Thread by @LPSunBun

Ult!Dirk/Dirk, selfcest, Narrative Manipulation Bullshit, ftm trans Dirk, first person POV, talking directly to reader, I legitimate don't know what to tag this as but I'm sure Ultimate Dirk will tell me.

Enough preface. We're on the clock, here.

Well, not really. Narrative Convenience is a powerful tool. I can take as much time as I need and the plot will return when it is time. You've gone off to find your trump card, as weak as it will be, so it's my turn.

Hey, no one ever said /I/ had to play fair.

Dirk, my younger, naive self, is still looking at the ocean. He's holding his pokerface well enough, but he's got nothing to a master. I can see- and literally read in the narrative, the slight twist to his mouth, the uneasy edge in his brows.

He's conflicted.

I always was so unshakable in my convictions. Seeing them trembling so quickly in my younger self is irritating-

worse, it's insulting. And dangerous. If the game isn't played, everything shatters. I'm not a bad guy like you all paint me out to be. Just a pragmatic one.

I could spend pages of musing on all the ways that my younger self is inferior. But I won't, because thats pointless.

So instead, I manifest again. Next to him, leaning with my back to the railing. No point in making him wary, even if I can just soothe it away.

He's conflicted, though. His stomach churning even as he looks to me. You really are quite persuasive, dear reader, but you can never beat /yourself/. And I am Dirk's self. Older, wiser, stronger... /cooler/.

Don't look so annoyed. You know it's true. My cool levels

have been vastly amplified. Why would you hate and adore me in turn otherwise?

Dirk is watching me out the corner of his eye. I can see them shift behind his glasses even as the rest of his demeanor remains rock solid, unbothered.

Ah, his palms are sweating.

That always was an annoying tell. It was something I swiftly rid myself of when ascending. Among other things.

He breaks the silence first. "Sup." He says. His tone is even.

"Sup." I say back. Strider ritual, even if it's the first time he's done it. He'll learn.

I wait the silence out. I know myself. It's better to let him lead, here.

"So, no titties anymore?" Dirk asks, and there's an amused tilt to his mouth. Humor to diffuse situation. Always a classic.

In response, I just tug my shirt all the way up. Give me some credit, I didn't give myself washboard abs. But I did at least make them nice.

Dirk's attention skips over them, instead looking at my pecs. Which are /very/ nice. I made sure of it.

"No scars." He observes. "So, what, the game just- lets you vanish them?"

"In a sense." I agree. "There's a lot of metatextual bullshit in the state we end up in. But yes. The medium I have control over allows me to present my image in my optimal desired self."

"That's cool." Dirk says, and I can read his interest. I know his mind inside and out. I also get to speak it into existence.

I've never been a shy one. I make him say it.

"So we get a real dick then, too?"

I grin. You're not around here. Time for another Strider tradition. I reach up and flick my shades up onto my head.

I can feel Dirk's shock. I soften the edges of it. It's myself. Who else can I bare myself too, if not me?

He's harder to manipulate. Heart player and all that.

At the same time he's also easier. He's me. A younger, foolish version of me. I give him a little narrative nudge.

He reaches up and flicks his glasses up. The motion is clumsy, but he hides it well.

"You're looking at 100% bonafied Strider beef." I say.

God his expression is pathetically vulnerable without his shades. Did I really look like that when I was younger? Of course I did.

"You really think we'd get rid of our tits but not get a dick?" I continue, raising a brow at him. "Come on."

I can feel the surge of longing in his chest, but I see it moreso in his eyes. He shrugs.

"Done weirder things for the sake of irony." He says, attempting casual. His hands are tight on the railing. I give a chuckle.

"True that." I agree, then very obviously

let myself look like I'm considering something. He takes the bait.

"What?" He asks.

"I could let you feel how it feels." I offer. His heart skips a beat, his eyes going wide even as the rest of his face is perfectly still.

"You going to pull some weird 'magical transformation' shit?" He asks.

"Oh no. That might actually rip you apart." I say. It wouldn't, but I don't want to give the real answer. Call me selfish.

I don't want this pathetic version of myself to get that joy so easily.

I worked and bled and sweated for the right to feel this way. I'm not going to just /give/ it to him.

Bad things happen when you're given things you don't earn.

"How, then?" Dirk asks, and there's a quaver to his voice. Barely suppressed eagerness.

Easy, Dirk. Can't let your pokeface shatter. Or maybe do, it would make this easier.

"I'll just show you." I say. "Metatextual narrative powers allow me to do bullshit like this."

For his sake, I raise my hand and make a little crooking gesture.

I make a heat of desire erupt in his chest. Hot and consuming, his legs go weak as a strangled noise slides from his mouth. His orange eyes are wide, thighs clenching together as he struggles to stay standing.

I'm playing /really/ dirty, now. I know all his fantasies. His kinks.

I wouldn't normally do this, you know. I'm not some creep. But this is /canon/ we're talking about. If I don't, it'll be destroyed, and then where would we be. Would /everyone/ be.

I give a little twitch of my fingers and cut his legs out from under him.

He falls to his knees. I kneel down in front of him, plucking his shades from his forehead as they tilt precariously. He wants to ask, but I make him hold his tongue. Just a minute, younger-me.

I carefully fold his glasses and tuck them into his shirt collar.

He's having trouble breathing through the gripping desire so I tone it down a bit, ease the ache from his binder. Allow him to catch his breath.

"I think I see where this is going." He says, and his voice is still shaky, but it's recovering.

You don't stand a chance. He's already wrapped around my finger. Figuratively. And, well, soon literally.

"Of course you do." I say, an amused tilt to my mouth. "You're me."

"So how do you want to do this?" He asks. There's red in his cheeks. It's cute.

"However you want, Dirk." I say. I know me. It's important to make him feel like he's in control. Even if he's not.

/Especially/ if he's not.

He gives me a contemplative once-over. I lean back on my hands and wait.

After a moment, he spreads his arms, just like I knew he would. "Lay it on me." He decides. I chuckle.

"You got it." I say, and give him what he wants. I dredge up every memory I have, yank those sensations out of the memories, and toss them at him through my narration.

The sensations hit him like a truck and I catch him as he arches, eyes going wide. I let him grab at my arms, thighs shaking and mouth going slack, sucking in shaky breaths as he feels ghost touches all across his skin. Hands curving up over his chest- his /flat/ chest,

across his thighs, rough and calloused, closing over a dick that he doesn't have but can /feel/, and the sensation makes him jolt, hips jumping as he arches, a strangled moan tearing from him, but my grip on his forearms prevent him from launching himself back into the railing.

"Fuck-" he gasps, his eyes meeting mine, shocked and helpless. I just give him a grin and feed him a bit more, making him feel the rough tugging over a cock's head, the full length stroke, the twist at the top, the whole fucking textbook of touches.

He twitches and shakes with each one, an edge to his gasps. His fingers clutch at my forearms desperately.

I give it to him. The release.

Dirk bites down on the noise in his throat, but I tug it free. A strangled, keening thing, high and shocked.

He goes taught as I let it go through him. The gut punch of a first time, so different from what he's used to. He shakes his way through it, gasping, before going limp, held up by my arms on his.

"Holy shit." He croaks, after a moment.

"Feels real good, doesn't it?" I ask. "That's what waiting with me. In the timeline that They'll-" and I mean You, of course, "offer you, you can get close- but not that true."

Dirk shudders a bit. His pokerface is breaking. It's actually really really amusing to watch

him struggle to keep himself together. I never would. My convictions are unshakeable.

He's close, though, to being mine. To keeping the timeline stable. He just needs that one last little push.

"Are you thinking about it?" I ask. He already is, because I'm nudging his

thoughts in that direction. I can feel him shudder a bit. It's not that bad, is it, Dirk? It's just yourself. It's you. When would you get a chance like this again? It'd be foolish not to take it.

He decides. Of course he does. Anything else would be unthinkable, because

that's not how this story goes.

"Fuck it. Yeah. You know, already, don't you?" He asks.

"Yeah, I do." I confirm. His hands shoot to his pants, yanking at his belt. I grin as he starts tugging them open. "Slow down, mini-me. We have all the time we need."

He gives me a /look/, which is amusing, because without his glasses it really is so obvious what his emotions are. I go up on my knees and push him down onto his back. He shivers, under my hands, eyes wide, mouth fighting to be neutral.

"Relax." I say. "Just us here." That isn't strictly true, but he doesn't need to know that. He relaxes a bit as my hands settle on his hips, kneeling over him. My cape slides up my back a bit and drapes over the two of us.

We're nose to nose now, his freckled expression caught somewhere between excitement and unease. It's cute, in a weird, self-indulgent way. I'm going to very firmly put those thoughts aside. This is a deliberate thing I'm doing here.

I lean in and kiss his cheek.

His breath hitches and I remember abruptly that this would be the first real skin contact he'd ever have gotten. Better make the best of it.

My hands tug his shirt up- not a lot, just up to the edge of his binder, so that my hands can squeeze his sides, and I nudge

the feeling into something hotter, which honestly doesn't take a lot. He's on the edge of vibrating out of his skin, but he's controlling it /remarkably/ well. Better than I thought he would.

He's breathing through his nose, not trusting his words.

I know that every touch feels like it's searing, strange and deeper than just skin, sinking into him.

Just your usual touch starvation. I've learned to ignore it.

I take a moment to marvel at how skinny he is, compared to me.

I know I've bulked up, but it really is strange. The size difference is incredible. He feels so skinny under my hands. He kind of likes it, too. Likes being loomed over. He likes more that it's me, that it's himself, because he doesn't have to worry about getting hurt.

Isn't that a novel concept. I toss it aside to examine later.

This would be the part where I could murmur words of encouragement or meaningless platitudes like 'I've got you' in his ear. But I'm not, because I'm not fucking stupid.

That shit feels weird, especially coming from yourself. So instead, what I say is, "I hope you're ready," as my hands find his pants and work them off his hips. I'm nice enough to make it so that his ass won't get scraped on the concrete.

"I was born ready." He says as I tug his pants and underwear off and drop them to the side. They'll stay there, the wind won't take them.

"Good." I say, and drape his legs over my hips. It's my turn, now. I reached for the wrap around my waist and undo it, taking my sword off

and setting it to the side. No need to that to get damaged. I reach into my pants and pull my dick out.

No, I'm not that narcissistic. Yes, it's a nice dick. No, it's not really long or stupid big. Don't be stupid. It's a nice size. I'm not going to say how long.

Dirk seems surprised to see it. He knew it was there, but somehow it didn't seem real until I pulled it out. He stares at it, a strange unease slipping through him, but I smooth that feeling away.

"Gotta open you up first." I say, and through a lovely bit of selfish narrative

manipulation I have a nice lube bottle in my pocket and now it's coating my fingers as I guide one of his legs up to rest on my shoulder.

My fingers find his ass and some tension leaves his shoulder. What, he thought I was going to fuck him /there/?

Of course not. Like I said, I'm not /horrible/. I ease the tension in his muscles until my fingers can slip right on, two of them, again, using narrative bullshit so that there's only the tiniest ache.

His heel flexes on my shoulder as he reflexively tightens on my fingers.

It's an intrusion, but I made it feel good. Rocking my fingers through him, guiding him to open up, stoking a heat in his chest. Sitting back on my heels as he clenches and digs his fingers along the concrete, breathing forcefully though his nose until I give a little twist

of my fingers, tugging on his rim, and his back arches as he gasps.

"You feel open enough." I decide as he stares at me, mouth open, breathing shaky. His hair is a bit mussed, now. It's cute.

"Relax." I tell him. He just gives a shaky nod, not trusting his voice. Abruptly, I realize that I want to see him break.

This younger, more naive, fragile version of me is so annoying to look at. I want to see him /break/.

I grab my dick and press it's head to his hole.

I can't break him just yet. I slowly ease the tip of my cock into him and it's /tight/, and hot, and slick and his expression is so desperately open and vulnerable that it's making my blood heat.

Somehow, I had forgotten about this. About the desire.

About the way it runs both ways, the desire to be dominated and /to dominate/. This young, skinny, fragile version of myself is waking things back up that I thought I had left behind, had shed off when I ascended.

Maybe trolls have a point with kismesis. I hate this

version of myself. I hate him so much I want to make him strong and untouchable, strong enough to do the right thing.

And right now, that means making him feel amazing. I shift my grip on his legs and give a slow, rolling sway, sinking more of my dick into him and he gives a

little wet gasp, thighs clenching. I shift them down to wrap around my waist, hiking up his hips to lean forwards, bracing one elbow over his head as I work myself in to the hilt.

His hands find the front of my shirt, over my chest, gripping the fabric.

There's a vaguely unfocused expression on his face and I know he's feeling my dick inside him, a strange, hot intrusion spreading him open and making him feel good. And it does, it feels good, having another person fuck him open, wet and slow.

We're nose-to-nose now, I'm looking down at him and he's looking up at me as I start rolling my hips, setting a slow, controlled pace, making it slow and languid to let him get used to him.

"Fuck." He chokes out, his heels digging into my lower back.

"More?" I ask, knowing he's ready, and he nods, a quick, sharp motion. I start rolling my hips a bit harder, snapping them in at the peak, hard enough to make him jolt. As I do so, he arches up, mouth parting in a silent moan, eyes squeezing shut. I can feel the shudders

running through him with each snap, the feeling of being caged in by me making his heart pound. It's like a fire being stoked in his belly, spreading up through his chest, and it's starting to creep into his cheeks, turning them flushed and red, so much that it

hides his freckles.

He really is cute. I hate it. I fuck a little rougher, a little harder, and nudge Dirk's control a little loser. Sharp little gasps start falling from his mouth, fucked out of him with every shove of my hips. His fingers tighten in my shirt.

"You ready for the second half?" I ask and his eyes crack open, confusion furrowing his brows. I give him a grin and then pour sensation back into him again, wrapping my narration around him.

Can you feel it, Dirk? The hands on your dick? Invisible and rough? /My/ hands?

They're grabbing at your dick, squeezing tightly. Stroking it. Playing with the tip, fondling your balls. It feels so /good/, it feels right, like you're /whole/.

His back arches again, yanking on my shirt as he goes tight around me, a deep, rattling gasp

tearing from his chest. His eyes are so wide, pupils blown, just a thin ring of orange around them.

"Dirk-" he chokes out, and I know he's close. I sit up, hook his legs over my shoulders, and plant both hands on the ground on either side of him, leaning in as he

grabs at my arms, clinging to them helplessly.

"Hold on." I say and really start fucking him now. I was going smooth before but now it's rough and deep, the way I know he likes it- the way /I/ like it.

He can still feel the touch, the hand on his dick, and I know it's making

his brain melt out his ears. He's making noises that sound suspiciously like whines, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut, fingernails digging into my arms. He's close, and the moment I let him, he'll tip over the edge.

With a desperate gasp, he arches up-

Oh.

Huh.

He kissed me.

It's enough to make Dirk, Ultimate Dirk, temporarily lose control of the narrative as young Dirk sinks a hand into his hair, yanking him in and pressing their mouths together. Ultimate Dirk makes a noise somewhere between shocked and a deep moan as his younger self clumsily

slides their mouths together, panting and gasping, toes flexing and curling over Ultimate Dirk's shoulders.

"Give it to me." Younger Dirk demands, breathless and desperate. "I want- /fuck/-" he bites his words off as Ultimate Dirk lets out a breath in a forceful rush,

shoving his hips in /deep/.

I wrest control back over the narrative. That was a /cheap trick/ of Dirk to do, trying to make me lose control like that.

"I'll give it to you." I growl, and fuck hard a couple of times before pulling back entirely.

He blinks, confused for a moment, legs shaking a bit as he tries to catch his breath, but I don't give him any time to recover, grabbing his arm and hauling him to his feet, turning him to shove him against the railing. His hands find it and cling on, but he doesn't

get the chance to steady because I sink my dick right back into him, deep and rough.

He gasps, pitching forwards, clinging to the railing. I settle my hands- one on his hip, holding him steady, the other sinking into his hair, pulling his head up and back.

"Dirk-" he moans

and I slam into him. He gets it rough and hard now, my dick fucking him open and deep into him, hot and forceful and uncompromising.

His legs are shaking, barely able to hold him up, but my hand in his hair is making him arch back, until he's pulled back taut

like a bowstring.

"Fuck-" his voice is thin and desperate from the strain, but I let go of his hair and cup my broad hand over his neck instead, pulling him back and forcing his chin up so he has to look up at me.

He's burning up. The ghosts hands on his dick, my overwhelming domination, my hard, relentless fucking- he's coiled so tight that the moment I let go he's going to go flying.

His eyes crack open and they stare up at me with naked desperation.

"Please-" he chokes out.

Good enough. I'm ready to cum anyway.

"Go ahead." I tell him, looking down into that watery gaze, tightening my hand ever so slightly on his throat. I shove home and pour the feeling of getting my prostate slammed into him-

the poor boy actually shouts as he cums, trembling,

hips jerking as the ghost hands milk his dick, as his ass squeezes down around me, as I nudge myself into orgasm and give a long groan as I cum. Wetness is rushing down Dirk's thighs.

I hold him there, in that moment, letting him tremble, hips jerking back and

forth as he fucks himself through the best orgasm he's ever had, and I made /damn/ sure it's the best. It's when he starts to slow that I let myself soften, letting go of his throat and rubbing over it once to soothe the ache, feeling him swallow under my hand.

His legs are shaky as he looks down, giving a grimace. "Putting pants back on is going to suck." He mutters. I raise a brow at him.

"Is it?" And then his legs are dry. Bullshit tricks are useful for /something/, after all. I tell him this.

He gives an amused huff as he

sorts his clothes out, limbs twitching with little aftershocks. "You also going to get rid of your spunk in me?"

"I could." I say. I won't. It's proof that he's mine.

Mine? That's weird. I neatly box that thought away to deal with later (never).

Dirk collapses to sit against the pole in the center and after I retrieve my sword, I sit next to him.

"Fuck." He breathes. "That's really persuasive."

I've got him. This one's mine, Reader. You can make your move, but it'll be for nothing. You can't beat yourself.

I'd say sorry, but I'm really not.

// fin

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