#I don’t know what point I’m making but it has seriously made an impact on me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

corazondebeskar-reads · 6 months

Text

the art of breaking (dark!joel miller x f!reader; dead dove do not eat)

the art of breaking part one | part two

very dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Your meeting is happenstance, but everything that follows? Well, that’s all Joel. He just knows you’re going to be his perfect little toy. He just has to show you how.

written for the #deaddovedecember2023 event hosted by @romana-after-dark | also on ao3 | dedicating this to @kewwrites, who is a master and icon of unsettling-but-still-romantic dark fic & whose incredible vibes made me feel brave enough to write this. love you ty 🖤

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Seriously, I am saying this as clearly as I can: read the warnings carefully. If anything listed is something you don’t want to read, don’t. The working title for this was “the darkest joel” for a reason (and I actually tamed it down/cut out some of the intense scenes). It’s modern-day/no outbreak, but Joel still lost Sarah and went off the deep end. He was probably a good dom at some point, but now he’s just fucked up.

If you're worried it'll be too dark, it probably will be.

Warnings under the cut:

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, non-con, dub-con, very dark!Joel, BAD bdsm etiquette, not SSC/RACK compliant, sadist!Joel x masochist!reader, coercion, corruption, manipulation, isolation, gaslighting, captivity, sadism, masochism, pain play, extreme punishment, semi-permanent damage (a bone is broken, I’m not fucking around), whipping, spanking, face slapping, tit slapping, impact play in general, mentions of vomit (no description), oral, anal, vaginal, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, edging, denial, dacryphilia, bastinado (mentioned), restraints, very brief knifeplay, tiny drop of blood play, Joel sees reader as property, inadequate aftercare

Again, I cannot say this enough. This is a dark fantasy and should not be taken as representative of a good d/s relationship—it’s abuse masquerading. Just because I wrote it doesn’t mean I’m condoning it.

Please read responsibly.

I. in media res

-the fracture

There’s one comfort Joel almost never denies you.

Well, never denies himself.

Unless you’ve been real bad, you always take your place in bed with him at the end of the day. You think it’s so he has easy access to you if he wakes up horny, but honestly, that happens a lot less than expected. He works hard all day; he needs his sleep.

No, he likes the comfort of your warm body next to his. The way you curl up and press kisses to him, no matter how bad he hurt you during the day. His sweet little pet, desperate for every bit of his affection you can earn. He’s always gentle with you here.

It’s part of what makes The Pit so effective.

It fucks with your brain on so many levels, exposes you to so many fears, and then you have to reconcile that you were bad enough for Joel to deny himself the comfort of you in his arms at night. That you’re so undeserving of his love.

Of all of the ways he punishes you, this will be the worst. You can take the humiliation, the pain—not easily, but you can, and there’s usually immediate care after.

But a night in The Pit will tear you down completely.

You hadn’t known what to expect when he said you’d have to spend the night alone, but it wasn’t this.

“No, please,” you scream, stumbling to keep up as Joel pulls you by your hair.

“Shut up,” he snarls.

The soil is loose, clinging to your sweat as you try to right yourself. It’s a futile effort. When you reach The Pit, he holds you down with his boot on your chest while he unlocks and opens the bars.

“Get in,” he says.

You’re sobbing and shaking, skin already gone cold. Somehow, you manage to obey.

The Pit is exactly what it sounds like. It has an open wooden frame with mesh on the side walls to keep the dirt in place. The bottom is bare soil. Mounted to the top of the beams is a grate of bars that sit flush with the ground.

It’s big enough for you to curl up at the bottom—which is what you do now.

“I’m sorry,” you cry.

He shuts and locks the gate.

II. from the start

-intact

It was kismet, really, that he was there that night. He didn’t usually go out for drinks with the guys, not wanting to be the boss who was always cramping their style. But Tommy had dragged him out tonight, and so he was witness (with the rest of the pub) to your relationship falling apart.

And okay, maybe he went outside for a smoke after you moved the fight to the alley so he could eavesdrop. But it wasn’t his fault. How could he not?

You had said, “Maybe you’re just not man enough for me,” to the brawny but pathetic prick across from you in the booth. “Wanting you to be rough doesn’t make me a freak.”

“That’s not rough; that’s fuckin’ abuse. You’re sick,” your boyfriend had practically shouted.

The discussion evolved into a screaming match in the alley, where Joel had been pleased to be right. It was about more than just a little rough sex or spanking.

At the end of it, your boyfriend stormed off, and you went back in the pub. Joel found you at the bar, throwing back another shot and wiping your tears away.

“You did good back there,” he says.

You startle and look at the stranger. The very handsome stranger. Rugged, with a salt and pepper beard and a scar across his nose.

“What do you mean?”

“Standin’ up for yourself. Not a lot of people woulda been confident enough. ‘Specially not a girl lookin’ for that.”

You glare at the bar counter. “M’not a weirdo.”

“Nah, you’re not. Shit like that is perfectly normal. He’s just pathetic.”

You look back up at him, and he sticks one hand in his pocket, trying to adjust himself discreetly. The tear streaks on your cheeks are getting to him.

“I don’t know. He’s probably right. It’s not your garden variety shit,” you say. The tequila and his gentle eyes have loosened your tongue.

“I doubt that. Try me,” he says.

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me what he freaked out over, and I’ll tell ya if it’s weird. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

You hesitate, but he looks genuine and kind. “I asked him to hit me. Like, in the face. And to, y’know, pin me down and—” you trail off.

“And make ya take it?” he guesses.

You nod. “He thought I like, I dunno, actually wanted to be raped,” you whisper the last word, eyes darting to the people around you.

Joel laughs. “Honey, that’s so normal, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve helped ladies out with that little roleplay more times than I can count. If that’s your deepest, darkest fantasy, and he couldn’t take it, then you’re better off without him.”

“It’s not,” you mumble.

“Speak up, honey.”

“It’s not my deepest, darkest fantasy. It’s probably one of the least of them.”

He grins. “Then you’re definitely better off. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ things on the darker side, sweetheart.”

You’re feeling hot all over and are about to ask him more when your phone rings. It’s your idiot boyfriend, who’s realized you have the car keys.

“I better go. Thank you,” you say, standing and offering him your hand.

He gives it a firm shake, tipping his head. “I’m Joel. And if you’re ever so inclined, I’d like to take you out sometime.”

You laugh. “Let me break up with my boyfriend first, Joel.” But you dig a pen out of your purse and write your number on one of the tiny bar napkins.

Your first date was so normal. You’re not sure what you expected. To jump right to hardcore sex?

But no, he turns up at your door in a neatly pressed green button-up, black slacks, and an ostentatious belt buckle. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender stalks nestled between pink honeysuckle and red salvia. Not a traditional arrangement, but it reminds you of a summer sunset.

“From my garden,” he says a little sheepishly, but you like them a lot better than some generic store display. You tell him as much and his cheeks flush a little.

You return the kiss and pop the flowers in a vase of water before he sweeps you off in his pickup. You aren’t surprised, really, but it’s more charming than some of the other men and their gaudy trucks.

Joel’s is older but well-kept, with minimal rusting around the wheel wells. The bed is open, and you can see streaks of grease and paint spills. A silver tool chest is mounted against the back of the cab. Everything inside and out has a light coating of sawdust.

He isn’t some insecure man with a truck big enough to make up for what isn’t in his britches, that’s for certain. You’d hazard a guess that the corded muscle of his forearms and the breadth of his shoulders are well-earned.

He holds the door open for you, which you tease him for as you slide onto the truck’s bench seat.

“Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause you’re incapable,” he drawls. “Or because you’re a lady,” he adds when he sees the glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah, cowboy?”

His grin is lopsided, a little dark. “Nah. I just think you deserve to be taken care of, s’all.”

You flush, the back of your neck burning, but you don’t fight the smile that threatens to break out. “Thank you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. He’s pretty sure, now, that if he plays his cards right, he’s found somethin’ special.

He waits three whole dates to take you to bed, and even then, it doesn’t start dirty.

“Let me get to know your body first, baby,” he urges when you ask him to fuck you rough. Instead, he takes you apart piece by piece. First with his tongue, and then his fingers. He brings you to the edge over and over, but never lets you fall.

After a while, you’re a broken record, pleas and sobs spilling from you.

“That’s music to my ears, darlin’,” he says, pulling his fingers out abruptly to see how your cunt throbs for him. He spits on your clit and watches it drip down to join the mess between your thighs.

“Please, please, Joel,” you beg.

“Please who now?”

“Please, sir,” you try, and are rewarded with his sharp grin. But not with an orgasm.

He slaps your cunt. “That’s more like it, baby. You remember who you’re talkin’ to, alright?”

You nod. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

He shakes his head, sucking on your clit for a moment before pulling back to get a good look at you. “You do like a little pain, huh?”

“Would like more,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What would you let me do to you?”

“Anything, please, sir.”

He clicks his tongue at you. “Don’t go sayin’ that to someone you barely know. It’s okay to mean it when you trust somebody, but you’re gonna end up in more trouble than you bargain for if you pass that out like candy.”

“I do mean it.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” His open palm smacks across your face, leaving a sting tingling on your cheek and a lightness to your brain.

Tears spring to your eyes, but you nod frantically.

“What about this?” he grabs a nipple in his calloused fingers and yanks, twisting.

You yelp, but it trails off to a moan, and you nod.

“Goddamn, baby. S’good. But what about this?” He flicks open the switchblade he keeps in his pocket.

You jerk and whine, eyes wide and wet as he brings it to your breast. Your breathing falls shallow as you try to hold still, the point scraping the delicate skin as he circles it. But the look you’re giving him almost has him cumming in his pants like he were twenty years younger.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding. I mean, you’ve gotta have limits; everyone does. But you just want me to hurt you, huh?” He digs the tip of the blade in a little on the side of your breast, cock throbbing as you gasp, and you both watch a tiny drop of blood bead and trickle down the blade.

He puts it away. “No,” he says when you whimper. “Not today. I ain’t prepared for all that.”

Joel doesn’t like to break his toys. Not permanently. Just enough that he can put them back together how he likes and then do it all over again.

“Don’t need to be prepared; just do it,” you whine.

He slaps you again and wrenches your head up with a hand in your hair. “First of all, I fuckin’ told you no. Second, I know you want to be a stupid little cunt for me, but I’m not about to cut you open without any goddamn first aid shit.”

He leans back and smacks the breast he had cut. He hits you over and over, alternating sides, until your chest burns, and you’re sobbing.

He looks you over briefly and then shoves his hand between your thighs. “You’re wetter than a slip ‘n slide, baby.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, and wipes the tears from your cheek with his thumb. He feels your cunt twitch when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean.

It’s the last straw for him. He’s not opened you enough, but he has a feeling you’ll like it better this way anyway.

You cry out, back arching when he shoves into you. He meant to go slow, he really did, if only to drag out the anticipation. But you’re so warm. So wet. So he just stuffs himself inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you love the pain; it’s just that he can’t resist feeling the evidence for himself. He slaps you across the face while you’re still processing his cock, and the resulting clench and jerk of your body drag a moan from him.

He holds back, regulates his urge to pull each whimper and scream from you, but it’s still so fucking good. It’s been a long time since he’s doled out real cruelty to a slut like you who loves to suffer.

When he finally lets you cum, it’s when he’s about to. He pulls out and spanks your cunt, granting his permission. As your pussy flutters desperately around nothing, he cums on it, watching the way it gets prettier as he paints it.

You black out for a minute. When you come to, he’s wiping you down gently with a warm washcloth, wicking the sweat off your face and chest before cleaning his cum from your curls. You whimper, and he grins, leaning over to steal a kiss.

Even after that first night, he goes slow. He can’t scare ya, not while you still have someplace to run. Plus, it’s so much easier if he starts planting the seeds for your training now.

He knows you’ll beg for it, anyway. He’s been getting the nastiest text messages from you. Part of it is the dopamine; he’s not stupid. But part of you really wants this shit. And the rest? Well. You’ll get there.

It’s the little things. He orders you a black decaf at the drive-thru when you ask for a latte. You start to correct him, like you think he’s made a mistake, but he gives you a look, and you shut your mouth immediately.

When he pulls away from the speaker, you look over at him again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry…?”

You squirm a little, heart pounding, unsure if he’s really doing this at the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sorry, sir.”

He smiles and rubs his hand on your thigh where it peeks out from your skirt. “Thanks, baby.”

And that’s all it takes. You take the cup when he hands it to you and you’re quick to say, “Thank you, sir,” even though the kid at the window is still passing things through to Joel and can clearly hear you.

-fissured

It goes on like that for a couple of months, but it doesn’t all go so smoothly. One night, he picks you up from work and takes you to a restaurant, saying he wants to treat you. Halfway through the meal, he asks for your panties.

“What?” you say, shocked at his vulgar language in the dining room.

“Take ‘em off and hand ‘em to me.”

You go to stand, probably thinking you can go to the bathroom to obey.

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Right here, right now, baby.”

“Joel,” you hiss, sitting back down, “I can’t do that.”

He fixes you with a calm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, raising one finger in the air. “I’ll give ya three choices. The first one, the one I’m going to advise you pick, is that you do it right now, and I’ll only punish ya for talkin’ back.”

“The second one,” he holds up another finger for emphasis, “is you can go to the bathroom to take ‘em off, but you’re gonna pay for it when we get home. The third one is where you don’t listen, we leave right now, and you learn to fuckin’ regret it.”

Your breathing is shallow, and your pretty eyes are shining. If he wasn��t fully hard before, he is now.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper. “Please, sir.”

“You got about thirty seconds to make up your mind.” The softness is gone—from his voice, from his face, from the set of his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you whisper, and you stand up. You’re only in the bathroom for a minute, and when you sit back down, you try to hand them to him under the table.

“Nah, that was only a choice if you were good,” he says, smirking and laying his expectant hand on the white linens.

Mortified, you ball them up tight in your fist and press them into his hand. He slides them into his pants pocket.

He doesn’t say anything else about it for the rest of dinner, asking instead about your projects at work and your visit with your parents over the holidays. You feel sick, barely eating a thing, and biting your lip to stave off the tears.

As soon as you’re in the truck, you start to cry. “I’m sorry, I was just scared and—”

“Shut up. You made your choice. You’re not sorry. You’re just afraid of the consequences.”

“N-no, I am sorry, I mean it.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.” He doesn’t look at you on the drive home, doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t even turn the radio on; just listens to you sniffle.

When he parks, he sets his hand on your thigh. “Don’t worry, baby. I know you can be my good girl. All you gotta do is take your punishment and learn from it, okay?”

You sniffle again and nod, blinking through tear-laden lashes at him.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he murmurs. He gets out and comes around to open your door, offering a hand to help you step down from the tall truck. You take it, and he holds on, leading you inside his house.

He sits sprawled on the couch, thighs parted wide to make room and waits until you’re comfortably kneeling between his legs. You’re sat in silence, head bowed, arms folded behind your back.

“Tell me what you did wrong today.”

This is a first, but not a last. Even on days when nothing egregious has happened, you will follow this ritual. He’ll ask for your sins, and you’ll confess. There will always be something you’ll owe him for.

“I argued when you gave me orders. I was disobedient.”

“Anything else I need to know about, baby?”

“No, sir.”

“Why’d you argue?”

“I was afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Save your grovelin’ for after, baby. Why were you afraid?”

“I didn’t want people to see. I didn’t want to get kicked out or arrested.”

“You think I’d let anything happen to you? You think I would have given you an order that put either of us at any kinda risk?”

Your face burns. “I—”

“I thought you trusted me.” He sounds hurt, and you’re a little nauseous when you look up to see his eyes wide and sad, lips turned into a wounded scowl.

Your shoulders slump. “I didn’t think. I panicked.”

“Hmm. Okay, I can work with that.”

You look up at him, brow scrunched and lips pouting as you try to parse his words.

He smiles. It’s cold, and his eyes are steel.

You swallow hard, and his grin widens, quirking into a smirk.

“Alright, baby. I got just the thing.”

He leads you into the ensuite. You kneel on the little rug by the tub while he fills it. You’re too afraid to ask what’s happening, so you just sit quietly. He leaves the room and doesn’t come back until the tub is nearly full, and you’re starting to worry that you were supposed to be monitoring it.

He comes back in, and once it’s nearing the lip of the tub, he turns off the faucet. He has you kneel on the top of the three steps leading up to the edge. It’s the most luxurious thing in this house, and you suspect he installed it custom so he could soak his aching muscles.

He bends you over the edge so you’re leaning close to the water and crouches down behind you. It’s a pleasant surprise when he spreads you wide and licks from your clit to your asshole.

He stays there for a few minutes, indulging in your wet cunt and the cries it draws from your lips. After he’s had his fill, he stands up and lubes up his cock before pushing his way into your ass. He’s generous with the lube but rarely preps you, since you both like it better when it hurts.

You’re writhing a little beneath him, wriggling your hips to try to ease the passage. Once he’s fully seated inside you, he grabs the back of your head and shoves it under the water before fucking hard into you.

You thrash, displacing water from the tub, until he yanks you back up.

You gasp for air and scrabble to get a grip on the wet tile, but he pushes you back down and groans at how tight you get while you’re struggling.

He pulls you roughly back up. “Gonna keep going until you stop makin’ a fuss.”

You go to protest, to panic, and he pushes you back down.

The next time he pulls you out, he spanks you until your skin is burning. “Fuckin’ trust me. You think I’m gonna let you drown?”

“No, sir,” you cry, but it’s garbled as he pushes you back down. You’re still fighting him each time.

He pulls you back out and repeats the beating. “Relax, or we’re gonna be here all night.”

He continues the process a few more times and then gives you a reprieve, letting go of your hair so you can rest your cheek against the cold edge of the tub while he pounds into you. He reaches and rubs featherlight circles around your clit until you’re softly moaning.

“You gonna trust me?”

“I’m trying, my body panics,” you pant.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. You hear me? You know you’re panicking, so focus on me instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

It shouldn’t make sense, but you think he’s long warped your brain anyway. The next time he pushes you underwater, you clench your fists tight and focus on what oxygen you do have, even if he knocks a little out with each thrust.

His hand in your hair is your anchor and buoy. You tense when you feel your body start to jerk, trying so hard to control it.

He pulls you up. “Just like that, baby. Again.”

It gets just a little easier each time. He leaves you under longer, until your lungs are burning, and you’re on the edge of gasping in water, but he pulls you out in time.

“Fuck, you’re doing so well.” He’s a little fascinated. He hadn’t really been sure it could be done or if your survival instincts would go into a frenzy. But here you are, letting him almost fucking drown you.

Not that he would.

Despite being balls deep in your tight little asshole, he isn’t trying to reach his orgasm. Not yet, staving off his pleasure so he can keep a clear head.

He keeps it up just a little longer. You’re getting tired and tolerating less and less time underwater. The last time he pulls you up, he pinches your clit and tells you to cum while he fills you.

He dunks you again while you cum, and you clamp down on him tighter than you have before, convulsing on his cock. When he pulls you back up, you’re gasping and sobbing. He pulls out and wraps you in a towel, easing you to the wet floor while he cleans up.

When he comes back to you, he helps you stand and dry off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“So?”

Your brow furrows. It’s not what he usually asks after a punishment, but you think you know what he means. “I’m sorry. I trust you, I promise.”

“I know. M’so proud of you for taking that. You’re turning out so nicely, sweet thing.”

In the morning, you’re almost late to work after sucking him off when you should have been getting dressed. He’s about to walk out the door to head to the site when he hears your frustrated voice from the bedroom.

“Joel, where are my underwear? I need to fuckin’ leave.”

“I told you, baby. There was a price to pay when you picked the bathroom. Y’ain’t wearing ‘em anymore.”

“What?”

He doesn’t need to see you to smirk at the shocked expression he knows is on your face. “We’ll talk about it more tonight; I gotta run.”

-avulsed

“Y’know, baby,” Joel says, leaning forward to rub your shoulder. “They just don’t fuckin’ appreciate you.”

You’re bent over, elbows on your knees, crying with your face buried in your hands. You sit up and sniffle, wiping the tears. “It’s fine; it’s not like I need to be coddled at work.”

All the stress of the PR world is getting to you, and you hate it, you fucking hate it, but you dropped 50k on a degree, so now you’re stuck.

“But they make you work all this overtime, cut your team in half, and then berate you when you can’t meet the client’s deadline? You do not deserve that, baby.”

You let him coax you into his lap, facing him so you can bury your face in his soft, worn tee. He rubs your back and holds your head to his chest.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nah, darlin’, I’ve told ya a thousand times. You deserve to be taken care of.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I, well. I was thinkin’...”

You wait, but when he doesn’t pick back up, you sit up and look at him.

“I dunno. It’s nothin’,” he says.

“Please tell me?”

“Alright, fine. Now, I don’t want ya to feel any pressure. It’s just a thought. But maybe you should just quit and stay with me a while, ‘till you can find something better?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking. He must see something on your face, because he tips your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes.

“I know it’s sudden, but I mean it. Let me take care of ya while you figure shit out. We don’t gotta treat it like living together if y’ain’t ready. But I’d be open to that conversation, too.”

It doesn’t take much more than that. The first couple weeks, he lets you give it a try—searching for new degree programs, applying for jobs you know you’re overqualified for just to try something different.

After nothing pans out, he suggests you both take a week off. Him from work and you from the burden of trying to escape unemployment. Just relax, like a little staycation.

It’s bliss. You go on dates, eat pizza and marathon the “Jurassic Park” movies, and fuck like crazy.

On the third night, he sits you down. On his cock, of course. While you’re bouncing and brainless, he cups your cheek. “Baby, you’ve been too damn stressed still. What if we… well, what if we tried out a day or two like we’ve been talking about?”

Sometimes, you whisper to him in the darkness, usually while he’s balls deep, how you wish you could be his all the time. His good girl. His pet. And he whispers back, lures you right in with promises of taking care of everything, of you not having a worry or care in the world. Just him.

Now, he fondles your tits while he murmurs to you. “We can just wake up together, and I can take care of ya. Everything you need, baby. All you’d have to do is be good for me, yeah?”

You moan and grind down harder on his cock. “Please, sir. I want it more than anything. Just to be yours.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Joel had no patience for brats, so he usually broke his toys in sooner into the training process. He liked ‘em nice and obedient—scared, if that’s what it took, but devoted. But you had been from the start—you wanted to be good in all the ways you could never seem to be to other people. Your family, your job, the world seemed to just demand more and more.

Joel was the first person to make you feel like you had actually, really, truly pleased him. There wasn’t a higher mark you should have made. There wasn’t any expectation for you to give more and more.

His orders were complete, always. You learned that very quickly. Attempts to go above and beyond were rebuked.

“If I wanted that, I woulda said so,” he told you. And like everything else, you committed his words to memory.

It helped that he gave praise freely. You didn’t have to wonder if he was satisfied, if you should have licked him differently, if you should have made prettier faces while you came. He reassured you until you believed him, and then kept going anyway.

It made it easier for him to slowly peel you away from the ungrateful world.

“You don’t have to take that,” he’d say after watching your face fall further and further while on the phone with your mom. “Family ain’t supposed to make you feel like shit.”

They made it too easy, really, and your relationship with them would have likely just fizzled out. But in the end, he had to step in and snap it off.

You asked him to come with you to dinner at their house. He was hesitant. He wasn’t really the boyfriend type. He wasn’t really even your boyfriend. That was too weird a word for either of you, not when he owned you.

But he knows you didn’t want to go alone, and he has a feeling he’ll be cleaning up the mess anyway.

You want to give them a chance. Things have been so tense, and they said they missed you. But they didn’t even make it through the entrée without ridiculing you.

When your father asks how work is going, you quietly confess to quitting, hastily reassuring them that you are looking for a new position. Though, and you keep this part to yourself, you maybe haven’t been trying that hard.

“What do you mean you quit? How are you paying your bills? You better not have come here to ask for money,” your father says, setting down his fork to glare at you.

“Well, I’ve been living with Joel,” you mumble to the tablecloth.

“I didn’t raise you to be a gold digger,” your mother chides.

Joel tries to bite his tongue and let them dig their own graves. But your father calls you a “fucking whore,” and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the way you’re cowering in your chair, fighting back tears.

“You watch your mouth,” Joel snaps at your father.

You look up, mouth agape, eyes darting from Joel to your parents.

“Mind your business,” your dad tells him.

Joel stands up and throws his napkin on the table. “She is my fuckin’ business. I wouldn’t stand by and let anyone talk to her like that. You’re not an exception just because you managed to get it up long enough to cum in your wife.”

“Joel,” you whisper, tugging at his sleeve. You’re burning, melting on the spot, from the vulgar way he’s talking to them. For him, someone who’s always strict about manners and proper hospitality, to talk back like this? God, you think, he must really love you.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds firmly as you lean into it. He rounds back on your parents. “You treat her like fuckin’ dirt beneath your feet, and I’m tired of it. You don’t deserve the fuckin’ dirt beneath her feet.”

He shoves his chair back and grabs your hand. “C’mon, baby; we’re leaving.”

You take it and stand up, letting him pull you along. Your father follows you into the foyer, and you try not to look at him while you shove your shoes on.

Joel holds your coat out while you slip into it, and you tune out whatever your dad is yelling now. You don’t want to hear it; you know it’s nasty, and your whole world has narrowed to Joel anyway.

He holds out the key. “Go wait in the truck, baby.”

And you do.

He comes out about five minutes later, red-faced and huffing with fury. He doesn’t say a word when he gets in; just throws the truck into reverse and pulls away. You both ignore the blood on his knuckles.

Once you’re on the road, he looks over at you and sighs. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You unbuckle and slide over to the middle seat, tucking your hand between his warm body to curl around his arm. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Whaddya sorry for? None of that was your fault.” He kisses the top of your head and cups your cheek at the stoplight. “It was gonna happen eventually, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the ride home is silent while you breathe in his comforting musk and try to relax. But the tension is unrelenting, the horrible rotting feeling eating away at your spine.

He knows. Knows what you need, knows what he can do to seal this moment forever. He waits until he’s unzipping the pretty little cocktail dress you’d stressed over.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, breaking away from where he was sucking his claim down your neck to swap out your delicate necklace with his collar.

He unhooks the bra and kisses the marks he left behind with the cane, your penance for being allowed to wear it. It leaves you bare to him, and his hands turn greedy. He presses biting kisses against your lips while digging fingers into your bruises, swallowing your whimpers.

He grabs you by the neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, holding you to him while your vision blurs. When he lets go, you stumble, but his arm around your back holds you upright. He slaps your face with quick, sharp blows in rapid succession to keep you unsteady.

“Knees, hands behind your head,” he says, and lets go.

You fall but are quick to right yourself and take the position. He wastes no time, giving you another harsh smack before grabbing your hair and shoving his cock into your throat.

You choke and gag but keep your hands in place even as your head spins. You feel limp and grateful that he doesn’t seem to require any effort from you as he uses you without mercy.

“Look at you. You’ve got my whole cock down your throat. You’re so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your eyes are already glazed over, and you moan your appreciation around him.

He pulls out and hauls you to your feet. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Get your ass downstairs.”

He fucks you, beats you, uses you wherever he wants. But the basement is where he keeps the heavy equipment and where you know you’re about to have your mind and body pushed to the absolute limit.

You’re ready, he thinks, when he gets down and finds you waiting perfectly in place for him, eyes wide like he’s descended from on high. He jerks a thumb to the wooden post, and you meet him there.

“Forget about what they want you to be,” he murmurs as he closes the steel cuffs around your ankles. “You know what you want, baby. Right?”

“Mhm,” you nod, already slipping away into that safe place only Joel can get you to.

“What do you want to be?” he asks, binding your arms up over your head to the eye bolt at the top of the post.

“Yours.” It’s half-whisper, half-whine.

“Yeah? You just wanna be mine? You don’t want to get a new job?”

“No,” you finally confess. “But—”

“But what, baby? If you say somethin’ about money or bills, I’m gonna be mighty unhappy.”

You bite your lip. “I’m scared one day, you’ll wake up and not want me anymore.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, sweetheart. You think I put all this work into helpin’ you, into teaching you how to be mine, just to toss ya out? You’re hurtin’ my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

He slides a silicone cock into the bracket lined right up with your mouth. It’s a fairly standard size, since he knows you’re going to thrash around and doesn’t want you gagging too much and throwing up.

Your torso gets tied to the post by your tits, the wood nestled between them and rope woven around. Securing you there forces your head onto the toy, but he doesn’t make you take it all the way. You keep your mouth open and don’t move closer or further, waiting for his command.

“Suck on it whenever you’d like. You’re going to need it.”

Your eyes roll back a little at his promise. If he thinks you’re going to need something in your mouth to self-soothe, you’re in for an absolutely amazing time.

“Focus on me. That’s all you’ll need to do from now on, baby. No more worries in that pretty little head, okay?”

The first strike is a warm-up. When you feel the lash of his favorite whip lick your ass, you moan. It’s a moderately short signal whip that he wields like a fucking pro. His warmups are quick but thorough, and you’re squirming when he moves on to your thighs and shoulders.

“Already?” he says, laughing when you whine around the silicone cock.

You’re absentmindedly sucking on it when he starts a harsher assault. A particularly sharp strike stings at the valley where your ass meets your thighs, and you yelp, jerking a little and gagging yourself on the dildo.

His smirk burns into your back as the cry melts into a moan, and you writhe a little, trying to get friction where you need it most. What you get, though, is the tip of the whip against your cunt.

By the time he moves around to your tits, they’re covered in spit, heaving with the effort of holding back your orgasm. He comes up to you first, and pinches at your nipples.

“Aw, does my dumb little cunt want to cum?” He croons, tugging and twisting until you moan. He laughs when all you can get out is a muffled “mhm.”

“Tell ya what. You can cum all you want while I hurt you tonight, okay?”

He punctuates it with a particularly cruel pinch, and that, combined with his permission, is all you need to let the pleasure shudder through you.

“Yeah? You gonna get off to being my little toy? Gonna let me do whatever I want?”

You moan around the fake cock, easing it further into your throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He doesn’t give a warm-up on your tits, figuring you’re already so far gone it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.

He’s right. The first lash is harsh, a welt blooming across the top of your breast in its wake, but you groan, trying to press your cunt up against the post for any relief.

You don’t need it, though. He brings you to your peak again with the skilled flick of his wrist, landing blows across the fat of your breasts. He waits until you’re mid-orgasm to bring the whip hard across your nipples.

The resulting wail almost makes him cum in his pants. He does it only twice more, relishing in your agony, but restraining himself from just letting loose. Not with the whip, as much as he’d like to. Maybe later with a flogger.

Once he’s taken it as far as he’s willing to risk, he moves back around to give the rest of you the same treatment. The hardest hits push you over the edge, and by the time his arm is getting tired, you’re sobbing and writhing in your restraints, overstimulated in every way.

He unlatches your ankles first, helping you find steady footing before untying your wrists and torso. You drop to your knees and open your mouth, throat aching for his cock after the tease of the toy.

He doesn’t have the willpower to torment you by denying it tonight. Instead, he nearly pops the button off his jeans in his urgency to pull his cock out and shove it as far down your throat as he can.

Your arms find their place behind your back, and you just take it. He fucks into you without restraint. It’s filthy, from the mess you’re making to the wet choking sounds he pushes out of you with each thrust.

You’re shaking, and he pulls out abruptly.

“I said while I’m hurting you. You don’t get to just cum from getting facefucked.”

“Then hurt me, please,” you sob. It’s right there; you’re so close.

He slaps you across the face and laughs as you cum, shoving back into your throat while you’re still riding out the aftershocks.

He pulls back out, and you whine until he yanks you up by the bicep and pushes you over to the padded bench, bending you over it and shoving into your sopping cunt.

“Still disappointed?” he teases.

“N-no,” you pant. “Please hurt me.”

“Beg me properly, greedy little cunt.”

You clench around him just at the words, but obey. “Please, sir, please hurt me so I can cum. Please.”

“I’ve been hurtin’ you all night, baby,” he says, voice thick with false pity. “Don’t you want me to be gentle with you now?” He can feel how hard you’re trying not to cum as he mocks you.

“No,” you sob. “No, love me, hurt me, please.”

It’s got an edge of desperation and heartbreak to it that he just loves.

He smacks your already bruising ass until you sob harder, shaking uncontrollably as you cum. He wraps his hands around your throat and fucks you through it until he cums, hips stuttering, and filling your cunt with his spend.

He lets himself collapse a little on top of you, pinning you with his weight against the bench with his softening cock still buried in you. “Feel loved now?”

You’re still crying, and when he folds his arms around your chest, elbows resting on the table, you cling to him. “Love you,” you murmur over and over, pressing kisses up and down his forearms.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing and sucking at you. “I know, baby. You know I love ya.” He’s half-hard—not something that happens a lot anymore at his age, so he’s not gonna waste it. He pulls out just to manhandle you up onto the bench on your back, climbing up between your legs and shoving back in.

It’s a little sloppy until he’s fully hard again; your combined cream making things a little too slippery. Once he’s erect, though, he sets a punishing pace, folding you in half with your legs up by your ears. He works your clit with his hand, relishing in the way you’re fucking exhausted and overstimulated, but your poor clit’s been neglected. It means he can twist and pull on it, tugging until you give him more and more, until you’re sobbing for mercy that you know you’ll never get.

He doesn’t ease up until he pulls out to cum over your tits and face.

“Mine,” he snarls, shoving his fingers into your swollen cunt and feeding you what’s left of his first orgasm and your… well, he’s not really sure how many. A fuckin’ lot. “You’re all mine. Little fuckin’ toy to do whatever I want, right?”

You’re still gasping for breath, having been half-suffocated in that position, but when you look at him, it’s like he’s a fucking god. “Yes, sir.”

-broken

The day had started out fine.

He’d laid out a dress for you to wear. Sometimes, he made you go around bare for a while, just to fuck with your head a little, but he prefers to unwrap you like a present.

Plus, the sight of you crawling around in nothing but a slutty, barely-there dress is picture-fuckin’-perfect. He’d know; he’s got a bunch of ‘em on his phone.

And crawl, you do. You haven’t been allowed to walk further than a couple of feet in a long time. There’s penance to be paid if you can’t avoid it.

Joel collects your penance whenever possible, gathering what’s owed for your sins and dealing out forgiveness when it's settled. It’s how he shows his love.

And he does love you. How could he not? Such a perfect little toy. He’s spent so much time training you right to be his prized possession.

He knew it’d happen eventually, so when you commit one of the worst offenses, he has to make it count. You were testing your limits, of course; he had expected it. He had expected it months ago. It was worse now, after you’d been so good and earned so much trust. But now that you’d been nothing but his for two months, you had finally fucked up.

Your punishments were never painful. Okay, they weren’t pain-focused. Sometimes, he had to put you over his knee to let his frustration out before he could give you a proper punishment. But the pain wasn’t the point—you both liked it too damn much. No matter how much farther he took it than a regular session, and no matter how sick you were with guilt, you were always a soaking wet mess after a beating.

This time would have to be different, though.

It was time to finally break you.

He knew as soon as he got home. Not the particulars, but that you’d made a huge mistake.

On the surface, nothing was amiss. You were knelt by the door in your pretty little dress, a short number in navy blue. You had your head down and arms folded behind your back in perfect posture.

But something was off. It didn’t feel like you were happy he was home. And he was pretty sure there would only be one reason for that.

He hung up his keys but didn’t bother to take off his shoes, coming to stand in front of you. “What’d you do?”

You flinch and have to re-tense to hold the position as a sob escapes you. Your hands are balled into fists to fight the urge to cover your face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked what you did.”

If it were still the early days, when this shit usually happened, he might have been just a little softer. At least until he coaxed the confession from you, anyway. But you were in too deep, now, too entangled in this life that he had little patience for your reticence.

“I—”

“I recommend you spit it out. You’ll tell me in the end, anyway.”

You start to cry. “I can’t say it.”

“You better figure it out pretty fuckin’ fast, little girl.”

“I had an orgasm,” you blurt, whimpers escalating to sobs.

He pauses. It’s worse than he thought. The rush of disappointment and anger sends his heart racing, and his fingers flex in longing for a cane.

“Did you enjoy it?” he says.

It catches you off guard. “No, I promise.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause it’s the last one you’re gonna have for a while.”

You aren’t surprised; you’re actually relieved. Of course, of course he’ll fix you.

He finally takes his shoes off and sets his phone on the counter, beckoning you to follow him to the living room. Taking his seat on the couch, he waits until you’re settled at his feet.

“Why’d you do that, baby?”

“I-I didn’t mean to. I was edging for the last time today, and I don’t know what happened. It was just there, and I knew it, I knew it was coming, and I—” You choke on the guilt, the grief.

“You what?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t convince myself to stop. I kept thinking ‘no, you stupid cunt,’ but I couldn’t pull my hand away.”

He regards you for a moment. He’s burning inside, but trying to calculate the most effective approach.

“Thank you for telling me right away,” he says, but even though he means it, the words are cold and clipped. “Which hand?”

You look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “What?”

“Which hand did you use? Give it to me.”

You lift up your right hand, and he cradles it in his.

“Listen close.” He waits until he’s sure you’re focused on him, on his words.

This is where things have fallen apart in the past. No amount of training and manipulation can get someone across this hurdle; they have to mean it. The last thing he wants is someone running to the police because they don’t fucking understand how serious he is.

“This is going to be your last chance to back out. I will stop right now and let you pack your shit and leave. But if you stay, you’re agreeing to anything I do to you past this point.”

You bite your lip, stomach churning. “You’re scaring me,” you whisper.

“Good. You should be scared. What you’ve done is one of the worst things you could have. That’s got some serious consequences, baby.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I gotta hurt you. Bad. Y’ain’t going to like this; I can promise you that. I can’t punish your cunt because you’re such a stupid pain slut; anything short of permanent damage is gonna make you wet. And I’m not lookin’ to do permanent damage.”

Your lip trembles, heart pounding. You’ve never been so afraid, but you’re also enthralled. Lured in by the timbre of his voice and the salvation it’s promising.

He squeezes your hand where he’s still holding onto you. “I’m going to break one of your fingers.”

Your heart falters, blood rushing. “Oh god,” you whisper, shaking your head. Instinctively, you tug back on your hand, but he grasps it tight, tight enough that you feel the bones grind under his large fingers.

“It’s up to you. That’s half the price for forgiveness. The rest is gonna be spending the night alone.”

Somehow, that sounds worse. You can’t breathe.

“Gotta choose, baby. You wanna go? I’ll pay for a cab. You can walk away, but you can’t ever come back.”

You think you might be drowning. Leave? How could you leave? There’s no debate in your head; you have nothing without Joel. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And the idea of losing him feels catastrophic.

You’re crying again, and you’re vaguely aware of his soothing voice trying to coach you through breathing. When you focus on him, just like he’s taught you, you start to calm down.

It’s Joel, you think. He’ll take care of you. And he said he didn’t want permanent damage. You just have to suffer for your betrayal and he’ll forgive you.

“I think I might throw up,” you warn him.

He sighs, the fear of losing you flooding away, taking some of his anger with it. “We’ll do it in the bathroom.”

He stands up, and you follow, albeit slowly, as the wave of nausea rises. You do throw up as soon as you get in the bathroom, thankfully making it to the toilet. He holds your hair and rubs his hand across your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, baby, get it out of your system. You’re being so brave for me,” he croons. He helps you up to sit on the edge of the tub and gets you a little cup of mouthwash.

“I’ll help you brush your teeth after,” he promises. “I’d do it now, but, well. You’re probably going to puke again.”

When you’re done swishing the mouthwash, when it’s all turned to foam and you’ve spit it back in the cup, he swaps you for water. You rinse and spit that, too.

He’s laid a few things out on the counter. You feel dizzy all over again. Something tells you the comfort you feel is wrong, but he’s prepared an ice pack and medical tape, and has four little ibuprofen out next to another cup of water.

The other, louder part of you is whispering, see? He’ll take care of you. The act of wondering what’s wrong with you feels like a farce. You’re thinking it because you think you should, just going through the motions.

He takes off his belt and brings it to your mouth. You clench it between your teeth, letting a shaky breath through. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“I knew you were somethin’ special,” he whispers. You’re not sure he meant to.

Your whole body is shaking uncontrollably. He watches you for a moment, worried you’re going to faint, and then sits on the floor with his back against the tub, pulling you into his lap. He lays you back against his chest, caging you in with his arms and thighs. The ice pack sits to his right, already popped and frozen. Waiting.

Gently, he lifts your hand and brings it in front of your chest, taking it in his left. It’s a macabre mockery, the way he cradles it in his palm, fingers wrapped around the sides. In his right hand, he notches his thumb on the knuckle of your middle finger, bringing the other fingers in below it.

He doesn’t drag it out, doesn’t take pleasure in your terror. When he moves, it’s faster than a gunshot. Your scream is raw, breaking free from the spaces between your teeth and the belt. The taste of leather will remind you of this moment for the rest of your life.

He has the ice pack on it before you mentally register that it’s over. You’re sobbing. Horribly, he’s right, and you are sick again. He holds your hair in one fist, holding the ice pack to your mangled hand in the other.

When you’re done, he pulls you back against him, wrapping his limbs around you in a perverse embrace as you shake harder. With his free hand, he brings a damp, cool cloth to your face, cleaning you of the viscera of your sickness.

He’s shushing you, head bent close to your ear. “It’s alright, baby, it’s over. You did so good. I’m so proud. I love you so much.”

It’s good that he doesn’t expect an answer because he doesn’t get one. You’re too lost in the pain and shock.

When it’s time to take a break from the ice, he grabs the medical tape and wraps it around your index and middle fingers. You cry out again as he jostles the break. Once he’s splinted it, he lowers your hand gently to your lap so he can grab the medicine.

“I can’t; I’ll throw up again,” you say, voice cracking.

“Don’t have a choice, baby. Gotta keep the swelling down.”

He feeds you each pill, one by one, chasing them with sips of water.

You look so sad and precious that he almost feels bad. Unfortunately, he’s also rock fucking hard, so he shifts you a little to pull his dick out.

You don’t say anything when he lifts you to lower you on it. He’s careful, trying not to shake you around too much. He was right; you didn’t enjoy this pain. You’ve never been this dry for him before, and you whimper pathetically at the pinch and sting of his girth.

You may be worn out and in agony, but your cunt doesn’t get the message. He grins when he feels you getting wet and clenching around him. He doesn’t push it though, doesn’t torment you, just fucks up into you gently until he fills you.

You’re limp against him now, and he presses a kiss into your hair. “You may have to walk for a bit,” he muses. “But I’ll cap your penance at ten.”

You wince. Ten strokes with the cane on the soles of your feet every day until your finger heals? You usually only owe enough for two or three. It is a mercy, though, so you nod and thank him.

Joel can hardly contain the way his chest is flooding with warmth. You’re so close; he can feel it. So close to being completely his to put together just the way he likes.

He can’t wait to take you to The Pit.

-kintsugi

You’re cold. So cold. You’re curled in on yourself, tucked into a corner in the hopes that you’d be able to keep warmer. Your whole right hand throbs.

Moonlight only cuts across the corner, but it’s a comfort still. The soil is loose and you keep shuddering, feeling the tickle of a dozen phantom insects.

Worst of all, your chest aches, like he may as well have hewn you open. Dry sobs work their way free every now and then, leaving your mouth tacky and your throat full of cotton.

The only rest you get is when you blessedly pass out. Every time you close your eyes voluntarily, you see the heartbroken look on his face when you begged him not to leave you there.

“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t broken my trust and I could keep you close, baby. But you’re never going to learn how to be good if I don’t show ya.”

Bad, I’m bad, he doesn’t want me anymore, you think to no end.

When the sun starts to rise, you’re limp, still in your corner. You barely turn your head when a shadow falls over The Pit, but your heart starts to pound when the lock clicks, and Joel raises the gate.

“Oh, baby,” he says, soft and sorrowful. “C’mere.” He reaches out a hand, and you scramble to him, letting him take your left arm in his grasp and pull you out. You move immediately to your knees, body bent forward as your knotted muscles protest. He scoots his boot out of the danger zone near your broken finger.

You keep whispering, a broken record of “Sorry, please, I’m so sorry.”

He picks you up and holds you to his chest, shushing until you fall quiet. It doesn’t take longer than a few seconds as your brain desperately clings to any scrap, any way you can be good for him.

He brushes the loose dirt from you before going inside and upstairs to the ensuite. He sets you on the little rug next to the full garden tub, and he tests the water with his fingers before peeling his clothes off.

You flex your left hand, balling it in and out of a fist. You’ve never been particularly ambidextrous and wonder how you’re going to wash him without falling in or hurting your hand.

Before he gets in, he feeds you four more little red pills. Once he’s settled, he reaches out and guides you carefully by the waist, pulling you into his lap in the warm water.

That’s all it takes for you to start crying again. He doesn’t try to quiet you; just holds you there against his chest and lets you sob.

By the time you’ve calmed, the water has cooled, but instead of getting out, he just drains a little and runs more hot water.

Joel tips your chin up gently with the knuckle of his index finger. “You ready to be my good girl again?”

You nod, lip trembling.

Joel does nothing you hadn’t asked for. The trouble for you was that you asked for too much. Gave him too much. And it was far too late to get any of it back.

He gave what he could, though. Couldn’t replace what he’d taken, so he pours himself in the cracks, puts you back together with a firm hand and loving care. Sure, his love doesn’t look like what you’re used to, but he knows you see it for what it is.

“I know, baby. You took that all so well. Don’t worry,” he pauses to kiss you, “I forgive you. My perfect little toy.”

pls be nice, I'm so nervous about this.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dddne #tw noncon #non con #dark fic #tw abuse #seriously heed the warnings #don't like don't read #deaddovedecember2023

513 notes · View notes

frannyzooey · 11 months

Text

The Dinner

Marcus Moreno x f!college reader

The Secret Universe

Rating: Explicit, Daddy Kink™ (seriously, like a lot)

A/N: I have many people to thank for this one: @imaswellkid @the-ginger-hedge-witch @whatsnewalycat @obiknights and the amazing @the-scandalorian - every single one of them gave me the most amazing advice, but also gave me endless reassurance when I needed it, and I could never thank them enough. Sometimes it really takes a village ❤

“How is stats this semester? Need any help?”

You take a slow sip of your ice water, listening.

“It’s okay,” Missy replies. “Better, now that I signed up for tutoring during my free period, which — “ she points her fork at her father, who currently has a slightly smug expression on his face, “— totally sucks. I know you said it would help, and it did, but at what cost, dad?”

His shoulders move as he huffs a laugh and he pokes around his dinner plate, spearing some roasted broccoli. Shrugging, he glances at you. “Is a couple of hours a week impacting your guys' social life that bad?”

“No, sir,” you answer with a polite smile.

The title slips off your tongue with ease, and his playful expression falters for a moment.

Clearing his throat, he shifts in his chair. “That’s what I thought.”

He takes a swallow of his water — a small sip, then a larger one — and the three of you continue to eat.

The dining room where you sit is seldom used, but cozy. The lighting dim but inviting, the sparse surface of the table lends it a more formal appearance and you think about how much you would have preferred to eat at the table in the kitchen. The one you passed earlier, cluttered with mail, magazines, keys, and other things that never really have any other home than a flat surface in the kitchen.

Eating there would have made you feel more at ease. Eating here makes you feel more like a guest. And with Marcus at the head of the table, the formality of the seating arrangement pulls at you: a constant reminder of who he is.

Forks slide against plates, glasses being set down with a muted thud on the wooden surface of the table and when Missy reaches for another bread roll, a glance over at him has you noticing his body language.

He’s looking everywhere but you – at a painting on the wall, at his half eaten plate, at the condensation gathering on his glass. He lets his hand rest around the glass, his thumb swiping through the water and a thrumming, heady pulse that Missy seems oblivious to grows until it fills the space between your chairs.

Swallowing, you place your elbow on the table near his own. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and his attention turns back to Missy.

“What else is new?” he asks. “I never hear from you anymore. The room still okay? The bed still make that funny noise?”

Missy frowns, holding a bite of chicken aloft in front of her mouth. “How did you know about that?”

Marcus sits up straight, shifting again in his chair and opening his mouth as if getting ready to speak, but Missy interrupts him.

“Oh yea, it was there on move in day,” she remembers. “Whatever. No, we got that tool kit out that you gave me at the beginning of the year and fixed it yesterday. A real girl boss moment.”

She looks over at you and grins, and you return it despite the rapid beat of your heart.

“Yea,” you add, not allowing your eyes to stray from her face. “You killed it.”

You can feel his eyes on you, aware out of the corner of your eye how they slide down your frame and back up again. Whether he’s conscious of it or not, he’s been doing it all night and you want nothing more than to return the look, but you don’t.

“You ladies have any plans for the weekend?” Marcus asks.

Missy nods, excitement filling her eyes. “Yea, I think so? I got laundry and stuff to catch up on, but there is this party tomorrow night I wanna go to. I got a text about it earlier, I think it’s around 8ish?”

A small frown appears between Marcus’s brows. “Where’s it at? Around here?”

“Yea, I think so? I’m not really sure. I’ll have to look up the address or something.”

He doesn’t like that answer, you can tell by the way his frown doesn’t go away and you chance a peek at his face while he’s distracted. A pulsing beat gathers between your thighs, at both the sternness of his expression but also the care behind it.

“Well,” he continues, taking another bite of dinner. “Let me know, okay? I’ll drop you off and pick you up.”

“Dad,” Missy playfully whines. “You’re embarrassing me.”

He rolls his eyes, stretching his legs out under the table and when one of his knees knocks into yours, you still.

His eyes glance down, a short, apologetic smile showing briefly in your direction but he doesn’t move it. It stays there, his leg shifting just enough to press against yours with intent and as the dinner goes on, you resist the urge to smile.

–

You met them both for the first time on move-in day.

Cars lined along the driveway to the dorms with their trunks crammed full of new bedding and boxes and the bare essentials for kitchens and showers, you noticed them right away.

Missy, true to the picture she emailed you weeks ago when introducing herself as your new roommate, and Marcus, when he stepped around the side of the car to open the trunk. Close-cropped dark hair shone browner in the sun, the strands neatly combed into place, yet slightly curled with the humidity. His shirt stretched tight across his wide shoulders, tucked neatly into dress pants that fit him perfectly. The fabric pulled across his back when he leaned forward to reach in for the first boxes and when Missy shouted your name, he turned around.

You had to pull your eyes away from his face to greet her with a shy smile.

He stuck around the entire morning – making sure the lofts were set up correctly, helping move furniture, his kind, good humored eyes on his daughter as he took in her first day at college. He offered to take the two of you out to lunch in celebration, but before you could reply, Missy shooed him away.

“We’re gonna go grab a coffee or something. Get to know each other. You can get outta here, dad. Thanks for the help.”

You could tell she genuinely meant it, but the paltry thanks wasn’t enough in your opinion. He had already done more than your parents had ever done for you, and you wondered what it was like to grow up in a house where it happened so often you took it for granted. Your parents hadn’t even bothered to give you a ride on your first day, you had taken the bus with your meager boxes.

He humored her, giving her a soft smile and when he turned to say goodbye to you, you made sure to hold his gaze when you thanked him.

“Not a problem,” he replied sincerely. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

–

The two of them clear the plates while you grab what you can from the table, and it’s apparent that they have their own shorthand method of communication with each other. She clears, he starts the dishwater. She empties scraps into the trash to stack plates neatly by the sink, and when you help her, his eyes linger on your mouth when he turns to say thank you.

A routine that had never taken place in your own home, you revel in the roles everyone plays. The comfort of them, the domesticity. You imagine the two of them doing this every night before Missy left for college, and the mental image of Marcus standing at the sink with his t-shirt stretched over the strong muscles of his back warms you from the inside out. Even more when you think about him reminding Missy to clear her place, or asking her what she wants in her lunch tomorrow.

The qualities of a dad: one who does because he cares, but also guides.

Done clearing, Missy leaves the room, the telltale sound of the washer door opening down the hall, and Marcus stills at the sink, listening.

“Listen, don’t jam it all in there like last time, okay?” he warns, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. “You can do more than one load. No rush, Missy, okay?”

“Yea, yea, I got it,” she yells back, and he sighs, shaking his head. You meet his eye in a knowing look, and the corner of his lips pulls up in a rueful smile.

“She almost broke it last time, trying to fit about a month of clothes in all at once.”

You laugh, and nod. “She does that at the dorm too.”

He shakes his head, pushing his hands into the water.

“You don’t need to use those machines — either of you. You’re always welcome to come over and do it here,” he offers, searching in the sudsy water for a plate. Finding it, he begins scrubbing it with a rag. “Either of you. Even if she can’t come, you can.”

A pause.

“Anytime you want.”

The invitation hangs between the two of you in the silence, and you keep your eyes on his forearms as they flex above the suds. A sudden, unbidden image of them flexing between your thighs flashes through your mind, the weight of his fingers felt inside you.

His voice lowers. “We could even plan it that way, so we don’t have to keep…“

He gives you a knowing look, and guilt gnaws at you as you listen to Missy hum in the next room.

“It’s not that I don’t want that,” you explain, your voice keeping quiet. “I just don’t want…” Uncertainty flashes across your features and when you look up, you find that he’s already looking at you.

“Don’t want what?” he asks.

Unsure how to put your fear into words, you hesitate. Moving your meetings to his house somehow makes them more of an offense in your mind. In the space he shares with his daughter; their family home.

The duality of the man standing next to you has been messing with you all night: the Marcus that stands beside you now versus the Marcus that you know. The unassuming, kind face of a good father masking the hooded lust you know his eyes contain. The strength held in his arms when he takes the trash out; the flex of them under your bare knees when he spreads you wide. His plush bottom lip in a soft smile for his daughter; the same pressing against your skin, your mouth, between your legs.

A secret shadow follows him around constantly, fleeting slices of the man you know appearing if you watch him long enough. His throaty laugh, the spread of his thighs on the couch, the flex of his jaw.

Seeing him here in his kitchen or at the head of the dining room table has the men merging in your mind despite your ability, until now, to keep them separate. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth, thinking.

“Don’t want what?” he repeats, softer this time, tenderness curling around the words and you’re about to answer when Missy walks back into the kitchen.

“Hey, you don’t have to help him with that. I got it.”

He stands taller, shifting away from you and you back up from the sink, making room for her. She immediately scoops a delicate mound of bubbles and flicks them at Marcus, laughing when he grimaces with a chuckle. The teasing makes you smile.

He’s so good with her — so patient, and kind, and attentive. So genuinely invested in her answers in a way you’d never experienced, and though you are happy for your best friend in that she has such a doting parent, you’d be lying if you said a little jealousy never crept into your heart when you watched them.

Not because you wanted either of them to choose you, but because they so clearly had each other. Someone to depend on; a traditional parental/child relationship full of trust and respect and love.

You watch them for a moment as they work in tandem, their mannerisms similar from behind.

“I’m gonna take a shower before bed,” you announce, and excusing yourself from the room, you leave them to finish the dishes.

—

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.”

Down the hall from his room and across from Missy’s, the guest bedroom door clicks shut quietly in the dark. The shuffle of sheets whispering as you shift to make room for him in the bed, the mattress dips when he joins you, the heat of his body felt close. His hands reach for you, pulling you closer and there are no other words spoken as his mouth meets yours, deepening the kiss immediately.

His tongue slides against your own, your taste familiar and maddeningly addictive, and he groans deeply into it, rolling you onto your back.

Beneath the solid weight of his body is your favorite place – secure, safe, desired, wanted. Trapped between the soft bed and the scent of his warm skin, his mouth takes and takes and takes from yours until you’re drunk with arousal beneath him, wanting to stay there forever.

“I wanted you so bad at dinner,” he breathes in a low confession. “So fucking bad, even when you walked through the door.”

Every one of his words is matched with a weighted grind of his hips into the cradle of your thighs, and you roll right back against him, a soft sound catching in your throat at the delicious pressure. There is something that makes you weak about his voice in general, but when he swears – especially in his desperation to express how much he’s wanted you – it lights a path straight from your ears to your center; need blooming fierce and bright.

You would tell him how much you thought about him just as much if his mouth didn’t immediately cover yours again, and pushing your fingers through his close-cropped dark hair, you match his urgency. Your knees hitch higher around his broad torso, your thighs tightening with every flex of your hips up and the stiff length of his cock underneath his sleep pants fits perfectly along the damp seam darkening your underwear.

You can feel the thick ridge of it, aching for the filling heft as he grinds his hips against you again and again, and whimpering for more underneath him, the words slip out.

“Please, daddy.”

He stills for a split second, breaking the kiss as a shudder slips through him and a wash of embarrassed heat floods your face, but it’s quickly replaced with arousal when he groans as if in pain, his furrowed brow pressed into the plane of your chest.

His hand splays against your side to keep you in place with a pained press of his fingers. “Jesus Christ, baby, you can’t — you can’t say things like that. Please. Please.”

“But I want it,” you whisper.

You do. You’ve wanted it ever since you met him, just knowing by looking at him that he would give you what you need. So thoughtful, so considerate and kind, so attentive and warm but also very much a man – a handsome, understated man with needs that showed clear on his face every time you met him after that first time.

The second, third, fourth time you met him, the flicker of interest in his dark brown eyes.

The magnetic, heady pulse of attraction that filled the small room when he showed up once while Missy was at class.

The lunch that he invited you to instead of her, and the undivided attention he gave you from across the table. The way he reminded you to buckle your seatbelt, and the way you leaned over and kissed him when he waited a beat too long reluctantly saying goodbye outside your dorm, on the street.

That first, tentative kiss after he followed you back to your room at the reassurance Missy had classes that afternoon, and the frown furrowed between his brows, both at how wrong it was to want this and relief at finally giving in.

The soft cotton of your sheets sliding against your bare back, the way his body seemed too big for the narrow twin.

His giving mouth, soothing guidance rumbled in his deep voice.

Something that’s taken root in your mind with every time he brings you to bed, you don’t know how else to describe how you want to be tucked into his side to be made felt safe and secure, while also fucked deep into the mattress until you’re sobbing with fullness.

Being here with him has made the need for it unbearable, and what you do know is that no matter what you want, he’ll give it to you.

Your confession is a quiet one that lingers in the air and he looks up, his doleful, brown eyes finding yours. They stay there, searching for the truth and when he finds it in your slightly ashamed expression, he pulls himself up until you are face to face.

“Yea?” he asks, soothing stray hairs at your temple. “You want a daddy?”

The word gives him pause, but his cock hardens painfully against the cool sheets and when you nod, the vulnerability shown on your face is so open that he finds himself mirroring it, wanting to soothe.

He not only understands but wants, so very badly.

“Okay, okay,” he agrees. The tension in your body drains as you soften underneath him; pliant and moldable for his needs. “Say it again, baby.”

“Daddy,” you whisper in a relieved rush, your plush lips parting only just.

His hooded eyes watch the word slip from your mouth, and his thumb skates along the plump cushion of your bottom lip, before pushing just inside. He slides his thumb over the wet muscle of your tongue, letting you suck on it.

Bright need swells and aches between his thighs, your soft, lush skin slipping against his as you squirm in need underneath him and he slips his thumb from your mouth before pressing his lips to yours with a rough kiss.

Desperate to feel the clutch of your tight, wet cunt, he reaches down to open you up for him, his hand slipping beneath your panties and his fingers sliding with a familiar swipe through your soaked curls. He finds the dip where you need him most, your arousal soaking the pads of his competent touch and his breathing quickens, his eyes flitting between your face and his cotton covered hand.

The same fingers that made dinner, that queued up the movie, that clasped under his chin when he listened to Missy talk. The same ones that held the steering wheel in a loose grip as he drove you to the store.

They’ve slid into your mouth before, and then your cunt. Brushed against the puckered rim of your asshole, swirled with divine pressure over your clit, and filled you to the brim until you cried out, your cunt a snug slip around them.

Two fill you now with an urgent slide, the action making him swallow the soft catch of your whine and the ease in which he slips them in and out is aided by how wet and ready you are for him.

Always so wet; his perfect girl.

“When you called me ‘sir’ at the dinner table,” he pants, nuzzling the bridge of his nose along your jaw as he looks down at his hand. Your thighs open wider for him, and you softly moan, chasing the thick fill of his fingers. “I almost fucking lost it. So sweet. So sweet, baby.”

“Just – just for you.” Your brow furrowed in pleasure, you chase what he’s building inside you, your small hand slipping down to cover his larger one. Your fingers push over his, guiding him as if he needs it, and the both of you get lost in the slick, consuming motion; his eyes glued on your parted mouth. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to say it. The daddy thing, I –”

“Don’t be sorry. No, fuck. Don’t be sorry, baby. I wanna hear it. I want it.”

His soothing words wash over you, your cunt accepting him deeper as he adds a third finger and before he gives you time to adjust, he’s slipping them from your wet heat, sliding them into his mouth with a suck. He groans with a frown, his lashes dark against his face as his eyes flutter shut and he shifts abruptly down the bed.

His fingers grip the band of your underwear and tug them roughly down your legs before the width of his shoulders forces your knees apart. The heat of his mouth felt in a humid gust against your spread, bared seam, he tugs you tight to his face, and the emptiness left by the sudden absence of his fingers is immediately replaced with his thick, eager tongue.

“Marcus!”

His whiskered cheeks brushing roughly against the tender skin on the inside of your thighs, he devours your cunt, his back flexing as he nearly pushes you up the bed in his hunger if not for the way his hands curl around the top of your thighs to hold you in place.

“Shhh, baby. Shhh,” he reminds you, and you let out a quiet sob, clasping your hand over your mouth.

He’s so much, a sensory overload being amplified by the darkness around you: the needy grip of his large hands, the slick slide of his tongue, the muffled groans he’s letting out between your legs.

“You taste so good, baby,” he breathes, his mouth dragging damply over the inside of your thigh with a thick kiss before he licks your clit with the flat of his tongue. He slides it from side to side with pressure, a motion that makes you bow off the bed.

Mindless with pleasure, you’re overcome with the need to anchor yourself to something — the direct attention is so much, too much — and your hands fist the sheets, your back arching.

“I washed it just for you, daddy.”

You should be embarrassed but all traces of shame are turned to cinder the second he groans deep and loud, the sound muffled by the way he immediately buries his face with an open mouthed kiss. It’s messy and decadent, his tongue pushing inside you and then it swipes lower.

Your hips jolt up to meet it; his low, satisfied groan sounding between your cheeks.

“Fuck,” you whine, the tip of his tongue pressing against the tight ring of muscle before he flattens it to lick a wide, wet stripe from the seam of your ass all the way to your clit. Another one, before he gives your soaked entrance a hungry kiss and the pressure of his face being buried so deep makes you grind against him, your hips moving in time with his, as he seeks his own relief against the sheets.

“I’m gonna — I’m gonna fucking come. Daddy, you’re gonna make me come.”

It’s a plea if he’s ever heard one, and he zeroes his focus in on your clit — circling it with his tongue before giving it a light suck. He keeps going as you thread your fingers into his hair with a tug, keeps going as you press your lips together to try to stifle your moans, and keeps going when your thighs tense around his cheeks and you come with a breathless whimper; his tongue swiping hungrily through the salt of your release.

All tension in your body gone, he kisses a path slowly up your body while you lay and catch your breath – up over the top of your thigh, the rounded curve of your hip, the soft, plush underside of your breast.

He cradles you to his chest, tugging you onto your side as his mouth drags along the line of your neck. He kisses a path over the skin and your hips shift, seeking his out. He can feel you squirming, looking for relief and bellies together, he rolls you onto your back, your hands working together to push his pajama bottoms down and off.

Your touch is back to frantic as he pulls from your mouth, his hands cradling the sides of your head to keep you in place as he gets his fill and you wind your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push inside.

He does – a motion that makes your moan get lost underneath his deeper one – and the snap of his hips is immediate and hard, the filling weight of his cock pushing the air from your lungs.

His lips kiss your closed eyelids, his tongue sweeping over the salt rimmed lashes where a tear lingers and his mouth finds the fragrant, soft skin below your ear. His lips press against it, his mustache tickling you, the roll of his hips never ceasing.

“You’re being so good for daddy. So good.”

Your eyes open and find his, and he throbs with how sincerely vulnerable you look underneath him right now, desperate to know you’re being good.

“You’re such a good girl. Always letting me fuck you the way I want. Always letting me take care of you, like you take care of me.” His lips find the corner of your mouth, the delicacy of the kiss in contrast with the way you have to dig your nails into his broad back to hang on as he fucks you harder and he pulls back just enough to look at your face.

“You’re so good, aren’t you, baby. Aren’t you.”

It’s not a question for you to answer, but rather a statement he needs you to confirm and you nod, a tiny frown of pleasure appearing between your brows as you shift rhythmically underneath him.

“My baby,” he murmurs, catching your mouth in a deep kiss. “My baby.”

Your hand trails down the line of his spine and splays over his tailbone, sweat beading along the skin as he fills, fills, fills and you widen your thighs, digging your fingers into the swell of his ass to force him deeper.

“Please, daddy. Please.”

His hips shift into a slow, weighted grind when you beg using those words. He never pulls all the way out, rather forcing himself so deep into the heart of you that you tremble with the need to come underneath him.

“You’re so fucking pretty. So pretty when you’re gonna come.”

His praise fills you with light from the inside out, pouring out through your sweat damp skin where it’s flush with his own and another tear slips free; your release both a bright, shining edge that he’s guiding you towards and a strong, powerful current that threatens to pull you under.

“Give it to me.”

His voice is husky and strained, a quiet plea for you to let go and when you do with a silent cry, the deep dimpled smile on his face is a proud one, equal parts awe and lust.

He follows shortly after, the tight, wet clutch of your cunt too much for him – but it’s your relieved face that makes him spend every ounce inside you with slow, smooth strokes until there is nothing left. You look so light underneath him, so content and drowsy and drunk with relief.

He can’t help himself when he bends to kiss the tear track that runs over your temple, giving you another kiss on the apple of your cheek.

“So good. You were so good.”

You’re so spent you can’t even kiss him back, rather letting him gently nudge you to meet his mouth and even then you let him take what he needs from your kiss swollen lips, opening up for him when his mouth demands it.

Eventually he shifts, just enough to settle beside you rather than on top, but you automatically follow the heat of his body, curling into his chest.

“There’s, uh —” he starts, closing his eyes. You watch the thud of his pulse under the tanned skin of his neck. He licks his plush lips, trying to catch his breath. “There’s milk and cereal — or eggs, if you want those in the morning. I didn’t know what you guys would want, so I —“

Your quiet laugh stops him and he looks down at you, smiling when he sees your expression.

“Are you really telling me about my breakfast options, like some kinda guest?”

“Yea, I guess I am,” he grins. “But you are a special guest in this house,” he replies, tugging you closer. His mouth finds the curve of your collarbone, his smile felt against the skin there. “Especially for me.”

“Guests really get the full treatment here, huh,” you tease. “Dinner, laundry, breakfast, their ass eate—“

You can almost feel his blush in the dark, his fingers immediately digging into your side to stop your sentence, and your stifled giggles fill the dark room but he doesn’t let up until you’re squirming underneath him, breathlessly begging him to stop.

“What?” you laugh, trying to keep quiet. “I liked that part of the turn down service.”

He grins, the knowing smile of a pleased man who is well aware he did good. He leans in, putting his mouth by your ear.

“Good to know. Maybe tomorrow the service will include it again.” He pulls back and winks, leaning back in to give you a quick, full kiss.

“I wish I could stay, but I better get back to my room.”

“I know.”

“See you in the morning?” he asks, so soft and mussed and hopeful yet grown; his voice low and husky. His eyes are soft with affection, his unwavering gaze showing that he genuinely wants to make sure you’re okay before he leaves.

His hand cradles the curve of your cheek, his thumb swiping along the line of your cheekbone and you tilt to press a kiss against the heel of it. Relief like you haven’t ever known floods through you, but more than that is what you feel underneath that earnest gaze.

Safe, secure. In both yourself, and what you mean to him.

“Yea. See you in the morning.”

He smiles, bending to place a delicate, warm kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight, baby.”

You sigh with contentment.

“Goodnight, daddy.”

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno/you #marcus moreno/reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x reader

586 notes · View notes

writingjourney · 2 months

Note

I’m in need of some advice and kind words. As a fellow writer I’m really struggling to believe people will and want to read my stuff. There’s no real engagement anymore and I’m worried that if I post my long-form fic that no one will give it a chance. It’s really bringing me down because I love it so much but it feels like no matter what I try to do my stuff just doesn’t get seen or liked? I’ve even thought about changing my entire way of how I do things since I don’t think the way I write is working for the masses. How do you keep up the motivation as a popular writer and do you have an advice?

Hello anon!! I feel like this is something many of us currently deal with. And first of all I seriously hope that you do share your story!! ♡

To be completely honest with you the lack of engagement in the fandom has for sure impacted my own motivation which is why I haven't been putting as much time into longer fics (nor the Friday Nights series or IKNBS, I do write but I refuse to force myself). I don't feel any urgency because uploading fics hasn't made me as happy as it used to. It feels like only other active writers are reading fic atm and it creates a lot of pressure on creatives to stay super active.

I'm aware that I'm insanely privileged to have the engagement that I do have, that the type of stories I want to write are also the type of stories that generally seem to appeal. However, engagement tells you NOTHING about the quality of your work, only how many people are active in a fandom or like a specific pairing/character/trope. Your own unique voice matters more than numbers.

I also notice that a lot of people who used to read my works have disappeared which I completely understand. The fixation can ebb away during times of inactivity or when a certain hype dies down. People just don't get that dopamine hit anymore and move on. It's also entirely possible they get tired of a certain style of writing and prefer other writers at times, what do I know. I definitely don't blame anyone for that. First and foremost people should read for their own enjoyment and engage with fandom in a way that makes them happy. It makes no sense to pressure people into engaging. A huge issue right now is people overthinking these things which makes support transactional instead of genuine.

I don't care much about notes but I REALLY miss the feeling of sharing a fic with people who are excited for it, that sense of an active community. BUT the activity will come back – the movie will come out, new music and videos, heck even a whole new Papa!!! That's the natural flow of things. We can't be excited and super active all the time, we need phases of calmness as well (which is an act of rebellion in the capitalist hellscape of overproduction and churned out content. I am honestly glad Ghost is taking it easy).

Now, I recommend you write your story exactly how you want to!!! do NOT change it for the sake of popularity because it will lose its very soul and you will struggle to be happy with it by the end. You know how you want to tell your story and nothing else matters. It will find its readers or you can wait and share it at a later point. I recommend that you approach other writers and readers and intensify that contact, make friends and talk to them about your stories, hype each other up, share snippets. It's even more meaningful to know people you like enjoy what you do. I am currently working on super niche fics for non-Ghost characters and I'm honestly having a great time chasing that dopamine by just writing what I'm really into and sharing it with friends. Fandom is community, fandom is fun and we can work to make it better for everyone.

A few general tips when it comes to making stories accessible: Format them to be readable (paragraphs!!), add a "read more" break, add proper content information and a nice summary to draw people in, add some visual appeal like a banners or stock image edits (like i do for IKNBS) and then tag the fics with relevant tags (and only those). Also make sure to tag the OG post, tags on reblogs do nothing for reach. Engage with the community when you feel like it and it's likely that the community will engage back. Being supportive is worth it, being kind is always worth it even if it amounts to nothing.

#your fear is valid and wanting engagement is valid!!!#but don’t let it stop you from writing :)#asks #anon

34 notes · View notes

harlowcomehome · 1 year

Text

Goodbye looks good on you- Part three! (Final)

A/N: A collaboration with @nattinatalia 🦋 I want to thank her for being patient and so kind to me while we worked together to write this. 💜 Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Part two here!

The conversation between you and Tony lingered in your head for days, you hated to admit how much what he said got to you. You assumed if it had come from anybody else or somebody who didn’t know you as well, you wouldn’t have dwelled on it.

Jack noticed a difference in you, you were cold and not like your usual self. You had been avoiding him for days and you hadn’t mentioned wedding planning once.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” He asked as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone.

“What do you mean?” You sighed, placing your phone face down on the couch.

“Ever since we went and looked at the venue you’ve seemed off. Did I do something wrong?” He sat beside you now.

“I can apologize to Tony if you’re going to be pissed at me.”

The fact that he mentioned Tony and you hadn’t even told him about your impromptu coffee date, was eating you alive.

“Jack, I need to ask you something” Your voice cracked and he immediately knew something was seriously wrong.

“Anything, just talk to me” he replied, looking at you with worry.

“Do you think we’re making a mistake?” You ask him, biting at your bottom lip.

“Mistake? What do you mean baby?” He couldn't help but look confused.

“The wedding” You respond in a low whisper.

“What? You were so happy about the wedding and now you’re having doubts? What’s going on?”

“You’re not getting involved much, even when you promised you would.”

“That makes you have doubts about us getting married?” He sounded genuinely hurt.

“Tony also made a valid point-“

“Tony? What are you even talking about?” His brows furrowed.

“I met with Tony for coffee, and he-“

“You met with Tony? The venue chef?” He chuckled and shook his head, he could feel the jealousy bubble up inside him. “You’re listening to what someone else has to say about our relationship? He doesn’t even know us.”

You shrugged “He isn’t wrong though.”

“Please enlighten me, what did he tell you that made you have second thoughts about something you demanded from me.”

“I demanded? You can’t be serious Jack.” You shook your head. “This is what I’m talking about. You say little things that make it sound like you’re just settling for me.”

“That’s not true” he sighed.

“Jackman, please be honest with me. Do you see us getting married?”

“I mean we agreed on a long engagement.” He shrugs, cooling down.

“A long engagement because you don’t want to get married?” You got defensive.

“There’s no winning here, is there?” He groaned. “I love you y/n, you know that right?”

“That’s not what I asked you” you coldly replied, internally bracing yourself for impact.

“Y/N, I don’t want to argue” He sounded defeated and you felt it too.

“I’ll give you some space then” you replied harshly, walking to the bedroom.

He didn’t follow you, he knew you needed to be alone and he felt somewhat relieved.

Eventually, he called both Clay and Urban to come over because he needed someone close to vent to.

Both Urban and Clay showed up at the same time and noticed Jack’s facial expression upon entrance.

“What’s up?” Urban asked as the two of them sat across from Jack.

Jack started to vent to them about the entire situation, with zero pauses in between. It was uncontrollable but it all came out unconsciously.

Urban and Clay looked at each other confused. “I'm confused, is it nerves or what?” Urban asked and Clay silently nodded.

Jack shook his head, walking back and forth in front of them. “It had to be done, it just had to.”

“Dude, Jack.” Urban tosses a couch pillow at him. “You’re going to make a hole in the floor if you don’t stop. What’s going on?”

“I hate ultimatums. But Y/N was serious about our relationship.” He finally stops walking back and forth and sits down across from the boys.

“Okay?” Clay responds sharply.

“I love her, I do. But we’re still young, I’m still young. I don’t want to settle down when my career is barely kicking off.”

“But you proposed to her, if you didn’t want to get married, why propose?” His brother was still as confused as he was when he walked in.

“She’s my comfort, my safe place. I didn’t want to lose her. But if we continue with the wedding, I feel like this will end badly.”

“Jack, please tell me you did not propose thinking she’d hold off on the wedding for years or something” Urban groaned.

“Urb.” Jack rubbed at his temples. “Maybe my team also suggested that it’s best if I start looking like a family guy, instead of the player the public is making me out to be“ he admitted.

“Do Mom and Dad know? Shit, does Y/N know?”

“No, no I didn’t.” You interrupted.

Jacks face went completely pale as he stood up and turned to look at the steps where you were standing with tears running down your face.

“Y/N. Baby, please let me explain” he begged as Urban and Clay left the house right away.

“So this was just a show? You and your management just sat down and decided to make me look like a fool?” You struggle to whisper out in pain.

It was a heartbreaking shock hearing him confess to everything.

You had woken up thirsty, it hadn’t been even thirty minutes after your little nap. You decided to go down for a cup of water. Your plans were never to eavesdrop, but something deep down told you to stay and listen to what he had to say.

“Let me explain, please.”

“Explain what?” You chuckled in annoyance. “That you lied to me? That you don’t actually want to marry me? That all of this was because it benefits your image?”

“It’s not how it sounds-“

“Not how it sounds?” You step down from the staircase and make your way down to where he’s at.

“You just told your brother and your best friend that you don’t even want to get married. So please tell me how what I heard isn’t what it sounds like.”

“Okay, fine” he sighed. You could tell he was nervous as he motioned for you to sit down on the couch, and he sat beside you. “I love you, and I want to be with you but I don’t want us to get married, not so soon. Not now. I liked things better when it was just Jack and y/n.”

“Why are you so afraid of getting married? You knew when we started dating that this is what I wanted. I wanted to be married and have children and I wanted that with you” Your voice shook, your lip trembled and you were practically choking on your tears.

“Wanted?” Jack questioned, his eyes filling with tears.

“I need you to stay with your parents tonight” You stood up abruptly, avoiding his eyes. You knew if you saw his beautiful ocean eyes fill up with waves of tears you’d fold and you couldn’t do that anymore, not for your sake.

“Y/N, don’t do this” he begged as you started to walk away.

“Go Jackman, I mean it” you replied sternly, trying not to show any weakness.

“Baby” he called out and you ignored him, rushing to your bedroom to cry.

Jack ended up staying at his parents' house for the next week, texting you ever so often but you continued to ignore him. You knew he wouldn’t dare show up at the house, as Marisol had been staying with you. It was obvious as her car was parked out front.

Marisol was tight-lipped about the situation, she knew you were struggling with it all and you needed someone to listen instead of speak. She made sure you showered and ate and talked to you about nonsense for the first few days.

At the end of the week, you started to notice his absence and it was the first time Marisol couldn’t console you. You had taken a seat in your shared walk-in closet, you were uncontrollably sobbing. The next thing you knew you were in bed, you assumed you had a panic attack and fell asleep.

Marisol was next to you when you woke up, “you’re moving in with me.”

“No Mar, I’ll just figure it out. Maybe Jack will just let me stay here for a wh-“

“I’m not asking you” she hummed, pointing to the flattened boxes leaning against your bedroom walls.

“Marisol” you sighed and she shook her head.

“You and I both know if you stay in this house you won’t leave him.”

“I want to say goodbye” You started to cry.

“And you will, but we have to pack first” she replied, reaching out to hold your hand.

You and Marisol spent the next two days packing your belongings, Clay stopped by to get some of Jack's things when he noticed how many of your things were missing.

“You’re leaving him, aren’t you?” He asked calmly as he filled a duffle with clothing.

“I am” You nodded sadly, biting back tears.

“I hate to say this, because he’s my brother but good for you” He half smiled, walking over to you to give you a goodbye hug.

“Thanks, Clay, I just hope I’m doing the right thing” You shrugged solemnly.

“You are” he assured you as he left.

Clay's word stayed with you, and you thought about them as you packed the rest of your things. You realized he may tell Jack that you were packing and you were worried he’d show up and make a mess of things.

“Let’s go to your place tonight?” You asked Marisol.

“You still have to say goodbye” She pointed to the kitchen table. She had laid out a pen and paper, you turned to her and laughed.

“What is this?” You questioned.

“Your goodbye” she smiled and you nodded.

“I’ll go put these boxes in the car.”

As you sat down at the kitchen table to write your letter. You turned on your new favorite breakup ballad.

You had tears rolling down your cheeks, you had hoped Jack would be who you ended up with, and coming to terms with this was beyond devastating.

“Jack,”

#Jack Harlow #Jack Harlow x reader #jack harlow imagines #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow fanfic #nattinatalia

170 notes · View notes

firstprincehornyramblings · 5 months

Text

Stress Relief

Summary: Henry has had a very stressful day. And Alex knows exactly what kind of distractions will help make it better.

(18+) Kinks/Tags: firstprince, dirty talk, fingering, orgasm, oral sex, (playful/light) daddy stuff, desperate kisses, (mild) impact play, penetration, some fluff, Henry top, some cum swapping, general Henry being a slut (for Alex). Huge shoutout to Jon (@bigassbowlingballhead) for helping me out with some formatting stuff and bouncing back and forth ideas with me. (you da best) TW; brief Phillip mention.

———

"Baaaabbbyyy.” Alex called as he opened the door to Henry’s bedroom. “How’d your meeting go, I brought Starbucks and surprises. I figured that you deserved a cake pop after putting up with….” Alex paused as he looked up and caught a glimpse of Henry’s face, “Oh no, what’s wrong?” he asked immediately walking over to where Henry was sitting at his desk, looking distraught. Henry was sat with one elbow on the table, his face had been in his hand but he’d lifted it marginally to look up at Alex coming in. “Baby, what is it?” Alex cooed again, setting down the cups and his bags, stepping over to where Henry sat, rubbing the blond’s back gently.

“It’s..” Henry began shaking his head “This whole.. bill parliament is working on, and of course we have to approve it, and you read it.” He was pausing to look at Alex’s sympathetic face, the understanding nod. “And of course I’m not in favor and we discussed it today you know, and Phillip is being.. unrelenting and I’m almost entirely sure it’s to spite me.” He said it sounding both so angry, and so on the verge of tears at the same time. It wouldn’t be the first time Alex had seen Henry angry cry.

“Do you want me to throw something at him?” Alex asked, trying not to smile as he actually got a half-hearted laugh from Henry. “No, I’m so serious,” Alex continued, “Like it doesn’t have to... be dangerous, like I can miss on purpose. But make it something really threatening like a lamp.” “Oh my god, stop it Alex!” Henry said playfully swatting at the other man, but giving a more genuine smile. “You’re sweet,” he said after a moment, leaning up to rest a hand on Alex’s cheeks, tugging him down for a kiss.

“I’ve been told.” Alex said into the kiss, before giving Henry a few more kisses, “But in all seriousness, I’m sorry, I know that shit fucking sucks, and I know you.. don’t like it anyway. Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked moving behind Henry then, beginning to massage those tense shoulders.

“Mhn, you.. can keep doing that actually.” Henry almost hummed, leaning back into Alex’s fingers, “Just because I do have to deal with it doesn’t mean I have to think about it right now.” He said despite it sounding much more like it was talking to himself than to Alex. And Alex didn’t believe it was for him for a minute either, but he nodded. “That’s right baby,” Alex said, doing his best to sound proud. His thumbs working at knots in Henry’s shoulders that made the blonde hiss. “Besides, I did bring treats, and a few surprises. Well, one surprise, but treats.”

“Please tell me you didn’t bring a puppy back here, Alex.” Henry half groaned. It was a tone that was playful, but also partly serious. “You don’t think David needs a brother?” Alex teased, his fingers still working Henry’s shoulders. “David has anxiety, Alex.” Henry said in a much more serious tone now. “You.. didn’t get a puppy did you?” he asked actually turning to look back over his shoulder.

“No!” Alex laughed, shaking his head, “I would not spring a puppy on you, at.. this point in our relationship.” He clarified to a still stern looking Henry. “First off, coffee.” He said grabbing the iced coffee cup and setting it in front of Henry, with body language that made it seem more like a peace offering. “Second, cake pop.” He said setting the small Starbucks baggie beside the coffee. “It is incredible to me that you are in a palace with.. all of the equipment found inside of a Starbucks, and the staff to make it, and yet..” Henry said, despite taking out the cake pop already. “Thank you though.” he said taking a bite. “It’s just better.” Alex said sipping his own iced coffee before picking up another all black label-less bag. “Okay so I went to get us lube, we’re almost out.” Alex explained, pulling out a bottle of lube that made Henry get rather wide eyed.

“Do we need that much?” Henry asked breaking into a smile. “We absolutely do!” Alex defended, smiling so wide as he spoke, “I mean I don’t know about you but I’ve got this super hot boyfriend.” He teased; only grinning wider when Henry rolled his eyes with an ‘alright alright’. “Anyway,” Alex continued, reaching back in the bag, “They had these at the front, and I couldn’t say no it was just SO cute.” he was already defending his choice before showing Henry. But he pulled out a miniature riding crop then, no longer than a foot long ruler. The top of the crop was heart shaped, and the handle even had a tassel, clearly it was meant to be more cute than functional. “Alex!” Henry immediately scolded, nearly choking on the coffee he’d been sipping. “You did not! A riding crop? You can /not/ keep that here in the palace!”

Alex couldn’t help but laugh, he knew that was coming, “Oh right because people frequently go through your bedroom drawers, and it would be an international scandal if someone found this in your own home?” “Well,” Henry started before seeming to find his argument again, “It’s ridiculous, we are not using that. And it’s going back to your house, in /your/ luggage!”

Despite the protest from the blond, Alex could see the light blush forming in his cheeks. This was one of those moments, where it was the slightest bit hard to tell if this was just the British Royal coaching; or how Henry felt. “You know, I’ve seen you use a crop before,” Alex edged in, “And you were.. pretty handy with it, you definitely knew your way around.” “Oh my god that was on a horse Alex! Where it belongs!” Henry scolded, “You’re such a deviant.”

“Okay okay,” Alex playfully held up a hand in surrender, “I’ll put it in the drawer..” he said as he held up the crop, walking to the bedside table, and opening the drawer, laying the crop in, “See, I’m putting it inside the drawer.” He was looking back to Herny, watching his every move as he closed the drawer. “And it's hidden, we’re the only ones that know.” Alex reassured, walking back to Henry. “However,” he said once he stood back in front of Henry, who was currently in the middle of a permanent pout, sipping his coffee. “You still seem.. stressed, it’s making you grumpy.” Alex was grabbing the back of Henry’s chair then, tugging it back from the desk, and then turning it to the side, so Henry was no longer in front of that desk. “You’re ridiculous.” Henry laughed, shaking his head as he took another sip of that coffee, “What are you planning?” he asked in a much more playful way.

“Well,” Alex crooned, “What if I help you relax?” he was setting his hands on the arms of the chair Henry was in, so he could lean down more. “I think you just need a way to take out your frustrations. I mean you /do/ have a super hot boyfriend too.” Henry fought back a laugh, unable to keep from grinning like an idiot at Alex. “I do,” he said nodding as he leaned forward just a bit, brushing his lips over Alex’s, before giving him a soft kiss. “Well, what do you propose we do?” Henry’s voice was genuine, and in part because he’d made enough decisions today.

“I think you should let me help you unwind, get you relaxed and then whatever stress, you’ve got in that pretty little head, you take out on me.” Alex said it like it was a secret, smiling as Henry nodded into another kiss. “Perfect.” Alex cooed, and he was slipping down on his knees in front of Henry, already beginning to undo the belt on those way too expensive suit pants. He felt Henry’s eyes locked on him as he slipped the belt out of the loops and dropped it beside them. His fingers already undoing the button, unzipping the pants. “You.. really are a godsend.” Henry almost sighed as he watched Alex carefully slip those pants down. “I know I.. tease you a lot.” He added as his eyes followed Alex’s hands tugging down his underwear now, leaning up to help the boy in front of him. “But you’re perfect, and I love you.”

“Am I perfect because I know if we got cum on your suit, you’d have a fit?” Alex teased, reaching up to undo Henry’s shirt, tugging those buttons until it was open, and pushing at it, like reminding Henry to take it off. “Well, that’s one of the reasons.” Henry said with a laugh, pulling off his dress shirt, and laying it across that desk beside them. “But there’s.. a long list of other reasons.” He said in an affectionate way. “You know I want that whole list right?” Alex asked, his hand moving to wrap around Henry’s length now, his long fingers slowly moving up and down. He leaned in looking up at Henry as he ran his tongue up the underside of the blond’s cock. “Please?” he asked after flicking his tongue over the tip.

Henry’s breathing was shuddering, just at the touches, the lick making him gasp as he reached down, tangling his fingers into Alex’s dark curls. “Well right now the top of the list is what you do with that pretty mouth.” The sound that left Henry as he finished that sentence was almost like a laugh, but the end turned into a moan. One Henry just didn’t quite manage to stifle as he felt Alex’s mouth on him. Alex pulled his head back slowly, “Please do keep going.” He said, before dipping his head back down, wrapping his lips around Henry’s cock. His hand held the base of the blond’s length, just for steadiness. At this point, Alex was just slowly bobbing his head as he kept sucking, teasing with the tip of his tongue some. He did live for any compliment Henry could possibly throw at him, but he also lived for the way he felt his boyfriend’s cock get harder and harder in his mouth. It made him give the softest hum against the sensitive skin which only served to make Henry’s brain fuzzier.

“Uhm..” Henry tangled his fingers tighter in Alex’s hair, his eyes locked at the site in front of him. Some days he still couldn’t get over that boy being his, and today was one of them. Alex’s eyes looking back up at him, made Henry remember he’d started to speak, “Uh,” he started again, “I.. love those curls they’re lovely,” he said almost playfully as his fingers tugged Alex’s hair. He was certain he’d meant to say something more romantic, but he did notice Alex smiling up at him anyway. “Not to, sound incredibly shallow, but you do look.. so fucking good doing that.” Henry panted softly. Alex was slowly pulling his head up, pulling back with a soft ‘pop’, “I don’t care how shallow you sound baby, I know how deep you can get when you want to.” The way he said that made it obvious there was more than one meaning, and if the tone alone didn’t, the grin and the playful wink he shot Henry certainly did.

“You’re.. obscene.” Henry said, smiling so wide down at Alex. Alex was leaning back in, wrapping his lips back around Henry’s cock and bobbing his head a few quick times, letting Herny gasp at that, before pulling back just enough to (attempt to) speak. It was bad, a muffled garbled sputter. “Yhour thdick s’litherlee en mah moufth.” He waited for Henry to look at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. Alex just doing his BEST not to laugh before going back to sucking, bobbing his head a few more times. It was enough to silence Henry. Honestly, Alex was just so happy that it seemed like Henry’s mind was a million miles away from what had been bothering him earlier. After a bit more of the soft moans and the soft noises of Alex keeping steady work, Henry’s fingers tugging those dark curls, Alex pulled back again. “You wanna fuck me?” he asked grinning up at Henry, looking delighted to ask. “Maybe it’ll be easier to list all the things you love about me with your dick in me instead of in my mouth.” He encouraged.

Henry couldn’t help but laugh softly, leaning down so he could give Alex a kiss. His hands resting on Alex’s cheeks as he gave the brunette a slow, rather sloppy kiss. It thrilled Alex when Henry got messy like that, and he leaned closer, his own tongue playing with Henry’s until Henry broke that kiss. “Yes dear,” Henry whispered against Alex’s lips. “I love you,” he followed immediately after, “You are the sweetest, cutest man, in the whole world, and I’m.. so lucky you’re mine.” He knew Alex was trying to cheer him up and it was working, incredibly well. Partly because, Alex was good at it, partly because the idea of Alex trying so hard in itself was an incredible feeling. “I love you too,” Alex whispered up at Henry, “And I’m lucky you’re mine too, but, you didn’t get out of giving me more compliments that easily.” He teased, standing up then and taking Henry’s hand, “Come on,” he said tugging him toward the bed.

“Hold on, hold on, the door.” Henry said, padding over and locking the door before walking back toward where Alex stood impatiently, already chewing at the plastic seal on that new lube, tugging it open with his teeth and then removing the rest. It made Henry chuckle as he reached down, lifting Alex’s shirt, and tugging it off. “You could be carved out of marble,” Henry hummed, running his fingertips over Alex’s chest, smiling as his fingers traced those muscles there. “Nuh uh, not pale enough.” Alex teased, “But keep going.” “Well,” Henry tilted his head before he undid Alex’s jeans, “Most of the sculptures that we have in viewable conditions today were found in-“ “Babe,” Alex gave the blond a look, “I meant compliment me, not give me an art lesson.” He teased, despite once again just being happy Henry was fixated on something else.

Henry was getting those jeans down by now, using one foot to hold them on the ground as he helped Alex step out of them. “Right, sorry, would you rather me tell you how big your cock is?” Henry teased, his fingertips snaking into Alex’s underwear, pushing it down as well, and pulling Alex’s hips closer so he stepped out of those as well. “Absolutely,” Alex said very seriously, “Or how perfect my ass is? I mean your art lessons are great baby, but not right now.” He teased as he leaned in to give Henry a soft kiss. “Noted,” Henry whispered into that kiss as his hand wrapped around Alex’s cock now, slowly stroking up and down. “You should let me put it in my throat while I warm you up.”

“Well, if you insist, who am I to refuse?” Alex almost laughed, stealing another kiss and then moving to get back on the bed. “Want me to get a pillow or something?” He asked looking at Henry crawling onto the bed with him. “If you want darling, whatever makes you comfortable I do prefer you on your back though.” He said already picking up the lube Alex had opened. Alex nodded and grabbed a pillow, shoving it under himself, sliding it down his back until it reached just the right angle to make it a bit easier for Henry.

Henry was opening the lube, getting a bit on his fingers and applying some between Alex’s cheeks. He was getting just a bit more on his fingers before using them to massage Alex’s entrance, and then slowly pushing two inside. His eyes darted up to Alex’s face immediately, checking for approval. Alex nodded to Henry, his lips lightly parted in a silent moan. It wasn’t that Alex wasn’t used to it, they switched it up often enough, but it had been a few days since Alex had bottomed. “It’s good baby,” Alex almost whispered, “I’m so fucking hard, you could do anything to me right now.” It was true, Alex could already feel himself clench against Henry’s fingers. He could feel those waves of heat running through his body, his skin prickling like needles.

“I can tell.” Henry almost hummed, his fingers beginning to work into Alex, pumping them steadily as he leaned a bit lower on the bed. His free hand wrapped around Alex’s cock and slowly moved up and down, only for a moment before he wrapped his lips around it. “Fuck,” Alex immediately cursed, one hand moving down to run through Henry’s hair, messing up that neat combover. Those lips and those fingers together were already driving him insane as he leaned up just a bit to watch Herny. The blond was moving his fingers a bit faster, steadily pumping both of them into Alex. Every so often he would curl them, making Alex’s hips jerk in response, earning himself the most desperate moans from the brunette. Henry was bobbing his head continuously, his free hand sort of held the base of Alex’s cock, but between his thumb and index finger, his palm flat on the other man’s skin. Almost every time he would bob his head, Alex felt the back of Henry’s throat. Plush lips moving all the way down to press against where Henry’s on fingers rested at the base. Occasionally, like when Alex’s hips jerked, the blond would give a light gag, but overall he had this mastered.

The thought briefly crossed Alex’s mind, now just like every other blowjob, that he had never loved and hated anything nearly as much as experiencing what Henry had learned at boarding school. It was.. perfect, mind-blowing, every time. Just the right amount of suction, and Alex could never recall feeling teeth, just.. tongue. There was some underlying jealousy that Alex felt about it, it was too good for him to be okay with anyone else having ever experienced it; he wanted Henry to be all his. As per usual, the small sting of jealousy, only drove him. “More.” Alex panted, his fingers tugging Henry’s hair for effect, “Like now, like fuck me, if I don’t get your dick in the next five minutes, I’m going to go crazy.”

Henry’s eyes looked up, as he hummed a soft ‘Mhm’ in response. Though all he did was push a third finger into Alex, pumping them faster almost immediately. He kept up the work with his mouth, constant and eager, his own eyes fluttering shut every so often in just such a worked up way. He could hear Alex making those desperate noises, he could feel the hips squirming under his touch, every time he curled his fingers he heard a chorus of curses and hisses. Alex, did not let five minutes pass before he sat up, “Holy.. shit, come here.” He panted, letting Henry look up in mild confusion as Alex gabbed those broad shoulders. “Now, I need it now, fuck, you’re taking forever.”

Large hands moved Henry up, and then back, so that he was laying flat on the bed, looking up at the brunette over him. Now would have usually been where Henry chastised Alex for impatience, but the most loving smile was plastered on Henry’s face; today it was endearing. In a strange way it felt like Alex had absorbed all of his frustrations and was acting them out for him. That train of thought ended soon enough as Alex straddled Henry’s hips, one hand reaching behind himself, taking a hold of Henry’s cock and positioning himself over it.

“Ah ah, wait,” Henry scolded now, “Lube,” he said grabbing the bottle and offering it to Alex. “Don’t hurt yourself darling.” It was a soft, paternal tone that the blond used. “I’ve done it before. I’d be fine.” Alex grumbled, despite taking the lube, opening the bottle and getting a bit more. Grumblings aside, he knew Henry was right; if he didn’t listen, he’d be the one complaining later. “You would not be fine, and you know I’m right.” Henry couldn’t help but smile as he looked at Alex, applying more lube to the both of them.

“Alright alright daddy, I get it.” Alex rolled his eyes as he closed the bottle of lube and dropped it aside, reaching back behind himself to line himself up with Henry’s cock again now. “Careful,” Henry cooed with the softest gasp as Alex began to slip down onto his length. “You know that pet name doesn’t have the antagonizing effect that you intend it to.” He managed a steady voice for that, but his breathing immediately shook as Alex finished sliding entirely down onto him. “Yeah daddy?” Alex asked it with a grin as he leaned up some, resting his hands on Henry’s chest as he began to bounce then. “You like how I ride your dick, daddy?” he was doubling up on it just to provoke even more now. “You are, such a brat.” Henry panted, his hands running up Alex’s arms, before he leaned up on one elbow, just to reach and rest his hand on Alex’s hips. His hand was trying to guide the other man’s hips, rocking his own hips up to meet each of Alex’s motions. “But yes.” He panted, looking up at the brunette. “I love how you feel on my cock. You take it so good for me, baby.”

Alex’s lips spread into a grin, nodding down at Henry, and watching that hand try to guide his hips. “Oh you want me to go faster huh? Now you’re the impatient one? You gotta learn how to be patient, daddy.” His tone was teasing, as he kept bouncing, but then purposefully slowing down to just grind against Henry’s hips now. “Oh my god,” Henry groaned, half in pleasure half in annoyance. “You’re demonic.” He panted, “Actually where is that..” Henry was looking aside, glancing at that drawer beside their bed. “You wouldn’t.” Alex teased. “Watch me.” Henry shot back, taking the hand off Alex’s hip and leaning over, just a bit, not enough to disrupt Alex at all but enough to pull that bedside drawer open. He had to strain his arm some, patting around in that drawer until he finally pulled out that riding crop, holding it up with a grin of his own. It was a silent threat, but Alex was the exact opposite of scared.

“I thought I was a deviant for suggesting that belonged anywhere other than around horses.” Alex teased, so clearly pleased with himself for getting Henry this far. “Well, when you’re training a stallion for riding, sometimes, you have to break out the equipment to do so,” Henry almost purred it, reaching up to put the tip of that crop under Alex’s chin, playfully pushing there. “Are you going to make me use it?” “I don’t think you’re supposed to call boys stallions Henry,” Alex quipped, almost immediately, that grin still plastered on his face. “Oh, you are impossible!” Henry scolded, “A stallion is /literally/ a male horse!” he said before leaning up just enough to pop Alex’s ass with that riding crop. “Will you just fucking ride me!” Alex did yelp at that initial pop before giving such a bratty giggle, “Yes daddy, sorry.” He purred in a way that was not at all sorry. He placed both hands on Henry’s chest then, partly for balance, partly as a power play, before going back to bouncing again, faster this time.

“So much better..” Henry panted, nodding to Alex then, taking that crop and giving one of Alex’s thighs a pop, “Keep going.” He cooed. Alex gave a little gasp at that second pop, but looked down at Henry with such a hungry expression, he was bouncing.. so much faster now. Enough that both of them were a moaning mess, both of their breathing so ragged. “So, you just needed some encouragement?” Henry teased, leaning just a bit to pop Alex’s ass with that crop again, “Do you like this thing?” he asked. Alex gasped at that pop, but nodded, “So fucking much, it’s hot, like you’re reminding me to do my job, keep doing it.” He moaned, his head falling back some as he kept up his pace. “You’re so fucking deep. Fuck, I love your dick baby,” as Alex spoke his hands were almost groping at Henry’s broad chest, massaging over the blond’s pecs.

“It is your job baby,” Henry hummed, leaning up to pop Alex’s ass a few more times with that crop “It’s your job to get my cock off today.” He pulled his hand back, and gave Alex’s thighs a few more little pops, smiling so wide as the redness appeared. “The red hearts are so pretty on your skin baby.” His tone was almost loving despite how desperate he sounded. Alex was slowing down again now, just grinding against Henry, who gave an audible whine at it. “Just give me a second, I’ll get back to it, it’s not like it’s a super short dick for me to bounce on babe.” Alex teased. “Oh I know,” Henry whined, “And you’re an angel but, I’m… way too horny for this.” He said leaning up, and grabbing Alex, tugging him down, and then immediately rolling the both of them over, so he was on top. Alex gasped, partly at being shoved around, but partly at the feeling of Henry’s cock sliding back into him once he was on his back. “So deep daddy,” Alex almost whined. “You want me bad, huh?” He was wrapping his arms around Henry now, who was taking one of Alex’s legs, pushing it up as he pressed his hips tighter against the brunette.

“So, so fucking bad.” Henry whispered, steadying himself a bit before starting to thrust up into Alex. Both of them were moaning out immediately, and both of them definitely sounded so desperate at this point. Henry was getting a bit faster already, Alex wrapping his arms around Henry neck this time, pulling him in closer. “Fuck me daddy,” Alex panted, a grin still on his lips. His free hand reaching to grab that riding crop and before Henry could even notice he swung it down, popping Henry’s ass with it once. “Harder daddy,” Alex groaned as Henry gave a wide eyed gasp. Alex took his opportunity to swing down another hit with that crop, “Come on daddy, harder.” He teased. “You were so stressed earlier, you’ve got to take it all out on me.”

Henry did gasp again at those hits, but he couldn’t help but give his own devilish grin down at Alex, “Yeah? You need daddy to give it to you harder?” he whispered, his lips brushing Alex’s. “Please.” Alex whispered back, giving a nod and then letting his mouth fall open as Henry did get rougher. Fast, deep, almost slamming up into Alex, who could only really hold on and take it. He felt chills run up his body as those thrusts got so deep inside of him. “Fuck, yes daddy.” Alex almost whimpered. He took one hand off of Henry’s shoulders, reaching between them and wrapping his fingers around his own cock.

“Oh is it that good?” Henry panted, leaning himself up some, just to look between them, “You’re so fucking hot.” His voice was husky, low, and just a bit condescending. It was a tone Alex had gotten to hear fairly often since they’d got together, and fuck, he loved it. Part of why he loved it was because he knew he was the only one Henry spoke to that way. It was all his, Henry was all his. Almost as if that thought resonated Alex shifted the leg Henry had lifted, wrapping it around Henry’s hips now. “You’re gonna make me cum.” Alex panted, his eyes fluttering up to Henry’s face, “Please don’t stop,” the pleading came naturally, he was way too far gone to see that there was no chance of Henry stopping anytime soon.

“Let me see it baby,” Henry panted, in such a breathy voice, “Cum for me,” his own voice desperate but once again paternal. Between that tone, and the way Henry was hitting so deep inside of him, that was it, Alex felt that snap. His own hand still stroking his cock so fast right up until the last second. His head back as his body arched instinctively, mouth open, and curls a mess by this point, cheeks red, it was a sight to behold. Long ropes of white streaked up Alex’s stomach and chest, with each stroke of his hand, and each shove of Henry’s hips. “Fuck yes baby, fuck me, fuck me.” Alex whined as he rode it out, his hand still tugging the last few drops of that orgasm from his cock, as a low whimper took over.

That visual, was all it took for Henry, how could he possibly need more? Even if he didn’t, the feeling of Alex clenching against him as he rode out that orgasm certainly would have been enough. Those last few pushes he was giving Alex over the edge were the same ones where he spilled into the brunette. His hips rocking against Alex as he rode out his own orgasm, lips open, breathing so ragged as he kept his eyes on the man under him. “God, I fucking love you,” Alex panted, catching his breath finally, coming down from his high. His hand finally moving away from his own cock as he glanced at the mess over his chest, “Fuck you made me cum so hard.” He said with a little laugh.

Henry was nodding in agreement, swallowing hard to catch his own breath. “I love you too.” He said in a pant, leaning in just a bit closer, careful not to press his chest against Alex’s as he gave the brunette a slow soft kiss. “You made a mess.” He whispered against Alex’s lips. “I did, sorry daddy.” Alex said with feigned sincerity, his hand resting on Henry’s jaw, his thumb stroking over the blond’s cheek until Henry broke the kiss.

“It’s alright darling,” Henry hummed, “Let daddy clean you up.” It was a soft, almost playful tone, but that didn’t mean that Henry wasn’t shifting so that he slipped out of Alex. The sensation made Alex almost whine, cursing under his breath. But Henry was leaning down, beginning to lick at the cum on Alex’s chest. He dragged his tongue over each stripe, slow, and careful, giving the softest hum as he did. Alex couldn’t help but lean up, looking down at Henry as he watched the blond move down lower. Henry licked over Alex’s abs, even over the last few drops that clung to the fuzz on Alex’s stomach. After he’d finished that, gotten every drop, Henry paused where he was, looking up at Alex and opening his mouth slightly, displaying the cum he’d collected there.

“Oh, you’re.. so fucking dirty baby,” Alex laughed, a grin on his lips. “That taste good?” he teased. But Henry only closed his lips, giving a soft ‘mhm’ in response, Alex noting that he didn’t see Henry swallow. The blond moved down even more now, spreading Alex’s legs and moving between them. Within seconds, Alex felt Henry’s tongue on him again, and he gasped leaning up a little to try and watch. He didn’t want to disrupt, but he desperately wanted to see what he felt. Henry’s tongue, between the Alex’s cheeks, hands spreading gently as he licked the cum dripping from Alex’s entrance.

“Holy.. shit.” Alex almost gasped, “I.. can’t believe you’re doing that.” At this point, he’d learned Henry was filthier than his ‘outside of the bedroom’ demeanor let on, but occasionally the prince surprised him. “I think it’s hot though,” Alex clarified after a moment, giving a soft gasp as he felt Herny’s tongue give a few deep licks, before the blond pulled back. Henry moved up now, crawling his way back up and over Alex’s body. Once they were face to face, Henry reached one hand to grab Alex’s jaw, lining their faces up, his thumb brushing over Alex’s bottom lip, like tugging it. Immediately catching on, Alex opened his mouth, even sticking his tongue out a bit for the other man. Alex’s mouth was open, and Henry leaned in close, so their mouths were maybe half an inch apart, before slowly spitting the contents of his mouth into Alex’s. He didn’t give Alex time to swallow, immediately crushing their lips together, Henry’s tongue pushing it’s way into Alex’s mouth.

Their tongues were brushing against each other, teasing, and twisting, both of them tangling hands into each other’s hair; and both of them moaning into those kisses. Finally, Henry did his best to ‘scoop’ some of their mixture onto his tongue before slowly breaking the kiss, and just locking his eyes on Alex’s as he swallowed the contents of his own mouth now. “We taste, so fucking good together.” Alex was swallowing the rest in his mouth himself, trying not to look too shocked at Henry. It was a good shock, not a bad one and the last thing he wanted to do was discourage this behavior. “So good baby.” Alex said in a pant, leaning up and giving Henry another messy kiss, breaking it slowly after a moment. “That was so hot.” Alex whispered against the blond’s lips.

“Was it?” Henry asked, nodding, “Good, I hoped you’d be into it.” He said with a soft smile, “Another reason you’re perfect.” He hummed. “Oh, so into it,” Alex nodded eagerly, “Like.. kind of made me horny, into it. Like.. maybe we should have some lunch and then go again kind of horny?” he asked in a playful way. “Ugh,” Henry groaned, his eyes half fluttering, “Absolutely, I’m starving, you.. really are perfect.” He cooed, leaning in and giving Alex one more kiss before moving to the side, shifting so he was laying beside Alex, resting one hand on the brunette’s chest, his cheek against Alex’s shoulder. “Thank you, for this, today, really.” He said kissing Alex’s shoulder once. “I needed it, and you couldn’t have been more perfect.” He said smiling.

“You’re wrong actually.” Alex said, looking at Henry, who arched a brow, giving a confused look. “I brought home like a dozen cake pops from Starbucks actually.” Alex clarified. “My god..” Henry said softly, “I was wrong.” He said with a serious nod, before smiling, leaning up and giving Alex a soft kiss. “I love you,” he hummed into that kiss. “I love you too.” Alex whispered against Henry’s lips.

#first prince smut #firstprince #firstprince smut #firstprince fanfic #rwrb fanfic #rwrb smut #prince henry smut #alex claremont diaz smut #my fic #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfiction

48 notes · View notes

selfdestructivecat · 5 months

Text

I’ve seen quite a few posts in response to Thomas’ recent video, specifically his year in review. In this video, he discusses the setbacks he’s faced the past few years — such as the quarantine, Joan’s departure, and his own personal doubts and insecurities — and how they impacted the production of Sanders Sides.

And I truly sympathize with him. No, seriously! It’s already difficult to create something this big almost entirely on your own, but I’m sure this year only made things even more difficult. I know I’ve definitely felt insecure to the point of feeling sick when it came to things I created, so I can empathize with the enormous amount pressure he must be feeling.

However, many posts I’ve seen following this video are saying things along the lines of “If people still criticize Thomas after this video, then I’m going to lose it” or “Not that people who criticize Thomas even care, but Thomas really struggled this year. I’m with him all the way!”, or even “I bet SaSi critics will still demand the finale even after this. I doubt they’ll even watch the video!”

I want to clarify that this is obviously not everyone who doesn’t like ts criticism. People who block criticism blogs and/or the tag, who ignore criticism in general, or who feel upset when they see criticism of something they love: this is not about you. You are absolutely valid and entitled to feeling the way you do, and I hope you have a lovely day. Feel free to block me if that would be good for your mental health. Please take care of yourself. /gen

But to those vocally condemning ts critics, I want to make several things clear.

First of all, you are lumping everyone who criticizes the show in with people who demand the finale with no regard for Thomas’ well-being, for the well-being of his crew, and for basic common sense. While many people are upset that the finale isn’t out yet, we aren’t specifically mad that we don’t have a completed video to watch; rather, we are frustrated with what this says about the SaSi crew, their work ethic, and how they treat fans of the show.

We aren’t upset that we can’t watch the finale right now. We are upset that we’ve gotten very few updates about the show during this period between canon episodes. This video provided wonderful insight into why the finale has been delayed, and we would have loved something like this years ago. Obviously it didn’t have to be a 20 minute video, but maybe a Twitter thread? Something small that made us feel heard?

Hell, even announcing an official hiatus would have satisfied the vast majority of critics (myself included), instead of throwing SaSi into this limbo of “Oh it’s going to be finished this year, we promise- oh whoops, never mind! Next year for sure!” It’s been a constant chain of broken promises, and we were more than happy to give the crew some grace the first few times, but after a while, a repeated mistake becomes a pattern. And this pattern is not pretty.

We are upset that the crew seems incredibly disorganized (going back to the lack of updates, and of course taking into account how we haven’t gotten even a single part of the finale in five years), which could affect the quality of this series we all love so dearly. beauty-and-passion has spoken about this a lot (and is a lot more eloquent than me lmao, please go check out their stuff!) The most recent Christmas video seems to demonstrate that the series may be on the right track, and I will admit I was wrong in regards to this video, but the Inside Out video is a mess in so many ways. Even if this doesn’t prove a decline in quality, it certainly indicates a lack of consistency, which can be just as damning for a series.

We are upset that, while SaSi is in this limbo, Thomas seems to have been focusing on his other projects without telling us about this change in priority. He is welcome to pursue other projects, obviously. I’m thrilled that he is having fun with Roleslaying with Roman and My Roommate is Hades. But these new projects have come at the cost of Sanders Sides content, which also points towards a lack of organization. Some clarity towards which projects Thomas chooses to focus on would have been wonderful and greatly appreciated, so that we know not to expect something we won’t receive. And hey, maybe if we knew not to expect SaSi content until much later, maybe we wouldn’t have been constantly asking why we weren’t receiving SaSi content?

(And this is not an excuse for aggressively demanding content, obviously. But I feel like people who are confused and frustrated at not receiving something promised to them are justified in these feelings.)

And maybe we’re jumping to conclusions in many regards. I won’t pretend that we are prophets who can peer into Thomas’ mind and know what he’s thinking and feeling at all times. But it’s pretty damn difficult to say that NONE of the above could suggest that Sanders Sides isn’t held in the same regard as it once was. Hell, Thomas even admits in the video that he doesn’t feel as connected with these characters as he once did.

Second, many people attacking critics are also quick to drag their character. We are impatient, greedy, selfish, and cruel. We don’t care about Thomas; we only care about the end product! More Sanders Sides at any cost! We don’t like critical thinking, since we obviously didn’t watch the video; we only want to find mean things to say about Thomas and the show! We don’t like engaging in civil debate with our fellow Fanders who may disagree with our opinions; we only want to make other people feel bad, and to make others hate the show, too!

Well, guess what? You’re doing to us exactly what you think we’re doing to Thomas: you’re assuming the absolute worst of us and looking for any reason to drag us down.

We are critics. We analyze media (media that we love, mind you) and we acknowledge that it isn’t perfect, that the creators aren’t perfect, and we point it out. But we still love it anyway, because to truly love something is to love it with its flaws, to know that it could be better, to brainstorm how it could reach its true potential, and to keep doing so because you believe in this potential.

We aren’t trying to take away the joy you feel from Sanders Sides. So please don’t try to take away ours.

#ts criticism #ts critical #sanders sides criticism #my ramblings

33 notes · View notes

a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 6 months

Text

One thing I do like about MW3 (I’m grasping at straws) is that they took control away from Price. If we take away the bad writing (which is hard but bare with me) we see at the end of MW2 2022 that when Laswell shows the picture of Makeover it’s easy to infer that Price is a little more apprehensive about him than anyone else that we’ve seen him interact with.

MW3 spoilers below don’t take this seriously these are just my thoughts

Price knows how bad Makarov can be. He knows the bad shit he’s done and how easy he can achieve it, but Price is also good at stopping bad people from doing bad things. He’s incredibly good at his job, he’s The Captain John Price, so while he knows Makarov is going to be tougher than his usual targets he thinks he can handle it.

But I think he failed to realize that Makarov knows Price too and that’s where everything starts to fall apart for him.

Makarov has ties everywhere and he’s quick, his efficiency is probably what makes him the most dangerous man on the planet. So suddenly he’s too fast for even Price to catch, leaving him multiple steps behind with little chance of catching up.

And now Price is scrambling. He’s control over the situation has been ripped from him and he’s struggling to find a way to get ahead of Makarov just so he can keep people alive.

We see him break his cool multiple times during the campaign. He’s not panicking but the stress of not being able to keep on the tails of Makarov to a point where it matters is getting to him and with the added pressure to get him, the added pressure of the lives that will be lost because of is getting to him.

We see him refuse to play the game, refuse to accept Graves help and realize that even when he’s at his best it’s not enough.

He’s met his match. Makarov is giving him a run for his money and of course he’s not going to give up but suddenly everything is falling apart on him.

I think at the end of the game they should’ve not killed Soap (obviously for many different reasons) but what they should’ve done is done something incredibly devastating.

The writers should’ve made Price lose. They should’ve had Makarov destroy an entire city, they should had him kill thousands because Price wasn’t quick enough. Not only would it leave a bigger impact on the story it, showing truly how bad Makarov is, it would create the downfall of Price’s mental health and then he’d just start going apeshit.

He’d start making drastic decisions, letting the stress break him down until he’s doing everything he can to catch Makarov. He’d be willing to sacrifice probably everything about himself just to get him to stop the carnage that he’d bring along.

Price’s control gets taken away from him and he’d do everything to get it back if it meant that he gets Makarov in the end.

#anyway #captain john price #call of duty mw3 #cod mw3 #mw3 spoilers #mwiiispoilers #does this make sense #idk I like it when characters get humbled #not that Price was arrogant or anything like that #though his was confident #I just like it when characters who know they’re incredibly skilled and good #realize it’s not enough #and they have to do something drastic to win

31 notes · View notes

serfergs · 1 year

Text

A brief defense of a Boss & a Babe

So I’ve never added commentary like this before (usually prefer to sit back and enjoy the hot takes 🔥 & analyses from those much more informed & eloquent), but from what I’ve seen the consensus is ABAB is at the least disappointing and at the most infuriating. And I won’t lie I didn’t vibe with the first episode. But I’ve now watched the second and I’ve got thoughts (and feelings). To preface I had very little expectations going in. This is my first ForceBook experience & I didn’t really care for the premise or trailer, but thought I’d give it a try. And it’s not only more entertaining than I expected, but also kinda…deep? In this essay i wil-

Just kidding I’m def going to bullet point this ish. Plz forgive my awful formatting idk what I’m doing

Boss is relatable. I read him as introverted and depressed (maybe from a break up and/or homophobic trauma?). It’s already hard to make friends as an adult when you’re introverted so I can only imagine how hard it is to make friends with coworkers who are clearly trying to keep their distance from you. My guy is lonely. Especially when they’re telling the new guy how cold & distant you are. My head cannon is nobody in the office is a reliable narrator because no one has bothered to GET TO KNOW boss/gun.

I didn’t like Cher at first because I read him as a silly kinda ditzy character, but I was wrong. I kinda love that he’s not afraid to show his concern for boss because that’s exactly what boss needs. Someone to cross the professional line and say “hey I know you’re not ok and I wanna be there for you”. Fuck professionalism in this rat race of a world, you need a friend. Maybe there are some problematic ethics at play, but it’s a BL ok there are plenty of other plots I hold a suspension of disbelief for so honestly not too far fetched imo

Even though they kissed in episode 2, I feel like the emotional build up of their relationship will be more of a slow burn and I love how realistic that is. I truly believe these two characters are both physically attracted to each other and want to have an emotional connection. I love the ForceBook chemistry. It’s both fun-flirty but also very affectionate. The way Cher is kind of sarcastic and silly to try & cheer up Boss reminds me of my relationship with my partner so maybe I am a little biased but their connection feels very realistic to me

About the kiss. I loved it. It was flirty, it was intimate and it made sense for the moment. Maybe I’m wrong but I don’t think Cher invited Boss up to his room to seduce him. I think he offered a warm, welcoming place to spend time after Boss told him he usually works late and then goes home alone. Cher knows how lonely Boss is and his genuine concern for him is so sweet. From inviting him up for noodles to inviting him to BBQ to meet his friends (and normalize having queer friends) is just so damn considerate & touching. Cher really seems to have the truest of intentions & I think I would be his real life bestie cheering him & boss on the sidelines, seriously. Maybe I’m problematic lmao

Did I mention I love we got a kiss in episode 2? I’m out here manifesting the break in the typical episode 5/6 kiss especially for these office BLs. Again it’s way more realistic for them to kiss each other at this point in their relationship & for the tone of the show. Sometimes I think a good timed kiss is way more impactful than a dramatic emotional yearning kiss 5 episodes in but maybe that’s just me. More playful, sweet early kisses plz & thank you 🙏🏻

I’m excited for more. Haven’t seen episode 3 yet as of this writing. Fingers crossed their relationship continues to be a sweet, supportive slow burn and not a dumpster fire so I don’t regret writing my first ever BL analysis 🤪

#a boss and a babe #thai bl #bl series #forcebook #gmmtv bl #gmmtv series #chergun

113 notes · View notes

piracytheorist · 1 year

Text

Okay look maybe that's just me looking for opportunities for angst, but it kind of piques my interest how Twilight reacts to Anya playing spy. He may find it hard to understand how her mind works when it's play time because he didn't get to have play time as a kid in the midst of a war but he doesn't react as much to any of her other games or activities (other than wishing she would focus on her studies like she focuses on watching Bondman); for someone who has made it part of his identity to not reveal he's a spy, it catches his attention a little too much.

Then you've got his reaction to Daybreak; Twilight takes his job so seriously that every little thing Daybreak does annoys him to the point of breaking character and risking an actual fight with him because of it.

Another one, his reaction to realizing all his work in the Campbelldon was for nothing.

Annoyed (and visibly exhausted) by his hard work being for nothing, trying to grasp at straws, hoping that the diary holds another secret meaning which would've made his efforts worthwhile.

It even takes Handler to point out that there were no further threats to the current peace for him to look at the bright side.

And I'm starting to think... for him there's barely a "bright side" in what he does. I don't think there's anything in his work that makes him happy in any way. He finds it dangerous (something kids shouldn't even pretend to do), demanding and serious (enough to get personally offended when other spies don't take it as seriously), exhausting (without actually complaining about it or asking for time off, despite understanding how tired he is all the time), and with full understanding that his deeds won't see the light of day and he won't get any recognition for them (and is, arguably, a little sad about that).

And finally, as I said in another post, how prepared he is to act entirely against his own beliefs in order to do his job right.

Like, Best Spy of WestalisTM or not, it must not be pleasant to smile at and agree with a man who for all you know wants to start a war when you have war trauma of your own. As if all the danger, loneliness, and pain he suffers for his job were not enough, he also has to shut down his emotions, no matter how strong and soul-crushing. And Twilight is no fool - he knows how much he hates war, he knows what it cost him, and he knows he needs to ignore all that. And though he also knows he does it all to avoid another war... I don't think the impact of even just that is lost on him.

I doubt any of his fellow spies harbor any illusions about spy work being glamorous and badass and whatnot, but I feel like we're being led to think that he also understands the impact his job has on his soul and sense of self. He may be willing to do it for the sake of peace, but I feel he hates that this is his only and most promising option.

And maybe... I wonder how he really feels about being so good at this. He's both physically and mentally extraordinary - and you cannot tell me that this is just because of his dedication. No amount of dedication can grant you a photographic memory, the ability to perfectly mimic other people's voices after listening to mere seconds of them, or the ability to fight off entire groups of people dedicated to killing you while you're only on two hours of sleep. Twilight has inherent talents that make him not only suitable to be a spy, they make him the best.

His awareness of his talents and the realization that he can put them to use in order to stop any further conflicts or wars from taking place are what got him where he is now - a lonely, physically and emotionally exhausted man who has given up on ever finding any personal happiness. And as he's said before, he sees that as his duty. With his personal disdain for war, and the knowledge that he can help avoid one in the future, how can he see for himself any future where he doesn't do exactly that? If he doesn't, who will?

So yeah. If that's what he truly thinks of his job, and if his deepest wish is to create a world where children are happy... it's no wonder he reacts negatively to a child pretending to do his job for fun. And I'm like, he already reacts to Anya simply playing spy. Can you imagine his reaction when he finds out she's been helping him with his mission from the moment she met him??? Can you imagine a moment shortly post-reveal where Twilight asks Anya just why she chose him, and she says she originally did it because she found it cool and fun, and then because she saw his noble intentions and wanted to help... and he just replies with "There's nothing cool and exciting about this job, it has destroyed me and I hate that I have no other option" and that completely crushes the way she sees spies?

Yeah I may have gone a bit overdramatic there but honestly that's a whole vibe I'm getting from the story. I cannot see the story ending without identity reveals, and without Loid and Yor giving up their secret jobs (which can only happen if the cold war ends, cause there's definitely no other way Twilight would feel he deserves retirement). The story starts with a spy without a family life; it deserves to end with a family without the burdens of spy life.

(Anime only fan here, don't spoil me for the manga)

#Spy x Family #sxf meta #Loid Forger #sxf anime

166 notes · View notes

red-archivist · 1 month

Text

finally caught up on tmagp!

eps 11-15 thots below

ep 11:

celia? again?? jack???

"Besides, I’m sweet enough already" is such a dad joke. As in, literally a joke my own dad has made several times

Ink5oul cameo!

lollll the change to stuffy business language

ah, ink5oul you can't be stealing corpses now, behave

GWEN Thank you, Alice. ALICE I… Sure. Whatever. Don’t get used to it.

tsun tsun~

"he's one of our externals" what a way to phrase it. also tells us that the oiar/the government works with several monsters

ep 12:

omg he's actually asking her out? fair play

"I think I'm done with Magnus stuff" buddy boy, its episode 12- magnus stuff isn't done with you, i can tell you that much

"Date of Incident: 9 March 2024" ooh v recent huh

stags are the worst, jordan, ty

oh. bonzo is back. lena meant it when she said to keep an eye out

the groom's was the name gwen handed over i assume

HE RIPPED HIS HEAD APART?? jesussssss

gwen. gwendolyn. you are not okay.

GWEN Thanks, Alice. Utterly useless as always. ALICE Anytime.

okay but purposely useless. purposely joking and irritating bc if you cant take it seriously it cant hurt you- that attitude is going to bite Alice sooner rather then later

ep 13:

ooh date night (morning)

A BABY???? CELIA WHAT

"it all went downhill" > proceeds to describe being generally successful- oh sammy we got to work on this hang-up

oh alice's parents are both dead? so just her and the little brother she is always looking after and giving money to anytime he is mentioned? bet that hasn't given her a complex

oh celia, you know the cases are real you're just trying to sound him out

"is it my fault?" GWENNNNNNN 😭

"we are... managing... the bad guys" oh boy

crypto bro, betting against your own life is a crazy idea what is wrong with you?

it reminds me of the dice case, a luck/circumstances based thing where you try to beat a rigged game

oof. sam. you hit a sore point there "professional"

"Stop trying to make an impact" is alice's motto tbh

ep 14:

"i went through the same thing when i started" i knew Alice had gone snooping, you dont get that avoidant without having tried first. of course, raises the question of what scared her off?

alice stop running away from your feelings challenge level: impossible

where the hell is there a marsh near Newcastle-Under-Lyme?

ooohhh boy hello sudden tone change

snake mannnnn, mannnn full of snakkeeessss

rejection notes from an institute....

ep 15:

sam. sam this is not smoother flirting than before

The Pillowman... we are making a note in case that's important

awww Alice loves her brother so much... shame that she's pitching him in such an awkward, intrusive way

"babies... are cool..." same, Alice

the fucking harpsichord? in the bg of the case reading is making me sooooo tense. i know what's going to happen and they're just drawing it out 10/10

oh. oh no. this is not what i thought was going to happen. i thought sure okay, rich assholes hunting ppl through the woods not... making them hunt each other oh this is so much more fucked up

"none of them got far" JESUS oh its not even all of them, just him

and now he is being hunted, okay

FUCK, the gunshot

oh. why is she in the office

STOP SNIFFING YOU CREEP

mowbray... is she one of the 'externals'...

LADY MOWBRAY Catch you next time, dearie. CELIA No, you won't.

oh that's vicious, celia knows she's a threat and won't give her a single inch, her hackles are raised sky-high

ah! sudden rock music!

And we finally meet Luke, hello

TAPE RECORDER

ummmm and another new voice??

UMMM

this is... the presence alice thought was following her? the thing she and sam set loose from the institute?

well. fuck.

#tmagp #tmagp spoilers #red-archivist rambles

10 notes · View notes

bird-inacage · 2 years

Text

Love in the Air: Prapai’s Empathy & Sincerity

So if this episode doesn’t win over Prapai critics then I’m not sure what will. I knew Prapai had it in him but I was impressed with how far he exceeded my expectations.

So this week really demonstrated that Prapai’s sense of empathy is very much switched on. He can detect that something is very wrong with Sky, when others have not picked up on this at all. He registers small cues and based on this alone, is eager to find out why.

He senses when Sky’s upset, stressed or anxious. Though he may not understand the reasons for this, the indicators have given him ample reason to suspect something is seriously troubling Sky. Prapai has obviously also picked up on the fact that Sky is the type to overlook his own wellbeing, which is why he makes a point of checking in on him so many times and providing him with food.

His concern for Sky leads him to go directly to Rain to unearth more information as to what may be upsetting him, or for any key clues in Sky’s history. When it becomes clear that Rain is completely in the dark, Prapai vows, “I’ll find out myself”. I don’t think Sky has at any point referred to his ex in front of Prapai, and yet Prapai seems to have already guessed that Sky’s sadness may be linked to a previous relationship. I don’t know how he came to that conclusion but we have to give him credit for making those connections on very little.

Prapai’s empathy drives him to lean into Sky’s needs. He knows Sky needs someone and he is more than willing to slip into that role, no questions asked. We also have to give Prapai major props for responding to Sky’s moment of need at the drop of a hat. As soon as Rain calls to tell him that Sky is sick, Prapai heads straight over. Again, no questions asked. Someone in Prapai’s position (who doesn’t yet know Sky very well at all), would be completely justified to respond with ‘why are you asking me? I’m not his friend or significant other’. But Prapai simply reacts, most likely picking up on the panic and worry in Rain’s tone.

When you consider that Sky has been actively pushing him away this entire time, that clearly hasn’t impacted Prapai’s willingness to be there for him in the slightest. If anything, it may have made his urge to do so even stronger, because he sees Sky refusing his support.

Whilst he’s taking care of a sick Sky, he admits that he’s never done this, not even for his siblings. But despite this confession, he’s certainly not shy in rolling up his sleeves and adapting to the situation. Prapai lives in a wealthy household where they have maids, and he also has a PA who supports him at work. Therefore it goes without saying that Prapai has never really needed to take care of anyone before, including himself. By extension, everyone in his life is well looked after due to their circumstances. This makes it even more note-worthy that Prapai is able look after Sky so well, with very little experience.

Prapai’s siblings also offer a very significant piece of insight, which is that they both take after Prapai because he essentially raised them. We already know Prapai’s father is probably some kind of busy CEO, and presumably the typical wealthy absentee father. This means that Prapai has often had to step into the fatherly role of responsibility, and set some kind of example. This is a good indicator of where Prapai’s empathy and innate ability to care for people may stem from.

Prapai has also proven that he’s very patient. He will persist even if he’s being very much deterred. When Rain hesitates to hand over Sky’s keys, Prapai is clearly worried and agitated, but accepts Rain’s response. He knows that Rain is only behaving this way out of concern for his friend. So Prapai reassures Rain that he can be trusted to allay his fears. Later on, whilst Sky is still unconscious, Prapai stops himself from kissing Sky because he promised Rain he wouldn’t do anything, and he keeps to his word.

Prapai’s sincerity in the things he cares about, means that he is brutally honest in regards to what his intentions are, which ultimately makes him a very reliable person.

Now some may think that Prapai’s empathy clashes with my earlier observations on his lack of awareness and self-centred personality traits. I think its worth clarifying that Prapai’s empathy kicks in when he genuinely cares about someone, because he’s naturally more invested and inclined to spot the signs. When Prapai first meets Sky at the race, his priorities weren’t centred on Sky’s feelings and so he vaguely notices but doesn’t dwell on the sadness that Sky already exhibits then. As his feelings for Sky grow, his empathy for Sky does too.

His lack of awareness is generally in correlation to himself more than anything. When he’s focusing only on his own priorities, he’s much less likely to pick up on how others are affected by him or otherwise. However, when he does make a point of looking, his ability to detect is strikingly on point.

Prapai really earned my respect this episode, and I cannot wait for him to exhibit his full boyfriend potential.

#LITA #love in the air #love in the air series #love in the air episode 9 #LITA analysis #LITA meta #prapai is a good boy okay #sky has unlocked that soft boy inside of him #which we are eternally grateful for #i leave our baby in your good hands sir #prapaisky

279 notes · View notes

nonbinarykai · 1 year

Text

Why I don’t think the ninja are going anytime soon.

Spoilers for dragons rising obviously

Listen I’ve seen a lot of concerns and rumors going around that ninjago is going to get rid of its main cast. And while I’d understand out of context why people would believe this. I want to list out all my possible reasons for why this WONT happen

This is a bit of a long post so, buckle up

It doesn’t line up with the ending of crystallized

Think about it. Don’t you think it would be a little weird if lego basically forced the writers to make the ending of crystallized return everything to the status quo, only to immediately throw that all away?

Yes I’m aware that the current view of lego as a company is not that great atm. Mostly in due to those fake leaks that basically portrayed lego as the big bad villain behind crystallized poor writing.

But I promise you, lego is not that bad. Sure there has definitely been some conflict between the writers and lego in the past. But if you look through what Tommy said in his post leaving q&a’s, it seems like most of the poor writing decisions were made by the writers themselves.

And example of this: changing oni Lloyd from having a big significance to only having 20 seconds of screentime. We kinda assumed that this was due to lego. However, Tommy claims that the reason oni Lloyd was on a thrown in his set, was because the set was based off of that early draft of the script. Which mean that lego must have been okay with it enough to make a set out of it. Which means it’s more likely oni Lloyd was a result of the writers choices.

However, there was one change that we know lego Forced the writers to include. And that’s reintroducing Nya and bringing her back. This was CONFIRMED by Tommy to be the case.

So then, isn’t it extremely weird that after lego forced the writers to bring Nya back, Their suddenly asking/okay with her leaving again?

And sure you can argue “oh but it looks like Lloyd is training Arin and Sora!” And sure that might explain why they can’t get rid of Lloyd.

But Nya and Kai have only had brief appearances. And as some people would suggest, means they don’t have that much of a role to play.

So couldn’t have nya stayed gone? What’s the point of putting so much effort into killing nya then brining her back when it would have been easier to just, leave her dead.

That is unless, lego does want to keep the original ninja around for the new series!

Same goes for things like garm and harumis redemption arc (atleast I hope that’s what it is). Lloyd still not having control of his oni powers, the ninja losing their own powers, the new ninja, etc. There’s to many loose ends that haven’t been properly tied up, in fact their just beginning.

In fact, if dragons rising really is supposed to retire the ninja. Then why not just make crystallized an actual finale?

A lot of the criticisms for crystallized was that it just returned the status quo. Why would they do that if crystallized was meant to be the last time we see atleast some of the ninja? Wouldn’t it be more impactful to show how the ninja move on from being ninja?

It contradicts the quest for lost powers entirely.

Seriously, why would the book even need to exist? The whole point of the book is to show the ninja getting their powers back (and in the case of kai) becoming ninja again. Why would that be necessary to show at all if the ninja are going to be out the door anyway? In fact, leaving it at just the ninja losing their powers in crystallized would be a great reason for why they would retire. The book kinda contradicts that.

Obviously, if there powers weren’t important in the next series then their wouldn’t need to be a book. The next series takes place after a time skip and deals with the realms merging together. That is ALOT of new information crammed into like 10 22 minute episodes. It would make sense to make a book explaining how the ninja got their powers back so that the show doesn’t need to explain for us and just get right into the mix.

If they think it significant enough to have to explain why the ninja have their powers back, then I think it’s safe to say that the ninja themselves are significant to this new series.

The book also took steps to try to canonize things like Kailor, implying that those things also needed to be explained before the series came out so that the series doesn’t have to waste time on it. So we might be seeing plot threads relating to the ninja as well.

What about the side characters?

Not only would it be insulting to just, get rid of the main characters that people have loved for over 10 years. But it would be borderline cruel to have the side characters not to have ANY send off.

The side characters are directly tied to the ninja. They don’t have any relation to Sora and Arin. So if the ninja go, there’s a likely chance the side characters go as well.

But the side characters haven’t gotten any send off, not from crystallized, not from the books, nothing.

Would the writers really be bold enough to get rid of all the side characters without giving them a proper send off? I don’t think they would.

Doc has shown alot of love for the fandom and the show. And we know some of the new writers actually like exploring the side characters.

Plus it would really piss of the fans, I’d imagine that lego is smart enough to not do that.

The marketing implies otherwise

Yes I am fully aware that marketing is often misleading and doesn’t always fully represent the series. But I think it’s important to dissect what we do know and how lego chooses to market the new season.

First and For-most: Arin and Sora aren’t really that involved in the sets. Or Atleast not compared to the ninja. The ninja have multiple sets with their names on it. While Arin and Sora seem to just have two, one for each. Also in the leaked Lloyd mech, Arin has a noticeably smaller mech. Implying that he’s not as important as Lloyd.

If the show is trying to have a fully fresh start, it’s a bit weird to have the sets convey the opposite of that is it not?

For those that don’t already know, dragons rising is the name of the whole series. Unfortunately, we’re no longer getting season titles anymore.

So it’s important to note: on all the dragon rising merch we see right now, the ninja are the front and center and the new characters are in the back.

So why in the world would lego promote the ninja as the front of the whole SERIES, only to have them show up in one season and then leave. That doesn’t make much sense.

And while most people brushed off the dreamzzz teasers; I want to mention something that I think is extremely important.

Lego is using the ninja for advertising.

That might not sound weird at first, but really think about it.

Lego is not only ACKNOWLEDGING that yes, the ninja are extremely recognizable and important, but also directly using them confidently to promote other series.

So lego is not only recognizing that the ninja are marketable, their doing so with the confidence that it can be used to boost their new series.

It would be an extremely big risk then, to get rid of that marketability in favor of new characters. Especially right after the friends reboot and before their introducing a new series. Ninjago has kinda always been the “safe show” for lego when their other projects were just picking up. Currently lego is taking a big change in its new themes, they’d obviously want something to relay on.

Next gen does not mean we’re losing the old gen.

I’ve seen a lot of people get concerned that since the Netflix series said that Sora and Arin are next gen. That the ninja are going to leave.

But, next gen does not necessarily mean that the ninja are leaving.

For example, lord and Garmadon are multiple generations before the ninja. Yet they’ve been with the ninja for almost the entire series.

Lloyd is significantly younger then the other ninja. Yet he didn’t replace any of them when he joined. He just became apart of the team.

I think that’s going to happen to Sora and Arin. I think that we’re going to start seeing the ninja have to take up a mentor position and how that changes the team dynamic.

And this isn’t really new, it happened with Lloyd, Nelson, Jake, and plenty of other kid characters. We’ve also gotten plots about wu dying and Lloyd becoming a master since s4.

I THINK what is most likely to happen is that wu and maybe Misako dies. And Lloyd has to step up and run the monastery. This way, the amount of people on the main cast stays the same, so it won’t get to crowded. But the dynamic changes enough to be new.

It doesn’t seem to match Doc’s direction for the series

There’s a reason why I call doc the “anti Tommy”, and that’s because he shows so much respect towards the show and the community.

The ninja aren’t just characters we love and enjoy. Their also characters that he loves and enjoys!

Doc has been on the series for awhile now. He’s probably grown attached to these characters even more then us. I find it hard to imagine he would let that go. Especially now that he has a chance to find a way to make the ninja new and interesting!

Look at these posts, does this really seem like something a person who’s not planning on expanding on the ninja would reblog.

The show is changing but that doesn’t mean it’s losing what made it great.

Yes, I won’t lie. The show is indeed going through a massive change right now. We’re going to get a new ninjago, both in terms of the show itself and the setting.

Doc does want to take the series in a new direction, that’s why he’s introducing these new characters.

But that doesn’t mean we’re getting a fresh new slate.

After all what’s the point if we could get a new direction with the ninja themselves?

The ninja have been the same for 10 years, some characters get lucky and are able to have arcs that impact their character, others (like Kai) are not.

The sad truth is that, the show can’t stay one way forever. Crystallized kinda proved that. Crystallized gave us what we wanted. It gave us the characters, it gave us the villains, it gave us the call backs and the Easter eggs. But when it came out, we still hated it. Why? Because the show was to scared to change. It was scared to keep Nya dead, it was scared to keep Lloyd and oni, it was scared to stray away from llorumi and say it was bad, it was scared to address the ice emperor. It was scared to address Kai’s feelings about his sister dying.

Crystallized stood there and told us that “no matter what happens to the ninja, things will stay the same” and we HATED it for it.

WE, AS A FANDOM, have been basically begging the writers to do something new with the characters, to take the series in a new direction. I feel as though it’s a bit cowardly to back out of that now that things are being changed. If we want the show to be better, we have to first acknowledge it has to change.

And you know what? If the new series sucks. Then it sucks! It’s not like simply changing the setting of the show will change the writing flaws in it.

But we’ve already spent years following this show even though most of us agree its poorly written. Why don't we just stick it out another month or two and give dragon rising a chance, even if there's a very small possibility the ninja might not be in it

who knows, maybe we'll find something we like.

#ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #dragon risings #spoilers #ninjago spoilers #I have a lot more to say but this post is long enough

60 notes · View notes

voiceofsword · 1 year

Note

hiii can i ask you about cannibal niki?? what ya think bout him?? (in theory, where Niki's parents were the ones who 'ate fish' in the cult of Shinkai!!) and if ya open to request can i see a lil rinniki kiss?? on cheeks or something like dat just a smol doodle🤲 (AND SORRY ABOUT MY ENG IDK HOW TO WRITE😭)

hello anon! putting this behind a readmore again bc it might be a little long (it is) but i assure you the doodle is at the end of the post! sorry if i sound at all hostile during any parts of this post i tried to look back and change the wording for a lot of things, but like that other long ass rinne post i made it's smth i feel very strongly about! 🙇

i’m gonna keep it real with you, i’m not particularly fond of that headcanon! i feel like i’ve mentioned it before, and i respect anyone who likes it, but i see it as sort of edginess with no concrete basis besides gags and a crucial main story scene (that i think disproves it), therefore i don’t rly like talking about it or discussing it. i’ll go on to explain where i think the origin for this headcanon lies, bc while i do think it’s something that can be extrapolated from the story, it’s not necessarily the “truth” behind niki’s parents, or him being a cannibal, or anything like that.

in the main story chapters 136-140 eichi goes on to explain crazy:b’s weak points: if worse comes to worst, alkaloid can use these points against them to take them down. in 139 specifically, eichi says that niki himself is hard to exploit — but they can use his father’s infamy to their favor. niki’s father was a famous chef known for his cooking tv programs. he had a period of popularity which was quickly ended when rumors were spread about him using human meat during one of his shows, and thus he was sworn to never be on tv again.

you see, it’d be perfectly reasonable to assume niki’s father is a cannibal if eichi said this in all seriousness. however, taking context into account and how during this and the previous chapters eichi is going out of his way to make crazyb sound as bad as he feasibly can, it shows that this is their last resort and that the smear campaign needs to WORK. ES needs to make crazy:b look as bad as possible to make them give up. also eichi is kind of known for making his speech grandiose and generally making things sound more severe than they actually are, this is enstars 101. and even so, eichi himself softens the claim immediately afterwards, saying that these accusations were made at a time when tv stations were trying to get the idol industry back on its feet — they made that up, because they wanted to make sure there was no competition on the same network! and he follows that up with saying “yeah lol that’s pretty normal in this industry”.

i won’t make any mention of the shinkai cult here because there rly is no ties except for…the cannibalism, i think? i also feel like what kanata talks about in meteor impact addresses something that may or may not have happened a long, long time ago, and at a very dire time rather than something reoccurring — and i doubt niki’s parents were even alive. i havent seen this spoken about anywhere else so im not sure where you’re coming from, sorry anon :(

that aside, niki also seems to be at least somewhat aware of what happened, and the ramifications it had on his own life. you have to understand, niki’s parents left the country when these allegations started popping up, and niki’s been on his own since then — niki’s not stupid. if his parents didn’t tell him, he pieced it together himself. he knows what happened, and generally makes light of the situation and having to live on his own because that’s just how he is; these events have helped shape how niki is, on a fundamental level. but all of that aside, he more than anyone knows that his father would never do something like that, that all of it is baseless lies made to hurt him:

when i say these things shaped him, i mean that the incident has made him feel like, regardless of whether the allegations are true or not, his father caused a lot of trouble to many people. niki idolized his father — and seeing this happen to him, niki is left to think that he, too, is bound to cause people problems, both bc of this, and his constitution. he makes it a point to be like i don’t want to be like my father, again, not because of the cannibalism, but because the whole ordeal had very lasting repercussions on niki, on their family, perhaps even for any chef that might’ve pursued a similar career path to his father. i find it hard to believe that it was a one and done type thing; tabloid news and everything. he probably had his name run through the mud.

niki consciously tries to not make trouble, he laughs off his insecurities, he tries not to take up too much space, even now. gotta keep his image clean but it's also like. obviously hes not really going out of his way to expose himself and be in the culinary world more than he needs to. he carries the weight of knowing his family name is taboo so that just kind of bleeds onto how he perceives himself and what he does — that coupled with his condition makes him feel like he deserves the bare minimum. bc of these things happening, i can also imagine his parents drilled the idea into his head before they left — to not cause trouble for others if it’s the last thing he does. kind of on the nose, niki does mention during one of the flashbacks that his father told him human meat is the one thing he must absolutely never do. which is like. well, yeah

also (tapping mic) part of the reason rinne causes so much trouble for him is because he wants niki to see that it’s ok to cause trouble for him back — that if niki goes out of his way to do stuff for him, even if begrudgingly, rinne can pay him back in kind. one of rinne’s main drives is that he wants to be able to dismantle this idea niki has in his head that he’s less deserving of good things because of his past, and his body. i’d even go as far to say that it’s an integral part of their relationship and both of their characters. um anyways

people are allowed to think or portray him however they want, of course, but i think saying that his father is a cannibal and thus niki is a cannibal too feels like completely dismissing parts of his character for the sake of making this otherwise “wholesome” person be more 'edgy' and perhaps aligning more to their tastes. i can’t police how people perceive him but i think a lot of where this stems from is wanting to have a character to project specific aesthetics onto, latching onto small bits of his story and lines without really looking at the full picture.

niki tries so hard to be someone who can move past these allegations and still struggles with thinking that he can do what he likes lest he be like his father, so, idk. i personally don’t like to engage w/ or see these interpretations. to each their own!

also as to why niki makes jokes about eating people and it’s somewhat a recurring gag with him: well personally i think he’s just a little weird. it’s done in a cutesy playful way like "omg u smell so good i could eat you right up!" and its more like... a compliment. (esp coming from him w his rly good sense of smell and taste) yeah its joking abt eating ppl but not joking abt cannibalism itself its all theoretical eating. (have u never joked about wanting to eat someone up…or wanting to bite ppl.. i think it’s kind of like that. it’s just that they juice him for the bit)

also to thank you for your patience. here’s the doodle ♡

#niki shiina #mimthinks #if you read til the end and are like damn why did i read all of this? tbf i Did Warn You #also anon ur english is totally fine!! do not fret

125 notes · View notes

the-owl-tree · 7 months

Note

I know it’s unpopular and ig would be seen as chronically online but. a little annoyed at the “UGH 🙄 and here come THOSE people” @ comments those being horrified abt Frostpaw being spayed and connecting it to real life events like bipoc being sterilized against their will. I personally am not one of those people, nor do I think it’s anywhere near that serious or on that level bc I thought it was an interesting turn in the books, but as a black afab myself who would most definitely face forced sterilization if I were not a more privileged individual, (because you know the health system itself loves to play around with our bodies like science experiments as though we cannot physically feel pain) I’m gonna need the yt warrior cats fans to cut it out w the snide superiority complex on “lesser takes” and understand there’s people who are gonna reasonably draw comparisons to these events and see how incredibly horrifying it is what the anthropomorphic cat just went through. not to hit a fucking beehive but why is it acceptable to understand the harmful impacts of misogyny in the series affect people in the real world but misoginoir is taking a step too far?

discourse on bumble being a domestic abuse victim has people understanding and drawing comparisons between that and real life events but we draw the line when woc are brought up. okay. why?

this isn’t at you btw because you generally have nuanced takes and take the time to consider what people are actually saying but like. what’s going on here I’m genuinely blindsided by people rolling their eyes. it is an issue. it’s a huge issue and it’s still happening in places! can’t speak for other countries but it’s still legal on a federal level in the U.S where I live and in my state. my problem isn’t the people drawing comparisons with Frostpaw. my problem is the reaction to that. I don’t understand why one systematic issue can be discussed and the other not without scrutiny and handled as though it’s not as serious topic.

also to note: I am aware that Frostpaw being spayed was not based on any perceived race or ethnicity. I am aware that this was simply for shock value (as of the moment, anyway ((which is what makes it worse imo but that’s another convo))) and I am aware that I cannot speak on behalf of anyone facing this issue but myself and cannot reasonably say that anyone drawing these conclusions will always 100% take the matter as seriously as needed. however I can say that it is a bit difficult for me to accept that in a world where each character has human intelligence, thoughts wishes and feelings, that the concept of forced sterilization, abhorrent and frightening outside of normal cat understanding, frankly should be handled with the utmost care able to be expended. I know it will not be. I am aware. the authors have a history of using their personal bias to push racist narratives before. I understand that people are saying handle the subject with tact and maturity. I just do not believe it is the right or position of a mostly white fanbase to police the discussion of what happens to women of color because we are often spoken over as is. I hope that I have made my point clear? I’m not the best at explaining myself over subjects I’m passionate about, so I may have tripped over my words a bit. I do apologize if it came off as talking in circles

I'll admit, when I first read the spoilers and learned what happened, I drew some connections but I also agree that it's not nearly on that level. But I think it would be wildly inappropriate if I tried to talk on that as a white person.

I don't have much to add, but I think you've raised some pretty understandable concerns and you're very clear in your points, I didn't have any trouble following you! I genuinely have a lot of concerns about the plotline and I think you're right that it's important to be open about these discussions.

#ask to tag #i do apologize i don't have anything really substantial to add #but i don't know enough or am in a position to really be spearheading these conversations #i have my own concerns about the misogyny that i expect to follow #but i think it's very fair for people to see a plot like this and draw connections to other experiences

19 notes · View notes

utilitycaster · 1 year

Note

I’m I the only one who finds it alarming that most of this fandom who ship Imogen and Laudna (especially on twitter) don’t realize the unhealthyness thats going on in their relationship? They literally see two women to are affectionate with each other and say “ENDGAME!” “GIRLFRIENDS!” “MARRIED!” “KISS KISS KISS!” Then they focus on quotes that are kinda alarming, and Imogen’s Jealousy is pretty fucking Alarming! Saying that they are in love and just haven’t realized it yet. (Don’t get me started on that one blog on here counting down the days “till imodna realizes their in love.” I find it so fucking annoying.) Loving someone and being IN love with someone is two different things. Also another thing! I HATE THAT PEOPLE CALL THEM LESBIANS! THE BOTH HAVE EXPRESSED FEELINGS FOR MALE PERSENTING PEOPLE! I dread the day when the campaign ends and they don’t end up together or during the campaign fall IN love with someone that’s not each other. Especially if it’s a male persenting person, because the Laura and Marisha will be harassed and the shippers will yell Queerbait, also the men hating/haters will be in full force.

Hi anon,

I agree with most of this; I'm answering under a cut in the hopes that people who will be upset by an answer will be able to avoid it, without me having to explicitly discourse tag it and in doing so throw it to people who troll that tag to get mad at things. Also this is SUPER long and covers a lot of the thoughts I've had percolating on the CR fandom/shipping culture in general.

I think I and a lot of people who primarily deal in meta/analysis in this fandom have been inching ever closer to a lot of the points you've made here, and I am generally very willing to be the one who snaps and says "yeah has anyone noticed the emperor has literally no clothes on like what the fuck".

Let's start with the end and work backwards: It's happened before, it will happen again if Laura and Marisha's characters do not get together, and it's irritating, but like, I will take a good story and the consequences of a shitty segment of the fandom rather than the path of least resistance every time. I almost said something to this effect on the positive vibes ask last night, but like...there will always be people who are hateful and stupid on the internet, so you may as well stand in your own truth rather than fear their consequences. (Not that I don't respect the choice to quietly avoid harassment; I am the way I am because I know at this point I can take a pretty hard hit and shut it down, but that has not always been the case.) Anyway, people called an actual canon ship between lesbian characters queerbaiting last campaign, so it's not like those accusations hold any weight or need to be taken seriously; outside of their tiny circle, everyone thinks those people are idiots.

I do, as a bi woman, hate the tendency among hardcore shippers to erase bisexuality. They do it because a bi character's competing ships cannot be as easily dismissed as 'obviously can't happen, they're gay or lesbian', and they don't care how biphobic they look doing it. You are absolutely correct: Imogen and Laudna have both indicated interest in men or masc nb people. (Others have also pointed out that people tend to exclusively use he/him pronouns about Ashton when they are being critical of them, so they don't care how transphobic they look doing it either, apparently; also I don't think Ashton identifies as a he/they lesbian but there are in fact people who do identify as such so like...if your goal is to eliminate Ashton/Laudna as an option by saying Laudna is a lesbian, against all evidence to the contrary, you also need to make a number of presumptions about Ashton's sexuality and gender identity as well.)

This brings me to a tricky section about fandom in general but I think it's worth saying. In the real world, homophobia and transphobia are very real. They negatively impact our lives in heartbreaking and deadly ways. It is still the norm in most US media for the bulk of relationships shown to be between a cis man and a cis woman, and for protagonists to be cis and straight (note: also often able-bodied, male, white, etc but the focus of this discussion is queerness so I'm not covering all axes of oppression). However, in many fandom spaces, queer characters and ships are the fan favorites. Tumblr's userbase does skew heavily queer, and additionally, tends to skew towards women. In other words, a lot of things that are very true in real life do not hold in fandom spaces.

Which is to say: we're in a situation where an F/F ship is the massive juggernaut for the fandom right now. It does not mean that lesbians (or bi women who enter into relationships with other women) are not oppressed in the real world; it does mean that within the highly specific space of the Critical Role fandom, people are more likely to be in favor of this ship than not. It also means that a lot of the people who aren't into it are not homophobes, but are queer people - often even wlw - who are saying "I would like F/F ships! I would like them to actually be good." Like, to me, the only difference between Imogen and Laudna and every M/F canon relationship on network TV that's made me go "you're telling me they should be together, but I don't see it" is that they're both women (and I would bet a large sum that for a lot of people, this isn't about the dynamic, but purely about the gender of the people involved, ie, if Imogen were a man played by one of the men in the cast people wouldn't ship it, where as I personally can comfortably say I'd ship any of the canon ships from past campaigns regardless of character gender. This also admits that biological essentialism is fake and that Exandria is pretty gender equalthough, which some people don't want to do.)

Part of why I've been so frustrated is that, at least from my perspective, the overwhelming majority of hate and harassment I've seen within the fandom in Campaign 3 - and in Campaign 2 - has been from people who have shipped Marisha and Laura's characters. There has, in fact, been pretty considerable hate as well as measured criticism levied towards M/F ships (we're seeing some with Ashton/Laudna here, but both Fjord/Jester and Caleb/Jester, the latter of which I actively dislike and have openly criticized, received pretty vehement hate last campaign and most of it came from people who shipped Jester with Beau) and M/M ships (less harassment per se but people who shipped Caleb with Jester said some truly awful things about Caleb/Essek; also while I have not, you know, harassed people, I have said essentially the same things about how Taliesin and Liam's characters are shipped every campaign despite often having little connection as I have about Marisha and Laura's. I just don't talk about it as much because while I think and have said that Ashton/Orym is basically nothing - and that Widomauk, which most people vaguely classify as M/M, and for that matter, Percy/Vax, all are basically nothing - no one who ships those has called me a cunt or reblogged my posts in an abusive manner or called me out for the grave sin of preferring canon to fanon, so I respect the ship and let ship of it all.) For that matter, the bulk of hate towards Beauyasha came from people who shipped Beau and Jester. Like...I am confident there are people who dislike this ship specifically because it's between two women, and they are homophobic, but that is not the quarter where I think most of the criticism on Tumblr or Twitter is coming from.

So let's get to the last point. Why do people ship two women simply because they're standing next to each other? Why do they ignore countless red flags - and I am specifically talking about treating Imogen and Laudna's relationship as healthy and loving; not about shipping it in general. I cannot stress enough that if you treat Imogen/Laudna as some kind of toxic Briarwoods situation and are into that, I support that entirely.

There are a few reasons. First and foremost, I think a lot of people project onto characters rather than letting the characters provide them with differing perspectives. I find this deeply sad. It's not that you can't draw parallels between your own life and that of fictional characters or see yourself in them - you're supposed to! But it says something depressing about your empathy if your qualifications for which characters speak to you are only those who match your demographics. Like, I've said before, but my favorite characters from past campaigns are Vex and Fjord, and they have a lot in common! If you relate to one based on their themes of Who You Are In The Dark and the mask you present to the world over a face you don't particularly like, you will probably relate to the other! But also...I am a cis bi woman, I am not a person of color as both those characters are often considered coded to be (though am an ethnic minority), nor did I personally experience extensive emotional abuse and poverty as a child. I think there's value in wanting to see people like you! But also...representation is not just "I want to see people like me"; it's also "I want to humanize people who are not like me". If you cannot relate to someone simply because they don't match your gender or sexuality, then that's a really shallow and cold way to interact with the world. And, specifically in relation to queerness within Critical Role: this is a world that has consistently been depicted as not having homophobia or transphobia. I understand wanting to explore these themes and seeing characters who have experienced them, but like...this is not the media that will reasonably have a one-to-one portrayal of homophobia or transphobia, and you often will need to bend over backwards and project a lot of stuff that simply isn't in the canon to read that into them because the worldbuilding simply doesn't support it. And, to be clear, you can do that; but at that point you're applying a lens that only you can obtain, so you shouldn't be surprised if few people come along with you. (I also think it's kind of dumb to watch a show with 5 cis men on it, four of whom are married to women, and be mad that the story has men in it and that those men sometimes are attracted to women; unpacking this would easily double the length of this already incredibly long post though.)

So: this sets a stage for people coming into the show saying "who looks like me, or can I make to look like me" rather than engaging with what's actually going on. Part of why I've been hesitant on Imogen and Laudna the whole time, though started out much more open to it, is in fact that it was heavily shipped from quite literally the moment that Laura and Marisha were indicated to be playing two women who knew each other from before. We knew nothing about their dynamic other than "existing friendship". So I think a lot of people put the cart before the horse and started shipping, and I do think - and I could be entirely wrong - a lot of them, deep down in their hearts, know that they are twisting their interpretations to match an idea of these two characters that has increasingly been proven not to be true onscreen. Like, I think a lot of people kind of realize that Imogen is putting Laudna in a horrible position here; I think a lot of people realize that their so-called 'unconditional' love that transcends words means there's no room to resolve or even express conflict. Perhaps they don't, but like, I'd like to give people the benefit of the doubt. It's just...I think that because this ship is so all-consuming within the fandom, and because so many people have staked their identities within the fandom on it, they don't know how to leave it and are scared of retaliation if they do.

This is backed up by the slow shift I've described - Imodna started out with "they're already girlfriends" or "they're already in love but just haven't said it" or "what could ever happen other than they become ever closer and eventually kiss" (as witnessed by these questions) to "they realized they were in love during the campaign" to "Imogen is in love with Laudna but Laudna isn't aware" to "god remember how they used to talk, I'd give anything for it" to "I guess a QPR is okay" (which is itself bizarre, like, the issues I see in their relationship are still just as much issues in a nonsexual partnership as a sexual one; honestly, it's not a healthy friendship though it is an interesting one and the problem's I have are not going to be fixed by kissing.) Like, it's not the normal evolution of feelings one might have about a ship as the show goes on and more information is revealed, or rather, it's a ship that's becoming less and less confident as time goes on which is the opposite of how canon ships tend to go. (Which, I need to stress, does not discount that it could not be canon; it's just that I think it would require a pretty profound shakeup and conflict to do so). The signs and signals are becoming more and more tenuous and the shippers keep lowering and lowering the bar.

Since I've already brought up past campaigns and ships, let's do it again for the sake of illustration; this feels like how people who shipped Caleb and Jester went from ENDGAME to "Caleb is pushing away Jester to protect her" to "I think Laura is biting her lip when she's looking at Liam! This is a SIGN" even in episodes where Jester was like, actively making out with Fjord, to, and I am not making this up, posting pictures of the CR shop showing Laura in Caleb merch as evidence. Or how the bulk of Vex/Keyleth shipping in TLOVM rested on a scene in the trailer where Keyleth was staring dreamily and drunkenly into space while Vex was across the table only for the show to reveal Keyleth was staring at Vax. Like, all shipping does require a certain degree of cherrypicking, but there is a point where you are focused only on subtext and never text, and while that was how one had to interact with queer stories in the past, it's ridiculous to be doing it on a show where Marisha has openly RP-ed Beau eating Yasha out. Like, if they wanted to show two women being romantically involved, they will. (There's been a lot of Xena comparisons thrown around, and like...not that Xena isn't an important part of the history of depicting F/F relationships in media, but it is also a syndicated show from the 90s and couldn't show an explicitly lesbian relationship, and Critical Role very much can and has.)

I do think there are a subset of people who don't realize how unhealthy this is. Like...this is a whole psychological thing that I am unequipped to unpack, but I do think there are people for whatever reasons genuinely do believe that love means never having to say you're sorry. I am hoping this is because of youth and inexperience, because being able to communicate and advocate for yourself is a crucial part of relationships, as is the ability to express and resolve conflict. As you've noticed, the people who ship this have all said "well, obviously, Imogen won't betray Laudna" - but we don't know that. Honestly I think it could go either way. But they have to make that assumption to keep shipping it, because if Imogen might betray Laudna, then that does mean that there would have been more meaning and value in Laudna speaking up and that conversation was deeply flawed.

I also think some of this comes from unconditional love being an unreasonable expectation foisted upon us all at large. There are always conditions, or rather, you might always in some way love someone, but there are conditions under which you'd leave or boundaries you will draw. You can love someone who (for example) is dealing with an addiction but still refuse to let them drive while intoxicated or steal your stuff to pay for drugs. You can love someone who cheats on you but still want to end that relationship. I mean, while fear, self-doubt, and resources/logistics are all factors in people leaving abusive relationships, it's also true that a lot of people have some affection for the good times and that is a factor as well. Love is not a simple on/off switch. You can feel multiple things at once - honestly, that's what Ashton basically says this past episode, that they both love and hate the party! I think Imogen and Laudna do genuinely love each other, though I don't interpret it as romantic; I just also think that there's a lot of stuff they don't like about each other but are unable to express, and which will only become more and more of a threat to a potential romantic (or queerplatonic) relationship if left to fester unresolve. And, to be honest, I suspect real-world homophobia and fandom purity issues are part of why people are so unwilling to discuss why Imogen and Laudna's relationship is unhealthy; because it means admitting that queer relationships can have most of the same problems as straight ones, and possibly admitting that you still find an unhealthy relationship interesting and want to see it played out.

#answered #Anonymous #long post #cr tag #posts that make me realize i should probably watch the celluloid closet

111 notes · View notes