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genshin-side-piece · 29 days

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Hazy Shade of Winter (Part 2)

Warnings: Yandere Content, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Captivity, Implied Stalking, Implied drug use, Mentions of alcohol, ]Non-Consensual Touching, my bad writing, anything else I missed, 18+, Minors DNI

A/N: Slightly (?) OOC Wriothesley. I think. I'm honestly not sure. But fair warning just to be safe. Follow up to Hazy Shade of Winter (Part 1)

There was no way to tell time in this place. Being miles under the surface meant no windows, which meant no real way to track the light. Wriothesley also didn’t seem that keen on clocks, or maybe, he wasn’t keen on them where you were concerned. It was a clever strategy, hiding something as essential as time from you. Without it, you couldn’t gauge how long it had been since Wriothesley had left you. Nor could you know when he would be back. It might be minutes or it could be hours. You could only guess. What you were certain of was that the time you had been allowed was enough to at least feel marginally better. The hangover you’d suffered from thanks to the alcohol and the unnamed stuff had begun to ease. Though you still felt like you’d been struck by a water bus. Eventually, you found yourself capable of leaving the bed long enough to clean yourself up. It was a relief to finally rid yourself of the gritty taste in your mouth. It made you feel somewhat human again, even if it did nothing to change your circumstances. When you were satisfied, you retreated back to the bed, pulling the sheets and light comforter over you. There you stayed, hiding in the darkness. It lured you into the false belief that you were temporarily safe from the storm that was to come. Given your first encounter, you silently hoped that when he returned, Wriothesley would just leave you be. That he would pick on the fact that you cared as much for his rules as you did him and in turn, he would just go. It wasn’t like there was a rush to explain them anyway. You were a captive with no means of escape. From your point of view, he had all the time in the world to explain his expectations for you. His insistence on doing so first thing, when you weren’t even coherent, betrayed the cool facade that he had maintained since. He was excited. He was eager. No amount of sarcasm or dry humor would ever be able to hide that.

Those emotions further betrayed him upon his eventual return. Wriothesley tried to seem amicable, at least that’s what you thought. His true tone was muffled thanks to the blankets. You really didn’t care anyway. You only hoped he would get the message and leave. He didn’t. Instead, he ripped the blankets away from you, tearing away the illusion of safety you felt you had. “Still sleepy are we?” The wry tone in his voice did nothing to help. Nor did the tray of food he had brought with him. The sight of questionable sausage and what you thought was porridge made your stomach lurch. You tried to look at anything other than him or the tray; the walls, the ceiling, the door he had left open. Wait. Your eyes went back to it. The door, Wriothesley had left it open when he had come in. Either he was confident you wouldn’t try anything or he was testing you. It really didn’t matter. The proverbial door was open and you were prepared to take it.

You only gave the disgusting excuse for food one more glance before you threw it back in his face. Literally. Your hands came up in one swift motion, smacking the tray out from under him. You barely had time to register the way the light reflected off the porcelain bowl as it flew at Wriothesley before you made a break for it. Again with both hands, you gave him a hard shove, throwing him off just enough to squeak by and make a break for the open door. Around you, silverware clanged as it hit the floor. Glass and porcelain shattered leaving little cuts on your exposed skin, and a very distinctive grunt followed you as you desperately tried to get away. Wriothesley’s hand in your hair ended any hope of that coming true. You hadn’t even made it a handful of steps when the force of which he pulled you back ripped a scream out of you. One moment you were vertical. The next you were facing the ceiling, back pressed firmly into the lumpy mattress as Wriothesley snatched a hold of one of your wrists. “Oh” He let out a dry laugh, that same dangerous glint returning to his eyes. “You want to fight do you? Well-” With his free hand he reached down, detaching the cuffs from his belt. “Let’s fight.” One look at them told you his intentions. With a garbled scream, you kicked at him again. This time though he was ready. Wriothesley maneuvered his hips between your flailing legs. The best you could do was smack him square in the ass with your calf. An action he seemed to enjoy, based on the smirk he gave you after you landed your first strike. “Give it to me.” Meaning your other hand. His tone was flat, expectant, and generally uninterested. To your horror, your escape attempt had done little to rile him up. Instead, he patiently held out one hand, while the other kept a grip on the wrist he had since locked in his handcuffs. “You’re already going to be punished for refusing your food. It’s only going to get worse for you if I have to reach under you and get that hand myself. Do yourself a favor and give it to me.” You still refused, vehemently shaking your head no. It was a foolish move on your part. You were all too aware of that. The smart decision would be to cooperate with him. To obey him this one time in the hope that he offered you some form of clemency. That wasn’t the decision you made though. Instead, you chose to refuse. You chose to fight. Two things you had been denied thanks to how he’d had you abducted. Two things you were all too prepared to give him in spades. All things considered, It was no less than he deserved. Wriothesley could only sigh at your refusal. He almost managed looking mournful for a moment, but it was short lived. The cocky smirk returned before he could finish his next statement. “You really want me to be the bad guy, don’t you?” Your response was to try to tuck your arm even further behind you, cementing your choice to disobey him rather than concede. “Foolish.” He clicked his tongue. “I suppose you’re really no different than the rest. Seems you’ll just have to learn this lesson the hard way.” There was only a brief shrug of his shoulders before Wriothesley finally followed through on one of his threats. All it took was one pull.

You screamed again, the metal of the cuff around your one wrist digging into your flesh to an extreme degree as he drug your entire body off the bed. The pain that shot through your body was horrific. It felt like he was trying to rip your arm off from the force alone. Nevermind thin cuts and bruises left by the steel he had locked around your wrist. It was a foregone conclusion that he was going to get what he wanted. The force from the pull had wrenched what control you had away from you. Your body flailed in a tangle of limbs as you tried to catch yourself from falling face first onto the metal floor. He caught you, barely, but he made sure that you didn’t land into the pool of gray gunk that was congealing on the floor. Instead, you were wrenched up by your waist long enough for your other wrist to be captured in the steel of his cuffs. From there you were unceremoniously dumped onto a clean part of the floor and left to wait.

There was no quip that followed your escape attempt. No snide comment or even the faintest hint of judgment. Just a cold glare as he removed the longer chain from his outfit. The rattling bounced off the metal walls, causing you to flinch at the noise. While your headache had temporarily subsided, the piercing noise of metal echoing off of metal seemed to bring it roaring back. You whimpered, but only enough so he wouldn’t hear you over the jostling of his outfit. Thankfully he was kind enough to be quick about it, but only because removing the offending chain was easy work for him. The fact that he was punishing you to the point that you felt your ears would bleed was an inconsequential detail. You half expected him to say you deserved it. “I’ll only say this once.” He rotated the chain until he had an end in each hand. “Do as I ask. Don’t make me use force again.” Implying you wouldn’t like what would happen. Considering your present circumstances, you were fairly sure you wouldn’t. He’d already had you kidnapped and personally manhandled you without much provocation. To push him much further, at least at present, might result in a situation that was altogether unpleasant. “Hands” He gestured for you to lift your cuffed hands, which after a slight hesitation, you did. It wasn’t a leap to figure out his next move. One end of the chain found its way around the connecting link of the cuffs, while the other stayed firmly in his hand. “Up.” He moved his hand and you half expected another gesture, but instead he held it out to you, offering it as a means of assistance should you need it. An entirely gentlemanly gesture, from a brute of a man. You ignored it, awkwardly pushing yourself onto your wobbly legs. The effort to right yourself was a struggle. The failed escape attempt and subsequent fight after had drained what little energy you had woken up with away. Your legs felt no better than jelly. Standing on them or worse trying to walk on them would require a specific level of effort that you weren’t sure you possessed. The decision to not eat was a poor one. Even if the food was revolting, you probably should have seized the chance to get something in your aching stomach. At least then you could still the shaking that was quickly working its way across your entire body.

Wriothesley didn’t give you time to fret over it nor did he wait for you to fully steady yourself. The brief show of gentlemanly behavior was forgotten almost as quickly as it was offered. He yanked the chain hard, dragging you through the doorway and into the empty room beyond with little trouble or care. You stumbled, falling to your hands and knees against the rough metal floor, the sharp edges of the cold metal cutting into your exposed flesh even more. The sting from the metal biting your skin made you wince, not that Wriothesley noticed. He kept walking, pulling the chain tighter the further away he got. The silent demand from him was that you keep up; whether it was by walking or crawling. He didn’t seem to mind which. He only wanted you to follow until he ordered you to stop. Then he would move on to whatever humiliation he had planned next. Your cheeks burned at the very thought of it. How dare he. You had half a mind to repay his rough behavior with some of your own, but you weren’t nearly as strong as him. Given his size, you doubted you would be able to shift him. At most, you pulling on the chain or refusing to go any further would be a mild jerk against his hand. An inconvenience for him at worst. Hardly worth the energy or the struggle considering your current predicament.

“Rule number one.” His voice drew you from your thoughts, pulling your attention back to him. He strode to the center of the room, bending down to loop the chain through a d-ring that was bolted to the floor. “You are the master of your own treatment here.” You stared up at him through the fringe of your lashes as he stood to his full height. “Call it irony” He shrugged. “But I don’t like the idea of punishing you. It took quite a bit of work on my part to bring you here. I even paid extra for the deluxe delivery.” Were you supposed to be impressed by that? It was laughable to consider that he expected you to fall all over yourself and thank him for taking such care with your abduction. Yet one look at him told you, that was exactly what he wanted, or rather he expected your compliance as a result of his supposed care of you. A trade. A bargain. An insult. In your mind, if he had the nerve to kidnap you, then the very least he could do was see to your safety during said act. Anything afterwards, like now, was a different transaction. Something you weren’t entirely interested in participating in unless it involved your unconditional release. “So bearing that in mind, I suggest you consider your actions or rather your reactions in the future. I don’t want to get rough with you, but as you’ve seen, I’m not above doing it.”

“My actions?” He didn’t bother to hide his surprise when you finally broke your silence. “I’m sorry, I can’t recall ever having someone kidnapped for any reason, let alone to satisfy my own vanity.” He was quick. Despite his surprise, Wriothesley was able to volley a response back to you or rather he tried too. “That’s not-” You scoffed looking away for a moment. Any excuse or justification would go as far as his own lips. You didn’t want to hear them. You didn’t care about them. Clearly, based on your own feelings, they didn’t matter. Nothing could justify what he had done to you, nor would it justify anything that would happen in the future. You could spend a thousand years with him and still call him a stranger. Above you, he let out a long breath. Your refusal to hear him had given him pause. You could tell those cold eyes were still firmly fixed on your face. He was intently watching every single thing you did. You knew he was. When you finally decided to turn back, your eyes met his. They had never left you. He merely traded the view of your face for the back of your head and vice versa. Beneath the surface, you could see a myriad of emotions swirling within his eyes. He wasn’t as confident as he appeared. Wriothesley had worries, he had concerns. There was even what you felt was a twinge of doubt if you looked long enough.

In turn, his eyes read and judged every emotion, every expression that you didn’t bother to hide. They saw your anger, your confusion, and even your own fear. You hadn’t fully acknowledged it yet, but you were every bit afraid as you were angry. In the span of a night, your life had become the property of someone else. He could do anything he wanted with it. You were powerless in stopping him from doing anything he wanted. Your current predicament was proof of that. “Look, I-” He let out another sigh. “I don’t want our first true interaction to happen this way. Please don’t be like this.” Please don’t fight. That’s what he meant. Just submit to his wishes and desires. Don’t make him beg, don’t make him force you. A not so impassioned plea from a man who was a stranger to you. He was trying his best to placate the fury that was radiating off your body, but the wound he had inflicted with his actions was far too fresh for it to work. “I’m happy to make nice with you. I’ll chalk the escape attempt up to the fact that you’re still adjusting. Perhaps I was being a tad unrealistic with how long it would take you to work through everything. Though-” There was a long pause after that. “in truth I would like an apology. You nearly burned half my face off with hot porridge.” He gestured to the side of his face as some sort of reference. You silently stared back, wishing you had. There was a chance you would have gotten away or at the very least put some much needed space between you and him. “Come on. I’m giving you an easy out here. Just apologize and we can move forward. It will make things easier for us both if you do. Believe me when I say that I would rather spend the limited time I do have with you doing anything else but fighting with or punishing you.” Swallowing, you silently noted that he was in for a rude awakening. “I would rather be at home, in my own bed. But we can’t always get what we want, can we?” A chill washed over the room. You weren’t sure if it was him or you, but you felt it all the same. “Instead I find myself at the mercy of a lunatic!” Your voice shook as the fear began to overtake your anger. The lack of food was fueling your desperation, which in turn was driving both your fear and your anger. You could feel yourself slowly losing control. It was a vicious cycle, which was reaching its conclusion at a rapid place. “I have no intention of playing this sick game of yours.” His entire body sagged in what you could only guess was disappointment.

“God-” He rubbed his scared eye with his free hand. “I truly didn’t think you would be this stubborn.” His hand fell back to his side as he stared at you with fondness. “It’s cute though. I like someone with a little bite to them. Makes things interesting. Still, I was hoping you would get the message right off the bat. But, if you insist we spend this time this way, then so be it. I will be all too happy to give you what you are so eager to earn.” He wrapped a length of chain around his hand, tightening what was left between you and him, pulling your arms towards the d-ring. You had to inch forward on your knees, just to ease some of the tension in your shoulders. “I will, out of the kindness of my heart, forgive earlier. Before I left for my meeting I did tell you that you could be upset with me and in that spirit, I suppose you were only doing as you were told. I can’t fault you for it.” He wrapped another length around his hand, pulling the chain even tighter and you ever closer. “Just now though.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he silently recalled what had just transpired. “I’m afraid I can’t forgive that. Refusals, altercations, and escape attempts are strictly forbidden from here on out. As I mentioned, you are the master of your own treatment. Behave and we can co-exist peacefully. I might even consider special privileges if I’m convinced you’re sincere in your behavior.” Refuse him or fight him or even try to escape him and you would end up where you were now or possibly somewhere far worse.

In retrospect, you knew your current predicament was fairly mild compared to the ways he could make you suffer. Humiliation, starvation, degradation, and pain were only the first steps. There were bones that hadn’t been shattered, flesh that hadn't been marked, limbs that hadn’t been removed. You and he had a long way to go before you reached the point of no return, and that’s if you ever got there. In the back of your mind, you knew you wouldn’t last that long. He would break you long before you ever got to that point. “Am I being clear?” “What-” Tears stung at your eyes for the first time, closing your throat and forcing you to momentarily choke on your own words. You didn’t want to admit defeat so easily, but what other choice did you have? This was his world. Even if you managed to get free, no one within the fortress or outside of it would help you. He could easily send the guardes or even himself after you. The general population of Fontaine wouldn’t question why a fugitive from the fortress was being hunted. The assumption would be you were just another escaped convict. A threat that the Duke himself felt he needed to personally handle.

It was only then that you realized your disappearance probably hadn’t even been noted. It had been the weekend when you had gone out. Work had been tiresome and the promise of a day off meant you had the chance to blow off some much needed steam. With that in mind, there would be no one to miss you if you didn’t show up the next day. Same for the day after. By the time you did have to return to work, Wriothesley would have had plenty of time to cover your tracks. He could make your disappearance seem quite ordinary. Maybe you had run away to Sumeru, you had been talking about it or perhaps that serial killer got you. Wouldn’t that give your co-workers something to talk about? Maybe no one would even notice. People came and went from your place of work everyday. It wasn’t that unusual for someone to be there one day and gone the next. The reality of that hit you harder than the sedative had. No one could help you. No one would save you. Not a single soul, outside of those involved, knew you were here. No one, outside of the man standing above you, cared.

You choked back a sob as that information sunk in. It was loud enough and perhaps distraught enough that Wriothesley drew his brows together in genuine concern. From your vantage point you could see he wanted to check on you, to ask if you were alright, but he held his tongue. He just stood there, staring at you as hot tears spilled freely down your cheeks. “What do you want?” A pregnant pause followed that. As if the answer was stupidly obvious to everyone, except you.

“I would think that is rather plain.” You looked up at him again through tear stained lashes, sniffling as he moved closer. “I want you.” Your throat bobbed, thickly swallowing the rising panic that was filling your body. You racked your brain, trying to think of any reason as to how or why this happened. How had an excuse me, an introduction, and have a nice day translated into you being in chains at his feet? The encounter between you had only lasted seconds. In your own mind, there was no feasible way a chance meeting could have this result, unless the meeting itself wasn’t by chance.

Your eyes flew back to his face as your mind began to put all the puzzle pieces together. Chocolates, flowers, perfumes, and even lingerie had been sent to you in droves over the course of the year. Your mind whirled, suddenly recalling all the other strange or odd occurrences that had happened, especially in the last few weeks or so. The feeling of eyes watching you everywhere you would go. Strangers scribbling notes when they thought you weren’t looking. Your clothes, namely your underwear turning up missing every time you took your things to the laundress. The door to your apartment being unlocked despite you remembering that you had locked it. God. Your eyes got wider as the full picture came together. A year. Oh god, he had been watching you for a year. “Look who finally figured it out.”

On instinct, you tried to pull away, but his foot slamming down on the chain brought that plan to a decided halt. Your body jerked with the chain, a frustrated whine escaping your throat as you continued to struggle against the cuffs. Escape in this case was utterly futile. You knew that. The chain that was connected to your wrists was firmly in his hand. Even if you managed to get away from him, the room you were in only had one visible door; the chamber from which you had just come. The exit you could not see, the one that would take you to the rest of the fortress was almost assuredly locked. Then there was the fortress itself. A maze of locked doors and heavy bars. If the building itself didn’t stop you, then the guardes most certainly would. All Wriothesley needed to do was raise the alarm and he could have your right back where you were now in a matter of minutes. “You know-” Your eyes met his again, noting the hints of malice that were beginning to swirl in the icy blue depths. “I never believed that you didn’t fully know.” He leaned down, resting an arm on his thigh as the slack portion of the chain rattled in the background. “I told myself that no one was that unobservant of their surroundings.” A soft chuckle slipped past his lips. “I’ll be damned if you didn’t prove me wrong. Seems like all those nights where my anxiety kept me awake were in vain. You had no clue, did you?” He furrowed his brow, gently chuckling again. “Did you ever think to ask? Did you just assume someone was sending you gifts and that would be that?” You wanted to slap the smirk off his face, maybe leave another scar while you were at it. “Of course I asked.” Since you couldn’t slap him, you tried to add some venom to your voice, hoping it would compensate for your lack of movement. “I spoke to the couriers and the stores. No one knew. They all said the same thing. All the orders had come with the necessary payment by mail via an unmarked envelope.” There had been no indication of where the letters had originated from. The only thing worth noting about them was the simple stationary on which they had come. The paper lacked the ornate embellishment that was associated with the upper class, yet the paper itself was of a high enough quality that you could discern the sender had money. That theory had been further proven based on the gifts he had sent. Everything you had received was from the finest shops in the Court and of the highest quality. They had all cost well above what the average admirer could spend. That had told you that your devotee was at least well to do. Wriothesley, as the Duke of Meropide, was certainly that. “I thought that when my admirer was ready, they might be normal and present themselves properly.” Not have you abducted and brought to the bottom of the sea. “Because that would have gone oh so well.” He tilted his head slightly. “I’m sure that I’m exactly what you were expecting, hm?” He wasn’t.

You let out a heavy sigh, trying to ignore the obvious. Wriothesley had been the last person you had been expecting. Worse though, was the thought of the Administrator of the Fortress coming to your door for no explicable reason. Even with flowers in hand, the idea was a terrifying one. The Duke of Meropide wasn’t exactly a celebrated figure in the eyes of the citizens of Fontaine. While his rise to prominence certainly made him an enigma, the few that knew what he looked like, tended to avoid him at all costs. To see the Duke or any officers of the law on your street was often a sign that trouble was soon to follow. If you had known that Wriothesley was your admirer or if he had shown himself to be interested in you in a normal way, it was entirely likely that you would have run. Even knowing that you had committed no crimes in the eyes of the law, the risk of having him so close was one you didn’t want to take. The goal of every citizen was to avoid the fortress and all of those associated with it. You weren’t excluded from that. “See the dilemma?” Your first reaction was to fix your eyes to the floor, while you felt the first twinges of embarrassment creep their way up your neck. “Kid- kidnapping isn’t exactly a viable solution.” You raised your eyes to him again, trying to make that sound as harsh as possible. “Neither is this, for the record.” He just laughed. “If we’re adding things to the record, then throwing hot porridge in the administrator's face isn’t exactly the smartest of moves. Neither is disobeying my orders or trying to escape.” You squirmed, stupidly pulling on the chain as your own frustration spiked. “I’ve done nothing wrong!” He laughed again. This time, his laughter echoed off the walls, hurting your ears.

“You hadn’t done anything wrong.” Until you threw the food in his face, and kicked him, and disobeyed him, and tried to escape. “I don’t think I need to list the crimes for you. I’m sure you’re aware.” Crimes? Your mind whirled at the very mention of the word. It was inconceivable to think that you had done anything wrong.

Fresh tears stung at your eyes as the frustration his words caused you, washed over you. No. It couldn’t be. You were innocent. He had abducted you. He had tricked you. You weren’t his prisoner. “But as the administrator of the fortress, it is at my discretion on how you are punished.” Wriothesley stood to his full height, reaching for something in his pocket. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t have time to deal with that.” He produced a medium sized lock, which was promptly attached to the chain and the d-ring, forcing you to hold your position at his feet. “I have more meetings. I suppose for now-” He mockingly thought about it for a moment. “Your punishment can be that you get to think about how you’re going to make it up to me or maybe, you reconsider your attitude. If not, then perhaps I’ll have to get slightly more strict with you.” From your vantage point, you watched his eyes drift away from you, focusing on something behind you. There was only one thing that could be; the room you’d woken up in, the bed. “Seems cruel to consider.” Your eyes went wide at the thoughts that were running through your head. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. “I’d hate to do it.” Wait. “But maybe I was too nice at the beginning.” No. “Maybe I’ll just leave that with you though.” His focus came back to you. “Based on your expression, you get my meaning. Persist on your current path though-” His tone developed a steely, authoritative hardness to it that you didn’t like. “And perhaps I’ll go against my better judgment and make you earn things like a bed and hot food, at least until I can be assured that you don’t need too. That’s if I can be assured at all.” You blindly shook your head as you realized this man intended to keep you indebted to him for the rest of your life. “No? Well-” There was an odd chuckle that followed that. “Tell you what.” A long pause stretched out between you. He waited, oh so patiently for you to finally look up at him before he opted to continue. “I might be inclined to go easy on you. If you decide you’re ready to behave.” If. It had the same inflection as before, though this one possessed more doubt than its predecessor had “Let’s test the waters. I’ll give you something easy, something simple. I bet you couldn’t take more than that, could you? By now, I’m sure you’re feeling a little drained.” There was a brief moment where you thought to challenge him on that. Drained wasn’t the right word for it. Exhausted maybe? Famished and dehydrated; absolutely. In your mind though, you believed you could take all he threw at you and more, but your cramping stomach and oncoming dizziness told you otherwise. Your body had been taken to its physical limit. It couldn’t handle anything more; not without getting food into you first. “Let’s try… you giving me a smile again. That seems like a simple thing. I’ll even sweeten the deal. Give me a smile and I’ll bring you a little something to eat. I bet you’re pretty starved by now. Some fresh bread or maybe even some fruit, surely that’s enough to get me a smile?” It shouldn’t have been. In any normal circumstance, it wouldn’t have been. Had you been back in the court, you wouldn’t have given him the time of day. But here, in his world, you didn’t have that luxury. Here he could determine every detail of your life, including when you ate next. Considering you had already gone a day, you briefly wondered how cruel he could be. Wriothesley ran both hot and cold. His reactions shifted between the two with frightening regularity. It made him difficult to read in a situation like this, which was why you had to consider your answer carefully.

There was no winning here, you knew that. Wriothesley had stacked the deck against you long before your kidnapping and arrival. Now he’d dealt you the losing hand he’d prepared for you. If you refused, would he cave due to his own feelings for you and bring you a meal anyway or would he demand an even higher toll for your next meal? Would he let you starve if you refused to pay that price? How many meals would he allow you to miss before the inevitable happened. How many could you stand to miss before you yourself gave in? Upon further review, a smile was easy. It was simple. It wouldn’t tax your fatigued state any further. You could just give it to him to make him go, but again that carried risk. Once meant always. Always meant forever. There would never be a time where you would be able to refuse him without running the risk of being punished. One frown could send you right back to where you were. “Well?” You didn’t want to.

“I-“ You drew in a slow steadying breath, trying to calm the emotions that were running through you. At this stage, you wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, you wanted to lunge at him and you wanted to do it, all at once. You couldn’t though. Even if you felt like you were drowning, you couldn’t give in just yet. For now, you had to remain in control. “I hate you.” Above you, he released an incredulous scoff.

“Believe me, I’m aware.” His nonchalance about this whole thing only served to irritate you further. He was acting as if everything that had happened between you was a normal thing. As if he kidnapped and manhandled and humiliated people everyday.

“So why should I smile at you if I hate you?” You swallowed as your eyes found his again. He towered over you, giving the answer very little thought.

“Because I asked you too.” You hated how his tone sounded almost thoughtful. “Let me be perfectly clear, unless the world is about to end or you are deathly ill, I will be your sole companion here. That means you will rely on me for everything.” And the fruits of that reliance were determined based on how well behaved you were. In his words, you were the master in your own treatment, which meant you decided your own fate. “We can keep on this path, if you like. I can play the mean warden just as easily as I can the affable fellow. It makes no difference to me how we get there, just so long as you understand we will get there in the end. One day those defenses of yours will crumble and that anger you currently feel will give way to something else.” Was he implying you would fall in love with him? “It happens to everyone down here. Some get angry, some are perfectly fine with it.” “I will never be fine with it or this.” He smirked again, a gentle spark of mirth dancing in his eyes. “We’ll see. I tend to have a pretty good handle on people, especially when it comes to how they’re going to react to certain things. You’re no exception.” His head tilted slightly. “But keep telling yourself whatever you need to keep that fire in you burning. I’m beginning to find your anger endearing. You’re cute with your face all scrunched up like that.” He chuckled, his smirk growing larger when the sound only served to make you angrier. “Maybe I’ll lock down the pankration ring one day, just so we can spar. It might be fun to turn you loose for a little while, if for no other reason other than to get my hands on you. But I suppose that depends on one thing?” You let out a heavy breath, grinding your teeth in mild frustration. “What?” “Will you smile or not?”

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howlinchickhowl · 1 month

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It's posting day for my @gallavichthings Gift Exchange gift! I got @rayrayor and I wrote a little something for their prompt about Mickey being a 'straight' patron of Ian's gay bar. Happy gift exchange, I hope you enjoy it!

(There's no warnings and it's fairly PG)

You're Like In Love With Me - a gallavich a.u. fiction 🫶

Someone at the brewery has it in for Ian, he’s decided. They’ve assigned him the world’s weediest delivery guy, who manages to shift one keg for every seven Ian hauls off his truck, and always gets to Ian ‘after lunch’, which, tends to be closer to dinner than lunch in Ian’s opinion, and leaves him very little time to get everything stocked and inventoried and get a break in before the evening rush starts.

He’s sweating buckets as he waves the guy off and staggers back out into the main bar for some ice water. He rounds the bar and snags a dishcloth from Joni who wrinkles their nose up at him as he swipes it over his forehead and the back of his neck.

Joni doesn’t sweat, it’s a point of pride for them. Ian isn’t sure if they actually aren’t capable of sweating, or if they just avoid any activity that could possibly cause them to perspire. If he was at home with his siblings, Ian would shake his head like a wet dog, sending droplets flying all over every surface and into the faces of any person standing close enough. But last year when he took over from Gigi she made him sit through like thirty hours of online health and safety and food hygiene training, and there is an open container of cut limes on the back bar that he can’t in good conscience condemn with his bodily fluids. So he holds himself back and focuses on getting himself a drink and trying not to be too obvious about checking out his favorite regular.

Mickey Milkovich has been coming to The Scratching Post since before Ian’s time, before it was ever even a gay bar, according to the man himself. When he was a kid, before the neighborhood ‘went to shit’ – Mickey’s colorful way of saying got gentrified by the u-haul lesbians and professional gays – it was something of a slum. And Mickey grew up a regular little slumdog. Before The Scratching Post was The Scratching Post, it was The Alibi Room, and the way Mickey tells it, it was basically his dad’s office. He’s told Ian stories about how he used to sit in one of the booths and watch his dad take book or make deals, how he got his first tattoo from the owner’s cousin who was trying to rustle up enough bail money to get her boyfriend out of jail after he shot up their apartment during a bad trip. How his older brother lost his virginity in the upstairs room when it was a short-lived brothel. How the whole fabric of his life is tied up in this place, like he’s just as much a part of it as the stains on the carpet that they’ve never bothered to change.

So now that Mickey is out of prison (attempted murder, but according to Mickey it was a trumped up bullshit charge and if he wanted to murder someone he would fucking succeed) and back living in the house he grew up in, he likes to drink in his neighborhood bar, even if it’s turned into some sort of haven for the L-G-B-T-Q-Whatever (his words). It’s home.

Ian doesn’t mind. Mickey’s a fast drinker and he can hold a lot of booze, and it never hurts to get some steady business during the day. And he likes Mickey. Kind of really likes him, actually. Sort of wouldn’t mind licking the inside of his mouth or tasting the sweat on the back of his neck. And that’s where he gets into a certain amount of trouble. Because Mickey Milkovich? Is straight.

Straight as a ramrod. Straight as a ruler. Straight as the day is long. Capital S Straight. So Ian tries not to think too much about how soft his lips look or how good he smells, and he also tries to keep it under wraps exactly how much he likes to look at the guy. He’s not gonna not look at him. But he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable in, from what Ian can gather, one of the only places he feels comfortable. And he also doesn’t want to get his ass kicked by a guy he has a crush on. He had enough of that kind of fun in high school.

So he grabs his pint of ice water and wipes his forehead with his stolen rag and he limits his glances to two seconds long with twenty second intervals. Or at least he thinks he does until Joni rolls their eyes at him and announces they are going on a smoke break, since he’s clearly gonna be there for a while anyway. He’d be annoyed but honestly, they’re right.

Mickey always sits in the same spot, on a high stool at the bar just where it’s curved around enough so that he can easily see the door but not so far that he can’t see who’s coming and going from the restroom or the back. His vigilance is quiet, but noticeable if you know what you’re looking for. Or if you just spend a lot of time looking.

He’s in his spot today, left hand curled loosely around his beer like he likes to be ready to drink at any moment, and he’s smiling down at his phone in a way that has Ian’s tummy start to fizz with little sparks of jealousy. What’s got him smiling like that? He’s desperate to know.

He doesn’t always talk to Mickey every time he comes in, he tries to show a respectful level of interest, though if you polled his employees they would probably say he fails at that. He does some quick math in his head while grabbing another rag and starting to wipe down the bar top, making his way down toward Mickey’s end. Today is Wednesday, Mickey didn’t come in yesterday, on Monday Ian kept his distance, and he hadn’t worked Sunday. That meant that their last interaction had been Saturday. Four days. That’s a decent interval, he figures, and he carries on wiping over the bar, trying to come up with a subtle way to find out what has made Mickey smile.

“That your girl?” Is what he’s got by the time he’s stood in front of Mickey, and it may not be subtle but it’s all he could think of.

“Huh?” Mickey asks, looking up.

“You uh, you look like something in your phone is making you real happy, I thought maybe it was a girl.”

“Oh, Uh.” Mickey looks down at his phone and then back up at Ian, his lips tugging down into a half frown. “No.”

He closes his phone and shoves it in his back pocket, eyes shifting around the room as he takes a sip of his beer. There’s something kind of shifty about it, like Ian’s made him uncomfortable somehow, and if Ian had more self-control he’d call this one a loss and find an excuse to leave him be. But his discipline only extends to his exercise regime and diet apparently because he finds himself unable to walk away, quietly desperate to know what Mickey had been looking at.

“So what d’you win a bet?”

Mickey huffs a laugh and sticks hi phone in his back pocket, Ian wipes a spot on the bar that he’s already wiped clean three times.

“Naw man, just a picture of my sister looking fuckin’ dumb in a squirrel hat.”

Ok. Not what Ian had been expecting.

“A…squirrel? Hat?”

“Yeah it’s for her job or whatever, she looks like a fuckin’ idiot.”

His words are harsh, but the smile that’s spreading over his lips is kind of soft, like he is actually kind of fond of his sister. Ian’s never seen him smile like that before. His smile is always kind of dirty, or wry, or sometimes bordering on a grimace, this is different, and Ian feels like he’s unlocked a new Mickey nugget. He wonders if he can get some more.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Two brothers, one sister.” He takes a gulp of his beer and then does a thoughtful little shrug. “That I know of. The way my dad was though, wouldn’t be too shocked if I got a bunch more I don’t know about.”

There’s that wry smile that Ian’s used to, with a half an eye roll that belies a lifetime of dealing with a parent who never stops disappointing you. It’s an eyeroll Ian has performed many a time himself.

“God yeah me too. I got at least one half-sister who showed up out of the blue a few years back, but I could be related to half the city for all I know.”

“Half the redheads at least.” And there’s the dirty smile. He’s mentioned Ian’s hair a few times, most people tease him about it a little, it’s no big deal. He imagines Mickey would have terrorized him if they’d known each other as kids, chasing him around calling him Carrot Top or Little Orphan Annie. This is kind of a gentle tease though, something warm, accompanied with a squint that could almost be a wink, if Mickey Milkovich was the kind of guy who winked, and it spurs Ian on.

“I knew this girl in high school, her dad had so many kids running around that she had to ask people for their family tree before she would hook up with them.”

Mickey almost chokes on his beer.

“Fuck me, should I be doing that?”

“I don’t know. She had a close call once, and her dad literally had like, thirty kids.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, so, next time you’re lookin’ to hook up with someone, just, ask for a DNA screening first I guess.”

Mickey nods, and then the air sort of drops out of the conversation, like it has nowhere left to go. Mickey gulps the last of his beer in one huge mouthful that puffs his cheeks out and sort of makes him look like he’s chewing it, and the only thing Ian can think to say is to ask him if he wants another.

“Nah I’m good, gotta get back.” He throws some cash down on the bar to cover his tab and is out the door with his arms still shoving into his jacket before Ian can even say syanora.

And then he doesn’t come back for three weeks.

It’s not like Ian’s moping, Joni can fuck off for implying that. The bar is busy and he has a lot to do and employees to manage and siblings to deal with. But in the afternoons sometimes he’ll find himself staring at the empty space where Mickey would normally be and wondering, kind of forlornly, if the guy is ever coming back. Trying to figure out what he did or said in that last conversation that pissed him off so bad he would forsake his childhood bar.

Ian misses him. His expressive face and his disgusting sense of humour, and the way he makes Ian feel, like on edge and at ease at the same time. It just sucks, not seeing him, and not knowing why.

And then one day, three weeks and four days since The Scratching Post had last seen hide or hair of him, he’s back, sitting on his regular stool when Ian gets done mopping the bathrooms.

It gives him a jolt, a little shiver of excitement running down his spine as he shoves the mop in the corner and rounds the bar.

“Haven’t seen you around here lately.” He greets Mickey, as casually as he can, and Mickey looks up, kind of startled, and then looks down at the bar. Or. There’s a white envelope sitting there, and he seems fixated on it.

“Everything ok Mick?”

Mickey nods, a quick little jerk of a thing, eyes fixed on the envelope. He doesn’t even have a drink in front of him.

“You want a beer?”

He shakes his head, brings his right hand up to lay his fingertips over the envelope and slide it across the bar toward Ian.

“What’s this?” Ian picks it up, there’s no name on it, no details, it’s not sealed but he’s still not sure if he should open it. Mickey’s looking up at him when he’s done inspecting it.

“It’s uh.” His bright blue eyes flick away and then back again, are they wetter than usual? They seem so shiny when they finally rest back on Ian. “It’s a DNA test.”

“A DNA test?”

“Yeah. We um. We ain’t related. So.”

He raps his knuckles on the bar a couple of times in a short sharp knock that he must think serves as a suitable stop to this most bizarre of conversations, and clambers off his stool, heading for the door.

“Wait Mickey—What?!”

“Just. Read it.”

The door has barely had time to swing shut before Ian is practically tearing the envelope in his haste to look at the paper inside. It’s exactly what Mickey said, a DNA test, comparing Mickey’s DNA to his own, which, he’s gonna have to talk to him about where he got a sample of Ian’s DNA from, and confirming that there’s no overlap. In the top right corner, in a chicken scratch of a hand, Mickey has scrawled the words ‘just in case’ and then a phone number, and Ian almost drops his phone in the ice trough in his rush to pull it out of his pocket and send a text.

[2:34pm] I thought you were straight?

The reply buzzes through almost immediately, like maybe Mickey’s stood outside looking at his phone waiting to see what happens.

[2:34pm] Good.

It’s a very Mickey text, and something about it makes Ian feel warm, like he’s being trusted with something Mickey doesn’t trust a lot of people with.

[2:35pm] Where did you get a sample of my DNA??

[2:35pm] That really what you wanna be asking me right now?

[2:35pm] I’ve got a lot of things I want to ask you.

[2:36pm] So come outside, I don’t got all day.

It’s possible that Ian knocks over a stool and drops his dishcloth on the floor, he’s got bigger fish to fry.

#gallavich fic #ian x mickey #fic #GGE2024

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lucianalight · 5 months

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Loki S2 Review

I rewatched S2 and I liked it even more on the second watch. I'm giving it a 6 out of 10 in average(8 for the finale). Since I didn't post a review week by week like for S1, I'm just going to talk about the main things I liked/disliked

The Improvements & Things I liked:

The pace and the narrative's tone and framing have changed. While the pace drops sometimes, these moments aren't as boring as S1. Meaning you don't want to constantly check when it's going to end(like you know, S1 and especially 1x06). The narrative is neutral and doesn't villain code Loki and hero code others. It doesn't turn Loki into a clown, a punching bag or someone who deserves humiliation(I guess they've done enough of that in S1). On the contrary the characters are shown as flawed people, with Loki being the most moral, considerate, logical and heroic amongst them.

They stated bluntly in episode 1, that what TVA used to do, were atrocities. That they were killing numerous innocent people who had a right to live their lives as they chose.

The characters were three dimensional, likable or tolerable despite their actions in S1. They showed remorse for the things they had done. Although the way the narrative chose to go about it in S1 still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It shouldn't happen to you for you to realize sth is wrong. But at least it was shown that the characters weren't slaughtering people mindlessly and some of them deep down knew it was wrong. Although the fact that they still did it, because of the "greater good", and "woe is me! It's not a comfort it's a burden" attitude about it is repulsive.

OB, Casey and Timely being funny, cute nerds and fanboys :D

Loki using amazing magical stuff and DID YOU SEE THE GREEN MAGICAL GLOW IN HIS EYES?*incoherent screaming*

No Romance. It was unnecessary and rushed in S1. This time they focused more on Loki needing friends and that was definitely a better choice imo and what they should have gone for in S1 too.

Sylvie's actions and personality framed as what they were. She wasn't put on a pedestal as this amazing different FeMaLe version of Loki. She was framed as a flawed character with wrong and right actions and beliefs.

Loki and Sylvie's talk in the pie land, about change, hope, fixing what's broken and being gods. That sigh before Loki saying "We are gods" with all the weight of the world on his shoulders. Wonderful acting.

The ending and its epic soundtrack.

Topics & Things That Could Have Been Handled Better:

The Topic of New York Invasion

"Sometimes a rage builds up and you just gotta let it out. Do you remember that time I was so angry with my father and my brother, I went down to Earth and I held the whole of New York city hostage with an alien army? Tried to use the mind stone on Tony Stark? It didn't work so I threw him off the building. It wasn't tactical. I lost it"

On the surface it looks like Loki's saying that's why he attacked New York and probably most people accept this without a second thought.

But the context of the scene matters. We see during the interrogation Mobius loses his temper. He was worried about Loki getting angry, but he was the one who loses his temper and hits Brad. Loki tries to calm him down by sympathizing with him to try and see what caused his behavior. It's the same thing he did for Thor in the first movie, before coronation and after it, while Thor was nervous and angry. What he says about New York while isn't the whole truth, it also isn't untrue. He was angry with Thor and Odin but as we know his anger and thoughts were influenced by the scepter. We also know Loki doesn't like to talk about his time with Thanos or being tortured. Instead he uses a half-truth, sth that is in character for Loki.

So the scene can be rationalized by this analysis but it's still annoying that this analysis is even needed. They should have been clear about the scepter's influence especially when mcu confirmed it.

Loki thinking about Thor's change as being a weakness. While both Thor and Loki were groomed and taught to consider being soft as a weakness, that wasn't Loki's true feelings. At least I don't think someone who prefers words and magic-that are considered a weakness in Asgard-over brawn thinks like that. His goal in the first movie was to goad Thor into fighting him. So the line should have been sth like this: "Asgard taught us being soft is a weakness, so I used that against Thor to goad him into a fight. I said he's gone soft…"

Plotholes and things that weren't explained.

Why Loki and Sylvie weren't sent to their original timelines like others? And why neither of them showed any interest in seeking their family? You're telling me Loki wants to see these people he knows for 10 seconds more than Frigga or Thor? OOC.

Sylvie's sudden mastery of magic since 1x06 isn't explained. She didn't know much, but then suddenly could do everything Loki did. I mean I can headcanon that her and Loki linking their power taught her some things but these sudden developments without any explanations are annoying.

Loki's genderfluidity. No mention of it at all. Although I believe that no representation is better than bad representation. And you should leave a topic alone if you don't understand it, otherwise you're gonna mess it up. Because bad rep can be more harmful. And so maybe it was a good thing mcu let that one go. But they could still fix it with some shapeshifiting, explaining its difference with illusions and Loki confirming that he is comfortable in her female form.

Loki's clothes. It's probably not that important in comparison with other issues but I really hate that beige suit. Why Sylvie who doesn't even want to be Loki and wasn't in Asgard since childhood changes into an Asgardian outfit for a fight and not Loki? Yeah I get it. It was because of the last reveal and transformation and finding his identity blah blah blah but at least they could have gave him his old Asgardian clothes or he could change the suit's color ugh

Criticism & Things I didn't like:

The ooc moments for Loki in some comedic scenes. Especially in episode 5. While the character has a comedic potential, it's not based on clownery or clumsiness. The best humorous moments for Loki are the ones where he outwits others, use sarcastic language or he is being outwitted despite his careful plans.

Certain emotional stakes aren't clear from the start. The audience know that saving TVA is the right thing because it protects all the freed timelines but they don't know why they should care? Or more accurately why Loki is so emotionally invested in this goal. That gets answered in episode 5 and while Loki's talk with Sylvie is a good emotional scene, the fact that it's stated so late in the story, makes the first few episodes boring when it comes to saving TVA.

The main reason the emotional stakes aren't clear(at least for me), I believe is because most of the people Loki call them his "friends", haven't done anything to either deserve his friendship or aren't close enough to be considered a friend. Let alone someone Loki tries to move heaven and hell to be with them, instead of for example trying to find his brother and family. It is an issue which again is rooted in S1 and carried to S2. What happened in S1 wasn't therapy or a healthy friendship.

However, Loki being loyal to anyone who show him an ounce of affection or him being moral enough to try to save people are in character for him and that's sth good about it.

The torture scene.

The trick Mobius and Loki pulled was predictable as hell. I didn't even doubted Loki in TDW, let alone here. And even though I didn't believe for one second that Loki's actually going to hurt the guy, and he wasn't shown enjoying it, I still hated that he went along with the torture idea Mobius had come up with. Especially considering the fact that he was a victim of torture himself and never shown any sign in canon that he would torture someone. So yeah I hated that scene.

And why that scene was even necessary? Loki could get into X-5's mind when they weren't in TVA. We know he is capable of it. He did it both through mind stone in Avengers and in TR. how else they were going to delve into Mobius' problem though smh

But alright let's say they needed a scene like that. Still the whole Brad believing Mobius is against torture, and Loki's the one who would be in favor of it, is so fucking ridiculous. Any way you look at it, it has always been TVA and Mobius who did any torture we've seen during the two seasons. The tortures that Loki endured might I add. Even in the previous scene, it was Loki who didn't hit Brad and only tried to intimidate him non-physically by acting as a villain. It was Mobius who hit him, who was shown more affected by Brad's insults. So logically the scene they had planned to fool Brad, should have been played completely the opposite way. By having Mobius do the torture. At least it was recognized that the torture idea was from Mobius and both he and Loki gave the credits for it to Mobius.

Verity Willis. Hunter B15 unlike the Verity in comics, doesn't have a close friendship with Loki or truth detector powers. Not having a good friend like comics Verity for Loki, was such a wasted opportunity in the series.

Mobius saying to Loki "You're a man of action...". That was such a stupid, unnecessary line. As if the main difference between Loki and Thor wasn't Thor acting before thinking, and Loki thinking and planning before acting. While Loki is also a man of action, he is first and foremost a man of strategy. The only plausible explanation imo is that Mobius said it to not feel useless in comparison with Loki and his skills.

"Thor's not that tall". Yeah, no. I don't think Loki's reaction to seeing Thor and Odin's statues would be that. Knowing his brother and family were murdered by the very same people he's working with now. Remind me again why he's considering them "FrIeNdS"? Someone really needs to explain the concept of friendship to Loki. Or rather the writers of this show.

And while we are at it. Let's talk about how Loki's past and identity issues were completely swapped under the rug as if they were all magically fixed and didn't matter anymore. As if those weren't the most important part of his journey. Another issue rooted in S1.

Final Thoughts(for now :D)

Season 2 was definitely better than season 1. Not perfect, and not for those who care about OG Loki's issues. They set him on a completely different path in S1 and they messed up any chance to actually delve into his problems. So in S2 we're having a character that we're supposed to accept has moved on from certain issues, and now tries to find what he wants and where he belongs. Still, I think that they listened to the criticism for once as they tried to fix some of the problems of S1. After many years it didn't feel like that the creators hate the character, or using him as a prop, or a plot device. It was a story about Loki. A bittersweet story for the god of stories.

#me: i liked this season #also me: here's a list of all its issues :D #loki s2 review #long post #loki #loki series criticism #loki s2 positivity

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kaicubus · 1 year

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Dating Bianca Barclay

warnings ✩° : bianca being jealous, i think that’s it.

pairing ✩° : bianca barclay x gn!reader

authors note ✩° : i don’t care if she toxic. i want her. so bad. literally fucking look at her. GONGEOEUS LADEE.

- Dating her is a little hard because of her whole siren thing going on, and the fact she’s super popular and all her friends look like they’re going to kill you. But somehow being her partner kind of puts a barrier around you so no one can hurt you, physically, emotionally, or socially.

- You basically become untouchable.

- It’s also kind of tricky to date her because there’s so many rumors that she manipulated you to get with you but that isn’t true at all.

- Bianca has so many doubts and fears that you’ll leave her like her exes have done in the past because of some rumor that happened, so she’s secretly insecure and VERY jealous. She just hates seeing you talking with anyone who isn’t her.

- If you’re talking to anyone with status ((or even worse, someone with no status at all)) she’ll interrogate you with 50 questions.

“So, Y/n, who were you talking to?”

“My—“

“You know it’s actually funny because I heard that the person you keep leaving me to hang out with actually sleeps with multiple people, so I don’t know what you're doing with someone like that since it obviously is weird and you're MAKING it weird by ignoring me for them.”

“Bianca that’s my cousin.”

“…Oh! Ignore what I said.”

- Ok besides all that other stuff, Bianca is so sweet and protective towards you. She also spoils you a lot and doesn’t take no for an answer.

- Her love language would be acts of services and also giving gifts, but not like Enid, since her gifts usually have more expensive taste—hence why when you protest against it. When you decline, she doesn’t take no for an answer. It WILL show up in your dorm room on your bed or on your desk if you refuse in person.

- Something she loves to do is when it comes to showing affection Bianca really likes when she’s able to wrap her hands around your waist and pull you into her chest, as close as possible, and give you soft kisses on the back of your neck.

- When you really get to know her, she’s actually really deep ((haha siren joke)) and interesting. At first you thought she was very surface level ((haha another siren joke)) like most popular people in Nevermore were. Especially with Bianca who’s a perfectionist.

- Expect really introspective talks because of that, like the kinda talks that make you really think about your life and how far you’ve come. Usually they take place at the Weathervane or on the dock by the lake under the stars.

- She likes your bitchy side a LOT. Especially when you’re shit talking someone you both don’t like, she gets totally giddy from her end. Plus she really likes looking and swooning over you when you’re heated in the moment. Despite being fuming.

- Corner. Mouth. Kisses.

- Light touches when she kisses you too, like just barley there grazes of her fingers against your cheeks and collarbone.

- Fights with her don’t last long because they’re usually caused by her insecurities and fears, but if SHE makes the mistake then she does everything in her power to fix it. Yeah, she’s silent at first because she’s stubborn ((like me fr)) but after a day, at most, of giving you the silent treatment then she finally comes to sit by you and just roll her hands on her knees and apologize very quietly.

- Biance is the type to compliment you for you. Example : “You make me feel safe.” “You have the type of presence that makes everyone feel better.” “You have such a warm soul.”

#wednesday #wednesday series #bianca barclay #bianca wednesday #bianca barclay wednesday #wednesday preferences #wednesday netflix #preferences #gn!reader #bianca barclay x reader #bianca barclay x you #kaicubus

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9leaguesofmirrors · 6 months

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Possessive (a Ross Gaines x Joseph Lisgoe fanfic)

What can I say you guys? I love a bit of mutual possessiveness, it makes things that little bit more interesting

CONTENT WARNING: This one isn't smutty (it doesn't progress further than a kiss), but I gained the courage to play into a headcanon that Lisgoe has a pain k!nk so... yeah

Lisgoe trusted Ross, obviously, or they wouldn't have been together. He wouldn't have been with him if he wasn't 100% sure he wouldn't do anything stupid like cheat on him

But there was something about the fact he was still working closely with Pauline, the woman he'd previously slept with, coupled with the more frequent late nights that set his teeth on edge

Again, it wasn't that he didn't trust his partner, Lisgoe didn't know exactly why he felt like this, but the jealousy left an overwhelmingly bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe that was just a part of his DNA, alongside his partiality to violence

When Ross came home, Lisgoe managed to maintain normalcy. The last thing he needed to know about was the burning sensation in his stomach

"How was the battleaxe?" He asked, heading into the kitchen to greet his partner "Still a massive bitch?"

"She's either getting less irritating, or I'm slowly building a tolerance for her." Ross answered casually as he began brewing water in their kettle "It's probably the latter, if I'm being honest."

That wasn't the answer Lisgoe wanted. Nonetheless, he opted to not respond, instead focusing his attention on grabbing a large bottle of wine from the cupboard. He leaned against the counter, gripping the neck of the bottle like he was choking it with one hand

"You know what they say," he said as he popped the cork "a pig never changes where it has a shite." The end of the sentence was punctuated by him taking a large gulp

"I wish you wouldn't do that." Ross muttered as he poured boiled water into a mug of coffee granules and sugar "We have glasses."

"And I'm in a bad mood."

"You're always in a bad mood."

"Fuck off."

"It's true."

"Can a man not drink wine from the bottle anymore? I thought we lived in a free country."

"Joseph, we can't keep having this conversation-"

Whatever Ross was saying, Lisgoe wasn't listening. He was more focused on slamming the bottle down, grabbing at Ross's shirt and, in one sustained movement, pushing him against the nearest flat surface - which happened to be their fridge

"What's gotten into you?" Ross asked, furrowing his brows slightly "I mean, you're attitude doesn't surprise me, but this is-"

"I'm pissed off." Lisgoe hissed "And, since I can't drink my wine, I'm taking it out on you." He left firm kisses against Ross' mouth, pressing his hips against his partner's

"How very Dionysian." Ross' voice was level and almost mocking, but he wasn't complaining. A soft sigh left his lips as grabbed the back of Lisgoe's head, welcoming each press of their mouths together "I still don't know what this is about-"

"Shut up."

Instead of explaining, Lisgoe wasted no time and went straight for Ross' neck. This was quickly stopped

"I have work tomorrow," Ross reminded him "and going into work with a hickey wouldn't bode well for me."

"A hickey?" Came the harsh, breathy reply against his neck "That implies that I'm leaving it at one." Lisgoe moved so he was staring directly at him "Ross, I want you to go in fucking covered."

"So that's what this is about. You still don't trust me around Pauline, so this is you delivering a message to me - a punishment of sorts."

There was no offence or accusing in his voice, it was rather as if he were simply getting his facts straight

"No." Lisgoe pulled back a little, growing annoyed at himself "I trust you. I just... fuck sake, I'm just possessive. I've always been like that with you, with anything I give a shite about - which isn't a lot. If anything, it's a message for Pauline, but it's also a message for everyone that's looked at you or even fucking thought of you in certain ways-"

"I get it."

Not leaving any time for Lisgoe to respond, Ross pulled him into a deep kiss. He kept his grip on the back of his head as he other hand trailed down his stomach

"Do you not think I feel like that when people look at you?" He muttered against Lisgoe's lips

"Nobody looks at me." He couldn't help but laugh a little "And if they do, they either shite themselves or want to punch me."

"Some people do, it doesn't happen often, but they do."

"I think I'd have noticed that by now, Ross."

"They do."

"No they don't."

"Yes they fucking do, Joseph."

Frustration and sharp bitterness coloured Ross' voice, as if the sudden and very rare use of a curse word wasn't enough to clue Lisgoe in. There was also the way his jaw was tighter than normal, how his eyes were fixed into an icy glare... the slight heaviness of his breath...

... Shite. Thought Lisgoe. Do I find this attractive?

"Nobody comes near you because you're scary-looking." Ross explained, as if the mere thought of it filled him with rage "But I can see it in their eyes. How do you think I feel? It's repulsive. They need to keep their eyes and their thoughts off you." He looked away and muttered "Bunch of shit-for-brains..."

Yup, Lisgoe said to himself that confirms it: he's really fucking hot like this

Taking Ross' chin in his hand, he carefully tilted his head upwards to expose his throat. He studied it like a fresh canvas, dragging his eyes over the blank slate with a strange feeling of excitement

However, he suddenly had an idea and tilted Ross' head to face him

"Have you ever given a hickey before?"

Ross thought back to the few sexual encounter he'd had, then shook his head

"Make me your first." Lisgoe spoke with an air of command "I want to be the first person you leave your mark on."

"Joseph, I've never done it before, how am I supposed to give you a hickey when I have no idea how to give one?"

"I've given you plenty, you smarmy bastard! That's basically a free tutorial."

"I'm sorry," Ross sneered sarcastically "but when you're chewing me like a dog on a bone, I find myself forgetting to make notes."

"Are you gonna try it or not? Because I didn't tell you to argue back-"

Whatever Lisgoe wanted to say was quickly silenced by Ross pushing him backwards and slamming him into the kitchen counter, earning a strangled yell from him

"Fucking hell, Ross! Warn me next time!"

Once again, Lisgoe's words were silenced by the sensation of skin on his neck being taken in Ross' teeth. The feeling caused him to lean his head back with a breathy sound. Even though his eyes were closed, Lisgoe could feel Ross moving across his neck, as if alternating between each side

"5." Ross said as he pulled away "One for each person that looked at you this week."

"You keep score?" Teased a slightly breathless Lisgoe "Bit fucking sad, don't you think?"

"In the words of someone I know, 'I'm just possessive'."

"You can't use my words against me."

"And why's that?"

In response, Lisgoe grabbed Ross hard by his chin and threw him against the dining room table. He then let his fingers wrap around his throat, not pressing down on it, as his other hand clawed at his side

"Because, Ross," his lips grazed his partner's earlobe "you have no fucking idea what that word means."

"I'd love to understand," Ross' voice was gentle as he pulled Lisgoe in by the shirt "from your perspective."

Well, Lisgoe decided not to waste anymore time. Not only was he practically attacking Ross' throat with his teeth, but his hands were currently under his partner's shirt and clawing at his stomach and hips. His nails dug into the skin so deep that they both knew it would leave a mark. It made Ross hiss slighty due to pain, but Lisgoe could tell by the way he gasped out his name that it wasn't a bad feeling for him

Ross' arms slithered slowly around nis partner's neck, but the action was quickly stopped by Lisgoe gripping his wrists and whacking them against the table. He relished in the sound it illicited from his partner's mouth

"Are you trying to kill me?" Ross panted softly, his tone showed no annoying

"You look hot when you're a bit fucked up," came the casual reply "and I love the look on your face. It hurts, but you're clearly gagging for it."

"You're insane." Ross teased, looking Lisgoe up and down "Completely insane."

Lisgoe muttered something as he moved to Ross' collarbone, which his partner wasn't going to let slide

"Look at me and say-"

"I said 'I know I am"." He breathed against Ross' skin, his voice slightly gravelly "I'm completely, bat-shit fucking mad." Lisgoe grabbed his chin tightly again "And that's down to every pig that even thinks about making a pass at you."

His hand moved down to ghost Ross' throat, taking his lower lip in his teeth and pulling it, tearing a groan out of the pit of his partner's stomach

"It's too easy," Ross shrugged smugly "getting you all worked up. I'm not the only one 'gagging' for it."

"Fuck off."

"Bite me."

"Beg for it."

"I don't need to, you'll do it anyway."

Well, he certainly wasn't wrong about that. Lisgoe unbuttoned Ross' shirt and sunk his teeth into his collarbone, feeling ecstacy seep through at the whimpering cry his partner let out. Once again, his nails were under his shirt and left deep, red scratch marks down his chest

Suddenly, Lisgoe felt a hand at his own neck. The grip was noticably gentle, though it was clear Ross was trying his best

"Cute." Lisgoe smirked

"Shut it. I just don't think it's fair that you get to do all the marking. Feels slightly unbalanced, don't you think?"

He was interrupted by Lisgoe's pitying laugh as he took off the shirt he was wearing. By now, it was physically exhausting to restrain himself, and he just stared

"Don't tell me you're pussying out now."

That was quickly answered by Ross' teeth against Lisgoe's skin again, his arms around his waist. Though he wasn't as aggressive, he could feel Lisgoe's body shiver slightly as he exhaled shakily

After a brilliant, but inconcernable, length of time, Ross pulled back to admire his work. The way those red marks weaved in and out of the tattoos on his chest and climbed up his throat suited him quite well

"Fucking hell, Ross..."

That put a triumphant smirk on Ross' face, and he felt lips brushing the lobe of his ear and the hoarse voice of Lisgoe speaking into it

"For someone that's never done something like that, you're really fucking good at it."

"Really?" Ross tried to sound unaffected

"Mhm, and you look hot as fuck with all those marks on you."

He was used to Lisgoe being a vicious sod, it was surprisingly attractive in a flirtatious setting like this (not so much in day-to-day life, but that was beside the point). It was rare that Lisgoe outright praised him, but when he did, and in that voice... it echoed in his brain until it short-circuited

"You should see yourself in the mirror." Lisgoe added as he pulled away "If I were you, I'd take at least a week off."

As soon as he heard that, Ross pushed Lisgoe aside and went right up to their bedroom, standing in front of the mirror

At least I won't have to go in tomorrow, he thought, because I'll be in prison for killing my partner

Shirt unbuttoned (and creased to hell), Ross could see every hickey and bitemark that adorned his neck and collarbone. They weren't subtle either - of course they're not subtle, when has Joseph ever been considerate? - his skin was covered in purple bruises and deep red teeth imprints that could be seen from a mile away

"You asked for it."

Lisgoe was leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. His neck was only slightly blemished with light red, almost pink, marks

At least one of us has some control

"Joseph, how am I going to explain this?"

"Like I said, you can always call in sick, they'll be gone in a few days-"

"I'm not skipping work because I'm dating a horny mosquito!"

"I still think it suits you." Lisgoe went over and stood behind Ross, wrapping his arms around his waist and breathing against his neck "And I told you before, I'm possessive."

"You're a leech, that's what you are."

Laughing softly to himself at Ross' annoyance, Lisgoe let his fingers ghost his throat; the tips of each running gently over the marks he'd left

"I can always ask the Reverend if she has any make-up shite. She won't give a fuck about the reason, she'd probably buy me drink for it."

"Don't bother."

"You're not actually going to work with that shite on your neck, are you?"

"Why not?" Ross' mouth quirked into a smug smile "Everyone will see it." He turned to the side, his lips brushing against Lisgoe's. His voice came out husky "That's what you want, isn't it?"

This was rewarded with a puff of laughter from Lisgoe, who was clearly enjoying the thought

Ross took Lisgoe's lips into a teasingly chaste kiss, delighting in those secret, almost needy sounds he managed to draw out

As the kiss gained aggression, all thoughts of outside stares and thoughts melted into the background

They had each other right where they wanted them

#league of gentlemen #the league of gentlemen #tlog #reece shearsmith #joseph lisgoe #ross gaines #gainsgoe #gainesgoe

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fallenoftheromaempire · 4 months

Text

My favorite interpretation of the myth of Persephone is that it's not a story of abuse nor romance. Is the story of a woman that made her choices and had to face the concequences of them.

In my version she wasn't escaping from an evil mother, nor was she kidnapped from an horrible man.

She was a young woman who loved her mother but wished to be seen by her as as the grown adult she was and not the girl her mother wish to keep her as (hence her name being Kore wich means "Girl"). Her mother isn't suffocating her or mistreating her. But like parents often do, they wish to hold on to their babies a little longer and ignore that they are adults.

So when she meets Hades, she finds herself desired in a different way, a way that she didn't experience before since in her family. Finally she feels herself being treated her age, finally she feels like she is allowed to explore her desires and wants.

But she didn't tell her mother. Mind you she shouldn't have to ask for permission but at least give a warning could have been a good idea. But she had other things on her mind and she just didn't want to deal with her mother potentially telling her no and again forget that Persephone could make her decision. Maybe Demeter would have been like "Oh alright have fun dear!" but instead she never got to know that her daughter willingly left and like any good mother she freaked out.

When Zeus came down to tell his brother to give back the girl, Hades may have been completely compliant, maybe he was feeling bad about the whole misunderstanding, maybe he even planned to directly apologize to Demeter and then start to properly court Persephone and ask for her hand.

But again Persephone didn't talk to Hades about how she felt probably patronized by her mother making this whole big problem the SECOND she gets out of her side and feels embarrassed and upset. So out of spite she goes and eat the pomegranates. Personally the pomegranet id a symbol of sex, aka her and Hades hadn't even consumed the whole time that she had been down there. He doesn't give it to her, he doesn't shoves the seed in her mouth. She makes the choice or eating it, and she makes sure that it will be just enough to tie herself to him but enough to leave space to be able to come back (aka not get pregnant).

So now she is tied to a man that she doesn't know that well for half a year and the other half she can only be with her mother when in the surface. Because i know that Demeter will not let her out of her sight again. The trust between them is broken.

And in all of this Persephone get to taste freedom just for a little bit. Her and Hades will grow to love each other but maybe it could have been much more genuine and tender if they weren't forced to be together by a choice made on a wim.

She was not stupid or egoistic or a victim. She was a woman that wanted to make her own choices she made them and like the adult she is she faces the concequences.

#persephone #hades and persephone #persephone and hades #The myth of Persephone #pomegranate #pomegranate symbolism #Making Hades the villan or Demeter is not the feminist take that you think it is #It can be a story of abuse #Or it can be a story of choices and consequences #My favorite thing about the greek gods is that they are not perfect #They make mistakes #I want to give Persephone her agency #Even if it brings her sorrow

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dnuoh-xof · 3 months

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Top five writer pet peeves you have. Hell, artist as well if you have any

TOP FIVE WRITER / ARTIST PET PEEVES

1. Overuse or repetition of tropes or stereotypes in fiction:

This includes, but is most certainly not limited to, tropes you may begrudgingly stumble across on fanfiction-housing websites like AO3, such as: borderline or unapologetically racist depictions of black and brown people. And especially upon the likes of AO3, if you know, you know. As well as fetishized depictions of trans men... of which is sadly common in the Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance community, as well, in primary reference to how they write Raiden. And while I'm no stranger to trans headcanons of my own, a lot of the work on AO3 where Raiden is depicted as a trans man seems... tasteless. Seeing how most of these depictions I find myself irked by appear to have been written by people who aren't trans themselves. Or, at least, not to my own knowledge. (Typically, my know-how is whether or not they tag their work as, "Trans [redacted] written by a trans author." But of course, this is but a shallow assumption to be taken with a grain of salt.) Such other, lesser consequential and controversial repetitive (albeit, with a grain of salt) tropes I often see in writing are primarily some nitpicks of mine, such as how some people who clearly aren't Southern try to write or depict a Southern accent, without so much as speaking to, much less interacting with someone who may live in the U.S. South within an inch of their life. Or how Latino men in fiction are often treated as these... promiscuous, dangerous rebels who fruitlessly try to whisk their love interest away from their already-existing, usually white or eurocentric lover. I see this with how people write Jetstream Sam / Samuel Rodrigues in fanfiction, despite his base depiction not at all reflecting the odd fashion which fans always seem to write him within. Though, I wouldn't know, maybe such depictions are equally as controversial, or perhaps they cannot be compared. But these are ones that I notice right away that sort of make my brain itch. Not enough for me to gripe at a writer face-to-face about it, but... just a thought, since we're here. Don't burn me at the stake.

2. "Woobification" of antagonists & the morally ambiguous / exclusion & sanitization of moral ambiguity in fiction:

The same sentiment is equally applicable in the very opposite manner; the manner in which people who write fanfiction for some reason crank the edge factor up to 90, when the canonicity of aforementioned character's moral ambiguity is much more subtle and lesser obnoxious than they believe. Yet another phenomenon I see occur in characters like Raiden, where—while yes, at points, or a point, he is rather... unsavory—this lesser subtle, more violent side of him comes to surface even once, it feels as though fans completely disregard his other personality traits entirely. But if you were to ask these very same people to give the same treatment to the version of Raiden that is present in Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty, you will hear nothing but crickets, despite his history of being a child soldier being present and stable within both games. Because, with that version of Raiden, the forced feminization—infantalization—he already endures conflicts with his more violent, unapologetic nature that exists within the canon of Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance. However, the opposite sentiment was not what I wanted to bicker about, my primary focus being how fans have a tendency to not only water down, but entirely disregard a morally-dubious character's behaviors and history, all for the sake of... "making their favorite character easier to digest," so to speak, so that it may leave less of a bad taste in their mouth whenever they faun over them so restlessly. Or, rather, resorting to the quite popular, fandom-intersectional excuse of, "the writing was bad," to void and excuse the fact that they enjoy a morally dubious character, while also simultaneously voiding themselves of the reality that they—as a person who indulges in and digests media—may or may not indulge in a problematic piece of fiction. When, in reality, the fact that we as people are even able to witness this side of fiction—while potentially unsavory, and triggering, in which case one should browse carefully—should serve as a testament to encourage us to broaden our own palette, and to exit our own comfort zone. Because it isn't wrong to read, or even think about, such stories, and it doesn't make us horrible, irredeemable people for doing so. So long as one isn't glorifying or praising the events or actions which may be portrayed through said stories. Because, at the end of the day, simply reading or liking a piece of fiction does not equal endorsement of anything to occur within it. It NEVER has equalled or equated to endorsement, in any sense of the word. Unless you're very outspoken about your own moral ambiguity and problematic views, simply liking a problematic character whose own views do not equate to your own does not make you somehow equal to them on a scale of morality. No one is judging you for enjoying Sundowner from Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance, I assure you. Sincerely, a person whose current favorite Metal Gear character is, by far, the most unapologetically evil piece of shit in the entire series. And while it is not the hill I will die on, I've made myself clear.

3. Erasure of key character / ethnic traits of fictional characters in official IP art & fanart:

While this may not necessarily be in regards to how some characters are portrayed within written works or fanfiction, I still believe there is a conversation to be had about how frequently characters—especially characters that are black, brown, indigenous, etc.—are regularly misrepresented through not just artwork created by an IP's fans, but a lot of the time by official works leased by the companies who hold ownership over said IPs. The very same can be said about overweight or fat characters, who may regularly be drawn slimmer or skinnier to better suit the artist's own "comfort level," however even when such artists may be tasked through commission to draw a person's character that may be fat, they somehow still miss the mark. And, truthfully—in both discussing fat erasure and the erasure of POC in fictional media—I find that to be utterly ridiculous, because several black artists across every art or fannish community under the Sun have taken it upon themselves to not only create brushes to better emulate black features in digital art programs, but have—with their God-like patience—taken it upon themselves to create tutorials on how to not only draw black features, but how to color and shade black and brown skin, as well. Unfortunately, official artwork leased by the companies that create these characters aren't all that great about ensuring that all of their customers and fans are well-represented, either, as the most prime examples of companies which come to mind typically have a tendency to either be openly racist, colorist, sexist, homophobic... the whole nine yards. A sort of prejudice that is also very much present in a game like Metal Gear, or more particularly, Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, where several of the characters—either Costa Rican or Hispanic—are pasty pale, with very Eurocentric features. (Correct me if I'm wrong.) But, with situations such as these, I find myself feeling grateful for the fans of any IP that create artwork and fanart where these characters are given their proper, adequate features, either to make up for where the parent company of aforementioned IP failed them, or to make up for the already significant lack of representation that marginalized communities receive from aforementioned companies.

4. Usage of generative AI to create literature / fanfiction & for other intents & purposes:

This, in particular, applies to a more broad area than simply fanfiction alone, given people's tendency to resort to using artificial intelligence to pick up their slack in other areas, as well. Such as college essays—of which is already quite common, and often results in students being ruthlessly flunked from their courses for even considering such a course of action, and rightfully so, because most generative AI programs are trained on both accurate information AND misinformation—and roleplay. Where, at some point, I must beg the question: is this truly helping us? Now, don't get me wrong, artificial intelligence has already existed for decades, and has already helped humanity on a number of fronts; from the creation of the internet and its algorithms, to the aiding in the creation of modern medicine... but as we've seen again and again, generative AI really doesn't help anyone. And as we've seen again and again, those who shill and are the most vocal about this push to include generative AI in every facet of our lives have proven that, actually, they don't give two squats about the integrities or livelihoods of human artists. For instance, what we're seeing occur with the Glaze program, where artists are tainting their own art with cloaks in hopes that it would poison the already-vast dataset that exists within generative programs such as MidJourney and otherwise, likely already acquired by legally dubious means. But seeing the founder of Stability AI's willingness to break the law in order to scrape data, we already knew that. But, even when we put aside the very clear legal hurdles that the likes of generative AI present, there is also the very opaque matter of people using the likes of generative AI to not only generate pieces or the entirety of their fanfiction—of which is already a hot topic and very controversial within fandom and fanfiction spaces, particularly AO3—but also to fill in the gap for a roleplay partner which they might not have. Entirely defeating the purpose of roleplay at all; to make friends, connections, and to bond with those you roleplay with. In a manner no infinite amount of shallow AI could give you. And it pains me to see more and more young people finding themselves talking to an algorithm to get those experiences, or to fill in such an absence within their own online experience. To my roleplayers out there: roleplay forums do exist still, and there are thousands of them! Such examples include Forum Roleplay, RP Nation, RPG Initiative, RPGnet Forums... the list goes on and on forever! One that I personally reccommend from days of yore would be Chicken Smoothie, which doubles as a roleplay / art forum, and an animal adoption and trading game. Hell, there's a covert roleplaying community that is present here, on Tumblr! You don't have to resort to a shoddy AI to have a little bit of fun.

5. The concept of competitive & "the academic" arts in school settings / educational environments:

This very much applies to high school and / or college courses, the likes of which encourage students to, for some reason, "replicate" famous artists and their staples from the past. For example, Pablo Picasso, whose style was not only abstract, but a landmark at the time... something the likes of which no one has ever seen before. And it was that... new, innovative way of creating art that drew people in, that still draws people in to this day. As do several other famous artists in this world's history; Leonardo da Vinci, Vincent van Gogh, Frida Kahlo... even pop artist Andy Warhol. But... that's just it. I understand if there is some deeper merit of experience or a notion of, "hey, I tried this," when it comes to the task of replicating—or attempting to replicate—the styles and staples of famous artists in the past... but the one thing that all these artists have in common was that their minds were new, their works innovative... so why shouldn't art students be tasked to reach within the very same depths of their own soul to bring out their inner innovative artist, as well? Instead of simply replicating art from the past, and putting it into a portfolio in the hopes that some lousy liberal arts college finds them interesting. Of course, learning the history of art, and of famous artists, is rivetting, and is very interesting in its own rite. However, I believe curriculums should be encouraging artists to think outside of the box, instead of restricting them to a singular prompt or already-existing art style to simply replicate. And I understand, while restriction can be quite good for innovation at points... it shouldn't be the entirety of the curriculum. Give student artists a sense of importance, embolden them to discover their own identity through their art! Encourage them to do as they please! I've learned my lesson, and never again will I consider the notion of either attending an art school, an art class, nor will I submit porfolios of my art to any sort of institution. For my written works, maybe... but with physical artwork... that is a very different ballpark.

Anyways, those are my top five artist / writer pet peeves! Sorry, it drones on forever, but I simply had to take advantage of this ask and let it alllll out. So thank you, @miz-orque, for this ask, as it gave me a good opportunity to reflect upon my vices. ^_^

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star2fishmeg · 2 years

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Can I have a Fujio fic please 😭 I have searched all of this site and found nothing ,,,

ɪᴛ's ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ʙᴀʙʏ!

Pairing: Fujio Hanaoka x f!reader

Summary: y/n is Fujio's world, and he'll do anything to make her feel loved

Warnings: fluff, comfort, kinda short, suggestive if you squint

Authors Notes: Fujio is everything I love him. Dedicated to @straysugzhpe . Sorry for the slow activity, uni is very time consuming, please be patient I'm doing my best! 🥺

Request: above! I love your account btw!!

Fujio was immature and rough around the edges, that was nothing but evident to the naked eye. Bruised and bleeding, he'd shrug it off and move onto the next brawl all for kicks. Since there usually was no-one he'd have to think about worrying, his boyish ways mindless fighting was the only thing that fed his appetite.

Until y/n saved his arse one evening, taking the hit for him. For what reason? Nobody knows but her, and she refused to tell. All that's known is that the moment Fujio's eyes fell upon her, he was down bad; not necessarily for her looks, but the balls she had to intervene like she had back then.

He wasn't the best boyfriend and he knew that, but he tried his best when he was needed the most. With Y/n firmly straddled on his lap, his hands kneaded her plush waist, lips meeting every nook and cranny of her neck. Her mouth was parted, hot little pants and whines fueling his fire as her hands tugged the hair on his nape gently.

"Love you s'much, baby," He mumbled into her skin before moving to another spot, hands riding to grip her hips, "I love every part of you, even the parts you hate." Y/n's heart thundered through her chest, cheeks hot and eyes watery from his affection. He was an affectionate guy overall, always wanting to have some sort of physical contact but these small moments where the world would silence and it was just them, in her living room was another level of euphoria.

"Fujio..." She whined, his thumbs running gentle circles when he leant back into the sofa, rolling his hips up slowly. His butterfly kisses travelled along her collarbone to the other side of her neck, his hot breath making the hairs on her neck stick up and tingle.

"Mmm," He hummed into her neck, "M'sorry baby, just love your voice n' your hips n' your waist..." Now leaving open mouthed kisses along her burning skin, nipping and sucking harshly, skin decorated in his love. Y/n hands trailed from his neck to his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt when she rolled her desperate hips along his crotch. Y/n's mind was foggy, too intoxicated on the feeling of electricity surging through her, heart swelling with every word that left his pretty lips. Those same lips met hers roughly, one hand securing her lower back, rutting hips against his faster while the other held the back of her neck gently as his tongue slipped itself through her lips. Fujio adored her taste, taking every opportunity to capture her mouth with his own, push her into a corner and kiss her until they couldn't breathe, hands usually fondling her skin gently and slowly. This kiss was slow and rough, the kind where so much saliva was passed that you could hear the little sucking noises and pants between them - and the occasional arousing whine rattle through chests. The kind of kiss where Fujio's hands of mischief would caress every surface of her body, begging to strip her of any obstacles in the way of his final goal - shirt over head, bottoms practically ripped off her legs. His shoulders burned from her nails, but relief came when those fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, swiftly pulling the clasp apart and unzipping his slacks.

"Y/n, baby~" lips ghosting, eyes boring into hers, "I'm not done with you yet." Whenever he left chaste pecks on the swells of her tits, he always smirked at his swift way of leaving them bare in front of him to bury his face into, giving his love to them as messily as possible - swollen and covered in spit. He flipped her underneath him, pushing her into the sofa cushions as comfortable as he could before leaving a peck on her puffy lips, a warm smile tugging at his lips, "So just relax and let me love you, baby."

[Masterlist]

[Requests CLOSED]

#high&low #highandlow #fujio hanaoka #fujio hanaoka x reader #high&low x reader #oya high

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devnmon · 1 year

Text

The Overnight Reckoning.

Chapter Eight: Written in My Stars

Summary: The aftermath of the walker attack has left you and Daryl exhausted. You'd barely gotten sleep the night before, and it does nothing with the reality of the situation at hand. Is the camp's safety screwed to hell? What's next for the Quarry folk?

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Series Masterlist | Playlist

Chapter Warnings: typical twd horror, mentions of walkers/dead bodies, some violence

wc: 7.3k

After the night you all had in camp, the day ahead was, unsurprisingly, looking even longer.

The whole thing began later in the evening, hours after Daryl and the guys had left to return to Atlanta for Merle, who'd been handcuffed to a roof in the city.

Boy, were they in for a surprise upon returning.

You, along with the familiar members of the group had been enjoying a quiet night around the campfire, hands warmed by the fire despite the cooler temperatures.

Elbows propped up on your knees, you reached to the flames, palms absorbing the crackling heat of the fire. Usually, the fires at night were kept low, as not to draw attention from afar. This time, thanks to Morales, who built up the stones around their fire pit, the flames were bigger, therefore spreading more warmth amongst you all in the chilled air.

“Hey, Morales,” calling over to the man who'd been the reason for this warmth, “Thanks for building up the fire pit so we could have the flames higher. It’s really helping.”

“Oh yeah of course. I just.. didn’t want to hear Ed complain about it being too cold anymore, but," he glanced around for a moment, “He isn’t even around, so enjoy the warmth and silence while it lasts.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly when he mentions the abusive asshole that is Ed Peletier, and the events from earlier replaying in your mind.

A violent image in the back of your mind scratches the surface.

Hope I never have to see that prick’s smug face again after what he’s done to that woman and her daughter.

Before the more graphic images from today wedge their way into your thoughts, your eyes squeeze shut, grounding yourself to recognize the discussions of the group you’re surrounded by.

With the skill of both Amy and Andrea, the sisters had caught enough fish to feed the whole group that evening. You all had been enjoying a fulfilling meal whilst in the company of one another, sat between Jacqui and Lori, tuning into the friendly conversations while shoveling every morsel of food on your plate into your mouth.

Sure, the fish was bare of any flavor or seasoning, but you appreciated its way to sustain you and halt the incessant hunger poking at your brain.

Since the fish fry gave you all fresh, hot food, you decided to deal with the plain taste and be grateful for that moment. Surrounded by kind people and their company presently made your eyes soften as you devoured your meal.

As soon as you'd finished, the sound of Dale's voice rambling on about some Faulkner quote grabbed your attention. Silence rings out as he finishes speaking, eyes darting around awkwardly at the lack of sound, until someone speaks.

“You are so weird..” Amy’s one liner makes Carl and the other kids laugh as they finish up their food.

“It’s not me, it’s Faulkner, William Faulkner. Maybe my bad paraphrasing..”

The chuckling ceases, quiet dimming over the group, while the younger blonde stands up, gaining the attention of her sister.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to pee. Jeez, you try to be discreet around here..”

This time, more of the group giggles at her remark as she trails back to dale’s winnebago. sipping at her beer again, Andrea tries to stifle her own laughter. A few moments pass, hearing the door fling open, Amy’s voice trailing from where she stood.

“We’re out of toilet paper?” is the last thing she says before a shrill scream leaves her, and Andrea is turning towards the sound faster than she can register who it is that’s screaming.

You don’t know what’s worse in the moment: the fact that Amy had got bit or the walkers treading into camp. A drop in your stomach makes your heart beat faster with your adrenaline pumping, hand reaching for the knife sheathed at your hip. Your eyes dart to everyone around you, grabbing each other and running in the opposite direction.

Walkers flooded into the camp, bombarding the area and wiping out any idea of a safe haven you had found here. Suddenly, the pit in your stomach makes the internal sounds in your mind overtake any sounds outside of your head, heart pumping louder now.

The sound of Ahane's shotgun hadn't helped your grasp on the situation at hand, until you realize the chaos that's broken out. It's not until your eyes lock on the group huddled together a few feet away, heading for the r.v. as safely as possible.

Morales was swinging a bat at the dead to take down the ones surrounding him, running for the group as they advanced.

Just before there were more walkers in camp than living people, the sounds of multiple gunshots rang out from further away. Searching for the source of the shooting, your eyes gazed over to the four familiar men who had gone to the city earlier in the day.

Daryl, Rick, Glenn and T-dog trampled up the hills of the Quarry just in time to step in and help Shane and the others take out each and every one of the small herd.

To see Daryl back and alive was the only thing you could think about, as a slow smile made its way onto your face.

Then you remembered they went to the city for Merle, and he wasn't with them.

You had no idea what Daryl had seen out there, much less if he saw what happened to his brother, and where he was.

Silence rang out, pulling everyone's attention to Andrea and who she was crouched over. Amy had bled out from the bites on her skin just moments ago, the life draining from her body in her sister's arms.

Grief was upon the group for the first time, and the way it had all happened was so hideous, nobody spoke for the rest of the night.

That night was one of the longest you'd had since being in the camp. restlessness came from the images of walkers in your head any minute you'd dozed off to sleep.

Though, morning finally came, and it was time to wrangle up all the bodies for disposal.

Ed Peletier was one of the unfortunate-fortunate victims of the attack last night, as well as Amy Harrison, and some others you didn't know who'd gotten bit or bled out from their injuries.

Daryl rose the next morning bright and early, the look on his face pensive as he got right to work helping the other men clean up the camp.

Drained from last night with a lack of sleep, you didn't dare go near any of the corpses, heading directly over to the other side of camp, where Lori, Jacqui and a few others sat and ate their breakfast.

Your surroundings felt surreal, eyes heavy with each blink and attempt to stay awake. Unsteady feet shuffled over to where some of them sat, out of view of everything happening on the other side of camp, for some peace of mind.

"Hey, morning. You alright? Sleep any last night?" Her voice was soft and sweet, unlike the violent images that had kept you up since before the sun rose. Your mouth opens to answer, but a yawn comes tumbling out before you can.

"I'll take that as a no." Lori was quick to grab a mug with hot coffee in it for you, watching you take a seat on the grass, palms covering your eyes as your legs crossed.

"Uh... no.. no, I uh, couldn't sleep. Tried to, but every time my eyes closed, I'd just wake up again. Fucking nightmares..." Cursing low enough so Carl wouldn't hear, your head lifted as her footsteps approached. Lori sat down next to you, the warm mug in her hand being given to you.

"Well, if you can't sleep, just try to get through the day, okay? Here, coffee."

"Mmm.. coffee." The warmth spread through your fingers, its strong scent wafting into your body as you took a sip. "Thanks, Lor. This'll help, maybe I'll get better sleep later."

Lori's hand rubbed your shoulder before walking back over to Carl and walking him over to a different part of camp.

There you sat, legs crossed with the cup of warm liquid in your hands, sipping slowly until your mug was empty. Caffeine ran through your veins now, prompting you to pull your still somewhat tired figure from the ground.

After a while, some of your group gathered a distance away from Andrea, who was still crouched over her sister's body. Dried blood covered her shirt and arms, some was even in her straw-blonde hair. The sight of her like this was something you hadn't expected.

Just a few feet to the left, Daryl was hunched over, plunging a pickaxe into the deceased bodies, in prevention of their reanimation. The one he'd just pulled the axe out of had been a random walker that came out of the woods. Dragging it over to where T-dog stood, he grabbed the other side of the corpse, hauling it into a pile of burning walkers.

Lori finally walks away from Andrea, trying to explain enough to her that makes her say something, anything. She hadn't spoken since Amy died in her arms.

You currently sat near Dale and Rick, accompanied by a few others, observing Andrea's state of shock from over by one of the campfires.

"She's been there all night. What do we do?"

"Can't just leave Amy like that. We need to deal with it, same as the others."

"I'll tell her how it is."

Rick sauntered over to Andrea, speaking in a low, calm voice, until she abruptly turned towards the sheriff, pointing her gun at him.

The only thing Rick could do after seeing the pistol aimed at him was apologize profusely to her, as he backed away tentatively.

He'd turned back to the group before letting out a sigh, with the shake of his head. You stood up, glancing at Shane and the others before speaking.

"I don't think we should bother her, not right now. She's still in shock, which is why she reacted that way, same thing when Lori tried to talk to her, too. She's in a fragile state. The only thing that's gonna help her is time."

"And how do you know that?" Shane questioned, narrowing his eyes at your sudden outburst of knowledge. Besides the fact that Shane's remarks towards you were always misogynistic, he never asked you anything about yourself.

"Believe me, or don't believe me, but I studied trauma and psychology in college, it's what my Master's degree is on. You're not the only one that knows shit, Shane."

"Oh, pardon me." He only sat back down, watching you roll your eyes and sit back down.

It was then you saw Daryl wander over into the part of camp you're at, pickaxe still over his shoulders. His skin was covered in blood and dirt and who knows what else for who knows how long, butting his way into the conversation.

"Y'all can't be serious. The dead girl's a time bomb."

"What do you suggest?" Rick's drawl questioned Daryl's words, taking a step closer to Rick before lowering his voice pointedly.

"Take the shot. Clean, in the brain from here!" Daryl continued on with reasons as to why they should, but Lori interrupted him.

"No. For Gods sakes, let her be." Lori sat down, also covered in dirt and blood from moving bodies. Daryl scoffs in disbelief as he walks away, too hyped up in his own anger to have a civil conversation at the moment.

He makes his way over to where Morales and Glenn are moving bodies into separate piles. Daryl leans down to help morales with one of them, dragging it into a certain area before Glenn calls out at them.

"Wait- What are you guys doing? This is for geeks, our people go over there." Glenn points to a pile a bit to the left of where they had dropped the body in the first place.

"What's the difference? They're all infected." Daryl's strained voice speaks, looking at Glenn before he's speaking again, his voice breaking a bit as he repeats himself.

"Our people go in that row, over there. We don't burn them! We bury them. Understand? Our people go in that row over there."

Daryl and Morales pick up the body again, and after the weight of it left his grip, he walked off with a huff of hot air and anger.

"Y'all left my brother for dead! You had this comin'!"

Daryl can't help but let himself become heated over the slightest thing, having returned from the city without his brother only set him off more.

He doesn't get far, overhearing Jacqui claim that Jim had been bitten, approaching with concern and a few other people in the surrounding area. You stood close by, next to Glenn as you watched Daryl pull Jim's shirt up as T-dog restrained his arms, revealing the bloody bite on his ribs.

"Oh, shit." You mutter under your breath, almost stunned to see that the group was going to lose another one of its members, after the night you all had.

The next course of action was to figure out what to do with Jim and Amy, who still hadn't reanimated in her sister's arms yet.

Though, Daryl suggested that they take out Jim and Amy to be done with the group's situation as fast as possible. When you overheard this, it made your eyes widen at the words you heard from someone you thought of as your friend. Your thoughts about what Daryl had said weren't lost on you, but the decision to keep them inside was probably the best one at the moment.

"Zero tolerance for walkers. Or them to be."

It's then that Rick mentions the CDC, the fact that they could be working on a cure.

Of course the next thing out of Shane is that it's a stretch, and that the group should head to the army base at Fort Benning, instead. The only thing about that was that it was about 100 miles in the opposite direction than they were now.

"The CDC is our best chance, and Jim's only chance."

Daryl gets so frustrated at the constant back and forth arguing about what the group should do, that another instinct takes over him in a form of harsh rage.

"You go lookin' for aspirin, do what you need to do. Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem!" Overlapping yells sound out as Daryl lurches towards Jim with his pickaxe raised, hearing the click of Rick's gun.

"Hey, hey, hey! We don't kill the living."

Turning his head towards Rick, eyes scowling as his voice lowers.

"That's funny, comin' from a man who just put a gun to my head."

Shane finally convinces him to drop the axe, trudging off in a huff to get rid of more bodies. You saunter through camp, gazing over at Andrea, Dale next to her now. You had wondered where Daryl was, until you spot him stood behind Carol as she plunged the axe he'd been holding into her dead husband's head.

Damn, Carol. He was awful to you as a husband, but you cry over his death. Strange, but endearing. How you can have compassion for someone after they treated you like that.

Your thoughts tore your eyes away from the scene, remembering how it was to lose someone like that before. Shaking your head to focus on the world around you once again, the RV came into view again.

A shot rang out from where you had been looking, assuming Amy finally reanimated and was put down by her sister. The realization washed over you, in a way you didn't like.

To pass some time, you holed up in your tent for a while, entranced with the book you'd been reading when Daryl had interrupted. About an hour or two passed before Lori checked on you in your tent, telling you how they're going to bury the bodies.

Soon enough, your boots are on again, laced up as you step out of your tent, catching up with Lori and the others as you walk down in a group to where they've already dug the holes. As you tread down the hill, past the truck with glenn and carl, you overhear Daryl arguing with the two sheriffs.

"These people need to know who the hell's in charge here, what the rules are."

"There are no rules."

Lori butts in then, in defense of the group.

"Well, that's a problem. We haven't had one minute to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn, and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do."

You notice Daryl chewing on the inside of his cheek as he listens to Lori speak.

Andrea goes first, dragging Amy's body into the grave, placing her head lightly on the ground as she saunters away, shaken up and sniffling from crying. It's then that all the other people drag the rest of the bodies into the hole in the ground. There's a moment of silence, and then the men begin to shovel the dirt over the corpses.

As you all walk back to camp, the constant cries and sniffles of tears is heard, as Daryl saunters behind you, your fingers wiping away the tears that managed to slip down your face.

Before more threaten to drop from your eyes, you scurry away from the group in a hurry, hiding out behind the Winnebago.

You hear some muttering from Rick and Shane about the severity of their situation, waiting patiently for their bickering to cease. After it came to a halt, and their agreement stood, they hauled off into the forest to search for stray geeks possibly roaming around.

With the work around camp halted, you grew bored with no tasks to do. You thought of picking your book up again, but instead you wandered around camp until finding the archer peering at everyone sat around the campfire.

"Daryl?" you happen to startle him, twitching slightly as your words broke the silence.

"What'dya want?" Daryl's voice is gruff and low, with a hint of frustration growing in his gut. Truth was he'd been in a bad mood ever since arguing with Rick earlier.

"Do you know if we're um- staying here, or- or leaving? Cause after everything that happened, I don't know what we're gonna do-"

"Man, why don't you ask someone who cares? I ain't in charge around here, girl.. Don't bother me for shit I don't know." Daryl threw his arm in the air, aggravated in the moment and getting revved up, his voice raised, startling you to some extent.

Your shoulders dropped at the realization of a different side of Daryl coming out to play. You had no clue he'd be rash to you, like he is to everyone else. Though, you never thought you'd be on the back end of the harshness.

"I-I just thought you might have known..." You sigh, becoming a bit intimidated of him, "Sorry for annoying you."

He watches your face drop, heaving a sigh from your chest in your turn away from him.

Daryl chokes, when he realizes just what he's said to you and how he's said it. It's not what he meant in the moment, letting his ego and rage take over instead of calming down before talking with you.

Walking away from daryl, you spotted everybody gathered around the largest campfire pit, as Rick and Shane returned from their outing finally. Walking over behind Glenn, you listen intently as Shane goes on about how he trusts Rick's instincts, and that the most important thing was to stay together.

"Those of you that agree, we leave first thing in the morning, okay?"

Everyone nodded, the agreement set as the group turned in for the evening.

Before the night sky made its way darkening the forests, Daryl headed out in the woods, tracking the path he'd made previously, carrying a can of gas as well as his bow to keep himself safe.

Soon enough, he'd made it all the way back to where Merle had left their truck, the same one with his motorcycle on the trailer. Sure enough, the camouflage had done its job in protecting the rest of their supplies in the truck bed. When Daryl rummaged through one of the bags, he found a leather jacket and vest, one with two angel wings on the back. He rummaged through enough of everything and compiled what he found to be useful, and shoved it all into a bag.

Daryl decided the only thing worth driving back to camp was the bike, so he'd taken it down from the trailer, using the gas can to fill up the tank. After starting the engine, a sound he hadn't heard since before the world ended, he drove off with his belongings and a slight smile on his face.

If Daryl Dixon was going to survive the apocalypse, he figured why not ride in style?

After returning to camp, Daryl cooked up the rest of his squirrel for dinner that night. On account of not apologizing for snapping at you earlier in the day, he would have to make you squirrel stew another time. A promise he was willing to keep to you.

In doing so, he would also have to apologize before they left, since Daryl didn't want to have any reason not to talk to you.

You were the reason he was with this group, after all. He was grateful in a way, that things ended up the way they did.

Daryl spent the evening packing up the inside of his tent, wanting it to be the last thing he puts away before they hit the road tomorrow. The bag he'd packed was tossed in the winnebago with everyone else's.

Exhausted from the day's prior events and holed up in his tent for the night, Daryl decided to pull his journal out and jot down some of the thoughts he'd had today.

Day eight

We're finally leavin the Quarry, heading to the CDC tomorrow. Thank fuck, I hated stayin' out there in the open. Not to mention the walker outbreak got to Jim. Don't know how to deal if anyone else dies. Feels like I need to protect them all now. Y/n was terrified though, the night before. I guess there's more to her than just another scared person. I mean, we're all scared more or less. But she's tough. She deserves more of a life than just some damn camp. They all do.

Daryl closed his pen in the book, shoving it into his bag once again as he drifted off to sleep the minute his eyelids closed.

Before he knew it, birds chirped and the daylight shone through his tent, waking him a little before rising and realizing that everyone was probably up already. His cot was the last thing to pack up, exiting the tent to put it in the trunk, before he saw you lingering around T-dog and Andrea, as the group gathered to hear what Shane had to say.

Daryl got closer to hear as well, overhearing him explain how to get the group's attention on the road. It's then that Morales is speaks up to say they won't be joining them on the road, mentioning family in birmingham, before Rick and Shane are handing them a gun and half a box of ammo for the road.

The group says their goodbyes as Daryl watches you trail off to pack up the rest of your stuff.

This was his chance, to apologize, for everything.

"Hey, uh, you got a minute?" Daryl's fiddling with his hands, anxious in the moment to how you'll take his apology, wondering if this is the very last chance he'd ever have to talk to you.

You aren't facing Daryl when he calls out to you, not really thinking he would even talk to you after the events of the other day. Though, your eyes brighten the moment you do see him, turning your body to face him with a backpack slung over your shoulder. He's dressed in his usual brown pants and boots, a maroon (probably sleeveless) flannel under his leather jacket and vest. Mouth falling slightly open, you hesitate before speaking.

"Daryl? What're you doing here? I... assumed you didn't want to speak to me again after what you said yesterday." A puzzled look scattered across your face, wondering why he approached you on the last day in camp.

Daryl looks different, but you can't figure out why he does.

"N-Nah, I uh," Daryl paused, clearing his throat before continuing, "I came here to talk about that, actually."

A hand of yours pushes the hair in front of your face behind your ear as you look to him, eyebrows raised the slightest bit.

"Okay, so talk." One of your shoulders slips the bag off as you sit down on a nearby log, Daryl doing the same. Your hands rub down your pant legs, only slightly nervous at what he had to say.

"I-I know I was rude to ya, an' I just wanted to say 'm sorry. You don't deserve to be treated like that. It's- everything that's been happenin' recently's got me on edge all the time, so much that I don't get a lotta sleep. Maybe a couple hours here and there but, I don't wanna lose your friendship over somethin' that stupid. I really didn't mean it."

The tone of his voice was genuine and sweet, like he had put so much thought into apologizing to you. It warmed your heart, breaking whatever part of you was still upset with him.

"Oh.. Daryl, it-it's alright. I forgive you." you speak, Daryl's frustration with himself scratching the surface.

He finally looked up from his hands to you, light in his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah, promise. Friends make mistakes, you're a good one, Daryl. Just be careful next time, since I am the one who knocked your brother out. I could probably do the same to you, so just watch your back."

A sly smirk plastered on your face, knowing you'd never actually hurt him, even if you tried to. You just couldn't risk any imperfections on that face of his.

You realize then: Daryl looks different because he's wearing a leather jacket and vest, and it suits him in a way that lets you read him like a book.

"I don' know 'bout that.. but it'd be fun to see ya try." The both of you chuckle, smiled glances being shared, feeling like forever in those moments of eye contact. Every time you peek away though, you're pulled back to reality.

Daryl's studying your body language before he speaks again, his words coming out easier than the apology.

"There's somethin' else I wanted to ask ya, too." Rubbing the back of his neck, sore from how he'd slept on it.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I'm drivin' this bike of mine to the CDC, and was wonderin' if you'd wanna ride with me."

"You ride bikes?"

"Well, do I look like I drive them tacky sport cars? Hell yeah, I ride bikes."

That drawl of his comes clear and present in his words, just the sound of him speaking has an effect over you.

"Definitely not. I just didn't know you were that type of guy."

"What typ'a guy did you take me for?" Daryl's curious now, wanting to know more about himself from your point of view.

"Just- nothing," you scoff, "But the answer to your question? Is hell yeah, I'll ride with you."

Daryl Dixon, a motorcycle man, it all made sense now.

You shake your head and scoff, accepting the invitation of riding a bike for the first time in years.

Daryl's eyes raise just the slightest bit at your acceptance of his question, catching him off guard. His chest felt lighter, filled with some different type of feeling, as he realized you'd be pressed up against his back while on his bike.

He raises from the log, Daryl watches you wander over to one of the edges of camp that led down to the quarry.

"Alright, I parked her out by everyone else's vehicles, an' they're all heading out pretty soon. Ya wanna go now?"

"In a minute. i just love this view, don't think I've seen anything like it since before. I'm gonna miss it.. just this pretty part, though. I don't think I could stay another night out here." You say with a sigh, Daryl's blue eyes taking in your expression.

You were right, the view was gorgeous. But to Daryl, you were becoming a better view to him every day.

Not only were your features alluring in the way you held yourself, it had also been the moments during conversation where you spoke to him like he was the only person around.

The moment of silence passed as you hear Shane calling out from where everyone had piled into their cars.

"C'mon, let's move out." Shane says to the group, extra loudly since spotting the two of you out by the edge.

"Oh, shit. We'd better go." You look to Daryl, his eyes tearing away from your figure as you begin treading towards the cars.

Everyone heads to their vehicles, taking one last glance at the place the group had called home for the past few months. A content smile on your face, you tread behind the archer heading to his bike.

Daryl swung his leg over the seat, pressing his weight into the bike as he sat, watching you do the same. The engine roared with the turning of his key.

The rumble of his bike's engine sent your mind into nostalgia, remembering the time your father had taken you out riding for the first time. Sat on this bike with daryl made the two realities shift together in your brain, finding comfort in sharing the joy of bikes with him.

"Ohh, I haven't heard that sound in such a long time.. Do you know how long it's been since I've been on a bike, Dixon?"

He looked back to you, eyes filled with something different.

It was bright, more alive, and stronger.

This was not the Daryl Dixon you found in the woods with his skeevy brother that day.

No, this Daryl Dixon had lost and found greater things in life than he could ever imagine.

"Wait a minute, you're telling me you ride bikes?" Tilting his head to one side, completely in disbelief at what he thinks is true.

Someone like you into something he likes as well?

A rush flows through Daryl, peering into your eyes as the visual excitement scatters across your face. When the corners of his mouth started to turn upward, you knew the gaze in his blues had been hope.

"Hell yeah, I do. Well, used to. Haven't in a long time, but I've been ridin' since I was old enough to drive."

A real laugh flutters from his chest in the moment, filled with content at how you'd so easily became his favorite person ever. He flips his head around, the leather wings on the vest he wore, facing you now.

The way his body is made just for this jacket and vest...

The way it adorned his broad shoulders and muscular back was mesmerizing enough, other than the fact that you couldn't resist tracing the outline of one of the wings with your finger ever so lightly.

The gears on his bike shift, his feet lifting off the ground and onto the clutch pedal, as Daryl drove the bike in line with everyone else's vehicles, heading out of the campsite forever.

The summer sun in its finals hours of light for the day burned bright and hot against your skin. Wind from the speed of Daryl's bike brought a breeze, cooling your body as much as possible.

Since being on the road, your forearms were clutched around Daryl's torso, the rest of your body pulled away from him, rather than pressing your own body against his and make the heat worse.

The leather of his jacket was almost sticking to your skin with how sweltering the Georgia heat had been tormenting the day, as its hours ticked on.

In an attempt to save yourself an awkward conversation of the way you're wrapped around him like that, hunched over while you try to not let your hands rest blatantly on the man's torso. It was awkward, and way too personal for a couple of people who had been getting to know each other.

With that, you let your arms release from wrapped around his waist, hands resting there now and pressing lightly into the jacket's sides, fingertips sticking a bit. Hesitating a further grasp on Daryl, you hadn't wanted to blatantly hold him in a way he didn't like.

The bike jolted forward a bit, and that's when you hear him call back to you.

"Aye, you better hold on tight, we're gonna pick up speed."

Without thinking, the palms of your hands press down on his scantily waist, the sensations of something jolting all over your skin, feeling more like electricity than anything else. Your sensation completely internal, you only stare down at the angel wings on his vest again, before squeezing your eyes shut to try and rid your mind of the thoughts in your brain.

With every mile the two of you rode, the sun shone brightly, warming your skin against the sticky leather of Daryl's jacket.

It's an hour or two before one of the vehicle's horns blares out loudly, pulling the trail of cars to a halt.

"The hell? What's going on?" You ask Daryl, his bike slowing to a stop before seeing people walk out of the Winnebago.

"Dunno, wanna go find out?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Your arms retreated from around Daryl's waist, hopping off the bike as you heard its engine halt. The sun was still hot on your necks, burning bright as you walked towards the Winnebago.

"Hang on a sec, I'm comin'." You glanced back as Daryl grabbed his bow from the back of the bike and caught up to you. Walking up to the front of Dale's RV, a bunch of your group members were already standing around. You spot Andrea and Glenn with concerned looks on their faces.

"Hey," you said to the blonde, "What the hell's going on?"

"Something's wrong with the RV, I don't know. Dale and Rick are talking about it over there," She points to where the sheriff and other man are talking.

Walking around the others, you spot Glenn and give him a slight punch on the shoulder before stand next to him. Daryl's glancing around anxiously with his bow in hand, watching the landscape for any incoming predicaments.

"I told you we'd never get far on that hose. I needed the one from the cube van." Dale says to Rick, as the engine continues to smoke and make a slight hissing sound.

"Can you jury-rig it?"

"That's all it's been so far. It's more duct tape than hose. And I'm out of duct tape."

"I see somethin' up ahead," Shane speaks, standing on the other side of the van with T-dog, looking into a pair of binoculars. "Gas station, if we're lucky."

It's then you hear frantic steps coming from inside the Winebago, and Jacqui is the one who steps out in haste.

"Y'all, Jim- it's bad. I don't think he can take any more," She breathlessly states, before retreating back into the RV.

"Hey, Rick, you wanna hold down the fort? I'll drive ahead, see what I can bring back." Shane states, hands on his belt as he looks to his partner.

"Yeah, I'll come along, too. Back you up." T-dog's looking through the same binoculars as Shane was a moment before, vouching to go with him.

"Y'all keep your eyes open, now. We'll be right back." Shane states, before Rick climbs into the RV.

Now left with the remaining members of your group, it seemed like the predicament with Jim wasn't solvable. It was just a matter of time before he died and came back as one of those... things.

Can't imagine what he's goin' through, Daryl thought. It's gotta be the worst thing in the world to die at the hands of a geek.

"Do you think the CDC will be able to save him?" You asked the group, wanting to hold on to any sliver of hope that you had left.

"I think that's a damn pipe dream at this point." Daryl responded, although a part of him wanted to believe differently.

"Come on, you can't really know that..." You responded, wanting to believe in hope for society. A part of you knew that it was only a zero to one hundred shot for any kind of cure.

"Hell if I know CDC's even worth the trip." Daryl scoffed, pacing around.

Before you could retort back to him, Rick emerged from the RV with news about Jim, nervous look on his face.

"So, what's the verdict?" You asked, as Rick looked at everyone standing around.

"He said... he wants us to leave him here."

Your eyes shot towards the sheriff, disbelief at the words coming from him. "He.. what?"

"It's what he says he wants."

"And he's lucid?" Carol asks, concerned for Jim's wellbeing.

"He seems to be. I would say.. yes."

"I would never... go along with callously killing a man.. This doesn't seem right," your words came out in a breath, terrified that your group would just be leaving a man to die on the side of the road.

"Well, I guess we know what Jim wants, there's our answer."

"But we just leave him here? Take off? Man,, I'm not sure I could live with that," Shane says to Rick, before Lori retorts.

"It's not your call. Either one of you."

The next thing you knew, Shane and Rick were carrying Jim out from the RV, laying him down under a tree. The two men insist to him that they don't need to leave him like this, but Jim insisted on it.

"The breeze.. feels nice," Jim stated through shallow breaths, before Jacqui leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

Once more, Rick walked over to the man, "Jim, do you want this?" He asked, offering him a gun to put him out of his misery.

"I'm okay, and you're gonna need that."

The rest of your group shared solemn looks amongst one another, as others said goodbye. You noticed Glenn's expression turn to sadness as he walked away, joining him in walking back to the vehicles on the road. As you walked, you only saw Daryl looking at him from afar, giving him a small nod, then turning to walk back to where you were.

The rest of the drive to the CDC, sat on the back of Daryl's bike, was lengthy and your skin burned under the hot sun. Drenched in sweat, you were sure the archer in front of you was suffering just as much, maybe more than you were. But then again, you were both pushed up against each other on the bike.

When the CDC building came into view, a filthy stench came with it. The rancid smell of a dozen or more dead bodies surrounded your head, and it made you sick to your stomach.

"Ugh, that's the worst thing I think I've ever smelled." You said, hand cupped over your mouth as Daryl's bike slowed down behind the Winnebago and rest of the vehicles.

"Yeah, well we're here," Daryl shut off the bike engine, hopping off as you did the same. Crossbow in hand, he waited for the rest of your group to exit their cars before advancing any closer to the building.

The nonstop buzzing of flies surrounded each of the carcasses, littering the road and lot ahead with unmoving corpses.

"Oh, god." The smell of each rotting body flooded your head, in a way you didn't want it to. "I think I'm gonna be sick..."

But you tried your best to keep whatever food you had in your system down. Breathing through your nose now, you stepped around the bodies, making your way to the building. The whole group coughed at the stench, but persevered anyways.

Keep moving, stay together, was the only thing you could hear in whispered voices amongst the others.

You finally approached the building, glancing behind and around you for walkers or any other kind of threat. There were two white shutters down, blocking any entrance to the building. It seemed like there was nobody there, like your whole journey had been for nothing.

"There's nobody here." T-dog said to Rick, as he hurried around to find another way in.

"Then why are these shutters down?" He banged on the door, until you heard growls coming from behind you.

"Walkers!" Daryl shouted, shooting one with an arrow as the young ones cried out in fear.

"Rick, this is a dead end," Shane stated, walking towards his partner with anger in his voice.

No.. there can't be nothing left... you thought. Having come all this way, on basically nothing- no. There has to be something here for us.

"Where are we gonna go?" Carol said, clutching her daughter in her arms.

"Fort Benning, Rick- still an option." Shane returned his idea to the table.

"On what? No food, no fuel. That's 100 miles!" Andrea retorted, pointing out how royally fucked you all were.

"A hundred and twenty five. I checked the map," Glenn said, shotgun in hand.

"Not helping, dude." You said to Glenn, glancing back at you for a split second.

"Forget Fort Benning, we need a place tonight, now." Lori said, panic in her voice.

Come on, let's just get out of here. We gotta go.. Multiple people said, over each other, beginning to walk back to their vehicles before any more walkers showed up. You noticed Rick standing still, continuously staring at the door.

"The camera- it moved." He stuttered, glancing back at his wife.

"You imagined it," Dale retorted.

"It moved." The sheriff said, taking a few steps closer to the door.

"It's an automated device, it-it's just gears. They're winding down. Now come on.." Shane attempted to drag his best friend back with him, but he persisted nonetheless.

He didn't say anything more, before pounding on the shutter, quite loudly that it probably caught the attention of more walkers.

"Rick, you're gonna attract walkers!" You yelled out, but he didn't listen. Everyone else began yelling out a plead for him to come with you all to leave, to find a better place. Even if there was someone in there, why would they help you all?

"I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Please, we're desperate. Please help us, we have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left." Lori stepped between her husband and the door, trying to pull him away once again. But still, he persisted.

Oh my god, we're out of options. Fuck, fuck fuck.

"Theres nowhere else to go! If you don't let us in, you're killing us! Please! You're killing us!" The tone of Rick's voice is strained and frantic, out of options and this was the only thing he could do.

There's nothing left.. we're stuck out here and quite fucked, if Rick's chasing a pipe dream...

It isn't until Rick pulls himself away from the door that it finally lifts with a loud sound, bright white light shining from the inside.

On reflex, your hand went up to block the light, as everyone's yelling finally diminished with the door opening.

Holy shit.

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whorekneecentral · 1 year

Note

hi there, hope you’re doing well :) recently got obssessed with mark webber (dude screams daddy energy so bad 😩) i was wondering if you could write about the reader being a shy intern at redbull and mark takes a liking to her and lowkey wants to corrupt her because he cant believe that she’s that innocent so after he wins a race she goes to his motorhome to congratulate him and he proceeds to fuck her brains out 😗😗

hi babe! I’m good, how are you?? I saw this come in and it was too good not to write -- also same, I’m in my mark era tbh, that man is daddy.

“Good morning, y/n.” You can smell his cologne before you see him; as if the accent wasn’t a give away.

Turning, you look up to see Mark in front of you. “Good morning, Mark.” You give him a small smile as he peeks at the cup in your hand. “redbull this early? Ever heard of coffee?” He jokes.

You shrug, “I like the taste.” “Of battery acid?” He whispers, “because that’s what it tastes like.” You let out a laugh, your hand covering your mouth just a second after. Mark smiles, he feels like you're always so serious; sure, he’s seen you smile but never a genuine smile or laugh, so it was nice to see peeks of the y/n under the surface.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” He says, taking the glass from you to take a swing of said battery acid. “Yeah, good luck.” You say when he hands you the glass back.

You’re stood there watching him walk off and you can’t help but think what his mouth would feel like on you.

Snap out of it, that’s wrong. You work for the team, he’s their driver; you cannot do that.

----

To no one’s surprise, redbull had taken another win.

Another 1-2, Sebastian in P1 and Mark in P2. The crew had their focus on Seb at the moment so no one noticed the Australian slip out the back and towards his motorhome except for you.

Maybe it was the glass of champagne you had or the 3 red bulls you already had that day, maybe a mix of both but you mustered up the courage to go speak to Mark.

You knocked on the door and waited, the rain had been falling on and off all afternoon, stopping just before the end of the race. It picked back up but you didn’t mind, or didn’t care that you were being drenched.

The man opens the door and he looks at you, confused. “What are you doing in the rain?” He asks, grabbing your arm before pulling you inside. “You'll be sick out there, sweetheart.”

The name sends butterflies to your stomach and well... somewhere else.

He wraps a sweater around you, rubbing your arms softly in an attempt of dry you off. You’re stood there looking at him and you haven’t said anything. “What are you doing here?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“I uh- I came to say congratulations.” You say quietly.

He smiles, “thank you sweetheart. Hold on now, I think I have an extra shirt you can wear. It’d be wrong of me to leave you in those wet clothes.”

“You can leave me without anything on.” you mumble and he turns to look at you. “I can?”

Your cheeks are bright red, you don’t know what came over you and you can’t believe he heard you. “Mark I'm sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“No no, don’t apologize,” he says, stepping closer towards you. “You do feel it?” He asks, his finger dragging up your torso and towards your sternum. “Feel what?”

“Can I kiss you?” Mark asks, the question catching you off guard. “I- yeah,” you whisper, nodding. He pulls you to him, hand on your cheek as he kisses you. The two of you shuffled back towards the couch in the motorhome, the man sitting down between pulling you onto his lap.

“Mark, stop-” you pull away and he looks at you. “Is everything okay?” He asks, concerned and wondering if he did something wrong.”

“I just- it’s sorta.. been a while since,” you pause and he gets what you mean. “Okay, yeah. That’s okay. We can stop if you want-” “No!” You answer a little too quick for your liking and he smiles.

“Okay, we’ll take it slow.”

“No,” you shook your head, leaning into him. Your lips brush against his ear. “I want you to ruin me.”

Mark huffs an okay, his eyes studying you like you were the most beautiful thing on this planet. He flips you two over, letting you lay on your back. The two of you shuffling around to get rid of your clothes, Mark in his boxers and you in your underwear.

“I like this,” his finger drags over the lace trim covering your hips. “It matches,” you smile, his eyes flickering up to your bra. “I see that, sweetheart.”

And there’s that stupid nickname again.

Mark doesn’t miss the way your thighs press together. He pushes your legs apart, pulling your panties to the side. There’s another moment of shuffling around before Mark pushes and pulls you by the hips, propping you into your elbows and knees, face buried in the couch.

You can hear him shuffling behind you, a hand smacking your ass pushing you back into the couch when you lift up a bit. Mark gives you no warning, pushing into you.

The sound coming from behind you was nothing if not filthy.

Your cheek pressed to the cushion, Mark listens to you ramble on about needing him, his fingers squeezing hard enough to leave behind marks.

Mark’s hand reaches under you, fingers gently rubbing against your clit. You were sensitive, a little too sensitive and you knew it wouldn't be longer.

“So good for me sweetheart, that’s my girl,” he says and between his words, his cock and his fingers, he pushed you over the edge.

His name falling from your lips, Mark's thrusts sloppy and he follows right behind you.

#this ran long oops #also sorry I got lazy at the end. but send any mark anytime and I promise I will make it up to you!!!#mark webber smut #mark webber #favs <3

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years

Note

Frankie is such a soft boi but I just knoooow he has a dirty mouth. Would you please please please indulge me? Thank you love 💘

oh lordy-- confession time, writing dirty talk is always so difficult to me dfvdfv like I feel that I suck at it so bad but I'll try my best for you dearest anon because you and me both deserve frankie with the absolute filthiest mouth 💜

warnings: phone sex, voice kink (kinda?), pillow humping (reader), dirty talk, use of sir

send me a headcanon/prompt and i’ll write a ficlet

call me.

"Have you fucked your pretty fingers since I left?"

The question nearly makes you choke on your own spit, an immediate heat builds between your legs and you inhale a shaky breath. You have. But you're kind of embarrassed to admit that to Frankie, who's been away for about a month doing god knows what.

"I asked you a question,"

Fuck, his voice drips with authority, it's smooth, stern, and makes your knees weak in an instant.

"Y-Yes,"

"Are you on the bed right now?"

You swallow.

"Yes,"

"Good, now strip and get on top of a pillow,"

"F-Frankie--"

A chuckle echoes in your ears, it's menacing.

"Don't act like you already haven't desperately humped yourself on top of a pillow, bebita. You can't fool me. Now do as I say or I'm hanging up,"

Fear strikes your heart and you quickly do as he said. Kicking off your sweatpants and underwear, you nestle on top of the pillow, you hiss out a breath when you clit rubs against the soft surface. Frankie's on speaker phone now.

"Want you to imagine me underneath you," he rasps. "Is your cunt already soaked? Tell me."

"It is," you whimper as you roll your hips. "F-Fuck--"

"That's it. My sweet dirty dirty girl-- I want you to get that pillow soaked,"

Your eyes fall down to the soft material, a damp patch already grows. With a moan your head falls back and you imagine that it's Frankie's large cock grazing across your aching clit.

"As soon as I get back, I'm going to bend you over and fuck you in every room of the house. I'm not going to leave a spot untouched you understand?"

"Y-Yes sir,"

God your mind is spinning. He must've gotten himself worked up too, your hips move faster, heat building in your core.

"And after I fuck you, I'm going to taste myself on your pussy. 'gonna taste so fucking sweet, I'm going to suck on your clit until you're begging me to stop, then I'm going to make you cum again and again and again,"

He doesn't stop talking. He gives you every little detail of what he wants to do to you, how he's going to make you cum on his tongue, cock and fingers. How the neighbors were going to hear you scream out his name-- Every word he speak makes you feel electrified, the pillow is soaked, you cunt throbs and finally you cum with a shout of his name, eyes scrunched tight as your chest rattles with moans.

When your orgasm starts to fade, you're panting heavily, mind still in a daze. You fall over, clutching the phone close to your lips, for a moment your heart aches.

"I miss you, Francisco,"

"I miss you too, mi vida," he says, his own voice heavy. "I'll be there soon, don't worry."

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #triple fontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfic

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skarlette1 · 2 months

Text

Swinging Too Far: Masked Mayhem

--The next chapter in the series Swinging Too Far.

“Are you ready to put on the mask, Satin?” Sersi Salivaria asked.

Satin Swinger marveled at the bizarre context of the question. Even though she and her husband Steel had been superheroes for many years, she’d never worn a mask before. Even on Halloween, Satin had always preferred carefully-applied face paint to the cold, dehumanizing rigidity of masks. Not keeping a secret identity meant there was little benefit to wearing one as a heroine, and this particular project to rehabilitate a supervillainess depended on openness and honesty. Their plans would not be served by wearing a mask.

Of course, very little was going to plan these days with the “supervillainess rehabilitation project.” Satin Swinger and her husband Steel had set out with the best intentions to teach Sersi Salivaria the error of her ways and the pleasures of reform. Since their supply of the special formula that protected the Swingers from Salivaria’s enslaving kisses had started to dwindle, they’d taken the high-risk path of each trying to redeem the villainess separately. Under the cover of “cheating” on their spouse, they’d each thrown themselves at Salivaria.

Satin couldn’t say how well the plan was going, she and Steel hadn’t discussed their progress in weeks. It seemed that every minute of every day was devoted to seducing Salivaria or post-seduction fucking with Steel. For her own part, Satin was proud of the close, emotional connection she’d forged with Sersi. On the other hand, wearing nothing but a tight black bustier and a red micro-skirt while Sersi strutted around the Swingers’ bedroom and urged her to wear an ugly mask hardly seemed like progress toward redemption. At least Steel still had enough independence to leave the house on his own. Tonight, for instance, he had donned his best pinstripe suit and headed out to play cards “with the guys.” Satin couldn’t remember exactly which “guys” they were, but she had trouble with most mental activities while Sersi was so close.

“You’re overthinking things again, Satin. I can tell by this little eyebrow crease.” Sersi Salivaria said, running a finger along the heroine’s brow. “All I need you to do is to put on the mask.”

Such comments reminded Satin of the close emotional connection she had forged with Salivaria. That was the only hope of reforming her, and Satin had to preserve it at any cost. The trouble was that when Satin looked down at the black PVC mask sitting on her makeup table, her whole being cringed. The idea was gross. The material was uncomfortable. The shape was degrading. The whole thing was simply ugly. It would cover her entire face from hairline to chin—except for her mouth and nose, like some sort of Mexican wrestler. It had glass eyepieces like a creepy gas mask. The last place Satin wanted that mask was on her face. “You know how much I want to help you, Sersi. But I really don’t think the mask is necessary.”

“This little thing is all that’s keeping you from helping me take the next step in my rehabilitation?” Standing behind Satin, Salivaria reached over the heroine’s shoulder and picked up the mask. Satin watched Sersi’s reflection in the large makeup mirror. “It doesn’t seem so bad to me. It even smells good.” Sersi held the mask up to her nose. “I bet it even tastes good.” Extending her glorious pink tongue, she made a few short, glistening licks across the mask’s inner surface. “See? It’s fine. But if you don’t want it ...” She turned to walk away.

“Wait!” Satin said. Just that brief glimpse of Sersi’s tongue had filled her belly with butterflies. Maybe she’d been too hasty to dismiss the mask. If it was good enough to be anointed by Sersi’s tongue, it couldn’t be all bad, could it? Turning, she extended a trembling hand. “Tell me again how this mask will help with your rehabilitation?”

“I’m just following your guidance, Satin.” Salivaria handed over the mask. “You said I needed to establish connections with a wider community. I met some people who value their privacy. Masks are required. I’ll be wearing one, too.” She held up a tiny domino mask adorned with rhinestones.

Satin looked from the pretty trifle in Sersi’s hands to the PVC monstrosity in her own. She opened her mouth to propose a switch, but a glint of light caught the tongue-touched inner surface of the PVC mask. Sersi had obviously chosen this particular mask for Satin for a reason. Encouraging Sersi’s autonomy was an important part of the rehabilitation process. Nitpicking every decision wouldn’t help anything. Superheroines had to be made of sterner stuff. Swallowing the last of her doubts, Satin pulled the PVC mask over her head. It was too tight and the material didn’t breathe, but the edges where Salivaria had licked thrummed pleasantly against Satin’s skin.

Salivaria smiled. “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You look wonderful. Even Steel wouldn’t recognize you now. We need to get going or we’ll be late.” She led the docile heroine out of the room, down the stairs, and into the garage. Satin was surprised to see Steel’s car still parked next to hers. Before she could wonder at it, Sersi took the keys to Satin’s own car and opened the trunk. A thick, soft blanket had been spread across the bottom. “Are you ready to get in the car, Satin?”

Satin looked at Sersi with confusion. “We don’t have any luggage. What’s going in the trunk?”

“You are, silly.”

“I’m not getting in the trunk of my own car, Sersi. It’s degrading and—”

Sersi leaned over and placed the tiniest feather-kiss on Satin’s neck. The heroine’s voice died in her throat. Salivaria whispered in her ear. “You don’t want to risk any of the neighbors seeing us leaving together, do you? They might mention something to Steel. We can’t have that, can we?”

“Um, I guess not?” Satin mumbled. She was glad that Sersi was thinking of these things to protect the two of them. Thinking of the needs of others was a part of the rehabilitation program. She climbed into the trunk of her own car. “Is it a long drive, Sersi?”

“It will be over before you know it. I have just the thing to keep you from getting bored.” Taking Satin’s left hand, Salivaria sucked the heroine’s pinkie finger into her mouth.

Satin moaned as the kiss-bliss washed over her, as though her little finger had become a second clit. Her whole body thrummed with desire. As Sersi pulled her finger out, Satin even heard herself whimper in frustrated, aching need. She couldn’t even protest as Sersi closed the trunk, locking her inside.

In complete darkness, Satin’s entire awareness was focused on her damp, throbbing little finger. As tempting as it was to suck the finger into her mouth and taste Sersi’s kiss by proxy, Satin’s body thirsted for more. As the car jostled Satin around the trunk, she found her left hand had made its way between her thighs. Tracing her inner thigh with her pinkie was a warm, sensuous invitation to greater pleasures. Raising the hem of the micro skirt, Satin was grateful that Sersi had suggested foregoing panties. She caressed her tender folds with the rich kiss-juice that clung to her pinkie.

Masturbating in the trunk of a moving car proved more difficult than Satin anticipated. Focusing on just the pinkie finger of her left hand only made it more awkward. The residue of Sersi’s kiss made every well-placed stroke into an eruption of ecstasy, but those blissful strokes were few and far between. The off-handedness, the angle of her wrist, the starts and stops and jostles of the moving car conspired to prevent Satin from grooving into a rhythm of pleasure. Despite her superpowers, by the time the trunk opened, Satin had found no release—only stoked the flames of her own arousal. Her hunger for release had even consumed her sense of time. She couldn’t say if she’d been in the trunk for twenty minutes or two hours.

Salivaria opened the trunk and helped the heroine to her feet. “How was your trip, Satin?”

“Frustrating.”

“Poor dear. I’m sure the rest of the night will be far more fulfilling,” Sersi said, smiling. Satin’s heart leapt at the close emotional connection the two shared. “There is one more thing ...”

“What is it, Sersi?”

“Since these people haven’t met you yet, they have one more requirement. Just until they trust you more.” Salivaria pulled a phone from her clutch—Satin’s phone from the looks of it. She fiddled with an app.

The glass eyepieces of Satin’s mask changed from crystal-clear to nearly-opaque black. So soon out of the lightless trunk, Satin’s eyes hadn’t even adjusted before they were plunged back into darkness. “Sersi! I can’t see anything.”

“Don’t worry, Satin. I won’t leave your side.” She leaned over and whispered a kiss into Satin’s ear. “What does a powerful superheroine have to worry about?”

Salivaria’s moist breath on Satin’s ear sent a thrill down her spine. She knew that Sersi was right, of course. A heroine couldn’t let obstacles like this slow her down. Reaching out, she grasped for Sersi’s hand. “Nothing to worry about. I’m at your mercy, Sersi.”

Salivaria took Satin’s trembling fingers. “I like the rhyme. Come this way.”

The pair traveled in slow, careful steps. Satin clung to her guide as if her life depended on the close, emotional connection they shared.

After an eternity of tentative steps, they entered a room with an indistinct murmuring of voices. They stopped. “Stay right here, Satin. I must say hello to an old friend.”

Sersi was gone and Satin stood alone in a room of who-knew-how-many strangers. She fidgeted with her clothes, unsure how well the short bustier or the red micro-skirt were concealing her from the hungry gazes of Sersi’s new friends. Effectively sightless, even her superpowers couldn’t protect her from feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Across the room, she heard Sersi chatting away. It was a positive sign for her rehabilitation that she’d made friends rather than dominating people with her super-power. “Really? A vow of silence?” Sersi said to someone, “I hope that doesn’t include moaning, because I haven’t forgotten what I owe you from last time. But there’s someone you need to meet first.”

Sersi took Satin by the shoulder and led her a few shaky steps forward. “Satin, this is a bit awkward, but my friend here has lost a wager on some sort of sporting event. He’s under a vow of silence all evening. Do say hello to Mr. Tartarus.”

Satin blindly thrust out her arm to shake hands, but found her fingers caressing a hard-muscled male torso. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. … I’m sorry, Sersi, did you say ‘Tartarus’?” Satin’s voice cracked at the name of one of the Libido League’s greatest foes.

“What’s in a name, Satin?” Sersi leaned in an kissed around Satin’s ear, whispering, “You don’t want to embarrass me in front of my friends, do you?”

Satin wanted more than that! She wanted to take Sersi away from this bad crowd; she wanted to tear off this uncomfortable mask; she wanted to go home to her safe and loving husband Steel!

But those wants melted under the string of steamy kisses Sersi trailed down the heroine’s neck. Could she even be sure this was the supervillain Terence Tartarus? Didn’t he have a brother? Couldn’t there be other men named “Tartarus” in Skarlette City? Besides, the few times Satin Swinger had faced the wicked Terence Tartarus, the arrogant billionaire had never seemed the type to be concealing a hard-muscled chest beneath his expensive suits. The man before her was nearly as well-built as a superhero. Maybe this was some other man, entirely. Luxuriating in Sersi’s seductive kisses, Satin just caressed the powerful, sexy muscles with her fingertips and thought about her husband’s strong, firm body.

“Sit down on the couch, Satin,” Sersi said, guiding the heroine to a seat. “Just stay here a moment. I had to leave our last meeting early, because of your curfew, Satin! I was in the middle of helping Mr. Tartarus with something when I had to leave. I really owe it to him to finish up. I won’t be a moment.” Sersi kissed Satin full on the mouth. Her soft, searing lips were gone in an instant, leaving Sating gasping for more.

Before she could catch her breath, Satin heard a wet, rhythmic, slurping sound, followed by a deep, male groan. She leaned back into the couch, her own body tingling just from the unmistakable sound of a Sersi Salivaria blowjob. The kiss and the seductive sounds had almost left Satin too aroused to worry about her situation.

Almost. Sneaking around with Sersi without telling Steel was pressing the limits of their open marriage; he’d already agreed to some sex, he just didn’t know quite how much. But being a witness to sex with strangers, possibly supervillains, was so far outside the lines, not even Satin’s agile mind could find a way to rationalize it.

As she fretted, Satin began to notice shapes coalescing before her eyes. The mask’s eyepieces were shifting again, slowly allowing a bit more light through. Though it was still like wearing dark sunglasses in a dimly-lit room, Satin could make out vague shapes around her. Sersi was on her knees, sucking off a tall, broad-shouldered man. He wore a dark, pinstripe suit with no shirt. Another PVC-style mask covered his entire face, like a wrestler. Satin focused on the glimpses she could catch of his thick cock disappearing between Sersi’s red lips. The spit-soaked gleam of his shaft seemed like starlight on the sea. It took every ounce of Satin’s willpower to keep her hands from plunging between her own thighs right here in a room full of strangers!

Satin’s ringtone sounded. Sersi pulled away from the man. For a bliss-filled moment, a long string of saliva stretched from his cock to her lips. “I need to take this call. Satin, keep an eye on Mr. Tartarus while I’m gone, won’t you? I promised him a warm finish and wouldn’t want to let his spirits droop while I’m gone. If you know what I mean,” Sersi said with a wink as she hurried out of the room.

The man let out a frustrated groan. Satin knew the burning need of being abandoned by Sersi’s tongue. Considering all the suffering Terence Tartarus had inflected on Satin’s fellow superheroines, she should have been glad for it. But somehow, she couldn’t take her eyes off his cock. It bobbed just a few feet away, curving powerfully skyward, dripping with Sersi’s delectable drool. The heroine’s mouth watered at the memory of feeling Steel’s spit-covered shaft thrusting down her throat on so many occasions.

Satin tried to push those thoughts away. Her only thoughts of Steel should be of their marriage vows. Secret oral sex with supervillains—even possible supervillains—was definitely outside the bounds of their open marriage. Giving secret rehabilitation help to Sersi was one thing. Steel had approved of the plan to let Salivaria think they were “cheating” with her, he simply didn’t know how far Satin had taken things. But slurping a supervillain’s cock down her throat just to keep Sersi in the good graces of her new friends—that was much definitely too much.

Although...

If Sersi stayed in the good graces of these villains while she maintained her close, emotional connection with Satin, then all sorts of things entered the realm of possibility. A rehabilitated Sersi could become the gateway to redemption for all of these supervillains. Satin couldn’t let that chance slip away, could she? Making the rehabilitation program as successful as possible was the only reason Satin slipped off the sofa and onto her knees, the rest of the room forgotten. She wrapped her lips around Terence Tartarus’s shaft only in the hope of making him a better person, not in the hope of tasting enough of Sersi’s saliva that she could bring herself to climax.

It wasn’t long before the overwhelming sensation of the slick, thick cock in her throat burned out all of Satin’s reasons and rationalizations. She sucked because it felt good and it felt good because she sucked. When guiding hands raised her skirt, Satin lifted her hips to provide the stranger easier access to her dripping cunt. When something long, thick, and dripping with Salivaria’s kisses slid inside, Satin didn’t care who was fucking her or with what. She only cared how good it felt to cum and cum and cum again.

“So how’d you like being a single girl last night, Satin?” Steel asked the next morning, beautiful sunshine streaming in the window.

“Um ...” Satin’s mind raced. What could she tell him? I had a hot gangbang with Salivaria and a bunch of her supervillain pals. Even though they only took me two at a time, there were so many I don’t even know who fucked me! Did you know that Terence Tartarus’s cock fills my mouth almost as much as yours? I know it was an absolute betrayal of our marriage but I only did it to help Sersi’s rehabilitation. It wasn’t because getting fucked by anonymous supervillains was the hottest sex I’ve ever had.

No, nuking her marriage with the truth wouldn’t help anything. Steel just wouldn’t understand what was needed. He wasn’t a big picture thinker.

Taking a deep breath, she set her features into an approximation of her “happy morning” expression, wearing her smile like a mask. “I just went for a drive and fell asleep early. How about you?”

“Yeah, boring night for me, too,” Steel replied, not looking up from his phone “I, uh, got some stains on my pinstripe suit. Do you think you could take it to the dry cleaners?”

Satin poured herself coffee and tried to convince herself that her transgression had only been for the greater good, not the greater climax. If she repeated it in her own thoughts, over and over again, she was certain she could make herself believe it. She could wear that certainty in her mind, to mask the truth from Steel, and from herself. “Sure thing, babe. Everything comes out with a good washing.”

--To Be Concluded...

---

Like what you read? Will you buy me a coffee and request something rich to sink my teeth into? Or peek into the depths of my longer fiction?

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#skarletteone #mind control #flash fiction #superhero

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