bad fanfic inc.

That's what you told yourself, anyway. When you manage to catch up to the stumbling wizard, you expect it to be an easy interaction. Stop him, talk him out of being stupid, send him back to the inn. Your silver tongue has saved countless others, how hard could he be to crack?

Incredibly, is the answer. Before you could even get a second word out he had spun around, seething as he presses a finger to your chest. He almost loses his balance a couple times while insulting you. You let him go off, waiting for him to catch his breath before trying to talk him down one last time.

You expect to win him over. You'd expect him calling you more names and storming off. Hells, at this point you wouldn't be surprised if he hit you.

You don't expect him shoving you back against the stone wall, sharp teeth digging into your lip from the force of the sudden kiss. His hands are everywhere, but he finds enough focus to grab your thigh and pull it around his waist. Heat blooms in your stomach as his tail snakes around your calf, holding you in place so he can sloppily grind against you. His mouth drifts down to your throat, biting down cruelly to try and elicit any noise from you he can. Some curious part of your mind wonders how long he's wanted this. You'd always assumed he'd hated you.

There could still be hate here, but whatever's left in him is being quickly replaced by need. Just from grinding between your legs you swear he's holding back noises of his own, pawing at your armor to try and find some weak point to touch you through. You help him, of course, guiding his hand under your clothes. He almost whimpers when his fingers find skin.

There’s no shortage of rewards for good behavior or progress. While they hope you’ll learn to see viscera and blood-soaked hands as a reward in of itself, they understand it’s not to everyone’s taste. If they have to ply you with gold or pretty clothes or their head between your legs, so be it. They enjoy seeing you happy.

Unfortunately, most the ‘rewards’ are punishments to the average person. Sacrificing someone more brutally than you thought yourself capable of in the hopes that it would earn a break backfires. Now they think you’ve finally gotten a taste for violence and are all smiles as they gift you an extra victim to play with. They’d sit behind you and help of course, you did so well with the first that now you get to take it slow. They want to make an entire date out of it, candles and dinner and all.

Not even mentioning when they force you and their banite together. The only solace you can ever take when that happens is he seems to be just as displeased as you are.

Punishments are much rarer. They recognize the lifestyle they’ve forced you into is a torture all of it’s own. Never mind the fact that they believe they have as much time as they want to mold you into a perfect little weapon. There’s no urgency to this whole affair, so you have to really fuck up for them to earn any significant disappointment.

Even with good behavior, random torments are a given. They are a cruel creature- it’s in their nature to destroy. They may wake up in the middle of the night and decide that it’s the perfect time for them to carve their name into your leg again. Bloodletting is a favorite pastime, second only to seeing how long you can hold your breath for. They love to see you choke and gasp for air when they finally let you back up, laughing as you throw up water. Suffering is good for the soul, they assure you. You’ll get used to it someday, little blade. Everyone does.

A real punishment (by their definition), is reserved for only the worst actions. Attempting to kill them is expected, but if you get too close to actually doing it? It’s nothing a mock hanging couldn’t fix. Well, mock hanging for now. If you slip off the teetering bucket beneath your feet, it’ll become a true hanging in seconds.

You don’t have the energy to respond, wrapping your arms around yourself. The conversation drew in someone with a better bedside manner, a hand pressing against your forehead and soothing the heated skin. You sigh softly at the contact, eyes fluttering open to see who it is.

Gale is looking down at you, worry written all over his face. His eyebrows are drawn together, his hand flinching away when he sees you watching him. He stammers over his words, wringing his hands as he apologizes. He swears his intention wasn’t just to invade your personal space, but you are burning up. Hold on just a moment, while he looks for something to help.

You want to make a quip about how you won’t go far, but both men have disappeared and you’re far too miserable to bother saying anything out loud. You had assumed he had run off to collect Shadowheart, so you’re a little surprised when he comes back alone. He kneels beside you, helping you up until you’re sitting. Well, sitting as well as you can manage, anyway. Your shoulder leans against his for support, watching him uncork the potion bottle carefully. Here, he mumbles, carefully holding the bottle to your lips and urging you to drink.

Your eyes drift closed as you drink, your body heat lowering dramatically. Thank the gods. Much longer, and he worries it might have fried your mind. Gale pulls the bottle away, using his thumb to wipe away a dribble of the liquid from the corner of your mouth. He seems to regret what he’s done immediately, pulling his hand back like he’d been burned. It’s his turn to heat up, the tips of his ears reddening in embarrassment as he apologizes.

He moves to stand, but you touch his arm gently with a small smile. You thank him earnestly, and his blush deepens. He stammers, struggling to look at your face as he tells you it was no problem at all, he’s always on call to help a friend. He winces a bit at the admission but you just pat his arm, laying back down to recuperate. You feel him next to you a bit longer before he departs to make breakfast, but he says nothing else. You don’t mind. It gives you time to think.

With your fever broken, you can think a little clearer. Your dreams come back to you in bits and pieces, swirling colors and strange imagery coming back to you in a confusing blur. The dream was fuzzy, your body was not your own as you were stuck in midair. You couldn’t be sure whether you were right-side up or not, shimmering water mirroring the glittery sky in a such a way that you couldn’t tell which is which. Ribbons of blue and purple and green cut through the infinite universe around you. You were weightless but sluggish, immobile and free-falling all at once. It was dizzying. It was beautiful. Awe and terror filled you in equal measures, and all you could manage was staring into the glittery abyss with wide eyes.

You didn’t flinch when a hand touched your hip. You thought it might have been accidental at first, the barest skim of fingers. The second touch is more purposeful, a prod. Then a whole palm lays flat against the skin, sliding up to feel your waist. Another hand joins, groping your chest clumsily. It confused you. You couldn’t understand the hurry… wherever you were, time didn’t seem to move.

Whoever this was didn’t share your calm. A hand dips between your thighs and you gasp, throwing your head back. Sensations are amplified by hundreds, each caress feeling like it goes on for hours. When you finish against the hand, arching your back with a whine, the heat never leaves. The burning ache inside you only gets worse when the hands retreat, leaving you alone in the shiny abyss once more. That too eventually leaves you to your misery, nothing but inky black nothing holding you suspended in that boiling stasis.