( they agree to meet, following their texts βΒ less agree, and more that ash instructs and faith just happens to show up, in the bowels of otherworld where these things tend to go down. if you asked ash what, exactly, he thought he was doing, he wouldn't have a clear answer. trying to understand his wife's killer βΒ knowing it wasn't her fault, but blaming her anyway. trying to figure out what justice looks like, when the person who faulted you was unconscious at the time of disturbance, whether it's possible to let bygones be bygones when lives are in question.
ash can be charming, ordinarily. but this isn't a usual situation and he doesn't behave usually, guiding faith to a private room lined with walls of impact devices and cabinets of other naughty things, a st andrew's cross taking up a good portion of the floor space that isn't occupied with a bed, and a few pieces of furniture meant to be bent over and fucked on. inside, ash approaches one wall and eyes the supplies as if observing a painting in a museum, thoughts all scattered on what he wants to do. it isn't like him βΒ he's usually the man with the plan, the man who thinks it all out ahead of time, who knows every move a person makes before they make it. staring, he tries to get his thoughts in order. hurt her, hit her until she cries. fuck her until that mask of hers is gone. figure out who faith is underneath that blase layer of disinterest.
and if there isn't anything else? well. at least he'll know, then. )
I want you to pick a safeword, and tell me if you have any limits. ( he says this, not looking at her. he picks a nasty looking paddle with spikes off the wall and tests it against his hand. ) Then I want you to take your clothes off.
[ Faith doesn't have to explain herself to anyone. She reminds herself of this every time doubt jolts her thoughts, infecting her with fleeting clarity. She doesn't have to know why she is doing this: her life is her own to set ablaze. The fire has been simmering for a good long while besides.
She steps inside after Ash and looks around the room, one eyebrow raising with passive interest, a smirk only starting to tug at her mouth. Another jolt when he picks up the paddle but she gives no sign of disturbance. She can't be scared away, not by him. She's game.
The instruction splits her mind in two: half of her wants to challenge and half of her wants to play. (All of her wants to be punished.)
Faith considers for longer than she means to before speaking up. ]
Mayor. That's my safeword. [ Her lips finally stretch into a full smirk after she pulls off her shirt and shakes her hair out. Her tone is somehow both confident and defensive when she next speaks, making eye contact as she steps out of leather pants. ] I don't have limits.
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β action. cw: nsfw, bad bdsm
Date: 2025-12-29 04:25 am (UTC)ash can be charming, ordinarily. but this isn't a usual situation and he doesn't behave usually, guiding faith to a private room lined with walls of impact devices and cabinets of other naughty things, a st andrew's cross taking up a good portion of the floor space that isn't occupied with a bed, and a few pieces of furniture meant to be bent over and fucked on. inside, ash approaches one wall and eyes the supplies as if observing a painting in a museum, thoughts all scattered on what he wants to do. it isn't like him βΒ he's usually the man with the plan, the man who thinks it all out ahead of time, who knows every move a person makes before they make it. staring, he tries to get his thoughts in order. hurt her, hit her until she cries. fuck her until that mask of hers is gone. figure out who faith is underneath that blase layer of disinterest.
and if there isn't anything else? well. at least he'll know, then. )
I want you to pick a safeword, and tell me if you have any limits. ( he says this, not looking at her. he picks a nasty looking paddle with spikes off the wall and tests it against his hand. ) Then I want you to take your clothes off.
no subject
Date: 2026-01-16 10:35 pm (UTC)She steps inside after Ash and looks around the room, one eyebrow raising with passive interest, a smirk only starting to tug at her mouth. Another jolt when he picks up the paddle but she gives no sign of disturbance. She can't be scared away, not by him. She's game.
The instruction splits her mind in two: half of her wants to challenge and half of her wants to play. (All of her wants to be punished.)
Faith considers for longer than she means to before speaking up. ]
Mayor. That's my safeword. [ Her lips finally stretch into a full smirk after she pulls off her shirt and shakes her hair out. Her tone is somehow both confident and defensive when she next speaks, making eye contact as she steps out of leather pants. ] I don't have limits.