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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 1 year

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Yes, Sir

AN: FINALLY WRITING ABOUT MINHO. With how much I simp for him, it's been a surprise to myself how much I've struggled with coming up with any ideas for him. This one works for him so, here we are.

Synopsis: Minho had his reservations when you bring up wanting to roleplay a master and maid scenario with him. However, he eventually agrees and he embraces the role more than you anticipated.

Heads up: Lee Minho x Fem! Reader, established relationship, maid roleplay (Minho fucks Reader in a maid outfit pretty much), porn with paper-thin plot, Sir kink, Hard Dom! Minho, Sub! Reader, spanking (f. receiving), dirty talk, degradation (f. receiving), Ass enthusiast! Minho (obviously lol), objectification (f. receiving), Possessive! Minho, unprotected piv sex and creampie.

I will block you if you are minor and have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You feel your heartbeat tick up when Minho's hand rests on your waist, his chest so close to your back that you can feel his body heat clear as day.

"Don't you think you should be working a little bit harder?" He whispers against your ear, his breaths leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your hands clench around the feather duster harshly, trying to remind yourself how to breathe as his warmth and scent and just everything that is Minho starts to overwhelm you.

For all his previous complaining and reservations about all of this, Minho seems to have slipped into his role seamlessly.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'll do better," you respond, your voice sounding delicate to your own ears. You bite back a gasp when his other hand moves to rest on your waist as well, essentially caging you in.

"I don't know. Maybe I should punish you for not doing your job properly," he mutters, a shiver running down your spine at the dark edge to his voice and his fingers marginally digging into you.

"I- whatever you want, Sir," you say once you're able to find your voice. Gasping when Minho presses himself flush against you, insides squirming when you feel his already hard cock resting against your barely covered ass. "Good answer. Maybe you're not completely incompetent after all."

You bite back a whine when he suddenly removes himself entirely from your body. Feeling decidedly much colder without his delirious body heat and scent that is so uniquely Minho surrounding you. He doesn't make you wait for his touch for too long. One of his hands reaching down to rub and knead and fondle your ass. An appreciative groan falling from his lips as his fingers sink into it.

The gentleness of his touch quickly dissipates when he delivers a harsh spank to your ass, the impact making you stumble forward slightly and drop the feather duster you were clutching so tightly. "Aw, what's the matter? I did say I was considering punishing you," he reminds you with a condescending edge to his voice. His hand coming down on your opposite cheek so quickly you barely have the foresight to steady yourself on the shelf in front of you. Your breathing laboured and pussy wetter than you cared to admit. "You-You did say that, Sir. I j-just wasn't prepared," you stutter out weakly, knowing that not responding despite the fuzziness of your mind would only land you in more trouble with Minho.

"My stupid, little maid," he mutters so softly you're not even sure he meant to say that out loud but, your arousal drips out of you and onto your white panties all the same. You shudder as his hands knead your ass once more, the skin more sensitive from the harsh blows he dealt to it. "Don't forget to count" is the only warning he gives you before landing another stinging hit to your ass, the sound ringing out throughout the living room.

"One," you hiss out through clenched teeth, nails biting into the wood of the shelf.

Another hit, this one a little softer but still painful nonetheless, "Two."

The third jostles you once more, shoving you closer to the bookshelf, almost making you miss the count, "Three."

"This is a punishment, you know. You shouldn't be getting so wet from it, slut. You're practically dripping onto my floor," he bites against the shell of your ear, his hand gradually brushing your your inner thigh. Fingertips sticky with your arousal.

"Hmm, maybe I should make you lick it up later," he ponders out loud, ghosting his fingers over your panty covered slit momentarily before returning to your ass.

Minho is so glad you convinced him to do this.

"Wh-whatever Sir wants," you say breathlessly, holding onto the shelf for dear life as your thighs quake from his jarringly delicate touch against your ass.

"Such an obedient little fucktoy," he groans, continuing his onslaught on your already reddening behind, his hand coming down without any hesitation.

"Four," you manage to choke out, insides squirming something awful when he moves closer to you, letting you feel his hard cock against your thigh once more.

The next two spanks happen in such quick succession that you are thrown for a moment, unable to do anything but cry out. However, you manage to pull yourself together as quickly as you can before Minho punishes you further, "Five, six."

"I've trained you so well," he says with such pride that something warm and affectionate bubbles up inside of you. You love being obedient for him. Your pulse increases when you hear rustling behind you, the sounds of Minho shoving off his pants and boxers reaching your ears. You try your best not to get too excited, knowing your boyfriend's fondness for teasing but, your body can't help its reaction to the thought of finally being filled.

A soft gasp slips past your lips when you feel his hot cock against your ass, trailing pre-cum against your skin as he does. "Such an amazing ass," he groans, his hands coming down to knead the now stinging skin once more. The pain making it significantly more challenging to remain steady on your legs. You're pretty sure your panties are completely ruined. Relief floods your system when Minho hurriedly tugs your panties down to your mid-thighs.

"You're so drenched, and all I've done so far is punish you. You really are a dirty, pathetic, slutty maid huh," he muses, the harshness in his voice making you whimper weakly. Fresh wetness dripping down your thighs. "Yes, Sir. I'm your dir-dirty, pathetic, slu-slutty maid, Sir."

"Fuck," he moans so wantonly that anyone who heard him wouldn't have been remiss to think he's the one that's been toyed with for what feels like hours. You're thoroughly unprepared for Minho thrust himself inside of you, pushing himself to the hilt in one thrust.

A sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry is ripped from your lips, your legs buckling slightly from the intrusion. Minho's hold on your hips keeps you steady as he fucks into harshly from the get go. Giving you minimal time to adjust to the stretch and the mind-numbing pleasure his cock provides every time he brushes that sensitive spot inside of you.

"Such a slut. Your pretty pussy is gripping me so tightly. Are you going to cum already? That's embarrassing," he groans behind you, his fingers digging into your skin while he watches his glistening cock slip in and out of you. A sight he'll likely never grow tired of.

You can't find the words to respond to him even if you wanted to. All you're able to focus on is keeping yourself standing while he fucks you relentlessly. Moans and keens falling from your lips and tears stinging your eyes all the while.

"Too fucked out to answer? What a cock-drunk, little maid," he says, eyes shutting briefly to compose himself. Your walls trying their best to get him to cum immediately. Your sounds of pleasure only increasing the tightening of the knot he feels in his gut.

All you can do is nod and whimper in response. Eyes rolling into the back of your head when he finds the place inside of you that renders you thoughtless and exploits it. Your legs shake dangerously now, but Minho holds you steady through it all. Strained moans of his own joining yours.

Your orgasm hits you particularly hard this time around. Your voice sounding hoarse and strained to your own ears as you cry out, a few stray tears rolling down your cheeks as your hands desperately clutch the shelf to keep yourself standing.

"Fuck," you can distantly hear Minho grit out, his thrusts turning hurried and sloppy. The overstimulation forces a few more tears out of you as you have no choice but to take his brutal thrusts while tremors wreck your body.

"Take it. Take it all like the cumslut you are," he brokenly moans before you feel his cock pulse inside of you and, his warm cum starts to paint your walls white. You unconsciously clench around him at the sensation and how hot he sounds. His quiet groans flitting to your ears.

It's a miracle you're both still standing. Though, both of you are incredibly unstable. Panting all that can be heard throughout your living room as his cum starts to leak out of you and onto your inner thighs.

You feel his arms wrap around you then. His lips pressing delicate kisses against your shoulder. Affection courses through you at the gesture, your hand interlocking with one of his that's come to rest on your stomach.

"Are you okay?" He asks quietly, drawing nonsensical patterns on your skin.

"Yeah, just a little sore but, nothing I can't handle," you respond, wincing slightly at the scratchiness evident in your voice.

Minho snorts softly at that. Giving you a squeeze before pulling back.

"Good because I don't remember giving you permission to cum. Also, looks like you have quite the mess to clean up."

#lee minho smut #minho smut #stray kids smut #lee know smut

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tea-the-not-understanding · 11 months

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made myself a new reference. goddamn my own persona got so much redesign but I think Imma stick with this for now. This is like, my persona from way way back when my old friend made a story where we collabs. But in the end, He were the one who unfriend me because I lost one game on league of legend, even when I told him I lost the skills to play it. He got so mad that he don't want to be my friend anymore. So in the end when I lost contact with him, I continue on the story on my own where my persona finally move on without him again.

Now, for some info - he love tea so much, coffee is half acceptable (I only drink that to wake myself up to work) - too much into roleplay stuff and that's how and where I get so much inspirations from creating lore and characters designs. And so does him too. - My persona have a blue butterfly, that's how he send messages and a friend where he could talk. - Unable to fly due to only have one left wing while the right have been torn off. Judgement is his depression and anxiety. He always follows and stay by him all the times and even sometimes haunt his dreams when he fall asleep. - He always depressed and never been optimistic. - Always keep telling Mars/Tea the truths and negative things. Sometimes even come up with a perfect lie to bring Mars/Tea into deeper depressions. - Only Mars/Tea are able to see Judgement, no others are able to see Judgement. - If Judgement fully got Mars/Tea into deep depression where he wish to kill himself or allowed, Judgement will be able to take control of Mars/Tea body. - Despised being manipulative, depressive asshole, when Ever Mars/Tea went through somethings horrible or feeling sad or depressed, Judgement actually very great at supporting and calming Mars/Tea down.

#my persona #half vent #oc #arts #art #my art #my arts #fav

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findyourrp · 11 months

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YOU NEED TO BE 19+ (i’m 23)

my discord is: outatime#3191

looking for an advanced lit/multiple paragraph roleplayer who only does (3rd person) bxb roleplay 1x1 on discord. I do not care what your irl gender is, as long as you roleplay a male character for the sake of the roleplay.

I am currently only looking for long-term role players who are equally as interested in plot and discussion as I am.

For oc's I do not like "anime" or "drawn" photos. Use real people for your faceclaims… but for the love of god, do not use yourself that is just weird.

I favor "historical" roleplays that take place in the 50s/60s because I feel like technology ruins plots. HOWEVER, this does not mean that I won't do a modern rp. I am willing to do modern as well.

I enjoy nsfw themes being included and I will not tolerate "fade to black." It is my personal preference. I want smut. Smut won't be the whole entire plot, but it will be included.

I prefer to be a sub & bottom, but I occasionally get a burst of energy to soft-dom & top every now and then. Therefore, I would classify myself more as a "switch with a preference to sub and bottom.

Nothing is more irritating than being ghosted, I try my best to make sure to include you in all plotting and arrangements because it's not all about me. If you're not liking my ideas, SUGGEST SOMETHING! I will try to incorporate it into whatever we're doing. I love when you have an equal role in our plotting.

HERE ARE SOME PLOTS:

I prefer dark roleplay plots

Plot #1

Muse A is a wounded soldier who gets picked up by the enemy medical crew after he had switched his uniforms. There is a language boundary, but the solider just pretends to be too 'out-of-it' to realize what's going on. The nurse, however, knows the solider is an enemy after finding a dog tag with his true identity.

Plot #2

an unknown monster plunges the world into chaos as a horde of monstrous creatures, known as the Valken, emerge from the depths of darkness. These creatures are twisted and fearsome, seeking to overrun humanity and bring about an apocalypse. I really want my oc to be deaf for this one just because I feel like it would add a drama aspect.

Plot #3

Muse A has been a resident of the local psychiatric hospital for a few years. Because of the nature, they keep to themselves and don't go out of the way to meet people. Muse B (you) is a newly admitted patient to the same hospital. They're loud & aggressive. A, by habit, goes out of their way to avoid B, but B is fascinated by him. B makes it their personal mission to get as close as they possibly can to A. One day B manages to steal a key card and ambushes A in a hallway. Once the two are alone, B is finally able to get forced conversations from Muse A and decides to keep A prisoner for as long as they can without getting caught

Plot #4

Last 2 men on earth in a world of all women. The guys are used for reproductive purposes- but they meet for the first time, after not knowing one another exists, and fall in love instantly. It turns out, they're gay for each other and try to escape!

Plot #5

Small town cop (you) x shop robber (me) *can be a dirty roleplay* .

🐀

outatime#3191

#rp finder #19+ rp #fandomless roleplay #rp ad #oc x cc rp #m x m rp #oc rp #1 x 1 rp #rp

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findroleplay · 11 months

Note

YOU NEED TO BE 19+

my discord outatime#3191

I am currently only looking for long-term role players who are equally as interested in plot and discussion as I am.

For oc's I do not like "anime" or "drawn" photos. Use real people for your faceclaims… but for the love of god, do not use yourself that is just weird.

I favor "historical" roleplays that take place in the 50s/60s because I feel like technology ruins plots. HOWEVER, this does not mean that I won't do a modern rp. I am willing to do modern as well.

I enjoy nsfw themes being included and I will not tolerate "fade to black." It is my personal preference. I want smut. Smut won't be the whole entire plot, but it will be included.

I prefer to be a sub & bottom, but I occasionally get a burst of energy to soft-dom & top every now and then. Therefore, I would classify myself more as a "switch with a preference to sub and bottom."

HERE ARE SOME PLOTS:

I prefer dark roleplay plots

Plot #1

Plot #2

Plot #3

Plot #4

Plot #5

Small town cop (you) x shop robber (me) *can be a dirty roleplay* .

#roleplay #rp #oc rp #original rp #fandomless rp #mxm rp

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lokiskitten · 3 years

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Request for @hazelw013 !!

Jonathan Pine | special room service

Jonathan Pine x fem!reader

plot : It’s past midnight. After encountering the hotel’s night manager, this one agrees to make you a drink before it is requested for him to bring it up to your room. From there, things take a lustful turn as you’re settled on turning Jonathan into your midnight snack.

warnings : loWkey girlboss reader, mention of alcohol, smut, light roleplay, oral ( f receiving ), unprotected sex including vaginal penetration.

The night had come, and the clock now indicated one in the morning. All of the customers- which were mostly elderly people- had went to sleep, and you found yourself dipped into complete silence and peace. You thought that this would be the perfect occasion to get a drink and enjoy the emptiness of the bar all to yourself. Now, that wouldn’t be much of a hard task. After making your way downstairs, your first move was to reach for the night manager who stood behind the entry’s counter. “Excuse me, is the bar still open?” You asked him, orbs coming in contact with his ocean blue ones. It appeared as if you had suddenly pulled him out of a moment of distraction. He forced a smile to appear on his face.

“Absolutely madam. This way, please.” He answered, opening his arm in order to show you the way to go before joining you in your journey to the bar. You couldn’t help but feel attracted by how handsome his whole being was, adding up to his overall butler look which could only be an asset in that lustful imagination of yours. The man opened the door for you, allowing you to step inside of the bar area before penetrating inside the room himself. Unfortunately, you were both caught off guard by an unexpected visual : the bartender was missing. Disappointment filled your organism face to such a sight, an emotion Jonathan managed to notice through those pretty features of yours.

“Looks like I’ll be serving you a drink myself for tonight.” He offered professionally, as it was his duty to make sure every single customer was left entirely satisfied by their trip in this hotel. You smiled up at him, feeling grateful that he was willing to do such a thing- and internally squirming at the thought of getting to spend some extra alone time with this beautiful stranger. You sat down onto one of the bar’s stools, adjusting your position until you found the one which appeared the most comfortable though your eyes never ceased to stare at the night manager’s back. Jonathan turned towards you again, his hand delicately delivering you a small bowl of crisps before asking you about your tonight’s envies.

“What will it be, madam?” He questioned on a friendly tone, your mind allowing intrusive thoughts to take over regarding all the dirty and inappropriate things you could’ve potentially answered to that question. But instead, you stuck to being polite. “I’ll just have whatever you serve me. Surprise me.” You answered on a flirty tone, body leaning forward as you allowed your elbows to rest against the counter. Surprisingly enough, this demand appeared to ravish the man. “Right away madam.” He answered with a smile before turning around as his mind began to think of what drink he could potentially offer you. Meanwhile, you patiently waited, eyes wandering towards lower places were you got the pleasure to get a peek of his clothed bum. In your mind, there still was no scientific explanation to why male bottoms were attractive, but you just went with it.

A couple of short minutes later, a glass was finally placed before your forearms. It was cocktail shaped, which could only lead your mouth to water at the thought of getting to taste a mixture of fruit juice and alcohol. “Thank you.” You spoke politely, your eyes looking up at him whilst your fingers wrapped around the base of the glass. The liquid was soon to penetrate within your mouth with ease, filling your tastebuds with bliss and satisfaction. It tasted excellent. “Wow, this is very good. What’s it called?” You asked the trainee barman, earning a chuckle from his flustered self. “A secret receipt of mines.” He answered happily before making his way out of the counter, ready to go back to his original spot before being interrupted by your enhanced self.

“Mr. Pine?” You stopped him through his track, leading the gentleman to turn around and raise his eyebrows as he waited for you to expose your demand to him. “Would you be nice enough to bring me my drink up to my room?” You asked, legs crossing together and revealing more of your flesh due to the short dress you wore. You were secretly hoping that this would help him make up his mind as well as growing more attracted to you. Jonathan’s eyes diverted to your legs for a split second, the orbs then looking up at your face as a smile appeared on his features. “Of course madam.” He answered, leading you to get up from your chair whilst he made his way back to the bar.

As quickly as you could, you made your way back into your room in order to get ready for Jonathan’s arrival. It took you half a second to slide your panties to your ankles before tossing them to the side, body sitting down on the edge of the bed right before you heard the door of your room open. As expected, it was none but your beloved butler and guest. “Here’s your drink, madam.” He announced politely whilst making his way through the bedroom, his body bending over as he placed the glass down onto the coffee table. Meanwhile, your legs had slowly begin to part, exposing your naked sex to his sight and desperately waiting for the man to finally notice.

“Is there anything else you desire?” He asked as his head diverted back towards your body, eyes catching glimpse of your bare cunt. Clenching his jaw, Jonathan immediately looked away as visible confusion and embarrassment showed onto his tensed facial features- a reaction which only made you crave him even more. “Madam..” Jonathan began awkwardly, head now turned towards the window as his hands fidgeted together. “I desire you.” You answered lustfully, body leaning back on your palms as your thighs remained spread. Jonathan gasped. Somehow, his blue eyes finally accepted to look at your body- and that as if he was reconsidering his personal decision.

After all, no one had to know, and it probably would only be a matter of minutes. To be frankly honest, the night manager missed feeling the warmth of a woman against his body, sharing mutual pleasure with someone of the opposite sex and participating into some nice aftercare. He had been single for a while, as his constant travels held him back from settling down with a girl of his own. His lips pressed together as you grew impatient, head tilting to the side as you now allowed one of your legs to extend towards his crotch. “Please? I feel so lonely.. I suspect the same as you.” You purred alongside your kitty which craved for manly attention. Watching Jonathan finally agree to remove his vest filled you with bliss, as it could only mean he had decided to give in your proposition.

“Madam... I took notice of the way you seemed to degrade the hotel’s belongings. I’m afraid I’m gonna have to do something about that.” Jonathan allowed himself to come up with a little bit of enhancing roleplay, leading you to squirm in excitement even if you tried your best to remain in character. “I’m so terribly sorry? How could I potentially repay you?” You asked him as he removed his tie before beginning to unbutton the first few buttons of his white shirt- and all of that as his eyes remained on you. “I only see one way.” The night manager finished, his body now nearing yours as you crumbled beneath his intimidating aura.

Surprisingly enough, Jonathan decided to get on his knees, his hands taking ahold of your own before smoothly sliding their way underneath your thighs. Biting onto your bottom lip, your enhance self looked down as the night manager began to taste your cunt- starting with laying kisses on your clit before moving down to your entrance which had yet to soak up. His nose pressed against your hardened bud, this delightful sensation sending shivers down your spine as you continued to watch him work in awe. One of your hands moved up to his head, fingers gently brushing through his hair as if you wanted to reward him for his good work.

A couple of muffled moans eventually escaped your sealed lips, head tilting once in a while as Jonathan continued to eat you out whilst feeling your hand pet his head. He appeared to enjoy this. “Tell me, Mr. Pine..” you began- a sentence which didn’t stop the man through his track. “Is this gonna be included in the trip’s fees?” You joked calmly before being able to feel his lips twitch against your core, indicating that you had managed to make him smile. His licks and kisses suddenly grew rougher, head now slightly nodding against your crotch and that probably in order to stimulate your clit. “Mmh.. fuck.” You moaned just so slightly, brows knitting together as you carried on looking down at him whilst petting his hair.

“I want you inside of me now.” You ended up spitting out, leading the slightly older man to look up from your genitals. He licked his lips clean as he watched your body fall back against the mattress of the king sized bed, getting back up on his feet as his hands began to unbutton his pants. “Sure thing madam.” He smirked, earning an amused giggle from your excited self. You ended up biting down on your bottom lip, head tilting as you couldn’t seem to be able to wait any further. Your core was throbbing, still feeling the side effects of Jonathan’s previous gift. Once his pants had finally fallen to his ankles, the night manager moved closer to your body, dragging you to his crotch with the help of his strong hold.

You looked down at his clothed bulge which had yet to harden to it’s full size, feeling pleased to witness how big it already appeared- indicating that it would probably feel just right inside of your needy cunt. His hand began to gently stroke the mass through the pair of boxers he adorned, ocean blue eyes looking down at you as you took the initiative to remove your dress. Your naked body was exposed to his orbs, the sight of your breasts helping with his crotch’s current issue. His cock was now hard enough to carry penetration and Jonathan didn’t loose any time to slide his boxers down. His member possessed the perfect length and shape. You wanted him, and he wanted you. Within a matter of minutes, you had managed to make him succumb to your charms.

“You look gorgeous.” He stated, his large hand moving down to caress your stomach before sliding up to your breast. The man offered it a gentle squeeze before going back to his initial position- which consisted in sitting up between your legs. He made sure to have your ankles lock together around his neck as his lips laid passionate kisses onto your thigh. If something was sure, is that this man was all about feminine pleasure whilst still managing to please himself through the process. A real gentleman. His head diverted down towards his own crotch, guiding his length to your entrance in order to ease up the overall penetration process. Jonathan’s breath shortened as he finally slid inside of your soaked self and your eyelids shut close in order to be fully able to focus on the pleasure he was about to provide the two of you.

The intercourse was truly able to start when the night manager began to thrust in and out of you, shockwaves of pleasure spreading through your body and leaving you to scramble beneath bliss. The first thrusts were always the hardest to handle. Moaning, you felt Jonathan’s grip grow tighter onto your hips, allowing you to understand that this overall process also had nice affects on his mood and organism. “Fuck..” he moaned, eyebrows knitted together in a sad manner. His eyes remained on you, admiring your body which he saw as nothing but a temple he was meant to take care of a of respect. Your hands were soon to take ahold of the bedsheets, your organism growing more and more affected and aroused as time passed by.

“Mr. Pine...” ironically enough, you didn’t even know his first name- even if he was fully aware of yours. The thrusts carried on and only intensified through time, driving the two of you towards your respective orgasm which you simply couldn’t wait to reach. The man didn’t appear afraid to moan and express the pleasure he was feeling, and that in multiple different ways. You could tell that he shared the same sensation as you did, and it only enhanced the overall intercourse to think that there was a chance for you to come simultaneously. “I’m gonna come..” you announced, feeling as Jonathan fastened up the pace as if he desired to catch up on you. This move easily pushed you over the edge, driving you towards the climax you were longing for.

A great feeling of bliss took over your body, moans exiting your lips as you found yourself dipped into your climax. Jonathan pulled out, efficiently catching up as a couple of pumps offered to his cock were enough to lead him to cum. The white liquid landed on your clit and lower stomach, staining your skin in the most beautiful way. The two of you remained panting, though Jonathan made an effort to keep himself onto his feet as his hand held onto your thigh. “Christ..” you breathed out, eyelids opening again as your head diverted towards the night manager. “You’d be pleased to bring me a handkerchief so I can clean myself up, Mr Pine.” You demanded tiredly, earning a nod from the man who was violently pulled back to his original functions. “Right away madam.” He answered, taking a few seconds to pull himself back into his pants.

I don’t see much Jonathan imagines, which is a shame. I hope this will bring happiness to the people who find themselves in the same situation as me! Thanks for reading. Don’t hesitate to share, like and comment! It always means whole lots to me and any writer.

@devilsuga @theaudacitytowrite ❤️

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palidoozy-art · 3 years

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The more I think about your recent post about the changes you made to Strahd, the more I wonder about those changes you made to the others mentioned (Rahadin, Van Richten, Ireena, etc). I'd absolutely love to hear what adjustments you made as you already shared some stellar ideas already. Like the Tome? -Chef kiss- Amazing.

Oh mannn I do love talking about my campaign. I changed a lot with them. Again, weirdly enough, I think Strahd wound up being the most like his original incarnation. I could talk forever about the changes I made so I'll try to be brief haha. IT STILL WON'T BE BRIEF.

Obvious CoS spoilers below

IREENA - I thought it was weird that the picture they gave her makes her look like such a badass, and then the module just kind of writes her as a damsel in distress to either get kidnapped or pulled into water or dumped somewhere. To me, she's like, the second most important character in CoS -- and the book literally gives you less direction to roleplay her than her brother. Furthermore, reading her ending actually legit made me mad.

So I said fuck all that. Ireena in my game was a 19-year old girl who grew and developed over the course of the campaign. Several of my players actually said they thought of her as "the main character," just because she experienced a lot of character growth and development, going from a sheltered meek teenager to someone who can fight and assert herself. The biggest change I made to her though was that I very specifically did not just want her to be "Tatyana with memory loss." Ireena is a unique individual who happens to be partially made out of Tatyana's soul. While she shares many similarities with Tatyana, they're separate people, and part of what Ireena has to grapple with is how to live up to that. She's in the post-campaign because of that distinction -- while Sergei offered her to join him, she declined, because she wants to experience life past her twenties. I didn't get to play it out because we were kind of rushing towards the end, but I honestly envisioned a scene where she talks to the portrait of Tatyana, apologizing to her because she knows she's being selfish remaining alive.

This also brings up a unique problem in the post campaign. If Ireena dies, she ceases to exist and may not be able to be resurrected. When her soul leaves her body, it's Tatyana's again. Ireena very much wants to live. Tatyana doesn't. A resurrection has to be made with the consent of the soul, and if Tatyana declines, Ireena's just... gone. Forever.

Related: because I wasn't sure what my players would ask, and Rahadin would absolutely know this information -- there have been 18 incarnations of Tatyana, including the original. I actually have a timeline of when they were all born and how they died. The curse manifests in that they always die or are killed before their 25th birthday. If Strahd attempts to marry them, they lose their minds and throw themselves off of the same balcony the original Tatyana jumped off of during the ceremony. Strahd can never have Tatyana. Vampyr will ensure of that.

But yeah, essentially: Ireena gained actual class levels; she wasn't just Tatyana with memory loss; she traveled with the party for 90% of the campaign and wasn't just a macguffin to be kidnapped/take to places; and I removed any of the "Sergei takes her into water/the sky and you never see her again" endings because I absolutely hated those.

VAN RICHTEN - Van Richten I tweaked a lot from his original incarnation. First, I started him off as Lawful Neutral. No, game, I know you tell me he's Lawful Good, but I'm gonna have to disagree with you that "training a racist tiger to genocide an ethnic camp" falls under the spectrum of Lawful Good. Second, I changed him from cleric to artificer (alchemist). I somehow just got the impression the dude was a godless man, and so he felt more fitting to be a man of science rather than a man of the church. Third, since I wasn't sure the other dread domains were ever going to be brought into 5e I moved him out of Darkon and into another world from the outside.

His backstory was also tied more into Strahd and the campaign in general, as well as the Dark Powers. About 30 years ago, he went into the mists with his own adventuring party (that included Escher) to try to rescue his kidnapped son, Erasmus. He found his son half-turned and begging him for death. Killing him, Van Richten hunted down the Vistani woman (Ezmerelda's mother) who sold the man, and in a rage strangled her to death. This gave him a curse. Ezmerelda witnessed it happen.

He went on a warpath against vampire spawn and vistani alike, until Strahd proposed a deal to Escher. Escher lured the group to a familiar dinner date with Strahd... only for Strahd to murder all of them, including Van Richten. Van Richten was approached by a dark power -- Vaund the Evasive, and given the option to return to life in exchange for the promise that Van Richten would eventually return to Amber Temple and free him. He took it, waking up outside of Barovia. From there he became famed vampire-hunter-book-author, until in his early 50's he decided it was time to seek vengeance and fulfill his promise. He brought in his hat of disguise, came up with an alibi, and headed into Barovia as Rictavio the Great.

He was absolutely played as a much more morally grey character at the start (the party's first encounter with him rather than Rictavio was him literally torturing a dude). He softened over the course of the campaign as he grew attached to the party, until finally reaching a point in the post-campaign where he's considered Lawful Good

Also: Ezmerelda was treated more or less as his adoptive daughter. She absolutely argued against this every single time, but he even slipped up and referred to her as his daughter on a few tense occasions.

RAHADIN - Rahadin I adjusted a lot, too. A LOOOOOOT. Strahd being comically evil makes sense -- the dude is a darklord, that kind of comes with the territory. With Rahadin, I wanted him to have more motivations to his actions, because the base game actually suggests that the dude is actually capable of caring. In the base game, you can find him at Amber Temple, trying to "petition the dark god into releasing his master from his torment." He screams in grief if he finds Strahd dead. Furthermore it felt like the game glosses over the fact that the dude was adopted as Barov's son. It doesn't bother addressing how Rahadin felt about Sergei, who would in theory be his other brother. I thought a number of things suggested in his backstory were interesting, but not expanded upon in the base game. So I took it upon myself to do so.

I changed how dusk elf society was built, which affected the three major dusk elf characters. It worked off of a pretty brutal caste system, with three kings at the top overseeing all of it. Rahadin was born in a lower caste, but actually brought into the warrior caste after a member of royalty was intrigued by his stature. Rahadin worked as a general, but grew frustrated by the inefficiencies of the caste system and its inequality. He started attempting to use his influence to petition other members of nobility into changing or loosening the strict system.

Patrina caught wind of this, and viewing it as a threat to her lifestyle + viewing it as an easy way to gain brownie points with those above her... tattled on him to the three kings, spinning what he was doing as treason. Rahadin was arrested and subsequently tortured. They attempted to execute him on a breaking wheel, breaking his bones against the spokes and leaving him in the town square as an example. He wound up escaping, crawling his way out of town until he was subsequently rescued by a group of human monks. The event pretty much broke him, morally. He went to Barov soon after and sold his people out, taking a personal hand in helping annihilate the dusk elves and conquering their land. Barov was so impressed by the man's loyalty that he adopted him as his son.

Part of this was done to make a connection as to why the hell Rahadin just absolutely fuckin' hates Patrina so much (since that definitely got played up during the campaign). When thinking of Rahadin's motivations, I tried to come at it from the angle that this man was evil... but legitimately cared deeply about Strahd, Sergei, and Tatyana. He was devestated from the events of the wedding, but saw Strahd's return as a second chance. As the lone surviving witness from the wedding, he desperately wanted to help the three of them. But his own blind loyalty to Strahd and his broken moral compass prevented him from doing so.

One of my favorite little additions was a sidequest I offered to the players (they wanted to redeem Rahadin). They were requested by him to retrieve (well, "not destroy or sell") one of his most precious belongings in his office. When they get there... it turns out it's a birthday card and a worn-out old amulet from Sergei and Tatyana that he's kept after all these years. They got Ireena to read the letter to him, to help him keep going after Strahd's death.

anyway i could ramble on about changes forever but i don't want this post to get too long haha. i have. many feelings. over this campaign. maybe at some point I'll do a separate post with some of the others.

i also kinda wanna do a comic of an event from Rahadin's backstory for my players but we'll see, I might deem it "too stupid."

#palidoozy rambles #curse of strahd #curse of strahd spoilers #cos #cos spoilers #WARNING IT LONG #I HAVE MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THESE THREE CHARACTERS

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sub-hoshi-enthusiast · 3 years

Text

I spent more time on this than I thought I would :/ (I had to add a little visual to this but the amount of hentai I had to scroll past to find that pic-)

⚠️Warnings⚠️: fem!dom!reader, sub!Hongseok, roleplay (teacher/student), use of toys (strap-on), public sex (kinda???), oral (f recieving on strap), hands free orgasm, crossdressing

Extra Credit

An exhausted groan left your lips as you finally finished grading the last essay on your desk, throwing your head back as you massaged the back of it. You had been hunched over your desk for the past 30 minutes, grading your students essays they were told to turn in that day. Sometimes you truly wondered why you decided to teach high school literature when literally no one cared about it. The upcoming exams only seemed to make matters worse, leaving students too tired from hours of studying the night before to comprehend the information you were giving them.

You jumped when you heard a knock on the back door of your classroom, almost making you fall out of your chair. You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to think of reasons anyone would be at your door at 4 o'clock in the afternoon. You cautiously crept towards the door, only slightly pulling back the curtain you had put over the window to see who was outside. A sigh of relief escaped you as you saw your boyfriend on the other side of the glass, though you couldn't tell what he was wearing under his large black coat. Hongseok spun around when he heard you open the door, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"What are you doing here? I was just about to start heading home." You asked, letting him step into the classroom.

"What, I'm not allowed to visit the love of my life every once and awhile?" You raised your eyebrow at the pout on his face when he turned to you. You looked him up and down, trying to spot anything that would indicate an actual reason he was here. He simply giggled at your stare, walking over to you and resting his arms over your shoulders. "I just missed you." The slight whine in his voice made you chuckle and lightly push him away.

"You couldn't wait fifteen minutes for me to get home?" He whined as you turned around to move back to your desk, starting to pack up a few of your things.

"I could've waited, but I wanted to try something." Intrigued, you turned to him. A wide smirk settled on his face as you eyed the bag he had set down on one of the desks. "Close your eyes." You huffed as you leaned back against your desk, half sitting on it as you closed your eyes. You only heard his excited giggles and the unzipping of his coat, increasing your curiosity. After a few more seconds of clothes ruffling he finally told you to open your eyes. The sight in front of you made your breath hitch in your throat.

Hongseok stood in front of you wearing a skimpy schoolgirl outfit. The top cut off a little less than halfway down his torso, showing off his chiseled stomach. The high waisted skirt he wore cut off halfway down his thighs, showing off a little bit of his thigh since he was wearing thigh highs. The socks were all white except for two stripes of navy blue at the top that matched the skirt. He gave a little twirl as you eyed him, almost making you drool as the skirt lifted up just enough to reveal the white cotton panties he was wearing to complete the "innocent" schoolgirl look.

"Soooo, what do you think?" He asked, looked up at you hopefully, the silence slightly scaring him.

"Fuck baby." Was all you managed to get out as you walked toward him, letting your hands rest on his waist as you continued to ogle over his outfit. "When did you get this?"

"Yesterday. I was gonna bring it up when it got here but I thought it'd be better if we did it here." He said, gesturing to the classroom you were in. You hummed in response, your hands trailing up and down his sides.

"I like the way you think." Hongseok whimpered when your hands landed on his hips again, squeezing harshly. "If I had my strap-on with me I'd bend you over my desk and pound you as hard as I could." He shivered at your words before reaching in the plastic bag he had brought with him, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he let said object hang from his fingers by the harness. You didn't have time to react before he pulled the toy between both of you, fingers loosely wrapped around it as he slowly pumped it.

"Y'know, sir, the finals are coming up next week but I don't think I'm gonna be able to pass." He said, faking a pout while he ran his index finger up the vein on the underside of the silicone cock in his hands. "Is there anything I could do for some extra credit maybe," your breath hitched in your throat when he looked at you through his eyelashes, slowly bringing the tip of the toy up to his lips to lightly kiss it, "anything at all?"

A light gasp flew past his lips when you pressed your lips to his in a rough kiss. He immediately melted into you, his knees almost giving out from under him had he not been leaning against a desk. You grabbed the toy from his hand, leaving a few love bites up his neck before growling in his ear.

"On your knees, in front of my chair, now." He whimpered at your tone, nodding with a quiet "yes sir" as he stumbled over to your desk. You quickly removed your pants, tossing them to your desk and adjusting the silicone toy around your hips. Hongseok hungrily looked up at you as you sat down, eyes practically dripping with lust. He let out a quiet grunt when you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer so the tip of the strap entered his mouth. "Alright baby, show me how badly you need to pass this test."

Hongseok's hands flew up to your thighs, using them to steady himself as he started taking more of the toy into his mouth. He took as much as he could into his mouth, using his hand to pump what he couldn't fit. He let out a moan around the fake cock everytime he went back down, his eyes closed in bliss. His eyes suddenly snapped open when you grabbed his hair, pulling him a little closer to you.

"C'mon baby boy, you can take more than that." He whimpered quietly around the toy, trying to push himself down farther and making him whine. His small noises were cut off with a gag when you snapped your hips forward, making his nose touch your pelvis. "Guess I have to do everything myself, don't I."

He wasn't given a chance to react before you started fucking his throat. A gag was heard every time his lips reached the base, tears slowly collecting in his eyes. You looked down at him and noticed his hips rutting forward into nothing, desperate for any sort of friction. You scoffed.

"Is my little slut getting off on this? You enjoy being roughed up and used?" His loud moan was cut off by another gag as his eyes rolled back in his head, nodding as best he could. You smirked down at him, pulling his head almost all the way off the dildo before harshly thrusting forward again. His eyes rolled back in his head as you kept him there, the tip of your cock resting against the back of his throat. You could hear his rapid breathing through his nose as he continued to rut into nothing, drool spilling out the side of his mouth.

You started thrusting again, using shallow thrusts that would always hit the back of his throat. Not long after, his breathing started to become more like high pitched whimpers before he let out one last muffled cry, his eyes rolling back and his arms going limp. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked down, a smirk settling on your features when you saw the dark patch over the front of his skirt. You lovingly combed your fingers through his hair as you pulled the toy out, biting your lip at the sight of his red, puffy lips that are slick with drool.

"Aw, did my baby enjoy himself?" He answered with a hum as he nuzzled his cheek into your thigh, pressing a quick kiss to the exposed skin as he closed his eyes. You lightly pat his head, motioning for him to get off of you as you stood up. He let out a whine as you started to put on your pants and pack up your things. You chuckled as he pouted on the floor. "Get up babyboy, we're going home."

"But I wanted to make you cum." He whined, reluctantly getting up from his place on the floor. You gave him a quick kiss on the nose.

"And while I would love that, the janitor should be here in about 5 minutes to clean out the classroom and I don't really wanna be fired." He let out a quiet huff but grabbed his coat to cover himself up from wandering eyes. You chuckled as you both headed for the back door, grabbing his waist to stop him for a second. "Don't worry baby, I'm going to absolutely wreck you when we get home." A shiver went down his spine before he jolted in his spot when you landed a harsh slap to his ass.

"Hmmm. Maybe I should come visit you at work more often."

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Bay/rise 27!! @errorfreak88 @selfindulgenz. Special thanks to @brightlotusmoon for help with this chapter!!

Mikey’s eyes popped out of his hiding space to watch Raph do his reps, giggling like a hatchling. Raph noticed him, of course, but didn't give his baby brother any attention. He was winding down to hopefully catch a few quick hours of sleep while Leo meditated on their next move against this ‘Draxum’.. After nearly ten minutes of being eyed down like the last slice of pizza, Raph couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“Can I help you with something?” Raph put his weights up and sat up with his arms crossed.

Mikey finally came out from behind the weight rack without saying a word and collapsed onto Raph. Raph gave a grunt at the heavy weight, then scowled as the hug went on for far longer than he had anticipated.

“Whatcha doin’~?”

“Uh. Liftin’.” Raph answered, giving Mikey a pat on the carapace hoping it would dislodge him. It didn't work. “What are you doing?”

Mikey grunted and slid down into Raph’s lap, laying over his legs like a melting ice cream. “I’m boooooooored.”

“Whatchu want me to do about it?”

“Make me not booooored!”

Raph rolled his eyes and finally shoved Mikey off of him, laying down and trying to go back to his lifting. He didn't even see Mikey move, but by the time his hands were back on the handle bar, Mikey was perched on it staring down at him. Raph decided not to acknowledge him and proceeded to lift a few more times before Mikey slid down and plopped himself on Raph’s chest.

“Pay attention to meeeeee!” Mikey pawed him like a cat.

Raph lifted the weight back into its rack and picked up Mikey, putting him back in the rack as well. Raph left him there and went for the treadmill, but before he could even start it, Mikey ran and jumped on his back with his arms wrapped around Raph’s neck.

“What’s your problem Mikey?!” Raph snarled and spun around, tossing Mikey off of him and sending the smaller turtle to the ground with a hurt expression. Raph took a few deep, shaky breaths. “I just wanna be alone right now Mikey.”

“Okay…” Mikey didn't bother arguing, leaving Raph alone with his head hanging low.

***

“DON!”

Donnie screamed and almost dropped the orb, bouncing it a few times between his hands before he was able to get a good grip on it and then glare back at his brother.

“Mikey! You almost made me drop New York!”

“Did I scare ya?” Mikey slid in beside Donnie, resting his head and arms on the table.

“Yes.” Donnie huffed, carefully placing the orb back on the desk. “What do you want?”

“I’m bored!” Mikey sat up and rested his head on Donnie’s shoulder instead. “What are you doing? Can I help?”

“The other Donatello is letting me take notes on the mystic orb, and no you can’t help.”

“Why not?” Mikey rolled onto Donnie’s other shoulder, “My eyes are better than yours! I can help!”

“No, Mikey.” Donnie shoved Mikey off of him, but Mikey came back quickly.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Would you please just leave me alone?” Donnie didn't mean for the words to come out so harshly, but they did.

Mikey pulled away and his eyes fell, shaking his shoulders and dragging his feet on the floor. “Sorry. Just wanted to help.”

Donnie tried to call back to his brother as Mikey walked off, but no words came out. A moment of regretful silence and Donnie turned his attention back to the orb.

***

“Hey Leo! Whatchu doing?”

Leo sat with his legs crossed on the floor, his eyes closed, and hands folded on his lap. In front of him were scented candles that filled the air with an alluring scent of lavender.

“Meditating? That’s cool.” Mikey sat down beside him, crossing his own legs and trying to copy Leo’s calm. “I think I’m gonna do that too. Ommmmmm! Ommmm!”

While Mikey hummed, tapping his fingers together in a stim, Leo slowly broke from his own state and opened an eye to glare at the loud turtle making a mockery of him.

“Mikey.”

Mikey’s eyes shot open. “Is meditation over? Sweet! That took forever! Let’s go play Super Mario brothers!”

“Mikey.” Leo’s patience was running thin.

“I’ll let you be Mario…” Mikey said softly— hopefully.

“Please leave me be.”

Mikey hung his head and gave a weak nod as he got to his feet and walked away to leave Leo to his activity.

***

“Hey!” Michelangelo’s chipper voice quickly turned solemn at the sad look on Mikey’s face. He pulled himself onto the bed beside the upset box turtle and stared at him for a long moment before saying, “You’re upset.”

Mikey nodded. “I don’t feel good.”

“How not good?”

Mikey shrugged.

Michelangelo hummed and rocked back and forth for a moment before giving an excited squeak and running off for a second. Mikey watched as he left but said nothing. Michelangelo returned minutes later, much to Mikey’s confusion, and offered him a giant hunk of clay.

“Here! Mold while we talk!”

“Thanks!” Mikey took the clay and almost immediately started to fiddle around with it while Michelangelo pulled himself back beside him, saying nothing. Mikey let himself play with the clay for several awkward minutes before suddenly saying, “You like pizza?”

Michelangelo beamed. “Ohhhh! I love pizza! My favorite kind is pepperoni!”

“I’m more of a meat lover's pie myself.” Mikey held a hand to his chest proudly.

“Oh that’s good too!”

Another silence followed. Mikey kept finding himself looking over at Michelangelo, expecting the turtle to say or ask something. But Michelangelo didn't.

“So…” Mikey whistled, trying to make the silence somewhat more bearable.

“Something on your mind?” Michelangelo prompted with an innocent smile.

“Um. Just… the silence is weird!” Mikey laughed, and Michelangelo giggled along with him, “Like, I feel like we should be talking about something!”

“Well, what do you want to talk about?”

Mikey only shrugged. Michelangelo let the silence go on a moment longer before saying,

“How… about what’s making you so sad?”

“Who said I’m sad?”

“You’re sitting here alone on your bed looking like you lost your best friend. And I saw how you were on the rooftop earlier… when they were talking about… you know.” Michelangelo thought it best not to mention the name. “Do you dislike hugs…?”

Mikey traced his fingers across a crack on his plastron. “I love hugs! I love giving them! Just… not getting them… not anymore...”

“So... you don’t dislike hugs. You dislike being squeezed. Because somebody hurt you like that on purpose…”

Mikey gulped.

“That’s okay. It’s okay to not like being squeezed.” Michelangelo said slowly, “Do your brothers know?”

“No. Then think because my cracks are healed that I’m healed...”

“Mm. Well, I won’t tell them if you won’t want me to. But you should. You have autonomy over your own body, even if it's against your family. Especially if it's against your family! If you don’t set boundaries, then they can’t know when they cross them.”

“But I don’t wanna upset them…”

Michelangelo scoffed. “Upset them? Our brothers are shinobi! They’re tough as nails! And if they can’t take you setting your own rules on your own body then they seriously need to reconsider their life choices. Your body is your temple to paint and restrict as much as you so wish! But I can tell I’m not getting through to you… so. How does roleplaying sound?”

“Roleplaying?”

“You pretend to be your Raph, and I’ll pretend to be you! Now: Try and hug me!”

“Oh— okay!” Mikey sat up a little taller and cleared his throat. “Hey bro! Come give Raphie bear a hug!”

“I would rather not be hugged right now.” Michelangelo stated calmly, “I will however accept a fist bump, high five, or pat.” Mikey held out his hand for a high five, and Michelangelo quickly obliged. “There you go! Now be more insistent! Demand a hug!”

Mikey was still in character, so quickly said, “Naw man, you’s gotta give me a hug!” And he moved to hug Michelangelo.

Michelangelo shoved him away and hopped back. “I do not consent to being hugged!”

Mikey withdrew at the sudden shout, bringing his hands back to his chest and staring wide-eyed. Michelangelo’s faux-rage quickly faded back to his gigglish state as he bounced back over and hopped on the bed.

“See? So next time he goes to hug you, but you don’t want him to, then try that!”

“That was scary cool!” Mikey laughed, “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“My dad taught me! He always told me to stick up for myself and for those who can’t do it themselves! A bully’s just that. Except in this situation, your mind is the bully making you sick! And once you get it under control, you can manage everything a lot better! And the first way to do that is to set boundaries for yourself.”

“Your dad has such cool advice.” Mikey laughed, “My dad’s only told me that people fear what they don’t understand.”

“And they hate what they fear.” Michelangelo finished with a solemn nod, “That much is true.”

“Yeah…” Mikey’s voice was raw, stripped of stereotypes and mimics. Just… himself. “I just wish they didn't.”

“You can wish and wish and wish, but things aren’t gonna get better unless you make them that way. Little by little. But start with helping yourself, okay?” Michelangelo put a gentle hand on the giant mutant's leg. “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot. Things aren’t going to get better; it’s not.”

Mikey was silent for a long moment. “Did you just quote Dr.Seuss—?”

“Yeah, I just quoted Dr.Seuss, you got a problem with it?”

Mikey thought a moment, and then only laughed. “Hey— no judgement here! Suess rocks!”

#ugh #this didn’t come out how I wanted it to #but it’s done #still #Bleh #feel like I could’ve done better

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

Late July

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit explicit.

Summary: Upon hearing about you from Tequila, Jack Daniels seeks you out with a full set of emotional baggage to work through. You happily oblige, helping him craft a scene that just might grant him some peace of mind. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains consensual non-consent (surrender play), light domination, roleplay, unprotected sex, frank discussion of safe words, usage of safe words, dirty talk and light bondage. Remember that fanfictions are not research and that you should never engage in any activity if you do not trust your partner. Stay safe!]

There was just something about you that put people at ease, and Ginger Ale noticed during the interview process. "You have a gift!" She had praised you, her smile unexpected and bright. "I can see why Tequila recommended you for this position."

Granted, being the 'head of first impressions' at a distillery that was actually a front for a secret intelligence agency had its ups and downs, but you enjoyed the work and (if you were honest) the exciting interactions with the Statesman agents.

Tequila, of course, would practically drape himself across your desk as he regaled you with (hopefully) exaggerated tales of his heroics. The two of you were sexually involved but preferred to keep each other at arm's length out of the bedroom, neither party particularly keen on surrendering your freedom and committing to anything serious at this point of your lives. You admired his dedication to Statesman, and he in turn respected your desire to have a successful career. He also was blatantly mooning over a certain analyst.

Ginger Ale was quieter and sharper than Tequila, her dry humor a joy to witness. She was the one who had done your interview, and she had given you the full behind the scenes tour once your background check went through. She was beautiful, charismatic and smart as a whip. You hoped to one day be as self-assured as she was.

Champ tended to keep to himself for the most part, though you had encountered him several times in the past when he dozed off in a certain chair at the end of a sunlit hallway. The elderly man was like an old tomcat, you decided, able to prowl but more than willing to take it easy.

Whiskey was often away managing the affairs of their New York headquarters and as such, was the one that you interacted with the least. He would come breezing in at all hours, a slow smile and a wink directed your way before he would saunter past. The rare occasions that he engaged you in conversation were nerve-wracking, as you were a little starstruck due to the glowing accounts both Champ and Tequila had given of his prowess in the past.

Ginger Ale was a bit more down to earth, thankfully. "He's just a man who's lost a lot, and his reasons for wanting to change things for the better may not be entirely altruistic." She had informed you concisely when you queried about the origin of one Jack Daniels. You had picked up on the veiled sadness in his dark eyes, the age that seemed to weigh him down that wasn't entirely related to years.

So when the aforementioned Statesman agent had drunkenly expressed a certain desire to you at a company party, you couldn't hide a little spike of curiosity. Mainly because the two of you interacted so rarely. Hell, you wouldn't even call yourselves friends. Tequila must have told him about your side activities.

"Ever since I lost her, I can't fuckin' bring myself to raw anyone else." The confession had come out of left field, but you had done your best to play it off like it was normal. Lord knew you had done enough paperwork in your career at Statesman to understand that agents would just kind of…say things thoughtlessly if they believed they were in a safe environment. A hazard of the job.

"What do you mean, Mr. Daniels?"

"Call me Jack. Jesus, I ain't that old." He had hiccupped sharply, grimacing. "I just mean I...it's like a mental block. I wanna', I'm excited about it, and everything's fine until I try to come and boom. Python shrivels up like a damn salted slug and I'm left holdin' the bag tryin' to explain myself." He stared into his glass, looking pensive. "Real mood killer."

"Any idea why this might be?" You had prompted, leaning against the bar and idly scanning the throngs of people around you. It wasn't every day that so many of the company's rank and file rubbed elbows with the higher-ups, but you had to assume these economic mixers were what had kept the company (and intelligence agency) on such an even keel. It was a grounding experience, a way to remind the suits of their humble beginnings.

He scoffed out a breath. "Oh I know exactly why. When I lost her, I...we had only learned a little while before that she was havin' a baby. We'd been havin' a rocky time and we were actually thinkin' of breakin' up, but that news…" Jack had tilted his head to glance your way, his brown eyes distant. "If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have been out shoppin' that day, y'know?" A sad smile had quirked his mouth beneath his mustache. "My fault."

At the time, you had made a noise of sympathy and gone to lay a hand on his arm before you could think better of it. He, instead of shrugging off your touch, actually ended up twining his fingers through your own and giving your hand a light squeeze.

Agent Whiskey's past was a shadowy affair in the Statesman organization. Though to be fair, no one really asked anything about anyone. Ginger Ale reasoned that the less people knew, the safer they and Statesman were in the event of a security breach.

Anything you learned from any of the agents, you tended to keep close to your heart. It was your nature to gather useful information and foster trust for a rainy day. That personality facet had served you well as you had climbed the ranks from intern to head of first impressions, and knowing that you were someone that could be counted on to hold your cards close put many people at ease.

Including one Agent Whiskey.

"Tequila said you were good at helpin'. I'd be much obliged if you'd consider takin' a crack at my sexual baggage."

...

"Alright so for your words, you've decided on 'sixth' as your 'yes I'm into this', followed by second for 'slow down but don't break character', first for 'slow down and do break character' and finally neutral for 'full stop'." You tapped the customary notepad on your lap, glancing over at the man across the table. The two of you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the vacation cabin that your parents had willed to you, the modest dwelling often your staging ground for affairs like this. The warm wooden decor tended to make your partners feel more at ease and less vulnerable. Perceived safety was, after all, incredibly important when crafting scenarios.

Jack nodded. "Gears are easy for me to remember. Simple."

"Got it. And no kissing on the mouth. Can I kiss you in other places, or would you prefer I didn't at all?"

"Kissin's fine." Jack allowed. "Whatever you wanna' do is fine, just not on my mouth." You jotted that down. "Hey, I uh...I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you agreein' to help. I dunno' if this will work, but…" Whiskey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks. When Tequila mentioned your...extracurriculars, I figured he was jus' bein' outta' pocket again."

You grinned at that, giggling a little. "Does he get weird a lot?"

"I mean, he's uh...well, he's got his moments." Jack replied with a smile of his own.

"So," you hummed once you had checked your notes again, "after looking over all the information we've compiled, and the ideas you gave me an outline of, I'm thinking that you may want more of a 'surrender-play' kind of experience."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask how that's different from what I already suggested?"

"Look, you and I both know that I couldn't keep you from moving if you wanted to. Now, if we had a real working dynamic going on and I believed that you would listen and trust me implicitly so that you don't end up hurting yourself or me, then we might have something. But as we are right now, that's not gonna' happen." Whiskey inclined his head with a rueful chuckle, acknowledging the truth of your words. "So I propose that it's more of a scenario where all the agency is removed."

The agent leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Explain."

"You need a scenario where you aren't in control and there's not even a chance of you being in control, taking any responsibility or guilt from the equation." You elaborated. "Basically, you would surrender your control so that you can indulge guilt-free. A lot of people do this coupled with a roleplay aspect in order to test new things that may be out of character for them."

"You coulda' jus' said you wanted to tie me up, sugar." Jack drawled. "I'll show you some good knots."

"You don't have any issues with being secured to...I guess a chair, probably? We'll keep you upright. If we sprawl you out on a bed that might be a little too vulnerable." You reasoned, waiting for his nod before you wrote it down. "I know it sounds contradictory, but I want you to be comfortable in what we do. Should I leave your clothes on?"

"If you can stand to, I'd appreciate it." The man answered with a cheeky wink. "Bein' naked and restrained is a little too close to the job description." He sighed after a moment, tipping the chair backwards as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Now I warn you, if I'm supposed to be an unwillin' party, I may display a little less Southern hospitality and a little more Southern history with my language, if you catch my drift."

You pursed your lips, squinting at him. "...is that your way of saying you might use a naughty word or two?"

You received a lazy finger-gun in reply, "bingo, cherry pie. You got any names you ain't a fan of bein' called?"

"Oh! I mean, I've heard just about everything in the book." You straightened up as a thought occurred to you, and then pointed back at him sternly. "No slurs."

"Ma'am," Jack sounded aghast, "I am not that breed of Southern gentleman. My lingo can verge on the spicy, but I sure as hell wouldn't stoop to that level."

You narrowed your eyes to drive your point home. "I really hope not." The agent inclined his head once more, putting a hand over his heart in a display of sincerity.

The front legs of the chair met the floor with a soft clatter, once again putting him on stable footing. "Now, I been wrackin' my brain tryin' to drum up a good premise like you asked, but I ain't exactly big in the screenwritin' department. I figure it could be kinda' like I'd been kidnapped? Drawin' a blank on why my kidnapper would be rawdoggin' me, maybe you can come up with somethin'?" He queried hopefully.

You furrowed your brow in thought, going silent as you carefully considered the hodgepodge of contributing factors. "Oh, I think I can manage."

...

This deck had been rigged from the start. In theory, you knew that he knew that. Still, he was certainly acting like it stung his pride a bit that he'd fallen into your 'trap' so cleanly.

Everything was going according to plan.

Whiskey struggled against the binds that secured him to the kitchen chair. His whip was safely confiscated. Lasso out of reach. Hat was still on his head. He had specifications, after all.

You left him to wriggle for almost half an hour while you got yourself ready. The man was a secret agent, after all. If he hadn't been restrained for much longer than that at any given point you would be very surprised.

You finally opened the bathroom door, sauntering out into the cabin's small kitchenette. "Miss me, love?" You crooned, committing to your role as villainous vamp stereotype number six. You had worn a plain set of underwear and an oversized white t-shirt, soft and see-through from the amount of times it had been washed. You got the feeling that if you went more elaborate, you might scare Whiskey off or make him too uncomfortable to really get into it. This scene was all about trust, and he hardly knew you. But he had sought you out for this. All you had to do was follow through.

"Was beginnin' to worry that you forgot about me, ma'am." The agent drawled back, his smile tightly sardonic and his low voice curling hot in your belly. "You fixin' to untie me yet?"

You clicked your tongue, the noise disappointed. "Whiskey, sweetheart, where's the fun in that? If I untie you, you'll just kill me."

"Can't blame a man for tryin'." Jack was absolutely in his element right now. He looked furious.

You ambled around behind him, slinging your arms around his neck and resting your weight on him briefly. "Remember," you murmured in his ear. "If you need me to slow down, or need to stop entirely, you say…?"

"Second, first and neutral." The agent replied readily. You patted his cheek.

"Good boy." You praised.

"Ain't my first rodeo." Whiskey's tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips and you wanted to reassure him, but you knew you had a job to do.

"Now, can I get you a light refreshment? Something to drink? Maybe some chips?" You offered, moving to the small refrigerator that you had stocked a little earlier in the day. Planning was imperative for engagements like this. "I have water, sweet tea, Coke…"

"Dammit woman, stop beatin' around the bush! Why the hell do you have me hogtied to this damn chair?!" Jack erupted.

"So rude." You chided him, removing a water for yourself and then leaning casually against the counter. "You really want to know, Mr. Whiskey?"

"Obviously." He scowled.

"Well be a patient boy and maybe I'll tell you." You hummed, not making eye contact as you unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. "It was more than enough trouble for me to get you here in the first place, big shot. Don't rush me."

"Listen, I'll be the first to tell you that I probably ain't who you're lookin' for." He said bluntly. "I'm just a simple liquor tycoon, nothin' more."

"Mr. Whiskey, if you continue to insult my intelligence maybe I will decide I've got the wrong man. And then I'll just get rid of you." You swirled the water in the bottle, fixing him with a thoughtful look.

"You're talkin' a mighty big game, woman." Jack grumbled.

You sloshed some of the water on your thin white shirt as if by accident, and began daubing at the gauzy fabric aimlessly. "Whiskey-"

"It's Jack." He spat.

"Oh, we're on a first name basis? How exciting!" You teased him, laughing when he muttered angrily under his breath. He was clearly enjoying the role of 'belligerent definitely-not-a-spy'. "Alright then, Jack. I won't beat around the bush, as you so tactfully put it."

"Hallelujah, some goddamn cooperation." He replied in a sulky tone.

"So, Jack, I need you to come inside me. Strictly so I can bypass Statesman's biomechanical security systems. It's nothing personal, I just assumed you would be the easiest target, you know?" You remarked with a shrug. "The flirty cowboy with the filthy mouth." He stared at you and you raised an eyebrow, half-convinced that his reaction was legitimate. "What? You do have a reputation."

"I hate to break it to ya', but you got the wrong beverage. You're lookin' for Tequila, ma'am." Jack retorted, his voice a little raspy. "You want...what?"

"I need you to come inside me so I can use the your genetic signature to bypass the security." Granted, you were pretty certain that Statesman used exclusively fingerprints, retina scans and time locks, but Whiskey had told you to weave a good story for the setup, not necessarily an accurate one.

Jack swallowed hard. "You've got bats in your fuckin' belfry, woman. You expect me to-"

"Oh no, that's the beauty of this arrangement." You interrupted him, still smiling. "I don't expect you to do anything aside from sit there and stay still while I ride you."

"Jesus fuck woman, you--shit, isn't there some other way to do this? I ain't keen on the prospect, but if there's literally any other way…"

"Sorry. This is the only solution that my superiors could get behind." You sighed, feigning regret. "And we might be here a while, from what I've heard." Jack's eyes darted to yours and he flushed, working his jaw. "Don't look so glum! I'm one of the best in my field. I'm sure I'll be able to compensate for your...lack of investment."

"You touch me and I swear to God-"

"Ah ah, naughty boys get gagged." You threatened gently, walking your fingers up the side of his face to stroke them back down his jawline. Jack glared at you, his dark gaze fairly luminous with fury and maybe just a touch of poorly-veiled interest. "Be a good boy and I'll let you talk as much as you want. Maybe I'll even let you play with my tits, hmm?" You asked, cupping your breasts through your still-damp shirt. "Would you like that, love?"

"I…" Jack trailed off, then snapped his eyes back up from your chest. "No!"

You tapped his nose, winking. "Oh I think you would. Don't be so stubborn, Jack." You cocked your head to the side. "No one from Statesman even knows you're gone. No one is coming to rescue you." You informed him, all the playfulness evaporated from your voice. "You're mine now, Jack. My own personal key-card."

"You won't get away with this." Jack snarled.

"I think I already have." You knelt between his legs, running your hands over the jeans that covered his thighs. He squirmed, trying to dislodge you, but you just moved with him. You dug your nails into his thighs. "You keep wiggling and I'm going to have to tighten the ropes, Jack. Is that what you want?"

"Oh you filthy fuckin' woman, you absolute bitch, let me go!"

"Hmm," you tapped your chin as he kept jerking and straining against the knots. "No."

Jack froze when your fingers unbuttoned the button at the top of his fly. "Now wait, wait just a damn minute, y-you can't--" he tried to plead.

"Oh I can. And I will." You looked up at him. "As long as we're in the right gear?"

"Sixth, sixth." He affirmed, flashing you a quick smile. You nodded and seamlessly resumed your play.

The zipper of his fly opened devastatingly slow, the agent exhaling raggedly when you pulled up his shirt and palmed his groin gently through the fabric of his boxer briefs. His cock was already half-hard, and you pointed that out with a mean little smirk on your face. "Oh no, looks like someone's interested." You crooned, rubbing your index finger over the head of his still-clothed dick.

"Fuck off, you...y-you-" he swore, rolling his shoulders as if he was testing his bonds. "You little bitch."

"Temper temper." You chided, ducking your head down to mouth over the fabric of his boxers. Jack gasped out another swear over your head, his hips twitching up to meet you before he slammed them back down. "Methinks someone doth protest too much." You snorted, splaying your fingers on the newly-revealed skin of his stomach. "We could make this so much simpler if you would just give in, Jack." You didn't miss the way his skin jumped at your touch, and you smiled against his boxers.

"You'll--you'll have to do better than that." Whiskey breathed. "You think just any ol' woman can get me up?"

You stood, leaning in close and pressing your mouth to his ear. His whole body flinched when you wrapped your fingers around his cock and gave him a nice, slow stroke. "Oh, poor thing. You must believe you're really special, hmm? God's gift to mankind every time you take someone to bed." You mocked, your teeth and tongue laving over his earlobe. "We're all so lucky to have you, Jack."

"Hhn-" Jack's shoulders went stiff, the man obviously biting his tongue.

"You don't have a choice, sweetheart. I'm going to get you hard. Then, I'm going to use your cock. And all you have to do, my lovely, handsome cowboy, is come inside me." You informed him, drawing a finger beneath his chin. "More than once, preferably."

"I'm not usually a man to voice my own shortcomin's, but I must warn you that this will be a futile-" Whiskey's words hitched in his throat when you stroked him again. "Fuck, no, don't touch me like that, you--"

"Stop playing hard to get, Jack." You murmured, slinking your free hand up the back of his neck to massage his scalp right beneath the band of his hat. "Give up."

"Never." He hissed even as his head lolled forward, granting you more access to rub his neck.

"Pity." You settled back down between his legs and wrapped your lips around his cock.

"No, no, dammit-" Whiskey growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Don't you fuckin'...no, no, don't use your tongue the-ah f-uck--" His protest died in a pitiful groan when his cock met the back of your throat. "Oh, you--fuckin'--you've got to be shittin' me woman, the whole-?" He grunted out haphazardly as you relaxed your throat and took him all the way down to the base. "You think y-you can take advantage of me jus' cuz' it's been a while since I got laid? Fuck you."

You hummed around his cock, wanting to giggle when he twitched and swore loudly. Your fingers dove past the hem of your underwear, and you moaned against him as you ran your index in slow, steady circles around your clit.

"I ain't fuckin' you, and I sure as shit am not gonna' come in your pussy." Jack snarled.

"Oh yes you are." You sang, rising to your feet and slipping your panties off. The white t-shirt came next, baring your breasts to the air-conditioned environment.

Jack seemed to forget that he was supposed to be vehemently against this yet again as he just...watched while you teased your nipples. You tugged at the taut peaks, rolling them between your fingers and making a show out of the whole bit.

"I can't wait to have you inside me, filling me up, just pumping me full of your come." You said with a smile, sauntering over until you would be in reach if his hands were free. Jack's tongue made a nervous reappearance and you tugged his chin upwards so you could see his eyes. "Are we still in gear? Or do we need to shift?" You asked. He seemed slightly dazed.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, s-sixth." He stammered. "Sixth, holy shit."

"Mm. Don't disappoint me and maybe I'll let you live." You remarked smoothly, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. Jack's shoulders were rigid again and you kneaded at them surreptitiously, trying your best to keep him in the scene and out of his own head.

You were well on your way to soaking wet with arousal. There was nothing better than when you had a partner that trusted you, regardless of whether you had truly earned that trust. Just the fact that they had blind faith in you to execute the endeavor that they needed...it was heady and sweet and you loved every second.

You rutted your pussy against the underside of Jack's cock, the man snapping his teeth at the sensation. "Too good?" You taunted, laughing when he swore again.

"I can't believe that you think I'm fuckin' enjoyin' th--look, any dick perks up at heavy pet-"

Cutting Whiskey off mid-sentence was quickly becoming a favorite pastime, you realized as you angled your hips and let the head of his cock push past your pussy lips. "In, just a little, give you a taste, sweetheart…" you sighed, rocking your hips forward and back but not allowing him to sink any deeper into you. "There, that's not so bad, is it?" You cajoled as he shuddered beneath you. "Just keep being good, my sweet cowboy, and this will all be over so much sooner."

"No, no-" He struggled to move, to do anything, but you had made certain to tie him exactly as he had specified. "Dammit, when I get free of here, I'll--"

"Shh, you think too much." You tapped your index finger to his lips, smoothing it over the bristle of his mustache. "Focus on your job right now, and everything will be fine."

Jack turned his face away, inadvertently presenting the thick column of his neck to you. And you, channeling your inner villain, leaped at the opportunity to lick and bite at the bared skin. He made a strange noise, a combination of a moan and a whine that had you raising an eyebrow.

"Is someone a little sensitive there?"

"No, I am not." He answered through gritted teeth. "I hate that you're touchin' me, that's all!"

"Hmm, it doesn't sound like you hate it." You mused, suckling gently at the spot where his jaw met his throat. You were very careful not to leave marks, as that had been another specification. Whiskey struggled underneath you again, only succeeding in pumping his cock up into you slightly.

"Don't, don't--" His voice actually cracked and you smiled, nuzzling your nose beneath his jawline and letting his dick settle deeper.

"Oh no, it seems like you do want to fuck me after all." You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back and stroking over the base of his cock with two fingers. "Warming up to the idea of being my little fuck toy, Jack?" You teased, noting the way his knuckles whitened from his grip on the rope and his Adam's apple bobbed with the force of his convulsive swallow at your words. "I could just keep you here like this forever, you know. All tied up, helpless for me…" You squeezed the base of his cock and he gasped, trying to stifle the noise. "Soon, I'd have you trained so that you couldn't come from any other pussy aside from mine. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Without waiting for an answer, you let the last few inches of his dick enter you. You leaned back on his thighs, feeling the muscles coil and strain beneath your touch as you reached down and grazed your clit. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, those brown eyes fixated on the motions of your fingers even as his cock split you open. You were grateful that he was secured, you weren't sure if you would have been able to take him otherwise. His cock curved thickly against your back wall, the engorged head throbbing back and forth over the area that made your whole body shudder in delight.

Whiskey's jaw was taut, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made you ache to get him to come undone in you.

"You're so quiet." You pouted, raising your hand and brushing your wet index finger over his slack lower lip. "Aren't you having a good time?"

His chest abruptly expanded, like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment or two. "Fuck you." Whiskey seethed, making you chuckle softly. "I ain't nobody's goddamn fuck toy."

"Sweetheart," you chided as you sat up. "That's not a very nice thing to say to the person warming your cock right now." You deliberately clenched down on him and Jack swore under his breath, shaking his head. "I can make you feel so good, Whiskey, if you just give me what I want." You insisted, cupping his face and pulling halfway off of his cock.

"N-N...No." He replied weakly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and shaking out your shoulders. "Well, I tried." Your hands landed on his shoulders and you gripped down to steady yourself, your hips meeting his own with a wet slap! of skin. Jack's chest heaved, his eyes closed and head tilted back as you began to ride him roughly. "All I wanted was for you to come in me. I don't feel like that's asking for much!" You complained petulantly, rolling your hips against his when he was hilted in you with an agonizingly slow grind of your body.

Jack bit out a low "fuck," those tense shoulders trembling under your touch. You tucked your face into his neck to tease the sensitive area even more, your tongue tracing random patterns that made him squirm and writhe underneath you. "I don't--can't, can't, don't make me--" he tried to protest, his words fractured and pitiful.

"Yes you can, and you're going to." You snapped, taking a handful of hair at the nape of his neck so you could urge his head back further, leaving his throat at your mercy. "You're coming in me, Jack! Give up!"

...

"First!" He choked out, and you immediately slowed to a crawl. Your touch on him gentled significantly, no longer demanding but cradling, caressing.

"Easy, easy." You soothed, the unrelenting assault of your perfect hips gone to a slow and careful rhythm, back and forth like a porch swing in the summer heat. Your eyes searched his own, concern shining through.

Jack was speechless, his blind panic melting away at the sound of your regular voice. What the hell just happened? He licked his lips, only now realizing how dry they had gotten. "Sorry, I uh-"

"No apologies." You murmured. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you like to stop now?"

Whiskey took a long moment, running a mental check on his body. Nothing was sore, nothing seemed out of line. Everything was raring to go.

Everything aside from his brain, that is. The damn thing wouldn't stop conjuring up scenes of you pregnant and everything going to absolute fucking shit. It didn't matter that he had zero attachment to you, it didn't matter that you were on birth control. This was how it always was.

Every damn time things got serious with a new interest, "oh, let's start a family," Whiskey just wanted to curl up into a ball. Without fail, like clockwork, he would shut down.

And then the accusations would start, the distrust, "How come you can do it with protection but not without?" and it was disheartening, crushing to go through again and again. Explaining didn't seem to do a lick of good, it was always just that he was stringing people along, that he was a damn selfish prick, that he didn't care about what his partner wanted.

That couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but maybe that was his own fault for not dropping the bomb before getting attached to someone. He just couldn't ever seem to justify asking a person on their second or third date, "hey so what's your thoughts on having kids?" It felt manipulative, cheap, and if he was being honest, he knew for a fact that sometimes just the idea of having children was enough to scare a potential interest off.

You were the first person to try and help Jack really wrap his head around this whole issue. And yeah, that was the whole point in sussing you out, but…

Tequila didn't tell him that you actually gave a shit, or at least you were damn good at acting like you did. Whiskey bit his lip. "I'm okay." He said finally, trying for a smile.

"Anything chafing? Do you need some water?"

"I…" Jack trailed off. "Huh, I admit I am a bit parched. But that means you'd have to get up." He realized unhappily.

"Were you enjoying yourself?" You asked, sounding curious.

Whiskey got the hysterical idea in his head of you pulling out some sort of satisfaction survey at the end of your engagement, the notion making him smirk slightly. "God, yeah. I...yeah." He flushed a little bit. "Dunno' if I ever got this far after…after all my mental hangups and stuff. The fact that I don't have a say in the matter seems to be helpin', though."

"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'll get you some water." You patted his thigh, cautiously settling your feet on the floor and then going to stand with a quivery little gasp that absolutely stroked his ego.

Jack couldn't help his own groan at the loss of your heat, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Damn it woman, has anyone ever told you that your pussy is fuckin' perfect?" He muttered, his usual honeyed words suddenly clumsy in his mouth. "I mean, hell."

You laughed, bending over to dig in the small fridge for another water. Whiskey felt his entire body throb at the sight of you presenting yourself to him like that, and he sucked in a breath at your obvious teasing. Even in the soft light of the kitchen, he could see the glisten of the wetness between your legs. Hell yes, he found himself thinking stupidly as you turned back around.

"I'm just glad that you're doing alright. That's the most important part to me, after all." You assured him, unscrewing the cap on the water and tipping it to his lips.

Jack gulped greedily, feeling a few droplets escape his mouth and run down his neck to blot his collar. "I am. One hundred percent." He said firmly after he had slaked his thirst. "Let's keep goin'."

"If you're sure, absolutely." You acquiesced, smiling again. Placing the water bottle on the kitchen table, you then swung your leg over his thighs like you were vaulting back into the saddle. Jack held his breath, waiting for you to welcome his cock back into your body. And God he was so hard, he couldn't remember ever being this hard, what the hell--

But strangely, you didn't immediately resume from where you had left off. Instead, you put your arms around his neck and actually rested your forehead against his own, bumping his hat upwards.

Jack swallowed roughly, confused.

"Let me take this from you." You whispered. Whiskey felt pinned by your stare, he felt as if you could see every terrible thing he had ever done, every transgression laid bare under the weight of your gaze. "Let go of it. I have you. I won't let anything happen to you."

The words washed over him, soft and sweet. Your fingers slipped up into the hair at the nape of his neck to toy with the mussed ends that lurked there. The whole exchange was oddly intimate and Jack found himself at a loss yet again, simply grating out, "sixth," when he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

You reached down and stroked his cock, rubbing the head of it against your clit. And Jesus he could feel you, the difference in heat, the slick--

"Are you gonna' take it from me, sweet girl?" He hissed through his teeth like it wounded him to ask, trying desperately to cling to the illusion that he wasn't willing. "Take everythin' I've got?"

The blur between reality and this playdate was getting messier by the second. He wanted to fuck you, wanted to bury himself in you, spend every last drop inside the hot embrace of your quivering cunt. He wanted that. Jesus Christ, this wasn't part of the bargain.

This was a pantomime, specially designed pornography that existed only to coax a very specific reaction from his confused body. So why did he wish he had met you years ago? Why was he suddenly hoping and praying that the sounds you were making were legitimate instead of exclusively for his benefit, hoping that you were also enjoying this?

You angled your hips and sank back down on his lap, your hands going to your breasts where you proceeded to fondle and tease them until your nipples looked like they ached.

Whiskey fucking ached himself to wrap his lips around one pert little peak, swirl his tongue across the tip and make you come undone, rut his dick up into you until you cried out his name and soaked him--

Whoa cowboy, he chastised himself, a little startled by how sharp the longing was. You just kept fucking yourself on his cock, that hot, wet little pussy molded perfectly to every ridge of his member and he had never been this hard, this ready in his life. Despite the air conditioning in the cabin, your skin shone with sweat from all the work you were putting in and Whiskey couldn't recall a time where he had been more appreciative of someone else accomplishing a task within his field of vision.

Your hand slipped down, down, and Jack found himself following the trajectory until it delved between your legs and you started playing with yourself. "Jack," you crooned his name and it was like a prayer, reverent and soft, tender enough to coil itself around his lungs and choke him to death without a whisper of protest. You parted your legs even wider in his lap, exposing yourself to him so he could watch his cock slide in and out of you, so he could see himself fucking you open.

"Are you gonna' come for me, sweet girl?" He gasped, craning his neck and managing to tilt his head so he could mutter into your ear, "you just gonna' wrench one out for me, beautiful?"

"Mm, no, I'm not coming until after you come." You whimpered, still moving your hand. "But I'm so close, Jack. I want to come."

Your plaintive whine had him ablaze. God, he had never wanted to please someone so damn badly in his life. "I know you do, sweet girl." He murmured huskily, exhaling hot over the shell of your ear and loving the way you quivered in his lap. "You're so good, lettin' me blow my load before you get off--gonna' pump me dry when you come, aren't you? Just keep me inside you until that little pussy is all fucked out," he growled, barely aware of the words that tumbled from his mouth.

All he knew is that you were all a-tremble at his voice, your body as hot as late July against his chest, your eyes heavy with adoration that he did not deserve and God, he couldn't get used to that look even if it was fake. What if you stayed? he wondered absently. What if you stayed?

Oh fuck, he was about to come. Panic jabbed like the blade of a knife between his shoulder blades and Whiskey went silent, his teeth bearing down on his lower lip and his eyes slamming shut as he focused harder than he ever had in his life.

The smell of you, the sounds, the heat, the little spasms of your cunt around his cock…

Yes. Yes, God yes, he could do this--

"Come in me, sweetheart." Begging him, pleading, demanding, "Jack-!" You cried his name.

Whiskey groaned hoarsely, so low it was almost painful, and let go. He bucked his hips up against you as best as he could, minute little thrusts while he came harder than he had in years. "Oh," he snarled, gritting his teeth, "fuckin' Christ woman, I think you've ruined me, Jesus fuck."

Your hands threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck again and you held him, not tightly, but just enough to keep him steady, anchored. "There," you said abruptly, the snide, put-upon tone of your role contrasting wildly with the gentleness of your touch, "was that so difficult?"

Jack burst out laughing, not overly concerned with how strange of a reaction that was. Hell, was he relieved? "Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're great." He remarked breathlessly. "I don't even know what just happened."

"Oh?" You replied, raising an eyebrow. "The mess between my legs seems to allude to you possibly having an orgasm. Jury's still out though."

He grimaced apologetically, glancing down. "Sorry darlin'. It's been a while, y'know?" You rose up off of him again and he grunted as his cock slipped free from your body. Whiskey felt half-drunk, relief and release combining into a potent cocktail that left him boneless in the chair.

You quickly put your shirt back on and then crouched at his feet, beginning the arduous process of untying him. Jack just sat there, watching you drowsily. He couldn't do much else, really. "Any numbness or chafing?" You asked quietly, stirring him momentarily from his daze.

"Nah, nothin' yet." He replied, straightening his freed left leg and rotating his ankle in his boot. "A little stiff, but I've survived worse than that."

"And how do you feel?" You questioned, "physically and emotionally."

Jack gnawed at his lower lip, trying to force his sluggish brain past the haze of serotonin in order to give you a satisfactory answer. "...good." He said finally, scrambling to elaborate, "or uh, better, I guess. More okay than I've been in a fuckin' while." It wasn't a lie, he was surprised to discover. He hadn't actually put much stock into this endeavor, figuring it would be a fun little diversion that would end just like every other time. Of course, it didn't hurt that you were easy on the eyes, prettier than a peach if he was being honest with himself.

Your smile was bright and Jack's stomach knotted confusingly. "I'm glad."

His right leg was released and he shifted his weight in the seat, groaning happily when his hip popped. "Hey, wait." The agent belatedly realized, "you didn't-?"

"We were here for you." You reminded him. "Not me."

"Whoa now, that don't seem fair at all!" Whiskey protested, taken aback by your nonchalance. "You just put in all the work!"

Your laugh tripped down his spine like an aftershock. "Don't get bent out of shape! It's standard policy, Mr. Whiskey. Once the desired result of the scene has been acquired, the scene ends and I start with aftercare."

"B-But--you didn't get to get off though!"

"Me 'getting off' wasn't specified in our planning."

"I needed to specify that shit?! I figured you'd just kinda'..." His right arm was free now and Jack seized the opportunity to make a certain gesture, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I was at your mercy!" He continued, bewildered. "You totally coulda' just kept goin'-"

"Yes, and that's exactly why when the desired result has been achieved, the scene ends." You interjected firmly. "Because you trusted me enough to let me take control, and I'm not about to break that trust by doing something selfish on a whim."

Jack exhaled hard, scooting his hat a little further back on his head so he could study you. You didn't look disappointed, or annoyed with him. He wondered how many times you had fielded ignorant questions like his own and he cringed at himself. "I'm...shit, I'm sorry. I don't have any right to be all shitty about it." He apologized as you moved out of his field of view to untie the rope securing him to the back of the chair. "I just feel like you worked so hard an' got nothin' out of your end of the bargain."

"It's sweet of you to be concerned about that, but don't take it personally, okay?" You assured him, "I do this because I enjoy it. The whole experience, not just the finale." The ropes around his chest sagged and Jack slid forward a bit in the seat, relaxing.

"Can I get that water again? Christ, I need a cigarette and a tumbler of the strong stuff after all that." He joked, clumsily tucking his cock back into his boxers. You pressed the bottle to his hands and he nearly dropped it, chuckling self-consciously. "Whups, sorry. I had my fists all bunched up so my fingers are stiff." Jack proceeded to down the rest of the bottle, wiping his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand after the fact. "So...what exactly is it you do for Tequila?" He queried nosily.

You laughed at him and God, God he loved the sound of your laugh. "That, Mr. Whiskey, is on a need-to-know basis. Just like this little soiree between the two of us." You chided, your eyes bright with good humor. "I would never violate a partner's trust in me."

Jack tipped the bottle in your direction, as if making a toast. "I'll drink to that, partner. What's next on the menu?"

"We'll talk out the scene and wind back down. Get cleaned up. I'll probably…" you paused, squinting at the clock over the sink. "You want some pizza? There's a joint not far from here that serves pies and chicken wings until midnight."

Jack groaned appreciatively, "I knew you were my kinda' gal. Lead the way to the debrief, ma'am."

It didn't really matter in the long run, he supposed. You obviously weren't interested in anything serious (if only because he figured that your flings with the stereotypical 'bad boy' Tequila would have become more regular in spite of the younger man's painful crush on Ginger Ale), and he could respect that. Still though, he couldn't help feeling a touch morose over the possibility of never engaging with you again.

He toyed with the idea of asking you for another 'appointment', but dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it arrived. Better to quit while he was ahead.

Or rather, he amended ruefully as he settled down across from you in the diner booth, his hair still damp and curling slightly beneath his hat from the quick wash he had indulged in at your cabin, better to quit now before I make even more of a fool of myself.

Part Two

#jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character #agent whiskey imagine #consensual noncon #whew where did this come from #enjoy!#working things out

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caravaggiosbrushes · 3 years

Note

"what would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?" + Fitzier (this prompt screamed to me about them, especially considering your earlier hate sex/dub-con fics😏)

Thank you for the prompt!! Fitzier with a final twist... ;)

James is pinned to the wall by Francis’ fingers, buried into him.

He’s having trouble keeping quiet, but he doesn’t want to give Francis the satisfaction of seeing him even more helpless than this. He’s trying his best to look unmoved by Francis’ assault, but it’s quite hard to maintain a straight face when the Captain keeps curling his fingers in such a perfect way, rubbing at that spot inside of him, making him see stars behind his eyelids.

He bites down on his bottom lip to keep the moans in his throat.

"Francis–"

"Don't call me Francis," he growls, "You'll call me what I'm due, especially when I'm having you."

James presses his forehead against the wall, hoping the pain will bring some of the pleasure away so he will be able to think again, but Francis licks a strip of skin behind his ear and he almost sobs out loud.

"What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?" Francis whispers in his ear.

James trembles at the word, but forces himself to tsks. "No one would believe you."

"And yet here you are." Francis remarks, "Dripping on my fingers like a dirty little girl."

He’s not dripping– it's the oil Francis used to ease the way. It’s not him. He wishes it were him, but that’s impossible, he knows it all too well. Still, being so drenched makes the illusion easy to believe, because he knows he’d be more than wet for Francis right now, if he’d have the anatomy of a lady.

"You're so bloody tight," Francis grunts, his lips against the side of his face, "One could almost think you're a virgin."

James bites at his own hand, to shut himself or choke.

"But you're far from being a virgin, that's for sure," Francis goes on, viciously working him open, "With all the pricks you've taken to climb your way up here."

James can force himself to accept many things: Francis making fun of him in front of Sir John and their officers, Francis being drunk beyond measure every single time they meet, and he can stay silent when Francis glares at him from across the table, silently telling him he doesn’t belong here; but he won’t stay quiet when Francis talks like this about his career, because Francis doesn’t know.

"Do you want to know how many men I’ve had before you?" James asks back, feeling his vision turn red with rage, "so many. I couldn't recall the number if I'd try.” He turns his face toward Francis as best he can, to catch his eyes, “I let all of them fuck me sensless, and they were so good, all of them, giving it to me exactly like I wanted it–"

"Stop it."

"–giving it to me like you never can, since you can barely get it up–"

"Shut up." Francis snarls, pressing him against the wall, "Don't you have an ounce of shame?"

"No,” James grins, feeling out of his own mind. "They've fucked it all out of me."

He hits Francis in the ribs with his elbow, which has him take his fingers out of him too harshly, but it doesn’t matter, he can endure this pain too, because the angry euphoria of seeing Francis bent in half at his feet is enough.

James pushes his hair away from his face, towering over him.

"You're only jealous you weren’t the one having me first."

“How dare you,” Francis has a hand pressed to his side and glares at him with burning fury in his eyes. The hard line in his uniform pants makes him look even more dangerous, his prick like something made to split and tear apart.

He tries to get back to his feet, but James stops him with a hand on his chin, grabbing it harshly. Francis’ eyes widen in surprise.

“You insolent kid.” He says.

“Your age doesn’t make me a kid.” James feels aflame with power. Is this what Francis feels, every time? He almost excuses the way he treats him. Almost.

His pants are half pushed down, but still hiding his aching prick: he palms himself generously through them, noticing how Francis can’t seem to stop looking at him. He lets go of a heavy breath that ends in a moan, filling the room. Francis’ lips part on their own.

James pushes his thumb against them.

“Open up.”

Francis looks shocked for a moment, then outraged, as if he’s about to get to his feet and punch him, just like that. Then, he lets James push his finger into his mouth.

“Isn’t this better?” He asks, “A little bit of quiet.”

He presses down on Francis’ tongue and brings his free hand in his pants, wrapping it around his cock.

Francis bites lightly at his thumb and sucks hard at it, eyes huge, trained to the shape of James’ hand moving underneath the fabric.

“Like this,” James says, “Suck me off.”

Francis grasps at the fabric of James’ pants, a look of confusion, fury and lust in his eyes. He lifts his gaze on James and all but spits his finger out of his mouth, “Then bloody let me.”

“Hush.” James silences him with his thumb again, “You always make it look like a terrible hardship when you do it– if you do it at all–ah,” he makes sure to moan loudly, “so I’m sparing you the torment. You should thank me.”

Francis looks utterly betrayed. He moves away from James’ hand, “Fucking Hell, just let me–”

“No.”

He’s proud of how hard and steady his voice comes out, as if seeing Francis like this, on his knees, desperate to have him, is nothing.

James pushes his index and middle fingers into his mouth this time, making sure to spread saliva on his chin with his thumb.

Francis grasps at his pants and sucks at his fingers, breathing loudly through his nose. He almost whines when James start fucking his own fist, his hips so close to Francis’ face.

“Don’t touch yourself,” James orders, when he notices one of Franics’ hands going to his groin, “You never let me touch myself when I do this.”

Francis squeezes his eyes shut and gives him a murderous look when he opens them again. But he does as told.

James makes sure to move his fingers in his mouth in time with his hips and it’s not long before Francis helplessly grasps at his wrists, moaning something around his mouthful.

“You have something to say?” James asks, trying to hide how breathless he is.

Francis nods urgently.

James slips his fingers free. “Speak up.”

“At least,” Francis’ voice is hoarse, “Finish on my face.”

James slams his fist against the wall. “Christ, Francis–”

“Please.” Francis says, breaking character, “Give it to me, James.”

Hearing and seeing Francis like this makes him lose his words, so James just pushes his pants and boxer down, the cold air of the room a shock on his burning skin.

“Christ, yes.” Francis pants, reverently, staring at his straining erection, “like that, love, let me see you when you come.”

He picks up the pace of his movements. “Francis–”

“Finish on your Captain’s face.”

There’s no way James can keep his eyes open through his orgasm, not with how good this feels, but he makes sure to open them as soon as the first wave of pleasure is dissipating.

He made a mess of Franics’ face: there are ropes of white all over, most of it ended up on his right cheek, but there’s a bit of it in the streak of hair that has fallen on his forehead too. He’s panting and cleaning himself with his hand, licking it clean like a cat would do.

James still has no words, so he all but drops to his knees and kisses him hard, swallowing Francis’ moan and his own come down.

“You’re so hot like this,” James pants on his mouth, feeling both ready to pass out and do it all over again, “I’m gonna suck you off.”

“James,” Francis groans on his lips and lays down, bringing James with him. “I’ll not last– watching you is always too much.”

James sucks at his tongue wishing he could kiss and touch him everywhere at the same time.

He hastily moves down, opens his pants, doesn’t even waste time by undressing him, just takes him out and God yes, yes, the way Francis tastes, the way he pulses into his mouth when he’s so close, it’s everything. James forces his throat to accept him and hungrily swallows around him.

“James– Oh–”

He doesn’t stop sucking at him even once he’s finished, keeps lapping at his gorgeous cock until Francis makes a noise in the back of his throat and tries to push him away.

“Told you you would have looked so good in my Captain’s uniform.” James smiles on his lips, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “God, you’re so hot when you play angry.”

Francis pushes his nose against his, with his eyes closed, still blissed out by his orgasm.

"How the hell did you make them hate each other in the beginning?” He asks, breathless, "if this is when they couldn’t stand each other I can't imagine what the rest of your book is like."

“You know,” James moves a hand around, "Victorians."

He stretches back to get the Captain’s hat from where it has fallen while they were pushing and pulling at each other, and puts it on himself, smiling dazedly.

“How do I look?”

“I’m the Captain, don’t forget it.” Francis steals it from him with a smile. “Don’t be insubordinate now, or I’ll have to punish you.”

James pushes his face in Francis’ hair, breathing heavily. “God, please.”

“James, my back is already killing me–”

“Will you spank me? Will you put me over your knees, in your lap?”

“I’m not sure that was the way–”

“I can wear that white skirt you like so much–”

Francis pushes himself up to stand in the blink of an eye.

“Bedroom, let’s go.”

James bursts out laughing, his heart full with everything he feels for Francis.

...it’s set in my tinder AU!!! look at these two roleplaying!! DORKS!!!!

( send me a prompt and I’ll write you a short fic! )

#writing #my writing #fitzier #james fitzjames #the terror #francis crozier #ask #jurian is a cinnamon roll

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

this isn't a real mermay prompt, but if the mood strikes you: indulgent supernatural sugar daddy indrid? roleplaying that he's finally reached the limit of his patience for duck's teasing and now he's going to tie him to the bed and use him however he sees fit

Here you go! I riffed on something we discussed on the discord. CW for mentions of stripping, blood and booze, the roleplay could be read as dubcon but it's clear what they're doing and that everyone is consenting and enjoying themselves. After care is show.

“Damn, guess they ain’t kiddin when they say it’s the city that never sleeps.” Duck stares from the window of their suite onto the flashing neon and 11 pm traffic of the Las Vegas strip.

“I thought that was New York City?” Indrid looks up from where he’s laying their dinner out on the shiny black table.

“Maybe? I dunno, only ever been there once, on a trip with my folks as a kid.” Duck slides into his chair across from his grinning boyfriend. They picked up a massive spread of food earlier tonight, their friend Barclay having lots of intel on the best food in the city and the affection for them to write out a detailed list where to try.

Indrid grabs a pill from his bag on the bathroom counter, then settles across from Duck with an excited grin, “There, now I can dine without fear.”

They’re well into dessert when Indrid wipes his lips with a thoughtful hum.

“You know, sweet one, this never silent, ever bright environment lends itself well to certain activities.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck leans across the table to take his hand.

“I have more details that we can discuss while we digest, but to begin; how do you feel about dressing like the loudest man on a college campus for the night?”

---------------------------------------

Duck strides into the main floor of the Wynn, the industrial strength air conditioner practically sending him into shock after the heat of the pavement and desert air.

En route to the agreed upon Blackjack table, he makes eye contact with his reflection in a bank of windows. Only the flip flops were in his suitcase when they arrived; the mint green muscle tank and khaki shorts came from the nearest thrift store. He picked up special underwear once he and Indrid separated, suspecting it will make his boyfriend laugh. He loves making him laugh, even during their most intense scenes.

He gets his chips, his seat, and his hand within ten minutes, signaling a waiter for a screwdriver. God only knows why, but it feels like what this kind of guy would order on a Saturday afternoon. Duck’s decent at Blackjack; Juno taught him how to play and Ned helped him refine his technique. So he’s holding his own when a new player sits down two stools to his right.

“I intend to play the eccentric millionaire.”

When Indrid uttered that sentence, Duck pictured a slight variation on his usual evening wear; the suit he brings on trips just so he can take Duck out for nice meals without--as happened on one occasion-- being forced to borrow a jacket from a waiter.

He was not expecting this.

Indrid’s suit is jet black, blood-red lining flashing when he unbuttons his coat. His usual red glasses perch on his nose, and he’s done something to his hair that renders it sleek rather than it’s usual silvery tangle. His back is straight, his smile wide, and his manners pure perfection.

“May I join on the next hand?”

“One sparkling water please. Do add on a nice tip for yourself, won’t you?”

“Twenty! Oh, how delightful.”

Indrid wins more than he loses, careful to go over or come too far under enough times to avoid accusations of counting cards. Duck’s stack of chips dwindles, and he directs his frustration at this fact towards Indrid, muttering unkind things whenever the older man says, “hit me.”

When he’s down to thirty bucks, he taps out. Pushes back from the table with the huff of a man who’s used to getting what he wants. He finds the nearest bar and takes a small table for himself.

The chair across from him doesn’t stay vacant long.

“Hello.” Indrid folds his hands on the table, smiling pleasantly.

“What the fuck do you want?” Duck grumbles.

“To see if you were alright. You seemed rather upset when you left the table.”

“Ain’t upset, I’m fuckin broke. Came to vegas to get laid and get rich and I’m strikin out on both so far.”

“Perhaps I can help. I, ah, we are both here alone. Why don’t we keep each other company? Two bachelors taking on the city.” Indrid gives a very awkward “ta-dah” with his fingers.

“Dunno, I don’t really feel like slummin.”

“You won’t be. I promise.”

Duck leans back in his chair, arms crossed, “Oh yeah?”

A knife-edge enters Indrid’s smile, only to be covered by a menu, “Let me buy you lunch as proof. Order whatever you like.”

He calls the older man’s bluff by ordering a craft beer, the most expensive burger on the menu, and three appetizers, only to discover it was not, in fact, a bluff. Indrid pays for everything without so much as glancing at the prices.

“There now” he smiles at Duck as the waiter clears his leftover steak (“as rare as possible, please”), “have I proven myself a worthy companion?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Excellent” Indrid claps his hands together, “then let us see what else this town has to offer.”

While they digest they peruse the malls and casino hop wherever there are shaded routes that allow them to do so. As they’re maneuvering through the throng near the aquarium, Indrid says, “tell me a bit about yourself, Duck. Nono, wait, let me guess; southern prep school, expensive college, a family very happy to support you while you search for your place in the world?”

Duck nods (the only ways he’s able to lie during their scenes).

“I certainly hope you didn’t burn through your trust fund playing the slots.” Indrid elbows him playfully.

“Nah. Set myself a limit for what I could spend gamblin each day.”

“Clever young thing.”

“Indrid, how old do you think I am?”

“Thirty?”

“Thirty-six.”

The crowd presses them closer together as Indrid murmurs, “You don’t look it.”

“If we’re goin for personal questions, how old are you?”

“Oh, a bit older than yourself.” Indrid replies breezily, “ooh, look, rays!”

When the thermometer flashing in-between advertisements for Lady Gaga and The Osmonds cracks a hundred, Indrid ushers Duck to the indoor pool at their hotel. His new companion lounges in a reserved cabana while Duck soaks in the cool water, other swimmers floating past him or propping themselves on the edges to talk with their partners.

And every time he surfaces, he feels a red tinted gaze watching him. His new friend isn’t even trying to hide it, flat out ogles him whenever he’s in shallow water. Duck’s far from the youngest or most ripped guy here, but Indrid’s eyes never stray. It’s flattering.

It also makes sinking further into his role as easy as slipping into the deep end.

If the rich weirdo wants to buy him fancy shit because Duck is hot, he can knock himself out. It’s not like Duck has to fuck him. But teasing him might get him even more free drinks and expensive souvenirs. If he plays his cards right, he won’t pay for a single thing the rest of his trip.

He hops out of the pool, takes his time drying off and stretching before laying on his belly on the swanky deck chair, facing the opposite direction Indrid is to give the other man a better view of his ass.

“Where to next?” He tries for a purr and only succeeds at exaggerating his drawl.

Indrid’s smile widens all the same, “I have a few ideas. But let’s linger here a bit longer.”

After that he stays as close to the other man as he can, let’s their shoulders bump and fingers brush as they make the rounds for some pre-dinner drinks. He even whispers a flirtatious word or two, makes Indrid blush when he orders a drink called “silver fox,” looks him dead in the eyes and grins, “my favorite.”

He’s plenty tipsy when Indrid steers them into a hallway where bass shakes the floor and pink light disguises the cracks in the walls.

“Can’t say you’ve been to Vegas unless you’ve seen a little sin.” Is all the explanation given before the doors open on a two story strip club.

“Holy fuck.” Duck lets Indrid shepherd him to a stage where several men with abs that look painted on play at fucking the air, the stage, and each other, much to the delight of the two bachelorette parties and the single men dotting the audience.

“You’re a fuckin genius.” Duck growls, sitting when Indrid pushes down on his shoulder. The older man takes the seat to his left, watching the proceedings with polite detachment. He orders a cocktail for Duck and water for himself.

In spite of his apparent disinterest, the dancers all come to Indrid, one after the other. In theory, some of them should pass by Duck afterwards. But they all go right back to the stage or to other patrons. The few times one even looks at him, their eyes immediately slide away onto Indrid.

The fact the other man is handing out fifties and hundreds like they’re singles probably helps.

A tall brunette is currently in Indrid’s lap, and the silver-haired man whispers something and points at Duck.

Suddenly there is a very hot man in a glorified thong in his lap, who gives him a vaseline slick smile, “Your friend over there bought you a dance.”

Indrid waves, the movement grating on Ducks pride. He glares in response.

The older man calls “you looked lonely.”

“I don’t need your fuckin charity.”

Indrid cocks his head, then shrugs, “very well. Please come back here, for double the tip.” He holds up three hundred-dollar bills. The instant the dancer is out of his lap, Duck stands and stomps out, swaying more than when he came in.

The onset of evening has worsened the crowds. He slogs and weaves through them with every intention of getting back to his room, ordering room service, and bandaging his scraped ego

“Why so down, Duck?”

“Fuck! Jesus, let a guy walk in peace will you?” Duck snaps as Indrid falls into step beside him.

“We're on the strip, there's no peace here. No quiet either. Makes it easy to do what one wants.”

Cool fingers find Duck’s wrist, keeping him from breaking ahead to the crosswalk. As they stand and watch the cars and buses roar by, Indrid murmurs, “How about a little friendly game as an apology?”

“Better not be fuckin blackjack.”

“Nono, I’m thinking Poker. If you win, you win bragging rights and whatever else you like that I can give you. But if I win...you have to walk me back to my room. I’ll still buy all the drinks, of course.”

Neon glints off a fang Duck pretends not to see.

“Fuck it, sure. I'm gonna wipe the table with you, old man.”

“I look forward to it.”

In spite of Indrid making good on his promise of drinks, Duck only has one Whiskey Sour before switching to water; being full-on drunk would make him worse at Poker, something he’s complete crap at on the best days. Figures Indrid would choose a game where bluffing is key.”

His card shark of a companion is beating him, and everyone else at the table, soundly. He also declines any food or drinks for himself. After two hours of play and countless hands of defeat, Duck surrenders. Indrid preens, tips their dealer, and wishes everyone else at the table a good night.

---------------------------------------

“Why are we takin the stairs to the top floor?” Duck stares up the winding flights, unable to see their stopping point.

“It’s good for one’s health. And it’s, ah, far more private.”

“Why do you need privacy gettin to your room.”

The footsteps behind him stop as they reach the next landing.

“Simple. I'm hungry.”

Duck whirls just in time to catch Indrid as he lunges at him, fangs bared. It turns out to be a useless movement, the vampire trapping him in a corner effortlessly.

“What the fuck, fuckin let me go.” Duck hisses.

Indrid licks a fang with a thoughtful hum, “I can, though it comes with its own risks.” He sighs, put upon, “But you have been such pleasant company, I suppose it’s only fair to give you a choice. If you let me feed now, I shall be as gentle as I can be and only take a little. Or you can take your chances at outrunning me. However, should I still catch you, then I will take as much blood--and whatever else I like--as I please.” He brushes their noses together, “It’s up to you, sweet one.”

Duck takes a deep breath, the game fading while Indrid gives him time to decide how he wants to play.

Then Duck shoves Indrid away from him and bolts through the nearby door, running down the maze of corridors until he finds his salvation. Indrid’s laugh is still ringing in his ears when the elevator door finally closes.

When the ding announces his floor, he pokes his head out like a prairie dog watching for a hawk. No sign of the vampire. He comforts himself with that though, and with the fact that there’s no way Indrid could catch up to him now, as he click his keycard into the lock.

He shuts the door and reaches for the light switch.

Chilly fingers circle his wrist.

“I win.”

Duck is dragged, then carried, through the darkness, the light not clicking on until he’s tossed onto the bed. Indrid stands at his side, grinning hungrily.

“W-wait, fuck, please, I, how’d you-”

“Quiet.” Indrid tosses his jacket on the floor, straddles Duck with fangs unashamedly on display. Duck whimpers, tries to curl in and protect his throat. Indrid noses at it all the same, “don't worry you spoiled excuse for a man, it won't hurt too much.”

“‘Drid” Duck gasps, tipping his head automatically at the purr in the vampires voice.

Cool lips tenderly meet his own, “Indulge me a bit longer?’

“Hell yeah I will, sugar.” Out of habit, he guides Indrid’s glasses off and sets them out of crushing range, “Uh. Please, my dad is real fuckin wealthy, I'll pay you whatever you want?”

Indrid traces a sharp fingernail along Duck’s collarbone, “What I want is you. All those years getting what you demanded, not lifting a finger, you'll taste very rich.”

“Please don't kill me.” Duck can feel himself getting harder whenever teeth brush his skin.

The vampire cups his cheek, “Not a chance. I need to eat often, after all. And you're perfect to be my new pet. Spoiled, handsome, and no one will miss you.”

“Fuck you” Duck kicks weakly at Indrid’s ankle.

Indrid tuts, “Do I need to tie you down? I could hold you down easily, but I need my hands free to cover that sinful mouth and enjoy this lovely body while I feed.”

“N-no, no I’ll be good, I’llAAH!” His whole body tenses as fangs pierce his neck. He wants to cry out more but it’s perilous, might make him jerk away and tear the skin. But his body has to do something to release the tension, or the taught coils that replaced his muscles might snap and leave him in pieces.

He’s saved by a rush of pleasure melting every tendon, caressing every nerve into calm. Duck sinks into the bed, his body registering the suck of Indrid feeding but feeling no need to intervene. The vampires right hand creeps down to hold Duck’s left, his satisfied hum setting arousal buzzing in his chest.

Duck only realizes he’s been slowly grinding on Indrid’s slacks when the other man laughs, muffled and bloody. The vampire raises his head, lapping at the wounds so not a drop is wasted, “greedy boy. Even when you're dinner you think your pleasure deserves priority.”

“Please.” He wants his teeth in his neck forever, he wants his fingers and tongue between his legs every night.

Indrid kisses the wounds, sits up while daintily wiping his mouth with his shirt-sleeve, staining the starched white with red, “Delectable. Don't go anywhere, pet.”

“Not your fucking pet.” Wooziness pulls any teeth left in his tone, “and, and I thought you wanted me up here cause you were hungry. Now you ain’t. So, so I can go.”

“Oh no, that” he points to the marks on Duck’s neck, “was because I was hungry. The rest of tonight is happening because of your endless teasing.”

“I, uh, I don’t-” Duck turns bright pink.

“You were rather obvious. And silly me, indulging you because of your charms. Well, now it’s time to show me how grateful you are. Let me just slip into something a bit more comfortable.”

Indrid snaps his fingers. Reality gives a sickening crack. Then a mothman stands at the foot of the bed, feathers of soft browns rustling as he stretches his wings. He doesn’t have mandibles, but when he yawns it reveals rows of sharp teeth, the two where his human canines would be noticeably longer than the rest.

“Much better.”

Duck yelps, scrambles back into the headboard as Indrid dives onto the bed.

“Ah-ah” Indrid pins his arms and thighs to the bed with his four hands, “we had an agreement, little one. I get to do whatever I wish to you because you lost. And, more importantly” a long tongue drags up Duck’s cheek, “because that is how spoiled little humans earn their keep.”

“Oh god.” Is all Duck gets out before claws rip his shirt and shorts to colorful pieces. Indrid tips him sideways to finish mauling his shorts and pauses.

“What in the-” the vampire flips him onto his belly, stifles a giggle, “‘Bite me? Rather fitting underwear choice.”

“Thanks” Duck smirks into the blanket.

“Well, since I find myself incapable of denying you things, pet…” reality cracks once more.

“Wh-AHFUCK!” He yanks the nearest pillow over to muffle his cries as Indrid sinks his human fangs into the meat of Duck’s ass. It’s a different kind of pain, not as heart-pounding but just as fun. Indrid isn’t feeding, so he bites down only a few seconds before lifting his head to target another patch of skin. He doesn’t let up until Duck sobs his name into a silk pillow.

The vampire pulls back, but keeps Duck on his forearms and knees as he kisses a curve from his lower back to one of the innermost bite marks. Another shift and claws prick his legs.

“Mmmm, I can smell how turned on you are. I wonder….”

“Fuck, ohfuck” Duck pushes his hips back as Indrid’s tongue infurls down to tease his folds, “Indrid, please, please fuck me like that.”

“‘Ike ‘is?” The tongue presses in, thrusting lazily and without much pressure.

“Yes but, fuck, but more.”

A growl and Duck is slammed onto his back, Indrid looming over him with his wings outspread, “Have you forgotten the purpose of this evening?”

“No.” He stares up into red eyes, too turned on to be sheepish.

“Then why do you keep making demands? You have spent all day asking things of me and now it is time to show me why I tolerate such behavior.” He grabs Duck’s knees, holds them up and open with his lower arms, and purrs, “though there’s no denying your appeal from this angle.”

“Fuck yeah.” Duck fists the blanket in anticipation as Indrid adjusts them to put his head between the human’s legs. Indrid’s tongue caresses his dick, filling the room with slick, obscene sounds.

Then searing pain flashes through his left thigh as Indrid sinks the fangs of his form into it.

“FUCK! I, I thought, moths don’t-”

“Vampire moths do.” Indrid grins before smearing a line of red on Duck’s skin, “and I intend to drink my fill.”

Duck yelps again, slams a hand over his mouth when he remembers there’s two other suites on this floor.

“Be as loud as you like; I cast a little spell on this room to make sure no one hears what I’m doing to my new pet.” He thrusts his tongue into Duck without warning, fucking him on it until he’s bucking his hips, then pulling out to lap and suck at his thigh. When he next returns to sucking Duck’s dick, the feathers around his mouth are as red as his eyes.

Heat builds in Duck’s gut at the sight and he moans, “‘Drid, please, I’m so close to cummin just from this, please just let me cum.”

“Absolutely not.” Indrid drops his legs, dragging him into his lap with a hiss, “you have still not learned your lesson. You think you can get whatever you want just by looking sweetly at me. You’re so very wrong.” His upper arms trap Duck’s own behind his back while his lower set prick his hips, “now be a good pet and keep your legs open.”

Duck doesn’t get a chance to ask why; a cock, covered in vertical ridges with a very thick tip, shoves halfway into him.

“Mmmm, that’s lovely.” Indrid thrusts hurriedly, “now I remember why I put up with your demands all day. Spoiled though you may be, I’ve never had someone fit my cock so well. Ohhhhh” he opens his wings, grinning, “someone likes that.”

“Like you, fuck, Indrid, I swear I wasn’t, uh, wasn’t not teasing, no, fuck FUCKfuck” He takes as much as he can in one thrust, the last third still pulsing outside his body.

“Don’t lie, sweet human. I know you let me spoil you endlessly, teased me mercilessly all day, all while thinking you would spend your evening asleep and alone, rather than where you belong.”

Duck whimpers as his thighs fight to keep up the pace. They give out a moment later but nothing happens; Indrid’s grip on his hips is so strong he’s moving him without help.

“Fuck that’s so fuckin good.”

Indrid flutters his wings “You see how easily I control you, sweet one? You may be strong and handsome, but at the end of the day you’re nothing more than a toy for me to use and discard as I please.”

He whines at that, let’s himself go limp so it’s easier to hide his face in Indrid’s fluff.

“Don’t worry, pet, I shall not discard you. As I said, you are perfect for me, a lovely little gift to myself after a day spent giving them to you.” The hands restraining his arms let go and he instantly wraps them as far around the vampire as he can. Then clawed fingers gingerly stroke his dick. He groans out a thank you and Indrid laughs.

“Oh no, this isn’t for you. I just find that humans taste even better during orgasm.”

Any noise Duck makes in reply is drowned out in fluff and Indrids high, trilling moans as he sinks his teeth into his neck. Duck thrashes helplessly as his orgasm burns out his veins and muscles, leaving a melted man in its wake.

“Perfection” Indrid purrs, licking at the bite to close it as he grunts and pumps his hips, “my spoiled little human is finally worth something OHyesss, yes.” He holds a squirming Duck down on his cock as his spurts into him, the human unable to do anything but cling to him and moan his name.

A sweet voice lilts in Ducks ear, “if you ever forget what you’re for, or dare to tease me so again, I will strap you down in my lap and fill you until it sloshes.”

Duck nods to show he heard, but only gets through half the movement before wincing.

“Oh, oh dear, is the bite too big?”

“N-no, think, think it’s just real sore. You bit hard both times.”

“Let me look to be certain...yes, you’re right, the wounds are the usual size. Come, let’s get you in a bath at once.”

The next thing he knows, spindly arms lower him into the fancy jacuzzi. Indrid chirps over him, telling him how wonderful he is, how well he did, promising to fetch him anything he desires for dinner, all while bandaging the bigger marks and scrubbing blood from his chest. When the vampire is satisfied with his efforts, he takes his human form and joins Duck in the tub. The human immediately waves him into his lap and guides him into a kiss.

“Insatiable thing.” Indrid purrs, nuzzling his cheek.

“Damn right. And you love me for it.”

“That I do.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #reader requests #vampire au #monster boyfriend #terato

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findyourrp · 11 months

Note

YOU NEED TO BE 19+ !!!!

I am currently only looking for long-term role players who are equally as interested in plot and discussion as I am.

For oc's I do not like "anime" or "drawn" photos. Use real people for your faceclaims… but for the love of god, do not use yourself that is just weird.

I favor "historical" roleplays that take place in the 50s/60s because I feel like technology ruins plots. HOWEVER, this does not mean that I won't do a modern rp. I am willing to do modern as well.

I enjoy dark themes being included and I will not tolerate "fade to black." It is my personal preference. I want nsfw, it won't be the whole entire plot, but it WILL be included.

HERE ARE SOME PLOTS:

I prefer dark roleplay plots

Plot #1

Plot #2

Plot #3

Plot #4

Plot #5

Small town cop (you) x shop robber (me) *can be a dirty roleplay*

Plot #6

Willing to hear your ideas

Heart the post and I will contact you :-)

like & asker will find you !

#rp finder #18+ rp #fandomless rp #oc x oc rp #m x m rp #ship rp #1 x 1 rp #rp ad

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thevoilinauttheory · 3 years

Text

The Great Eight

[ In lieu of the Rising event ending tomorrow - and myself, just now finishing it - I had some words I wanted to get out.

I get this type of nostalgia - it hurts, it physically hurts my chest; I feel sick to my stomach, and I just want to cry. I’ve asked others if they ever feel this way, but I’ve never gotten a yes to it.

The Rising always gives me this feeling. It’s be eight years since I first picked up XIV. Eight whole years. That’s a slap to the face, it’s been so long and it feels so short. I wish I could give people the same experiences and feeling I had for this game - the pain and happiness this nostalgia brings me. When I say this game means so much to me, it’s not an exaggeration. This game changed my life - I wish to share it a little bit with you. I touched on some of it in the past, but here I’m laying it all out. ]

[ I first started playing in 2013, when a friend recommended the game to me shortly after the game’s rerelease. They were ecstatic to have another player join them, and I owe them a lot for the experiences they gave me. My very first character was Raramlah Ramlah - she was a paladin, because that’s what I mained in WoW. I realized shortly that a tank probably wasn’t the best way to go, but also that my computer at the time couldn’t handle playing it, due to the graphics.

I gave it another shot in 2014, that’s when I made Danny Harold. He was the first character I ever got to level 50. I absolutely loved the game, when I wasn’t sitting idly for my friends to come online as I had with Raramlah; when I picked it up of my own accord. I remember I was in the hospital when I first picked it back up, when I first made him and leveled him through Gridania. But I was still going intermittedly between it and WoW. I missed the first Rising due to ignorance.

2015 comes around, and I’m in a stressful place. I just started a new job, and I’m finally able to live on my own with little issues from my disabilites. However, my apartment complex didn’t have internet, and so I’d take my laptop to Starbucks and sit there until they closed playing WoW instead. I wanted to spend what little time I had on the internet with the friends I already had grown close to. Year 2 went on without me. But it still wasn’t all bad. Near the end of 2015, Maximiloix Voilinaut was created - and when I started up my XIV tumblr account under “ishgardianscholar”. See, I had made it to Heavensward on Danny when I found out that someone I had met through a friend was starting up a new character for the purpose of RP. I thought to myself “I want an Ishgardian character” - and rolled a new one. It was a new adventure, a clean slate, with a couple of friends I knew from WoW to join me.

Here comes 2016... and WoW had let me down. My disabilites came back full force, and I was left bed bound and reliant on partial disability from my workplace while waiting for SSDI to start kicking into effect. My roommates did little to help take care of the house we were renting, lied to me about their incomes, and forced me to use what little money I was getting to pay for everything myself. I’m short a total of 2000$ because of it. But. But. That was the best year of my fucking life. It ruined me, that year ruined my life, but it was the happiest I had ever been. Lothaire Voilinaut was first conceived and Maximiloix became my pride and joy as a character, I found the class I wanted to keep playing - I made friends, so many of them! So, so many of them! And I loved them, and I still do! I miss them terribly. If I could relive one year of my life... it would be that year. What I would give just to feel that way again - because I had never felt it since. I didn’t realize until Year 3′s Rising came around, how nostalgic just the few short times and experiences were to me. Because I was met with two things... the first song that truly captured me in Final Fantasy games (Prelude), and the first song I ever heard in the game itself (A New Hope). I cried there. Music has always hit me so hard, and I never realized just how much this game meant to me until then. This was how I knew I would stay - that XIV had my heart for good.

2017, during the release of Stormblood, I went homeless. I had wanted so badly to see my first expansion release - and only witnessed second hand “Raubahn EX”. My friends moved on without me, and I was left alone again to start playing. But I told myself already. XIV had my heart, there was no reason to go back to WoW. So I didn’t. I didn’t, and I don’t regret it. This is when I truly started playing Lothaire fully - and when I met my spouse, he became my main. I made it to Year 4, and cried just as much.

2018 - with the loss of friends, did I find new ones. It wasn’t the best time of my life, but I wouldn’t trade the memories for a thing. Year 5 came and went faster than I could blink, but that was it. I heard the music, I remembered my first Rising, I remembered all the times I had before. And I cried.

2019 started off rough. I moved across the country and had a hard time finding a place to live. I got it down, started a new job... and made it to the release of Shadowbringers. I had grown so much since I first started - and the expansion release was everything I wanted it to be, regardless of the issues that came with it (though I’ve been told that it was a far smoother release than the others). I was so excited... and I was not let down. XIV upheld its standards and presented to me a game worthy of pushing onto my friends no matter how annoyed they got with me about it (looking at you @rose-color-boy). Everything about it was a pure masterpiece, people think I’m exaggerating. But this game had done so much for me, that finally, now, I got to witness something I always wanted to. Sure, I didn’t have many friends to start the expansion with... but the story captivated me immediately. Year 6... and I cried.

2020. There wasn’t much to say about it, I was stuck inside all year and I hit a bad patch during the end of it, but... Year 7. It hit me like a truck. It gave me goosebumps, it gave me laughs, and ultimately, it gave me tears. I actually sobbed, this time. Remembering everything I gone through hurt me so badly, the nostalgia was coming in hard. But I knew, in the end, this game would always be here for me. This game had wormed its way into my heart accidentally, and yet I feel like I couldn’t live without it.

This year. Perhaps it didn’t hit me as hard - I still cried. This game means so much to me. So, so much. It hurts, it really and physically hurts how much it means to me. This game made everything in my stressful life so much easier, littered the pain with good memories. I can recall bad places I was in, and associate it with something good that happened to me in the game. 2020 - I got knee surgery... but 5.3 had just released and holy shit. My spouse got a little annoyed at me that the only thing I was listening to was the theme of that last battle (To the Edge). It helped me get through it, the pain and the misery I felt from not being able to walk. 2019 - Work was driving my depression in deep, and I didn’t want to live and continue the pain I was feeling... but I got to the end of 5.0 and only wanted more. I wanted to know what happened next. I still remember that one cutscene, how they got me attached to a minor character so quickly and ripped her away just as fast; and the first dungeon? Experiencing the Trust System, and going through this intense battle on a grand scale with the help of the friends they kept on the sidelines for so long. 2018 - My life was monotonous and I had three other people living with me in my one-bedroom apartment. One of my roommate’s ex’s was now stalking him around my apartment, and work was becoming physically taxing on my legs. But I remember how much fun I had doing maps - and the release of the Tsukuyomi fight? That whole scene there? Oh, wow, it was so bittersweet. The fight was beautiful, the music was haunting, everything about it. Not to mention the ending solo-instances and Ghymlit? The Burn? Omega? The Four Lords? As much as I disliked them (due to my computer issues), even Rabanastre was memorable. 2017 - I was homeless, forced to work a job my body couldn’t handle. I met my spouse, though. I became heavily invested with my tumblr account, doing a full re-write of it all. While I wasn’t much of a fan of the expansion itself, there were some places that really opened my eyes. Azim Steppes? So beautiful - and gotta hand Y’shtola the award for sickest burn. Then I heard my favorite piece of music, and the most nostalgic for me when it comes to SB, Skalla’s theme (Far From Home).

Lastly, I know this has been long. But I thank everyone around me for being so supportive and kind - I may not be in a good place, but know that every good thing that happens will be associated to this moment. I’ll look back on Year 8 and go “my security was compromised, and my anxiety ran high, but there were these people here who supported me on tumblr, that kept my blog running strong”. I will remember my roleplays, I will remember the music and scenery - even now, I’m getting nostalgic about Shadowbringers, and Endwalker hasn’t even come out yet! So thank you. Here’s to year number 8 - 8 whole years of XIV being in my life. It may not have been that long for many of you, some of you, this might be your first year; hell! Some of you, it’s been longer! But know that this community has helped me so much, and I can’t wait to continue being a part of it. Here’s to the eventual tears Year 9 will bring me! ]

#ooc #ffxiv #the rising #sorry for the long post #but there were so many feelings i had to get out before i wrote my prompt #tl;dr #i love you all and thank you for making my experiences with this game the best thing to ever happen to me #thank you for making this game mean so much to me

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gothamcityneedsme · 3 years

Photo

I saw this bouncing around my dash and decided to fill it out myself for fun :) I decided to not double-list any games, and I tried to mix up the companies I used too so that the list would be more unique.

Long post, so I’m doing a readmore for my longwinded part lol.

(read more)

Favorite Game: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic 2: The Sith Lords - I could talk about this game forever. How it tears apart the Star Wars universe from within, how it creates a compelling story while challenging the usual themes, etc. I could talk for ages about the characters and how their motivations slot in place, and how this game lends itself to interpretation and analysis alongside roleplay. It’s just a wonderful game, one I deeply love and will always love. It’s a game that isn’t afraid to have you talk to other characters for twenty or thirty minutes at a time and honestly I’m always riveted at every line. This game deserves the cult fanbase it has, but I think there’s a lot the fanbase misses in appreciating this game. (Note...gameplay is a little janky and a community made mod restores a lot content that was cut before shipping-the game wasn’t properly finished).

Best Story: Fallout New Vegas - It’s the setting that makes the story here, and all the moving pieces and factions alongside the main conflict really make this game stand out. There’s so many little pieces to find along the way in the world and the way the main quest splits based on who you want in power feels important--and you are choosing a future for this whole region.

Favorite Art Style: The Witness - This game is peacefully wonderful with its visuals. There are wonderful nature scenes and nests of wires and panels spreading in various parts of the island that are fascinating to look at. The environment is half of the gameplay in most areas, so it’s important to look around even though exploration is not really the gameplay. You find puzzles in the world, even in nature, and it’s fascinating. The colors are bright and beautiful. There is even a map in the middle of the island inside of a lake that helps you track your progress if you notice it (it isn’t like a normal ‘map’).

Favorite Soundtrack: Shin Megami Tensei IV - I love video game soundtracks, but SMTIV is something special. The music booms in ways that make you really understand the atmosphere of the world, and there’s a great mix of different kinds of tracks for different places. I love the tracks for the other worlds you enter, and the themes of the different routes are done so well. Some of the music draws from past SMT games, but the remixes done for this game really are stunning to me, and there’s so many fantastic original tracks.

Hardest Game: I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream - I love this game but I literally never touch it without a walkthrough, which is why it gets to be the hardest game on the list, despite being a point and click adventure game lol. Also just emotionally this game is challenging too, but I definitely mean this more in terms of getting a ‘perfect run’.

Funniest Game: The Stanley Parable - Trying to make this list has taught me that I don’t really play many ‘funny games’. I don’t know if a game where multiple endings demand that you kill yourself should count as a ‘funniest game’, but it is also a game where the narrator tells you to stare at a fern and memorize its features, so....it counts.

Game I Like that is Hated: RWBY Grimm Eclipse - I’ve been playing this game since it was in early access and have loved it the whole time. I find the gameplay soothing and fun, and I like playing the different characters. It’s a game I play to chill out and just enjoy some fun battle mechanics. It’s a fun game and I’ve spent over 100 hours in it, so I hope I like it, lol.

Game I Hate that is Liked: Nier Automata - Neither this game’s gameplay or story impress me, and the fact that you have to replay basically the same stuff from a more boring-to-play-character’s pov in order to SEE all of the plot is a huge damper on the experience. The story, to me, someone who engages with a lot of robot-focused fiction, is far from impressive or new, and it hardly engages with genre specifics at all, let alone in a new or interesting way. I view this game as ‘a story with robots in it’ rather than ‘a story about robots’, which, to me, is a detriment.

Underrated: Nevermind - This game is amazing and very unheard of--and when it is heard of, it has been marketed incorrectly. Nevermind seems like a horror game, and does market itself as one a bit, but it’s much more than that. It’s more about trauma, recovery, therapy, etc. This is a game that is so mindful about the topics it engages in that I am impressed by it every time. It’s heavy with symbolism and character, despite lacking conversations or other similar game mechanics. This is a lovely game that I really wish more people knew about-`p5-all of the patients are so interesting, and the focus on recovery and mental health is impressive.

Overrated: Fire Emblem - I sort of mean this as the series as a whole really. I have enjoyed the entries I have played somewhat, but I overall consider the series much less impressive than I was led to believe by others. The gameplay especially is not impressive to me in any regard, even though I sometimes do find myself enjoying it. The stories are alright, but many of them are weighed down by the gameplay and as a writer and person who likes to analyze writing, it’s very hard to do so when it isn’t able to fully exist under the chains the gameplay forces on it. There are ways to mix gameplay and story well, Fire Emblem has not really done that in any of the entries I’ve played. That being said, I don’t regret playing them, and I will occasionally replay, but I consider them mediocre games at best.

Best Voice Acting: Devil Survivor 2 - I love the voice acting in this game. I feel like all the characters are really suited to their voices, and it’s really easy for me to visualize their voices. They really bring the game to life and make both the dramatic and the funny scenes more enjoyable.

Worst Voice Acting: Jedi Knight Jedi Academy - I love this game, I really do, but some of the voice acting is janky. Some of it is okay too--I think Kyle Katarn’s voice actor does fine, and some of the others I like NOW but hated when I was a kid, but the male protagonist voice in this game is just awful. Which is bad when Jennifer Hale is the female voice actress lol. His performance is passable though unless you’re playing darksided--the darksided ending to the game lacks all punch when you’re playing the male protagonist.

Favorite Male: Battler Ushiromiya from Umineko no Naku Koro Ni - He’s the protagonist for most of the visual novels and I adore him utterly, especially once you move past episode 2. He’s a wonderful character who I care about deeply. I love his drive and how he fights--he’s someone who is easy to cheer for. He matures well throughout the series and his character development is just wonderful.

Favorite Female: Naoto Shirogane from Persona 4 - I really like how Naoto fits so well in the game, especially for being a final recruit--oftentimes the final recruit of Persona games (post 3) have a bit of a more difficult time feeling right with the group. Naoto works really well though, and I love her struggles and story as well. I think the difficulties she has concerning living as a woman in her field hit very deep to a problem that has existed for a very long time.

Favorite Protagonist: Connor of Daventry from King’s Quest 8 Mask of Eternity - I’m like, one of four fans of this character in the world, lol. KQ8 is not a very well liked game and it does have a lot of issues, both with age and with how much of a departure it is from the series prior to it. It’s strange to take a puzzle adventure game and make it a hybrid with what basically is a shooter, and it doesn’t really work. Add to that the fact that you spend most of your time in the game without anyone around to talk to and it leads to this really polarizing and weird experience. For me, Conner goes through what I would consider to be the ‘Ultimate Nightmare Scenario”. Everyone in the world is turned to stone except him (and he survived out of mere chance) and so now it’s up to him, practically alone, to save the entire world. There is no game lonelier than this. I adore him for his bravery in the face of it, and how he just picks up to do what must be done because someone should do it, and if no one else can, then he will. I also really love how he apologizes to people who are encased in stone while he takes money from their houses to help him on his journey. I really do think he went back after the game was over and gave everyone heaps of gold to pay them back with interest lol.

Favorite Village: Oakvale from Fable - The first Fable is the only one I really like, and it was one of the games I played when I was little, so the hometown in the game always meant a lot to me. I like how you grow up there and how your tragic backstory is there--and then how you get to return to the town years later after you’ve come into your own, and you can see it completely rebuilt. I like to spend a lot of my time in this town, just wandering around it and playing the minigames. Even though I have a house in every town, Oakvale is where my hero calls home.

Most Hated Character: Merril from Dragon Age 2 - I don’t really want to lay into how I feel about Merril, but what I will say is that it was suggested to me that I totally ignore her when playing, and I did so. I only met her for her quest, dropped her off in town, and literally never spoke to her or interacted for the rest of the game. I had a much better experience for it, honestly. She appeared after I made my choice in the end of the game, which felt weird since I hadn’t spoken to her in several ingame years, but other than that, the game was totally fine without her. I sort of just wish you could kill characters in DA2 the way you can in DAO, then I’d just do that, tbh. It doesn’t suit very many (or any) of the characters I rp in DA2 to keep her around or support her in any way.

First Game I Played: Mixed up Mother Goose Deluxe - I’m not actually sure if this is the FIRST game I’ve ever played or not, but it’s one of the first I played alone as a kid. I really loved it--this is probably what created my love for point and click adventures, and the game was very silly and fun.

Favorite Company: Bioware - I’ve always been a sucker for Bioware games, ever since Knights of the Old Republic 1 was my favorite childhood game. I love how they do stories and party members, and while I’m not a fan of all of their games, I really love what they’ve made and their style of storytelling and character driven plot. Even though sometimes their stories get cliche, I think the suit video games well and most of my early gaming was within their games.

Hated Company: EA - Bioware truly only started to go to shit after the EA acquisition, so I fucking hate EA. I know Bioware had issues before EA too, but I definitely don’t think EA has helped the situation whatsoever.

Depressing Game: The Beginner’s Guide - I relate to this game as a creator and a writer, and it affects me deeply because of the story it tells and the questions it raises. It makes me reflect on how I think of myself as a creator, and it reminds me of friendships I used to have.

Creepy Game: The Path - God, I love this game. It’s just aimlessly wandering around and finding symbolic scenery and watching your current character comment on it. Then, you go off to find your girl’s wolf, and each one is different and unique to her, and you watch it ‘kill’ her--and facing her wolf is the only way each girl can truly mature. Whenever you get to grandmother’s house, the camera switches to first person, and your eyes keep closing, so you can only see while clicking to move. It forces you to keep moving so that you can see, but since you are moving, you only get to see things somewhat vaguely. It’s got a great atmosphere, and I love the symbolic storytelling.

Happy Game: Eastshade - This game is so sweet. There’s some drama around to with many of the quests, but I like this as an rpg without combat, and I think this would be a really good kids game. There’s a lot to see and explore, and the game was made to be really pretty so that you want to paint several aspects of it. It’s really lovely to just wander around in this game and bike around the area, painting anything that suits your fancy. As long as you don’t finish the main quest, you’re free to wander, and materials do respawn, so you essentially can infinitely paint once you get far enough.

Favorite Ending: Virtue’s Last Reward - I love the questions this game asks and where the ending goes. It thematically ties together--the whole reason the game itself exists is to get the attention of a ‘higher being’--the player, essentially. I love how it plays with that concept, and even though the final game in the series doesn’t entirely pick this idea up where this game left it, standalone this game is stunning in how it comes together.

#shitpost #long post #this was fun to do #i made it so every answer was a different video game and i tried to mix up my companies as well #got 3 atlus games on here but mer #2 obsidon #llol #2 sierra too haha but still #beginner's guide and tsp were made by the same guy too but #STILL I LIMITED MYSELF OK #these answers aren't absolute because i was trying to have a good diverse list lol

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thatsadorbsyo · 4 years

Text

Lucas - Threads

((this post references the events of the fall, a mission in the heartless ffxiv roleplay campaign. quoted sections were written by @way-to-the-future. cw: character death. art credit: papa ibra tall, seamstress of the stars, wool tapestry, 1970s.))

“I admire how much warmth you give. Like a furnace. Like you've got a blaze rolling at your heart, and you let it all out through your skin. I see it in your eyes, the way they glow when the lamplight hits it just right.”

I’ve got nothing but white static in my head when I try to remember the Rovers’ faces, and if that isn’t creepy as fuck, I don’t know what is. I can’t recall a single thing about them. No noses, no mouths, not a sliver of kohl smudged under an eye or a lock of hair curling out from under a helmet. It’s easier to hate them when I can’t see any facets of their identity, but I don’t wanna fall prey to this lazy fallacy, either. There must have been real men under all that armor. One of many, sure, but individuals all -- just like I had been, once upon a time. So why don’t I remember?

My memory is unfortunately selfish and selective. It picks up the threads of the things closest to my heart and weaves the best story it can with the loose ends. So here’s the stupid little details that stuck with me, where more pertinent information might have been written instead:

I can still tell you with absolute clarity the exact gem tones of the light reflecting off of Cheche’s upturned face, when the Allagan facility erupted in spells and gunfire all around us. Sapphire blues, emerald greens, and amethyst purples against her shining black scales at every obsidian facet, like a raven feather catching the light.

I can map with exacting precision the arc of Castor’s white braid when he whipped his head around at the commotion, taking the tactical measure of our situation the way only a forged-in-the-blood knight like him can. Even after turning away from him, I could still feel the bulwark of Castor behind me, a solid presence that I didn’t need to see to be able to sense, like an extension of my arm, a phantom limb.

To turn around and suddenly find them both gone, ushered down a different corridor in all the clusterfuck of our allies splintering when the Rovers betrayed us?

It felt like amputation.

If I could, I would keep them both in my heart, keep them like puppets suspended by vermilion strings that extend from their every joint to the cavernous arches of my beating muscle. With threads that absorb the shock of my mortal body and every twin hammer of blood, so that all my loves can feel is the gentle warmth of my fire, the spark of creation that burns in me to keep them, cradle them, shelter them close and alive.

Keep them, and I guess, in so doing, preserve them exactly as I want them to be. Is that fair? It doesn’t seem so, does it? I may love them, but they aren’t mine. They aren’t toys or dolls; not mine to keep. See, Castor has taught me that to love someone is to swap my puppeteer’s strings for the Spinner’s threads, and let them weave their own way through my story. Cheche has shown me that the beauty in anything -- in anyone -- is that they might evaporate at any moment. But if I let them, they both might even decide, all on their own, to stay with me for as long as they can. A stronger path, freely chosen and written in royal blue and bright fern green, threading in a perfect braid around my brilliant gold.

No, I couldn’t keep them -- and in the moment of amputation, it didn’t fucking matter anyway, because they’d already gone beyond my reach. My heart was alone, but still it burned for them; burned fit to melt straight through the iced Malbolge of all the hells, a judgement which I still believed must have been waiting for me just beyond the next door of this Allagan tomb, to welcome me to the justice that I'm owed for my crimes. This door, or the next door. The next one.

Amputation wouldn’t stop me. Hell wouldn’t stop me. I would have burned through that whole building like a live coal, if that was what it had taken to find the exit and bring us all back home.

“It's hardly poetic, love. I'm just telling you exactly how you are. How anyone could see you. Even if they weren't a poet. Maybe even if they didn't care for you like I do. Just, if they - stopped to watch you.”

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but I had a brother once, before I torched the evidence of the life I used to live. Augustin looked so much like me even when we were young, but moreso now than ever before. We have the same bronze eyes, the same nose; I’ve grown into the size of our chin with time. He’s a beefier motherfucker than I am, and he’d always preferred braids, but even still you’d be hard pressed to tell us apart if you stood us back to back. Where do you think is he now?

Does he wonder what’s become of my punk ass? Surely the reports tell the truth about how I left. They wouldn’t keep secrets, not from a... fuck, he’s probably a Centurio now, isn’t he?

Shit... I bet he is. He always wanted to follow Mom’s path, even though every day that passes causes me to doubt her just a little bit more. I’ve learned too much about family not to begin questioning her motives for doing what she did, but I guess that’s neither here nor there.

But it was Augustin who first taught me how to shoot, you know? He took me behind our home and put a gunblade in my hands, adjusting my twiggy little twelve-turn limbs into the approximate shape of proper posture even when the weight of it threatened to topple me over like a top-heavy weed. He drilled firearm etiquette into me until I could recite its tenets by memory. For such a little bitch, he molded me into a decent shot.

I haven’t felt that kind of brotherly guidance in a long time, but I think I felt Augustin’s ghost behind me when I stood shoulder to shoulder with Sister Lux in that facility, fighting our way out.

Do you remember that door, the one I had thought stood between me and the hells? It was really just another hungry bulkhead between us and freedom; a sun and moon puzzle that should have been, might have been harder to solve if I couldn’t feel the juxtaposition of her fire right next to me. Sun and moon. Astral and umbral. It was so simple; this was a test. I had let my aether lay fallow, and in order to progress I had to reach inside and drag all the burning potential straight out of my mouth. Furious, destructive, so obscenely fucking alive.

Hungry, that’s the key word. The door had to feed -- on us. I don’t know how, or why, but somehow she and I put our hands to the door at the same time and knew exactly what to do. It was time for me to shit or get off the proverbial pot, and all she had to do was correct my posture a little bit, just like old times in the backyard with my brother and a weapon I didn’t know how to hold.

I picked up my brass and ruby cudgel, and she told me how to feel the fire of my aether and let it simmer in controlled brilliance, and how to sit back and watch, patient and observant, as an umbral reckoning blazed all the way up into my nose, through my nostrils, eventually bubbling out in an oozing black ichor like tar. Until we were both painted with blood and the door finally gave way after growing fat on our offerings. Freedom, and not a moment too soon.

It’s funny. It’s funny in that way where I have to laugh to keep from considering all of the circumstantial leaps that had to happen to get me there, in that moment, with that exact mentor and the tools available to me. Did you know that I bought my thaumaturge focus the same day -- at the same damn merchant stall -- that I bought the bracelet that Lux still wears? The cudgel was a leap of faith (I thought maybe, someday, I would use it), and the bracelet was a tithe for her attention, but I gotta fucking wonder if that wasn’t the Spinner herself cinching an amethyst purple thread, until two distant ends of a rich black fabric pleated and bunched together, suddenly close, in a moment of coordinated function.

Like this had been the plan all along.

“They treat you differently because of it. Everyone on this ship - they know they can talk to you, Lucas. That you'll hear them.”

I started this mission as an empty vessel, asking everyone I came across to pour their faith into me so that I might taste it and gradually build a competence in teasing apart the flavors of the gods. The truth is that I was searching for the one most likely to offer me forgiveness, or at the very least the god who might hand me a penitence that I felt like I could swallow. I thought I deserved it, you see. That’s how all this started. On bad days, I still do.

Asking about faith isn’t just a window to the spiritual soul -- it’s also a mainline straight into the source of everyone’s irreconcilable fucking damage. Picking your god is a perilous choice, but mostly because it ultimately determines what kind of personality malfunction you’re going to have down the road. I already know why I’m awful: Delusions of grandeur and megalomania, with a curious tendency to self-flagellate. I’m the smartest, most impressive architect you’ll ever meet. I’m the greasiest, grimiest hunk of motor oil in the gutter.

The only way to reach the middle road between glorifying and hating myself, I’ve found, is to count the threads that wrap themselves around my ribs when I recount the conversations that I’ve had on the Salemtaza’s Voyage.

Here’s a taste: I’ve got Caelrin in deep ochre around my midriff where my abs are just starting to take shape. Ignera sits in flaming orange around the hollow of my throat, slapping my hand away every time I try to choke on my own self-loathing. Captain Kharn wraps in garnet around my face, shielding me from unwanted eyes when I don’t feel quite how I should in my skin. W'kana and W'buki in yellow and black, swaddling me so tight around the chest I fear for my next fucking breath. Reinette, a gentle evening blue curling in petals around my fingertips. Rizzo, a shining onyx black stitching up my lungs telling me to breathe, just breathe, don’t stop breathing until it gets easier.

More even than that. Staelufre in neon magenta, Fugetsu in an unknowable shade of grey, Killian in sunset orange, Strelec in obscuring maroon, Hikari in daisy yellow, Camille in cloudy crimson, Jancis in healing olive, Lune in jumpsuit orange, Jeanne in oil-slick purple, Hanako in fresh lavender, even Kat, yeah, even her, in that same royal blue as Castor.

Nathaniel threading in loops around every one of my fingers in a dazzling gold that fades into the electric yellow of potent aethersand.

I could go on. I could list twice as many names and colors as I already have, and I must ask myself: How do I carry them all? How could I possibly hold them all, without attaching them directly to my meat, my bones, this hideous and imprecise flesh that rightly should be cogs and metal? All that thread would just gum up the whole works, wouldn’t it? Maybe it’s better that I am man, then, and not machine.

For all my flaws, I can still stretch my arms and accommodate all these dangling ends.

“They see it in you, in the way you carry yourself. You're curious. Empathetic. You want to understand people, not just love them or hate them or think nothing of them at all.”

Sui tried to warn me about all this, back at the pumpkin patch at Cloudtop. It was raining, weighing down all my sashes on my brand new armor, and Sui had laughed when the skies parted to reveal the sun setting in a field of rose gold and the softest lavender. It seems like she and I can never properly talk if we aren’t both looking at the sky, like this is the only way we can perceive each other. Never head on -- only in the periphery. Or maybe it’s just easier to talk about certain things when you aren’t looking someone in the eye. Maybe it’s that.

She was so startled by the questions I needed to ask her, like she hadn’t thought it was possible that anyone had been watching her reaction to Nathaniel’s speech, like she didn’t think anyone would have noticed that she was upset. Is she so used to passing under the radar?

But I’ll give her credit. Sui tried to warn me that my friends would die. I watched the sunset fizzle out on the horizon from its soft pastels into a creeping ceruleum and a deeper indigo while she told me every horror that had befallen her family before, and what she knew would happen to us again. Sui could feel the same threads of fate starting to twine around our edges, and she wanted me to be prepared. I listened. I let those fibers stitch themselves into my lungs in the golden rose of a cloudless twilight sky.

I just never thought it would come down on us so quickly, and with such brutal force. I’ve never had to pray for another person before, and out of nowhere I found it necessary to summon the script to beg for twelve of my friends’ lives.

The truth is that I never learned how, and I’ve been too afraid to seek the answer. I know how to make wishes; I know how to toss gold coins into a running fountain and watch the sunlight flicker off the scattered mess of them along the bottom of the pool. But I don’t know how to pray.

I know who I would ask. It was Tieve who introduced me to Gridania, and if Sui and I speak most openly under a yawning sky, you might say that Tieve and I communicate best among the trees, under a cathedral of roots. The memory of the hearer’s chapel is stitched in bark brown and moss green bracelets around my wrists, reminding me that while I may have been invited to someone’s sacred space, I have to mind my boundaries, too. I am not the infallible creator of my own conceit, but nor am I outcast from Spoken kindness and community. To know temperance is to know yourself, to dig into the well of your Spoken dignity and grant the same to others.

I still have this embroidered Gridanian sachet of wood chips and herbs that she gave me, telling me it was for luck, and I didn’t know back then how much I would come to rely on Nymeia for hope. That I would need to believe that she’s writing me into a greater tapestry, that I need that grandeur to feel like my dumbass mistakes have meaning and purpose. And even with Tieve beyond my reach, it occurred to me that she might have already given me everything I needed to weave my own prayer. A level head. A god. A talisman.

I’m just fumbling through this. We all are, but I made my own prayer by pulling that sachet out of my pocket and spinning it over and over in my hands as I remembered the names of those our enemies had taken from us. Who better to beg than the god of fate? Keep their lines anchored to me. Keep them in the tapestry. Keep them safe.

“It's the most noble thing about you. It's - It's more than just what you do, it's who you are. It's what I love about you.”

I recite their names:

Aidan, the hound with apologetic eyes who slinks around the edges the crowd until someone notices him, at which point he deflects attention from himself with a self-deprecating joke straight out of my own fucking toolbox. He could be a brother to me, if he let himself be; if he told me the truth about who he is and where he’s been. I can smell it on him. The stench of ceruleum doesn’t fade as quickly as any of us would like, but I wait for him to tell me on his own terms. Aidan weaves around the periphery of my eyelids in a shadowy kohl black.

Izar, the mercurial seer who obscures themselves in riddles like a smug sphinx playing at being a whimsical faerie. They have never passed up the opportunity to toy with me like a blind white kitten with an oversized brown moth, but the teeth of their humor has never once felt like a cage to me. They are kind, and curious, and helpful even as they delight in your confusion. They dangle at my elbow in marble white, furiously tickling my arm like a loose hair caught in a sleeve.

Adhi, the wandering sage of Dalmasca who the gods had to gift with such big fuzzy ears so that she could better capture every single story that ever came her way. I don’t know how to even begin to thank her for what she’s done for me; she’s returned things to me that by all means should have been my birthright but were taken from me before I was even aware that they were being stolen. Her thread spirals in a shell around my ear in an entire spectrum of colors, one for every tale she carries with her.

Still, there’s more: Tieve, the witch of the wolves (mossy green); Percy, the son of a shadow (cobalt blue); Bride, the bashful goldsmith (periwinkle blue); Swozbhar, the towering cook (mint green); Valeriaux, the scarred philanthropist (leather brown); Silya and Livia, the sunniest Fists I’ve ever met (pale pink and soft teal); Farid, the most visibly haunted man I know (muted purple); and Iron Deer, the entrepreneurial engineer (metallic steel) -- all of them familiar faces, all of them colleagues, all of them threaded through the chambers of the same priceless Heart that gives our mission purpose.

The same Heart that we traded away just to get them back.

You know what? Fuck it. I’ll string them all to my own heart. I’ll suspend them all in cocoons deep in the burning hearth of me -- I will fight my way out of this facility that wants desperately to become our tomb -- until those that still live can crawl back out, fragile but alive and free to keep fighting for whatever comes next.

But one of them is gone, beyond the veil and permanently out of my reach. Just like Sui tried to warn me about, and all of Tieve’s lucky charms were not enough to protect me from this single ungentle truth. The Spinner does not stop the march of destruction -- she merely directs it. She cuts the threads of our fallen friends when they begin to fray and weaves new ones in their place; a different color, a fresh fate.

One of them is gone, their thread knotted off in a sudden stop on the tapestry of our story. But who?

Who did we lose?

“I've seen it. I've heard it. I've bloody felt it. Everyone I speak to says the same. Every one of them knows what a great heart you have.”

Percy and I first met at that bonfire by the chocobo stables. I was shivering, fresh off the fucking ship and completely unprepared for the weather, and he stood next to me and promised me everything I could ever possibly want, if only I made a promise in return to be a loyal friend to the Family. I was so desperate for a place to belong, I would have signed anything, done anything -- what had mattered was that he would have me. In this brave new world, I had people looking out for me. A place to call home. Structure. An institutionalized, freshly liberated fuckhead like me desperately needed structure.

So what if it came with a little price? The list of my sins is long, and breaking and entering is pretty far down at the bottom. Bar brawls are inconsequential, when you’ve already essentially aided and abetted war crimes. So, I’m wanted by both House Desrosiers and House Beaumarchais for stealing a thing or two from their daughters’ manse. So fucking what. Percy and I -- There are bonds that can only be forged at three in the morning, sitting on a crows’ perch halfway across the city under the moonlight, doing pre-job surveillance on some fart-sniffing nobles through their window. I’m not saying we kissed. I’m not saying we didn’t, either.

This is what I’m thinking about, when I look down at Percy’s lifeless face, drained of the rosy pink that always sat on his cheeks during those cold-ass stakeouts, huddled together at the shoulders for warmth. If I touched him now, he would be so cold, so unnaturally fucking cold, so I don’t. I can’t bring myself to touch him; to do anything but stare with my mouth half-open and a sob dying somewhere between my sternum and my throat, turning into just another burning pit to fizzle and die in my stomach.

Except it doesn’t have the good sense to die. It turns to steam, turns to pressure, backs up the entire clockwork machine that keeps me chugging along, and it must be vented or else I’m going to fucking explode, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. It stutters inside me like a hitched gear. The whine seems to come from my chest, high-pitched, like a kettle about to scream. Is that me? Am I screaming? I don’t know myself. I am not me, in this moment. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who is on the cot below me, whose silver close-cropped hair sits on this head, whose too-round spectacles reflect the light in the room too thoroughly for me to be able to see if their dead fucking eyes are open or closed. I don’t know which is more terrifying.

I leave. I run. My boots scream against the floor of the ship, clap against the dirt outside, and I don’t stop running until I can drop to my knees and bellow to the impassive clouds. This is my fault. Judgement rings in my head in a cacophony of voices. My fault. My fault he’s dead.

What am I doing here? What have I done?

Percy’s line, cobalt blue, is so cleanly snipped from my fabric that all I can do is finger the empty spot where it might have kept going. Maybe one day we could have found compromise; a future where the three of us could get along without jealousy, without miscommunication or hurt feelings. I’ll never fucking know.

I have always thought of myself in big terms. I am man, I am machine, I am god. I’m the architect of my own form, and I have crafted myself in my own image. Nothing makes me feel more powerful than looking in the mirror and seeing my face look back at me; the face that I sculpted, the body that I shaped. The people that I’ve been in the past are not dead, but rather they have been stitched into my organs. The girl that I was lives in my marrow and feeds my blood, and I am never alone in the cathedral of my body. I am holy. I am enduring. I will move beyond the ghosts at my heels and continue forging a forward path, with those I love woven into the never-ending project that I call my self.

But even a god looks puny as shit, crying into the dirt over a fallen friend. I need to feel this. I need how small this makes me, how insignificant I am in this moment. I gotta remember how crippled it makes me feel. This humility -- it needs to be sown into me, too. So I don’t make the same mistake again. It’s the least I can do.

I can’t forget. I won’t forget his face.

“What a precious, precious thing we've gained.”

#FFXIVHeartless #lucas nevin #balmung rp #ffxiv rp #IC post #castor arendt #cheche dotharl #lux lunseer #sui eclair #tieve corwell #percy d'armagnac #adian hawke #izar yunhaai #sage adhi #(and more!)#[S] Lucas: Be the Heir of Blood

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