#though it isn't explicitly stated

[satisfactionbroughtmeback]

Danny stared at Ra's. Danny stared at the baby. This entire infant and now the second child of his created without his knowledge or consent.

At least this one was young enough to have not suffered as much damage. He had destroyed the first and largest Lazarus Pit a bit under 2 years ago and this child looked maybe a bit under a year. Or just over a year? He had not had enough time to pay attention with attacks happening during the unit for baby care in high school, and he could now say for certain the flour sack had not prepared him for this. Hopefully Frostbite would be able to help because otherwise he had no idea how he was supposed to figure out how to take care of an extremely liminal child not yet capable of expressing its desires.

"Yeah, no. I came here to close the portals and no, creating a baby me will not give you a weapon that will be able to open them again. How long have you even been planning this? And how did you get the material needed? Did you think I wouldn't be coming back to check my work when I noticed Realms energy that shouldn't be there? Just... what the fuck man."

Ra's glowered furiously. "You stole my pits! You had no right! And I will get them back. If it necessitates the creation of a child to remake them, so be it. You left through similar portals after destroying my property! Do not expect me to believe that they cannot be remade!"

Danny held the child closer. It's eyes were wide but they weren't fussing yet, thankfully, despite the shouting. "Portal creation is an extraordinarily difficult and rare ability! Even if you managed to create an exact clone, which this child clearly is not, they would not have been able to recreate those cesspools you were using."

Ra's expression, disconcertingley, lightened. "Maybe not for a being of your limited intellect, but I have worked to remedy the issue. Young Timothy may have refused to be my heir but I have ample genetic material and something with your abilities and his brilliance will no doubt be able to solve the issue. But further discussion is unnecessary. You are correct that the creature you are holding fell short of expectations but my research has found a way to contain your kind and I will be able to make better versions soon enough. Shadows!"

Phantom darted backwards scanning the surroundings as the ninjas he had seen previously at the locations he had been to destroy the faulty connections to the Infinite Realms filled the room. Ritual markings for bindings lit up the walls and floor and Danny was horrified to see one of the individuals kneel at cult leaders feet only for Ra's to slit the man's throat to power the binding. "What the hell are you doing!"

"Containing something that has caused enormous harm to my organization on a degree almost as destructive as the Detective. Fitting that a combination of the two of you will be used to bring it back to, and greater than, it's previous glory!"

The bindings grew stronger and settled into their final configuration. Phantom settled with eerie stillness in the center. Then the shadows cracked around him.. ̸͚̈"̵̨͖̤̓̆͐H̶̦̳̍̈̑ȧ̴̝d̴̩̀̓ ̸̤͕͖̽̌y̸̹̐̈́o̴̼̎̏̚ŭ̷̮̹͌ ̴̧̰͑̇͝a̵̞͑͛͘c̴̡̦͖̚c̵̡̝̯̈́̏ē̷̡͎̣̂p̵͉̻̻̅͒̄ṱ̸̛̮̿e̸̗̱͐d̵͕͊ ̸̟̬̬̋l̷͖̜̹͊́o̴͉̚s̶̲͇͔̓̄͒ȉ̴̭̑̓ͅn̸̯̮̣̅͗͘g̶̢͖̼̐̓̊ ̵̤̙̚ț̷́h̴̪̦̓é̸̪ ̵̘̻̋̋h̶̡̼͉͆ǫ̴̰͗́l̴̡̲̚ď̸̺ ̴̪̼̄͒o̷̖͗̋́f̴͓̳͒̑͜ ̵̣͕̠̾̚ţ̸͗͝h̴͈͗̑͑e̵̡̨̻͝ ̷̫̈́͜Ȋ̷͉̭ͅṉ̶̚f̶̖͖͚̐i̴̪̇̉͠ǹ̵̬í̸͉̐ͅt̶̳̭͋̂ȩ̵̘͒̆̄ ̷̪͒R̴̹̠̩̂̃e̵͎̺͑͠a̴̯̱͂͝ļ̴̮́̂̽m̶̼̬͆̿͌s̵͍̓ ̵͚̆́̚w̴̯͛e̸͓͊́ ̴̠̦̏̿̚w̸̟͗̋o̵̮̐̅û̶̡l̷̡̼͍̐̈́ḋ̷͍̖ ̸̛̣̍̆h̴̻́a̸̽̓͝ͅv̶͉͈̊͆e̸̺͊̈́̿ ̸̺͇͔̅͆̿n̷̻̙̬̾͊̾e̵̙͝v̸̖̘̿̏̚ͅḙ̷̙̭̏r̴̬͓̻̉̔̎ ̵̨͉̽̈́̓ͅn̴̢͎̓͋͝e̶͙͒͒ḛ̸̮̹͒̈d̷̤̯͋͝͝e̵̺̗͗ͅd̷̠̝̜͆͆ ̶̟̹̂͒̈t̵͇͎͋̆o̵̢̠̗͆͝ ̶̧͎͖̋͂m̵̛͔̟é̶̹̮̈́͐e̶̯͑t̶̩̑̏ ̵̇ͅa̵͎̪͔͝g̷̻͗̉͊a̸̫̐̾͝i̸̗̇ņ̸̮̍ ̶̦͈̖̑̉̿ö̶̞́͝ṇ̶͉̰̔ ̴̢̹̭̓̇͠t̵̼̘̑͒͜h̷͓̻̋ͅe̷͕̾̒̉ ̵̳͇̌M̶̙̦͔̉͌o̵̥͎̤̾r̷̯͗̾̕ͅṫ̸̤̈́̈́ä̶̧̻̹́̇ĺ̸̠̭͌̈́͜ ̸͈͛̚P̶͉̩̗̈́̃͌l̸͔̘͎̀͐͗ă̶̠͈̈̈́n̵̞͉̱͘e̷̘̍.̵̼̟̥̽̂̃ ̵̘̘̿U̵̗͐͠ͅn̴͎̊f̶̛̬͙̃o̵̧͎͓͆r̸̯͕͍͌t̸͙̾̈́̎ͅǘ̶͙͎͉̃́ṉ̷̆ͅa̶̖͍̗̔̈͝t̶̨͈͗ę̴̣̌̒l̸͙̹̓y̶̝̰̺̿̂͂,̵̺͍͊͑̀ ̸̭̹̰̃͊̚y̷̺̭͝ö̴̯͚́ų̵̯̱̔͆͝ ̸̰̯̋͊͌h̸̢̪͖͆ā̶̩̣́v̶̳̼̍̾ͅe̵̯̞͆̔ͅ ̷͙͆͋c̷̢̱̺͂h̸̫̐o̸͍͕̓̋̕s̸͗��̲̞é̵͓̮̀n̸̢̛̜̑͘ ̵̪̞̃͑t̴̪̽́̚ȏ̸̲͙͖̅ ̴̗͎̏͌c̶̗͊̒a̸͉̿ụ̷̋̊͘s̴̪͌͌̀e̸̯̹̾ ̶̞́̒̀m̷͚̓́̍e̷̢̅̀ ̷̟̿ẖ̶̔͝a̸̢̗̪̾̈́r̵͓̳̳͒̌m̵̘̳͓̀̅ ̴̼̚ä̴͙ͅn̶̰̘͇͝d̸̺̞̍́ ̴̝̅̂͠h̵̙͖̆̈́a̶̼͆̐͝ŕ̸̡̤̳m̵͈͔̰͆̈́̽ ̶̳͇̻̑a̶̮̪̓̈́ ̶̳̬̖̓͆c̶̞̈́͑͑h̶̛̖̣̟̀̾î̵̜̤̘l̶͈̱̉̽d̵̝̜̙͗̌.̵̲̍͝ ̶̝̑Ť̴̫̜̮h̷̗̆͗͂i̵̳̋̈́s̷̹͍̑͊ ̴̹̈͊̓ỉ̶̯͍s̸̫͋̐͗ ̴̝͍̝̆̿͆u̸̼̺̔́̇n̶̮̣̅̏f̶͕̮̪͂̌̈́o̶̳͉̮͒̃r̷͖̥̈͑̄ǵ̵̤̼̿͐ḭ̸̘̥̄̈́̿v̵͓̏a̶̹͑̐́b̸̨̜͊l̸̙̟͕̓ę̶̀̀.̵̨̆"̶͙̅̿̕

Ice crept from the corners of the room and fractures of green light became apparent as Phantom's form warped, child still held safely against what had been his chest before his being had changed into an ever shifting nebula.

̷̧̛̖̗̜͒͋̉̓̒͑̑̄̓̚̚"̷̤͛͌͐͂̐Y̷̗̱̯̞͔̖̱͍̯̜̣͐̉̓͐̾̓͝o̴̡̡̨̝͓͖̭͓̗̣̮̰̞͚̰̺̿͗̐u̷̢̨̡̬̪̞̟̙̯͖͙̘̲̭͕͋͑̋͝ ̴̢̟̺̦̤͍̭̥̥͕̯̩̥̪̮̥͉̒̇̀́̑͘s̶̜͌̇̈́͂͋̆̅͊̃͌̑̚͝͠͠͠a̵̢̻̭̮͓͙̙̗̩͌c̶̨̡̠̤̞͓̥͖̞̗͙͉͆́́̓̐̈́̓̏́͆̄̄ͅŗ̶̜̳̤̠͇̦̰͕̭̼͙͈̟̹̙̪̓͋͗ì̴̡͈͈̀͐͒̈́̋̽̅f̸̠͓͕͕̼̣̦̲̗̙̰̮̱̙̳̏̔̐̃̈́̎̾̈́͜͜͝͝i̵̧̤̠͖̿͐̑̓̾͂̇͒́́̉̎͗͘͝ͅc̸̢̛̬̳̯̀̋̿̓̏̽͛̔̈͂̎ę̵̈́̀͐d̸̙͐͌͗̈́ ̵̛̳͗̌͆͑̽̿̑̒͗͂̅̕͝s̵̢̛͕̘̯̹̻̰͍͍̠̆́̈́̆̇̔̌̄̏̿͌̀̆͒̈́̊o̴̦̳̘̝͛̓̆̿m̷̥̠͔̻͙͖̖͕͇͈͙̹͉̅̓̐̋̔͗͋̄͑̓͛͗̊̆̕ͅé̶̢̻̖̲͖̈́̎̓͋̉̆̍̍̅̌͊̎͆͜͝o̶̜̅̋̌̏͑̄̎̐̾̇̓͑͌̓̊̌͘͠n̷̛͚͍̥̘̱̲̘̟̲̉̃̿̇̑̓̿͋̊̐́͆͘̕ë̶̢̻̬̙̖̬̪͇̝͇̘̫̙̬͚̪̪͚́͆̃͋̄̈̃̆̌͛̈̊͛͘͝͠͝͝ ̴̢̡̡̛̠̝̩̼͔̩̰̼̦̘̣͍̠͑͐̀͗̎̽͂͘ȉ̷̞͉̳̳̹̏̄̈́͝͝n̴̢̢̧̧̯͙͍̥̹̺̞̭̱̱̽͊̾̈͒͒̽ͅ ̷̳̣̱̳̟̥̎̄̒̔͛́͒̀̉̓̇̕̚͠͝͝a̶̡̢̙̞͈̹̠̜͓͚̠͈̦̰̓͑̌̓̄̋̊̐͑̉̓̀n̷̢̢̧̡̰͉̙̙̤̺̩̟̲̝̱̽͊̄̏͐͒͋͌̀͆̊̎̚͜ ̸̡̜̙͇͔̣̭̝̈́̀́͑͝ͅ��̖ạ̷̢̯̙͍̹̦̳̤̫͙͆̽̂͛̌̿̈́̾͐̒͊͑̌̀̒ṱ̶̪͋t̵̛̛͉̭̳͕͉̟̔͂̍̚͜e̴̛͎̟͕̗̣̣̭̣̱͔͓̰̬̐͂̆̇͆̕m̵̡͙̱͎̬̮̠̾̀̈̇̍͂͗̏̋̀̍̍̕͝͝p̸̢͎̲̗̟̞͌̂̒̉̄͆͘̚t̵̡̗̬̲̞̫͈̜̺͍̫͂̆̋̐̑̌͊͊͠ ̶̛͚̜͚̯͔̼̼̍͒̓̓̾́̍̈́͗͌̈́́̄̓̍̕ṫ̵̞̋̈̓̅͆̏̾̓͐͑̓́̑̚͘ö̶̯̤̜̘́̚ ̵̧̮͉͇̦̤͔̠͉̺̹̝͈̝͙̖͐̈́͒͊͆́̎͒̾̒̚͠͠c̶̜̝͙͍͙͍͈̬͍̔̔͜ḩ̴͙̬͈̪͈̻͙̻̯̭̲͍̻̤̞͎͎̌͋͂̉̅̓̐̓̀͋͠a̶͉͙͍͈̼͔͎͇̫̫̭̝̪̒̂͝i̶̧̛̠͉̳͎̣͐͐̓̄̓͊̎̓̚͝ņ̸̡̡̛̼͉̲͇̗̄͌̃͗́͆̒̎̋̌̕͘͝ ̵̢̘̼͓̤͕͔̦͍̱̞̝͎̮̬̥̠̈́̏̈́̾͂̚̕m̵̢̧̜̤̦͒̈̈́̅͒̌̓͒̓͜ȩ̴̨̢͚̥̘͉̲͉̙͇̮̳̰̦̱̔͜ ̷̛̼̪̮͉̰̰́̋̋̈̍̆̈̽͗̕a̵̩͓̯̤̼͉̰̦͍͔̻͔͋́͒̾̒͒̂ń̴̻̩̳̙̼̝̄̊̃͒̇͆ͅḑ̶̢̢̛͍̞͉̘̬̜͕̪̟͉̲̬̼̥̟͗̔͊͋̄̂͊̾̍̂́̿̃͘͝ ̶̳͉̬͍̮͓̟̹͌̃̽̾̀̏̑͛̈͝î̵̝̣̝̼̠̱̅͋͘̚͝t̶̢̰̲̼̩̬͕̗̘̺̑̏͂̆͐͂̄͂̚͝ ̷̼̄̂͗̆̉͂̿͊̉̓̈̑͆͂͋̚w̴̘̮̲͎̝͇̠̗̫͎͓̣̙͋̄͒̔́̏́̈́̈́̓̔̂̉̿͒͘͝ͅȁ̷̧̢̡͔̼͍̺̱͈͉͚̹͉̈́̓͑͂̑̓́͂̅͗̿̌͝ͅs̴̨̛͎̭̦̯̜̻͔͔̈́̓͋̆̇͗̃̽͑̅́̚ͅ ̷͎͕̲̤͔̬͖͎̙̎̓͋p̵͖̃̆̂̔͋̎̏͌͠͝ǫ̸̧̰͚̰͍̗̺̞̣̒͊͛̉̀͋̃̄͆̓̐͑͑͝͝i̶̢̼̱͙̱̘̘̠̣͚̙͙͙̤̙͕̻͍͊̂͌n̴̢̻̰̜͇͚̝̂̏͜͜͜ẗ̸̡͓̰͔͍͈͔͙̦͖̩́̽ļ̸̧̢̛̻̣͖̤̃͋̀͋̇e̸̡͍̰̹̯̱̯̫̹̼̹͍͗͆͒̚ș̷̊̀̽͒̌̋͂̔͛́͌͂̾ș̷̦͔̘̀̓́͂́̉͑͋́̃́͘͜ͅͅ!̴͍̜̤͎̯̠̥͙̀̈̿̿̈́̽̊͝"̵̭̻͑̉͑

Phantom's voice could no longer be considered human. It crackled like electricity. Like ice breaking. Like the sun as it burned.

"̴̥̞̘̠͉̠̬̞̗̻̝̫̥̘͔̟̣̪̫͈̘̟͈̯̺̞̎͋̐̌̽͗̓̽̀̕͝I̵̡̨̧̪̗̳̬̠̫̱͍̝̬̝̗̥̗͕̯͇͆̏͑̈́ ̶̝̥͕͔̫̪̳̥̜̠̘̫̹͇̋w̸̧̮̣̙͚͓̦͖͙̘̼͉͔̼̜̭̗̣͉̲̜͈̘͊̈̈̓́͊̔̕͜͜ͅi̵̢̢̲̼̭͙͙̥̪͔̣̭̥̤̤̠̯̩̭̗̭̠̳̘̤͙̇̃̒̏͜ͅͅl̴̡̡̢̳̘̖̟̻̥̲̤̼̬̫̺͎̣̗̭͉̩͍̱̞̼̈͊̒͂̑̐̽̂͗̍̈̐̚͘͜͜͠ľ̵̛͇͙̭̒̈̓̔͗̏̐̈́̎̋̈́́̓͐̽̈̄̅͘͘̕̕͝͝͝͝͠��͍̱̬ ̸̡̡̠̼̤̯͙̳̣̤̼̰̗̣͗̽͊̓̑̾̈͂̐̾̅̚͘͠b̵̨̨̡̛̫͕̮̘̣̺̳̖̠̜̻̠̗̘̖̭̯̳͙̫̱̪̱̺̥̟͙̻̗̲̓̌̓̆̀́́̿͒̾͋̋́̽̊̀͌̈́̒̅̆̓͛̊͗̃͂̚͝͝͠͝͝ͅȩ̷̧͉͍̼͉̙̘͓̯̻̻̣̤̣̩̗̹̬̙̪̺̼͊̓͋́̈̊̑̒͛̔̾̐͑̊̂̕̕͜͝͠͝͝ ̷̛̮̠̜̼̌͌̏̀͐͛́̌̊̉̅́̈̓̏͝͠b̴̛͇̮͈̥̥̣̯̫̻̞̙̟̼̹̞̈́͂̅̍͛͑̆̅̆̂̄̈͛̅̄͌̂̂͜͝͝͠͠ͅą̴̛͍̳̰̰̩͓͇͕̳̠̭̠̜̦͂̊͊̏͐̀̓̇͝ĉ̵̠̰̣͈̘̰̞͈͎̙̖̖̰̬̬̪͐̈́̾͆͋͂̊̂̀̍̈́̏k̴̡̨͉̪͔͎̼̳̖͈̥̝̺̟̝̭̩̮̣̳̼̻̮̹͗̈́̔́̿͛̂͐̓̒̊͝͝͝͠.̶̢̨̫͚͔͖̩͚̖̱̱̣͓̳͖̗̞͎̬̳̬͒"̵̢̢̛̙̦̝̘̣̳̖̤̯͖̜͖̙͓͖̤̹̹̖̎͛̽̇͊́̊̒̏̀̀͊̑̌̈̌̅͐̒̄͛͌̒̀͒͋́̐̑̈́̕͜͝͝ͅ

A portal opened behind him and the ritual shattered, room breaking around it.

The portal closed leaving nothing but rubble behind.

Project R au except Danny is not the clone.

Instead Danny gets Ras Al Ghuls attention after overhearing that the baby in the tube was made from a bunch of "Robins/detectives" and a little of Phantom himself and looks the guy in the eye before using his intangibility to grab the baby-still not breaking eye contact- and saying, "Mine now." before disappearing.

Danny comes home and explains the situation to his sister and parents and they welcome the new baby into the family with open arms. When asked why they took dna from Danny, Jack immediately jumped in with, "Because we're Fentons!" As if that was all the reason needed.

Elsewhere Ras tells the bats about the clonenapping, conveniently leaving out the part about Phantom also being one of the babys dads. The bats go a little crazy trying to find out where thier baby is and why some no name villian (cause thats what they believe he is due to what little media coverage Amity Park has on him) wants with thier baby.

Then they learn about the ghost thing and then the research. At first they didn't believe it because they had dealt with ghosts before and they were nothing like that. But the more they looked the more they realized these weren't the kind of ghosts they were used to...

[fromtheseventhhell]

It's "the Stark sisters have complementary skillsets" until someone points out that Arya is good at math and Sansa isn't. Then suddenly Arya is an unreliable narrator, Sansa is just being humble, and she'll magically have that skill if/when it becomes relevant

[most-definitively-a-human]

Were any other autistic people so divorced from their own feelings wants and needs that they simply Acted without thought? As in. The idea of 'am I enjoying this' or 'I am going to take a deliberate action to do something' was just absent.

Personally it really feels like I didn't develop free will until fourteen or so. Until then I Existed and Reacted to Things and Was Vaguely Pleasant about all of it but that was it. I never reacted to my own thoughts or wants. I didn't disagree because I didn't have enough time to think about my own preferences. All my interests were given to me by other people. If it wasn't a stated option I didn't consider it an option.

Probably just really bad alexithymia combined with trauma but I would like to know if this is an experience anyone shares.

Also: sending a hopefully helpful message to those who need it. You are allowed to stop watching things you dislike. You can put a book down If you dislike it or try a different food. If you currently dislike what you are doing it is a good idea to figure out what your preferences are and if you lack them to try and cultivate them.

If you'd like, try new things and find what excite you. If you want things to stay the same that's great too. You're more than allowed you're encouraged to do what you'd like. It's alright to exist - I promise it is even if it doesn't feel like it.

Hugs and fishes 🧡🫂🐳🐠

[sybaritick]

even though many of the cultural assumptions embedded in my writing will remain unexamined because it is impossible to find them all (even more impossible from within the society those beliefs are from!) it's fun to attempt to examine them, to think about them and their effect on the story. Sometimes you read a piece of fiction and you sense not that you disagree with a character or with the narrator, but that you disagree with the author, which is a totally different and interesting feeling! Occasionally a frustrating feeling! And I admit to occasionally trying to intentionally encourage this feeling in the reader, like in a couple of my recent short things like The Universe In Which etc. I hope some of the readers got at least the slight sense they don't like me as a person. Not because they think the topic I'm writing about is inappropriate or offensive or something, but because I make the "wrong" cultural assumptions.

[scyaxe]

so i recently started classes at Real College, and idk why i expected it to be like the community college i went to, but they just threw us in the deep end. classes started monday and i've already had a 1 page paper due. but also all of my professors have been like "call me by my first name" which i think is very funny, but also, respectfully, that is scary.

[nervousbreakdancemiserable]

I'm not much of a words person. Never really have been. The words, in the past, almost always came from someone else. But tonight, I feel nothing but weight off of my shoulders. I'm a bit more at peace, having put those words out there. Even if they don't make too much sense to everyone else.

~ Penny 🌟

[ambrosiagourmet]

This episode of the anime made me realize something about Namari and her relationship with Tansu and his party. Before now I haven't been able to quite pin down how and why they start treating her more like family and less like a disposable bodyguard. But the anime conveys the shift so well!!

So, at the start of the episode, Tansu pulls Namari in the way of the undine's attack to protect himself. He's perfectly happy to let her die to save himself.

Kiki and Kaka both shout for him, but no one expresses a lot of care for what happens to Namari. This isn't remarkable to any of them. They do bring her back to the camp, of course, and Tansu resurrects her... at which point she starts yelling at him about how this is, in fact, a common thing.

Throughout the rest of the episode, there is a clear contrast in how the Tansu family all treats each other versus how they treat Namari. Tansu or Kiki being in danger is concerning. Namari getting hurt or killed is just part of the job. She is a meat shield, a tool they paid for and are using as part of this expedition. They take care of her, but they care about each other.

And though it's not exactly explicitly stated, Chilchuck's speech about reputation makes it clear why - they probably assume, because of her reputation, that this is how Namari views things, too.

From their perspective, Namari signed up to die a lot and get paid a lot. She is only there for the money, but acts upset when they don't treat her as a proper member of the party (and family). From their perspective, flawed as it is, she is asking for more respect than she will return.

That's not how Namari actually feels, though, and at the episode she tells Tansu as much:

And this is what changes things between them! Tansu finally sees her as more than a tool. For the first time, the party bonds with Namari as a person.

It's very fitting that this comes right after Namari realizes the value of Senshi's pot, too.

Just like the adamantine shield can be used for more than just fighting, Namari is more than just a tool and shield herself.

So they all share a meal, and things are different between them now. Tansu and his family will go on to treat Namari with more respect in the future, and they will begin to forge actual bonds. As complex as the layers of distrust, reputation, depersonalization and assumption are... In many ways it's as simple as that. How very like Dungeon Meshi. I'm so glad the anime made this finally click for me.

[hyuneflix]

THE CURE 0.2 • Bang Chan

sex therapist!chan x client!reader after years of unhappy endings, your friend suggests a trip to sydney's most up and coming sex therapist. you hadn't expected much, least of all to discover the cure you'd been looking for all this time was your therapist himself.

word count: 13k << back to dash // next episode >>

CONTENT WARNINGS

𐙚 - female masturbation, mutual masturbation, vibrator use, guided masturbation, dirty talk, use of "slut" and similar terms, chan is called sir, light degradation, light spanking, slapping, more orgasm denial, fingering, oral both female and male receiving, sub!reader, soft dom!chan but some hard dom too, slightly possessive chan, praise, very tiny breeding kink in the form of chan pushing his cum inside her.

! - inappropriate relationship dynamic (chan is her sex therapist), reader is written to be neurodivergent though it isn't explicitly stated, therapy talk/setting, descriptions of self help and healing, brief mention of toxic positivity and dissociation, very brief description of reader having a difficult childhood, talk about hopelessness and feelings of defeat. like last time, everything is intentionally vague but approach with caution all the same.

episode two - a cure for self-dissatisfaction

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that you were actually here, again. Making another appointment had sounded so promising in the after-glow of your first ever orgasm–or, at least, the first that felt like that–but now that you were actually here you questioned your sanity. How could you possibly face him after that phone call? Sure, it had been an entire month since then, plenty of time to get over it or just cancel the one-hour slot. You never did, though, and you still couldn’t quite decide why. Was it him that you wanted to see again? So entirely unable to close this chapter of your life now that he’d suddenly made its contents more interesting; turning the pages of your life from dull shades of black and white into hues of technicolour.

Or, maybe it was just that. He made things interesting and you needed interesting.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, the manner with which your fairytale life had twisted and morphed into something so mundane. You had the fancy beachside apartment, the dream job with the fun co-workers. You had the nice clothes and the sparkling jewels to go with them; large wardrobe full to the brim with rare pieces and garaments alike. Even your dating life had been exciting, meeting famous faces and well-off suitors in the upscale establishments you frequented with your friends. But it wasn’t enough. You feared nothing would ever be enough. Nothing exciting enough, glamorous enough, expensive enough to fill the growing feeling of indifference that threatened to paint your entire world grey. 

A part of you liked familiarity, needed it, even. Clung to it in the same way you gripped the straps of your favourite tote bag. It was comforting to ease the unknowns of life with something habitual and constant. But when you did settle, when the anxiety did dissipate, it was like you almost missed it in its absence. It was the adrenaline you craved rather than the anxious wracking of your brain; the adrenaline that followed every redundant fear your mind conjured up; the push of chemicals through your veins as you murmurred ‘oh fuck, am i going to miss my train?’, ‘shit did i leave the stove on?’, ‘did i have a meeting today or was that tomorrow?.’ The bubbling of nervous adrenaline, it was like a shot of espresso, or the abrupt sound of your morning alarm clock. It forced you back to reality, tore you from the prison your restless thoughts built around your consciousness.

Chan had been that too in a lot of ways, a rude awakening of sorts. He had astounded you in more ways than one, tearing you from normalcy and forcing you from your comfort zone in the process. No longer just floating through life while your mind hummed with restless noise. Perhaps that was why, despite every anxious part of you that wanted to run away from him, a deeper, unheard part refused. You’d regret it, wouldn’t you? Walking away from him, vowing to never see him again. You’d regret it almost instantly no doubt, the tick of your apartment’s clock taunting you as it reminded you where you should’ve been on the day of your cancelled appointment. Your mind would trap you again, filling your head with thoughts of what could’ve been, should’ve been, if you’d just pulled yourself together. 

That was of course without mentioning that you indeed remained uncured. You were still very much afflicted with the same inability to get yourself off no matter how hard you tried. You’d done it once, you so foolishly believed from that moment onwards it would be easy. It was not. Even with the vivid memory of that night playing over and over in your mind like a song caught in a loop, you were back to square one. You needed the dark to find the light. How true that had turned out to be, how unfortunate that your infatuation for your therapist was turning out to be more practical than whimsical. You really did need him. 

The timing of your appointment meant that within moments of your arrival, the doe-eyed receptionist was already hurrying off for her lunch break, insisting that you wait for Dr Bang in his office instead. Dr Bang, hearing her say it almost pulled a laugh from your parted lips; what a suitable name for someone in his profession. She didn’t join in with your amused half-chuckle as she gathered her purse and coat. You didn’t blame her, you were sure she’d heard the stifled laughter a million times before. Thanking her one last time as she motioned you toward his office, you pushed open the door expectantly. 

Immediately your eyes fixed on the black oak desk situated in the foreground of the furthest wall. The room was empty, no muscular figure tucked behind the neat workstation, nor situated in the same leather chair he had been a month prior. You breathed out a sigh, your throat finally releasing a breath you hadn’t even realised you’d been holding until you accounted for his absence. You made your way inside, letting the door close behind you with a clack. It felt eerie being in the infinite silence of his abandoned office. Not even the sound of the AC lulled in the background as you wandered throughout the space, taking in the details as if it were your first time being here, and in a way, it was. 

During your last visit you’d been so distracted by Chan you’d been unable to focus on much else, let alone the intricacies of his office. The much too large windows were the first thing you’d noticed, both today and the last. Unlike a month ago they were covered by enormous blinds, the afternoon heat so unbearable today that having the sun exposed would be as sweltering as standing on a shadeless street corner. The lack of AC left the office tepid, and the vacancy of natural light shadowed the once bright room. You felt as if you had stepped into the embrace of a warm hug; one that sucked all the sound from the atmosphere until all that remained was the thumping of your heart.

You could hear it now; your heart. It beat with uncertainty as your eyes trailed across the shelves upon shelves of awards and personal photos behind his desk. You felt like you’d snuck into a secret place you weren’t supposed to be, taking in every detail of someone’s life without an inkling of what any of it meant. One frame held a picture of a smiling boy, a younger girl tucked under his arm in a near chokehold. Judging by the look of disdain on her features, and the mischievous expression on his own, you figured they were siblings. Another picture captured an older version of that boy, one that now more closely resembled Chan. He knelt on the grass, a dog, who’s white fur was blotched with copper-tones, smiled up at him, pink tongue spilling from its mouth. You knew Chan’s life hadn’t started when he met you, but it still felt strange to see it all play out in front of you now. 

The office door opened with a clatter, your body spinning round at the intrusion; trusty tote bag slipping from your arm in the process. You caught hold of the strap before it could fall from your rigid limb completely, eyes settling on Dr Bang himself. He seemed frozen in place, palm clutching the door handle with bleached knuckles. His nervous disposition suggested he’d been preparing himself for this moment, to no avail, and if that were true, you were thankful. At least then you’d be in the same boat. In a second, a mere tick of a clock’s hand, he was back to his usual self, pushing a large smile atop his pillowy lips. 

“Hello, y/n. How have you been?” His voice was soft as he closed the door behind him, the hand that wasn’t clutching a stack of papers flicking on a second set of lights. In an instant the room was engulfed in pale yellow hues, your eyes blinking to adjust. He walked the distance from the door to his desk, letting the pile of papers fall down with a dull thud.

“Could be better, could be worse.” You murmured, still feeling like a deer in headlights. He nodded at this, almost as if he silently understood, agreed even. You didn’t know whether you should stay rooted beside his desk or take a seat, body itching for another of his commands. You hated how badly you wanted him to tell you what to do and how to do it, no matter if it were a simple seating arrangement or one of his filthy, guided masturbations.

“That’s a start, hopefully by the end of the session we can turn it around?” He spoke, tone as level as it had always been, though you noticed how quickly his eyes seemed to wander. It had been impossible last time to look anywhere but him, that intentional and scrutinising stare holding yours for what felt like eternities. His gaze was scattered now, moving from your face to his desk and back again, fingers re-arranging his already neat desk as if attempting to regain control. 

But, regain control of what? His thoughts, his racing heart, his body? You wanted to know. You wanted to crack him open, let the secrets spill from him like yolk. You wanted to study his mind the way he studied you. It was intoxicating, the mystery that still surrounded him. So intoxicating that you were starting to find you didn’t need to get lost in the shadows of his stare, only needed to be close enough to feel the palpable energy, the magnetic charge, that radiated from him like the sun’s unbearable warmth. 

“Should we get started?” He asked, brown eyes leaving the surface of his immaculate desk to search your expression. You nodded, pushing a smile atop your lips as you moved toward the leather chairs, slouching into yours right away. 

You noticed he wasn’t wearing that same dark suit this time, instead he wore a crisp white dress shirt with a few too many buttons undone at the top. The bottom part of it was tucked half-hazardly into a pair of tight ebony trousers. It didn’t remain that way for long. With a raise of his hand–fingers combing through dark curls–one side fell from its confines, a slither of pale skin meeting your hungry gaze. You swallowed, drawing your eyes from his figure as it drew nearer to you, stopping only when he reached the chair opposite you.

“Shall we start with an update?” He questioned, taking a seat while his hand tightened around that same large ipad. “How have you been doing, did you manage to climax again?” 

“No.” You admitted right away, head shaking in disappointment. It was hard to hide how frustrating it was, even more now than before. At least prior to your first happy ending you were none the wiser to how much greener the grass truly was on the other side. Now you’d grazed in it, tasted it, felt it between your fingers and toes. How could you ever return to astro turf after you’d experienced the real thing? 

“No?” Chan looked surprised at this, chin tilting to the side as he drank in your expression. You were sure you looked anything but pleased, brows furrowed as you shook your head no once more. “Okay, did you follow the routine?”

“I did, yeah.” You mumbled, digits playing with the pleats in your skirt.

“What do you think was different?” He asked, looking genuinely curious by your dilemma. 

“Do I even have to say it?” You released a huff of air, heart jumping nervously behind its skeletal confines.

“It would help if you did. Guessing games can lead to miscommunications.” HIs smile was back, dimples pressed prettily against his plush cheeks. How badly you wanted to cup them, how badly you wanted to let the pads of your thumbs brush against the indents that dotted them. How badly you wanted him. 

“I just… I feel like I need your help, you helped so much that time… ever since I haven’t managed it, I mean, what does that tell you?” You asked, heart racing a little faster now, hands growing clammy; thoughts scrambling as you felt your frustration grow. Your situation felt so hopeless, so entirely unfixable. It shouldn’t hurt, but it did. It always would.

So many past relationships flashed across your mind, so many times when you’d watched the partners in your life walk away. Their promises that you’d never be too much, that there was no storm you couldn’t weather together, ground to dust beneath their retreating steps. There had been other issues that ended the relationship of course, not this one, never this one. Yet it still seemed so unbelievably ironic how, try as they might, they never could fix this little problem. How laughable it was that Chan had managed within hours of meeting him. 

“You- you need my help with climaxing?” He seemed taken aback, his innocence almost sending your eyes rolling. How could he be so surprised? Had he not been on that phone call with you after all, had that all been a vivid dream? 

“I think so, yeah.” You opted to speak instead, fingers still playing lazily with your clothing in search of some relief from the awkwardness of the conversation. 

“I’m sure you just need a little direction and practice.” He shook his head, ever the dismissive party out of the two of you. But you knew better now. You’d heard the way he fell apart, heard the things he’d said when all resolve had vanished. He was just as depraved, just as desperate and needy but he hid it well. He cowered behind fabricated boundaries, crossing one and then inventing another. He pushed, and he pushed, but he always found a new way to hold back. You wanted to test that, wanted to make him snap. Was that bad? 

“I’m twenty-five Chan, I think if practice was going to do it I’d have done it by now.” You shook your head, tone uncharacteristically sarcastic as you let your frustrations slip. He winced at this, taken aback by the change in your tone. Easily your annoyance dampened, sigh falling from your lips as quickly as your apology “I’m sorry, that was– I’m just– I feel defeated.” 

“It’s understandable, you don’t need to apologise.” Chan offered you a comforting smile, eyes glimmering with a patient understanding that had you thawing instantly. 

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, tell me what to do. Like give me some direction or something.” You asked, trying to pry more solutions from his all-knowing brain. 

“Like on the phone?” He questioned, palm gliding across his thick thigh as he spoke. You couldn’t help the way your gaze followed its movement, long fingers instantly taking you back to that night. You pictured them wrapped around his length, the wet sound of his desperate, thrusting grip, too much to think about right now. You squirmed in your seat, thighs pushing together in momentary distress. 

“Yeah like then, is there more I can do?” You asked, trying to hide your growing weariness behind another frustrated huff. 

“Perhaps you need to focus on finding ways to relax, maybe you have a problem switching off, moving from one task to the other. If you’re still tense when you’re masturbating then it can be hard to let yourself go.” He was so composed, seemingly so unaware of the way you were breaking down internally. How did he do it? How did he look at you with such easy indifference after that night. Maybe he was just that; indifferent. Maybe you’d been looking at this all wrong. 

“Okay.” You shrugged, barely listening by now.

“You don’t look happy with that.” Chan pushed for an answer, clasping his apple pen a little tighter in anticipation of your response. 

“I’m not patient enough. I guess I just hoped that it was fixed. But, now I have to get used to the idea of this being some long healing journey as if I haven’t had enough of those. As if I haven’t–fucking–read enough–fucking–self-help books or listened to enough ‘all you need is recharged rose quartz and you’ll be fine’--fucking–influencers.” You felt your hands grip at your forehead in defeat, palms attempting to erase the tension that settled there through half-hazard motions. You wanted to laugh at the way you got so easily wound up, but the idea of starting yet another ‘healing era’, felt suffocating, impossible even. 

How much more growing was there to do? Some people say it never stops, but you’ve had a lifetime of it. A lifetime of people pointing out your flaws, telling you what was wrong or what needed fixing. You’ve had a lifetime of changing everything about you until something felt right, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. A lifetime of trying to do everything right just to be told you were doing it wrong, anyway. You weren’t emotional enough, then you were too emotional. You were loud, then too quiet. You were rude, then you were compliant. It took reaching your twenties to realise you didn’t really care who you were, or how you acted, as long as you were happy with yourself. 

It felt freeing, so entirely exhilarating to feel as if you were done changing, morphing and growing into someone else’s idea of a normal human woman. It matched you well, but it was also tiring. You’d grown to be independent far younger than you probably should’ve, your therapist said it built character, you thought that was stupid even at ten years old. Having a childhood built character, having healthy relationships and good role models; that was what you needed. People’s incessant criticisms had felt like the only freedom from your independence for so long; the only time you weren’t thinking for yourself. Bittersweet was the lingering feeling that remained for a few years after your new found self-assurance. 

It was stupid, to crave something that had been so toxic, but that was just so unequivocally you. Hate something with every fibre of your being when you had it just to miss it when it was gone. Didn’t matter how much it hurt you, didn’t matter that it damn nearly killed you, only the good parts of it remained in its absence. The ghosts of memories even your unrelenting, self-sabotaging brain forgot. Were those the causes of your dissociation? The fragmented memories of times gone by, the missing pieces still stashed away in some untravelled corner of your mind?

“These things do take time, yeah.” Chan pulled you from your thoughts, tugging a sigh from your lips as you shook your head in defeat.

“Fuck that, there’s gotta just be something in me that doesn’t work, right? Like there’s just a part of me that can’t do it and I’m gonna have to just live with that.” Your arms raised in exasperation, frustrated rambles not phasing him in the slightest. You figured that shouldn’t surprise you, despite everything that had transpired between you, despite how unlikely it sometimes seemed, he was a therapist. A person you were paying to listen to you speak. A person you had essentially paid to make you cum. Jesus. 

“But you did.” He countered.

“No, you did.” You reminded him, his brows rising at the implication. 

“That was all you, I just helped.” He shook his head, dismissive once more. 

“Can’t you help me again, then? Just tell me what to do, show me. Make that part of me wake the fuck up and realise it has a job to do. Fix me again.” You murmured helplessly, searching his mind for something, anything that could ease your anguish. 

“You want that? You want me to teach you? You want me to fix you?” He spoke after a beat of silence, plump mouth emphasising your latter sentiment. A switch had seemingly been flipped in him, reminding you of his faltering resolve from a month ago. You were sure it was your imagination–after all he was so quick to collect himself–but that was expected, you didn’t know him well enough. You didn’t know how badly he yearned to ‘fix you’. 

There was a saying that went along the lines of this; therapists need therapy the most The first part of their adult lives were dedicated to learning the secrets of the mind, just to spend the rest of it fixing other people’s. The perfect distraction; fix others so you don’t have to fix yourself. Yeah, that was him. Finding distraction after distraction to avoid the complicated mess in his own brain. But that wasn’t just it. No, Chan was a people pleaser, a man so desperate to be needed that he put his heart in danger every single fucking time. 

He’d lost count by now, the amount of times he’d run in blindly; falling for a pretty girl with pretty problems. A pretty girl with a pretty smile and a pretty big hole in her pretty heart. He did it every single time. He’d never mixed work with self-sabotage though, this was unchartered territory. But that was then, one slip up, one mistake made in the heat of the moment. How could he not? You were so pretty, sounded so pretty pleading for him to help you. Not even he had the patience for that. 

“Yes.” You breathed out, eyes turning wide and expectant beneath his weighted retort. There you were again, looking hopeful, as if he really did have the power to cure you. But he didn’t, Chan had learned that again and again; he couldn’t change the last girl, or the girl before, or the girl before that and he couldn’t change you. Not like this anyway, not through lust or–heaven forbid–love. Growing attached, letting them be dependent, it was bad in the end; always bad, never good like he’d intended.

“I can’t, you’re not broken.” He assured you, not a drop of insincerity mixing with the honey sweet tone of his soft voice.

“Then pretend I am and fix me anyway– break me just to put me back together again– I don’t care, just please do something to make it stop.” You felt a little frantic now: he wasn’t giving you the answers, wasn’t providing solutions. Was it really that hopeless? Were you really this cursed? Knowing that the cure was right in front of you, within arms reach, but too far to hold. Too distant and closed off, too unwilling to give you what you know you needed. 

Were you crazy for thinking he wanted it to, were you delusional for thinking you could see the fire in his eyes every time you reached for him with words? The air around you didn’t lie though, did it? Or were you the only one feeling that constant chemical reaction that surrounded you both. That fizzle and burn, that electric fever that drove you crazy; depriving you of clean, pure air with every breath. It was filling your lungs with hot embers, you could feel it, could feel the way it choked you of all sense and left only desire in its place. Could he really not feel it too? 

“Make what stop, love?” The nickname wasn’t lost on you, its presence sent a ripple of hope across your skin, igniting goosebumps in its path.

“I don’t know, everything I guess. The boredom, the anxiety, the noise, the frustration, the emptiness; all of it went away that night and I’ve been trying to get back there ever since.” You admitted, teeth gnawing at your lip, brows scrunched together in frustration. Chan thought you looked utterly pitiful in the hottest way. Was that possible? To look pathetic and undeniably attractive all at once. Yeah, it was; you were. 

“I can’t cure you, you know that right? You have to do that on your own.” He insisted. It was true, wasn’t it? Historically speaking, practically speaking. People can’t change other people, that was how it worked right? They had to change on their own, grow alone, love themselves before they could learn to love someone else. If they didn’t, they’d be forever codependent, clinging to the sun that helped them grow into a fully flourished person. But the sun went down, it didn’t stick around forever; he couldn’t stick around forever. 

“But what if…” 

“I can’t.” He was quick to cut you off, not wanting to fill your head with pointless sentiments of hope. Whether he wanted to or not, whether you wanted to or not, you had to stand on your own two feet. He knew this to be true more than ever when it came to your own pleasure. You couldn’t depend on him for that; he couldn’t fill the void. He’d fall in love too easily, catch feelings in an instant. How could he ever make it out of that alive? It wasn’t right, you deserved better. Deserved to know your own body, how it felt, what made you feel good.

“Try?” You spoke, voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide and pleading. 

“I can’t.” He huffed through gritted teeth, jaw stiff with useless restraint.

“Please?” You looked at him as if he held the world and all its mysteries in his grasp, ready to hand them over if only you could wear him down enough. It wasn’t not working, he hated to admit. 

“Don’t… don’t do that.” He shook his head, eyes dipping to the ipad in his grip as he drew mindless patterns across its slick screen. It was enough to distract him for a moment, but not long enough.

“So, I just, I just go home and try the same shit again then is that it? Another month of nothing? Or can I call again, would you pick up if I did?” Your words had his cock twitching, palms growing clammy. That night haunted him. It felt so wrong, so completely fucked up. He lay awake for nights after that wondering if he should resign, turning his dream of owning a successful therapeutic clinic into a distant memory with the same stroke. But more than that, he wondered if you’d call again. Would you need him some more? Would you lean on him a little longer? Was it really true that he was the missing piece? That only he could make you cum.

“You know I would.” He responded in an instant, too quick in fact. “I’m surprised you didn’t call, to be honest.” He chuckled, attempting to seem unaffected. As if he hadn’t been waiting by the phone every evening, as if he hadn’t checked and re-checked for missed calls when sleep didn’t come to him easily. 

“I wanted to try on my own; I’m really trying.” You half-whined and that sound alone was enough to have every noise from a month ago flooding his mind at once. His hips shifted, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“I know, baby, you’re so good.” He sighed, resolve slipping; gaze darkening along with it. You saw it happen right in front of you, pupils dilating, mask slipping from his handsome face. “How about this… You show me how you do it at home and I’ll see if there are areas for improvement?” Chan suggested, against what he knew to be his better judgement. Fuck it, though, right? He could cross another line, just one more, find a new one to draw between you to keep you at arms length. You’d seen right through him in that regard, knew exactly how he justified each gradual crawl toward your eagerly awaiting form. 

“You want me to… now?” You blinked, fireworks erupting in the pit of your stomach signaling an internal celebration of what you were almost sure was a triumphant victory. 

“Isn’t that what you want? To make a mess of my chair? To cum again?” His words sent a jolt of something electric and sweet straight to your core. Your teeth felt like blades, threatening to draw blood from the plump flesh of your bottom lip as you nodded wordlessly, too turned on at the prospect of getting to climax again to formulate a coherent sentence. 

“Why don’t you lift that little skirt of yours and show me how you pleasure yourself.” His voice was low, impossibly dark gaze studying you with an almost predatory stare. Your nerves stood alert like the hairs of your arm, hands moving at their own accord. You moved the hem of your skirt up the meat of your bare thighs, his eyes following your motions closely before fixing on the sheer fabric of your damp panties. 

You felt like an imposter in your own skin as you spread your legs, circling the pads of your fingers across your clothed clit in compliance. You tried to stop the heat from rising in your cheeks, from pulsing through your blood like lava, the molton toxicity wetting your panties even more. You were helpless to it; the growing intensity of your lust. It was strange, the combination of embarrassment mixed with desire. It felt like a dangerous cocktail, one destined to leave you with a hangover unlike any other you’d felt; a banging headache, a sick feeling, a desperation for a wellness you could never reach without it. 

Was that what this was? A growing addiction?  An inability to feel better without him, or an unwillingness to find an alternative cure? You pushed the thoughts from your mind, easily too with the help of his sultry voice, though all the same the bubbling of nervousness remained. 

“This is how you do it? What’s rule number one? What did we do last time?” He asked, too put together considering the pornographic movie that was playing out in front of him. His eyes told a different story though, hungry and feverish as you moved your fingers clumsily. 

“Umm, take my clothes off?” You managed between huffs of impatient air, wanting nothing more than to skip to the part where your toes were curling, head tipped back in reticent ecstacy. You moved your hands away from your clothed cunt, starting to remove the tight fitting crop top a strap at a time. You watched his jaw grow slack at this, your confidence growing in place of the initial uncertainty. 

You put on a show for him, suddenly abandoning the idea of being taught the ways of your pussy in favour of winding him up. Both straps fell past your shoulders, the rough material of your tiny top grazing your perky nipples as you dragged it down your chest, letting your plump breasts spill out from beyond its fabric confines. His brow twitched, lips faltering along with it as he watched the bounce of your tits.

“Mhm and start with your nipples, make them feel good, work yourself up.” Pulling your top off completely, you followed his demands, fingers tugging at your hardening buds. You remembered his advice from the last time, making sure to wet your digits with your tongue in a slow sinful motion. This earned a half moan from the man, his body shifting as he hid his faltering confidence behind a closed fist. With his chin resting against it, he gazed at you through his lashes, watching every pinch and tug with a hawk-like intensity. 

“I’m already so worked up.” You groaned, unable to hold his heated glare any longer. You lulled your eyes toward the wet patch growing in your panties, pussy clenching around nothing at the sight of it. 

“I make you worked up?” He mused, leaning forward in interest. Leveled as his voice remained, his restless form gave him away; dilated pupils darting between your hard nipples and your soaked underwear. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, moan designed behind a cough at your response. 

“Yeah, so bad.” You mewled, one hand traversing the expanse of your smooth skin until your fingers met with the pool of sticky wetness between your thighs. You pulled at the band of your panties, sighing at the feeling of the tight fabric squeezing against your sensitive clit. You watched his expression as you drank in every movement, the obvious stiffness mounting in his crotch area not going unnoticed by you. 

You wondered what it would take to have him desperate for his own release again, enough to disregard every one of his frivolous boundaries until his head was too clouded with intoxicating lust to draw a new line between you. 

“Don’t focus on me, focus on yourself and your body.” It was almost like he knew, as if he could read your mind; could sense the way it reeled with thoughts of him and him alone. You tugged at your panties again, focusing on the movement of your fingers as they swirled around your excited nipple. “That’s good, don’t be shy now, you weren’t shy last time.” 

“You couldn’t see me last time.” You murmured, the tips of your ears and apples of your cheeks the same shade of crimson. 

“You’re beautiful, don’t be embarrassed.“ Chan shook his head, shifting in his seat once again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get comfortable, not when the growing ache in his pants became harder and harder to ignore. “Now do what we did last time, feel what works best for you, take your time.” 

“This?” You questioned, fingers pulling your panties aside as strings of sticky cum followed suit. You touched your bare clit with care, jolting and wincing with each caress. You were so sensitive, so turned on by the intent stare he fixed on your soaked cunt. You traced a finger down the seam of your pussy, rubbing the thick, juicy substance across your bundle of nerves in a clockwork motion. 

“Yeah, that’s right, feel yourself.” He drew a breath, tongue darting across his lips, hands not sure what to do with one another as he watched the sight play out in front of him. “That’s good, does that feel good?” Chan questioned, slouching back in his chair as if the increased distance would afford him some alleviation from your mesmerising performance. 

“Yeah, I think so.” You retorted, repeating the back and forth between your clit and dampening folds. You teased your entrance with the gentle prod of your fingers, tight clenching accompanying each experimental push. 

“Do what makes you feel good, learn what you like.” It was unbearable how calm he was, a whine leaving your lips as his professional tone. 

“How.” You murmured, the strumming of your clit increasing in speed as you felt a pleasurable sensation begin to wash over you. 

“Try new things, keep touching yourself–why don’t you take those panties off and give your pussy a slap.” You nodded, eagerly complying with his wishes as you pulled your panties down your legs letting the sheer fabric pool at the base of your chair. You placed your skirt there too, completely bare save the pair of kitten heels snug around your feet. 

“What?” The second part of his statement had you puzzled though, or perhaps it was just the intense feeling of being exposed in front of a person who was not only fully clothed but seemingly unbothered. Yeah, maybe that was it; that would be enough to have anyone confused and uncertain.

“You like it rough don’t you? Smack your pussy, give your clit a spanking for me.” His words had your hips shifting, a moan tumbling from your lips. Everything sounded better coming from his full mouth, the gravel tone interlaced with his thick accent–it was unbearable. 

“Like this?” You questioned, landing a smack against your sensitive clit. Both of you moved in sync, hips shifting at the shrill noise your palm made abusing your sensitive nub. Your face screwed up at the feeling, the delightful sting accompanied by another wave of self-satisfaction. 

“Harder.” He growled, moan mingling with his next words. “Yeah, you like that? I can see how wet you are, keep spanking your pretty little cunt.” You complied, strings of whines and groans following each harsh slap. 

“You’re making me this wet.” You mewled, expression still contorted in pleasure. Chan wasn’t sure how he’d expected to make it through this entire ordeal, that had been foolish thinking on his part. He hadn’t expected you to be so brazen though, both nervous in your disposition but shameless in your filthy words and actions. His cock was impossibly hard in his pants now, hand itching to relieve the tension.

“Fuck don’t say that, gonna have to learn how to make yourself cum when I’m not around.” He insisted, though in truth you were saying all the right things to morph him into malleable putty, substance perfect for the palms of your hands; mass supple enough to wrap around your finger. “That’s good, yeah that’s good fuck you’re clenching around nothing.” 

“Wanna be full.” You whined, pinching and rubbing at your clit with a rise and fall of your hips. You could tell the chair beneath you was drenched by now, the surface becoming slippery beneath your clammy thighs.

“Fuck yourself with your fingers, start with one and keep adding as many as your greedy little cunt needs to feel full.” His resolve was slipping, you could tell, could connect the dots from that night a month ago. It filled you with confidence, had your heart racing and limbs squirming as you rubbed your clit more furiously. 

“Not gonna be enough.” You shook your head, hoping, so intensely, that he would just give up and finish you himself. You could practically sense it, the way his fingers would make you feel, the sharp rush of intense white light that bubbled up with every thrust of his skilled digits. How perfectly they’d fill your tight hole, stretching you open as if preparing you for his fat cock. You slid a finger inside, feeling empty despite the new intrusion. 

“You just need to learn how to make yourself feel good baby, curl your fingers, do a scissor motion, whatever makes you feel the best.” He was still instructional in his method, but he looked anything but the calm teacher he’d been previously. Chan was leant forward now, tongue poking out his mouth, elbows propped on his knees as he watched you intensely. 

“How?” You questioned, brows scrunched.

“How, what baby? Use your words.” He asked, his palms rubbing together in a useless attempt to distract his mind from the ache in his pants.

“How do I make it feel good, sir.” You elaborated, pushing another finger inside your convulsing pussy. 

“Fuck, god, gonna make me crazy if you keep that up.” He run a hand through his hair, hips rising from the chair. His dark hair looked a mess by the time his fingers were done combing and tugging with restraint. You didn’t think it was possible for him to look any sexier, but his disheveled appearance proved otherwise. 

“Please.” You implored, the steady back and forth of your fingers slowing to a standstill at his next words. 

“You want me to show you, yeah?” He licked his lips shamelessly at you, hungry eyes awaiting your response with uninhabited lust. 

“Yes, please, so bad.” You mused, squirming in your chair at the prospect of his fingers tucked snugly inside your needy pussy. You hoped this wasn’t a dream, that you weren’t about to jolt awake to the shrill sound of your alarm clock. 

“Beg, show sir how badly you want his fingers inside you.” He murmured, jaw clenching at the sight of your pussy as it squeezed around nothing. “Keep circling your clit, yeah, keep going.” He commanded you, and without hesitation you followed. 

“Please, please, want you to fill me so bad, please sir- please.” You keened, fingers toying frantically with your bundle of nerves. 

“That’s it baby, keep getting yourself off, you're doing such a good job on your own.” He licked his lips again, chest heaving with every circular motion. You pushed your fingers back between the snug walls of your cunt, moving your hips to accompany the thrust of your digits. 

“I need more, please.” You wailed, the edge you’d wanted to revisit so badly gradually inching into view. 

“You really want my help, baby?” He asked, almost as if he were undecided. That couldn’t be it, though. There was no conceivable way Chan could doubt your desire to have him, in whichever way he was willing to give. He wanted to hear you beg some more, didn’t he? Wanted to hear just how badly you needed him, as if seeing it wasn’t enough. 

“Please.” You gave him what he wanted, putting on your best forlorn expression to better your chances. It worked, a little too well judging by the haphazard way he fell to his knees in front of you. Whatever glimmer of self-discipline he’d been clinging to, it was gone now, and in its place: a man starved. 

“You’ll tell me if you wanna stop, can you do that for me?” He looked up at you with hopeful eyes, his final attempt at giving you an out. An insincere part of him hoped you would, that you’d be the one to grasp ahold of your better sensibilities and put an end to your affair. But you didn’t, of course not, you never would, would you? He doubted it, not when your gaze exuded a level of desperation he was sure he’d only seen in wild animals. Instead, you nodded, teeth claiming your bottom lip as you did so. “Good girl.” 

Chan wasted no time sliding a finger inside your warm walls, a drawn out groan falling from his lips at the spongy grip that took a hold of his digit. His hips shifted compulsively as you tightened around him, a second finger inching its way in as he studied every rise and fall of your expression. Another moan from your lips–another half-grunt, half-groan from his own. He pushed his digits deeper, thrusting them in and out at a steady pace, letting his knuckles brush against your velvety clit.

“Ugh, that’s good.” You practically screamed out, head tipping back with a wide open-mouthed grimace; face contorted in unimaginable pleasure. How was it possible to feel this good? You thought you’d reached the maximum capacity for bliss that night, but Chan was showing you an entirely new palette of gratifying hues. 

“Barely touching you, darling. So desperate, hmm? Not been able to get off without me? Need me that badly?” He mewled, lips pressing wet, desultory kisses to your shoulder and collarbone. Your body twitched and seized beneath him, eyes rolling back at the sensation of his plump mouth against your hypersensitive skin. Every nerve felt as if it were going haywire, every brush of his bony flesh against your clit feeling like a rush of adrenaline. It was then that he did something truly toe-curling, the sudden feeling of something prodding at just the right angle inside of your tight walls; it had your spasming wildly beneath him. 

“Yeah I need you, need you to make me cum–need your cock in me, want you to stretch me out.” You sang in between moans, hands clinging to his clothed shoulders, nails latching onto him harshly. 

“Fuck, baby, slow down. Gonna take my time; you gotta take your time.” He panted, dark eyes finding yours in among the thick haze of lust that consumed you both. It had you moaning even louder, the combination of his intoxicating stare and that unidentifiable sensation threatening to push you over the edge prematurely. 

“Oh god, so much better.” You whined, tears filling your eyes, forehead shifting to press against his own as you clung to him for dear life. The warmth that radiated from his body was like a balmy embrace, the rousing scent of his cologne only adding to the numbing of your senses. He smelled incredible; expensive and masculine but with an undertone of something musky and thrilling. You wanted more of it, more of him. Wanted to taste him, to feel his cock pushed so far past your walls you could feel him rearranging your guts; the head of his member visibly prodding at the pit of your stomach. You wanted his mouth on yours, tongue exploring the inside of your mouth until he’d discerned every inch of you, top to bottom. 

You felt safe beneath his strong body, the hand that wasn’t busy splitting your open prying at your thigh until he managed to hook a leg over his shoulder. You felt your head fall back again, eyes squeezing shut as he sped up his pace, the room filling with the sound of your drenched pussy. The squelching was so lewd, so loud that you were sure you’d cum from that alone. Could feel it in the way your cunt clenched again and again, sucking his digits in and refusing to let them free.

“That’s ‘cause I’m curling them. Feel the difference?” He murmured, tone the only thing calm about him now. Looking down at him, you saw the frazzled expression painted across his handsome face, the frantic look in his eyes underpinning that same predatory stare. “Mmm fuck– gonna find your g-spot; gonna make you scream.” 

“Chan, fuck, please.” You wailed, hips bucking upwards in motion with his thrusts. He pushed you down with his free hand, cheek pressing against the meat of your leg as he watched you intently. His attentive stare didn’t last long, though, not when your pussy was putting on such a pretty show for him. His arm was soaked, the chair beneath you was drenched, juices pooling on the floor by your clothes. 

“So hot–stay still for me baby, did I hit the spot?” You could only nod now, moans coming out in pitchy screams as you bucked against his firm palm, desperately trying to fuck yourself with his fingers. You couldn’t describe it, the pleasure that was building inside of you, the edge that was careening so close to your helpless, frantic body that you could taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue. 

“Yeah, think so, oh god, oh my god.” You found your words at last, whining disapprovingly when his fingers left your needy pussy empty in favour of pushing past his plump mouth. Your gaze drank him in as he did so, watching with narrowed eyes as he sucked on them. It was slow and erotic and downright torturous, a string of desperate moans tumbling from his glistening pink lips. 

“Fuck you taste so good, let me taste you properly, please can I?” Apparently it was his turn to beg, his nose nuzzling against the inside of your thigh as he adjusted the leg propped atop his shoulder. 

“Please, please, do whatever you want, own me.” You nodded frantically, wanting nothing more than to return to that blissed out state you’d been so caught up in. 

“You want me to make this pussy mine, for real? Want me to fuck you rough like the slut you are?” You wanted him to mean what he was saying, but something told you he wasn’t. That was as a line you were certain he wouldn’t cross, not for now anyway, but you could live with that. A sentiment that rang even truer when you felt the rough texture of his tongue against your puffy, sopping cunt.

The reverberation of his moans only added to the intense wave of pleasure that overcame you, his frenzied ministrations causing your hips to buck, thighs closing around his head. He took it all, licking up and down your pussy as if lapping up your juices. Whatever lesson this was supposed to teach you about masturbation, you didn’t know, and you weren’t about to question him about it, not when you switched to burying his face in your leaking pussy, tongue fucking you with purpose as his nose prodded your swollen clit. 

“Yes, please, sir–ruin me.” You grabbed ahold of his hair, earning another moan from the man as he continued devouring your drenched cunt. Every time he lapped at your sweet juices, more poured from your clenching hole, his tongue drinking up every last drop as he shifted between your entrance and your sensitive nub. 

“Fuck this isn’t good.” He groaned, breathing out words in the short amount of time he spent away from your pussy; allowing him mere moments to suck in oxygen before he dove back in. “We shouldn’t be doing this, baby, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Ugh, that feels so fucking good.” This time he focused his mouth on your clit, lips wrapping around your bud as he pushed his fingers inside of you, thrusting in knuckles deep with a pace that bordered on animalistic. Your fingers gripped his hair just as aggressively, hips moving at their own accord as you felt the edge of your orgasm hurtle towards you. 

“Good keep going, use my fingers fuck yes.” He moaned, breaths coming out in desperate pants against your sensitive clit. The gentle push of air paired with his relentless thrust of his fingers against your g-spot was enough to have you screaming, head falling backward, cunt convulsing as you felt that white light begin to encase you.“Shit you’re cumming so soon? Oh fuck, yeah, fuck, so messy.” 

“Fuck, please, keep going– no why did you stop?” That feeling you’d been so frantic to chase, the bright, welcoming light that you’d been so ready to rush toward was ripped from you the moment his fingers exited your clamping walls. You looked at him in disbelief, body spent, skin aglow with sweat.

“It's your turn, do what I did.” He rejoindered. 

“No, no please” You shook your head, tears welling over as you pleaded with him to give you release. This was bordering on mean, knowing how frustrated and desperate you were to feel that warm white release only to pry it from your begging hands. 

“Come on pretty girl, you got this. Let me help you.” His palms ran comforting patterns across your skin, face still level with your pussy as his breath fanned across your sensitive core. You twitched beneath him, stare holding his own in hopes your beseeching eyes could reason with him. 

“Not the same.” You murmured, shaking your head once more. 

“Don’t be greedy now, come on.” He spoke, landing a slap against your clit in warning. Your hips jumped, sensitive pussy clenching around air as you greedily accepted your punishment. Despite your momentary disobedience, you followed his request, pathetic fingers moving down between you both to begin thrusting in and out of your weeping hole. “Good girl, keep going.” 

“Need yours.” You sobbed, the feeling of your digits nowhere close to the pleasurable strokes of his thick, veiny hand. 

“Hmm, why don’t we try a new toy? See if you can make yourself cum like that?” He suggested, and how he’d managed to maintain any semblance of his role as your sex therapist after annihilating your pussy with his pretty lips, you had no idea. Truly the man was a saint, he hadn’t even touched his hard cock once, too busy pleasuring you to even notice the impossibly tight feeling in his pants.

“Okay…” You agreed, body beginning to ache with fatigue. 

“Keep playing with yourself, slap that pretty little clit around while I find a toy for baby girl to play with.” Chan commanded, and you obeyed. 

You watched him walk the short distance to his desk, opening one of the cupboards to look over a collection of unboxed sex toys. The consistent branding told you it was probably a sponsorship deal, a collaboration of sorts. But you didn’t pay the toys enough attention to confirm this, no, instead you watched the way his back flexed, vein hands tugging at a box before returning it to its home. It was utterly unfair how even the back of him could drive you crazy; everything about him was thick, masculine and oozing sex appeal. Yet despite the plumpness of his arms, thighs and ass, his waist remained tiny beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt. You wanted to see what lay beneath his tight-fitting clothing so badly, the thought enough to have your fingers speeding up in a newfound wave of ecstasy. 

“What about this? Long like my fingers, that’s what you like right?” He returned with a different vibrator. Unlike the other one, this had some sort of vibrating node for your clit; making sure to stimulate every inch of you it could touch. 

“Lemme show you how this works, okay? Gonna use it just like the vibrator, push it up as far as your little cunt can bear.” Chan grumbled, tongue licking his lips as he lowered himself to his knees again. Removing it from its packaging with ease, he pressed the velvety device against your desperate cunt, quizzical gaze searching for any signs of hesitation. 

“I can take it all, please make me take it.” You were quick to retort, squirming in anticipation of what was to come. You hoped, no you prayed, that this time he’d make you cum, not stopping till your body was limp and spent, eyes rolled back in your head and screams so pitchy not a sound came out. You wanted that, you wanted that so bad. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re all wound up baby, you sure you want that?” His voice was low, free hand coaxing your leg back over his shoulder as he peppered kisses to your inner thigh.

“Please, pretend it's your cock. How would you fuck me?” You whined, hands shifting to pinch at your nipples desperate for any form of release.

“No, no you can’t think like that baby.” He shook his head dismissively, using the toy to push up and down your gushing pussy, chuckling wickedly every time your body twitched. 

“You want it too, don’t you? Wanna know what it’s like to fuck me? So do–” You couldn’t even finish getting the words out before he was shoving the toy into your needy hole with force, a dark expression atop his faltering features. “Yeah fuck, like that.” You screamed out, your pussy barely able to sheath the toy with how puffy and swollen your walls were.

“That feel good, baby?” He growled, teeth gritted as he pushed the device in and out of you with fever.

“So good.” You whimpered, bucking your hips in time with his thrusts.

“Gonna have to take over, you need to learn for yourself.” He reminded you, your head shaking in an instant. 

“Not yet, keep going please.” You sobbed tearlessly, moans coming out in broken, melodic strings of half-cries and curse words. 

“Haven’t even turned the vibrate on and you’re already clenching like a whore.” He tutted, tongue spilling from his lips as he got lost in your pleasure. It looked like he enjoyed this almost as much as you did, his brows furrowed in concentration as he took in every change in your expression. 

“Can I touch you?” You whined out, hips bouncing in time with his expertly timed thrusts. Your hands reached out, starting to undo the buttons of his dress shirt with a growing desire to see him naked and exposed like you were. He didn’t show any resistance, even shuddering beneath the graze of your nails against his bare chest as you opened the unbuttoned top. He looked delectable; toned muscles flexing with every thrust of his arm. 

“No, then I really will wanna fuck you.” He murmured, setting another boundary you had every intention of crossing; his forehead leaning down to press against yours, bodies as close as they could possibly be given the current position. His lust-filled gaze sparkled in the shadowed confines of your close faces, the soft whimpers and laboured breaths that left his parted lips sending your body into overdrive. You leaned forward to connect your lips, mouth ghosting over his for a nanosecond before he moved his face away from yours. You whined, aching to chase after him but opting to pry a little more instead. 

“Will you touch yourself when it’s my turn then?” You questioned, hungry eyes searching his for any signs of defiance.

“You want that?” He whimpered, free palm pushing you down against the soaked leather chair once more, trying to keep your quivering body still beneath him. 

“Yeah wanna hear you moan again.” You yelped, clenching again and again around the silicon toy, wanting more than anything to replace it with his meaty cock.

“Does that turn you on?” Chan asked, proud grin on his lips.

“So bad.” You murmured, head rolling back as you felt him graze against your g-spot with the tip of your new device. “Wanna watch your cock make a mess– oh my god I’m so close Channie~” He didn’t let you finish, turning the vibrator on mid sentence. The sudden change in sensation caused you to shake and convulse beneath him, creaming the toy with every pointed thrust he offered your greedy cunt. 

“Yeah? Take over for me baby, fuck yourself like the depraved slut you are.” You could barely think straight, eyes glazed over with unadulterated, carnal desire. 

“Fuck you’d break me open so good, want your cock so bad.” You mumbled, taking the toy from his grip to try and match his relentless pace. You weren’t even close, too tired, too rigid to compare. 

“God, bet you do, never enough for your greedy little pussy is it? Just want more and more.” Chan mused, the sound of his belt clattering drawing your attention to his lower half. You watched eagerly, excitement growing with every push of his hands. He pulled his cock out hurriedly, leg still propped over his shoulder as he fisted the base of his cock. 

You whined at the sight, free hand clawing at his half-clothed chest before gripping the meat of his upper arm. You hoped, pointlessly so, that the feeling of his toned muscle beneath your hold would ground you, keeping you steady as you worked yourself with the toy. The sight of him jerking desperately at his leaking cock, though, was far too compelling. Moans fell from his mouth, curse words interjecting every sinful noise. 

You’d thought his pointed gaze was enough to hypnotise you, but the image of his stiff member as it oozed pre cum transfixed you in an entirely new way. You couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear your eyes from his thrusting hips and eager fist as it worked its way up and down his length. You were sure you’d not seen a cock quite as pretty as his, either. It wasn’t overly large but it was thick and veiny with an angry red tip that you knew would prod your cunt in all the right ways. You wanted it, you wanted him so bad. You were salivating at the thought, mouth gaping wide open at the prospect of it.

“Bet you’d fuck me dry, so desperate you’d milk my cock of every drop.” He groaned loudly, hips bucking into his first with an air of impatience. 

“Yeah, want that so bad sir.” You could feel your high approaching once more, the edge coming into view in new and improved shades of technicolour bliss. 

“That’s it, good girl, you’re doing so well.” He praised you, head lulling back as he hissed, teeth clenching, face scrunching; the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. His adams apple bobbed, thick neck glistening with sweat as he squirmed, face falling to rest against your leg. 

“Cum on me, in my mouth.” You pleaded, trying to match the rhythm of his thrusts, imagination fixing on the idea of it being him fucking you like this.

“Fuck that’s so hot, you’re so fucking hot.” He instantly complied with your wishes, hand abandoning his cock momentarily in favour of getting to his feet. He gently lowered the leg once propped atop his shoulder as he did so, discarding his trousers and underwear properly when he was stood. He was frantic in his motions, wanting nothing more than to dump his load on your pretty face. 

Hovering over you, he watched as you eagerly opened your mouth, head angled to allow him to aim the tip of his length toward your lips. He hummed at the sight, face scrunching again as he began to fist at his cock. The wet sound of his cum streaking the length of his member had you keening, tongue darting out to lick at his tip desperately. He bucked his hips at the new sensation, shoving his cock closer to your mouth in the process. You kept lapping at his head, enjoying the salty taste of his cum as it hit your tongue–the bitter flavour pulling pornographic moans from your throat.

“Oh god that feels amazing. Yeah, keep doing that baby.” He too moaned, pumping his cock relentlessly while you leaned closer to him, sucking the head of his twitching member feverishly. “Such a good girl, yeah, your lips look so pretty around my cock baby.” 

“More.” You begged, the initial taste of his salty cum enough to have you craving more. You wanted all of it, wanted to feel his mushroom tip abuse the back of your throat, wanted to choke on his fat cock until breath became a necessity. You were positive you’d see the white, orgasmic light then, when you were deprived of all air, forced to take in every inch of him until he was done using you for his own pleasure. 

“No, don’t be greedy. Take what I give you and say thank you like a good slut.” He landed a slap against your cheek, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to sting and fuck it felt incredible.

“Mmm, thank you sir.” You whined, complying instantly, pussy clenching around the toy still thrusting in and out of your numb cunt. Your arms were in a similar position, movements growing sloppy and slow as you tried to chase your high through till the end. 

“Good, now you gonna cum for me?” He asked, fucking his fist with the same fierce pace he’d gifted you. “Yeah, fuck you’re so hot.” He moaned, watching you struggle to pleasure yourself, movements ragged and desperate as you became unable to control your limbs. 

“So close, so so so– please.” You cried out, riding the toy with one final push of determined energy.

“That’s it, keep fucking yourself. You’re so close, baby don’t give up now.” He moaned out, his own high building with every snap of your hips, the noises your mouth and pussy were making so sinful it had his eyes rolling back. He resisted though, keeping his well-trained eyes on your abused cunt. You were struggling, he could tell, something in you not quite snapping the way you clearly wanted it to. It wasn’t your fault, he’d tired you out by now; he blamed himself for that. 

“Come on, you can do better than that. Like this baby.” He abandoned his own pleasure again, hand leaving his cock to replace yours. His pace was exactly what you needed, your body convulsing the moment he replaced your sloppy grip. 

“Oh god, yes, please keep going.” You cried, almost scared he’d deny you again. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum? Look at the mess you’re making pretty girl, fuck, I bet it tastes delicious.” He growled, pushing the toy as deep as your puffy cunt would allow, angle directed toward the extra-sensitive spot you seemed to love so much. “You’re taking it so well, such a good little slut.” 

“I’m gonna cum.” You wailed, hand gripping his, half-reacting to the sudden feeling of overstimulation that washed over you, the part of the vibrator pressed against your clit sending you into spasms with every hard thrust.

“That’s right, come on baby, good girls cum– you’re my good girl aren’t you? Gonna cum like sir told you to?” He growled, the possessive tone that had overtaken him sending shockwaves across your limbs. 

“Yeah, yeah fuck! I’m-” You didn’t have time to respond to his pleas before you were thrown from the edge, same white light blinding you in the process. You lost all feeling, all consciousness as you came, the explosions errupting throughout your spent body going unnoticed by your fucked out mind. Your chest heaved as you started to come to, hand still clamped around his now motionless wrist as his voice broke through your heavy breathing. 

“Shit, you squirted everywhere baby. Fuck that’s so hot.” You whimpered, scrambling to sit up in embarrassment. You looked at the chair first, the leather slick with your release, but it wasn’t until you gazed at Chan that you saw the extent of it. His white shirt was dotted with wet spots, looking almost like the splatter of something colourless. His hand and arm were soaked, chest glistening too. 

“Sorry.” You frowned, suddenly embarrassed by the mess you’d made.

“Shh, don’t be sorry, you did so well baby; look at you, so messy, so pretty.” He was quick to assure you, abandoning the vibrator in favour of cupping both your cheeks. You took each other in for a moment, no words spoken between you as your eyes lowered to his lips. One of his hands moved toward your chin, tugging our gaze upward again; not letting you linger with the thought of kissing him. 

“Lemme make you cum.” You spoke after a beat in time. 

“No, no lovely girl, you need to rest a second.” He smiled, pad of thumb caressing your plump bottom lip before he shifted, seemingly ready to clean you up and send you on your way. You weren’t ready for the moment to end, though. Couldn’t bear the thought of not getting to see him like this again for another month, or, god forbid, longer. 

“Then use me to finish.” You reached for him, grabbing ahold of his wrist before his back could straighten, reaching his full height. 

“Baby, fuck.” He moaned, clearly battling with the idea of you crossing yet another of his lines. He couldn’t blame you, not wholly anyway, he let you do it easily every time. Deep down he knew they were nothing but silly justifications; a safety net to fall back on when he broke every rule in the book.

“I want you to.” You assured him.

“This is supposed to be about you.” He shook his head.

“Then do it for me, use my mouth.” Your persistence seemed to be enough for him, still-hard cock twitching excitedly at the prospect. 

“Get on your knees.” His eyes darkened, turning to face you properly as he watched you position yourself on the floor, obedient as ever. “That’s it, good girl.” He swallowed thickly, guiding you toward his painfully hard length. He tapped your outstretched tongue with the tip, wordlessly ordering you to open wide.

“Tastes so good sir.” You mewled as he slid the base of his cock along your tongue, moaning at the texture of your muscle against his veiny member. His patience, or whatever was left of it, was slipping away with every messy lick of your tongue, his hand shifting to grip your hair.

“Squeeze my thigh if it's too much, okay?” Your nod was enough to have him pushing his length past your parted lips, cock giving you no time to adjust as he pushed his hips forward. “Such an obedient little slut, aren’t you? Touch your clit for me, want you cumming with my cock shoved down your throat.” He growled, pushing his length as far down your throat as your tight mouth would allow.

“Oh fuck yeah, yeah, yeah that’s so– ohmygod you feel amazing.” You moaned the moment he afforded you a few seconds to breathe. Your fingers toyed with your clit just as he’d requested, but you were far too focused on swallowing his member to focus on the tingling feeling between your thighs. 

“Bet your pussy feels better though, doesn’t it baby? Filled all the way up with my fat cock.” He grunted, grip in your hair tightening as he thrust his length past your lips harshly. You squealed at this, sound muffled by the back and forth of his cock as he used your throat to chase his own release. It was hard to focus his gaze as he pushed his cock all the way to the base, your nose pressing against his toned flesh as you gagged, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Are you crying? Yeah? Sir giving it to you too rough? This is what greedy girls get–a throat full of cock.” He growled, any hints of his prior softness dissipated with the tightening of your throat around his sensitive length. He started setting a pace, no longer mindlessly pushing you down his cock. Rather he pulled out of your swollen mouth, giving you a few seconds to breathe before he thrust in, repeating that motion again and again with a frenzied persistence. If he had any doubts about your feelings on the matter, your soaked cunt gave it all away. 

“God your pussy is drenched, sounds so good. Does it feel good, baby? Getting mouth fucked while you play with your little cunt for me?” He moaned, fucking your face with a new found fever, his approaching high numbing his senses until all that remained was the sound of your wet pussy clenching around nothing and the feeling of your tight throat seathing his desperate cock. In all of the blissful chaos though, the man couldn’t help but take pity on you; the tears streaming down your cheeks, drool coating your chin, was enough to have him pulling out. You instantly gasped for air, forehead falling against his thigh as you caught your breath.

“Sit up baby, spread your legs. Gonna paint your pussy with my cum–gonna make it mine.” He instructed, helping you back atop the chair when you looked at him with pleading eyes. Your chest still rose and fell, gaze glossy with fresh tears as you whimpered, barely able to register the possessive way he wanted to claim you beneath your heavy fatigue. 

“You gonna cum for me too, yeah? gonna fuck my cum inside you with my fingers while you play with your clit.” He was back to those sinful rambles, an apparent sign of his impending orgasm as he worked his cock, hovering above your spread legs while he watched you circle your clit violently. “Good girl, good girl, fuck.” 

“Yeah fuck, mine, my good girl, looking so pretty for me.” His pace picked up, abs tensing with every twitch of his cock. His tip leaked with presumptive release, small bouts of thick cum running down the head, aided in its journey by the drying slick of your spit. “So useless without me aren’t you baby? Can’t do anything without me, need me so badly.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh god.” His words had you quickly barreling toward the edge again, consciousness slipping as you fell in and out of subspace. 

“Say you’re mine.” He growled, face contorted in the hottest expression you’d ever seen. He looked determined, the first that fucked his cock thrusting at such a frenzied pace you wondered if it was painful.  “Mmm” Was all you could manage, before a harsh slap to your cunt was enough to jolt you away from the fucked-out state you found yourself in. 

‘Say it, slut.” He insisted.

“I’m yours, all yours; only yours. No one else can make me feel like this, not even me, this pussy belongs to you.” Your words were all it took, his entire body shifting, twitching and shaking at the sudden onset of his climax. His knees almost buckled, the half-awkward position causing his muscles to burn and tense as he milked his cock of its stringy cum. Moan after moan fell from his lips as he watched it splatter against your lower half, your hungry cunt clenching as the warm liquid painted your clit and abdomen. 

Lowering to his knees again, he kept his promise, pulling your hand away from your puffy clit in favour of collecting up all the cum that settled on your skin, sticky substance coating two of his digits as he shoved it inside your overworked pussy. “Cum for me, come on. Don’t make me spank you again.” 

You moaned out, shrill noise almost awakening his cock once again as he drilled your cunt with his fingers, pushing his cum as far into you as your swollen walls would allow. “Good girl, that’s a good girl; such a good little cum slut.” He cooed as you lost all control, body seizing beneath the weight of another orgasm; the wave of ecstasy so sudden and unexpected it stole the air from your lungs, the noise from your voice.

Chan rode you through your high, pressing kisses to every inch of your inner thigh, fingers slowing to a halt inside you. Sweet praises filled the air as he pulled his digits from your defeated cunt, palms rubbing soothing patterns against your skin. He kept this up until the ability to move seemed to finally return to your aching limbs, your body shifting to sit upright. Your breathing was laboured as his eyes leveled with yours, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort.

“Are you okay?” He asked, fingers back to tracing your skin affectionately; an action that felt just a little too sweet considering the events that had just transpired. You nodded, still not quite able to form words as you moved forward, pulling him into your embrace, desperate to lean on him for support. He let you, of course he did, arms wrapping around your fatigued body as he pulled you against him. Your head fell to the crook of his neck when you lowered from the chair, awkwardly positioned atop his kneeling form until he shifted to accommodate you.

For a moment you stayed like this, the sounds of your breathing the only thing breaking through the heavy silence. It gave you both time to think, to come down from your post-orgasm bliss and retrace the events of your appointment. 

“Fuck, what are we doing.” Chan was the first one to speak, a heavy sigh pulled from his downturned lips. 

“I don’t know but I don’t want it to stop.” You whispered, neither of you making any attempt to put distance between you. 

“We have to.” His response was instant but insincere, there was no denying that now. Not even your anxiety could trick you into believing that Chan didn't want this.

“But do you want to?” You asked, making the first move as you pulled back to look him in the eyes. Maybe his mouth lied, but his gaze never could. 

“...No. do you?” He said after a beat in time, large gaze studying you just as you did him. His palms moved to grip at your bare waist, a single hand shifting to run up and down your right side, tracing the curve of your hips as he waited expectantly. 

You smiled, the fireworks that erupted behind every one of his caresses giving you the answer you'd been looking for: “Never.” 

“Never?” Chan stared at you dubiously, hand stilling at this. 

“Never.” You didn’t hesitate, head shaking. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, eyes flicking from feature to feature in search of any insincerity. He found none, only a flourishing of adoration that threatened to grow tucked behind your gaze. 

He decided to believe you. You decided to believe it too–hoped so badly for it to be true–wanted so badly to have finally found the cure. Needed so badly for him to be the cure.

<< back to dash // next episode >>

taglist @mangojellyyy • @diekleinesuesse • @bahablastplz • @jeonginnieswifey • @skzittomebabyuhhuhx3 • @yaorzu-blog • @skzreader25 • @sseungmongi • @swaggylili • @geni-627 • @fun-fanfics • @channiesluvrclub • @iambangchanswife • @bluesungology

A/N: jfc i nearly didn't finish this in time oopsies! semi-unedited again so apologies for any sloppy writing in places. thank you all for 200 followers!! next chapter is due for release at the 350 milestone <3

[bye-bye-firefly]

quickly realising the problem with this character and why im having such a hard time identifying who they really are. Is because. Well. You'll never believe this. But they themselves have no direction. And lack. A sense of self.

[iamthatonefangirl]

mine - nsfw winter soldier

disclaimer: fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. pre-established relationship. dark themes/sex. read at your own discretion.

uhh is this absolutely insane of me? yes

SORRY for the inconvenience! i had to repost this one

~~~

the feeling of him on top of you, pressing his weight into your body, would never get old.

his skin was practically glued to yours, his hair dangling down from the sides of his face and brushing up against your cheeks. it was so soft, unlike the rest of him, all sharp edges and gruff words.

his forearms pressed deep into the pillow under your head, caging you in between them, framing your face in front of his. you hold on tightly to his biceps, gripping him like he was your lifeline, just reveling in the moment.

your noses brushed together as he looked down to where his chest was pressed against yours. his grunts filled your ears, making you feel even more desperate for more of him. as if that was even possible.

"taking it so good," he whispers, "how a slut like you should."

you almost roll your eyes. even when he's like this, giving it to you oh so sweet, he won't let down his walls. has to remind you that you're his, one way or another.

he leans down to bite at the lobe of your ear, afterwards pressing a kiss to the junction of your neck and jaw where your pulse is. he moves to the opposite side of your neck, doing the same exact thing, as though he's grateful for the blood coursing through your veins. thanking you for being alive, for being his.

he begins marking you, all over your neck and down to your collarbones.

"mine," he says quietly, over and over with each hickey he puts on the surface of your skin. "all mine."

he shifts his weight to his right arm to bring a hand to your neck, running metallic fingers down the column of your throat.

"so delicate," he comments, all the while, he still keeps fucking you in perfect rhythm. he moves slowly, making sure you feel every single inch of him between your legs, deep up against your cervix with every thrust.

his hand comes down to press on your abdomen, a reminder of his place inside you, where he belongs, before moving down to rub your clit.

"you need me," he begins.

"yes," you whine. "always need you."

his fingers move in circles, feeling so heavenly against you as he continues, "you're mine. I'll kill anyone else who tries to come near you, you know that?"

he's serious.

"please," you whine.

"yeah? you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he taunts, voice rumbling in your ears. you feel the vibrations in your chest as he speaks, "you like being mine, my pretty little thing to do with as I please, hmm?"

he can't help himself. he keeps going.

"that's right. only I can fuck you. and I bet you'd like me to, even when I have a dead man's blood on my hands, wouldn't you?"

god, you think, he's gonna be the death of me.

you let out an embarrassing moan, beginning to squirm as you get closer. your hand on his flesh arm digs deeper into his muscle, your other hand coming to dig your nails into his back. he can't possibly get any closer to you right now, almost his entire weight on top of you, and yet you try anyways to pull him in, as though to become one.

he groans at the feeling of your nails scraping his skin.

"harder," he grunts. you dig your nails deeper, scratching up his back.

your breath quickens, the feeling of his voice, his fingers, his dick, all culminating to bring you to your release.

"please, I need to come," you whine. "can't wait."

"that's right, I control you, isn't that right? you're a little slut desperate for permission to come, my permission, huh?"

"yes, yes," you whine, willing every muscle in your body to just relax as you stave off the inevitable until he tells you it's okay. "please?"

"that's it, do it, come on. soak my cock, baby, for me."

your whole body tenses as you clench down on him, your nails finally drawing blood from his back and his arm as you dig in deep. he lets out a noise you've never heard before, and the mix of the pain and pleasure finally sends him over the edge. your stomach warms with the feeling of him coming deep inside you.

his sole arm holding him up gives out, and he lays on top of you, practically crushing your ribs. but it's him, and it feels so good, so you don't care to tell him to move.

after a few moments of heaving, trying to relax into the sheets, he adjusts to hold himself above you again. he brings a thumb to wipe a drop of blood from his right arm where you broke his skin. he shoves his thumb into your mouth, tasting the metallic of his finger and his blood at once.

"fuck, good job, baby. that's it, you're mine. all mine, forever."

~~~

your likes and comments mean the world to me <3

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list:

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple

[neoanedotheart]

Lazy thing i wanted to do!!! they're just silly :3

I think dave is a pretty princess and John is awkward

I'll be yapping below

I believe that Dave texts John right after he gets his ass handed to him DAILY. It usually plays out like this where they banter and Dave never really goes through the extent of explaining what thoroughly happens to him so John lives in forever ignorant bliss. And this leads Dave to feel like there's more of disconnect because he first of all doesn't really know how to articulate his feelings and second abuse doesn't seem like abuse to the victim. So he goes about everyday unknowingly yearning to be saved by someone greater than him, which is why I put the snow white reference at the end hehe.

Snow white as a fairy tale is extremely cliche, you got the prince in shining armor showing up conveniently on a horse and saving the girl. There's always this hierarchy placed upon the story where the damsel in distress is saved by a man, that man being portrayed as a greater being.

And with John taking place as the prince in this context paints him as this greater being. And I feel like a part of Dave envies and despises John for being this way, for being "perfect" or in a way. Greater than him.

The thing is in the original snow white story she's unconscious, that's undesirable. But it adds to the desperation of wanting to be saved, shining a better looking light on a person who isn't really there for reasons you want them to be. However John is a sincere person, it's more so the lack of communication or true understanding of one another that leads to this rift, this belief that John isn't there for Dave because he loves him, but because he's his friend and it's John's duty as a friend to save him. Which also brings me to the last line where Dave never corrects himself, and how he insinuates that he'll be unconscious due to being placed in a glass coffin much like snow white was when she was poisoned. He's at this stage where he doesn't want to be saved by an outer source, a greater person than him. He wants to be saved by himself he wants to prove worthy, but then conflicting within his mind is also this idea he isn't good enough to. We all know that Dave believes he isn't a hero and explicitly states John is the hero multiple times throughout homestuck. So he stays waiting.

John however, refers to Dave as Cinderella, Cinderella gets abused and put through plenty of torture from her step sisters and is saved through marriage of some person she just met. There's still this base line of being saved by man however there's this more mutual understanding of what they're getting into, a similar yearn for one another. Though he never caught her name he was still willing to find her, the real her. Which is John in this case, he probably understands he's missing something in the big picture but can never find out what and the best he can do is hope that the other half still held on to what they once were and was willing to share.

This is a pre-sburb interaction btw they're just unknowingly foreshadowing a shit ton.

Sorry if there's like bad shitty writing in here, I'm rambling and it's like almost midnight hehe

[heich0e]

"can i call you later?"

the wind bites at your cheeks, but the sting you feel is as much from the smile on your face as it is from the chill.

"dunno," you muse, pursing your lips as though you're contemplating the question deeply. "can you?"

rintarou groans, but the sound isn't half as plaintive as it ought to be. you watch as his head hangs down defeatedly where his frame is folded over the railing that lines the front of the train station, his body pitched forward over the barrier like he's trying to reach you on the other side.

you've been saying goodbye for the past twenty minutes—or, you've been trying to. sort of. maybe. the train you'd planned to catch has already come and gone, and the next is set to soon arrive. one more and it will be the last of the night, but not even knowing that fact seems to be moving you closer towards the door to the station—content to stay here, like this, as the wind of the late fall night nips at your cheeks and the two of you muddle through your goodbye with the inelegance of two people who couldn't be less committed to it if they tried.

rintarou lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"i mean it, though." he says. "can i call you tonight?"

your stomach flips when he looks at you this way. when he keeps looking at you this way.

"we just spent hours together," you remind him, but your words are too breathy to make impact. too elated to be reproachful.

you've been on three dates with rintarou now. you think they're dates anyway, though it's never explicitly been stated. his invitations are always casual, sandwiched in between all the other texts he sends to you these days, so you might be reading into things too closely for your own good. but dinner doesn't just feel like dinner when rintarou has this way of looking at you like you're the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

"i know," he answers. it's not an explanation, or an excuse, or even an apology. it's plain acceptance. a shamelessness you find wretchedly endearing.

you glance back at the station behind you, biting the inside of your cheek to temper your delight.

"my train is coming," you say.

he looks a bit crestfallen. laughably glum, considering the circumstances.

you drag the heel of your shoe back ever so slightly, not quite a step—at least not in any meaningful way—but inching in the direction of the doors at a glacial pace. continental drift seems positively hasty in comparison to your retreat.

"bye," he calls, his tone dejected. you watch as he lifts his hand weakly, still slumped over the railing, and waves at you with only a few fingers raised.

you want to laugh, but your chest is so full of something else—something syrupy and fluttering and good—that it's like there's no space for it underneath your ribs.

you call back to him just before you step into the station.

"rintarou—"

there are other people around, stepping between and around you both—rushing into the station to escape the cold, or moving briskly as they brace themselves and step out into it—but you hardly notice them when your eyes meet.

you smile.

"—call me later."

he calls you almost every night after that.

even as the cool autumn winds change with the seasons; carrying flakes of snow as winter blankets nagano, warming with the spring, turning heavy with humidity in summer, and then repeating the cycle anew.

even as your reluctant goodbyes turn from late nights outside of train stations to early morning words whispered under blankets as rintarou leaves for practice or away games.

even as the uncertainty of whether or not you're getting your hopes up—of whether those meetings were even really dates at all—melts away into nothing more than a memory.

you're not even sure what the two of you manage to spend so much time talking about on the phone. nothing, really. everything in its own right. rintarou's phone calls are something you come to look forward to at the end of a long day. something you anticipate when you have exciting news to share. a comfort when you're missing him and a relief when you need him most.

"is that the last one?" you ask, turning just in time to see your boyfriend—your live-in boyfriend now, officially—flop back on the sofa after he drops the last moving box atop the stack piled near the balcony door.

"yeah," he wheezes, evidently winded from the exertion—from the exhaustion—of moving house. you laugh a bit to yourself as you shuffle over to the sofa, leaning over the back so you can peer down at him where he lays sprawled against the cushions.

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you tease him. "shouldn't you have better stamina?"

rintarou cocks a brow, something sly swimming behind his gaze.

"i need better stamina?" he drawls. "you're usually complaining about the opposite."

you roll your eyes in the wake of his remark, grabbing a throw pillow from beneath his head and yanking it from under him unceremoniously, only to press it lightly against his face.

you shuffle back towards the kitchen where you'd left the box you were unpacking abandoned. you grab a plate from inside the cardboard and turn to place it on the shelf you'd decided would house your dinnerware.

"it's late," you tell him, reaching for the next plate in the box. "you should go wash up first."

you don't get a reply, and that surprises you. you creep over to the sofa again, only to find rintarou staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"hey," you laugh a little, leaning on your elbows against the back of the couch. "where'd you go?"

rintarou's gaze snaps back to yours. he still looks at you like he did on your first date. like he did outside the train station on your third. he smiles, bit it's a bit sheepish.

"sorry, was just thinking," he answers quietly. he reaches up from where he's lying on his back, brushing his thumb against your cheek. his smile turns a little bit giddy, then. boyishly charming. "can't believe we finally got a place together."

you lean into his touch, huffing a little breath through your nose—halfway to a laugh.

"guess you won't have to call me anymore," you joke, and rintarou's expression changes—falls slightly—but only for a moment. you realize what you've said, or at least think about the implications more, and you sort of understand the shift.

you fell in love through those phone calls.

you'll miss them—the ritual, the familiarity, the comfort—even though you know they've been replaced by something better.

you turn your face, pressing a fleeting kiss to rintarou's palm. "go wash up," you tell him again, heading back towards the kitchen and your (now twice abandoned) box of plates.

he seems to heed your advice this time, peeling himself up off the sofa and shuffling off in the direction of the washroom.

"don't use all the hot water!" you call after his retreating frame, and you hear him reply noncommittally under his breath before the door clicks closed behind him.

you've only got three dishes left to unpack before your box is emptied, but the shelf you'd been organizing doesn't seem to want to accommodate all of your bowls in the way you wanted, so you're left arranging and rearranging them as you try to find a way to get them to fit.

in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone begins to ring. with three plates balanced in one hand, you reach for it with the other—the movement muscle memory now, instinct more than volition, after all this time. you answer the call without even looking at the screen, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you continue juggling the dishes in front of you.

"oop—hello?"

you pause after you answer the call, realizing for the first time that you shouldn't be getting a call at all. not at this time of night. not in this apartment.

the line is quiet, just the sound of breathing that you could recognize anywhere to be heard from the other end of the call.

"why are you calling me?" you ask rintarou, but the words are light. too fond to be reproachful.

you hear rintarou laugh—from the other end of the call and from the other side of the bathroom door.

"just wanted to hear your voice," he answers you (the same way he has a thousand nights before when you've asked him that same question.)

"you're ridiculous," you tell him, completely enamoured.

"i know," he replies.

it's quiet for a moment as the two of you stand on opposite sides of your apartment. on opposite ends of your call.

you shift a stack of bowls a little to the left. it all fits now. just the way you wanted it to.

"y'know, the hot water won't run out as fast if we shower together—"

you hear the bathroom door open, and when you look over your shoulder, rintarou is peeking at you from around the edge of the door—his phone held to his ear, a smile on his face you know is mirrored on your own, and a look in his eye that's never once wavered.

he tilts his head.

"—wanna join me?"

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

Sabo analysis time!!!!

Do you guys ever think about how Sabo didn't visit Dressrosa to see Luffy again? And him meeting up with Luffy was probably his very last option to secure the fruit, otherwise he would probably avoid it? Cuz i do…

Let me elaborate.

So here's what we know from the source material:

We know Sabo and the other revolutionaries were there since the early morning since Hack was already inside the coliseum for RevArmy snooping reasons.

The prize of the Tournament was revealed after the Revs were already there.

Sabo/Koala were not in contact with Robin to know if the straw hats were anywhere near Dressrosa as seen by Koala saying "I hear Robin-san’s here in this country, too."

Sabo confronted Luffy about getting the Mera-Mera No Mi only after Hack lost during Block B and Luffy got out of his own block.

I had always assumed that Sabo showed up to Dressrosa for the Mera-Mera No Mi and meeting Luffy, but that really isn't the case. Idk why it took me so long to figure that out, it’s literally shown in the Episode of Sabo (EOS) explicitly. Although, the EOS isn't exactly source material. I cant find anywhere stating whether its canon or not, but I cant find anything that would have it conflict with the original plot so i see no reason why it wouldn’t be. All that evidence from before is canon though so even without the EOS, this claim still holds water.

Speaking more of the evidence we have from of the episode of Sabo, we see him snooping around the Colosseum during the tournament, we see the moment he realizes that Luffy is participating in the event, and we see the moment he realizes that Luffy cant participate any further.

Like look at him here. He looks absolutely unprepared for what he knows he has to do. And after this in the scene right before he starts talking with Luffy, he’s like literally walking to him as slowly as he possibly can. Taking pauses in his stride to probably think about how much of a bad idea this is.

Plus, at the beginning of the episode when he’s visiting Ace’s grave, he says “I guess both you and Luffy are both mad at me.”

Sabo has had so many opportunities to meet up with Luffy before he actually does, both in Dressrosa and since he regains his memory. But he doesnt. Because he cant. Because he’s terrified of being met with scorn, anger, or even violence from his beloved little brother.

Finally, we see him plucking up the courage to walk over to luffy. All surroundings are silent besides the loud footsteps coming from his approach echoing in the hallway.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step.

Then he stops.

Its dead quiet.

Sabo has been pretty much deadpan this entire time, but he then smiles before he says

“I wont let you have the Mera Mera No Mi, ‘Straw hat’ Luffy.”

This is a fairly serious thing that he’s saying to this man in a fake beard and outrageous helmet, and he’s terrified of this meeting with his brother, but he cant help but smile when he’s talking with him.

The conversation that continues is very confrontational, but suddenly something clicks in Luffy’s mind. His body relaxes from it’s tense posture, he starts to tear up, his speech slows,

Then he starts to scream with recognition.

That’s his big brother.

He’s alive…

He’s Alive!!!

He’s here! Right here! Right where he should be!

Alive. Living. Free!

Luffy GRABS Sabo’s face and propels himself towards him. Suffocating and probably giving his brother whiplash in that second within that assault-hug.

All of a sudden, Sabo’s fears of scorn, anger and violence all wash away.

Luffy loves him.

They have each other now.

And now, Sabo is on his way to get that god damn fruit.

Sabo absolutely didn’t think he was ready for this re-connection, but he’s so glad he went through with it.

He has his brother back, his other brother’s powers, and the bragging rights of being able to flaunt both.

This is what I'm sayin with the "seems like fire favors these brothers" post I made. The fact that both the mera mera no mi and Luffy and Sabo were all in the same place to come together at once is a crazy coincidence. How many coincidences does it take, for a happenstance to be Fate? Probably that amount.

In conclusion:

Get this man a therapist. Please.

Heres another sabo analysis if you wanna hear more

Thank you for reading my ramblings about a fictional man. I think about him a completely average amount.

[sparrowlucero]

You mentioned a while ago that there were scrapped aspects of "Midnight" involving suicide. Can you elaborate on that a bit more?

I don't think they scrapped anything necessarily, it's just something that's not stated explicitly in the script and so is easily missed. According to the dvd commentary, Sky is on the bus despite not seeming interested in it because she was planning to kill herself at the waterfall they're heading to; that's why she's so uncomfortable and cagey throughout and why she gets so suddenly, violently upset when the bus breaks down over it messing with her schedule:

David Tennant: Now, the idea was that Sky Silvestry was on her way to kill herself. This is the backstory that isn’t explicit in the script. RTD: Yes. She’s newly divorced, there’s one odd line - she’s on her way to a waterfall palace, which is a holiday place - but she says "I’m on a schedule". Which is like, what for? Why on earth would you go to that waterfall on a schedule for? And then as the knocking starts, she says "She said she’d get me." Which is just paranoia, I don’t think that actually, literally means anything about the relationship. Alice Troughton: She’s the most emotionally disturbed.

there's a few indications in the episode that her mental state is pretty fragile and it isn't just the scary situation with the bus that's upsetting her; initially she's very lowkey and doesn't join in any of the conversations, only chatting with the doctor once about her bad divorce:

later it turns out she's obviously way more upset and shaken up than she lets on; she immediately, before anything obviously supernatural occurs, flips from quiet to arguing with the hostess about staying on schedule even though this is meant to be a loosely scheduled optional activity:

and when the knocking on the wall starts, she directly associates it with her ex wife's (apparently hollow) threats and becomes extremely frantic, moreso than anyone else:

imo I don't think they needed to state the exact context for why she's like this in the episode itself for this to be a successful story beat, it's pretty obvious some heavy things are up with her, but the word of god specifics do color the way she acts (and why the creature singled her out) for me a lot

[th3sungod]

parkner au where harley technically remembers peter, and is very concerned that tony suddenly stopped talking about him one day.

he remembers hearing about tony's insanely smart intern and how he rivals even tony's genius ( harley would beg to differ on principal but tony never says that about anyone ) so he assumes the kid must be special. he absentmindedly assumed the kid was spider-man, and when he asked, tony simply told him 'i can neither confirm nor deny' which basically answer that question.

but, he never got a name for the intern. spider-man. the kid. underoos. spider-boy. spiderling. 'one of the two people fully responsible for every grey hair on his head' -- all names used, but never explicitly stating a name.

and, when after nearly a month and a half of not hearing a thing from Tony about him, he asks. at first he assumes he has no new stories since it's been a hot minute since Tony's even been able to do anything other than sit in bed and recover, but something isn't sitting right with him. he asks where's the intern been, and says as much about not hearing anything, throwing in a joke or two about leaving him on the side of the road, but Tony is silent.

"Who?"

"Uhh- your intern? Spider-man? Don't tell me you're already forgetting in your old age." Harley jokes dryly.

Except, Tony actually has no clue why Harley would think Spider-man interns for him. And, he doesn't seem to remember any instances he'd brought up when trying to jog his memory. He says he remembers Spidey helping for a few different things, but never stayed to chat and never revealed his identity.

So, given that it's not particularly out of the question, he automatically assume an alien has taken over Tony Stark's body and calls Pepper. And Pepper knows nothing. And after a very frantic bout of questioning, he takes the initiative to drive all the way to New York.

He doesn't know The Avengers, he talked to Rhodes and Vision maybe once at Tony's wedding, but something is most obviously wrong so his first thought is to tell them. Get there before whatever took over Tony's body, or is impersonating him, or something doesn't have the time to infiltrate the world's mightiest heroes.

No one knows anything. Happy said he drove him once, but he was in full costume and he doesn't remember the starting address off the top of his head. He feels like he's going crazy. He tells Tony as much.

He tells Tony about the kid from Queens he picked up basically off the side of the road, gave him a new suit, and every single story he can remember Tony told him about Spidey. It's a fucking long shot, but he recounts the Vulture incident and about how he took the suit, so he has to know who's under the mask.

Eventually, Tony tries picking out specifics about the dates Harley mentions, and can't honestly tell him what happened otherwise -- other than things that definitely don't add up.

Harley, now trying to think back to ever since time Tony even mentioned the kid, while simultaneously trying to figure out why the vigilante has been subsequently missing since around the time Tony stopped mentioning him, puts himself to work immediately. He said the kid had an aunt, he doesn't know her name. He went to one of the best STEM schools in New York, but he doesn't know which one. But, there are discrepancies. The AI he knows Tony made the kid is still functioning, though it won't locate since the HUDs been off for nearly a month.

Slowly, Harley finds himself spending every waking hour thinking of Spider-man, one of the world's finest, who simply fell off the face of the earth. And, by the time he finds concrete proof in the form of a picture and a name, Tony finally brings him to a resident wizard to help. There are no files on Peter Parker anywhere, so maybe magic will help?

What they find is a scrawny teenager half dead in an abandoned train station, wearing what's left of a spider-suit underneath dingy clothes. he's balled up, and doesn't hold a lick of peace in sleep.

he decides, then and there, he isn't leaving New York until whatever happened is fixed, and everyone remembers peter again. he doesn't know why any of this happened, but he's gonna damn help as much as he can.

( harley would've definitely heard the news of some teenager being outed as being spidey, but he never got a name. he did see a picture, so any memories of the outing are wiped from his mind. )

[angelsndragons]

how's it going, veilguard peeps? one of my favorite headcanons and theories is

the caretaker = felassan

and i'm gonna run down the (admittedly thin, heavy conjecture/inference) evidence we have supporting the theory.

spoilers ahead but first!

AnD, i hear you say, didn't Solas kill Felassan in The Masked Empire? Isn't that one of his great regrets?

fear not, fellow fans.

1. solas killed felassan In The Fade. that's kind of an important caveat. da2 established that mages killed in the fade become tranquil, they aren't outright killed. put a pin in this, we'll come back to it.

2. spirits, particularly ancient spirits, can fracture into different fragments upon death, some with their own personalities, experiences, and beliefs. we have falon'din and dirthamen, the two mythal fragments, solas' wisdom friend in dai, etc.

the point is that the ancient elves don't die easily and while felassan is probably not among the first generation of elves, he is still an ancient elf. we don't know if he was a spirit who gained a body or one of the first elves fully born in and of thedas. we do know that distinction matters very little, given that ghilan'nain was definitely of the later generation and yet she rose to become a god.

Okay, sure, AnD, but what does that have to do with Felassan and the Caretaker?

timeline:

felassan's notes are all over the crossroads and the lighthouse. not once does he mention the caretaker. even in the post-veil notes, the caretaker is not mentioned. the first time we Know that the caretaker has moved in to the crossroads and the lighthouse is from solas (we know it's from solas because of the paint):

This note has a smear of paint on one corner: Have they always been here? There are beings in the Crossroads unknown even to the wise, though the most ancient ones make any domain their own. Certainly, this Caretaker belongs here now. I wonder what we look like to them. Need is a scaffold, and the needs of the living ever rise and fall upon it. Hunger, thirst, sleep... imagine the constant cacophony to one sensitive to such things. Or am I too simple? Wants are fleeting; needs have deeper roots. Perhaps that's why I find this particular spirit's presence both comforting and disconcerting. The prospect that our heart's desire and our truest need could differ—or are even at odds—is hard to contemplate.

so sometime after he woke up in 9:39-9:40 dragon, solas made his way back to the lighthouse. he wonders whether the caretaker has always been in the lighthouse or if they are a more recent addition. whichever is the truth, solas immediately clocks them as ancient, comforting, and disconcerting.

now, as for when solas first encounters the caretaker, i'm going out on a limb to say that this encounter occurred after trespasser. we know solas carved his regrets out of himself via the paintings and statues to ensure he wasn't accidentally grabbed by his regret prison while moving the remaining gods. the office note states that he figured out his "perfect reparation" by studying the inquisitor's arm.

this is important because solas kills felassan in 9:40, leaving a gap of time where a fragment could reform and regain enough power to manifest once again.

so we've established a theoretical timeline in which felassan could have fragmented into the caretaker. now let's take a look at some links.

You are safe here, both those of flesh and those of Fade. Any who wish to help are welcome. The magic of the Lighthouse will provide for your needs, see to your comfort, and even help you understand different tongues, for those who escaped here from distant parts of the empire. Should you have any other needs, ask for the Slow Arrow, and I will help.

so i just want to highlight something here. felassan tasked himself with caring for the slaves and potential new rebels. he is explicitly linked over and over again with seeing to other people's well-being, with explicit concern for the innocent. it is his number 1 character trait outside of being solas' second. this man cares. he also specifically cares for solas, many of his codex entries include asides about solas' state of mind or words of comfort to his friend.

the caretaker tells rook that they "go where [they are] needed." felassan's notes on the vi'revas say "thus, we can travel wherever this rebellion needs us, with no fear of pursuit."

one of the caretaker's travel comments is "as needed," in response to rook's question if they're one spirit doing everything or multiple. aka the caretaker we know could be a fragment.

their first acts are to help rook navigate the crossroads, where felassan's notes are scattered all over the place. where elven spirits and fade spirits alike have come to take refuge from the gods, much like the ancient entry above. only this time, there is no solas and apparently no felassan. just a caretaker and a bunch of guardians. guardians which, according to bellara, are powered by spirits set to guard something. so like, fractured echoes or remnants of the original rebellion, is what i'm getting at. much like how the lighthouse is fractured, the veil broke the world and the fade, etc.

the caretaker holds dominion over the crossroads. they also say at the beginning that they do not have the power to help rook more due to the state of the crossroads. the spreading blight and weaponization of the wolf's regrets are leeching power from the place and the caretaker. the rune rook receives at the end of the game is called the salvation of felassan and its power is dictated by how much of the crossroads quest line the player completed.

however i would argue the strongest evidence that felassan fractured into the caretaker is thus: remember way back in the beginning of this monstrosity i said that felassan was murdered in the fade? remember how da2 establishes that mages killed in the fade become tranquil via feynriel? and remember how it's dwarves, innately tranquil because they are cut off from the titans, and tranquil mages who enchant objects in the previous titles?

remind me who's doing the enchanting in this game again?

that's a rhetorical question.

it's the caretaker.

yeah, just think about it for a second.

a spirit has been sundered from the fade enough that they can enchant items and even abilities.

felassan was an ancient elf murdered in the fade.

yeah.

i love this game.