#references to non-con

[serpentface]

Do you conlang? I was wondering if you had naming languages (or possibly even more developed ones) for pulling the words you use. I tried to search your blog but didn't find anything, wouldn't be surprised if the feature is just busted tho. Your worldbuilding is wonderful and I particularly enjoy the anthropological and linguistic elements.

Ok the thing is I had kind of decided I was not going to do any conlanging because I don't feel like I'm equipped to do a good job of it, like was fully like "I'm just going to do JUST enough that it doesn't fail an immediate sniff test and is more thoughtful than just keysmashing and putting in vowels". And then have kinda been conlanging anyway (though not to a very deep and serious extent. I maybe have like....an above average comprehension of how language construction works via willingness to research, but that's not saying much, also I can never remember the meanings of most linguistic terms like 'frictives' or etc off the top of my head. I'm just kinda raw dogging it with a vague conceptualization of what these things mean)

I do at least have a naming language for Wardi (and more basic rules for other established languages) but the rudimentary forms of it were devised with methods much shakier and less linguistically viable than even the most basic naming language schemes, and I only went back over it LONG after I had already made a bunch of words so there's some inconsistencies with consonant presence and usage. (This can at least be justified because it IS a language that would have a lot of loanwords and would be heavily influenced by other language groups- Burri being by far the most significant, Highland-Finnic and Yuroma-Lowlands also being large contributors)

The 'method' I used was:

-Skip basic construction elements and fully move into devising necessary name words, with at least a Vibe of what consonants are going to be common and how pronunciation works -Identify some roots out of the established words and their meanings. Establish an ongoing glossary of known roots/words. -Construct new words based in root words, or as obvious extensions/variants of established words. -Get really involved in how the literal meanings of some words might not translate properly to english, mostly use this to produce a glossary of in-universe slang. -Realize that I probably should have at least some very basic internal consistency at this point. -Google search tutorials on writing a naming language. -Reverse engineer a naming language out of established words, and ascribe all remaining inconsistencies to being loanwords or just the mysteries of life or whatever.

I do at least have some strongly established pronunciation rules and a sense of broad regional dialect/accents.

-'ai' words are almost always pronounced with a long 'aye' sound.

-There is no 'Z' or 'X' sound, a Wardi speaker pronouncing 'zebra' would go for 'tsee-brah', and would attempt 'xylophone' as 'ssye-lohp-hon'

-'V' sounds are nearly absent and occur only in loanwords, and tend to be pronounced with a 'W' sound. 'Virsum' is a Highland word (pronounced 'veer-soom') denoting ancestry, a Wardi speaker would go 'weer-sum'.

-'Ch' spellings almost always imply a soft 'chuh' sound when appearing after an E, I, or O (pelatoche= pel-ah-toh-chey), but a hard 'kh' sound after an A or U (odomache= oh-doh-mah-khe). When at the start of a word, it's usually a soft 'ch' unless followed by an 'i' sound (chin (dog) is pronounced with a hard K 'khiin', cholem (salt) is pronounced with a soft Ch 'cho-lehm')

-Western Wardin has strong Burri cultural and linguistic influence, and a distinct accent- one of the most pronounced differences is use of the ñ sound in 'nn' words. The western city of Ephennos is pronounced 'ey-fey-nyos' by most residents, the southeastern city of Erubinnos is pronounced 'eh-roo-been-nos' by most residents. Palo's surname 'Apolynnon' is pronounced 'A-puh-lee-nyon' in the Burri and western Wardi dialects (which is the 'proper' pronunciation, given that it's a Kos name), but will generally be spoken as 'Ah-poh-leen-non' in the south and east.

-R's are rolled in Highland-Finnic words. Rolling R's is common in far northern rural Wardi dialects but no others. Most urban Wardi speakers consider rolling R's sort of a hick thing, and often think it sounds stupid or at least uneducated. (Brakul's name should be pronounced with a brief rolled 'r', short 'ah' and long 'uul', but is generally being pronounced by his south-southeastern compatriots with a long unrolled 'Brah' sound).

Anyway not really a sturdy construction that will hold up to the scrutiny of someone well equipped for linguistics but not pure bullshit either.

[stiltonbasket]

Hello everyone! I'm posting another stand-alone MDZS oneshot today; however, please note that it is much darker than my previous works and has an archive warning for non-con.

[gojonanami]

https://www.tumblr.com/gojonanami/739810914403074048/bloodsucker-gojodid-this-guy-cheat-on-reader?source=share

Now he wants her back? Is he gonna make her his gf now atleast. I need to know what happensn next ahh. Bloodsucker gojo mf is cocky and I like it sighhh gimme more cocky vamp gojo :<

I guessed u might have forgotten this fic lol since its written quite some time ago

well it's implied that between the time him and reader broke up, he got bit and turned into a vampire -- and gojo is just out for blood (pun intended) and wants reader at the same time--

i mean he probably takes her with him because its also implied she turns into a vampire too now - so who knows? girlfriend or long term, long distance, low commitment, casual, vampire girlfriend lol

but also this fic is dark content- so it's very dub/con, basically non/con, because vampire gojo basically kind of compels reader to be with him when he sneaks up on her. so reader should not be dating him, as much as she should be running away from him because he's terrible lol

no i remember the fic, but the details escaped me since i wrote it months ago and i have a terrible memory T_T (see previous ask from today where i talk about my terrible memory in the tags lol)

[a-painful-ordeal]

4. Endless Lists of Don't do That Again.

CW: implications/references to non-con/sexual assault. References to burning. References to slavery. Botched escape attempt. Beating with a belt. Fear of non-con. Non-consensual stripping.

“Just keep your head down, alright?” Was the last thing Trygve told Evan before showing him to the kitchens. And that was exactly what Evan intended to do. At least until he got the opportunity to run.

Over the next week, he’s given a variety of jobs, though by far the worst one is turning the spit that meat is cooked on. The hours on end of turning the meat on the heavy iron spit makes his back and neck ache; the proximity to the fire leaves him with blisters on his hands but worst of all, the smell makes his hip scream and nausea seep into his throat.

The kitchen itself is huge with at least 20 other people all scrambling to get things done. At first, he expected that at least a few of the kitchen people would be here voluntarily, but the stone-faced guard at the door, and the silence, other than hushed whispers attempting to coordinate jobs, suggested otherwise.

Evan’s job gives him a good view of the kitchen, and the repetitive nature allows him to make notes. When the guards changed. How can careful they are. At what stage they seem to get tired and distracted. Where the spare food ends up.

The guards seemed to change as the preparation for a meal ended. The kitchen itself had only a few small windows for natural light, and very few of them were allowed to leave their place in the kitchen outside of latrine breaks. Most of the staff also tended to sleep in the kitchen rather than elsewhere. This meant that the meals were the best attempt at keeping track of the hours that passed. So, the guards were likely changing every 3 or 4 hours.

The guards' distractibility seemed to alter depending on who was there. Some didn’t leave their posts at all, whilst one, slightly greasy-looking man seemed to take a liking to one of the maids, choosing to spend parts of his shift escorting her out of the room for a while.

Evan can only guess what was happening from the twitchy fear on her face before she was called away, and the blank expressions after she’d been brought back. The other kitchen staff seems to cover her absence seamlessly, and with her return small, discreet hand squeezes are exchanged. Evan meanwhile finds himself imagining several different ways it could be possible to ram a knife through the back of the fucker’s throat. It’s a surprise no one had even tried it yet.

Over the week, Evan uses his proximity to large amounts of food, to slip extra off plates. He stashes it in a small corner near where he sleeps. However, for anything that looks particularly perishable, Evan makes the quick decision to eat immediately. He needs to put on some weight if he’s planning on lasting any time without food. Evan has spent years watching how M works. How she uses her large dress to conceal what she’s taken. Evan is clumsier than her and a large shirt isn’t quite as good, but he seems to make it work.

***

The week passes, during which he hears whispers of a large celebration that is being held. The work on the day is more hectic than normal, and Evan feels his bones and joints hate him. The day goes on and food preparation dies down, and the kitchen seems to slump collectively.

Evan finally has a moment to breathe as the fire dies down and the pan scrubbing subsides. His knuckles had blistered from the heat and then been scrubbed raw in the dishwater. He moves across the room to a small pan of cool water that he uses to soak his bloody, painful hands.

That’s when he notices it. The guard is gone. The man had been here most of the time, but he had been sloshing back a couple of glasses of wine towards the end and now… there was no one else there. They were probably all at the feast… and…. Oh. A small surge of adrenaline bubbles into excitement. He, however, forces himself to stay calm as a half-drafted escape plan begins to be cobbled together. He lets it simmer whilst he covers up the second wind of energy that he’s experiencing by shifting his expression to one of exhaustion.

He moves his way slowly through the kitchen towards where he’d been collapsing most days to sleep, unnoticed by most of the exhausted people. As he passes, he picks up a silver plate, like the sort that they had been using today to serve food on.

He quietly and fluidly takes out some of the food he’d been quietly stashing and lays it neatly on the plate. Now the trick came down to confidence. Confidence that he was where he was meant to be. How confidently and precisely could he navigate his way through the building?

He weaves his way through the kitchen, keeping his head down. He can be certain the people here are too tired to care. And he doubts they’d hand him in. Not really. The guards were who he had to be wary of.

He exits the kitchen, scanning left and right before choosing the right corridor. Where he’d first entered had been heavily guarded. So, he may have better luck going in the opposite direction.

He threads his way through the corridors. Trying to prevent himself from speeding up as adrenaline pounds through him. There’s a momentary pause as the corridor bleeds into huge, grandiose halls. It’s more glamour and money than Evan had ever really seen in one place. Even compared to when he still lived with his grandparents.

The walls are decorated with expensive portraits and are lit by large candelabras Music and chatter echo from where the feast is going on. Right. He stops blinking in awe and wills himself to relax and think. Best to avoid that route then. He changes direction and begins moving through the halls and away from the large dining room.

Evan manages to get a good distance away from the party. He follows to where

the doors should be logically. Away from kitchens and dining rooms. Somewhere near a staircase. Rounding a corner his eyes fall to two large doors.

The entrance.

That’s when he hears footsteps and laughter. His breath hitches. But he forces himself to push through. Keep calm. Keep steady. Keep walking. He wills himself to remember that if he looks like he belongs. It’s no one will notice.

The steps get closer and closer, he steps to one side to let them pass respectfully. Heart thumping away in his chest. Praying they couldn’t read minds.

Two guards, clearly a little too drunk approach and begin to pass him.

Evan exhales as they keep walking and begins to move towards the doors.

The steps stop.

Keep walking.

“Hey… the feast’s this way.” A guard calls over. His voice slurs slightly from the alcohol.

Evan keeps walking. Slow. Steady. He’s doing a job. There is a reason he’s going this way. He has a purpose.

“Hey! Didn’t you hear me?” the guard calls at him.

Evan stops. His heart is in his throat. There are two choices. Run or pretend. Play along and certainly get caught out… or…. The door is so close. He has a head start… it could be so easy. Pretend or…

He breaks into a sprint. Food scatters to the floor. He finds himself gripping the plate tightly as he does.

It takes a second for the alcohol-addled guards to process what’s happening.

Evan reaches the door and goes to wrench it open, as two large men barrel towards him shouting. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The door opens and as quick as a street cat, he’s out the door. His feet pounding against the cobblestone.

Despite the alcohol, the guards close the distance with ease. Hands lunge to grab at him.

Evan takes the opportunity and frisbees the plate off in a wild direction. His only weapon clangs as it cuts into the brow of one of the guards. “Fuck!” spits the now very, pissed-off guard, rapidly blinking, trying to keep the blood from dripping into his eyes.

Evan digs his toes into the stone path as he bolts for the gate. A huge weight body slams into him. He hits the ground with a crunch as the full body weight of a man is on top of him. All Evan can do is put his hands out to stop smacking his head into the cobblestone.

“Look! He tried to make a run!” The guard on top of Evan proudly declares, gripping the boy’s hair and yanking it to one side. “You thought you could try and get away, did you?” The smell of liquor on his lips is strong.

Evan struggles. Trying to shift the weight off him, the guard moves so his knee is in the small of Evan’s back, and he kneels over the top of him. His hand remains in Evan’s hair, gripping it painfully and forcing the boy’s head to the floor. “I wonder what sort of reward we’ll get for this.” The tone is low, and sickly.

Evan’s mouth goes dry and his mind flashes blank as fear creeps its way through his body. No. Gods no.

A kick to the ribs pulls him out of it making him gasp. “Fucking prick” the guard with the cut brow snarls. He slams two more into the boy’s chest.

“Excuse me!” Evan’s hair is released, as the man pinning him down sits up to look at his colleagues.

“That little shit just cut me. You can save-” he gestures wildly “-Whatever this is, till later! Right now. He’s mine.”

There’s a long, elongated sigh from above. “Fine.” Evan feels his hands being pinned but the pressure from his back is gone for a moment, only to be replaced by the feeling of hands at his waistband.

The fear is back. Colder than ever. He goes to kick but feels a shoe pressing his legs down. He attempts to crane his head around but all he can see is the dark evening sky.

His breeches are dragged down and there is a small jangle of a belt being unbuckled.

Evan goes still, the fear makes him sick and-

There’s an audible crack as the belt contacts the bare skin on his lower back and upper thighs. Red-hot pain shoots into the back of his throat. The leather stings uncomfortably and the shock causes his lungs to rake in more air.

There's another strike and another, layering themselves on top of one another. Burning and stingy, aching and throbbing. The leather cuts through his skin, ripping jagged, bloody lines into the boy’s pale lower back. The impact of the leather tears into him in a pain that leaches its way through his body and into his throat.

Evan feels the desperate urge to cry but as each strike drives air from his lungs, he finds that he can’t.

After what feels like hours, there’s a pause. Some sounds of shuffling. Before two, very weighty strikes come down. The guardsman is clearly putting his whole shoulder into it as he does. A large chunk of metal scours bruises into his flesh, as the belt buckle is brought down on the boy’s body.

Finally, after an eternity. It stops. Evan lies there. Panting, pain ringing out through him, and tears begin to well in the back of his throat. The pain throbs in the gentle breeze, but the humiliation feels worse. The heat of being held down and beaten like a petulant child, and the fear of what else they could do, rises in his cheeks as he swallows back tears.

He is pulled to his feet, hands pinned behind his back to stop him from running.

“Good. That’s a lot better.” Bloody brow seems more relaxed. “Take him to Lord Maynard then? I’m sure he’d want to know about this little escape attempt.”

Evan’s captor sneers “Oh so you get to do what you want with him and not me?”

“Yes. Because getting in trouble with the lord is not my priority tonight. Come on. And let him pull up his fucking trousers. I don’t want anyone to think I’m that drunk. Even if you are.”

Evan quickly pulls his waistband back. The fear is back. Like hell does he want to see this lord… But he has very little choice as he is marched back into the manor and into the loud feast room.

The room is lit by blazing torches, food that Evan had been working with a few hours’ prior litters the table, mostly still intact due to the quantities.

On entering, some of the chatter dies down. A rather large man, at the head of the table, makes his way down “What is the meaning of this?” his voice demands the attention of the room.

The bloody brow takes a step forward whilst the other guard, forces Evan to his knees, by kicking in the back of his legs. “We found this boy trying to run.”

The Lord paces slowly towards Evan, looking him over as he approaches. “This is the new one, is it not Sir Ademar?”

The hulking knight who had bought him looks up and sighs very slowly “Yes, my lord. It is.”

Lord Maynard approaches before finally stopping in front of Evan. He hums slightly, as Evan glares back in defiance.

Sir Ademar looks to his lord “He was stationed in the kitchens, my Lord.”

Maynard looks at Evan a bit longer before smiling. “Have him reassigned to me.” His gaze pierces through Evan’s very being before he looks to the guards “Take him to my chambers. And remember to lock the doors.”

The guards nod as Evan is pulled to his feet.

“Of course, My Lord.” Sir Ademar nods before gesturing to the half-orc, Trygve, to pour his wine. Trygve begins to pour, but for a moment he locks eyes with Evan. A look of frustration, sympathy, and pity. The message is clear. I told you to keep your head down.

-------

AN: And now we can move to needlessly tormenting my boy! :D Shout if you spot a typo or want adding to the tag list!!!!

Masterlist Next

Tag list:

@sunshiline-writes @kixngiggles @pumpkin-spice-whump

[koskela-knights]

Dear, my God + bonus demon! Ilmo x Priest! Casey (as suggested by @copiasmic ) beneath the cut 😈

[deathshallbenomore]

non me ne frega una mazza del cinismo questa cosa mi sta facendo quasi letteralmente sanguinare gli occhi

[overobsessivewhumper]

Whumpcember 2023: Day 6: Nightmares

@whumpcember

Content warning: vague mention of past rape/non-con

Read on Ao3

As Astarion has a nightmare, their shared tadpole problem ends up giving Wyll a first row seat to Astarions relived memory.

Wyll wakes to the now familiar feeling of someone's tadpole trying to connect to his.

Almost out of instinct, he lets the connection happen.

As Wylls mind merges with the other he is thrust into an overwhelming sensation of searing agony.

His back is on fire, his arms are strung up above him so high it feels like his shoulders are on the verge of snapping out of place, his legs burn with the strain of trying to keep upright and possibly other injuries he doesn't know of.

When something collides with Wylls back, he whimpers. It's not his voice that leaves his mouth. Wyll knows the voice. If only he could push past the unrelenting pain clouding his mind, maybe then he could remember.

But he can't push past it, nor does the pain stop or even slow.

“Please.” Wyll sobs in a voice so familiar, the name is on the tip of his tongue. A laugh comes from somewhere behind him, it's hollow and soulless. It doesn't sound human.

“You know what I want.” the voice says, amusement lacing its words.

The next time the thing, a whip something Wyll's mind tells him, hits him, he screams. And he does so for every following lash, so long that doing so starts hurting.

By the time the owner of the voice, a skeleton, Godey that same part of his mind whispers again, releases him, his voice is all but gone. Wyll drops to the ground like a wet rag, eyes pressed closed firmly, silent sobs wracking his body.

With a gasp Wyll snaps out of the connection, bolting upright and looking around the darkness frantically. And then it clicks.

The voice. He knows that voice because it's the voice of the man he loves.

Astarion, who's taken to the habit of spending his trance in the same bed Wyll sleeps in. Usually, he'd be curled close to Wyll. Reaching a hand around in the pitch black his eyes hadn't adjusted to yet, Wyll finds him.

He's curled in on himself tonight, back turned to Wyll. A slight shiver runs through his frigid body. If Wyll was right, and what he saw was what Astarion was dreaming of right now, he had to wake him.

It wasn't the first time Astarion had a nightmare around Wyll, but it was the first Wyll had been dragged into. Placing a hand carefully on Astarions shoulder, Wyll tries to shake him awake.

“Astarion?” Wyll says softly, leaning close to Astarions head to do so. From here, he could just barely make out the glistening tracks of tears traced across Astarions pale skin. Wylls heart aches.

“Come on Astarion, wake up.” Astarion doesn't seem to notice him.

Wyll sits up and leans over a little to take hold of Astarions hand. He runs his thumb across the cold skin, traces the bony knuckles, hoping Astarion would find the motion comforting even when not conscious.

“Astarion?” Wyll tries again, a little louder.

And this time, Astarion does stir, turns onto his back and makes quiet, indistinguishable noises, but stays in his trance. Wyll moves back a little, loosens his hold on Astarions hand. He doesn't want to make Astarion feel trapped, doesn't want to startle him any more than unavoidable.

What ends up breaking Astarions trance is when Wyll shakes him another time.

Astarions eyes fling open, and Wyll doesn't need darkvision to see the fear in them, blown wide as they are.

“It's okay Astarion.” says Wyll, voice calm. It isn't, of course, but the situation would hardly benefit from his saying so. For a being that doesn't need oxygen, Astarion is breathing an awful lot right now, fast and laboured. Like he isn't getting enough air.

Whilst Astarion considers him and the darkness surrounding them, confusion clear, Wyll keeps his distance. He stays just where he is, unmoving, until Astarions had the time he needs to readjust.

“Wyll...” he says, voice fragile as decorative glass. Astarion makes a hesitant move in his direction, but abandons it.

They've been here countless nights before, Wyll knows what Astarion is trying to do.

Still he asks: “Can I hold you?”

“Please.” Astarion says, softer than in the memory, but just as desperate. The hatred for how he sounds practically radiates off of Astarion.

Wyll pulls Astarion into his arms, mindful of where his horns are. One hand, he lays on the back of Astarions neck, the other on his waist, aware that Astarion rarely appreciates having his back touched after a nightmare. Wyll moved particularly cautious today, after having witnessed first hand the memory Astarion had been trapped in.

The tremble present in Astarions body before seems to intensify now he's in Wylls hold. Astarions tears soak through Wylls night cloths where the vampire has his face pressed to his neck. The feeling reminds his a bit of rain, cold as they are.

Wyll doesn't say anything, there's nothing he could really say right now. Nothing that would help the situation. But he can be there for Astarion, be a source of warmth, a shoulder to cry on. Wyll brings his hand up to run through Astarions silvery curls.

When Astarion moves his face away from Wylls neck, the evidence of his tears are still clear on his face, but the flow has stopped. In a slow, deliberate move, Wyll presses a kiss to Astarions cheek. Astarions lips quirk into a weak smile.

Normally, Wyll would ask Astarion if he'd like to talk about what he saw now. Sometimes, Astarion wished to do so, resulting in conversations filled with heavy emotions. Other times, he prefers just to continue being held in silence. And while it is a rather rare occurrence, there are days Astarion would rather sleep alone after.

Today, Wyll needed a different approach.

“Something was different today.” Wyll begins. The confusion from earlier returns.

“What do you mean?” Astarions voice sounds rough.

“Our tadpoles,” Wyll says, “they-”

“No.” Astarion interrupts, disbelief and fear in his tone. “They didn't...” Astarions voice tapers off, so Wyll clears his and continues.

“Yes, I'm afraid so. I did end up seeing some of your dream. I'm so-” Wylls apology gets cut short as Astarion abruptly grabs the front of his shirt and draws him close. So close that their noses just barely brush and they breath the same air. Astarions gaze is intense, eyes wide and brows drawn together, fangs bared.

“What did you see?” he hisses, only just still a whisper.

“Astarion?” says Wyll softly, cautiously laying his hands over Astarions where they are clenched in the fabric of Wylls shirt. At that, Astarion draws his hands back at once, as if burned by Wylls. He's still staring at Wyll intently, jaw clearly still clenched, but his lips have become a thin line.

“Astarion?” He doesn't say anything, but his pupils flick about erratically, like he's examining Wylls expression for something. “If it's any reassurance, I don't think I saw all that much. Only the bit with the skeleton.” Wyll pauses to swallow the rising emotions, and to remember the vile creatures name. “Godey?”

Astarion hasn't moved, still seeming to be looking or, possibly, waiting for something.

“For what it's worth, I am truly sorry for having invaded your privacy. It was not my intention.” Astarion scoffs and laughs. It sounds forced, uncomfortable.

“I just don't like you seeing me like that.” spits Astarion, voice sharp as his daggers. Wyll tries to smile comfortingly. He knows how hard vulnerability is for Astarion. Wyll holds his hand out as an offering for Astarion to take it.

“Well then you'll be happy to know I didn't actually see you, as I was experiencing the memory along side you.” Astarions expression darkens, teeth being bared once more.

“That doesn't make it any better.” he says, batting Wylls hand away and turning his head to look off into the darkness of the room. Wyll tilts his head, trying to get a read on what Astarion is feeling right now.

“Astarion?”

“Leave me alone!” Astarion snaps. Wyll doesn't take the tone to heart, he knows Astarion is just lashing out. They'd talk about it in the morning. If he's feeling combative, Wyll thinks it best to take his advice and give him the space he needs.

“Alright.” Wyll says and shuffles off the bed. He's to tired to bother with changing out of his night clothes, but he can hardly leave the room barefoot, so he looks for his boots. Astarion stays silent. “I will see you again tomorrow, my love.”

Boots located by almost tripping over them in the dark, Wyll slips them on. Wyll grabs his bag and moves to the door. He'd ask one of the others if he could sleep on his bedroll in their room.

Just as Wyll's about to leave the room, his hand already on the doorknob, he's stopped by a quiet. “Don't.”

Wyll turns to look over to the bed. He can barely see Astarion from here. Just the vague shimmer of his white shirt and pale skin through the dark, and the faint gleam of his unnatural irises. He's sitting at the edge of the bed now, legs hanging off the side.

“Please don't.” Astarion says again in a hushed, shaky tone. A short pause follows, then: “I'm sorry.”

Wyll drops his bag and swiftly moves back to the bed, doesn't move to sit quite yet though. Astarion looks up at him, tears in his eyes once more. His hand shakes terribly as he reaches to pull Wyll to sit next to him. Wyll complies, taking the hand in his own.

“Wyll, I...” Astarions voice cracks. Wyll gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, bringing his other up to run along Astarions upper arm. He wishes to tell Astarion to take all the time he needs, but Wyll doesn't want to interrupt him.

“Are...” Astarion swallows. “Are you sure that was all you saw, Wyll?”

“What reason would I have to lie?” Wyll says, a bit baffled.

“Please, Wyll, I have to know. Can you promise that's all you saw?” There's that awful desperation in his words again, desperation and fear.

“I can do you one better.” Wyll smiles softly, squeezing Astarions hand once more. “I swear on the honour of the Blade of Frontiers that that is all I saw.” He'd hoped to lighten the mood a little, and a small smile does cross Astarions face, so he'll take that as a win.

“Thank you.” Says Astarion, barely audible. Moving back a little, Astarion brings his lags back up onto the bed and draws his knees to his chest, never letting go of Wylls hand. He rests his face on his knee in a way he can still look over at Wyll.

“I couldn't bare it, having you see me like that.” Astarion says, quiet, like he's afraid someone will hear. Wyll nods.

“I understand. Having that kind of vulnerability displayed against your will is-” Astarion laughs, almost genuinely.

“Not that, I don't- Well, I do mind. I'd rather you not have to see me like that at all, let alone experience it.” Wyll shudders at the memory. Astarion takes a deep breath he doesn't need before continuing. “No, what I was getting at is a part of the memory before the flaying.” Tears are flowing across Astarions cheeks again. If Wyll couldn't see them, the way Astarions breath hitches alone would be enough to give him away.

“Before the flaying, there was a target.” Astarions eyes flick away from Wyll, focusing somewhere in the distance. Every word sounds like it has to be forced from Astarions lips. “Nobody special. Can't remember his name or the details of his face. Just some unruly drunk.”

It isn't uncommon for Astarions dreams to entail the people he had to lure to Cazador, but it's always painful to watch Astarion recount such memories. Wyll wishes he had something good to say, but he can never come up with anything particularly helpful.

“That's what I was afraid you'd seen,” Astarion sighs shakily. “me degrading myself.”

He emits a hollow laugh. Astarions eyes focus on Wyll once again, once again waiting for something.

“Oh Astarion.” Wyll brings his hand up to Astarions face slowly, so Astarion could dodge if he wanted. He doesn't, so Wyll brushes his hand across his cheek, catching some of the falling tears on his thumb. “It wouldn't change anything.”

“Ha!” Astarion exclaims, bitter, almost spiteful. “It would change everything! There's a big difference between knowing what I've done, and seeing me do it.” Towards the end of Astarions words, they have a more and more noticeable wobble to them.

Carefully, Wyll pulls Astarion closer. First, he presses a kiss to Astarions forehead, just where his hair starts. Then, another to his cheek, just below the eye. A third and final one he places on the corner of Astarions lips. There he lingers for a moment, before he breaks to content to meet Astarions gaze.

“There is nothing, absolutely nothing you could tell me that bastard did to you that would make me think less of you.” Astarion lets out a noise that Wyll guesses is supposed to be a laugh, but it quickly morphs into a sob. Astarion clearly tries to swallow it down, pressing his eyes closed, but it doesn't work. So he leans into Wylls hand and they just sit there.

“You're a fool, Wyll Ravengard.” Astarion half sobs, half laughs, the attempts of a smile on his face. “A complete and utter fool.”

“I'm happy to be a fool for you” Wyll counters, fighting tears himself. It doesn't take long for Astarion to regain control over the sobs.

“When I was younger, I'd dream of finding someone like you.” Astarion sniffs, wiping the continuous tears off of his face with the back of his hand. “I can't imagine young Wyll imagined he'd end up with someone like me, someone used and worn.” He laughs bitterly, staring off into nothing again. Wyll huffs.

“Well, I can't say young Wyll was expecting to have horns either, so things aren't going how he imagined either way. Hey, look at me Astarion.” Wyll tilts Astarions head so they're facing each other again. “I wouldn't change this, wouldn't change you, for the world. You are everything to me, just as you are.”

Wyll presses his lips to Astarions cheek again. “Now, how about we get back to bed, hm?”

“Not until you take those dirty boots off!” Astarion says, amusement in his rough sounding voice.

When Wyll's done so, they curl up together again, holding each other firmly. And despite Astarions trance ending earlier than Wylls sleep, Astarion is still right there in Wylls arms when he wakes, clinging on to him tightly.

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired Stalker AU

AKA "Tim Drake is a little obsessive, possessive, and really, really likes his new boyfriend (Danny)" prompt idea!! No non-con, violence, or dead doves. Brief reference to human experimentation.

Inspired by this one post where Tim kept a methodical journal of Danny's resting pulse, body temperature, weaknesses, tracked him literally all the time, and Danny was like *heart-eyes*

I like the idea of Tim's idea of love being completely a bit skewed. He was neglected as a kid and craved attention, affection, being wanted; so, understandably, he assumes that's what other people want, too. He'd only had one boyfriend before. Kon was sarcastic, funny, and sweet, but even he couldn't handle Tim's... staring. The unblinking intensity in those eyes, the hundreds of pictures of himself on Tim's phone, somehow Tim knowing about Kon's conversations and experiences without having been there.

Needless to say, Tim and Kon's relationship ended with a harsh reiteration that most people need boundaries.

So, when Tim meets this very cute messy-haired boy at Gotham-U, he shoves down the instinctive urge to know everything. Mentally captures moments, memorizes them, instead of taking pictures. Shoves earbuds in to avoid listening in on Danny's conversations (oh, his name's Danny, which he overheard when the boy was speaking with the TA).

It's so hard not to obsess, though. Danny is... well, he's haunting. His crystalline eyes make Tim's heart stutter in his chest, chills rising along his arms; he swears there's this aura around Danny that's just utterly compelling. (Stop it, Tim, you'll scare him off.) But Tim can actually be a person sometimes, so he just asks, "Do you want to go out for coffee with me sometime?" And he's psyched when Danny says yes!! (He tries really, really hard not to memorize the fact that Danny likes hot oatmilk chai lattes, uses his left hand to hold his drink, and prefers not to use a coffee sleeve. Does Danny always hold his cups by the lid? Does he prefer- Tim stops himself.)

And Tim is a great boyfriend!! They go on dates (he doesn't avidly stare at the way Danny's eyes sparkle while at Gotham-U's planetarium). Tim learns Danny's favorite music the normal way (he doesn't hack into Danny's Spotify... although he's suddenly found himself listening to an artist named Ember). And Tim has a totally normal album of pictures of his boyfriend on his phone (his burner phone is a different matter entirely, but not even Batman himself could get it unlocked. Tim's got that phone sealed up tighter than the Fortress of Solitude).

Except Tim notices Danny becoming more withdrawn. More tired, dark bags under his eyes and stealing Tim's double espresso (he never does that, it's too bitter for him, why isn't he drinking his oatmilk latte?). Leaning his head on Tim's shoulder during lectures to take naps. And Tim's becoming more frantic the more lethargic Danny becomes.

Maybe he's more like Bruce "Contingency Plan" Wayne than he's willing to admit. Tim sets a hard boundary for himself: I'm just going to Google his symptoms. That's it.

He spends the next 42 hours obsessively researching Danny: hacks into his phone, downloads all his previous location history, texts, calls, background checks everybody Danny's been in contact with. Re-traces his steps down to the minute, finds all his Google searches, activates Danny's laptop webcam. He's determined to find out what's wrong with his boyfriend.

And because Tim is Red Robin, who literally became part of the Batfam because of his stalking tendencies and is one of the greatest detectives since Batman, he finds out. He finds out that Danny Fenton is one Phantom, a vigilante from Amity; finds obscure clips of newspapers mentioning a young boy's tragic death, discovers the GIW, uncovers classified information containing metahuman experimentation (let's say he doesn't quite know about Ghosts, but Metas are close enough).

Somehow, he makes a connection between ectoplasm and the Lazarus Pit (maybe not necessarily the right connection, but something-adjacent). After all, Jason was resurrected via "Evil Baja Blast" and Ra's al Ghul used it to make himself immortal. It would make sense that the GIW could sample Lazarus Pit water and use it to experiment on metahumans. So... Does Danny just need more Lazarus Pit water?

Cue Tim making use of the Drake and Wayne family wealth to literally overnight mason jars full of Lazarus water. Ra's al Ghul has no idea how it happened. He tests the reaction of Danny's DNA and the Lazarus water only to realize he was right. (Lazarus Pit waters are just excessively concentrated ambient ectoplasm, I guess?)

Tim does what any good boyfriend would do and spikes Danny's oatmilk lattes with Lazarus Pit water. And it helps. Danny is suddenly so much more energetic, there's that glittering shine to his eyes, and he looks so much healthier. Happier. Tim can't stop staring at him. If anything, he stares more, tries to memorize every angle of his boyfriend's face; he collects more candid pictures than before, always catching the gentle curl of Danny's lips when he's distracted; doesn't disengage the tracking apps or phone mirroring software.

He's just happy that his boyfriend is feeling better, more like himself. It's just a perk that Danny doesn't know about Tim's minor stalking tendencies.

(Danny absolutely knows.)

[hislittlesparklejumpropequeen]

Watching you

Hwang In-ho x female!reader.

Summary: In-ho sees you and his brain chemistry changes. A/N: in reader’s pov he’s referred as Young il. Sorry if it’s confusing. Warnings: Obsessive and possessive behaviour, masturbation, stalking, perverted opinions, murder, blood, kissing, mentions of arousal, mentally and physically vulnerable characters, dubious consent, non-con touching, manipulation, sadism, dacryphilia

W/c: 3,5k

It was strange that he kept his eyes on you more than anyone in the games. The moment he saw your shaking figure among the crowd of people in the green suits, he felt his breath get stuck in his throat. You were looking around with eyes that were full of fear, hands wrapped around yourself and holding back tears as others started an argument in the middle. You listened as someone complained about his shoes being so expensive, and someone asking for his phone, an old lady argue with her son and guards answering the players’s questions with patience.

He kept his eyes on you as the first game started. He saw your eyes widen when someone was shot right in front of you, and he watched you as you realise the seriousness of the game you accepted to take part in. Gi-hun was interesting to him, yes. He was searching for them, for him have been for years now. And he was brave enough to come back to the games just to find who was behind them. He respected his determination. Yet there was something about you that he could not name. Something captivating. Something that shifted things in him, made his skin sting in ecstasy as you nearly moved when the doll turned around. You looked around with those innocent eyes and blood of someone flowing down your cheek, he felt his trouser tighten. A small, tingly sensation took over his loins and made him frown in confusion. He had never taken a liking to a someone, let alone a little, fragile thing like you.

When he found the video of you playing ddajki with the recruiter, he felt himself get harder and harder as he watched you spill tears in pain every single time you received a hard slap on your cheek. The camera captured the noises you made as your body was falling backwards with every single slap. The recruiter hit you hard and In-ho wandered if you would sound the same when he pounded you hard on his bed. He took his mask off and palmed himself trough his trouser as he kept replaying the video over and over again. When he was finished spilling his seed into his palm, he wished that was your mouth wrapped around his tip instead.

When the first game finished and your number and picture still shone bright on the floor, you voted for ‘X’ and expected everyone to vote same as you. Yet you were so wrong when the last player 001 and all others voted ‘O’, causing all of you to stay in this hellhole. You felt tears fill your eyes as some people were cheering with victory in front of you. You sat down on one of the beds at the front and hugged your legs with disappointment. As you were thinking what was going to happen next, you felt someone sit next to you.

“I’m sorry, I thought staying was the best option.” Said the man who was looking at you, watching your tears flow down your flushed cheeks. You looked at his number and saw 001 in bright white font. He was the person who voted last and made the decision. You sighed and shook your head.

“It is not only you, sir. Half of us wanted to stay.” You said as you pointed at the people who had the ‘O’ banners on their right side. He did not look at the direction you were pointing at, he kept his eyes on. You were so pretty when you cried. He wandered how beautiful you would look when you were overstimulated with his fingers in you. He felt his cock twicth when you looked at him again. Your lips were plump, and the tip of your nose was red. He wandered how your tears would taste like.

“We have a winner here. I thought we could use this for our advantage.” He explained as he pointed at Gi-hun who looked very troubled not so far away from you. Your eyes were on the last winner when you felt the man beside you stand up and take few steps towards the player 456. Yet he stopped mid way and looked back at you, as if he was waiting for you to follow him. And for some reason you wiped your tears away and followed him like a lost puppy as he walked towards the previous winner of the games who was already accompanied by few guys who kept asking him questions.

And the small group was formed with two of you joining them. You did not know much about others, did not trust them meanwhile player 001 was confident and comfortable talking to them. When he sat down next to Gi-hun, his eyes pointed at the small space next to his feet, so you sat down there. Being close to him brought you a sense of safety. He was the first person who approached you in this mess of a place with kindness. You did not know him, didn’t know his name or why he was here. Yet there was a look in his eyes that made you want to stick beside him.

When everyone went to sleep, In-ho looked at your resting form. You were wrapped in the thin blanket and was curled up into a ball. He looked at your curves that were visible from the tracksuit, his mouth watered. You were so frightened and powerless. You needed someone to protect you in the games. Someone who would look after you, make sure you make it alive. He knew what humans were capable of doing in a place like this. People were going to go mad and hurt one another viciously. Would he be able to just stand and watch if you got hurt?

Your soft whimpers and cries brought him back to reality. When you woke up from your few hours of sleep drenched in sweat and tears flowing down your cheeks, he crawled to you, in the darkness of the hall. He reached out to you, from the metal bars of the beds, and held your shoulder. You squirmed in fear and was about to scream until a large hand covered your mouth.

“It’s me.” He whispered to your ear as his whole body was pressed against your back, other arm wrapped around your shoulders. He was towering over you, as you felt sweat drops make their way to your neck from your temple.

He let go of your mouth, but his touch did not leave your body when he moved to sit next to you. He was close, his breath hitting your face and neck when he looked at you with observing eyes that did not give any feelings away. His touch made your heart beat fast and quicken your breaths, yet you did not want him to stop holding you.

“Bad dream?” He whispered, his voice is low yet deep enough to make your insides shake. You nodded when tears filled your eyes again. The images of dead bodies all over the playground haunted you since the moment you came back from the game as winners. You didn’t want to cry in front of anyone, but you felt like he would not mind seeing you cry.

He nodded along with you, almost like a grown up talking to a little kid and mirror her moves to befriend her. When he saw your bottom lip tremble and eyes full of fear scan the hall of people sleeping, he felt his loins burn in need. The face you made when you were scared and felt alone was enough to make him cum in his underwear without any touch.

Without hesitation he brought your body closer to his own and his arms embraced your shaking form with mercy. You buried your face into the crook of his neck and wrapped your smaller arms around his waist. He was warm. Very warm that you felt your fingertips burn over his body. When you breathed in and out in the crook of his neck, all In-ho wanted to do was throw your body back into the bed, rip those clothes off of you and ravage you in front of dozens of people without any care. The though of fucking you, turning you into mass in front of them, giving them a show as he claimed you, sent shivers down his spine.

“I’m so scared,” you whispered, your crying voice reaching his ear as he tried to hold back a smile at your situation. You were so helpless that you were crying in the arms of the man who was the reason why you were still here. He was a stranger, who had the potential to do anything. Yet here you were, quivering against his chest and making his member throb in need.

“I’m here.” He said. And you had no chance but trusting him.

———————

The next game you were automatically given the Gong-gi game as the only female in the group. Yet your hands were shaking when it was your turns to play after player 390 completed his part successfully. When you missed two times, you were so sure you were going to die and worse, be the reason for everyone’s death in your group.

He watched you panick, drop the pebbles and fail to catch them midair. Everyone around you was getting inpatient and scared naturally. Even tho he loved the way you were struggling and feeding into his twisted desire, he could not let you die. He held your waist and stopped the trembling of your body. You looked at him under your lashes that were wet with your tears and went back to work once he gave you a reassuring smile. With that you managed to catch all the pebbles in your palm and passed the round.

It was then, you felt something was off, when it was his turn to play his own game. The top kept slipping from his hands or landed wrong on the floor that was covered in the blood of eliminated players. You wanted to step back yet could not because of the ties when he started to scream in anger and slap himself. There was a crazy, off-putting look in his eyes. It was less uncomfortable when he was looking at you, yet it was still there. His eyes made your skin crawl and stomach twist in sickness. You did feel safe around him. But not like you would feel safe with a family member, a friend, or a lover. It felt like he was a wolf who claimed a lamb, kept her on his chest and waited for right moment to eat her.

When your group managed to survive and go back to the hall, he kept to you close. His hand was on your back, leading you to your bed. When it was mealtime, he gave half of his food to you, telling you to not to worry about him when you tried to reject him. He watched you until you finished all your food. After all of you exchanged names, he watched you talk to player 388 about his time in marine and watch you laugh when he was talking excitedly, telling everyone how prideful he was about his military service. He watched your tears dry up as you listened to the conversation that was flowing in the group. Your smile made his stomach twist and his jaw clench.

Your hopes once again were shattered when people voted for “O” more than “X” and decided to continue playing the games. Young-il wiped your tears away and convinced you to get some sleep for the night. You could only relax and fall asleep when he sat next to you on your bed and caressed your head as he decided to stay awake. He looked extraordinarily strong to you. He did not need to sleep, gave his food to others, calm people down when everyone was scared, raged and pass the games like it was nothing. Most importantly, he held you close no matter what. Did not mind you cry and fail and fall. Maybe it was a sense of guilt he felt, for making you stay in the first round of voting, you thought.

——————

Next morning he held your hand when everyone was taken to the new game. It was mingle. Your group had decided to stay together. You were grateful that they had take you in and did not leave you alone. You all took your place on the platform and started to spin as the song was playing. You felt his hand get tighter around yours, reminding you that he was here with you.

10

You ran as fast as you can and took deep breaths when all 10 of you finally managed to get into a room. The sound of lock made you jump slightly. You saw Young il’s eyes on Gi-hun as he pulled you under his arm. The images of him looking at Gi-hun since the moment you met him lingered on your mind until the woman who claimed to be a shaman started to speak loudly in the middle of the room. As you waited for gunshots to stop and doors to open, you could not help but wonder the reason behind Young il’s weird behaviour about Gi-hun. He seemed to get along with him. Seemed to respect his ideas and experiences about this place. They seemed to understand one another, somehow. Yet that unexplainable look in 001 eyes was making you shift uncomfortably in your place.

Until last round, you had no chance but sticking beside Young il. As you entered rooms and people kept dying outside, you became more paranoid. And when it came to the last round, Jeong-bae asked how many people it was going to be this time. Without hesitation Young-il answered.

“2.” And it was it. When the song stopped and the platform stopped spinning, Young il held your hand tighter than before, and started to run to closest room. As you were trying to catch up with his pace, someone bumped into you, causing you to lose your balance and stumble midway. Young il turned around immediately and wrapped his arms around your waist. He lifted you like a piece of feather and made his way to the yellow door that was already opened by a guy. Young il pushed you into the room and threw the other guy away from the door. When you scanned the room, your eyes were met with pair of foreign eyes.

“Out.” Young il said sharply to the other man in the room.

“We were here first.” The man said, his voice cracking as he was shaking in fear. Person behind the door tried to open it. You pushed your back against the door and held it with all of your strength. There was not much time left, and you were afraid that all of you were going die in this room.

Young il grabbed the man and locked his arms around his head. As they scooped to the floor, his arms got tighter around the player 343’s neck. You were still holding the door and preventing the other player to get in. For a second Young il’s intense gaze met with yours and you couldn’t look away.

He looked into your eyes, showing no emotion or weakness as the man he was choking started to turn purple. Your breath got stuck in your throat, your knees were shaking, and your palms were getting sweaty with the scene taking place in front of you. As there were few seconds left for the countdown, Young il twisted the man’s neck. The sound of bone cracking filled the room along with the sound of door locking behind you. He kept his eyes on you, as he tossed the dead body of the side.

The lifeless body of player 343 laid on the ground and the gunshots filled your ear. The screams of people scratched your brain, and you finally managed to close your eyes. He had killed someone in front of you, broke his neck with one swift motion and he had no emotion on his face as he did it. Your heart was beating so fast that you thought it was going to fail at some point. Then the images of him came to your mind. When he knocked down player 124 and 230 as he looked down at them with those emotionless eyes, when he carelessly slapped himself in the second game, when he looked at Gi-hun as if he wanted to strangle him when he thought no one was looking, when he pushed everyone out of his way to get both of you to safety during the mingle game and now when he killed someone.

“Open your eyes.” He breathed out, his breath hitting your face. Suddenly you felt his warmth surrounding you and him towering over your head. You slowly opened your eyes and there he was. Looking down at you, his eyebrows lifted up and with a mocking look in his eyes. His face was close to yours. Yet it did not feel comforting and safe like it did a night ago, when he was comforting you after a nightmare.

“What did you do?” Your voice was shaky and sounded terrified as you tried to look at the dead body that was in the corner of the room. He did not let you look away with his fingers finding your chin and holding it tight. He held you with those hands that just took the life of someone. You felt chills going down your spine.

“I made sure that we survived.” He whispered without breaking eye contact with you. You could hear soldiers cleaning up the mess outside of the rooms.

“You killed him.” You tried to shake his touch away, yet he didn’t let you. Instead, he got closer, until you were trapped between him and the door. His hot breath made your skin tingle, and his touch made you wanna cry.

“Yes.” He said, and his lips touched your cheek that was wetted by your tears. His lips planted a soft kiss onto your skin. The kiss made you feel dizzy and your knees weak.

“For you.” He continued. His words made you freeze in your spot. His lips traced over your skin like a ghost and reached the corner of your lips. “Only for you” He kissed the side of your mouth, softly, gently, with mercy. You wanted to rip his hands off of you, and run away. The floor beneath your feet was slippery with the blood of eliminated players. If you slipped and fell, would he let you go?

“All for you.” His lips found your chin, then your nose, then your other cheek. He did not rush or hold you harsh enough to hurt. Yet knowing that he had just killed someone with those hands made you wanna throw up.

Your tears dropped to his lips, and he licked his lips as if he was dying over thirst. And when he made eye contact with you again, it was the first time you saw a clear human emotion in his eyes. An emotion he did not try to hide or was afraid to show; yearning. You did not know if it was for you or winning. In both cases, it terrified you to your very being.

“Stop!” You said as sobs filled your mouth and he pressed his forehead against yours hard. You felt him shake his head, his arms wrapping around your fragile, little body compared to his strong form.

“I will give you everything you want, you need.” He said and pressed his lips against yours. Without waiting, his tongue made his way into your mouth, forcing your lips to open up for him. You felt the dizzy feeling take over your head. Your ears were ringing, your mind was foggy as he kissed you harsh, deep. There was no power left in your body, so you just let yourself to his arms.

His teeth crushed against yours and he was biting every corner of your lips until he drew blood. The irony taste filled your senses, made you jump. You did not know if it was you bleeding or him. But there was blood everywhere. Covering your tongue, your lips and staining your chin as your shared spit escaped from the corner of your lips. You felt your body burn all over. Your back was arching like a cat to get any closer to him, and there was a soreness between your legs that made your clit throb. You felt shame fill you and guilt making you wanna cry out. Instead, you kept kissing him, devouring him, eating him as much as you could.

You whined and pushed your head towards him when he parted your kiss with the sound of lock. The door was opened. The third game was finished. There was still a dead man in the room. Your mouth was covered in blood, making you look like you just feasted on someone. And his eyes were on you, watching you.

[innom]

You can grind household and with the correct equipment you can turn a rubbish castle to a full decorated place

What are the advantages of being a maid

[paulyenvol6]

Something To Cry Over

Dark!Joel x female reader

This is very very dark and very dirty so PLEASE be cautious. There are very triggering things in this story so only read it if you're sure you can handle it.

You're horny and can't sleep, so you beg Joel to make it better. At some point he gives in and offers to guide you while you pleasure yourself, but you demand more and more and eventually he snaps, making you take far more than you want and can handle.

Contains: non-con and dub-con elements, rape, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, forced creampie, dark!Joel, fingering (f receiving), mentions of deepthroats, degredation, humiliation, dirty talk, Joel being a creep, dacryphilia, angst, description of fear and pain, Joel getting off on reader's suffering, very dark and heavy themes, reader has blue eyes, pet names (kiddo, babygirl, sweetheart), daddy issues (and Joel referring to himself as daddy), age gap (reader calling Joel old)

Wordcount: 8,093

Masterlist

You sighed and it was much louder than you had wanted it to be.

"What," was the sharp answer out of Joel's mouth and all you could do was shut your eyes and chew on the inside of your cheek.

"Nothing," you said although it didn't sound very convincing.

But apparently that was all the reassurance he needed, because he rolled back onto his other side staring ahead of him at the wall of the tent, arms crossed. You kept quiet for a moment, weighing whether to speak up or not and perhaps even hoping that he might ask you again but when that didn't happen your eyes searched for his frame in the dark.

"Joel," you whispered and at first, there was no reaction. Should you say his name again or was he already asleep? Should you poke him in the side?

"What," he hissed, the anger clearly showing in his tone but you were used to that by now. This was Joel Miller and he seemed to have a good day considering he hadn't just ignored you.

"M'not feeling so well," you spoke, fingers intertwined to somehow magically get rid of the accumulated tension in your body.

"What?" he said again and you wondered if you would be able to get any other word out of him tonight.

"M'feeling weird," you whined, legs pressed together as you shifted in your sleeping bag to create some friction, anything to defeat the biting, throbbing heat between your thighs.

Joel on the other hand drew his eyebrows together, not at all aware of what was bothering you. You had seemed fine all day, jumping around, asking all of these usual annoying questions and now you were suddenly complaining about feeling sick? He just prayed you weren't infected.

Feeling concerned all of a sudden, Joel turned around again, eyes narrowed as he took in your face. Your cheeks were flushed, that much he could see in the darkness, and your eyes looked a little glossy.

"What is it?" he hissed, frowning at the way you chewed on your bottom lip.

"Just feelin' weird, s'all," you mumbled which evoked an annoyed sigh in him.

"You already fuckin' said that. What's wrong? You sick?"

You seemed to think about it for a few seconds before crawling to lay on your stomach, your cheek pressed to the ground so you could meet his gaze.

"No. I don't think so."

He exhaled loudly, the ends of his nerves prickling with tension because why did you have to speak so cryptically instead of just saying what was stressing you? He was exhausted, eyelids heavy and limbs aching so all he wished for was a good night of sleep that you were stealing from him right now.

"Then what the fuck is wrong with you? You're tryna play a joke on me or somethin'?"

"No," the answer came quickly before Joel could roll on his back and he suspiciously glared at you blinking a couple of times as he felt the drowsiness creeping up on him again.

"S'just… it's aching, Joel."

He had to scoff because he couldn't believe he was actually lying here at 11pm listening to your riddles and wasting his precious time with you, who seemed to be producing your words at a rate of one per minute.

"You're gonna tell me right now what's goin' on with you like a fuckin' grown-up or m'gonna ignore you for the rest of the night. You think I like wastin' my fuckin' time with some stupid teenager like you, huh?"

When he saw the glistening in your eyes he felt bad for a brief moment. But a second later that changed because when there was a familiar pout forming on your lips he was reminded of all the times that you'd start to sulk because things weren't going your way and you'd believed that if you let Joel know how bad and serious it was he would take care of everything. You were behaving like a princess and he really wanted to finally set an end to it.

He watched you expressionlessly, not budging to your will just because of that sweet little pout and instead waited for you to open your mouth. Once you realised that he was uncompromising tonight you actually complied, swallowing and then clearing your throat.

"S'aching… right here…," you whispered carefully darting down to your sleeping bag and this time Joel's brain started to race. You weren't actually…

"Between my legs. It's really uncomfortable, Joel. I can't sleep."

"Jesus fuckin' christ," he moaned and turned on his back while rubbing with his hand over his face. "You're fuckin' kiddin' me, kiddo, aren't you?"

He could see you shake your head, fists clenching around the sleeping back.

"No, Joel. I can't sleep 'cause of it."

"Then go jerk off or somethin'. God… Can't believe you're tellin' me this."

Joel closed his eyes because he feared if he looked at you it would do things to him he didn't want to happen. You and your little attitude that never failed to enrage him and piss him off but at the same time you were just too pretty. Too pretty to be close to and too pretty to keep his eyes on for too long.

He knew how fucked this was. You could be his daughter and Joel seriously had tried to see you that way. Him, as your protector and you as the person to keep safe but then there were these thoughts creeping up on him when your face looked so beautiful in the sunlight or when you reached for something and your shirt lifted a bit or when you wore those goddamn little shorts that showed off your legs –

"Please."

His eyes shot open again at the sound of your thin voice, insides twisting and a familiar warmth floating towards his center.

"Please, Joel. Do something."

An unnatural laugh left his mouth, eyes flashing at you because he was so angry with you and the fact that you couldn't leave him alone for a single night.

"What do you want me to do, huh?"

"Help me. Help me make it go away," you whispered, your voice sounding so whiny that he almost felt pitiful. Almost.

"What, am I supposed to teach you how to fuckin' masturbate? Can't do shit, can ya?" he growled loudly, his face only hardening at your glistening eyes. He wouldn't let you get under his skin just because you happened to have some pretty pair of blue eyes. But then a single tear escaped the corner of your eye, rolling down your cheek in the most cinematic and dramatic way that made Joel believe he was in a movie scene. He sighed and slightly sat up on the hard ground, your eyes following his every move.

"Goddamnit… If it's that bad go outside and I don't know, jerk off and shit."

He was grateful for the thick fabric of the sleeping bag because the image in his head, you burying your slender fingers inside your cunt made his cock that by now was rock hard uncomfortably twitch.

"I don't know how," your airy breath made his head turn and he narrowed his eyes at you, blood throbbing in his veins.

"What."

"I don't know. I don't know how to do it," you repeated and Joel inhaled deeply, his forehead furrowed.

"You're tellin' me you've never…"

Before he could end the sentence you shook your head, your eyes following the movements of your own fingers that fumbled with the sleeping bag.

"Never?" Joel asked again in disbelief of what you had just revealed to him.

"No. When was I supposed to?" you shrugged your shoulders and that was the moment when he snapped back to reality, gulping and then shaking his head as he laid down on the back again.

"Then do whatever feels good. You're gonna figure it out, m'sure."

"No Joel," you cried out and now it was you who sat up straight, your lips curled in a defiant and pleading pout. "Can you… Please, can you show me how?"

Joel would have liked to bury his face in the ground underneath him if he hadn't felt so tired. He couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth, even though they were ringing like bells in his head and sending adrenaline rushing through his veins.

"Hell no," he said, making every effort to appear as calm and cool as possible despite the roaring storm swirling in his chest that seemed to grow the longer he breathed the same cutting air as you.

"Please. I'll be quiet afterwards. Just please help me make the ache go away," you begged, hips shifting under the fabric and once again, sinful pictures appeared in his head.

You rubbing your center against the ground in an attempt to stimulate your pulsating core and then the ground was replaced by his thigh or hand and – Fucking christ.

"I said no. Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? You're not feelin' ashamed or… or bad for asking me this? Jesus."

"It's only us here. Who cares? M'not asking you to touch me, just… need you to guide me."

Joel squeezed his eyes hoping that it might help him clear his head but the longer you talked and the longer your sweet voice filled the air the hotter his skin became and he was suddenly thankful that it was dark in the tent. The skin on his arms was prickling and he could feel a single drop of sweat running down his neck.

"There's nothing to guide. We're talkin' about fuckin' masturbating, right? There's no science behind it, just do what feels good and leave me alone, alright?"

Joel turned on his side, back facing you while letting out an annoyed sigh. And then the tent was still, the only noises drifting in from outside. The occasional chirping of various creatures, the rustling of leaves, and crickets singing for the two of you. Joel had almost prepared himself to drift to sleep (although he only now realised that his hard cock might pose a difficulty) when you spoke up once again.

"Please, Joel," you whispered quietly, as soft and slight as the wind howling through the trees outside.

"Shut up."

"Please."

"I said shut up."

It was a war of words and Joel wondered how you had the energy to keep up this stupid fight for so long instead of just stuffing your fingers inside your weeping hole if you really needed it that badly.

"I won't let you sleep," you then said.

White thick anger made his toes curl and his fingers tingle with the urge to hit something as he clenched his teeth to somehow control his emotions. Fury combined with lust was dangerous and he just couldn't lose control of himself now.

"You're an annoying little brat, you know that?" Joel grunted not moving an inch when he heard the rustling of your sleeping bag.

"Maybe."

You had moved closer to him and before your front could touch his back and perhaps increase his desire for you he moved to lay on his other side again, hand coming up to your shoulder to push you back.

"Stay the fuck away from me. N'lay on your back," he added quietly, a mischievous smile passing over your face as he seemed to finally cooperate with you. You mouthed a silent 'Okay' and then stared up to the ceiling while Joel watched your profile.

"After that you're gonna sleep. N'you'll stop complaining and annoying me, is that clear?"

You nodded, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes. "Yes, Joel."

"Move your hand between your thighs," he whispered with a low voice, the odd mixture of feeling incredibly bad and disgusting for talking to a girl almost 30 years his junior that way and being horny making his stomach painfully twist.

He forced himself to keep his eyes on the ceiling as well because otherwise he believed it would only get worse.

"Push your pants down… and underwear or whatever you're wearin'," he then mumbled, lips in a thin line while he waited for you to follow his command. As if you couldn't do this on your own.

An ugly thought formed inside of his head and he suddenly widened his eyes, nostrils flaring in disgust as he ran his eyes over your soft features.

"This ain't some fucked-up daddy issues shit, right? You searching for approval or somethin'… I don't know."

Your face twisted, nose wrinkling and pure distaste marking your face as you shook your head. "Ew. No. Fuck, Joel, I told you that I just couldn't sleep."

Instead of answering he watched you, not entirely convinced, but what else was he supposed to do, other than take your word for it? All of this was terrible but you had promised him you would leave him alone after you had come.

There was the sound of fabric brushing over your body again and then your glowy face was turned to him, your expression longing and desperate and like an open book to him which was a grave contrast to your unreadable face when he had first met you.

"Slide your finger through your folds. Slowly." He waited a few seconds although he didn't know what for and then closed his eyes as his next words formed in his head.

"Collect your wetness. And then bring it to your clit."

A questioning look lingered on your face as your pretty eyes burned holes in the side of his face, his eyes still refusing to meet your gaze.

"A li'l bundle over your hole. You're gonna find it. S'gonna make you feel very good."

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe steadily and then opened his right one when he heard you gasp quietly and cursed his body for the way his heart fluttered. He wasn't supposed to react to you this way. This was so incredibly wrong and filthy and Joel knew if all the horrible things he had done in the past weren't enough already, this would be the reason for him to be sent to hell - if something like that existed -

"Rub it. In circles. Use your wetness as lubrication," he pressed using all of his strength not to let any of his own desire show although you seemed to be very busy right now anyway.

"Oh," you moaned and Joel couldn't help himself and darted at you just for a brief moment.

Your cheeks were flushed, lips parted and eyes fixed on the ceiling of the tent while your left hand that wasn't occupied tightly grasped the sleeping bag. The imagine alone was enough to fuel his dirtiest cravings and at this point his dick was leaking with precum. His own breathing started to hitch in his throat although he hadn't even touched himself but who would have known that watching you get off was so goddamn hot. A part of him regretted to have agreed to this because now there most certainly was no turning back and he feared that he wouldn't be able to get through this.

"Joel," you moaned and he threw his head back, letting out a quiet "Fuck." Were you even aware of what you were doing to him?

"You needa stop," he hissed through gritted teeth, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the ceiling of the tent but it was so seducing to just let his eyes travel to you for a second. Just enjoy this pretty view for a moment and imagine that it wasn't your hand but his…

"Why?" you asked looking right into his eyes for the first time since you had started to pleasure yourself and Joel felt his heart pound so loud in his chest that he was sure it was the only noise in the tent apart from your panting.

"You need to… You need to stop lookin' at me like that 'n' say my name… Just fuckin' cum and then get to sleep."

His voice was quiet and muffled… and weak. Like he wasn't in control of the things he said and did and Joel had a feeling that was exactly what you wanted.

"C'mon old man," you evily sniggered, hand still snug between your legs but somehow you seemed a lot more at calm and in command of the situation.

"I know you want it too. You wanna touch me, Joel? You wanna see it yourself? How wet and warm I am… it's such a mess down there… who's gonna clean it up?"

"Shut up. M'not gonna say it again," Joel managed to breath out, body stiff and tense as he felt you move closer.

No, that was the wrong direction, Joel thought, panic painting his view white and he was quick to put an end to it by pushing you backwards by your hips. How had this slipped out of his hand? He had promised himself to keep a clear head and be the one to pull the strings but just a blink of your eyes had turned his brain into a mush. Joel felt like a horny teenager who had just seen a boob for the first time, the only difference being that neither had he touched himself nor had he seen anything of you. He was weak, uncontrolled and pathetic.

"Please Joel," you moaned, biting down on your bottom lip while you seemed to rock your pussy against your hand under the blanket.

"You like me that way? You want me to beg for it? Want me all whiny and desperate for you? 'Cause it makes you feel fucking needed?"

Joel felt sweat collect on his forehead, little shivers running down his spine every few seconds but the sensation was now overcast by this burning and throbbing heat in his stomach that made him want to shut you up so badly. How many times did he have to tell you to be silent until you would actually do it? He told you exactly that, voice sharp like a knife but you were unimpressed.

"Please Joel. I just want it to be your hand makin' me feel good. S'not a big deal, just… C'mon, it's not gonna take long. Just this once, please."

"I can't, goddamnit," he snarled, his hands clenching into fists and he used his own fingernails to create a painful sting in his palms. Anything to distract him from his dick that seemed to have a mind of his own.

"Why not? We're hurtin' anyone by doin' it?"

You came closer again and this time Joel didn't have the energy to do something about it.

"No. But… you're so young. I can't do this. S'not good. You deserve something your age."

"Oh come on!" you exclaimed, hand coming to a stop between your legs but that wasn't what distracted Joel. It was your hot breath lingering at his neck and he had to bring up all his will power to move an inch away from you, hand gripping your shoulder to get an appropriate amount of distance between the two of you.

"Don't come at me with the age thing. I'm an adult, I can decide who I wanna touch. And don't put this on me. I want it, don't come up with excuses like you wanna protect me."

Joel grinded his teeth so hard that the both of you heard it, a single muscle twitching in his cheek.

"You're too young for me," he insisted slapping your hand away that you had wanted to move to the back of his head to play with his hair. "S'not appropriate."

You rolled your eyes and propped yourself up on your elbows, forcing him to look at your face hovering right in front of him.

"Joel. This isn't about gettin' married or shit. I just need you right now."

He remained uncompromising, his eyes observing you precisely but not in the kind of way you wanted him to.

"Just finish what you have started, kiddo."

A desperate whine that once again didn't fail to make Joel's stomach clench escaped from your mouth but you didn't move an inch.

"I don't think I can come this way," you claimed and yet another wave of frustration made his body buckle.

"Jesus fucking christ," Joel spitted and ran a hand through his hair. "Stop lying and cum and if you don't, I don't care."

"But I said I would let you sleep after I came."

Joel wanted to die right here and right now. He couldn't believe he seriously had gotten himself in this situation with this stubborn little bitch who wouldn't stop annoying him. Years ago he would have believed himself to be in paradise with a pretty girl like you literally begging him to touch her in any way but not now and not with you. Not with such an innocent fragile thing like you who seriously deserved better.

He was old and marked by the years. He had done terrible things and he knew, even if it was just touching you between your legs, he somehow would… ruin you. He would destroy you and your pretty innocence.

"Just this once, Joel. I promise I'm gonna be good," you whispered close to his ear, seemingly confident that you were about to break him. If only you had been wrong.

"I'm gonna do whatever you tell me to. I just need to feel your hands, s'all. I'll be quiet and I'll listen to you. Please."

"God…," Joel exhaled rubbing over his eyes and realising now that all sleepiness had faded away.

"Please?" you added and then your eyes brightened up as he pushed your left shoulder down so you lay on your back.

Quick and rough hands shoved down the sleeping bag until only your legs were covered by it and he hissed out as he took in your tight t-shirt that couldn't hide your hard nipples and your pubic hair, covering what certainly deliciously clenched for him right now just a few inches further down.

You rocked back and forth in anticipation, your face glowing with pure joy and Joel almost felt annoyed wishing back the pouty and whimpering version of you. But he would surely get you there again.

"Open your legs," he growled not at all caring about his rude tone but you didn't mind. Your eyes were fixed on him, who completely ignored you and just started to finger you like he had a job to do.

He used the pats of two of his fingers to glide through your folds smearing your arousal that was dripping down your thighs over the whole of your pussy. His pants felt so goddamn tight around his cock at the warmth your little pussy radiated and he wished to press any of his body parts inside of you, no matter if it was his fingers, his cock or his tongue. He was so focused on his hand moving between your legs, a deep crease between his brows in concentration, that he didn't even get to enjoy all of your reactions; your little sighs and whimpers, your mouth open and your teeth nibbling at your lower lip.

Joel circled your entrance with two thick fingers and then brought them to your clit that felt swollen beneath his touch. He began rubbing it at a quick pace, his own lips unconsciously parted as well because now he was so close to you that his nose nestled against your shoulder and your scent was all it took for his head to spin.

"Joel," you moaned fully enjoying his treatment but when your hand grasped his wrist he lightly slapped it and pinned it down next to your body.

"No. You told me you'd be good. I want you to shut up and keep your hands to yourself, am I clear?"

The "yes" you whined didn't exactly fulfil the purpose because it made Joel's eyes roll back and he quietly cursed to himself. Although he felt like he had the upper hand now with you falling apart beneath his touch he wasn't quite satisfied because something about this made him feel like the longer he touched you, the more his hunger for you grew and he feared that he might do something he would regret. Apart from the fact that he was already sure he would regret what he was doing right now.

His finger became faster, his only goal being to make you finish as quickly as possible and in addition to the patterns he drew over your clit, Joel eased a single finger inside your quivering hole. You were drenched and therefore your pussy welcomed him kindly but he also hadn't forgotten the fact that you were a virgin so he believed that one finger would be enough for the time being and feeling your center tighten, there was immediate evidence to support his thesis.

He slowly thrusted his finger in you without stopping flicking your clit with his thumb. The intoxicating combination made you cry out, your body so incredibly responsive to him that Joel couldn't hold back pressing a kiss on your shoulderblade.

"There you go…," he hummed. He wanted to rock his aching dick against your thigh so badly, get some stimulation and make you feel the size of him, but he couldn't. He couldn't let go now, not after having betrayed his morales so many times already.

"Fuck," you cursed, hips buckling to meet the movement of his hand and this time Joel allowed it, wanting nothing more than for you to come as soon as possible.

Therefore he added a second finger and although your eyes squeezed, little droplets of sweat pooling on your temple at the stretch, he could see your pupils dilating, more pleasure being added to what already felt like a huge wave of warm, sticky, honey embracing you. Joel touched you right where it was itching and you were at a point where you didn't care about anything but his touch. His thumb sloppily pressed into your clit, his own movement restricted from the pleasure he experienced but when he felt your hand wrapping around his wrist, he frowned, lifting his head to look at you.

"Joel," you exhaled close to him, your hot breath prickling on his skin.

"Come, sweetheart. Let go, alright? You can do it."

But you defiantly shook your head, lips pressed together and face drawn almost as if you were in pain.

"Need more, please," you whined and brought a hand to his shirt to grip the fabric tightly in your small fists.

"What are you talkin' about, c'mon. I'm gonna make you cum on my fingers."

But just like the hand on his shirt, your hand around his wrist squeezed him, pushing it away from your core.

"Can I touch it, Joel?" you asked eyes round as coins as you submissively looked up to him underneath your lashes.

Fuck. Although he would never admit it, he knew that you were smart. And you had him figured out, read him like a fucking book and knew just what buttons to push to make him bend to your will. Joel couldn't exactly describe what it was and had never bothered to label it, but he had a thing for this submissive bullshit and when you gave him your pretty doll eyes his stomach clenched and his dick swoll to unnatural dimensions.

"No," he barked nevertheless, removing your hand from his shirt and pressing against your fist that prevented him from continuing to rub your pussy.

"You wanna fuckin' come or not?" he said against your temple, finding satisfaction in the way your lashes twitched.

"Yes. But please. Just wanna see your dick. Give me the tip at least. Then you're gonna feel good as well."

Joel twisted his eyes, teeth grinding as he let out an animalistic growl.

"You're fuckin' kiddin' me, aren't you? First you convinced me to guide you, then that wasn't enough for you and you convinced me to rub your l'il clit and now you want more again?"

"Just the tip, Joel. I don't want you to fuck me, just wanna feel you for a moment," you mumbled, fingers lazily picking at the sleeves of his shirt.

"I said no. An' you're gonna learn to take no for an answer," Joel said under his hitched breath, teeth threateningly blaring as you trailed a finger down his chest.

"I bet you wouldn't be able to make me come," you whispered, your hot breath brushing over his chin. "Maybe that's what you're so afraid of, old man. You think you won't satisfy me 'n' you don't want your ego to get hurt. You're scared of this pussy."

"Shut up," Joel pressed, face unreadable, but a crooked smile appeared on your face, your confidence not fading at his harsh tone.

"You think you're dick is too small? Mhm? Or what is it? You think you can't keep up 'cause you're too fuckin' old?"

His nostrils fluttered as he clearly tried to control his heavy breathing, chest and shoulders trembling under accumulated anger.

"I said. Shut up. Or I'll have to make you," he said a lot calmer than he actually was, voice thick with rage.

"Make me then. That's what I have wanted from the start. C'mon, Joel Miller. Gimme something that's gonna shut me up."

You curled your lips into a triumphant smile, an assertiveness glowing in your eyes that drove him insane.

"You're such a greedy little thing, aren't you? Just can't get enough."

With an abrupt movement of his hand he had pinned down both your wrists right next to your head while simultaneously crawling to lay on top of you with one knee between your legs. Your eyes became round, lips curling into a surprised pout but it moved nothing in Joel. His hand clapsed around your chin forcing you to look at him and a satisfied growl left his mouth at the sight of your intimidated face.

"That what you want, mhm?"

"Yes," you breathed, although you looked much less sure of yourself than you had a few of seconds ago.

"You said you want somethin' that's gonna shut you up, mhm… I think m'gonna give you somethin' that's gonna make you scream. Somethin' to cry about."

His face twisted unnaturally, eyes filled with so much rage that his surroundings looked a little blurry for a moment. Joel was driven by an animalistic urge to finally sweep this irritating stupid look off your face and replace it with your pretty little doe eyes that he knew you were able to give him. And first and foremost, he wanted to punish the shit out of you.

Every single minute of this night had cut deeper into the rope keeping him together and now it had snapped and you would pay for it. He would make you pay for each of your little whines and pleas, for your pouts and complaints and your demanding voice keeping him awake. He had done everything, giving you more than you deserved and now it was his turn to take from you whatever he wanted. He wanted to see you break and tremble, beg him but not in the way you had a couple of minutes ago. He wanted to see you beg him to stop and apologise for being so goddamn needy.

A first frightened flickering appeared in your eyes when Joel brought a hand to your breasts, kneading the flesh through your shirt, perhaps because this was more than what you had asked for. Oh and he would give you a lot more than what you had asked for.

"You're so goddamn ungrateful. Such a greedy l'il whore that's always askin' and takin' and wantin' more. An' now m'gonna give you more 'n you're gonna take it. I know you're not a good fuckin' girl but m'gonna turn you into one, don't worry. Now you're gonna lay still and let daddy feast from you."

"Joel," you whispered, helpless eyes glancing up to him and in response he slapped your cheek, not as hard as he would have wanted to but enough to make you tear up.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed, pushing hard against his chest but he took hold of your wrists once more, pressing them down over your head and this time he left them trapped there underneath his large hand.

"Now you can scream as loud as you want to," Joel whispered, evily smirking at the way you writhed under his body that caged you so wonderfully. Things weren't going the way you wanted them to and so you naturally began to panic.

"Joel. You're hurtin' me," you complained and tried to move your hands. When you realised that you weren't able to, fear spread through your body, making the blood in your veins freeze and your heart pound.

"Joel?"

"No, babygirl. It's a little bit too late now to get all scared and frightened. It was you who begged me to do this, remember?"

He chuckled darkly and then fiddled with the waistband of his sleeping pants, your eyes darting down at once as if you could keep a grip on the situation like this. Joel pulled his pants down revealing his hard dick that was swollen and wet with precum, the angry red tip practically begging to finally get some relief. You tried to close your legs around him, jolting backwards as a big hand squeezed your hip and then worked you open.

"Ugh uh. You're gonna take it all. You're gonna take it all in your tight little pussy because daddy deserves it. Daddy deserves to fuck this hole after havin' to bear with you all fuckin' day an' night and listening to your dumb questions, and now this? I think you need a l'il lesson in how to behave yourself and that your actions have fuckin' consequences."

Joel growled as he forced you to spread your legs even wider, settling between them and pumping his leaking dick a few times.

"P-Please Joel," your terrified quiet voice stuttered, your eyes relentlessly producing new tears although you hadn't began to cry just yet.

"Please don't. I'm sorry, please. Please don't do it."

"Oh babygirl," he purred, a hand caressing your cheek way too softly for the harshness of his words, but you couldn't focus on it anyway because his tip was touching your entrance now and one thing you knew for sure. He was way too big.

"Joel, please. No, no, no. You can't do it, lemme suck you off or… or I don't know, just please don't fuck me," you stumbled over your own words and if you had hoped to evoke something in Joel, you had been wrong.

It was the opposite; goosebumps rose on his arms at your weak voice and the need to hurt and mark you gripped his heart. He panted heavily while resting his tip against your entrance, completely ignoring the way your body tensed and shivered and started to work his dick inside your clenched virgin hole.

He knew that the pain must be excruciating, especially in view of the fact that your body refused to let him in, and he wasn't going particularly slow, but god, this was what he wanted and perhaps this made him fucked up but he needed it.

He needed to taste and smell the fear off you and hear your quiet cries while taking you. Tears spilled from your eyes, your whole body trembling and jerking as he went deeper, your pussy feeling so incredibly tight around him, he thought his dick was about to be ripped off. He might have helped you by telling you to try to relax and loosen up around him but you had missed your chance when you had behaved like a fucking bitch the whole night. You would have to go through it now.

"You stupid, stupid girl," Joel whispered in your ear, eyes rolling back at your glistening tears along with your impossibly clenched walls.

"You gotten yourself into this position on your own. With your draining, horrible attitude. You thought it's cute? You think it's cute now?"

You looked down, eyes threatening to close as the pain took on new dimensions, Joel now halfway in your cunt.

"Yeah that's right…," he growled with his husky voice and released your hands to rub over your face instead, smearing your tears all over your face.

"Hurts, doesn't it? Hurts so badly and you want me to stop so badly… But I won't. M'gonna continue as long as I want to and you're gonna take it. You might not take it very well... but it's enough for me."

You hiccuped, face tilted to the side as you grinded your teeth, a long heartbreaking sob leaving your mouth.

"S-Stop, p-please… Please. J-Joel…"

Your hips bent as if you were trying to evade his length but Joel had you pinned down beneath him and you didn't stand a chance. A warmth leaked from his heart flooting his body with an animalistic satisfaction. Now you were his, now he had claimed and marked you and you would surely feel him for days.

He would be lying if he said that he didn't get off on this. Your body that looked so helpless beneath his broad shoulders, your hands resting on your face and on top of your chest in turns as if to hide from him and of course your pleas that wouldn't change anything in him but were nice to listen to. Joel got off on your weakness. On your pain and on your demands to make him stop. Because he was stronger and he wouldn't stop. He had full power over you and everything that was happening to you from now on was under his watch.

You were a sobbing mess, hands protecting your face from his thumb that wiped away some of your tears but soon Joel set an end to that as well, not only wanting to have complete control but also humiliate you in every possible way.

"You haven't quite gotten it yet, mhm?" he growled peeling your hands off your face. "You're gonna fuckin' look at me. All you are is a goddamn toy f'me. A stupid l'il hole to make me feel good and I don't fuckin' care about you or what feels good. You understand me? I wanna see you cry, l'il one. I wanna see you fuckin' break for me. Wanna squeeze each of these little cries outta you until you're nothing but a brainless mess. Attagirl…"

He was completely inside of you now feeling your walls thob around him. He could only imagine the amount of pain you were feeling right now and your reactions, your twitching face as well as your bottom lip that you had bitten bloody could only hint at just how bad it was.

Joel waited a couple of seconds before suddenly bottoming out with his entire length and then slamming himself back inside because this time he didn't have to work you open before fitting inside but could just use you for his pleasure.

Your eyes once again opened wide, almost watching him in disbelief of what he was making you feel before new tears leaked out, cheeks and forehead covered with a burning heat as well as a thin layer of sweat.

"N-No…," you mumbled, your hands coming up to push against his stomach as a last desperate attempt to make him stop but Joel was too far gone now anyway. Even if he had wanted to stop he couldn't. Not after having been consumed by your perfect pussy and the way you sucked him in so firmly.

"Mhmm that's some pretty tears right there… C'mon lemme see them."

Joel grabbed your chin adjusting your head to his liking and then brushed with his thumb over your temple, watching the drops of tears fall upon your cheeks in awe.

"Aren't you such a pathetic little slut? Bawling your eyes out over my dick after asking me to stick it inside you a hundred times? Ungrateful bitch. Just look at these little tears. Look at the mess you're makin'… and once again daddy has to clean up everythin' just like you always rely on daddy…"

He fucked you at a steady pace now, paying no attention at all to the way your body rejected him and how your pussy clenched and cramped every time he pulled out but just went on like he was trying to tear every last layer of resistance down. You jolted away from him almost as if your body had a mind on its own but Joel made sure to drag you back every time, his grip on your hip like iron while his other hand now wrapped around your throat.

"That's it…," he drowned your whimpers, pressing you into the hard ground and now setting an even more brutal pace. The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the tent, along with the sound of your muffled screams, but there wasn't anyone out here anyway so it was clear that Joel only choked you for his own amusement.

"Good fuckin' girl," he cursed, his teeth sinking down on his bottom lip and his eyes never leaving your face.

"Ugh uh, eyes on me."

You had wanted to escape his piercing gaze but Joel would have none of that, delivering a soft slap to your cheek before his hand came back to use your neck as leverage to fuck into you deeper.

"You're not gonna escape me, babygirl. You're daddy's now. I'm the first to fuck this little pussy and don't worry, she's gonna get used to it. She's gonna get used to likin' it. Next time it's not gonna be you that weeps for me but your pretty cunt. Unless you don't play by my rules of course."

Joel's mouth came down to press a possessive kiss on your brow while his hand cradled your face almost in a protective manner. Then his hand on your hips traveled to your belly and he applied a little bit of pressure that made your red-rimmed eyes anxiously glance at him. Joel soothingly rubbed your skin pressing down harder at the same time as he thrusted deep inside of you, his tip kissing your cervix in a way that made you painfully tense your muscles.

"There she is… Want you to remember that feelin' in every fuckin' moment from now on. 'Cause it's supposed to remind you of what happens to you when you're disrespectful and can't hold that little tongue of yours. Maybe m'gonna punish your mouth the next time you disbehave like this... So that you can't speak for days and I don't have to listen to your goddamn voice every mornin' and night."

Your round eyes were glued to his face and Joel believed that you were at a point where you were incapable of having a straight thought, let alone speak up.

There was silence for the next few minutes and Joel could almost see you trying to adjust to his size, your mouth swallowing desperate gasps but it was still too much for you. He simply demanded too much, giving you no time to relax your cunt as he took and took like you were nothing but a set of holes to get him off. The next time Joel spoke up was when he felt his orgasm approaching and obviously he had to make sure you knew what he was about to do to your poor pussy.

"Gonna cum right into this pretty hole o'yours. Gonna paint your walls with my cum until you've understood that I fuckin' own you."

You seemed to need a few seconds to understand the dimensions of his words, head suddenly turning to him to stare right into his eyes. Jolting to the side your hands buried in his arms while mindless stuttering left your parted lips. As a precaution Joel pressed a finger on your lips shushing you before your doubts could even be expressed.

"Ah ah. Don't fight it, babygirl. There's nothing you can do about it so you better take it unless you want this to be painful. And I think you've had enough pain for tonight, hm?"

You broke down on the spot, a wave of tears crashing upon you at the reminder and this time Joel held you through it. Perhaps it was seeing you all fucked out and helpless that made him soften or it was the fact that he was all satisfied with the world right now but either way, he allowed you to snuggle against his arm and soak his shirt with your tears, all while still pounding your pussy in order to reach his high.

"Jesus fucking christ…," he moaned, adrenaline shooting through his veins and the pleasure blinding him. And then he came with a loud groan, his left hand groping your breasts while his right yanked your head back by your hair to cover your neck with kisses.

"That's right… Take it all like the little slut you are… Goddamnit, babygirl…"

He pushed into you a few more times to be certain that his cum was deep inside your pussy, each thrust evoking a gasp from you, your nails scratching his muscular arms and then moved your sweaty hair back, making you face him once again.

"Look at that… All stuffed with my cum. So fuckin' full of me."

Your face was an absolute mess, your eyes and nose red and swollen while traces of tears made your cheeks look pale and washed-out. Your lip was bloody and tattered from the way you had chewed on it and your brow radiated a burning heat. You wanted to avert his gaze and rather melt with the floor head first but Joel forced you to keep your glossy eyes on him, the heavy weight of his body leaving you no choice but to listen to the breath that was his voice, lingering at your ear.

"You didn't like that, did you?"

You pressed your eyes and lips together but managed to answer him by shaking your head.

"I thought so… An' you definitely don't want this to happen again, do ya?" Another shake of your head and this time you opened your right eye, anxiously winding under his body.

"So you're gonna behave from now on. I could make this very uncomfortable for you, babygirl. I could make you swallow my dick an' make you choke on it. Or I could fuck your tight ass. I'm sure I could come up with a lot of fun stuff that's all gonna be very unpleasant for you. But you could also be a good fuckin' girl f'me, listen to me, do as I say and stop bein' such an ungrateful whore and then I might let your pussy recover for the next few days an' we're all gonna be very happy."

The muscles in your chin twisted, new tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks but nevertheless, you nodded and Joel loosened the grip on your hair.

"I wanna hear your voice."

"Y-Yes. I'll b-be g-good," you stuttered, voice croaked and thin but it was enough for him because he suddenly dropped you like you were a hot potato and pulled his flaccid dick out of you to crawl to his side of the tent.

You immediately collapsed again, rolling onto your side to face the wall of the tent, covering your battered body with the sleeping back and putting as much distance as possible between Joel and you. A cold shiver ran through your numb body. You pussy uncomfortably pulsated with a stinging pain that you had never experienced before tonight and yet was already so familiar to you. You were freezing but at the same time craved a cold shower, but perhaps this need was caused by the urge to clean yourself to wash his cum and sweat off your body and scrub every inch he had touched.

You sniffed a couple of times holding on to the sleeping bag as if it was your shield against Joel and forced yourself not to think about what had just happened. On one hand it was incredibly easy because everything about it was still so surreal and strange but at the same time every time you closed your eyes picture appeared before your eyes. The lust in his eyes. His hand coming down to caress your cheek.

A shockwave went through your body and you would have started crying again had not your exhausted and traumatised mind drifted off to sleep first.

[nyancrimew]

Sorry, it was unfair of me to send that to you without proper context since you might not be aware of these issues. Irredeemable media refers to any thing with a creator or content  that is harmful and/or bigoted. Of course every piece of media has problems, but irredeemable media is when those problems cannot be ignored and are an indicator of someone's beliefs. 

For example, Harry Potter is irredeemable media because every one knows that JK Rowling is a transphobe, but some other piece of media like Twilight would not be considered irredeemable because even though Stephanie Meyer has done some bad things, they are not as widely talked about, so someone who posts about Twilight on here isn't completely likely to be a bigot, but a Harry Potter blogger would. Also, I know the "to be cringe is to be free" people like your blog, but a lot of the time, what is considered cringey on here is actually based on what is irredeemable. No progressive person or reputable blogger genuinely makes fun of My Little Pony fans any more, however plenty make fun of Hazbin Hotel fans and the such because that content is irredeemable and shows someone's beliefs. So usually, a piece of media being considered embarassing to like on here usually indicates that it is irredeemable.

As for why the other pieces of media are irredeemable, Hazbin Hotel is made by a woman who has many well-documented accusations of bigotry against her and has drawn zoophilia art, not to mention how her work leans into stereotypes about gay people (having a gay man character be a sex addict, a lesbian be named after the female body part Vagina, etc.) or at least that's what I've heard. Attack on Titan is created by a known fascist and many illusions are made to nazi imagery and nationalism in the anime. Captive Prince has a racist premise that sexualizes slavery and non-con. 

People can tell you that liking irredeemable media doesn't say something about who they are, but that's fundamentally false. If someone is uncaring enough to still post openly about these types of media, it's clear they don't care enough about not supporting bigotry. Yes, even if they don't give money to the creators, because they are still willingly exposing themselves to bigoted or harmful content and enjoying it.

The previous ask was not meant to be accusatory. Rather it was meant as a concerned question. Believe it or not, there are still some users on here who indulge in these pieces of content, a few of which hide behind the excuse of being part of a minority (Black, trans, whatever) or simply deny how bad their media consumption is to escape accountability. I wouldn't want you associating with those types of people and have that ruin your reliability on this website.

Hopefully this ask has educated you more on these issues and you'll be able to spot irredeemable media in the future and block it out.

incredible essay, you get a C for Creativity

[vunblr]

Toy Soldier (part 7)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Dark Content: Sexual Assault Wounds (Bucky). Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims).

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 5.1k

note: And just like that, we’ve reached the end of this journey. Last chapter of the series. Thank you so much for reading!

Previous Chapter

He wasn’t thinking anymore, wasn’t hesitating, wasn’t holding back. The way she melted into him, the way her fingers curled lightly against his shoulders, the way she let out the softest sigh against his lips, it was all his undoing.

He let his hands wander lower, tracing the slope of her hips, feeling, chasing, the warmth of her body through the fabric of the old pajamas. He had held her before -in tight, desperate embraces or soft, soothing touches- but never like this. This wasn’t comfort, wasn’t reassurance.

He let out a shaky breath as he broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against hers, flexing his fingers against her sides. His breath came uneven, and his pounded, he wasn’t sure if it was from the nerves or the wanting.

But then she kissed him back. Tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening it. And then, slowly, deliberately, she guided them down onto the makeshift bed on the couch, shifting until he was above her, until she was beneath him, warm and willing.

And he just lost it.

A low sound rumbled in his chest as his hands slid over her body, feeling, memorizing, needing. His lips never left hers, he braced his weight just enough to keep from crushing her, but he couldn’t stop himself from pressing down, from fitting himself against her body like he’d been wanting to do for ages.

He broke the kiss, and ran a hand down her waist, swallowing hard and clearing his throat, grasping to a sliver of lucidity. “Are you sure about this, doll?” His voice was rough, hesitant. “I don’t want to take advanta-”

“We both know firsthand about taking advantage, Bucky,” she cut in, reassuringly. “And this is far of it.”

His grip on her body tightened. His lips parted, a flicker of something dark and raw flashing across his expression. He knew. Knew exactly what she was referring to. Fuck, sometimes he saw it. What they did to her, just sitting there, motionless like a lifeless doll as they took turns. As they-

Her hands cradled his face. “Bucky.” A soft plea. His stormy blue eyes met hers, and she held his gaze. “Stay with me.”

He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against hers again, flexing his fingers against her waist, gripping to the present, to her.

“I’m here,” he murmured.

She kissed him then, gently. “I know,” she breathed against his lips.

Something inside him cracked, and he returned the kiss, slowly, deliberately, needing to rewrite. His hand -that had known nothing but violence for so long- rested against her waist, warm, solid, and present. He flexed his fingers once before slowly pulling back, sitting up just enough to grab the hem of his shirt and peel it over his head. The fabric dropped somewhere beside them, forgotten, and she propped herself to do the same with her pajama top.

Then she reached for him, tracing the ridges of his stomach, until they halted over a scar just above his hip. Her brows furrowed slightly. It was old but deep, she hadn’t treated it, hadn’t even known about it. Without thinking, she dipped her head and kissed it, lips warm and soft against the rough, uneven skin.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, tensing beneath her touch. Not in discomfort, not from pain, but from something else entirely. No one’s ever done that before. His hand rose, threading gently through her hair, and for a moment, he just held her there. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, in contradiction to his actions.

She tilted her head up, lips still hovering over the scar, breath warm against his skin. “I wanted to.”

Then her mouth was on him again, pressing open, wet kisses against the scar, trailing lower. It was too much, too good. A strangled sound caught in his throat, and his fingers tightened where they rested against the back of her head.

“Just-” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. “Just leave it like that, doll.” Jesus. He could just come like this, still half-dressed, from nothing more than the feeling of her lips on his ruined skin.

She froze, snapping up her gaze to meet his. A flicker of doubt crossed her face, “Did I overst-”

“No,” he cut in quickly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t wrong. Just…” He exhaled sharply, willing his pulse to slow. “Too much for tonight, yeah?”

Her features softened and she nodded, shifting slightly but not pulling away completely. “Okay,” she whispered.

Their pants were tossed somewhere across the room, forgotten the moment they left their bodies. Bucky kissed her again, deeper, slower, sweeping his tongue against hers with a deliberate hunger. She moaned into his mouth, threading her fingers into his hair, tugging lightly at the strands. His answering groan vibrated against her lips, and when she rocked her hips against him, she felt it, the thick, hard length straining against the cotton of his boxers.

“Fuck,” he muttered, squeezing her waist as she did it again.

Her skin burned where his fingers pressed, holding her still as he rolled his own hips against her. Then his hands moved, sliding up her back, finding the clasp of her bra. He hesitated just for a second -long enough for her to nod- before undoing it with a flick. The straps slipped down her arms, and the fabric fell away, baring her breasts to his hungry gaze.

His pupils blew wide as he took her in. He traced the curve of one breast with his vibranium fingers, while his other hand cupped the other, brushing his thumb slowly over her already hardened nipple.

“Christ, doll,” he muttered with thick, strained voice.

She slightly arched her back into his touch, tugging him down by his hair, her lips grazing his ear as she whispered, “Keep going.”

That was all the permission he needed.

He nodded and then he was on her, mouth hot and eager against her skin. His lips dragged along her collarbone, down the slope of her breast, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses. The scratch of his stubble against her soft skin sent tingles over her body, making her thighs twitch around his hips.

His tongue flicked over one nipple, slow and teasing, before wrapping his lips around it and sucking just enough to make her gasp. His flesh hand kneaded the other, rolling lazy circles with his thumb over the sensitive peak just to tug at it gently, sending a pulse of heat straight to her clit.

"Fuck," she breathed, tugging lightly at his hair.

He groaned against her skin, "You're so goddamn soft," he rasped, dragging his lips to her other breast, giving it the same attention, worshipping her body with every flick of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth. "Could stay right here all night."

Her body responded to him so easily, so naturally. Heat pooled in her belly, a slow burn that turned into a deep ache. She rolled her hips against him again, seeking friction, needing more.

His grip on her flesh tightened, and his lips trailed lower, nipping at the underside of her breast before kissing the sting away.

"Feel good, doll?" he murmured huskily.

She could only nod, as her breath came fast, her body already trembling beneath him. Bucky dragged his hands down her body, teasing the fabric of her panties. He felt her breath hitch, saw the way her thighs tensed in anticipation, and when she lifted her hips, he took the silent invitation, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and sliding them down her legs.

His breath stuttered at the sight of her pussy, slick and glistening in the dim light. Fuck. His cock throbbed against his boxers, painfully hard. He bit his lip, pupils dark and blown as he settled between her thighs, ready to lower himself, ready to taste-

Her hand came down, gently stopping him, brushing her fingers through his hair. He stilled instantly, flicking his gaze up to meet hers. She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were cast to the side, as her chest rose and fell just a bit too fast.

"Um... for now, I don’t..." She stuttered, twitching her fingers in his hair before slipping away. "Can you just use your hands?"

There was something vulnerable in the way she asked it, in the way she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. He understood immediately. There were still things that neither of them had quite untangled yet.

He swallowed, nodding as he ran his hands up her thighs, squeezing reassuringly. “Yeah, doll,” he murmured warmly. “Just my hands.”

And then he acted like that had been the plan all along.

He suspected she’d be more comfortable if he didn’t just stare while touching her,  making her feel like she was being put on display. He understood that, deep in his bones. So, instead of kneeling between her legs, he shifted, resting his body beside hers.

One leg slotted between hers, spreading her open just enough, while his vibranium fingers ghosted along the inside of her thigh, teasing, waiting.

Her breath hitched.

“There you go,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the curve of her jaw. “Just relax, doll.” He reassured, as his fingers finally slid between her folds, parting them with an aching slowness. She was so wet, so warm, coating his fingers as he dragged them up to circle her clit, applying the faintest pressure.

She gasped, fingers twitching against his bicep, gripping him hard.

“That’s it,” he soothed, brushing his lips over her pulse point before suckling gently. He felt her shudder beneath him, as her hips shifted instinctively.

“You feel so good,” he whispered against her skin, dragging his fingers down, teasing at her entrance before pressing one thick digit inside. “Taking me so well, sweetheart.”

Her walls fluttered around him, and he groaned softly against her throat, rubbing slow, deliberate circles around her clit with his thumb. “Want you to feel good,” he muttered, voice thick with heat, with reverence. “Just let me take care of you, hm?” He swallowed hard, trying -failing- to ignore the way his cock throbbed, pressed against her. His breath was uneven, and his self-control hanging by a thread, but he needed her to know this was hers to dictate.

“And if you ever want to stop,” he murmured, brushing his nose along her temple, “we stop.”

She didn’t answer right away, just exhaled a slow, shaky breath. Then, her fingers curled against his arm, her thighs tensed around his, and she lifted her hips ever so slightly into his hand.

“Don��t want you to stop,” she whispered.

He groaned, burying his face on her neck as he curled his fingers inside her, slow but deliberate, pressing deep. She was so hot, so wet, squeezing around him like she needed him just as badly as he needed her.

“Fuck, doll,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot behind her ear. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight.”

She whimpered softly, and the sound shot straight through his cock making it twitch against her. He flexed his wrist, angling his fingers just right until-

“Oh!”

There it was.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he rasped, focusing on that spot, stroking it with each careful thrust of his fingers. “That’s what you needed, huh?”

She nodded, biting her lip, rolling her hips against his hand, chasing for more.

“Good girl,” he praised, rubbing tight circles around her clit with his thumb, grinning when she gasped. “So pretty like this. Let me hear you.”

She moaned softly, gripping his arm, her body tensing with pleasure. He felt her getting closer, felt the way her walls clenched desperately around his fingers, and it sent a violent pulse of heat through his body. His cock ached, leaking against his underwear, but this wasn’t about him.

“Come on, doll,” he murmured, nipping at her jaw. “Let go for me. Let me feel it.”

She complied with a low moan and he groaned as she clenched rhythmically around his fingers. He kept moving until he felt her tense, then finally melt beneath him.

He swallowed hard, feeling his neglected cock throbbing painfully against her hip. With a sharp inhale, he shifted, pulling his fingers out of her, and before he could think too much about it, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down, letting himself free.

A deep exhale left his lips as his cock finally sprang free, flushed and aching, glistening with precum. The relief of just being out was nearly dizzying, and he barely registered how her gaze flicked down, until she almost absentmindedly murmured, “So pretty.”

His body jerked slightly, his stomach clenched, and an irrational wave of self-consciousness washed over his mind. It made no damn sense. She had seen him naked countless times, seen every scar, every broken part of him, hell, evenwhen they made her do things with this same cock.

And yet, like this, hefelt more exposed than any of the other times.

His throat bobbed, and his jaw worked as he tried not to fidget under her gaze.

But then, she reached for him.

Gently.

Soft fingers wrapped around his length with a light, tentative touch, and fuck, the contrast -her warmth against his heat- made him exhale sharply through his nose.

“Doll…” he rasped, flexing his fingers against the sheets, whole body rigid as he fought the instinct to thrust into her grip.

She glanced up, searching his gaze, tracing her thumb just beneath the tip, smearing the slick bead of precum there.

His breath hitched, his stomach tensed, and he swore under his breath, fighting the urge to just grab her and fuck her like an animal on that fucking couch.

She felt it, his hesitation, the way he wasn’t just holding back physically, but mentally, too. So, she softened her grip, stroking him slowly, just enough to let him feel her without overwhelming him.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, reassuring. “You don’t have to hold back with me.”

He knew she meant it.

And yet…

The need, the want, raw and relentless, were eating him alive, but so was the deeply ingrained instinct to control, to keep himself in check, to not take too much.

Then she squeezed him -not hard, just enough to get his attention- and he exhaled sharply, tipping his head back against the pillow.

“I know you,” she repeated softly, stroking him at a slow pace. “You don’t have to hold back with me, Bucky.”

His breath hitched as her thumb circled the head of his cock again, and his hips jerked slightly, instinctively seeking more.

Fuck.

Something inside him cracked, something he hadn’t realized he was holding onto.

He didn’t just want this. He needed this, needed her.

With a growl, he captured her lips in a deep, desperate kiss. His hand fisted her hair, pulling her close, swallowing the surprised soft gasp she let out.

She didn’t flinch. Her hand kept working him in slow, teasing strokes, and he groaned against her mouth, as she squeezed, dragging her thumb over the sensitive head over and over.

Too good. Too much.

He tore his lips from hers with a ragged breath, pressing his forehead against hers. “Jesus, doll,” he rasped. “You’re- fuck.”

She hummed softly, pleased by his reaction, and he felt her smirk against his cheek.

“Good?” she asked, teasing.

His throat bobbed. “Driving me crazy.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Good.”

Then she tightened her grip and stroked him just right, and Bucky whined, jerking his hips into her touch before he could stop himself.

His cheeks burned. He wasn’t some damn kid, but Christ, it had been so long since he let anyone touch him like this, since he let himself be touched like this.

But she wasn’t just anyone.

His breath came heavy and uneven, and he knew he wasn’t going to last like this, not with her body pressed against him, her scent filling his lungs, and her soft breaths warming his skin.

“Fuck- lemme-” He kissed her again, deep and desperate, swallowing her soft sounds. Before she could protest, he shifted, rolling her onto her back, and settling between her legs.

She gasped as he pressed his cock against her, sliding it against her slick folds. He could feel how ready she was, how warm and wet, and it made his head spin. Her fingers threaded into his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp as she tilted her hips up in invitation. He twitched at the movement and cursed under his breath. And still, he hesitated.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmured, voice rough with restraint. “Tell me you want me.”

She didn’t hesitate, rocking her hips again, slick and inviting, making him groan as she dragged against his length. “I want you, Bucky,” she whispered. “I want this.”

A guttural sound tore from his throat as he caught her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her gasp as he pushed inside her in one firm, fluid stroke.

The stretch was immediate, a sweet, overwhelming pressure that had her nails biting into his shoulders, locking her legs tightly around his waist, pulling him impossibly close.

“Fuck,” he cursed, burying his face in her neck. She was so tight, so warm, gripping him like she never wanted to let go.

She tilted her hips, urging him deeper, slipping her hands into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “I… need you to move, Buck.”

Her voice -breathless, raw with need- shattered his restraint. He gave a deep, slow thrust, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips. His body shuddered at the way she clenched around him, dragging him deeper with every roll of her hips. He cursed under his breath and did it again; this time faster, harder, grinding against her as she arched into him with a broken moan, clawing at his back.

“This what you need, doll?” he rasped. He thrust again, deeper this time, making her whimper. “This what you want?”

She nodded frantically, barely able to form words. “Yes.”

Then he let go.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, pleasure wasn’t something forced on him, something stolen, something tainted with violence and control. It wasn’t something he had to endure or detach from.

It was his. His.

A groan ripped from his chest as he buried himself deeper, squeezing her hips as he finally took, not with cruelty, not in dominance, but with the raw, desperate need to feel good with someone he had chosen. Someone who had chosen him.

“Tell me,” He rasped, almost pleading. “Tell me how much- how much you want this.”

She arched beneath him, pressing her body flush against his, rolling her hips to drag him deeper. A choked moan escaped his lips as she clung to him, as if letting go wasn’t an option. Her hands slid up to cradle his face. “I need this. I need you. All of you. Don’t hold back with me, Bucky, you are not gonna break me.”

He groaned at her words. His hands slid down, grasping the back of her thighs, spreading her open as he drove into her harder, deeper. The new angle had her gasping, arching her back, every thrust dragging his pubic bone against her clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through her body.

She mewled, soft, and wrecked, and fuck, he couldn’t get enough of it. His grip tightened, pressing his fingers bruisingly into her skin as he did it again, grinding against her, watching the way her mouth fell open and her lashes fluttered, the way she clung to him like she needed this just as much as he did.

“That’s it, doll,” he rasped, voice thick with need. “Let me hear you.” He gritted his teeth, determined to hold on, to push her over the edge first because fuck, he wasn’t going to… he shouldn’t-

But then she clenched around him, hot and tight and perfect, and he lost it.

A ragged, wrecked moan tore from his throat as the pleasure hit him fast and hard, knocking the breath from his lungs. His body locked up and his muscles tightened as he pushed incredibly deep, spilling into her with a sharp, shuddering gasp. His hips jerked on their own, riding it out, and his fingers clutched her soft flesh as he kept cumming inside her willing body. Then-

Fuck. A sharp, seizing pain shot up his leg. His left thigh cramped so viciously that he nearly collapsed on top of her, cursing against her damp skin in a tangled mix of pleasure, pain, and shame.

"Shit- ah, fuck-" He gritted out through clenched teeth, shifting awkwardly as his body spasmed. Of course, this had to happen now. Of course his stupid, overwhelmed muscles had to betray him at that exact moment.

His breath came fast and uneven, pressing his forehead against her shoulder as he tried to will the cramp away. He felt ridiculous. He felt wrecked. And worst of all, he felt like he’d fucked this up.

She tensed beneath him, letting him go, trying to push up just enough to look at him. “Bucky?” Her breath was still ragged, but her voice was laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

He clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply through his nose. Fuck, this was embarrassing. He couldn’t even get through one time without something going wrong. His body, his mind… something always had to remind him of how fucked up he still was.

He shook his head, still gripping her thighs, trying to stretch the cramp out without making it obvious. “Nothing,” he muttered, but it came out strained and unconvincing.

She didn’t buy it. “Bucky, talk to me.” Her hands found his face, gently urging him to look at her. “Is it something I did?”

That snapped him out of his self-loathing spiral real quick.

His eyes widened. “No,” he said firmly, maybe too firmly, because she blinked in surprise. “God, no, doll-” He exhaled hard. “I-” He sighed, frustrated with himself. “I just-”

Another sharp twinge shot through his thigh, making him tense all over again. “Fucking leg cramped,” he finally admitted.

There was a beat of silence. Then, her body jerked slightly. It took him a second to realize she was shaking.

Oh, fuck.

She was chuckling. Great.

She pressed her lips together, trying to stifle it, but she couldn’t. It was absurd and cute at the same time. She stopped promptly as she saw the tension in his face, how his throat worked around words he couldn’t quite get out. Guilt. Shame.

He shifted like he wanted to move away, but she didn’t let him. Instead, she cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. “Bucky.” A gentle call, coaxing him back to her.

He swallowed hard. “I-” His voice faltered with frustration. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I wanted to wait. To make sure you-”

She didn’t let him finish.

Instead, she kissed him, pouring every ounce of reassurance into it. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his. “You don’t have to take care of everything, Buck.” Her fingers traced the hair at the nape of his neck.

His blue eyes flicked up, uncertain, searching hers for something he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask for. “Did I-?” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t bring himself to say ruin this.

She smiled, warm and soft, and shook her head. “You were perfect.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, to protest, but she didn’t give him the chance. Instead, she guided him down onto the pillows, shifting beside him, draping her arm lightly over his waist.

“Just rest, Buck. This is not an AV movie.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Just lay there, staring at her, like he was waiting for something to break. But nothing did. Instead, she slid her hand low and pressed it against his offending thigh infusing it with a brief surge of healing energy, soothing it immediately. He groaned in pleasure.

She smiled against his cheek, still tracing soothing patterns over his thigh. “There we go.”

He let out a slow, shuddering breath. His hand found its way to her back, splaying his palm against her skin. “You always do that,” he murmured.

She hummed softly. “Do what?”

“Put me back together.” He answered, brushing his thumb absently over her skin.

She stilled for a moment, then exhaled softly, pressing her lips to his shoulder, then brushing his neck, finishing with a peck on his cheek. "Why don't we move to the bed? I have ice cream, we can eat it there."

He frowned slightly, tensing his body for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. He didn’t feel like he deserved ice cream.

His silence must have given him away because she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, tilting her head slightly.

“Hey,” she murmured, her fingers ghosting along his jaw before cupping his cheek, brushing her thumb lightly over his stubble. “It’s just ice cream, Buck. Not a medal or a prize. Besides, I already left it out of the freezer before we started our chat. It’s probably melting.”

He huffed a small, reluctant breath through his nose, something between a scoff and an exhale.

“…Alright,” he murmured finally. “Ice cream.”

She grinned, pressing another quick kiss to his cheek before nudging him up. “And the bed.”

As they retrieved the ice cream, she caught the furrow in his brow, the way his gaze drifted focused on nothing in particular. He was slipping into his own head again, retreating where she couldn’t follow.

She sighed softly, setting her bowl down before reaching for his vibranium hand. Without hesitation, she lifted it to her lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his knuckles.

His gaze snapped to her, sharp and wary, and she knew it was time.

“I wasn’t going to say anything yet,” she admitted, brushing her thumb over the ridges of his fingers. “Because maybe it’s too much right now. And that’s okay.” She inhaled slowly, steadying herself. “And… you don’t have to say anything back. Just listen.”

His body stiffened and then he nodded slightly, bracing himself for whatever dreadful situation she-.

“I love you, Bucky,” she declared, confidently. “And a stupid cramp after a row of hellish days won’t change that.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched in her grip. His mouth opened like he wanted to respond, like he needed to respond, but the words tangled somewhere in his throat, stuck beneath years of repression. His breath turned uneven, and his bare chest started to rise and fall just a little too fast.

She just… said it. So easily. So simply.

His jaw tensed. His pulse roared in his ears. And then, before he could think too hard, he reached for her, curling his arms around her body, pressing her into his chest in a slow embrace as he had done countless times before.

And then, finally, he exhaled, backing up just a little to rest his forehead against hers. His grip on her body was firm, almost desperate, as he brushed his nose against hers.

She stayed still, letting him take whatever time he needed, whatever comfort he could find holding her.

Then, he tilted his head slowly, brushing his lips over hers in the lightest, barest of touches, like a question.

And when she answered, when she melted into him with a soft sigh, he pulled her in fully, pressing his mouth to hers in a kiss that was deep and slow and aching. Because if he couldn’t say it, he would show her.

Her hands slid up his bare back, tracing over muscles and scars alike and he deepened the kiss slowly, savoring it. Because she said she loved him. Loved him.

Her nails scraped lightly over his scalp as she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan into her mouth. He needed this, needed to drown in her, in the way she touched him like he wasn’t broken.

He pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at her, disheveled, tired, deliciously swollen lips from his kisses, and he wanted to say it back. It was there, lingering on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spoken. But the words got stuck somewhere in his throat again, tangled up with everything he didn’t know how to say.

So instead, he kissed her again, hoping she’d feel it, hoping she’d understand. Her fingers traced the nape of his neck, soothing, and kissed him back, like she wasn’t waiting for words he couldn’t give her yet.

He exhaled shakily, pressing his lips to her forehead before pulling her into his chest again, holding her there. The kitchen was quiet except for the soft sound of the fridge and their mingling breaths. His fingers started to ghost over her back in slow, absentminded strokes, basking in the warmth of her skin.

She sighed softly against his chest, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, and he let his eyes slip shut, just for a moment. “Come on, big guy” she murmured, breaking the silence. “The ice cream’s melting.”

A soft huff of breath left his mouth, something that could’ve been a laugh if he wasn’t still so raw. He nodded, pressing one last kiss to her temple before finally letting her go.

She turned, reaching for the forgotten ice cream on the counter, and he stayed close, hovering like he wasn’t quite ready to lose contact. She passed him a spoon with a knowing little smile, before hopping onto the counter. She kicked her legs idly, brushing her knee against his side. “You’re thinking too much again,” she murmured, tapping her spoon against his vibranium forearm.

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough, and he sighed, settling his hands on either side of her thighs. “Guess I am.”

She tilted her head, studying him with those knowing eyes before threading her fingers into his hair, massaging lightly at the base of his skull. “We’re okay, Bucky.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for just a second, just enough to let himself believe it.

“…Yeah,” he murmured finally. “We are.”

She smiled, pressing a final kiss to his temple before pulling back, threading her fingers on his hair for a moment longer. Then, with a hum, she hopped off the counter, reaching for the ice cream with one hand, and curling her fingers around his with the other. She gave him a small, knowing tug, leading them away from the kitchen, and he followed her without hesitation.

And when she pulled him into bed with her, curling against his body like she belonged there, he let himself believe, for just a little while, that this -them- was something he was entitled to have.

Taglist: @sunshinedayz19 @star-maker-rain-dancer @tumdlrnewb84 @mgchaser @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger @gotminho @kaitlin013106 @startorrent @idontknowhowtonormal @mattmurdock42 @hnnhbananananana @aeriss-at-heart45 @jainaeatsstars @airixaram @seventeen-x @jaxz21 @zizzlekwum @hi172826 @valckenaux @moth-maam56 @myllamatimemachine @unaxv @smiithys @cats-chaotic-mind @melsunshine @neuviloved @cjand10 @frombkjar @strvnger3ditz @nikkinss @alexandra-001 @lavanderbreeze @cats-chaotic-mind @sleep-tight1 @lasrehsif @delicatepersondinossaur @bodhisattva11 @isepod @mrsnikstan @impoeticbeauty @beewilko @chinggay85-blog @ruexj283

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[yandere-daydreams]

exhibit #2 - shark week

an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.

pairing: yandere!cullens x reader (twilight).

length: 1.4k.

warnings: non/con, afab!reader, dehumanization, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of medical malpractice, blood, slight initialization, and generalized twilight.

After moving in with the Cullens, your monthly cycles start to follow a similar routine.

‘Moving in’ meaning, of course, accidentally signing your rights to autonomy away to your doctor while you were so loaded up on sedatives the he hand to cup your hand in his just to make you hold the pen, and ‘period’ referring to, of course, the week or so you spent bleeding out in a house full of half-starved vampires. Carlisle claimed that it was dead blood and held little to no nutritional value for their kind, citing his children’s ability to attend the local community college without gutting an eighth of the students every month as evidence that your menstrual cycle wouldn’t cause an unwanted stir. When you reminded him that humans craved plenty of things that weren’t good for them, like chocolate and liquor and dubiously ethical affairs with their unnaturally cold general practitioners, he only hummed and asked what kind of products you preferred.

Esme usually noticed first. Sometimes, she’d catch it before you did, show up to your bedroom door with a warm compress and a tray of comfort food with only a kind smile by way of explanation, and you’d notice the pin-pricks of red dotting your sheets later on. Carlisle would usually be at work by then, so she’d spend her morning fussing over you, holding her hand to your forehead and forcing home-remedies past your lips until you manage to make her believe that one of her bitter teas had cured you wholesale. There’s a thin line between how she treats you when you’re sick and how she treats you on your period. One was a monthly ordeal, the other a hyper-rare occurrence in their meticulously sterile home, but both rendered you faint and encumbered, more receptive to her mothering. She liked it when you needed her. You guessed the reason why didn’t really matter.

(You used to assume that, if you were ever unfortunate enough to meet her, Esme would hate you. She’d see you as a homewrecker, as competition, or failing that, as a nuisance disrupting her otherwise idyllic domestic bliss. But, she’d never been that hostile, treating you more similarly to one of her adoptive children than her husband’s kidnapped mistress. It probably helped that her relationship with Carlisle was built more on a mutual affinity for make-believe than anything as fragile as love or passion. He was playing doctor, and she was playing dolls. He’d taken an interest in you for the former pastime, before gifting you to his wife for the latter.)

Eventually, you’d insist that you’d gotten enough bedrest and needed fresh air. That was when Alice would find you – waiting just outside of your bedroom door, her smile wide and your outfit for that day slung over her arm. As a rule, you did your best to avoid Mr. and Mrs. Wrong Side of the Mason Dixon Line, but she was one of the more forceful Cullens, prone to stepping on your heels and holding your preferred hideaways hostage until you relented to whatever form of dress-up she planned out for you. Normally, she’d be satisfied with doing your hair, testing out make-up swatches on someone with a skin tone darker than ivory, making you try on outfits that never seemed to repeat. On your period, though, she was a little clingier.

“Edward wrote from Belgium,” she’d say, absentmindedly curling her fingers inside of you. Most rooms in the Cullen house didn’t have a bed, so she would settle for the floor – letting you lean against an antique loveseat, skirt pooled around your waist and three crimson-stained digits buried in your cunt. “He’s so old-fashioned. Bella just calls, but no, he doesn’t want Nessie around too many screens. As if the poor thing won’t be fourteen this fall. Oh, and Jasper’s coming home tomorrow. He's already sick of Portland.”

Jasper wasn’t allowed within two hundred miles of Forks when you were on your period. Not after the tampon incident.

If you were loud enough, and you almost always were loud enough, Rosalie would come to your rescue. That was why she was your favorite.

Your time with her was largely spent outside, where it was a little more difficult to be tempted by the blood coursing through your veins. You’d sit on a riverbed with a book in your lap while she kept a measured distance, breaking the silence only to remind you to eat or drink or stretch your legs – little human inconveniences the others liked to forget about. Emmett, meanwhile, would take a more active approach to babysitting, pestering you to skip rocks or trying to make you laugh. Occasionally, he wouldn’t make it to your little picnics, and inevitably, you’d find a pair of your panties missing from your dresser the next day. Eventually, they’d turn up mixed in Rosalie’s collection – always nearly torn to shreds. You tried not to hold it against him. At least he had the decency to disregard your personhood behind your back.

You liked Emmett, but you liked Rosalie more. She was the only one who’d raised her voice to Carlisle the night he brought you home, the only one to continually acknowledge the issue of expecting a lamb to live among its butchers. It was nice – having someone willing to advocate for you. Or, to be able to believe that someone might, at least.

Once, you’d even asked her if she’d be willing to let you escape. Not even help, really, just leave a set of car keys where you could find them, or tell you where Carlisle’s security cameras were hidden, or refuse to cooperate while the rest of her family hunted you for sport. She’d taken minutes to answer. Time seemed to be an overabundant resource to eternal creatures. They were prone to letting it slip by in quantities that often made you, a being with fewer days to spare, feel sick.

“If I thought your life was in danger.”

Your life, of course, referring to your humanity. You doubted she’d have so much sympathy for you once you’d been reduced to yet another walking statue.

“It might not be something they plan.” And then, pulling your knees into your chest, “I’m really scared, Ro.”

She hadn’t said anything. When your attention turned back to your book, she asked you to read aloud.

Later on, Carlisle would come home. He’d spare a quick greeting for the rest of his coven, find whatever pantry or cupboard you’d attempted to hide yourself away in, and guide you back to your bedroom.

Intimacy wasn’t uncommon with him, but penetration was saved solely for your period. He was always slow, always gentle, but when you were bleeding, it was nearly agonizing – his hips grinding lazily into yours, his hands curled around your oak headboard, his unblinking eyes never breaking away from yours. No mind was paid to the unmarred white of Esme’s sheets. He’d watch lovingly as pink-tinged arousal dripped down your thighs, murmur sweet nothings as you cried and whined and whimpered for him to stop, that it hurt, that it wasn’t safe. If he felt like talking, he might list off the medical benefits of period sex – pain relief, stress reduction, heightened libido – or promise to be more careful next time, to have more patience in the future. Most nights, though, it was just your desperation, his adoration, and the dull sound of marble against flesh.

He didn’t need to sleep, but you weren’t so resilient. No matter how many times you came, he’d only let you go when your eyes grew too heavy to hold open, when your sobbed protests died down into little, sniffling complaints, when you finally went limp underneath his rigid form. He would sigh as he pulled out, not sparing any words of comfort before taking you into his arms. There’d be a bath, always so impossibly lukewarm, and then some humiliatingly frilly nightgown – more fitting for a toddler from his era than and adult from yours. If you were lucky, you’d still have the energy to insist on wearing a pad to sleep. If you didn’t, then Carlisle would get his way, and you’d be drenched in your own blood by the next morning.

Without fail, Esme would be perched on the edge of your bed by the time Carlisle finished. They’d both tuck you in – a pair of children putting their toy away after playtime – and you would fall asleep to the vile sounds of Esme lapping your blood off her husband’s cock.

[mythalism]

You seem to be both a solavellan and mythal fan so maybe I won’t get shot for this question lol

Veilguard was my first game. I kept default settings, which meant solavellan world state.

I genuinely wonder: what makes people think Solas loves Lavellan? Or that if being with Mythal possible, he still would choose Lavellan?

He is so clearly not over Mythal. Last game is filled with references to their connection, she herself confirms that both still love each other. He is very protective of her while arguing with Elgarnan. Statues of them everywhere, him painting and playing songs about her, his very own room having statues of Mythal… In the end he discloses he does it all for her, refuses to stop after Lavellan’s appeals, and only does so after Mythal shows up.

In comparison, Solas describes what he had with Lavellan as “entanglement he selfishly grow close to” he both regrets and cherishes. Most of the romance is carried on Inquisitor’s shoulders, as she both explicitly tells what he means to her, reaches out to him and ultimately shares his burden of atonement.

I couldn’t understand why this ship was so popular, so I watched solavellan romance in DAI. And while it was beautifully done, having the context of Veilguard, I just keep seeing Mythal in every “we shouldn’t”/his face after balcony kiss/ultimately abandoning her in the end. It feels almost unfair and cruel for him to enter another relationship while his heart isn’t free. And to visit Lavellan’s dreams afterwards

What am I missing?

a lot of people would shoot you for this. but dont worry i am not one of them. be careful out there tho

i think the first thing i would say is that instead of watching a video, you would need to do play a full solavellan playthrough of the game if you do want to genuinely understand the relationship and why it is so beloved. im not sure which compilation you watched, but even one that includes all their conversations (rather than just the cutscenes, of which there are very few) cannot do the relationship justice. so much of understanding solas as a character and how he loves people, by extension, is wrapped up in how he reacts to the world at large, its people, its history, its institutions, and its metaphysics. assuming you're new to DA and wouldn't know this, solas's romance in inquisition is the shortest, most sparse romance in the game, and was added later in development. as a result, much of his essential characterization happens outside the bounds of romance content, but still adds deeper meaning, context, and depth to the relationship. even in terms of romance specific content, some of my favorite content occurs in banter that probably was not included in the video you watched. the solas romance is less a standalone love story, in the way many of the romances are, and more of a big juicy delicious cherry on top that helps you better understand the overall dragon age solas plot/cake you're eating.

theres a couple non-romance specific scenes that shed significant light on solas & mythal's dynamic from his perspective that i am not sure if you have seen and honestly i wouldnt recommend watching them because, again, i think you should just play inquisition and experience them in the proper context. but solas's companion personal quest is directly about his corruption at the hands of mythal, though we didn't know that until veilguard came out and contextualized it. and this quest pretty explicitly demonstrates how he feels about what she did to him: rage, beyond forgiveness, deserving of death. he also comments on her at the temple of mythal, and his comments are mostly neutral but verging on judgemental, and do illuminate that while he may have loved her, he certainly did not trust her. it is he who first clarifies that she was a goddess of vengeance, rather than justice. which i cant think about too long or else i'll get angry that they ret-conned it to benevolence -> retribution or whatever the fuck and erased the anders/justice/vengeance parallel... anyway

but i think more telling is his absolute refusal to drink from the well if asked, and most telling; how he fears for an inquisitor who drank.

he specifically calls mythal dangerous, arrogant, and fickle, absolutely refuses to submit to her will once again via the drinking of the well, and begs an inquisitor he loves not to do the same lest she suffer the same fate. he loves mythal, of course, but he also fears her. he is critical of her behavior and wary of her motivations. his love for her exists alongside his recognition of what she was.

another fairly vital bit of information is how according to trespasser (cole banter), solas used to wear mythal vallaslin until he burnt it off his own face when he developed his vallaslin removal spell. its how he got the little scar above his eyebrow. meaning, if vallaslin were slave markings, that solas was effectively enslaved to her. this is... pretty important context, obviously. but we never find out what it might have been like for him. veilguard.... didnt forget but rather deliberately ignored this because it wasnt willing to interrogate the issue of slavery which had been vital to solas as the leader of a slave rebellion. ugh. anyway.

this leads into my next point which is that veilguard really drastically changes solas's motivations to be far more mythal-centric than what was set up in inquisition/trespasser. we always knew something was up with them, and people always wondered if they might have been lovers, but veilguard goes in on this idea in a way that many people would actually call out-of-character compared to how he behaves in inquisition. veilguard itself though does present their relationship as rather complex though, in my opinion its one of the best parts of the game. the two moments that i chew on most frequently are the letter from felassan in mythal's weird little dragon pit that reveals how he made that island for her but locked it away when she was killed. and my ultimate fave is how she reveals that in the literal thousands of years she has been sitting there alone since her murder, many of which he was alive and fighting a rebellion partly in her name, and in the 12 years since he woke up from uthenera, he never went to visit her. not once. its giving jane eyre and i fucking love it. in this same conversation, she also says that when he killed flemeth, he wept. this, i think, is the crux of how he feels about her. he can barely look at her. he resents her. he will use her like he did anyone else. he loves her. he feels lost without her. he will never forgive her. he misses her. all of these things are true at once, and mythal seems to feel similarly; she loathes him. she understands him better than anyone. she resents him for betraying her and abandoning her. she calls him a pathetic little crybaby pussy ass bitch. she loves him.

i dont think anything you said in your message is necessarily wrong. i do think he loves mythal still. i think he always will. i think mythal is valid when she says that they have a bond that no one will ever understand. i agree he is protective over her. i also interpret their relationship as romantic though a lot of people do not. i just love drama. but i think you are misinterpreting his reluctance to be with lavellan as coming from his attachment to mythal as a person, rather than his attachment to his duty to what mythal represents - the world he ruined, everything he's ever done wrong. to say that solas would actually consciously choose mythal over lavellan if they were the final two contestants on the bachelorette is honestly, absurd. sorry. because actually he would choose neither, he would dramatically let the rose fall to the ground and run off to restore the elven people while chris hansen (felassan) dramatically runs after him. both women are secondary to him when it comes to the good of the entire world, and fixing what he broke. he has had plenty of moments to choose mythal and run away with her if he wanted. he has literally had her bertha-ing out in his crossroads attic for 10 years. he also literally does kill her via flemeth. which isnt to say that he wouldn't kill lavellan if forced to, i think he would. but the point here is that its not mythal vs. lavellan. its mythal vs. the world, and lavellan vs. the world. he should have chosen the world over mythal. he didnt. he created the blight instead. he destroyed everything. he cannot make the same mistake again, so he will choose the world every. single. time.

regardless, every time solas turns away from lavellan in the romance, he is not thinking "i wish you were her". he is thinking "if i do this to you, i have become her". prioritizing his own desires over the good of the world, stringing her along, using her as a tool to do his bidding (getting the orb back), are all things mythal did to him. he told her he would follow her anywhere. and when he begins to realize that lavellan would follow him anywhere (as she says in veilguard), he freaks out and has to end it. he knows he will have to continue to kill and cause destruction to bring his world back, so if he did allow her to join him in walking the dinan'shiral, or did anything other than break her heart and leave her, he would be corrupting her the way mythal corrupted him; a weapon to achieve his goal. but he refuses. in his mind, he already destroyed the world for love once; at mythal's behest. if he abandons the world for lavellan, he is destroying the world for love again, and making her an accomplice. so, every time he leaves her it is an act of love.

the way the inquisitor is the driving force of their romance is partly just... gameplay lol but its also consistent with the overarching theme of consent in a relationship that is fundamentally unethical and unequal. lavellan has to be the initiator or else solas becomes a predator. some would say he is anyway lol, but its clear much of the writing was designed to avoid this with the way he is constantly denying himself, backing away, trying not to give in. it might have been juicy, but for him to knowingly romantically and sexually pursue a young woman 10,000 years younger while lying to her about his identity and using her for his plans would make him an entirely different character. a character that would be a hit on romantasy booktok, but not solas. consent and ethics are so central to not only the relationship thematically, but to solas himself, and some of that is because of mythal and the inequality of their own past dynamic. solas is so passive in the romance not because he doesnt like this weird clingy bitch who wont leave him alone, but because he does not want to recreate the same dynamic that corrupted him into pride and uhhhh literally destroyed the world. i'll leave you with another essential quote that you may not have encountered yet:

Cole: It isn’t abuse if I ask! Solas: Not always true.

in trespasser, solas's duty to bring down the veil was more unambiguously to the elven people and the alleviation of his own crushing guilt, while mythal was collateral damage in his way and he used her like he would use anyone else (including lavellan loool) as a tool to achieve his goals. we see this when he kills flemeth and takes mythal's power. in veilguard they had to obscure this slightly to make him "less sympathetic", to use the devs own words. and they did this by shifting the crux of his motivations to mythal. i dont think his lap dog devotion is out of character, i adore it, but i hate that it came at the expense of his more complex and sympathetic motivations of saving the elven people and spirits from the damage of the veil. as a result, when looking at his behavior in the context of inquisition + trespasser + veilguard, i interpret it as mythal being symbolic of the destruction of the world at his hands. and not to toot my own horn but trick's interpretation that they shared on bluesky does support this, when they said that to solas, mythal represents the past and lavellan represents the future. ive written about his statement that it was all for mythal, and the tldr is that i think it is also supposed to be interpreted as symbolic and reflective of his psyche. but even if he did do it all for her, i dont think that necessarily negates his relationship with lavellan. he needs mythal to break the cognitive dissonance, alleviate his guilt, and release him, because she is the source of all of those things in the first place. lavellan could never break them because she is frankly irrelevant to those things. he is so caught up in his sunk-cost fallacy that he feels the only way is through. lavellan may not be able to break the hold the past has on him because she is separate from it, but she can offer him another path once it has been broken, a fork in the road he thought was straight; her, their future.

i think to say solas's heart is not free is a misunderstanding. he denies his heart's desire over and over, we see this clearly in the letter he sends to lavellan in veilguard that expresses how badly he wanted to put down his burden and stay with her. in his expressed reluctance to leave her in crestwood, how he refuses to lie and tell her it meant nothing. in "no matter what happens, i want you to know that what we had was real". his indulgent final kiss in trespasser. in "i will never forget you". its especially apt that you worded it this way and that vhenan means "my heart". if anything, his heart is the most free part of him. it is everything else that belongs to mythal: his body, created at her command. his path of destruction and ruin, which she set him on. his purpose, which she distorted from wisdom to pride. she, then, is the only one who can give it all back to him. and as soon as she does, he is free to prioritize his heart. and he quite literally does.

tldr; play inquisition <3

[billiewena]

FOUR YEARS SINCE NOV 5TH, 2020, as summed up by Supernatural

past recaps: year one / year two / year three / year four

full context and sources below:

various explanations + resources/sources/extra reading on this year's recap:

balls deep: misha collins says the quiet part out loud at Cross Roads 8 Supernatural Convention, saying "if the CW wasn't so homophobic dean and cas would've been balls deep for sure" at a con (x) (x) (x)

garthbenny canon: supernatural actors DJ Qualls (who played hunter-turned-werewolf Garth Fitzgerald) and Ty Olsson (who played the vampire Benny Lafitte) reveal they're married, delighting crack shippers like myself everywhere (x)

spn spooky picture book: official supernatural children's picture book is released, retconning things like john winchester as a happy father figure and castiel being their cowardly childhood friend who sorta hangs around (x) (x)

boop button: tumblr introduces a feature people enjoy for once for april fool's day and halloween and allows users to boop each other, spn bloggers re-awake like sleeper agents to use it in full force (x) (x)

bedlund speaks on destiel: former spn writer ben edlund goes on a tweet fest replying to fans, talking about destiel multiple times including this profound tweet (x)

clear text, not subtext: jensen speaks out again on the confession at Purcon 8, this time taking a more open stance on how the relationship was textual, his take on dean's feelings about cas's feelings, and how the scene with cas deserved a resolution (x)

bury your gays: famed author chuck tingle (known for his plethora of highly specific and delightfully inclusive, if strange, indie erotica novels) publishes his second mainstream horror novel, inspired by TV network studios' infamous history of censoring LGBT relationships and openly killing off queer characters. In a non-subtle nod to supernatural fans, the main character is named misha. (sidenote: did end up reading this and this book is actually really good commentary on the industry in general and really good, 10/10 recommend) (x) also someone got the book signed by misha, to further break the fourth wall (x)

tracker: jensen ackles begins starring in a CBS show where he is basically csoplaying dean winchester, with the show featuring many non-subtle spn references (i.e. him pretending to almost get in an impala before going to his truck, characters wearing spn necklaces, etc.) (x) (x) (x) (special shout-out to clarice @youre-only-gay-once for expertly tracking the tracker show and these easter eggs, highly recommend their tag for their show)

cw's walker cancelled: fans rejoiced upon hearing the cancellation news for jared's post-supernatural show, walker, a remake of "walker texas ranger." in addition to generally being a copaganda show for the notoriously racist texas rangers, jared's inspiration for the show's direction caused much concern. the actor himself said the show was inspired by the US border crisis, not by the immigrant families affected by the separation and internment, but instead wanting exploring the POV of the law enforcement agents working at the border and the moral dilemmas they had to face (x)

pro-destiel Wonder Woman: Lynda Carter (aka the iconic and beloved original actress for Wonder Woman, not the z*onist one) says she could "go for some Destiel" when promoting #GeeksandNerdsforHarrisWalz and Misha's involvement (x) the rest of the spn cast and original Showrunner Kripke were also a big part of this event

chili's backfire: the chain restaurant chili's drags destiel while interacting with 9-1-1 bucktommy shippers on twitter, immediately gets backfire. notably, their stock takes a dip the next day. coincidence? maybe so, maybe not (x) (x)

samgirl voting fraud: "who is the gayest spn character" tumblr poll surprisingly gets heated, with a blogger straight-up admitting they used a bot on the "castiel vs. sam" poll to rig the poll in sam's favor, which they apparently also did for w*ncest in another poll in the past, and posting a guide on how anyone could do the same. luckily democracy wins in this one instance and castiel prevails anyways, leading to an also contested "castiel vs. charlie bradbury" round (x) (x)

pink pony jarpad: jared is spotted at lesbian pop star chappell roan's set at a festival, un-likely place for him to be (x) also may have been one of the "boring" people called out by chappell? (x)

pro-kamala castiel: in a last-ditch effort to get out the vote, misha uses the power of castiel photo ops to campaign for harris-walz and even shouts-out destiel. I feel depressed writing this sentence, if you've made it this long in your read and you're in the states I hope you're doing alright! maybe by the time I wake up things will be a little different though. (x)