Black woman saves and houses abused white woman and child
Greetings! I follow this blog whenever I can and I recently came out with something in my story that I wanted to inquire about:
There’s a white woman in her late 30s, let’s call her “Vicky”, who (along with her daughter) is a victim of domestic abuse, and another character, a Black woman, “Cherry”, is made aware of this after a change encounter the two have at a café. She helps Vicky flee from her husband and lets her stay in her home - later, the two fall in love and get together.
I’m very aware of the White Saviour trope, and do my best to stay away from it. This is nothing like it, but does this fall under some sort of negative stereotype for Black women, like “saving the fragile white woman”? I should note that Cherry and Vicky are the exact same age, only Cherry is single and living alone. She is described by many as being very cute, and she is also secretly a well-renowned writer (she uses an alias when writing, so she kind of feels like a super heroine, which then ties with her storyline about Vicky). Also, I think it’s pretty clear, but the abusive husband is also white like Vicky.
I think it’s touching that Cherry saves this woman and her child from this abusive situation. I would like to discuss some areas that may help you explore if there’s a mammy / strong black woman / sacrificial negro dynamic here.
The chance encounter
Did Cherry (Black woman) meet Vicky (white woman) for the first time and instantly decide to get involved? I feel that it’s a bit sacrificial for Cherry to place herself in the middle of what could be a potentially deadly situation, as domestic abuse too often leads to, for a perfect stranger.
This level of involvement would not align with how much one might put on the line for someone they do not know at all. Cherry is now at risk of retaliation from Vicky’s abuser if he finds them, or Vicky allows him back into their lives and lets them know where her home is / they make up and he learns about Cherry’s involvement etc.
Their relationship prior to Cherry helping Vicky
The risk might feel worth it for someone you know, but it’s a lot to ask of a stranger. In the case of a “chance encounter becomes savior” situation, she also doesn’t know anything about Vicky and is letting a perfect stranger into her home. Of course, everyone is different and based on her personality and experiences may be willing to assume these risks. The child being involved might also influence that. Cherry might be one of those people, but it’s worth acknowledging as a big undertaking in the narrative. Her actions should not be brushed aside as nothing or just “her duty”. Too often servitude is just assigned as natural for Black women. Their own lives take a back seat and to take care of other people / ensure their well being comes first.
Suggestion: built a history between the women
A better fix might be to develop some level of a relationship between the two before Cherry risks so much to save them. They could even just be acquaintances. It helps if they know each other on some level, at the least. Even if it’s strangers that see each other often at the cafe and strike up small talk all the time but never speak outside of that, old high school classmates that ran in different groups, friends of friends. This creates some sort of relationship where Cherry feels she knows Vicky “enough” to assume the risks, especially as a child is involved.
Without knowing the exact circumstances, I’ll pose a few scenarios and explore the pitfalls.
If she witnesses the abuse
Witnessing the abuse and getting involved as she sees it happening - I wouldn’t fault her for that. I’d instinctively get involved too!
If something happens in the public eye, it would help if other bystanders get involved too; Cherry just happened to take it to another level and offered her sanctuary.
Again I’m still having a hard time figuring out why Cherry has been placed in this situation before proper authorities, women’s shelters, etc. if she doesn’t know her at all. As I’d suggested, it might be best if they had some sort of relationship prior, no matter how subtle.
The escape from the abuser
What role does Cherry play in the escape?
Physical strength / sacrifice
Is she expected to use brute force aka be “Strong” to physically save Vicky or fight off her abuser? I would avoid that, as you will have a Strong Black Woman on your hands.
Must Cherry put herself in direct danger with the abuser to save Vicky and the child?
It's asking a lot for Cherry to storm into the home, potentially get harmed or die for a stranger in a domestic abuse situation that she does not know a lot, if anything, about. For example, what if there’s deadly weapons in the house?
Could Cherry involve others to help?
Maybe Cherry could call authorities and possibly show up alongside them.
If authorities aren’t involved, perhaps she waits outside to drive the getaway car as the friend and child escapes (I’m 100% inspired by Enough with Jennifer Lopez). Even better, if she could bring along someone else, preferably non-Black, who could help in the situation.
The Strong Black Woman is often about being forced into emotional labor.
Is Cherry allowed to react with fear, sadness and anxiety about the situation? Or must she keep it together for the sake of the White woman? Perhaps it’s triggering based on her past; she should be allowed to process that.
Allow Cherry to deal with her own wave of emotions. Even better if she has an outlet for that. She might not lay them on Vicky, but she also shouldn’t be expected to be a perfectly composed rock whose purpose is to comfort and support Vicky.
Vicky shouldn’t rely completely on Cherry for emotional support. She needs other sources to expel her own fears and emotions. Whether a therapist, parent, other friends, chat forums, journal, or a dog!
Mammy (dynamic between Cherry and the white woman and child)
Given the other factors in the story, I would stay away from Cherry being asked or offering to care for the child. Vicky should take primary care for her child or get help from others besides Cherry or other Black women, as this would give their dynamic mammy and servitude vibes.
Same applies to Cherry physically taking care of and serving Vicky - avoid it. Also, once Vicky is up for it or she has the means, they can split the chores or Vicky does the majority or contribute to housing expenses (again, if she has the means) but in some way she should pull her weight, so all the domestic care does not fall on Cherry.
It’s all about avoiding putting Cherry, the Black Woman, in the position as savior of white woman and child + servitude role any further than the implications the first incident creates. Initial comforting and support is fine, but the rest of the white woman and child’s world shouldn’t continue to rest on the Black woman’s shoulders.
Explore Cherry’s life outside of the white people
A very important aspect that will keep this away from SBW and Mammy tropes; give Cherry her own life. Cherry absolutely needs to have a plot line that does not revolve around Vicky and child. She needs to talk to other people, and about other subjects, besides those two. Her main problems, drama, and highlights of her life shouldn’t revolve around them.
Give her emotions, weakness, and vulnerabilities. She needs other friends and/or family, interests, and a little romance absolutely helps too. She is this amazing writer, so you’ve got something to work with right there! Ultimately, she needs her own life, things going on that have nothing to do with them.
Psychoanalyzing people can be a trauma response learned from being forced as a child to become an expert on managing your abusive caregiver’s moods to avoid danger.
When I notice my mind doing this with someone, I realize my fawn trauma response has been triggered and I may need stronger emotional boundaries with that person. If they are a safe person like my wife, I remind myself that no matter how tired/low/bad of a mood she’s in, she has a proven track record of not being like the people who’ve abused me in the past. I remind myself I am able to stick up for myself now if she were to “take her bad mood out on me”. When you grow up with unpredictable, raging caregivers just being around someone who’s not emotionally regulated registers as danger to your system. Unlearning people pleasing is continually reminding myself I am not responsible for other people’s emotions. I don’t have to compulsively rescue people from their bad moods for my survival anymore. I can actually give energy toward myself.
My birth giver trained me to psychoanalyze from a young age. I had to act like her therapist, giving her constant empathy, comfort and encouragement. I was not allowed to have needs or even emotions or opinions of my own unless they were a source of supply to her.
Confusingly, my negative emotions were clearly a source of supply for her when she would bait me into arguments and I’d get overwhelmed and start crying. The power she felt over me in those moments was obvious. I was always apologizing for something. I shrank in her presence like a programmed robot, not safe to be my true self who she showed no interest in knowing. Any kind of contact with her requires me to shrink my true self, and at this age I am no longer able to do that.
Before I learned about narcissistic abuse and the fawn trauma response, I wondered why I seemed to attract bullies and always felt so powerless to stand up to or get away from them.
Boundaries are like your emotional “skin”. Going through life without boundaries is like walking around with your nerve endings exposed, your innermost organs being affected by the slightest touch. It gives people easy access to gut you.
If being around certain people makes you feel like you have to be hypervigilant to protect yourself, that could be a sign to strengthen your boundaries with that person.
Responding to your hurt with “You’re too sensitive” is gaslighting, plain and simple. I have the right to protect myself.
And yet that is the last fight you may have with an abuser, kicking and screaming: when you finally try to get away for good. Looking back I see how while I was enmeshed with my birth giver deep down I felt the fight to leave wasn’t something I had the energy to fight, she had trained me my whole life to back down/give up with her most harsh, cruel reactions to me trying to assert any boundaries/protest/disagreement. Learning about trauma bonding has helped me so much to understand how I was trained to “beg for crumbs” and how my brain became used to chaos/dysfunction in relationships.
Boundaries are the antidote to enmeshment, and when the enmeshment unravels all the layers of gaslighting unravel along with it. I see why she had to keep such a tight grip of control on me: the last thing someone manipulating you wants is for you to see through their tactics. I can no longer bend myself into the positions required to be enmeshed with her. When it comes to people that just want to drain you, being the “bigger person” means walking away, not staying and letting them change you into a person you’re not. Boundaries and knowing ourselves protects us from people trying to use guilt, obligation and confusion to control us. To control is to own like an object. To control is the first step towards destroy.
It feels like I’ve been trying to stay afloat in stormy water with shackles on my feet. Nearly drowning, I finally got the shackles off and have washed ashore but now I’m exhausted, gasping for breath. I shuffle my feet on shore, used to the shackles. Once you’ve escaped danger, it takes time to adjust to being safe. I’m enjoying more and more freedom as time goes on. Some level of psychoeducation is important in recovering from abuse so that you recognize the signs and prevent the past from repeating itself. “What isn’t repaired, repeats.”
“Fighting digital colonialism is important not only from the perspective of privacy and individual user rights. At a time where the global divide is threatening the environment and with it, our very survival, we cannot afford to further concentrate wealth and power. We must ensure that technology will serve the world’s people, not the interests of the one percent.”
Also something I haven’t seen brought up once in the NFT space (surprise): digital colonialism.
In episode 21, I noticed details in Jiang Cheng's and Wei Wuxian's conversation that seriously fucked me up. It fully changed the way I understand Wei Wuxian's mindset and Jiang Cheng's attitude towards him. Because – OOOF – shit is actually much darker than it seems on first (and second) re-watch.
So let me dive right in:
(major spoilers below the cut)
This conversation takes place during the time Wei Wuxian re-enters the public sphere. After spending three months in the Burial Mounds, he has just met his sister and all the other cultivators again. Gossip is already spreading about his new found craft, and we see the beginning of what will be Wei Wuxian's ostracization from society – another social death. This trajectory is apparent to everyone, especially Jiang Cheng, who, as we know, is all about public relations. So, when he and Wei Wuxian are alone, he engages him in an an awkward conversation, with the goal of assimilating Wei Wuxian back into 'normality'. First mentioning Wei Wuxian's change in attitude towards Lan WangJi and then abruptly changing the topic to Yiling when Wei Wuxian smells the bait.
The thing is, people have been talking a lot about what happened at Yiling. How horrible and mysterious the deaths were. Even Yanli didn't get an answer when she asked. So nobody knows for sure what happened in Yiling except for Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng. What all the rumors have in common though, is how difficult it was to identify Wen Cao's corpse. You know, the guy Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng asked Lan Wangji to leave to them. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian must have had an (maybe silent) agreement to not mention it to anyone, because now, when Jiang Cheng does, he triggers the following reaction.
Wei Wuxian just STARES him. This is not a surprised stare. This is his -
- you-wanna-fuckin-die-stare! Because Jiang Cheng followed the traces of corpses to Yiling, he saw the aftermath of Wei Wuxian's revenge and he went along with it. Jiang Cheng was there in Yiling WITH him for killing Wen Cao in a way that was apparently so gruesome that it is a topic of concern among people who kill other people. Now, Jiang Cheng has had his revenge, but Wei Wuxian is the one carrying the burden of it – socially and mentally. So, when Jiang Cheng mentions Yiling, Wei Wuxian stares at him like: "GO ON, WHAT ABOUT YILING BRO?!" It is basically a threat. Outwardly, Wei Wuxian will continue to be the brother who takes Jiang Cheng punches and scolding, especially when Yanli is around, but Yiling is where he draws the line.
Jiang Cheng immediately shuts up. And deflects into his role as clan leader.
It is safer for him to tell him off as a clan leader than to push the hard boundary Wei Wuxian just set. Jiang Cheng knows what Wei Wuxian is capable of and he is SCARED. It is easy to miss how fucked up this conversation actually is, because of Wei Wuxian's hilarious mocking faces. We also know that Wei Wuxian has a habit of masking pain and vulnerability.
With this, both have found a role within which they can navigate their relationship. For Jiang Cheng it's the clan leader, for Wei Wuxian it's the unruly disciple. Especially Jiang Cheng will enforce this role whenever they are alone and border the brother-zone again. (For example, when he visits Wei Wuxian in Burial Mounds.)
Wei WuXian has threatened Jiang Cheng and, from that point on, it clear to both of them, that despite what they are outwardly portraying, Wei Wuxian holds more power over Jiang Cheng than the other way around.
And this is not an empty threat. Look at happens immediately afterward:
Are you seeing this?
Right after Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian establish their new association, Wei Wuxian's gaze goes to Jiang Cheng's 丹田 Dantian and he just LOOKS AT IT for a while. Long enough to make Jiang Cheng uncomfortable. Even though Jiang Cheng does not know that it is Wei Wuxian's Dantian, this stare should be enough to remind Jiang Cheng of another secret they promised not to tell anyone. When Jiang Cheng nervously asks him what he's looking at, Wei Wuxian shakes his head, but goes on to say:
Wei Wuxian would never outright mention that Jiang Cheng is indebted to him, but it is clear that he mocks Jiang Cheng's high and mighty attitude towards him – the one who enabled him to stay in his position. With this, Wei Wuxian basically tells Jiang Cheng that it is inappropriate for him to question his methods, and flexes with his power over him.
We'll never know what happened in Yiling, and what Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng did to Wen Cao, but it seems severe enough for Wei Wuxian to blackmail Jiang Cheng if he threatens to disturb Wei Wuxian carefully re-constructed conscience.
Imagine being captured in an unfamiliar kingdom and taken prisoner. You’re chained down to a chair, naked and vulnerable, and you can’t help the fear that spikes through your heart when you see the prince enter the room, surrounded by guards. You’ve heard rumors about him, about how he’s moody and unpredictable, must always get his way.
One knight unsheathes his sword and holds it to your throat as the prince barks an order for you to stay still, and you try not to shiver as you think of what will be done to you.
But then you’re given pause when the prince stands in front of you and looks you up and down with a smirk. He sheds his cape, his vest, his boots, layer after layer until he’s standing before you in just his crown. He waves off the guard.
Slowly, he straddles you on the chair, thighs hugging your own, hovering just a few inches above you. You try your best to avert your gaze, painfully aware of the guards surrounding the two of you. But of course your eyes stray. You look down and see two pink, pert nipples. Your gaze wanders further and you catch a glimpse of prince’s already-swollen clit, glisening sweetly. You feel yourself twitch.
“I could leave you to rot in a cell for your crimes,” the prince says. “Or,” he continues, running the back of his hand across your cheek, “I could put you to good use. There’s a position open in my court, as an assistant of sorts.” He leans in, and you feel his warm breath ghost over your skin. “I think you’ll find that option quite... beneficial.”
While you’re still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, the prince snakes his hand down and rubs against your dick. You harden quickly under his touch, and when he grasps your shaft you’re already fully erect. He pumps up and down your cock, and you fight the urge to buck up into his hand. His grip loosens, his thumb swiping over the head of your cock, and a groan makes it’s way up your throat involuntarily.
“Aw, baby,” the prince tsks. He brings his hand to his own face, taking the thumb in his mouth and licking the precum off. When he pulls it out, his mouth makes a soft pop.
You’re enraptured, and he knows it. With slow precision, he positions himself above your cock. He’s hovering just out of reach, pussy less than an inch from you, and you resist the urge to thrust up into him.
“Well,” he continues, watching you carefully, “what do you say? Do you want the job?”
“Please,” you moan, trying to move your hips up a bit, searching for any friction you can get. Your head brushes against his hole, and you can feel how slick he is in anticipation.
The prince laughs, but you can see his cheeks are flushed pink. “Oh, I think you’ll do quite well here,” he mutters. Then, without any further warning, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and sits himself down, stretched over your cock down to the hilt.
You hardly have time to adjust before he’s bouncing on your lap, his eyes shut tight and mouth dropping open in a silent whine. You watch his skin flush darker, and a moan falls from his lips, sending blood straight to your cock.
His crown slips a bit from its place on his head, and the prince pauses to readjust it. While he takes a moment to compose himself, you plant both feet on the floor and, as best as you can considering the ropes binding you to the chair, you take over.
You fuck up onto him, watching your dick slip in and out of his wet cunt. Over the sloppy sounds, you hear the prince keen loudly, and you look up to find him staring at you with wide eyes. After a moment, he blinks and seems to regain some sense of control. His hands leave your shoulders, one slipping down in-between the two of you and the other settling around your throat. He leans in, and this close you can see how red his cheeks have turned, and can feel how quickly his breath is coming as it puffs against your face.
“Harder,” he rasps, tightening his grip on your throat.
You don’t need to be told twice. You double down and fuck up into him harder and faster, a pressure building in your core. Looking down, you see the prince’s fingers rubbing his clit, and now the moans fall freely from his lips, loud and undignified.
If you weren’t tied down, you think you’d like to kiss him until he can’t see straight, biting and sucking his lips raw. You’d like to see what his mouth might look like stretched around your cock with drool running down his chin. You want to make him squirm. You want to make him yours.
The prince gasps, and the hand around your throat squeezes a bit more, nails biting into your skin. “Fuck,” he keens, and you feel his cunt spasm, tightening around you. You fuck up into him just a few more times before the pressure inside you spills over, and you don’t think twice before bucking your hips up to meet his, cumming deep inside his cunt. You want to make him yours.
The two of you twitch for a minute, breathing heavily and slowly coming down from your orgasms. You seem to recover first, and you lean back to watch the prince lift himself off of your cock on shaky thighs. When you slip free from him, you notice none of your cum leaks out, and a sort of pride fills your chest at knowing you may have cum deeply enough to breed him. You see his swollen clit twitch slightly, and wonder if he’s thinking the same thing, if perhaps he’s turned on by it.
A finger under your chin pulls your attention back up, and the prince is watching you. Somehow he looks perfectly composed again, even his crown fixed from its askew position. He smirks.
“You’ve certainly got the job,” he states, standing from your lap. He goes gracefully to his knees, dipping in between your own, his hands roaming your thighs as he hums. “Ready for round two?” He reaches for your soft cock, and you jerk away slightly.
“Wait, give me a min—”
You’re silenced with not only a glare from the prince, but from the sudden appearance of a guard’s blade at your neck. You’ve almost forgotten the two of you were surrounded.
“I said,” the prince continued, voice dangerously low, “are you ready for round two?” The authority in his voice tells you there’s only one answer, and you’re reminded of how powerful this man is. You’re reminded of how little control you have right now. You’re reminded of how you are his.
The thought sends a jolt of arousal through you, and you feel your cock twitch once more. The prince sees it.
CW: 18+ (minors go away), NSFW, smut, yandere!, possessive behavior/unhealthy relationship dynamics, mild dub-con, sugar daddy scenario, age gap (college grad reader early 30′s jotaro), mild degradation, power imbalance
(yandere! aka dead dove do not eat)
part 1- part 3- part 4
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A few months had passed, enough for you to adjust to this new, radically different life under Jotaro’s thumb. You had gone from a broke college graduate, living in a shabby apartment, working a dead-end job, buried under a mountain of debt, to becoming the live-in pseudo-girlfriend of a wealthy and threateningly handsome philanthropist. From the outside, it must have looked like the plot from one of those supermarket romance paperbacks, where the rich love interest saves the heroine from her boring life, sweeping her off her feet into the lap of luxury. But it felt less like a romantic escape to you, and more like a new kind of entrapment. Jotaro, or Dr.Kujo as he referred to by his colleagues, had dug you out of your hole, just to enclose you in a diamond-encrusted cage of his own design.
There were things keeping you with him, some good times sprinkled in the sea of anxiety that was your day-to-day life. Jotaro still showered you with gifts, giving you sparks of serotonin at seeing the dazzling gold jewelry and fine designer clothes. He took to you every party he was invited to, though most were dull in your opinion, and took you on lavish trips periodically to get away from his stressful job. But he was much like he had been before he brought you to live with him, aloof and unreadable, never telling you how he felt, if he was happy with your presence or saw this new arrangement as a mere obligation, you could never tell. You would have liked to see the gifts as a token of his appreciation for going along with his demands, but when you saw the way his colleagues showered their lady-friends with similar adornments, you figured he saw them as more of a requirement, a necessary part of his “job” as your keeper.
Your personal items had been removed from your old apartment, but almost none of your furniture was allowed to exist in your new home: Jotaro’s minimally decorated up-town Penthouse. Upon seeing the items he had turned up his nose, stated that they simply “did not suit his tastes”. Posters had been rolled up, pictures were deposited in a new sleek photo album, save for a few framed ones of your close friends and family. Though it seemed that some photos of you and previous boyfriends had mysteriously gone missing from your collection, with Jotaro claiming that they had probably gotten lost in the move, things like that happen all the time. The few remaining items you had been permitted to keep on hand lived in your bedroom, the one given to you by Jotaro, the rest stuffed in a storage unit. You were glad he had at least kept that promise, to let you have your own space, even if you only slept in there when he was out of town. Every night he was home was spent in this large king-sized bed, where little sleep was had.
Your clothes had all been discarded, everything that Jotaro hadn’t purchased for you himself was tossed away. Instead, your closets were stocked with designer labels, bags, shoes, dresses for day trips or evenings spent glued to Jotaro’s arm at elaborate events.The most extensive part of your wardrobe was never meant to be seen by any eyes other than his own. Your new collection of lingerie was kept in the closet of Jotaro’s bedroom so that he could choose a new set for you to wear underneath your clothes each and every day. You had to beg to keep just a few of your college t-shirts, signed by your old dorm-mates. He gave in, but no compromise came free, you learned that the hard way.
The two months after you had moved in with Jotaro, you had been unemployed, quitting your old job having been one of his demands after he paid your debt off. It only took a few weeks for you to start going stir crazy, spending your days all alone in that huge Penthouse while he was at work. You began to plead to Jotaro to go out and find a new job, just something to keep you occupied. You even promised to keep your hours part-time so that you would be home for him in the evenings and on weekends. He denied you at first, since from his perspective it would be foolish for you to seek employment, you certainly didn’t need the extra money with him taking care of your every need. You still persisted, asking every day for a week until he finally appeared to want to give in. He let out a deep sigh, putting a hand on your shoulder to lower you to the ground on your knees.
“Fine, I’ll let you, but it will be at a price. You know that you’re already indebted to me,” he said while glaring down at you. “Are you prepared to pay the price? Will you do anything I ask of you?” You nodded, agreeing even though you had no idea what he would possibly want from you. The next thing you remember was a flash of something, followed by an indescribable pain, then pitch blackness.
When you awoke a day later, the sharp pain that had caused you to faint had faded to a dull ache in your chest. You looked around the room through eyes still misty from sleep, you saw that you were in Jotaro’s room‒ on his bed, but you spotted a mysterious small pink-ish shape resting on your chest. It was like a small figure curled into the shape of an egg, a haze of vapor circling it. You reached out to touch it on its back, feeling a similar touch against your own. Was this creature connected to you somehow?
“It’s called a Stand,” Jotaro’s voice cut through your fog of confusion, only noticing now that he had been sitting in a chair near the side of the bed, watching you. He rose from his seat to hover over you, staring at the thing on your chest as you tried to sit up a bit. “As I suspected, your Stand is quite weak right now, it has not awoken for you yet.” Awoken? Like it was sleeping? Before you had a chance to question him further, a burst of energy sprung forth from him. A large muscular figure appeared behind him, with flowing dark hair and purple-ish skin. The figure cried out and pushed its large chest out, flowing with an energy that made you feel like you were being crushed. You stared in shock at it, your mouth agape, like you were trying to scream but no sound would come out. “This is my Stand, Star Platinum,” he said, completely unbothered by the powerful being behind him. The creature on your chest cooed to itself softly, and then faded away in a thin puff of smoke. “You have no control over your own power at this point, you might be able to learn to harness it at some point, but many people never do,” Jotaro observed coldly, watching a bead of sweat run down your face.
“W-What happened to me? Why am I seeing these things? I only remember being in pain, and then...nothing.” You raked your brain for any more information, anything that could explain this madness, but your mind was blank. “This is so overwhelming, I don’t understand,” you said, your shoulders shuddering from a mix of confusion and anxiety.
“It was necessary,” he said in a low voice, barely above a whisper. “(Y/N), I am prepared to keep my promise to you. You’ll have a new job by the end of the week. Are you prepared to keep up your end of the deal?” The figure behind him; Star Platinum you think he called it, drifted over to you, its brawny and tall body hovering over yours. It placed a large hand on your cheek, holding it with surprising tenderness even when you instinctively flinched away. Star Platinum’s face was something between human and mechanical, ethereal and threatening at the same time, locking it’s menacing green eyes onto yours. The stand suddenly grabbed one of your hands and pressed it to its upper thigh. Your eyes widened when the tip of your thumb grazed the cylindrical mass of flesh between its legs, barely concealed behind a white loincloth. Jotaro groaned through gritted teeth when the Stand moved your hand further beneath it, prompting you to curl your fingers around the impressive length. You realized that the two of them were connected, in a similar way to how you and your own Stand were. It dawned on you then, what Jotaro wanted from you in exchange for more freedom. You gulped loudly at the implication. Was it even possible to be mounted by this being, by his Stand? Had he wanted something like this from the very beginning, was he just waiting for you to bargain with him to make this possible?
“Don’t act so hesitant, he won’t bite,” Jotaro coldly teased, walking away to sit back down in the chair. The Stand suddenly swung one of your legs over his broad shoulders‒ adorned with golden pauldrons, beginning to explore your body with massive hands. His touch was human-like, but different in a way you couldn’t culminate in your mind. It was like being touched by a godly being, something alive but dead all in one.
“Do you understand what I expect from you?” You turned your attention back to Jotaro when he spoke, understanding what he wanted fully now, but fearful of the consequences. This was all so new and utterly complicated, was it even safe to do something like this?
“Is it...going to hurt me? Isn’t this dangerous?” Jotaro was unmoved by your uneasiness, even as the Stand jerked your hips out from under you, positioning you so that it’s hungry eyes could drink in your whole figure.
“Star Platinum won't hurt you, unless I tell him to.” His comment made you impulsively scoot back away from the Stand, only for him to immediately pull you back into his tightening grip. The force of the pull made the hem of your thin nightgown flutter up, exposing your lace underwear to his hungry eyes. “To be clear, (Y/N), I have no intention of commanding him to do so. I have expert control of my Stand. If I am correct, the experience should be similar to our normal intimate activities, albeit enhanced by his power and precision. To what degree, I am not sure, but it is what I intend to find out.”
So that's what this was now, some kind of erotic experiment? It made your heart sink to think of yourself that way, as if all you were to him now was a pretty dress-up doll‒ to be locked away for his own insidious uses. Your frustration with yourself and your lover must have been evident on your face, because Star Platinum reached a hand out then to cup your cheek. He gingerly trailed his warm fingers along your jawline, pressing his thumb to your soft lips, looking into your (E/C) eyes, like it was his first time truly seeing a feminine human worth his tender touch.
“Don’t be scared, (Y/N),” Jotaro cooed in a much gentler voice. “You have nothing to fear. I know you’ll look splendid, writhing beneath my Stand.” His rare praise sent a pleasant shiver through you, feeling a small pool of warmth gather between your legs. “Are you ready for him, darling?” He asked, leaning forward in his chair with his hands resting on his knees, as Star Platinum hovered closer to you‒ etherial lips ghosting over yours.
“Yes...” you breathed out, your arousal overcoming your indecisiveness.
Your endorsement sent Star Platinum into a sudden frenzy, moving at an inhuman speed to rip your panties away and enclosing your whole body in a grapple that knocked the wind out of you. He quickly sheathed himself in your sex, using the bit of wetness to roughly push half his length inside of you in a single thrust. You cried out from the sudden impact, feeling the pain of being stretched out without much prep transform into mind-melting bliss. Star Platinum flung your legs back as far as they would go, taking a brief moment to take in the sight of the bulge created by his girth in your lower stomach. He pulled out; just a little, before plunging himself back into you‒ the head of his cock hitting your cervix, then began to rutt inside you at a steady but punishing pace. It felt unreal, the feeling of his celestial cock filling you up completely, reaching places you didn't even know you had‒ like a spark of electricity pulsing through you. You could feel the throbbing ache of an orgasm already threatening to burst within you. The tones of your delirious moaning mixed with the wet sounds of Star Platinum’s rapid thrusting making the room spin around you, as you clung to his muscular arms for support. The pressure of your inevitable release made your body tremble, tightening up within you and making you press your hips up into Star Platinums.
“About to cum, already,” Jotaro teased from his perch next to the bed. Your hazy eyes locked onto his, knowing that he always expected you to ask for permission to cum, but knowing there was no way you could hold yourself back for long enough.
“I-I can't help it,” you screamed out, just as your climax quaked through you, arching your spine almost painfully as it spilled forth. Star Platinum slowed to a stop, but left his cock partially inside your fluttering walls, letting you ride out the remains of your powerful orgasm.
Jotaro chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair while his Stand rolled you over on your side so that you were facing his master.
“That’s my girl, I knew you would do well,” he murmured with a devilish smirk, pulling his own erect cock free of his work trousers‒ a thick bead of pre-cum dripping from the swollen tip. Star Platinum nudged one of your legs, moving it to open you back up, and reaching down to rip your nightgown away. He palmed your exposed breasts, twisting the hardened nipples until you softly groaned from the feeling of it.
The Stand positioned himself behind you, cock twitching within your soaking walls. Jotaro growled at the feeling of the Stand slowly pushing back inside you fully, watching with a sinister smile when your flushed face twisted from oversensitivity.
“Good girl,” he grunted, giving his own cock a rough jerk, eliciting a low hum from the eager Stand behind you. “Just remember to ask this time, before you recklessly cum without my permission.”
With that, Star Platinum descended on you once again, resuming his brutal pace. Your walls clenched around his length, sore from his previous rutting, but you could feel the pleasure creep back into you. Jotaro watched attentively as you took his Stand’s cock, stroking his own slowly while you panted and moaned out his name. Your eyes were tearing up now, from overstimulation, the feeling of being stuffed by Star Platinum reducing your thoughts to nothingness.
“Look at you, sucking in my Stand with your slutty hole,” Jotaro praised, drinking in your fucked-out expression with devious glee. The Stand abruptly pulled you up, seating you on his lap and squeezing your breasts harshly while coming to a full stop. “Show me how much you want it girl, show me how desperate you are to let my Stand paint your insides with cum.” You blinked through your tears, feeling just like he said: desperate for the friction to resume. You mindlessly began to roll your hips, grinding your hips sloppily onto Star Platinum’s girth, feeling the veins of his cock massage your insides, pressing your clit into his pelvis with a needy moan. The Stand growled beneath you, tensing like he was being compelled to hold back. He wrapped his large hands around your waist and quivered, clearly straining to keep from bucking his hips up into you. Jotaro gritted his teeth at the display, making the Stand’s cock twitch inside you.
“You both are absolutely depraved,” he said in a low growl. “Go ahead Star Platinum, don’t hold back anymore.” His command sent the Stand into mania, bucking ludicrously fast inside you, and pulling your body roughly down onto his hips to repeatedly impale you. The pressure of his thick cock made you roll your eyes back in your head, moaning and panting hysterically while your body became a rag doll. Your body began to clench around the length penetrating you again, another agonizing climax twisting your insides into a knot. Through your blurry vision, you watched Jotaro rise from his seat, walking over to you and Star Platinum. The Stand grabbed a handful of your hair, and forced you to lean forward until your face was level with Jotaro’s throbbing cock.
“Do you want to cum?” You nodded furiously, not sure if you could make your mind formulate words at this point. “Say it, I want to hear you beg.” Star Platinum shook your head, encouraging you to speak, even though you were sure you couldn’t.
“I-I want t’cum, p-please,” you finally choked out. “Please, p-please, daddy, I can’t take it anymore. I n-need it.” Jotaro wickedly smiled at your desperate please, feeling Star Platinum begin to violently tremble inside your pulsing walls.
“Look at me,” Jotaro commanded, and you quickly complied. He pressed the tip of his cock to your lips. “You look so thirsty babe, you want a taste of my cum, don’t you?” He prodded your mouth with the head of his cock, smearing the pre-cum on your bottom lip. You wanted to speak, but your mind was gone, consumed by the constant pressure building within you. Star Platinum shook your head again, making you agree without having to force the gargled words out. “Open your mouth, now,” Jotaro demanded, grunting. You obliged, sticking out your tongue mindlessly.
Star Platinum cried out in tandem with you, your walls tightening around his cock as he spilled his seed inside you, just as your own climax burst forth, seeing stars from the intensity of it, melting into the firm hold of the powerful Stand. You squealed in surprise when Jotaro growled loudly, jerking his cock rapidly until a hot splash of cum shot out, painting your tongue and face with the thick white liquid.
The aftermath of your second climax left you limp, slumping against the panting chest of Star Platinum, whose grip on you was the only thing keeping somewhat upright. Dark spots danced in the corners of your vision, your legs shaking while your body cooled from the unreal situation you found yourself in. Your eyes fluttered, feeling like you were going to pass out, only to have Jotaro grab your chin to make you look back up at him. He whipped the remnants of his release off your mouth and leaned in to enclose your mouth in a feverish kiss. You kissed back out of impulse, though you had no strength left to tangle your tongue with his. He pulled back just a bit, biting your lip and whispering against your cheek;
I am but a smol squire but my aim is to make your journey easier. May I shine your boots for you? Bake you some bread for sustenance? Have you use my holes for some much needed stress relief? Anything for my Master ⚔️
Pairing: Darth Maul x Reader/You (afab/gn/no use of “y/n”)
Word Count: 617 words
Warnings: Dom/sub, power dynamics, collaring, exhibitionism
There are twenty steps leading up to Darth Maul's throne at New Dathomir. You've counted them with your knees because you've crawled up there to sit at his feet, at his request: the perfect pet.
That's why the little trinket in your hands is the perfect gift -- more for you than him, but he inspects the little gold charm at the clasp for far too long. So long that your nerves get the better of you and you forget yourself: lifting your gaze to watch the shift of interest in those sunset eyes.
"What's this?" he asks, running a claw around the collar.
It's red and black, and you had it made specially so that the twin suns snap apart and lock together.
You've tried it on. It's your size.
In your palm, you hold a tiny, folded gold chain that he might connect to the hoop at the end. This you offer to him with trembling fingers.
"A gesture, my Lord," you offer. "A symbol."
The low rumble of his laugh follows him as he sinks back on his throne, rolling the little collar like its become something to taunt you with.
"And you think you deserve to be owned."
A lump forms in your throat. He's right. This was too much -- too presumptuous on your part. You're something to be played with, but never showed off: a dirty little secret. Not a prize.
You lower your eyes, shrinking back before the tip of a finger touches your chin.
He seethes darkness, and it shrouds you from the eyes of the other Nightbrothers in the throne room: a little slip of a thing, seated between his legs, mostly naked and shivering at every brush of his black robes.
His voice ripples through you, edged in command: "Lift your head, pet. Look me in the eyes and tell me in no uncertain terms that you bind yourself to me."
You tremble, your nipples pebbling at the promise of Maul's velvet dark: punishment woven into pleasures that leave you nuzzling your cheek into his metal knee.
You whisper only one word: "Please."
He wraps your throat between thumb and forefinger, the strength of that touch a bruising caress.
"I don't deserve anything."
He stares, the brush of his influence against your mind leaving you breathing harder for the intrusion; of wanting to avail yourself to him by spreading your legs and letting him in in every way possible.
He appears pleased.
"And so you shall have everything."
With careful fingers, he slips the collar around your neck, clicking the clasp shut with only the raze of his knuckles down your soft throat to leave your gaze fluttering shut.
The chain spools from your fingertips, and he fastens it too -- letting it drape across his thighs as he gives it a tiny, testing tug. Satisfied.
"Perfect," he decides, pulling you up to your knees. "Now, sit on my knee, just here. Show them all that you're mine."
You rise at last, crawling over to him, satisfaction pooling between your thighs as, when he turns you to face the room -- you can see for yourself what this means:
Below you, Dathomir's court stretches, and the heavy hand of its King holds you to him, pulling your body back to his chest as he growls into your ear.
"You may sit on the throne, but you must be willing to do anything to keep it."
Breath shuddering out in a spill, you agree: "Anything at all, my Lord."
"Are you ready to prove you deserve this place on my knee?"
The collar is snug at your throat.
You feel Maul's smile as his teeth brush your ear. "Then, my pet, pleasure me."
Dialogue: "Don't be scared. I just need you to come with me for a minute."
"Don't be scared. I just need you to come with me for a minute."
The words do nothing to settle the nerves that flutter in the pit of your belly, even as you take Kars’ hand without a fight. You know better than to fight the Pillarman, especially when your body still wasn’t fully recovered from the last time you had directly disobeyed him. Kars hummed lightly, his thumb caressing over the skin of your bruised knuckles before he brought it to his lips, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss that made you shiver in response, “Good girl,” The purple-haired man purred, pulling you forwards, closer, until your knees bumped against his, at which point he dropped your hand, “You look divine, darling - aren’t you happy with the pretty dress I bought for you?” His crooning voice slid over your skin, making you feel the already familiar prickling heat that followed his words, blood-red eyes meeting your nervous (E/C) gaze with a flick of Kars’ lashes. You shivered and nodded weakly, watching the indulgent smirk that curled his lips as he leaned back, hand patting his lap invitingly.
Trying not to expose the excited thrill that rushed down your spine, you clambered into his lap as demanded, your thighs spreading wide to accommodate, exposing the crotch-less panties that you wore beneath the sheer skirt of your new ‘dress. To be honest, it left little to the imagination, see-through lavender silk exposing your pert nipples to Kars’ heated gaze even though they were covered. The only other item of clothing you were permitted to wear besides the panties being the garters that hugged the tops of your thighs, indenting the plush flesh exactly how the Pillarman liked to see whenever he had you dressed up instead of naked and waiting for his return. You could feel the jumble of fearful words cluster at the back of your throat and swallowed them back thickly, your mind briefly fizzling strangely when Kars moved to rest a hand against the small of your back. He murmured soft praise when you remained still in his lap beside the slight tremble of your limbs, your need to get away from him warring against the desire to please the purple-haired man near overwhelmed you. You knew better than to speak unless spoken to, the dully throbbing marks on your back a testament to Kars’ strict attempts at keeping you in line.
“What a wonderfully obedient pet you’re being today, sweetness,” You swallowed thickly when Kars purred, the hand not on your back moving to cup your cheek, the action surprisingly gently for a man who’d spent the better part of last night punishing you for a small mistake. You lean into it, though, eager to seek out any form of intimacy with your Lord that you could, “I do so adore it when you behave, darling. Though, I admit that I didn’t just come to visit you for your company, sweetness,” Every time Kars cooed another pet name you felt a shiver rush up your spine, dopamine exploding through you as you leaned closer to Kars, accidentally rubbing your ass against the hard length of his cock, still buried beneath the intricate wrap around his hips. He groaned softly, hand on your back firmly guiding you to rub your crotch against his hardened cock more, delighted when you followed the wordless command without a problem, “I’ve been aching for you all evening - all of your lovely, soft body, dressed in the beautiful gift I brought for you, your sweet little pussy wet and waiting to be filled...” You couldn’t stop the small whine that left your throat, your lashes fluttering as your (E/C) eyes grew hazy in response. Kars smirked, seeing the delightfully vacant expression on your face melting away the fear and hesitance you had approached him with a few moments earlier. Without having to even finish his sentence, you moved your hands to the front of his wrap, fingers stroking lightly against his muscular abdomen as you fluttered those pretty lashes at him, sweetly seductive with those wide, doe-like eyes of yours.
Kars nodded his head in permission, leaning back comfortably in his seat and watching with hungry blood-red eyes as you undid the cloth wrapping around his hips. Your touches were gentle and slow, eagerness tempered by Kars’ harsh training so that he would enjoy the power he held over you, your mind and body. You could feel the slight tremble in your thighs, an uncomfortable prickle stinging at the back of your mind, which you ignored in favour of the large cock that sprang free from the dark material you’d been unwrapping. Kars sighed and tipped his head back, eyes half-lidded and lazily watching as one of your small, soft hands wrapped around his girth, your pretty eyes blinking up at him as you wet your lips nervously, “M-May I pleasure you, Lord Kars?” You whispered sweetly, your voice having that tender little huskiness from all the screaming and crying you’d done the night before. You cringed as you realised you’d broken one of your Lord’s rules, though Kars seemed undisturbed, simply nodding at your polite request. Having gained his permission, you shifted on your knees, rubbing your slick labia against the underside of his dick, the prominent vein on the underside throbbing hotly against your tender, engorged clit, your mind growing even foggier with lust as a spark of pure pleasure trickled through your mind, encouraging a gush of fluid to leave your pussy soaking. You whimpered, leaning back to rest the hand not wrapped around Kars’ cock on his right knee, balancing your body carefully as you rubbed your pussy over his cock, working yourself up until you felt hot and needy, your inner walls throbbing with need, matching the slow, even tempo of Kars’ beating heart.
The Pillarman sighed, both of his hands moving to cup your hips, squeezing them in warning which made you stop, a small tremor passing through your body, fearful tears briefly prickling at the corners of your eyes, “Hush, little pet, you’re being so good for me - I just want to feel you more, sweetness,” Kars crooned reassuringly when he spotted the pitifully frightened look on your face, your frozen body shaking in his lap before relaxing at his surprisingly gentle words. Kars bit back a smirk at the sight, loving the sight of you, cowed and controlled, lustful and eager to take his cock into your pretty, flushed little cunt now that he’d thoroughly scrambled that pretty head of yours, “Good girl, such a sweet girl, why don’t you take my cock inside my favourite hole, hmm? I’m sure you’ve been keeping yourself stretched and open for me, haven’t you?” You nodded shakily in response, the slight warning hint in Kars’ tone making you bite the inside of your cheek as you lift yourself higher, rubbing the head of his cock against your opening. The purple-haired man hummed lightly, thumbs stroking your sides, delighted by the submissive actions you performed for him, “That’s right - of course, you’ve kept your pretty body open for me. After all, it belongs to me, doesn’t it?” You nodded again, almost mindlessly, your eyes glued on the space where the head of Kars’ cock disappeared between your labia, “All of this soft body is mine - mine to hold, mine to control, mine to fill and fuck as much as I want. That’s why you have to be good for me and keep your cunt open, wet and ready - because I own your body, I own this perfect, hot, tight sheath that belongs wrapped around my cock.”
“Yessssssss,” You moaned, voice breathy and airy, mouth open and drooling as Kars’ words had an almost hypnotic effect on your mind, the Pillarman crooning sweetly when he heard your acceptance of his role as your Lord, “My pussy belongs to you, needs to keep you warm ‘n wet ‘n hard,” You mewled, Kars’ grip on your hips tightening, a smirk on his face as he began to pull you down onto his cock, delighted that you obediently followed his wordless commands. You whined and took him into the hilt with little difficulty, the purple-haired man giving you a slew of praise for being able to take all of his dick inside you after so long, telling you that you were such a good girl, perfect pet, your pretty pussy all full and swollen with your Master’s - “Master~!” You mewled pathetically - cock. Your inner walls throbbed hotly, tightening around Kars as mind-numbing pleasure rushed through your body and mind, a harsh orgasm wringing through you just from being filled by Kars’ cock, your mind becoming vacant of anything besides the pure, unadulterated feeling of belonging, of being put to proper use, your role as Kars’ personal cock-pet overwhelming your fragile mind as you mewled and drooled for him.
Kars chuckled and pat your sides, relishing the greedy, milking convulsions around his cock as you came so easily, all of your thoughts and personality slipping from your mind, leaving you an empty, perfect living doll for him - a toy to fuck and fill whenever he pleased, living to serve him and only him, “That’s a good girl, you took all of me inside you,” Kars’ voice was patronisingly sweet, and you moaned breathily, shuddering as the force of your release slowly cooled down, your shaking body swaying lightly above Kars, “Now, hold still for me, hmm? I want to enjoy having you warming my cock like this for a little while. I do so love to spend time with you, my pretty pet,” His purred words were responded to with a vacant nod, your hazy eyes staring at him as Kars chuckled and admired you. The Pillarman planned to keep you like this for hours as he murmured gentle praise and planted manipulative thoughts inside your empty mind, reinforcing the idea that you were his toy, that you belonged to him as you steadily lost more and more pieces of yourself to the dark abyss, becoming evermore the perfect vessel for Kars to use until he grew tired of you.
Like, literal down on knees, kissing the whumper's feet.
Maybe the whumpee was forced to do it in order to earn food or water. Maybe the whumper commanded it and the whumpee was too afraid to refuse. Maybe the whumper will ease up on punishment if the whumpee can prove that they're already submissive and obedient and not worth crushing any further. Who knows, whatever the reason, it was always humiliating.
And then when the whumper moves the whumpee's chin with their foot. Or when they kick them??? Just imagine, a puppy-eyed whumpee tearfully looking up at their whumper, red faced and humiliated, only to be kicked in the jaw.
And since I think about this every time without fail, what if it's a conditioned response? And then when they're rescued, the caretaker unknowingly triggers the response and is just frozen when the whumpee drops to their knees and crawls over to their feet.
So, this takes place approximately twelve years before Amber is brought to the Jewelry Box, when Diamond wasn't quite Diamond yet.
Taglist: @newbornwhumperfly @unicornscotty @itsleighlove @whump-scribbles @getyourwhumphere @skunkandgrenade @penny-for-your-whump @lektric-whump @just-a-whump-lover @thelazywitchphotographer @restrainthenmaime @angstyachesplus @lilbitwhumpy @leaderofthebeanarmy @aquard-skaii @whumprincess @thatgaysnail @finaldreams1106 @reveriedeludesme @kemonoinuzuka @circlingravens @whumpasaurus101 @spicy-wendigo @femmewithadhd @wafflestakethecake let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: power dynamics between a boss and employee, implied family abuse, misgendering (which is quickly corrected), idk what else to add, there's just a very possessive feel between Diamond and the Jeweler in this one, so let me know if I need to add anything else!
Shit. Dakota quickly sped through the halls, counting the numbers on the gold-embossed plaques as they went. 323. 324. 325. As they hurried, struggling not to trip over their own feet, their hands tightened on the still slightly steaming cups of coffee they held as their shoulder raised, making sure their messenger bag wouldn't slip off.
Finding room 327, Dakota used their elbow to open the door. Slipping inside, they felt every head turn towards them, a dark red flush creeping into their cheeks. They took fast, precise steps towards the head of the table, where their boss waited, a small smile on his face.
Reaching him felt like it took a million years, every eye on them. Their traitorous hands trembled and they had to remember to take deep, even breaths. Finally, though, they reached him.
Setting the coffee down, they took a step back, squeezing their own so tightly their knuckles turned white. They turned to sit down in their chair, set along the wall, behind the boardroom table, where the rest of the interns and assistants sat.
One of the men sitting close to their boss, Mr. Johnson, who had been watching them closely, cleared his throat pointedly. “Young man-” he started but Dakota’s boss interjected.
“Not a man,” he said, voice leaving no room for arguments. Dakota’s cheeks must be permanently stained red, they thought distantly, as their shaking hands grabbed their notebook and pen out of their bag. They slouched down in their chair, letting their wavy, white hair fall in front of their face. They also wondered if it would be possible for them to sink into the ground and never reappear.
The other man frowned, before trying to begin again. “Young lady-” he once again started before their boss sighed, looking up from the papers in front of him.
“They’re not a lady either, Johnson,” he said with a pointed look. “Now, are we going to sit here and discuss my assistant’s gender identity or can we proceed with the meeting?”
As the rest of the people gathered at the table began speaking, each trying to raise a different issue, claiming it should be first on the agenda, Dakota’s boss leaned back in his swivel chair, meeting their eyes with a kind smile.
“Thank you for the coffee, darling,” he said, quiet enough that only Dakota could hear. “You truly are a lifesaver.” They gave him a tight smile, ready to focus on taking notes, distracting themself so they didn’t have to think about what that man had said. He stared at them for another moment before adding, “Don’t let what Johnson said get to you. He’s a grade A asshole.”
A real smile dawned on Dakota’s face. “I know.. but, thank you, Mr. Spencer,” they murmured back.
Mr. Spencer smiled at them for another moment before turning around and calling the meeting to order.
After the meeting, Dakota stayed in their seat, watching as the rest of the people trickled out, chatting and scheming, until it was only them and Mr. Spencer left.
With a heavy sigh, Mr. Spencer turned around in their chair, leaning back and surveying Dakota with weary eyes. “Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Dakota glanced back over their pages of notes, written in small, cramped handwriting. “You were right,” they said with a timid smile. “Norris and Hernandez are definitely planning something. The two couldn't stop looking at each other the entire time, especially whenever someone brought up the budget for next year. According to their history, they'll most likely try to get more funding for the hands-on experience with the, the pets.”
Dakota cleared their throat, glancing up at Mr. Spencer. He was staring at them with a smile on his face, eyes twinkling. He cleared his throat. “Darling, you're quite miraculous, you know that, right? I've never seen someone able to read people so naturally and precisely.”
Dakota felt their ears heating and smiled, looking down. “Th-thank you, sir,” they replied, fiddling with the sleeve of their sweater, frowning slightly as they noticed a fraying edge.
Mr. Spencer noticed their gaze and stood, offering them a hand. “Come, I have something for you in my office.”
Taking his hand without hesitation, Dakota stood, grabbing their bag and following him out.
Back in his office, Dakota glanced around, feeling awkward being inside the neatly organized area, despite going in there several times a day. They were much more used to their desk, placed in the antechamber, where they could putter around all day. They also did tend to spend more time walking around the enormous building, delivering this and picking that up, than anything else.
They watched Mr. Spencer pull out a large box from beneath his desk. Setting it on top of his desk, he looked up at Dakota.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Now, Dakota, I want you to tell me if I'm crossing a line here. I, well, I've just noticed that you haven't exactly had very many resources available to you right now, due to your family situation.” Dakota looked down, shame burning through them.
Suddenly, Mr. Spencer was in front of them, lifting their head with a finger. “It's nothing to be ashamed of,” he said in a gentle voice. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have a supportive family. I'm glad you were able to get out while you could. However, I do know that that's caused lots of stress on you. So I thought this might help.”
He stepped back, gesturing to the box. Nervously, Dakota stepped up to the desk, slowly taking the lid off. Inside were clothes, fashionable and business-like, neatly folded. They jerked their head up, staring at Mr. Spencer in shock. “I- I couldn't,” they stuttered. “This, this is too much.”
He smiled at them, placing a reassuring hand on their back. “You can,” he replied. “And if it's a matter of price, you can just consider it a business expense. What kind of businessman would I be, if my assistant wore the same few outfits? You know appearance is everything here.”
Dakota nodded, giving them a bigger smile. “Thank you, then,” they conceded, picking up the box.
Mr. Spencer smiled back, settling back down at his desk. “You're very welcome, darling. Just make sure you have your full report from the meeting drawn up and given to me tomorrow morning.”
Dakota nodded, slipping out of the room and back to their desk. Setting the box down, they woke up their computer and pulled out their notebook. They quickly set to work on the report, knowing they'd have it done by the end of the day. Mr. Spencer knew it too.
A few hours later, back in their shoddy one-room apartment, Dakota set the box of clothes down at their small kitchen/dining table, opening it up and beginning to sort through the clothes.
Their eyes widened as they took in each article. These were… definitely not what they were used to. The clothing was slim-fitting, all silks and cashmeres, tasteful and expensive. Nothing like the darker, oversized, nice sweaters they typically wore.
But, well, Mr. Spencer had been so kind to pick these clothes out for them, and they did need more high-end, business-appropriate clothes. And now that they looked at them, they couldn't help but admire them, picturing themself in them, a smile creeping onto their face.
The next day, Mr. Spencer sat in his office, leaning back, reading through the thorough report his darling Dakota had placed on his desk before leaving last night. As always, it was in-depth and full of all the wonderful little tidbits they'd picked up on that nobody - not even himself - had noticed.
At a knock, he looked up, beginning to smile when he saw Dakota standing in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. They were wearing one of the outfits he'd picked out for them: a form-fitting, silky, silver shirt worn atop slim black pants.
“Good morning, sir,” they said in greeting, stepping inside and placing the coffee on his desk. “I was just dropping off your coffee and making sure you got my report.”
He smiled, nodding and taking a sip of the steaming drink. Perfectly done, as it always was when his darling made it. “Yes, I was just going over it. It's very helpful, thank you.”
Dakota nodded, almost glowing at the praise, before stepping back and turning to leave when he added, “And might I add, you look really good, Dakota. I'm glad you liked the clothes.” They blushed and left with another incline of their head.
Mr. Spencer turned back to the report, glancing at his desktop, where a new proposal was drawn up. At the top he'd written The Jewelry Box. And he had just the perfect idea for the first Jewel.
True devotion can only be bought with love. And the only person Barbatos will ever love is you. Unfortunately, the Demon King demands absolute allegiance from all his subjects, and he keeps Barbatos loyal by holding you hostage. After a century of separation, though, the butler's good behavior is rewarded.
True devotion can only be bought with love.
Fear is the second-best contender. It is amazing, the lengths a man will go to out of fear. And hatred—hatred is nearly as compelling. And then there's rage. Rage and fury and deception. All brilliant ways to sway the weak, to earn followers, to gain rapport among those who otherwise would do differently.
But true devotion can only be bought with love.
Something the Demon King knows all too well.
"You may rise, Barbatos." The man arches a bored eyebrow at his butler, drumming his fingertips aimlessly against the throne. "Speak. Why have you requested a formal audience with me?"
"This is formal business, your grace." Barbatos holds his gaze level against the ground, not daring to look upon his master. "I did not want to waste your private time with my personal issues."
"You only wished to waste my public time, is that it?" The Demon King chuckles, the sound echoing through the throne room. "Very well. The hours I set for meetings are open to all. I suppose that includes even you, Barbatos."
"Thank you, your grace."
"What do you wish to speak with me about?"
"The date, your grace."
"The date?" An irritated confusion crosses the Demon King's face at that, and a small part of Barbatos's heart falls. He had hoped that the king would at least remember, but it seems that he will need to explicitly ask for it.
"It has been one hundred years, your grace, since the last...ahem. I was hoping that you might permit me to celebrate another century of my loyalty."
A glimmer of understanding falls into the Demon King's eyes, and Barbatos swallows nervously, praying that the man is in a good mood. It certainly would not be the first time he has been dismissed of this single pleasure because the Demon King felt like torturing him.
"To celebrate a century of your loyalty, eh?" The Demon King frowns. "You make it sound as if there might come a century where you aren't loyal to the crown."
"Of course not," Barbatos responds swiftly. "My oaths are for eternity. My loyalty to you and your cause will never fade. It's merely that…"
The throne room quiets, feeling unnaturally cold as if the stone walls are designed to suck away at the temperature, making all who pass within these walls as uncomfortable as possible. It takes all of Barbatos's strength not to shudder as the king studies him, his only solace being that the warmth will eventually return. That you are not out of reach. That the Demon King hasn't said no to Barbatos's request just yet, and that even if he does, he has a chance to find you after another hundred years.
Barbatos wastes no time in falling to his knees, his forehead touching the icy floor. He has no pride left, no dignity to be stolen. All that exists in his heart is the overwhelming desire for you, a love so strong that it is the only thing keeping his heart beating.
"Please, your grace."
True devotion can only be bought with love.
"Please let me see my lover."
And the love Barbatos harbors for you burns brighter than all the flames in hell.
"I am your servant for eternity, I assure you."
He is devoted to you, to your touch, to your smile, to your taste.
"And I will only ever request this of you once every hundred years."
And so he is devoted to anyone who may permit him to see you.
"But I beg you to allow me this mercy."
Even if it is the man who stole you away in the first place.
Barbatos retains his posture, head practically glued to the floor as he waits. The desperation in his voice does not go unheard, and there's the sound of laughter from the throne, arrogant and cruel.
A sharp metal bounces off of Barbatos's head.
The demon's eyes widen. Not from the pain of the action, not because his head is now throbbing. But because that is the key to your room.
Because the king has said yes.
"Rise, Barbatos. Take the key. I expect you to return it to me by noon tomorrow, and you cannot take your little friend out of their cage, but…"
Barbatos struggles to maintain his composure, no longer listening to the Demon King as he speaks. The butler is now wholly preoccupied with the key in his hand, with the fact that his master is dismissing him, with the knowledge that you are merely minutes away, and all Barbatos needs to do is turn a key in a lock to be by your side.
The rush of adrenaline which travels through his body is exhilarating. The demon's strides are controlled as he exits the throne room, but the moment Barbatos steps into the halls that will take him to your room, he's sprinting, all thoughts of propriety thrown out the window.
It's the moment he's been waiting for ever since he left your room one hundred years ago—the moment he is always waiting for whenever he has to leave you at the Demon King's orders, sworn to never return until he has sufficiently proved his loyalty, something the king has decreed to be one hundred years of faithful service.
Barbatos's actions are uncharacteristically sloppy as he shoves the key into the lock that bars your room, hating how stiff it is from lack of use.
"Open," Barbatos hisses under his breath, trying to use more force. "Just open!"
The demon slams his hand against the door, and suddenly, he doesn't know how he waited one hundred years for this. If the door doesn't stop blocking him from seeing you this instant, he's going to tear it to shreds, consequences be damned.
"Barbatos?" Your voice calls from the other end, slightly frantic. "Barbatos, is that you?!"
"The door!" He croaks desperately, trying to shove it open. "It won't—it won't—"
A sinking feeling takes root in Barbatos's stomach. What if this is a joke from the Demon King? What if he wasn't satisfied with Barbatos's service this century, and wants to torture him like this, so close from the one person he cares for but still so far?
"I barred it!" He hears you shout from inside. The sound of moving furniture fills his ears, and then you're calling his name again. "Now, Barbatos! Try to open it now!"
The demon pushes. He pushes with all his strength. He pushes and he pushes and he pushes until tears of frustration are beginning to prick at his eyes, and then he loses all sense of control and he shifts into his demon form, horns manifesting.
He sinks his claws into the door, talons tearing at the steel, and in the face of his inhuman strength, nothing can stand in his way. The metal screams as it grinds against the floor but Barbatos forces it open all the same, the promise of you on the other end only spurring his strength on.
It takes Barbatos all of two seconds to dart inside when the door is sufficiently open; two seconds before the metal screeches and the door is closed behind him.
But in those two seconds, his entire world has changed.
"My love," Barbatos breathes into your ear, holding you close against the ground. He does not know when he hugged you, or when he barreled into you with enough force to knock you both to the floor, or when you wrapped your arms around him in response. All he knows is that you're here, and no one is taking you away from him just yet.
"Barbatos," You whisper, clinging to him. Your figure trembles and the demon feels a wetness in his shoulder. "Barbatos, I missed you so much—I don't—you don't know how much I missed you—"
"I missed you too, my love." Barbatos pulls your head from your shoulder, his thumbs brushing the tears away from your cheeks. "More than I can ever say."
He leans forward, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that conveys his every emotion.
The two of you stay like that for a long time, completely unmoving. As if standing still will hold time back with you, giving you both longer to savor the moment. Giving you longer to savor this night. But however much you need each other's love, the need for air becomes overwhelming and Barbatos pulls his lips away from yours only to kiss you seconds later, refusing to lose a moment longer than he has to.
He wraps his arms around your waist slowly, stroking the skin there and savoring its softness. Its warmth. "Legs around me," He mumbles against your lips, and you comply instantly, wrapping your limbs around his figure as he lifts you and carries you to your bedroom.
It's hardly difficult for Barbatos to find the way there.
It takes him all of three minutes, an impressive feat given that the abode you reside within is practically a castle—but the Demon King's words were true. This is nothing but an extravagant cage, your presence in it a mere tool to keep the king's dog under control.
"Stay with me," You mumble into Barbatos's skin when he presses himself onto your bed. You layer open-mouthed kisses against his neck, slowly removing his clothing as he removes yours. "Stay with me tonight. And tomorrow. And the day after. The Demon King can't do anything if you refuse to leave."
"My love," Barbatos warns gently, squeezing your hand. "The Demon King can do everything."
"No, he can't," You argue. "You're a strong demon, Barbatos. He won't be able to hurt you, and—"
"He won't hurt me," Barbatos mumbles, frowning. He hates that he always has to go through this with you, that he always has to say it. Then again, he can hardly blame you. A century of separation would delude him into thinking that rebelling against the crown was smart, if only he weren't reminded of its power every day. "He'll hurt you."
"No, he won't," You mumble, cupping Barbatos's cheeks. You force him to look at you, and his heart breaks a little when he does. Even as you're with him, you're far away. Already thinking of how he'll have to leave you tomorrow. How you'll have to wait another century, only for it to repeat. "He won't hurt me. If I get hurt—if I die, he has nothing to hold you loyal to him."
"My love," Barbatos whispers. "He will kill you and he will make me watch. Because he knows I will turn back time such that it never happens again, so he can eternally keep me at his side."
"But how…" There is an unspoken question in your eyes, a soft curiosity as to how Barbatos can possibly know anything about a man who holds nothing but secrets.
And then there is Barbatos's unspoken answer, the flash of a memory flickering in his eyes before he is kissing you once more, trying to forget the sight of your once-empty eyes and the foolery which ever made him think he stood a chance against his master.
"There has to be something," You whisper, clutching Barbatos's shoulders as his fingers continue to work against your clothes. "Love always finds a way. That's what all the books say. We have to be able to do something to—"
"Shh," Barbatos hushes you, pressing his lips against yours. "Please, my love. I can make you no promises but for the present." Barbatos slides your underwear off. "So please do not think of the future."
"But Barbatos," You mumble desperately as he peppers kisses down your body. "I can't live through another century without...I just miss you so, so...please don't leave me...ah…"
The demon closes his eyes as he grips your hips, using his mouth the way you like best as he works your tongue along your nether regions. The sound of your moans does nothing but urge him onward, your fingers gripping his hair the way he's imagined on all those nights without you.
The demon takes his time with you. Ravishing your body as if he is a man starved. Latching his lips onto your skin at every instance, even as he sheathes himself inside and is at last one with you.
"I love you," He whispers into your ear hours later, when your bodies are finally tired and the night has grown older. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, Barbatos." You hold him close, hugging him even as the two of you struggle to find your breathing, hearts returning to their normal pace together.
"Diavolo…" Barbatos clears his throat, taking a shaky breath and speaking only once he's positive his voice won't wobble.
"Are you calling another man's name while I'm in bed with you?" You flash a coy grin at Barbatos, and the demon doesn't bother suppressing the instinctive flush that crosses his cheek at your words. Your eyes are no longer clouded by desire as they were earlier, your voice having exchanged its desperate tone for one of adoration in the haze of such strenuous activities. But the demon can still see the undertones of longing behind your gaze, and even if you're no longer begging for him to stay behind with you, there's an unmistakable sadness in your eye.
"Diavolo will rise to the throne soon." Barbatos strokes your cheek with his thumb. "He suspects his father will take the Long Sleep by the end of the millennium."
"And?" You whisper, eyes wide. Eyes hopeful. Eyes desperate, because you don't know Diavolo the way Barbatos does, and you don't know if Diavolo will permit the two of you to be together.
"And Diavolo has promised to set you free when he rises to the throne."
The sob of relief that leaves your mouth at that tugs at Barbatos's heart. Your arms were already around him before, but now you're clinging to him, and you're desperately hugging and laughing and crying and trying to share your joy.
"Oh, that's wonderful, Barbatos!" Tears well in your eyes. "I can—I can eat real food—something you've prepared and not that insufferable trash the Demon King sends me—and we can go out in public together—out—outside this cage of mine and into the real Devildom—and we can—and we can see each other every night and—and—"
The happiness in your eyes falters.
"And there's a catch, isn't there?"
Barbatos nods gently. "Not a bad one. Diavolo is a just man. His only terms are that I pledge loyalty to him. The conditions of our bond will similar to what I share with his father...but he will only take you away from me if I do him wrong."
You sigh, seeing both the good and the bad of this situation.
"You will still be a collared dog."
"Perhaps," Barbatos muses. "But with you by my side, I will be happy. We will be happy. And Diavolo is a man who listens to reason. He will be a good ruler. I will not need to go against him."
But you're still hesitant.
"Can't you convince him otherwise? He shouldn't need a hostage to keep you in line. And—and you've done nothing wrong! Why can't he just accept your loyalty to be genuine?"
"Because," Barbatos brings your hand to his lips, kissing your fingertips. "They are jealous of you, my love."
"True devotion can only be bought with love. And I will forever be more devoted to you than I ever shall be to them."
Your lips quirk upward at that, a flash of amusement traveling through your eyes. You don't believe him for a minute; the sheer notion of royalty being jealous of Barbatos's love for you is ridiculous.
"That sounds like a fancy way to tell me that things are complicated, Barbatos."
"What can I say? The ties that bind us are tangled, my love."
The demon sighs as you lay your head across his chest, your hands tracing abstract patterns onto his abdomen.
"I don't want to wait anymore," You whisper, pulling the demon closer. Barbatos can sense how you're already preparing to cling to the lingering warmth of the mattress when he'll have to leave, when you'll be left with the vague scent of your lover on your sheets and nothing more. "But I'll try."
And that is all I can ever ask of you, my love.
Barbatos doesn't thank you aloud. He isn't thankful. This very situation is something he will never be thankful for, and there's nothing the demon can do but press a kiss to your forehead as the two of you wait in silence for the moment where he will have to leave. There is no solace, no comfort in the fact that you will soon be separated. Even the promise of Diavolo's ascension to the throne is faraway, and Barbatos cannot expect you to be hopeful for a day that will come after so many centuries of waiting.
"Close your eyes, darling."
The demon blinks, but your arm reaches up to caress his face, his eyelashes flutter closed.
"See, if we lay like this, we can almost pretend that the Demon King doesn't exist." A short laugh spills from your lips, a sound so beautiful that Barbatos wants to bottle it in a jar and listen to it for hours. "Almost...so stop frowning."
Your fingertips ghost over his lips, and the demon smiles on instinct.
"That's better," You drawl sleepily, wrapping your arm around his neck. "Someday, we really will be able to stay like this forever."
That day cannot come soon enough.
Barbatos swallows thickly, knowing that he mustn't cry. That he cannot break in front of you. That while he is with you, he must be strong so that you have someone to lean on in your anguish.
But the more he thinks about how far away the future he desires is, the worse the pressure in his throat becomes. And the need to remain composed in your presence outweighs his desire to hold himself captive to the truth that binds him.
And so, for a few short hours, he allows himself this luxury.
And he forgets.
Forgets the king which is holding you here, forgets the prince who might set you free. Forgets the moonlight that illuminates you, forgets the bed that holds you. Forgets everything except the feel of your body next to his, your warmth spreading into his, your skin on his as he memorizes your figure to keep him company for all nights to come until he may see you again.
And when Barbatos closes his eyes like this, he can almost pretend that this night will last forever.
Word count: 3.1k
Notes: As I was writing this, there was an overwhelming urge to turn this into pure angst and have Barbatos open the door, only to see MC and Diavolo kissing or smth
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Thank you for reading <3
I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.
Power Dynamics: John and Paul via the proxies of Brian Epstein and George Martin
I don’t think many people would argue against the view that Brian showed favouritism to John, which Paul resented and that George Martin showed favouritism towards Paul, which John resented.
Both Brian and George were crucial to the band, Brian more from an organisational business perspective and George from a musical and creative one, hence why they’re usually and both credibly described as the 5th Beatle.
The balance between George and Brian helped to foster a balance between John and Paul until 1967 when Brian died. Given the fact that Brian died right when the Beatles quit touring and decided to focus on the studio, his death really threw the power dynamics in the band into disarray because now the band was manager-less and the manager that John had a special connection and understanding with was gone. The Beatles were spending more and more time in the studio with the same George Martin that had proposed Paul as the lead singer, suggested that Yesterday should be a solo Paul McCartney single and had asked Paul and only Paul to assist with the musical score for the Family Way film… it’s no wonder that John felt the need to look for outside reinforcements to bolster his position in the band and try to restore some balance in his relationship and rivalry with Paul.
1) hello! i'm white, and recently i've had an idea about writing a story about a relationship (it later becomes romantic) between a maid and her mistress, where the maid belongs to a nation which was enslaved or colonized by the people to whom the mistress belongs. however, both nations are white, the only distinct trait the enslaved one has is bright blue eyes. but even so, i'm confused about this, since a relationship between a slave and her master is like, you know, debatable.
2) so i was thinking - is a story like this even worth writing? am ignoring something important that may make the story offensive or ignorant? is it even my story to tell? i'd like to point out that i'm totally ready to dismiss and forget about this idea if it's bad, i really really don't want to do anyone any harm by this. i'd really like to know what do you think about this! thank you a lot and have a nice day!
I’m gonna be 100% real with you, this ask seems kinda sketchy. But I can’t say that you’re Definitely Trolling, or even that your story ideas are Definitely Racist. You’re not giving me enough context to write you a proper answer, so instead of just answering normally, I’m gonna ask you a few things:
Why are both of your nations white?
What are the differences between their cultures, and how has their history shaped them?
What ideology are the colonizers using to justify their actions?
What are your worldbuilding influences?
Are they civilizations from real-life history? Are they generic cut-and-paste European inspired fantasy worlds from mainstream fantasy books? Are they empires from novels most people haven’t read?
How does slavery work in your world?
Is it based on ancient Egyptian slavery?
Is it based on early American / chattel slavery?
Or modern-day human trafficking or prison labor?
Because if so, you’re trying to write a story that doesn’t really belong to you, and you’re erasing People of Color from their own history and modern-day trauma. And I’m asking about your influences, because you might think you’re being original, but if your worldbuilding aligns with an oversimplified, easily digestible portrayal of systemic oppression, but you’re replacing the real-life People of Color who actually experience it with your own white characters... then… well… you’re probably not as original as you think you are.
Slave and mistress relationship
Now, about the relationship between the slave and her mistress—it isn’t an inherently bad idea, but it isn’t an inherently good idea, either. It all depends on how you frame it.
If you want to portray it as a healthy romantic relationship, then you need to have the mistress character eventually recognize that what she’s doing is wrong, and set the slave free. The mistress character would have to gradually change the way she views the slave—she would have to go from valuing the slave as a piece of property, to valuing her as an actual human being who deserves the freedom to make her own choices, both sexually and otherwise. And you’d have to pull this off in a believable way.
Furthermore, by the time this happens, the (formerly) enslaved woman would need to have meaningful agency over her life. If her only options are being in a sexual relationship with her (former) mistress, and poverty/death/even more horrific abuse, then that’s not meaningful.
Power dynamics and your slave character’s arc
“But she was kind to her slave!!!”
Bruh, even if the mistress character doesn’t actively hurt or threaten her slave, the entire relationship is predicated on a power imbalance, so even if it doesn’t appear abusive on the surface, it kind of automatically is. If you have a “romantic” relationship where one person can’t leave and/or set boundaries, that’s not healthy, regardless of what the person with power does, or how “kind” they are.
However, if you want to portray it as an abusive relationship, then you need to make sure you actually do that, and that it feels pointful in the context of the story.
You would need to give the slave character
enough screen time and
properly develop her emotional reactions to suffering through long-term abuse.
But she shouldn’t just suffer for the sake of it. She should have a character arc that plays into the story’s themes, and there should be a meaningful change in her situation by the end of the story, be it positive or negative.
In summary - trace your logic
But just like with your worldbuilding, I’m gonna have to ask you about your influences, about why you're writing the story you’re writing.
Are the slave’s experiences based on a memoir you read?
Are they based on your own real-life trauma?
Are they based on confederate propaganda and other white people’s romanticized depictions of American slavery?
Because I don’t know what angle you’re coming from, and knowing that could’ve completely changed what I have to say.
I’m not going to give you a simple yes-or-no answer here. I’m not going to tell you to scrap your entire story, but I’m also not going to pat you on the back and tell you that you’re a Good White Ally Who Definitely Isn’t Racist. You need to revisit your worldbuilding document (or notebook or sketchbook or what have you) and do your research to see if you're erasing People of Color from their own history, or appropriating their trauma. And you need to think critically about the way you’re portraying the relationship between the mistress and her slave. It isn’t enough that you don’t intend to romanticize abuse. You need to look at how everything is executed in the end, and you might even need to get other people to read your notes to see if the relationship is done well or not. Researching, thinking critically, and being able to revise your own work are all important parts of the writing process, and no one can do that for you but you.
I would not read this story
As a Black American woman who descended from enslaved Africans, this story idea makes me go “Nah.”
I’m with Ixia on all of this. What is your intention?
I’m not a fan of any story that makes white people (as a whole) out to be oppressed, particularly for non-factors like eye color. Especially because you choose an eye color (blue!) that is historically and generally, associated with everything but oppressed.
Is this a spin-off of Jane Elliot’s blue-eyed / brown-eyed experiment?
For me, the premise is a turn-off and trivializes my ancestor’s story. Not to mention! Those who are literally still enslaved and trafficked today.
Personally, I’d never read this story. It would aggravate me too much.
More reading: Eye Color Discrimination as Racism: Story Concept
Thinking about Gansey gently holding holding Ronan’s face in his hands and asking “Are you my good boy?” Near Ronan’s lips, but not kissing him yet. Ronan, who has been a good boy, nodding and turning so his can brush his nose against Gansey’s palm, kissing gently against his wrist. Gansey hums thoughtfully, “then what does my good boy want?” Ronan gets a nice little shiver up his spine.
Ronan has never been good at putting what he wants to words. The only time he's ever stood a chance at applying words to his needs and desires and regrets to word is in prayer. Somehow, saying them out loud to Gansey is more reverent and intimate than in his most still moments with his head on the pillow or sunken down to the kneeler on Sunday. He believes in both with all of himself.
He cheats sometimes, turning the question on Gansey and his wants. That's still being good, isn't it? Offering himself up to whatever Gansey desires, bending to it and enjoying every second of it. At his feet, on his back, on his knees - all of it and more are on offer for Gansey, and he doesn't even need to ask for it. But Gansey's gotten wise to the trick. He'll click his tongue, dig his fingers into Ronan's chin or the nape of his neck to give him a little shake. Doesn't he know how much Ronan loves that too? He must.
Ronan looks up at Gansey through his lashes, hungry, eager. He swallows down the first few attempts, with his lips parted and no sound coming out. It's the door closing to the confessional, it's the beginning of a Hail Mary, it's the Lord's Prayer when he's lost. But to Gansey, he says, "Fuck me." A pause as he reminds himself how this should go. "Please." He licks his lips. "By the windows?"
The last is a question. Gansey could take him wherever he wanted to, but safe in Monmouth, no one ever notices when Ronan's pale skin is pressed up to the glass, when he can see the night sky, its deep purples and blues like the marks Gansey's fingers leave on his hips. The more he thinks about it, the more he wants it, and he dares to peek up at Gansey's face to see if he wants it, too. God, the way his lover smiles at him is enough to practically undo him. He knows right then he's been good, so very very good.
"All right then," Gansey says, finally delivering the kiss he's been teasing Ronan with.
Ronan makes a sound against Gansey's mouth, and gives in.