#now their relationship has gone from unpredictable to strained to unpredictable

[zmemily]

[acupofinkedblood]

Subspace x reader

TW: Violence, toxic relationship, Subspace and trauma. Reader works with him

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Ever since Medkit had escaped Blackrock successfully, the damages he had left behind were clearer than ever. Especially for Subspace. Having part of his face and body rotting because of the chemical potion that bastard threw into his direction. Sure, he did take his eyes, but this? He can barely feel himself now! It’s all Medkit’s fault. The day that traitor die is the day Subspace hold a feast for every single person he knows to celebrate it

• That’s just the physical damages. But mentally? You don’t even know when to start

• Even when you are somewhat used to Subspace being an arrogant asshole as you always have, the incident seems to flip a switch inside him. The most obvious change is his questionable anger towards everything. When he woke up at the hospital, you were startled because of his tantrum even when you were at the hallway: The loud broken noises of medical bottles thrown onto the ground and loud choked insults that you assumed was directed at Medkit. The staffs had to use force to put him to sleep

• Little did you know that was just the fresh start for your nightmare

• Since Medkit is gone, the position of Subspace’s lab partner is currently empty. The higher-ups decide that you will be a replacement in that position, considering the fact you and Subspace already know each other well before. Hesitantly, you accept your fate because you know there’s little room for arguments

• You, Subspace and Mekdit know each other. Perhaps more than just well on the surface, the relationship between you and Subspace. Before the incident, if Subspace wasn’t busying with his project or annoying the living shit out of Medkit, he would come to you to ramble about everything. Maybe it’s not that bad now, no?

• You have never been more wrong

• When you see Subspace again after he has been discharged from the hospital, you can sense something has changed. Aside from his appearance, of course. Even when you are used to the worst of him before, there is something sinister about the current Subspace that you can’t seem to put your finger at. Though he seems…fine, with you. At least for the time being

• Working as Subspace’s lab partner the first few day is pretty normal. Nothing suspicious going on, you have became his assistant at this point from now on. While it’s pretty disturbing when he just staring at you at such random times or something similar to that, it’s pretty much just like how things used to be before

• But then he starts to get to your mind, asking for reassurance that you will never be another Medkit of his life and making you repeat yourself multiple times. As much as it bothers you by the way he is acting, there is something menacing in his eye that makes you freeze with anxiety

• His anger starts to be more unpredictable. His madness was directly proportional to his sadistic tendency. As his experiment is approved by the higher-ups, you have to be there to assist him. The way he enjoys his victim’s cry makes you shiver. A part of you feel like he barely needs your assistance in said experiments. But he still insists you to stay, as if he is silently threatening you that if you leave him, the next person on this operating table will be you

• He starts to have some trauma episodes regrading that day. His anger outburst and hypervigilance with extreme negative emotions make it obvious. At some attempt of trying to calm you down, he attacks you immediately out of instinct. It takes you a bruise or two to finally get him to snap out of it

• After that, his emotional state just gets overwhelmingly strained as he cries himself in your arms, completely unaware of what has gotten into him. He cries for himself out of frustration more than he cries about what happens to you, keep that in mind

• Unlike him, you believe that mental health exists, and it’s clear as day that he is showing all the symptoms of how his mental state has been going downhill. Yet of course, he refuses to listen to you on that aspect

• You love Subspace, you really do, but this is exhausting for your own mental. You find yourself missing the old days, when his behaviors weren’t as extreme as the present time. Your love for him starts to mix with pity. You can’t just leave him. That is for your own safety and his well-being. Even when he has changed in the worst way possible, your heart still bleeds for him

• You convince yourself that Subspace loves you too, it’s just that his way of showing it has been twisted after what happened. Things weren’t that horrible before. It’s not his fault, never have been. He is your lover after all…

• Subspace is aware of that, using it to get to stay with him. He has some idea of using his poison to make you like him, so that your lives will be bound to each other as the hourglass of your doom slowly running. But he shakes his head at the idea, because there is a possibility that you might die before him

• In the end of the day, it’s just this endless waltz of you and him, tied up together by this red string he forced you to endure so you will never leave his side. And while you grieve the man you used to love, you have no other choice but to suffer with him

• Because your love for him is tainted by his poison

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: Bold of you to assume green tea is only for torturing the character, HAH

[rodolfoparras]

The abo barracks bunny was so cute but I wonder how ghost opens up to reader

Omega Ghost who’s cautious of any alphas he come across, fearing that they’ll see his status as inferior and pray on him for it. So when you join the squad it’s only normal for him to be cautious especially when he ends up losing his hard earned title and spot to someone just because they’re born an alpha

“Not much I can do about it Simon you know the rules alphas are to led the teams we’re all omegas here” price says, cigar snug between his lips.

Now ghost wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize missions or tear this task force apart but that doesn’t mean he’s all buddy buddy with you.

He keeps it civil, but maintains distance, only ever makes conversation with you during missions and flees the house when he thinks you’re going into heat fearing the unpredictability that comes with it

You respect the boundaries he’s set and you don’t try to form anything past a professional relationship with him but you can’t help but notice how distanced he is to the pack.

He never goes on runs with you, opting on taking his own route, never asking anyone to help him deal with his heats instead locks himself away in his room where no one sees him for a whole week, doesn’t even have a mate nor a family of his own, it’s like he has no one but himself in this word

You cant help but worry about the lonely life he leads so you try to fill the emptiness in your own little ways, leaving him food outside his door when he is going through heats, making sure he’s never far away from the pack when he goes on his own runs, keeping mindlinks open and making your presence known, in case he needs you , even making sure he never spent any holidays alone even though he vehemently insisted on doing so.

And it almost seems inevitable how things start to turn, how he starts thinking about you more and more, if you’re safe on a mission, if you’re doing alright even though you’re an alpha and he should have no reason to worry about that, he starts noticing your presence more always acutely aware when you accidentally stand too close to comfort, one time he could feel your body heat brushing up against his, knees knocking together and he felt the hair on his body lifting, one time you’d even gone out of your way to rip a piece of fabric from your uniform to patch up his wound and besides the prominent copper scent he could also smell your scent all around him and he purred fucking purred prayed the ground would swallow him when he realized that you heard him

Ghost was so in his own head he didn’t see the way you looked at him, the way you followed him around like a lost puppy, how you’d done anything for his approval, how you’d bow at his feet if he asked you to do so

one day Ghost walks around on base and hears the most pained sound he has ever heard before he quickly rushes to the source only to end up in front of your room and as soon as he arrives he’s hit with your scent making him weak in the knees

He knows what this means you’re in heat he should turn around and leave but you’re in pain and everything in him is begging to help ease the ache so he knocks at the door and it takes you a moment to open it but as soon as you see it’s him as soon as his scent hits you you’re smashing the door closed and he’s baffled absolutely suprised tries knocking a second time but you’re just telling him to go away sounding even more in pain

but he won’t leave he’s clearly worried about you so you crack the door open peak through it face pinched in pain and voice strained “please please leave Simon you shouldn’t be here “

“No”

“What?” You say in disbelief

“Let me help you, through your heat”

“You’ve gone mad” you say, trying to close the door again

But ghost doesn’t say anything else instead he pushes his way into your room before repeating his words from earlier “let me help” he says even goes as far as pulling the balaclava off his face and you see the messy tufts of blonde hair the soft brown eyes that peer up at you

“Please I want to “

[reagi-df]

Resident Evil: Leo and Chris

Little bit of lore (I’m still knew and learning about RE so Chris might seem ooc, but whatever xD)

This is me just babbling so it might not make a whole lotta sense, I have a backlog of sketches I haven’t posted yet.

The turtles have splinters DNA, yoshi was part of Chris’s team but was sent on a mission to investigate a potential new strain of virus and went missing.

Leo likes to pretend that he didn’t pick up on some of Chris’s habits and mannerisms.

But he’s has always had an issues with authority figures, he knows how they act and what happens when you disappoint. Chris’s and Leo’s first meeting didn’t go well, Leo had been shot in the leg from one of Chris’s team members, due to where the bullet had gone made Leo lose a lot of blood and pass out so he missed a lot of what went on with the others; so Leo never really got that chance to meet him properly.

And any attempts afterward were road blocked by the higher ups. Chris had a hand in training the turtles as they grew up.

Leo’s distrustful by nature and likes to keep his family safe. But just because hes wary around Chris didn’t stop him from subconsciously taking after him in some ways while Chris trained them.

Leo knows there are worst out there and there is a part of him that does like Chris and is glad to know Chris but Leo’s got to many issues to work through. Leo does respect Chris, though he will deny it. When they were younger Leo would often try and antagonise just to try and get a reaction out of Chris but was usually left feeling frustrated when he didn’t. He eventually grew out of it a little but thats how their relationship now, Leo being sassy where he can.

Unlike Mikey and Donnie Leo’s feral side is usually far worse, he’s unpredictable, more so when he was younger. The more he’s grown the more he’s able to keep it in check and be the Face Man. It’s takes a lot to take Leo down when he’s feral, that even Mikey struggles to handle him. But due to how unstable their DNA is, plays a part into Leo’s feral side.

[newpathwrites]

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Chapter 14 - Liberation

How far you had come together.

So many evolutions of your relationship had led to this moment - where sensual desires, emotional comfort, and your working partnership were all so perfectly aligned.

Summary : Din lets go of a boundary.

Note: This is an extremely weird chapter, but I feel that’s true of the entire story! We’re turning conventional relationships and intimacy right around on their heads, anyway, right?😂

A running theme regarding Din and intimacy in this story has been that he has a lot of limits when it comes to nudity or generally being unclothed. He does have a comfort level with Cyar’ika that allows for necessity like handling injuries or being incapacitated, for example, but otherwise this has been a pretty hard boundary for him. It is one, however, that he would like to let go of with her. Every limit he’s softened over the years has only ever led to positive shifts in their relationship, after all.

An opportunity will arise that allows him to comfortably let go of this one.

Also, new queer rep coming up!

For those unfamiliar with the story, these characters have a committed, physically intimate but non-sexual marriage. Both are aroace spectrum. Their story together picks up after season 2.

Warnings: Non-sexual nudity, mildly graphic descriptions of injury, frank discussions of sex and penile physiology😁, allusions to sexual assault (very mild, implied only), language. Cyar’ika has hair - you can imagine any length or texture, and there is description of bruising that is visible to some degree on her skin.

Read on AO3

—-------------------------------------

It was a waiting game.

You and Din were stationed outside a crumbling stone building on the surface of an obscure moon in the Mandalorian system, listening intently for the signal from Bo-Katan over the comm to move in.  Koska and Axe would join you from the other side.  And together, you’d take out these imperial squatters in no more than a few minutes.

But the timing had to be perfect, and so you waited, for the precise moment when their single guard stepped away from his station - and the button that would call immediately for backup.  

Unfortunately, the man in the flimsy white armor seemed intent to stay right where he was for the long haul.

You didn’t mind, really.  Din was by your side, and for once in these past few dangerously eventful years, you’d been truly in sync - slowing down a bit, spending more time at home in Nevarro or visiting Grogu, and being exceedingly picky about jobs.  Money wasn’t tight these days, and as you aged, safer work was looking more and more attractive to you both.  

Secretly, though, you wished Din could see the advantages of stepping away from this kind of work altogether.  But the warrior at the core of his being was not ready to admit that it was time.

Regardless, making peace with your Mandalorian allies had been a good start.  After Din nearly lost his life after that joint mission gone bad, Bo-Katan had gone to great lengths to repair her relationship with him.  The two now got along surprisingly well given their history of strained negotiations over the dark saber and a duel that very well could have resulted in the death of either party.

And now, instead of chasing dangerous and unpredictable bounties across the galaxy, you were more often taking part in well-planned, military-style missions organized by the most talented group of fighters you knew - ones that served your husband’s people.  Not only was it safer but a lot more personally satisfying.

So you were content to wait as long as it took.

—-------------------------------------

Ultimately, the transition of the guards took place so seamlessly that there was no room to move in after all of that waiting, and Bo called a temporary break in surveillance to rest before the next attempt and perhaps rethink their plan of attack.

You and Din were sitting back against the crumbling wall you’d been using for cover, taking an opportunity to quickly down some ration bars and chat before Bo-Katan set you back to work.

“Hey,” you addressed him quietly, knocking his shoulder as he slipped another piece of the dehydrated bar under the visor.  “I’m really sorry about this morning…”

He shrugged.  “It was an accident.  The door must not have latched.”  

You and Din had a simple agreement regarding your shared space.  Though there weren’t a lot of boundaries between you at this point, there were simply times that you needed and desired privacy.  A locked fresher door meant that such times were upon you.  

Din locked the door much more often than you did, still hung up quite a bit on his own nudity.

You, on the other hand, were quite comfortable with him coming in to brush his teeth or trim his beard, for example, while you were showering or dressing.  The door was only locked for you when you were engaged in private intimacy or using the vac.

That system had failed this morning.

A very naked Din greeted you when you broached the unlocked fresher door.

You didn’t really see anything, turning yourself away quickly as you blurted a surprised apology while he grabbed a towel with lighting speed to cover himself.  

It felt a little silly, given that this certainly wasn’t the first time you’d seen his private areas after dealing with so many of his injuries and subsequent recoveries over the years.  But if this was his boundary, you would respect it even if you didn’t understand it.

“Can I ask why you’re so protective of this one particular area of your body?”  You unthinkingly gestured to his pelvic area as you spoke, making you cringe at yourself.  “I’m sorry… don’t answer that…”

To your surprise, though, he did.  Maybe this was something he’d been wanting to tell you.

“This is going to sound weird,” he started.  “But before I ended up in the hospital last year wearing nothing but a transparent sheet… you were literally the only person who had ever laid eyes on all that in my entire adult life…”

Your surprise at that was difficult to hide.

“How is that possible?” you asked disbelievingly, though you knew he wouldn’t lie about such a thing.  “How in the galaxy did you manage to have sexual encounters without anyone ever seeing it?”

“I don’t know,” he responded lightly.  “It was always rushed, fully clothed… And they were usually in front of me… or behind me -”

He stopped himself abruptly, falling silent and going very still, realizing what he’d just revealed.

You looked over at him.  If Din had been with men in the past, he’d never told you about it before now.

And it seemed that he hadn’t really meant to let it slip in this moment, either, given his frozen state. 

“So nobody ever saw it…” you moved on completely, skipping right over his unintentional insinuation.  “And you developed a bit of a complex about it?”

His shoulders dropped in relief - either you didn’t catch it, or you’d decided not to pry.  Either worked for him.

“Yeah, I guess.  So much time went by, and eventually it just felt unnatural to imagine anyone seeing it.”  The visor tilted back in your direction, finally allowing eye contact after his fumble.  “I told you it was weird…”

“No,” you shook your head.  “It’s not weird at all.  I’m curious, though… If I’ve already seen it, quite a few times… why does it still matter?”

He sighed almost like he was frustrated with himself.  “You’ve always made a point not to really look in all of those situations.  But a scenario where I’m inviting you to look, no injury, no necessity… no accidental intrusion in the fresher - that just feels very different…”

“It’s not just about me seeing things, though, is it?”  You could sense there was maybe a little more to this that he wasn’t telling you.

He hesitated a long while, and you figured he wasn’t going to answer that one.  He stumbled over his words when he finally did.

“It’s just…” he started.  “Sometimes things happen… and I can’t always control it…”

You only looked at him blankly, eyebrows raised, the most mortifying reaction he could imagine.

“You know…” he added and made a lewd gesture with his gloved hand, demonstrating his concern.

That got an eye roll from you.  Did he really think you were that clueless?

“I know how penises work, Din,” you replied flatly.

Another sigh echoed from the vocoder.  “I know you do, but…”

“For Maker’s sake,” you interrupted, shaking your head in exasperation.  “It’s pressed into my back every single morning.”

The visor whipped to face you so quickly then it was a wonder he didn’t injure his neck.

“WHAT?!”  

“It’s fine, Din.  I’m just saying that I’m well aware of how your anatomy functions.”

“No, cyar’ika.  It is not fine,” he responded, helmet shaking side to side wildly and voice sounding slightly panicked.  “Why have you never told me?”

“Tell you that your normal bodily functions are in fact functioning normally?  Figured you knew…”

He huffed loudly and looked down in agitation.

“It honestly doesn’t bother me, Din.  Truly.”

The visor turned to face you again.  “It doesn’t bother you?  It’s practically assault!”

“Assault?!”

Now you were incredulous.

“Din,” you addressed him seriously, grasping the side of his helmet so that he wouldn’t look away.  “You and your… physiology… don’t scare me.  Not even a little bit.”

The helmet was turning side to side again, as if he just couldn’t believe that you could possibly be content with this situation.

You dropped your hand to the center of his chest plate, a gesture that had become intimately familiar over the years, and you smiled, hoping to ease his agitation with humor.

“Did you really think I couldn’t feel it, riduur?”  You added, cocking your head comedically, “It’s not exactly a small thing.”

He huffed, this time a bit humorously, and looked away in embarrassment.  “Oh, gods…”

“I mean… it’s not like you’re humping me every morning…”

That got a real laugh, against his will almost, and you inwardly expressed your gratitude to the Maker.

“Please…” he chuckled.  “Don’t ever say those words again.”

“Okay,” you replied with a grin.  “But promise me you won’t start shying away from me in the mornings.  Waking up in your arms is the best part of my day, and I’d much rather be poked in the back by your erection than give that up.”

“Yeah, never say that again, either,” he responded pointedly before softening his stance.  “But… I won’t.  It’s the best part of my day, too.”

“Are we good?” you asked gently, smiling up at him.

“This entire conversation will haunt me for the rest of my life, but yeah,” he agreed, placing his hand over yours on his chest plate.  “We’re good.”

—-------------------------------------

A few hours later, you were no longer good.

The new plan - an all-out ambush - mostly went off without a hitch.

But what none of the group had realized was the incredible amount of explosives held within the stone building, likely detonated remotely as you moved in to ensure the space had been cleared.

Your Mandalorian colleagues were stunned for a moment, nearly losing their grasp on victory over the now-fumbling stormtroopers.  They’d assigned you the task they deemed safest without beskar protection.  If you were still in that building when it exploded, they would never forgive themselves - assuming Din Djarin even left them with their lives.

—-------------------------------------

Din, for his part, was frozen, hyperventilating.  He couldn’t think straight.  Time had stopped.

But the world came rushing back as Axe Woves clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Djarin!  Snap out of it!”

Oh, Maker.  Yes, he needed to find you!

“Come on.  Bo and Koska will handle the rest.  Let’s get her out of there, huh?”

—-------------------------------------

You weren’t exactly sure what happened.

One moment, you were scanning the interior of the small building with your blaster raised…

And the next, you were faced with a roaring boom and a wall of pure fire.

Without much rational thought, you’d held your hands out in front of you to shield yourself from the flames which licked at your hands, burning your flesh as you watched in horror.

Maybe at the same time (you weren’t even sure anymore how much time had passed), your body was thrown backward and onto the floor where you landed with a thud.  

And then the last thing you remembered was falling rock and a suffocating pressure on your chest before you lost consciousness.

—-------------------------------------

You awoke groggily to a voice.  No, two voices.  Male.

One frantically called out your given name.  Axe, you realized as reality began to settle back into your consciousness.

“Talk to us!” he called out your name again.  “Help us find you!”

Another more desperate voice called out your Mando’a endearment.  “Cyar’ika!  Please!”

Your mouth felt like cotton, but you managed to weakly yell out for your husband.

“Din!  I’m here!  I can’t move!”

—-------------------------------------

“Thank the Manda!” Axe exclaimed.  “Keep talking to us!”

You tried to explain where you were and what condition you were in, pinned against the floor with a stone slab resting heavy on your chest.  But it was getting harder and harder to breath or to speak as it continued to compress your ribcage.

The two men could tell you were fading as they frantically pulled large pieces of the fallen stone walls away, grunting with excessive effort.

Finally, they reached you, pulling the last stone slab that was resting directly on your body.

Din released a small sob as you took a deep breath.  You were injured, but you were alive.  You would be ok.

He was at your head in an instant, pressing his helmet to your forehead, trying desperately to hold himself together.

Axe, though, was still in rescue mode, essentially feeling you up with his gloveless hands, evaluating your limbs, your pelvis, your ribcage, and your spine.  He had to ensure you were in a reasonable condition to carry you out of here.  Otherwise, they’d have to clear more rock away to bring in a stretcher.

“Well, it’s a miracle, burc’ya.  You appear to be intact.”

Neither you or Din was paying much attention, wrapped up in quiet, mutual comfort.

Axe stood to his full height, hands on his hips.  He looked like a teacher about to scold his students.

“I get it.  You two are so in love.  Whatever.  It’s disgusting.  But we need to get out of here.”  He gestured to Din.  “Alright?”

Din stood, clearing his throat in some embarrassment at having been caught in such an un-Mandalorian-like state.

“Right.  Let’s go.”

—-------------------------------------

Koska set the scanner on you the moment you made it back to Bo’s ship, ensuring nothing was broken or internally bleeding before she would allow you to sit up on your own.

“I’m so sorry about this.  All I have is bacta spray and pain killers.  It will hold you over until we get to Mandalore, and then we can put you in the tank.”

“No,” you stated, exhausted and frustrated.  “I just want to go home.  Nevarro’s not even that far.  Just bring us back to my ship, and Din will take care of me from there.”

“Are you sure?” Bo interrupted, glancing sideways in Din’s direction.  “Koska and I are happy to help you get cleaned up at least and in a new change of clothes.”

“I appreciate it, Bo,” you sighed tiredly.  “But I really just want to use my own shower and sleep in my own bed.”

Bo-Katan moved closer, whispering out of earshot of the men as she glanced again in Din’s direction.  “You’re going to need help.  Are you sure it’s ok?”

Even Koska was looking at her funny now as she applied the spray to the severe burns on your hands.  Why wouldn’t you be sure about going home with your own husband?

“I’m sure, really.  Din can handle it.”

—-------------------------------------

The trip home was absolutely excruciating.  Din talked about anything and everything that came to mind as he piloted the ship to try to keep your mind off the pain.

It didn’t work.  You looked miserable, tears sliding down your bruised and battered face that you couldn’t wipe away with your hands in this state.

He called ahead to Greef, ensuring a lift would be available to take you directly home upon landing, and he could see the anxiety lifted from your shoulders the moment he guided you through the door.

“All I want is a shower, Din.  And then I want to sleep… preferably forever…”

“Of course, riduur.  But treating your wounds comes first, ok?”

You nodded.  Tomorrow would be a much better day if you just allowed him to take care of your injuries tonight.

—-------------------------------------

Din divested himself of the armor in record time before guiding you into the fresher.  

He imagined you’d need some help but would manage most of this on your own.  Now he was realizing that was not the case at all.

He looked at you - and then at the shower - and back at you again before suddenly pulling off his shirt and pants as you watched him quizzically.

“There’s no way you can do this by yourself,” he explained, standing before you now in just his boxer shorts.  “I’ll help you.”

Well, he was right, actually.  Your fingers were still so raw that you couldn’t even begin to imagine dealing with the buttons and clasps on your clothing, nor managing to clean the grime off your entire wounded body.

And now Bo-Katan’s insistence on wanting to help you get cleaned up and dressed before you left made a lot more sense.  In her mind, knowing that your relationship was not of the traditional variety, she would assume that Din removing your clothing and helping you bathe might be exceedingly uncomfortable, that you would likely prefer a woman involved.  How was she to know that you slept completely naked next to this man on a fairly regular basis?

“Yeah,” you nodded.  “I really can’t, can I?… You sure you don’t mind?”

His hands were already working on the fastenings of your tunic.

It was in times like these that Din’s love for you was on full display.  He removed each piece of fabric with incredible care so as to avoid pulling at any of your wounds and causing you more pain, even opting in the end to cut some of the blood-matted portions off with a pair of shears.  There was no salvaging these garments, anyway.

And then he helped you step carefully into the shower after ensuring the water was a comfortable temperature for your injured state.

The warm water pouring over your sore body felt heavenly, the first real relief you’d felt since that building fell on your head, so much better than a sponge bath and sonic in Bo-Katan’s ship would have been.

You weren’t entirely sure what Din’s plan of action was here.  Perhaps he’d stand to the side of the tub - or maybe he’d get right in with you in his boxers - probably why he’d stripped off his other clothing.

And it was then you realized that he appeared frozen in indecision just outside of the curtain, hands on his hips as he looked pensively down at the floor.

“Din, sweetheart,” you addressed him.  “If you’re not comfortable with this, it’s okay.  I’ll just stand here and let the water rinse me off if you could just help me get dressed again after.  Maybe stay close by, though…”

His slightly pained expression turned to one of determination at your words, and then, without warning, his thumbs were sliding into the waistband of his boxers and pulling them down and off in one swift motion.

You yelped in surprise and quickly turned your eyes to the ceiling.

“What are you doing?!”

“Inviting you to look.”

Huh.  Unexpected development.

“So…” you started hesitantly, dropping your eyes to his face.  “You want me to look?  Like… directly at your genitals?  Just want to be completely clear on what’s happening right now.”

“Yup,” he replied with a bit of anxiety in his voice as he stepped into the shower.  “Every step of the way, from the helmet to everything else, I’ve always been fine once we broke the ice.  So please just look… before anything weird happens…”

You shrugged, wincing slightly in pain, “Alright, if that’s what you want…”

“It is.”

“Okay.  I’m looking,” you warned him resolutely, allowing your gaze to shift downward and linger for just a moment before moving back up to his very apprehensive face.

Din stared at you for several beats before clearing his throat and finally mumbling, “Thank you…”

He shook off the awkwardness quickly, though, just as he’d predicted, and got to work.

Din handled you incredibly gently, not that you’d expected any less, as he cautiously wiped the grime away from your face and body and carefully cleaned out your still open wounds.

When he finished, he didn’t move to turn off the spray right away, instead bringing his forehead to yours and closing his eyes for a moment as the warm water ran over your backs.

“I’m so sorry, cyar’ika,” he whispered, a deep sorrow in his voice.  “I shouldn’t have let this happen to you.”

“Hey, no,” you admonished him lightly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.  “Don’t blame yourself. I chose this life long before I met you, and it was my choice to go on this mission.”

Din didn’t respond to that, but you could see a subtle shift in his expression as he internalized your words.  You were equal partners, always had been, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.  You didn’t want or need him to protect you from the danger of the life you’d both chosen.

When he finally spoke, it was with a kind of resignation, finally giving in to the truth that he’d been avoiding since his own encounter with near fatal injury not too long ago.

“I think it’s time for us to retire from this kind of work,” he said softly.  “I know I’ve been resistant, but… it’s not worth either of us getting killed or seriously injured.  Working for Greef would be safer - and ensure that we’re both here for Grogu as long as possible.”

You nodded, eyes filling with tears as the full weight of your pain and exhaustion suddenly hit you.  You knew you couldn’t do this anymore.

“I agree,” you rushed out, followed by a sob.  This sometimes violent chapter of your life and partnership was coming to an end, one that was surprisingly bittersweet.

There wasn’t any uninjured place to embrace you, so Din just let you lean into him and cry until the warm water ran out.  This was unusually emotional for you, but he recognized you were running on fumes at this point, exhausted beyond reason.  

Well, it wasn’t his job to protect you, per se, but it was certainly his job to care for you.  And that was what he was going to do.

—-------------------------------------

Din had reached his personal limit for nudity rather quickly, and so his first order of business upon helping you out of the shower and patting you dry was to quickly redress in his night clothes.

You, on the other hand, had upwards of twenty different injuries that needed bacta and/or bandaging, and so you found yourself sitting still naked on the edge of the bed with a soft blanket around your shoulders for warmth while he wrapped your hands and began applying bacta to the wounds and bruises that littered your body.

As he worked, your emotional state began to fade, and you suddenly found yourself wanting to address your conversation from earlier in the day, when Din had accidentally implied that he’d had experiences with men.  Without bacta in your system, you’d probably have thought better of it, but oh, well… your inhibitions were thoroughly shot at the moment.

“Din… about our conversation back at the base…”

His fingers paused momentarily where they gently rubbed bacta into the bruises blooming across your chest before resuming as he murmured a slightly hesitant, “Go ahead…”

“I just want you to know that you don’t owe me any information about your past.  We are both allowed our secrets…”

Though Din continued to work as you spoke, you could see the growing apprehension in his eyes.  He figured quickly exactly to what ‘secrets’ you were referring.

“But you should know that you can tell me,” you continued, yawning.  “That’s all I wanted to say.”

An awkward silence settled between you after that, and just as Din finally felt compelled to speak on it, you suddenly began talking again.

“I had a relationship with a woman.”

Of all the things you could say right now, this was probably the last one Din had expected.  You had never mentioned this to him before, though you’d spoken at length about your long ago, ill-fated engagement to a man, the only adult relationship you’d claimed to have before meeting Din himself almost two decades later.

“I suppose it was more like friends-with-benefits,” you continued.  “It was right after I’d broken things off with that kriffing mudscuffer ex of mine.”

Clearly this was a story you wanted to tell, so Din stayed quiet and let you.

“Anyway, after everything that happened with him, I didn’t think I could ever enjoy intimacy again, and I just needed someone to talk to about it.  She’d been a close friend since childhood.”

You let out a small chuckle then, remembering your former lover fondly.  “She suggested pretty quickly that maybe I’d just been trying with the wrong gender… and promptly propositioned me.”

Din didn’t even pretend to be working on your wounds anymore and rest a hand on your knee.  He smiled as you huffed again, joyful remembrance clear in your expression.

“Those few months…” you started, meeting his eyes.  “They were incredible, Din.  Being with a woman was freeing in a way.  I was comfortable.  I felt safe enough to let go a little and allow myself to actually feel pleasure.  And gods, did she really know what she was doing in that department.”

“Why did it end?” Din finally spoke.  It sounded like you’d had something good.  He mused, though, that its ending was necessary for him to have ever even met you.

“It always had an expiration date,” you responded matter-of-factly.  “We were just… having fun.  She felt stifled by our conservative village, and it gave her an opportunity to experience something she wanted.  For me, I realized very quickly that I didn’t actually need another person to have pleasure in my life.  It became pretty clear, too, that I just wasn’t meant for romantic commitment, and sex still wasn’t a priority for me like it was for her… and apparently everyone else.  

“It helped me accept that I’m different, though… and the bonus was that I left knowing better what I like.  The situation served its purpose for us both.”

You let out a tired sigh, adjusting your position to take some pressure off your sore behind.

“The safety that I felt with her… I feel that with you, too.  The difference is that now I know that what I really want in a relationship isn’t romance and… carnal activities…”

You looked at him directly then and gestured between you, at the contradictory image of him, fully clothed, kneeling on the floor before you in your very vulnerable and yet entirely trusting state.

“It’s this.”

Din didn’t even know what to say.  Why you shared this secret with him right now, he didn’t know.  But he wholeheartedly agreed with your ultimate conclusion.  

While he wracked his brain for a worthy response, you broke the silence yet again.  

“Din… I think I might be high…”

“Yeah?” he finally spoke, huffing out a small laugh.  “We’ve used a lot of bacta.  It does make you a little extra wordy, doesn’t it?”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replied firmly as he rose to his feet and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.  “Let’s find you something soft to wear.”

Honestly, the idea of anything touching your skin sounded excruciating, and you briefly pondered sleeping naked while suspended in the air - too bad you weren’t gifted with the force.  

In the end, though, Din remembered the outrageously expensive silk pajamas Karga had gifted him when you’d moved into your place in Nevarro.  The garments were a bit large on you, but they did the trick.

And no sooner did your head hit the pillow were you fast asleep.

Rest wouldn’t come as swiftly for your dumbfounded husband, though.  Maybe it was time he finally let go of a secret, too.  Letting go seemed to be a theme today.

What in the galaxy did he do right in this life to deserve you?

—-------------------------------------

You woke in the morning a whole lot less sore and a lot more comfortable, Din as always at your back.

The bandages on your hands had slipped free during the night, and your burns were nearly completely healed, so you spent a few moments clasping and unclasping your fingers, getting them working again.

Din must have been stirring, too, because there it was as usual - something firm pressing into your lower back.

“Kriff…” his voice grumbled behind you.  “I honestly didn’t know you could feel that…”

“Please don’t move,” you begged, reaching back to grasp his hip briefly.  “I’m so comfortable right now.”

“I won’t,” he sighed.  “But now I can’t stop thinking about the fact that you’ve been intimately familiar with my morning wood for years…”

“Three minutes.”

“What?”

“That’s roughly how long it takes to fade,” you answered.  “Yes, I’ve timed it.”

“Maker…” he whispered as he buried his face in your neck.

As expected, it did in fact fade within minutes, and you continued to rest comfortably together in silence as you carefully stretched your newly healed fingers.

“My story isn’t like yours…”

The words tumbled from his mouth without warning as morning sun began to pour in through the gaps in the window shades.

You stiffly tangled your fingers with his where they had come to rest across your stomach and squeezed once in reassurance.  His tone was serious but anxious, and you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“I never had any sort of relationship before you - just meaningless sex with whoever propositioned me between jobs, back when I was a very green bounty hunter…  Usually it was women.  Sometimes it was men.  It made no difference to me - the mechanics were the same…”

He went on to explain that, regardless of who and how, he never really enjoyed it very much.  Physical release could only get him so far when he hardly knew and didn’t fully trust the other party.  He could accomplish the same goal alone in the safety of his ship without putting his life or his creed in any danger.  

“Neither scenario was very satisfying, but at least I could stay in one piece that way.  It’s been at least twenty years now, and I don’t regret it.  I haven’t missed out on anything.”

You pulled your tangled hands to your lips and kissed his knuckles once before interjecting.  “You must have been lonely, though.”

“I was…” he replied lightly.  “But Grogu helped me realize that being close to people wasn’t really as dangerous as I thought.  And meeting you changed everything.  Just being… present… with you is so much more satisfying than any of the encounters I had back then, armor and clothing between us or not.  I never imagined I could have something like this.”

You smiled to yourself.  Din wasn’t big on words, but when he used them, he did it well.

“I have a silly question,” you stated, gingerly turning on your other side to face him.  “Do you think we could have this same relationship had I been a man?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, pondering the possibilities. The truth was he never saw any of this coming in the first place.

Finally he nodded.  “I can’t see why not.  I don’t think gender really matters very much to me.”

“Same.  It’s amazing that we are still learning things about each other after all this time…”

“Yeah, it is.”  He grinned at you fondly for a moment before leaning in to kiss you, lingering a bit longer than usual before pulling back and regarding you.  “You look like you’re still in pain.”

“I feel much better, Din.  My hands are healed.  Now it’s just my sore behind - I couldn’t bear the extra humiliation of asking you to rub bacta on my naked butt last night.”

“I would have, though,” he chuckled lightly.  “You know that.”

“I know,” you responded affectionately, lifting a hand to his face.  “Yesterday was just a lot.  Thank you for taking care of me.  I know that was uncomfortable for you.”

He shook his head.  “The concept was uncomfortable.  But the reality is always fine when it’s with you.”

You gazed at each other lovingly for a moment before he was suddenly pushing the covers aside and walking around to the other side of the bed.

“Stay right where you are.  I think we’ve got just enough.”

You felt the bed dip behind you as he took a seat on the other side and reached for the bacta tube on the bedside table.

“Din, you really don’t have to…”

His hand rested lightly on your hip.

“I want to… Is it okay?”  Despite the fact that his eyes and hands had explored just about every inch of your body at this point, he would never presume permission to touch you despite constant reassurances that he was allowed to do pretty much whatever he’d like.

Acts of service - that was his love language, wasn’t it?  You wouldn’t refuse it if he wanted to do this for you, though you were certainly in a much better condition this morning to handle it yourself.  You nodded your assent over your shoulder.

“Dank farrick, cyar’ika,” he exclaimed as he slid the silk material down past your buttocks.  “How did you even sit down?”  The bruising on your lower half hadn’t looked half this bad yesterday, and so he’d mostly neglected the area to focus on your gashes and burns.  You must have continued to bleed under your skin during the night.

You shrugged, wincing slightly as he began to gently rub bacta into the worst bruising.  “It did hurt, but I think I was too drugged up to really care.  Ahhh… it’s feeling better already.  Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I wouldn’t do this for anyone else,” he replied affectionately, tossing the now-empty bacta tube back onto the table and pulling the pajama bottoms back up.  “But you’re welcome, riduur.”

Turning your body around on the mattress was a whole lot easier now.

“Would you lay with me a little while longer?  Perhaps I could interest you in a bit of kissing?  We deserve it after the day we had yesterday, don’t you think?” you asked, a playful glint in your eye as you laid on your back gazing up at him.

Din had never once denied that request, and he definitely wasn’t going to start now.  But he had other motives for engaging in intimacy with you at the moment.

It might have looked like the preamble to a love scene in one of those spicy romantic holovids when Din moved to hover over your body and unbutton the silk pajama top you were wearing, but you knew better. 

He was checking that the rest of your injuries were suitably treated, lovingly running his fingers over your nearly entirely healed skin.

“I’m alright, Din,” you stated softly, bringing your fingers to his beard.  “I promise.”

There had been a brief moment yesterday that Din truly believed he had lost you.  The despair he felt in those seconds rivaled that of his losses on Aq Vetina.

He just needed a minute to reassure himself that you were really here and ok.  Your body was solid and warm under his fingers, the evidence of your numerous injuries fading.

It seemed Din had achieved a new level of comfort in the last standard day because his hand on your skin was soon replaced by his mouth, kissing across and down your torso, the area which had sustained the worst injuries, then moving to your arms and hands and then your abdomen, only stopping when he reached the waist of the silk pajama bottoms.

Din looked up at your face sheepishly before moving back up your body, suddenly self-conscious with himself.  “Sorry - had to get that out of my system.”

“You have my tacit permission to do that whenever you’d like, riduur,” you replied lightly, a twinkle in your eye, before pulling his head down and kissing him deeply.

He gave into it without a second thought, allowing his body to rest down on yours as your legs opened up to give him space, still careful not to put all of his weight on your healing form.

Your arms came around his neck while his forearms rested on the mattress beside your head, entirely wrapped up together as lips and tongues met in gentle caresses.

You sighed blissfully as you allowed your body to relax into the mattress.  The silk top was still open, but you didn’t care.  This sensual kind of intimacy with Din was so satisfying, no matter how sexually charged it might look on the outside.  Who else was here to scrutinize it, anyway?

And it was remarkable to recall that a similar, even more innocent experimentation in this position had put you into a mild panic near the beginning of your marriage.  Now it was purely comfort and safety you felt.

How far you had come together.  

So many evolutions of your relationship had led to this moment - where sensual desires, emotional comfort, and your working partnership were all so perfectly aligned.

Din kissed you one last time, pulling your pajama top closed and redoing a few of the buttons before sitting up beside you and holding his hand out in your direction.

“Hungry?” he asked.

You took his hand, smiling, and let him haul you up.

“Maker, yes.  I’m starving.”

—-------------------------------------

You gave yourselves a full day to recover before setting up a meeting with Greef to discuss a new career direction, one served by your collective skillset and desire to give back to this planet that had become your home… one that was less dangerous and easier on your aging bodies…

And Din, the warrior, for once was satisfied with settling down, staying in one place, and doing safer work.

But he wouldn’t do it with anyone but you.

—-------------------------------------

Thank you for reading!  

I feel this chapter was all over the place.  I had a few different things I wanted to accomplish around intimacy, letting go of preconceived notions or fear/shame in the safety of this relationship, etc.  I’m not sure how well it all fit together.

This last scene in bed is meant to highlight how they can do things as independent sensual activities that might look like foreplay or appear sexual in nature to an allosexual person.  She’s half naked, he’s literally on top of her, they’re kissing… and then they’re just done with that and go grab breakfast - not a single thought to the idea that this could have gone further.  This is my own acespec experience. 

Also, cyar’ika not caring at all about Din’s morning erection because there’s nothing inherently sexual about it whatsoever in her eyes.  She has a similar attitude about nudity.   So ace of her, right? 🙂 

[sattaindianmatka12]

Satta Matka: The Game of Dreams, Despair, and Destiny's Power

In the heart of India’s bustling cities and quiet towns, an age-old game continues to cast its spell. Satta Matka—a name that resonates with thrill, ambition, and sometimes, heartbreak. To many, it's just a game. But for countless others, it's a ride through the intense emotions of hope, despair, and the unshakable belief in destiny.

A Game Born from Simplicity

Satta Matka began as a humble form of lottery in the 1960s, when people placed bets on the opening and closing rates of cotton. Over time, it evolved into a complex web of numbers, predictions, and strategies. But while the format changed, the emotion behind the game remained the same—the dream of transforming fate overnight.

People from all walks of life participate—some for the adrenaline, others to escape poverty. For them, this game is more than gambling; it’s a shot at rewriting their story.

The Power of a Number

What’s in a number? In Satta Matka, everything.

Each number carries the weight of expectations. A right guess can bring riches, while a wrong one can leave someone empty-handed. Yet, the players return day after day. Why? Because dreams are powerful, and in Satta Matka, dreams live in numbers.

The allure lies in its unpredictability, the sense that anyone can win, no matter who they are. The poor man on the street, the rickshaw driver, the office clerk—each believes that today might be their lucky day. That one number can change it all.

The Highs of Hope

Winning in Satta Matka is euphoric. A small bet turning into a massive payout can feel like magic. For many, that win pays medical bills, school fees, or overdue rent. In a life filled with daily struggle, a single win feels like the universe finally listened.

Players often describe their win not just in money, but in emotion. Tears of joy, disbelief, and gratitude. “It felt like God touched me,” one player said after a big win. That’s the raw emotional power this game holds.

The Lows of Despair

But where there’s hope, there’s also heartbreak.

The same game that creates miracles can destroy peace. Addiction, financial ruin, and strained relationships are the darker sides of the Matka world. Players lose their life savings chasing a dream that keeps slipping away. Nights are sleepless, days are anxious. Families suffer silently.

Many fall into the trap of trying to recover losses, only to spiral deeper. The dream turns into a nightmare. And yet, many continue, caught in a cycle that’s hard to escape. Because even in the depths of despair, hope whispers—maybe next time.

A Game of Destiny

At its core, Satta Matka isn’t just about money. It’s about destiny. Players don’t just bet on numbers—they bet on fate. They place their faith in the belief that luck will eventually turn in their favor.

And that’s what keeps the game alive. It’s not the payouts, or the thrill, or even the competition. It’s the human need to believe that we’re in control of our future, even when life says otherwise.

The Underground World

Despite being illegal in most parts of India, Satta Matka thrives in secrecy. The community is tight-knit, the networks vast, and the traditions old. From the whisper of tips in tea stalls to underground hubs in crowded cities, Satta Matka lives in the shadows—but beats with the heart of its players.

Technology has now taken it online, expanding its reach and making it more accessible than ever. Apps, websites, WhatsApp groups—today’s Satta Matka has gone digital, but the emotion remains unchanged.

Final Words

Satta Matka is more than just a game. It is a mirror reflecting the dreams, desperation, and destiny of millions.

For some, it’s a path to a better life. For others, it’s a hard lesson in loss. But for all, it’s a reminder of the fragile line between hope and heartbreak. In every draw, there’s a story. In every player, a silent prayer.

And in every number, a world of emotions waiting to unfold.

[northland-conservative-voice]

It’s hard to believe we’re approaching a year since my mom passed away. This photo was from her 60th birthday party—one of my favorite memories. I had flown in to surprise her, and the look on her face was priceless. She passed on May 14, 2024, at 77 years old.

I miss our talks—especially the way she’d give advice about people, places, and all the unpredictable things life throws at you. You never truly grasp the depth of the void until your mom is gone.

She was honest to a fault—whether you were ready to hear it or not. 😄 She was strong, educated, compassionate, and unwavering in who she was. The world feels a little less bright without her in it.

We didn’t always see things the same way, but I always knew she was in my corner. Always.

As I move through this chapter of life, I find myself wishing for her guidance more than ever. Her absence has shaken every part of me—my routines, my relationships, even my spirituality.

I still wrestle with the “why”—why she had to get such a rare illness, why it happened the way it did. And honestly, I’ve found myself asking where God was in all of it. I used to feel much closer to Him, but now... even that connection feels strained. Well all I can do is take one step at a time forward. That's the best I can do right now.

To bad there isn't a GPS for life. Until later battle on.

[manybcdthings]

Character Name: Gabriel Alvarez

Character Age & Birthday: 49 years old, April 2nd

Hometown: San Antonio, Texas

Pre-2024 Occupation: Carpenter

Current Role: Scout, handyman

Current Time with Group: November 2024

Immunity Status: Not Immune

DETAILS

Past:

Before 2024, Gabriel built a reputation as a skilled carpenter, working on homes and small businesses with care and precision. In his free time, he often volunteered at local shelters, teaching woodworking to at-risk youth and finding purpose in helping others. However, Gabriel’s personal life was far from stable. His marriage to Beatriz was tumultuous, marked by unpredictable emotions and constant tension. When they became parents, their relationship only grew more strained, with Gabriel often retreating emotionally to avoid conflict.

Their eventual divorce was just as messy as their marriage, and by the end, Gabriel didn’t have the energy or resources to fight for full custody of their daughter, Ines. At just five years old, Ines moved to Arizona with Beatriz, while Gabriel stayed behind in San Antonio. He tried to stay involved, arranging visits and letting her stay with him occasionally, but over the years, their relationship became distant.

Gabriel’s greatest regret came later when he learned that Beatriz’s life had begun to spiral. He hadn’t stepped in when he heard she was struggling, and by then, it was too late. Ines had gone to live with Beatriz’s brother, Diego, and his wife, Carina, in New York when she was ten. To this day, Gabriel carries the heavy weight of guilt, seeing himself as a failure as a father for not being there when Ines needed him most.

January 2024:

Gabriel was at home having dinner with his sister when the outbreak began. At first, they decided to hunker down, hoping to ride out the chaos. But as supplies dwindled and the situation outside worsened, they had no choice but to leave. For Gabriel, there was only one goal: getting to New York. He didn’t care that a major city was likely one of the worst places to be; his focus was entirely on finding his daughter, Ines.

He and his sister managed to survive well enough, moving cautiously through the chaos, scavenging where they could. By April, they had made it to West Virginia, where they crossed paths with a group that included Diego and Carina, Ines’s aunt and uncle. Gabriel’s relief was short-lived when he discovered there was no sign of Ines. The group explained that the last time she was seen, they had urged her to leave New York, knowing the city was becoming increasingly dangerous.

It took some convincing for Gabriel to stay with the group. His instinct was to keep searching, to press on despite the risks, but the reassurance that Ines had been urged to leave New York gave him a glimmer of hope. For now, he remains with the group, driven by the belief that staying alive and moving forward is his best chance of finding her.

Now:

Since April, Gabriel has gradually retreated into his cynicism, losing hope with each passing day as the group moves farther from New York. His resentment toward Carina and Diego is obvious for anyone to see. To keep his thoughts from spiraling, he throws himself into work, tirelessly taking on tasks to distract himself.

While he functions as a dependable team player with the group, his demeanor leaves much to be desired. Many members may find him unapproachable, his guarded and often irritable personality creating a wall that few feel comfortable crossing.

Personality:

Gabriel is a complicated person. On the surface, he comes across as hard to read and someone who might be difficult to have a deep conversation with. However, beneath that exterior he has strong values and a tireless work ethic. He can be quietly protective, often sacrificing his own comfort for the sake of others in subtle ways. He offers up his food while claiming he isn’t hungry or taking people's tasks so they can rest while he stays busy. While he can be gruff, pointed, and emotionally closed off, there’s an undeniable undercurrent of loneliness and sadness in the way he views the world.

Weapons: Hatchet: Practical and versatile, used for both combat and repairs.

Lever-action rifle: Reliable for mid-range defense and hunting.

Hammer: Always on hand, doubling as a weapon and tool.

Homemade spike traps: A reflection of his skill in crafting and fortification, he's created some on a spring that he can throw to create temporary relief against a large group of dead.

Relic: A small wooden cat figurine he carved for Ines when she came to stay. She helped him with it, and the tail is slightly crooked as a result. She never took it back to Arizona with her but Gabriel has kept it in his pocket for years.

CONNECTIONS

Sister: Gabriel's sister is one of the few who can coax a rare smile from Gabriel, and she's often one of the first people to predict when one of his infamous moods are about to take place. Gabriel trusts her completely, often preferring to work with her than others with the group.

Diego & Carina: Gabriel finds himself balancing resentment and gratitude for Diego and Carina. He's grateful they looked after Ines, though it reminds him of his shortcomings as a father. He resents them for being unable to keep her safe during the outbreak, despite knowing this is an unrealistic feeling to carry. Their interactions are often tense and short.

Someone who potentially traveled with Ines and Jakob: They could become someone Gabriel ends up warming to, because of the connection to Ines and it giving him a slight hope she's with someone and alive. Could also make Felix feel hopeful about Jakob too. Or, an at-risk youth Gabriel previously taught carpentry would be great and be like a reluctant care vibe.

[angry-geese]

Sukuna requests. S/o makes fun of him all the time, calls him weak, etc. What nobody knows at the beginning is that s/o is significantly stronger than sukuna

The Definition of Human - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: some swearing but its pretty tame. mention of death, and violence. Sukuna kind of needs his own warning. sfw. gn!reader.

a/n: as much as i love the idea of sukuna being soft for his human s/o i also love the thought of them being much stronger than him and him having no clue what do to with that

Word Count: 2.1k

You were just a sorcerer when he first met you, barely an adult, cast out by your village.

Someone so powerful hadn't been born for centuries. A sorcerer like you could turn the world of Jujutsu on its head. And that was the last thing they wanted to happen. The older you grew, the more unpredictable you became. You were far too strong for the village elders to handle. While you could have been a powerful ally, you would have been an even worse foe. The very people that had raised you, who taught you how to use your powers had begun to fear you.

Though you weren't trussed up like a sacrifice, you were sat by one of his altars like one.

It was only by chance you stumbled across such a thing. The surrounding woods were vast, and winding. No matter what path you took, you always seemed to wind back up by them. Perhaps it was a work of sorcery, meant to keep you lost in the woods forever. No trail seemed to lead back home. The village elders never expected you to last long on your own against the elements, let alone the King of Curses. But growing exhausted, and hungry, you had little choice but to stop and rest. The altar had offerings in the form of food, and a place to rest. Far more than Sukuna needed. You figured he wouldn't notice if you took a few things.

At the base of an altar sat a much smaller form. A human, one from the local village. Your shoulders were slumped, your arms curled around a bag. You didn't look sad, so much as you looked furious. You were talking to yourself, listing out all the ways you’d flatten each and every structure, how you’d salt the very earth they stood on, how you’d turn the once rich, fertile soil uninhabitable.

For having Sukuna’s interest in mind, he was certainly ready to burn it to the ground. Your village did little to appease the King of Curses. The humans in it were conniving, and rather quick to betray him. The relationship between the two was strained at best. In exchange for offerings in the form of crops, alcohol, and whoever decided to get on the village elders’ bad side, he wouldn't burn your home to the ground.

In a way, you were their last sacrifice to him, and by far his favorite.

As a child your parents had warned you, telling you never to go into the woods alone. A four armed man wandered out there, and he had a habit of making travelers disappear. Now that very same forest you once feared was your only sliver of comfort.

It took you a moment to realize he was standing there. And when you finally noticed him, you didn't look at him with the fear most humans did. There was a curious glint in your eyes. You sized him up, studied him in a way he wasn't used to.

In your hands you held an apple—an old offering—paring it with a knife. You were carving around the bruises. The texture of bruised apples always bothered you.

“It's dangerous to be out here alone, little one,” he said, eyeing you up like prey, “you should know that by now.”

“You’re the least of my worries, old man,” you said, popping a chunk of apple into your mouth.

You were still human. Strong, but human. You needed sleep, and food. If exposed to the elements too long you would freeze, or succumb to heatstroke or thirst.

“Old man?!” He said, clearly offended.

“What? You don't think I’ve heard the stories?” You asked. “You don’t scare me.”

And you were right. Even as he looked you in the eyes, you didn't back down once. You, unlike every other human from your village, weren't scared of him. He found you curious, and interesting. From the very moment your eyes locked with his, he was infatuated.

“I should frighten you,” he warned.

“You don't,” you said, “in fact, I think I could kick your ass!”

Expecting it to be an easy fight, he took your offer.

What resulted was a fight that would last days. Sukuna had never met anyone who could last so long against him. Let alone a human. Your strength was only rivaled by your unwavering rage. You were determined in a way he’d never seen before. Your village, along with half of the surrounding forest would be razed in the battle.

They had to have seen this coming. The child that is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel it's warmth.

And it's warmth you felt.

You couldn't imagine yourself being sad. You were too filled with anger and betrayal. There was no room left in your heart for sadness.

He remembers the look of the fires, and how they glinted in your eyes. He thinks that's when you began to turn into a curse.

After the third day, he had grown not only bored, but tired. It was clear neither of you were capable of destroying the other. He figured you were too tough to eat; you wouldn't make good meat. Uraume couldn't do a whole lot with you. And you were too combative to be a concubine. You would not go with him willingly. He's not one to give up, nor is he one to admit defeat, but he knows when he's not going to win. The two of you would mutually destroy the world before you would destroy each other. There was no end in sight. Sukuna simply wanted to leave.

So he simply headed for home.

That enraged you. After days of fighting, there was no climatic end to the battle. You wanted something more.

"Hey asshole!" You said. "You can't just walk away!"

"I know when I've met my match." He said. "Do you?"

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means this world will burn before we destroy each other."

The two of you were quite literally a match made in hell. You would be a powerful ally and an even worse foe. There was no point in fighting you.

He did nothing to stop you when you followed him.

You were more of a nuisance than anything else. He often found himself comparing you to a cockroach. No matter how many times he tried to squash, poison, or starve out you always came back. If he couldn't kill you, then he had to have you on his side. You weren't something to be deceived, betrayed, injured, or killed. You were stronger than that. You were sharp, too, with a tongue to match. Whether harsh words he threw your way, you returned in double. It was rare he found a human with quite a tongue on them. He often remarked about having it nailed to his door. You simply pointed at his servants and dared them to try it.

They never did. Anyone who dared harm you often met a gruesome fate, either at his hands, or yours.

He didn't consider himself capable of falling in love. And he isn't. To some extent. But love is what he felt. You were the closest to an equal the King of Curses had ever met. In many ways you surpassed him, but those who admitted it often met a swift death.

He moved onto the next village. So did you. Word had not yet spread of what happened. People knew of the fires, but not of the deaths, and your connection to them. You settled down, taking up work with the local shamans. Though you were a newcomer, your help was gladly accepted when Sukuna first showed up, demanding offerings.

In the beginning you tried to warn them. That didn't help. They never listened. It always ended the same way; with a razed village and a bunch of needless deaths.

Sukuna would visit. Often in the late hours of the night as you were trying to get some sleep. He did little more than steal your food, and make himself far too comfortable. Of course that's how most of your meetings went.

He's not sure when he fell for you. But it was something that happened all at once. After years of a back and forth between you two, something gave. You took a place right by his side. He found himself no longer taking concubines, no longer indulging in the sacrifices presented to him. He found himself consumed with the thought of you. He had to have you.

“I can't believe you’re all out of sake,” he said, one night while visiting.

“I wonder who’s fault that is,” you said.

He cast you a glare from across the room. You'd have to buy more in the morning anyway. But all the good stuff has been put up as an offering, and the only sake left in the market is watered down, and worth nothing to you. You don't drink the stuff all that much anyway, you just used it for cooking.

“I question why I keep you alive,” he said.

“I think if you could even kill me,” you said, “you would have by now. Someone as weak as you doesn't stand a chance.”

He didn't like this, and hauled you into his arms, carrying you away from your cooking.

“No!” You squealed, too busy giggling to put up much of a fight. “The rice is going to overcook!”

Sukuna couldn't care less about the rice. He tossed you rather carelessly onto your shared bed, caging you in his arms. The kiss he pulled you into was fleeting, and soft, like he was almost afraid to touch you.

When the village elders first discovered these meetings, it didn't take them long to exile you. The very people that had welcomed you had ignored your warnings and betrayed you. You had gone from respected, and even loved, to feared in an instant.

At some point you stopped trying to warn them. If you really wanted to, you could stop him. Delay him at best. Give people time to run. At least someone would survive. But after a while, you began to think some of them deserved it. The sacrifices they provided were never enough when Sukuna grew tired of toying with them. It was just you and him. Two constant presences in each other's life. You grew used to his company. Enjoyed it, even. You’d never tell him that. Mostly because you didn't want to inflate his ego even more. You were as much his as he was yours.

At some point you became more curse than human.

You could breathe, your lungs would fill with air, but the action provided no relief. You no longer felt the need to eat, and often found yourself forgetting to do so. Food turned to ash in your mouth. The enjoyment of eating was long since lost to you. You're alive, but you're not. Your heart beats but the blood that courses through your veins is not quite right. Your memories of yourself when you were younger fade. But the anger. That fear, that anger, cast into the past, is the only humanity left in you.

You found yourself falling asleep next to him, and in turn waking up next to him. Sometimes in his arms, sometimes on the other side of the bed. He found himself opening his arms for you to climb into. You would do so, albeit reluctantly.

You were his partner. You were a nuisance, but you were his partner.

"Am I dead?" You asked, one morning in the fall. You think it was fall. You remember the leaves turning yellow and orange, but it wasn't cold enough to be winter.

"I haven't killed you yet, so no." He said. "Why?"

"Because I woke up and saw your face, and thought I had finally gone to hell." You said.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. An offended sounding huff left him. He rolled over onto you, pinning you to the sheets. His knees planted on either side of your body, his hands found your wrists. It’d take no effort from you to throw him off. But you didn't. You never did.

“You’re not in hell yet,” he said.

“I'd beg to differ,”

“Then beg,”

“Make me!”

He attacked your neck with wet, open mouth kisses, sending you into a giggling fit. Your skin was warm under his lips. You were always so warm. You were flushed from your chest to your forehead, blush dusting the tips of your ears and your nose. Your arms wrapped around your neck, pulling him flush to your chest. Your heartbeat was audible, racing as he pressed his ear to your chest.

“Stay in bed a little longer,” he said. He was pleading more than he was asking. And you weren't able to find it in you to refuse.

It wasn't entirely awful having someone stronger than him.

[spitdrunken]

love language 6

this is a commissioned work! thank you so much for your support.

thank you, everyone, for being patient with me during my absence! i hope this fic somewhat makes up for it- a lot has been happening to me lately, but i hope this will kick off a period in time when i can be more active again! that’s it, i hope you enjoy!!

pairing: ingo / reader / emmet (reader is female!) wordcount: 7.3k warnings: yandere / unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, stockholm syndrome, implied hypnosis outside the scene, kidnapping, possessive behaviour, blood, biting, spanking. if you read this and feel like there are other warnings necessary, please let me know!

The door is open.

The dinner for three you'd been making stands forgotten in the kitchen. A mere crack, a hint of freedom. There’s nothing of the outside world to be seen, but it has your heart racing for the first time in weeks. You inhale slowly through your mouth. Cold air leaks inside and sends goosebumps up your arms. The door waves back and forth with the wind, tapping softly against the frame. Beckoning. Taunting. You never expected it to be unlocked. Testing the handle had become a part of your routine. (it is always always always the same every day never anything unpredictable never anything uncomfortable). You did it once every day after they left and, today, you just happened to test it during the evening. At first, you needed to build up the courage for every single attempt and would yank on the handle as soon as it proved to be locked. As if that would’ve helped. But that energy flows back into you now.

Some suppressed, almost-forgotten panic claws to the surface and has you slamming the door against the wall, leaving one corner of it cracked. One moment you're standing in the hallway, the next your feet are pounding on the ground so hard the very earth feels like it might crumble beneath your feet. Tears cloud your vision. Even without sight, you know that you’ve long since lost your way. The area around their home is unfamiliar to you. Not to mention, you took off in a random direction. Harder to follow, you imagine. (but somehow you know that they’ll find you because they’ll always have and they know you know you better than yourself)

When you do stop, it's because you can’t move one step further. Your heart is about to burst out of your ears. Every breath brings you one closer to throwing up your lungs. Perhaps you could’ve forced yourself to go further if it weren’t for the street you’re now in. You’re met with a dead end in an alleyway and simply collapse, curling up on the ground next to a garbage bin. The smell is one of rotten eggs. Your feet are on fire and your legs keep twitching from the sudden, extreme strain you put them through. The adrenaline pumping through your veins is already waning, the layer of sweat covering your body cooling. You’re starting to shiver. You have nothing. No plan, no money, no extra clothes, no Pokémon. Like an idiot, you just ran. You didn’t even put on any shoes! Now that you can think straight, regret tightens your ribcage, and breathing becomes even more difficult. (it’s dark and cold and you’re alone and you have no clue where they are and your feet hurt so much they’re warm warm with blood and you’re alone and they’ll be mad and and and-)

You try not to think of them when they’re not around. Ingo and Emmet. Your feelings towards them are one tangled knot, pulling you one way and the other, confusing even yourself. Especially yourself. To them, it all seems to be crystal clear. You should hate them. You don’t. And yet, you ran away. And yet, some part of you is wishing to go back. It’s safe and familiar, you’ve come to lean into their affections. Staying home doesn’t have you bleeding on the dirty ground in a stinking alleyway. Maybe… If you went back now, if you found your way home, they wouldn’t have even noticed you were gone. You put some pressure on one of your feet to stand up, but it’s to no avail. You hiss in pain before a strangled sob is wrenched from your throat. The bottoms of your feet all torn open. Fresh tears drip on to your cheeks.

(Your brain turns to them, now. For comfort. Ingo would tend to your cuts with the utmost care, telling you to brace yourself before every press of disinfectant. He doesn’t like seeing you in pain, and he hesitates for a moment when you start to sniffle, but a possible infection would be worse. That’s what he tells you. During all of this, Emmet has you on his lap, chin resting on your shoulder and an arm around your waist. His hand wiping the tears off of your face. A calming, purple glow bathes all three of you in its warm light, and… Wait.)

You blink slowly, frowning. The inside of your skull is clouded by fog, regardless, you manage to recognise it as… Familiar. A haunting song fills your ears. None of the notes line up in any way that makes sense, constantly dipping from high to low. All the little aches melt off of your body. It takes an incredible amount of energy to crane your neck to look up, but then you see it: Chandelure, looming above you. Seeing all of its flames flickering, despite the lack of wind, leaves your mind blissfully empty. It’s warm. It’s nice. Like being wrapped in a warm, fuzzy weighted blanket, all your limbs pinned to the ground. A bit of drool drips from your half-open mouth. The thought of wiping it away cannot cross your mind.

You slump against the wall. The world turns hazy around, going fully dark, then returning. It’s impossible to tear your eyes away from the ghost’s gentle sway. A pounding comes closer and closer, becoming clearer as Chandelure’s song quiets down. Its arms stop moving alongside it, which gives your head the opportunity to clear up a little. Purple flames are replaced by silver eyes, seeming to almost glow in the darkness. Then, you are pulled against something solid and warm, their words lapping at the edge of your notice.

"There... Hurt. ...Station." Gloved fingers wipe at your chin and cheeks, hands move to your ankles, and you try to pull your feet away instinctively, to avoid the pain. Someone's lips, featherlight, brush against your forehead. More wet warmth drips down onto your face, but not from your own eyes. "...gies, it indulged too much." With a flash of light, Chandelure disappears. They try to lift you up, their arms circling around your body. You try to kick and punch, but all you can do is squirm and twitch. When it feels like a scream is forcing its way out your throat, all that leaves you is a whimper.

Every second that passes by without the ghost’s presence, your mind returns one step closer to normal. In no time at all, you recognise the person to be carrying you as Ingo. (You’re both relieved and more concerned.) He’s still wearing his work uniform. Did they return home just when you were dashing off…? What terrible timing on your part. You can’t remember how long he has been carrying you. He has his phone pressed in between his shoulder and his ear, staring straight ahead while speaking. His eyes are reddish with the memory of past tears, the set of his jaw tight.

"Of course I agree. It cannot go ignored. Truly, I wish we had discussed this in more detail, though it was an undesirable final stop. …Yes, I understand. I truly do believe she will come around, however... Ah." He's looking down at you, having felt your staring. Faintly, you hear a voice coming from the other end. "Yes. We will arrive soon." Ingo hangs up.

His eyes slide half-shut, his thumb comes to rest on your cheek. You think some of the tenseness fades from his features. "...You had me very worried, my dear. Emmet as well. Running off out of nowhere is simply unacceptable, look at you! You’re hurt. Do you understand now? We are merely keeping you safe and taken care of. Well, either way- Why did you do such a thing?"

"I... I dunno," You blubber, pressing against him. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth.  What can you even say in response that wouldn't reveal your complete betrayal, that wouldn't make him mad? "I'm... I'm sorry. It was really stupid. A-and scary, and cold- I didn't... I didn't like being all alone… I left, and, and- I missed you. I'm sorry." You don't know to what extent you're saying what you think he wants to hear, and what your genuine feelings are.

Ingo sighs, long and deep. "My sincerest apologies for not being around you more often. I wish it were different, too. As soon as you’re out of view, I miss you. My brother even more so.” His tone, for a moment, turns sharp. “Which is why I found this especially cruel, no matter your thoughts on it now. You should apologise to Emmet more than me.” Obviously, Ingo wasn’t as calm about all of this as he had seemed on the surface. He’s just always had great self-control. “...If you do that, I’m sure he will forgive you. He loves you very much. We love you very much. The thought of departing from your side would never cross my mind."

“I… I don’t want you to leave. I did… Something really bad today.” You say what you think he will like. You’re not sure how you feel about it yourself. As the streets around you turn familiar, your anxiety spikes again.

"I am glad to hear it. However..." And this is where the other shoe drops. His frown deepens, the tip of his finger presses into your skin. You recognise the expression from the one he wears when confronting rulebreakers at the station. "While I believe you, that doesn’t mean the end of this. I believe that you thought it was stupid, and that you won't do it again. There will be punishment necessary. You broke our most important regulation. Please remember that it’s all for your own good."

The door is closed.. You’re much more used to seeing it from the other side. Ingo never receives the chance to open the door, because Emmet has already yanked it open. (In the corner of your eye, you can see the damage you’ve caused to the wood.) He's all over you in a flash, babbling out your name, leaning over your cradled form and shoving his mouth against yours. Emmet only keeps it innocent for a couple of seconds before trying to wriggle his tongue into your mouth, nose squished against yours. His teeth soon graze your bottom lip, but against your expectations, he doesn’t bite down. He’s too impatient for anything at all, seemingly jolting from one impulse to the next. Soon, he pulls away from you entirely.

It's then that you can take in the state of him. Emmet's eyes are wide and bloodshot, similar to Ingo's. His lips are stretched into a smile, so wide that it looks to be a strain on his muscles. More than that, his lips have cracked in several spots underneath the stretch. Dried blood stains his bottom lip. Emmet always has more difficulty speaking when he's either excited or stressed out (right now, you can only assume, he's both), so he speaks in the choppiest of sentences. Ingo’s hold on you remains secure, but he grabs your hand. His grip is crushing.

“You left. So quickly. Without hesitation. Why? We love you so much. Why?” You whimper and press your face against Ingo’s chest, forcefully kicking in his protective nature.

“She already apologised on the way here. Could you repeat what you told me earlier, dear? I think Emmet would very much appreciate hearing it.”

“I-I’m sorry. What I did was stupid, and I won’t do it again… It was a bad decision. I was s-so lonely without you, and, uh, scared. I m-missed you. I mean it.” Emmet stares you down like he’s expecting more. “I p-promise.”

“It was stupid. It was a bad decision.” He responds. Emmet moves to pinch your cheek, with much too much force, hovering over you once again. He tilts his head to the side a little. “But do you really mean it? Are you reaaaaally sorry? You promised to stay.” Ingo takes a step back.

“I am certain she will apologise in more detail tonight. Do you want any further delays right now? I would’ve expected not.” They share a look you can’t quite place. The two of them seem to be able to communicate without words, something you’re far from attaining with them.

“No.” He lets go of you, hesitantly. “I grabbed the bandages. Like you asked.” Ingo carries you over to the couch and, since Emmet doesn’t want to stop touching you anymore, you end up sitting on his lap.

The scene feels… Familiar. Somehow. Ingo is taking care of the wounds, disinfecting so many in such quick succession that it takes no time at all for you to start sniffling again. He meets your gaze, stares for a few seconds, then apologises. He moves more slowly after that, giving you a little pause to catch your breath in between the cuts. Emmet hasn’t let you go for a moment, his arms tight around you like rope. In the quiet room, his panting against the back of your neck is deafening, and the sensation sends shivers down your spine. His cock presses against your ass. You try to sit as still as possible. But that’s made difficult when he sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, biting down so hard it makes you bleed.

“Hngh-! Please-!!” You don’t know what you’re pleading for. It hurts, there’s no pleasure in it. You try to wrench yourself out of his grip and, in doing so, grind hard against his clothed crotch. Emmet groans right into your ear.

In your panic, you also nearly kick Ingo right in the face. “Emmet! This behaviour does not adhere to the established regulations. I believe we agreed to bandage her up, at the very least.”

“Done waiting.” He licks at the wound, leaving you shuddering. “She caused us pain today. Looots and loooots. Let her experience some too, leave them for now. You disinfected them. She’ll be fine.”

“S-sorry, m’sorry-” You manage to babble out in between sniffles, ready to burst into sobs again.

Emmet moves one arm away from you, patting the top of your head. “Not yet. You will be sorry. But it’s okay. You’ll be making it up to us. Tonight.” He pushes you to the side and off his lap, so you end with your back on the couch, staring up at him.. In a moment, he’s on you, hovering above you with a grin so wide it looks like his lips are about to crack again. “Or, what I’m saying is… Right now.”

With one hand, he pulls at the hem of your shirt, while the other one is fumbling with your pants. His impatience is getting him nowhere with either of them. It takes no time for his expression to grow strained. He’s still smiling, technically, but his lips are pressed together in a thin line. Ingo, who has been seated on your coffee table the whole time, leans over and opens his mouth to speak. Before he can do so however, Emmet has grabbed his arm and prevents him from getting any closer.

“Mine.” He says, voice deathly calm and even. His knuckles have turned white from the strength of his grip. Ingo gives you a look that you can only describe as apologetic before holding his other hand up in the air, and going back to his previous position. You wish he’d do more. But Ingo also knows his brother better than you do, and it’s not like you want him to do anything that would make him more aggressive.

“Excuse me. I thought I could have been of assistance.”

Emmet ignores him completely and, once he notices you looking at his brother, starts yanking hard enough at your shirt to tear the fabric, immediately having you focus on him.  He uses both his hands to tear your shirt apart entirely, letting it drop to your sides in a now useless pile. His tongue darts out to lick at his lips. Without thinking, you cross your arms over your chest, and he clicks his tongue.

“No hiding. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Though he doesn’t pull off your bra, he shoves both of his hands underneath, twisting and tugging at your nipples for a few moments. It’s far too rough to be pleasurable, and you twist your head left to right in discomfort. (but it’s okay. you’ll take this punishment and whatever it entails because, if they wish, they could chuck you out there again. alone and cold, no place to stay, no one left to turn to. though you don’t like the punishment, you saw how upset they were, how much they cared- and it is a lot more thought than most have ever shown you.)

Quickly, he grows bored. He releases your chest without much thought and moves further down. When using both of his hands, he gets your pants down in no time. He doesn’t take the time to fully remove them, so they remain stuck around your legs. You try to kick them off, to no avail. Any thoughts are washed from your mind as he starts roughly rubbing at your clit with two fingers, then pinching it between both of them and rubbing you in circles. The sudden touch has you squirming, gasping for air and whimpering. He grinds his crotch against the couch the whole time.

"You were out. I don’t understand. We’re right here. Not wherever you went. We’ve looked after you. You had nothing to worry about. So why?” Emmet doesn’t wait for an answer. He shoves your underwear to the side next, prodding at your hole. “See? You’re wet too. Your body doesn’t lie. It’s happy to see me again. It missed me.”

It’s just discharge. There’s nothing there. You tell yourself. You’re not excited, you’re too nervous and tense to be anything of the sort. Your feet are still throbbing in pain, and your shoulder is even worse. That’s nothing but his own fault. Your face scrunches up, pressure building in your chest that is a taster of the sob that’s yet to come. Emmet shakes his head, pressing his finger to your lips. “No. None of that. What did I say? You love me. Your body adores me. Act like it.” You force a smile on to your face, shaky and strained. He uses two of his fingers to stretch it further.

“Close enough. Your smile is always perfect, when it’s genuine. We will get there.” He puts his hand against your throat, but doesn't press down enough to cut off your air supply. He presses the tip of his finger down on the spot where your neck meets your chest. You can feel the skin pulsating right against him. "Your heart's beating sooooo fast. Are you excited?"

He leans down and smashes his lips against yours again, so clumsily that most of it lands on your chin instead. That is, until he grabs you by the chin and moves you. He threatens your bottom lip with his teeth until you part of his lips, at which he immediately slips his tongue inside. The tip of it presses against the roof of your mouth, swiping across it and pulling whimpers from your throat. When he pulls away, he catches the string of drool connecting the two of you on one of his fingers. You barely have time to catch your breath. Emmet is quick to shove two of them into your mouth.

“Prepare them. Or don’t. I don’t care. But they’ll go inside either way.” You squeeze your eyes shut. In the end, you don’t have to do much of the work yourself. Emmet pinches your tongue in between his fingers, rolling the flesh, practically trying to wring more drool out. He giggles breathily as you suck on the digits. By the time he’s satisfied, they’re slick with drool, almost dripping. You still don’t feel like it’ll be enough.

You’re soon proven right. It’s not like you’ve gotten much wetter, despite the kissing. You’re tense, and he'll have to do something else to change that. He puts his fingers at your entrance. “Em, I want to, it’s not that I don’t want to, right now, I just don’t think I can–” You swallow your words, choking on the end of them as he simply tries to force them inside. It burns. Your body resists, especially at the attempt to get two of them in at once.

“I don’t think–”

“I know,” Emmet cuts his brother off, pulling his fingers away from you. You let out a relieved sigh that has him completely freezing up, tilting his head to the side. “I know. Do you think I’m mad? Is that it? Are you worried?” He cups your face in his hands, squishing your cheeks with a much softer touch than anything else he has done today. Your ‘lube’ smears across your skin. “I won’t lie. I am a bit upset. You did something rrrrrreally silly today. But I still love you very much. That’ll never change. You can try to make it so. It won’t happen, you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He kisses you all over your face, multiple pecks on your forehead, the tip of your nose, your cheek, chin, and, finally, your lips. You lose yourself in the gentle sensation for a moment, letting your eyes slide shut instead of squeezing them, breathing in instead of gasping for air, leaning against him instead of squirming away.

He moves one of his hands from your cheeks, slowly sliding it down your body. His touch ghosts over his earlier bite mark, sending goosebumps up your skin. For a moment, he squeezes one of your boobs in his hand, before brushing against your sides. You tense up, but he never presses down, only making you squirm. When he comes to your clit, he rubs circles on it, slower ones. Until, finally, he reaches what he wanted to get to all along: Your pussy.

Despite his earlier attempts, he doesn’t shove himself inside immediately. He makes a show of dipping it in and catching your slick on it, smearing some of it against the inside of your thighs, proof of your newfound, stronger arousal. This time, his finger slips in with ease as soon as he pushes. You wish he didn’t know you so well, hadn’t figured out long ago what exactly excites you. He grins at you.

“There’s no doubt about it,” He tells you. “I’m the winner of your heart, right? Otherwise, you wouldn’t respond so easily.” Emmet sinks his finger inside you to the knuckle, curling and twisting it around before adding another, using them to spread you open. It passes by you in a blur, but you can’t help the squeak that leaves your lips as he brushes past a special spot inside you. He hums and focuses his attention on there, until you’re squirming and writhing underneath him. “This time, I want you to respond.”

“I-it’s true,” you gasp out. “No one compares to you- You’re the best!” As a reward, he jabs his finger against your sweet spot, and you keen.

“Don’t have all the fun without me.” He sticks out his tongue at you, expression still blank. As soon as he pulls them out, he pops them into his mouth. Emmet makes a show of pulling them out and licking away the slick from in between them, staring you right in the eyes the whole time.

You’re too busy staring at this, cheeks heating up, to notice that he’s guiding his cock to your hole. That is, until the moment you feel the fat head bump against your entrance. Your body hardly has the time to tense up. He pushes inside with a content groan, not giving you a second to adjust. You whine and writhe as he splits you open underneath him, and he presses one of his hands againsts your stomach like he might feel his cock sliding in underneath your skin. Soon, all coherent thoughts are lost to him, and he’s simply holding on to the couch’s armrest like his life depends on it. He’s sinking into sharp, shallow thrusts that fuel no one’s pleasure but his own.

(you'd expected him to give in to his own needs before this, hadn't expected him to last as long as he had. you’re, in a way, happy that he took the time. is that how low your expectations have become? but.. he could’ve just not taken the time. if he'd forced himself inside you without prepping you in the slightest, you would've been left bleeding and torn.)

Emmet falls apart above you. He's never as loud as Ingo is, but his permanent smile relaxes around the corners, eyes sliding half shut... And he becomes even greedier as he loses himself in pleasure. His hands grope for your chest, leaning down to press his against your neck and sucking circles. Like his fingers had done earlier, he finds a way to slide inside you in a way that feels just right, despite his selfishness. His cock twitches inside you with every strangled moan or cry of his name. Emmet looms over you, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, a drop of drool clinging to the corner of his mouth… You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this drunk before. One of the cracks on his bottom lips has reopened.

"We would have, would have-" His lack of composure makes it even harder for him to speak. "Would have proposed to you. If you hadn't left. But you did. And if I can't claim you like that, can’t put a pretty ring on your finger– I will do it like this." Emmet sinks his teeth into your flesh once more, right above the previous mark, reopening it. You let out a squeal and the pain has your body instinctively clamp down around him, drawing out a deep, long moan from his throat. He pushes inside you one more time, the slap of your skin against his loud and filthy, before he fills you up. (there's so much, it feels like so much, you're so warm inside and it’s nice.) You feel disgusting, a part of you wants to crawl away into a corner and hide. Your mind is one big jumbled mess of conflicting feelings, and you don’t know what side to listen to.

What you do know is… It would be the easiest option to give in completely. You haven't come undone yourself, and it feels like a feat. Like you’re clinging to the last piece of your pride and dignity. You're letting out the most garbled little noises, legs twitching, but you can resist all urge to move back against him. You don’t feel close to losing all control. Compared to him, you’re a saint. Emmet pulls away from your neck, your blood colouring his puffy lips a deeper shade of red.

Despite his orgasm, he doesn’t stop. The smile on his face turns into more of a grimace, one of his hands clawing at your shoulder. Tears are starting to well up in his eyes, and you swear you hear him whimper out your name. Yet, he keeps going. "I'm- I'm the best. For you. See? I-” He sucks in a shuddering breath. Nails sink into your skin. "I’m pushing myself, just for you. I’m the best. You love me so much. You do. And I love you too. Wanna make you feel good, more than anything. To show you.”

Emmet presses sloppy kisses all over your face once again, leaving marks of blood in his wake. He whispers praises and words of comfort to you the whole time, barely strung together sentences, each and every word coming out so fast that it bleeds into the next. His fingers rub at your clit again. Compared to the disjointed rhythm of his hips, they are a constant that helps build the pleasure inside you. You grind back against him for the first time, and leave him hissing from sensitivity. He’s done this so many times before. He knows precisely what you enjoy, the exact way his fingers should move and at what speed, how he should angle his hips just right, how can he pull the words from your lips-

His voice cracks as he moans out your name. “I love you. Y-you’ll tell me, won’t you, I know so.”

With the combination of everything, your mind goes blank. “I do! I do, I love you so much, gods, Emmet-” Pleasure washes over you and you whine (or is it Emmet?) as he pulls out, the way you were milking his cock too much for him to bear. He slumps on top of you while you’re still riding out your high, making you wheeze out all the air in your lungs. His back is to the backrest of the couch. You’re pushed to the side a little and his arm is all that keeps you from sliding right off. He presses his face against your shoulder and sighs against your skin. Ingo is staring at you. You’re already having trouble keeping your eyes open.

For the first time in a while, you are reminded of Ingo’s existence. His cheeks are a deep red, and he’s shifting on the table. "I would prefer to depart for the bedroom." To sleep, you would hope. Emmet mumbles something incomprehensible, more of a groan than anything else, and kicks in Ingo's general direction. He sighs. "I suppose it can't be helped, then." He leans over you, tracing his fingers over some of the marks Emmet left. They make his expression unreadable.

“I’ll clean you up first. We can’t have any of this infecting.”

He’s usually more hesitant but, right now, he seems to have little trouble moving his hand over to your dripping hole. What you expect is for him to wipe some of his brother’s cum away, instead he uses his finger to stuff it further inside. After that, he reaches for the cream he previously applied to your feet, and puts them on the wounds. You grind your teeth together and suck in a breath.

"I know it hurts," he says. "You've done well so far. I'm certain you'll perform splendidly during my turn as well." Ingo pets the top of your head, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss to your lips.

"Y... Your part?" You ask. "Ingo, I'm... I'm tired." You tell him. He has always been far easier to appeal to when it came to punishments than Emmet, and even now his frown visibly deepens. But you’re also aware that your violation of the rules has been the worst it’s ever been so far.

"I won’t, ah… Have sex with you, if that’s what you’re worried about. This is a punishment, and that doesn’t fit what I have in mind.” He rubs his hands together. “You can rest for a bit, if you wish. However..." His eyes clash with yours, harsh for a moment. "You will only be delaying the inevitable. Tonight, I will punish you. My apologies, my dear, I wouldn't do this if I didn't find it absolutely necessary... But you went against the most critical of our rules. Not to mention, you got yourself wounded. I cannot ignore this. It must happen now."

Emmet huffs out a short laugh against your shoulder. “Did you think he’d let you go so easily? All of this was his idea. He picked the rings. He was soooo sure you’d stay. And then you didn’t.” His moves so his teeth press against your skin and allows you to freeze up for a few minutes, but he doesn’t bite down. “...You broke his heart. You can handle some tiredness.” He hisses the last word.

…Though you were tempted to take up Ingo’s offer for a break, you could tell from Emmet’s behaviour that he wouldn’t let you get away with such a thing. You’d rather take a round of Ingo then have Emmet have his way with you again, this time with more anger outweighing his desperation. Ingo looks awkward as well after his brother’s words, looking away from you once more, his foot tapping on the floor. Then, he sighs.

“I will admit it, my dear. He’s right. You had been so sweet to us lately, so lovely and willing… I suppose I had some hope that you’d stay with us forever.” The corners of his mouth quirk up, ever so slightly, into the saddest smile you’ve seen in your whole life. Your heart is stabbed with guilt. (you deserve this.) The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think to stop them.

"I don’t need any rest. You can punish me now." You tell him. Ingo hesitates for a moment, then nods and looks at his brother.

"I'll stay here on the couch, like you wanted. You'll still have to move." Emmet groans but complies, loosening his hold on you and sitting upright, tucking his legs sidewards so most of the couch becomes free. Ingo sits down and pulls you towards him, making you bend over his lap. It’s not an entirely unfamiliar position to you, and your whole body tenses up in preparation for what’s about to come. You can feel his erection poking you. You're not facing Emmet, instead, you're looking at the wall. He has a front row view to your ass, though.

"Ingooo," Emmet drawls from behind you. "Unfair. I want to see what her face looks like."

"You already had your turn. I make the decisions this time," He responds. "Now, be quiet. Dear, I’m sure that, based on this position, you already know what’s about to happen. I want you to count, out loud, with every hit. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes,” You swallow. “I understand.”

Ingo rubs at your ass for a few moments, before pulling away and hitting the skin with a loud smack, fingers pressed together and hand slightly cupped. You'd been expecting it, but you still can't bite back the cry that leaves you. He’s hitting much harder than he otherwise would. Seconds after he hit, you think you can still feel the exact outline of his hand. Ingo shifts you around in his lap a little, and you remember the command.

"One!" You had let the silence hang a moment too long.

"There you go. I was afraid you had forgotten. Bravo." Ingo moves his hand back, and spanks the back of your thighs instead. He alternates between the two with every hit, following them up in quick succession after the first one. You jolt forward in his lap with the force of every slap. Hot tears burn at your eyes and you bite on the inside of your cheek to keep most of the noises down, to the point that you taste metal on your tongue. Your counting becomes more garbled and incomprehensible as time passes, but Ingo never slows down his pace.

Your flesh has grown warm and tingly after the first couple of hits, and the stinging gets worse as you reach about halfway through. But your brain is high on a cocktail of pleasure and pain, and around the tenth hit you let out something closer to a moan of pleasure than one of pain. Emmet laughs, and shame makes your face burn even hotter as you press yourself as close to the cushions to hide. His laughter continues to ring in your ears. You're so focused on this, that you are taken off guard when Ingo’s palm makes contact with your flesh again. It has completely slipped your mind at what count you were. Ingo calls out your name.

"D-dunno,” You sob out. “Sorry, sorry, it was- I- Twelve? I think, uh, m-maybe-”

“Don’t worry. I paid attention. You were at ten.” Emmet calls out from behind you, and you don’t have to see him to know what kind of expression he’s making.

Ingo whips around and shoots Emmet a look that you cannot see, but is very effective at silencing him. “I won’t tolerate any lies about punishments, not even from you. She has done very well so far, despite her exhaustion. It’d be unfair to punish her further for good behaviour. Do not derail.” He strokes the hot skin of your ass. The touch, tender as it is, only serves to make the burning worse. You whimper.

“You’re fine, my dear. Nothing’s wrong. Continue from fourteen, please.” Your head feels like it’s swimming. Every time you say another number, it’s a surprise to you what you’ll say before it passes your lips. You can’t keep your thoughts together at all. You openly moan with every slap, but you can’t hear Emmet laughing anymore. There is less time between each slap as you get into it and enjoy it more, and you swear you hear Ingo groan above you every time you move across his lap. It feels good, your pussy is throbbing, you open your mouth again, and…

“And that was twenty. Such a good girl. Bravo!” Ingo moves you around so you’re on your back, then wipes a couple of the tears off of your face with the tips of his fingers. As your thighs brush against the couch, you hiss. You’ll have trouble sitting on your ass for the entire next two days, you’re sure. “I love you so, so much. Despite everything You did so well for me. Does it hurt too much?” There is something about the way he looks at you, sensing that his eyes are soft despite his frown, the gentle touches, kind words- That has you ignoring his question entirely. You remember Emmet’s earlier words and Ingo’s response, and a knife of guilt twists inside you once again.

“I wanted- I wanted to c-come back, it was lonely and cold, and I missed you, but I- I didn’t know where you were! And it, it hurt so much- I couldn’t walk, I just collapsed, I- Sorry.” You dig your fingers into his shirt and pull at it as Ingo gently shushes you.

“I know you did, my dear. I believe you. You made a mistake, we found you again, and I have forgiven you. No need to apologise for it anymore, as long as you know not to do it anymore. It must’ve been incredibly stressful for you as well. Let’s forget this for the rest of the night, and the days after that. You’re safe now, with us.” You’re overwhelmed with a warm feeling and stumble over your own words.

“I love you too,” You mumble. “I- If I can’t apologise anymore, let me make it up in a different way… L-let me make you feel good, Ingo.” He freezes for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open as he stares at you.

“Are you- Are you certain?” The deepening flush on his cheeks, within literal seconds, says enough about how the idea makes him feel. “You haven’t… I haven’t touched you either. Would you like me to do so first?” You firmly shake your head. You don’t want to cum again tonight, you think it’d knock you straight out. Ingo reaches up, but there’s no brim of a hat for him to tug down to hide underneath, so he brushes his hand over his hair instead. “If you truly want to, I won’t stop you. Thank you.”

You kneel in front of him and ignore any pain that comes with it. Your hands are shaking, but it still doesn’t take you long to undo his belt and tug down his pants. The front of his underwear is soaked with precum, his cock straining against the fabric. He lets out a shuddering sigh when you pull back the fabric to free it. You don’t hesitate to lean forward and lean at the tip. It throbs against your tongue. Ingo is already letting out the cutest little groans and whines. He must be close. You take his head into your mouth and suck, wrenching the loudest moan yet out of his throat. More precum dribbles into your mouth, and he bucks his hips up just a little bit, clearly restraining himself.

"Good, so good-" He babbles. "T-thank you so much. So sweet. My love. My dearest. A-always the best for me." Ingo places one hand on the top of your head, the other on your shoulder. His fingers snag on your hair, but he doesn’t tug on it. You slowly work your way down, and Ingo continues to whine. If you tried your best, you might be able to go a little faster. There’s no way you feel like gagging though, and Ingo seems to be enjoying himself plenty. So why bother?

In the end, you're not left with a choice. The couch emits a pitiful creak, you feel the cushion next to you shift underneath added weight, and another's hand at the back of your head.

"This isn’t enough. I'll help." He forces your head down, applying a constant pressure to the top of your skull that you can’t struggle against. It’s quicker than the pace you would've set, but it succeeds in pulling a constant stream of moans from Ingo's throat. Drool dribbles past the corners of your mouth and drips on to Ingo’s thighs. You let out noises around his cock, trying to tell Emmet to slow down a little. All it does is get Ingo to twitch in your mouth. It burns, but you have no more tears left to cry.

You have to shift your head a bit to get him to slide further down your throat, which is prevented by Emmet’s tight grip. You gag as he almost pushes against the back of your throat, mouth convulsing around his cock. It pushes him over the edge and, with a strangled sob of your name, the salty taste of his cum fills your mouth. There’s so much of it, he just keeps going and going. You try to pull off so you can breathe more easily and not gag again, but the grip on your skull is unforgiving. You make panicked noises, sending vibrations through Ingo’s cock that have him jumping, and only then are you released.

You’re coughing and wheezing for air. “Open your mouth.” You do as you’re asked, opening up nice and wide. The younger brother nods in approval. Emmet is petting your head, slowly, as Ingo pants above you, tongue hanging a bit out of his mouth. His pupils are blown wide and his head is a little slumped to the side, chest heaving. Clearly, he’s still riding out his high.

Emmet squishes your head in between his hands and lifts you up to rest your chin on his thighs instead. His cock had softened before, but it was clear now his overstimulation had long since worn off. He grins down at you.

“Earlier you said you love me too. That means you want to suck me off too, right? You want to make me feel good too, if you’re not playing favourites. I’ve been patient. Not anymore.” He shifts so his cock presses against your face, the head smearing precum into your hair. “I’m doing something good. You haven’t had dinner yet. You must be hungry.”

You’re terribly exhausted. If you fell asleep with his dick down your throat, you wouldn’t be surprised. (And you don’t think he’d stop, either.) But this is your punishment; It’s not like you have a choice. You open your mouth for him and stick your tongue out, just the way he likes it. There’s no hesitation. He gives you a close-eyed smile.

“That’s it! Sooooo cuuuute. Look at you. You just needed some training. You’ll make a lovely wife.”

[meddlecine]

Fixing broken hearts in med school.

The hardest part about med school hasn’t been med school itself. (Although, I’m scrunching my eyebrows up as I write this, so maybe that’s not entirely true).  The hardest part about med school has been having a boyfriend.  Maybe that’s why I don’t have one anymore.

I moved out of our apartment in January, just one week before starting my second year of medical school. We agreed that me moving out would be best for the relationship. He would take over the lease, and I wouldn’t have to worry so much about money. Up until that point, I felt like I’d tried everything, from dyeing my soul every colour under the sun in the hope that he would fall back in love with just one shade. I tried, I really, really did. But the exhaustion from meticulously choosing every word and placating my tone in the anticipation of the next thing to go wrong, was unlike anything else. He wasn’t being rude, he insisted, just being honest. And if I couldn’t take it, then that was my problem.  I’d been seeing a psychologist, who eventually, after many sessions, shared that she couldn’t believe how much effort I was putting into this sinking ship. She suggested couples’ counselling. He refused.

Had it been going on for some time? Of course it had, but there was never a ‘good’ time to end things (is there ever?). What a laughable concept! “I’m a little busy this week, maybe we can break up next Thursday at 7pm?” To make matters worse and prolong the inevitable even further, I was always determined that there was something that I hadn’t tried yet. It didn’t matter though, because it kept happening over, and over, and over. No matter what I tried to change about myself, nothing worked. Not even the happiest of occasions could blunt the edge I was skating on: I was a bridesmaid for my best friend from school, and felt more alive and glowing than I had in months. But despite every determination to keep the makeup pristine, I couldn’t help let a few tears slip during the ceremony. The vows were beautiful, it’s true, but I think that part of me was quietly grieving as I grew to understand that the guy attending that wedding with me would never, ever love me in the same unconditional way that the groom loves my best friend. And I knew that he would never want to try, because he told me so. It didn’t matter how beautiful I looked that day on the outside. On the inside, I couldn’t help but feel my heart sink as it caught up to my head.

My spirit and self-esteem had been slowly pushed further and further into the ground to the point that I believed that maybe he was right. Maybe I am difficult, and stubborn, and dismissive, and unappreciative. In desperation, I reached out to an old ex of mine, a gorgeous Parisian lawyer who was always kind, honest, and made me laugh. He admitted that although it’d been a long time since we were together, there was no reason to ever justify such outbursts of anger, and assured me that I wasn’t any of those things that I’d listed above. “But of course, you’re not perfect!” he added. I smiled and raised my eyebrows at the message, grateful for his candour, all the while thinking that I probably could’ve done without the last comment. It’s a shame things never worked out with him; I can only assume he is happy with his life in France, as he very much deserves, but he at least serves as a sobering reminder for how I should be treated. I paused and cast my mind back. Our time together is a memory long gone now, but I still remember enough to know that I missed how I felt when we were together: calm, safe, my cheeks often aching from laughing at his quick wit. All things that I didn’t have now. His one small message of kindness after all these years made me realise how miserable I really was.

Because, when I thought about it... could I survive the next 3 years of medical school, plus my training with chaotically unpredictable ups and downs? I’d heard that medicine puts a strain on your relationships, but with or without med school, I don’t think I could survive this. Just a week prior, only a few days before my final exams for the year, we’d had a fight. Another one. No matter my attempts of resolution, they were met with jagged stares of contempt and crushing silence, and so finally, after three days of drowning in an ocean of anxiety, I pleaded for some kind of resolve. I couldn’t eat, sleep, or study from the stress-induced migraines, and was a complete mess at the idea that I would lose my relationship and fail my exams. “So it’s my fault if you fail your exams?” he scoffed. He told me to get over it. I patched things up as best as I could, determined to not let someone who could be so indifferent towards my feelings be my downfall. Miraculously, I passed my exams. But I knew that next time I might not be so lucky.

Moving out bought me one more month.  It sucks, but everything was clearly crumbling around me.  It wasn’t all bad—no one gets into a relationship with someone who’s like this at the start. There were many wonderful, fun, whimsical moments in the years we were together, and the guy I left isn’t the guy I first met.  In the end we just...  weren’t the right fit for each other.  So, I may be alone now, but I’m okay with that. For now, I love talking to the patients and hearing their stories, and I love seeing someone’s eyes light up when I ask them how they met the love of their life.

Hopefully one day I’ll get to share mine.

[ordinaryschmuck]

The Evolution of Lumity (So Far): Luz’s Side

You know, whenever someone talks about how Luz and Amity’s relationship grows, they mostly focus on the Amity side of things.

Well, let’s change that.

Today, I’m going to look over how Lumity has grown, but primarily focusing on Luz’s perspective of things, showing how much her bond with Amity grew with each episode.

At this point, Amity is nothing more than an antagonist. A character who causes conflict for Luz to overcome with her friends. Nothing more.

It isn’t until they meet again does Luz try to bury the hatchet. The conflict from “I Was a Teenage Abomination” is over, so now, why bother making an enemy when you could just make amends?

But it doesn’t take long before Amity’s antagonistic roots start to come out again, forcing Luz to treat Amity as an antagonist. One that she’s more than willing to duel against. Whatever the cost.

Unless the cost is cheating.

Two things of note. As much as Luz wanted to duel Amity, she didn’t want to seriously harm her. And while Luz wanted a fight, she wanted it to be fair and square.

So when Amity ran off, ashamed to find out that she was cheating too, Luz is the one to go after her. To apologize for what happened.

Only for Amity to snap, demanding Luz admits that she was wrong. This forces Luz to confess that Amity was right, fully giving in. But instead of walking away and admitting defeat...

She puts the better foot forward, showing Amity how hard Luz herself works at becoming a witch. Much like Amity.

And the image above not only perfectly summarizes Luz and Amity’s relationship to a T, but it also reflects who Luz Noceda is as a person. She offers a shining light of kindness to others, no matter who they are and whether or not they deserve it.

And that kindness often gets rewarded, with Luz not having to ask for it. Amity returns the gesture, and from there, Luz sees a small glimmer of a decent person in Amity.

A glimmer that only shone brighter when Luz saw Amity like this.

Gentle, kind, and seemingly happy, all because she’s reading to kids.

It is a moment where Luz stopped seeing Amity as an antagonist, and started treating her as a possible friend.

But Amity doesn’t share those feelings yet, and still wishes to have nothing to do with Luz. A fact that is made clear and plain, upsetting Luz in the process. But that doesn’t mean Luz gives up. If anything, she tries harder.

To the point where she finds common ground. And I’m willing to hedge the bet that the second Luz found out Amity likes The Good Witch Azura, a small part of Luz’s heart warmed with glee.

Plus, it works as the perfect peace offering for all the chaos Luz indirectly brought into Amity’s life.

An offering that Amity accepts and openly admits that Luz isn’t the only one at fault.

From there, their relationship is noticeably less strained, and Luz and Amity act more professionally around one another. And it’s not until an adventure in the elements (see what I did there?)--

--they become friends. And look at Luz!

She’s downright ecstatic to have Amity as a friend now. To the point where she treats her as she would treat Gus and Willow, being there for Amity when she needs a shoulder to cry on. Such as...

Being understanding of Amity’s own personal issues when fixing Willow’s mind.

Taking Amity’s place when facing Grom.

Or just simply helping a friend who broke their leg during a sports game.

But what Luz doesn’t know is that her acts of kindness that she would give to any of her friends--

--has an unpredictable effect.

One that goes over her head because as weird as Amity got--

(and she does get weird)

--Luz doesn’t notice because:

A. She has a lot on her mind regarding Eda’s curse.

And B. This is the first and only time Amity acted like this. We see her blush in later episodes, but “Wing It Like Witches” remains the only time Amity’s gone full-on lesbian disaster for, like, the entire runtime.

To Luz, it could just be Amity having an weird day or something.

Still, by the time “Escaping Expulsion” comes around, Luz considers Amity to be part of the group.

Which it why it hurts her that Amity doesn’t do much to help stand up against Odalia’s ridiculous request of expelling Luz, Willow, and Gus.

To the point where offering the same kindness Luz always does doesn’t even work anymore.

Amity still won’t help Luz upon request, and Luz feels as though there’s no choice but to do as Odalia wants. A choice that puts herself in danger, with no one to save her. Except, for when she needs someone the most, who comes to her rescue?

The very same person who Luz was always there for. Who is giving back all of that kindness and all of that adoration by swooping down like a hero and standing between Luz and a literal killing machine.

It’s also at that exact moment--

--Luz sees Amity in a different light.

From there on, Luz starts treating Amity completely differently, more so than she did in “Lost in Language.” Because Amity is no longer a possible friend anymore. Now, she’s a crush.

A crush who made Luz act level-headed during moments like this:

To then act the complete opposite in moments like this:

And we all love the hell out of it.

But it wasn’t all adorable.

Luz screwed up.

Badly screwed up.

And it’s here that she thought she lost Amity forever. Not just as a crush, but even as a friend.

So she does what she does best.

Offer kindness.

What’s also interesting to note is that Luz fully believed that Amity didn’t want to see her again, fully believing she screwed up that bad.

Even though she couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Amity said herself. Luz has a way of sneaking into people’s hearts.

And right here, right now.

She learns how deep she snuck into Amity’s.

That’s a look of realization folks. A look that makes Luz come to terms with the fact that her feelings for Amity are most certainly mutual.

From a brief peck on the cheek, Luz now realizes that the ball is in her court, and it’s up to her to make the next move.

Even though she has no idea how to do it.

Not because she never asked anyone out before, but because it’s implied that when Luz does ask people out, her cheesiness causes them to reject her. Hard.

Luz doesn’t want the same to happen with Amity, so she tries all she can to prevent it.

Although, I can’t help but think that destroying a romantic gesture that Amity loved might have been the wrong choice.

But, Luz does learn her lesson eventually, and gets the courage to just go for it.

No perfect scenarios, no lines ready. Just simply going for it. And it’s here that I want to go through each expression Luz makes when she’s ready to ask out Amity.

We start with nervousness, as one would have when doing something like this.

Next, it looks as though Luz is just about ready to say it. Like the words were just coming out of her mouth.

Only to have a moment of hesitation, feeling too nervous to go through with it.

To then having a second wind.

And finally thinking, “Screw it. Here goes everything.”

And when Luz ultimately gets the words out (even though Amity beat her to it), she’s the happiest girl on the planet when Amity says yes.

Oh, they’re both scared as s**t, don’t get me wrong. It’s their first relationship, after all.

But it’s mostly joy that’s taking over for Luz. You see it in future episodes.

She’s grinning ear to ear over the simple act of calling Amity pretty.

She’s sending cute little texts just for the heck of it.

Amity is the first person Luz goes to hug after a returning from a daring adventure with Eda and King.

And when in the In-Between, it’s Amity that Luz thinks about seeing first.

My point is that Luz is excited to have her first ever girlfriend.

And it was the same person that started out like this:

An antagonist

Who became a friend

Then a crush.

To then an awesome girlfriend.

And it is one hundred percent believable.

[trashlie]

hey, i'm that anon that sent you the long message about FP 215 and 216 a while ago, thank you for giving such an elaborate response. and i hope you get plenty of time to relax and catch up on sleep, make sure to drink lots of water! 💗

i'm dropping by to bring up a couple of points for your consideration, if you don't mind. just something i've been thinking about lately.

i absolutely agree with you that kousuke doesn't really want nol out of his life. in my opinion, the reason is not guilt or jealousy or loneliness (i bet he'd 100% prefer being an only child even if his siblings were born in wedlock, also he's had a friend group in college, so he is/was capable of making friends). the reason for it is fear. 1) fear of disappointing father - since kousuke is nol's 'guardian' and if anything happens to nol, it'll be a 'failure' on his side and strain his relationship with rand. 2) fear of losing control - nol being gone = out of reach = out of his control = unpredictable = more of a threat. and we know how much kousuke needs to control everything in his life. 3) fear of losing a part of his identity - being 'better' than nol has become a big part of who he is. kousuke is nothing without his name, the company, etc. similarly, traits like being the better, smarter, more successful brother, the golden child, the 'rightful' heir have all become a part of him thanks to nol. kousuke can only achieve those by bringing nol down to push himself up. he needs nol to remind him of those traits, and he needs nol so he can look better compared to him to other people. and i believe he subconsciously realizes this, and hates nol even more for it.

in general, a lot of kousuke's behavior and the main reason for kousuke's mental state is that he's being eaten alive by his fears. fear of failure, fear of disappointment, fear of his image being damaged, fear of not being in control, fear of being exposed, fear of being nothing, fear of losing everything etc. some of those fears are made up and/or planted by yui (like disappointing his father, or nol being the enemy), but to kousuke, they're very much real. and if kousuke's going to grow, dealing with those fears, and recognizing the root causes of them (there's multiple), will be a big part of it. for now, in his current state... it seems to me like he's completely overwhelmed and craves safety more than anything, and well. yui is right there. idk if the brothers can ever reconcile tbh... it seems to me that nol hasn't completely lost hope in his brother yet, so it'll completely depend on kousuke.

and good point, you're probably right about nessa protecting nol from yui until she couldn't anymore, i didn't think of that, thanks for pointing it out! we still know so little about nessa and yui both, it's going to be really interesting to learn more about them...

AAAAHHHH hello Nonny! I've been looking forward to you coming back! Also thank you! I am trying my best!!! This week has not been my best but at least my brain is feeling less sluggish, so there's that at least!

Also I have got to say, reading this message made me feel really weepy. I think it's obvious, but Kousuke is a character I've come to be just as invested in as I am in Nol and Shinae and now Alyssa, and I think you hit the nail right on the head. I think because of the way Kousuke has treated Nol, and his apparent privilege coupled with his less than savory personality, a lot of readers just kind of... dismiss him. And to some degree, I get it. Kousuke is rarely doing himself any favors to endear the audience to him - but that is what makes him such a fascinating character. The story proves that privilege and opportunity alone are not enough, but it also shows us that people do not exist in a vacuum, and that everything they do is impacted by and also impacts something else.

And you're right - it does come down to fear, and there's a reason fear remains a prevailing emotion/driver in many stories. I think man vs man conflict so often comes down to fear, it's the root of a lot of ugly emotion. Jealousy stems from it - a fear that someone has something you don't, that maybe you'll never come to possess yourself.

I think there's a lot to be said of formative foundations. Had Kousuke been older when he learned of Nol, had he received security and love and comfort from his parents, maybe we wouldn't be here. But it was when he was young enough to be influenced, when he was so lacking in his father's love, and to learn that this boy knew there existed a side to Rand that he himself had never met? It never registered to him that Nol had never actually met him because fear came crashing down - all those rumors people were whispering about him were true. Rand, the man too busy for his own son, too busy for his own family, had a whole other family, and they knew a version of him that he'd never gotten to meet. It took root in him at such a young age all it could do was grow with him like a weed. He had no way to know otherwise!

And something that really fosters all that fear IS the fact that he endured that kind of neglect. On some level, Kousuke knows what Yui does. He's gone to great lengths to try to keep his life private from her so she doesn't interfere. He was rightfully upset when he realized she'd gone behind his back to hire Shinae (and under such false pretenses, too!) and upset about the birthday antics. But he still went to her when he found out Nol might leave, that he might have a one up on him. He knows Yui is horrible, but she's also his only pillar of security. She's also the one who fosters that sort of false reality he lives in, because it's only there that he has that security. When facts and logic counter what he believes, he loses control, and he retreats into the version of reality he knows, because that's the only place he feels safe. I think that's a big reason why he cannot face the truth, why he so often finds himself rewriting accounts of things that happened - he cannot handle the unsettling dissonance between what he believes and what is so.

What a driver fear is, too! On some level, I think Kousuke might be aware of that connection of his identity with Nol. Perhaps not on a conscious level, but I think subconscious he reacts to Nol leaving for exactly that reason - without Nol to serve as a metric for which to measure himself against, how can he be sure he's better, he's the best? As much as Kousuke's identity is wrapped up in trying to please his father and earn a transactional concept of love, it's also wrapped up in being Nol's guardian - which, as you point out, is just an offshoot of not disappointing Rand. I definitely agree, too; it just makes that resentment stronger. Wouldn't you feel a little self-loathing, too, knowing that you can only see your greatness if you see how you measure against someone else? Living and believing this person you are constantly trying to be better than might know something you don't, might have been privy to something you never were? Acknowledging that he tears down Nol because a part of him doesn't trust that he can lord over him unless he does, that maybe he COULD best him?

It makes such COMPELLING storytelling! Once you can see Kousuke from this angle, it makes sense - why he can't stop trying to drag Nol down into his pit, why he stumbles on reality and has to rewrite things, why he's so desperately in need of control. It's so easy to say that Kousuke should know better because he's an adult, but one of the loudest, flashiest messages of ILY is that age does not make someone any better lol. Wisdom doesn't come with age - it comes with experience and also humility. There's no room for that in Kousuke's life and his experiences definitely are lesser than others. He's surrounded by people who tell him what he wants to hear, who just make nice with him to get by and maybe see if they can take advantage of their proximity to him. What experiences does he have, outside of those with Nol, that can drown out the fear he's living with?

Something someone brought up on reddit was that Kousuke was, for the most part, pretty "chill" (lol chill for Kousuke that is) when we first met him at the start of the story. Okay, let's nix that, he DID trip Shinae for a piece of cake LMAO but that brings me to what I'm getting at. When the story opens, it feels like Kousuke isn't around Nol nearly as much. He has an informant in Soushi which allows Kousuke to keep tabs on Nol without needing to be involved, and he's at a sense of peace. When we see him interacting with Shinae, while he's definitely cold and blunt, he does try to treat her with some regard of respect after Shinae essentially saves his hide by keeping Nol's date-rape drink a secret. Now we certainly can argue that this is because Kousuke feels he is indebted to Shinae, but I think it's also because when he has less of that stress going on, when he has a clearer mind that's not so cluttered with his fear, he has room to be the gentleman he wants to believe he is, to be the person he hopes will make Rand proud.

But it's once Kousuke gets re-inserted in Nol's life - the hospital after the masquerade, Nol coming to work for the week, the entirety of the black and white formal - that's when we start to see all the cracks forming and watch Kousuke slowly start to lose that control and spiral. Nol coming to work was the real curveball for him. Not for one minute did Kousuke expect Nol to take work seriously, but worse, he never anticipated that Nol would be so good at it or that his people skills would illuminate a jarring truth that Kousuke had blinded himself to. From that very moment, Kousuke enters a grappling battle to maintain his role. It's not enough to be the heir - it's about impressing Rand, it's about earning some transactional love, it's about fulfilling a duty that he takes too seriously, it's about ensuring that he is not lost. I think to Kousuke you are in one of two places: either the light or the shadow, and you cannot share them. If Nol is in the light, that relegates Kousuke to the shadows, so compelled by fear, he starts on his quest to sabotage Nol, so that his own weaknesses are not illuminated by the points where Nol shines.

Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!! I really do have SO MANY thoughts and feelings these days about Kousuke and especially Kousuke and Nol, and the ways they are impacted by their families, the ways their circumstances pit them against each other. Kousuke has become a character I WANT to find his way, because I WANT him to be freed from the effects of his family and especially free of their control. I think your third point is SO VERY IMPORTANT because WHO is Kousuke outside of all of this? Who is he outside of Hirahara Heir, outside of besting Nol? He definitely knows there is something hollow and empty inside him - he wouldn't have to convince himself that he wants this career, that he wants to move to Japan, that he wants to do this if that wasn't true. He's so afraid that there is nothing more to him than the husk of a boy who is so desperate for his father's love, who tore others down for something that he ultimately never received, and frankly I cannot blame him for wanting to hide that and avoid facing it lol but I DO want to see him face that. I want to see what kind of person he decides to be outside of everything if he gets that chance. I say "gets that chance" but it's definitely more that he needs to actively come to that conclusion, but it's hard to imagine at this point what it will take for him to get there.

I don't think there's a lot that a conversation with Rand can do - though I do think that's highly necessary, if only to put everything in the open. I would love for Kousuke to get the chance to be honest with Rand, and not while being drunk leaving a voicemail or anything, but that's a big, big step. It goes against everything he's worked towards, goes against the very things that drive that fear. But I want to see him reach that point where he can tell Rand pointblank the ways he failed him, the way everything he ever did was because he just wanted that love and look at him, look at how he turned out! aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!

I'm also inclined to believe the same as you re: Nol. I know Nol made it sound like he's absolutely done with Kousuke - and I certainly don't think he'll be welcoming him with open arms any time soon lol - but I think much like us as readers, much as characters like Hansuke and Yujing, I think Nol wants to see Kousuke break himself free. Let go of Rand, escape the sordid security blanket that is his relationship with Yui, and find himself. Become his OWN person. I think Nol will be more receptive to Kousuke when he can finally do that. Because again, as established, so much of Kousuke's personality thus far is just being better than Nol, is just trying to earn Rand's affection. But what does he do for himself? WHO is he? I think that's what Nol is waiting for and I don't think we'll see any kind of amicable relationship until that comes.

AAAHHHHHHHH this is so long lmao but MAN I have so many thoughts and feelings about this and I LOVE getting to talk to people about Kousuke when they can see these aspects of him. In an intriguing way, both Nol and Kousuke are driven by fear, right? Nol lives in fear of himself, of whatever guilt it is he carries. He carries this fear that he is a harbringer of doom and harm, that association with him will only get people hurt, that getting too close and caring too much is damning people, so he spent his life wearing a mask, trying to keep others at bay, trying to coast by and hope maybe, MAYBE he could absolve himself of whatever that guilt is by helping others. And when he got too close, when he started to care too much, he ran away, he lashed out, he took up a new facade. He's denied himself anything he wants or anything that brings him comfort out of fear. But where Nol's fear is internal, Kousuke's is so completely external. But at the end of the day, they are both driven by fear. Nol, I hope, will come to terms with the reality that he DOES have safe spaces. Nana loves him and wants to help him, wants him to live, wants him to find enjoyment. Shinae has proven what a caring friend she is, that even after the way he tried to ghost her and the guys, she still keeps coming back. But Kousuke doesn't quite have that support system Nol does. Or, rather, let me take that back. He does, he's just not aware of it and can't see it for that. He's so blinded by what he's lacking in a parental way that he can't see that Hansuke is the one person in the world who absolutely 100% has his back, and I think in time, depending on the choices he makes, he could find that in Yujing and Meg, both. (I think there is SO MUCH room for Meg and Kousuke to eventually be friends with a similar dynamic to him and Shinae - where she is no longer so besotted or obsessive and she can call him out when he's being y'know, Kousuke, where he can develop respect for her as a person. I want it SO badly lmao I want SO BADLY for him to come around on her!)

Basically a very important thing I think is: neither Nol nor Kousuke have that family relationship with their parents. Nol lost the one parent who ever gave him warmth and comfort, and I don't think Yui sees Kousuke as a son so much as an extension of himself. I think found family is the way to go for them. Nol has it, if he's willing to let them be that, if he can swallow his fear and let them be there for him. I think Kousuke could have it, too, if he, too, is able to let go of his fear. AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I told you, just nonstop FEELINGS over here lmao thank you for always indulging me and my longwinded responses ;~; I just get SO EXCITED to talk about this, and especially to have these conversations who think so similarly about Kousuke and don't immediately go "throw him away he's irredeemable trash" lajfkafjkafjkaf lmao like fine for people who have those opinions but I just wanna dig into why these characters do the messy shit they do LMAO

[quiveringdeer]

I hope the readmore posts right. If not. Sorry non filthy followers. This is my first long more than a dm ramble slasher fic. So please be gentle. Would love feedback if you feel inspired to!

Many thanks to @thesightstoshowyou for encouraging me to turn my original rambling into something more. And to @youtastelikesugar for beta reading for me! Love y'all dearly!!

Warnings: Minor character death, abuse, noncon, sexual themes, asphyxiation, strangling, really really not for the casually thirsty. It hits pretty dark moments that go far and some may not want to read. 18+ Please head these warnings!!

You and Bo are an item. Let's not dwell on the how and just focus on the now, shall we?

He's still got the anger issues but for the most part when it comes to y'all you work them out in the bedroom. Or his truck. Or kitchen. The theater. Hell, even that one time on the roof of the house. Who knew stargazing could make someone so frisky?

When Bo needs to have things rough, which is almost always, it's nothing you can't handle. If it was you wouldn't have made it anywhere close to this point in your relationship.

No. You offer up whatever Bo needs. And for a while you are more than enough.

But there's a deep darkness there. And sometimes his hands around your throat merely rendering you unconscious isn’t enough to ease the tension built up inside him.

So you come to an agreement. If he needs this one thing you can’t provide personally then you’ll let him take it from others. 

If you’re topside when new visitors roll in it becomes your own little game betting on which one he’ll choose. And no matter how much the flirting escalates or how many days he keeps them locked away under the station, you’re the one he comes home to. You’re the one providing everything else he desperately needs and desires. 

But as with all things there’s always a threshold. 

So it comes to pass when a sweet young thing roles into town with a couple friends. Immediately you know which of the prey Bo will zero in on. He’s so predictable at times. Or more accurately he’s predictable to you because you know him so well. Sometimes better than he knows himself with the way he still tries to deny those thoughts and feelings that aren’t so easy for him to accept. 

You do your part. Leading persuading the other friends to follow you to the house while Bo works on their car. Certainly some refreshments and home cooked food for their bellies is better than standing around while he fiddles with their car. 

A smirk curves your lips at the face you expect him to make at your flippant comment about his work. Then quickly falls when you realize his attention is too enraptured by his chosen quarry. Swallowing down the sour taste of jealousy blooming on your tongue you force an easy smile back to your lips. 

“Don’t take too long Bo.” You call out as you usher the other visitors out into the Louisiana heat. You’re proud of how carefree your tone comes off. But he catches the warning, meeting your eyes with one of those patented smirks of his. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Darlin’.” 

A small but sweet acknowledgement of claim that easily washes away that bitter tang of jealousy lingering at the back of your mouth.  You were his and he was yours. Even if the victim was unaware or ignoring it. All that mattered was that Bo remember that. 

Vincent takes care of the other two with ease as they sit at the small dining table outside the kitchen door. Just as you’re bringing out two chilled glasses of lemonade to the table he’s knocked them both unconscious. Blessedly without spilling too much blood. 

It’s why you’d moved a table out here to sit the victims. The dark wood of this room easier to remove stains than having to regrout light colored tile in the kitchen. Never again you’d vowed. 

Dinner has come and gone. Vincent has already posed and coated the others in wax. Moved onto the smoothing and carving of their new flesh.

You take extra time in the shower. Allowing the warm water to ease the tension you’ve been carrying since serving dinner for three instead of four. You deep condition your hair and breathe in the calming scent of eucalyptus and vanilla infused candles. You take time letting your hair air dry while exfoliating your face and moisturizing every inch of your body. 

It’s near 10:30pm and still Bo hasn’t come home. You know he’s fine. His new little toy deftly restrained in his own undertown “workshop.” But usually he has the decency to come home! Is he planning on spending the night there?

That bitterness from earlier is clawing up your throat. You blow out the relaxing candle that was doing a pisspoor job of keeping you relaxed and move into the bedroom. You weren’t going to wait up for him. With any luck you’d be asleep by the time he dragged his ass home. 

One. Two. Three. Three fucking days of Bo spending all his free time at the damn gas station. 

In those three days you couldn’t pinpoint exactly why THIS particular fixation of his was making you so agitated but enough was enough. 

Packing up food from this night’s dinner that he’d forgone, yet again, you make your way into town. The gas station doors aren’t locked. Why would they need to be when no one entered the boundaries of this town without you all knowing. 

A heavy bassline thumps through the radio speakers in the lobby. You pay no mind to the words as your ears zero in on the strained screaming of the poor soul who’d become Bo’s current preoccupation. 

Inhaling and exhaling deeply you school your expression into a stoic mask then descend into Bo’s DIY Tartarus. 

This door is locked. In case the prey finds some way to get loosed you presume. 

“ ‘M busy!” You hear Bo growl out over the woman’s reinvigorated pleas for help. 

“I advise penciling me in.” You call back in a sickly saccharine voice. You tended to stay away from either of the twins’ workshops. Even with his hydrophobic and soap-phobic tendencies you found Lester’s art more tolerable. If you wanted to watch any of the brothers with their chosen crafts. 

You believe you hear Bo say something like “stay there” but the soft volume makes you assume he’s not talking to you. Moments later there’s a click before the door swings open to reveal a sweaty, shirtless Bo. Jeans slung low on his hips and haphazardly zipped with the button at his fly remaining undone. “Hey Suga’. What brings ya by?”

With more force than necessary you press the bag of leftovers into his chest while pinning him with a pleasantly chipper smile before walking around him into the space. “Dinner. Figured you’d need something to refuel from all the activities keeping you away from home.” Your gaze sweeps the dim room, drawn immediately to the lamp light illuminating the mattress right in front of the door. 

The poor woman is stretched supine on the dingy sheets. Arms above her head, wrists bound tight with duct tape. Legs spread wide and tethered by the ankles with some thick, garish yellow nylon rope that prevent her from closing. 

“Thanks Darlin’.” Bo mentions cautiously. Your temper isn’t volatile and unpredictable like his. It’s piercing and direct, like a bullet. And when he had his wits about him he did well to remain out of the line of fire. Though obviously somehow he’d gotten pulled into your sights. He moves closer to you, leaning in to kiss your cheek. A gesture you allow, leaning your cheek out for him in encouragement. 

“Welcome. This is a different setup than I remember.” 

“Made a few changes.”

“Hmm..well. I’m not here to interrupt too long. Feel free to continue.” 

A smirk balances precariously on his lips as he pins you with a skeptical look. “Ya wan’ta watch?” 

“Yeah.” You respond with a casual shrug. “I want to see what’s so captivating about this one to keep you here so much.” 

“Alright Darlin’.” Bo kicks the door closed and sets the leftovers to the side before moving back in front of the woman on the bed who’s returned to pitiful sobbing. “Looks like we got an audience sweetheart. Better make it a great show hn?” That patented smirk is fully lodged on his face now as he pushes denim and cotton down over his hips. 

You think about remaining standing to the side but something urges you to sit down on the mattress, near the victims mucus and tear stained face. 

Bo pumps his cock against his palm, pretty baby blues raking over your form as you reach out to tenderly stroke the woman’s hair. She’s babbling again. Begging you for mercy. Mercy you aren’t in any position to grant at this point. Without warning Bo snaps his hips forward, sheathing himself completely in the warm sloppy mess he’s made of her cunt. The force jolts her body up the mattress as it rips a high pitched yelp from her throat 

“Shh...Shhh…” You coo, fingers still tenderly stroking over locks of filthy hair. Dried cum, blood and sweat matting them into clumps you don’t attempt to untangle. Your soothing goes unheaded as Bo wastes no time upping his face. His fingers digging bruises into her hips as he brutally batters her overused hole. The woman’s shrieks ramp up in volume alongside his pace. The pitch ear splitting. You wonder how after three days she hasn’t completely lost her voice. Brows pinching into a scowl you stand from the mattress. The motion raises Bo’s gaze to you but his movements don’t ease up. 

You’re not sure what has possessed you to these actions but in moments you’ve kicked off your shoes and pulled off your own jeans and underwear. The discarded jeans land close to the mattress as you step up to place a foot on either side of her head. Carefully you lower yourself until your pussy hovers over her open mouth. “If you’re not gonna be quiet then at least be useful.” Bo’s thrusts have stopped now. Watching you in a slight daze as you straddle the other woman’s face, frowning down at her as you speak. “Now lick. Do a good job and maybe I’ll find you a way out of this mess. Hm?” You lower your hips as her tongue eagerly lifts up to meet your slit. Willing to do anything to escape this hell she’d found herself in. 

A deep appreciative moan spills from your lips as you close your eyes and focus on the feel of her tongue lapping over and between your folds. When Bo doesn’t immediately begin his vigorous thrusting you open your gaze to him. “Well? You gonna let me have all the fun now?” Fun? Who were you right now? 

A genuine smile you’d almost label sappy blooms on Bo’s handsome face. One of his hands extends up to grip your chin firmly, pulling you forward enough to kiss you deep. All tongue and teeth for a long few moments before pulling back and restarting his punishing pace. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Darlin’” 

The phrase does more to light a fire in your belly than the tongue working your sex or his hungry kiss. A smile brightens your own face as you close your eyes and rock your hips against the woman’s face. Reveling in the positive feelings swirling through your body instead of the negative ones trying to launch up to the surface. 

In time you reach down and swirl your fingers over her clit. You’re sure Bo has worked her through numerous orgasms in the past few days. He gets off even more manipulating that pleasure from bodies that try hardest to resist. But you want to gift her some pleasure. Surely she’s earned it surviving this long. 

Together you pull multiple orgasms from her overloaded body until the fatigue is too much and her body sinks exhausted against the mattress. Barely any energy to keep motion in her tongue. A limp and sleepy doll is no fun for anyone. 

A dark idea lances to the front of your mind. It sets off a shudder through your body like a firework exploding in a radiant sphere of lines with each fizzling out along your nerve endings leaving your whole body tingling. Before your rational mind talks you out of it your hands move around the woman’s throat. It’s strange from this angle but you do your best to apply pressure against her carotid artery and vagus nerve with your thumbs. Causing that beautiful build of pressure which makes one feel like they’re floating. Hands overlapping the front of her throat, the sides of your fingers apply enough force to cut her access to new oxygen without smashing her trachea. The loss of oxygen is enough to immediately spark renewed energy throughout her body. Her bound wrists beat against your back weakly as her body begins to jerk and convulse beneath you both. You know it’s one of Bo’s favorite ways to finish and you want to show him that you can be a part of snapping the tension built up inside him. 

Your gaze trails from where his hips continue bucking into this latest little doll up to his baby blues. She wouldn’t survive this. But you would. You’d still be here. 

“Mine.” You state firmly, leaning forward seeking a kiss which he earnestly provides. His hands cup your face hard while he snaps his hips. Once. Twice. Three times and he’s spilling into her cunt for the last time. Your hands remain closed tight on her throat until the thrashing stills. You can now give him everything. Without your body ending up forever unconscious to be discarded for another. You can give him everything he needs and desires. Only you. 

[mlmdarkfiction]

Gun anon here. First of all, I can't believe you'd call me out like that, how dare you, and second of all, can I request a drabble/fic or smth with Michael Myers and a gun? I know they're not really his M.O. but I love him and I crave it (also: do I need to get specific or anything or can I just say go wild with whatever idea you come up with?)

SOMEHOW THIS ENDED UP THE SAME LENGTH AS LIKE ?? A LOT OF THE COMMISSIONS I DO WHY DID I GO SO HARD AT THIS ONE MICHAEL MYERS FIC. I’m not mad im just...confused @ myself. 

anyway I hope you enjoy

Possible CW’s: NSFW, DMAB Reader, Home Invasion, Guns, Gun Kink, Death (not the readers or Michael’s)

Read on AO3:

Read Below:

It’s a rhythmic banging sound that first got your attention, leading you to the kitchen. It’s the back door.

Someone, or something must have left it hanging open, allowing for the slight breeze from outside to send it gently crashing into your cabinets.

You know for a fact you aren’t responsible for the open door.

Try as you might, you can’t even remember the last time you’d even used the back door, but…

You’re not worried.

Perhaps you’re the only person in all of Haddonfield, who could be unbothered at the prospect of an intruder in your home.

And you’re definitely the only person in Haddonfield hoping the intruder is Michael Myers.

Weird Roommate?

Friend?

Lover?

In reality, you have no idea how you should describe your relationship with The Shape.

Michael is truly an enigma, as most would guess.

Everything he does is unpredictable.

He comes and goes as he pleases, almost never locking or closing doors behind himself, you’re used to it at this point.

And at the end of the day, you know that whether you want him to or not, Michael will always come back.

At least, up until now he’s always found his way back into your home.

You hope that the door being left wide open is a sign that Michael’s finally returned home.

The door is shut, and you’re smiling. Honestly this is a big step for Michael, as it appears he’s not left you a trail of blood to clean up.

Perhaps he was finally learning manners?

Or maybe after so long of being away he simply hadn’t wanted you to yell at him for leaving yet another mess.

There’s no rush in trying to find Michael.

As every other time he’s come to visit, you know he’ll find you when the time is right.

It may not be intentional, although you really think it is, Michael always ends up scaring you.

He thinks it’s funny. Even though you can’t see his face, you know he does. He loves seeing the way you jump at his sudden appearances throughout your shared home.

Nothing about your night changes. You carry on the exact same way you would have if you hadn’t discovered the open door.

After making a bowl of popcorn you settle down on your couch to watch the Countdown to Halloween horror movie marathon on your TV.

About twenty-minutes into some B-Slasher film when you hear it. A crash from upstairs.

Suddenly you feel a lot more on edge.

Michael’s not…

Michael isn’t the type to make much noise at all.

You try to reason with yourself, to tell yourself that it’s just Michael, that he must have dropped something…

But you’re unable to convince yourself.

Stupid Horror Movie.

“Michael?” It’s a soft call at first, and yet...It’s loud enough that the noises you’d been hearing from upstairs come to a complete stop.

The sudden silence does nothing for your already frazzled nerves.

All you hear now is the soft sound of your feet against the carpet as you make your way to the bottom of the stairs.

Looking up you see absolutely nothing. No sudden Michael to assuage your fears.

“This isn’t funny, Michael!”

Even using your angry voice gets you nothing in response, and it causes you to quickly come to terms with the fact that if you want to go back to relaxing, then you’re going to have to investigate the cause of the noise yourself.

The irony of this whole situation isn’t lost on you however, a chill runs down your spine as the poor soon-to-be-dead woman on TV calls out ‘Hello?’ into her own, stranger infested, home.

Everything about this seems like it’s a parody, the stairs even creak underneath you as you make your way up.

Suddenly you’re all too aware of the source of the crash.

Not Michael.

Definitely not Michael.

“You’ve made this easy on me,” Your blood goes completely cold as this stranger turns to you, gun pointed directly at you. Anything you could do or say is completely null. The situation, your body...It all feels frozen.

“Show me where you keep the real valuables.”

Slowly your body begins to unfreeze, and you force yourself to nod in response to the armed intruder.

There’s nothing but the pounding of your heart in your ears as you continue to your bedroom.

As soon as you make your way to the doorway the man grabs you roughly from behind, you can’t help the small scream that leaves your panicked lips at the sudden touch. “Where?”

“Under the bed.”

“Go.” He’s shoving the gun into your lower back, inspiring you to follow his commands, as, even through your shirt, you can feel the guns barrel.

You nod, risking a glance back at your captor.

Your breath hitches but...you relax.

Michael.

For real this time, it’s Michael, standing completely unnoticed domineeringly  behind the armed man.

Even with his mask on as always, you can feel the intensity radiating off of him. The malevolent energy is so strong, you’re surprised the Intruder seems to be completely unaware it’s no longer the two of you.

“I said get the good shit!”

Finally you’re snapped out of your shock and relief, and you nod your head again. Crouching down you put on the facade of retrieving your safe from below the bed.

Michael doesn’t make you wait.

“What the-”

From your position you can’t tell what exactly Michael did, but the crashing of the gun on the ground is a relief, at least until you realize if it had fallen just right it could have easily gone off.

Still you quickly grab the gun with your shaking hands before rising to meet the scene before you.

This is the first time you’ve actually seen Michael in action.

Of course you know who Michael is, and what he does, but seeing it live….

Seeing it live is totally different.

Michael is holding the man in the air by his neck. You’re entranced watching the man's feet dangle uselessly, before pressing into Michael’s chest.

It doesn’t seem to matter how much he struggles or kicks, Michael doesn’t seem fazed at all.

Though you hate to admit it, there's something undeniably hot about Michael holding a struggling man in the air as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. The sight goes straight to your cock.

You’re so aroused-

You’re so entranced by Michael that you have to force your gaze away when it’s clear the struggling man is close to the end of his life.

His face is red, fingers desperately clawing at Michael’s hands as if it would somehow be enough to free him from the crushing grip.

You shut your eyes tightly.

In this moment you’re dangerously aware of everything going on in the room with you; the pounding of your frantic heart isn’t loud enough to block out the last struggles, and gasps of the man, nor do you miss the way it all suddenly stops.

This silence is immediately followed by a thump, the thump of Michael dropping the now dead man onto your bedroom floor.

Michael is…

You don’t know what he’s doing.

You tell yourself you’re not afraid of him, and yet...you find yourself unable to open your eyes.  

The gun has grown warm in your now very nervous, sweaty hands.

With blood rushing in your ears you become hyper aware of your partly adrenaline, but mostly Michael caused boner, and the way that it’s straining painfully against the fabric of your pants.

A large hand, one that’s much larger than your own, develops your hand, the one holding the gun.

Slowly you open your eyes to find yourself face to face, or more accurately, face to chest, with Michael.

You watch Michael as he takes the gun from your grasp.

With his mask still on it’s nearly impossible to tell where Michael is looking, but it really seems like he’s staring at both the gun now in his hands, and at you as you watch him.

“Michael?” His name leaves your lips tentatively. You’re surprised by yourself, surprised by the fact there’s no waiver or tremble of fear noticeable in your voice.

His head tilts in a familiar response at your gentle call of his name, and now you’re sure you’ve gotten the man's full attention.

Briefly your eyes drop from Michael’s masked face to the dead body at your feet, before returning to the other man's covered face.

“Thank you…” After all, if Michael hadn’t intervened, it most likely would have been you dead on the floor.

There’s a hesitation, and then silence envelops you both once again.

Surprisingly, it’s Michael who ends the tension. A simple step forward is all it takes, before he’s pulling you close against his chest into a crushing embrace.

It’s odd.

You welcome the unusual affection, but it’s still odd.

Michael isn’t usually so...soft.

‘Maybe,’ you think, ‘He’d actually been worried.’

The hug is nice, but tight. You’re sure that’s because he’s unused to initiating such subtle affections.

You notice two things while in the hug though;

Michael is also hard, his cock straining the jumpsuit to press against your own while you embrace, and that Michael still has the gun.

It’s not pointed at you, of course, but you can feel it in his hand as he holds you.

Michael doesn’t break the hug.

As soon as you’d felt his erection you knew he likely wouldn’t.

The two of you, you’d done things like this before.

He is, to put it lightly, inexperienced, but he’s always been curious and eager.

Body kept flush against his own, you’re unable to do anything as he grinds his hips into your own as he desperately searches for friction.

A soft moan leaves your lips, and you have to keep from shuddering when you hear Michael give a deep inhale from within his latex mask.

The Shape doesn’t moan. In your experience, he never has, but you’ve learned how to tell Michael is enjoying himself.

You’ve learned to listen out for every deep breath, shuddering exhale, and low growl.

“Here,”

You take a step back, not missing the almost needy way that Michael tries to grip your shoulders in an attempt to keep you close.

“Let me help.”

Only you.

You’re the only person who could strip Michael Myers, and live to tell the tale.

His jumpsuit is easily removed, and no surprise to you, he’s completely bare underneath.

You leave the mask.

In all the time you’ve seen Michael, he’s only been maskless a handful of times, and every time it had been his own choice to remove it.

It’s a boundary.

A symbol of trust.

And no matter your relationship with the other man, you’re not about to overstep it.

Michael’s now completely naked aside from the mask, and his cock is standing at full attention.

It’s a full 7 ½ inches.

You watch as it bobs gently in anticipation as Michael gently adjusts his weight as he becomes used to the cool night air of your bedroom.

Like usual, this level of intimacy with Michael is prefaced by curiosity and need for relief.

It’s Michael’s pleasure that matters. It’s always been like that.

Despite the likeness of your bodies, you’re not sure Michael could pleasure you back, if he even knew how.

He pulls you in again, and you’re quick to fall into routine, dropping to your knees in front of the larger man.

There’s no waiting, no moment to catch your breath, Michael is straight to the point.

His scent quickly fills your senses as he lays his cock against your face.

He humps against it, rubbing the sweaty organ against your cheeks and nose, at one point you stop him as he’s getting dangerously close to thrusting into your eye.

You’re allowed a single deep breath before you take the head of his large cock into your mouth.

Not only is his musk overwhelming, but so is his taste.

Salt.

Sweat.

Skin.

Without thinking you moan wantonly around him, tongue wrapping around the head, licking his slit and the precum that had already started gathering there.

It’s only Michael who could get you to act in such a way.

To get you to act like an eager cock sucking whore, even knowing you’ll get nothing in return.

You’ve trained yourself to take his monster cock.

Or…

You’ve at least trained yourself to take most of it.

A gag still manages to leave your throat when your partner decides he’s had enough and wants more .

All it took was a single hard thrust for him to sheathe is aching member in your willing throat.

One day you think he may accidentally kill you with his cock.

Perhaps he’ll thrust too hard and accidentally puncture your esophagus.

Maybe he’ll just hold you far too tightly, far too close, as your mouth is filled, nose in the curls of his pubes unable to breath as he finishes.

The thought of dying by his cock...it makes your own twitch from it’s confines.

You’re so focused on your goal of taking the full 7 ½ inches in your mouth, that you don’t notice Michael shifting above you.

No, you’re left with no warning of what’s to come.

Metal presses softly to your cheeks, and instantly you freeze.

You begin taking short, panicked breaths of air through your nose, cock still clogging your airway, as you look up to Michael.

He’s just staring, no expression visible through the damned mask, and no real reaction to your stopping or to your very clear fear.

Instead of stopping, or showing any sort of intent, Michael just begins to gently trail the gun lower.

The steel  traces down your jaw, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and eventually rests right under your chin.

You relax, if only slightly, knowing Michael won’t shoot with his dick in your mouth.

He’s been shot enough times now to know it hurts, and would likely know better than to shoot his own dick off.

However, this relief is short lived.

Once again Michael begins to move the gun away from your chin, down, and further down again, until at last it’s being pressed against the obvious tent in your pants.

There’s no way to keep in a moan at the feeling of something, anything, even a gun, touching your poor aching dick.

Any thoughts you had about what exactly Michael’s planning to do quickly leave your head as Michael gives a quick and sudden thrust.

It has you choking again.

Tears, snot, and drool leave you at the sudden extra strain.

You work faster on Michael’s cock, bobbing your head just right, moaning for the extra stimulation, all while the other man continues to prod your own member with a fucking gun.

You try to avoid thinking about the fear, and the arousal , this new addition to your routine is causing.

No, instead of thinking about that, and what it means about you as a person, you decide instead to focus on Michael.

All you’re thinking about is him, his cock, and how to make him cum.

It isn’t long until your efforts are rewarded, after all, despite his above average endowment, he’s never lasted very long.

Still,he seems to lose his load much faster than he usually does.

In an almost mockery of your earlier fantasy, your nose is forced into Michael’s unkempt pelvis, as your mouth, throat, and stomach are filled with his bitter cum.

The longer you go without air, hardly able to breathe even through your nose like this, the more you fear every part of your earlier fantasy is going to be fulfilled.

But…

Michael has mercy.

Once he’s finally beginning to soften up, he pulls himself entirely from your mouth.

For the moment you’ve forgotten the gun, now much more focused on your aching jaw, and swollen red lips.

Michael reminds you quickly though.

In your kneeling position, Michael has no trouble pushing you onto your back, especially now that you’re exhausted, unable to fight him.

All you can do against him is look up with confusion.

“Michael, what-”

You weren’t really expecting a response.

Of course the response you get isn’t verbal, no, Michael responds to your inquiries in a physical manner.

All you can do is moan in mixed pain and pleasure as he once again presses the gun against your erection, however this time...he’s much rougher than he’d been before.

It feels almost as if he’s trying to crush your cock.  

Still it seems that for the first time your relationship with The Shape had become sexual, that he decided you were finally allowed to cum too.

He keeps you like that-

Splayed out on the floor in front of him, legs spread, all while you moan and write for him as he roughly outlines your cock with the tip of the gun.

He doesn’t stop.

Not until you cum.

And when it finally happens, when you finally cum, you’re filled with a mix of relief and humiliation.

Relief that Michael had finally moved the gun away, not just from your genitals, but from you entirely.

Humiliation at the fact you’d cum without a real human touch.

Humiliation at just how hard you’d cum due to going without for so long...and the mess you’d eventually have to clean out of your underwear.

Although you can’t see his face, you can feel the smug aura radiating off of Michael.

He’s clearly proud of what he’s done today, and you have a feeling he’s not going to let you forget this exact encounter any time soon.

[isis-astarte-diana]

The Big Bad Wolf

Summary: Missy never gets to play rough with humans anymore - except for you, of course. [One Shot] [NSFW]

Warnings: Explicit, NSFW, 18+, but all of that said over and over again while shouting and banging a gong. It’s a self-indulgent work of fiction so be on the lookout for unhealthy relationship dynamics, less-than-stellar bondage practices and inappropriate use of Victorian footwear. Missy is her own warning. I’m gay, let me live.

Word Count: 3468

NB: Reader and Missy are both explicitly described as having vulvas. In the future I’ll try to have some more inclusive stuff coming out!

“Say something nice.”

Her hand is around your neck. Your breaths are laboured, but she’s not squeezing; just resting her cool palm against your throat, fingers spanning either side of your windpipe. You can feel your own rapid pulse where she touches you. The gentle pressure is a threat and a promise.

Enraptured, you gaze up at her. “I missed you today.”

Missy grins. It’s predatory, all gleaming teeth and blood-red lips, and something primal in your lizard brain is screaming but there’s no way to run and nowhere to hide with your arms spread wide and shackled to the console of her TARDIS, keeping you on your knees, naked with chest and belly and everything exposed to her searching eyes, her tearing hands, her biting mouth.

In her wool skirt and crisp blouse she looks radiant. Her cuffs are still buttoned, feathery lace framing the black fingernails she’s honed down to lethal talons, and her hair sits perfectly undisturbed. Save for her discarded jacket and the cameo brooch she’s removed from her collar, she’s fully dressed. It makes your exposure feel all the more obscene. Each throb of your heart reminds you that flesh, for all its pleasures, is pitifully weak.

She might have read your mind. “Can you feel it, darling?” She leans forward, close enough that you can see the flecks of makeup clinging to her lashes. “Something’s gone wrong in your DNA. Six million years of evolution and when the big bad wolf comes a-calling, you take off your clothes for her."

Your pulse skips at the warning in her voice. She’s right, of course - the knowledge of all that she’s done should send you running for the hills, but she’s turned you upside down and inside out and back to front until you’ll leap at the chance to chain yourself up in her larder, until you’re pushing your own throat into her open jaws. She could kill you in sixteen different ways at this very moment without breaking a sweat.

She won’t, of course. You know that. Still, it makes it all a bit more exciting.

“Now why,” the tips of her fingernails, dagger-pointed, make their presence known in the soft skin of your neck, “would a clever girl like you get down on her knees for me?”

You’re hypnotised by her eyes, wild and sharp and glittering like broken glass. “Because I’m yours.”

“Because you’re mine, what?” The claws dig deeper. This is the game.

“Because I’m yours, Mistress.”

Her eyes flutter closed with a soft sound of pleasure, her hand falling from your neck. There's power here for you, too; the power to please, or displease. Reward and punishment are both tantalising options.

The thing about Missy, though, is that she's unpredictable. 

When her palm collides with your cheek it startles you. Pain blooms hot and pink where she slapped you, and you set your jaw against it, swallowing hard. Without the use of your hands there's nothing you can do to soothe the sting. She completes the symmetry, her other hand striking the opposite side of your face. The pins-and-needles burn of it sends tears prickling at your eyes and your head drops as you struggle to regain your composure.

A harsh tug on your hair suggests that she has other ideas. Your chin snaps up from your heaving chest and she takes hold of it, hard enough to make your jaw hurt. Her lips brush faintly against your temple as she murmurs, “yes, you are, my love.”

There is no trace of tenderness in the way she sinks her teeth into your neck, yanking your head back to keep your jugular exposed. It’s a deep, clenching pain that works down into the muscle, pushing a cry past your lips before you can stop it. Your restraints rattle as you jerk in her grip like a rabbit in a fox’s mouth.

The hand that isn’t fisted in your hair, pulling at your scalp with eye-watering strength, rakes its nails up your exposed side and leaves goosebumps in its wake. You try in vain to squirm away but there’s not enough slack in your position for even the most pathetic movement and suddenly she’s twisting your nipple cruelly between thumb and forefinger. Despite your whine of protest, the stimulation triggers rippling pleasure between your parted thighs.

Missy’s jaws unlock from your throat and she sucks an angry bruise into the groove her teeth have left there. The exquisite ache, coupled with the ongoing torture her fingers inflict on your nipple, has you moaning with dizzying need. You can feel her smirking against your skin.

“Say it again, love.” She drags her tongue up the side of your neck.

The words come out strained. “I’m yours, Mistress.” She shivers with delight and slides her hand down your chest, over your stomach, and begins to idly play with your pubic hair. It’s not enough, not where you need her. You rock your hips, greedily trying to draw her touch downwards to where you’re slick and burning with desperation.

You should know by now that this is not the right move.

She pulls back immediately, landing another blazing slap across your face. Your mouth opens in a stunned cry but the sound is robbed from you when she slides three delicate fingers between your lips. Her skin is smooth and salt-bitter and you try to claw back her favour with adoring, worshipping licks but something cold stirs behind her eyes. The curve of her smile is sickle-sharp.

“Humans,” she muses, letting her fingers press deeper into your mouth. “So fragile.” Your eyes widen when she nears the back of your tongue but she knows what she’s doing, holding you in place by the hair while she triggers your gag reflex. Tears spring to your eyes as you choke and splutter on her fingers and she laughs, easing back unhurriedly and letting you breathe freely again. She keeps them there, knuckle deep in your mouth, just shy of obstructing your throat.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Missy teases. “I know that you’re dripping for me, darling. I can smell you.” She breathes deeply and you feel your face flush. Your thighs tense and squeeze closer together, doing the barest thing to soothe the ache there. Her boot slides between them and nudges them apart none-too-gently. “Patience.”

She presses forwards again. The first involuntary pulse of your throat has the salt spilling over from your eyes, a few hot tears arcing down your face. “Oh, poor girl.” Her voice is mocking. “Is this better?” As her fingers withdraw, she pushes a smooth, pointed leather toe up against your slick folds.

The touch runs up your spine like the jolt from a cattle prod. Your hands clench tightly on the crossbars of the console, so much effort focused on not rutting against her shoe that your teeth almost clamp down on her hand when she fills your throat once more.

This loss of control doesn’t go unnoticed. She speaks over the muffled sound of your gagging, tone low and threatening. “Bite me and I’ll pull your teeth out.”

It’s almost certainly an empty threat, but it works. You relax your jaw, and Missy begins to fuck your mouth in earnest, alternating between smooth strokes of her fingers and deliberate, deep thrusts that convulse your throat and force more tears from your eyes. The cold leather of her shoe grows slick as she starts to rub it up against your clitoris with the skill of an immortal.

The flickering pleasure settling in your abdomen is too much; you grind against her, riding the smooth leather in time with the drag and slide of her relentless fingers. She scoffs but doesn’t seem to mind.

“I could make you come like this.” It’s just an observation, but you moan weakly in agreement, sliding your tongue along the length of her fingers. “Just like this, on your knees, humping my boot like a dog.” She punctuates the words by nudging her toe forwards, just an inch, until the very tip of it breaches you. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s cold and unexpected and you make an indignant noise around the invading digits. She raises an eyebrow and presses further, far enough that you feel it beginning to stretch you open. You look up at her in a plea and she slides her fingers out of your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “I thought you wanted to come?” Her knuckles, slick from your mouth, tip your chin up and force you to meet her eyes. “Is this not what you had in mind?” Your chest heaves as you drag in breath after grateful breath. Her voice hardens. “I’m waiting.”

“No, Mistress.” It’s barely above a whisper.

“And if it’s all I want to give you?” When you don’t respond quickly enough she pushes again, a faint burn settling in as the width stretches you more, half an inch of tapered leather now buried inside you. She speaks over your soft cry. “If it’s a choice between this and nothing at all?”

Humiliation be damned, the desperate, spasming need that grips your every intimate nerve stands testament that there is no decision to make. You concede. "Then I'll take all that you give, Mistress."

"Of course you will, darling. What else could you do?"

Despite your complaints you whine with disappointment when she pulls back, feeling open and empty where she's put you apart. Her hand tightens in your hair. "Down on your heels." Obediently you sink further down, sitting back on your heels for her. She uses her grip on your head to steady herself as she brings her slick boot up towards your face. "Clean it up."

Missy makes you work for it, keeping her foot just low enough that you have to lean forwards, straining your shoulders against the restraints. You drag your tongue greedily through your own sour-sweet arousal in the hope of softening her by eagerly degrading yourself. She nudges your jaws apart and pushes the toe of her boot between your lips. You give her a performative glance up through your lashes, bathing it with your tongue until all you taste is clean leather.

Suddenly your mouth is empty again, but your relieved breath is cut off when the sole of her shoe lands squarely in your chest, pushing you back until you’re flush with the railing. The heel is sharp against your breastbone.

“You want me to touch you?” You nod, breathless. “You want my fingers inside you, filling you, fucking you open until you beg for me to stop?” She pushes harder, letting the pressure of her pointed heel turn to pain.

“Please, Mistress.” Your heart pounds in your chest. “Yes, please, please.”

“Earn it.” She drops her foot to the ground and turns her back. One delicate hand slides into the pocket of her skirt as she walks away, towards the stairs. You hear the whir of her sonic.

The metal cuffs on your wrists detach from the console so abruptly that you crumple forwards, scarcely managing to catch yourself before your face hits the ground. The impact sends a bolt of pain through each arm, making you groan. She laughs.

“Come here.”

When you lift your head you see that she’s perched on the stairs, skirt hitched up around her waist, knees bent and spread wide in invitation. Eagerly you make to stand up.

“Down!” Her voice is like a whip cracking. “Crawl for me.”

Despite the ache in your hands and knees, you do as she says. The cold, wire-mesh floor of the console room is unforgiving beneath you and by the time you reach her there are stinging red imprints sinking into the skin of your kneecaps, your palms.

Even from a foot away you can see that she’s drenched. You wait, hands on the stair beneath her, mouth watering, for permission to touch her. After your ordeal shackled to the console it feels like the pendulum of power is swinging back towards you, at last.

Missy won’t allow it, of course. “Hands behind your back.”

Frowning, you lean back, weight on your sore knees once more as you clasp your hands together in the small of your back. You hear the sonic again and the electromagnets in the cuffs come to life, fastening them together tightly enough to pull your shoulder blades backwards and in. Her face hardens at the frustrated noise you make.

“I’ve not gone soft, you know,” she reminds you, leaning forwards to grasp your lower jaw in her slender fingers. “You can turn those big, sad eyes on me as much as you like.” She lets go and cracks her hand across your cheek. You know there’ll be bruises in the morning. “I won’t go easy on you just because you’re pretty, dearest. Show me you deserve it, first.” Her fingers wind into your hair, pulling you sharply forwards and burying your face between her thighs.

Without the use of your hands to steady yourself the edge of each step digs into your torso. Your nose is buried in her dark curls, the tang and musk of her taking over your senses as you slide your tongue between her slick folds and drag it along the full length of her. She tightens her grip and warns, “if you tease me, I will make you regret it.”

So delighted are you to finally be kneeling between her legs that it’s a struggle to remember this is not a reward. You can’t resist a few more slow, indulgent licks, relishing the slight twitch of her thighs around your head. If you had any doubt over how much she enjoyed fucking your mouth with her fingers, it’s driven away immediately. She’s flooded with arousal, at least as much as you are, even the dimples at the apex of her thighs slippery with it. You suspect it won’t take long to finish her off.

As expected, she tugs on your hair, guiding your mouth higher as she lifts her hips and presses herself against the flat of your tongue. “Keep still,” she says harshly, and you’re delighted to hear that her breathing is uneven. “Going to ride your pretty mouth.”

She grinds against your mouth, using the surface of your tongue like a toy to rub in circles against her clitoris. You moan appreciatively into her flesh. With your face pushed into her mound like this you can’t catch a breath through your nose, and your chest begins to ache with need. Capable of only muffled sounds, you realise that you have no room to beg and she has no intention of letting you draw breath until she’s finished with you.

You push harder with your tongue, eyes squeezed shut as you try not to focus on the growing discomfort. You strain to match her movements as best you can. The motion of her hips speeds up, her breaths louder, one hand fisted in your hair and the other gripping the banister of the stairs.

The control is gone from her voice; it wavers, breathless. “There,” she demands. “Stay there, just like that.” You do as you’re told, muscles in your jaw aching with the effort of maintaining the speed and pattern of your tongue’s frenetic twitching. She’s close, dripping down your chin like ripe fruit, writhing underneath and above and around you.

Missy makes a sharp, feral noise, rocks her hips once, twice, three times and falls back against the staircase. A fresh rush of slickness coats your lips and cheeks as she relaxes, breathing hard. Her fingers slide out of your tangled hair. You turn your head, resting your damp face against her thigh while you catch your breath.

In a rare display of tenderness for moments like this, she drags her nails against your scalp. You hum contentedly and nuzzle the soft skin beneath your cheek, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there. Feeling mischievous, you dare to bite down. She lets out a pointed, barking laugh and yanks your head away.

Of all the places she’s taken you, all the things you’ve seen, your favourite sight in the universe is still this one; Missy’s imperious figure, her eyebrow raised in challenge, her pupils blown with pleasure as you look up from between her legs. “Are you getting brave with me, now, love?” She sits up, taking you with her, forcing you back onto your heels. “Do you need putting in your place again?”

Having her fall apart under your tongue never fails to make you delirious with need. “Always, Mistress.”

Sometimes you forget her strength. She manipulates your body with dizzying speed and suddenly your face is being pushed into the metal floor, cheek and chest pressed against the mesh, eyes fixed on the blinking lights set into the wall panels. Your back is arched, hips raised and legs splayed out to give her easy access. Spread apart like this you can feel droplets of arousal marking ticklish trails down the insides of your thighs, towards your aching knees.

She’s behind you, above you. A bold fingertip parts your labia and strokes your desperate flesh, making you cry out. “Ask nicely.”

“Please, Mistress,” you manage, voice muffled by the way your face is squished into the ground. “Please take me. Please show me who I belong to.”

Her patience for teasing you always runs dry, won out by the scorching need to have you. Three fingers slide inside you in an instant. There’s no pain - you’re far too slick for that - but this position introduces some tension so that it stretches and stings just the smallest bit. Being so suddenly and mercilessly filled has you whining, writhing on her fingers. She leans down against your back, the weight of her crushing your breasts painfully beneath you. Her teeth nip sharply at your shoulder.

“Always so ready for me,” she breathes against your earlobe, crooking her fingers just so until they hit the spot that makes your abdomen clench with exquisite, agonising pressure. You moan brokenly. “So desperate to be filled, split open on my fingers like this.”

“Mistress-” you can’t finish the plea, cutting off with a howl when she forces her smallest finger past your clenching muscles, stretching you wider until the burn absorbs every thought. You can feel your pulse thrumming against her invading fingers.

“One day,” she says, far too casually as she begins to fuck you slowly, “I’ll have my whole hand inside of you, dearest. I’ll wear you like a glove. Would you like that?”

You hope the choking sob you let out conveys the full extent of your terror and unbridled excitement at the idea. Every cell of your body throbs in time with the rocking pressure of her fingers. The hand forcing your head down moves, but you don’t have the strength to lift your face from the floor.

“Come on, love,” she croons, tongue flicking your earlobe. “It’s time. You’ve earned it.”

Her arm slips under your raised hips and between your thighs, the tips of two fingers pressing hard against your clitoris and working a pitiless rhythm against it. The noise forced from your throat as you clench down around her is scarcely human and suddenly you’re coming, pinned beneath her, nothing to do but sink further down on her fingers and wail into the empty room.

When next you know yourself she’s sliding her hand free, making your legs twitch as every blazing nerve begs for reprieve. She lands gracefully on her back beside you and tugs you closer until you’re half lying on her. Gentle hands stroke the lengths of your bound arms, her lips fastened to your sweat-slick temple.

“Well done, my love.” She wipes tears you didn’t know you were shedding from the sore skin of your cheek. “Thank you for that. You were wonderful.”

Words are still beyond you. You settle for a soft hum of agreement and tangle your legs with hers, nuzzling deeper into her blouse to greedily breathe in the opium scent of her perfume.

Her fingers trail over your naked shoulder, landing on the deep bruise she’s left with her mouth. She pokes it and you whine. “Oh, shush,” she admonishes, but she soothes the spot with her fingertips. “Brutal enough for you today, darling?”

You snort. “We’ll see,” you manage to mumble against her chest. She laughs, and this time it’s deep and genuine, not the mocking chuckle she reserves for these games.

“I’ll tell you what, tomorrow we’ll take a trip to the Spanish Inquisition and pick up some new toys.”

The thrill of anticipation makes you grin and wince in equal measure. Your words are muffled by her blouse. “Promises, promises.”