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You might need these not to drown in sorrow...
I love bdsm fics. To read all the reasons why people want to submit to or dominate a person. The psychology behind, how our brains might crave an outlet for our body. And how those actions finally calm the mind ... yeah, I think it's one of the most fascinating things ever. Be aware that I love it when things get rough, so read the tags and proceed carefully from there.
If you have any recs yourself, please tell me about them. I'd even jump into new fandoms if the eveloping bdsm realtionship is worth it. Also, fair warning, this post is long. Most of the fics are long and worth some words and a proper excerpt. 'nough said, here we go:

Title: Strangers to Ourselves
Author: favicon Nonymos
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing(s) Clint Barton/Loki
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 121,417
Warnings/Tags: Dominant!Loki, sub!clint, Dom!Loki, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Porn With Plot, Smut, BDSM, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Bondage, Whips, Gags, Blindfolds, Painplay, Hair Pulling, Slapping, Asphyxiation, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Leashes, Begging, Cock Rings, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Subspace, BDSM - Freeform, Trying to escape the clichés here, Real-life BDSM is all about trust and respect, that shouldn't be an issue between those two, ha ha, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized BDSM-phobia, Denial, Aftermath of Fuck or Die, Self-Loathing, Trust Issues, trust issues everywhere, Angst, Truckloads of sex, Clint drops the F-bombs everywhere, but he's going through rough times okay, Coulson Lives and he's awesome, Loki's motives are a mystery, Clint is too stubborn for his own good, also Sitwell is a prick

Summary: Loki likes it when people kneel before him, and isn't that the sign of a heavy dominant complex.

Clint enjoys having nothing but his next target in mind, and isn't that the sign of a heavy submissive complex.

Loki and Clint slept together during a sex-pollen-induced frenzy. They both agree that it was an unpleasant, shitty road-bump, they still hate each other a lot and the situation is not going downhill at all, fuck you very much.

Or: What do you do when your greatest enemy becomes the one man you can't live without ?

Why I loved it:
It's hard to describe this fic and its companion piece (see rec to From The Top) and what they did to me. Last week I promised a rec about my favourite fic from 2016. That wasn't the truth, but not a lie either, because these two fics are my favourites so far. Tbh, I can't see that change in the few weeks that are still to go in 2016. They are an entity, but I still try to point out each's specifics.

In Strangers to Ourselves the reader gets Clint's pov. Loki's pov is told in From the Top. To read one after the other was kind of an revelation. There are scenes that are particularly hard to read from Clint's perspective and the reader gets too curious about Loki's view ... and the whole picture just blew my mind.
First, I should start with the story though:
There is that sex pollen event which is actually more a pwp fic and a short prequel to this story. Afterwards neither Clint nor Loki can get the events and the other out of their head. Well, it was easy to let go when one was high. In Clint's case that was living out a submissive streak more than a mile long, and in Loki's to thrive on it. He gave Clint something that comes easy to him and got a whole being just for himself to play with. Yeah, but that was when they were high as kites. Now, they aren't and it's not so easy for Clint to let go. With Loki of all people. The terrible, terrible God who brainwashed him. Of course he fights it. Without much success I might say. Because he got hooked, and now it's Loki and his treatment that Clint craves. The more he tries to suppress it, the greater the urge gets. It doesn't take long for him to break. He begs Loki to become not only his submissive, but his slave. Yupp, for real. He wants to be Loki's. That's when the Avengers come to know about them and shit really hits the fan. ... And all that is just the start.

See, it's difficult to describe this fic and even describe a tenth of what happens in it. It's even more difficult to explain their relationship. Clint is not an easy submissive. He's strong and doesn't just give in. Yet he needs it so badly, and he doesn't want safewords or consent or safety. There's a part where Loki has to leave him, and someone [can't spoil it, all right?] takes over. But it's not the same and he hurts and - even his friends finally see that they are unable to help him - only Loki can. Everybody should remember that and how Clint suffered like a shrivelling plant in the desert without him, because then he gets trained as Loki's slave.
Holy shit. I won't tell you much more. Lets just say Clint is stripped of his defences one after the other and ... that was tough shit at times ... and yet I loved it, every brutal step on the way. Even from Clint's pov you could see that Loki did care about him, even (or especially because) he has a sardistic streak more than the Bifrost long.

Now I cease my rambling about this one, because Loki has his own story. If you love bdsm fics and are willing to accept that it is a story and would never take place in rl (nearly nothing in this story is to be tried at home kids and adults!), you'll get a fantastic fic about two characters that badly need each other. How they discover just that, that the other's a perfect fit for their special needs, is told in Nonymos' fabulous story with such verve, vivid pictures, and an unexpected amount of humour. Both fics made it on my all-time-favourites-list in no time.


The excerpt will give you a pretty good idea if you can stomach the story or not. I love that scene, even if my heart always breaks for the Bilgesnipe. [Warning for a fictive animal dying, its death serves a purpose]
Excerpt:
His fingers opened.

The bilgesnipe let out a horrible cry when the arrow stuck itself into her tiny golden eye. She shook her sharp antlers, charged, stopped, charged again and howled louder, causing the others to scatter in panic. The ground shook with the stampede.

“Do not kill her” Loki murmured. “Bring her down.”

An imperceptible tremor went up Clint's spine, but he took out another arrow. The bilgesnipe was shaking her heavy head back and forth in agony; he waited for the exact second – opened his fingers and hit her other eye. She let out another monstrous roar and charged. Another arrow to slice the tendons of her left forefoot, then her right, and she fell heavily in the grass, groaning and trying to raise herself up.

Four arrows, four hits, despite the fact that the archer's target had been charging blind in wrath.

Loki smirked at him, then said, “Come on.”

They went down the hill. The rest of the pack was long gone; the big female remained, huffing heavily through her flaring nostrils, shifting her head to try and see. She felt them coming and stiffened, then growled, low and rumbling like an earthquake.

“You put up a good fight” Loki told her amiably.

He put his spear between the antlers and a blue glow pulsed along the length. She froze, then with a long sigh, put her head down on the ground and stayed still, all pain and panic washed away.

Clint was thunderstruck.

“That's... cheating” he mumbled numbly, even though he knew how pathetic his objection might sound.

Loki removed his spear and looked down at their catch.

“It would be” he said. “Arguably. But you took her down by the book beforehand, did you not?”

The archer looked at the calmed beast. He knew her eyes would have been blue, if not for the arrows making them cry red tears.

“Yeah” he muttered.

When Loki had brainwashed him, he had been cheating indeed, twisting him into subservience. But now, Clint was taken down by the book too, his eyes and mind unsullied. He had chosen to be there, and nobody had forced him to shoot the bilgesnipe.

“Yes” he repeated in a clearer voice. “Okay.”

Loki smiled, then opened his hands.

“Come, sacrifice” he ordered with a wide grin. “Show us your strength.”

The bilgesnipe huffed louder, then got up again, raising herself high despite her sliced legs. Her antlers were so sharp they could have cut the blue fabric of the sky.

Loki led her through the fields to the small hunting shack. Clint opened his mouth – was he bringing her back into the house? – then thought twice and locked his lips. The demi-god smirked at him, then pushed the door and the coldness of the stone chased the golden sun away.

Between four walls, the beast seemed even more imposing, her flanks pulsing, her antlers scraping the ceiling. Big drops of black blood fell from her eyes and legs on the ground, slowly soaking her fur.

They were in the torture room, Clint realized. He still had no idea what Loki intended to do with their catch, but he didn't like this one bit.

Loki lowered his spear, and the beast went down, huffing steam as she rested on the floor. The demi-god leaned his weapon on the wall, then turned to the archer with a smirk Clint knew only too well.

“Strip” he said. “Entirely.”

Clint swallowed. With an intense effort, he managed not to ask anything.

He unbuckled his bow and quiver, then quickly discarded his clothes. The demi-god gripped his hair tight enough to make him wince, then brought him to his knees, causing Clint to twist his spine since he didn't want to look away from the beast.

Loki tied his arms in his back, collared him and connected the leather strap to a ring on the floor, on a leash short enough for Clint to stay curled up on himself. That damn begging position – except it wasn't torture this time, but something designed to make him stay still. Loki restrained his ankles as well, slipped ropes around his shoulders and waist – then anchored them all into the ground. Clint could not move an inch, strapped down to the stone. He began to tremble slightly with the efforts he made to keep his head up and look at the bilgesnipe. The beast was completely calm, huffing quietly through her flaring nostrils.

Loki seized his chin to push a ball-gag in his mouth, but Clint closed his lips against it. “Please” he blurted.

The demi-god smirked a mocking smirk, but still said, “What?”

Clint swallowed.

“Please tell me what you're going to do to me.”

There was a silence.

Still grinning, Loki rubbed his thumb on the archer's cheek.

“I'm just making you a little harder to kill.”

“How – ”

Loki forced the gag between his jaws and buckled it behind his head. Clint let out a muffled moan then kept quiet.

The demi-god then got up and went to the bilgesnipe to tie her down to the ground as well. He used heavy chains and locked her jaws shut with a leather strap; she let him, blind and pliant, blood still flowing from her gouged eyes. Clint felt a brief pang of pity, quickly drowned into his own maddening anxiety.

By the time Loki was done, both his victims were mirroring each other, bound and muzzled, one very calm – yet unwilling ; the other on the brink of panic – yet having agreed to bow. The demi-god took back his spear and pressed it between the great antlers again.

Clint saw the exact moment the spell stopped. The bilgesnipe let out a rumbling howl that shook the entire room, and strained against her chains which tensed like a whip. She roared and struggled and fought furiously, in vain. Loki smirked and came forward, grabbing an antler and jerking the beast's head back like he did with Clint – and how insanely strong was he, to be able to do such a thing?

“Now” he murmured with delight, setting the sharp blade on the pulse point in the bilgesnipe's throat.

He was going to love this. Clint could barely breathe, could only look in morbid fascination.

“Die” Loki whispered. “Give me everything.”

He pushed and sliced and ripped her jugular open – and the blood gushed out along with a terrifying howl of agony, spasms coursing through the enormous body.

Red splattered on Clint who buckled in his restraints – and suddenly the bilgesnipe was screaming a human scream, and suddenly there was an animal roar coming out of his own throat –

– and the world turned upside down.

He felt it, steam huffing through his nostrils, flanks heaving with his powerful panting, life pouring out of him in a crimson river. He could smell two creatures in the room, cold, warm, but everything was fading away as his blood gushed out, and he left with it, flowed into another heart, coursed through foreign veins, fused with the life pulsing there, waiting there, electrified it and suddenly he could see again, see the walls and the chains, see his own corpse lying there, gored on the stone floor, and he convulsed with incomprehension and lowed behind the muzzle –

– then his eyes cleared and he was Clint Barton again, only stronger, filled with a fire he never knew existed. He was still staring at the dead bilgesnipe ; he realized he could still smell Loki's cold scent even through the metallic stink of blood. He realized he was hearing the smallest sounds and seriously hurting himself from pulling at his restraints.

His gaze was irresistibly drawn to Loki, his wide smirk and his palms red with blood. Making you a bit harder to kill.

Making him. Like he was really God. Like he decided of what Clint should be.

And he did. He owned him, could do whatever he wanted with him, and Clint had never felt it more clearly and thoroughly than in this instant, still tied to the ground with the force of the beast running through his body. This was how Steve must have felt like after the serum. Maybe more feral though – it hadn't been a neat little bottle, but crude strength poured right into his veins, blood magic forced on his very essence.

Loki walked between him and the dead beast. Clint was trembling at his feet in the restraints, and he knew without a doubt that the demi-god was making it clear that no matter how stronger, faster he might be, he remained nothing but a slave, enhanced for his master's pleasure.

The gag unbuckled itself and the archer spat it out, gasping.

“How are you feeling?” Loki murmured.

“What” Clint panted, “you're not sure it worked?”

An amused, predatory grin flashed on the demi-god's lips and put the blade of his spear on the archer's throat, forcing him to raise his head until he couldn't move any further away.

Loki pushed the blade just deep enough for Clint to start panicking, then removed it. “I want to know if you felt what happened” he repeated.

The archer wasn't going to tempt fate twice. “Yeah” he huffed. “Fuck, yeah, I did. Still do.” He shook. “How long – how long will it last?”

The demi-god smiled. “As long as you're alive. Worry not, you will get used to the feeling.”

The ropes tying Clint to the ground vanished, but the collar remained and his hands stayed firmly strapped in his back. Loki cupped his jaw to make him look up.

“Now, Barton” he said. “I believe you can eat this.”

There was a golden apple in his hand.


xxoxx


Title: From The Top
Author/Artist: favicon Nonymos
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing(s) Clint Barton/Loki
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 203,635
Warnings/Tags: Loki, not exactly Safe Sane and Consensual, more like Unsafe Insane and Sensual, BDSM - Freeform, D/s, Submissive!Clint, Dominant!Loki, sub!clint, Dom!Loki, Explicit Sexual Content, Porn With Plot, Smut, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Bondage, Whipping, Gags, Blindfolds, Painplay, Hair-pulling, Slapping, Asphyxiation, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Leashes, Begging, Cock Rings, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Sex Machines, Sexual Torture, Cages, Vibrators, Subspace, Domspace, Denial, Refusal, Aftermath of Fuck or Die, Self-Loathing, Trust Issues, TONS AND TONS OF SEX, also angst, Loki Angst, So much angst, The God of Chaos has disturbing fantasies, Thank God Barton shares most of them, Thor is trying his best, Jarvis is one upgrade away from turning into a Robot Overlord, What the fuck is Clint thinking, Odin's A+ Parenting, Loki Feels, Clint Feels, BAMF JARVIS, BAMF Phil Coulson, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, Breathplay, Tickling, Sounding, Cock & Ball Torture,Heat Torture, Shaving, Dehumanization, Objectification

Summary: Loki has always yearned for control; but he never did get to control anything.

Barton was made to be ruled; but he was never expected to realize it.

Power is the flame, and Loki Laufeyson is the moth; however, it turns out that even catching fire is not that easy. There are princes and monsters at war inside him – and Clint Barton got caught in the fight.

Or: Can Loki trust himself not to be a monster, when all the prince wants is to take power?

Why I loved it:
This Loki. Wow, he's really crazy, as in personality disorder crazy, and an incredibly lonely soul. It's kind of a blessing that he stumbles into that sex pollen situation and therefore discovers a new side of Clint. Breaking Clint gives him a new purpose, one that makes him care about things. Only about Clint at first, but - yes, there's still the threat of Thanos coming - later on even about the worlds. In the excerpts he already has that apple of Idunn. What he was willing to do to get it was astonishing. He humiliates himself just that Clint can't stay with him through the centuries (well, if he gets rid of Thanos that is...), yeah, he really does care for Clint. Yet, he breaks him over and over and over again. For his own sake and for Clint's.
It was so fascinating to see. There was a scene where Clint suffers for days and in the first fic you really can't believe that Loki left him like this, but here you see what it did to him. How Loki nearly broke down himself, how much it cost him to not intervene and not say, 'ah, it is just a game'. That he actually took Clint's wish, to be his slave to heart ... ah, it was perfect. And there were many, many more scenes like this, where you see why Loki did what he did.

I loved to read about Loki's struggle. There were these two parts of him, one that wanted to destroy everything, especially the things he held dear, and the other where Clint was his most precious possession: a lover, a slave, the perfect companion. And I loved the ending. Can't say much about it, but that their story carried on when Strangers to Ourselves had long ended. I was and am in awe about that ending. It was absolutely perfect and ... oh I just shut up now before I spoil things.

I'm planning to reread both stories this winter, not one after the other, but simultaneously. After the part of Loki's past, frist every chapter from Clint's pov and then again from Loki's pov. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it.

This fic broadened my horizon. I know it wouldn't be okay to do anything like this in real life, and yet it opened my mind about how deep the needs a person might have can run. I loved to see them becoming happy with their chosen life-style. I could go on and on about how this story spoke to me. If anybody gives it and its companion piece a try, please tell me how you liked them. I'm sure both will gain strong reactions. :D


And the same part - this time from Loki's pov [sorry, the Bilgesnipe is about to be killed again].
Excerpt:
He wanted this one.

“There she is,” he murmured.

Looking at Barton, he was pleased to see the archer had already pulled out an arrow, although he looked very dubious and still a little worried.

“You know,” Barton said, “we meek Earthlings would rather hunt the young. Or the elders.”

He was trying to get informations without asking any direct questions, and it was subtle enough for Loki to reward it with a small hint. “We are not hunting for meat, but for strength.”

It was a testimony to the progress of Barton’s obedience that he didn’t press the issue. He simply drew and aimed at the beast. Loki waited with baited breath; Barton wasn’t waiting for his signal and Loki didn’t expect him to. Archery was the archer’s domain.

Barton’s fingers opened. Bull’s eye. Or rather, bilgesnipe’s eye. He calmly pulled out another arrow and took aim even as his prey lowed horribly and trampled the ground in fury.

“Do not kill it,” Loki said, still breathless with fascination. “Bring her down.”

Barton’s face sort of flickered, as though something had made him uncomfortable; but his features soon regained their sullen smoothness and he shot again. Again—the other eye. He pulled another arrow and hit again—the right forefoot. Another arrow and again—the left forefoot.

The bilgesnipe fell on its knees in the grass, blinded and helpless. Taken down by one single mortal. Four arrows.

Loki grinned at Barton who didn’t smile in return—he still wasn’t prone to boasting, even though there was much to boast about. Loki let him have his way and simply said, “Come on,” before going down the hill.

The bilgesnipe, sides heaving, still trying to locate them—to kill—even when she was down, was truly impressive. She growled and Loki let it vibrate in his bones. Oh, yes, he had picked the right one.

“You put up a good fight,” he said.

Then he swiftly put the tip of his spear on the massive skull and released the blue energy which washed away the beast’s will. She suddenly stopped squirming and lowered her head to the ground in sign of defeat.

Loki looked up, but his smile vanished when he saw that Barton looked very pale.

“That’s,” the archer said, in a toneless voice.

He swallowed. “That’s… cheating.”

Loki said nothing; he removed his spear. Yes—of course Barton would identify with their prey.

“It would be,” Loki said softly. “Arguably.”

He took a step closer. “But you took her down by the book beforehand, did you not?”

Barton stared at the defeated animal. It seemed he couldn’t stop staring at her burst eyes which cried fat tears of dark blood. Loki said nothing, giving him time to think.

“Yeah,” Barton murmured eventually.

He didn’t sound very convinced, but he cleared his throat and repeated in a more decided voice, “Yeah. Okay.”

Loki smiled at him and although Barton didn’t smile back, he didn’t frown either. He now looked mostly worried about what was to follow. The demi-god couldn’t help grinning wider again—putting Barton through the pains of trepidation positively delighted him.

“Come, sacrifice,” he said with a dark, thrumming joy. “Show us your strength.”

Obedient, the beast got up and began to walk. Loki beckoned her forward, walking backwards for the first steps before turning round and leading the way. Barton followed him, looking more and more unsure; when they got to the shack, it almost seemed like he was about to ask a question, but he thought better of it and shut his mouth. Loki only smirked more and kept walking, followed by the mortal man and the giant beast.

Loki opened the door on the torture rooms and led the bilgesnipe inside. Barton was outright scared now, but he still wasn’t speaking up. The demi-god couldn’t wait to get started with him. He made the beast rest down on the floor first, slowly.

He turned to him and ordered sharply, “Strip.” Then he added, “Entirely,” because it had been a long time since Barton had paled so much at so trivial an order. Once again, he bit back a question right in time. Loki wondered for how long he would last; his efforts were meritorious in any case.

Barton shed his clothes as slowly as he could without being actually being told to hurry. He didn’t look exactly enthusiastic when he crossed Loki’s gaze again, and the demi-god couldn’t help finding it fiercely funny. He stepped forward and grabbed Barton’s hair in a cruel grip, making him wince in pain and tense in apprehension. Loki could almost hear his heart pounding. Oh, he’d missed a Barton who was afraid of him.

He forcefully pushed him down and down Barton went, kneeling stiffly, trying not to look away from the bilgesnipe. Loki tugged even harder at his hair, then gave him an indulgent smile. Barton had already started shaking; he still wasn’t asking any questions. He would break very soon.

Loki released his hair, then invoked some strong rope to tie his hands in his back—not using any magic somehow helped him to focus on the magic he was about to handle. Also, tying Barton down manually was always fun.

He collared him a bit more tightly than necessary and tied down the very short leash to a ring bolted in the ground, forcing Barton to bow very low, stomach almost brushing his thighs. The archer was still craning his neck to try and see; maybe he thought Loki would start talking by himself. But Loki was very skilled at keeping silent when he wanted to.

Barton was trembling more and more violently; when Loki seized his chin, almost fondly, then invoked a black, leather ball-gag, his victim finally broke. “Please,” he choked.

Loki grinned at him, shark-like. “What?”

Barton took a moment to pick his words. “Please—tell me what you’re going to do to me.”

I am making a stand. You will live on because the world will, too. You will live, to prove that I can keep you alive.

“I’m just making you a little harder to kill,” Loki smirked.

“How—”

Loki cut him off by stuffing the gag into his mouth and buckling it tight behind his head. Barton moaned a little, but there was nothing he could do; he kept quiet. Loki realized he was rapidly getting hard and berated himself—not now.

He got up and inflicted the same treatment to the bilgesnipe, with much more haste and much heavier chains. When the beast was properly restrained and almost bolted down into the floor, Loki took his scepter again and broke the spell.

The bilgesnipe instantly tried to leap forward and was brutally held back by the chains. Loki stared at her, enthralled by this abundance of raw violence at arm’s length, bound for his use, like a hurricane in a jar. Yes. This would be plenty. This would be perfect.

He got closer and grabbed one of the giant antlers; he hadn’t used his full strength in some time, but the beast was so strong he had to wrestle her head back to finally put the razor-sharp blade against her pulse point. He could feel the life throbbing there with panic and fury, ready to be let out, ready to serve.

“Now,” he murmured.

He hadn’t killed something in a long time, either. He had missed it. His blood felt like fluid, white-hot molten steel in his veins, and Gods he had missed it.

“Die,” he said, bloody purple and pitch black rising into his ribcage—“give me everything.”

And she did.

He plunged the blade deep into her throat and it was so freeing to do this, to do the most forbidden thing, to break something precious and not feel guilty because he had meant to break it. It was so empowering, so natural and so savage that a rush of adrenaline flamed through his veins as the blood gushed out and painted him red.

He had planned to collect it on his fingers to stain Barton’s skin—a few drops would have been enough—but the flow had been so violent his slave was speckled with red already. Loki felt the magic heave inside of him, and didn't try to fight it; his eyes rolled back in his head—and everything was energy.

Dazzling energy, hot energy, howling energy like the hurricane set loose and he took it, canalized it, oriented it, the bilgesnipe was dying but her life needed not to go to waste, Loki gathered it and kept it from going away, like a spider pulling on a thousand threads, and he redirected it into a blast which hit Barton’s heart and exploded inside his body like a primal scream, and Barton screamed again, not with pain but with—everything, everything that was life, energy, any reason anyone needed to scream, he had them all and he screamed and screamed and buckled and thrashed and screamed his lungs out until he suddenly—snapped into silence and went limp into his bonds.

Loki was shivering a little with excitement and expectation, but he had nothing on Barton’s shudders. His were so violent his bones could have dismantled if not for the flesh holding them together. The flesh—the blood—the energy. Loki was tempted to tug on the neural link and take a peek inside, but on second thought, he did not. He would rather hear it from Barton’s own mouth.

Loki was soaked in dark blood and its warmth was getting to his skin. He shivered again in pleasure, and walked to Barton, relishing intensely the sight of him, eyes wide with shock, panting, bloodied, bound.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured, letting the gag unbuckle itself.

Barton was gasping for air; eventually, he managed through chattering teeth, “What—you’re not sure it worked?”

Loki grinned, sharper and wider than ever. Insolence. Always something to break. He set the tip of his spear against Barton’s throat, just like had done to the gored bilgesnipe. One little push would be enough. He wanted to do it. He was dying to do it.

Dying. He cleared his own mind with an intense effort; he was still trembling with the rush of energy which had blasted through him. No. He scolded himself, no, nobody was dying today—his mind was too hazy to do the math at the moment, but he knew there was a logic behind the fact that he must not kill Barton. No matter how much he yearned to.

When he was certain he had gotten a hold of himself, he pushed the extreme tip of the blade into Barton’s throat, just a scratch, just to prove himself he could do it. And he could do it; he didn’t kill him. Merciful. He was—merciful.

He was shaking.

“I want to know if you felt what happened,” he breathed.

Barton was shaking even harder—maybe he had felt Loki’s urge, Loki’s craving for his blood. “Yeah—fuck, yeah, I did,” he said quickly. “I still do.”

Good. Loki’s mind cleared even more; he let his spear fall on the side. Yes. Good. Norns, his mind was still clouded over. He had almost killed him. He had been so close—too damn close.

He had been unprepared for so violent a rush. He needed to tone it down.

He pushed his hand into his pocket and the smooth apple under his fingers definitely helped with that. He closed his eyes, took a breath, reopened them.

“How—how long will it last?” Barton asked anxiously.

Loki smiled, exhaling a shaky breath. Yes, he was back. Norns, he had been close, and he would be terrified later, but for now he was back. “As long as you’re alive,” he said. “Worry not, you will get used to the feeling.”

He waved his hand and Barton’s leash vanished; Loki cupped his chin, made him look as he took out the apple.

“Now, Barton,” he murmured. “I believe you can eat this.”


xxoxx


Title: Smoke and Mirrors
Author: [livejournal.com profile] oakstone730favicon Oakstone730
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing(s) Charlie Weasley/Harry Potter, past Charlie Weasley/Remus Lupin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 25,669
Warnings/Tags: Bondage and Discipline, BDSM Scene, Post - Deathly Hallows, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Sensory Deprivation

Summary: Charlie seeks out transient encounters to relieve the stress of dragon-wrangling after losing his partner Remus. When the mysterious Dom known only as Black offers him an unusual contract, he can't say no.
Time frame: 2008-2009. AU: Remus/Tonks & epilogue Harry/Ginny never happened.

Why I loved it:
This fic had some beautiful dynamics. There is Charlie, a submissive, but a wonderfully strong character. He lost his lover, Remus, ten years ago and never fell for another in all the time. Well, until he meets the mysterious Black in a Parisian BDSM club. The man calls him Red and offers him things he has only dreamed about for years. He fulfils said dreams, but there's one condition: Charlie/Red can't see Black's face. It comes how it must and Charlie learns that Black was Harry all along, just after he was finally ready to let Remus go... Don't worry, they manage to get there in the end. :D

The scenes in the fic were fabulous, and it was a real treat to see oblivious Charlie falling for Black. Of course he was really pissed when he learned the truth. And Harry? Seeing him as Black through Charlie's eyes, oh my god, he was so, so hot. I wish someone would draw them both in action. Though maybe the paper will catch fire...
I also loved that it was a story about loss and how you can get lost in it when you notice nothing beside your own 'bubble of desperation and loneliness'. It was great to see Charlie finally heal and carry on. Harry's demeanour wasn't perfect, but in his defense, he'd tried for years to get Charlie's attention. I could relate to him taking desperate measures.

Don't get me started on their scenes. Damn they were awesome. Harry had some great kinks for a Dom and they fit this great role reversal perfectly. Don't get me wrong, he didn't come across as weak or not capable to wield whatever instrument he chose to beat Charlie with, and the descriptions of his deep sexy voice gave not only Charlie gooseflesh. I just loved that Charlie - the strong and stout dragon tamer - was the one who craved submission in all ways possible. It's brilliant when a bdsm story plays with expectations and turns them upside down. Really these stories are the best. You probably know Oakstone730 as an author, but yeah, you might haven't read this story as it's not their 'normal' pairing. Give it a try nonetheless. I'm sure you won't regret it.


Excerpt:
“No, why me?”

“Because I know what you need...I can give it to you.”

Charlie shook his head, not believing him, “How could you possibly? Tonight was good, you know your way around the whip, better than some of the bădăran down there. But you don’t know me.”

“I’ve been where you are. The need to be broken down, the frustration of being with those who didn’t understand. The crippling need for the pain to make everything alright.”

Charlie snorted and started to leave.

“I also know the challenge you present to the doms on the floor. They judge you by the size of your muscles, your obvious strength, and make the assumption that you must be broken by force. Or that you deserved to be punished for what they don’t have.” The man’s words were like the velvet curtains and Charlie bit his lip, tasting the blood. “They see you and they don’t know that the lick of the whip in the right place is more effective than a blunt hit with a paddle. They seek to break you.”

“And you won’t?” He didn’t try to keep the cynicism out of his voice.

“I didn’t tonight, and I think we can do better, as I get to know your body, learn how to push you. I want to use the ropes on you, bind you tight, see the black ropes knotted against your skin, and see you acquiesce, give yourself, surrender.” The man spoke as if he’d already fantasized about it.

Charlie closed his eyes against the image, to keep from wanting it too much. It was impossible.

“How long?”

“I prefer no less than six months, minimum of two sessions a month, more, if possible.”

“I can’t, not that often. The apparations--”

“As I said, portkeys. I don’t want you exhausted by apparating across the continent.”

Charlie took in his words, he knew how far Charlie traveled. Who was he?

“How can I trust you, if you don’t let me see your face?”

“You don’t want to know, Red.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I like it, it is what I first saw four months ago when I looked out the window and saw you down on the floor, your red hair. I wanted you. Wondered what it would be like to grip you by that red hair of yours and fuck your mouth.”

“Now you know.” Charlie said dismissively.

“Now I want more.”

“What do I call you? Shadow?” Charlie waved at the man’s silhouette.

There was another chuckle that sounded oddly familiar to Charlie, “If you let me call you Red, you can call me Black, in addition to sir.”



xxoxx


Title: Stuck on the Puzzle
Author/Artist: favicon thespectalesofthor
Fandom: Dragon Age - Inquisition (#3)
Pairing(s) Iron Bull/Cullen Rutherford
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 235,586
Warnings/Tags: Kink negotiation, non-sexual kink discussion, Drug Withdrawals, resistance to aftercare, corporal punishment discussion, Cullen Has Issues, which surprises no one at all, references to unhealthy SM dynamics, watchwords, Flogging, Aftercare, Resistance, communication issues, Subspace, Touch-Starved, PTSD, covert self-harm, Masochism, Slow Burn, Scratching, Massage, Dominance/submission, Wrestling, Mild Humiliation, Mild subdrop, handjob, Blow Job, Size Kink, Mild Cock & Ball Torture (because I realised most people wouldn't know what CBT meant), Caning, Blood, Impact Play, Punishment, Rimming, Praise Kink, Rope Bondage, Dubious Consent, Clamps - Freeform, Anal Sex, Fingering, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assisted Suicide of Minor Character

Summary: Once, back in Kirkwall, Cullen had an arrangement with a member of the city guard that satisfied his needs. But time changed all things, and he despaired of ever finding a similar arrangement again - that was, until he met The Iron Bull. Problem being that Bull seemed to care far more about sorting out the nitty-gritty of such an arrangement than Cullen ever has.

Why I loved it:
I went through the relevant tags on ao3 on my query to find new and long bdsm fics à la Needs Must and found this one. I had literally no clue about Dragon Age, but there are ways - aka great wikis for all and every person on the internet - and after some reading I felt ready to dive into this fic. Man, what a journey. The author took canon and wove things into it, so let me try and explain:

There's Cullen, a former Templar with a ton of baggage. First, he is a former Lyrium addict (all Templars use this drug and as they rarely leave their order, they don't even know what it does to you if you don't take it anymore...). Yet Cullen left them because ... reasons ... and with that he had to learn to live with returning intervals of physical withdrawl. Lyrium never leaves for real, and on top to the physical side of things, whenever the drug is around, it literally sings to Cullen. Second, he has this craving for submission, he likes to be beaten and used and hates himself for it. In this world he has a name, a reputation, he's the Inquisitor's advisor in all things military, he commandeers the forces of Skyhold and ... he just can't give into this shit. Take also into account that the arrangement he once had with that man in Kirkwall was very, very unhealthy. That man let him feel that he secretly despised him for his needs. No wonder he has a problem to see himself as a healthy and worthy human being...
Then there's the Iron Bull, a mercenary, with his own horrible past (in imo the past of Cullen is an even bigger shitload of suffering, but yeah, one could have a lenghty discussion about that). Bull's a one-eyed Qunari, a big, strong and humanoid species with horns. Let's say he looks impressive and is normally paired with Dorian Pavus ... but yeah, not in Stuck on the Puzzle. Anyway, he has not a single problem with his sexual kinks and loves to let out his dominant side. He also is a very caring Dom. He has his problems, but not with Cullen's cravings, more with feelings and such things. Him being kind of a flagship-Dom makes it problematic for Cullen though. Cullen doesn't want aftercare, negotiations, and whatnot it is Bull wants of him. Mostly, because he doesn't feel worthy to get such treatment.

Well, it was truly beautiful and very angsty to follow these two on their journey. At times I thought they would never make it, but it was great, and especially when feelings entered the mix, it got breathtakingly bumpy. But they got there in the end, even though it took them a long time, which was part of the fun for me.

The scenes between them were wonderful, yet I loved it even more that both of them came from such contradictory positions. To see them overcome all the shit that stood between them was the real treat of Stuck on the Puzzle. Another gem was the worldbuilding. Yes, a lot is given by the games, but Thespectaclesofthor took canon and added their own stuff in such brilliant ways. For example Cullen's withdrawl episodes. The varied in intensity and hardship, and at times he and I thought he wouldn't survive it. And just think about a drug that sings to you. Not like a hallucination, but for real. And only people who ever used it can hear its song. How glorious an idea is that?

Yeah, this fic's bdsm scenes were pretty good, but not this fic's true speciality. No, it was the journey these characters took. They showed such great deepth, and their interactions and inner monologues were wonderful to read. It totally made me crave more fics with them. Sadly there are not that many more stories (I should probably try to fall for Dorian too), but this one was worth every minute I spent with it. A beautiful story.


Excerpt:
‘Talk to me,’ Bull said.

‘You- That’s your thing, not mine,’ Cullen gasped, and then his back bowed as Bull’s finger sank deeper than his tongue had gone, sank deeper still. One smooth, firm slide all the way to his last knuckle.

Cullen always thought he’d not be able to enjoy this. Not because of the mechanics of it, but because of his mind. He knew back then he’d worry about being unclean, or the sensation of being opened by someone else, or accidental injury, or the strangeness of trusting someone with that, or any one of a number of other things.

Now, with the pain grabbing every one of his extraneous thoughts and turning them to a soreness without words, he could feel the pleasure of it. He wanted the intrusion, even as it scared him. He wanted to be filled with this, and he didn’t know how to speak. So his mouth worked on non-words, until he managed a thready:

‘I never…expected it to feel so good.’

Bull said something under his breath on an exhale, a surprised word in Qunlat. Then his finger started moving back and forth, carefully at first, and Cullen turned his head back into his shoulder and curled one of his legs around Bull’s side, thinking that this wasn’t like flogging at all, but he could see that it might become something else he thought of with yearning too. Maybe just with Bull. The person who would be done with him one day. Who would move on. Who thought love threatened his ability to stay sane, to say nothing of whether he was capable of loving Cullen.

Cullen rather thought he affected anyone’s ability to stay sane.


xxoxx
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