RIP Lasso

18+*26*MASTERLIST

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tag yourself

[musiicpix3l]

Yes yes i know love is love. But they are still killing CHILDREN. over this.

[blobfishlol]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH TO HOES OF ALL GENDERS AND SEXUALITIES! Y'ALL ROCK!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Life for a Life

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as brainwashing and suicidal ideation and possible untagged elements such as noncon. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

If you are struggling, please seek help through a support line.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

You voted, I wrote it. This is June 1st's fic!

Bucky Barnes + “You can’t even take care of yourself, so why not let me.”

I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3

Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!

Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖

The wind rips across your face. The noise of the river roars beneath you, dark tides slapping and churning beneath a sliver of moonlight. From here, it looks so far but could be right beneath your toes.

Far enough. Deep enough.

You shiver and grip the metal beneath you. Just one push and it all goes away. You sniff, head so full it hurts, and breathe out through your lips. You can taste the river water.

One push.

One.

You can do it.

For once in your life, do something. A simple fall, a short end. That's all that's ahead of you. There's nothing else left for you. There never was anything for you. You never did anything.

So do this and be done with it. You close your eyes. You feel the rivets in the metal. You roll your shoulders.

"Well then." You say and push off.

Before you can plunge through nothingness and into the depths, a snag jars you. You dangle from some unseen obstacle, whimpering at the wrench that has your spine and neck ringing. You flail like a cat and look up at the unexpected safe fall.

The man is hunched and shadowed like a gargoyle on a stone building. You kick your legs and grab his hand, prying at in bendable fingers with a sob. "What are you doing?"

He says nothing. With no effort at all, he hauls you back onto the metal. You kick and smack at his grip. He ignores you.

"Let me go!" You plead. "I just want to go."

Not a word. Not a look. You couldn't see it in the shadow of the bridge if there was.

"Let me go." You beg weakly as you grasp wrists.

He flicks away your struggles and grabs your throat. You gasp. He squeezes until you can't breathe. Maybe he can still give you that escape.

You let your hands fall away. He tightens his hold until your throat burns and your head pounds. He lets you go and you fall back limp on your back, one leg dangling over the edge. He clucks.

Your vision pulses and your ears ring. He moves around you. He brings your hands together then your feet. You shiver and try to pull them apart. You can't.

"Why?" You croak.

The silence stirs with the noise of the water and the groan of the metal under his weight. He moves over you, feeling your pockets and clothing. He stops, his hand on your shoulder. His voice grates through the night as something dry and coarse fills your mouth.

“You can’t even take care of yourself, so why not let me.”

💓

You sink into a haze. Shock, dread, resignation. You wonder if maybe you did make it to the water and this is some twisted after life…

What else could it be? No one knew. No one cared. You didn’t tell anyone what you meant to do. Didn’t even write it in your diary. You just made up your mind. You just wanted it over.

Your lashes flutter as your eyes zero in. It’s all too real to be the last flashes of your synapses clinging to consciousness. The room is dim but vivid. Shadows gather in the mortar between thick cinder bricks; the air is still and frigid, and the chair beneath you is hard and unforgiving.

Your finger twitches and the tendon in your wrist strains. Your arms are trapped, your ankles too. Metal binds you to the wooden frame of the chair, another around your neck and forehead.

You shift futilely. What sick fate is this? Is it irony? You were so ready to give it all up that someone else stole your life away?

A sudden crackle makes you flinch. A light radiates in your vision and static fills a square screen. You blink, unable to move your head against the metal binding. You gulp as the black and grey speckles ache in your vision.

The monochrome dots blip away and white lines run up a black screen, a low click each time they reach the top of the screen. They ripple, the waves growing more intense until a vision fills the frame.

The silhouette of a bride in her veil kissing her groom appears beneath the classical wedding overture. A sterile voice says a single word as the image lingers. “Longing.” The couple begin to dance, feed each other cake, and the husband carries his wife over the threshold.

“Tidy.” The voice says.

The scene changes. A jacket being hung. Bristles dragging on tile. A tub full of bubbles surrounded by candles. The camera pans in on the spinning laundry through the window of a machine, making your dizzy.

“One.”

A man’s face flashes; blue eyes, sharp jawline, dark hair.

“Dawn.”

The morning beams warmly through windows, illuminating another pair of silhouettes before the scene switches to a garden and a trickling birdbath. The stir of water tickles in your ears and sends a cool flow down your spine.

“Apron.”

Thick hands tie the strings of an apron against a checkered dress, slowly looping and winding the bow, laying out the tails perfectly.

“His.”

The man’s eyes blink and disappear.

“Obey.”

A belt is pulled from the loops of a pair of trousers and bent in the same large hand, slapping the palm with an echoing noise.

“Bed.”

Pillows drop onto a bed, blankets are dragged down to the end, petals flutter onto the floor at the base of the frame.

“Only.”

The man again, arms outstretched.

“Home.”

The vision of a house, unmoving, standing on the screen, bold, so still it must be a picture. It stays there as the audio cuts out. The silence scrapes in your ear until you squirm then all at once it evaporates.

A whisper slowly rises from the speakers; “home, home, home, home.” The voice gets louder and louder and louder; until your eyes water and your ear drums thrum. Then, silence again. And darkness.

You sit in the void, shaking. You close your eyes and shudder. Then hear the television flick on again.

“Longing.”

💓

She’s soft, pliant as he leads her into the light. She shies away and he coaxes her further. She leans on him. She doesn’t notice that his arm doesn’t belong to him.

He takes her into the large bathroom and sits her on the small bench with the drawers in the bottom. Her clothes are dingy with the stale remnants of the river’s mist. That day on the bridge only remains in the soiled fabric.

As he tries to pull away, she grabs onto him. Her lashes flick wide. Bucky knows that look. He used to see it in the mirror. That glassy distance. On her, it’s not so bad.

“Doll, I’m just gonna get you washed up.”

She stares at him and nods, her hands slipping down his forearm. The sensation is like cool rain on a hot day, or sunshine after a grey winter. He smiles. Her lips tremble then she does the same.

“Yes, honey.” She lowers her hands to her lap and stares ahead.

He begins. He cuts off her clothes. She does react. Not even as he pauses to admire those parts of her that make him salivate.

When he is done with that, he fills the large basin of the tub. He goes to her but thinks twice of getting her up just yet. He undresses then goes to her.

He brings her in the tub with him. He can take his time. He doesn’t have to hurry. He leans her against him and sighs. She’s stiff and squirmy. He runs his hands up her sides.

“Doll, relax. I got you.”

He feels her obey. She slackens against his chest and lets her head rest on his shoulder. He strokes her stomach.

“Good.” He praises as he draws little swirls on her skin.

This is all he wanted. To feel someone close. To have someone who can never go away. To not have to be afraid.

This is what he deserves. And what she needs. After all, she was all too willing to throw her life away. He saved it, he didn’t take it. He’s giving her a new life. A life with propose; him.

[sunflowersbones]

A little too overwhelmed...

[lilacevans]

sigh.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I feel this. It's so quiet around here.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Melt Away 1

Warning: possible adultery, neglect, angry men, dark elements….

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: August Walker, side of Andrew Barber

Summary: You find a cold reception at your new job, but it's not much better than your home life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You check your phone. Again. It’s the last time you’ll do that today.

It wouldn’t look good to have your nose in a screen on your first day. Still, you expected… something. A good luck or even just a check-in… Maybe it’s best to just not expect anything.

You tuck your cell into the little holder on your belt. You put together your most professional outfit. Black slacks, black blazer, and a plain black blouse. It’s bland but the face you got when you tied on the paisley scarf at your collar only made your nerves worse. So you put it back in your drawer and resigned yourself to practicality.

You stop at the front desk and greet the woman behind it. She has a lovely mint green dress on and her hair has those loose waves that look so effortlessly glamorous. You feel along the fake pocket sewn into your pants. Hum.

“Hi. I start today.” You say after a cheery good morning.

“Oh, yes, do you have your security clearance?” She asks.

You nod and shift the boxy leather bag on your shoulder. You dig inside and take out the forms. You hand them over and she looks them over. She adds yet another stamp to them before she lets you know she needs to scan them. She struts away as you bounce in your loafers.

You look down at the black leather toes. You haven’t bought a new outfit in years. You still haven’t. Andy footed the cost so he got a say on it all. He warned you to keep it professional.

The woman returns. “I’m Sandy, by the way.” She hands over a laminated badge with the photo you submitted with your forms. “You’ll use this to get through those doors.” She points to the clear doors to her left. “You’ll see a few places you’ll need to swipe. Breakroom, even the bathroom.” She chuckles. “And some places you won’t need to access, like the labs.”

“Right,” you clip the badge to your blazer. “Thank you.”

“Did you get your assignment email? Were you able to access the portal and verify your credentials?”

“Mm. Yes. I figured it out.” It wasn’t easy. The whole process was so intimidating. You didn’t just need a password, you had to verify through the finger scan on your phone, then facial recognition in the app.

“Then you’re all set. Good luck!” She preens.

“Thanks… again.”

You shuffle by the desk and follow a man in a suit to the doors. He scans and you dip in behind him. He doesn’t notice you on his heels. That’s not very secure but you suppose the badge on your chest helps.

He marches on confidently and you look up and down the corridor. You have no idea where you’re going. Why didn’t you ask at the desk? Maybe Andy is right, you’re out of your depth.

You step to the side and hide by the wall as you open the app. You go through the triple-authentication and finally get into your profile. Agent A. Walker; Office 41-B6.

You peer around. All the rooms are labeled with letters only. That doesn’t help.

You flick through the app for any more information. You can’t find anything. You guess you’ll wander and if that doesn’t work, you’ll go back and ask Sandy.

You go around the corner and find a set of elevators. Oh! There’s a directory. ‘Offices 41 - 50; Floor 5’. Great!

You tap the button but it doesn’t beep or light up. You frown. You notice the square right beside it. Right.

You lean down to scan the badge. The buttons light up and you tap the up arrow. You wait and the doors part. You step on and turn around. Two men follow in suits and stand in front of you. You’re not sure if they don’t notice you or just don’t care.

Your floor comes first. The men talk on about some vehicle, you think? They keep bringing up torque and handling. You clear your throat and squeeze around the one on the right.

The doors close behind you and you check the office number again. You follow the door plates down to 41-B6. The blinds within are closed inside the transparent walls. You can’t even tell if the lights are on.

Well, only one way to find out.

You knock and wait for an answer. Nothing. You try again.

Patiently, you stand outside, stranded. Andy is right. This isn’t for you. You’re already lost.

The door opens swiftly and startles you. You look up at the man on the other side as he’s already walking away. You frown and poke your head in as he stomps back to his desk and drops into the chair. Slowly, you inch up to the threshold.

“Um, hi. Are you… Mr. Walker? I’ve been hired to work as a coordinating assistant.” You explain.

“I’m aware.” He growls.

He glares at the large monitor in front of him, moving it closer on the floating arm. He sneers and a tendon in his neck tenses, just visible above the knot of his tie. His nose furrows and he reaches to clamp his shoulder, tilting his head, then drops his arm.

“I’m happy to get started on anything I can support with.” You offer.

“Get in here. Close the door.” He demands.

You wet your lips as you purse them around your tongue. You do as he says and step inside. You stand awkwardly with your bag as you look around.

He rubs the lines in his forehead and sits back. He shakes his head at the monitor. He glances up at you.

His blue eyes blaze with agitation and his jaw ticks. A dark line of hair trims his upper lip and a shadow of stubble darkens his face. His nose flairs.

“You can put your bag in your employee locker.” He snarls.

You nod. “Yes, sir. Um… where…”

“Out. Right, end of the hall. Check your directives.”

You pull out your phone and check the app. “Thank you, sir.”

You retreat out of the office. You can take a hint when it’s given, but this is a job. You’re there to support his work which means you can’t just run away like you do at home.

You find your employee locker number. It opens at the swipe of your badge. You put your bag inside and keep your phone in your pocket.

You peer around. Your eyes land on a sign that reads ‘Break Room/Kitchen’. Sandy mentioned as much.

You follow the sign and scan the badge. You enter and look around. There’s a luxury pre-programmed coffee machine on the counter. When Andy bought his Lexus, they had one at the dealership.

As tempted as you are to indulge in a mocha, you forego that for your priority. Mr. Walker. You tap ‘Americano’ and wait for the cup to fill. You take it and a handful of creamer and sugar packets, along with a stir stick.

You make your way back to the Mr. Walker’s office. Your hands are full and your badge doesn’t work on the scanner. You knock carefully with your elbow.

Once again, he stomps over to open it, nearly dropping the door on you as quickly as he swung it back. You enter and he goes back to his desk. He pauses before he sits down and his shoulders lift higher.

“I see you found a distraction,” he sits and taps on his screen.

“I wasn’t sure what you took. I made a guess. Americano.” You near and set the cup on the empty coaster. “Sugar and cream in case.”

He hums dully. “Black.”

“Yes, sir. Noted.”

He scoffs and stares at the screen. “So what? They put you on me to bring my coffee?”

You hide the effect of his tone. You hold your head up high. “Well, sir, I’m not entirely sure. I’m here to assist you. However you might require.”

He takes a deep breath and grabs the cup. He sniffs the espresso. “It’s a start. For now, you can stay out of my way and be quiet.”

“Yes, sir.” You back up until you’re at the wall. You’re too afraid to ask if you get a desk. It’s a good thing you’re used to tiptoeing around the moods of men.

[thezombieprostitute]

She got him coffee without being told? Won't be long before he's stealing her away from Andrew!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

If she can read Auggy well enough that he doesn't have to tell her how he feels, well, that's just heaven to him.

[depsidase]

[catbellybuttons]

writing the first half of a fic: yaaaay! wooo!!! 🌈💝 fun ideas 😊💖✨️~

writing the second half of a fic: I am in a fight with god himself and he is winning

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I think ao3 is literally the only site where no censorship means no censorship. you can post the most vile things on there — things that will get taken down on any other platforms — and ao3 will protect you, your works, and your rights to create whatever you want, however you want.

and no, this isn’t me saying “write that messed up, disgusting thing” because while, yes, write it if it’s what you want (I myself enjoy writing dark fics, something I believe would be considered “vile” to a lot of people), this is me saying in a world of censorship and capitalism, ao3 really is a treasure.

everybody say thank you ao3

[pastafossa]

FANFIC POLL

I was discussing with some fandom friends how fanfic culture seems to have shifted from mostly comments to silent reading (though I'm very blessed with ya'll on TRT, thank you). And that makes me wonder what the reason is - I've seen a lot of theories and people asking that question but I figured I'd poke ya'll and see what I find.

This question is mostly directed towards those that never comment on a fanfic or rarely comment on a fanfic. If you usually comment or always comment (thank you!), you're totally good on this one.

To fanfic readers who do not comment, why don't you comment?

Commenting makes me anxious/stressed

I'm too tired to comment

I'm afraid of someone judging me for what I read if they find my comment

I don't like being tracked/leaving a trail

I don't think fanfic writers should expect comments

If I don't have time to leave a big long comment I don't like commenting at all

I don't want to bother the author

Nuance/Other (feel free to explain in the comments or tags)

I always or almost always comment

Voting ended onMay 25

Please reblog for a large sample size, I'm legitimately curious

[waywardxrhea]

reblogging to reach a broader audience! 🤍🫶🏻

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Make Me a Match: Jonathan Pine (1/2)

Warnings: this fic will include dark content and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you sign up for a match making service and your date goes a lot better than you expect.

Characters: Jonathan Pine

Note: This will be split in two parts for brevity. I'm also thinking of a few more bachelors for this one hehe. Open to suggestion.

I welcome and appreciate all feedback. This means replies, reblogs, and asks. I do prefer if you can reblog and share my work along with your thoughts. <3

Please check my pinned post for more information on my blog, stories, and asks!

Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.💖

It’s a scam. You’re certain of it. You’re just that desperate to fall for it.

You read through his profile again. This has to be fake. AI, probably. Are you really this… pathetic?

You press your hand against your neck, overly conscious of the buzzing din of the restaurant and the shadows moving under hanging lights in low intimate conversations. This isn’t the type of place you’d choose. Black tie only, no prices on the menu, wine by the bottle.

That’s the catch. Lady’s choice when it comes to the match, man’s choice for the venue. You flutter your fingers under your jaw and sigh. You really paid a matchmaking service to figure out why you can’t get a date? You’re not sure even professionals can solve this problem.

You nibble your lip, just for a second, before you remind yourself not to mess up the gloss. He’s not late, you’re early. So anxious that you couldn’t wait any longer to call the cab. The hostess wasn’t impressed but found you a table prematurely after you gave the name on the reservation…

Jonathan Pine. You read his name for the nth time. Right beside the picture that is too perfect to be real. God, the rise of machine learning really is catastrophic. In fact, you’d be better off finding a chat bot and sinking into psychosis.

Retired. At his age? That’s also too good to be true. Interests; classic literature, nature walks, running. The last one isn’t exactly your thing but you could get into it. And a little exercise wouldn’t hurt.

Six foot three. Every man inflates his height. It never mattered much to you. Height can’t make up for a bad personality. Or apathy.

He’s handsome. Blue eyes with specks of green around the pupil, a regal nose and sharp cheekbones. You bite your cheek. You might be wearing a new dress still weighing on your credit statement and that overpriced lip gloss from Sephora, but it’s a poor disguise. You’re out of your depth.

“Excuse me…” the honey-smooth voice startles you and you quickly black the screen of your phone.

You look over your shoulder at the man just within your peripheral. It’s him. You put your phone down and twist awkwardly in the chair. He keeps you from standing with a subtle gesture.

“Please, not on my account.” He pleads. “Did I misunderstand? I didn’t think I was late.”

“Oh, no I’m just chronically… early.” You smile nervously. “Er, um, Mr. Pine.”

He chuckles softly. “Please, Jonathan,” He bends and takes your hand. He gently places a kiss on your knuckles. “I do believe we’ve come on the understood terms, yes? No need for formality.”

“Uh, yes, you’re right.” You agree as your hand tingle, the feel of his large fingers on your hand sending tendrils up your arm. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

“That’s quite alright,” he lets you go, fingertips grazing lingeringly. “I must admit I am as well.” He angles around the table to sit across from you. “I also confess that when the hostess first pointed you out, I was… rather intimidated. I had to build my courage.” His shoulders are straight, his posture pristine. “You are even more lovely than your pictures.”

You smile sheepishly and hum, not quite able to get the giggle out. He’s charming. Too charming. Or you’re just paranoid.

“Might I call you…” he enunciates your name, “or do you prefer something else?”

“No, that’s fine… erm, Jonathan.”

“Ah, I’ve never heard it said so sweetly.” He grins then swallows. His long fingers crawl up his tie and toy with the knot. “Well, I do think I’ve left you waiting long enough. Shall we peruse the wine list?”

“Oh, sure. That’s probably a good idea.”

“Where to start?” He slithers as he opens the long folder and sets it before you so the font faces you. “Red or white?”

You slowly move your phone off the table and tuck it in your bag, clasping it as you clear your throat. “I’m not sure. I don’t drink wine very often.”

“Did you prefer a cocktail? They’ve some wonderful seasonal mules.” He suggests.

“Wine is… well, whatever you prefer.” You shift and lick your lips. You cringe then catch him watching. “Pardon.”

You look down and open your bag again. You reapply the gloss carefully. He’s still watching.

“Do you have any ideas? I don’t really know the difference between…Burgundy or Napa.”

“Well, perhaps a white wine. Something lighter. Fruity.” He leans in. The table feels smaller with him there. The light overhead casts a low aura around the two of you, the edges of your vision softened. “Domaine Chardonnay is hard to hate.”

“Right. That sounds okay.” You nod and glance at the menu. You close it, your eye finding the name right before the pages meet. Oh! The price!

“I would say it’s rather delightful. Rather delectable when served fresh from a vineyard in the French countryside.” He muses.

You wince and look at him. “I’ve never been…” you whisper.

His cheek dimples. “Oh, you must think I’m terribly elite. I promise I’m not. It is only my imagination outruns me when I’m in the presence of a beautiful woman. I should think of all the ways I might treat her.”

You chirp out a shrill laugh. “You’re too… nice.”

“You think I’m untrue?”

“I didn’t say…”

“But you chafe with each compliment.” He challenges.

You glance away and shrug. “I’m sorry. Really, I appreciate it. It’s just… I guess I’m awkward.”

“First meeting always are.” He assures as a server approaches.

The server recites the specials. You try to focus on he listens intently. He slides the wine list off the table and hands it over, requesting the Domaine. “We’ve yet to decide on an appetizer. We should know by the time you return.”

“Yes, sir.” The server takes the folder and retreats.

Jonathan opens the menu in front of him. You tap your fingers on the leather cover. He peeks up at you. He’s so handsome. A bit older but not to his detriment.

“Would it be too much to share an appetizer?” He wonders.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” you assure him. You’re not exactly budgeting for five courses. “Whatever you like.”

“I’m more interested in what you like.” He purrs. He looks down and drags his finger along the menu. “Goat cheese stuffed escargot?”

“Escar… snails?” You squeak.

He chuckles. “I’m not a fan myself. Bruschetta on hand made artisanal rye? Gambas al Ajillo?”

You poke your tongue into your cheek and furrow your brow. “I’m sorry, what… was that?”

“Poached prawns in a medley of spices, saffron and the like,” he explains.

“Oh… oh right.” You slowly open the menu. Maybe you should figure it out before you look like a real dummy.

“Something lighter?” He offers.

You look over the mix of Italian, Spanish, and French names. You put on a smile and twine your fingers to keep from trembling. He’s not AI but he might be too much for you.

“You can choose, really.” You insist.

“Oh but you do learn so much from one’s preferences? Do you prefer parmesan? Feta? Shrimp or mushroom? It can tell one a lot…”

You clear your throat and feel the tension braided into your neck and shoulders. “Well, if I’m being honest, I typically get garlic knots and extra spicy cheddar dip.” Your lips slant. “I don’t know what that is in… French.”

He chuckles. “Simple. Quaint. Delicious.” He grins. “Well then, I think the garlic roasted sourdough and aioli might fit.”

“Hm,” you hum.

“Hm?” He echoes with a squint.

He stares at you until you squirm. You sigh softly, smothering the noise in your chest.

“You don’t have to humour me.”

“Humour?”

You untangle your fingers and pinch your index. “You know, those profiles are so easy to make yourself look better than you are.”

“I do not find the measure of people in expenses, if that’s what worries you. If that were the case, I’m certain I’d have found someone easily enough.” He counters. “Forgive me. I only meant to impress you and I see I’ve completely displaced you.”

“Ugh,” you touch your cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not at all. You suit this place well. And that dress. And those earrings.” He praises as he leans over the table. “And I hope me too?”

You look at him, seared with self-awareness and folly.

“Will you give me a chance? I swear, I’ll tone it down,” he pleads.

Your lips part. He’s asking you? As if you’re not the one so out of your element. You spread your hands wide and wrestle the tightness from your jaw.

“I will,” you smile, easier this time. “You’ll tell me if I use the wrong fork, won’t you?”

He chuckles and reaches to trace your finger with one of his. “Nothing you do could be wrong, darling.”

💘

You survive dinner. You feel utterly ridiculous for being so nervous by the end of it. Jonathan has a way of calming you. His voice, his confidence, his praise. It’s a dream, you’re sure of it. He can’t be real.

“Ah, lovely,” he remarks as a plate of cheesecake is placed between you, dripping in dark chocolate and dressed with cherry halves. “Delectable choice.”

“I never have any trouble choosing dessert,” you giggle.

“Well, you shall have the first taste.” He picks up the fork and slices sideways into the delicate layer of cake and through the dark crust. He’s certain to get chocolate and a cherry onto the tines as well. “Darling?”

He holds out the fork. You twitch. You stare at his offering and slowly lean in. You’re aware of your lips and tongue and teeth as you let him slip the fork in your mouth. You suck it all off and poke the tip of your tongue out to catch the remnants. You seal your lips and chew, humming your happiness.

“It is… good?” He asks.

You chew and swallow, covering your mouth until you are sure there’s no crumbs. “Delicious.”

“Mmm.” He tastes some himself, eyes watching you as his lips drag on the fork. His cheeks pinch as he chews, jaw tensing. “Very. I can think of only one thing that might taste better.”

You smile before you pick up his meaning. Your lashes flick up and you twitch. You reach for your own fork.

“Ah,” he jabs his fork playfully. “Let me.”

He feeds you another bite. This time, he watches you just as intensely. You could melt as easily as the chocolate.

“Forgive me, darling, I draw this out. I only… cannot stand the thought of this night ending so soon.”

You swallow again. You reach for your wine and wash down the richly bitter chocolate. “I know what you mean. It’s been so nice and… surprising.”

“Surprising? Me? I did not disappoint?”

You laugh. “No. Not at all. I… I don’t know. I thought this was a setup.”

“A setup? A con?”

“Who knows? It might still be. You’re too good to be true.”

He tilts his head. “Speak for yourself.” He sits back and exhales. “Perhaps it doesn’t need to end so soon. Another surprise, perhaps? If you would trust me?”

“Surprise?” You arch a brow. He offers another bite of the cake. “Have some.”

“I am more than content to see you enjoy it.” He presses the tines to your lip. You accept.

You gulp it down and meet his eyes. “What surprise?”

“I cannot say, can I? Or it wouldn’t be one.”

“I guess.”

“Just a little longer.” He begs. “Unless you are bored of me.”

You smile and shake your head. “No. Not at all.”

“Wonderful.” He smirks and scoops up more cake. “Please, a pit for sweet things to go unappreciated.”

💘

“Jonathan, what—”

“Shhh.” He hushes you as he undoes his tie. He sits in the driver seat, the console lit up, the streets glowing under the tall lights. “It must be a true surprise.”

He pulls free his silk tie and leans over. He brings it around your eyes and you squirm.

“Ah, be good, darling. Patience.” He drawls and knots the tie at the back of your head, obscuring your sight.

“Jonathan… I don’t know.” Your insides stir. This man is still barely more than a stranger.

“I told you, a surprise and a surprise it will be.” He grazes your cheek.

“I know but… I’m not sure– This is… a lot.”

“Darling, it isn’t far. I promise.” He coaxes. “Hasn’t this night been full of lovely surprises?”

“Yes…” you utter and rub your palms together.

He grabs your hand and squeezes. He lifts it slowly and kisses each knuckle. “Trust me. Have I not proven to be true so far?”

You can’t speak. You just nod. You can’t quite sort out your thoughts. That inner battle of insecurity and caution.

No, no. Just enjoy this one thing. Isn’t this why you paid all that money for this? Why you put all this effort into look human? You can’t hope and then spurn them the moment the answer your call.

“Alright.” You resign. You really aren’t that special. Enjoy tonight because it will likely be the first and last with him.

“Be calm,” he strokes your arm.

You sense him draw back and he shifts into gear. He drives smoothly down the road. You lean into the seat, disoriented by your lack of vision. You even lose track of time, certain it only drags on because you’re anxious and dizzy.

Finally, he stops. He clears his throat. You linger in silence.

“Jonathan?” You murmur and reach for the tie.

He catches your hand. “Stay.”

He lets go as the engine stills. His door opens and his weight leaves the axel. The driver’s side clicks shut. You listen to his soft steps as they approach your side.

He opens the door and unbuckles your seatbelt. You cling to your purse until he takes it from you. You wrestle for a moment.

“You won’t need it.” He says.

You let go. He guides you out of the car. He keeps hold of your hand as your other wanders up. He tuts.

“Not yet.” He warns.

“Please,” your heels drag shakily. “It’s hard to walk without seeing.”

“You must trust me.” He insists.

“I might fall–”

“Darling.” He tisks and stops. Suddenly, he scoops you up. “Now you will be certain not to.”

You wince at the stone in his voice. It’s the first time you’ve heard any harshness in him. You can almost feel it in his hold on you.

“Where are we?”

“We are so close.” He assures.

You breathe through your nose slowly. Why did you do this? No, why are you doubting this? Can’t you just have fun for once? No! Something’s wrong, you can feel it. Ugh, it’s just you and that self-doubt.

He stops again. A door opens. He turns and leans into it. He moves backwards through it and turn again, kicking it shut. The snap jolts you.

“Where?”

“Little more.” He says so quietly, you can barely make it out.

He carries you forward then up and up. The motion of the stairs adds to your vertigo. You wriggle as the uneasiness in your gut mounts. You kick your feet and push your elbow into him.

“Jonathan. Put me down.” You grab the tie and he drops you all at once.

You hit the floor and cry out, writhing as your back aches from the impact.

“I said just a little more.” He hisses and grabs your wrists. “Darling… this could have been so nice if you behaved!”

He lurches you across the floor by your arms. Your legs drag on the hardwood and a rug bunches under your weight. He heaves you across the threshold of some unseen room and flings you up and away from him. You hit something hard and land in a heap.

“You will get your surprise when you have calmed.” He snips.

A door slams and the lock clicks. You whimper and sit up, leaning on the hard shape behind you. Shakily, you reach to pull down the tie. You expect a dark and dingy cell, but instead, you find only an immaculately decorated bedroom.

What?

[sunflowersbones]

Jonathan and sweet desserts are the best combo ever!!!

he seems a little tempermental tho; with the way he was, I was convinced that the reader would end up locked somewhere awful. now it just makes everything all the more confusing. i wonder if this is gonna be a pattern of his; anger, punishment and then sweet talk and gifts.

oh roo you always write him so well, he's so charming and tempting when he wants something.

[steve-kemp]

OUTER BANKS (2021) Season Two ↳ Rafe Cameron requested by @cockslut-padalecki

[sunflowersbones]

Crimson String

Warnings: This fic will contain NON-CON, violence, knifeplay, and loss of virginity. My warnings are not exhaustive; proceed at your own risk.

[Aerion "Brightflame" Targaryen x reader]

Summary: You live in your dreams, your soul in fantasy. Providing a semblance of joy and entertainment to those with time to spare. To your own misfortune, you leave a lavender-eyed prince displeased, and now you pay the price with torn, bloody strings.

*

Your eyes open to nothing but darkness, faced pressed onto the wet, murky surface. You’ve never really known what mud tastes like—childhood spent with charcoal and a few colours away from the rowdiness of your playmates—that was the only though that your mind could think of as you got pushed into the ground.

The taste of it felt sordid in your mouth and yet you part them as you continue to plead. Squeezing your eyes shut as the rough stones scratch on your cheek.

You hear a rough grunt behind you, but the voice is quickly dissipated as your ears rung, a haggard tune; like the one that scattering birds sing when an enemy approaches. You briefly wonder if you had hit your head too hard.

Your hands carefully hold on to the hardened paper scale, inserting it into the array of scales embedded onto the body. Tanselle continues to work on the tail and the lower body, painting it with a multitude of strong, dark, beautiful colours.

You grab onto another scale, sighing as you curl and flex your fingers, a light ache passing through them. You most certainly stomped your own foot by deciding to work on the upper half all by yourself.

You’re only done with half of the body; unpainted scales still littered on the floor. You dip the brush into the dark red ink; coating an even layer onto it. A few strokes of muddy brown atop and then a darkened earthy green, finally coating it with a small amount of the shiny yellow that your puppeteer had mixed together herself. Fingers pushing it into the body again and letting it dry.

You take a step back to admire its beauty, the eyes of it gleaming. The small iridescent marbled you had found fit perfectly into place.

The dragon in front of you looks almost as real as the ones your forefathers had seen about, a deep sense of pride flowing through at the reap of your hard work. The two of you had been working on it for weeks, and now finally it felt like it had come to life.

You couldn’t wait for night to fall; its body would move so wonderfully as the men worked underneath it and Tanselle had a trick of her own to make its breathing fire come to life.

Lip tugged to the corners; mind distracted you feel the low-lying anticipation flow through you. The taller girl walks towards your side grabbing a few scales along with the brush in her hand as she slowly steps forward to paint, a gesture your grateful for as your smile resembles hers.

You think of all the people gathered around, the kids seated with their eyes wide open as they stare in awe of your wonderful creation. Tonight’s play would most certainly remembered for moons to come.

“Too tight?”, she questions as she wraps the chain mail around your body, the hauberger had been specified to make one that would not weigh too much and yet you still found it to be heavier than what you’d expected.

You shake your head uncaringly, stretching your hands and rolling your shoulders as you fix the costume placed upon you. Your hair is neatly tied in place as she moves to cover on your head. Her eyes linger on you with doubt, you shake body excitedly as you grab onto the prop; made with glinting metal and nicely shaped sword and shield, showing her your vigor. You’ve dealt with costumes much worse than this.

You slowly tap your fingers on the pommel as you wait behind the curtains for the final act. You hear the low whistle intended to inform you of your entrance, swishing through the curtains now facing the great beast.

Tanselle’s voice soars like an eagle as she narrates the events of the story. You compose yourself in front of the mighty dragon, swinging forward to attack it with all your might; Its attack not unexpected as your dodge the fire it breaths through its paper lungs. The crowd in front of you holler in surprise, the sound of their hands clapping on par with the loud noises your troop was making from behind the dark curtains to imitate the angry creature.

Another loud flame blows through towards you and you mark the sword upright, taking in a deep breath as you lunge to attack. The sword pierces through and the dragon cries, the boisterous applause of the crowed emerges but it dies down almost immediately.

The gasp in their voices resembles the fear of something more dangerous, the tent now almost uncomfortably quite as you hear the heat of the fire float through the room.

You turn around and look in confusion, eyes widening as your body goes still. You feel the rise of a heavy tide of dread as you gaze at the figure standing at the center of the tent.

If his prestige had not been obvious with the way the other spectators cowered and moved away from him—making the crowded tent almost seem spacious for a moment—then the royal guards around him most certainly did.

But none of these were what you had first noticed, the sight that had made you still and go numb for a second had been his house’s most defining trait.

The silver of his short strands had shined through everything, unconcealable by the dim lit tent. He tilts his head as he stares at you, his gaze hard and his face composed in a way that you cannot decipher.

You feel your fingers grip around the sword, unsure of what to do other than to continue on with the play. A royal audience meant that you had to be more meticulous in your performance.

You pull the sword out, the red scrapes made to resemble its blood flying out to cover you as you launch the sword to the ground below and yet nobody moves. You stomp your feet again and the three men underneath the costume finally realize of their role and fall to the ground. You look over to find a dazed Tanselle, shaking your head you give her a pointed look as she looks back at you, confusion written all over her face.

You tilt your head to the side as you swirl your sword again, she finally recovers from her lost thoughts and continuous to narrate, albeit voice now not as strong as before.

Her words come to an end and you bow at your audience yet all you receive is silence. The young prince still has his gaze set towards you, his nostrils flair as he darts his tongue to the side pressing it to his cheek.

His feet steps back as he slowly moves, an unimpressed jerk of his head as turns around as leaves, his guards immediately following him. He leaves behind a silence that was never seen in this tent before, it lingers… until you hear the sound of small hands clapping against each other. 

You feel the tightness it the air suddenly break apart at that as a hooded little boy stands up continuing to cheer, and it is soon followed by the soft cheer all around you. The others come out and your party bows down to them again thanking the audience for their time.

The glee of the night shines through the lanterns lit all around, a hearty meal was followed after the play and after chatting well into the night you part ways, Tanselle had gone back to speak with the carpenter to make a few more arrangements for the props needed.

You take a detour to get to your tent, walking along the stream flowing nearby in hopes of finding a few more of those pretty stones, if you found a bigger one perhaps you could make a nice necklace with it for the dark-haired girl.

You slowly walk with your head down, eyes searching through the ground below.

“That was some show you put.”

You yelp as you turn at the sudden incursion of the voice in such a quite atmosphere.

Lo and behold casually leaning against a tree stood Aerion Targaryen, the young royal prince of the dragon house. He pushes himself of the bark and walks towards you. You take a small step back before stopping yourself as his brows slightly frown, you would not want to come off as disrespectful.

“Thank you my lord.” Your head bows, voice barely audible but he hears you nonetheless as you receive a hum in return.

You look around in search of his Kingsgaurd but find none, the two of you the only souls around, the fluttery flowing stream the only life in the vicinity.

You feel your breath being caught up in your throat, had he been following you? The silver of his hair shine brighter now and the violets of eyes; gods… they sparkle underneath the moon. His entire presence fills you with anxiousness that makes your spine tingle. You had never mingled with nobility let alone royalty and now you are put right in front of Targaryen blood. You know not how to speak or what to say, you can only hope you answer him appropriately.

“You made it yourself… the beast?” he questions, you feel a lightness course through as you’re chanced upon a question to which you will not stumble.

“Yes! My prince, me and my friend, we built it together. Paper and clay mostly, some wood here and there.”

He ponders on the answer, lips pursing as he takes you in. Eyes dragging over you from head to toe, you feel squeamish at his presence as you pretend to not have noticed his look. You suppose it must be quite displeasing to look at your ragged cottons as compared to his soft silk, the red fibers of it shiny as it hugs is form.

“…and the fire?”

“Pollen sir, we pick them along our travels. They change along region; some burn brighter than others.”

He crosses his hands behind as he steps forward, eyes squinting at you. The look on his face suddenly changes, his expression hardening as his jaw clicks.

“And I suppose is it this travelling that has made you haughty enough to insult our royal house?”

You voice sounds like pins and needles as you scramble for and answer, confused at the sudden change of his tone.

“No- no of course not sir, I- I meant no disrespect,”

He moves forward hastily, his hands cupping your cheek harshly. Your eyes flinch as he moves your face to his whim.

“You insult the sigil of my house, cut it, tear the beast apart and then you raise your voice at me?”

Your legs fall back at the force with which he pushes your body, back hitting the length of a tree nearby. His fingers dig into your cheeks hurting you further as you try to speak.

He removes his hand moving it to rest on his hip as the other leans against the lower branch, caging you in-between him and the furrowed bark. The anger in his chest on par with the fear in yours.

“Do they never teach you peasants anything, huh?” he growls, eyes skimming over you. Your voice comes out in nothing but a whimper; overwhelmed and scared of him. His hand moves to touch your finger and then graze against your palm. Hot breath fan against your skin as the hand then moves up, pressing through your body, it rests against your chest and he squeezes the flesh in between his fingers.

You squirm at his touch, eye widening, disgusted by the feel of it as you harshly push his hand away. He lets out a surprised huff at that, head titling as he licks his lips, eyes boring into you.

“You raise your hands against royal blood,” he tsk’s, the mockery in his tone evident but it still scares you none the less, “such offense…”

You feel your eyes tearing up as you hiccup, “I didn’t- I wouldn’t-

The hand placed above you bends down as he twists your arm, “Exactly you don’t fight back, you accept the punishment that I see fit,” he orders as you cry out at the pain reeling through your arm.

His other hand moves to remove the object hidden away in his back pocket, the sharpness of the silver shines as he raises it towards you.

You wail out with fear blinding you now, as he presses the metal against your skin. His right hand leaves your arm moving above to push your shoulder harshly. You nearly cough out at the force of it as the knife digs deeper into your neck.

You cry out as you plead for him to stop, the tip of it cutting into your soft flesh, pain searing through as small drops of blood flow through.

He moves his hand back for a second looking at you as he presses his lips together. He brings the knife to his mouth biting the tip of it as he thinks, “Now, what kind of royalty would I be if I don’t heed to pleas of my servants?” he hums shaking the knife in front of you, “Afterall I cannot afford to be as foolish as your kind. A life is precious I suppose.”

He murmurs the last part as his hand slowly move to curl around your neck. He squeezes his fingers tightly, eyes callously watching the way your voice breaks and eyes bulge as you struggle to breath.

He lets loose of his strength but his fingers still remain on your neck. You greedily grasp onto the little air you get as you feel your throat burn. The other hand drags the knife back to your chest, cutting into the center of the thin flimsy cotton. He rips the front of it apart, lavender eyes gaping at the way your chest rise and fall, hot breath falling from his nose.

He drags the knife over your skin, from your chest to your stomach. Palm groping at your bosom again as you wail at the harshness of his touch, thumb rubbing painfully over your nip.

He pulls you off the tree and throws you down. Your body on instinct tries to land on your hands to save you some pain, but the blow on your chest and stomach as you fall is no less painful.

You try to lift your knee, palms bruised, body pushing its limits to push yourself up only for the ground to cave down below you. He pushes you down further and you feel the heavy weight of him as lands on you, hand griping on to your hair as he pulls you back with it, the grunts and insults from his mouth don’t reduce as he hikes your skirt up.

The sudden cool air dances on you exposed bare ass as a fresh wave of tears and embarrassment rises. It takes him no time at all to undo his breaches.

He pushes himself inside you with such rough force your body jerks forward. Lips parting to scream at the pain of the intrusion only for it to come out in a muffled wail as his hand covers your mouth.

His fingers close around you nose as well, tears blurring your sight as you struggle to breath. His cock inside of you feels like hot metal as he harshly thrusts into you, without ever allowing you a moment to adjust to the girth of him.

He move himself closer to you, balancing himself on his knees to press his body on top of yours as he rams into you, the pain makes you grit your teeth together as you shut your eyes close.

You feel another bout of shame course through you as finally feel wetness pool between your legs as hands continue to grope you from your bosom to your hip. His force still brutal seem to feel less harsh as your body tries its best to ease your pain.

He pulls himself out of you, your core convulses at the painful hollow left behind. You yelp as he flips you over to face him now, hovering over as he kneels above you. He slaps his cock over your hardened bud as your feel a sharp shock flow through your body. Your toes curl as he slaps it on you again now accompanied with a sharp slap of his palm on your cheek

He bends down pushing onto your shoulder with his hand, harsh breath against you as his face leans closer pushing you deeper into the mud below as he grounds himself above you.

He sinks himself deeper into you than before, the other hand hastily spreading your thighs apart. More tears fall down onto your cheek, your eyes blurry as you look up the night sky, the darkness of it clouded with a fear much darker in your eyes.

His thrusts become faster as he moves with the precision and rage of a hunter trying to catch their pray. His hand grips on to your hair tightly making you wail, twisting his fingers around them as he pulls you closer, mouth dancing as he presses the bridge of his nose to your neck.

He feels the rise of something anticipated and his body moves like that of a rabid animal as he chases it. Something in him snaps as he shivers with a final push, lips parting as he grunts out a moan, his teeth sinking into your neck as he revels in bliss.

You hiss at the pain in your neck but it was nothing compared to the pain you felt in your core or that in your heart. Skin prickling at the feeling of him spilled inside you, the warmth and wetness of it, torture as he continuous to slowly thrust through his pleasure.

Your body lies still on the ground, unable to move a single muscle. Twisting your head to the side as your eyes find the dark earth, unable to look at anything else as the pain and humiliation consume you. He finally pulls himself out with a grunt, face above yours as he lets out a harsh breath. His tongue darting out, curving up as he places it on the tip on his lips.

His eyes flit down on to his cock; he scoffs and then lets out a harsh laugh, gaze unwavering at the red smeared all over it. His fingers moving to rub over the length of it as he holds it his palm, pressed to your thigh as you feel him harden again.

He presses his nose to your cheek “Untouched little flower, aren’t you?” he derides, “Well, aren’t you blessed? to have your womanhood gifted to you by a dragon.”

Your eyes sting, fingers gripping into your own palm as you clump onto the earth beneath.

He snaps your neck towards him, fingers harshly pushing your cheeks as your lips pout. Fear overrides every other emotion as your eyes find his in hopes to not anger him any further.

“If only you learnt to put those hands to better use you whore, I’d have been generous enough to spend some gold on you.”

The cruelty and conceit in him surpassing that of his royal house. His lavender gaze resolute; lips tugging between his teeth, voice almost soft and yet patronizing, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson… the dragon ought never lose.”

*

[prokopetz]

"Facebook offering a service where they train an AI on your blog and have it continue making posts in your 'style' after you die is so dystopian" no, dystopian is the inevitable controversy two years after the service launches when it will turn out that they're tweaking the outputs to have dead users' accounts perform paid product placement.

[mckitterick]

[cherienymphe]