thank you for your service'?" He mocks.

Steve rolls his eyes. "It's an inside joke. You heard about those? You might've had one with her if you'd gotten there first."

"I did get there first!" Eddie says incredulously.

"And yet, I know more about her," Steve shoots back.

"Oh, and you know so much? What's her name then?" Steve opens his mouth smugly but then closes it a second later. His brow furrows. "You don't know!" Eddie laughs meanly.

"I was gonna ask but you interrupted!"

"Just in time too," Eddie sneers. "Stop you from moving in on my turf."

"She's not turf," Steve says pointedly, "she's a girl. And neither of us own her."

Eddie runs a hand down his face. "Yeah," he sighs. "You're right." He slumps in the stool you'd vacated. "And we still don't know her damn name."

They mourn together over their drinks.

;

Steve and Eddie pointedly not talk about you after, but you're on both of their minds. And then the universe delivers you to them again.

It's an early set on a Saturday—the band had been forced to move up slots because stupid Jeff had his grandmother's 90th birthday party that night. At least, that's what Eddie has been saying while complaining to Steve. Don't old people go to bed early? Why not have an afternoon party?

"I don't know!" Steve finally interrupts. He and Eddie are at the bar of the Hideout again, drinking beer after the set. Eddie grumbles. Both of them have been on edge since they haven't seen you in almost a month. Eddie's worried the vinyl he keeps carrying around is gonna get ruined the longer he has it. Steve's just worried you forgot about them.

They both take a sip at the same time and just about spew it all over the bar when you say from behind them, "Oh, no! Did I miss the set?"

The boys work to swallow and wipe their faces, turning to you. You're standing there, looking beautiful, ankle cast-less. They smile at the sight of you, but your expressions stays upset.

"Sorry, angel," Eddie says, trying not to let his grin go too wide. "We had to go early today."

"Fucker," you mutter, crossing your arms. Steve and Eddie are startled by the swear, but aren't not turned on by it. "How was it?" You ask.

"It was great," Steve answers. Eddie gives him a side-eye. "I got it all on tape. I could show you if you want." Ah.

Your smile makes an appearance. "Really? That'd be great."

"You wanna watch bad tape of my band? That's impressive."

"I don't think Steve can be that bad of a cameraman," you tease and the boys grin. "Plus, I'm a true fan. Can't forget about me when you make it big."

"That'd be impossible," Eddie replies cheekily. You blush. “But who should I be remembering?”

“Oh my gosh, I haven’t given you my name yet!” You wince and introduce yourself properly.

“Well, I’m Steve Harrington and this is Eddie Munson.”

“I knew that one,” you giggle.

"Speaking of making it big," Eddie continues. "I've got your vinyl."

"Yay! Oh, I'm so excited."

"Wanna come and get it?" Eddie asks, pointing to the stage.

"Sure." Eddie jumps off the stool, giving Steve a quick, triumphant glance. Steve narrows his eyes. "Steve, come with us," you urge and both boys look at you in surprise. "You can show me the tape."

Steve stands, shooting Eddie a shit-eating grin, who just rolls his eyes and turns around. He leads the three of you past the stage and into the back hallway. He opens the door to a room and graciously lets you walk in first, fighting with Steve for who goes in after you. They both stumble in as you turn to face them. They could swear they see a small smirk on your face, but then you ask eagerly, "Where is it?"

The boys separate and find their respective material for you. Eddie presents you with the record showily, and you take it reverently, running your fingers over the signed names. Eddie watches you like you're precious, and Steve breaks the moment by opening the camera's deck and taking out the tape. He hands it to you.

"You're letting me take it?" You ask, incredulous.

Steve shrugs. "You can bring it back. It's a long set, don't wanna keep you here."

"Thanks! But I did come here to dance..." You ponder. "Is the band playing tonight any good?"

Eddie scoffs but Steve replies, "Yeah, they're decent."

"Not as good as Corroded Coffin." You give Eddie a smile.

"Obviously," he says haughtily, but grins back.

"You guys wanna..." You toy with the words and the boys know how they feel. "...stay and dance with me? If it's not too much a betrayal of the band."

Eddie sees the teasing in your eyes and smirks. "Let's do it, princess."

"Steve?"

He senses the challenge. "I'm in."

"Great! Can I leave these here and come back for them?" You motion to the record and tape. Steve and Eddie both nod. You smile and set them on a chair before moving towards the door. You look over your shoulder at the boys, who have not moved. "You coming?"

They scramble after you.

This time, you lead them through the bar, weaving through people until you're firmly on the dance floor. The other band has started, and it's a slow, sexy vibe. You move your hips back and forth to the beat, letting your body find the right rhythm. Steve and Eddie just watch you, swaying in time but not doing much else. When you've found the groove, you turn to them.

Whatever they expected you to do, it's not what you actually do. You move towards them, staying in tempo, eventually standing in front of Eddie and flinging an arm around his neck. He's shocked, but regains his composure and puts his hands on the small of your back. Behind you two, Steve deflates and starts to back away, but then you look at him over your shoulder. You have a wicked look as you reach your free arm towards Steve and beckon him to you. He comes, magnetized, and you take his arm to wrap around your waist until his hand is resting on your stomach. You pull both him and Eddie closer until they're plastered to either side of you.

"See," you say lowly, "I know what you two have been doing. Trying to one-up each other, make the other look bad. See who I like more." You sigh and force their hips to move with yours. "Well, I like you both. And why should I have to choose? That'll just make one of you sad and that's no good." Steve gulps when your hand strokes up his arm and around his neck, digging your fingers in his hair. "Instead, how about I get double the happiness, and you can both have me." Eddie has goosebumps from how your breath is brushing across his skin.

He looks up at Steve, who looks at him. It's a fraught moment; they're unsure of what to do. But then you grind your hips in a circle, thrusting into both of them, and their eyes go wide. They nod at each other and then at you.

You laugh darkly, resting your head on Steve's shoulder. "Such good boys," you coo, and they're like putty in your hands. But your face turns to a pout. "But I'm tired of doing all the work. Why don't you two take over and make us all feel good?"

It takes a few seconds to sink in, but then the mood shifts as you wanted. Steve places both hands on your stomach and pulls you tighter against his body, grinding his hardening cock into your ass. Eddie follows and thrusts his crotch against your clothed cunt, hitting your clit so perfectly that you throw your head back. Steve takes the opportunity and leans down to kiss your neck lightly, lips just barely there, a tease that makes you want to whine. You don't have the chance as Eddie captures your mouth with his, licking inside forcefully. You're stuck between them, unable to move besides to the music, and you love it.

"Pretty girl wants to be a pillow princess, huh?" Steve whispers. He punctuates it with a nip to your earlobe and you shudder. You nod at his question. "Ah, ah, ah, baby. Gotta hear you beg for it."

"Yes," you breathe out. "Want you to take me."

Eddie chuckles, breath brushing over your swollen lips. "Oh, we will. We've been thinking about taking you since we each met you."

You moan. "More, wanna hear more."

"Well," Steve says as his hand slowly slides down your stomach and toys with the waistband of your jeans, "I thought about fucking you in the backseat of my car. Fogging up the windows, making it shake." His fingers dip inside your jeans and underwear and play with the hair down there. "I would take you home, but we would be just so desperate for it that we couldn't wait. We have to have each other as soon as possible." His middle finger goes far enough to part your lips and rubs through the wetness pooling. "That sound like a good fantasy, honey? Like something you’d want?"

You nod wildly, eyes fluttering as his finger makes passes but never stopping where you need him most.

"You wanna know what's been getting me off?" Eddie grabs your chin roughly, making you open your eyes and look at him. "Thinking about pulling you onstage during a set and fucking you in front of the crowd. Making you writhe and scream in pleasure, making you cum so many times you lose count. Marking you as mine before everybody, and showing them how I give it to you and how much you fucking love it." Your mouth has dropped open, and Eddie closes it. "How about that, angel? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Oh my god," you groan. "Yes."

Eddie smirks. "Knew we had a slut on our hands, Harrington."

"Acted so innocent but just a fucking whore underneath," Steve adds. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

"Yes, wanna be your slut." Steve's finger is pressing harder and you push into it. "Please fuck me."

"We can do that, princess. We can do it nice and hard." Eddie kisses you again, swallowing your moan. When he breaks away, he looks at Steve. "Get some water. I'm gonna take her back."

You whimper at the loss of Steve's finger, and he kisses your temple. "Go with Eddie, baby. I'll be right there."

He unsticks himself from your back, forcing you to lean forward into Eddie, who catches and holds you up easily. "Breathe, angel. Get your footing back." You close your eyes and focus on your breaths, sucking air in and holding it to slow down your heartbeat. With time, you can stand on your own and take your weight off of Eddie. "You can walk?" He confirms and you nod. He takes your hand and leads you back to the room from before; your steps are firm and sure. He takes you to the couch and has you sit, which you do gently, in control.

Steve appears and closes and locks the door behind him. "Fantasies are great, but we don't want anyone walking in on us, do we?" He asks as he walks over and gives you the water. You shake your head as you drink it greedily. It clears your head. You give the mostly-empty glass back to Steve, who sets it on a nearby table. "Alright now?"

"Yeah," you reply.

"Still want this?" Eddie asks.

"Fuck yeah."

Both boys grin darkly. "Now, what should we do with her?" Steve ponders to Eddie. Your thighs clench together at the third person tense. "Should we make her suck us both off?"

"Maybe we should take her from behind?" Eddie joins in.

"We could edge her until she screams for release."

"Or spank and punish her for being such a whore?"

With every new idea, you sink further into the couch, dripping with arousal. You wouldn't be surprised if it's on the cushion by now.

"I think one of us could fuck her while she sucks the other off."

"Maybe we'll have her take us both at the same time."

"Should we cum inside her or soak her with it?"

You finally whine. Steve and Eddie look at you with smirks and raised brows. "Please."

"What sounded good to you, baby?"

"Any of it, all of it. Just please fucking touch me."

Steve crowds in close, looming over you. "You wanna be touched, sweetheart? Gotta tell us where."

Instead, you crash your lips onto his. He'd been talking but you hadn't heard a word, too focused on his soft, delectable-looking mouth to listen. He growls and holds your head in his hands, tongue diving in and taking control. You give it back just as hard and tangle your fingers in his hair, loving the silkiness on your skin. Eventually you both need air and Steve nips your bottom lip before leaning back. "Not exactly what I asked," he says, both of you panting hard.

"You weren't complaining," Eddie points out smugly.

"Why would I?" Steve runs a thumb across your lips and you try to catch it between your teeth. "Pretty mouth is like a drug."

"Hear that, princess? Sounds like you got us addicted." Eddie sits on the couch next to you. You give him bedroom eyes and he chuckles meanly.

Steve rubs his hands up your thighs a few times, getting closer to your cunt each time but never quite making it there. "Still want us to touch you, baby?" You nod pathetically. "Let's get you out of these clothes then."

And then Eddie is lifting your shirt and Steve is unbuttoning your jeans. They both pull the pieces off and toss them into the room. You feel a little vulnerable as their eyes rove over you, but it's all lust and desire in their gazes. Without saying anything, they go for your undergarments. Eddie surprises you by popping open your bra with just two fingers, and he gives you a cocky smirk when you glance at him. He pulls it off as Steve hooks his index fingers in your underwear's waistband and starts to tug. He takes them off slowly, looking almost reverent as your soaked pussy is revealed.

"So pretty, angel," Eddie murmurs as he brushes fingertips across your hard nipples, making your skin goosebump. Steve can only nod in agreement when he finally gets your underwear untangled from your feet and drops it next to him. "Whose cock do you want first?"

All you can do is shrug under their stares.

He eyes Steve, who smiles benevolently. "How about Eddie here fucks you dumb first, and then I'll give you the big finale."

You nod enthusiastically, making them both snicker. "Seems like she's already gone dumb," Eddie teases.

You pout. "I don't think so."

They raise their eyebrows. "Full sentences, look at you go," Steve mocks. "Let's see if we can change that." He steps back as Eddie leans over you to grab your hips tightly. He then swings you onto his lap, clothed cock settling against your clit so perfectly that you whine. He cuts it off by kissing you and you reciprocate eagerly. You tug at the bottom of his shirt and he parts only to pull it over his head and throw it away, lips reclaiming yours immediately after. Your hands roam the newly revealed skin, hungrily grinding against his crotch.

"Can you kneel for me, baby?" Eddie asks breathlessly and you nod, sitting up on your knees. He quickly unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pushing them down with his boxers and kicking them away. His large cock slaps against his stomach once freed and you moan at the sight. He takes a hand and starts stroking it and you gape at the pre-cum he uses to lubricate it. "You ready for me?" There's a thread of concern in his voice.

But you nod frantically, so he holds it straight and you line it up. You throw your head back as his cock pushes inside. Eddie clutches your hips, making your pace slow and stopping with every inch to let you adjust. The stretch is a little painful but a lot delicious, and you both groan when he bottoms out.

You feel the couch dip next to you and lazily turn your head to see Steve sitting in your previous spot, naked as well and stroking his own cock slowly. It's a beautiful sight. "Feel good, honey?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Fuck yes," you breathe out, voice raising to a yell when Eddie lifts you up and pulls you back down sharply. He goes deeper this time, splitting you further, and it feels amazing. "Oh my god." Each word is punctuated by a thrust, Eddie starting a hard and fast rhythm.

"Knew you'd feel so fucking amazing, angel," Eddie pants out, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to leave bruises and your eyes roll up at the thought. "God, you look so good riding me."

"Love your cock," you moan. "Feels so good."

"Can't wait to make all our fantasies come true." Eddie continues to destroy you in so many ways. "Gonna fuck you every which way and then some."

You whimper. "Yes, please."

Your cunt is clenching and you're going slack in Eddie's grip. Steve can tell. "You gonna cum, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over Eddie's nice, hard cock while he's fucking you so well?"

"Yes," you hiss as Eddie speeds up your movements. "Wanna cum."

"Come on, baby," Eddie pleads. "Let go on my cock."

It only takes a few more thrusts before you're doing as you're told, keening at the devastating orgasm hitting you. Eddie practically holds you up as you buck against him, cunt pulsing around his cock and making him groan. "Fuck, your tight pussy is gonna make me cum, angel."

You tighten around his cock even more, enhancing your pleasure, and his head hits the back of the couch hard. "Cum for me," you beg breathlessly. "Want it."

"God, yes. Where do you want it?"

"Inside," you pant.

"Shit," Eddie swears. "I can do that." After a couple more thrusts he's spilling into you, and you groan lowly at the feeling of his cum in you. He slows down your hips to a stop and then gently lifts you off his cock, kissing you to distract from the discomfort. He keeps kissing you sweetly, mouths moving against each other in slow, caressing brushes, coming down from your respective highs.

"That was fucking hot," Steve says softly, and you look over at him to see him gripping his cock tightly. You zero in on it and clench around nothing. Steve notices and strokes it gaudily, making your mouth water at the pre-cum beading out at the tip. His voice turns cocky. "You not satisfied, beautiful? Need another hard dick to satiate that hunger?"

You nod and crawl from Eddie towards him. When you're close enough, Steve leans forward and kisses you, turning it sharp and raw, teeth biting into your lips lightly. "Turn around for me, baby. Lay in front of me." You do as asked and lay across the cushions, facing into the room. Laying your head on the armrest, you feel Steve shift until he's flush against your back. He grips your thigh and lifts your leg, and then your eyes are fluttering at the feeling of his cock rubbing against your pussy.

Without warning, he pushes inside slowly. Where Eddie was wide and girthy, splitting you open like nothing else, Steve is long and lean, and the position lets him hit so deep in you that you moan loudly when he bottoms out.

"You weren't lying, man," Steve groans. "This pussy is better than I ever imagined."

Your moan becomes a wail as he speeds up, hitting so deep, so hard that you see stars. He hooks your leg over the top of the couch and moves his hand from your thigh. You're almost missing his touch when his arm snakes around around your waist and he squeezes your tit tightly. Your jaw drops as he harshly twists your nipple; coupled with his cock, you're falling apart.

"You can't even imagine all the dirty things I wanna do to you and this fucking delicious cunt," Steve whispers, breath across your hot skin making you shudder. "I wanna invent new positions with you two."

"God, please," you keen. "Wanna be your fucktoy."

Steve moans. "Fuck, baby. Gonna make you my little cumslut. Gonna take pictures of you all fucked out. You're such a gorgeous sight when you're being fucked, sweetheart."

You whine, volume increasing whenever Steve's cock thrusts all the way in. Eddie's voice comes floating to you. "Can you touch yourself for me, pretty girl? Wanna see you fall apart."

Your hand automatically goes too your cunt and two fingers start rubbing tiny, fast circles on your clit. It feels so fucking good that you arch back into Steve, who sucks marks onto your neck. "I'm gonna cum!" You gasp, feeling the wave traveling towards you fast.

"Cum for me, honey," Steve demands. "Gotta feel you cum on my cock."

You wail as your orgasm crashes over you, making your body tense and jerk in Steve's grasp. His cock still hitting inside you extends the pleasure, making you throb with continuous waves. As you tighten around him, Steve cums as well, biting your skin sharply as he paints inside you, soothing with his tongue while slowing down his thrusts. You groan at the sting, one last burst of bliss before you're coming down from the high.

You two pant together, and then Steve is lightly pulling out of you, kissing your temple to subdue the feeling. Then Eddie is in front of you, gently wiping your pussy with a towel. You eye him.

"It's clean, I promise," he reassures with a chuckle. Satisfied, you let him continue, regaining your strength. When you find it, you slowly sit up, stretching your limbs and leaning forward so Steve can get out from behind you. Eddie tosses him the towel, and he cleans himself off too. You sink back into the couch and the boys mirror you on either side.

"Can we see you again?" Eddie asks hopefully.

You snort. "You better. You made a lot of promises you gotta keep."

"Well, we wanna keep those, obviously," Steve says. "But can we also take you on a date?"

"Oh!" You're surprised, and Steve and Eddie smile. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to, but I'm definitely down."

"We liked you before we thought about fucking you," Eddie teases.

Steve nods in agreement. "It was your cute dancing that caught both our eyes."

You groan.

"We loved it!" Eddie protests. You give him a look. "Cross our hearts."

They both go to actually do so, but you grab their hands instead, holding them on your lap. "Guess I'm a better dancer than I thought."

Your boys laugh.

#steddie x reader #steve harrington x eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #mine

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sona-verse01 · 1 year

Text

PAC

CHANNELLED LOVE QUOTES & SONGS

Take deep breath, and choose the picture/number that calls you.

Quotes from your Future spouse/partner (not your crush).

Disclaimer:

Images/quotes/songs are not mine. Found on internet.

Since, I am very bad in writing quotes, I channel messages & feelings, then search for suitable quotes on internet, that have same message.

Some quotes are a part of a song or poem. Others are written by writers.

Quotes are chosen on the basis of your FS/FP's energy, feelings & messages.

For entertainment purpose.

Don't copy/steal/translate my work.

Songs are in Indian languages, so if you don't understand that language, you can look for translation or just leave it.

Pile 1

Quotes:

"I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once."

"Hit me like a ray of sun, Burning through my darkest night. You're the only one that I want, Think I'm addicted to your light."

"If I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk through my garden forever."

"He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."

"Take me into your loving arms, Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars, Place your head on my beating heart, I'm thinking out loud, Maybe we found love right where we are."

"Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure time."

"Grow old along with me; the best is yet to be."

"Every love story is beautiful, but ours is my favorite."

"Because of you, I laugh a little harder, cry a little less, and smile a lot more."

"I like to be alone. But I would rather be alone with you."

Songs:

Pile 2

Quotes:

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height, My soul can reach."

"Cause all of me loves all of you. Love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections."

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

"Absence is to love as wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small and kindles the great."

"I carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)."

'"How do you spell 'love'?" - Piglet. "You don't spell it...you feel it." - Pooh'

"I may not be your first date, kiss or love... but I want to be your last everything."

"One day, we'll never have to say goodbye, just good night."

"When you smile at me you brighten up my day more than the sun ever could."

"When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Songs:

Pile 3

Quotes:

"Baby it's you. You're the one I love, You're the one I need, You're the only one I see."

"When I say I love you more, I don't mean I love you more than you love me. I mean I love you more than the bad days ahead of us, I love you more than any fight we will ever have. I love you more than the distance between us, I love you more than any obstacle that could try and come between us. I love you the most."

"Maybe I don't know that much but I know this much is true, I was blessed because I was loved by you."

"Love is missing someone when you're apart, but somehow feeling warm inside because you're close in the heart."

"You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear."

"Love is friendship set on fire and you are my spark."

"If I know what love is, it is because of you."

"I hope you don't mind that I put down in words, How wonderful life is while you're in the world."

"Come live in my heart and pay no rent."

"Together with you is my favorite place to be."

Songs:

Pile 4

Quotes:

"Immature love says: 'I love you because I need you.' Mature love says 'I need you because I love you.'"

"Life is a flower of which love is the honey."

"Don't want to close my eyes, I don't want to fall asleep, 'Cause I'd miss you baby, and I don't want to miss a thing."

"Romance is the glamour which turns the dust of everyday life into a golden haze."

"For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul."

"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies."

"Love is a friendship set to music."

"For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home."

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."

"Love is not only something you feel, it is something you do."

Songs:

Reblog if you like it.

Reply or send an ask for feedback.

Follow for more.

Check out my masterlist as well.

#Spotify #sp22sworld #game #followers #intuition #intuitive games #pac #pick a card #pick a photo #future spouse #future partner #love messages #love quotes #pac future spouse #fs games #fs reading #future spouse reading #pick a card reading

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ranticore · 6 months

Text

Forward by the Author [Qedivar's research, prologue]

My friends, this biography almost killed me. At the conclusion of my thesis work and the culmination of months of dangerous study, I write to you now from my bower at an undisclosed location, where I currently rest with three broken limbs and more than a few shattered nerves.

Effete shortwing academics such as myself are not particularly known for venturing across the water to West, where land is so rare as to be the continent’s most precious resource. But this continent was where our ancestors first arrived to this world—and yes, it is now unequivocal truth that we are not natives to our planet, as I was first to discover at the ruins of Atom on that wretched continent.

The coarse facts have been spread throughout Intun and East at large, ferried by news-mongers who have yet to finish my associated published paper. They will soon realise that they have missed the most fascinating details of our history. Naysayers have already decried me a heretic and I regret to agree with them, but it is true that my findings are heretical. Is that necessarily a bad thing? I say that a little bit of heresy might vastly improve the quality of our lives and understanding of the world at large.

A martyr, however, I am not. For this reason I do not attach my name to this record. Shortwings being as we are – all quite alike and common as muck – I am confident in my ability to remain anonymous to my readers while still revealing enough to prove myself a credible source. You will need to take rather a lot on faith, when you read this. You will need to suspend your disbelief that we are aliens on Siren. And you will need to accept that every one of us is a product of intentional design – not by some god, and not by so-called ‘evolutionary theory’, but by the ancient first settlers at Atom.

I will write a detailed account of my explorations another time, when I have healed from their rigours. I felt it more important to release the results of my study first, rather than let it become a vanity project with myself its hero. Instead I will preface each chapter with a description of the relevant source texts, including where and in what condition they were found.

On to the source texts themselves. I have created this biography to provide an introduction to the first Sirenian, Ishmael. The phocids of the Southern Spiral know Ishmael as offspring of the moon of the same name, and the ruler of the high tide. The inhabitants of Odr’s Sleep in the far North take a less literal interpretation of Ishmael’s moon and consider him a common ancestor. Harpies in my home Spire know him less, though–without revealing too much of my own bower–we have a mythological figure of the same name; Ishmael, who arrives to punish the crime of hubris.

It was a great surprise to me to find that Ishmael was a real person, and indeed that he was the first person born on this planet. Others arrived, yes, but he took his first breath here, before anyone else. My phocid companion was remarkably unsurprised by the discovery, and could even provide a little local Spiral folklore to illustrate the stories told of Ishmael’s life, which I will include as footnotes in the relevant chapters.

My source texts are extremely varied. Some describe Ishmael from the point of view of those who settled in Atom. Some are his own writings. Some are even a format which projects moving images onto walls, which I will also describe in a coming paper to be published. The technologies many visored longwings preserve sit in rot and ruin in Atom, proving, once and for all, that it was a society more advanced than our own. For the purpose of this introduction and my prefaces, I will refer to this as Precursor society, though in the source text they did not refer to themselves as anything but ‘settlers’ or ‘colonists’.

In those ruins, my party and I discovered things which we still have no words to describe. As a result, many of my interpretations are direct and untranslated, in the hopes that later, with greater understanding, we might return to the source and make more accurate interpretations. Many of these concepts were considered so commonplace to Precursor life that no one bothered making concrete definitions for the benefit of the scholars who might once hope to study them. Precursor society stems largely from a place called ‘Earth’ which we surmise to be the Precursors’ location of origin.

From this, we move on to the most puzzling concept of all. The concept of Humans. I took it to be a clan name at first, given the texts’ referral to Ishmael, a type of proto-phocid unique at Atom, as Human when the other people in the records did not very much resemble Ishmael at all. But Humans were in fact a species. Humans were bipedal and lacked feathers, though their faces will be familiar to any modern Sirenian, because they resemble our own. Once I succeeded in translating the scientific notes surrounding Ishmael, all became clear, and it was this shocking truth which forces me to write under a pen name.

Every modern Sirenian is a Human. We descend from the first-born Sirenians, who were designed – by techniques as purposeful as an artist’s brushstrokes – to occupy the particular range of morphologies which we now inhabit.

Precursor Humans arrived here, to this world, and knew their bodies were poorly adapted to survive here, lacking mechanisms of flight or aquatic mobility and being unable to breathe our air, or eat any of the foods we take for granted. So they engineered those mechanisms to develop in other Humans, which were birthed and raised at Atom in its prime in a series of successive generations, the last of which will likely be my most controversial uncovering. The engineered Humans – Sirenians like you and I – were not privileged members of Atom. In fact, we were a sort of labour underclass to them, who would brave the sea and sky of Siren outside Atom’s bubble where the Precursor Humans could not venture.

Ishmael was the first of this underclass, and was originally intended as merely a first concept, a rough draft of what phocids and selkies would become. He was a fascinating person who I believe is deserving of the great length of this biography and worthy of being the first introduction to the lives of Precursors that many modern Sirenians will experience. Where at all possible I have avoided editorialising Ishmael’s life, instead presenting it as it happened. We find not a revolutionary hero or an icon of tidal vengeance but a person born into a state of great confusion and neglect. He was a Human like his peers but was treated as inherently lesser, hardly a person at all, and he did not conform to expectations of graceful victimhood.

Welcome to the beginning of the world.

#setting: siren #there ya go. some prose for u

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thosewickedlovelies · 1 year

Text

Press Play | Tim Rockford x afab!Reader

Rating: M for Mature

Summary: Detective Rockford’s ever-present tape recorder finds itself an unexpected use.

Tags: friends to lovers; non-explicit smut; workplace smut adjacent in that this takes place during a workday, but no one comes down to your basement work space so ur basically safe.

Word count: 1,875

Note: Welp. Here we are, writing for another character from a random commercial ✌🏼

Masterlist

“Hey Tim, is your tape recorder charged? We’re gonna need it to interview that guy tomorrow.”

“Ugh, I don’t know, the last few suspects have been so useless I haven’t bothered checking. You’d have to plug it in and see.”

Detective Tim Rockford peers around his computer- the one less than a foot from your own, on your two pushed-together desks. In the cramped basement and on a shared case, it had made sense to pool resources, so to speak.

“It’s, uh..” Tim half rises to search amongst the stacks of paper and evidence bags on his desk. A neon sticky note floats free from a stack lifted up and he snatches for it distractedly, eyes still scanning the cluttered surface.

“Oh, wait, I threw it in here after…” He drops back into his chair to open a drawer. His throat bobs. “...the other night.”

The words ignite between you like a struck match. Tim can’t seem to decide if he should meet your eyes.

One long arm deposits the tape recorder just across the boundary of your two desks. “I think you still have the charger. You might as well transfer the last few interviews to the drive, too, if you wouldn’t mind. To clear space on it.” Tim’s chair squeaks as he recenters himself, hiding behind his computer screen again.

Right. You plug in the recorder, staring off at nothing while the software syncs. Moments later, Tim sets his glasses aside with a huff, a sure sign that he, too, is having trouble focusing. You hadn’t thought the other night would change things- had prayed that it wouldn’t, in fact. Yet here you both are, dodging and swerving the subject like two magnets of the same polarity.

Your computer pings, and you begin the rote task with a sigh. After the first few transfers, your attention sharpens, and you frown at the list.

“Hey, who was the last person you interviewed? The recording is like an hour and a half long.” All the ones before it had barely lasted half an hour, but this one had continued until the storage space filled up.

“What? It shouldn’t be. Like I said, we haven’t talked to anyone that interesting lately.” Retrieving his glasses, Tim rounds the desks to stand behind your chair, bending to peer at your screen. One hand is braced on your desk, the other on your chair, by your shoulder. His chest is entirely too close to your face- the whole wide, strong breadth of it, faintly scented with familiar cologne. You swallow.

Focusing on the screen is no better. Tim's hand lifts from the desk, one thick finger following the line in question, from the duration, to the date, to the time of the recording. “But this was the day we…the other night.” Tim turns his head to you, eyes wide. His lips part at how close he finds your face.

Your brows draw together. “Did you…?”

“No! I mean, not on purpose. I might have knocked it on accident, when…when I moved everything else.” A scarlet flush is crawling steadily up Tim’s neck.

The wall clock ticks. The industrial air-conditioning hums. Silence builds and builds until it vibrates in the air between you, louder than the thought you’re both thinking.

“Should we play it?”

Your question lands with all the tact of a live grenade. But the two of you have already blown up the boundaries of propriety between colleagues, so what’s a little more destruction?

Tim straightens slightly, as if bracing himself. “We have to know what it is, I guess.”

You place your hand on the mouse. But for all your bravado- for all you will yourself to do it- something holds you back.

Tim places his hand over yours. You look at him in question.

“If it sounds anything like it felt, then…it can’t be that bad.” Tim has a half-smile on his face. A return of the agent you normally see; your partner, the one whose reassurance you trust when things seem uncertain.

Your smile mirrors his. Tim’s finger presses down on yours.

Click.

The first sounds are an overlapping confusion- papers rustling, a scrape and a muffled clatter that’s probably the tape recorder being swept off the desk with everything else. It raises goosebumps on your arms to remember Tim’s impatience, his hunger- his disregard for absolutely everything but you in that moment.

The background noise settles, and human sounds become clear. Quiet moans and eager sounds, murmurs. Lips meeting and parting and meeting again. Cloth sloughing off skin. The deep timbre of Tim’s voice. Your face flames at the memory of some of the things he said- and how much you liked them.

A loud, hoarse groan- Tim’s.

You slide Tim a sideways glance, still amused at the pure relief and volume of that sound. The flush on his neck seems to have gleefully expanded its territory: his ears look red enough to heat the room. But he cuts a look back at you with an unapologetic shrug, one eyebrow arcing.

You giggle and start to shush him, only to clamp down on the sound as it turns into a drawn-out whimper. The desk creaks. “Every day you wear these button-downs, and you bend to look in your desk, or kneel somewhere…it’s torture.” Tim groans in exaggerated anguish, muffled and wordless again as something else occupies his mouth.

More rustling and creaking, breathy sounds. You can’t look at Tim, more aware than you’ve ever been of the button-down stretching over your breasts. You don’t wear them every day- but apparently it’s often enough.

The stiff fabric feels drawn abnormally tight over your chest. Tim, still above you, has the perfect angle at which to drop his gaze directly into the vee of your top, sliding it down, down, like a drop of sweat, until the slope of your breast meets your bra. Conscious of his attention, of your chest's every rise and fall, your breathing flounders.

“Fuck, and I thought you looked good with your suits on.” The stunned appreciation in your tone suggested that months worth of study were being upended in your head.

Tim chuckles, the sound echoing the one playing from the computer. He finally shifts, dropping to one knee beside your chair. Your lips quirk; you’re as unrepentant as he was earlier.

“Let me down.” A scuff of leather, a metallic clink.

“What..? No! No, baby, if you do that-” A low, pained sound. “If you do that, I will not last.” Tim sounds faintly embarrassed, but firm.

A high gasp. “I can do that, though. Fuck, if you knew how often I thought about it…”

His next words are too quiet to make out, but you remember them; the husk of them in your ear, sending shivers all over. “Let me taste you.”

You remember how gently Tim stopped you from diving, mouth-first, into his pants, and instead helped you back up onto his desk. You remember the slow, reverent way he knelt, maneuvering your legs apart, fitting his broads shoulders between your knees. His brown eyes, wide and glimmering between your thighs.

A nearly audible smack as your hand hits your mouth just in time to smother a strangled cry.

And you remember, with the soundtrack ringing around you, just how talented that shapely mouth of Tim’s is.

Fabric whispering, the desk creaking alarmingly as you squirm, your whines barely contained. Tim garbles praise in between sounds of relish. All the noise you’re trying not to make rises overhead like steam, and another sound becomes apparent.

You’re wet. Dripping in a way that can’t be kept quiet. Heedless, Tim laps it up eagerly. When he adds his fingers it’s loud, an obscene squelching that he seems to delight in, using his mouth right alongside his hand to add to the sounds and sensations overwhelming you.

It’s a symphony of depravity unfurling on all sides. Tim was only partially right; that night had felt incredible, but listening to it now, with him right beside you, is an entirely different experience. Restless desire prowls in your blood. Your heart pounds and your hands twitch, but you can hardly tackle Tim to the floor in the middle of a workday. The pair of you are already lucky that no one has needed anything from the basement in the past twenty minutes.

You sit so rigidly that Tim worries you’ll snap. Decisively, he eases his hand from the chair back onto your shoulder, squeezing until your chest expands with a much-needed breath. You glance at him.

“You were so wet,” Tim murmurs. “It was...fuck, it was so hot. It turned me on to see you so turned on.” He swallows. “I never imagined…”

His confidence deserts him. You turn your head more fully as his gaze flits away, your attention dropping lower. It’s still turning him on, it seems, to judge by the swell in his trousers. Tim clears his throat, shifting as he reaches down to adjust himself. He risks another quick glance at you.

Even under the dingy basement lighting, he’s beautiful. Strongly sloping nose, full lips. Rich brown eyes, round and glittering under brows drawn together like a steeple.

“Never imagined what?” you whisper.

An ominous thud of wood, nearly lost under a long, muffled wail.

Both you and Tim startle.

As your recorded climax tapers off, you start to giggle; then Tim starts to giggle, and then you’re both laughing, shoulders shaking, relief rolling off both of you like happy gas. You clutch at the hand Tim had laid on your shoulder, holding it in your lap while your laughter subsides. His work-roughened fingers tighten around yours.

“I never imagined I’d get to do that to you,” Tim says. His smile is shy yet sure. A gleam of hope in the dim.

Tim makes a deeply satisfied sound. Breathless compliments and more kisses are traded for the next several moments. It’s obvious when you come to by the way your voice raises slightly, and although your words are unintelligible, the insinuation in your sensual tone is clear.

“Please, baby…” The rest of Tim’s response is lost, deepening to a rough whisper.

The rest of your exchange is too faint to make out, but it doesn’t matter.

You both remember what was said.

Tim glances at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering, his eyes darker than a moment ago. Your hand aches from gripping his, both still resting on your leg.

“I like when you call me baby,” you murmur lowly. That hand flexes, the fingers stretching, splaying, digging lightly into your thigh. Your breathing stutters.

Tim reaches up to pause the recording. Still kneeling, he turns, and uses his grip on your thigh to rotate your chair as well. His other hand curls around the back of your knee.

He inches closer, and your legs part without second thought. Tim nuzzles at your inner thigh. A wave of deja vu knocks the breath from you, your heartbeat quickening to a throbbing pulse between your legs.

Thanks for reading! ❤ Find more like this on my Masterlist

“Baby.” There’s a twinkle in Tim’s brown eyes, blatant begging in his tone. “What do you say we listen to the rest of this somewhere more comfortable?”

#tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford fic #merge mansion #tim rockford/reader #tim rockford/you

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vickyvicarious · 1 year

Text

Today's entry is another one with strong comparisons to be made between the asylum pair and the castle pair. We start off with Renfield-Dracula comparisons: both his eating other creatures in order to gain life and his cheerful attitude here remind me of the Count. Whenever Dracula had won some new victory over Jonathan (typically by doing something offscreen to foil his latest effort) he tended to get very cheerful and charming. Renfield has circumvented Seward's refusal to give him a cat by eating all his birds and then restarting his experiment, a victory of sorts for him, and is correspondingly quite cheerful.

But it's Seward's response to this behavior which is especially reminiscent of Dracula, and chillingly so: he drugs Renfield to sleep and then goes through his belongings.

I gave Renfield a strong opiate to-night, enough to make even him sleep, and took away his pocket-book to look at it.

While it's never explicitly confirmed, I have a theory that Dracula had been exercising control over Jonathan's sleep throughout his stay in the castle. There are repeated instances where he tells Jonathan to rest well or to sleep soon and Jonathan always follows up with confirmation that direction was followed (when other times there are hints towards unsteady sleep/nightmares). And while it isn't as directly a scene of magical influence, the day Dracula stole Jonathan's papers and other belongings was while also he was locked in a room, sleeping.

That's creepy enough, and it speaks to Seward respecting no boundaries at all with his patient, but the part that sticks out to me most of all is the way this is a direct parallel to a worst-case scenario for Jonathan. Because what is described above is quite simply: the captor, having noticed his captive is keeping notes that he doesn't understand, forces his captive into a vulnerable unconscious state and takes said notes to read and use for his own purposes.

Isn't that exactly what Jonathan lived in such dread of happening, all that time? If Dracula had ever spotted Jonathan writing in his journal, I'm sure it would have happened. And while he wouldn't understand the exact meaning of the shorthand (much the same way Seward doesn't initially understand all Renfield's figures) the gist of the idea would be communicated (he'd realize Jonathan is keeping a secret record and the implications of that, much the same way Seward here is able to finally put together the pieces and figure out Renfield's general ideas). And what comes next? Well, it wouldn't be good for Jonathan, obviously.

Seward doesn't punish Renfield for what he discovers. Not directly. But his reaction is just as terrible because the realization tempts him all the more to indulge his 'mad scientist' instincts. He wants to make a name for himself via Renfield's heretofore unknown madness, and it doesn't really matter how Renfield feels about that or is treated in pursuit of that. Oh, sure, he confines himself here to speculation about whether it might not be worth it to see how far he'd go - tells himself I must not think of this. And yet he's incredibly attracted to the idea (re:dracula did so well with putting voice to how EAGER he is and how reluctantly he pulls himself back - and then only partially before dipping his toes in again), and is already behaving well outside of any appropriate motivation. And so... while Renfield isn't going to suffer in the same way Jonathan would have from the discovery of his diary, he still is worse off. By completing his long-awaited thought and coming up with a name for Renfield ("a zoöphagous (life-eating) maniac") Seward has fully finished shifting him into a mental category entirely separate from all the other patients, and it's definitely not one that has his best interests in mind. He's possessive, too invested, dehumanizing (yesterday's "my friend" has become today's "my homicidal maniac"), and it's all just not good for either one of them.

I think Seward realizes that this isn't good for his own mental health as well, but he can't help longing for it. This is getting more into just me musing aloud here, but... A while ago he spoke about relative dangers of selfish vs. unselfish people, and concluded that people who dedicate themselves to a duty are more dangerous because they throw themselves in fully. And yet that's something he seems to be longing for:

If only there were a sufficient cause! I must not think too much of this, or I may be tempted; a good cause might turn the scale with me, for may not I too be of an exceptional brain, congenitally?

He knows that he is susceptible to that kind of temptation, to ignore all moral qualms for the sake of (making a name for himself with) Science. And he's trying to pull himself back from that brink... but a part of him wants nothing more than to find a cause worthy enough to do it anyway. He wants to dedicate himself fully to something important. He knows that he isn't entirely normal himself, and that once he gave in there would be no turning back. The idea appeals to him, even as it repels him - which in itself is very vampiric, actually. It's like the idea of finding a "sufficient cause" is his own trance which he must try to resist.

And the way he thinks of Lucy right after this seems telling to me. Perhaps he hoped that Lucy would balance him out, would help pull him away from these kinds of impulses, would make him Normal in a way he can't be on his own. But she didn't pick him, in fact she picked a man who is also much more Normal, and they're both wonderful and happy together. And he's happy for them, of course, but it leaves him on the outside. And on the other hand there's Renfield, who seems fully lost (and happy to be so) inside his own mad devotion to his cause. Seward seems to be pining after both Lucy and Renfield in this entry. Not romantically for Renfield, but they represent to him opposite extremes. Lucy is the life he could have if he didn't feel so drawn to odd and amoral ideas; Renfield is the fulfillment he could feel if he didn't feel sufficiently sane to let morals hold him back from indulging those urges. He knows Lucy doesn't love him back (symbolically: that he can't ever be fully normal) and that Renfield isn't someone to imitate (symbolically: that he can't let himself give in fully), so he's just stuck teetering between them at the moment. Of course, with Lucy's rejection leading him to isolate himself in his work (and away from his friends who also pull him back more to better behavior) he keeps tipping more and more towards becoming mad himself in his own way. But he still retains enough control over himself to feel bad about it and refuse to indulge himself fully... even as he fails to notice, or simply doesn't care, just how badly he's already failing to act in Renfield's own interests.

#dracula daily #jack seward #renfield #just kinda thinking aloud do tell me if this makes sense #the audio had this kind of longing tone for BOTH lucy and the mad science which was super interesting to me #count dracula #for those comparisons/parallels #my meta

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chloe-caulfield94 · 10 months

Note

Thoughts on Grahamfield?

Thank you for an interesting question. I'm going to split my answer into two parts - first my thoughts on Warren himself and then my thoughts on shipping him with Max.

I like Warren, if only for the fact that on two separate occasions he helped Max when she was in a tough spot.

The confrontation between Max and Nathan at the parking lot in Episode 1 could've easily turned out to be deadly. Most likely, Nathan was still armed. We know he didn't throw his gun away after running from the bathroom, because he had the exact same pistol on him in Episode 4. Which also goes to show he would go around campus armed.

So if Warren hadn't tackled Nathan to the ground, allowing Max to hop into Chloe's truck, it's very likely Nathan would've pulled his gun out to threaten Max with and then shot her, just like he had shot Chloe. Only this time there would be no one to rewind the murder.

The confrontation in Episode 4, in the boys' dorms, was even more likely to have a fatal result. We know for a fact that Nathan was armed. This time it was Chloe acting as a distraction, pushing Nathan away long enough for the cavalry, in the form of Warren, to come to the rescue. Had it not been for them, Max would've likely been murdered by Nathan.

I think it's interesting that on both of those occasions Warren acted in tandem with Chloe. I don't think that takes away from Warren's or Chloe's efforts. Helping others is not a zero-sum game, where only one person can get the credit. And I think it's only fitting that a kind person like Max, who cares about others, has other people coming to her aid when she in turn needs it.

I will always appreciate Warren for giving Nathan a well-deserved beating. Remember, the confrontation in the dorms takes place mere minutes after Max finds in Nathan's drawer the horrifying picture of unconscious Chloe, which Nathan kept as a revolting souvenir. At that point, neither Max nor the player (if you play for the first time) knows why Nathan went around drugging and kidnapping girls. So the implications of the picture were obvious and horrifying. When you heard Chloe and Kate tell about their encounters with Nathan for the first time, wasn't your takeaway that he attempted to date rape Chloe and date raped Kate? What other explanation there could be for a boy drugging girls unconscious and bringing them to a secluded location? And the revelation that Nathan "only" wanted to take pictures doesn't make his attempted kidnapping of Chloe any less fucked up. At that point he had already killed Rachel by overdosing her. So despite the crocodile tears he recorded in Max's voice mail, he didn't mind the possibility of overdosing yet another girl for the purposes of his "art". Why would he mind it? This time it wouldn't be his friend, just some "whore".

So I will always think kindly of Warren, if only for the fact that he gave Nathan a little bit of his own medicine. That the made Nathan feel just as powerless as Nathan did to his victims.

I guess you could say that Warren's fights with Nathan were motivated by his desire to impress Max (in the parking lot) and to avenge his wounded male pride (in the dorms). But I think it would be an extremely uncharitable interpretation. Even if the abovementioned emotions factored into his actions, that doesn't change the fact he did help Max on those occasions.

I always find it funny that the dynamic between Max, Warren and Brooke is a representation of the "high school boy is trying to win over the affection of a beautiful girl but is completely oblivious that a cute nerdy girl in glasses is totally into him". I love the fact that in this context it makes Max into the "popular girl". Honestly, the best case scenario would be Warren finally seeing the writing on the wall and realizing how lucky he is to have someone as cool as Brooke crushing on him. And for some reason he really has trouble realizing that. Even in the alternate timeline he's dating Stella. I ship Warren with Brooke, mainly for her sake. That girl is a go-getter. She set her mind on something and is reaching for it. That always warrants my respect.

A thing I like about Warren is that he can be a gracious loser and that's an increasingly rare talent. After Chloe texted him about Max kissing her, he texted Max saying: "Your friend Chloe txtd me that I'm out of the loop now. She sounds hot so I get why. Now I get why you didn't want to 'Go Ape' with me. You should go with Chloe". Seriously, he took that like a champ, on the chin.

Some fans consider Warren to be “creepy” or even “stalkerish”. The most convincing piece of evidence supporting this accusation is him waiting outside Max’s dorm at the beginning of Episode 2. If Max walks over to the window quickly enough, she can see Warren peeking from behind corner, looking at the dorm door, almost certainly in anticipation of Max walking out, to chat her up.

Honestly, I don’t think this is such a damning piece of evidence. Yeah, he wanted to invite her to the movies. Would it be any different if he sought her out during the day, at school? I also don't find his behaviour around Max in general to be inappropriate or creepy. Awkward, perhaps. We need to keep in mind that it's not like at that point he had been hounding Max for months, refusing to take no for an answer. At the beginning of Season 1, they had known each other for no longer than a month (Max had just moved back into town at the start of the school year and it was only October). Their interactions so far involved him borrowing Max his movie stash and them exchanging some text messages (well, at one point it devolved into him sending text messages and Max not responding). I really don't think that at that point him trying to ask her out is somehow inappropriate or pushing.

There's also the shrine in Warren's locker Max can find in her nightmare. In my mind the nightmare represents a twisted version of reality, shaped solely by Max's fears and doubts. The opposite of how Max truly feels and thinks. Just like we shouldn't believe the lies told about Chloe by "Other Max", I don't think that we should treat the shrine in Warren's locker as some revelation.

I think it needs to be said - an unrequited crush doesn't make you a creep. It seems that Warren has a genuine crush on Max (I hesitate to call it love, because in Season 1 they had known each other for a month and they hadn't even been on a single date yet). But even if you see Max didn't return his feelings (I sure see it that way, based on the totality of interactions between them), that doesn't make him a stalker or a creep. If you disregard BtS (where Rachel was equally as interested in pursuing Chloe romantically, if not more, as Chloe was interested in her) and only take into account Season 1, then it is clear that while Chloe was deeply in love with Rachel, Rachel only saw her as a friend. But it would be wrong and unfair to say that Chloe was a creep for being head over heels in love with her friend who didn't love her back. It would be wrong and unfair to say that Chloe's monthslong search for Rachel wasn't a proof of her genuine friendship, loyalty and commitment to Rachel, because she had unrequited love for her, which somehow tainted her motives. I think the same reasoning should apply to Warren.

Now let's move on to the ship itself. Having said all that, that I like Warren, that I don't think he's a creep and that I think his crush on Max was genuine, I see no way for Grahamfield to work, if we're sticking to the events of the game.

In the Bae ending, even if the love between Max and Chloe remained purely platonic (the last diary entry before the final choice is always, regardless of player choices, Max saying that Chloe is like family to her and that she's about to find out if what's between them is love or friendship - so let's consider a timeline where Max decides Chloe is like a sister, not like a girlfriend to her), then the Grahamfield ship still would have zero chances of ever floating, for the simple reason that one half of it is dead.

And in the Bay ending, I can't imagine Max ever ending up with Warren. Bay Max has just killed her best friend by pushing her back in front of a barrel of a gun. The friend whose last words were always that she loved Max ("I love you, Max. See you around" if you overdose her in Episode 4, "I'll always love you" if you sacrifice her in Episode 5, she always says that regardless of player choices). Max immediately seeking solace in the arms of a boy she barely knows, that she hasn't even been on a single date with, would be extremely out of character for her. And I don't think she would be interested in pursuing Warren at a later date. She would always have at the back of her mind that he's among the people she killed Chloe for. I think that would poison any chance at a relationship.

A few months ago I exchanged comments with another LiS player regarding the ending. They told me that they sacrificed Chloe, because they preferred Max to end up with Warren. Granted, they were more of a casual player - they admitted to not reading Max's diary, not even a little bit. But even if you disregard the diary and even if you interpret the relationship between Max and Chloe as purely platonic, at least from Max's side, I can't imagine Max ever thinking like that. Wouldn't that be a totally unhinged way of thinking? Sacrificing a life long best friend for a boy that you've met a month ago, that you haven't even been on a single date with? Who is basically a stranger that you know very little about?

In a timeline with no Storm or in which Warren survives the Storm, I can easily see him and Max becoming friends, if only for their shared taste in movies.

In a timeline with no Storm AND in which Max's feelings for Chloe are different from the ones she expresses in game (in her dialogues, internal monologues and diary entries) I can imagine Max and Warren going on dates. Whether that would result in a relationship or not is impossible to say, because we have never even seen them on a single date. Maybe they would immediately hit it off. Or maybe after fifteen minutes they would both be tired of each other. Who knows?

So back to the question of how I feel about Grahamfield - even though I don't ship that particular ship, it doesn't offend my sensibilities. The only ships that offend my sensibilities are those which pair up abusers with their victims, which is clearly not the case here. But I just don't see that ship happening if we stick by canon events. If we imagine some sort of alternate universe, divergent from canon in the ways I described above, then I guess that could work.

#max caulfield #warren graham #grahamfield #brooke scott #grahamscott #chloe price #nathan prescott #life is strange #lis

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delucadarlingwriting · 3 months

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upside down spiderman kiss for barbie and mason, please 🥰 (~agentnatesewell)

Ask for a Kiss!

I forgot about these. OTL

I'd already written most of this one before heading out on vacation. The last two are next on the list! And thank you again for sending in a prompt, I've been enjoying writing them ;v;

***

There’s nothing about the day she’s been having so far that would lead Barbie to believing she would be here, trapped and hanging upside down, with no way of getting down. This is exactly why she doesn’t do field work. Not the kind that Unit Bravo does, at least.

Somehow despite the situation, Barbie doesn’t find herself in any sort of state of panic. Sure, she’s dangling with her head about six feet above the ground. The magical rope tangled around her hips and legs isn’t the most comfortable. A point in her favor though is that she can hear the gentle, distant sound of Unit Bravo, Kira, and perhaps the group of fae they’ve been looking for making their way along the forest path.

She could call out to them. Considering the trap hasn’t harmed her, she can only assume it’s meant to keep trespassers away from the fae village until patrols can send them on their way. Having to face her team (especially Adam, who had told her not to wander off, which she had agreed to until the moment everyone else was distracted) would be far more humiliating than simply waiting for one of those patrols to find her.

In the meantime, Barbie reaches for her spiral top notepad and pen, concealed in the inside pocket of her blazer. The trek into fae territory was not entirely what she’d expected. It seems as those inhabiting this village aren’t like the other fae she’s met before, but some sort of…off shoot. Though that could also be due to the fact that they’re a rather insular bunch, having last been noted in Agency records some years before even Nat was human. Barbie very much looks forward to taking notes of her own to add to the records, along with her name attached to them. Her excitement to do so ends up leaving her distracted, and she fumbles as she tries to flip to a new page and hold the others down at the same time. Her pen slips from her grip and Barbie jolts into action, trying to catch it, but only managing to lose her hold on the notebook as well.

“No!” she cries, snatching at thin air as it tumbles down and falls well out of reach.

The distant voices go quiet after her exclamation. She goes as still and silent as she can while swaying back and forth in her magical rope cocoon. There’s some short discussion, then she distantly hears the sounds of a group walking away.

Barbie chews her lower lip; perhaps not calling out for help is a bad idea. Sure, she’d fairly certain someone will find her, but what if they don’t?

Just as she’s contemplating yelling out for them, a dark figure emerges from the shadows and brush quickly enough to startle a yelp out of her.

“Mason!” she yells. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Mason slows his pace, eyebrows knitting together as he takes in the sight of her. He strolls over with far less hurried steps until they’re somewhat eye to eye.

“What the hell are you doing, sweetheart?” he asks.

Barbie rolls her eyes. “Oh yes, because I’ve obviously done this on purpose.”

“Hard to tell with you sometimes,” Mason says, not able to hide the amusement glinting in his eyes. Barbie tries to grab at him, but he grabs her first, his hands cupping either side of her ribcage to bring her to a stop.

“Are you going to let me down?” she asks. He chuckles.

“Yeah, of course.” He moves closer, a molten look in his eye. “I think I deserve a reward though.”

“You’ve done nothing to earn one yet,” Barbie points out. He grins, sharp and handsome even when viewed upside down.

“Then call it a bribe.”

“I don’t think I can fellate you from this high up, Mason,” Barbie replies dryly. Mason snorts, his hair shimmering as he tosses his head back with a laugh. It makes her heart skip several beats and she suddenly deeply wishes she could fellate him from here.

“A kiss will be fine,” he says as he bites back laughter.

Oh. Yes, of course that’s what he meant. She tries not to flush up about it, but that’s a moot point when the blood has already rushed to her face thanks to being held upside down for so long.

Mason sidles closer, grey eyes taking her in, calculating her responses before making every move. She relates to how he approaches these situations, though she finds her own senses don’t give her nearly as much information to work on as his do. He can read her so well without her giving him much to go on at all. Like now, despite not moving an inch, he senses how receptive she is to his idea. He comes in close, one hand reaching up to unclip her hair and tuck the clip into his pocket while the other moves to bury itself into her hair, his thick, strong fingers forming against the back of her skull with an abundance of care. Barbie’s lips part on their own and she leans in.

His mouth forms over hers, soft and open, his tongue teasing at her upper lip. Barbie groans, grasping the air until she finds his face, cupping it and tilting her head for a good angle. It’s odd, being upside down, but it hardly distracts from how her spine tingles at his hungry advances.

They part when she gets dizzy, though whether from being upside down or kissing him she’s not sure. Mason’s breath has gone a touch ragged. He pushes his hands through his shaggy dark hair then flicks his gaze up.

“Enjoying yourself?” Barbie asks, squirming against the bonds which have suddenly become restrictive.

Mason chuckles. “Oh yeah.” When Barbie pouts, he adds, “And I’m trying to find the best way to get you down.”

Barbie strains to try and see where the rope’s source is, but quickly finds the same problem Mason has. There doesn’t appear to be one. So any attempt to cut her down will simply drop her.

“Don’t call the others,” Barbie pleads. Mason already has his phone out. He doesn’t even look at her before hitting something on the screen and lifting it to his ear.

Only four minutes later the rest of the team—and several deeply amused fae—arrive and she is promptly put on her feet. Her very wobbly feet that barely hold her up. Mason slides an arm around her waist, leaving it there even once she’s steady.

“Now that this…” Adam pauses, giving Barbie a longsuffering look, “...situation is resolved, shall we move forward with the meeting?”

“Oh yes,” one of the fae says, covering their acid green lips with a hand as they grin. “Our queen will be more than pleased with your arrival. Come this way!”

Cheeks burning, Barbie plants her feet and waits for everyone else to go ahead first. The last thing she wants is to feel everyone staring at the back of her head. Once they’ve passed she inches ahead, wishing more than anything to simply retreat back to the SUV.

Mason chuckles, leaning in to whisper in her ear, “Are you ready to be chastised about that later?”

Snorting, Barbie rolls her eyes. “I’m used to Agent du Mortain’s appraisal of my performance.”

“Mhm.” Mason’s smile isn’t as teasing as it was before. “I’m sure he’ll go easy on you this time.”

“Oh, will my embarrassment have been lesson enough for him?” Barbie asks, unable to resist the urge to rub at her face, even if it smears her foundation. She’s certain to look a mess as it is, there’s no point in trying to preserve her appearance.

“Probably.” Mason’s hand slides down her hip, just above her rear. “And I meant chastised by me.”

“You?” Barbie sputters. “Where do you get off chastising me about anything?”

Mason arches a dark brow. “You wandered off and didn’t tell anyone where you were.”

“You could’ve found me,” Barbie says with a huff. Mason’s hand drops and grabs a handful of her rear, which draws a surprised yelp from her. Several of the fae ahead peer back at the two of them, but Mason has already moved his hand back up to her hip. Still far more familiar than is appropriate for work, but better than anyone seeing him feel her up.

“Just make sure to take me with you next time,” Mason says, smirking. Bastard.

When she’s sure no one else is looking, she pauses, leans in to kiss just behind his ear, and says, “Behave better, and I might.”

“Mason,” Adam’s voice booms from ahead. No privacy with vampires around. Mason grins, teeth sharp and elongated.

“Absolutely not,” he replies in a whisper before urging her on to catch up with the group. The fae village is within sight now, and they both shift their focus to their immediate tasks.

She’ll argue with him more later, perhaps during that ‘chastisement’ he’s promised.

#darling writing #twc #wayhaven #the wayhaven chronicles #ask meme #barbara 'barbie' robertson #specialist agent m #this was actually a tricky one to come up with how it would come about #but thankfully Barbie is 1) nosy and 2) contrary #especially contrary w regards to A #they get zero respect from her u_u #thankfully for her Mason thinks she's soooo funny (so long as she's not ACTUALLY getting herself into danger)#(at which point it's not FUCKING FUNNY BARBARA)

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